The Sun.
London, England, 1852-09-01 00:00:00

THE

SUN,

MAGAZINE DAY.

BLACK WOOD.
Our beloved rend venerable Maga still retains its
accustomed predominance in the world of periodical
literature—and no wonder, with its corps of brilliant
and illustrious contributors. Occasionally embellished
with one of the masterly essays of Sir Archibald Allison,
and sometimes also with a vigorous paper from the pen
of Mr. Warren, the Queen's Counsel, Blackwood is
repeatedly adorned with the searching and eloquent
criticisms of Professor Wilson, and—best of all,
during the two years last past—with instalments of
that exquisite fiction, through which Sir Bulwer
Lytton is still industriously revealing the scope and
vivacity of his genius as a novelist, at the very period
when his ambition as a politician must be revived, by
his recent return as one of the representatives of
Hertfordshire. No wonder then, say we, that with
writers of such allowed capacity, the chief among
the magazines continues to sustain its reputation ! A
delightful review of Cockburn's " Life of Jeffrey,"
opens the number of Blackwood for September. The
first sentence affords a sufficiently agreeable inkling
of the drift cf the proposed argument. "It is
well," saith the writer, " fur this biography
of Francis Jeffrey, that the late cele-
brated critic cannot possibly review it
himself "—a remark as complimentary to the departed
as it is severe upon his biographer. And assuredly
the justice of the observation is well substantiated by
the extracts given from this eccentric effort in author-
ship by one of the judges of the Court of Sessions of
Scotland. The review (being headed " Part I.")
promises to swell into a supplementary celebration of
the great critic of the _Edinburgh. A third instal-
ment of " Katie Stewart" proves that the writer is
admirably qualified to produce a story of Scottish life,
yielding, as it does, many graceful delineations of
scenery and ingenious portraitures of character.
Colonel Mundy's work about the resources and aspect
of "Our Antipodes" is commented upon in the sub-
sequent contribution—in the course of which the
reviewer contrives to give an amusing account of
the result of " Residence and Rambles in Australia."
A Country Minister, in the course of a brief but
highly intelligent communication to the editor, points
out a variety of errors, which he at the same time
conceives to be evidently inadvertent, in the
course of the " Fourth Volume of Chalmers' Bio-
graphy." Thereupon we have another portion of the
latest and in many respects the noblest " Novel" that
has yet proceeded from the hand of Sir Bulwer Lyt-
ton—the instalment before us (which is the twenty-
fourth) comprising the eight first chapters in the
Twelfth Book—the " Varieties in English Life"
having extended the domestic narrative by Pisistra-
tus Caxton to epic dimensions. Notwithstanding his
decision announced some months back to the con-
trary, the author has here reverted lovingly to his
original intention, introducing the Family of the Cax-
tons once again to the reader—seen, as t were,
through the lattice of an " initial chapter." The story
at this moment evidently hastening to its conclusion,
we must refrain from entering minutely into the
consideration of its numerous, and many of them re-
splendent, merits. When the tale is told in full, we
shall be enabled to estimate more judiciously the po-
sition it must eventually assume among the diversified
productions of that creative and comprehensive intel-
lect to which the world is already indebted for the
effervescent wit of " Pelham," for the home-
born tenderness of the " Caxtons," and for
the humanizing philosophy of" Maltravers." Of one
thing we are convinced, in regard to this remarkable
novel descriptive of life and manners in England, that
—upon its completion—it must be rechristened. As
it is, the title is unworthy of the work, being
loose and indefinite. Afterwards comes the political
article of the month, referring to " The Premier's
Present Position"—an article which we have consi-
dered in our leading columns of this evening in what
we cannot but deliberately view as terms of deser-
vedly severe condemnation. After a noble and re-
sounding March, written for music by William Ed-
mondstoun Aytoun (another of Maga's gifted contri-
butors), " The March of the Crusaders "—closing
each stanza with a superb refrain, as thus—
" Strong, strong—rai,e the song!
Raise it the hills ' among
Raise it till the Moslem heabr—
Sound, sound, trump and druml
Let them know we come—
Cross and banner, sword and speed"—
our hearts are rejoiced with another magnificent series
of criticisms on the poetry of Milton—the finest
tribute that has perhaps ever yet been offered to the
genius of Milton—by the master-hand of rare old
Christopher North, writing es usual under the new
familiar and already popular title of Dies Boreales.
And suchis Blackwood for September !

NEW MONTHLY.
Under the title of " Woodtborpe," Kelly Kenyon
gives a really interesting description of one of t, h, e re-
miniscences of a physician. " Mrs. Trollope. who
is here criticised as the fifth in the series of " Female
Novelists," is grotesquely entitled by the reviewer
" a blue-stocking who travels in seven-leagued boots,"
and who by that propensity fairly runs out of breath
the whole race of critics and criticasters. Satire is
painted out as the characteristic of our authoress—
who is satirical, however, according to th,e,
writer's notion, in a " hard, pointed, persevering
manner—her sarcasms showing little akin to the
graceful raillery" of Mrs. Gore, or to the good-
natured irony" of Mr. Thackeray. Keats long since
gave to the world his delicious poem of " The Eve
of St. Agnes." Mrs. Acton Tindal has now, through
the, pages of the New Monthly, sung in rhymes,
" The Eve of All Saints." These rhymes,
however,
are nothing better than pretty and melodious. A
grand problem in modern history is considered
under the inquiry, " \Y .s Wallenstein guilty ?"
Although the argument is somewhat ingeniously
condensed, we cannot but regard the question as one,
from its magnitude, more appropriate for a substan-
tial volume than for a hasty magazine contribution.
Upon the shoulders of J. E. Carpenter the mantle of
T. H. Bayly fell long ago—another proof of which is
given in the graceful little lyric "Pm thinking of
the Past," adorning the fifty-seventh page of the
ninety-sixth volume of the New Monthly. Mrs.
Bushby translates from the Swedish, in the
current number of the same magazine, "The
Ancestress "of the late Baroness Knorring. Jolly
Green we suspect is the gentleman who tells us
" How Jeremiah Tubbs became engaged in the Irish
Elections of is:; "—a narrative reading marvellously
like one from the hand of Poole, but still more like
one from the hand of Costello. Besides some chap-
ters about " The Rovings of the Ripple" we have one
paper on " Digging for Gold " another on " Queen
Victoria's Channel," and a further continuation of
" Young Tom Hall's Heart-aches and Horses."
Best of all the contributions in the September num-
ber of the New Monthly, however, is the last—aheart-
born and touching tribute to the lamented "glass of
fashion and mould of form," the gifted Comte
D'Orsay. It is evidently the generous effusion at
once of friendship and admiration.