The Sun.
London, England, 1835-07-18 00:00:00

LITERATURE.

QUARTERLY REVIEW. No. CYR,
Murray, London. In?:
With the exception of the strange, whining tirade
against Municipal Reform, of which we made men-
tion in The Sun of Saturday, the articles in this Num-
ber are of a very readable character. The first is on
Captain Ross's lately published " Voyage of Disco-
very to the North Pole," and shows much acuteness
of observation, though its tone is somewhat too bitter
and caustic. The Reviewer is resolute in his rejection
of the Captain's claims to accuracy in his narrative,
and accuses him pretty broadly of shifting mountain-
ranges from one position to another, just as suits his
Caprice. But indeed the whole article is marked by a
strong feeling of animosity against Ross, and
an
equally strong bias in favour of Parry, which will
of course lead to a wordy warfare between the par-
ties. In point of details, it is very agreeably written,
and the extracts are selected with all that rare felicity
which characterizes Mr. Barrow's Papers in the Quar-
terly. in the notice of " Mrs. Butler's Journal," the
caprices and eccentricities of this young lady are ex-
posed with no sparing hand. Her work is allowed
high praise on the score of ability, but is pronounced
defective in taste, discretion, and correctness. From
the extracts we have read from it, we incline to the
same opinion. We saw in them much flippancy, not a
little malice, and a dogmatism of manner, singularly
offensive in one, who, as an actress, never soared above
cleverness, and as an authoress is merely of a third or
fourth-late grade. Mrs. Butler should be told that it
is not for her to speak slightingly of the intellect of
Dr. Johnson. If he was a " fool"—a " dense, fat,
-old fool," is her choice expression—what must she be?
Again, the less she says against the public Press the
better, for but for that same Press, she would have
nre-
mained in utter obscurity all her life. Her's was not the
though, weggenius to make head against every obstacle;
apprehend, she is at issue with us on this
point, every
cavalier and supercilious remark in her
"Journal" being
tossed off with the air of one who
considers herself a literary phenomenon. She throws
them to the public, just as if she were throwing pearls
before swine ; which is a pity, for her pearls are not real,
but counterfeit. As, however, she is yet but young,
She may in time amend, in her capacity of authoress ;
- and we shall gladly hail the change, which must ne-
cessarily be for the better, inasmuch as it cannot pos-
sibly be for the worse.
" The Last Essays of Elia" is the production
of one who was well acquainted with Lamb, not
merely as a writer, but as a man. The criticism
18 in the acutest and kindliest spirit ; indeed
we think it errs from excess of praise, for however
leper
he may have been, C. Lamb was by no means
leone of the first-rates of his age. As for his poetry,
those read it who can. We ourselves have twice
"de the attempt, and failed, though with every dispo-
sition not to be daunted by trifles. Where we look
for fancy __,
we • are put off with conceits, as in the be-
iaud " Farewell to Tobacco" which is full of quaint,
feet.ehed allusions, and where throughout, the verse
either halts, or jogs labouring on like a spavined hack,
If Lamb reach posterity, it will not be by his verse,
but his prose. As the author of Elia," and the exqui-
site criticisms on Lear and Hogarth, and more espe-
cially the resurrection-man of the Elizabethan Dra-
rnatists, he will be honourably remembered, loi.g after
this: Album Verses" have gone to their last home at
he t
unkmaker's. Of late, however, we have had
something too much of Lamb. A host of injudicious
friends have
prodi been endeavouring to cry him up as a
sensitive
gy----a species of adulation which his modest and
nature, could he have been forewarned of it,
would have shrunk from with loathing. But thus it
always has .been, and always will be, in Literature.
No sooner does an author of any standing in the coteries,
• die, than a whole shoal of the smallest possible Bos-
wells, with pretensions invisible to the naked eye,
fasten with remorseless avidity on every scrap and frag-
ment of his sayings and doings. We have him in
front and in profile, in half-length and full-length, from
the crown of his hat to the sole of his shoe. His very
defects are turned into beauties. We are assured that
his stammering imparted surprizing pungency to his
. wit ; that his habit .of blurting out untenable para-
doxes, evidenced singular originality ; that if lie dressed
as no one else thought of dressing, it was from a
generous love of antiquity ; that if he shook his
bead, or picked his teeth, it was from some
hidden motive, to be appreciated only by kindred souls ;
and that if he saw more picturesque beauty in a dingy,
rotten old London building, than in the finest scenes
of the North, it was from no deficiency of taste, but
from that "subtle, delicate principle of association,"
to which all superior minds are disposed. In this ab- •
surd way the cry is kept up for weeks, perhaps
months, till at length the panegyrists get as sick as
the Public, of their clamour ; reason resumes her rights ;
and the subject of all this posthumous flattery takes
bps proper station among the ranks of those who have
instructed or amused mankind. When Leigh Hunt
dics---and may he live and write on to eternity !—we
can imagine the immense number of fawns and syVss
that the imitators, not of the merits, but the failings,
of this kindly-natured and eminent author, will con-
jure up from the rural shades of the Regent's Park to
Weep over his ashes. The Han-woad daffodils will
be put in deep mourning ; the ponds will overflow
with the tears of the elves ; and periodical literature
will ring with the sorrows of Cockayne for at least
86( months. We make these remarks from no dis-
paraging feeling, towaras Mr. Hunt—whose "Indicator"
and " Feast of Poets," are among the brightest lite-
rary gems of the day—but solely for the purpose of ridi-
cu.hog that senseless officiousness of friendship which
wlll not allow the ashes of a great man to slumber in
peace.
"Life of Kean the Actor " is a severe notice of
Barry Cornwall's late Memoir. We cannot but
tg)(fin,k the criticism over-harsh, for whatever was to be
of Kean, his biographer has told in the best pos-
sible ple Spirit, with an evident desire to adhere to truth,
twithout giving unnecessary pain. As a tragedian, it
impossible
.that Kean can be praised too highly.
wit.".ls Othello was probably 'die finest piece of acting ever
onessed. We saw it when he was in the meridian
decline ; and know not that we were more struck
with his
ten energy. in the first instance, than his
derne iSS n the last. " Gastronomy and Gas-
is a noble subject, nobly treated.
\""V°h"omthers
--4 W • be know f.•
"tater may we but he is worthy
to ortlit
As
he ,
pen Ap at the supper-table of Lucullus ; and
tietsms have'tgiven us quite an appetite ; though we
!slight object
erhaps, to his praises of Ude's method
raenuaelkP itnhga.r leZhlt;
h •
o
a liver-complaint ; and also to his
seasoned dishes may be eaten at
trines with impunity ; for such is not the fact. Under
certain e* tee circumstances they induce disease
therefor so far,
• • 11); t 171 leogrees'
are an unwarrantable infringement on the
of the Faculty. In " Yarrow Revisited,"
the Reviewer, after speaking highly of the genius of
dis as r worth, assures him that his last volume of poems
• d as " a sermon "—au equivocal 'compliment,
would horrify Torn Moore, however it may
•• please his great Lake contemporary. The " War in
Spain," -is-, of course, high Tory in spirit ; and the
artisle.on
" Sir Jamss Macintosh," executed in a sin.