The Sun.
London, England, 1839-04-01 00:00:00

METROPOLITAN MAGAZINE.

The character of Lord Glare, a name well known in
the political annals of Ireland towards the close of the
last century, forms the subjcct of the " Irish Barrister's
Note-Bock" this month. His Lordship's character is
carefully drawn, and some spirited extractsare given
from his Parliamentary speeches, which, in point of con-
densed energy are not unworthy of Grattan. In a
" Journey Southward from Damascus," Mr. Addison
(the author) furnishes us with some animated descrip-
tions of the stern, solitary scenery in the neighbourhood
of the Lake of Tiberias, so remarkable in Holy Writ as
the " Sea of Galilee," where our Saviour performed
some of his miracles, Seldom is even a fisherman's boat li
now seen on the waters of this expansive lake, " in
whose harbours," we are told, " bustling fleets of boats
and vessels, whether for peace or war, were once fitted
out." Mr. Addison has no ordinary descriptive powers,
but he is apt at times to overdo his descriptions.
" Wishes" is a pleasing poem, smoothly and elegantly
versified. " Habits and Opinions of the Poets" gives a
few biographical particulars respecting anttie, whose
tame, formal, prose essay " On Truth," in answer to
Hume, is already forgotten, but whose poem entitled
the " Hermit" every school-boy has by heart. We sub-
join an anecdote illustrative of the peculiar idiosyncrasy
of the author of the " Minstrel," which is the work by
which Beattie is now best known :

His dread of go ng to Edinburgh, lest the metaphysical
friends of Dwi i Hume should -molest his peace, and
almost endanger his life, is absolutely ludicrous. Some
notions of seif-importance are blended with this timidity.
Beattie was not wi, hout his share of a poet's vanity. We
have seen a curious manuscript, a short account of his life,
drawn up by one of his friends ; it had been submitted to
the poet, and his corrections and additions are amusing.
His oLsrvai,ions on his own temper and disposition; the
way in which he talks of his juvenile poems (miserable
productions they are), as if he contemned them wore than
his friends were willing to admit they deserved, and other
remarks of- this kind,—betray a self complacency which
his enemies would have delighted to have known. Where
there is weakness, there is always intolerance; and the
manner in which Beattie attacked Churchill, after the latter
was in his grave, reflects a sti,iu upon his memory. Fortu-
nately, the verses are as poor as the spirit in which they are
conceived is mean and reprehensible. By nature, the poet
of " the Minstrel" was a man of quick and tender sensi-
bilities. A fine landscape, or music (in which he,,sescatsria.
proficient), aff cted him even to tears. He was S°
let, ttfiiown
fi,!el with- Garrick in Macbeth, that he hail a
and
himself over the front scat of the two•sh
he set-icy:sly contends for the gr?tesql
mixture
soliloquy
I l'iftgu riseu of comedy
cd y
and tragedy in Shakspeale (soca a!,t
in Macbeth, a mere sop to the fretit.eti-tePrsisoof the gallery.
Saakspare himself must have
eu'd'torsfiont a dis-
, dared by the great dramatist to save the
ordered head or a broken heart. This is parmaceti for an

.ward bruise with a vengeance, Such a physical and

mental confirmation does not bid fair for happiness in this
vorld, and Beattie was sorely tt led. His latter years were
dark and lonely. His wife was in a madhouse; his two
accomplished sons died when they had reached an age to
stand in the relation of friends and companions to their
afflicted patent, and be consoled his childless solitude with
the reflection—" How could I have borne to see their
elegant minds mangled by madness ?" He became moping
and peevish, and sought refuge in that fatal opiate, wine,
till rkeated attacks of paralysis removed him from a scene
in which he had ceased to take interest, and where he had
become almost an alien and a s. ranger.
&attic had very many excellent potnts in his cha-
racter ; hut he was too much addicted to flattering titled
and. influential folks. He was one of those who can
" Min
scarcely stand upright in presence of a Lord, and was
never weary of boasting of his acquaintance with an
English Bishop. As a poet, though his strel"
contains some passages exquisite
toe
in sentiment and
melody, he stands not among toe first-rates, but the
second-rates. " Curiosities of Legal Experience is an
ingenious idea, and if carried on with as much skill and
talent as it has been commenced, is, we think, not un-
likely to become popular. " A Night's Adventure is
a striking incident highly wrought up ; here and there,
perhaps, too much so. Altogether the ❑number is lighter
and more varied than usual.

FRASER'S MAGAZINE.
The first article in the Number before, us, which is
intended to ring as a sort of alarm bell in the ears of the
orthodox, is full of the most dismal vaticinations. Its
object is to show that Popery is daily—hourly on the
increase ; and that if it progresses much longer at its
present rail-road pace, Protestantism will, in the course
of a few years, receive its death-blow. In order to jus-
' tify this lugubrious prophecy, the writer adduces the
opinions of a vast number of Protestant Clergymen
who speak in desponding terms of the numerous conver-
sions to Catholicism that have taken place within the
last six or seven years. There is clearly much exagge-
ration in many of the statements, for not a few of the
writers, whose apprehensions out-run their discretion,
speak rather from what they have heard, than
what they
know from their own personal experience. But be their
statements exaggerated or not, these orthodox Divines
may be assured that their fears are utterly groundless.
As a doMinant religion in England Popery is extinct for
ever. Her teeth are drawn, her nails -are pared, and
ho'neeforth she will never be able to work any very serious
1 amount of mischief. " Horse Catua.citianea" is a capital

article, replete with fun, end by no means deficient in
good sense. It is an account, half-serious, halr-humo-
rolls, of some of the most popular, modern flash ballads,
and furnishes us with some amusing specimens of the
St. Giles's muse. We quote the closing passage of this
article, which is written in a rational and temperate
spirit :

Let us make -one more protest against the prevailing
fashions of " the low"—the sham low, that is, which ama-
teurs delight to write and read, and which is altogether
different from the honest, hearty vulgarity, which it pre-
tends to represent. There is no berm in hearing of the
manners and conversation of dustmen, chirrineysweeps,
thieves, and their I:ke: they are teen, and nihil humanum
is alien to honest readers and critics. But we may hear
too much of them. We may find them, on examination,
even to be sham thieves and dustmen ; and the profit to be
derived from the study of such characters ceases straight-
way. Here is Mr. Dickens about to blaze upon the world
with a new novel may we hear no more of thieves and
slang. Here is Mr. Ainsworth gathering up the ribands
of Bentley's Miscellany, and driving a triumphant journey
with " Jack Sheppard :" we wish it were Jack Anybody
elsle. Gentlemen nod men of genius may amuse them-
selves with such rascals, but not live with them altogether.
The public taste, to be sure, lies that way; but these men
should teach the public. - At one time the literary fashion
run entirely- on Grosvenor- square ; at present it has taken
up its abode in St. Giles's. Both fashions are equally
strained and unnatural. A novel-writer may occasionally
go both to Almack's and Newgate, but such visits should
should be exceptions ; and Sir Lytton Bulwer, of whose
descriptions both of low life and high life scenes, with the
fopperies and pleasantries of each, we may question the
authenticity, but cannot deny the merit, has in this instance
shown a very wise example to his younger brethren. He
uses both materials, but only occasionally; the staple is
human nature, which does, to be sure, sometimes form
monsters, but the world is not peopled with such : nor
should the world of fiction produce them, except in a very
small proportion, if it would aim at copying nature.
'We cordially agree with the writer of the above
paragraph, that we have had quite enough of thieves
and swindlers, and house-breakers, and that it is high
time-our lighter literature was devoted to other subjects
There is no (a -fitly reason why it hould be always
dwelling—as Ins been the case for nearly ten years past
—on the two extremes of social life, on the highest and
.on the lowest classes. " Rough Sketches Afloat," is an
amusing enough tale of its kind, but the taste for these
naval stories is fast going by ; and we are not sorry for
it. 'The mine has been pretty nearly exhausted by the
authors of " Tom Cringle's Log," and " Peter Simple."
" Gamester's Worrof Honour" is a terse, pointed
piece of versifiertion. " Alchenly" gives a curious and
entertaining account of the rise and progress of the Ro-
sicrucian mythology, which Pope turned to such admir-
able account in his graceful " Rape of the Lock." In
the "'Researches of a Poor Scholar," we meet with
some details respecting life in Cambridge, which are
manifestly the results of experience, and not drawn from
the fancy. " The Paella's Vow" is a tale written with •
spirit and energy. " French Parties and Prospects"
discusses the present state of political affairs in France.
The writer appears to entertain no very high opinion of
Louis Philippe, who, -however, is a man of uncommon
worldly sagacity, let his enemies say what they will to
the contrary. Nevertheless, we fear he is playing a
game, the ultimate result of which will be, that he wi
be once again sent abroad on his -travels.

THE FREEMASON'S QUARTERLY
R. V lETV.

This able and judiciously condUcted organ of the
Masonic body is well worthy of the encouragement of
et-cry member of that ancient and highly distinguished
fraternity. Not being ourselves of the initiated, there
are many of its articles to which we feel ourselves in-
competent to do justice ; but every reader of taste,
cannot but admire the copious collection of beautiful
verses with which the present Number is embellished.
The 'following article, entitled "Das Vheme Gericht,"
is one of the most stirrin.,l in the present number :
Few phenomena, either moral or political, have excited
more the attention of the philosopher than the Secret Tri-
bunal of Germany, bettor known by its proper appellation
of Das Vheme Gericbt. At this remote period of time, it
is impossible clearly to decide whether its origin was of a
lasenic character or otherwise ; and it is certain that many
of the ceremonies and rites by which its proceedings were
characterised, approached to the ritual of the Ancient Free
and Accepted Order, but as that resemblance fails to
identify itself with the landmarks of Freemasonry, the truth
must still remain a matter,of speculation.
It is far from:being our object in this sketch to justify all
the proceedings of the free-judges: like all human autho-
rities they were subject to the influence of passions, preju-
dices, and feelings, which are inseparable from our nature.
Our object is merely to show its mysterious power, the
perfect despotism which it exercised over the actions, its
members compelling the father to denounce the son—the
brother to take the brother's life—if sentence were once
passed by the banded judges.
In forming our opinion of the Institution, much should
be allowed for the peculiar state of the German Empire at
the period when the \Theme flourished. Feudalism in all
is anti social terrors existed; the warlike nobility of the
age claimed a jurisdiction in life and property over their
vassals, and were each sovereigns on their own estates.
The Vheme, like most abuses, grew out of the social disor.
ganizatiou of the country ; outlived the necessity which
• called it into existence, and, like most phcenomena, has
left nasuccessof to the world.

It was on a cold stormy night, in the month of Decem-
ber, towards the close of the fourteenth century, that a
traveller, mounted upon a jaded steed, endeavoured to
trace the bridle path through the forest of Blitzfield, widch
skirts the borders of Suabia. Although the minivar-lined
cloak, golden chain, and gilt spurs of the horseman de-
noted that his rank was that of a noble, yet his o'er-soiled

dress, worn steed, and look of alarm atthe least sound

made by the rustling of the trees as the roused fawn
bounded from its cover at the approach of his horse's
steps, at once proclaimed hiro a hunted fugitive. " I
cannot have mistaken tile track l" exclaimed Graf Ul-
rich, for such was the name and rank of the tra-

yeller. " Years have elapsed sloe° I hunted in
the green woods of B!itzfield, btit memory has
treasured too well the scenes of my child-
fhw.d, to permit me to be mistaken. llh !hal" he conti.
nued, as au ancient cress, half bedded in ivy and moss, met
his view, " lam right ; there stands the Abbot's cross.
Thank Heaven ! I are out of his jurisiietion, and .iafe in

the lands of my cousin, Herman of Wolfenstein. The
priest bears no great love to our house, and would scarcely
have risked the ban of the empire to have afforded me
shelter."

Thus communing with himself, the proscribed man once
more urged his half wOin steed along the narrow and pre-
cipitous path which led to the refuge from which he had for
to many years been a wanderer. Some doubts of the kind
of reception he was likely to meet with from the relative
whose hospitality and protection he was about to claim,
evidently oppressed hire ; fur at intervals the. following
disjointed soliloquy might have been overheard from him
" Will Wol&nstein protect me I" muttered Ulrich, " he
bath a kind heart, and I am sure he loves me--Aid," bit-
terl added the unhappy man, as the recollections of the
crimes and oppressions which had divided him from his
ones! chosen friend, rushed upon his soul_._,‘ did love me
And why not still? My hand may be red. but it bath ever
been faithful to him. I may have braved the ban of the
free judges, hut have never broken faith with him. Shelter.
and security I may at least rely upon."
Four persons were seated in the guest chamber of Wol-
fenstein: its young and noble owner, and three travellers,
whose staid and grave demeanour, sober costume, and se-
' vere countenances, would, to the eye of the physiognomists,
have proclaimed them to be magistrates, or persons clothed
in the terrors of authority.
You have heard the will of the tribunal !" exclaimed
the Elder. " Count of Welfenstein—your answer."
" I cannot do it r exclaimed their young host, starting
from his seat, his jewelled breast heaving with the power-
ful emotions by which he was distracted. " Ulrich was—
is my friend, for in the hour of his danger I feel that he is
dear to me as ever ; and-you ask that I should deliver him
into the hands of the Vheme. I cannot do it."
" lie is a murderer," drily iterated the first speaker,
" under the ban of the Empire and the Most Holy
Vh.:.rne."

He is my friend," exclaimed Wolfenstein, "and des-
pite his follies—nay, crimes, if you will," added the young
Noble, who saw that the stern bro:her %; as about to inter-
rupt him. "To rue he bath ever been a kind one. Cursed
be the hour in which I became your associate—in which I
bartered my liberty or your empty honours I I renounce
your band of blood, and claim my liberty: Ulrich is my
friend, and shall not perish."
" Count of Wolfenstein I" exclaimed the elder, rising
with dignity, " I can feel for the agony of the friend, but
must still perform my duty. Resistance on your part were
as mad as useless. Once let me proclaim my rank as Chief of
the Free-Judges, not one of all your followers would raise a
' sword in your defence, even should I demand your life instead
of your degenerate cousin's. My retinue, consisting of
sworn brothers, are rea•ly to perform my will. Painful as
our mutual position is, it is the result of circumstances over
which we have no controul. Perform your duty, as lam
resolute in the execution of mine."

A horn sounded at the gate of the castle as the speaker
concluded; the seneschal, in a few moments afterwards en-

tered the apartment and announced the arrival of Count
Ulrich.

" Your answer," demanded the Chief•of Vherc, drawing
forth the mysterious abacus, the ensign of his authority, as
he spoke.
" Do you as you please," murmured the Count of \Vol-
fenstein. "I am unable to dispute my destiny; but must
it be this very night, and here, in these halls where he hath
ever been a welcome, honoured guest. _

" This very hour," answered the stern Judge. "Wouldst
thou that he should first break thy bread and drink of thy
cup? and then --"
" Not for worlds I" interrupted the Count of Wolfen-
stein. " Let me not add the sin of violated hospitality to
blood. The chamber shall be prepared, the victim sum-
moned."
" Herman terries long," muttered the weary Ulrich, as
he strode impatiently up and down the wide hall of his
cousin's castle. " I was not used to meet so slight at-
tendance. No matter," he added, bitterly, "I was then
the courted and powerful Ulrich. The first of Suabia's
Nobles. What am I? A hunted outlaw—the empire's
ban upon mc."
Two servitors, plainly dressed, bearing torches of the
mountain pine, entered the hall, and informed him that
they were commanded to attend him to the presence of
his friend. " 'Tis strange," muttered Ulrich, glancing
suspiciously at their habits, "such are not the liveries of
Wolfenstein. Are you the born vassals of my cousin," he
asked, " or merely casual servitors?"
" We are the attendants of his guest, who sojourns with
him." The men threw open the doors of the hall as they
spoke, and Ulrich followed them from the apartment.
On entering the room to which he %las conducted. Ul-
rich, bold as he was by nature, started. He beheld the

black banner of the Vlieme planted in the centre of the
room, and twelve judges, each armed with a cord ready to
execute the fatal decree already pronounced. He felt that
his hour was come.

" Brothers of the Vheine..!" he cried, "I am prepared
to die=no wish to avoid the penalty I have incurred; but
I am noble—the dagger, not the cord. Be satisfied with
blood—add not dishonour."

" The Vheme 1" exclaimed a masked judge, who, un-
armed, stood before the banner, "extends not its mercy to
those who fly from its justice, or at raign its authority ; for
such it decrees the cord and shame." At this moment the
judges seized their victim, and one placed the fatal.noose
upon his neck,

" Wolfenstein?" frantically exclaimed the struggling
" is this thy friendship?"
" Receive its gift !" exclaimed the Judge nearest to
him, et the same time plunging a dagger in his heart.
"It frees thee from dishonour." The speaker raised his
mask es be spoke. The dying man seized the band of his
executioner and friend, and pressed it to his lips.
" Thanks, thanks !" he murmured. " I die no felon's
death. The band of Wolfcnstein has saved my honour I"

NEW 1110-V TH.4 Y 113.4GAZINE.
" Odd People," by the Editor, reminds us of one of
his most sparkling tales in the first series of " Sayings
and Doings." The introductory remarks lipon practi-
cal jokes, in particular,---a theme on which Mr. Hook is
every way qualified to live an opinion—and on " a Noble
Earl not many years dead," who, it seems, was famous
for this species of rough drollery, will afford the rea-
der abundant amusement. We wish Mr. Hook would
abjure sentiment and stick to humour ; we can no more
fancy him playing tle pathetic, than we can fancy Lis-
ton doing tragedy. " Ataraxia" is an elegant poem,
from the pen of Mrs. Norton, which would have been
still better, had she infused a little more terse vigor into
it. " More Leaves from Mr. Keeley's Journal" might
have been torn out without the slighest detriment to
his " Log." They are mere threadbare common-place.
Captain Marryat's " Phantom Ship" flags a little this
month. The dialogue portion is too much spun out.
The " Mayor of Hole-cum-Corner" is by Jerrold. It
is full of life and spirit, and contains, as usual, some
piquant touches of sarcasm—the mere relishing, because
they appear to have escaped the author quite uncon-
sciously. The " P:ince of Darkness" is a sprightly
trifle well worked out. We recognise in it the mate-
rials of a good farce. " Poor Relations" is one of
those tales whose very title explains its character. The
author is a gentleman named Ho7,7ard, to whom the
public is already indebted for ninny spitited naval sto-
ries. He here shows that he is quite aimuch at home
on land, as at sea. " Boar Hunting by the " Old
Forest-ranger," who has written several spirited and
sportsmanlike articles for this periodical, is worth read-

ing, but it is by no means the writer's best essay of the
sort. " Who can the Dear One be ?" is a humorous

ttic poem, of a mock-sentimental character. In ems-

ing our notice of the " New Monthly," we must not
omit to mention the Critical Notices of New Publica-

lions, the majority of which are ably and impartially
written. The Reviewer, however, sadly overates
Lewis, when, in reference to his romance of the

" Monk," he says, " his first and great work was a
wonder in itself, and a fertile worker of wonder in a
whole nation." Now, the only thing wonderful about
the " Monk" was, that with such limited genius as it
displayed, it should have achieved such uncommon po-
pularity. It evinced no more imagination then Horace
Walpole's " Castle of Otranto ;" and as for passion or
sentiment, it everywhere substituted for them the grossest
and most bare-faced obscenity. But the age in which
it appeared, was one remarkable for its sterility, when
a Hayley.was considered a superior poet, and a Pratt,
a superior novelist. This, we take for granted, is the
clue to the extraordinary
_popularity of the " Monk.'
We quote from the tale of " Poor Relations " the in-
troductory portions, which are bottomed on truth,
though the colouring is somewhat overcharged :

" Poor relations I" The vermin The unendurable
misery—the worse than the worst of evils—worse than
physical pain !—Poverty ! What is it ? Nothing very bad
in the abstract, indeed. As a nursing mother to virtue, it
is a positive, as the actual mother of invention, an absolute
good. Moreover, it affords us so fine a scope for being
sententious, and is such a beautiful peg whereon to hang
some of our best aphorisms,---it is a valuable adjunt to poe.
try, and a staple in moral essay—a very essential in homi-
lies and sermons.

Poverty, indeed the more I consider it, the more cause

I see to be enamoured with it; that is to say, when viewed
at a proper distance. Contemplated in imagination only,
one may entertain it as intimately connected with our own
identity, for a few minutes; but, as allied to a relation, it
i the very essence of all that is nauseous—the very nostrils
rebel against it..
A poor relation I the frigorific—have not the whole spe-
cies humanity enough among them to take pity upon the
race of mankind, and disappear from the face of the earth,
by jumping down each other's throats? We request, we
entreat, we implore them, by all that is dear to ourselves,
¶.O thick upon some certain and expeditious method of self-
extirpation : have they no compassion, no commisseration,
no feeling?
What is a poor relation? A contradiction, and, at the
same time a union of miseries,—a proud humility,—a char.
tered beggar,—a supplicant robber,—an assassin that you
ca,mot hang,—a reptile that you may tread upon, but
which you cannot destroy. He is of your blood, and it
curdles at him ; really, he is Eomething without the pale
of humanity, and yet, the audacious creeping thing claims
to be admitted within your family circle : he not only dares
to breathe and live, but actually expects to do so under
your very nose. It is too much I A poor relation is the
one bitter drop in the cup of life that causes .to over.
;floss in enguish. Suicide may be justifiable, since murder.
may not be legally done upon a poor relation.