ITS TRUE FUNCTION.

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their own point of view; or praised and condemned on ground utterly unintelligible by the reader, in whose service and for whose benefit they professed to work. If we could combine the expert with the critic-if, that is, we could unite special faculties with perfect knowledge-it would be a desirable consummation. Until that is attainable, we must either abolish criticism, or cease to blame the reviewer because his knowledge is inferior to the man on whom he is in judgment. Literary questions are not the only questions that must be relegated to the laity for final decision.

Criticism, as I conceive it, has to do solely with the disposal of the materials, and but incidentally with the quality of the materials themselves. In fine, it should concern itself with the method of an author, and not with the elucidation of the subject.

The critic should be guided in his decision by certain fixed and intelligible principles. Above all, he should know no more of the author than is revealed to him by the work under his review. Women who write are so well aware of the disadvantage to which a revelation of their sex would expose them, that they not unnaturally resort to innumerable expedients for the purpose of keeping themselves unknown. Most readers will remember with pain the earnest entreaty made to a famous critic by poor

Charlotte Bronté, that he would discuss her book without reference to her sex, and the indignation she exhibited upon finding that her entreaty had been disregarded. A critic, who has unofficially become acquainted with the personality of an anonymous author, has several temptations to use his knowledge. In the first place, he is enabled to make discoveries which exhibit his penetration, and thus secure journalistic as well as personal advantage. He is enabled to show such skill in the selection of illustrative passages to support his views as to the sex or condition of the author, that he imposes upon the reader, and appears "to possess very unusual insight." His unofficial knowledge will almost invariably be found to colour his verdict. He becomes what may be called a shirt-collar critic; deducing his conclusions, not from the evidence before him, but from his personal knowledge of the author. If the latter moves in a humble sphere, some passage will be discovered that proves his ignorance of the usages of society; if he belongs to the upper classes, something will be found to indicate that he is unacquainted with the habits and feelings of some of the characters he has endeavoured to represent. The discussion of anything further than what is derivable from the book is, I humbly submit,—for here I know I have against me general opinion-a gross transgression of the ethics

of criticism. Such discussion may interest the reader; it may gratify the author himself that his progress should be traced from the first public exhibition of his genius to his triumphant conquest of all difficulties, and his assumption of general approbation; but this, like many other interesting experiments, is not within the limits of criticism, and should be eschewed by the reviewer-whose duty lies in scrupulously confining himself to a consideration of the particular work he is reviewing. I do not think it will be denied in theory that every book should be judged absolutely and not relatively either with respect to the author's position at some former period, or to the circumstances of its production. By dramatic critics the opposite practice is pursued. One of the most eminent of them has avowed to me (and his statement is confirmed by the practice of the whole body) that he always regards a performance from "the point of view of the House" where the actor appears. If, for instance, Cholmondeley Lascelles, (né Smith), who is a very mediocre actor, played with applause at a small uncritical east-end theatre, where even he is a "star," the critic would pronounce favourably on the successful performance. If, on the other hand, Cholmondeley performed the same character at Drury Lane, he would esteem it his duty to denounce the attempt as an impertinence.

The pursuance of this "point of view" sadly affects the importance and power of dramatic criticism; and is equivalent to a reviewer criticising a book, not on its absolute merits, but from "a publishingfirm point of view." A work of trifling merit, published by an unknown tradesman-were the same principles applied to literary as to theatrical criticism-would be tenderly treated, whilst the same, issued from one of our great publishing houses, would be abused as unworthy of the literary fame of the establishment. Such a practice does, however, prevail; not alone with respect to the selection of books for review, but in some degree with respect to the mode of their treatment. But it takes a different direction. A work coming from an eminent firm is sure to receive greater consideration than if it had been the venture of an ignoble bibliopolist. By such practice the very first principle of criticism is completely violated. Everything foreign and irrelevant should be kept external. There must be no extenuation of shortcomings. Let it not be urged, in favour of a work and in mitigation of its faults, that the writer was environed with disheartening difficulties during its composition, or that, being a peasant, his meagre and defective education precluded him from participating in the advantages usually possessed by authors. The self-taught man, debarred

EXTENUATING CIRCUMSTANCES. 31

in his youth from the attendant privileges of a royal road to learning, is notoriously disposed to over-value his hard-earned acquirements, and to disparage the easily-won achievements of those for whom a clearer path had been made. But the judicious critic is wholly free from such bias. Were he called on to judge a man's enterprise, and estimate the extent and power of his resolution, it would be fit for him to take into consideration extenuating circumstances; but his office being to judge of results per se, it would be unfair to those who have not had disadvantages to surmount, if he were to judge a production by the difficulties of the producer. The productions of a man must not be over-rated because he is a prodigy. Literature has no concern with prodigies. We do not think the Iliad the first of epics because we say Homer was blind, or the Divine Comedy great because its author was an unfortunate exile. Posterity has short recollection, and declines loading its memory with the names of horses that would have won the race had they not been over-weighted. It can remember only winners. If the work of A, the prodigy, is not intrinsically of superior excellence to that of B, who has had no difficulty to contend against, in any estimate we are called on to form of him, he should not be credited with the result he has accomplished, plus the difficulty he has triumphantly