The Press.
London, England, 1858-08-21 00:00:00

THE PRESS, AUGUST '2l, 1858.

complete without Manilius being studied at all,
and there can be little doubt that Mr. Bailey, •
though he recommends others to read him, has
not judged it necessary to do so himself. But if
he is to be read, Mr. Bailey might nave inferred
from his name, if he had no other means of deter-
mining the point, that the author of the
" Astronomica " had better come among the
Latin poets.
The respectable precedent of Mr. Bailey
appears to have encouraged some less-known
writer to publish his hazy notions of things in
general, his conceptions of what the world is,
and of what it would be if he had the manage-
ment of it, under the title of " Humbug
Attacked." We are not going to inflict upon
our readers any account of this precious produc-
tion, in which the confusion originated by the
poet has been worse confbunded by the printer.
The following four lines, in which the Pope, or
standing armies, or some other obnoxious institu-
tion (for you must consult the poet) is de-
nounced, will show the character of this poem:—
But c )nunon sense is coming, let us hope
Will place the standing armies, side the Pope
They're both great Humbugs, though well meant no doubt
But when we're ripe, may both go up the spout.
The italics are in the original. For this publica-
tion we cannot but think Mr. Bailey in part re-
sponsible. If so, it is a striking proof of the in-
fectiousness of folly. We have great respect for
Mr. Bailey's powers, or for the powers which he
once possessed. Whatever criticism " Festus "
might justly incur, it was impossible not to trace
in it the marks of a prodigious ingenuity. Not
one vestige of that eminent talent can we find in
this unfortunate volume. It is to be hoped that
Mr. Bailey will yet learn the lesson—deaf to
criticism as lie professes himself to be—that for
him there is no admission to the levels and the
gentle slopes of art, and that if he leaves the third
1
heaven he sinks at once to the region of the
damned.

A Journey due North. Being Notes of a Resi-
dence in Russia in the Summer of 1856. By
George Augustus Sala. London : Bentley.
Tun influence exercised over literature generally
by the extraordinary modern growth of periodical
publications would form a good subject for a
literary essay. On the one band it cannot be
denied that a good deal of literary talent is thus
made available which would formerly have been
wasted, while on the other we cannot but regret
that much is now comparatively wasted which
would formerly have borne rich fruit. The sub-
ject has been very well illustrated by Mr.
Thackeray :—" A man who thinks of putting
" away a composition for ten years before he
" shall give it to the world, or exercise his own
" maturer judgment upon it, had best be very
" sure of the original strength and durability of
" the work; otherwise, on withdrawing it from
" its crypt, he may find that, like small wine, it
has lost what flavour it once had, and is only
" tasteless when opened. There are works of
" all tastes and smacks, the small and the strong,
" those that improve by age, and those that
" won't bear keeping at all, but arc pleasant at
" the first draught, when they refresh and
" sparkle."
This is quite true, but the misfortune is
that people, finding how rapidly and profit-
ably their sparkling and ephemeral wares are
disposed of, no longer feel the same stimulunt
to produce anything more durable. They
thus acquire a habit of writing which they find
it difficult to shake off afterwards, even if
they try. But the chances are that they don't,
and that into labours intended to be a IC,-;iltle It; rf t.
they carry the forced flippancy and fantastic wit
that seasons a magazine article. They garnish
roast beef with olives, and throw salad dressing
over a plum-pudding.
These reflections have been specially forced
upon us by a perusal of Mr. Sala's volume, which,
appearing ;in instalments in Household Words,
was amusing enough, though even there it began
to halt a little, but now in the shape of a complete
volume brings us to a standstill in the middle of
it. Not even in Russia can life be of that mu-
fornily disagreeable texture, or present us with
that unvarying series of farcical characters, which
Mr. Sala describes to us. Caricatures of things
that we know are frequently useful in leading us
6 to a justex appreciation of the object, but carica-