“The poem over the signature ‘ Snob ’ is, we find, attracting universal commendation, and, we are constrained to say, deserves, if possible, even more applause than it has received. The ‘Oil-of-Bob’ is the title of this masterpiece of eloquence and art. One or two of our readers may have a very faint, although sufficiently disgusting recollection of a poem (?) similarly entitled, the perpetration of a miserable penny-a-liner, mendicant, and cutthroat, connected in the capacity of scullion, we believe, with one of the indecent prints about the purlieus of the city; we beg them, for God’s sake, not to confound the compositions. The author of the ‘Oil-of-Bob’ is, we hear, Thingum Bob , Esq. , a gentleman of high genius, and a scholar. ‘Snob’ is merely a nom-de-guerre. Sep. 15—1 t.”
I could scarcely restrain my indignation while I perused the concluding portions of this diatribe. It was clear to me that the yea-nay manner—not to say the gentleness—the positive forbearance with which the Daddy-Long-Legs spoke of that pig, the editor of the Gad-Fly —it was evident to me, I say, that this gentleness of speech could proceed from nothing else than a partiality for the Fly —whom it was clearly the intention of the Daddy-Long-Legs to elevate into reputation at my expense. Anyone, indeed, might perceive, with half an eye, that, had the real design of the Daddy been what it wished to appear, it (the Daddy ) might have expressed itself in terms more direct, more pungent, and altogether more to the purpose. The words “penny-a-liner,” “mendicant,” “scullion,” and “cutthroat,” were epithets so intentionally inexpressive and equivocal, as to be worse than nothing when applied to the author of the very worst stanzas ever penned by one of the human race. We all know what is meant by “damning with faint praise,” and, on the other hand, who could fail seeing through the covert purpose of the Daddy —that of glorifying with feeble abuse?