I have but one more remark to make upon the review itself. At the close of it, the Reviewer observes, that my remarks upon the marine are interesting and useful. How does he know? Upon his own argument, if we house dogs are not competent upon shore matters, he must be equally ignorant of anything connected with our profession; and I therefore consider it a piece of unpardonable presumption on the part of a land lubber like him to offer any opinion on the subject.
The Reviewer, whoever it may be, has proved himself wholly incompetent to his task; he has attacked, but has yet to learn the art of parrying, as has been proved by his laying himself so open. His blows have been stopped, and, without giving, he has received severe punishment. I am the more surprised at this, as I really considered that there was a certain tact in the Edinburgh Review, which enabled it to know where to direct the blow, so as to make it tell; a species of professional knowledge proper to executioners, reviewers, and cab-drivers, and which may be summed up in the following axiom: “The great art of flogging is, to know where to find a bit of raw.”
So little have I felt the castigation intended, that I have had some compunction in administering this discipline to the Reviewer in return. Surely the Edinburgh Review can put a better head on, when it takes notice of this second portion of my work? I will give it an anecdote.
A lady of my acquaintance was blessed with a son, then about three years old. She was very indulgent, and he was very much spoiled. At last he became so unmanageable that she felt it was her imperative duty to correct him. She would as soon have cut off her right arm, but that would not have mended the matter, nor the child. So one day, when the young gentleman had been more than usually uproarious, she pulled up his petticoats and administered what she considered a most severe infliction. Having so done, with a palpitating heart she sat down to recover herself, miserable that she had been compelled to punish, but attempting to console herself with the reflection that she had done her duty. What then was her surprise to have her reveries interrupted by the young urchin, who, appearing only to have been tickled, came up to her, and laying down his head on her lap, pulled up his coats, and cried, “More whipping, Ma; please, more whipping.” So weak has been the wrist, whether it be feminine or not, that has applied the punishment, that I also feel inclined to exclaim with the child, “More whipping, (Miss Martineau?) please, more whipping.”
The Reviewer has pronounced that “no author is cleverer than his works.” If no author be cleverer than his works, it is equally certain that no reviewer is cleverer than his review. Does the Reviewer recollect the fable of the jackass who put on the lion’s skin? Why did he not take warning from the fabled folly of his ancestor and hold his tongue? He might still have walked about and have been supposed to be a Reviewer.
He asserts that I am not capable of serious reflection: he is mistaken. I have seldom cut the leaves of the Edinburgh, having been satisfied with looking at its outside, and thinking how very appropriate its colours of blue and yellow were to the opinions which it advocates. But at times I have been more serious. I have communed with myself as it lay before me, and I have mentally exclaimed:— Here is a work written by men whom the Almighty has endowed with talents, and who will, if there be truth in Scripture, have to answer for the talents committed to their keeping,—yet these men, like madmen, throw about fire, and cry it is only in sport; they uphold doctrines as pernicious as, unfortunately, they are popular; disseminate error under the most specious guise; wage war against the happiness of their fellow-creatures, unhinging society, breeding discontent, waving the banner of infidelity and rebellion, and inviting to anarchy and bloodshed. To such prostitution of talent to this work of the devil, they are stimulated by their pride and their desire of gain! And I have surmised that hereafter they will have their reward; but, remembering that we are forbid to judge, I have checked my thoughts as they have turned upon what might hereafter be the portion below of—an Edinburgh Reviewer.
Note 1. A very acute reviewer has observed of my first portion, that there always appeared as if there was something left behind and not told. He was right; I have entered into every subject just as deeply as I dared to venture, without wearying the class of readers for whom, although not avowedly, yet in reality, the work has chiefly been written. The second portion will therefore be found almost as light and trifling as the first.