An Epistle To An Editor

"Jamais les arbres verts n'ont essaye d'etre bleus."--     THEOPHILE GAUTIER.     "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 galere!