The Sun.
London, England, 1862-02-06 00:00:00

Macmillan's Magazine.
This magazine commences with the first and
second chapters of a new tale, which is very stupid.
It relates to the vagaries of an old bachelor, and
which, as far as we can judge from what is before
us, contains neither point nor plot, and is very
unnatural. In the second chapter the scene is in
the north of Switzerland. " The Raised Beach of
Great Britain, and How Scotland Rose in the
"World" describes the formation of the vast shingle
bulwark which surrounds the greater part of the
British coast. The advance and retirement of
the sea on the coast of Scotland is chiefly
treated of, but the south coast of England is as
good a sample as can be found anywhere. Some
of the Cinque ports are far inland, and where once
ships rode at anchor cattle now feed. "Ravens-
hoe" progresses. Charles, having become a trooper,
is ordered to the East, but has an interview with
Mary before his departure, in which she discovers
to him her love unintentionally. The scene is well
described. The conduct of that fine old woman,
Lady Ascot, is beautiful, which is shown up in
grand relief by the stupidity of her hapdmaid. An
amusing conversation between Father Tiernay and
Father Mackworth, which is concluded by the
tragic end of poor Cuthbert, who is doomed a red-
nosed oyster :
Ravenshoe bay again, then—in the pleasant summer
drought I have been speaking of before ! Father Mack-
worth and the two Tiernays were lying on the sand, look-
ing to sea. Cuthbert had gone off to send away some boys
who were bathing too near the mouth of the stream and
hunting his precious salmon. The younger Tiernay had
recently taken to collect " common objects of the shore"—a
pleasant, healthy mania which prevailed about that time.
He had been dabbling among the rocks at the western end
of the bay, and had just joined his brother and Father
Mackworth with a tin box full of all sorts of creatures, and
he turned them out on the sand and called their attention
to them,

" A very good morning's work, my brother," he said.
' "These anemones are all good and rare ones."
" Bedad," said the jolly priest, "they'd need be of some
' value, for they a'int pretty to look at; what's this cockle
now wid the long red spike coming out of him ?"
" Cardium tuberculatum."
" See here, Mackworth," said Tiernay, rolling over to-
wards him on the sand with the shell in his hand. "Here's
the rid-nosed oysther of Carlingford. Ye remember the
legend about it, surely?"
" I don't, indeed," said Mackworth, angrily, pretty sure
that Father Tiernay was going to talk nonsense, but not
exactly knowing how to stop him.
" Not know the legend ?" said Father Tierney. " Why
when St. Bridget was hurrying across the sand, to attend
St. Patrick in his last illness, poor dear, this divvle of a
oysther was sunning himself on the shore, and, as she went
by, he winked at her holiness with the wicked eye of 'um,
and he says, says he, ' Nate ankles enough anyhow,'
he says, Ye're drunk ye spalpeen,' says St. Bridget, to
talk like that at an honest gentleman.' Sorra a bit of me,'
says he oysther. Ye're always drunk,' says St. Bridget.
' Drunk yourself,' says the oysther; ' I'm fastin from licker
since the tide went down.' What makes yer nose so red,
ye scoundrel ?' says St. Bridget. No ridder sor yer own,'
says the oysther, getting angry. For the saint was stricken
in years, and red•nosed by rayson of being out !,11
all
weathers, seeing to this arid to that. Yer rose
s through driak,' says:she, 'and:yer nose shall stay as rid as
mine is now, till the day of judgment.' And that's; the
legend about St. Bridget and the Carlingford oysther, and
ye ought to be ashamed that ye never heard it before."
"I wish, sir," said Mackworth, "that you could possi-
bly stop yourself from talking this prep3sterous, indecent
nonsense. Surely the first and noblest of Irish saints may
claim exemption from your clumsy wit."
An article on the present "Prospects of Co-opera-
tive Societies" relates to joint stock and other com-
panies. The Hon. Mrs. Norton furnishes some
beautiful lines to the memory of the late Prince
Consort. The best notice we can give of them
by the following extracts :
What—He, whose busy brain had planned
So much for his adopted land—
He, who had yet scarce turned the page
Dating past youth to middle age,
The counsellor of wisdom proved,
Toe chosen of a Queen beloved,
In prime of life and princely rank,—
Gone ?—gone : fill up the blank I
Gone ! Even now, to wintry gales
The foreign ships have spread their sails,
Bringing the beauty and the boast
Of other realms to Britain's coast.
The busy rout of lading past,
The shifting cargoes all made fast,
Freed from thwehouting and the din,
The motley treasures rest within.
Tasks toiled at with a loving pain,
The anxious work of hand and brain,
Lie buried in each silent hold :
Rich
stuffs, a
e whose a re
anoes tegathered fgold,
Andcerealthings, store
Competing greets our fertile shore,
And sculptured statues, soon to rise
Like apparitions on our eyes,
And complicated wheels, which rest
In muffled coverings, strangely drest,
Till the bright slave of human skill,
Set free to work his master's will,
With whirring hum and dim low moan,
Some wondrous motive-power makes known.
These come :—He schemed their meeting here :
To Him that rivalry was dear :
His tourney of the arts of peace,
The world's production and increase.
These come :—and, with them, many a man
Of earnest thought and active plan :
His voice should praise,—His smile should thank,
Gone i gone ! fill up the blank !

And for this Prince, let England give,
Praise for the life he learned to live;
And say—read here a royal name
Shut from the common paths of fame,
Who taught his soul a way to be,
Yet famous with all modesty;
And like a generous stream, whose course
Is prisoned by impeding force,
Which, in a marble circle bound,
Forbid to flow through freer ground, •
Leaps from the narrow darkness nigh,
In silver torrents to the sky,
Making a fountain of delight
To quench out thirst and cheer our sight;
So what he could, he did,—and gave
Free service, cordial, true, and brave,
Were strangers with a foreign tongue;
To those who, when he knew them, y?lingt
HTeis bthersoethwerhso'anwdhhenisheeoudnietdrYmween.
were
then
the
r e
lifer
ButF Forget not,
hern sake, no
then,oom
Whose bitter mourning England shares,
Whose sorrow came so unawares,
Fill—past the mark of shortened days—
A measure of com2leted praise :
And while we say of many a plan,
This work he ended—that began—
Plant the fair column in our land,
Where centuries shall see it stand ;
, And for her grief, and for our pride,
Tell how he lived, and how he died ;
So memory's sentinels shall prove
Twin angels—Gratitude and Love.
" Ten Days in the Crimea," is a sketch of a visit
paid to this historical peninsula by one who was
there in 1854-5, and showing

"What is now, and what has been."
" Suggestions for the Improvement of our Repre-
sentative System," and " A Retrospect of the Ame-
rican Difficulty," complete the number,

London Society. No. I.
One would hardly imagine that among the crowd
of serials there could be room for a fresh competitor.
Nevertheless, here is a new comer, full of enter-
tainment and variety, with abundance of illustr a-
trations. Among the best papers are " A Stroll in
the Park," " London Flowers," and an essay
entitled, " Why Germany Glories in the Memory
of Schiller." There are also tales in plenty,
one of them giving an amusing account of the
melancholy fate of an amatfur choir in a country
church. The pictures are certainly above the
average, and the whole magazine is very promising
for a first number.

Temple Bar.
" Aurora Floyd" is continued in some very
exciting chapters. She refuses two offers, but,
unfortunately for one of the gentlemen, relents in
his favour at last.
mystery which hangs over her
previous career. This is
a very forcibly-written
tale, tale, sure to attract considerable notice. " Captain
Dangerous" also proceeds. It is not so generally
entertaining as its predecessor, and the old English
style renders it more uninteresting; but it pos-
sessesch always appears con-
w Declining"va ivain
are andis a
feeling,
uoZuisnuaaillabwirliittyin which
writings of its author. " Invited
affections the
touching poem that blends
successfully funeeling, and serves to remind
days of earth's ausildho
spirit's jubilees if the
ijoicing Will
in the are laid with the sleepers
tomb. For them no days of re-
dawn till the last Great
One of meeting where Death may not

acquiring greater speed with every yard, raising a cloud of
snow with "the digs" necessary to keep the taboggin
straight before a clear channel is worn, shoot the little falls
without mishap, and, after dipping the base of the incline,
are seen sailing along once more in a horizontal direction
over the ice below. But every pleasure has its " drawback,"
and so has tab,ggining ; for the impetus lost, the party have
to get out . and putting himself into string traces attached
to the front of the taboggin, the gentleman proceeds to drag
" Humpty-dumpty" up again. As faithful chroniclers,we
are obliged to add that unnecessary delay is often remarked
in the ascent of "self and partner" to what lawyers call,
the place of beginning. We have only described the de-
scent of a skilled voyageur ; half the fun is in the amusing
accidents of less skilful practitioners. The beginner digs
too hard on one side, when round goes the head of the ta-
boggin at a tangent to the other ; so to speak, it gets across
the stream, and in obedience to the laws of gravity—.
though hardly with a grave demeanour—the pilot and his
companion roll down the remainder of the hill, without
their taboggin. A favourite place for this diversion, where
it is carried on with small hand.sleighs, instead of 'tabog-
gins, and is attendei with considerable risk, is at the ice-
cone formed by the spray from the Falls of Montm orenci ', a
few miles below Quebec.

No. IX. of " Bird's-eye Views of Society," depicts
Belgravia out of doors, which is clever like all
its predecessors. " Commission of Lunacy," refers
to the way in which they are carried out, and the
unnecessary expense often sustained, and the re-
forms required in general, citing the Windham
case as an example. Mrs. Beecher Stowe's story,
"Agnes of Sorrento," advances, but contains
nothing particularly fresh.