tal on which public favor has placed him. He wishes that he could climb to it again by a better considered path-(by a path less accidental, indeed, for he has written from present feeling, or for present gain, and with no design upon the future.) But, leaving, on the turn of the acclivity of life, all he has written, up to his meridian, he promises to himself more care in what shall occupy the down-hill side,—care, probably, come too late, though he feels, in truth, as if his ripeness of poetical feeling and perception were all before him. To those who read him in his youth, the author commends this book. |