True, one obtains an
acquaintance with the great man's voice, and the hearth where he lives,
and the right to boast with truth, "I have seen him." _Voila tout!_ Now
this is not what we want. We desire some good, clear, faithful account
of these people, as they are, when they talk freely and easily to their
contemporaries, to their peers. Boswell's picture of the Literary Club
is invaluable, although, with the insatiable curiosity of the nineteenth
century, we regret that the prince of reporters failed to sketch the
persons and peculiarities of the _dramatis personae_ whose conversations
he has so faithfully recorded.
We wish to go behind the scenes, and to hear the conversation engaged in
in the green-room. We expect to see some dirt, some grease-pots, stained
ropes, and unpainted pulleys,--and, to tell the truth, we want to see
these blemishes. They are encouraging. They lessen the distance between
us and it by teaching us that even fairy-land knows no exemption from
those imperfections which blur our purest natures.
A work has lately appeared in Europe which in some measure gratifies
this desire.
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