Wilmer, whose subsistence lies in his pen, has little to
look for- apart from the silent respect of those at once honest and
timid- but the most malignant open or covert persecution. For this
reason, and because it is the truth which he has spoken, do we say
to him, from the bottom of our hearts, "God speed!"
We repeat it: it is the truth which he has spoken; and who shall
contradict us? He has said unscrupulously what every reasonable man
among us has long known to be "as true as the Pentateuch"- that, as
a literary people, we are one vast perambulating humbug. He has
asserted that we are clique-ridden; and who does not smile at the
obvious truism of that assertion? He maintains that chicanery is, with
us, a far surer road than talent to distinction in letters. Who
gainsays this? The corrupt nature of our ordinary criticism has become
notorious. Its powers have been prostrated by its own arm. The
intercourse between critic and publisher, as it now almost universally
stands, is comprised either in the paying and pocketing of
blackmail, as the price of a simple forebearance, or in a direct
system of petty and contemptible bribery, properly so-called- a system
even more injurious than the former to the true interests of the
public, and more degrading to the buyers and sellers of good
opinion, on account of the more positive character of the service here
rendered for the consideration received.
Pages:
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127