The Sun.
London, England, 1830-06-01 00:00:00

FRASER'S MAGAZINE.

The talent of this Magazine is of a more
limited character than we had at first been led
to suppose. The whole merit of the present
number lies in its clever but coarse power of
abuse. From first to last it is one tissue of
personal scurrility, as if the Editor (or whoever
else may be responsible for the diatribes in ques-
tion) were a cross between Zoilus and Thersites.
We dislike this bullying vulgarity—this literary
bush-fighting. It is neither manly nor-generous.
If an Italian bravo were to turn contributor to a
Magazine, he would write precisely in the same
fashion. The first contribution is avowedly an
analysis of Mr. Bulwer's novels. It is, however,
distinguished by nothing but a pedantic affecta-
tion of learning. The writer makes use of the
names of Aristotle, lipcke, Reid, Kant, Schel-
ling, Stewart, and Coleridge, in order to prove,
what ?—that Mr. Bulwer is no novelist ! From
an industrious perusal—and the task has been
one of no ordinary difficulty—of this wholesale
invective, we have come to the conclusion that
the author of " Pelham" is a greater novelist,
and more essentially a man of talent, than
we had ever before supposed him to be.
If his sketches of vulgar life were not true to
nature, they would not have given such deadly
offence as they here appear to have done. From
this rancorous criticism we must, however,
except one passage. Pity it is that the man
who can write so sensibly, and with such natural
vigour, should condescend to enter the lists of
ribaldry with Hunt, Cobbett, and the rest of that
accomplished, disinterested, and patriotic fra—
ternity !
"Poets and philosophers have heretofore described, and
wise men have recognised, the wisdom and happiness of
the golden mean.' In the state intended by this ex-
pression, very many of the middle classes are placed. It
is to the advantage of their character, as it is confessedly of
their conduct, that they are circumscribed on this hand
and on that, within the limits in which the law best exerts
its influence. The man under subjection to law, is by
that very subjection rendered nobler and capable of nobler
things than he who scorns it as beneath him, and, most
assuredly, than he who deems it, like the heavens, too far
ab:we him to be attained unto. It generates the very first
of virtues—the greatest and the ground of all the rest—
that of self denial. It calls for continual sacrifices, and
expects no other reward than that of conscience, and con-
science takes a nian brave—and such sacrifices are in
themselves heroic. And, accordingly, in these despised
ranks, how frequent ate the instances of generous devo-
tion, and of ardent enterprise, of which the enervate can-
didates for place and patronage are utterly incapable !"
. _ _

" The Young Dragon," by Mr. Southey, is in
that gentleman's most easy and flowing style.
Like Horace, as comprehensively described in
one pertinent half line by Pope—this amusing
legend " charms by graceful negligence."
" Literary Characters, by Pierce Pungent," is a
rambling tissue of unmeaning abuse of Mr.
Thomas Campbell. The great fault the
critic finds with this first-rate poet is his genti-
lity. All but this he can excuse—for all but
this there is " balm in Gilead." In the article
headed " Comparative Anatomy of O'Connell
and Cobbett," there is vigour, undoubted vigour
—much soundness of observation, much force
of expression, much knowledge of character, but
still the same leaven of coarse scurrility. Toujours
perdrix should apply to any thing rather than
the articles in a periodical which wishes to
gain popularity. " Mr. Thomas B. Macauley
and Mr. Southey," is a communication from the
pen of the same critic, who hugs himself in the
idea that he has demolished Mr. Bulwer. We
are led to this opinion from the pedantic use of
the quaint word " predicate," which occurs
usque ad nauseam in both articles. Mr.
Nlacauley, a gentleman who gained the highest
honours that the first University in the world
can bestow, to whom we are indebted for one
of the finest articles that ever appeared in
the Edinburgh Review, the Essay on Macchi-
avelli, is elegantly styled a quack, an ignoramus,
a compound of " sophism, charlatanism, and im-
pertinence. " In this same classical and truly
gentlemanlike diatribe, Sir Robert Peel is called
a " low upstart and turncoat," " a dog in the
manger," a man of " malignant feelings" and
" paltry temper." We leave all this absurd
Billingsgate to find its own level : it will, if we
mistake not, exhibit a speedy and wonderful
alacrity in the art of sinking. " The Gallery of
Illustrious Literary Portraits" professes to be a
biography of Mr. Jerdan. Whether, however,
the memoir he in jest or earnest, we confess we
have been unable to discover, with such exqui-
site felicity has the cunning scribe disguised his
intentions. Luckily the article is short, which
is its sole redeeming merit. We have spoken
of this periodical at greater length than our
very contracted limits would strictly warrant,
because we regret to see so much talent as it
displays, so hopelessly and uniformly perverted.
To expose quackery, whatever shape the Hydra-
headed monster may assume, is a laudable, not
to say an imperative task, and one which Fraser
has hitherto executed in a bold and uncompro-
mising spirit. But it is one thing to denounce
humbug, and another to slander sterling merit.
The invective which applies with peculiar pro-
priety to our modern poetic saints and medical
empirics, is repulsive and inappropriate when
launched against such an author as Campbell—
an autlitn who? whatever be his late singular eccen-

tricities or conduct, will live in the memory of
his countrymen, when all that his present tra-
ducer ever has written, and ever will write, has
gone to line the trunkmaker's portmanteaus, or
serve some useful purpose, as a covering for
cheese and butter. Who now remembers one
sentence, nay, even one word, of the best article
n the last number of Fraser's Magazine ? Yet
the bantling is only thirty-one days old !