They are more
preposterous, in a word, than any poems except those of the author of
"Sam Patch;" for we presume we are right (are we not?) in taking it for
granted that the author of "Sam Patch" is the very worst of all the
wretched poets that ever existed upon the earth.
In spite, however, of the customary phrase of a man's "making a fool of
himself," we doubt if any one was ever a fool of his own free will and
accord. A poet, therefore, should not always be taken too strictly to
task. He should be treated with leniency, and even when damned, should
be damned with respect. Nobility of descent, too, should be allowed its
privileges not more in social life than in letters. The son of a great
author cannot be handled too tenderly by the critical Jack Ketch.
Mr. Channing must be hung, that's true. He must be hung _in terrorem
--and_ for this there is no help under the sun; but then we shall do him
all manner of justice, and observe every species of decorum, and be
especially careful of his feelings, and hang him gingerly and
gracefully, with a silken cord, as Spaniards hang their grandees of the
blue blood, their nobles of the _sangre azul_.
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