The memorable fasciculus at last appeared in
November, after a somewhat tedious gestation
of nearly ten mouths; having been subject to
what Jeffrey calls so 'miserable a state of
backwardness ' and so many ' symptoms of
despondency,' that Constable had to delay the
publication some weeks beyond the day first
fixed. Yet as early as April had Sydney Smith
completed more than half of what he
contributed, while nobody else had put pen to
paper; and shortly after the number appeared
he was probably not sorry to be summoned,
with his easy pen and his cheerful wit, to
London, and to abandon the cares of editorship
to Jeffrey.

No other choice could have been made.
That first number settled the point. It is
easy to discover that Jeffrey's estimation in
Edinburgh had not, up to this time, been in any
just proportion to his powers; and that, even
with those who knew him best, his playful
and sportive fancy sparkled too much to the
surface of his talk to let them see the grave
deep currents that ran underneath. Every one
now read with surprise the articles attributed
to him. Sydney had yielded him the place of
honour, and he had vindicated his right to it.
He had thrown out a new and forcible style
of criticism, with a fearless, unmisgiving,
and unhesitating courage. Objectors might
doubt or cavil at the opinions expressed; but
the various and comprehensive knowledge,
the subtle argumentative genius, the brilliant
and definite expression, there was no disputing
or denying. A fresh and startling power was
about to make itself felt in literature.

'Jeffrey,' said his most generous fellow
labourer, a few days after the Review
appeared, ' is the person who will derive most
honour from this publication, as his articles
in this number are generally known, and are
incomparably the best; I have received the
greater pleasure from this circumstance,
because the genius of that little man has
remained almost unknown to all but his most
intimate acquaintances. His manner is not
at first pleasing; what is worse, it is of that
cast which almost irresistibly impresses upon
strangers the idea of levity and superficial
talents. Yet there is not any man, whose
real character is so much the reverse; he has,
indeed, a very sportive and playful fancy, but
it is accompanied with an extensive and varied
information, with a readiness of apprehension
almost intuitive, with judicious and calm
discernment, with a profound and penetrating
understanding.' This confident passage from
a private journal of the 20th November, 1802,
may stand as a remarkable monument of the
prescience of Francis Horner.

Yet it was also the opinion of this candid
and sagacious man that he and his fellows
had not gained much character by that first
number of the Review. As a set-off to the
talents exhibited, he spoke of the severity—of
what, in some of the papers, might be called
the scurrility—as having given general
dissatisfaction; and he predicted that they would
have to soften their tone, and be more
indulgent to folly and bad taste. Perhaps it is
hardly thus that the objection should have
been expressed. It is now, after the lapse of
nearly half a century, admitted on all hands
that the tone adopted by these young
Edinburgh reviewers was in some respects
extremely indiscreet; and that it was not simply
folly and bad taste, but originality and genius,
that had the right to more indulgence at their
hands. When Lord Jeffrey lately collected Mr.
Jeffrey's critical articles, he silently dropped
those very specimens of his power which by
their boldness of view, severity of remark, and
vivacity of expression, would still as of old
have attracted the greatest notice; and
preferred to connect with his name, in the regard
of such as might hereafter take interest in
his writings, only those papers which, by
enforcing what appeared to him just principles
and useful opinions, he hoped might have a
tendency to make men happier and better.
Somebody said by way of compliment of the
early days of the Scotch Review, that it
made reviewing more respectable than
authorship; and the remark, though essentially
the reverse of a compliment, exhibits with
tolerable accuracy the general design of the
work at its outset. Its ardent young
reviewers took a somewhat too ambitious stand
above the literature they criticised. ' To all
of us,' Horner ingenuously confessed, 'it is
only matter of temporary amusement and
subordinate occupation.'

Something of the same notion was in Scott's
thoughts when, smarting from a severe but
not unjust or ungenerous review of Marmion,
he said that Jeffrey loved to see imagination
best when it is bitted and managed, and ridden
upon the grand pas. He did not make sufficient
allowance for starts and sallies and bounds,
when Pegasus was beautiful to behold, though
sometimes perilous to his rider. He would have
had control of horse as well as rider, Scott
complained, and made himself master of the
menage to both. But on the other hand this was
often very possible; and nothing could then be
conceived more charming than the earnest,
playful, delightful way in which his comments
adorned and enriched the poets he admired.
Hogarth is not happier in Charles Lamb's
company, than is the homely vigour and genius of
Crabbe under Jeffrey's friendly leading; he
returned fancy for fancy to Moore's exuberance,
and sparkled with a wit as keen; he ' tamed
his wild heart ' to the loving thoughtfulness
of Rogers, his scholarly enthusiasm, his
pure and vivid pictures; with the fiery
energy and passionate exuberance of Byron,
his bright courageous spirit broke into
earnest sympathy; for the clear and stirring
strains of Campbell he had an ever lively and
liberal response; and Scott, in the midst of
many temptations to the exercise of severity,
never ceased to awaken the romance and
generosity of his nature.