furiously rage at the success of the little picture of The Pilgrimage? Three thousand people have now seen it and have approved of it. Believe me, yours is "the voice of one crying in the "wilderness!"
You say the subject is low, and contemptibly treated. For his excellent mode of treating the subject, the poet has been admired for the last 400 years; the poor painter has not yet the advantage of antiquity on his side, therefore, wh some people, an apology may be necessary for him. The conclusion of one of Squire Simkin's letters to his mother in the Bath Guide will afford one. He speaks greatly to the purpose:—
"I very well know,
Both my subject and verse is exceedingly low;
But if any great critic finds fault with my letter,
He has nothing to do but to send you a better."
With much respect for your talents,
I remain. Sir,
Your real friend and well-wisher,
R. H. Cromek.'
It is one thing to read such a letter fifty years after it was written, though one can hardly do so without indignation; another to have had to receive and digest its low affronts. A poet had need have a world of visions to retire to when exposed to these 'slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.' Blake might well get irascible, might well give vent to his contempt and scorn in epigrams such as the following, which I find in that same MS. note-book wherein poor Hayley figures so ignominiously:—
Cromek loves artists as he loves his meat;
He loves the art, but 'tis the art to cheat!
And again:—
A petty sneaking knave I knew;
Oh, Mr. Cromek! how do you do?
Here is a taste of 'Cromek's opinions put into rhyme.'
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