The Humourous Poetry of the English Language

699
vanity of our own, but to encourage such literary beginners as may
be placed in similar circumstances; as well as to impress upon
publishers the propriety of giving more consideration to the possible
merit of the works submitted to them, than to the mere magic of a
name."
The authors add, that not one of the poets whom they "audaciously
burlesqued," took offense at the ludicrous imitation of their style.
From "Sir Walter Scott," they observe, "we received favors and notice,
both public and private, which it will be difficult to forget, because
we had not the smallest claim upon his kindness. 'I certainly must have
written this myself!' said that fine tempered man to one of the
authors, pointing to the description of the Fire, 'although I forgot
upon what occasion.' Lydia White, a literary lady, who was prone to
feed the lions of the day, invited one of us to dinner; but,
recollecting afterward that William Spencer formed one of the party,
wrote to the latter to put him off; telling him that a man was to be at
her table whom he 'would not like to meet.' 'Pray who is this whom I
should not like to meet?' inquired the poet 'O!' answered the lady,
'one of those men who have made that shameful attack upon you!' 'The
very man upon earth. I should like to know!' rejoined the lively and
careless bard. The two individuals accordingly met, and have continued
fast friends over since. Lord Byron, too, wrote thus to Mr. Murray
from Italy: 'Tell him we forgive him, were he twenty times our
satirist.'
"It may not be amiss to notice, in this place, one criticism of a
Leicester clergyman, which may be pronounced unique: 'I do not see why
they should have been rejected,' observed the matter-of-fact annotator;
'I think some of them very good!' Upon the whole, few have been the
instances, in the acrimonious history of literature, where a malicious
pleasantry like the 'Rejected Addresses'--which the parties ridiculed
might well consider more annoying than a direct satire--instead of
being met by querulous bitterness or petulant retaliation, has procured
for its authors the acquaintance, or conciliated the good-will, of
those whom they had the most audaciously burlesqued."
James Smith died in London on the 29th of December, 1836, in the
sixty-fourth year of his age. His brother survived him many years. Both
were admired and ever-welcome members of the best society of London.