They
cannot well sink below a melodrama; but that is better than a satire,
(at least, a personal one,) with which I stand truly arraigned, and in
atonement of which I am resolved to bear silently all criticisms,
abuses, and even praises, for bad pantomimes never composed by me,
without even a contradictory aspect. I suppose the root of this report
is my loan to the manager of my Turkish drawings for his dresses, to
which he was more welcome than to my name. I suppose the real author
will soon own it, as it has succeeded; if not, Job be my model, and
Lethe my beverage!
----has received the portrait safe; and, in answer, the only remark she
makes upon it is, "indeed it is like"--and again, "indeed it is like."
With her the likeness "covered a multitude of sins;" for I happen to
know that this portrait was not a flatterer, but dark and stern,--even
black as the mood in which my mind was scorching last July, when I sat
for it. All the others of me, like most portraits whatsoever, are, of
course, more agreeable than nature.
Redde the 'Edinburgh Review' of Rogers. He is ranked highly; but where
he should be. There is a summary view of us all--_Moore_ and _me_ among
the rest; [2] and both (the _first_ justly) praised--though, by
implication (justly again) placed beneath our memorable friend.
Mackintosh is the writer, and also of the critique on the Stael. [3]
His grand essay on Burke, I hear, is for the next number. But I know
nothing of the 'Edinburgh', or of any other _Review_, but from rumour;
and I have long ceased; indeed, I could not, in justice, complain of
any, even though I were to rate poetry, in general, and my rhymes in
particular, more highly than I really do.
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