Neither would I have you ask the noble author. Him, I mean, who is certainly possessed of great intellectual powers, and a peculiar turn for a certain line of poetry; but whose bad passions so perpetually insinuate themselves in every thing which he writes, that it is hardly possible to escape the injury of his venom, and scarcely worth while to separate the gold from the dross. His volatile mind thinks it an act of manliness to sneer at religion, and if on any occasion provoked to resentment, his malignity becomes fury, and there is no object either too high or too low upon which he does not vent his rancour.
Agreed—neither shall he eat our salt.
On no account send an invitation to the vain author.
I fear too many of my brethren fall under that denomination; but whom is it that you more particularly wish to except?
I mean him to whom I very willingly concede the most perfect good-nature, the most friendly disposition and no mean portion of ability. But, indeed, my dear friend, he is so tiresome with his long eternal stories, that he imposes a restraint upon that variety of conversation which is the great charm of an amicable meeting. I have no other fault to find with him. I would rather however have him, than the pompous author.
I do not immediately comprehend to whom you allude.
To whom can I allude but to that big man who, you all agree, could have done so much, and has actually done so little. Who upon ten pages of letter press hangs a large volume of notes; whose political creed always obtruded, has been at perpetual war with his real interests; and whose style delights so in antithesis, that it seems to himself imperfect without it; who delivers his opinions with a sort of pedagogical authority, and brow-beats those whom he is unable to confute; who has wasted much of his time and talent in individual disputation, and at a considerably advanced period of life, finds that from some cause or other he has made but little progress towards that rank, in which, as far as talents, improved by much and deep learning, are concerned, he might, by the easy restraint or chastisement of his opinions, have enlightened and adorned society.
But my dear child your negative catalogue is so extensive that I begin to fear I shall not make up a party.
Oh yes you may, but for heaven’s sake do not let us have the bland author.