The sentence of those who do not read is the
best criticism on those who will not think.
It is acting on these considerations that we propose not to take
count of any works that do not either show a purpose achieved or give
promise of a worthy event; while of such we hope to overlook none.
We believe it may safely be assumed that at no previous period has
the public been more buzzed round by triviality and common-place; but
we hold firm, at the same time, that at none other has there been a
greater or a grander body of genius, or so honorable a display of
well cultivated taste and talent. Certainly the public do not seem to
know this: certainly the critics deny it, or rather speak as though
they never contemplated that such a position would be advanced: but,
if the fact be so, it will make itself known, and the poets of this
day will assert themselves, and take their places.
Of these it is our desire to speak truthfully, indeed, and without
compromise, but always as bearing in mind that the inventor is more
than the commentator, and the book more than the notes; and that, if
it is we who speak, we do so not for ourselves, nor as of ourselves.
The work of Arthur Hugh Clough now before us, (we feel warranted in
the dropping of the _Mr._ even at his first work,) unites the most
enduring forms of nature, and the most unsophisticated conditions of
life and character, with the technicalities of speech, of manners,
and of persons of an Oxford reading party in the long vacation.
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