do look upon myself as having some pretensions from nature to the
poetic character. I have not a doubt but the knack, the aptitude, to
learn the muses' trade, is a gift bestowed by Him "who forms the secret
bias of the soul"; but I as firmly believe that _excellence_ in the
profession is the fruit of industry, labour, attention, and pains. At
least I am resolved to try my doctrine by the test of experience.
Another appearance from the press I put off to a very distant day, a
day that may never arrive--but poesy I am determined to prosecute with
all my vigour. Nature has given very few, if any, of the profession,
the talents of shining in every species of composition. I shall try
(for until trial it is impossible to know) whether she has qualified me
to shine in any one.


THE KINDLY CRITIC IS THE POET'S BEST FRIEND

[_To Mr. Moore_]

The worst of it is, by the time one has finished a piece, it has been
so often viewed and reviewed before the mental eye that one loses, in a
good measure, the power of critical discrimination. Here the best
criterion I know is a friend--not only of abilities to judge, but with
good nature enough like a prudent teacher with a young learner to
praise a little more than is exactly just, lest the thin-skinned animal
fall into that most deplorable of all diseases--heart-breaking
despondency of himself. Dare I, sir, already immensely indebted to
your goodness, ask the additional obligation of your being that friend
to me? . . .