sake; no euphuistic gallantries
with Nature, but a constant heartlove for her, a constant dwelling in
communion with her. View-hunting, with so much else that is of kin to
it, first came decisively into action through the _Sorrows of Werter_;
which wonderful Performance, indeed, may in many senses be regarded as
the progenitor of all that has since become popular in Literature;
whereof, in so far as concerns spirit and tendency, it still offers
the most instructive image; for nowhere, except in its own country,
above all in the mind of its illustrious Author, has it yet fallen
wholly obsolete. Scarcely ever, till that late epoch, did any
worshipper of Nature become entirely aware that he was worshipping,
much to his own credit; and think of saying to himself: Come, let us
make a description! Intolerable enough: when every puny whipster draws
out his pencil, and insists on painting you a scene; so that the
instant you discern such a thing as "wavy outline," "mirror of the
lake," "stern headland," or the like, in any Book, you must timorously
hasten on; and scarcely the Author of Waverley himself can tempt you
not to skip.

Nay, is not the diseased self-conscious state of Literature disclosed
in this one fact, which lies so near us here, the prevalence of
Reviewing! Sterne's wish for a reader "that would give up the reins of
his imagination into his author's hands, and be pleased he knew not
why, and cared not wherefore," might lead him a long journey now.
Indeed, for our best class of readers, the chief pleasure, a very
stinted one, is this same knowing of the Why; which many a Kames and
Bossu has been, ineffectually enough, endeavouring to teach us: till
at last these also have laid down their trade; and now your Reviewer
is a mere _taster_; who tastes, and says, by the evidence of such
palate, such tongue, as he has got, It is good, It is bad. Was it thus
that the French carried out certain inferior creatures on their
Algerine Expedition, to taste the wells for them, and try whether they
were poisoned? Far be it from us to disparage our own craft, whereby
we have our living! Only we must note these things: that Reviewing
spreads with strange vigour; that such a man as Byron reckons the
Reviewer and the Poet equal; that at the last Leipzig Fair, there was
advertised a Review of Reviews. By and by it will be found that all
Literature has become one boundless self-devouring Review; and as in
London routs, we have to _do