An Epistle To An Editor

'A new Review!' You make me tremble (Though as to that, I can dissemble Till I hear more). But is it 'new'? And will it be a _real_ Review?-- I mean, a Court wherein the scales Weigh equally both him that fails, And him that hits the mark?--a place Where the accus'd can plead his case, If wrong'd? All this I need to know Before I (arrogant!) say 'Go.' 'We, that are very old' (the phrase Is STEELE'S, not mine!), in former days, Have seen so many 'new Reviews' Arise, arraign, absolve, abuse;-- Proclaim their mission to the top (Where there's still room!), then slowly drop, Shrink down, fade out, and _sans_ preferment, Depart to their obscure interment;-- We should be pardon'd if we doubt That a new venture _can_ hold out. It _will_, you say. Then don't be 'new'; Be 'old.' The Old is still the True. Nature (said GAUTIER) never tries To alter her accustom'd dyes; And all your novelties at best Are ancient puppets, newly drest. What you must do, is not to shrink From speaking out the thing you think; And blaming where 'tis right to blame, Despite tradition and a Name. Yet don't expand a trifling blot, Or ban the book for what it's not (That is the poor device of those Who cavil where they can't oppose!); Moreover (this is _very_ old!), Be courteous--even when you scold! Blame I put first, but not at heart. You must give Praise the foremost part;-- Praise that to those who write is breath Of Life, if just; if unjust, Death. Praise then the things that men revere; Praise what they love, not what they fear; Praise too the young; praise those who try; Praise those who fail, but by and by May do good work. Those who succeed, You'll praise perforce,--so there's no need To speak of that. And as to each, See you keep measure in your speech;-- See that your praise be so exprest That the best man shall get the best; Nor fail of the fit word you meant Because your epithets are spent. Remember that our language gives No limitless superlatives; And SHAKESPEARE, HOMER, _should_ have more Than the last knocker at the door! 'We, that are very old!'--May this Excuse the hint you find amiss. My thoughts, I feel, are what to-day Men call _vieux jeu_. Well!--'let them say.' The Old, at least, we know: the New (A changing Shape that all pursue!) Has been,--may be, a fraud. --But there! Wind to your sail! _Vogue la galère!_