The Sun.
London, England, 1839-09-02 00:00:00

NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.

Mr. Theodore Hook's tale of the " Planter's
Birthday," which stands first in the Number before
us, is of a stern, tragic character, in which he but
seldom indulges. It turns upon the suicide of a
negro slave in Jamaica, occasioned by the insults
heaped on him by his master, to whom he was once
ardently attached. The story is of the narrative
class, and has little or nothing of dramatic dialogue
in it. " Isaac Moss, a Story for some Christians,"
is a terse and satirical poem by Mr. Douglas Jer-
rold. It is written in a manly, vigorous
spirit, and blurts out some useful truths,
calculated to rub the conceit off smooth-tongued
hypocrites. Mr. Jerrold is one of the most improv-
ing writers of the day. There is no lack of thought
or energy in what he does, and his manner, though
just now somewhat rough and cynical, will become
mellowed by experience, which alone is wanting to
make him popular. We read by accident the other
day a sketch by him, entitled the " Young Lord,"
which greatly struck us by its fertility of idea and
the racy quality of its satire. " Sketches of Elyria,
Italy, and the Tyrol," hacknied as is the theme,
teem with fresh descriptions of the sublitnest
landscape scenery in Europe. A storm, in
particular, and a night journey towards
Trieste, are pourtrayed with more graphic energy
than Mr. Gleig, the author, has yet exhibited.
" The gusts of wind," says he, " roared down the
long straight streets, like blasts from a thousand gi-
gantic furnaces." This :s an illustration that at
once fixes attention by its force and appositeness.
" A Stir among the Letter-writers," is a diverting
little essay, suggested by the Penny-postage project.
The " Widow Married," keeps up its interest un-
impaired. In the present chapters, we are intro-
duced again to our favourite old maid, Miss Martha
Compton—the shrewdest, and most satirical, yet
most benevolent of spinsters—who quizzes the
unconscious Widow Barnaby, in the most irresisti-
ble style of drollery. In common-sense, worldly
sketches like these, where sentiment is out of the
question, Mrs. Trollope is quite at home. But she
never attempts the lachrymose, the picturesque, or
the elevated in thought and feeling, without failing
in a deplorable degree. " The Fuegians" gives some
lively, and, doubtless, faithful details of the in-
habitants of this inclement quarter of tie globe.
" Snuff and Snuff-takers," is agreeable gossip,
and just of the fitting length. The most relishing
part of it, however, is the motto, which is by
Leigh Hunt. " The Life and Titnes of Peter
Priggins," describe Oxford habits with sin-
gular fidelity. The portrait of Mr. Chops, the
barber, looks as if drawn from thelifequot.Fe a romth
the
" Stir among the Letter-writers," we
pas-
sage which may amuse our readers :
" The great point though, connected with this sub-
ject, on which we have the saddest misgivings, is cer-
tainly a most material one—that is, the due provision
of the physical elements for all this letter-writing.
Whence is the paper to come from, or the sealing-wax,
or the pens and the ink ? No imaginable impregnation
of plaster of Paris, will enable the makers to work
up their rags into sufficient surfaces to meet the de-
mand. No hundred-Perry power will fabricate steel
pens to supply a moderately-peopled parish. Birming-
ham itself, if it ever gives up rioting, and takes to trade
again, will not yield the iron necessary for their fabrica-
tion ; and the Thames itself, if sufficiently blackened by
becoming the common sewer of a metropolis large as
keep the pensnthre going.ate
threatens "to be, will not yield ink enough to
Where, too, shall we find clerks
deliver, to sort, where postmen to dthe letters? May not
the craft of letter-writing increasever so fast, as to reduce
every man to the necessity of delivering his own letters
It is, indeed, fortunate for mankind that some physical
bounds
bounds will be thus set to the letter-writing impulse.
Otherwise there would be considerable
onsiderable risk of the means
to
destroying the end, by
overthrowoftheof the recipro-
city (as Mr. Pitt would havesaid)
it has happened in the presentstate psorocitessm.
ayAbes
readers,of literature, that
authors are more numerous thanfolks may be so busy in
with epistolary authorship ;
in writing to their friends, that they may never find time
to read their own letters."

FRA S ER' S M 4 G. 4 INE.
Fraser is very entertaining this month—thanks