The Sun.
London, England, 1847-11-04 00:00:00

MAGAZINES, &c. (CONTINUED).

1'A17;..

After another fling at the Bank Charter Act, in
the shape of an intelligent inquiry into the causes of
the present crisis, and a distinct demand of an imme-
diate and comprehensive revision of the Currency
System, Tait presents us with some additional chap-,
ters of what is now one of its most brilliant and most
attractive features. We mean the story of " Mi-
randa, a Tale of the French Revolution," conceived
in the true spirit of romance, and written by
Percy B. St. John. Although it is scarcely pos-
sible to have more than an inkling of the
merits of a fiction that is as yet so little advanced,
we cannot but perceive already that " Miranda" will
—if only continued as it has been commenced—be
the best, as it is certainly the most ambiticus, of the
narratives yet penned by Mr. St. John. The epoch
selected is perhaps the most striking that could be
adventured upon, namely, the " thick' of the great
revolution, which, like a thunder-burst, cleared the
political atmosphere of France, and convulsed the
whole civilized world to its foundations. The readers
of Tait will look with interest for the periodical
continuation of " Miranda." Sir Thomas Dick
Lauder pursues his course along the Tweed and its
tributaries, pointing out the most picturesque points
in the landscapes, reviving to our recollection its dif-
ferent historical associations, and occasionally enliven-
ing his remarks with snatches of song—mingling
together, as a true guide should, ballad ;lore, anti-
quarian lore, historic lore, and the lore of one who,
amidst the study of other books, has taken especial
care to study well the Great Book of Nature.
Thomas de:Quincey writes somewhat on " Protestant-
ism," but the most brilliant and eloquent, as it is to
our mind the most partial and erroneous paper in the
number for November, is the Literary Portrait of
Thomas Macaulay, by George Gilfillan. Those
who have conned, like ourselves, the splendid but
faulty volume which first gave the name of George
Gilfillan to the world, will remember that Macaulay
was therein noticed, although, as the writer himself
here acknowledges, that notice " was short,
hurried, and imperfect." In publishing this
second literary portrait of the Paymaster of
her Majesty's Forces the impassioned critic (a
rather incongruous character for a reviewer !) does
by no means make adequate reparation for its
predecessor. The present delineation may be long
and deliberate, but it is decidedly anything but per
feet After avowing that " the two most popular of
British authors are, at present, Charles Dickens and
Thomas Macaulay," Mr. Gilfillan propounds a most
preposterous estimate of the former. He doubts the
genius of Dickens while confessing that, with " no lore
superior to that of a schoolboy," he is " ruling over us
like a Fairy King," and is rejoicing in a popularity
which Shakspere or hardly Scott in their lifetime
enjoyed." With such a vast popularity, and such an
undisputed dominion, is it possible that one who is
sustained with " no lore superior to a schoolboy's,"
can be without a permanent and peculiar genius ? Is
it possible ? Literary charlatans may flourish, and
have flourished, upon a whim or an accident, but
their sway is evanescent—their doom is certain and
rapid—they are the ephemeridce of letters. But here
is Dickens, after the lapse of a dozen years, with a
wider popularity and a more undisputed dominion
than ever ! According to the jealous and splenetic
sneer of the Quarterly, he went up like a rocket
and was to come down like a stick. Perdie
the stick is a long while falling ! Despite his
incapacity to recognise the true greatness of
Dickens, our critic avows that " never was a
monarch of popular literature less envied or more
loved," and owns that " his sway has been that of gen-
tleness—of a good, wide-minded, and kindly hearted
man." As a specimen of his affection for the author
of " Pickwick," " Nickleby," " Twist," " Chuzzle-
wit," " Dombey," and the immortal " Carol," he closes
his incidental remarks upon his character and position
by " whihing long life and prosperity to Bonnie
Prince Charlie." Of Macaulay his estimate is, to our
thinking, quite as false and extravagant. Thomas
Macaulay, he says, " in general literature, as Dickens
in fiction, is held to be facile prince ps ;" and for some-
what the same reason he denies the right of this su-
premacy to the late Member for Edinburgh. If we
are ,to believe Mr. Gilfillan, Macaulay. is. only an
author by line and measure—his passion is always
prepense—his gracefulness, as a rhetorician, is marredby a total lack of the ars celare artem —his written
eloquence is affectation—his oral declamation is
merely the glibness of one who speaks by rote—he
is prim as an essayist—a sixth-rate poet—and no
orator ! how many will, on mature deliberation,
coincide in this opinion ? A hundred ? Fifty ?
Half-a-dozen ? 'We doubt it. Speaking of Macau-
lay's intellect as a sanctum sanctorum that is richly
decorated, he says, " The lamps are lit in gorgeous
effulgence ; the shrine is magnificently, but modestly
adorned ; there is everthing to tempt a god to
it de-
scend; but the god descends not—or, if he does,is
only Maia's son, the eloquent, and not Jupiter, the
thunderer." Only I Notwithstanding its blemishes
of judgment, however, this critical essay on Thomas
Babington Macaulay is, in point of composition,
worthy of George Gilfillan. The remainder of the
contributions are miscellaneous and readable.