By this I mean that the language in which we speak of anything should be
proportioned to the thing spoken of. If you speak of St. Paul's Church,
Beckenham, as vast, grand, magnificent, you have no language left
wherewith to describe St. Paul's, London. If you call Millais' Huguenots
sublime or divine, what becomes of the Madonna St. Sisto of Raphael? If
you describe Longfellow's poetry as the feeblest possible trash, the
coarsest and most unparliamentary language could alone express your
contempt of Martin Tupper.

"What's the good of calling a woman a Wenus, Samivel?" asked the elder
Weller. What indeed! The elder Weller probably perceived that the
language would be out of all proportion to the object of Samivel's
affections. Of course, something may be allowed to a generous
enthusiasm, and, with regard to this fault in criticism, it should
perhaps be said that exaggerated praise is not so base in its beginning
or so harmful in the end as exaggerated blame. From the use of the
former Dr. Johnson defended himself with his usual vigour. Boswell
presumed to find fault with him for saying that the death of Garrick had
eclipsed the gaiety of nations. Johnson: "I could not have said more,
nor less. It is the truth. His death did eclipse, it was like a storm."
Boswell: "But why nations? Did his gaiety extend further than his own
nation?" Johnson: "Why, sir, some exaggeration must be allowed. Besides,
'nations' may be said--if we allow the Scotch to be a nation, and to have
gaiety,--which they have not."

But there is more in this matter of proportion than at first meets the
eye. How often do we converse with a man whose language we wonder at and
cannot quite make out. It is somehow unsatisfactory. We do not quite
like it, yet there is nothing particular to dislike. Suddenly we
perceive that there is a want of perspective, or perhaps a want of what
artists call value. His mountains are mole-hills, and his mole-hills are
mountains. His colouring is so badly managed that the effect of
distance, light, and shade are lost. Thus a man will so insist upon the
use of difficult words by George Elliot that a person unacquainted with
her writings would think that the whole merit or demerit of that author
lay in her vocabulary. A man will so exalt the pathos of Dickens or
Thackeray that he will throw their wit and humour into the background.
Some person's only remark on seeing Turner's Modern Italy will be that
th