It was less the obvious coarseness of these productions with
which he found fault than their demoralizing tendency in a direction
which we should now, perhaps, consider innocuous. Certainly the Jeremiad
overdid it, and like a swift, but not straight bowler at cricket, he
sent balls which no wicket-keeper could stop, and which, therefore, were
harmless to the batter. He did not want boldness. He attacked Dryden,
now close upon his grave: Congreve, a young man; Vanbrugh, Cibber,
Farquhar, and the rest, all alive, all in the zenith of their fame, and
all as popular as writers could be. It was as much as if a man should
stand up to-day and denounce Dickens and Thackeray, with the exception
that well-meaning people went along with Jeremy, whereas very few would
do more than smile at the zeal of any one who tilted against our modern
pets. Jeremy, no doubt, was bold, but he wanted tact, and so gave his
enemy occasion to blaspheme. He made out cases where there were none,
and let alone what we moderns should denounce. So Congreve took up the
cudgels against him with much wit and much coarseness, and the two
fought out the battle in many a pamphlet and many a letter. But Jeremy
was not to be beaten.
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