The Sun.
London, England, 1837-10-02 00:00:00

THE NATIONAL.

The idea of giving a series of " Retrospective Re-
views," which the Editor of the " National" proposes
to do from time to time, is a happy idea, and if fol-
lowed up in a right spirit, very likely to attract pub-
lie favour. The present specimen, which is the first,
is a critical notice of Shakspeare's illinor Poems--•-
productions seldom read, and not often spoken about.
The Reviewer is right in his estimate of " Lucrace,"
which is a poor tissue of laboured conceits, with only

here and there a faint glimmering of fancy to rescue
it from utter contempt ; but he is much too harsh in his
strictures o❑ the " Venus and Adonis." This poem,
though we grant that it abounds in defects of taste, yet
contains many splendid bursts of feeling, and even ima-
gination. The description of the horse is the finest
thing of the sort in the language, which Byron vainly
tried to equal in his well-known sketch of the " wild
Tartar Steed" in Mazeppa. Again, what can be more
truly poetical than (we quote from memory, not hav-
ing the volume by us to refer to) the sketch of the dead
Adonis, with Venus leaning over him ?

" She lifts the coffer-lids that close each eye,
Where, to I two lamps, burnt out, in darkness lie.

The Reviewer should have remembered this, and
many similar passages, before he hazarded the asser-
tion that the poem was full of extravagant conceits
which are not in themselves poetical, or very few of
them, and by a versification very slovenly and frequently
inharmonious." " Frank Woodly" is a clever tale,
above the average order of such slight productions.
" A Season in Town" is by Haynes Bayley. It is
sprightly common-place enough. " A Glance at the
Authors of the Middle Ages" is the ablest paper in
the Number. We shall be glad to see it continued.
Among the " Reviews of New Books" occur some
disparaging remarks on Wordsworth's " Lyrical Bal-
lads," whence we take for granted that the critic has
never read that lofty philosophical poem on the
" Banks of Wye," which contains more thought than
any of the same length in the language. We have a
sort of instinctive reverence, which we cannot help, for
great names, and dislike to see them made free with.
" Beauty and Wit" is a pointed little epigram after
the manner of the wits of Charles the Second's time.
We subjoin it :

" Beauty and Wit disputed long
Who lordly man should sway ;
The fair one's arguments were strong,
And Wit had much to say.
" At length 'twas settled by the twain
(For Wit with flattery plied her)
That Beauty over man should reign .
When he was near to guide her."

THE MONTHLY MAGAZINE.

The Old Monthly—we suppose we must henceforth
call it the Young Monthly, for it shows a strong dis-
position to cast off the staid, dull habits of age, and
become sprightly and vigorous—is far more readable
than usual. Its articles are short, well digested, and
do not lack variety. " An Address to the Senators
of Great Britain," is written in a calm, but energetic
spirit. The principles it advocates are of the right sort,
belonging neither to one extreme nor the other, but
holding a safe mean between both. " Tableaux from
Sporting Life," which is continued from the last
number, is the production of a man evidently well ac-
quainted with the my►teries of the Turf and the Gam-
ing-table. Some of his anecdotes of " Legs" are
highly characteristic of the ingenuity of that amiable
tribe. However it may be at Tattersali's, it is clear
to us that there are more Legs than Heads to be met
with at Crockford's. The " Guitar" is a pretty piece
of versification. En voici :
How sweet, at twilight's peaceful hour,
When night-flowers greet each rising star,
Alone, in some secluded bow'r,
To touch the silver-toned Guitar.
Companion of the exiled brave,
Beloved alike in peace and war !
The peasant wakes thee, and the slave
Weeps fondly o'er his mute Guitar.
Dream of the long-forgotten dead,
Whose notes remind of scenes afar,
The scattered leaves of roses shed
Thy numbers breathe, my lone Guitar.
Whenc'er the festive song I wake,
Forgetting that e'en mirth may mar
Its own enjoyment, should I break
One feeling string, my own Guitar,—
I'll take the moral to my breast,
Nor ever strain a chord so far
As wound a heart which, rudely prest,
Would break like thine, my lov'd Guitar.

" Beaumont arid Fletcher" is a biographical sketch,
somewhat of the tritest and dryest. It tells us nothing
that we did not know before. " The Baroness" im-
proves as it proceeds. Some of its incidents are novel,
and adroitly handled. " Economy of the Months" is
a slight, desultory series of remarks on most of the
passing topics of the day. This was once a favourite
feature in this Periodical, and we are surprised that it
has been so long neglected. However, better late than
never. " Harmony of the Spheres" is an essay from
the pen of Mr. Barker, whose edition of Cicero's two
Essays on " Friendship" and " Old Age," and on
the " Germany" and " Agricola" of Tacitus, are the
best in the language ; and should be more generally
known than they are.