■-. ■■■,.'. v ' 
 
 .-..' 
 
 B&K 
 
 '■■*: 
 
.HE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 
 
 .A. COMEDY 
 
 BEING IN COMPLETION OF THE 
 OURTH VOLUME OF THE DRAMATIC SERIES 
 
 LAUGH TON OSBORN 
 
 Sed hlc etilne haudpetet uliro 
 
 Quemquam animantem ; 
 
 * * * * 
 
 . . , . at Hie 
 Qui me commorit (Meliui non tangcre ! clamo) 
 Flebit, et insignia tola cantabitur urbe. 
 
 Hor. Srrm. II. 1. 
 
 But not of my will seeks this steel point 
 
 Anyone living; 
 
 RESERVE 
 STOME 
 COLLECTION 
 
 . , . . yet that one 
 My wrath who shall waken (Better to touch not ! I clamor) 
 Shall wail, through my song in the whole of the city made famous. 
 
 N T : W Y R K 
 
 JAMES MILLER, 6 4 7 BROADWAY 
 
 MDCCCLXtlll 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 
 
 .A. COMEDY 
 
 BEING IN COMPLETION OF THE 
 FOURTHVOLUME OF THE DRAMATIC SERIES 
 
 BY 
 LAUGHTON OSBORN 
 
 Sed hie stilns haud petet ultro 
 Quemquam animantem ; 
 
 .... at ille 
 Qui me eommorit (Melius non tan fere ! clamo) 
 Flebit, et insignia tota cantabitur urbe. 
 
 Hob. Serai. II. 1. 
 
 But not of my will seeks this steel point 
 
 Anyone living ; 
 
 . . . . yet that one 
 My wrath who shall waken (Better to touch not .' I clamor) 
 Rh^ll wail, through my song in the whole of the city made famous. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 JAMES MILLER, 647 BROADWAY 
 
 MDCCCLXVIII 
 

 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by 
 
 LAUGHTON OSB OR N , 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the 
 Southern District of New York. 
 
 .(VWVLft. 
 
 The New York Printing Company, 
 81, 83, and 85 Centre St., 
 New York. 
 
- 
 
 
 PREFATORY NOTE 
 
 TO 
 
 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 
 
 It is not my fault that this comedy is written. I should willingly 
 have been at peace even with the small pretenders who prototype 
 its characters ; but they would not let me. All the personal conse- 
 quences of its publication must rest with me alone. My book- 
 seller has in it no interest but that of a commission-merchant, — 
 which is less than some of its famous persons enjoy in the abortion 
 and assignation advertisements of their daily issue. 
 
 L. 0. 
 
 321 West Nineteenth-Street. 
 January 26, 1868. 
 

THE SCHOOL FOE CRITICS 
 
 OR 
 
 A NATURAL TRANSFORMATION 
 MDCCCLXVII — VIII 
 
CHARACTERS 
 
 Sus Minervam, A.M., LL.D.; Editor of the Ethnical Quarterly 
 
 Review. 
 Anicula, Editress, under Bodkin, of the Ethnos. 
 Fledgling, Literary Critic, under Flunky Weathercock, of the 
 
 Hotchpot Hours. 
 Deadhead, Literary Critic, under Polyphemus, of the Hotchpot 
 
 Cryer. 
 Heartandhead, a retired Author and Critic. 
 Atticus, Literary Reader for the Brookbank Publishing -house. 
 G-Alantuom, Literary Critic of the Hotchpot Civis. 
 Saltpeter, 
 
 Brimstone, y Underground gentlemen, on a mundane excursion. 
 Charcoal, 
 
 Scene. Slanghouse- Square and its neighborhood, in Hotchpot 
 
 City. 
 Time. That occupied by the action. 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 
 
 Act the First 
 Scene. A street, at its opening into Slanghouse- Square. 
 
 Enter 
 Brimstone, Saltpeter and Charcoal, encountering. 
 
 Brim. Well, old Salt (since our Hell-coin' cl names, 
 
 Nor our Heaven- stamp'd either, can here be given), 
 
 Missest thou not those jolly blue flames, 
 
 Which, though — not quite as soft 
 
 As the smokeless rays aloft 
 
 In the region men call Heaven — 
 
 They kept us mostly waking 
 
 With a something like heart-aching, 
 
 And never promis'd slaking 
 
 Like the one day Earth's hell claims 
 
404 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 
 
 For a solace out of seven, 
 Yet were bliss supreme, I swear, 
 To the weariness we are driven 
 To encounter in this air ? 
 
 Salt. The weariness ! disgust. 
 
 Why, Brim, thou r rt losing fire. 
 Man's treachery, his lust, 
 
 His ferocity What boots 
 
 Comparing them with brutes ? 
 These things wake mirth, not ire. 
 The trait which stirs my spleen 
 Is to find the beast so mean. 
 
 Brim. But then own it, as is just, 
 All Hell holds no such liar. 
 
 Char. That is because we have no Press. 
 Although we dabble so largely in steam, 
 We cannot throw off ream by ream 
 Of lies and nonsense, I must confess. 
 'T is an institution that should be ours. 
 Its sire was help'd by the Devil they say. 
 I saw on the wall of a house one day 
 A picture announcing a new old play. 
 A printing-press stood in the sky, 
 Held up by a cloud, while on a floor, 
 In a redtail'd coat which he never yet wore, 
 Stood who do you think old Faust before, 
 And pointed to the machine on high ; 
 Who but the chief of the Infernal Powers? 
 
 Salt. Had the thing been stuck in a hole below, 
 
ACT I. 405 
 
 It had show'd too plainly its use you know, — 
 As they use it here in Slanghouse-Square. 1 
 Char. What name is that ? 
 
 Salt One of apery, 
 In all humility stolen, I hear, 
 By the loose-hing'd Weathercock quivering here, 
 From his ponderous model across the sea. 
 In front is Ihe palace in rogues abounding, 
 Who draw from the public pot their fare, 
 And openly and at all times dare 
 What to us is perfectly astounding, 
 Who scent more filth in this upper air 
 Than would cover all Hell and leave to spare 
 Out of its fathomless superabounding. 2 
 
 On that right-hand corner, half sharp, half flat, 
 With perpetual simper and old white hat, 
 The rider of hobbies plies his trade, 
 Who thinks the rest of mankind were made, 
 At least that are male, 
 To be led by the nose and follow his tail. 
 Ambitious and hankering for display, 
 But not so genteel 
 By a very great deal 
 As Flunky Weathercock over the way, 
 He joy'd to become an arch-traitor's bail, 
 And journey'd far 
 To the Southern star 
 To take the seraphical man by the hand 
 Who fill'd with ashes and blood this land. 
 
406 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 
 
 Char. I understand. 
 
 'T was an offer for station. 
 Brim. A bid for the votes of the Southern nation, 
 
 When they come again to have command. 
 
 He wanted to cut the Union in two, 
 
 And would do it in four, 
 
 If so it would give him three chances more 
 
 To set his white head white and black hea'ds o'er, 
 
 Which is what the Weathercock would not do. 
 Salt They are going to make an envoy, they say, 
 
 Of Flunky. 
 
 Brim. Aha ! That is why, one day, 
 To get appointed, 
 To the People's Anointed 
 He veer'd, then the next, to be confirm'd, 
 To the People's deputies daintily squirm'd, 
 And turn'd his tail the other way ? 3 
 Salt. But let him alone, he is not our game. 
 
 He is mean enough, like his fellows around, 
 
 To put, if unseen, his nose in the ground, 
 
 But sets too much store by an honest name 
 
 (That bauble, you wot, human knaves have found 
 
 To dazzle fools and their wits confound) 
 
 To eat dry sawdust and swallow flame. 
 
 Behind you, — turn round, — 
 
 There is Bodkin's Ethnos, that olio sheet 
 
 Where stale pretension and jargon meet, 
 
 Affected science, dogmatic cant, 
 
 And ignorance glaz'd by amusing rant, 
 
ACT I. 407 
 
 And what to us three makes its charm complete, 
 
 An air of candor, high-pitch'd yet sweet, 
 
 Which Sus Miner vam himself can't beat. 
 
 'T is there we are bound. 
 Char. For what ? 
 
 Salt. Thou shalt see. 
 
 If the little old woman, whose girls there prepare 
 
 The dirty linen for public wear, 
 
 Should prove short-handed and pitch on me, 
 
 Why then Sus Minervam, A.M., LL.D., 
 
 May add three points to his double degree. 
 
 Come, Charcoal, Brim, let us onward fare. 
 Brim. But give us to know of this mystery. 
 Char. And what our Master may want of us three. 
 Salt. So 't is something to do, 
 
 What recks it? You two 
 
 Are weary like me of this sluggish air. 
 
 But this much is given 
 
 Ye both to know : 
 
 There is a fellow who wrote of Heaven 
 
 And human wo 
 
 And all that stuff of the Cross you know, 
 
 Who has ventur'd a dip in the lake below 
 
 And fish'd us up, to give us brains. 
 Brim. What an impudent gift ! 
 
 Salt. More than ye think. 
 
 To make us ramble like men in drink, 
 
 With fustian phrases and sense obscure, 
 
 Would picture us falsely, to be sure, 
 
408 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 
 
 But would be worth the pains : 
 
 For fustian maintains our name's illusion 
 
 With man who is dazzled by word-confusion, 
 
 And finds magnificent and grand 
 
 All that his noddle can't understand, 
 
 And weighty the thoughts from whose tangled skeins 
 
 He fails to draw a conclusion. 
 
 Sus and Anicula, Fledgling too, 
 
 Though, like his master, he points both ways, 
 
 Help us a great deal nowada} r s 
 
 By keeping this great point in view, — 
 
 Save when his hireling pencil strays 
 
 From the false and absurd to what is true. 
 Char. So lucid Longfellow got his due. 
 Brim. Not when he labor d to give to view 
 
 The fanciful picture the Tuscan drew 
 
 Of a place that is known to me and you. 
 Salt. Ay, Fledgling was then in his element, 
 
 Serving the Devil with double intent : 
 
 To lick up with neatness 
 
 The spittle of greatness, 
 
 And parade his own mock sentiment. 
 
 Thus the uncouth phrase and the limping line 
 
 Were held out to asses as grain divine, 
 
 And stirring up rubbish he cry'd, " Oh fine ! " 4 
 Brim. What would ye have ? Was not Swinburne's stuff, 
 
 And Ruskin's and Emerson's affectation, 
 
 And Carlyle's Dutch made bright enough 
 
 To Fledgling's ratiocination ? 
 
ACT I. 409 
 
 Though the general mass of the reading nation, 
 
 Beating the thicket for explanation, 
 
 Might sooner guess at futurity, 
 
 Seeing we, who are us'd to what is tough 
 
 And the brightness that makes obscurity 
 
 In our underground relation, 
 
 Were wrapt in amaze 
 
 By the multiple blaze, 
 
 And lost our calculation. 
 Salt. Why you 've grown quite letter'd, old fellow Brim, 
 
 Since in coat and breeches here sojourning ! 
 Brim. 'T is part of my universal knowledge. 
 
 I have the insight 
 
 By infernal right, 
 
 As Sus got his at College. 
 
 I am not indeed A.M. like him, 
 
 Nor mean to purchase the other degree, 
 
 But I have an equal facility 
 
 In affecting all kinds of learning. 
 
 I think, had I a pen in hand, 
 
 And a cylinder press at my command, 
 
 Like Flunky, Brooks and Greeley, 
 
 I might do a devilish deal of good, 
 
 Like them, or the World, or Benjamin Wood, 
 
 Though I cannot lie so freely. 
 Salt. You shall do something better, and teach these fools, 
 
 Especially Sus, and Bodkin's piddler, 
 
 A lesson yet new in the Critics' schools, 
 
 That they who dance must pay the fiddler. 
 Vol. IV.— 18 
 
410 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 
 
 Char. Old fellow, well said : 
 
 One would think you were bred 
 
 An apprentice here in Slanghouse-Square. 
 Salt. 'T is the cruelest thing you could have said. 
 
 I thought we devils had still some head, 
 
 Despite of our brimstone air. 
 
 But enough. Let us move. Ere the sun be gone 
 
 To the West with his clouded nightcap on, 
 
 Ye shall both of you see, 
 
 And luminously, 
 
 Into the pool of this mystery 
 
 Whose bottom is visible only to me, 
 
 And shall help me a comedy prepare. 
 Char. Amen ! as said on his knees Jeff Davis, 
 
 When he pray'd " From our enemies, O Lord, save us, 
 
 And let them be damn'd ! " 5 So mote it be ! 
 
 I scent in the night-air a jolly spree. 
 Brim. Pitch and naphtha ! ( I hate to swear — 
 
 But Milton taught me. ) 'T will set us free 
 
 From the chain of this damnable earth-ennui. 
 Char. And for the rest may the Devil care. [Exeunt Diab. 
 
 Enter 
 Deadhead and Fledgling. 
 
 Fledg. Well met, Caput Mort. : though our masters agree, 
 Like two pickpockets, to scold each other, 
 That is meant to blind the world, but binds not you and me. 
 To us the phrase applies, 
 
ACT I. 411 
 
 Crows pluck not out crows' eyes ; 
 And we servants of the lamp, 
 Though we call each other scamp, 
 Yet, like beggars on a tramp, 
 Are each to the other hail-fellow and a brother. 
 Dead. Ay, 't is nuts to see the crowd, 
 Because we scold aloud, 
 Think both of us too proud 
 
 To shake each other's paw and swig hobnob together ; 
 But, let it rain, old fellow, 
 They '11 find the same umbrella 
 
 Protects your stovepipe hat and my old felt from the 
 weather. 
 Fledg. Why, bravo ! you improve : 
 That 's a figure now I love. 
 
 Don't be angry if I put it in my Minor Notes to-morrow. 
 Though, believe, I scorn to steal, 
 Save when hard-up for a meal, 
 Yet no one can object that now and then I borrow. 
 Dead. Yery well ; I '11 take my turn. 
 Fledg. Agreed. But I say, Dead, — 
 Ah, you know not how I yearn 
 To ask you on this head ! — 
 Has your scribeship haply redd 
 The drama on the Cross 
 
 And those others 
 
 Dead. — To our loss 
 
 Which some upstart bard 
 
 , Fledg. You err ; 
 
412 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 
 
 'T is an old hand at the game; 
 
 That is plain. Besides, his name 
 
 Fits the collar of the cur 
 
 That snarl' d at us before 
 
 For the blackguard stuff we wore 
 
 And the lies we daily swore 
 
 In the Press. 
 
 As playwrights both ourselves, 
 
 Who have had our trash by twelves 
 
 Laid on the playhouse shelves, 
 
 'T is to Number One we owe it, 
 
 That our scorner, this d d poet, 
 
 Lack success. 
 
 Have you redd him ? 
 
 Dead. 'Faith, not I. 
 
 Does it need to read, to damn ? 
 
 Besides, old 'coon, I am, 
 
 Like yourselfj prodigious shy 
 
 Of all writings where the style 
 
 Is above the common run, 
 
 Or where wit excludes low fun, 
 
 Nor the author has begun 
 
 To make it worth my while. 
 Fledg. I like your humor, but not your facts ; 
 
 You hint too plainly at certain acts 
 
 Which we never commit in the Hotchpot Hours 
 Dead. The devil you don't! Now, by the Powers, 
 
 That is too cool. 
 
 Do you take me, Fledgy, to be a fool ? 
 
ACT I. 413 
 
 Know not all men, do not all men see, 
 
 We differ in form, not in kind nor degree ? 
 
 For scandalous tales of vice and fraud, 
 
 And quack advertisements that serve the bawd, 
 
 And abortionists' invitations, 
 
 For all that debauches both soul and mind, 
 
 You are not an inch from us behind 
 
 And our counters might change stations. 
 
 Nay your Sunday sheet, which you loudly swore 
 
 Was the people to serve and would end with the war, 
 
 Peddles tales, as it spouted bombs before, 
 
 And is one of our institutions. 
 
 I should like to know what this all is for, 
 
 If it is not done to get you more 
 
 Of four-penny contributions ? 
 
 You know we are both rogues in fine 
 
 Fledg. In the world's sense, Heady, but not in mine, 
 
 Who hold that safety and honor bid, — 
 
 Here both combine, — 
 
 That we should of this high-topt fellow get rid, 
 
 Whose old-time light, that will not be hid, 
 
 Will clap on our bushel an extra lid, 
 
 And make it more hard to dine. 
 
 So be cautious, my jewel. 
 
 Dead. Be not afraid. 
 
 For all some folk in the woods may deem us, 
 
 We never do nothing unless we are paid, 
 
 Me and my governor, Polyphemus. 
 Fledg. You 're right, by Jove. Had the cash been tipt, 
 
414 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 
 
 I don't think any such flam had slipt 
 
 As those into which Bodkin's quarto dipt. — 
 Dead. No, none of us are so squeamous. 6 
 s Fledg. You are right, old boy, though your grammar is wrong. 
 
 But I 'm not much us'd to grammar myself. 
 
 The whole of Murray 's not worth a song. 
 
 It hampers genius ; to get along, 
 
 All that we need is the love of pelf. 
 
 But let us be cautious, and keep to our tracks, 
 
 For our pride's defence 
 
 Dead. And the Revenue Tax. 
 
 You see I am sprightly and well may meddle 
 
 With playing my governor's second fiddle. 
 
 Are you off for your post ? I am bound to mine, 
 
 "Where opposite sandstone our marbles shine. 
 Fledg. Well, remember to give that fellow a line. 
 Dead. Be sure, if — you know — inspiration lacks. 
 Fledg. You need not read him: I sha'n't myself — 
 
 Save a page to seem knowing. Misrepresentation 
 
 Of authors, though blinding the innocent nation, 
 
 Lays never their critics on the shelf. 
 
 You know we stab behind their backs. 
 
 Our scraps will die, and ourselves unknown 
 
 Can indulge our malice and not be known : 
 
 None asks if a David have hurl'd the stone, 
 
 Or a ragamuffin beggar. 
 
 If the world but knew 
 
 It was I and you, 
 
 We should hardly dare say what we do, 
 
ACT I. 415 
 
 And our pottage would prove soupe maigre. 
 
 It is such a delight, 
 
 To perch on a stool, 
 
 And write dunce and fool, 
 
 Under the shade of the veil'd gas-light, 
 
 And know on the morrow 
 
 The author in ire, or it may be in sorrow 
 
 If the creature is poor, 
 
 Has a sickly wife and a starving child, 
 
 Will find himself by a stroke of the pen 
 
 Dead. A stab in the back. 
 
 Fledg. Ay, — for ever exil'd 
 
 From the coveted Eden of famous men, 
 
 And, door by door, 
 
 Seek in vain for a publisher evermore ! 
 
 Is n't that to be mighty ? It adds, my dear. 
 
 Breadth to our breast and a bead to our beer. 
 Dead. Let us have some, Fledgy. 
 
 Fledg. You soul, I am here. 
 
 Exeunt affectionately together. 
 
416 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 
 
 Act the 'Second 
 
 Scene. Amenta's Sanctum, 
 
 Miter Sus Minervam. 
 
 Sus. Out ? What a pity ! It is more than a pity. 
 
 What shall I do ? This monstrous Hotchpot City, 
 
 Too small a cradle for my pregnant fame, 
 
 Will frown indignant on my letter'd name, 
 
 If I, who am its snuff, its salt, its scalpingknife and cautery, 
 
 Lack pepper for this pupping quarter's Quarterly. 
 
 The case is bad, and there is no evasion. 
 
 She comes ! I will address her grandly, 
 
 That she may listen to me blandly 
 
 And minister unto my great occasion. 
 
 Enter Anicula. 
 
 Thou stay and glory of Bodkin's Press, 
 
 From its primal T to its ultimate letter, 
 
 render me help in my sore distress. 
 
 And I'll be forever your debtor ! 
 
 et prcesid'ium et dulce decus' meum', 
 
 Have you no more " rejected ", to give me some ? 
 
 Shake up your old drawers, and find me a few 
 
ACT II. 417 
 
 To swell out my Quarterly Review ; 
 
 Oh do ! 
 Ante. Plague on you, Sus ! can't you scribble, yourself? 
 
 I sold you the last rubbish on my shelf. 
 
 There was the scandal of the Piedmont poet, 
 
 With its pretended knowledge and false taste, 
 
 And its translations, which, not done in haste, 
 
 Yet were so vapid that they seem'd to show it. 
 
 And there was the fustian stuff on Rowley, 
 
 Who is made to declaim so rantipolly, 
 
 While his critic agape cries " Grand! Sublime !" 
 Sus. Stop there, old angel. 'T was not my crime. >S 
 
 Little* vers'd as I am in nature or art, 
 
 I saw both were ontrag'd, from the start. 
 
 Amus'd at once, and not less astounded. 
 
 I fear'd all Hotchpot would be confounded, • 
 
 At the time. 
 
 Have pity, that 's a dear good soully ! 
 
 I am in such a muss, 
 
 And have shaken the dust from my wit-bag wholly. 
 Anic. Don't bother me, Sus. 
 
 My girls are at work, and 't is all they can do 
 
 To make shifts for me, let alone for you. 
 
 But I know of a means : it is entre nous. 
 Sus. Sure ; I '11 take ten times my oath. 
 Ante. As you will not keep it, one time will do. 
 
 There is an odd fellow will serve us both. 
 
 He was here but now, will be here again. — 
 Sus. my delight ! 
 18* 
 
418 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 
 
 Anic. Old boy, be quiet ! 
 Would you rob my virtue ? 
 
 Sus. No, to be plain, 
 There is none of it left. 
 
 Anic. You beast, I deny it. 
 I have lent it at times to you and to others, 
 Stock-gamesters and politicians bold, 
 But 't is as immaculate as my old mother's 
 The day I was foal'd. , 
 Sus. Well? 
 
 Anic. But hands off! This fellow, who is 
 A queer sort of devil and much of a quiz, 
 Works quickly and cheaply. 
 
 Sus. Cheaply ? joy I 
 He may aid me for nothing ! 
 
 Anic. Very likely, my boy. 
 You are not very nice, 
 In phrases or sense, 
 (Which lessens the price,) 
 And if you dispense 
 
 With fixing the theme 
 
 Sus. Let him scrawl what he will. 
 So I have not to pay and the scribble will sell. 
 Anic. In fact, he charg'd nothing for mine. 'T was a favor. 
 So I let him select. There 's a tragical shaver 
 Whom he wanted to crush, for making Hell logical, 
 For giving man's passions to Judas Iscariot, 
 For not putting Christ in a fiery chariot, 
 And, with syntax and prosody, 
 
ACT II. 419 
 
 Which ought not in the Cross to be, 
 
 Bowing respect to laws etymological. 
 Sus. Heh ! heh ! that is fanny ! 
 
 A similar jumble came posted to me. 
 
 And as the confector requested no money ■ 
 
 Anic. Confectioner. 
 
 Sus. No. 'T is confector I mean. 
 
 I us'd the phrase learnedly, wittily too, 
 
 With a double-en tendre quite fresh, smart, and clean, 
 
 As, in one of its senses, your Webster will show. — 
 Amc. But you spoke of a jumble, 
 
 Sus. And it was one, I trow, 
 
 A jumble, old woman, to you and to me. 
 . As the mixer was flippant enough to seem airy, 
 
 I stitched him with Rowley and Victor Alfieri, 
 
 In my last Quarterly, — which see. 
 
 It is there as it reach'd me, and in no wise doth vary 
 
 Except in the learning which fits LL.D. 
 Anic. 'T was the same fingers doubtless that jumbled for me. 
 
 Mine was sheer lies from beginning to end. 
 Sus. And mine. Greater nonsense there could not well be. 
 
 Not even boy Chatterton's trumpery 
 
 Was worse. But still 't was the Devil's god-send, 
 
 That nondescript mishmash on Calvary. 
 Anic. Mum ! Fledgling comes. Don't be tempted to brag 
 
 Of our gratis co-worker. Do as you see me. 
 Sus. I will do as befitteth my double degree, 
 
 Rest assur'd, ma'am, nor let the cat out of the bag. 
 
420 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 
 
 
 Enter Fledgling. 
 
 Anic. Good day, Fledgling Minor. 
 
 Fledg. Old dame, how do' do ? 
 
 You have done a fine thing. Sus Minerv', how are you ? 
 
 I thought to praise one, and I find two instead. 
 
 But as your duality, 
 
 In this critical matter 
 
 Whereof I would chatter, 
 
 Presents but a unity in its reality, 
 
 You are both so alike 
 
 In what both have said 
 
 (Believe not I flatter ; 
 
 Any fool it would strike 
 
 As well as myself in my strong ideality), 
 
 You have lost, sir and ma'am, each the nice speciality 7 
 
 Of individuality, 
 
 And, a great generality, 
 
 I may group the totality 
 
 Of my pensees on both on this point 'neath one head. 
 Anic. Little Fledgy, you 're learning, 
 
 I see, in your yearning, 
 
 Your proud spirit burning 
 
 And claws of earth spurning, 
 
 Your small wings to spread. 
 
 You 've consulted Ralph-Waldo, I opine, on that head. 
 
 Excuse me for going. As Sus and I 
 
 Are to be in your panegyric blended. 
 
 What is aim'd at him, if for both intended, 
 
ACT II. 421 
 
 Will hit me too in the very eye. 
 
 You have left I see your Minor key 
 
 And are strumming it largely on Major-C. 
 
 But pray don't take either of us for a flat, 
 
 While playing your sharps. Sus, remember the cat. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Fledg. What does the harridan mean by that ? 
 Sus. I vow'd not to tell. 
 
 But as in the Hours — 't was on Sunday, 't is true ; 
 
 That is Flunky's venality, comes not of you — 
 
 But as in the Hours you quoted me freely, 
 
 Much more so than Greeley, 
 
 And so made me sell, 
 
 I will tell you in confidence ; 
 
 But do, pray, be on your fence, 
 
 And not the fact spill. 
 Fledg. To one only, — Deadhead. 
 
 Sus. Him only then. — Well, 
 
 What is the stuff which we write so alike upon ? 
 Fledg. " Virginia " and i; Calvary." 
 Sus. Homer, and Dante No, the Devil You see, 
 
 There 's an odd sort of fellow we both chanc'd to strike 
 upon, 
 
 Who made the same nonsense for both him and me. 
 
 But I improv'd mine, as behoov'd my degree, 
 
 And made my points good 
 
 By Fernando Wood, 
 
 As evidence of my Latinity. 
 Fledg. Made your points good ! Unmade them, you mean. 
 
422 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 
 
 Why even Fernando would beat you there clean, 
 
 Or, as Dante's great double would say, " dead beat." 
 
 What a phrase is that ! 8 — If you want to lie 
 
 Against an author, you should not quote, 
 
 My little old fellow, but do as did I 
 
 In my Minor Note, — 
 
 For his language I knew would reveal the cheat. 
 
 Sus. Don't call me old ; for I 'm yet in my prime. 
 I am perhaps little, but oh ! sublime. 
 What I said then of Homer and Virgil and Dante 
 Proves my knowledge and genius, albeit 't was scanty. 
 
 Fledg. It had better been out though, or laid on the shelf 
 For another occasion, for on my blind soul, 
 Though I don't know much of those Grecians myself, 
 As my time is not given to study but pelf, 
 There was nothing of fitness or sense in the whole. 
 The exordium of an epic tale 
 And the opening scene of a tragedy, 
 Although, like the multiple flims i y thread 
 The spider passes from out her tail, 
 They may both be spun from a single head, 
 Are not the same web any dunce may see, 
 Nor was there the least eoncinnity 
 In all the rest you said. 
 
 Sus. Why do you prate thus unto me ? 
 Am I not an LL.D. ? 
 And A.M. too, as it is express'd ? 
 A fledgling — not of your family, 
 But of that lofty scholastic nest, 
 
act II. 423 
 
 Which in all countries, as late I said, 
 
 And in all ages, — before there were 
 
 Or scholars or schools, you may infer, 
 
 Where fools are taught to scribble for bread, — 9 
 
 On its annual brood is made to confer 
 
 Fledg. Gratis? 
 
 Sus. no ! that were to err — 
 
 Those letters which at our tails attest 
 
 We are ting'd of the color of the dead. 
 Fledg. But that must be hard ? 
 
 Sus. Hard ! Look at me. 
 
 See how I flourish my double degree. 
 
 There is nothing I give to the world, my dear, 
 
 But there my tailpieces both appear, 
 
 To signify my brains are Sear ; 
 
 Yet I am not paler, as you may see, 
 
 Than if I belong'd not to the blest. j 
 
 In Heidelberg, so runs the tale, 
 
 Where they keep these tickle-me-ups for sale, 
 
 A British noble got LL.D. 
 
 Conferr'd on his' horse. 10 
 
 Fledg. You joke. 
 
 Sus. 'T is true. 
 Fledg. Why not his ass ? 
 
 Sus. Had he so thought best. 
 
 And why not as well as for you or me ? 
 
 A letter'd ass — " haud absurdum est." 
 
 'T is "facere well reipublicse." " 
 Fledg. What 's all that gibberish ? 
 
424 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 
 
 J 
 
 Sus. Learned words 
 
 I wear at top, like Panza's curds, 
 
 To keep my brainpan soft and warm. 
 
 They have no meaning, but do no harm, 
 
 And help my LL.D. A.M. 
 
 Whenever I sport that double degree, — 
 
 Which is four times a year ; and you must admit 
 
 There is not an ass it would better fit, 
 
 I bray so mellifluously. 
 
 But that is self-praise. But, you made me warm. 
 Fledg. Excuse, old fellow : I meant no harm. 
 
 Here, shake our fist. 
 
 There is one thing, however, we all forget : 
 
 This bard, they say, is a satirist, 
 
 And may turn the tables on us yet. 
 
 Though I fear not, I ; 
 
 For Duyckinck, on whom we may rely, — 
 
 His book is a great one — bigger by half 
 
 Than Webster's, or the Bible ; 
 
 Some of the copies are bound in calf! — — 
 Sus. A feature perhaps to make one laugh, 
 
 Who knows that its censure is mostly chaff 
 
 And its praises are a libel. 
 Fledg, It may be so. I never read 
 
 Such gallimaufries, not I indeed ; 
 
 I should grope there in vain for fruit or seed 
 
 To stock my garden of Minors. 
 
 But Duyckinck says, he had no success, 
 
 His Vision "fell stillborn from the press; " 
 
ACT II. 425 
 
 Perhaps because he lack'd cleverness, 
 
 Not to shine, but to use the shiners. 
 Sus. Then Duyckinck says what is not true, 
 
 And what could not be such he very well knew, 
 
 As is patent to me, though not to you 
 
 Who were yet in the nest. But the fact is this : 
 
 The hairy babe was a bouncing boy, 
 
 And crow'd and laugh'd to his daddy's joy, 
 
 And to the heirless neighbors' annoy, 
 
 Who envied him his bliss. 
 
 But he found ere long its nurses were cheats : 
 
 They took their wages, but spar'd their teats, 
 
 To feed their own brood which did not pay. 
 
 So the father took the child away. 
 Fledg. In plainer words ? 
 
 Sus. He stopp'd the sale, 
 
 By cutting off the book's supply : 
 
 A fact he himself took care to imply 
 
 At a somewhat later day. 
 
 Such books as that do not often fail. 
 
 It is true, neither you nor I was then 
 
 In the trade which puts down rising men, 
 
 Although there was then black-mail. 
 
 You may judge though Duyckinck's malignity, 
 
 From the misspell' d name at the article's top 
 
 To the close where he calls him a travel' d fop, 
 
 And has the astounding audacity, 
 
 For a work like that, and from such as he, 
 
 To deny him, except as an oddity, 
 
426 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 
 
 J 
 
 A niche in his hall of letters. 
 I know not what other men may think, — 
 Some find sweet odors in things that stink, — 
 But it would not be with his betters. 
 
 Fledg. Hi ! hi ! do you laud him thus ? yet choose 
 To scribble him down ? 
 
 Sus. Not more I deem 
 Thau others in heart have done and do 
 Who find a pleasure like curs, it would seem, 
 In lifting the leg at a profitless muse, 
 While they yelp as a publisher's puffer; 
 Than Mhnos, the long Round Bobin, and you, 
 And your ape across the Eastern stream, 
 The Wart- City Buzzard's stuffer. 
 However, the fellow should be content, 
 If he is only a curious ornament 
 To which Heaven has nothing substantial lent, 
 As with Milton, or even with Beattie, 
 That the Barnum of letters has spar'd him a nook 
 In the rummage- drawer showshop for general look, 
 His two-volume Cyclopedei'acal book 
 Of American literati. 
 
 Fledg. So, so ; that is frank. And yet yet you admit 
 Against him what neither has sense nor wit ! 
 Was it done in a Duyckinckish splenetic fit, 
 Or is it your love to scoff? 
 
 Sus. For an ass, you have got in the highway for once. 
 Like you, I love to call " Dull ! " and " Dunce ! " 
 It makes one seem sensible for the nonce. 
 
ACT II. 42' 
 
 Then, I hop'd he would buy me off. 
 
 Fhdg. You try'd that game against the College. 
 
 But Praises your hints would not even acknowledge, 
 
 And sneer'd both Freshman and Soph. — 
 
 But why did you not, for deception's sake, 
 
 Between your nonsense a difference make 
 
 And the stuff in Bodkin's quarto ? 
 
 The faults in grammar and English alone, 
 
 Without the falsehoods and impudent tone 
 
 And puerile pertness, would any one strike 
 
 As drawn from one ditch : in fact, they are like 
 
 As Port is to Oporto. 
 
 8us. What matters it ? The world may say 
 
 What it likes ; it may call you Beaumarchais ; 
 Me Pindar, or Greeley Cupid : 
 'T is known I buy up all hackney'd and tame 
 Rejected articles. Where is the blame ? 
 They 're the only stuff for which I pay, 
 At least in the literary way, 
 And I 'Id swear the Ethnos does the same, 
 Though it never was else than stupid. 
 Fledg. In one thing, though, you may claim to be 
 More than its match. 
 
 Sus. In hypocrisy ? 
 Why yes, in that, and post-mortem scandal, 
 .No prick-fame can hold to me a candle. 
 The Round-Robin try'd it on Calvary, 
 Which he damn'd with a slaver of sympathy, 
 And smil'd like a king benignant : 
 
428 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 
 
 But 't is Bowery-acting to my pretence 
 
 Of friendliness and benevolence, 
 
 Where impertinent and malignant. 
 
 You try'd it in the post-mortem line, 
 
 And fancy'd you'd done it egregiously fine, 
 
 When out of your press issu'd Byron a swine; 
 
 But look how I Circe'd Alfieri ! 
 Fledg. 'T was done in my finest retributive mood, 
 
 Because Alger, in his Solitude, 
 
 Had blown him upward as extra good, 
 
 A kind of Castalian fairy. 12 
 Sus. Eh ! I thought you lik'd such soap-bubble stuff. 
 Fledg. When not too frothy, and quantum suff. 
 Sus. 'T is your Swinburne over again in prose, 
 But a little more liquid, with more repose, 
 And Emerson's verse without rhyming close 
 And a devilish deal less tough. 13 
 Fledg. What then? we must worship such men, while yet 
 Their fame is up and their life not set : 
 In secret thinking, I go as you go, 
 And hold Ralph- Waldo, albeit my pet, 
 As pompous an ass as Victor Hugo, 
 Who seems to think it his right divine 
 To bray for all others asinine, 
 And, hating the right divine of kings, 
 Is in his pride and his ostentation, 
 His spirit of logical domination, 
 Elation and affectation, 
 The very tyrant he prates of and. sings. 14 
 
act ii. 429 
 
 Sus. Eu'gef that 's truth without dilution. 
 
 I cannot see how it got into your sconce. 
 
 After that mouthful, my Minorite dunce, 
 
 You may lie for a month and have absolution. 
 Fledg. But don't let out that it was my say : 
 
 Such notions would ruin my trade at once. 
 
 Here hobbles Anicula this way. 
 
 I am off. It is more than I can do, 
 
 To parry and thrust both with her and with you. 
 
 Enter Anicula. 
 
 Good day, old lady ; I '11 in by and by, 
 When no one can come 'twixt your beauties and I. 
 Anic. And me. 
 
 Fledg. Never mind. You might pass the bad grammar, 
 For the soft soap it carries. [Astcfe.] The impertinent! 
 
 d — n her ! 
 'Bye, Sus Minervam, A.M., LL.D. 
 The greatest critic that ever could be 
 Would be one to unite 
 
 The crepuscular glow of your learning's rushlight 
 With Anicula's sterling vacuity. [Exit 
 
 Enter Saltpeter. 
 
 Anic. He has vanish'd in time, the magpie and ape. — 
 Here enters a beast of another shape, 
 And bird of another feather. 
 
430 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 
 
 'T is the gentleman who, 
 I mentioned to you, 
 Would do for us both together. 
 Let me make you acquainted. 
 This short sturdy man, who looks like a fool, 
 Is not so, Mr. Salt, in despite of his jaws. 
 In the Heaven of letters he sings psalms to our sainted, 
 Gives pills in our critico-purgative school, 
 And is Master of Arts and a Doctor of Laws. 
 Salt. What 's his name ? 
 
 Anic. Sus Minervam. 
 
 Salt. A great one. 
 
 Anic. A beater ! 
 Sus. And pray what is yours ? 
 
 Salt. Mine is simple Saltpeter. 
 Sus. That 's The cart draws the horse. 
 As we say it in Latin, 
 
 Bovern! trahit currus : but ox falls less pat in. 
 Peter Salt, not Salt Peter, I take it of course. 
 Salt. No, it is as I tell you. 
 
 Sus. Then Salt, I opine,. 
 Was the name of your mother. 
 
 Salt. No mother was mine. 
 Sus. Then your father's. 
 
 Salt. I had none. 
 
 Sus. A foundling, ha, ha ! 
 A bastard ? 
 
 Salt. If 't please you. Like others, I know not 
 The source of my being, though not blind to my true lot. 
 
act ii. 4 31 
 
 For aught that I know, I might claim for papa 
 That doughty Apostle whose thin blade 't is said 
 Circumcis'd Malchus' ear 
 Without shaving his head. 
 Sus. You mean your papa's oldtime foresire, 't is clear. 
 As his name too was Simon, 
 That 's a poor stock to climb on, 
 And, without amphibology, 
 Your Scripture chronology 
 Has been, Mr. Salt, much neglected, I fear. 
 Salt Be that as it may, 
 This truly I say : 
 
 Like yourselves, I came into this world without will ; 
 But, unlike yourselves, when I find I 've my fill, 
 I shall haste to go out of it, of my accord, 
 So soon as my governor whispers the word. 
 Sus. Who is your governor ? 'T is not the Lord ? 
 You don't look so pious. 
 
 Anic. No, to judge by his eye, 
 One would think some one else had his Saltship for ward. 
 Sus. I like him for that; that fire would imply 
 He 's a deuse of a fellow. 
 
 Salt. I am. Will you try ? 
 I work on long credit; sometimes gratis, you '11 find. 
 Does it suit, who my governor is never mind. 
 You will both of you know him at no distant day. 
 He keeps long accounts, and, as you 've seen by the sample, 
 Has taught me to follow his princely example 
 And be not exacting for present pay. 
 
432 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 
 
 Sus. You 're a jewel of a man, Peter Salt or Salt Peter. 
 
 Let us strike up a bargain. 
 
 Anic. My girls call me out. 
 
 I '11 be back to you soon, [going. 
 
 Sus. [aside.] Salty dear, don't entreat her 
 
 To stay with us. Both will do better without. 
 
 [Exit Anic. 
 
 You must know Don't betray me ! 
 
 Salt No, word of a devil ! 
 Sus. What an oath ! What an odd fish you are ! 
 
 You must know, 
 
 Our lady-friend's intellect 's under the level : 
 
 She is not an A.M., as I was long ago, — 
 
 ( I 'm a Doctor of Laws too, my Quarterlies show. ) 
 
 Therefore put off on her all your flatness and drivel, 
 
 If you have of those articles much to dispense. 
 Salt. Sus Minerv', LL.D., I would not be uncivil, 
 
 But, except when I practice a little deception, 
 
 They are products to which I can make no pretence. 
 Sus. They belong to the Dailies, I know, by prescription, 
 
 And to Minor-Note Fledgling by eminence. 
 Salt. There was some, it is true, in the piece I last sent you, 
 
 ( I own it to show I would not circumvent you ; ) 
 
 But in future I '11 give you misrepresentation, 
 
 Mock learning, bad syntax, and word-ostentation, 
 
 A truly illogical argumentation, 
 
 With a sparkle too of vituperation ; 
 
 And o'er all and through all, and 'mid scintillation, 
 
 Shall lie an amusing want of sense. 
 
act ii. 433 
 
 Sus. Dear Mr. Salt ! As from sympathy 
 
 You serv'd her for nothing, you will do this for me ? 
 Salt. I will do it, dear Doctor, because it will be 
 
 For my governor's delectation. 
 Sus. And for nothing? 
 
 Salt For nothing. But this is to say : 
 
 Better count the cost before we commence. 
 
 Though I charge not, the Devil may be to pay. 
 Sus. I am us'd to that in a general way : 
 
 So make haste, and damn the expense. 
 Salt. But in all that I promise you nourish already. 
 
 Mac'te virtu te ; be bold and be steady. 
 Sus. Ha, ha, you have learning! That is a new charm in you. 
 
 I will make you my partner ! 
 
 Salt. I should prove rather warm for you. 
 
 I use all the tongues of civilization 
 
 By an anti-apos'tolic inspiration, — 
 
 And certain more beside. 
 
 But let us return to my observation, 
 
 From which we are straying wide. 
 
 You have in yourself all you ask me to give ; 
 
 But I '11 make you in letters the top of the nation, 
 
 And your name for ever to live. 
 Sus. How, how, how ? 
 Salt. Meet me about a half-hour from now. 
 Sus. Say where ! where ? 
 Salt. In the Park, at the side on Slanghouse-Square. 
 
 I will introduce you to two friends there 
 
 Who will teach you to prick up your ears in the air. 
 Vol. IV.— 19 
 
434 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 
 
 Sus. I 'm the happiest dog beyond compare ! 
 Salt. Hush ! here comes the old sow. 
 Be off now. 
 
 Sus. Bow, wow ! 
 
 Sus gets upon all fours, 
 makes a demi-wheel on his hands, and Exit 
 yelping delightedly. 
 
act m. 435 
 
 Act the Third 15 
 Scene. The Park fronting Slanghouse- Square. 
 
 Enter 
 Atticus, Heartandhead and Galantuom. 
 
 Gal. Here lies my street, at the right. ' Let us stop. 
 Att. But not, for awhile yet, the question drop. 
 Have you ever redd Cato? 
 
 Gal. To wonder and laugh. 
 More than half is mere prose. 
 
 Att. And the rest of it chaff. 
 There is nothing of nature in all, and the poet, 
 If conscious of passion, was unable to show it. 
 A schoolboy had written his love-scenes as well. 
 To affect to compare then Virginia with Cato, 
 Which has scarce one good part, save the passage on Plato, 
 To name Rowe and Young, and the public to tell 
 That our author was tutor' d in this or that school 
 Is to read without books.' 
 
 Gal. Or to talk like a fool. 
 Why our tragedy-scribe, as the pert lady styles him 
 Who does up the Ethnos' old linen for new, 
 Has made his own school ; though, while Round-Robins 
 sell 
 
436 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 
 
 And knaves that are Masters of Asses revile him, 
 He will have to wait long for a pupil or two. 
 
 Att. That is said very well. 
 
 In the teeth of the proneurs of Swinburne and Ruskin, 
 
 He has dar'd to talk clearly, has taken from passion 
 
 Her stilts, and despite of prescription and fashion 
 
 Has refus'd to put monsters in sock or in buskin. 
 
 But not in his diction 
 
 And sentiments merely 
 
 Makes he Nature his guide ; 
 
 But in the connection 
 
 And sequence of incidents, where others clearly 
 
 Set nothing by space, be it little or wide, 
 
 And time with its intervals put quite aside. 
 
 And in costume not less, 
 
 In the manners and thought-modes which mark out each 
 
 nation, 
 He has labor'd more faithfully such to express 
 Than any before him, without contestation, 
 Whate'er his success. 
 
 You, G-alantuom, in your frank declaration, 
 Have sought to commend him as pure in his style. 
 I have honor'd him more. 
 
 He has swept clean the Stage which was filthy before, 
 And made men be merry without being vile. 
 Which is something still better, and I think more sublime, 
 Than his lifting his tones without word-ostentation 
 And compressing his Acts in the limits of time. 
 
 Heart. The Round Robin labor'd, knew not what to do. 
 
act in. 437 
 
 Its conscience prick'd sore, but the author was new. 
 
 So it damn'd with faint praise, and, with impudent leer. 
 
 Affecting the gracious, taught others to sneer. 
 Gal. For the trait you mention, 
 
 That impudent air of condescension, 
 
 Which must have made our poet smile, 
 
 And reminded him of the plate where you see 
 
 Beside a mastiff a little cur sitting 
 
 On a footing of borrow'd equality, 
 
 With an air of consequence the while, 
 
 Which says as might words, if words were fitting, 
 
 " Don't mind that big fellow, but look at me. 
 
 I patronize him. To a certain degree 
 
 You may let him have your attention." 
 
 Heart. I remember the print ; the inscription redd, 
 
 " Impudence and Dignity." 
 
 Had the artist the Hound Robin in his head, 
 
 Feeling big, and trying to look full-bred, 
 
 With its little rump near Calvary ? 
 Gal. Well, so far as the trait you mention, 
 
 That funny assumption of condescension, 
 
 I am with you, but not in the good intention 
 
 You seem to assign that pretentious sheet. 
 
 Yet, in its preposterous conceit 
 
 It tells us serenely it holds him no poet ! 
 
 Then quotes and misquotes, and, in order to show it, 
 
 Makes none of its righteous selections complete, 
 
 For fear that its readers should scent out the cheat ! 
 Heart. You forget one act of liberal dealing. 
 
438 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 
 
 It has honor'd the Devil, who is great in oration, 
 With a good long piece of declamation, 
 Which, it says, is the nearest to demonstration 
 The author makes of poetic feeling. 
 
 • Gal. A piece of satirical reasoning ! blent 
 With the kind of brimstone sentiment 
 At vogue in the underground dominion ! 
 In rhyme too ! 
 
 Att. No doubt with a double intent, - 
 The style of the drama to misrepresent, 
 And offend the public opinion. 
 Had he been a true critic, he would have .known, 
 However lofty may be its tone, 
 Impassion'd, pathetic, pointed or strong, 
 To dialogue Nature has rarely lent 
 What is call'd poetical ornament. 
 The noblest masters of tragic song 
 Have shunn'd it as shuns our author, and he, 
 By this truth of art and consistency, 
 May reap honor late, but will keep it long. 
 
 Gal. So I said, when extolling, what fools decry'd, 
 Those two first comedies of his. 
 His adherence to nature will not be deny'd 
 By those who know what nature is. 
 But Heartandhead differs. 
 
 Heart. Not I indeed ; 
 Those aee main points in my critical creed. 
 But I think the Eound Robin err'd not of will, 
 But spoke to the best of his knowledge and skill, 
 
act HI. 439 
 
 With the grandly unconscious droll conceit 
 
 In letters of all such empirics ; 
 For we find him assign 
 
 The afflatus divine, 
 
 Which he could not feel breathe in a single line 
 
 Of our author's most polish'd drama, 
 
 Where think you ? ( it is to take by its bleat 
 
 A bob-tail sheep for a lama ) 
 
 To — oh the amazement ! and oh the fun ! 
 
 To travesty-singing Conington, 
 
 Who makes the lord of hexameter verse 
 
 His stately and deep-mouth'd epic rehearse 
 
 In Marmion's four-foot lyrics. 
 
 This shows that, though better in sense and breeding 
 
 Than Flunky Weathercock's scribbling-man, 
 
 Robin knows not what poetry is, and the plan 
 
 With its incongruity exceeding 
 
 Was nothing strange to the purblind possessor 
 
 Of respect for an Oxford Latin-professor. 
 Gal. All which is true. 
 
 But, beginning to quote what well he knew 
 
 Was both lofty in tone and ornate too, 
 
 Why did he stop ? Because intent 
 
 To keep from the light his false argument. 10 
 Heart. Yet he gave, spread out to the public view, 
 
 A foremost passage. 
 
 Gal. Ah ! did he so ? 
 
 Your own kind nature makes you slow 
 
 To detect, beside ignorance, malice. 
 
440 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 
 
 Quern- Deus-vult-perdere reckon'd o'er 
 The fourteen true verses, then stupidly chose 
 To invite their contrast with Knowles's four 
 Of vulgar, half-ry thmical, fustian prose ; 
 No doubt to our poet's amus'd delight. 
 For he took the pains both pieces to cite 
 In a note to his story of Alice. " 
 
 Heart. I fear you are right. 
 
 Att. Yet you, Heartandhead, in a just cause have done 
 More to baffle these fools than of us either one, 
 Although you have done it in vain. 
 G-alantuom wrote honestly, therefore well, 
 But he did but his duty in his vocation. 
 And on me a like obligation fell 
 In a different situation, 
 I fulfill' d it too ; but in part with pain ; 
 As could not but be, 
 Since I hold the theme of Calvary 
 Too awful for human brain. 
 But you, Heartandhead, who had given up long 
 The critic's function wherein you were strong, 
 As declare both Poe and Irving, 
 Without hope of renown took up agen 
 Your kindly and truthful and graceful pen, 
 To write back these false or misguided men 
 To the path from which they were swerving. 
 But the Nightly Pillar was deaf as a post. — 
 
 Heart. Or something worse, for it kept me tost 
 On hopes and doubts, afraid to say nay, 
 
ACT III. 441 
 
 Yet loath to assent, till, my patience lost, 
 
 And asham'd to be put off day by day, 
 
 I told him my mind, and in sheer disgust 
 
 Took the manuscript bugbear away. 
 
 It was worse however with Weathercock's olio ; 
 
 For Flunky is master ; the youth is not, 
 
 Who does small chars for the dames of Hotchpot 
 
 In the Nightly Pillar's folio. 
 
 Flunky stammer'd and shuffled, and talk'd of space; 
 
 Yet my piece, was brief, but in eulogy, 
 
 Which did not with his views agree, 
 
 Although I gave him to understand 
 
 The poet had never seen my face. 
 Gal. I think it might have alter'd the case, 
 
 Had you gone with cash in hand. 
 Heart. Not with Flunky. 
 
 Gal. I know not that : the men 
 
 Who daily damn souls, for simple gain, 
 
 By their lust-tales and calls to abortion, 
 
 Would scarce be affected by shame or with pain, 
 
 That a critical piece by a classical pen 
 
 Should pay in their sheets its proportion. 
 Att. Well ? He stammer'd and shuffled — revolving, no doubt, 
 
 How, an old acquaintance, he might get out 
 
 Of the mesh of your application. 
 
 'T is the Weathercock's weakness, as is known, 
 
 To vibrate, by opposite winds when blown, 
 
 On his pivot of gyration. 
 
 Heart. And to turn over patiently stone after stone, 
 19* 
 
442 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 
 
 To explain his tergiversation. 
 Gal. Why true ; but he 's quite outdone in that 
 
 By the greasy saint in the old white hat, 
 
 Who is like Val Jean in the Miserables, — 
 
 Who, liken'd to Christ in the strife for good, 18 
 
 Yet tries more tricks to get out of the wood 
 
 Than any beast in Fontaine's Fables. 
 Att. Well, — he shuffled and stammer'd and talk'd of space 
 Heart. To consider how best he might with grace 
 
 Kefuse. 
 
 Gal. Which must have made you smile 
 
 For a half-breed of the mongrel journals, 
 
 Us'd to the haste, 
 
 The scissors and paste, 
 
 Of his piebald minute-liv'd diurnals, 
 
 To choke at an essay of yours. 
 
 Heart. Meanwhile, 
 
 The poet got wind of my design, 
 
 Through a mutual friend, and thinking, 't may be, 
 
 Qui facit per alium facit per se, 
 
 Begg'd, that for his sake, as well as mine, 
 
 I would withdraw it definitively. 
 Gal. 'T was a false pride, I think. 
 
 Att. No, he who wrought 
 
 Virginia, and thinks what his Ernestin taught, 
 
 Could do no less, it appears to me. 
 Heart. But is it not strange, this hostility 
 
 In the hounds of the Press ? 
 
 Gal. 'T is a personal quarrel. 
 
act in. 443 
 
 Who wrote Rubeta and Arthur Carryl 
 
 Deserv'd no mercy, you must confess. 
 Head. Not had he libel' d by falsehood, as they. 
 Gal. " The greater the truth, the worse the libel." 
 
 To prove your foes false, yet in what you say 
 
 Be yourself the Bible, 
 
 Is to turn on their foulness the glare of day. 
 Att. But who ofthe.se asses first open'd the bray 
 Gal. The Ethnos 1 old lady, who spins a long yarn. 
 
 Then the Master of Asses himself, who, they say, 
 
 Buys all her old fodder to store in*his barn. 
 
 The result is so like, not alone in the strain 
 
 Of shameless untruth, but assumption vain, 
 
 They have had the same devil at work, 't is plain, 
 
 Whoever may be to pay. 
 Heart. Let us go to the Ethnos and find how it is. 
 
 Att. I 'm not known 
 
 Heart. But I am to the petticoat quiz. 
 
 'T is worth the essay. 
 
 Come, Gral'ant. 
 
 Gal. Not now. As 1 told you, yon street, 
 
 Where the Civis is, calls me away. 
 
 But, in less than an hour, I will both of you meet 
 
 At Anicula's. 
 
 Heart. Well then. 
 
 Gal. Good day. 
 
444 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 
 
 J 
 
 Act the Fourth 
 
 Scene. As iii Act III. 
 
 Sus. Saltpeter. Brimstone. Charcoal. 
 
 Salt. These are my friends. Let me make you known. 
 
 Gentlemen, this is the great A.M. 
 
 Sus. AndLL.D. 
 
 Salt. And LL.D., 
 
 Who by natural right of his double degree, 
 
 And that alone 
 
 Sus. No, my Quarterly. 
 
 Salt. And his quarterly sheet of motley knowledge, 
 
 To learning and letters makes more pretence 
 
 With an infinitesimal close of sense, 
 
 Than was ever yet made, or will be hence, 
 
 Out of a Freshman's class at college. 
 
 Doctor Sus Minervam. 
 
 Sus. Gentlemen both, 
 
 I am not at all proud, being us'd to praise, — 
 
 So am happy to make your acquaintance. Though loath, 
 
 Permit me first a question to raise. 
 
 What are your names ? Mr. Salt forgot, 
 
 Too full of me, and my titles God wot, 
 
 To name the characters in his plot. 
 
ACT IV. 445 
 
 Salt. This gentleman then, with the fiery nose, 
 
 Is Mr. Brimstone, dull quiet stuff, 
 
 If he only would keep cool enough ; 
 
 But he is very apt to get blue. 
 
 The other in the iron- gray clothes, 
 
 And with so swart a hue, 
 
 Is a light and spongy fellow, like you, 
 
 Yet with a fibre you can't see through, 
 
 Though neither solid nor tough. 
 
 His name is Charcoal. 
 
 Sus. And yours Saltpeter ! 
 
 With such a three, 
 
 It appears to me, 
 
 Unless you 're a most outrageous cheater, 
 
 It hardly is safe to keep company. 
 Salt. That might be in another place. 
 
 But here, unless you carry fire, 
 
 You 're as safe as you would be in the mire 
 
 Of your own journal's dirtiest place. 
 Sus. That is safe enough ; for I scarcely can keep, 
 
 When I bogtrot there, my brains from sleep, 
 
 And I get stuck fast, with big words and grammar, 
 
 As often as waddling Anicula ( d — n her! ) 
 Salt. And now to business. But first, a word. 
 
 Have you faith, Dr. Sus, 
 
 That the spirit-world ever comes to us, — 
 
 I mean to the men of this earth, — as averr'd ? 
 Sus. By whom ? 
 
 Salt. By hysterical girls who are able 
 
446 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 
 
 To talk with, ghosts through the planks of a ta.ble 
 
 And see through the mop of their chignons. 
 
 Sus. Absurd 
 Salt. You don't believe then ? 
 
 Sus. A question for me ! 
 
 You forget I am a double L. D. 
 
 I believe, Mr. Salt, in all that I see. 
 
 All the rest, 
 
 That will not admit of this ocular test, 
 
 Mental or real, is — fiddlededee. 
 Salt. Some years now gone, 
 
 Your great fool of a credulous town 
 
 Grot raving Irish-mad with joy, 
 
 Because John Bull with your townsman's aid, 
 
 For his people's sake and not your own, 
 
 Beneath the ocean a means had laid 
 
 To make by a flash his two shores as one 
 
 And some day work to your annoy. 
 
 Do you doubt the flash ? Well, you see it not. 
 Sus. But I know its result. 
 
 Salt. And as much might be said 
 
 Of the visit of ghosts to this spot. 
 
 But my friends will do more. 
 
 You shall not only hear as the media do 
 
 The ghosts of the dead, but shall see them too, 
 
 As Saul did priest Samuel's of yore. 
 Sus. Do you deal with the Devil ? 
 
 Salt. No; don't you see 
 
 liow vers'd I am in Scripture lore ? 
 
act rv. 447 
 
 It is the Devil who deals with me. 
 Sits. Don't take me for one you can play your tricks on, 
 
 Like Ferdinand Mendez Pinto Dixon, 
 
 Who found the female American nation 
 
 On a single married lady's confession, 
 
 Committing puerperal repression 19 
 
 By philosophical calculation, 
 
 And because his apples were munch'd by one, 
 
 Who found them more succulent than her own, 
 
 Wish'd, for them all, that he might imbue 'em 
 
 With the moral meaning of meum and tuum. 
 Salt. I see you can tell the truth sometimes. 
 Sus. When it does n't jar with my vocation, 
 
 And thereby diminish the dollars and dimes. 
 
 But what is that to our present relation ? 
 
 You would have me believe I can see without eyes. 
 Suit. Let not that surprise. 
 
 How do you know that you see at all ? 
 
 How many are with me here ? 
 
 Sus. Why, two. 
 
 No, Mr. Brim has slipp'd from view. 
 Brim. Bah ! I am here all the while, nor so small 
 
 But that you might see. if you really saw. 
 Sus. Then you stepp'd behind your fellow. 
 
 Brim. Nor that 
 
 Not the toe of my boots nor the crown of my hat, 
 
 The hairs on my chin, nor the tips of my paw. 
 Sus. Then you are the Devil. 
 
 Brim. I never bore 
 
448 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 
 
 My sw allow- tailM pennant yet so high 
 
 As the great three-decker who was of yore 
 
 The Lord High Admiral of the sky. 
 
 I may be though a devil for aught you know. 
 
 But that is nothing to you, I trow, 
 
 So that we pay the debt we owe 
 
 And make you see what you doubted before. 
 Sus. And keep your promise ? 
 
 Bait. What else ? Your head 
 
 Shall be a more than nine days' wonder, 
 
 And men who pay no regard to thunder 
 
 Shall do it reverence instead. 
 , Sus. Before I die ? 
 
 Salt. And after too. 
 
 No man, as I said, 
 
 Nor of the living nor of the dead, 
 
 Shall prick up his ears as high as you. 
 Sus. But say, Mr. Salt, when shall this be ? 
 
 Say where ? where ? that I shall see 
 
 That new-fangled tail to my double degree 
 
 Which shall lift me up 
 
 Salt. Asinauricularly 
 
 Sus. Witl^ my ears prick'd up 
 
 Like a terrier-pup 
 
 Salt. But longer 
 
 Sus. In perpetuity. 
 Salt. Ay, when the Griswolds and Duyckincks are rotten, 
 
 And all you have squirted yourself is forgotten, 
 
 Save one divine article 
 
act rv. 449 
 
 Of which not a particle 
 
 Shall be lost to the last of the Yankees begotten, 20 
 
 Your name and your ears 
 
 Shall escape the old shears 
 
 Which, with rhymsters, is set to the thread of man's years, 
 
 And your skull shall as now be begetter of jeers 
 
 When its insides are out like a herring's that 's shotten. 
 Sus. delight ! the joy ! dearest of dears, 
 
 Salty, say when is this prospect to be ? 
 Salt. When it suits you to talk less and trot after me. 
 Sus. And where ? Say where I 
 Salt. On the other side of Slanghouse-Square ; 
 
 Where Anicula's lasses 
 
 Soft-soap the asses, 
 
 And do for the masses 
 
 Other journalistic drudgery. 
 Sus. But we shall be seen. 
 Salt. What matters ? She was our go-between. 
 
 Would you have your glory unnoted, unknown ? 
 Sus. Set on ! 
 
 With all your combustible matter in one. 
 
 Though all three were ramm'd, 
 
 Brimstone, Saltpeter and Charcoal, together — 
 
 It don't suit the jaws 
 
 Of a Doctor of Laws 
 
 To swear — but I 'm d — d 
 
 If I 'd mind your blow-up more than that of a feather. 
 
 Set on ! set on ! 
 
 With you, gunpowder three, 
 
450 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 
 
 Or with you alone, 
 
 Mr. Salt, I '11 see, 
 
 This night, this fun. 
 
 Be it ghost or devil, 
 
 Or both or one, 
 
 To-night I '11 revel 
 
 In the feast of my fame, 
 
 Or may my short name 
 
 Still shorter be 
 
 Of its single A.M. and its double L.D., 
 
 On the front backside of my Quarterly. 
 
 Charge, Brimstone, charge! on, Charcoal, on 
 
 To the Devil, or victory ! 
 
 Kicks over an astonished bootblack, 
 and Exit in a fit of enthusiasm, 
 followed by the three with various gestures of 
 admiration. 
 
act rv. 451 
 
 Act the Fifth 
 
 Scene. AniculcCs Sanctum, as in Act II. 
 
 Saltpeter. Charcoal. Brimstone. 
 
 Brim. "What keeps the fool ? 
 
 Salt. Our LL.D. ? 
 
 Brim. The Lord of the Ethnical Quarterly. 
 
 Salt. In his haste to reach the rendezvous, 
 The goose fell foul of an apple-wench, 
 Upset her pippins, herself and bench, 
 And got for himself in the kennel a drench 
 Of the savory stew 
 The Hotchpotian Irish corporation 
 Keep mix'd for the people's delectation, 
 But which to the nostrils of me and you, 
 Who are us'd to the ashes and sulphurous smell 
 That thicken the air round the craters of Hell 
 Where the fires burn blue, 
 Is a damnable abomination. 
 So, holding my nose, I left him there, 
 Lock'd in the claws of the dirt-mobled fair, 
 Both kicking and swearing, 
 And each other's clothes tearing, 
 Two human beasts in a worse than beast's lair. 
 
452 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 
 
 Brim. I suppose we shall have to await his cleaning ? 
 Salt. By Lucifer ! yes, he will need repair 
 
 After his pomologic careening. 
 
 He is well pay'd already with kitchen-pitch, 
 
 Both body and breech, 
 
 And will get of calking more than he lists 
 ■ From the iron fingers and mallet fists 
 
 Of the shipwright he dubb'd an Hibernian bitch. 
 Brim. When he rights on his keel and floats in here, 
 
 We will rig him with standing and running gear 
 
 In such a wise 
 
 Char. His bowsprit at least, 
 
 With its figurehead beast 
 
 Brim.. As will make old seamen blast the'.r eyes. 
 Salt. We shall give him his desert, in sooth. 
 
 And here a contradiction lies : 
 
 We have punish'd the bard for telling truth, 
 
 The true in art, and in morals true, 
 
 And now we shall make the critic rue 
 
 His false instruction and peddling lies. 
 Brim. But lo, where he comes ! 
 
 Enter Sus. 
 
 Salt. What has kept you so long? 
 Sus. The hussy was strong. 
 Before I cut loose 
 From her kedge in the gutter 
 The bloody Philistin, 
 
ACT V. 453 
 
 With her great raw-meat fist in 
 
 My joles, while I utter, 
 
 In distraction, a volley of tragic abuse, — 
 
 And that not in Latin, 
 
 Though the slang came quite pat in, 
 
 From my quarterly use, — 
 
 The uncircumcis'd jade 
 
 Salt Uncircumcis'd? 
 
 r 
 
 Sus. Ay. Don't balk my narration. 
 
 — Demands to be paid — 
 
 Judge my rage, consternation ! 
 
 For her codlings that swim — not in buttery juice 
 
 Was /not too coddled? and in the same stuff? 
 
 'T was a shame ! 't was a fraud ! But afraid of the trollop, 
 
 Who continu'd to wollop 
 
 About me and made the mob jolly enough, 
 
 I agreed, when half-deafen'd, and after ado, 
 
 To take for five nickels the nastiest two, 
 
 Then skedaddled, ai got wash'd, and came limping to you. 
 Salt. 'T was a Ked-sea escape. You 're a Sampson, 't is plain. 
 Brim. With an ass's jawbone. 
 
 Sus. Do not talk in that strain : 
 
 I 've no wish to be vain : 
 
 One Philistine like her, though, might count for a twain. 
 
 But you, Mr. Salt, are a nice friend in need I 
 Salt Why, what could I do ? 
 
 There were just of you two. 
 
 I thought you well pitted ; 
 
 And as you were fitted — 
 
454 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 
 
 Sus. You left me to bleed! 
 
 Humph ! Let us proceed. 
 Salt. We are ready. Behold ! 
 
 The blinds are down-roll'd. 
 Sus. And the candle burns blue. 
 
 The devil ! 
 
 Salt. Not yet. 
 
 He '11 not tread the scene till you get in his debt, 
 
 Though the flame has his hue. 
 Sus. Do turn on the gas, Mr. Salty, please do. 
 Salt. Doctor dear, do not fret. 
 
 When our drama is through, 
 
 And your glory completed, then light up the jet. 
 
 In this dimness the ghosts will come better in view. 
 Sus. Grhosts ! Oh, dear me 1 where 's Anicula then ? 
 Brim. She has crawl'd back into her inner den 
 
 To get her girls prudently out of the way. 
 
 The dame fain would stay, 
 
 Being jealous, and anxious to share in your glory, 
 
 And go down like you with great ears in men's story ; 
 
 But we knew your ambition, and taught her she bare 
 
 Length enough in her own without clipping your pair. 
 
 But she soon will be back, I will venture to say 7 
 
 From her eagerness in the affair. 
 Sus. Out on the jade ! Such conduct sickens, 
 
 As much as the money-greed of Dickens 
 
 Who having, after his cockney mood, 
 
 Abus'd us by all the lies he could, 
 
 Is coming here for our Yankee pelf. 
 
ACT V. 455 
 
 To make a greater ass of himself, 
 
 While we, like spaniels well broke-in, 
 
 Forget his thumps and vulgar curses, 
 
 And opening, like our hearts, our purses, 
 
 Beg him to help himself to our tin, 
 
 Then turn up our rumps 
 
 For more of his thumps, 
 
 And lick his toes till the kicks begin. 
 Salt Eh, Legum Doctor ! say you so ? 
 
 That is truth again. Why, you advance ! 
 
 He has not engag'd you, I see, to enhance 
 
 His low grimaces ? 
 
 Sus. Who, Dickens ? No. 
 
 The daily press are made fat instead, 
 
 As they always are when such feasts are spread. 
 
 We of the quarterlies sit too far 
 
 From the end of the board where the Flunkies are, 
 
 To come in for a share of the broken bread. 
 
 But let us begin. 
 Salt Ere the dame comes in ? 
 
 With all my heart. 
 
 Brimstone disappears, and arises an Apparition. 
 
 What see you there? 
 
 Sus. With the large sad eyes and the youthful hair ? 
 His cheeks are pale and gaunt. But what 
 Means here and there that discolor'd spot? 
 
 Salt 'T is the livid mark of the poison he took ; 
 
456 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 
 
 The sole post-obit in his look. 
 Sus. 0, I understand ; and I know him wholly. 
 
 No wonder he looks so rantipolly. 
 
 'T is the ghost, by Jove, of Thomas Rowley I 
 Salt. But hist, till he speaks. -If he leave in disdain, 
 
 My friends may not waken him up again. 
 Appar. Great Master of Asses and LL.D., 
 
 What had I done that you libel' d me ? 
 Sus. 'T is Brimstone's voice. But the ghost is well-bred. 
 
 I see they have manners among the dead. 
 
 Libel' d ! I wrote in a laud-sounding strain. 
 
 There is no " Shakspearian scholar " more hot 
 
 In the love of his idol's most whimsical blunder, 
 
 Or who takes his worst gong-beat for genuine thunder, 
 
 Than I when resounding your praises, God wot. 
 Appar. 'T is of that I complain. 
 
 Gapes there ever a fool 
 
 Who is fresh from the rhetoric benches at school, 
 
 But knows what sort of stuff you quote, — 
 
 Although it was not all stuff I wrote ? 
 
 Is that the drama ? And such its style ? 
 
 You have taught your readers to stare, or smile. 
 
 That is not nature as now I know it, 
 
 And praising my verses you damn'd the poet. 
 
 Ghost vanishes, and reappears Brimstone. 
 
 Sus. You are here again ! Do you juggle so ? 
 
 Brim. I but saw him down ; which was right you know, 
 
ACT V. 45*7 
 
 Since I tickled him up from his snooze below. 
 Sus. Oh ho! 
 Salt. Close up, old pup ; 
 
 Another poet is sailing up. 
 
 Exit Charcoal, and Apparition rises. 
 
 Sus. His brick-red curls are sprinkled with snow. 
 
 His light eyes beam 
 
 With self-conceit, and a pleasant gleam 
 
 That is not the flash of the tragic storm. 
 
 And yet I would swear that lofty form, 
 
 With its lively face and expanded brow, 
 
 Is one I know, or ought to know. 
 Appar. Me, thou impertinent ! know me, thou ! 
 
 Thou mayst have sense in thy degree 
 
 Sus. In my double degree. 
 
 Appar. Peace, vain fool ! 
 
 Who thought of thy honors from college or school ? 
 
 Despite thy A.M. 
 
 Sus. And my double L. D. 
 Appar. Thou mayst have line enough to gage 
 
 The shoal still pool, where no tempests rage, 
 
 Of the Spanish Student, or measure Queechy, 
 
 Not the depths of Filippo or Polini'ce. 
 Sus. That terrible voice is Charcoal's own, 
 
 Though ten times louder, and haughty in tone. 
 
 I know him now, with his scalp so hairy 
 
 And whiskerless jaws. It is Count Alfieri. 
 Vol. IV.— 20 
 
458 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 
 
 Appar. Count unto thee, whose envious hate 
 Reproach' d me with pride in that titled lot 
 Which by right of birth so natural sate 
 On my father's name that I felt it not ; 
 But to the world my works still bore 
 Victor Alfieri, and nothing more : 
 A pride by you not understood, 
 Who have stuck the letters of both your degrees, 
 Cheap and unearn'd although they were 
 
 Sus. To that I demur ; 
 
 I paid for them twenty 
 
 Appar. Silence, cur ! — 
 Have thrust each cheap, unearn'd degree, 
 That men your sole claims to knowledge might see, 
 On every side, wherever you could 
 
 Sus. No, Signor Conte, if you please, 
 
 On the bare backside of my Quarterly, 
 
 And with some of the Press, in notice or puff, 
 
 Whom I patronize for a quantum stiff. 
 
 We do all things here tor cash you know, — 
 
 Though you go on tick, I suppose, below. 
 
 Appar. Silence, once more ! — That thou hast try'd, 
 Thou to whom honor nor truth is known, 
 To asperse my fame, who liv'd and dy'd 
 Slave unto Truth, and Truth alone, 
 This I forgive, though thou shalt atone 
 To that public judgment thou hast defy'd. 
 
 Sus. Have mercy, good ghost, nor deprive me of bread : 
 In my next I will take back all I have said, — 
 
ACT V. 459 
 
 On the word of a critic, and as sure as you 're dead ! 
 Appar. Hound ! dar'st thou deem I am like thy tribe, 
 
 To cant or recant as men pay or bribe ? 
 
 Thy aspersions are praise, and another pen 
 
 Shall make of them mirth for the gizzards of men. 
 
 But what I can neither forgive nor forget, 
 
 Until in the regions above I am set 
 
 Where men o'er their wrongs are not suffer'd to fret 
 Sus. And no Minor critics condemn in a pet. 
 
 Appar. A pest on thy pestilent tongue ! — What is worse, 
 I say, than thy praise, thou hast made me rehearse 
 As I never yet spoke, nor in prose nor in verse. 
 Unasham'd thou hast ventur'd to strip off the buskin 
 From the feet of my toga'd and chlamydate Tuscan, 
 And clap on the socks of thy English instead, 
 Slipshod, and soft as the pap of thy head. 
 Better in tinsel, cross-garter'd, to tread 
 With the stage-strut of Emerson, Carlyle and Ruskin. 
 
 Sus. Peccavi ! sed non mea culpa ; not mine 
 
 The soft worsted ; I bought it at sixpence a line. 
 The all that I did was to lend it some picking : 
 I adopted the cub ; but I gave him a licking. 
 
 Appar. Didst thou so ? Now I 'm minded to give thee a 
 kicking. 
 But the weakness or want of the flesh has come o'er me, 
 And Brimstone and Charcoal must do the job for me. 
 
 Apparition vanishes, and reappears Charcoal. 
 
 Sus. He has vamos'd the ranch.™ And there 's Charcoal again I 
 
460 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 
 
 This is all hocuspocus, or masking ; that 's plain. 
 Char. Not a whit. Do you think a sixfooter like him 
 
 Could step from his niche in the Shades, nor be miss'd? 
 Sus. Why, the chance were but slim. 
 Char. — So I took up his place in Probational Hell, 
 
 And escap'd all detection by means of its mist. 
 
 As for masking, how could a paste-board imitation 
 
 Be proof to the lens of your us'd penetration ? 
 Sus. Very right, Mr. Coal. Tain to hope it. As well 
 
 Look for judgment in Greeley, or truth in the Nation, 
 
 Bid Raymond stand still for a minute, or Sedley 
 
 Tell more than he hides in his fortnightly medley. 
 Salt What are those ? Of the four, are unknown to me three. 
 Sus. One a coverless journal ; the others are asses, 
 
 That mix, though unlike, as do milk and molasses, 
 
 And wake pity and mirth when they bray to the masses, 
 
 Like the Ethnos or me. 
 Salt. My friends now, great Doctor, have shown you their 
 power : 
 
 I have kept half my word ; you know how ghosts look. 
 
 Will it do ? Shall they summon up more ? But the hour 
 
 Is late, and the dame will be leaving her nook. 
 Sus. No, give me the rest of your promise ; I long 
 
 To wear my grand ears and be famous in song. 
 Salt. It is well : but not yet. You have shown yourself bravo. 
 
 You are leag'd hand and glove with the servants of 
 Hell — 
 Sus. Not with you ? [in alarm. 
 
 Salt. Never mind. — And chop logic as well 
 
ACT V. 461 
 
 With the pupae whose sordid cocoon is the grave. 
 
 By these two acts alone, 
 
 Already you wear them. 
 
 But forever to bear them 
 
 And by them be known, 
 
 You must prove by your gifts they are truly your own. 
 Sus. By my gifts ? How you prate ! Am I not LL.D., 
 
 And was A.M. before ? 
 
 Then give them to me. 
 
 By the Powers ye adore, 
 
 By the shame I defy 
 
 Were it doubled twice o'er, 
 
 Saltpeter, I cry, 
 
 Let me feel, ere I die, 
 
 My long ears stand up somewhat nearer the sky ! 
 Salt. Can you go through the proofs that shall make these gifts 
 
 known ? 
 Sus. Through them all ! Only try. 
 Salt. hero ! 
 
 Sus. Be quick ! 
 
 Salt. On thy four paws go down. 
 
 And give him the halter. What! up? So soon scard? 
 Sus. I would hang for the ears ; but my neck must be spar'd. 
 
 Neck or nothing. 
 
 Salt. With us, it is nothing indeed. 
 
 To know you have patience, can keep your own way 
 
 Spite of coaxing or curses — 
 
 Save when flatter'd your greed 
 
 Is by dreams of full purses — 
 
462 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 
 
 Nor, shamefac'd, will heed 
 
 The worst men may say, 
 
 This is all that we need. 
 Sus. That exception observ'd, which is wise nowadays 
 
 When a patron is valu'd for what he disburses, 
 
 The rest is as light as to spawn tadpole verses 
 
 Such as Round-Robins praise, 
 
 While Fledgling, who knows not which most to admire, 
 
 A jewsharp, or bagpipe, or iEolus' lyre, 
 
 But dotes on Walt Whitman's batrachian fire, 23 
 
 Shall, in love with their long tails, the porwiggles feed 
 
 As full-breech' d green frogs of the Horse-fountain breed. 
 Salt. What! what! truth again? If you sing in this strain, 
 
 Your ears will be stretch' d to the ass point in vain. 
 Sus. Never fear : I but stumble thus trotting alone, 
 
 Or with friends ; in my journal I rein- in my roan, 
 
 And decide by my belly and not by my brains. 
 Salt. True metal ! But quick ; on your quarters once more. 
 
 How the halter becomes him ! Now clap on the pack. 
 
 While Charcoal sits woman-wise perch'd on his back, 
 
 You, Brim, jerk his tail, while I drag him before. 
 Sus. But don't jerk so hard, or my tail will be torn. 
 
 'T is my best workday-coat and is only half-worn. 
 
 And don't kick so much. Ow ! ow ! 
 
 Salt. If you cry, 
 
 You '11 have more than the dame bouncing in to know why. 
 Sus. my ! my ! 
 
 my seat of honor ! 
 
 Pray, don't spank so hard ! The dame — curse upon her ! 
 
ACT V. 463 
 
 Let me up ! let me up ! The dame — d — n the wench ! 
 She sha' n't see me stretch'd like a washermaid's bench. 
 Salt. Do you pull up so soon ? 
 
 Sus. Up ? 'T is you beat me down. 
 My rump 's not an ass's, whatever my crown. 
 Salt. But the ears ? 
 
 Sus. Let them go. Ow ! I 'm beat black and blue. 
 I can't carry Charcoal and bear your kicks too. 
 Salt. Let him rise. It will do. 
 Sus. Do ? my back 's almost broken. 
 Salt. You have prov'd it of steel. 
 And this is the token : 
 You have kept your own way 
 
 Like a genuine ass, — though with rather more bray. 
 Sus. But, for all that, I feel. 
 Now give me the ears. 
 
 Salt. Not as yet. You have shown, 
 It is true, soul and carcass, an ass's backbone. 
 You must now make it known 
 You can swing to the popular breath of the nation, 
 And to private dictation — 
 Sus. For a gratification — 
 Salt. To and fro with a prompt oscillation, 
 
 Or round with a gallowsbird's circumgyration, 
 Whatever the compass-point whence it is blown. 
 Sus. Pshaw ! I do that with ease ! Not Weathercock Flunky, 
 
 Though daily, more duly, nor his Topical monkey. 
 Salt Let us see ! Hang him up by his weasand. 
 
 Sus. [in alarm.] What 's that! 
 
464 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 
 
 I will not box the compass — save on paper, — that 's flat ! 
 Salt. But you must, or no ears. Fix the hook. Trice him up. 
 By the coat-collar only, you ninny. 
 
 Sus. You '11 tear it. 
 Salt. But the glory, the ears! Will you lose them, to spare it? 
 Sus. me ! I shall dangle just like a blind pup. 
 Salt. Or a sheep in the shambles. 
 
 Sus. But whence come these things ; 
 The hoop, and the ring in the ceiling, and block, 
 With the rope that thence swings ? 
 Salt. They are brought by the phantoms on tables that knock. 
 Sus. Pheew ! 
 
 Salt. What, doubting? 'T is harder to hurl fiddles 
 round 
 On the sconces of gazers and make guitars sound 
 B}' invisible thumbs, as your Davenports do. 
 Sus. That is true. 
 Salt. As the ghosts of the verse-men we summon'd to view. 
 
 There. Up with him ! oo ! 
 Sus. Oh, oh ! let me down ! Let me down, or I '11 cry ! 
 My brains are aswound. 
 My heels kiss the ceiling 
 And my skull treads the ground. 
 I don't know which is which while my brainpan keeps 
 
 reeling 
 And my navel goes round. 
 
 They unhook him. 
 Salt. So. You have learn'd vacillation. 
 Sus. I knew it of yore, 
 
ACT v. 465 
 
 While yon slabber'd your mother, or even I trow 
 
 Were coil'd up a foetus in utero, 
 
 To your daddy's delectation. 
 Salt You practic'd then shifting, some ages or more 
 
 Ere the Spirit that brooding sat over the deep 
 
 Put the breathing red clay in his consciousless sleep, 
 
 To produce an equivocal first generation. 
 Sus. Oh horror ! I 'm hous'd with the Father of Sin, 
 
 Or one of his kin. 
 
 *- 
 Salt. With neither. But what if you were, so you win ? 
 
 Set your heart on the ears, 
 
 And your feet on these fears ; 
 
 Your fame shall grow younger while olden the years. 
 
 Sus. Enough. Shall I more ? Through the Devil and Hell 
 
 I would stride to my glory. Push onward. 
 
 Salt. 'T is well. 
 You must next learn false candor. 
 
 Sus. I avow that in that 
 
 Round Robin 's my master. 
 
 Salt He needs not to be. 
 
 You have only to hide what is lofty as he, 
 
 And vaunt to the skies the ignoble or flat. 
 Sua. I do ! I do ! 
 
 Witness your ghosts if I do not speak true* 
 Salt. But to make that appear, 
 
 You must perch on your head with your claws in the air. 
 Sus. spare ! spare ! 
 
 Set me down, set me down ! 
 
 All the blood leaves my seat to descend to my crown. 
 20* 
 
466 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 
 
 Set me down, or I 'm dead : 
 
 My brain is afire, my eyes flame ; I 'm sped ! 
 
 my soul ! 
 Salt, [lighting Mm. 
 
 You are all over red. 
 'T is the dawn of your triumph. 
 Sus. No, the set of my pole. 
 
 1 hope this is all. 
 
 Salt. Not enough for your fame. 
 
 The next thing to learn is the goodbye to shame. 
 
 Sus. I have bid it already. Attest that, my Quarterly. 
 
 Not inside alone, but without, as you ought to see, 
 
 It is printed in full. 
 
 Salt Where your name is. We know it. 
 
 But off with your breeches, and caper to show it. 
 
 Sus. There. 
 
 Brim, let them down tenderly, else they will tear. 
 
 Ye gods, I am bare ! 
 
 » 
 Salt. Let us chant. 
 
 Sus. Well, begin. 
 
 Salt. Now, Doctor, keep time. 
 
 Sus. And, in time, if the air 
 
 Suit my taste, I '11 chime in. 
 
 Salt. In puris naturalibus, 
 
 The Doctor's dainty legs discuss 
 The lines of beauty, capering thus, 
 As ifhe'dpass'd at Willis'. 24 
 
act v. 467 
 
 Sus. The air however 's rather cool. 
 I think you make me play the fool, 
 Too plump for nature's dancingschool, 
 With short tendo Achillis. 
 
 m 
 
 Brim. G-ive him a kick, to spin him round ; 
 Char. Another, for the pair that 's found 
 
 Of cushions waiting their rebound. 
 Salt. But spring a little higher. 
 
 Sus. I would the world could see my shame, 
 Who caper thus for future fame — 
 
 Salt. As David, when he 'd won the game 
 Of Jack-stones with G-oliah. 
 
 Sus. Yet stop ! though dancing does ,agree 
 With naked tibial dignity, 
 It hardly suits my Quarterly, 
 Although it saves my breeches. 
 
 Besides, my breath is growing short. 
 Salt And, Doctor, you have made good sport, 
 A Sampson in Philistine court, 
 As Judges XV. teaches. 
 
 Sus. How well you know the sacred text 
 Salt. It is my forte ; and Henry Beecher 
 Himself might be perhaps perplex'd, 
 
 
468 THE SCHOOL FOR CJMTICS 
 
 Although a most accomplish' d preacher, 
 
 To follow where my memory reaches, 
 
 And think perhaps that Satan preaches. 
 Sus. He often does, rude laics say. 
 
 I have known myself a broker pray, 
 
 And cheat his client the same day 
 
 And bring him to the verge of starving, 
 
 Say grace to his thanksgiving-dinner, 
 
 ( His creditor had none, mean sinner ! ) 
 
 Then smile, as doubtless should the winner, 
 
 The while a sumptuous sirloin carving. 
 
 But have I done ? 
 
 Salt. We pause, you see. 
 Char. First, accept these two love spanks, 
 
 Given, if with emotion rough, 
 
 One on each cheek, yet tenderly. 
 Sus. One for both were caress enough. 
 
 Yet for the gift I render thanks. 
 jOhar. And ought, for your hide is beastly tough. 
 Sus. 'T is sitting so long at my task ev'ry quarter. 
 
 'T would harden the beef of an alderman's daughter. 
 Char. Or of Brimstone, or me. 
 Sus. I have danc'd and sung, and I feel ecstatic 
 
 From fundament to Mansard attic. 
 
 I would there were no more to do, 
 
 Than shake a leg with Salt and you. 
 
 But help me now my drawers indue : 
 
 Their want gives over much to view, 
 
 And makes me seem erratic. 
 
act v. 469 
 
 I only wish the dullard crew, 
 
 Who make pretensions to review 
 
 The poets they can scarcely read, 
 
 Would dance like me in cuerpo once 
 
 'T would fire the liver of each dunce, 
 
 And, acting on his brain-pulp, serve 
 
 To make him guess at tragic verve. 
 
 Please hold my drawers awhile, while now 
 
 I wipe the dew drops from my brow 
 
 Of wholesome, perspiration. 
 
 I do not like to swear, yet vow, 
 
 With shirt and jacket on and coat, 
 
 Cravatted too, but sans culotte, 
 
 I 'm like the bird that talks by rote 
 
 Bi-monthly in the Nation. 
 
 Come, give the calicos. 
 
 Salt. Not yet. 
 
 As 't is convenient, let us set 
 
 His titles on his naked parts, 
 
 Laws' Doctor and great man of Arts. 
 Sus. M. stands for Master, not Man, Mister. 
 Char. So brand it Artium Magister. 
 
 Bring the iron that sears. 
 Sus. No, no ! by my tears ! 
 
 Make me not a freemason — at least not for life ! 
 
 If the brand should be seen ! Have regard for my 
 
 wife. 
 Salt. He has suffer' d enough, * 
 
 And has prov'd the right stuff. 
 
4V0 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 
 
 « 
 
 Let us give him the ears. 
 8u8. Ojoy! 
 
 Salt. Hold your tongue : it is greatly too long. 
 Sus. And a long tongue licks up vexation. 
 
 You forget my degrees and might have spar'd me the wrong 
 
 Of that vocative mortification. 
 Salt Well, hush then, great Doctor, and listen the song, — 
 
 While you, Brimstone and Charcoal, 
 
 Stop with spittle each earhole, 
 
 And rub up, nor mind the pain 
 
 Sus. Yes, yes ; for mine the pain. 
 
 Salt. — The rims, till they shine again, — 
 
 Thte song of our Incantation. 
 
 But first, though you have prov'd a wonder 
 
 In bestial worth, and may defy 
 
 Compare, yet this is to supply : 
 
 You must tread conscience wholly under, 
 
 Boldly dash and never blunder, 
 
 Ere your ears will reach the sky. 
 Sus. Then crown the work, nor more deny 
 
 My honors ; nought is to be fear'd ; 
 
 My conscience is already Sear'd. 
 
 Save Deadhead sole and Flunky's Fledgling, 
 
 I know not any moral ridgling 
 
 Can sense and decency defy, 
 
 Suppress the truth, or boldly lie, 
 
 With such indifference as I. 
 Salt. Well then, attend ; and while Coaly and Brim 
 
 Bespittle your holes and chafe each ear-rim, 
 
ACT v. . 471 
 
 Make no outcry. 
 
 INCANTATION. 
 
 By the spirits in darkness dwelling, 
 Styebak'd, half-naked, and wholly obscene ; 
 By the thick oils from underground welling, 
 Making naptha and kerosene ; — 
 
 Sus. What a queer charm ! 
 
 Salt. If you 'd not come to harm, 
 
 You will take good care not to cross my spelling. 
 
 By the sheet-lightning, that dazzles, not kills, 
 Image of force that is only in seeming; 
 By the miasms from stagnant pools steaming, 
 Filling men's vitals with fever and chills ; 
 
 By the town-council in mud that reposes, 
 Shellfish that neither are oyster nor clam, 
 By their vile gutters that reek not of rcses, 
 Making the taxpayers frown, spit and damn ; 
 
 Sus. And press hard their noses. 
 
 Salt. Will you hold ? 
 
 Sus. Having roll'd 
 
 But just now in that clover, 
 
 1 have study'd its botany over and over, 
 
 And thought I might add, as a note, 'T is no sham. 
 
 But be quick ; for my auricles are glowing ; 
 
472 .THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 
 
 And my digits can't find out at all that they 're growing. 
 Salt. Patience and list. When the charm is all sung. 
 
 Your ears will have almost the stretch of your tongue. 
 
 By all that is vile, or in nothingness ending, 
 
 Borrow'd and full of pretension vain, 
 
 Come with your tails up, straight, corkscrew'd, and 
 
 bending, 
 Creatures that symbol his heart and his brain : 
 
 Monkey and magotpie, paddock and frog, 
 And spitting she-kitten and snarling cur-dog, 
 Reremouse, and nyctalopic owl, 
 Crocodile grim, and hyena fowl, — 
 His arts' eido'la and types of his mind, 
 Surround him, caress him; he is of your kind. 
 
 Sus. me ! me ! I wish I was blind. 
 
 The owl 's on my head. 
 
 And the monkey You imp, take your paws off! 
 
 Let go ; 
 
 Or you '11 strangle me. Oh ! 
 
 And that beast from the Nile, 
 
 With his amplify'd smile, 
 
 His yard-long mouth — scissors and chopper and file, 
 
 Keep him back, or I 'm dead. 
 Salt. Ofi! Ofi! 
 
 A Doctor, and cry ? 
 
ACT V. 473 
 
 These spirits, though evil, 
 
 Will give health to your navel, 
 
 Not make you to die. 
 
 They will teach you to mimic, — to prate without mean- 
 ing, — 
 
 To stare without seeing, — to puff without pride, — 
 
 To feign frozen chastity, 
 
 While in hot nastity 
 
 Seeking by harsh words lust-itching to hide, — 
 
 To growl o'er the stript bones you 're savagely cleaning, — 
 
 To tear from their graves and disfigure the dead, — 
 
 To be daz'd with the twilight, 
 
 Half mouse and half sparrow, 
 
 And dash, like an arrow 
 
 Misshot, through a skylight, — 
 
 To croak with facility 
 
 The tuneless un- sense of a sapless anility, — 
 
 And give you ability 
 
 By a shrewd crocodility 
 
 To make shoddy seem broadcloth in all you have said. 
 
 In fine, they will stuff, with goetic agility, 
 
 Your brainpot with feathers and your heart's pipes with 
 lead. 
 Sus. The dear ugly creatures ! Each fright is a fairy. 
 
 I feel my ears prick, my os frontis grows hairy. 
 
 Stoney, O dear Coal, 
 
 Spit your best at each ear-hole, 
 
 Nor of friction be chary. 
 
 feathers and lead ! 
 
4*74 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 
 
 J 
 
 Ah feathers and lead ! 
 
 You were wrong, noble Salty, in what you last said : 
 
 My head 't is grows heavy, my heart that is airy. 
 
 0, 0! 
 
 I wish I could show 
 
 My crown to all Hotchpot at once. Let me go. 
 
 But the phantoms are leaving. Goodbye, my deaT 
 creatures. 
 
 The valves of my heart shall shut-in your sweet features ; 
 
 Especially yours, armor' d Earl of the Nile, 
 
 With your skillet-handle tail and your waffle-iron smile. 
 
 Adieu ! adieu ! — 
 
 Now, my rubbers, to you, 
 
 Whose hands have the magic of Moses, 
 
 I turn and demand, 
 
 Is there aught in this land 
 
 Can compare with my metamorpho'sis ? 
 Char. It is all very well ; a good head of its kind. 
 JSus. G-ood ? 'T is complete in each elegant feature, 
 
 And fits me like a second nature. 
 Char. And there is the very fault I find : 
 
 'T is too natural far. 
 
 It makes you appear, 
 
 Jaws, forepiece and ear, 
 
 Without counting the hair, 
 
 Like the ass that you are. 
 JSus. Say, donkey : it fits not my bifold degree 
 
 To be nam'd, though mark'd, asinauricularly. 
 
 But seem I the same ? 
 
act v. 475 
 
 And if I be known by that recogniz'd name, 
 
 Which is Fledgling's and Deadhead's 
 
 And some other leadheads', 
 
 I who have run the whole college curriculum, 
 
 Why what upon earth shall cognominate me ? 
 Char. Asinor'um Magis'ter, Lectdruyrb Deridic ulum. 
 Sus. Why, that is my A.M. and double L. D. ! 
 
 But here is Anicula. Now we shall see. 
 
 Enter Anicula. 
 
 Anic. Eh ! Bottom the weaver ! 
 
 Now, would I were Titania for thy sake. 
 
 I 'd "kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy." 
 Sus. Dost think I 'd hug a doxy of your make ? 
 
 I would as soon buss Fledgling, or a boy. 
 
 But oh thou deceiver ! [gaily to Salt. 
 
 If one may believe her, 
 
 Who 's as false as the Nation, 
 
 She at least, 't would appear, 
 
 Is fully aware 
 
 Of my beautiful transfiguration. 
 
 For this I adore thee, 
 
 And could kneel down before thee, 
 
 And aye ready to serve am. 
 Anic. Sure, 't is old Sus Minervam ! 
 
 That fools-voice reveal'd him, 
 
 As the dim light conceal'd him. 
 
 Pray, let me explore thee. 
 
476 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 
 
 Why, you 're perfect, I vow. 
 
 Feels it good? 
 
 Sus. Bless the maker, 
 
 'T is my soul's simulachre : 
 
 I never had justice till now. 
 Anic. Mr. Salt, give me one^ — 
 
 But your candle burns dim. 
 Salt. Ancient dame, you need none. — 
 
 Light the gas, Mr. Brim. 
 Sus. He does 't with his fingers ! Is the devil in him? 
 Salt No, on my veracity, 
 
 'T is his Brimstone capacity. 
 
 He has the felicity 
 
 To use electricity 
 
 Like matches, for fun. 
 Anic. But again for the ass-head. Why don't I need one ? 
 Salt It would make you less trim. 
 
 And, as simple Anicula, 
 
 In your function particular 
 
 You give quite as droll delectation, 
 
 By your senile garrulity 
 
 And anile credulity 
 
 Sus. As if you were chief of the Nation. 
 
 But here come two witlings, to heighten my joy, — 
 
 Though one is a monkey ; 
 
 Polyphemus's boy 
 
 And the turnspit of Flunky. 
 
 I '11 play mum and enjoy their surprise. 
 
act v. 477 
 
 Enter Deadhead and Fledgling. 
 
 Dead. Old lady, your humble contumble. My eyes I 
 
 What a mask ! 
 
 Fledg. And what size I 
 
 I will make on 't a note for my Topics. 
 
 We don't breed such at home. 
 
 Whence can the beast come ? 
 Dead. From Aspis, I think, in the Tropics. 
 
 Anic', you she-monkey, 
 
 Get on the old donkey. 
 Sus. No you don't. 
 
 Fledg. Eh ! 't is Sus. 
 
 Who gave him those ears ? 
 Anic. Mr. Salt, it appears ; 
 
 Or, it may be, the Devil. 
 Fledg. Fi, old woman, be civil. 
 
 Give them, wise man, to us. 
 Sus. Be off, and don't trouble him. 
 
 They are mine, and mine only. 
 Salt. Fear not, I can't double them ; 
 
 Though, your asshead's not lonely. 
 Fledg. Can we make no conditions ? I feel we shall die, 
 
 If outdone by the Doctor, Mort-Caput and I. 
 Anic. What stuff! Don't I stand in my petticoat by ? 
 Sus. Well protested, old dame of the Fthnos; but higher 
 
 Than greatness soars envy, as smoke above fire. 
 Salt. Notwithstanding, these witlings shall have their desire. 
 Fledg. How ? 
 
478 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 
 
 Dead. Say how ! 
 Salt. By leaving your birth-marks to stand just as now ; 
 Only making each feature 
 Better photograph nature, 
 
 As with the great Doctor, on jaw, nose and brow. 
 Dead. Begin then, begin. 
 Fledg. But is it not sin? 
 
 Dead. Out, sanctity ! Is n't there money to win ? 
 Push on, jolly proctor, 
 Make us grin like the Doctor, 
 
 We '11 line you with greenbacks or plate you with tin. 
 Salt. Attend then. 
 
 Sus. Fave'te. 
 
 Fledg. That means, Stop your din. 
 
 Salt. Not from the spirit-world need we to summon 
 Biped or quadruped, feathers or hair, 
 Haunting stream, standing-pool, cockloft or common, 
 From their mud, hole or perch, kennel or lair. 
 
 Take these two newspapers, wet with men's 
 water 
 
 Anic. Of my girl's making, nevertheless. 
 
 Salt. Mind not the ancient dame; envy has taught 
 her 
 
act v. 479 
 
 Ante. Knowledge of earthenware, rather confess. 
 
 Salt. Clap them upon your head, occiput, sinciput — 
 Anic. But do it tenderly, else they will tear. 
 Bus. They 're your own daily sheets. Mind not the stingy slut. 
 
 Salt. Press them to mouth and nose, eyelids and hair. 
 
 Dead. But they are devilish salt. 
 Salt. That 's not the devil's fault. 
 Fledg. No, 't is humanity's. 
 
 Anic. That you may swear. 
 
 Salt. As in the Hours' page flatness and fickleness, 
 Laughable graveness and mawkish mirth meet ; 
 As in the Cryer mere spluttering words express 
 All that 's not ribald or worse in its sheet ; 
 
 So shall these papers impress on your faces 
 Types of each soul's inward birth-given shape, 
 Make Deadhead a parrot, give you the grimaces, 
 The solemn inane ness and mirth of an ape. 
 
 It is done. Lift the sheet ; 
 The impression 's complete. 
 
480 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 
 
 Dead. I am glad ; for the print 's too much stal'd to be sweet. 
 Ante. Eh, the trio ! How fine ! 
 Sus. But my asshead 's the best. 
 Anic. And I alone left, all unchang'd! 
 
 Sus. Don't be vex'd. 
 Anic When my virtue alone in the group 's unexpress'd ? 
 
 I were better unsex'd. 
 Salt. You need not repine : 
 
 You attract as much note 
 
 By your petticoat. 
 Fledg. And are free of the brine. 
 Dead. A parrot, a monkey, an ass and old maid. 
 
 Let us get up a dance for our masquerade. 
 Fledg. But where is the music ? 
 
 Salt. Behold, to your aid. 
 Fledg. The fiddle, the bones and the banjo already ! 
 
 I fear that the -Devil is piper. 
 
 Salt. Not he. 
 Sus. They come from the spirits. 
 
 Salt. No matter ; keep steady : 
 
 You may have the Devil to pay, but not me. 
 Sus. That is something ; I like contributions post-free. 
 Fledg. But, Doctor, turn in. 
 
 Sus. I am fagg'd. Ere you came, 
 
 I dane'd a long Indian pas-seul for my fame, 
 
 And toe'd it unbreech'd, proof to cold and to shame. 
 Dead. Then you 've pracfice ; a male Taglioni. Fall in. 
 
 Scrape up now, good catgut, and let us begin. 
 
ACT V. 481 
 
 Fledg. Up and down, and in and out, 
 
 Chassez, promenez round about. 
 Dead. It is better-leg-shaking, than pens, no doubt. 
 
 Fol de rol ! 
 
 Sus. The one is hard shuffling, the other mere play. 
 
 No donkey could stand that, except for pay. 
 Fledg. You mean, I suppose, for thistles or hay. 
 Sus. It is one. And an ass cannot always bray 
 
 Without pause in his vocalization. 
 
 Dead. And a parrot must swing, as well as talk. 
 Fledg. And a monkey won't always on two legs walk. 
 Ante. Nor a petticoat either swap cheese for chalk, 
 Who is not in a situation. 
 
 Sus. Except 
 
 Dead. But, Doctor, keep time; j^ou balk. 
 Sus. — For a handsome consid-e-ration. 
 Dead. Fol de rol. 
 
 Fledg. Cross over. Ladies change. You see, 
 
 We beat the devils in Calvary. 
 Dead'. That is easy ; they dane'd without fiddle-de-dee 
 
 Fol de lol. 
 
 Fledg. Balance. I never had so much fun, 
 
 Except when I found an author done. 
 
 Dead. Or the public diddled. 
 
 Anic. It is all one, 
 Vol. 17.— 21 
 
482 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 
 
 In our soi-disant critical function. 
 
 Fledg. To cog, dissemble, misrepresent ; 
 
 To fool the public to its bent ; 
 
 And wink when-it sees what never was meant; 
 
 Is interest rich ; but cent per cent 
 
 Sus. Is our Terpsichorean junction. 
 
 Bead. Forward two. What a jolly dance ! 
 
 Fledg. And what music ! 'T would make an old donkey 
 
 prance. 
 Sus. Or a tailless monkey. 
 
 Fledg. Its pleasures enhance, 
 
 And with a particular zest, 
 
 The joy I had to make Tilton cry, 
 
 When I quoted as proof of his powers The Fly. 
 Bead. Well', why did n't Sheldon your blarney buy ? 
 Fledg. Or yours ? You know, as well as I, 
 
 He may rank with New England's best. 25 
 
 Bead. One jackass foward. Now back again. 
 
 Now lady and ape. 
 
 Anic. Let me hold up my train. 
 Bead. Come, Be'lzebub, scrape us another strain. 
 
 Fol de lol. 
 
 Enter Galantuom, Heartandhead, 
 and Atticus. 
 
 Gal. Why, what the deuse are you all about ? 
 
act v. 483 
 
 Sus. Do you see our heads ? 
 
 Gal To be sure we do. 
 
 And your legs as well. You 're a jolly crew. 
 
 Few editors, even the dolts of the Nation, 
 
 Would after this fashion make saltation 
 
 To fiddle and flute. You caper without. 
 Sus. You must be stone-deaf and gravel-blind. 
 
 Don't you see our little band ? 
 
 'T is of the best of the fiddling kind 
 
 To be found in all the land. 
 
 Saltpeter has now the horsehair in hand, 
 
 And Brimstone rattles the bones, 
 
 And little Charcoal' 
 
 From the banjo's hole 
 
 Is drawing those bullfrog tones. 
 Gal. The devil ! the banjo has no hole. 
 Heart. He must mean " the light guitar." 
 Sus. No, I don't; I mean just what I say : 
 
 The banjo's bottom is all away. 
 Dead. And as Sambo says, dat 's dar. — 
 
 No matter, strike up, 
 
 My devils-bullpup, 
 
 And show them what you are. 
 
 Fledg. Up the middle and down again. 
 Dead. Sweep in, broomsticks, might and main. 
 Sus. Eest for muscle is rust for brain. 
 Anic. Up the middle and down again. 
 
484 THE SCHOOL FOE CRITICS 
 
 Att. Why, they are all four crazy ! 
 
 Fledg. Are we so ? 
 You are, all three, fools. 
 Dead. You are blind as new kittens, and don't seem to know 
 
 There 's lots of pleasure- in such a go. 
 Sus. " Dul'ce est desip'ere in loco'." * 
 
 Ante. What is that ? 
 Dead. Some Hebrew that 's pat, 
 
 - Fundamentally taught in the schools. 
 Sus. But you don't mark my ears' length, you don't note my 
 head, 
 Those emblems of glory to be. 
 
 Be abash'd when you learn there lurks under this shed 
 The brain of Sus, double L. D. 
 
 Behold too that green-noddled parrot, that monkey 
 Which belongs to the kind that are minus a tail : 
 The first one picks grubs from the Cryer man's nail, 
 The other is turnspit to Weathercock Flunky. 
 Heart. A parrot, a monkey, a head and long ears! . 
 
 m This is worse than the Quarterly gabble of Sears. 
 Fledg. And you see not the changes ? 
 
 Gal. We see but three men, 
 Two of whom have their faces 
 Smear'd with what seems the traces 
 Of types, and an elderly dame, in this den. 
 Sus. And you heard not the music? 
 
 Att. We heard upon the floor 
 The shuffling of your feet and your bacchanalian roar, 
 As you shambled to and fro. 
 
ACT V. 485 
 
 Only this. 
 
 Dead. Says Raven Poe : 
 " Only this, and nothing more." 
 Sus. And you don't then see the triad ? 
 
 Att. What triad? 
 
 Sus. Our small band, 
 With the banjo, and the beef-bones, and the fiddle-bow in 
 
 hand. 
 There they stand. 
 Att. Where? 
 
 Sus. At the wall. 
 
 Att. I see but a petticoat 
 
 Dead, "Hanging to dry." 26 
 Att. And an old straw bonnet by, 
 
 And a shawl. 
 Sus. Then you 're crazy, else am I. 
 Att. To my thinking, 
 
 It is wine. *. 
 
 Fledg. What the Doctor has been drinking, 
 With the ancient virgin here, 
 Is his own affair. 
 But, I say it without shrinking, 
 Save our beer, 
 
 Dead and I have tasted nothing 
 
 Dead. Only brine. 
 Fledg. Yet we see the ass's ear, 
 And behold the triad there. 
 Who have, to our delectation, 
 Made this triple transformation. 
 
486 THE SCHOOL FOE CRITICS 
 
 That is clear. 
 
 Gal. Here 's some juggle. 
 
 Sus. You are crazy. 
 Mr. Peter, Charcoal, Brim : 
 Lift these skeptics' leaden -eyes. 
 In this room the air 's not hazy, 
 No more burns the candle dim ; 
 In the gaslight • 
 
 Dead. Even an ass might 
 
 At your blindness show surprise. 
 
 Sail. As I hinted once before, 
 
 Strangers to your worth are blind ; 
 And the glory of your asshood 
 With your friends alone will pass good, 
 Monkies, parrots, and such kind. 
 This, although 't you may deplore, — 
 
 Dead. " Quoth the Raven, Evermore," — 
 
 Salt. 'T is,iiiot in our power to alter. 
 Only human optics heed us 
 In the sconce of fools who need us, 
 Who with truth and conscience palter 
 Or are like yourself in mind. 
 
 Sus. Did you hear ? 
 
 Gal. What? Deadhead's joke? 
 
 Sus. No, that other voice which spoke. 
 
 Gal. -No one else the stillness broke. 
 
 Att. We were struck to see you staring 
 At those rags for women's wearing, 
 As if pondering their repairing, 
 
 
act v. 487 
 
 Hanging on the dingy wall. 
 Sus. Then the devil must be in it ! 
 
 my asshead! And to win it, 
 
 Was 't for this I stoop'd to shin it? 
 
 Bore with kick and spank and thwack ? 
 
 More, bore Charcoal on my back ? 
 
 Nor that all; 
 
 Swung like smok'd meat from the ceiling, 
 
 Stood on end till brains were reeling, 
 
 And, my southern pole revealing, 
 
 Boldly let my breeches fall ? 
 Dead. So the game is up ! We 're diddled. 
 
 'T was old Be'lzebub that fiddled. 
 
 Let 's skedaddle, great and small. 
 Salt. But before you scud, believe me, 
 
 In this mummery goetic 
 
 There was nothing to deceive ye. 
 
 Each shall flourish still a critic, 
 
 With the traits that here he bore. 
 
 You shall be, to all who know you, 
 
 Still a parrot, and a monkey, 
 
 Mimicking and nothing more, 
 
 He who turns the spit for Flunky. 
 
 Still the ancient dame shall drape her 
 
 In old frippery and shape her 
 
 Worn head-gear to suit her paper ; 
 
 While the LL.D. shall show you 
 
 All his asshead as before. 
 Heaii. How they stare ! They are surely crazy. 
 
488 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 
 
 Dead. No, we 're listening but; be aisy. 
 
 Sus. To a prophecy, expressing 
 
 Fledg. That our cake is not all dough. 
 Salt. Take, before you leave, this blessing. 
 Brim. Mine too. 
 
 Char. Mine too, Doctor. 
 
 Sus. Oh! 
 
 Spare ! Have mercy ! Such a basting 
 
 For my ham is more than wasting : 
 
 I 've no relish for the dressing. [Exit — manipulating. 
 Gal. Good night, Doctor. 
 
 Dead. There 's a go ! 
 
 Take more time. With so much hasting, 
 
 You may reach too soon below. 
 Fledg. Come, old fellows, not for us 
 
 Such rump-roasting. 
 
 Dead. Don't stay tasting : 
 
 Let us hasten after Sus. 
 Fledg. D — n them, no ; pitch in. 
 
 Dead. Our breeches 
 
 'Gainst their hoofs have slim defences. 
 
 Damn'd they are. Come, St. Paul teaches 
 
 Counter-kicking never thrives. 
 Sus. [from below.] Bring down with you, lads, my beaver. 
 
 Take my curse, you arch deceiver ! 
 Salt. Why ? Your asshood aye survives. 
 Att. Have these men not lost their senses ? 
 Heart. Were they ever theirs, to lose them ? 
 Gal. Look ! you 'd think their legs had lives. 
 
act v. 489 
 
 Dead. Gad ! we 've no choice but to use them. 
 Needs must when the devil drives. 
 
 Exeunt hastily 
 
 Fledgling and Deadhead, 
 
 the former in tragic huff, and are followed 
 
 deliberately and wonderingly by 
 
 Galantuom, Heartandhead and Atticus. 
 
 Saltpeter, Brimstone, and Charcoal, 
 
 first lifting up Anioula by the petticoat, causing her to 
 
 sprawl and hick out like a toy spider, to the great damage of hem 
 
 virginal modesty, convert the medical advertisements of the 
 
 Hours and the Cryer into sulphuretted hydrogen 
 
 and ascend through the ceiling by the vapor. 
 
 Manet 
 
 Anicula in dishabille, 
 
 with the blank expression of the Ethnos. 
 
 2 V 
 
NOTES 
 
 TO 
 
 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 
 
 1. — P. 405. — Slanghouse- Square — ] There is a place in New- 
 York with a somewhat similar composite name, borrowed in like 
 manner, with a ridiculous apery, from a locality in London. But in 
 that case it is a triangle, a scalene of the most irregular propor- 
 tions, and indeed amorphous, the two longest sides not meeting at 
 all, although they converge. However, a figure of three angles for 
 a parallelogram is as near as the journal which originated the 
 euphonious designation can be expected to come to correctness. 
 
 2. — P. 405. — in rogues abounding, Who draw from the public 
 pot their fare And openly, etc.] This is so like the kind of men 
 which Mr. Parton gave to public admiration in the N. American 
 Review, that, were it not for the name of the city, one might suppose 
 they sat for the outline in New York. But as no individual is 
 whatever his pre-eminence, absolutely singular, so it may be tha/ 
 every corporation has, however monstrous its rascality, somewhere 
 its congeners. 
 
 3. — P. 406. That is luhy, one day, To get appointed, etc.] This 
 
492 NOTES TO 
 
 is one of the bad features of our popular government, the nomina- 
 tion to high office of members of the Press. Supposing they were 
 equally well-qualified as certain others, — which is taking a very 
 great deal on assumption, — yet the office serves as a bribe, and the 
 influence of a widely circulating newspaper is cheaply bought at 
 any price by the candidate for election or re-election to the Presi- 
 dency. The corruption thus produced on both sides, in the relation 
 of cause and effect, needs not to be demonstrated. 
 
 4. — P. 408. And stirring up rubbish he crtfd, " Oh fine ! "] It was 
 not to be expected that any professional critic would presume to 
 attack an author of established reputation, far less that those who 
 know nothing of literary criticism but its pretension should be able 
 to discriminate between the false and the true ; but that such an ex- 
 hibition of absurdity should be made in any journal of standing as is 
 paraded, with full trumpet-accompaniment, in the following passage 
 oftheiV. T. Times o£ May 18, 1867, would be* incredible except to 
 those familiar with its sycophancy in letters, or who know by expe- 
 rience its ignorance therein and absolute indifference to principle. 
 
 " Sometimes too, it would seem that Mr. Longfellow's exceeding familiarity 
 with the Italian, and his unswerving attention to its literal signification leads 
 [lead] him into obscurity. An instance of this may be found in the sixth line 
 of canto XXIV. which Mr. Longfellow renders — 
 
 ' But little lasts the temper of her pen.' 
 
 The word pen here is precisely the same as the original pernio, but the reader 
 who knows nothing of DANTK would be in doubt as to the meaning of the line. 
 So in line thirty-six of the same canto : 
 
 • He I know not, but I had been dead beat. 1 
 
 The last half of this line has never been equaled by any former translator." 
 
 I should think not. It is a '• dead beat " altogether. Had I, or 
 Cluvienus, used such slang — on any occasion whatever I And for 
 so ordinary a phrase : 
 
 "Non so di lui ; ma io aarei ben rinto."" 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 493 
 
 The fact is, if the specimens given in the Times and in the Tribune 
 are fair examples of Mr. Longfellow's work, it will show that his 
 capacity as a poet is, in every respect, far below what even his most 
 moderate admirers have allowed him. Mr. L., it may be supposed, 
 considered, that, as Dante himself frequently uses coarse and even 
 grotesque phrases, he was but imitating the Dantescan spirit when 
 he introduced this vulgarism and slang of the turf or chase. If so, 
 he transcended his part, which was to follow, not to lead, and not 
 to libel his original by adding to his crudities. But these news- 
 paper critics ! * 
 
 * The Times goes on to cite what it calls an " incomparable picture : " 
 " Quivi sospiri, pianti ed alti guai 
 Risonavan per l'aer senza stelle, 
 Perch' io al corninciar ne lagrimai. 
 Diverse lingue, orribili favelle, 
 Parole di dolore, accenti d'ira, 
 Voci alte e floche, e suon di man con elle, 
 Facevano un tumulto il qual s'aggira 
 Sempre 'n quell' aria senza tempo tinta, 
 Come la rena quando '1 turbo spira." {Inf. III.) 
 Of this it gives seven translations. The best of these is, as might be supposed, 
 the German ; but "of all the English versions," it tells us, — in the face of Mr. 
 Wright's and Dr. Parsons', — "Mr. Longfellow's is unquestionably both the most 
 literal and the most poetic". . . Let us have it, including the two extraordinary 
 lines here italicized : 
 
 " There sighs, complaints and ululations loud 
 
 Resounded through the air without a star. 
 Whence I, at the beginning, wept thereat. 
 Languages diverse, horrible dialects, 
 
 Accents of anger, words of agony ♦ 
 
 And voices high and hoarse, with sound of hands, 
 Made up a tumult that goes whirling on 
 Forever in that air forever black 
 
 Even as the sand doth when the whirlwind breathes." 
 I knew beforehand, judging from such, as I have redd of Mr. Longfellow's 
 poems, and redd ( the smaller ones ) with unqualified admiration, that their author 
 was by the very character of his mind inadequate to a version of the stern and 
 masculine Florentine, but I never could have dreamed that he would have the 
 folly to attempt, in these days, to render him without the rhyme which is so ea- 
 
494 NOTES TO 
 
 5. — P. 410. Amen ! as said on his knees Jeff Davis, etc.] Godli- 
 ness was a characteristic trait of this eminent personage, — eminent, 
 I mean, in virtues. A lady of Richmond was much edified by seeing 
 
 sential to a true imitation. But my greatest surprise has been at the translator's 
 blank verse. His extraordinary use of unaccented syllables, where, at the close 
 of a line, an accented one is required (whether that be the final syllable itself, or 
 with other syllables after it redundant), shows a singular want of comprehension 
 of true rythm and a defect of ear that I can scarcely now account for, although it 
 is not an uncommon occurrence where poets used to rhyme attempt to do without 
 it. In fine, his version (if it may be estimated by the samples given by his eulo- 
 gists) is not even respectable, and, from a man of his taste, is, in a bad sense, sur- 
 prising. Yet in the passage above quoted, which the newspaper-man, with 
 affected transport, calls " superb ", telling us that its marvelous icords thrill over 
 every nerve of the reader ! {*) there is nothing difficult at all, either of compre- 
 hension or of rendering. 
 
 Having, in Arthur C'arryl, given a translation of certain .scraps there cited of 
 Dante, and given them, according to my constant custom, in the measure of the 
 original, and with corresponding or equivalent rhymes, years before Mr. L. at- 
 tempted his version, I hope I have some right to put forward my own rendering 
 of the place, not to show how well it may be done, but to show that it may be done, 
 and easily too, better than he has done it. These are the lines, written after run- 
 ning over the absurd and pedantic panegyric I have, for my readers' sake as well 
 as for my own, held up to ridicule, and the contempt which befits at all times the 
 hypocrisy of literary dilletanteism. 
 
 There sighs, laments, and holdings of deep wo, 
 Resounded through that air without a star. 
 Wherefore, at first, my tears could not but flow. 
 
 Tongues of all kinds, and horrible words tJmtjar, 
 Phrases of suffering, wrath's discordant soicnd, 
 Shrieks and choked cries, and smitten hands, that for 
 
 And near made tumult, to and fro rebound, 
 Forever in that air's unchanging gloom, 
 Like to the sand ivhich eddying winds whirl round. 
 I do not aver that this exactitude of imitation could be carried out (even witb 
 
 [a) There is nothing whatever " marvelous " in either words or verse, although there is much that is ad- 
 mirable in both. This is the pitiful cant of would-be connoisseu-s, who before any work of art, from letters 
 to music, affect a rapture proportioned to its celebrity, and endeavor, by guessing at the value of certain 
 points, or by assuming it without guessing, to acquire the reputation of literary acumen. As for Mr. L.'e 
 translation, it is obvious to any unbiased reader, and certainly to one who has true knowledge of the subject 
 and of verse in general, that three nf the lines are the merest prose, while it is a desecration of the song of 
 the Tuscan to render his accurate rythm by the absolutely unmetrical line which is the middle aa weD as 
 worst of these three : 
 
 " Languages diverse, horrible dialects." 
 
THE SCHOOL FOE CRITICS 495 
 
 him, through his open window, on his Presidential knees, and took 
 care to advertise it to the public. To shut himself in his closet and 
 pray in secret, according to the precept of Christ, would have been 
 putting his rushlight under a bushel and have deprived the God- 
 devoted of the profit of its lustre. What a sacrifics even of modesty 
 will men not make, when exalted above self by the vapor of an ebul- 
 lient patriotism ! 
 
 It was perhaps for his sanctity that this intended martyr, who had 
 had the self-denial to run from destiny in his wife's petticoat, was 
 recently cheered on 'Change in Liverpool. It was certainly not be- 
 cause he recommended his State to dishonor its own bonds, nor 
 because he endorsed for consideration the proposition to murder Lin- 
 coln, nor that he claimed to make the cornerstone of his temple of hu- 
 man rights the absolute negation of human liberty, that our cousins 
 of England forgot they had just found out how much they loved us. 
 
 6, p. 414. flb, none of us are so squeamous.] Tt is probably, not 
 
 from habitual vulgarity, but from love of antiquity and his familiarity 
 with old English writers, that the Crtjefs man uses this, now un- 
 justly considered barbarous and corrupt, form of the word " squea- 
 mish." Webster, whom I have so often occasion to find fault with, 
 has absurdly the hypothesis, " Probably from the root of wamble." 
 Chaucer wrote squaimous ; and his erudite editor tells us: " Robert 
 of Brunne (in his translation of Manuel des Pechees, Ms. Bod. 2078. 
 fol. 46.) writes this word, esquaimous ; which is nearer to its original, 
 exquamiare, a corruption of excambiare." Tyrwhitt : Gloss. Chauc. 
 ad v. In Rich. Ccer de L. (ed. Weber,) it is written squoymous : 
 "Frendes, be not squoymous, etc.," when the Saracens have the 
 heads of their friends placed in the dishes before them. This is pre- 
 cisely, in its signification, the modern squeamish. 
 
 single rhyme as here) through the whole of the Commedia, but I am positive that 
 without such imitation, though one may give the measure of the poet, he cannot 
 render his tone, which is to his stanzas what the coloring is to a fine painting in 
 which that quality is prominent. 
 
49ti NOTES TO 
 
 7. — P. 420. You have lost, sir and ma'am, each the nice speciality, 
 etc.] Fledgling is, like most imperfectly educated persons who are 
 literary pretenders, not always to be held responsible for verbal in- 
 novations; but, in the present instance, he is not so far out of the 
 way, this form of the substantive — speciality for specialty — though 
 not used, being in perfect analogy with that of the words it rhymes 
 with in the text. Besides, it is correcter etymologically, the term 
 having come in to us from the French, speciality, used in the same 
 sense. 
 
 P.S. Since the note was written, I have found the word in the 
 form ' speciality ' in a philosophical treatise of the present day ; in 
 Dr. David Page's Essay on " Man," p. 153, N. Y. ed. 1868, — unless 
 it is there a misprint. 
 
 8. — P. 422. What a phrase is that!] See above, note 4. 
 
 For the allusion to Fernando, there is in a cognate Review of 
 similar pretensions to those of Dr. Sus's, a passage which will per- 
 haps explain it. As a few years hence men might grope in vain for 
 its fossilized existence, I shall go to the expense of printing the 
 article entire, and with all its curiosities of word, syllable and point, 
 as 1 find them on pp. 415-417 of the XlVth vol. of The National 
 Quarterly Review, Edited by Edward I. Sears, A.M., LL.D. — The 
 footnotes are made to supply what the Doctor in his " friendly and 
 benevolent spirit " constrained himself to suppress. 
 
 "Calvary — Virginina. Tragedies. By Lacghton Osborx. 12mo., pp. 200. 
 New York: Doolady. 1857. 
 " In general Mr. Doolady exhibits considerable judgment in his selections; it 
 is but seldom that we bave had any serious fault to find with his publications. 
 Nor does the one now before us form an exception; although we do not think 
 that Laughton O shorn will ever occupy a high rank among tragic writers. He 
 may succeed in other departments of literature, but we can assure him in all 
 kindness that tragedy is no't his forte ; nor is poetry in any form. After making 
 full allowance for the disadvantage under which he has labored in treating the 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 497 
 
 subjects he has chosen, we see nothing to justify us in the*- opinion that he would 
 have succeeded under more favorable circumstances. 
 
 "The incidents which he has attempted to dramatise in 'Calvary' are at once 
 too familiar and too mysterious. Even Milton has failed in his ' Paradise Re- 
 gained.' The life and death of Christ are so fully detailed in the New Testament 
 that it would require a genius of a high order to invest the subject with that air 
 of novelty which is essential to the drama. This is admirably illustrated in the 
 Divina Commedia of Dante, although not a drama in the strict sense of the 
 term. There is no intelligent person who has read that truly sublime poem who 
 has not observed a vast difference between the Purgatorio and the Paradiso ; 
 but a still greater difference between the Inferno and the Paradixo, the latter 
 being greatly inferior to either of the former. 
 
 "The reason is obvious enough ; while neither sacred nor profane history has 
 much to say on what passes in purgatory or hell, each is quite copious on what 
 relates to paradise considered as the happiness derived by man from the death 
 of Christ. 
 
 " If however, it be urged that paradise is not familiar, being extra terram, the 
 same claim cannot be made for Calvary. That the events which took place at 
 Calvary were in the highest degree tragic is beyond dispute ; but, as already 
 observed, all the incidents and circumstances that led to it are so fully described 
 that but little room is left for the exercise of the fancy. Were it otherwise, we 
 think there would still be some objection to the exhibition of Jesus, the Arch- 
 angels, Mary, the mother of Jesus, Mary Magdalene Simon Peter, &c, on the 
 stage, at least hi the style in which it is done in Laughton Osborn's ' Calvary.' * 
 
 "Milton was content to commence his Paradise Lost with what took place on 
 our own sphere — ' man's first disobedience,' &c. Homer soared no higher at the 
 outset than the wrath of Achilles. Nor has Virgil attempted a different course. 
 But our present author lays his first scene in heaven, and his first speakers are 
 Raphael and Michael, who have a chorus of angels, though, in sooth, rather a 
 discordant one. In Scene III. Jesus, Mary and Martha appear, the locus being 
 'A room in the dwelling of Jesus' Mother.' If the dialogue which takes place 
 between the Saviour of mankind and his Mother had been intended for a 
 burlesque it could hardly have seemed to us more profane. But we cheerfully 
 do the author the justice to believe that he means well throughout. Mary 
 addresses Josus, ' O my darling ! ' and tells him that what He says is to happen 
 
 * If the reader should think it incredible that the fool, who wrote this stuff, 
 actually supposed that a drama like Calvary (even if such was the author s in- 
 tention) could, with its angels and devils, its scenes in Heaven and in Hell, and 
 the act of the crucifixion, be put upon the stage, in any style, I can only tell him 
 that I copy literally, and I did not make the fellow's brains. 
 
498 NOTES TO 
 
 makes her 'blood curillo 1 .* In another part of the same dialogue she is made 
 to say : 
 
 1 1 am thy mother, Jesus, and my heart 
 Warms to thee now as when I first behold thee 
 After my weary travail,' &c. — (p. 9.) t 
 
 ""When Martha enters Mary appeals to her, as if she had more influence on 
 Jesus than herself, thus: 
 
 ' Kneel with me, Martha! 1 1 <• has love for thee. 
 TeD iiim be kills me 1 Tell him ! — -' % 
 
 "The first scene of the second act Is laid In hell, and the interlocutors are 
 Lucifer and Beelzebub, who have a chorus of evil spirits which differs very 
 slightly, If anything, from the chorus of angels, except that the former is, per- 
 haps, a little more lugubrious than the Latter. Next come Judas Iscariot and 
 Mary Magdalene. Judas speaks quite idiomatically. 'Ughl'he says, 'and tho 
 
 * Mary. And canst thou speak with calmness, when my heart 
 
 Is aching for thee? Jesus, () my son I 
 
 Think on thy mother, and avoid the storm 
 
 That, now is darkening o'er thee, and whose shadow 
 
 Makes my blood curdle with the chill of death. 
 For my sake, o my darling ! 
 
 \ Mary. Stayyel a little. By that happy time 
 
 ThOU hast thyself rememherM, when these breasts 
 That, now are wither' d led thee from my blood, 
 1 do adjure thee I Thou hast calfd me Mother 
 With that sweet voiee, although again the tone 
 That is so stem and lofty, when thou speak'st 
 
 Those riddles that I dare not try to solve, 
 
 lias aw'd and oheck'd me, — thou hast, oalld me Mother, 
 
 l am thy mother, Jesus, and mj heart 
 
 Warms to thee now as when 1 first beheld thee 
 
 After my weary travail ; see me now 
 Embrace thy feet, and pray thee as my god, 
 
 For my sake, for thy own I 
 
 X Jest/.*. Thou hast spoken, Martha, loyally and well. 
 
 But, in that fa.it h and wisdom, seest, thou not. 
 That, I should need no Warning} Kven now 
 
 The heart that shall betray me is oonvulfl'd 
 
 With Its distracting passions, and the hand 
 
 is Itohing for the silver thai Bhall buy 
 
 My body for the cross. It is decreed. 
 Mari/. Mean's! Ihou tins fully ? Canst, thou still so calmly 
 
 Speak w hat to credit is My son ! my son ! 
 
 Kneel with me, Martha ! lie has love for thee. 
 
 Tell him he kills me ! Tell him ! Jesus, son ! 
 
 Have morcy on me ! Save thyself — and me ! 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 499 
 
 lamp looks dying.' She replies : ' Be not displeas'd, dear Judas. 1 (p. 15.) Fur 
 ther on in the same dialogue she addresses him : 
 
 ' That starv'd look worries me ; and, oh ! the chill 
 Of this unwholesome lodging I ' — (p. 15. ) * 
 
 "We have not yet got beyond the second act; and the tragedy extends 
 to five acts, occupying seventy-four pages. Under these circumstances we 
 think our readers will excuse us if we cannot proceed any farther in this direc- 
 tion. 
 
 " Virginina is a better effort than 'Calvary', but we are very much afraid that 
 it will not succeed as a tragedy. The Romans, male and female, are made to ex- 
 press themselves considerably more like New Yorkers than is in strict accordance 
 with the truth of history. The following is a pretty favorable specimen : 
 
 Icil. — ' I am Icilius, and should the people 
 
 The sole legitimate source of sovereign rule, 
 For that they arc the many, and their thews 
 Strain to heave up, to prop and keep sustain'd 
 The edifice whose chambers ye but fill.' — (p. 103.) 
 
 " Fernando Wood could hardly have expressed himself more democratically or 
 
 * Judas. The night is chilly. Hast thou not a coal 
 To feed the brazier ? Not one drop of wine ? 
 Ugh ! and the lamp looks dying. Where is gone 
 The shekel that I gave thee yesternight ? 
 
 Magd. Be not displeas'd, dear Judas. I bestovv'd it 
 But as the Master secm'd to say we ought : 
 I cast it in the Treasury. 
 
 Judas. Like that widow 
 Whose paltry mites he made of more account 
 Than all the rest, because they were her all. 
 So thou must give thy all ! Of many fools 
 Of Magdala, thou, Mary, art the best. 
 Why not have gone at once to the perfumer's, 
 Like thy Bethanian namesake, and anoint 
 His yellow locks, or even smear his feet, 
 As I have seen thee sweep them oftentimes 
 With these long delicate hairs ( I could defile them ! ) 
 He would have thought still more of it. 
 
 Magd. For shame ! 
 Thou speakest of our Lord, the Christ, our King. 
 
 Judas. I know not that : I know that I am weary 
 Of waiting for his kingdom, which I thought 
 Would make us rich at least, — both thee and me. 
 That starv'd look worries me : and oh, the chill 
 Of this unwholesome lodging ! With that shekel 
 Thou might'st have bought us fire and light and food. 
 
500 NOTES TO 
 
 more patriotically than this when a candidate for Governor of the State. * We 
 cheerfully admit, however, that there are some good passages in Virginina, but we 
 hope we shall be excused if we prefer to let the reader discover them for himself. 
 "Before we conclude we beg to give the author one word of advice, which wa 
 trust he will accept in the same friendly, benevolent spirit in which it is offered. 
 lie announces to us on one of the fly-leaves of this volume that the two pieces we 
 have just glanced at 'are the first of a series of nineteen, which, with the excep- 
 tion of two, are now completed and ready for the press.' This is followed by the 
 titles of ten tragedies and seven comedies ! "We have no doubt that Mr. Osborn is 
 as much at home in comedy as he is in tragedy ; nay, we think he is more success- 
 ful in exciting laughter even when he does not mean to do so, than he is in draw- 
 ing forth tears when most tragically inclined. At the same time, we would advise 
 him to withhold his ' Silver Head ' and ' Double Deceit ' (comedies) until the peo- 
 
 * Icil. I am Icilius, and I hold the people 
 
 The sole legitimate source of sovereign rule. 
 
 For that they are the many, and their thews 
 
 Strain to heave up, to prop and keep sustain 1 d, 
 
 The edifice whose chambers ye but nil. 
 
 Were Appius not your master as our tyrant, 
 
 My hate to your cruel order were not less, 
 
 And, the decemvirate overthrown, Icilius 
 
 Steps on its carcase, to do battle still 
 
 For freedom and the people's rights. Thou hearest : — 
 
 These are my motives. What are thine ? 
 
 A ucr. I am 
 Lucretius, and tire common folic of Rome 
 I have in hatred less than in disdain. 
 But is there eye so blear' d that sees not Appius 
 Striding to sovereign rule across our necks J 
 Hi' rring'd to the people, ami they set him o'er them. 
 He trod them down. He cringes now to us. 
 And Rome beholds the guardians of her state 
 Become mere servitors to the usurping Ten, 
 Whose plural tyranny even now is merging 
 Into the singular rule of this bold man. 
 I love my order, and will let no Tarquin 
 Level its pillars to rear himself a throne. 
 These are my motives. 
 
 f< til. And they please me little ; 
 As does thy purpled tunic, which they suit. 
 But thou dost much ; for thou 'rt a man ; thy tongue 
 Fears not to utter what thy soul dares think. 
 
 Thus, the language of Icilius, which is considerably more like tliat of a New- 
 Yorker limn, in strictly accordant with the truth of history, is addressed to one of 
 the proudest of the patricians, and not, as the truthful reviewer would advise us, 
 to the class of people Fernando Wood harangues when a candidate for the State 
 Governorship. The misrepresentation however is not greater than that in every 
 other part of the "notice, 11 beginning with " Virginina " ; but it is probably less 
 intentional, as being the result of stupidity as well as of envy and malevolenco. 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 501 
 
 pie arc much more predisposed to laughter than they are at present, and have 
 more time and money to spare." 
 
 And sucli is the critical record of such a poem as Virginia ! What 
 will the men of the future think of our standing- as a cultivated 
 people, and of the literary judgment and the fair-dealing of our 
 clitics, when they are told that this flippant, pedantic, ill-digested 
 and badly-written school-exercise, with its low-bred impertinence, 
 its thinly -vailed and hypocritical malignity, and its brazen-faced 
 falsehood, is the sole notice that has been taken of that tragedy in 
 all the number of our Quarterly Reviews ? 
 
 9. — p. 423. Which in all countries, as late I said, etc., etc.] I 
 fear I have been led into plagiarism ; for these identical phrases oc- 
 cur in a work of prodigiously high standing. 
 
 "It is almost superfluous to remark," says the author of a review 
 of AlfierPs Life and Writings, in the XlVth vol. N. Y. Nat. Rev. p. 
 216, "that Alfieri was not entitled to the degree of Master to which 
 he thus refers ; but degrees have been conferred in all countries and 
 ages in which there are colleges and universities under similar cir- 
 cumstances ; they are conferred at the present day." 
 
 It is true, there is scarcely an}'thing but misrepresentation in the 
 whole article, and its literary judgments are only a little worse than 
 its travesty of Alfieri's Italian ; but, for the remark about the man- 
 ner in which degrees are given, we, looking on the cover of the 
 journal, where we read A.M., write " Approved." 
 
 10.— P. 423. In Heide'berg A British noble got LL.D. 
 
 Conferred on h>s horse.] I had this story on the Neckar, from an 
 Oxford student on his vacation tour. He gave it as an illustration 
 of the freedom with which the German University dispensed its 
 favors. The nobleman handed-in the name of his Bucephalus, and 
 nothing further was asked. 
 
502 NOTES TO 
 
 11. — P. 423. A lettered ass — " hand absurdum est." T is facere 
 loell rt'/pnbl/c<v.] By a strange coincidence, there is a motto on one 
 of our Reviews, " Pulchrnra est bene facere reipublicte, etiam bene 
 dicere haud absurdum est." Some may think it should read male- 
 dicere. As Sus says in the text, the words serve to keep his brain- 
 pan soft ; and they may be as efficacious in a title-page. 
 
 12. — P. 428. Because Alger in his Solitude, etc.'] 
 
 " 'Tin- penalty,' says the author, 'affixed to supremely equipped souls is that 
 they must often be Left alone on the cloudy eminence of their greatness, amid the 
 Lightnings, the stars, and the canopy, commanding the sovereign prospects indeed, 
 but sighing for the warm breath of the vale, and the friendly embraces of men. 1 
 
 . . To OOme down from the canopy, we should be very glad to know what all this 
 
 sighing and gnashing of tooth La about * * Byron without his mask was a very 
 
 ordinary sort of person. * * It is indisputable that he liked women ["God help 
 the wicked ! "J. especially if they were the wives of other men. and the poor 
 
 heart-broken poel saw a chance to destroy t lie happiness and blacken the good 
 
 fame of a quiet household [!]. He pretended to cling to an early attachment, but 
 if he had married the young lady [which V] it is more than probable that howonld 
 have treated her as badly, as wickedly, as brutally as he actually treated the lady 
 whose life was cursed by her union with him. The real extent of the baseness of 
 his conduct toward Lady Byron will never lie known now. hut the one or two who 
 
 did know of it [know it | declare that it was monstrous beyond conception [!!]. 
 
 H was no woman's jealousy or pique which darkened pour Lady Uyron's days. 
 
 Those who remember the hints thrown out in a narrative of her life which ap- 
 peared a few years ago in the London Daily News [therefore perfectly reliable] 
 
 Will not need to be informed that the melancholy poet was capable of the vilest 
 aotS. He had many lc~-s culpable faults [than these " \ ilest acts" presumed from 
 
 "hints"]. He liked pleasure [naughty fellow ![. lie drank, he gambled, he was 
 
 consumed with vanity [and drank to cool himself], he had intrigues with men's 
 
 [nol boys'] wives and boasted of them, he turned round and abused his dupes in 
 
 his poetry for being false to their husbands [eh ?], he lied habitually, and he was 
 mean and cunning [all of which propensities, acts, and habits, form what are so 
 curiously called l,ss c/i/pah/,' fim/ts}." X. V. T/nn's. Thursday, May 'J. 1867. 
 
 Alger did indeed talk like a Pool, if his style is as above quoted; 
 but this is to grunt and growl like a beast. 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 503 
 
 13. — P. 428. And Emerson's verse without rhyming close, And a 
 devilish deal less tough.] 
 
 " The longest poem in tho present collection is entitled 'May-Day* It 
 
 breathes throughout the freshness and the beauty of Spring, and overflows with 
 poetic thought and imaginative sympathy loilh the breaking of the ' marble sleep ' 
 of Winter. [Good lack-a-day 1 where is Alger ?] ... What a graphic piece of 
 description is this : 
 
 Lo ! how all the tribes combine 
 
 To rout the flying foe. t 
 
 See, every patriot oak-leaf throws 
 
 His elfin length upon the snows ; 
 
 Not idle, since the leaf all day 
 
 Draws to the spot the solar ray, ,. 
 
 Ere sunset quarrying inches down, 
 
 And half-way to the mosses brown : 
 
 While the grass beneath the rime 
 
 Has hints of the propitious time, 
 
 And upward pries and perforates 
 
 Through the cold slab a thousand gates, 
 
 Till green lances peering through 
 
 Bend happy in the welkin blue." JV. Y. Times, May 1, 1867. 
 
 The grass having hints, and prying and perforating in a slab a thou- 
 sand gates, and lances peering and bending happy, is so good that 
 we will cut off this quotation here. Then : 
 
 " The northward procession of the Spring is thus vividly described : 
 I saw the bud-crowned Spring go forth, 
 Stepping daily onward north 
 To greet staid ancient cavaliers 
 Filing single in stately train. 
 And who, and who are the travelers! 
 They were Night and Day, and Day and Night, 
 Pilgrims wight with step forthright. 
 I saw the Days deformed and low, 
 Short and bent by cold and snow; 
 The merry Spring threw wreaths on them, 
 [Which was a mauvaise plaisanterie, as they were already snow-bowed] 
 Flower-wreaths gay with bud and bell; 
 Many a flower and many a gem, 
 They tare refreshed by the smell. 
 They shook the snow from hats and shoon, 
 They put their April raiment on ; 
 And those eternal forms [ "deformed and low"l 
 
504 NOTES TO 
 
 J 
 
 Unhurt by a thousand storms 
 [Yet bent by the weight of snow] 
 
 Shot tip to the height of the sky again, 
 And danced as merrily as young men." 
 
 Fancy them, these pilgrims wight with step forthright, shooting up 
 to the height of the sky, then dancing away right merrily : The image 
 is of Longinistic sublimity, and one is tempted to ask with the big- 
 worded Grecian, WJiere the devil did they find the space? But let us 
 continue : it is such a treat to have a pretentious and affected phi- 
 losopher writing — well, such verses as a child should be spanked for. 
 
 « 
 " I saw them mask their awful glance 
 
 Sidewise meek in gossamer lids ; 
 
 And to speak my thought if none forbids, 
 
 It was as if the eternal gods, 
 
 Tired of their starry periods, [ace. pei'iodn'] 
 
 Hid their majesty in cloth 
 
 Woven of tulips and painted moth. 
 
 On carpets green the maskers march 
 
 Below May's well-appointed arch, 
 
 Each star, each god, each grace ariain, 
 [all made out of the pilgrims wight, who, vaili lg their awful glance's light, 
 Sidewise meek, if no sense forbids, in gossamer lid:, maskers grow in a Joseph's 
 cloth Woven of tulips and painted moth. — By the by, as moths do not come out 
 in April, with paint or without, nor the tulips either I believe, where did 
 the cavalier-lraveler-Days deformed get their wardrobe Unhurt by a thousand 
 storms for their eternal sky- high forms ? ] 
 
 Every joy and virtue speed, [?] 
 
 Marching duly in her train, 
 
 And fainting Nature at her need 
 
 Is made whole again." 
 [It 's a wonder she was not driven stark-mad.] 
 
 And the fool or sycophant praises this stuff of Emerson's, who, 
 besides having his head half-way up in a Swinburne fog, and being 
 almost as incapable of rythm as Walt Whitman, has no adequate 
 conception of what is rhyme I 
 
 "We give spaccto one extract more., the closing passage of the poem. 
 For thou, O Spring ! canst renovate 
 All that high God did first create. 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 505 
 
 Be still his arm and architect, 
 
 Rebuild the ruin, mend defect ; 
 
 Chemist to vamp old worlds with new, 
 
 Coat sea and sky with heavenlier blue, 
 
 New-tint the plumage of the birds, 
 
 And slotigh decay from grazing herds, etc." 
 
 "We shall follow no further. The image of the chemist turned cob- 
 bler and vamping old worlds with new, though he does not tell how 
 the feat is done, which were a considerable one even were it old 
 shoes with new, and the sloughing of decay from cattle while grazing 
 ( an excellent thing in the present panic of the meat-market,) make 
 too delectable an ending for us to mar it by addition. 
 
 14. — P. 428. As pompom an ass as Victor Hugo, Who, etc., 
 etc.] One of the best-marked personal traits of this greatly over- 
 rated poet and romancer, is conspicuous in the following note taken 
 from the JV. Y. Times of July 30, 1867. 
 
 " Letter from Victor Hugo on John Brown. 
 From la Cooperation, 
 The editor of this journal, having opened a subscription with a view to offering 
 a medal to JOHN Brown's widow, received the subjoined letter from Victor 
 
 Hugo: 
 
 Hauteville House, July 3, 1867. 
 Sir : My name belongs to all who would make use of It to serve progress and 
 truth. 
 
 A medal to Lincoln calls for a medal to John Brown. Let us cancel that 
 debt pending such time as America shall cancel hers. America owes John 
 Brown a statue as taU as that of Washington. Washington 'founded' 
 America, John Brown diffused liberty. 
 I press your hand. 
 
 VICTOR HUGO." 
 
 Here we see lack of judgment in the exaltation of a simple 
 
 fanatic, relieved, but not concealed, by a pomposity and affectation 
 
 that are really ludicrous. Much of what M. Hugo writes in epistles 
 
 to the public is of tins character : ( witness his appeal for Maxi- 
 
 Vol. IV.— 22 
 
506 NOTES TO 
 
 milian to Juarez.*) He seems to think himself not only the primi- 
 tive and particular apostle of liberty, but the foremost man on all 
 occasions, and whose sentiments on any public question are of 
 value, whether he is conversant with it or not. Yet it is this affec- 
 tation, which would degrade even ordinary talent, and reminds us 
 of the stage-strut and mouthing of secondrate tragedy-actors, that 
 is taken, by such asses as Fledgling, ( though in the text he is not 
 made to bray ) as a proper indication of genius. For example : 
 
 " The recent correspondence between Victor Hugo and the young poets of 
 France .... isjme of the most graceful and eloquent passages in modern litera- 
 ture. * * * To their expressions of ' boundless admiration ' the old poet replied 
 with a delicacy of compliment, a brilliancy of eloquence, a tenderness of feeling 
 which showed how well they had called him ' master ', and how simply and [yet] 
 boldly true were their epithets. 'Dear poets, the literary revolution of 1830, 
 corollary and consequence of the revolution of 1789 [!], is a fact which belongs to 
 our age. I am the humble soldier of this progress. I fight for revolution uuder 
 all its forms — under the literary form as under the social form. I have liberty for 
 principle, progress for law, the ideal for type.' Our epoch is 'a profound epoch, 
 against which no reaction is possible. Grand art forms a part in this grand age. 
 It is its soul. * * We, the old — we have had the combat ; you, the young — 
 you will have the triumph.'' Then, in a characteristic generalization, Victor Hugo 
 declares that ' the spirit of the \§th century combines the democratic search for the 
 True, with the eternal law of the Beautiful 1 , and it directs 'everything toward 
 this sovereign end, liberty in intelligence, the ideal in art. Literature ought to 
 be at once democratic and ideal : democratic for civilization, ideal for the souV " 
 (JT. Y. Times.) 
 
 All of which is as pellucid as plumcake, while at the same time it 
 is as void of inflation as soap-bubbles. 
 
 " In a fine closing sentence," pursues the newspaper youth, "he tells the young 
 poets, ' I am proud to see my name surrounded by yours. Your names are a 
 garland of stars' " [of the smallest microscopic magnitude.] 
 
 * And more recently his vehement objurgation of those who chose to sentence 
 and to execute a negro girl of twelve years, who had committed a murder in 
 Kentucky. The newspapers make him eject froth after this fashion: "Was 
 there not manhood left in Kentucky to tear out the tongues of the fiends who 
 pronounced judgment on that girl, and break the arms of those who were base 
 enough to carry out such a sentence ? " Yet M. Hugo has long ceased to be a 
 schoolboy. 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 507 
 
 Perhaps he wrote galaxy. But it does not matter. Either way, 
 simple or confused, the metaphor is felicitous. If they are the stars, 
 he of course must he the centre of the system ; and that he could 
 assert them to be such, and proclaim his own pride to be so gar- 
 landed, galaxied, or satellited, is especially illustrative of the " demo- 
 cratic search for the True,' 1 ' 1 — which no one will henceforth doubt has 
 been found by M. Hugo. 
 
 15.— P. 435. Act the Third.] In this Scene, if I shall seem to 
 praise myself, it will be because I copy, as closely as the occasion 
 and the verse will permit, the sentiments expressed by two of the 
 characters in their literary function, and the facts as detailed to one 
 of my brothers by the third. 
 
 In taking the liberty I have done in introducing these gentlemen 
 into my piece, I have been guided more by a sense of gratitude 
 than by any other motive. I have so little to be grateful for in all 
 my literary career to my fellows, that I may be allowed to indulge 
 the feeling at the expense of an appearance of egotism, as I certainly 
 have done it to the detriment of my drama. 
 
 Begging then pardon of each one, I may say to him safely, if I 
 know myself: 
 
 " In freta dum fluvii current, 
 
 polus dum sidera pascet, 
 
 Semper honos, nomenque tuum, laudesque manebunt, 
 Quae me cumque vocant terrae." 
 
 16. — P. 439. Because intent To keep from the light his false argu- 
 ment.'] 
 
 Who shames a scribbler ? break one cobweb through, 
 
 He spins the slight, self -pleasing thread anew : 
 
 Destroy his fib, or sophistry, in vain, 
 
 The creature 's at his dirty work again. POPE. Prol. to Sat. 
 
 Just as this 3d Act was passing through the hands of the com- 
 
508 NOTES TO 
 
 positor, I learned that the Round Table had, with inconceivable 
 effrontery — no, it was the Round Table — had, with characteristic 
 effrontery, dared to talk thus of Bianca — of Bianca Capello, which 
 I have placed next to Virginia in the collective volume of dramas, — 
 Bianca, which, however faulty, is full of incident, action and passion, 
 / and conspicuous for stage-effect, but whose "plot" is its weakest 
 
 point, and whose " language and ideas " this sciolist, who cannot 
 write grammatically and has no sentiment but for the commonplace 
 and routine of his trade, condemns by commendation. The empha- 
 sizing by capitals and italics is my own. 
 
 " There is the same tiresome prolixity of dialogue, the same peculiar wood- 
 enness IN THE PERSONAGES of the drama, the same FRIGIDITY OF IMAGINA- 
 TION we before remarked as characteristic of the author, but also, it is fair to 
 add [delightful candor !] , a symmetry of plot and, in the main, a correctness of 
 language and ideas which are his chief virtues. The play is founded on an epi- 
 sode in the romantic history of Bianca Capello, who, etc." [It happens to be her 
 entire history. Did he really know what is an " episode ? "] " She died in 1587, 
 at Poggio [Did she ? It would be as correct to say, The ducal palace was at 
 Pitti. She died in the Villa del Poggio at Caiano, as he was taught in the drama, 
 as well as in the "Appendices" from which alone the dunce has borrowed all his 
 information] within a few mimites of her husband, [that is the play, not history, 
 which the ignorant is' affecting to talk after. The briefest interval assigned by 
 historians is fifteen hours'] both having been taken suddenly ill after a dinner at 
 which the grand duke's brother, Cardinal Ferdinand, participated." [Partici- 
 pated at is good. Here is a smatterer, who pretends to find correctness ( I beg 
 pardon, correctness in the main ) in my language, yet cannot write an article, 
 occupying in its whole extent about half a column of his miscellany, without mak- 
 ing three capital mistakes in his own ; for when he says, in the title of the book, 
 "Being a completion of the First volume, &c", he wrote what I did not. Had I 
 so chosen to phrase the title, I should have said '■•■the completion ; " but it is 
 really printed "Being in completion."] " The cardinal was suspected of having 
 poisoned them, a view which Mr. Osborn adopts, making the motive consist in 
 his unrequited love for Bianca.' 1 '' Etc., etc. [Mr. Osborn never made any such 
 thing. He is not a fool, though his cacooritic may be half-a-dozen. But this 
 assertion must be deliberate, therefore wjlful, misrepresentation, — like that of 
 the Nation when it said I made Judas sell his Master to buy Mary Magdalene 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 509 
 
 bread and tatter. The Cardinal, Minded by revenge for a supposed injury the 
 moat pe.gnant that could be offered to a man of hi s temper as weii as o, J "2 
 
 z^'^^ r inventor °* - — — «-* - p— >»« " 
 
 A er"Zre m "£»* *"*" "" "" °«^ •■*»«»*. ambition. 
 A reader of natnre, - wh.oh ia not either the Bourn Table's waiter or the old 
 woman ^ the *,„o„, - k ,„ws weU that it „ often ^ « ^ 
 
 "I' 1 '*"'™' "bat has been the meditated purpose of years.] 
 
 Let us return to the criticism ( so to call it). " Prolility of dia . 
 logue ,s hardly reconcileable with " symmetry of plot „ and „ cor . 
 recta, of language and ideas." The dramatist who exhibits these 
 .taking merits could not easily commit a fault which can exist only 
 with one who is ignorant of the requirements of dramatic writing 
 Symmetry of P M, if I understand the phrase, implies strict unit" 
 of action, and therefore the exclusion of everything that wonld im- 
 pede, or even be nnuecessary to, that action. Upon this principle 
 may be suffered to assert, are all my dramas founded,, and there! 
 fore I shaD be found to set aside all the useless, awkward, and 
 unnatural tram of confidants, and persons whose whole business in 
 a play ,s to talk, whether wit or wisdom, and whose intervention 
 noes not promote one step the evolution of the plot or the approach 
 
 • I must be forgiven, if, with eonsiderabie hesitation, I venture to append from 
 
 ■IT T ,'T imx the tMowhie pa ^ *** > - -»■« * »» * ™ 
 
 n sh the standard whereby my dramas are to he measured, although in faet it 
 hart reference only to Virginia. 
 
 ^h n Z be th0Ught ' " higb * Se ^- ise - But, looking down the not dim 
 sta of the ruture, and seeing what I there see in its far horizon, the single star 
 hat never sets on my grave, I do not fear to write it, and boldly challeng! for it 
 the exactest scrutiny. s 
 
510 NOTES TO 
 
 of the catastrophe. And it is on this account I have said above, 
 that the 3d Act, though introduced with a particular design, spoils 
 the present piece. Having too, I well may claim, an absolute devo- 
 tion to Nature, sacrificing all needless description, all poetical adorn- 
 ment, where contrary to her requirements, how is it possible that 
 my dialogue should be prolix ? Besides, the Table knows very well, 
 or there is another point deficient in its qualifications, that in every 
 play extensive mutilations are made in the dialogue to fit it for the 
 Stage.* But the reader shall judge for himself. Bound up in this 
 volume, is the Montanini, a drama fitted for performance. If I shall 
 be found to have uttered there any five lines in succession that 
 could have been spared, I will admit the Table-man is less reckless 
 of his assertions in one particular than he appears to be in all.f 
 For the " peculiar woodeuncss in the personages": where the 
 
 * Vide passim Inchbald's British Theatre. — I have indicated, myself, some of 
 the abbreviations to be made in my own dramas. 
 
 t In the favorite tragedy of JTamlet, which has twenty-two interlocutors, great 
 and small, I make out 3482 verses, of all kinds, counting among them the lines of 
 prose dialogue, each of which contains rather more word-matter than a f nil iam- 
 bic verse. In Virginia, which has twenty interlocutors, whereof sixteen have 
 perfectly distinctive; characters, there are 1690 verses, 31 of which are marked 
 "to be omitted" in the representation. Deducting these, there are . but 1659 
 verses. Thus Shakspeare's Hamlet has 1823 verses, or actually one-half, more of 
 dialogue than Virginia! Nay, Bianca Capello, which covers a period of many 
 years (being a "romantic" drama) and has thirty-three speakers, great and 
 small, contains but 2524 verses all told, or, deducting those marked to be omitted 
 ( 98 in number, ) 2426 verses, being 1056 ( or nearly one-third ) less than in Hamlet. 
 
 So much for the integrity of this Poh ! where the deliberate misrepresen- 
 
 tation, the crafty mutilation and suppression, the hypocritical depreciation, are 
 so prominent characteristics of all the Round Table's notices, beginning with that 
 of Virginia, it is but a small matter to find it thus demonstrably false-spoken. 
 The reader will however understand that were my books not kept from circula- 
 tion, nay virtually suppressed, by the malignant calumnies of such mean pre- 
 tenders, I should not extend to them the honor of an argument, and the School 
 for Critics would not take the place of pieces which, like the Montanini. do some- 
 thing more than furnish amusement. 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 511 
 
 proud, yet hypocritical and subtle Cardinal, the crafty, double-deal- 
 ing and perfidious Malocuore, the grave, dignified, sensible and hon- 
 orable Sennuccio, the impulsive yet gallant Bonaventuri, and Bianca 
 herself, tender,Vet spirited and high-minded, are prominent, — where 
 even the very Assassins have each his distinctive character, and 
 there is uo one without attribute save Donna Virginia, who is pur- 
 posely made so, and is so indicated in the text, — where these and 
 others are the persons represented, the man who could dare say that 
 must be either ignorant of his trade — I beg pardon, he is perfectly 
 master of his trade — ignorant, then, of true criticism, or a wilful 
 falsifier. Let him be either or both. Probably as both he is useful 
 in a journal which, according to its own modest and truthful account 
 of itself in its u spontaneous growth,'' "has labored vigorously for 
 national literature " and has been " pronounced to be the Ablest Pub- 
 lication of its Class in the United States."* I venture the assertion, 
 without any hesitancy ( because I speak after due comparison ), that, 
 whatever the defects of my pieces, there are not, in the whole range 
 of dramatic writing from JEschylus down, any series of characters 
 that are better discriminated, more life-like, and more true to nature 
 than my owu. 
 
 For the " frigidity of imagination ", I have said enough in the 3d 
 Act of this drama, — p. 43H, lines 4-7, and p. 438, 11. 12-18. The 
 fool or malignant who ventured on that false ascription would, were 
 his censure conscientious, exclude Schiller, Alfieri, Corneille from 
 the Pantheon of dramatic poets and put Bedlam Swiuburne in its 
 principal niche. It is the old story. Pope, who, aiming at " cor- 
 rectness," had sense for his lodestar and reason for his monitor, is 
 
 * One thing is certain. Either the writer of that article is a born fool, or he ia 
 a parcel-educated dullard. I had a brief acquaintance with the late Edgar A. Poe. 
 On one occasion, when I was speaking of the unpopularity of my works, he said to 
 me : " We authors, Mr. Osborn, have opinions of our own, and they are in general 
 very different from those that are retailed to the public t>y reviewers." Such ia 
 my consolation: 
 
512 NOTES TO 
 
 denied by such men the spirit of a poet : the genuine bards are those 
 alone who give rein to their hippogriff and gallop up and down the 
 poetical heaven just as the ungovernable mongrel may choose to bear 
 them. The first principle of good writing is perspicuity. He whose 
 ''imagination" sees clearly will paint clearly, and his words, like 
 the colors and the tones of a true painter, will not be of the rainbow, 
 nor of the cloud, but pure, distinct, harmonious ; his light and shadow, 
 though magical in their attraction, will be nature's own, and his de- 
 sign, while free of harshness, in no part vague. The lessons of crit- 
 icism seem to be excluded from our schools, or to be forgotten. Yet 
 the principles of true art are the same as they were a hundred years 
 ago, and will be the same forever, for they are founded on nature 
 and reason only. Who are the poets that are still preferred ? For 
 one who reads, or better, who has redd Lycophron, there are ten 
 thousand who joy in Homer still. How is it then, that that which 
 is so much admired in the latter, his simplicity and distinctness, 
 should allow of admiration for the glittering fustian of a Talfourd or 
 the unintelligible jumble of a Swinburne? But such writers are not 
 really admired, and are never understood. It argues perspicacity, 
 to pretend to understand them. Omne ignotum pro miriftco : what is 
 not intelligible is taken to be wonderful. In the words of my own 
 text (let me be permitted to repeat them : ), 
 
 For fustian maintains a name's illusion 
 
 With man, who is dazzled by word-confusion, 
 
 And finds magnificent and grand 
 
 All that his noddle can't understand, 
 
 And weighty the thoughts from whose tangled skeins 
 
 He fails to draw a conclusion. 
 
 Frigidity of imagination, or of anything else, in me! But the 
 
 impertinent did not believe, and never even thought it. It was a 
 tumid phrase of abusive hemi-criticism, and he used its sound, as 
 fustianists and magpies do, without a meaning. But. when I say, 
 that to have used it shows he has frigidity of heart and arctic Iciness 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 513 
 
 of conscience, I speak thoughtfully, and mean ( with allowance for 
 the stilted language 1 mimic but to mock) precisely what I say.* 
 
 That the reader might know what these creatures are, and that 
 the future may have no trouble to unearth them, I have taken these 
 pains to notice what would otherwise be speedily forgotten. The 
 day will come when the malignant, envious and perhaps revengeful 
 author of that short-sighted article will hide his head for having 
 ejected it on such a tragedy as Bianca, as the gentlemen I have ven- 
 tured to introduce in the present piece as the interlocutors of Act 
 III. will take honor to themselves that they had the sense to feel, 
 the taste and culture to understand, and the conscience to express 
 their judgment and their feeling, in the case of all these dramas, 
 which not ten thousand fools and maliguants can put down, and 
 which shall take their place in my country's literature in defiance of 
 the neglect of her men of real talent and the studied slight of her 
 fifteen-penny criticasters. Living but for truth, as perhaps I shall 
 die for it, one great desire of my life is to represent as they are these 
 parasites on the fair growth of literature, to show them in their 
 actual deformity, their individual insignificance and yet their aggre- 
 gate noxiousness. — Let me annex but one remark : 
 
 If anything could increase my disgust, or add to the turpitude of 
 the pretentious sheet thus noticed, it is that in the leading article of 
 this very Number, it lends its influence to promote the election, to 
 the Presidency of this great republic, of a man who was a traitor to 
 its unity, and not only the abettor of treason, but who had the base- 
 ness to address in friendly terms the horrible wretches whose hands 
 were scarcely dry of the innocent blood with which they had sprinkled 
 the ashes of incendiarism and dyed of a more revolting hue the crime 
 
 * I beg leave to refer to a subnote " (4) " in the 3d Appendix to Bianca. The 
 melancholy avowal there made would have moved any but the " frigid " nature I 
 expose to scorn. Yet the heartless blockhead culled out of it an allusion ( After 
 my death, when my countrymen may condescend to read these dramas, ) where- 
 with to make a gnat's sting of the last of his Lilliputian arrows. 
 OO* 
 
514 NOTES TO 
 
 of burglary. But why should I be disgusted? It was meet that the 
 false-tongued journal, which in envy, malice, or in downright igno- 
 rance, could lend itself to the overthrow of the temple of true art, 
 should look with complacency on treason, and find no danger to the 
 republic in the advocates or apologists of rebellion and the demagog- 
 ism that would truckle to the worst passions of a foreign-born mob. 
 
 17. — P. 440. For he took the pains both pieces to cite In a note to 
 his story of Alice.] Hinc Mae lacrymae. Had I kissed the rod, I 
 might have counted more sugarplums both for Alice and for Bianca, 
 But the temptation to expose the ignorance, the self-assurance, the 
 flippant impertinence, the hypocrisy, the mendacity, of these ani- 
 mated fungi of literature, was too mighty to resist. So I succumbed, 
 without a permit from Doolady. 
 
 18.— P. 442. Vat Jean in the Miserabks, — Who, liken 1 d to Christ 
 in the strife for good — ] This is not my comparison. The more 
 reverent reader will please hold M. Hugo responsible. 
 
 19. — P. 44:7. Like Ferdinand Mendez Pinto Dixon Who found, 
 etc.] Malice is contagious. Inoculated with the virus of Mr. Hep- 
 worth Dixon's slanders, the Vie Parisienne, which the correspondent 
 of the N. Y. Times ( whence I take the translation ) says is an able 
 weekly paper circulating among the better classes of Paris, has the 
 audacity to talk as follows : 
 
 " In conclusion, I hardly dare to speak of a certain trait of American manners, 
 it is so delicate ; but I am going to risk it. It appears that there is a house at; 
 New York, tolerated by the Government [!], where they satisfy the wishes of 
 man-ied ladies who do not care for the joys of maternity. A lady, in making her 
 morning calls, tells her friends that on a certain day she had been to the house 
 in question, with as much indifference as if it had been a work of charity. Young 
 ladies are also taken into this house to board, who — but I stop, and for a good 
 cause. When one reflects that an act which carries the people who commit it so 
 far away from France [!] appears quite natural in America, he cannot but have 
 a strange opinion of universal morality."' July SO, 1S67. 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 515 
 
 But for the atrocious advertisements which abound in the New- 
 York newspapers, iu none more than in the Nl Y Times itself, it is 
 easy to see that such a wicked absurdity, wherein combine the ig- 
 norance, the malice, and the self-conceit, that distinguish in literary 
 matters the " ingenious gentlemen " of the Round Table, could never 
 have been concocted. But if not purely the invention of the writers 
 in either case, they have been the victim's of a well-known danger- 
 ous humor among our people, — that of bantering supercilious 
 strangers, and stuffing their ears with all sorts of libels against 
 themselves. This has been recognized by all of us as practiced on 
 all the note taking travelers, beginning with Mrs. Trollope and inclu- 
 ding the cockney Dickens. 
 
 I may add, that the most impertinent of the transgressions of 
 these Munchausens is their pretence of describing the most refined 
 society among us as if they were familiar with it, whereas I have 
 never been able to discover that they were in it at all ; not at least 
 in New York. 
 
 20. — P. 449. Save one divine article Of which not a particle 
 Shall be lost to the last of the Yankees begotten.'] See above, Note 8, 
 where it will be found preserved, like the fly in amber. 
 
 21.— P. 453. — skedaddled — ] See next note. 
 
 22. — P. 459. — vamos'd the ranch !] A mongrel cant phrase 
 prevalent in the South-west. Vamos is the Spanish for Allons ! 
 Come ! and ranche is a corruption of rancho, or rancheria, which in 
 the Mexican-Spanish of California appears to be used to signify a 
 farm, although in the Castilian application of the word ( mess, or 
 mess-room) the composition is intelligible. The phrase is therefore 
 equivalent to the kindred elegancies, absquatulated — " skedaddled " 
 — and the English, as well as American. "cut stick." All of which 
 niceties we gather from the newspapers, if they teach us nothing 
 
516 NOTES TO 
 
 else ; and for which, as they are characteristic of our hero S. M., 
 and his congeners, let us be thankful. 
 
 '23. — P. 462. But dotes on Walt Whitman's oatrachian fire — ] 
 
 " Walt Whitman's 'Carol of Harvest, for 1867,' is a very unequal production. 
 The opening stanzas are overflowing with poetic feeling, and their rythm is sweet 
 and musical. How tender Is the pathos of these lines : 
 
 Pass — pass, ye proud brigades ! 
 
 So handsome, dress' d in blue — with your tramping, sinewy legs ; 
 * * # * 
 
 Pass ; — then rattle, drums, again ! 
 
 Scream, you steamers on the river, out of whistles loud and shrill, your salutes ! 
 
 For an army heaves in sight — O another gathering army ! 
 
 Swarming, trailing on the rear — you dread accruing army ! 
 
 O you regiments so piteous, with your mortal diarrhoea ! with yoiyr fevers ! 
 
 O my land's maimed darlings ! with the plenteous bloody bandage and the crutch 1 
 
 Lo ! your pallid army follow'd ! 
 
 Put on these days of brightness, 
 
 On the far-stretching beauteous landscape, the roads and lanes, the high-piled 
 
 farm- wagons, and the fruits and barns, 
 Shall the dead intrude ? 
 
 Melt, melt away, ye armies ! disperse, ye blue-clad soldiers ! 
 
 Resolve ye back again — give up, for good, your deadly arms ; 
 
 Other the arms, the fields henceforth for you, or South or North, or East or West, 
 
 With saner war — sweet wars — life-giving wars. 
 
 "But the following passage" (says the criticaster tenderly) . . . " reads more 
 like an extract from an agricultural report than poetry : 
 
 * * * 
 
 The engines, thrashers of grain, and cleaners of grain, well separating the straw, 
 The power-hoes for corn fields — the nimble work of the patent pitchfork ; 
 Beholdest the newer saw-mill, the cotton-gin, and the rice-cleanser."' 
 — N. Y. Times, Aug. 26, 1807. 
 
 After that, the honest and capable criticizer notices some of Mr. 
 Tilton's always rythmical verses, and says, "Such verses might be 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 517 
 
 written by the yard, and kept on hand to be cut into pieces of right [the 
 right] length to fill out a page." Where it will be seen that the 
 ignoramus has uttered what, barring its bad English, might be rea- 
 sonably applied to Mr. Whitman's measures. 
 
 24.— P. 466. -- at Willis 1 .'] Almack's. 
 
 25. — P. 482. He may rank ivith New England's best.] Some per- 
 sons may think this is not paying him a very great compliment. 
 However that may be, it is a just one. But to pick out the child's 
 trifle, and pass over all the well melodized and often nervous poems 
 that precede it,. was quite after the fashion of newspaper and maga- 
 zine witlings, where they have a personal animosity, and is notably 
 Fledgling. 
 
 26. — P. 485. " Hanging to dry."~\ Of so brief a quotation, it is not 
 always easy to trace the source, and consequently to explain the al- 
 lusion. We are able to do this in the present case, only by going to 
 the familiar associations of the Hotchpot Cryer. Deadhead had pro- 
 bably in the cleanly chambers of his memory one of those exhilara- 
 ting volumes — Fcscennini versus, which are kept under the tables 
 of the market peddlers and sold with great mystery to schoolboys 
 and servant-maids. 
 
 END OF THE FOURTH VOLUME. 
 
LIST OF PLAYS COMPRISED IN THE SERIES. 
 
 The names in i \ PuhHslied. 
 
 Volume I. 
 Calvary; Virginia / jBianca Capello : Tragedies. 
 
 Volume II. 
 
 Ugo da Este; Uberto ; The Last Maude ville ; 
 Matilda of Denmark: Tragedies. 
 
 v - 
 
 VoiiUME III. 
 
 Meleagros; Palamedes; (En<me; Pyrrluis, Son of 
 Achilles; The Cid of Seville : Tragedies, 
 
 Volume IV. 
 
 The Silver Head ; The Double Deceit ; The Mon- 
 tanini '; The School for Critics: Comedies. 
 
 Volume V. 
 
 The Magnetiser ; The Prodigal ; His Uncle's Heir; 
 The Dead Alive : Comedies. 
 
 The >ubli£hedjrill be Ugo da Este and Uberto: 
 
 Tragedies. 
 
•'••' 
 •}./<;' 
 
 ■■.'■■..<: 
 
 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 linn hiii iiii 
 
 015 871 214 3