1827.] Canons of Criticism. 



state dignities, is as uncontrolled in Parnassus as at court, or the Bath 

 assemblies; nor should we despair of a sale even for Leatherbreeches him- 

 self, as long as he has the privilege of clapping M. P. at the end of his 

 name. 



In matters of taste, there is nothing so tormenting as a definition. How 

 many painful pages have been expended in defining the sublime, the beau- 

 tiful, the graceful, and, above all, the picturesque ! Yet I cannot say that 

 the world is much nearer understanding what is meant by these sensible 

 obstructions. Upon fine writing we have works innumerable; yet a clear 

 definition of it is still a desideratum. I feel myself, therefore, a benefac- 

 tor of society, and have more reason than all the Horaces in the world for 

 " knocking my head against the stars," when I afford mankind an insight 

 into this mystery. In one word, then, fine writing is the writing which 

 pleases your publisher ; and a good book is a book that sells. Had this 

 simple verity been known to the Roscommons, the Popes, the La Harpes, 

 and the Gravinas, what a deal of learned labour it would have saved ! 

 Like all other great discoveries, the thing appears simple enough, and one 

 only wonders that nobody hit on it before. I should not, indeed, be sur- 

 prised if the envious should endeavour to deprive me of the honour of the 

 invention, and say that it lies inclusively in Hudibras's proposition : 



" What is the worth of any thing, 

 But so much money as 'twill bring ?" 



But then, I ask, how comes it that nobody has made the application ? It 

 is the case of Columbus's egg over again. Be this, however, as it may, 

 the doctrine itself is logically demonstrable. Goodness is a quality solely 

 referable to our sensations ; and to say that a thing pleases, is to say every 

 thing in its favour. It is with taste as with opinion : et sapit et mecum 

 sentit. You think with me, and are a man of taste and judgment. You 

 dislike what I like, and you are a blockhead and a coxcomb. That, there- 

 fore, which generally pleases is alone entitled to the general epithet of 

 good. But how shall we know what generally pleases, if it be not what 

 is generally bought ? Money is universally allowed to be the thing which 

 ell men love best; and if a man buys a book, we may safely infer that 

 he thinks well of it. What nobody buys, then, we may justly conclude 

 is worth nothing. But if this does not satisfy the reader, probo aliter, as 

 the Cambridge slang has it. Every thing is good in proportion as it 

 attains the end to which it is directed ; but the end of all writing is to 

 make money. Whatever finical writers may talk of fame, the wants of the 

 public, or the pressing solicitations of those who have seen the manuscript, 

 " obliged by hunger and request of friends," is as true now as ever it was. 

 Petronius Arbiter has with his usual acuteness remarked, 



" Magister artis ingenique largitor 

 Venter," 



that want is the best inspiration ; which could not be true, if the sale of a 

 book were not the criterion of its excellence. Our noble authors them- 

 selves do not disdain to accept of pecuniary compensation ; therefore, we 

 cannot doubt that money is the great end of authorship. The conclusion 

 is obvious : the work which brings most money most perfectly answers its 

 end, and is the best. No wonder then that booksellers are such good 

 critics, and that they so rarely pronounce a work bad that really is 

 not so. 



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