for the American edition of Captain Brown’s work, and, omitting all mention of the English original pretended, in the preface, to have been under great obligations to several scientific gentlemen of this city.  It is but justice to add, that in the second edition of this book, published lately in Philadelphia, the name of Mr. Poe is withdrawn from the titlepage, and his initials only affixed to the preface.  But the affair is one of the most curious on record.”]

In criticism, as Mr. Lowell justly remarks, Mr. Poe had “a scientific precision and coherence of logic;” he had remarkable dexterity in the dissection of sentences; but he rarely ascended from the particular to the general, from subjects to principles; he was familiar with the microscope but never looked through the telescope.  His criticisms are of value to the degree in which they are demonstrative, but his unsupported assertions and opinions were so apt to be influenced by friendship or enmity, by the desire to please or the fear to offend, or by his constant ambition to surprise, or produce a sensation, that they should be received in all cases with distrust of their fairness.  A volume might be filled with literary judgments by him as antagonistical and inconsistent as the sharpest antitheses.  For example, when Mr. Laughton Osborn’s romance, “The Confessions of a Poet,” came out, he reviewed it in “The Southern Literary Messenger,” saying: 

“There is nothing of the vates about the author.  He is no poet-and most positively he is no prophet.  He avers upon his word of honor that in commencing this work he loads a pistol and places it upon the table.  He further states that, upon coming to a conclusion, it is his intention to blow out what he supposes to be his brains.  Now this is excellent.  But, even with so rapid a writer as the poet must undoubtedly be, there would be some little difficulty in completing the book under thirty days or thereabouts.  The best of powder is apt to sustain injury by lying so long ‘in the load.’  We sincerely hope the gentleman took the precaution to examine his priming before attempting the rash act.  A flash in the pan—­and in such a case—­were a thing to be lamented.  Indeed there would be no answering for the consequences.  We might even have a second series of the ‘Confessions.’”—­Southern Literary Messenger, i. 459.

This review was attacked, particularly in the Richmond “Compiler,” and Mr. Poe felt himself called upon to vindicate it to the proprietor of the magazine, to whom he wrote: 

“There is no necessity of giving the ‘Compiler’ a reply.  The book is silly enough of itself, without the aid of any controversy concerning it.  I have read it, from beginning to end, and was very much amused at it.  My opinion of it is pretty nearly the opinion of the press at large.  I have heard no person offer one serious word in its defense.”—­Letter to T.W.  White.

Afterward Mr. Poe became personally acquainted with the author, and he then wrote, in his account of “The Literati of New-York City,” as follows: