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

Novglop4 4,1855.

and Croly, and Maginn, and Mackintosh, and Cunningham,
and Kennedy, and Stabbings, and St. Ledger, and Knight,
and Praed, and Lord Dudley and Ward, and Lord L.
Gower, and Charles Grant, and liobliouse, and lilunt, and
Milman, and Carlyle, and Macaulay, and the two Moira,
and Jerdan, and Talfourd, and Dowring, and North, and
Hogg, and Tickler, and twenty—forty—fifty--other crack
contributors to the reviews, magazines, and gazettes, who
have said more tender, and true, and fine, and deep things
in the way of criticism, than ever was said before since the
reign of Cadmus, ten thousand times over,—not in long,
dull, heavy, formal, prosy theories,—but flung offhand,
out of the glowing mint—a mitiuge of the purest ore—and
stamped with the ineffaceable impress of genius. Who so
elevated in intellectual rank as to be entitled to despise
such a periodical literature ?
" Fifty other crack contributors !" A touch of
pfsise should have been reserved for the
a4iniriug anal equally admirable readers !
A great celebrity of our times, Mr. gacaulay,
is thus treated :

North : No doubt seems to have entered the mind of the
young gentleman, that, while in fact he was merely attempt-
ing, without much point, to stick a pin into the calf of one
of lir. Southey's literary legs, he was planting a dagger in
the brain of the Laureate.
Shepherd • A Liliputian atween the spa* o' Gulliver.
Yet one canna but admire the courage o' the cretur in the
inverse ratio o' its impotence. Only suppose Soothe y to stir
in his sleep—but to gie a sneeze or a snore—and boo the
bit barrister—for I remember what the bit body is noo—
would wriggle awa like a worm, and diving intil sonic dung,
hide himsel amang the grubs.

North : He's a clever lad, James-
Shepherd : Evidently, and a clever lad he'll remain, de•
pend ye upon that, a' the days o' his life. A clever lad o'
thirty year sold and some odds, is to ma mind the waist
melancholy sicht in nature—only think o' a clever lad o'
threescore-and-ten on his death-bed, wha can look back on
nue greater achievement than ha'in ance—or aiblins ten
times—abused Mr. Soothey in the Embro' Review.
Mr. Macaulay was even then more than " a
clever lad. But it seems absurd to hold the
brilliant supper-eaters of the "Noctes" respon-
siblefor their dicta.
Although chopped into dialoglig, the matter
in the present volume is too much of a mono-
logue all through. As four volumes have been
assigned to the " Noctes," a portion at least
ought to be given to some of the contributors,
who imparted variety of every kind. One of
the best of them is thus alluded to:—
As for the Doctor—
Shepherd: He hasna his match in a' England, I'm sure,
for wut, satire, and fun, and deevil tak me if he's no alio a
waist poo'rfu reasoner. Wut and Intellect are twun-
brithers, and sae like that, but for a sort o' smile native to
the face o' the first, I'll defy you to tell the ane free the
other.

But might not some of Maginn's papers be
printed ? The song of " Dermot O'Fig "in
the first volume was attributed by the learned
editor to the late Crofton Croker. We have
been assured on high literary authority that it
was from the pen of " the Doctor." It is a
most admirable comic song, full of life and
animal vivacity, and it is certainly more like
Magiun's than Crofton Croker's composition.