The Sun. — London, England, 1847-05-03 00:00:00

..,.. ter p, jest Literary panegy: ,fling is recialA fern go . ties of dodoes ° ) e'atidgl" p hile§o* ay' i n the w e Y th e even de. 64 , 0 e re . , Thee isible ivantago of '1 the writer tiequainti'd ,he my sterf almost tnetaphi°oll wite wing ! A e respective ince writers' ' l9 le fart+ ter• )f the ." t t o ar e CU! , a _ o d. f tie bla 09 neln ° ' re a 9 a ner 115te f, le for Jo-iliac% • til o S e " v ery' r i n atio rat na in. °u gh sens e en a. 'Lose patieilee lather wal s ' s i e reeness t the am 110 e commericd hicb t hi° ) ro' ore .p h fig "" v r ,OCP t the vCs Vionane aroe 1 7 7 4 f r o• sariu 6 ° er' distioet r do ve a ie. , . itobl; !n th at • s ot Got,beS e rror r on w ui ou t ll tid. bits , t 1 ;• 00 J eer ° lpe re a we. t . may Y in.,,,itof ' b r oc , aking t h wo the n sm pletisr"" th e • lit ;e I n 0 , 10 1 Aisig i 0 Not 0, he 1 ir f p Oli; h t 4 ( 1 : 1 S if n ri , Vi i l U e SU S• vie ir re: 4er t Dor ~ e, ,urni on t bot' s it its b' 9° .e O re ' O „a s' to I ' lo 4l re n A P u 1.1 ." o tbState' be r b° , 0 11e 010 ;be t - to g ° ' ur tne , o r t ti pe [rio t ." 1 . o° . r he ' the' ao .0t us. fi e- 0 1 re g ftol)ll''' A svh e)...- oPt P e ihsS more f . • 4 .' 11 . Ten years hence, also, e expect to see g i e ati‘ traproyed system of farming in Ireland. The new lanai.) d till enter i nto his possessions with capitAlat gather round him an industrious yeom .nry ; Qnild for them respectable 11011,30 S; interdict altogether u oth uie r ing b! Row and the ennacre nuisance; and t. ash them , ,l y exampl e an d precept, to d ea l f a i r ly by the populatio n . W e k now t h a t O w Irishtnap , d as 1 6 ,Z )v f )1 , deserv es a ll t h e censure , on th e score of in tieh the Archbishop of Duig.liu has heaped upon will not work a moment longer than is nece 7; V e r d t earn the pitt ance on w hi c h so ul and body can he i t h;,,,7gether. A n d t h e tota l a b s , n ce of forethought " c haracterises him at home, is not left behind, by thL. 14 . 8 , a , n at when he visits this country. But why should encouraged, be ? Because the Irish lab..urer has n,vp wioonea.ed, felt : 5 nor that was his interest, t to a e lp7 Mahe°us- A resident gentry, with estates mo! t iaah lwatsr-line, create of necessity a pauperised tt -147' who, in their turn, neglect and oppress the g ird r er—giving him, in lieu of wages, a miser able potato tea, and training him in that school to habits of ractical deceit as well as theoretical lying. How can it he Otherwise, than that a people so circumstanced sh .;; ul 1 : 1 ; h i e 3r n of attentive savage, and chronically poor r VI fact the whole of his article Measures not Men," attentive perusal. It proves that the old To j a tl r tY is completely broken up, indeed no th at — has ever ventured to vituperate the doings of ti., Marty during the Pitt and Liverpool admini , tra- , Cia lathe severe terms which the writer in Blackw .oa n ua ;:"--, and that the real honest men of the party are tt°-. Whigs and something more ; every measure of the telillin !sell administration approved of—the necessity of— uP the insolvent Irish landlords is not only Mittea but is urged as the only measure to he --Pllow fteci s :-- tii;rted for the permanent salvation of Ireland ; and tr 2vriter, aft er p ass i ng i n rev iew all the measures f o by the Russell Ministry, concludes as p: Thus far L or d J o h n R usse ll has done well. Let him choose as he h as begun, and, by whatever name he may 2" to call himself, he shall have our support." thine literary L eg i s lators who sit for this publication month are Mr. Smythe and Mr. Poulett Scrope. a n iostice i s d one to M r . P ou l e tt Scrope ; his physical f . f ,eets are e xagg erated, while justice is ant re:dered Ma mental merits. Mr. Poulett Scrope is a man of much greater political importance than the writer of this iele seems to imagine. But if he has been unjust to at Poulett S crope, h e has been more than just to thmere schoolboy statesman Mr. Smythe, and he calls Sir Robert Peel to witness for Mr. Silty, he's because: stat es of Sir R. Peel appointed him tinder Secretary ry State for Foreign Affairs during the latter m ont h s of his admi nistration. It has always struck us that thi s was a negative ap. pointinent—an appointment given not so much to secure the support o of father, Smythe, as to secure the neutrality his ether, Lord Strangford. At the time that this appointment took place, the utter i ncompetency of Lord Aberdeen ha , I become Painfully manifest. " The travelled Thane" was the laughing stock of the diplomatic world. c ilantboozl e d i n Spain, humbugged in Portugal, cheat e d in G reece, laughed at in France, done every where, he was the mere b ra i n l ess tom b o l a o f M. mot. Europe had long been aware of this—even flnAgwas beginni ng t o awa k e, an d L or d Strang land „_ u t who had str ong c l a i ms to t h e sea l s o f th e •ureign-office was on the point of urging those and of "showing up" the utter inefficiency 11 . 11 u ignorance of " the President of the Society of an tiquarians." To show that we have fathomed ex actly the capabilities 't of Lord Aberdeen, we ask when 1 , Was that hi s L or d s hi p w as first cognisant 43 ' the existence of the island of Palls 111111SLoit:linlssiip will understand what we mean) whe n 8 aPpointenent was given to his son, and , of c ourse, Lord S Ff ord was silenced. We certainly do not hold th e abilities of Mr. Smythe in such estimation as dues the writer of this article. The other articles in the number are all literary, and of a very high order. )Ye have an admirable critique on the recently pub lished bi ography of Mr. Cary, the translator of Z allt ? ; a most interesting " Scene in the wilds of story ' e ry z i e °;" a pleasant six pages of amusing gossip a nent modern F renc h au thors • a capital Nova Scotian (worthy o f Washington Irving) from the pen of Sam Slick, and a variety of Other amusing articles. HOOD'S MAGAZINE. One reprinted gem would alone have rendered floods Magazine for May valuable, supposing the rest of the contributions had been irredeemably bad-- :t a solemn, an exquisite voice from the past—the Mynstrelle's Sonve," from the tragical interlude of the immortal " :Ella." It is well that a popular pe riodical avails itself of its circulation to revive to the irtultitude those beauties of our national writers Which are buried in the literary catacombs of our public libraries. Another poetical jewel is preserved I n Rood —the four simple but well-remembered lines °f Darwin, on the present month : " Born in yon blaze of orient sky, Sweet May ! thy radiant form unfold ; Unclose thy blue v. luptuous "ye, And wave th' •ha , iowy loAts of acad." Beyond these, however, the contents of the pe riodical is as evanescent as possible; the last two and twenty pages, indeed, are filled up with the broken bits from other and cheaper publications. THE ME ihOPOLITAN. As there is a perceptible struggle for improvement in this miscellany we are disposed to regard it with the eye of hope and encouragement. Apart from the • lighter and more ephemeral of the contributions there are one or two that betoken a more aspiring spirit. We cannot but feel amused at the pertness with which a Mr. Ritchie—not Leitch Ritchie—remarks, " Like Babington Macaulay, WE delight in illustrations." Certainly that is the only and the most shadowy re semblance. 'We like not the tone of the scrambling criticism upon Tancred ; there is in it a sarcastic fri volity quite unbefitting the character of a reviewer, as where that fiction is termed "an aristocratical Pickwick." The remark reminds us of an equally sarcastic, an equally undeserved, and a much more caustic observation uttered very recently in our hear ing in regard to Mr. Disraeli's abilities, namely, that he is a millionaire in point of intellect, but that he is rich only in counterfeit coin. Mr. Disraeli is un doubtedly mistaken as to the regeneration of mankind 4 , ) , 11 , 1 5' through the infusion of the pure Cauca sian , ) ,, 11 "Pizs , l, and the re-elevation of the Hebrew race to the pinnacle o f h u man authority ; he is mistaken in those visions, and as a proof that he is, we commend him the perusal of the twelfth verse in the fourth chapter • ?f the prophet Isaias. But, erroneous as we believe Ills expeeiations and yearnings to be in this parti cular, the sneers with which they are greeted are assuredly not the welcomes due to his genius. T he biographicalL paper upon Cardinal Wolsey is nothing b etter than a string of quotations trorn Cavendish and The articles written in allusion to America are a mong t h e liveliM in the Metropolitan, and pro mise well for the advancement of the character of the publication. - r COLBURNS U.IITL,II SERVICE. This is an extremely interesting number, it con , tau Perilous more than the usual quantity of narratives of Perilous Adventure, both by Flood and Field." The account of the new planet Neptune, with which it opens, exhibits the wonderful triumph of analytic science, which led two gentlemen, strangers to each other, and each in total ignorance of the labours of the other, to investigate this most intricate problem, and confidently to predict, not merely the existence of such a body, and its distance from the earth, but to calculate its position in the heavens, and each inde pendently to arrive at the same conclusions. It would also afford a singular corroboration of the Newtonian doctrines, if any additional evidence in their favour were required. It form an additional link in the chain that comes within Keplirs law — a law that has already led to the discovery of the smaller planets or asteriods—and extends the known limits of astronomy to nearly three times the former distance, and opens the way for new discoveries in still more remote regions. „ The predicting and finding in this case were not the fruits of accidental finding, persevering scrutiny, nor telescopic power, but the magnificent consequence of a judicious exertion of profound thought and transcendent reasonings." So remarks the writer of the article in question ; and, indeed, there is not in the history of science an event more striking, or circumstances more curious than those connected with the discovery. The history of which is now given. We shall let the writer speak for himself. As to the result, he says " Thus, then, by a profound computation based on very slight data, the closet mathematician has been armed with more than magician's power, arid not only Pointed out the place in which a new planet must be tound, but also limited the space in which to much for it, weighed its mass, determined its diameter, figured its orbital circuit, and numbered the years of its revo lution around the central luminary ! The confident te merity of the prediction was astounding, and stn. gered even the incredulous, for the most sanguine hope„ could hardly dave expected so full a con urination. I cannot attempt to convey to you,' said Mr. Airy, • the impression which was made on me by the author's undoubting confidence in the gem rid truth of his theory, by the calmness and clearness with which he limited the field of observation, and by the firn it.e , s with which he pr , claimed to observing astro nomers, Look in the place which I have ind;cated, and - 9 ". will see the planet well. And this wondrous and sneces , ful exertion or the powers of abstruse research was received with a burst of rapturous applause through out the intellectual world ; and numerous are the w ell deserved honours showered on Le Verrier." ‘_..` A Me mo i r o f Zutnalacarregui" gives an account of the celebrated Carlist General, who certainly ex hibited great ability in the conduct of the insurrec tion, by which,a year, he advanced h imself from being an unknown partizan officer, at the bead of a few hundred ill-clad, and wretchedly armed Pouiants, to the chief Of a well-appointed and well disciplined army." A Cruise in the West " The Fusilier f ar skin " Convict t'ua rds, The d dt • n Expedi tion, g. lig 8.11 o the u l eai lillard I? hum Stories, " and " Ltoeoileeti(*)us of ply Life of a Sailor," are amusing records of • A ?'.• PRE SUN, strange adventures. 1:a tne latter, an extraordinary instance is given of the summary course adopted by Lord St. Vincent : "'The ringleaders of the threatened mutiny were ina niediatey seized and tried directly, four of them were sentenced to be hanged, and the rest to be flogged rounci the fleet, which sentences were carried into effect the very next morning, although it was Suncliy, and in op position to the remonstrances of Sir Charles Thompson, the sc‘ aid in command. At eight o'clock the four un fortunate me.: ivcre hanged by the crew of the St. George themselves, not by a man from each of the boats as com monly the case ; the other men were at the same time undergoing. their punishment alongside the different ships of the fleet. The signal was made to go to prayers; the enemy's gun-boats came out at the same time and ours sttaeked them. Thus, at the same instant, there was he extraordinary spectacle in the same waters of hang ing, flogging, fighting, and praying going ~n together. The prompt and decided c onduct of Lord St. Vincent on this eca , iol no doubt saved the fleet.* " The Frozen Ship" is a petical version of a singular discovery made by a Captain Warrens, towards the latter end of the past century, of a vessel blocked up in the ice for many years, the crew of which were found apparently eng,!gerl in their ordinary duties, although many years dead. The article on " cruity and Recruiting" details the experiencn of a medical staff officer, and gives many curious in stances i f:he tricks resorted to by tho,e anxious either to get into or escape the trammels of the service. There is also the usual quantity of information con tained in the Editor's Correspondence. DUBLIN UAITEBSITY. " Measures for Ireland," the political and the last article in this number, appears to he a continuation of " The Famine in the Land," which appeared last month. Although we differ toto ccelo from the writer in the views he expresses, the conclusions at which he arrives, and the remedies he suggests, it is impossible to deny the talent arid ability he has exhibited. Ile is the unflinching advocate of the landlords, and sup• ports them in all their theories. He clearly sees, and forcibly depicts, the grievances and ills under which that unhappy land is suffering ; but he obsti nately shuts his eyes to the causes from whence these evils have originally sprung, and by which they have been fostered and nurtured, until they have at tained their present rank luxuriance. He traces with a graphic pen the fearful combinations that exist, the agrarian outrages that have multiplied to such an ex tent as practically to deprive the landowner of that power which he possesses, or rather is supposed to possess, over his property ; but he doe-, not state that the powers, which are now only nominal, once existed in stern reality, and were exercised with no sparing hands, and that it was probably to their abuse, and the fact that there was no legal provision for the poor man in the land of his birth, that, although strong and industrious, and able and willing to work, he might be left to perish in the midst of abundance, that he could not claim by law a single meal to save him from starvation—that the entire law of landlord and tenant was a code framed by landlords for their own purposes—that everything was thereby yielded to the privileged class, whilst the humble peasant was helpless and unprotected, and could only shelter himself under the sanguinary lass's of the secret tribunals—that the disturbers owed their authority—and were enabled energetically and vigor ously to carry their fell behests into execution to control the manner in which the rights of property should be exercised, and to punish severely any breach of their own regulations. Had the people been sufficiently guarded in their rights, there would have been no organised resistance to the rights of the wealthier classes were they assured of a certain main tenance by any means other than those connected with the possession of land, they would never have so vigorously opposed the landlord's privilege of get ting rid of an unruly tenant and supplying his place with another and more obedient —dependent — we should not have seen such a state of things as that described in the following passage : " Emigrants are leaving the country in hundreds; their produce disposed of, and their rents unpaid. The savings' banks are filled to overflowing, with ineney realist d by the sale of grain, which the tenant farmer has appropriated to his own use, being either afraid or unwilling to allocate at.y portion of it to the paym-ot of his rent. The landlord is told to take, if he dare, any legal steps to enforce his rights. His law process i, answered by a death's head and cross bones; and he is reminded, by a rude drawing of a coffin, of the narrow space which his mangled remains may soon occupy, should he persist in taking any vexatious step for com pelling either the surrender of the land, or the payment of rent. Let English gentlemen make the case their own, and then say what is to be thought of such a state of things? Should a similar calamity visit England, and a similar system of agrarian terrorism reduce them to the condition of the Irish landlords, what would they think of the demand upon them to sustain, out of their own vanished resources, the famishing people. and that, at the same time, no effectual measures were taken to protect them against the plundering assassins by whom, if they were not robbed, they would be murdered." To the inquiry contained in the latter part of the above extract, we would simply say, that in this country such a result would be impossible. The n r i tf eee o p easant t ar e eti c e l tothei hforher life—thatrssao, en,fa l o o dtt n fhhs g eeitdphl e known that h eet a het want h cannote i of the t h eb entitled em ce arset o t o u t t neces sariestheo law e oa fn dh sw privilegesh ich property, guaranties adt connectedht oe therewith, also secures to his humbler brother at least a maintenance, and, consequently, no general conspi racy will be entered into, or even tacitly sanctioned, against its operation. The power of the midnight legislators should by every means be crushed, the majesty of the law vindicated, and its efficiency esta blished, but the causes that led to the disturbances should be ascertained and removed. There is again an attack on the present Premier for not following in the footsteps of his predecessor, and purchasing with the Government funds a large quantity of the grain of other lands. The means adopted by Sir Robert Peel were certainly useful at the time, and had the effect of keeping up a due supply in the market, and acting as a check on exces sive prices during the spring and summer of 1846 ; but it may well be doubted whether they had not their effect in enhancing the difficulties to be encoun tered in 1847 ; whether they did not diminish the supplies and increase the prices, and whether we had not to pay a heavy interest for the temporary benefits thereby obtained ; whether, if the principles of free trade had then been rigidly adhered to, we would not have had a sufficient importation in the earlier part of the subsequent year, and found that, as is usual in commercial affairs, the demand would have regulated the supply ? Circumstances, too, differed materially at these periods. The purchases made by Sir R. Peel were in addition to the ordinary and accustomed dealings of private speculators; but had Lord John Russell pursued a similar course it would have been in substitution therefor. The merchants were terrified. They refused to enter into a compe tition with so powerful an opponent ; and had not Lord John so promptly and wisely given the re quired pledge, the condition of the country would have been fearful indeed, and not only Ireland, butthis country would ere this have suffered from the effects of scarcity. There would indeed have been " a famine in the land." The sagacity of the Minister saw the impending danger. He resolutely adopted the only course by which it could have been averted; and, thanks to his resolution and firmness, there is now an ample supply, and every prospect of a general defi ciency, even in Ireland, has been removed. There is a pleasing chapter of Continental gossip from the pen of Harry Lorrequer. His sketch of a German grand ducal city is written in his own pecu liar •style. He most happily pourtrays the dreary, heart- wearying monotony of the scene. In the " Bull Economical " he exhibits the different classes of Continental travellers, he traces the three acts of the drama from " Milor," with his travelling equi page, including every luxury that could be heard of, and paying "en Prince" to the half-pay captain of Marines, Niggling for a place with a John Kutcher, or bar gaining for a blue - legged chicken at the corner of a street, from the easy, happy-minded, unsuspecting, gullible John Bull of former times, to the shrewd calculator of small reckonings—the man of little economies—the seeker atter a place in the ratonde or a lodging au cinquieme—in other words, " the Bull economical," who rushed to the continent possessed with two notions, first, that it was universally cheaper than this country; secondly, that every foreigner was an incarnate rogue, and that in combating his tendencies to cheat was the only means of effecting the economy in question. We must , ho wever, let Harry describe for himself the influx of visitors : " Then came the third act of the drama, to which the public were admitted as at half price, and the whole populace of England flocked over in shoals; steam boats could not land them fast enough; the shores of Ostend, Dieppe, and Calais, were a Babel of bad English and worse French. It would seem as if a plague was raging at the other side of the Strait, and all were run ning for their lives; Lords of Parliament, levanters from the Derby, city merchants run away, bank clerks, diplomatists and defaulters, widows with marrying dauAters; husbands escaping from actions for bigamy; tourists, duellists, and economists, all pell-mell, rushing madly on for that sanctuary which was either to screen their iniquities or save their incomes. What a change was here for the Continentals I It was no longer the same people they had known, and cheated with so much self-satisfaction; acute a alsot and i wide-awake s facit explainsiodnet thereawthake a at it was s w themselves." oh a would newmldbe se, e s. , well that He nation, to the full as per son who thinks of d eser ti ng Old Et fully understand, vi z ., th a t th e con ti nen t i s really not g a l t and every should h ou l cheaper than this country, and that to accomplish the r supposed economy, you must be foreign in your dress, tastes, and habits, be contented to "breakfast on a cup of coffee, dine on a potage, and sup on a salad ;" this, we believe, is a tr u th th a t cannot be too earnestl y impressed. We have l e ft ourse l ves b ut little space to notice the other excelloit articles con t a i ne d In the ~ . tuber. Th History of the Sikhs" te read with peculiar interest, now that-we have succeeded in defeating the formidable attempt made by that extra- ordinary ration to subvert the Anglo-Indian power. The account of the Lion of Lahore, the sagacious and I powerful Runjeet Sing h, who gained suh extensive dominions and never lost a single province he had a a rEtE;li and , w ßho h 0 k w n a e s w o u firm a the r real e nd xtento consistent iou friendand our power, an d the impossibility. of any of the native Princes succeeding in their efforts for our overthrow, will attract much attention. There are some pleasingly written stanzas to a " Snowdrop," and the two first chapters of a new tale, " Neophytus the Monk, a tale of Monastic Lite in Greece," that promises well. The scene is laid in the sunny Grecian land during the struggle for independence, while the oppressions of the Turkish rule, exciting the indignation and stimu lating the Hellenic race to resistance, and arousing a spirit of vengeance, as deep and deadly as that which existed among'; the Spanish guerillas in the earlier part of the present century. " Another Evening with Poetry and our later Poets," is chiefly devoted to the works of William Motherwell, to which it pays a just tribute. It quotes some exquisite ballads, written in the simple Scottish dialect. The expres • sion of first love, fondly treasured in the heart, beautifully given in " Jeane Morrison ;" and " My Heid is like to rend Willie," exhUtits tie deep pathos of the writer. There is t caeital likeness of Maclise given in " The Portrait G:diery," accompanied with a long memoir of the distinguished artist, whom it, hails as the future Presdent or the Academy. The Doctor of Southey forms the subject of another arti cle; and a contirmation of the Anthologia Hthrnica, give: !s some good specimens of native Irish songs in by-gone centuri-s. "LF ayes from the L , fe of Prince Tallevrand" commences a memoir of that extra ordinary person, who witnessed such extraordinary changes and events in the course of his va,ri-d sal eer. On the whole, we have a Number this month far beyond the general averagi, and which contains matter interesting to evorr description of readers. DOMBE7 No. VIII. By Charles Dickens. Captain Cuttle has for a while superseded Major Bag stock in monopolising the interest of the narrative, or rather in causing it to radiate from and revolve around him individually. Captain Cuttle 'comes out in greet style in the new chapters just published. Its is suffering grievously from the household peculiarities of his land lady, when Florence Dombey, riecainpaniel by Miss Nipper, pays him a visit a'. his lodgines. For— " It happened by evil chance to be one of Mrs.. Mac Stinger's great cleaning days. On these occa , ions, Mrs. Mac Stinger was knocked up by the policeman at a quarter before three o'clock in the morning, and rarely succumbed before twelve o'clock next night. The chief object of this institution ap peared to be, that Mrs. Mac Stinger should more all the fur niture into the back garden at early dawn, walk about the house in pattens all day, and move the furniture back again after dark. These ceremonies greatly guttered those doves the young Mac Stingers, who were not only unable at such times to find any resting-place for the soles of their feet, but generally came in for a good deal of pecking from the ma ternal bird during the progress of the solemnities." The Captain is discovered sitting in his room very dis consolately, "on a very small desolate island, lyingabout midway in an ocean of soap and water." On perceiving his visitors, Captain Cuttle dauntlessly issues forth upon the main, and having conveyed them to dry land, retires himself beyond the confines of the island, and beams upon them from the soap and water " like a new descrip tion of triton." The Captain's mortal fear of Mrs. Mac Stinger is something beautiful in the ph) siologv of land ladies. But the Captain nearly eclipses himself, by introducing us to another wonderful navigator, one Cap tain Bunsby, in command of the Cautious Clara, lying hard by Ratcliffe. The said wonderful navigator makes his appearance in the following manner:-- " Confng slowly up the bulk-head of the cabin, another bulk-head—human , and very large—with one stationary eye in the mahogany face, and one revolving one, on the principle of some lighthouses. This head was decorated with shaggy hair. like oakum, which bad no governing inclination to wards the north, east, west, or south, but inclined to all four quarters of the compass, and to every point upon it. The head was followed by a perfect desert of chin, and by a shirt collar and neckerchief, and by a dreadnought pilot coat, and by a pair of dreadnought pilot trousers, whereof the waist band was so very broad and high, that it became a succeda neum for a waistcoat : being ornamented near the wearer's breastbone with some massive wooden buttons, like back gammon men. As the lower portion of these pantaloons be came revealed, Bunsby stood confessed; his hands in their pockets, which were of vast size ; and his gate directed, not to Captain Cuttle, or the ladies, but the masthead." This Bunsby proves after all an aSs—a greater ass than Dogberry. He is summoned by his admirer, Captain Cattle, to pronounce an opinion upon the probable fate of the Son and Heir vessel, in which Walter had taken his departure, and which has not yet been heard of since his departure. When called upon for this opinion, in the back parlour of old Solomon Gills, he proceeds in this wise.— " Bunsby, whose eye continued to be addressed to some where about the half-way house between London and Graves end, two or three times put out his rough right arm, as seek ing to wind it for inspiration, round the fair form of Miss Nipper; but that youne- female having withdrawn herself, in displeasure, to the opposite side of the table, the soft heart of the Commander of the Cautious Clara met with no re sponse to its impulses. After sundry failures in this wise, the Commander, addressing himself to nobody, thus spoke; or rather the voice within him said of its own accord, and quite independent of himself, as if he were possessed by a gruff spirit : " My name's Jack Bunsby!' " ' He was christened John,' cried the delighted Captain Cuttle; hear him!' " And what I says,' pursued the voice, after some delibe tion, I stands to.' " The Captain, with Florence on his arm, nodded at the audit,ry, and seemed to say, ' Now he's coming out. This is what I meant, when I brought him.' " Whereby,' proceeded the voice, " why not? If so, what odds? Can any man say otherwise. No. Awast then !' " When it had pursued its strain of argument to this point, the voice stopped, and rested. It then proceeded very slowly, thu , : " Do I believe that this here Son and Heir's gone down, my lads? Martian, Do I say s o ? Whi c h? If a s kipper stands out by'Sen' George's Channel, making for the Downs, what's right ahead of him? The Goodwins. He is'ilt forced to run upon the Goodwins, but he may. o g fo T y od l hu duty. ukvtThe bearings of this keep a bright look out for'ard, nn and ar observation lays in the application on it. That a' tno t went out of the back parlour and into the street, taking the Commander of the Cautious Clara with it, and accompanying him on board again with all convenient expedition, where he immediately turned in, and refreshed his mind with a nap." The first chapter contains an exqu:site scene, where Florence heers a little girl commiserating her estrange , most trom her father; and the flowers which she has just been gathering, drop scattering on the ground like lust. From the opening chapter we select the following passagt. s, remarkable for that minuteness of descrip tion, which is one of the many inimitable characteristics voice eyohuerle, Awast then, of Mr. Dickens:— " Florence lived alone in a great dreary house, and day succeeded day, and still she lived alone; and the blank walls looked down upon her with a vacant stare, as if they had a Gorgon-like mind to stare her youth and beauty into stone. "No magic dwelling-place in magic story, shut up in the heart of a thick wood, was ever more solitary am' deserted to the fancy, than was her father's mansion in its grim reality, as it stood lowering on the street: always by night. when lights were shining from neighbouring windows, a blot upon its scanty brightness; always by day, a frown upon its never-smiling face. " There were not two dragon sentries keeping ward before the gate of this abode, as in magic legend are usually found on duty over the wronged innocence imprisoned; but be sides a glowering visage, with its thin lips parted wickedly, that surveyed all corners from above the archway of the door, there was a monstrous fantasy of rusty iron curling and twisting like a petrifaction of an arbour over the threshold, budding in spikes and corkscrew points, and bearing, one on either side, two ominous extinguishers. that seemed to say, Who enter here, leave light behind !"There were no talismanic characters engraves on the portal, but the house was now so neglected in appearance, that boys chalked the railings and the pavement—particularly round into e s e portraits t the corner where the side wall was—and drew ghosts on the stable door; and being sometimes driven off by Mr. T on t , made owlim t horizo n tally once anictte a s i. oonflwl undermk in i n histhe return , hmaot morning, with Nngo, i his snee e cv a ee r ar s s ebgdrrattiyoweid a o note in at those window s ; b u t a ll suc h com pany, be, g within 0 t h e the shadow of the r oof. Tm he brass band that carne down to a poor little piping organ of Weak intellect. with an imbecil e party of automaton danc e r s , w a l tz i ng i n an d out at fold in g; doors, fell off from it with one acco rd, an d sh unne d i t a s hopeless place. " The spell upon it was more wasting than the ripen that used to set enchanted houses sleeping once upon a time, but left the waking freshness unimpaired. The passive desolation of disuse was everywhere silently manifested about it. Within doors, curtains. drooping heavily, lost their old folds and shapes, and hung like cumbrous palls. Hecatombs of furniture, still piled and covered up, shrunk like imprisoned and forgotten men, and changed insensibly. Mirrors were dim as with the breath of years. Patterns of carpets faded and became perplexed and faint, like the memory of those years' trifling incidents. Boarth, starting at unwonted foot steps, creaked and shook. Keys rusted in the locks of doors. Damp started on the walls, and as the stains came out, the pictures seemed to go in and secrete them selves. Mildew and mould began to lurk in closets. Fungus trees grew in corners of the cellars. Dust accu mulated, nobody knew whence nor how ; spiders, moths, and grubs were heard of every day. An exploratory black-beetle now and then were found immovable upon the stairs, or in an upper room, as wondering how he got there. Rats began to squeak and scuff, in the night thee, through dark galleries they mined behind the panelling. "The dreary magnificence of the state rooms, seen imperfectly by the doubtful light admitted through closed shutters, would have answered well enough for an enchanted abode. Such as the tarnished paws of ;gilded hoes, stealthily put out from beneath their wrappers ; the marble lineaments of busts on pedestals, fearfully revealing themselves through veils ; the clocks that never told the time, or, if wound up by any chance, told it wrong, and struck unearthly numbers, whieh are not upon the dial ; the accidental tinklings among the the pendant lustres, more startling than alarm-bells ; the softened sounds and laggard air that made their way among these objects, and a phantom crowd of others, shrouded and hooded, and made spectral of shape. But, besides, there was the great staircase, where the lord of the place so rarely set his foot, and by which his little child had gone up to Heaven. There were other stair cases and passages where no one went for weeks to gether ; there were two cloaca rooms associated with dead members of the family, and with whispered rec.il lections of them ; and to all the house but Florence, there was a gentle figure moving through the solitude and gloom, that gave to every lifeless thing a touch-of present human interest and wonder. "For Florence lived alorfe in the deserted house, and day succeeded day, and still she lived alone, and the cold walls looked down upon her with a vacant stare, 114 it hey had a Gorgon-like mind to stare her youth mei beauty into stone. "The grass began to grow upon the roof, and in the LONDON, MONDAY MORNLNG, MAT 8, 1.8479 —.- crevices of the basement paving . A scaly crumbling vegetation sprouted round the windowsills. Fragments of mortar lost their hold upon the insides of the unused chimneys, and came dropping down. The two trees with the smoky trunks were bliAted high up, and the withered brae ches domineered above the leaves. Through the whole building, white had turned yellow, yellow nearly black ; and since the time when the poor lady died, it had slowly become a dark gap in the long monotonous street. " But Florence bloc:fled there, like the king's fair daughter in the story. Her books, her music, and her daily teachers, were her only rota companions, Susan Nipper af:d Diogenese excepted : of whom the former, in her attendance on the studies of her young mistress. began to grow quite learned herself, while the latter, softened possibly by the same influences, would lay his head upon the window-ledge, and placidly open and shut his eyes upon the street, all through a summer morning ; sometimes pricking up his hand to look with great significance after some noisy dog in a cart, wh i n was harking his way a;ong, and sometimes, with an ex asperated and unaccountable recoil , coon of his ,uppo4ed enemy in the neighly ' turnood, rushine• to the door, whence ,Ster a deafening dtsturbanee,he would come joving b .ck w4li it ritlienlous complacency that be longed to Jim, and hty his jaw upon the window -ledge the air of a dog who had done a public service. So Florence lived in her wilderness of a home. within the circle r innocent pursuits and thoughts, awl nothing harmed her. See could go down to her father's rot ,ms now, and think of him. and suffer her loving besrt humbly to approrich Itlen without fear of re pulse. She could look upon 'he objects that had sur rounded him in his sorrow, and could nestle near his chair, and nut dreed the glance that she so well remem bered. She could render him such little tokens of her duty and service, as putting everything in order for him with her own hands, binding little nosegay for his table, changieg three as one by one they withered and he did not come back, preparing something for him ever=' ! day, and leaving some timid mark of he was pre-ence near his usual seat. Today, it a little painted stand for his watch ; to - m orrow, she would be afraid to leave it, and would s ubstitute some other trifle of her making not so likely to attract his eye. Waking in the night, perhaps, she would, tremble at the thought of his coming home and angrily; rejecting it, and would hurry down with slippered feet and quickly beating heart, and bring it away. At another time, she would only lay her face upon his desk, and leave a kiss there, and a tear. " Still no one knew of this. Unless the household found it out when she was not there—and they all held . Mr. Dombey's rooms in awe—it was as deep a secret in her breast as what had gone before it. Florence stole into those rooms at twilight, early in the morning, and at times when mewls were served down stairs. And ale '7 though they cr.. iu every nook the better and thel brighter for her care, she entered and passed out se' quietly as any sunbeam, excepting that she left her light behind. " Shadowy company attended Florence up and down the echoing house, and-sat with her in the dismantled rooms. As if her life were an enchanted vision, there arose out of her solitude ministering thoughts, that made• it fanciful and unreal. She imagined so often what her life would have been if her father could have loved her, and she had been a favourite child, that sometimes, for the moment, she almost believed it was so, and, borni' on by the current of that pensive fiction, seemed to re! , mem her hew they bad watched her brother in his graip together; how they had freely shared his heart between them; how they were united in the dear remembrance of him; how they often spoke about him yet; and her kind father, looking at her gently, told her of their com mon hope and trust in God. At other times she pic tured to herself her mother yet alive. And, oh! the happiness of falling on her neck, and clinging to her with the love and confidence of all her soul! And, oh, the desolation of the solitary house again, with evening corn. in , on, and no one there! " But there was one thought. scarcely shaped out to herself, yet fervent and strong within her, that upheld Florence when she strove and filled her true young heart, so sorely tried, with constancy of purpose. Into her mind, as into all others contending with the great afflic tion of our mortal nature, there had stolen solemn wan derings and hopes, arising in the dim world beyond the present life, and murmuring, like faint music, of recog nition in the far off land between her brother and her mother: of some present consciousness in both of her: some love and commiseration for her: and some know ledge of her as she went her way upon the earth. It was a soothing consolation to Florence to give shelter to these thoughts, until one day—it was soon after she had last seen her father in his own room, late at night—the fancy came upon her, that, in weeping for his alienated heart, she might stir the spirits of the dead against him. Wild, weak, childish, as it may have been to think so, and . to tremble at the half-formed thought, it was the impulse of her loving nature; and from that hour Florence strove against the cruel wound in her breast, and tried to think of him whose hand had made it, only with hope. " Her father did not know—she held to it from that time—how much she loved him. She was very young, and had no mother, and hid never learned,by some fault or miserrtune, how to express to him that she loved him. She would be patient, and would try to gain that art in time, and win him to a better knowledge of his only child. " This became the purpose of her life. The morn ing sun shone down upon the faded house, and found the reselutien bright and fresh within the bosom of its soli tary i tary mistress. Through all the d ut ies of the day, t animated her ; for Florence hoped that tke more shs knew, and the more accomplished she became, the more glad he would be when he came to know and like her. Sometimes she wondered, with a swelling heart, and rising tear, whether she was proficient enough in any thing to surprise him when they should become com panions Sometime* she tried to think if there were any kind of kn iwledge that would bespeak his interest more readily than another. Always :at her books, her music, and her work: in her morning walks, and in her nightly prayers : she had hr engrossing aim in view. Strange study ;or a child, to learn the road to s hard parent's heart I There were many careless loungers through the street, as the summer evening deepened into night, who glanced across the road at the sombre house, and saw the youthful figure at the window, such a contrast to it, looking upward at the stars as they began to shine, who would have slept the Worse if they had known on what design she mused so steadfastly. The reputation of the mansion as a haunted house, would not have been the s gayer truc k with by its so nae external gloom humble d o e o llle i r b s elsewhere, who were passing and rejetssing on their, daily avocations, and so named it , i f the y could have read its story in the darkening face. But Florence held her sacred purpose, u nsuspected and un aided: and studied only how to tiring her father to the understanding th a t she loved him, and made no appeal against him in any wandering thought- Thus Florence lived alone in the deserted house, and day succeeded day, and still she lived nine, and the monotonous walls looked down upon her with a stare, as if they had a Gorgon-like intent to stare her youth and beauty into stone." The repetition of the last sentence is a clever con trivance, and it is the more effective as the sentence has a sort of rhythm about it that is bewitching. The description of the lonely dwelling is a companion picture to the " Haunted House," by Thomas Hood —both delineations singular for their exactitude and naturalness. THL PLOUGH. This useful periodical contains, as usual, a consider able quantity of useful information to the class to which it is especially directed. There is a good en graving of a Scotch Galloway and another of " the Kent two rest plough The natural history of the potato is given with details respecting the ap pearances observed in the progress of the mysterious disease that has occasioned such fearful destitution and misery in the sister kingdom. "Cabbage cul ture" gives some valuable hints for the cultivation of this useful vegetable. In "domestic fires" the appli cability of chalk to the purpose of combustion is Ad vocated, and its economy explained, there are ;the usual accounts of agricultural meetings in various parts of the country. • LITERATURE. r MEMOIRS OF THE REION OF GEORGE 11. By Horace Walpole. Edited by the late Lord Holland. 3 Vcls. As well from his position in society as from his natural temperament, Horace Walpole possessed many peculiar facilities for obtaining a clear insight into the political transactions of his contemporaries. The sou of a twenty years' Prime Minister, the companion, if not the friend, of many of the chief politicians of his time, he was naturally familiar with all the mysteries of political intrigue; to him the secrets of the prison-house were revealed. He mingled in public lite more as a spectator than as an actor, but it was as a spectator behind the scenes; near enough to understand all the secret work ings of the machinery, without himself bearing a part in the play. While the public, further removed, looked on with wonder and admiration, believing all they heard, deeming all that glittered gold, he, from his more proxi mate position. disenchani,ed and undeceived, ri,cognised the illusion and understood the cheat; and yet, also, from that very cause, he was the better enabled to admire some piece of clever acting (knowing it to be such). or to appreciate the cunning of some marvellous deceit. And or only was he in this trisneer enabled to eureue such investigations, but he took a pleasure it , so doing, though Cis judgment , acid his hea r t a like condo much of what he was a daily witness of. yet, as be tells us himself, he had " a love of faction;" he felt an in terest in the, progress o!' the game, though conscious of the worthlessness of the combatants end the athletes who were struggling for the stake. The results of his continued and scrutinising observations—the various ad ventures and anecdotes with which he became acquainted ' —the secret causes of many a public trensaction, end his own shrewd guesses and suggestions thereupon, formed the topics of his numerous epistles to his familiar cor respondents, and also censtituted the theme of many volumes of manuscript, which we may elmest regard asa continuation of his letters addressed to posterity. Of these are the •• Memoir's" row before us, which, with many others of a similar kind, were, after his death, in accord ance with his strict injunctions, kept sacredly sealed up in a wainscoat chest until a given period had arrived. At the appointed time this chest being examined, was found to contain many manuscripts, and among others memoirs of the reigns of George 11. and George III.; the latter of which was published about two years back. and the former is now before us. Thus after fifty years have passed over his grave, and nearly a hundred have elapsed since the events of which lie relates, we are startled by the appearance of a new work by Horace Walpole. And very welcome is it—it comes to us like the communication of some familiar friend, as in ouch a , light we are accustomed to consider its author ; for in our sentiments with regard to authors whom we know only from their works, it is the same as in our relations to the individuals whom we meet with in every-day life. There are some, there are perhaps many, with whom, though well acquainted, we can never become intimate ; while, with others, on the contrary, owing to some peculiar affability of temperament we can be friends from the first introduction. To this latter class belongs Horace Walpole, a friendly, nay a familiar, relation seems to subsist between him and his readers ; an almost colloquial freedom characterises his writings, partly attributable, perhaps. to his great epistolary practice. So easy and agreeable is his style, so happy are his descrip tions, so interesting and entertaining the various anec dotes and reminiscences scattered through his pages, but, above all, so natural and communicative is his manner, that while perusing his works we seem as it were to be listening to the passing conversation of some intimate companion. These Memoirs of George IL are, however (comparatively speaking), somewhat deficient in this agreeable characteristic, and on this account they are hardly so entertaining as were the delightful volumes relating to George 111., which strangely enough preceded them. Though disavowing all claim to the title of historian, yet, in inditing memoirs illustrative of history, Walpi de evidently felt it advisable to assume a certain degree of decorum and dignity: he could not introduce so insignificant a person as himself into such a work, or at least, if occasionally necessary, it must he in the third person. This little circumstance, in a certain degree, destroys his ordinary familiarity of style; and on this account, and also because diversified with fewer anecdotes, the volumes relating to George 11. are, to our thinking, less entertaining than those concerning his successor ; for in the latter, as if' the unwonted formality were irksome to him, he again assumed his natural egotism, shall we call it?—he again indulges us with the ego et rev mews style. Before attempting to analyse the contents of these volumes, we cannot do better than give the author's own account of his intention, together with the comments of his distinguished editor. " I am no historian," says Horace Walpole, speaking of this work—" I write casual memoirs ; I draw characters ; I preserve anec dotes, which my superiors, the historians of Britain, may enchase into their weighty annals, or pass over at their pleasure ;" and in another place he speaks of " having never proposed to write a regular history, but to throw together some anecdotes and characters which might cast a light on the times in which I have lived, and might lead some future and more assiduous historian to an intimate knowledge of the men whose counsels or actions he shall record." " Here are no assassins, no poisoners, no Neros, Borgias, Catilines, Richards of York ! Here are the foibles of an age, no very bad one; treacherous Ministers, mock Patriots, complaisant Par liaments, Callable Princes. So far from being desirous of writing op to the severe dignity of Roman historians, I am glad I have an opportunity of saying no worse ; yet, it I had, I should have used it." Lord Ilolland's preface is likely to be of advantage to the reader of the memoirs; it may serve as a correction to some of the errors of the author. After awarding him due praise, the nnble editor judiciously draws attention to seme of his faults, especially to the variable nature of his judg ments ; in his delineation of character, it appears, that he was influenced more "by the conduct ut the per sons he describes in the last occurrence that brought them before his eyes, than by a steely and comprehensive view of their merits and defects." Hence, excepting the very few individuals to whom he was con stant iu his attachments or dislikes, there is scarcely any strong expression of commendation or censure which in some subsequent passage he does not quality, sot ten, or correct. It is a proof, however, of his fairness, at least of his desire to give his readers the impression he formed at the time of the persouagee and transactions he de scribes, that even when he changed his opinions, he allowed his original account to remain, leaving it to be effaced in the minds of others, as it was not unfree quently in his own, by subsequent reflections and events. The contents of these memoirs may be divided into three classes, namely, a sort of epitome of the principal political events of the years to which they relate ; a series of portraits of the politicians who were then chiefly conspicuous ; and, thirdly, a very excellent summary of the debate in both Houses of Parliament, including outlines of some of the principal harangues. Walpole's industry was here most usefully employed, for be it remembered, that in those days there were no newspaper reporters with their rapid succession of "five minute turns, to jot down word for word as it fell from the speakers, neither was the infal lible referee, Hansard, then in existence. " The account of Parliamentary debates in these Me moirs," observes Lord Holland in the preface, " would alone be a valuable addition to our history. No one is ignorant that from the fall of Sir Robert Walpole to the American war, our reports of the proceedings in Parliament are more barren and unsatisfactory than at any period since the reign of James the First. For the last ten years of George the Second, Mr. Walpole has supplied that deficiency in a manner equally entertaining and instructive. His method was, to make notes of each speaker's argument during the debate, and frequently to take down his expressions. He afterwards ' wrote out the speeches at greater length, and described the impression they made on the House. • Some of these debates are very interesting, and the speeches are given very effectively; but there are, per haps, almost too many details of ordinary affairs; too many pages that read like the summaries of our daily papers, nevertheless they are interesting to a certain extent; and great praise is certainly due to Walpole for preserving them. Some of Mr. Pitt's (the elder Pitt's) orations are detailed with great force and apparent fidelity, and their effect is described with a degree of enthusiasm. The second volume contains some very excellent remarks upon the orators and oratory of the day. The various peculiarities of the various speakers are admirably demonstrated by contrast them one with the other, as for example:— di Mr. Conway soothed and persuaded ; Lord George Sack ------ - - FALMOUTII, APISIL- 28.— Th e weather here forithe r i m ge w infoi t med ou se an ve d re co t n o vin zi l a!d C arias Townshend astonished • e, h and too bold to convince. ' last two days has been extremely boisterous, at times chilly, Conwa as y seemed to speak l only because he thought his opinion cold, and otherwise unseasonable. Yesterday it blew a corn- might be of service; Lord George because he knew that plete gale at west, with occasional showers ; and t o -de): it others misled, or were misled ; Charles Townshend, neither has veered to south-west, still blowing a smart withgate, has caring whether himself or others were in the right, only little or no rain ; sunshine more frequent . This morn ingspoke to show how well he could adorn a bad cause, or demo put in, from:stress of weather, the French frigate Bavonnaise, lish a good one. It was frequent with him, as soon as he of 28 guns, Captain De lie Griviere, from Cherbourg; and had done speaking, to run to the opposite side of the house; and laugh with those he had attacked, at those who h a d de outside the port has anchored her Majesty's frigate Thetis, Captain Codrington, from Portsmouth. Both these vessels fended. One loved the first, one feared the second, one ad are bound to Lisbon, and have find it impracticable tab get I mired the last without the least mixture of esteem. Mr. out of the Channel. They worked down from the Dotiman Conway had a cold reserve, which seemed only to veil good this morning together; but a marked difference was o w bie ti r c e h - , t ness: Lord George, with a frankness in his speech, had a able in their qualities, favouralale to the latter ship, is of larger tonnage. Some 1 grain vessels are again arriving from the southward, and 1 it, must be admitted, however,. mystery in his conduct, which was far from inviting. Charles Townshend had such openness in all his behaviour, many are expected . 'Dee number of sailing vessels built 'and registered 1 that he seamed to think duplicity the simplest conduct: he made the innocence of others look like art. But what supe and the number of st . in 1846 ;n the ports of the United Kiegdoro, sus 132 1 riority does integrity contract, when even uniformity of 9 acting could exalt so many men abova r the most conspicuous measuring 109,39 4 tuns; measuring 15,956 Ms. eatnera 77, talents that appeared in so rhetorical an age! Mr. Towns- Ftsx.—Hatchin held was perhaps the only man who had ever genius enough HATCHING g e gg s artificial hea t to preserve reason and argument in a torrent of epigrams, is well known and extensively practised in China; is i s satire, and antithesis 1" many, and al=o the hatching of . fish. The sale of spawn fort gelatinous this Of the delineations of character and individual por pose f, , rms enipo important branch Of trade in, China, traits, of which these memoirs contain very pur matters that contain The fishermen collectth with care, on the margin andlue- to all appearance excellently well drawn) by far the face of water. allmost effective and the most interesting are the sketches which e spawn of fish, __ is then placed in an egg.ehell, I of Lord Bolinbroke and of Sir Robert Walpole (the which has been fresh emptied, through a small b oleo. f a th e r of the author) . The c har a c t er of Sir Robert is w hich is then stopp ed, and t he shell is plac e d undera contras ted with that of Mr. Pelham, his successor in sitting fowl. In- a few da y s the Chinese break the shell office ; and, notwithstanding that the one was the in warm water (warmed by the sun). The young fish father of the author, the other that father's are then kept in water until they are large goon rival and supplanter, there is apparently a de mi. Thisplan, in s ome measure, to be de placed in ago . . some rnea , ure, counter- gree of impel tislity in his delineations of their acts the great destruction of respective characters. Horace makes no secret of spaw n by troll-nets, which have caused the extinction of many fish • ity • , Sir Robert's • infamous habit of buying support ; fisheries.—?.K in's Om s China. i for example. " In the knowledge of the revenue, he (Mr. GIBRALTAR, APRIL 18.---0, A A the' 15th instant the Pelham) and all other men must yield to Sir R. ;Walpole, crews of two of the Queen of Portugal's cruisers at anchor i n though he and a ll other men make the same use of that our bay (the c utter Conde de T hotnar and mistico eeree do I knowledge, which is to find new friends for the nem- Filar), that had taken refuge here on the appearance of the sides of the Government, and for the occasions of the Junta of Oporto 's steamers oft the cease of Algarve, attempted Administration; b y those occasions, I mean corruption, in to declare themselves in favour o f the Oporto-Junta, but the which I believe M r. Pelham would never have wet his commanders, saving discovered their intention, applied to , finger, if Sir Robert TValpale had not dipped up to his our Governor for protection, in consequence of which the ' elbow ; but as he did dip, and as Mr. Pelham was per commander of her _Majesty's steamer Virago received orders i suaded that it was as necessary for him to be minister as , to send his boats to.t.heir assistance, and they towed her : it was for Sir Robert Walpole, he plunged as deep." The Most Faithful Majeste's cruisers to the anchorage . e the ; a ,eitraftute 03110 1 .4.0 be , New Mole, along` de of her Majeiey's steamer Virago, which ; P has them in surveillance under our batteries. These veOsels, " The 12th died Lord . tlol . ing , broke a man who ' . will not be which were sent by the Queen's Government to Wesel:Ade the ' seen in less extraordinary lights by posterity than he was by though for very coast of Algarve and impede the commercial intercourse be- his contemporaries, . as the ditlerent reasons. His tween this and that part of P ortugal, from which this garri. i o wn age re garded him ei t her e greatest statesman, op son receives supplies of provisions, are cousequently put hors , pressed by faction, and greatest genius persecuted ley . ,• • or as the most consummate villain, de combat, and our cotenaulcation continue:. tree. envy , preserved by Dispatches were sent off on Saturday evening from , acme , , ncv awl the most treacherous h)m be had the Colonial-office, for the Goveruvre of the West India i all parties w(. successively betrayed. Posterity vriU - look on him as the colonies. greatest philesophir from Popes " Sir Robert Walpole and Lord Bolingbroke had set out rivals at school, lived a life of competition, and died much in the same manner, provoked at being killed by empirics; but with the same difference in their manner of dying as bad appeared in the temper of their lives: the first with a calm ness that was habitual philosophy, the other with a rage that his affected philosophy could not disguise. The one had seen his early ambition dashed with imprisonment, from which he had shot into the sphere of his rival, who was exiled, sentenced, recalled ; while 'Walpole rose gradually to the height of temperate power, maintained it by the force of his single talents against Bolingbroke, assisted by all the considerable geniuses of England; and when driven from it at last, resigned it without a stain or a censure, and retired to a private life without an attempt to re-establish himself, — almost without a regret for what he had lost. The other, unquiet, unsteady, shucked to owe his return to his enemy, more shocked to find his return was not to power, incapable of tasting the retirement which he made delightful to all who partook it, died at last with the mortification of owing his greatest reputation to the studies he bad cultivated to dis tress his antagonist. Both were beloved in private life; Sir Robert from the humanity and f ran k ness of his na t ure Bolingbroke from his politeness of turn and elegance of un derstanding. Both were fond of women ; Walpole with little delicacy, Bolingbroke to enjoy the delicacy of pl eas u re . B ot h were extravagant; and the Patriot who accused, and the Minister who had been accused of rapine, died poor or in debt. Walpole was more amiable in his virtues, Bolingbroke more agreeable in his vices." As regards their third qualification, (namely, that of historical summary), these volumes are certainly not deficient in interest ; in this respect they are chiefly valuable for the lights they throw-on the causes of cer tarn events. " 'Tie trifles make the sum of human things," and it is often to circumstances apparently most insignificant that events of great importance may be attributed. In ordinary histories we are too often obliged to take things for granted ; to receive certain transactions as faits accomplis, without being able to find out how they were accomplished. With Walpole it is quite otherwise • his memoirs might appear to any habitual reader of brief histories somewhat similar to, an introduction to the cele brated manufacture of Gobelins tapestry, where, as is well-known, unlike similar manufactures, all the work is performe d on the wrong side: so that to any looker-on instead of a beautiful grouping of flowers and figures it presents only an assemblage of joins and knots. Of a somewhat similar appearance are these memoirs: we have a continued succession of petty intrigues, jealousies, quarrels and raccommendemens, and the perusal is somewhat interesting it, as we have already observed, we only regard it as we might look upon the playing of some game of skill, then we may be perhaps amused, perhaps interested—though it is sad child's play at the best—" much ado about nothing " But if we come to look upon the whole as a history, if we think that these men were our, ministers, and that these mat ters concerned the welfare of millions, then, indeed, we cannot peruse many of these pages without a sensation of contempt almost of loathing. To judge from Walpole's per haps rather severe picture of his contemporaries, the grand and, indeed, almost the chief object of all the great men of his day, was the possession, not so much of power las of place. This desire was the source of all their jealousies, animosities, and heart-burnings—the cause of their apparently noblest actions, and the instigator of their many, we may almost call them criminal, practices. The s e marvellous plots acid counter-plots, cunning de ceptions, and petty reprisals—these " joetlings, by dark intrigue, fur place"—which IValpole here unfolds to us, are not, perhaps, without some interest ; they would almost, indeed, appear ridiculous, were there not some thing 113011 ntul in their very contemplation. Mournful, indeed, for in all the varied combinations of phblio affairs, what can there be more execrable, or more deserving of unive, sal reprt hension. than the unhappily nut very uncommon practice of making the welfare of a nation, and the happiness of countless thousands, subservient to the paltry pride or ambition of a few? All the heroes of Walpole's memoirs are not, however, of this un hapy character ; conspicuous among, and above all, is the illustrious name of Pitt—the great Pitt. Although Horace Walpole was not at all times very favourably disposed towards him, yet even in his perhaps partial records, amid the mass of intrigue and petty ambition and selfishness, Pitt stands forth pure and immaculate— " the noblest Roman of them all." One of the most interesting portions of this work is Walpole's account of the trial and (as we may surely term it) judicial murder of Admiral Byng. All the particulars of this extraor dinary affair are detailed in a most interesting manner— and naturally so, for Horace Walpole was personally concerned in them—it was mainly through him that the execution was delayed for a fortnight, and the matter brought before Parliament. In this affair Walpole him self appears in a more than usually honourable and noble character—his conduct here as Lord Holland observes, "does credit to his feelings and humanity." The following is Walpole'e opinion of the opposite sty* of Pitt and Fox, or perhaps we should say Lords Chat ham and Holland:— " Pitt was undoubtedly one of the greatest masters of or. namental eloquence. His lanE.,uage was amazingly fine and flowing; his voice admirable; his action most expressive; his figure genteel and commanding. Bitter satire was his forte : when he attempted ridicule, which was very seldom, he succeeded happily; when he attempted to reason, poorly. But where he chiefly shone, was in exposing his own con. duet : having waded through the most notorious apostasy in politics, he treated it with an impudent confidence, that made all reflections upon him poor and spiritless, when worded by any other man. Out of the House of Commons he was far from being this shining character. His conver sation was affected and unnatural, his manner not engaging, nor his talents adapted to a country where Ministers must court, if they would be courted. - " Fox, of a great hesitation in his elocution, and a bar renness a expression, had conquered these impediments and the prejudices they bad raised against his speaking, by a vehemence of reasoning, and closeness of argument, that beat all the orators of the time. His spirit, his steadiness, and humanity procured him strong attachments, which the more jealous he grew of Pitt, the more he cultivated. box always spoke to the question, Pitt to the pas--ions: Fox, to carry the question: Pitt to raise himself: Fox pointed out, Pitt lashed the errors of his antagonists: Pitt's talents were likely to make him soonest, Fux's to keep him first Minister the longest." Thesexolumes are embellished with portraits of George IL, Chatham of Newcastle, and some others of the chief personages mentioned in them. Lord Holland has care fully revised the whole of the letter-press, and added to the notes and appendix of the author. Having said thus much of this work, we will now, after commending it to the attention of those too prone to look upon the surface ; and be led astray by appearance and captivated by great names, dismiss it with the authors own portrait of himself. " Walpole had kwarm conception, vehement attachments, strong aversions; with any apparent contradiction in his temper—for be had numerous caprices, and invincible perse verance. His principles tended to republicanism, but without any of its austerity; his love of faction was unmixed with any aspiring. He had great sense of honour, but not great enough, for he had too much weakness to resist doing wrong, though too much sensibility not to feel it in others. He had a great measure of pride, equally apt to resent neglect, and scorning to stoop to any meanness or flattery. A boundless friend; a bitter, but a placable enemy. His humour was satiric, though accompanied with a most compassionate heart. Indiscreet and abandoned to his passions, it seemed_ as if he dispised or could bear no restraint; yet t his want o f government of himself was the more b lameable, as nob od y had greater command of resolution whenever he ma d e a point of it. This appeared in his person naturally very delicate, and educated with a too fond tenderness, by unre laxed temperance, and braving all inclemency of _weathers, he formed and enjoyed the finest a nd unabated hea l th, One virtue he possessed in a singul ar degree—disinterestedness and contempt of money—if one may call that a virtue, which really was a passion. In short, such was his promptness to dislike superiors, such his humanity to inferiors, that, con sidering how few men are of so firm a texhteumreaays bneoatlitoowbede a influenced by their situation, he thinks, if to judge of himself, that had either extreme of for een his lot, he should have made a good prince, but not tun e b very honest slave." . 1 . ________ ONE HUNDRED SOiVGS OF BERANGER, with Translations. By William Young. Great is the lame of a true poet, but immeasurably the greatest is the fame of a national poet. It is the na tionality of the verses of Bryant that renders them so conspicuous in the poetical literature of America. The nationality of the lyrical writings of Burns and Moore. is the secret of their supreme glory in the poetical literatures of Scotland and Ireland. But Pierre-Jean de Beranger is a national poet more strictly speaking than eitherhs Bryam., Burns, or Moore. Beranger has vivifyed Chansons with the very quintessence of the Fren c h nce cha racter. His rhymes breathe the voice of . Fr: of Fra nce, the manners of France, pourtray the reveal the partialities and prejudices are instinct with a sentiment peculiar ly coloured with mannerisms exclasiTelY M u passions of They _Fre_n c e h h . , and are writings; or as an author of a bounded gehins from his own. To see him in a true light they must neither regard all the incense offered to him by Tories, nor credit all the oppro brium cast on him by Whigs. They must see hint com pounded of all those vices and virtues that so often enter into the nature of a great genius, who is not one of the greatest. " Was it being muster of no talents to have acted the second part, when little more than a youth, in overturning such a Ministry, and stemming Buell a tide of glory as Lord Godolphin's and the Duke of Marlborough's? Were there no abilities, after his return from banishment, in holding such a power as Sir Robert Walpole's at bay for so many years, even when excluded from the favourable opportunity of exerting his eloquence in either House of Parliament) Was there no triumph in having chiefly con t r ibuted to the fall-of that Minister? Was there no glory in directing the councils and operations of such men as Sir William Wind ham, Lord Bath, and Lord Granville? And was there no art in persuading the self-fondest and greatest of poets, that the writer of the Craftsman was a more exalted genius than the author of the Dunciad? Has he shown no address in pal liating the exploded treaty of Utrecht? Has he not, in his letters on that event, contrived to make assertions and hypothesis almost balance stubborn facts? To cover hisowh guilt, has he not diverted our attention towards pity for the I great enemy, in whose service he betrayed his own country? I "On the other hand, what il,famy to have sold the con queror to the conquered ! What ingratitude in labouring the ruin of a Minister, who had repealed his sentence of banish ment! What repeated treasons to the Queen, whom he served; to the Pretender, who bad received and countenanced him ; to the late King, who had recalled him I What in effectual arts to acquire the confidence of the late King, by means of the Duchess of Kendal, and of the present King, by Lady Suffolk I What unwearied ambition, even at seventy years of age, in laving a plan of future power in the favour of the Prince of Wales!" He (if - includes by contrasting him with his own father. Sir Robert Walpole—his rival—his successful rival and the object of his vehement hate. Mr. Smythe has very forcibly depicted both the cause and the extent of Belingbroke's hatred, when, in hi s . Op position Scene," he imagines him bitterly pointing out the " two words which mean one thing—St. John and Disappointment!" and seeking for any refuge, s' where,' as he passionately exclaims— " Where I might never meet the accursed thought, That I—l—Bolingbroke, should be remembered As one who could de all things but succeed And then you ask me not to hate this thing— This lackereti sham, this mediocrity— This cowiterfeit that does! Youth, wealth, and beauty, And courage and high thoughts and genius I have had all—and what have they availed? Men say he might hare been, but Walpole is !" The following is Horace's account of their rival , careers : - - fie conceive that the bay of Banger is indigenous, that it is impossible to transplant it, or, in other words, that it is hopeless to attempt the translation of his "songs into any foreign idiom. As well might sculptor expect to adapt himself to the lovers of fashion by clothing a classi cal statuette of Eurydice in some one of the costumes de picted in the last number of the Belle Assemblee. Unless the verses of Pierre Jean are studied in the original-- unless the foreign reader can surround himself, as it were, with all the accessories of French tastes—unless he can fill his imagination and animate his heart With the memories inspired by French history-e-unkeas tti deed, he can virtually become, for the time being, * Frenchman—he can never appreciate Beranger; he cau never recogni se th ose i n i m i ta bl e graces o f el* prcesion which defy even the plastic idiom of Ger many to copy ; be can never comprehend those subtleties of fancy ; he can never feel his cheek blanch, and his bosom thrill, and his eyes swim with emotion at those deep and passionate out bursts of enthusiasm which - throw a golden light over the pages of this great poet, and render .him the idol of I I t hi r ty millions of his countrymen. Without a foreigner transplant and alienate himself, as it were, during the perusal of Beranger. he can never hope to behold the beauty of his muse. Mr. Young Las done everything that ingenuity, Exactitude, and contrivance could well effect, towards the translation of the illustrious French man, but his compositions are absolutely unstranslatable. Word may be given for word, dactyle for dactyle, spon dee for spondee, hit the tranteript be as unlike the original as a faithful plaister cast and the Port land Vase. The original song may be filtered through grammar and dictionary with the most scrupulous nicety, but in the very proce ss of filtration the essence will have evaporated—the flavour ' will have departed—the aroma will have become utterly dissipated. The bloom will have becomelost — there e will be the pulp. The beautiful flesh tints will k faded—there will be the skeleton, or at best the corpse. It is no poverty in the English language, it is no inca• picky in the English translator, it is no obtuseness in the English reader which thus renders the Chansons of Pierre- Jean de Beranger untranslateable ; it is the. difference of the idiosyncrasies of the two nations; and not merely.the difference of their idiosyncrasies, but of their social habits, their pastimes, their joys, their sorrows, their household and historical associations. In this manner &Tenger is to the French people what the orator of the prairies is, or was, to the redmen. The words of the Indian orator spoke to the very core of the redman's heart, .they made the blood burn on his tawny visage, they called at one time the gushing tears from his eyes, and at another maddened him to the clank of the gong and the scream of the war whoop. But to the European ear the eloquence of the Redskins sounded only as bombast and hyperbole. The songs of Beranger, again, act like the national reveillie to the citizens of France ; even Chateaubriand, the loyalist and Bourbonist Chateaubriand . was moved with the supreme pathos of the Vieux Caporal when he heard ono of the old guard of Nap leen singing it one day among a party of vine.. dressers— Conserits, au pas; Ne pleurez pas; Ne pleurez pas; Marehez au pas, Au pas, pas, au pas, au pas ! . - And how profound are the sensibilities of the ♦eterans of the empire, when they listen to the - daunt of the Vieux Drapeau— Chargé de hurlers et de fienrs, Il brilla sar I'Europe entiere. Qnand secArai-je la poussiere, Qui ternit ses nobles couleurs I Intense, however, as is the enthusiasm inspired by those lays of military glory, it is as nothing to the Pea tas with which one song of Beranger is hearkened to in the home of the artizan, of the merchant, of the peasant, ill, the rustic merry making under the trees, among the fishermen, the hedgers, the ditchers, the ploughmen, the carriers, among all orders and classes of the people. " Les Souvenirs du Peuple"—it is the masterpiece of the immortal lyrist. His translator has here done him little ,justice, no justice, worse than no justice. Besides the want of all euphony in the appellative " Granny," the refrain of each stanza is diluted down to the merest insipidity. II oozes a park; grandmere ! I! vows a pad E! O Granny, Granny, did he speak ? What, Granny ! speak to y o u? • Quel beau jour pour sous, grandmere ! Quel beau jour pour vous ! Oh, how much joy you must have felt, 0 Granny, how much joy ! • • • Dieu onus benira, grandmere, Dieu vows Unita. Poor granny 1 God will kindly look, Will kindly look on youl Mr. Young piques himself on being a literal translator, yet the above strikes us as being the very loosest para phrase, as Carlyle would say, the baldest, wretchedest paraphrase. We question the propriety or utility of placing the French original and the English version cheek-by-jowl in opposite 'pages. .It savours of honesty and candour it is true, but it utterly annihilates whatever little beauty there is in the English. Phallus shines, and the stars arc invisible; so is it with Beranger and his interpreter. It is some satisfaction to those who admire the greatest lyrist of this, or perhaps any other age (and among such admirers we acknowledge ourselves to be enthusiasts), to knew that the heart of Pierre-Jean de Beranger still beats to the measure of the old songs which he used to sing o yore. Nay, more than this, that. Beranger can still, notstandwith ing the pressure of many years, ehaunt new chansons equal in melody, if not in philosophy. to those com posed in his adolesence. Here is one —" Notre Coq '---. baginning like a flourish of trumpets. "Notre coq, d'humeur active. Les d'Alger, s'ecrie : 11 Taut Que jusqu'au bon Dieu j'arrive, Pour voir s'it s'endort 11 naut. J'ai response a tout qui viva, Co, co, coquerico, France, remets ton Flask°. Coquerico, coquetico." The song—manitestly in sentiment a war sung —of which this is the opening verse, has only very teceritly made its appearance in a new edition of Beranger, now publishing in Paris. Who cannot recoanise the voice of the great master in the music of the refrain ? co, co, coquirico, France, remets ton schako Coqu erico, coque rice." We trembled lest Mr. William Young might have seen this chanson in time for his seriez: of translations, es in that case we should infallibly have bad some such literal burthen as this:— "Co, co, cockadoodledo, France, resume thy scbako Cockadoodledo, cockadoodledo." Having Oven the commemement of Beranger's latest composition, we oannot resist transcribing the conclu sion, premising that the Gallic cock visits Heaven, being conducted thither by the imperial eagle of the Emperor (Napoleon). " Sous le drapean tricolore Vu echauffer emus et bras, De vous j'ai besoin encore. Coq, bientot to chanteras Le reveil avaunt I'surore. Co, co, coquerico, France remets ton schako Coquerico, coquerico. L'oiseau, prompt comme la foudre. Rentre au qsartier general, Disant L'ou en va decoudre ; Dieu fait seller son cheval ; Les anges font de la poudre. Co, co, coquerico, France, remets ton schako. Coquerico, coquerico. Having presented our readers with this fragment of the last poetical production of the g reat French lyrist, we cannot do better than commend the little volume just published by Chapman and Hall, to the notice of the public, seeing that it contains not merely the translations by Mr. Young, but the matchless originals of the im mortal poet, In this respect the book is a literary jewel. THE LITTLE NAILER.—At a c.onversazione, at Newcastle, Elihu Burritt told an anecdote, which, we think, cannot but prove interesting to our readers. When he first came to this country, on his pedestrian tour through it, he was overtaken one day by a heavy shower, and took refuge in a nailer's shop. A man snd little boy were the sole inmates of the place, and during an hour's conversation he had with the man, he learned that he had never been able to send his boy to school, as he could only earn 6d. per day, and his own miserable pittance was unable to support himself and family. When he wrote home to America he casually mentioned the circumstance, not thinking much about the matter, and by next letters he received, he was agreeably stir )l.iseil to learn that the Sunday-school children had clubbed together their pence to enable the little fellow to go to school, and every American post brings him further dona ti on s , gut him to sc h 01, an and io,ooo c hildrenadrehaenxhiaosunsloywwsiting on the other side of the Atlantic till they have a letter in the hand writing of Little Jemmy Stubbins, the Nailer Boy.— Neurcastk Guardian. SUPERSTITION IN THE NINETERNTH CENTURY.— A few days since an unusual circumstance was observed at pingwenlly, which caused no small degree of astonishment to one or two enlightened beholders. A patient ass stood a r o n u d p a ed fam ar i o ly un o d f i n t o : A m. i f c a ll t la ir ov,re.aspassingrational near mals a w h e o r u e se g , Ha little son under the donkey, and lifting him over its back, a certain number of times, with as much solemnity and pre cision as if engaged in the performance of a sacred 'uty. This done the father took_ a piece untested loaf; whi c h he o ffered the animal ofbread,to cutbite from a at. No thing loath, the Jerusalem pony laid bold of the bread with his teeth, and instantly the father severed the outerportion of the slice f rom t h at in the donkey's mouth. He next clipped off some hairs from the neck of the animal, which he cut up into minute particles, and then mixed them with the bread, which he had crumbled. This very tasty food was then offered to the boy who had been passed round the donkey so mysteriously, and the little fellow having eaten thereof, the donkey was removed by his owners. The father, his sou, and other members of his family were moving oft, when a bystander inquired what all these "goings on" had been adopted for ? The father stared at the ignorance of the in quirer, and then, in a half-contemptuous, half-condescend ing, tone, informed him that " it was to cure his poor son's hooping-cough, to he sure l" Extraordinary as this may appear, in days when the schoolmaster in so much in request, it is nevertheless true.—Monmouthshire Merlin. Loss OF A STEAMER.—ESCAPE or EIGHTY HUMAN 13 E/1/G a.—The General Steam Navigation Company's at,eam ibip Clarence arrived at the company's wharf, Popla,, Fri day afternoon, from Edinburgh. Commander Lake 4. re p o rts that about one o'clock on Friday morning, cif Al.dborough, he saw the screw-steamer Experiment on tire, He bore down upon • her and succeeded in saving e,a s sen ge rs and crew (80 in nu mber), and after having the, Experiment in tow for six hours she sunk. GRAY'S INN, MAY I.—Edward Kenealy, Esq., was this day called to the degree of lin r i s t ar .at-Law by the Honourable Society of Gray's 10 6 1 ;71,, bs oeglgh s _ 1