N° LXXXIII.

On the Effects of Neglect and Censure on certain Minds.

THERE are minds of such delicacy and morbid irritability, such for example as that of Collins, that without a certain degree of encouragement, they pine in premature decay, and sink into hopeless insanity.

"It has been too much the practice," observes Mr. Southey, "to complain that genius is neglected, and to blame the public, when the public are not in fault." But is not the single instance, already alluded to, almost a sufficient refutation of this remark? What must have been the feelings of the author of the " Ode on the Poetical Character," and "Ode on the Passions," when stung by the neglect and cruelty with which his poems had been received, he collected all the remaining copies, and committed them with his own hand to the flames! Was the poet in this instance the " victim of his own vices," or of the treatment he had experienced?

Yet it is at the same time most certain, that such depression argues a weakness of mind, which,

however, is often the unavoidable concomitant of a powerful imagination, and extreme susceptibility.

An author is perhaps never so likely to write well, as when he guides his pen "with the carelessness of despair," reckless alike of the applause or censure of others, and alive only to the private and selfish gratification of literary employment.

He is then in that frame of mind, in which, above all others, he is most likely to produce thoughts that breathe, and words that burn." He who is happy in himself, whose writings are such as to excite and to gratify his own feelings, is unquestionably the most likely to excite sympathy and powerful emotion in others. And, oh, how infinitely superior are works which have been the offspring of real emotion, which have issued from the heart of the writer, to such as have been the forced and unnatural produce of labour and constraint, and effort and artifice!

In a work of genius, every page, every sentence, every line, must be fervid and glowing; the heart must always be interested; the delineations must be felt, and deeply felt, both by author and reader. Wherever the pen does not glide with the rapidity of lightning, and thoughts do not flow with enthusiastic fervour, the paper ought instantly to be thrown into the fire. All artifice, all constraint are despicable. Where the writer is not forcibly im

pelled by the feelings of his own heart, he ought never to think of writing at all. An author ought to take up the pen only for his own solace, to relieve and soothe a heart bursting with elevated passions, and to delight himself by fixing his favourite trains of thought, emotions and imagery.

H. F. A.

Oct. 1812.

No LXXXIV.

On the Dangerous Effects of Praise.

TO THE RUMINATOR.

SIR,

You have sometimes deplored the influence of censure and neglect in repressing the productions of genius. There really appears to me to be very little reason for this. The effect of praise is, in my opinion, far more dangerous to minds of morbid susceptibility than that of censure.

Adversity has almost invariably been found favourable to greatness of character. Almost every original genius, every hero, every creator of his own fortune, has been the child of adversity.

That praise, instead of bracing, frequently enervates the mind. Cowper appears to have been sufficiently aware of this, from a passage in one of his letters, in which he desires his correspondents not to extol his epistolary powers, as such praise would infallibly lead to their extinction.

Self-possession, that independence and freedom of soul, that nice equilibrium of the mind, which constitute the first of intellectual blessings, are sel

dom to be attained but by him who lives in a certain degree under the influence of a cloud.

I am indeed thoroughly convinced that to bear praise, requires a much greater degree of fortitude than to withstand censure. Perhaps it is carrying this too far, when I add that it appears not improbable that to the censure so liberally bestowed on Lord Byron's first publication, we are indebted for the bold and fervid strains of " Childe Harolde." I earnestly hope that the noble Lord's power of withstanding flattery may be equal to his fortitude in. resisting whatever debilitating influence arises from censure. But, in truth, censure is NOT debilitating; and praise and flattery undoubtedly are so.

I would rather endure the most cutting contempt, and the most poignant wounds of the critic, which in truth would give me no pain whatever, than I would encounter praise; especially from one whose judgment I value. To me this is ruinous; and I should be more sleepless, feverish, and depressed for the next fortnight, than all the adversity I have yet known has ever rendered me. The pleasures of literary employment are pure, elevated, and independent. Applause is not requisite to excite the exertion of one to whom that exertion is in itself the first of gratifications.

I am, Sir, &c.

H. R.