CHARLES MACKAY.

Charles Mackay, one of the most popular authors of the time, was born in Scotland about 1810, and after receiving a good general education, practised for the bar: here, however, his poetical temperament got the better of his legal prudence, and he rushed into the world of letters! Coming to London he got introduced to the editor of the Morning Chronicle, and was engaged as subeditor of that leading whig journal for some years. In 1844 he went to Glasgow, and undertook the editing of the "Glasgow Argus," a paper of considerable reputation. He returned to London some short time ago, where he still remains. Few men have made more friends than the author of "The Salamandrine," and "Voices of the Crowd;" his manners being pleasant and his conduct generous. He is about the middle height, hair inclined to a "dark golden," eyes dark, and of a ruddy happy countenance. He has contributed many of the most genial articles in "Chambers' Journal."

In "The Salamandrine" we have the etherialised love of a pernatural nature" developed in the person of Amethysta.

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Sir Gilbert, the hero, is gazing upon a fire: in the midst of the flame,

"In the fiercest of the heat

He sees a youth and maiden sweet,
Unscorched amid the fire they stand
And hold each other by the hand:

A conversation ensues; he learns from the tenor of it that they are brother and sister!

Sir Gilbert discovers also that the fair Salamandrine mourns over the mortality of her race, and envies the immortality of man.

"O happy! happy man,'

(Thus the maiden sang :)

At thy birth the heavens were glad,

And hosanna's rang.

Make us sharers in thy gain,

Oh! take pity on our pain;

And to our perishing souls impart

The immortality of thine,

For which with bitter tears we ever yearn and pine.'

The soldier felt his inmost heart

Warming with pity for their woe:

In this "Salamandrine" Mr. Mackay had ample scope for his

Rosicrusian learning, but the subject was not so well suited to his poetical genius as it was to his acquired knowledge. It is full of fancy, but is very deficient in poetry, abounding in pretty descriptions and all the lighter graces of the muse. We are perpetually in doubt whether this and that passage are very nice verses, or whether they may not actually be called the mere frivolities of writing. This is a sure evidence of a poet's failure, although it may prove him to possess considerable fancy.

It is as a lyric poet of progress, as an utterer of "Voices from the Crowd," that we feel he is a true speaker of fine thoughts, and here we become aware that a brave, keen mind, and a fearless heart, are at work in man's behalf. He regards "old opinions" as "rags and tatters." The dignity of "daily work" he celebrates, instead of aristocratical arrogance and pomp.

"Who lags for dread of daily work,

And his appointed work would shirk,
Commits a folly and a crime,
A soulless slave,

A paltry knave,

A clog upon the wheels of time.

With work to do and store of health,

The man's unworthy to be free

Who will not give,

That he may live,

His daily toil for daily fee."

He then denounces the causes which render emigration necessary; in another "Voice" he triumphantly anticipates when wars shall cease and brotherhood prevail.

One of his pleasantest "Voices" is "On Railways"

"No poetry in railways! foolish thought

Of a dull train-too fine music wrought,
By mammon dazzled, though the people prize
The gold above, yet shall not we despise
The triumphs of our time, or fail to see

Of pregnant mind the fruitful prophecy,

Ushering the daylight of the world's new morn."

The poetry of Mr. Mackay is more adapted for the mass, who take up a book and put it down after an hour's pleasant reading; it does not appeal to either poet, critic or thinker. The thoughts are not original nor profound, but just what a well educated, earnest man of a fine temperament might be expected to feel under certain moods; in addition, there is nothing to offend the most fastidious taste in morals or religion; for although his opinions are strongly expressed, they belong to the progressive, and not to the destructive school of politics.

He has a keen sense of the future, and a firm faith in the ultimate destiny of man; nevertheless, there is too great a want of originality either in presenting a truth to the mind, and of power in rousing the heart, ever to put him with the Tennysons and Brownings. He has a lively fancy, a neat mode of expression, and sharp eye in selecting topics generally pleasing to the million. While, however, we suspect that he will never achieve any great or original work, let us thank him cordially for what he has done in prose and verse.

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MARSTON, HERAUD, AND OTHERS.

We propose in this chapter to glance at a few writers of an inferior class; men who are not poets, but who have a certain sensibility of soul, and a facility of verse; it sometimes occurs, however, that this very mediocrity is advantageous to their popularity, and the fellow-feeling of the reader makes him wondrous kind to the author.

Of this class, John Abraham Heraud is indisputably the greatest; and, had he been possessed of a clear, bright understanding, instead of a mystical sophism, he would have been a distinguished writer of prose; but this unhappy defect poisoned the chalice of pure thought; and in consequence, the author of the "Descent into Hell," and "The Judgment of the Flood," is only a minor poet, of heavier pretensions and more learning than minor poets generally have.

The "Descent into Hell," which is extremely dull, reminds us of a jeu de esprit of Douglas Jerrold Heraud is an enormously vain man, and one evening he asked Jerrold if he had ever read his "Descent into Hell;" the latter replied, "No, I would rather see it.” This calls to our recollection a still better retort the cynical author of "The Caudle Lectures" made to Albert Smith. Modesty is not, perhaps, the distinguishing peculiarity of this clever author; possibly his greatest failing is a kind of assumption, which leads him to be