House with an acre of spoiled canvas. But a literary tribunal is
incomparably more dangerous. Other societies, at least, have no
tendency to call forth any opinions on those subjects which most
agitate and inflame the minds of men. The sceptic and the
zealot, the revolutionist and the placeman, meet on common ground
in a gallery of paintings or a laboratory of science. They can
praise or censure without reference to the differences which
exist between them. In a literary body this can never be the
case. Literature is, and always must be, inseparably blended
with politics and theology; it is the great engine which moves
the feelings of a people on the most momentous questions. It is,
therefore, impossible that any society can be formed so impartial
as to consider the literary character of an individual abstracted
from the opinions which his writings inculcate. It is not to be
hoped, perhaps it is not to be wished, that the feelings of the
man should be so completely forgotten in the duties of the
academician. The consequences are evident. The honours and
censures of this Star Chamber of the Muses will be awarded
according to the prejudices of the particular sect or faction
which may at the time predominate. Whigs would canvass against a
Southey, Tories against a Byron. Those who might at first
protest against such conduct as unjust would soon adopt it on the
plea of retaliation; and the general good of literature, for
which the society was professedly instituted, would be forgotten
in the stronger claims of political and religious partiality.

Yet even this is not the worst. Should the institution ever
acquire any influence, it will afford most pernicious facilities
to every malignant coward who may desire to blast a reputation
which he envies. It will furnish a secure ambuscade, behind