Και λεγει ως υπο φιλοτιμιας πολλους των απο παιδειας συνα θροιζων ου μονον τοις αλλοις αλλα και λογοις ειστια, τα μεν προβαλλων των αξιων ζητησεως.CHAPTER XXXVIII.
Και λεγει ως υπο φιλοτιμιας πολλους των απο παιδειας συνα θροιζων ου μονον τοις αλλοις αλλα και λογοις ειστια, τα μεν προβαλλων των αξιων ζητησεως.
The Chapter which is now about to succeed, is to us incomprehensible. It is literally transcribed from the manuscript, and the reader is at liberty to make what he can of it.
“Pray my dear, addressing myself in a very soft tone to “the Lady,” when will it be convenient for you to suffer me to invite a select party of brother authors, to partake of a humble repast?
Whom in particular do you wish to ask?
You know all my literary friends and connections, and I think I cannot do better than to leave the selection to yourself.
Well then I have no objection, provided you do not invite therich author.
Whom is it you mean?
I am surprized at your dullness. Pray are there many rich authors?
Certainly not.
Well, then, I mean that man who, because he has a great command of money, and has written some trifling pieces of poetry, assumes great personal importance, and crosses on the other side to avoid the salutation of men far superior to himself in genius and learning, who having heard from one of your old poets, that I have heard you talk about, that they who drink water can never produce a good poem, conceives himself to be a solitary exception, and that the pure stream of Helicon is reserved exclusively for him.
Enough, my dear, the Rich Author shall not break bread with us.
Neither would I have you ask thenoble author. Him, I mean, who is certainly possessed of great intellectual powers, and a peculiar turn for a certain line of poetry; but whose bad passions so perpetually insinuate themselves in every thing which he writes, that it is hardly possible to escape the injury of his venom, and scarcely worth while to separate the gold from the dross. His volatile mind thinks it an act of manliness to sneer at religion, and if on any occasion provoked to resentment, his malignity becomes fury, and there is no object either too high or too low upon which he does not vent his rancour.
Agreed—neither shall he eat our salt.
On no account send an invitation to thevain author.
I fear too many of my brethren fall under that denomination; but whom is it that you more particularly wish to except?
I mean him to whom I very willingly concede the most perfect good-nature, the most friendly disposition and no mean portion of ability. But, indeed, my dear friend, he is so tiresome with his long eternal stories, that he imposes a restraint upon that variety of conversation which is the great charm of an amicable meeting. I have no other fault to find with him. I would rather however have him, than thepompous author.
I do not immediately comprehend to whom you allude.
To whom can I allude but to that big man who, you all agree, could have done so much, and has actually done so little. Who upon ten pages of letter press hangs a large volume of notes; whose political creed always obtruded, has been at perpetual war with his real interests; and whose style delights so in antithesis, that it seems to himself imperfect without it; who delivers his opinions with a sort of pedagogical authority, and brow-beats those whom he is unable to confute; who has wasted much of his time and talent in individual disputation, and at a considerably advanced periodof life, finds that from some cause or other he has made but little progress towards that rank, in which, as far as talents, improved by much and deep learning, are concerned, he might, by the easy restraint or chastisement of his opinions, have enlightened and adorned society.
But my dear child your negative catalogue is so extensive that I begin to fear I shall not make up a party.
Oh yes you may, but for heaven’s sake do not let us have thebland author.
Bless me, whom can you mean?
Nay, nay, you know well enough—Whom can I possibly mean but that eternal writer of poetry, who composes verses upon every trifling incident which occurs in the circles of fashion; prints whatever he composes, and recites them gratuitously both before and afterwards; whose collected works would fill half your library, but if they had been compelled to keep their peace nine years, would, in all probability, have never spoken at all. Who, if—
Stop, stop, I entreat you, look on the other side of the picture, and candidly allow that a better tempered creature never breathed; kind, benevolent, and friendly; and whatever may be your opinion, allowed by most people to possess an excellent memory, happy articulation, and no inconsiderable portion of taste. However, we will ask him onsome other occasion.
But my dear have you any other exceptions to make?
No I think not—Yes, yes, I would on no account have thatdull author.
Now, my good child, you are entirely incomprehensible, or rather perhaps you mean delicately to intimate that I am not to have my meditated Symposium. Have not all authors their intervals of dullness? Has not Homer himself been accused of occasionally nodding? Well, but to whom do you immediately look?
Why to that bonny man who has printed as many thick quartos as would outweigh himself, comprehending etymology, criticism, politics, geography, antiquity, poetry, nay, the whole circle of the sciences. I have no particular, and certainly not any personal, objection to his society, but as you do me the favour to admit me of your parties, I think it would be possible to find an individual of better conversation talents, of more interesting, if not of more diversified information.
See how it is—Whilst we have been deliberating about whom we shall invite to our party, without fixing even upon one, the whole morning has slipped away, and I have a particular engagement with my bookseller. We will talk the matter over again to-morrow, and I hope you will thenbe prepared to determine upon a few at least, from whose society we may derive mutual gratification. I fear we shall agree but on a few, for our board is small and our taste fastidious.
One thing has occurred this morning which will prevent my inviting theBigot Author. You know his religious creed, and with that we have no right to interfere; but a friend of his lately though of the same persuasion, sent his son as a student to Trinity College, Cambridge. The alarm was spread throughout the sect, and the Bigot Author was deputed to remonstrate, first on the impropriety of the thing itself, and, above all, on the very gross and obvious offence to the society, in confiding the main branch of so distinguished a member to the possible influence of a seminary bearing so odious an appellation as that ofTrinity.”