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SERMON X.

REVIEWERS.

"O that mine enemy had written a book!"

It was discovered by Dean Swift, and afterwards proven and fully illustrated by Sir Walter Scott, that the patriarch Job was a Reviewer; and it would appear that he had been as malicious and inveterate as any of his successors, when he could think of no better opportunity for exercising his revenge than that his enemy had written a book. What works this ancient and notable Arabian got to review, will always remain a mystery; but we must not suppose that the art of printing was not then discovered, for Job says in one verse, “O that my words were written! O that they were PRINTED in a book!" And as that grand

sacred and dramatic poem was translated from the Arabic by Moses while he was herding the flocks of his father-in-law in that country, it would appear, from the superb style of the work, that the literature of Arabia had at that time reached a very high pitch. But in addressing myself to reviewers and readers I must come nearer home; and shall endeavour to lay down some general rules for the art, which ought, in every case, to be attended to, and which never have been attended to as yet.

It is true the occupation of the legitimate reviewer is gone, and has devolved entirely on the editors of newspapers; while the old-established reviews are merely a set of essays, such as these Sermons of mine are.

It is no wonder it should be so, considering the woful want of candour, and miserable political party-spirit, which have pervaded the whole of their lucubrations, from the highest to the lowest; and he

who was long accounted the highest, was, in this respect, the worst of them all.

You, then, who handle the rod of literary correction, attend to one who has both been a reviewer and reviewed. Read and judge for yourself; and if told that such and such works are exquisitely fine, and that every one admires them, and that they are composed according to the very best of rules, then suspect a partyspirit, and say not to yourself, of your opponent in politics, "Now has mine enemy written a book." This is so decidedly the case in the present day, that no criticism whatever is the least to be depended on. Why not, like a man of honour and candour, judge of the work solely by the effect it produces on yourself? and then you will rarely be wrong. If the author carries you into the regions of fancy, and amuses you with a creation of new and beautiful images, why not approve of them, though of a different political creed? If he goes along the

beaten road of nature, and introduces you to characters having manners and attitudes such as you meet with in the world, why not converse with him as you do with a friend? You ought to give yourself no trouble, whither he goes, or what he does, provided he takes you along with him, and makes an agreeable companion on the road. Never say in your heart, "He is mine enemy who thus delighteth me;" nor ever stoop to be told by another what you are to be pleased with. Your taste and imagination are exclusively your own, and therefore you should be ashamed either to laugh or cry, to abuse or to commend, at the fiat of any save your own taste and judgment.

The exercise of your taste, then, should uniformly be directed to the free and voluntary application of the understanding to the mental food presented to it. Most men will relish what is natural and simple, if they are permitted to judge for themselves. If you take the most admired

passages from the best authors, you will find them to be the natural expressions of men of good sense; and you will admire them, because you feel that they are precisely what you would have thought and said yourself on the same occasion; that they are, in fact, the things which have always been thought, but never so well expressed. One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh; but the earth abideth ever, and all races of men admire the same objects. A tree in the full expansion of its branches is beautiful, and a cataract is sublime. The savage as well as the philosopher feels and is delighted with these beauties of nature. Therefore a correct taste, whereby you can judge of the works of others, is nothing more than a common and unprejudiced understanding. Never allow any person to persuade you that criticism is a science, and that an author must go astray unless he follows certain rules. You may just as soon believe that you