 | CHAPTER VII. Errata, or, The works of Will. Adams |  |
7. CHAPTER VII.
There seems to be a great deal of meaning in a late
practice—introduced, I believe, by Lord Byron—of
leaving blanks in the story. Some further improvements
may yet be made; and there are poets who, if
they should make their blanks a little more frequent
than they do, would act yet more wisely. I mention
the thing with uncommon diffidence;—they might make
them more frequently, and of a greater length. The
more the better. If there be significance in one blank,
surely there must be more in a hundred. So, the fools
reason—forgetting that one simple word, in a sentence,
pronounced emphatically, may thrill like electricity;
when you would fall asleep in the noisy monotony of
sound, if many were made emphatick.
Might not the practice be introduced, with effect, into
novels? I think it might; and if the chapter, immediately
preceding the blanks, be made to end adroitly,
a busy imagination is all a tilt at once—ten thousand
pleasant, or wicked meanings, are imagined, until the
conclusion is come upon—like a coiled rattle-snake—
that somewhat was there, quite too shocking for the
publick eye, where the blank now is—which the printer—excellent
man—struck out; leaving the blank as a
guide post, to the inquisitive, for whatever scene of
horrour or profligacy of thought the reader may
choose. Let this chapter be a blank, then; and, if the
reader blush, she will have nobody to blame but herself.
What have I said? Nothing. I have only stopped—thrown
down my eyes—and minced my words, a
little—as modest ladies do—when—
I cannot afford to waste any more paper—though,
like that consecrated by poets, it be covered with—or
cut up into—stars—for fly traps, hair papers, or constellations.
| CHAPTER VII. Errata, or, The works of Will. Adams | |