The Sun.
London, England, 1850-07-16 00:00:00

LITERATURE.
THE PALLADIUM No. I.
An ingenious periodical under this title has just
been issued from the press, in the form of a monthly,
publication. Like ninny ofitspredecessors and con-
temporaries, its appearance is simultaneously made at
London and Edinburgh. Its abilities evidence the
judicious fusion of the intellects of the two countries.
The selection, moreover, of the subjects of critici,m
for the initial num; er demands our fullest commen-
dation, according as those subjects do so fully and
entirely with the spirit of the age and with the pre-
dilections of our generation. After a sententious
introduction in the form of a sonnet, celebrating the
establishment of the Palladium, we have a shrewd
and admirable estimate of Carlyle's "Latter Day
Pamphlets," those eccentric effusions which have
already passed periodically under our own scrutiny.
Tee critic of the Palladium so far agrees with
ourselves in:oljecting to Mr. Carlyle, that he can pull
down vigorously enough, but that he lacks the capa-
bility cf building up again afterwards, and that con-
sequ(ntly his labours as a political censor are rather
barren and unsatisfactory. lie can show the
faults of the existing system plainly enough, but he
fails altogether in suggesting any plan for tbeir emen-
dation. The narrative of the "Invasion of Nepaul,"
coming next, is particularly well-timed, considering
the recent arrival of the Napaulese Ambassador.
After this chapter from our oriental history, we have
an earnest and eloquent panegyric on Gilfillan's
" Literary Portraits "—the encomium upon that
author being energetic even to the extent sometimes
of being impassioned.' The writer of the article
is manifestly of a congenial temperament with the
subject of his eulogium—ready to descend at will
into the abysses of contemplation, or to soar into the
regions of enthusiasm. The following passage is a
noble, and, in :many respects, a correct and beautiful
commendation pronounced over the head of George
Gilfillan by a critic who is not afraid to warm into
eloquence:—

" Here is an author who has written con mere of
,hirty-six characters; from Hall to Keats, from Dawson
o Bailey, from Moore to Milton, from Cobbett to Shel-
ley, from Pollok to Hood, from Jeffrey to Byron, from
Brougham to Coleridge, from Bulwer to Carlyle. Here
is a clergyman who regards ' Cain not only as Byron's
noblest production, but as one of the finest poems in this
or any language. It is such a work as Milton, had he
been miserable, would have written.' Here is a critic
boldly renouncing his infallibility, 'Rosamond Gray,
that beautiful story of Lamb's, on which we once, w•
regret to say, presumptuously passed an unfavourable
opinion, but which has since commended itself to our
heart of hearts.' Here is a poet believing that 'scientific,
culture is sure to beget scientific calm,' and preaching
from the fulness of the belief. Here is the laborious
student, standing side by side with the poet, and 'so
listening to the melodies of nature, to the march of the
eternal hours, to the severe music of continuous thought,
to the rush of his own advancing soul, that he cannot
complacently lend an ear to the minstrelsies, however
sweet, of men however gifted.' Here is the essayist,
writing in five golden lines the noblest recipe of history,
' a history formiog a transcript, as if is the shorthand of
a superior being, of the lc aling events of the age; solemn
in spirit, subdued in tone, grave and testamentary in lan-
guage, profound in insight, judicial in impartiality, and
final as a Median law in effect.' Here is the keen
censor who will resist the temptation of a great guilty
corpse, and feeling that 'mere criticism over such dread
dust is impertinent, mere panegyric impossible,' turn
from it sighing. Here is the genial sympathiser who
can place ' the Psalm of Life' among those odes by which
' the children of Israel might have tuned their march
across the wilderness,' and listen to Tennyson's ' Two
Voices' till ' Death seems the one thing lovely in the
universe.' Here is an orthodox divine who proclaims
that ' a powerful cause of our recent refined scepticism
may be found in the narrow, bigoted, and unworthy notions
of Christianity which prevail, in the obstinacy with which
they are retained, and in the contrast thus presented
to the liberal and fluent motion of the general age.'
Here is a man, reverend , and i grown, who,', seeing
' that never yet there was an age with so many young,
ardent, and gifted spirits,' can look without jealousy on
the youth he has left, and apostrophise the intent Her-
cules,' that young mind of tne time,' with attesting love
and hope, and pride and prophecy. Here is a Celt who
speaks Scotch, and thinhs British, and asks 'at' his Ca-
ledonian soul questions which it answers from either
side the Tweed. Here is a philosopher, the friend of
Carlyle, the panegyrist of Emerson, ' sitting, and in his
right mind,' at the feet of Christ. Here is a man, burn-
ing in zeal, adamantine in faith, but who steps out to
spiritual combat with the difficulties of the day,
crying, 'lt will not do now to skulk from
the field under a flight of nicknames. It will
nut do to call our opponents miscreants and :mon-
sters. While we state their doubts let us pity the pain
and sorrow, amounting almost to distraction and despair,
which attended them; and let us inquire, if we have no
difficulties, may it not be because we have never thought
at all.' Here is the speculative enthusiast who can yet
turn from the ideal to the real, with eyes in which ' a
meek and humble disciple of Jesus,' is that noble moral
poem sublimer far than the ' Paradise Lost.' Ay, this
is the true ' Paradise Regained.' Here is a (trained
theologian, who, looking at the religious authorship of
the day," which represents the Deity as a dreadful king
of furies, whose dominion is overshadowed by ven-
geance, whose music is the cries of victims, and whose
glory requires to be illustrated by the ruin of his crea-
tion —that authorship which ' would sacrifice all the
re cords of creation to the arbitrary interpretation of •
Hebrew particle,' or 'to prove Christianity the moat
excellent of the sciences, raves like a maniac against all
science, and cares less for sun, moon, and stars, than for
a farthing candle glimmering in the corner of a coeven-
tick,' cries out in indignant reprobation, ' This, indeed,
thank God, is not religion.' Here is one who has been
on the heights, and into the depths of doubt, and every-
where finds them peopled by men and brothers; who
has dived into the mines of disbelief, whore the eye of
the indv:eller has lost capacity for sunshire—has stood
on that mount of confusion where the sight is blinded
with bare light, and with the calm clear voice of sym-
pathy, lays bare the hearts of their inhabitants—the
sceptic of the eighteenth and the sceptic of the nine-
teenth centuries. Here is a comprehensive believer in
God and in man, who asks in hope, and hails in love
every human effort to solve the great problems of tie
earth —who feels that ' to believe in man is an indispen-
sable requisite to a proper conception of the Deity'—
but looks for their highest resolution to that ' unearthly
advent, for which the weary world and wearier church
are beginning to pant with unutterable groanings.' Here
is the metaphysician, theologian, philosopher, censor,
student, poet, and critic, walking forth in his vocation,
with this maxim on Ma lips, his forehead, and his phy-
lacteries—' LOVE, AND YOU WILL UNDERSTAND."'

Although differing diametrically from Mr. Gilfillan
in many of his opinions we gladly give insertion: to
this recognition of his finer qualities, having been our-
selves among the very first to acknowledge_his genius
and to welcome his advent. After a paper on the
" Scottish Educational Question," we find a transle •
tion from the German of Wilhelm Hauff, of " The
Minister of Finance," which, with one or two other

contributions and miscellaneous notices, make up an
excellent first number of the Palladium.

LIEUT. GALE AND HIS BALLOON