Roundabout Papers - Penn State University

Roundabout Papersthought!) that the critic is a dullard, and does not understandwhat he is writing about. Everybody who hasbeen to an exhibition has heard visitors discoursingabout the pictures before their faces. One says, “This isvery well;” another says, “This is stuff and rubbish;”another cries, “Bravo! this is a masterpiece:” and eachhas a right to his opinion. For example, one of the picturesI admired most at the Royal Academy is by a gentlemanon whom I never, to my knowledge, set eyes. Thispicture is No. 346, “Moses,” by Mr. S. Solomon. I thoughtit had a great intention, I thought it finely drawn andcomposed. It nobly represented, to my mind, the darkchildren of the Egyptian bondage, and suggested thetouching story. My newspaper says: “Two ludicrouslyugly women, looking at a dingy baby, do not form apleasing object;” and so good-by, Mr. Solomon. Are notmost of our babies served so in life? and doesn’t Mr.Robinson consider Mr. Brown’s cherub an ugly, squallinglittle brat? So cheer up, Mr. S. S. It may be the criticwho discoursed on your baby is a bad judge of babies.When Pharaoh’s kind daughter found the child, andcherished and loved it, and took it home, and found anurse for it, too, I dare say there were grim, brick-dustcolored chamberlains, or some of the tough, old, meagre,yellow princesses at court, who never had childrenthemselves, who cried out, “Faugh! the horrid littlesqualling wretch!” and knew he would never come togood; and said, “Didn’t I tell you so?” when he assaultedthe Egyptian.Never mind then, Mr. S. Solomon, I say, because acritic pooh-poohs your work of art—your Moses—yourchild—your foundling. Why, did not a wiseacre inBlackwood’s Magazine lately fall foul of “Tom Jones?” Ohypercritic! So, to be sure, did good old Mr. Richardson,who could write novels himself—but you, and I, andMr. Gibbon, my dear sir, agree in giving our respect, andwonder, and admiration, to the brave old master.In these last words I am supposing the respected readerto be endowed with a sense of humor, which he may ormay not possess; indeed, don’t we know many an honestman who can no more comprehend a joke than hecan turn a tune. But I take for granted, my dear sir,42