The Press. — London, England, 1855-11-03 00:00:00

1052 Professor Wilson. There are few songs in the volume, and there is far too much of discus sion of optimal:evil reputations that have en tirely passed away. The manner, also, in which Scotland and Scots'amen are lauded, in season and out of season, will not be relished by English readers. The pibroch of the north is soon apt to become monotonous to southern ears. The word-pictures in this volume aro not so poetically tinted as others from the same pen. We should, for example, have expected more from the Shepherd upon that glorious subject, the view over Edinburgh : 01h,airl Tana Embro' a glorious city ? Sae clear the air, yonner you see a man and woman stann in on the tap o' Arthur's Seat ! I had nae notion there were sae molly steeples, and spires, mid columns, and pillars, and obelisks, and dome, in Embro' ! And at this distance the ee canna distinguish atween them that belangs to kirks, and them that belangs to naval monuments, and them that belangs to ile-gas com panies, and them that's only chitulerheids iu the auld toun, and the tape o' groves, or single trees, sic as poplars ; and aboon a' and ahint craigs and saft-broe'd hills sprinkled wi sheep, lichts and shadows, and the blue vaponry glimmer o' a midsummer day—bet, het, het, we the barometer at ninety; but here, to us twa , bob- bobbin attiring the fresh, cool, murmurin and faemy wee waves, temperate as the air within the mermaid's palace. The view of Edinburgh from the Calton-hill, of Plymouth (with Dartmoor in the distance) from Mount Edgecomb, and of Dublin Bay from Killiuey•hill, arc three of the finest coast ♦iews, with cities iu the foreground, that can bo seen anywhere. Each of them would bear elaborate word-painting, though it would be difficult to portray them with the brush of the artist. In some respects the view of Edinburgh is the most imposing ; but the ships of war, and other remarkable fea tures in the panoramic scene at Plymouth, make it a view of unrivalled attraction. In another part of the volume we are shown Edinburgh in and out of " season." Here it is in summer:— North : Where were we, James? Shepherd : I was abusin Embro' in simmer. North : Why ? Shepherd : Whey ?—a the lums smokeless! No ae kack turnin a piece o' roastin - beef afore ae fire in ony ae itchen in a' the new toon ! Streets and squares a' grass grown, sae that they !nicht be ruawn ! Shops like bee hives that hae dee'd in wunter ! Coaches settin ail for Stirlin, and Perth, and Glasgow, and no ae passenger either inside or out—only the driver keepin up his heartwi flourishing his whop, and the guard, aittin in perfect soli tude, playin' an eerie spring on his bugle-horn ! The shut up playhouse a' covered ower wi' bills that seem to speak o' plays acted in an antediluvian world ! Here, perhaps, a lees in cretur, like an enrage, stauning at the mouth o' a close, or hirpling slang, like the last relic o' the plague. And oh ! but the stave-statue o' the late Lord Melville, staunin a' by hinted up in the silent air, a builder and fifty feet high, has then a ghastly seeming in the sky, like some giant condemned to perpetual imprisonment on his pedestal, and mournin ower the desolation of the city that in life he loved so well, unheeded and unhonoured for a season in the great metropolitan heart o' the country whic'i he ante rejoiced to enrich and beatify, telling and teaching her how to hold up . her head bauldly among the nations, and, like a true patriot as he was, home and abroad caring for the greatest—and the least of all her sons ! And the view of it in winter is lifelike ; but the reader must recollect that the picture was drawn thirty years since Shepherd : Put to return to the near approach o' mounter. Mankind hso again putten on worsted stocking and Hannon drawers—white jeans and yellow nankeen troosers has disappeared—dooble soles hae gotten a secure footen ower pumps—hig coats wi fur, and mantles wi' miniver, gie an agreeable muchness to the picturesque stream o' life eddyin slang the channel o' the streets—gloves and mittens are sae general that a red hairy haun looks rather singular--every third body ye meet, for fear o' a sudden blash, carries an umbrella — a' folks shave non mi bet water—coal-carts are emptyin theirsels into ilka area— caddies at the corners o' streets and drivers on coach boxes are seen warmintheuiaels by blawin on their fingers, or whuskin theuisels wi' their open nieves across the shoutbers—skates glitter at shop-wundows prophetic o' frost—Mr. Finn may tak in his rod noo, for nae main thocht of anglin till spring,—and wi' spring hovel, as wi' ither o' our beet and bonniest freens, it may be said, out o' sicht out o' mind,—you see heaps o' bears hung out for sale— horses are a' hairier o' the hide—the bit toon bantam craws tune, gild at breakfast ye maim tak taut no to pree an egg afore smellin at it,—you meet hares carryin about in a' qttartcrs--and gemkeopers proceedin out into the kiutra wi' strings o' grews—sparr ow* it silent and smoky wi' ruffled feathers waiting for crumbs on the ballustrawils— lond is tho caoklin in the fowl-market o' Christmas geese that oome a month at least afore the day, just like thae annuals the Forget-lie-Note, Amulets Keepsakes, Ileejoos, Gems, Anniversaries, Souvenirs, Friendship's Offerings, and Wunter-Wreaths. This voltime abounds in discussion of the reputations'of various persons; and the dash n g, potlips DANI twhieh the supper. - THE PRESS. eaters assail great and famous names, is re markable. Of the bold and trenchant we shall take as a specimen the way in which Sheridan is attacked : Not even the genius of a Sheridan — Shepherd : Pshewwhoohoo—the genius o' Sheridan ! Oh, sir, but his comedies are cauldrife compositions ; and the haill tot of them's no worth the warst " Noctes Ambrosiante " that ever Maister Gurney, that gentlemen o' the press, extended frae out o' short haun. His mind had Leith pint and glitter—but sae has a preen. Sheridan had but a sma' sowl—and even his oratory was feeble, false, and fushionless ; and ane o' the auld Covenanters wad hae rowted him doun intil a silent ceepher on the hillside, makin him fin' what eloquence is, no made up o' patches frae ither men's pamphlets, and o' lang accounts and statements, interlarded wi rancid rant, and faded figures new dyed like auld claes, that do weed aneuch by cawnle light, but look desperate shabby in the daytime—wi' re marks, forsooth, on human life and the principles ofEternal Justice—nae less —o' which the unhappy neerdoweel kent muckle, nae doubt—having never read a good and great book a' his days, and associated chiefly with the vilest o' the vile---_ North : James—What's the meaning of all this ? These sudden bursts— Shepherd: I canna thole to hear sic a sot as Sherry aye climbed wi' Pitt and Burke. _ . .. . Tickler: Nor I. A couple of clever comedies—a few elegant epilogues—a so-so opera—some spirited speechi. I'3 ings—a few fitful flashes—some composed corruscations of conversational wit—will these make a great man ? Bah ! We do not like the tone of that writing on Sheridan, though we admit it is in unison with the opinion of many of those who dis paraged the fame of that brilliant person. It is, indeed, a curious circumstance, as Dr. Croly has remarked in his " Memoirs of George the Fourth," that Sheridan owes little to the good will or generosity of literary men. Several have deliberately assailed him, and he has been only weakly defended. He suffered much from his own follies, and more from the effects of the miserable biography of him by Moore. It must not be forgotten, in judging of such a person, that, besides being an avowed party man, Sheridan was also a professed sayer of good things, and the con ventional world is apt to echo the remark of Pascal, "Diseur des bon-mots—mauvais came " tire !" He dropped epigrams, wrote squibs, spoke invectives, and was always ready to fight a duel with sword or pistol. He was poor, an actor's son, a notorious adventurer, and i lhad splendid successes. He was the very man to have a host of enemies in a place like the town of London, and he had them with a vengeance. if he stabbed many a reputation with his tongue, many a fool elan pered " Old Sherry," and dropped witless venom over his grave. When he could no longer defend himself, his character was dis sected with malign ingenuity, and with melan choly industry in defamation. His character was certainly open to many a grave charge. So was that of other men, who have yet been allowed to lie at rest in their honoured graves. There are many passages in the lives of Edmund Burke and George Canning that would not bear the examination of those who insist that Sheridan should have been per fection. Of his talents we can only say that the de preciation in the passage quoted above is ridiculous. Wraxall, Wilberforce, and Lord Holland, agree in recording the admiration felt by Pitt for his powers, and it was acknow ledged in Parliament. Lord Byron's opinion of him, as expressed in verse and in con versation, is too well known to quote. His ten minutes' speech on the " Mutiny at the Nore," " What, will you falter now, and eclipse in a " week three centuries of glory ft" cowed the factious and electrified the wavering. Nor does North do common critical justice to his style. In his speeches, as in his plays, the nearly lost art of finish is conspicuous ; and we doubt whether its value is appreciated by the school of writers to which the dashing composers of the " Noctes " belonged. The true point of view from which Sheridan should bo regarded is that of " a man of the world "—neithoi better nor much worse than the men of his generation. No other public character from so low a level rose to such high personal distinction. Ile had at the start literally to write for his bread in the journals of the time. He had not the advantage of an university education or connection like Burke and Canning, nor had he even as good per sonal connections as they had. Yet he rose to be a foremost orator is thil brightest days SATURDAX ; of the House of Commons ; for twenty years he was a secret counsellor of royalty in oppo. sition ; he tried to save his party from its greatest errors—the Coalition of 1783.4, and its philo-Jacobinism in 1792 ; he gallantly defended its banner when deserted by ak van a few ; and for thirty years in London town the name of Brinsley Sheridan was identified with triumphs on the stage, in society, and in the Senate? And could that have been done by a clever impostor? But it is rather amusing, after such an out- burst against Sheridan in the first, to find " four generations of genius " in the Sheridan family extolled in another part of the " Noctes." Thus Mrs Norton is celebrated : Shepherd: Wha's she, that Mrs. Norton, that wrote tho " Sorrows o' Rosalie?" North : Daughter of poor dear Tom Sheridan, who was indeed a star. Four generations of genius ! — She is, lam told, even more beautiful tban— Shepherd : Her poetry? Thatill no be easy , sn—for there's a saftneas and a sweetness, and a brielituess, and, aboon a', an indefinite, and indescribable, and undefinable, and unintelligible, general, vague, dim, fieetin speerit o' feminine sympathy and attraction—Na, na, MI, these are no the richt words ava—s celestial atmosphere o' the balm o' a thousand flowers, especially lilies and roses, pinks, canter tious, violets, honeysuckle, and sweet-brier---an intermingled mawgic of the sweetest scents of natur—heaven mid earth breathin upon ane anither's faces and breasts--hangin ower yon bit pathetic poem " Rosalie," that inclines ane to remember the fair young lady who wrote it iu his prayers! And there is much more to the same kind. The large amount of haphazard opinion ativeness running through all these papers makes it difficult to see what North's real meaning was, especially as we find praise and dispraise lavished on the same persons in different places. The convivial in many passages overpowers the critical, and all through Christopher's assertions must be read cum grano. Surely the praise dealt out to the Scotch writers in the following passage is exaggerated : Beattie was a delightful poet—that Mr. Wordsworth well knows—and, Mr. Alison excepted, the best writer on lite rature and the tine arts Britain ever produced—full of feeling and full of genius. Eames was " gleg as ony wunnule," and, considering his multifarious studies, the author of the " Elements of Criticism " is not to be sneezed at—he was no weed—a real rough bur-thistle, and that is not a weed, but a flue bold national flower. As la Dr. Blair, his sermons—full of truth, and must elegantly, simply, and beautifully written—will live thousands of years after much of our present pompous preaching is dead and buried, and forgotten ; and though his " Lectures on the Belles Lettres" are a compilation, they are informed by a spirit dins own—pure and graceful,—and though the purity and the grace are greater than the power and the originality, he who thinks them stupid must be an ass---: and let him bray ag:iinst the Doctor " till he stretch his leathern ooat almost to bursting." The recent comparison between " the High. laud Brigade" and the Tenth Legion of User, is scarcely more exaggerated than such lauds, tion. We may observe that the " Elements of Criticism" is not the best work of Lord+ Karnes. His " Sketches of Man " is far mo re original and profound, and is a singularll• interesting discussion of some of the " specula tive " questions so much debated in the north. But, like the sermons of Blair, the " Sketches • do not sufficiently record the pravity of Ole human heart. On Burke's firsebook we find North going into heroics after this fashion : The " Treatise on the Sublime and 13eautiful"—thougli written when Ned was a mere boy—shows a noble mind, clutching at all times at the truth, and often grasping it for a moment, though, like celestial quicksilver, it evanishes out of hand. Of voluptuous animal beauty, the illustrious Irishman had that passionate sense—nor unprofound—with which nature has gifted the spirit of all Ins race. And he had a soul that could rise up from languishment oil Beauty's lap, and aspire to the brows of the sublime. His juvenile essay contains some splendid—some magnificent passages; and, with all its imperfections, defects, std failures, may be platted among the highest attempts made by the human mind to cross the debateable land that lies between the kingdoms of Feeling and of Thought, of Setae and Imagination. Vehement words, truly ! But there arc SO many other persons written about with similar raptures, that it is hard to know whether Christopher means half of what ho says. lie plasters all the literary craft after the follow ing fashion, taking care to insinuate some humorous irony : North: Oar current periodic-al literature teems with thought and feeling, Jaines,—with passion and imagination. There was Gifford, and there arc Jeffrey, and Southey, and Oampbell, and Moore, anti Bowles, and Sir Walter, and Lockhart, and Lamb, and Wilson, and De Quincey, and. the four . Coleridge., 8. T. C., John; klertirb Ind Derwellto