The Sun.
London, England, 1865-09-04 00:00:00

TBE SUN, LONDON, MONDAY EVENING, SEPTEMBER 4, 1865.

than they had first imagined. The directors report
stated that, owing to the opposition in Chancery,
the opening of the bi-monthly service, which wag
intended for October next, would remain in abeyance.
On the motion of the Chairman, soconded
Ridley, the report was adopted.
The retiring directors and auditors were re-elected,
and the meeting adjourned to Sept. 13th, when it
was expected the accounts would be completed.

TAHITI COTTON AND COFFEE PLANTATION

(LIMITED).
The ordinary general meeting of this company
was held on Thursday at the London Tavern, Mr.
Trower in the chair.

The report stated the directors had at last the
pleasure of announcing the arrival of cotton from
the company's plantations. Last month eight bales
were sold in Liverpool at 4d. per lb., and 100 more
bales had just arrived in Liverpool. The manager
expected to ship from 16,0001 b. to 18,000 lb. by
each packet monthly, via Panama, and he estimated
the crop he was picking at 30 tons weight. He had
ordered bags for 1,000,0001 b. weight to meet his
anticipated necessities for next year, and calculated
that by March next his crops would produce
£BO,OOO. The distance from England, and the
delay in drying the cotton when picked preparatory
to ginning, had prevented the earlier arrival of the
March crop, and also the declaration of a dividend
at the present meeting, but the directors were con-
fident of doing so at the next.

The CHAIRMAN, in moving the adoption of the
report, congratulated the shareholders on the pro-
spect of a very speedy return on the capital in-
vested. The manager at Tahiti had already com-
pletely fulfilled all he had undertaken, and the
French Government had thrown no obstacles in the
way of developing the company's resources, but, on
the contrary, had rendered their manager every
possible assistance.

The report having been unanimously carried, the
retiring directors were re-elected, and a vote of
thanks to the chairman concluded the proceedings.

SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS.

THE EXAMINER ON CONSTANCE KENT'S SECOND
CONFESSION.— Our notice of the first confession of
Constance Kent concluded with the expectation
that time would bring forth another confession, and
so it has proved ; but of such a character is con-
fession No. 2 that we reckon upon still more con-
fessions to come, for the stuff of Constance Kent's
confessions is not, like truth, exhaustible. Indeed,
but for the gravity of the subject, we should sup-
pose Constance Kent to be playing at confessions.
It is true that the truth is not always like the truth,
but seldom indeed do circumstances all bear the
broad stamp of improbability which we observe in
the statement before us. We are to believe that
Constance Kent took the child out of its cot and
carried it down stairs without waking it. Well,
children sleep soundly. But we are to believe next
that Constance, a girl of fifteen, with a heavy boy
of four on one arm, was able to lift open a window
with the other hand, and that also without waking
the child. We are to believe next that the rush of
night air did not wake the child, and that, carried
through the fresh air of night, he continued sleeping
most conveniently for the purpose of the murder,
before which, indeed, he never woke. Now, most
people know the effect which a change from a close
atmosphere to a fresh open air has upon the heaviest
sleepers. To wake a sleeper snoring in a railway
carriage the sure expedient is to open a window, and
let in a draught of fresh air, We are to believe that
Constance Kent, having cut the child's throat with
a razor, and also plunged the razor into its side,
escaped all marks of th butchery except two spots
of blood on her night-dress, and this though the
deed was done in a very small place, where she must
have been in very close contact with the bleeding
body. We are to believe that she washed out these
two spots, put on another night dress, and left the
first to dry ; though she must have expected an im-
mediate search, and the recently washed dress
must have excited suspicion. We are to believe that
two days afterwards Mr. Foley and Mr. Parsons ex-
amined the dress without noticing the signs of recent
and partial washing, or the stains which had not
been wholly removed by the washing. Mr. Parsons
has written to say that lie did not see that dress.
We are to believe that Constance Kent became ex-
tremely anxious about this dress after it had passed
examination, though she had been careless about it
before ; that she secreted it in several places, and
eventually burnt it in her bedroom and put the
ashes in the kitchen grate. We are to believe that
in the height of summer a night-dress could be
burnt in a bedroom of a small and rather crowded
house without attracting notice both by the unusual
light and smell. It is worth the sacrifice of a nigh t-
dress to try the experiment. Lastly, and above all,
we are to believe that this foul murder was not com-
mitted from any ill-will to the boy, or to punish his
mother for any ill-treatment of herself, none of
which she had experienced, but to pay off a score of
remarks disparaging to the family of the first mar-
riage. It is much easier to believe Constance
Kent mad ; indeed, operated upon by motives so
trivial to an act of malignity so disproportionate,
and withal of vengeance wholly misplaced, it is im-
possible to suppose her of other than unsound mind,
though not of the degree of insanity exempting from
responsibility and punishment. Such would be the
conclusion if we accepted her evidence against her-
self. But we do not believe her statement. There
may be facts in it, but mixed with fictions. Certain
we are it is not the truth, the whole truth, and no-
thing but the truth. It is something like Prit-
chard's first confession, but he had a motive, hehad
some hopes of mercy, while Constance Kent can
have none. And she does not extenuate but aggra-
vates her guilt by her account of it, sip that the only
conceivable object seems to be to blacken herself
in order to set her family in a fairer light, and de-
liver her father and stepmother of the suspicion that
she was goaded to her crime in revenge for cruel
treatment. Still it may be asked, why should she
tell falsehoods about the circumstances of the
murder? and the answer, according to our theory,
would be to increase the horror against herself. And
it is thoroughly believed in the neighbourhood that
the child was choked before he was taken out of the
house, and that the cutting instrument was used
after death to divide the body so that it might be
more easily hid away, but that the horrid task
proved too much for the girl.
THE " SATURDAY REVIEW" ON TIIE SIN OF
LIGHT READING.--There is a sad piece of news just
borne to the surface for the Archbishop of York, and
all the other serious persons who hold the reading
of sensation novels to be one of the most pestilent
practices of a confessedly disreputable age. It ap-
pears that a company was started for the purpose of
lending people books to read. But, unfortunately,
all hope of a dividend lay in the anticipation that
the books which people would ask for would be
serious books, which are less expensive in the first
place, and in the second, like Sam Weller's muffins

are uncommonly filling at the price. A reader gets
through his three-volume novel with a rapidity that
is most unwelcome. A stout volume of sermons,
on the other hand, or an elaborate history, lasts
him perhaps ten times as long. A good novel draws
him along, while, with a more valuable book, the
process is exactly reversed. So the hopes of the
shareholders were somehow not fulfilled. With the
pertinacity of the daughters of the leech, people in-
sisted on demanding three-volume novels. History
and philosophy slept the sleep of the just upon their
shelves, while fiction had as many votaries as there
were subscribers to the library. And it was not
fiction of that exhilarating kind which even Dr.
Thomson thinks an allowable refreshment. The
subscribers did not care for those admirable stories

which draw theft. Vinterest from " the larger
chapter of homely sympathies"—stories of
" pious mothers training little children, of
secret prayers offered up to God in the silence of
the night for those children, of hints and helps to
duty strewn in the path of those children continu-
ally." For all this an evil generation with a vitiated
palate has no liking. They prefer the doings of
grown-up people to those of little children, and pious
mothers have to make way for questionable wives.
Hints and helps to duty are as a drug in the mar-
ket. There is a much more lively demand for hints

and helps to break the Ten Colmandments than
for encouragement to keep them. A single fact will
serve to illustrate the frivolity and light-mindedness
of modern readers. Ten copies of Mr. Froude's
History more than met the demand, while 170

copies of Miss Braddon's " Only a Clod" barely
sufficed to keep the crowd of readers at bay. The
taste for novels may therefore be reckoned as more
than 17 times stronger than the taste for history. This
distressing but instructive fact is clearly one not to
be too lightly passed over. That a large body of
readers should take a livelier interest in a man who
is supposed to come in for a windfall of thirty
thousand a year, but who in truth never lived at all,

and whose thirty thousand a year is mere moon-
shine, than in a real King of England and six real
wives, with real incidents to match, must seem
incredible to a lover of Social Science. Such a state
of things is really most disheartening to the mem-
bers of that enthusiastic Association: It shows a
systematic absence of reverence for facts and
figures. When one thinks of the number of papers
that might have been written and read in the time
and with the attention given to this imaginary man

with his imaginary thirty thousand a year, of the
quantity of figures that, might have. been amassed
about sewage atid fehiale labour, bf the hat ieW
and unspeakable crotchets that might have been
brought to the birth, it fills the mind with despair
of the prospects of the race. How can the species
ever be regenerated in the ,faee of .this infatuated
army ef novel-itadeks lbw tan the eternal rights
of women gain recognition when those wild ought to
be fighting the battle are lingering with reckless
interest over the forttinead an inia'ginarY heroine like
the piing laclyin Miss Bracldon's novel, whose paltry
Merits aresummed upin saying that sheis verypretty
and graciousand accomplished? The wholebook from
beginning to end does not contain a single idea in
support of the good cause, for the women are plea=
sant and good.looking, and the Meti ate not brutal
and despicable tyrants. Nay, the moral of the
story positively ends in the most objectionable
direction. The heroine is such a poor creature, so
lost to all sense of duty to her sex and her species,
as literally to run after a husband who had left her
under some mistaken notion. If Miss Braddon had
only made her, by her desolate hearth, tranquilly
compose a paper on emigration or the advantages
of a female printer's devil, and allow her husband
to go to Hong Kong or where he would, a great
lesson might have been taught. After all, there is
one good point about the novel which has condemned
Mr. Froude's History to retirement, and Social
Science should not omit to put it to the authoress's
credit. When the happy couple are once more
united at the end of the third volume, they hasten
to make arrangements for getting Mr. Merrivale's
Roman History out of the circulating library and
otherwise improving their minds. If Miss Braddon
had been so fortunate as to name Mr. Froude in-
stead, those ten volumes might have instantly been
demanded, the company saved, and the shareholders
enjoyed a dividend. The only consolation that we
can offer to the disconsolate enthusiast for the study
of facts rather than fiction is the common opinion
that Mr. Froude's Henry VIII. is quite as imagi-
nary and non-existent a personage as the hero of
" Only a Clod." But to the people who are so
dreadfully in earnest about life, and will not admit
the existence of such a thing as a trifle, there is a
difference in the degrees of noxiousness among
novelists. Swindling, and poisoning, and bigamy are
not pleasant objects of contemplation, but at least
they have the merit of exhibiting strength of pur-
pose and vigour of execution; and these are qualities
which the earnest school protest we can never have
enough of. Aurora Floyd, who soundly thrashes
her groom ; Sir Percival Glyde, who incarcerates
his sane wife in a lunatic asylum, and burns the
parish register ; the Italian Count in " Abbot's
Cleve," who deliberately puts his wife to death,
though her death means toil and poverty for him-
self—all the heroes of this stamp are the illustra-
tions of some, at all events, of the virtues which
made Frederick the Great a genuine hero. There
are people who will not flinch from the vigorous
execution of their designs and the prompt chastise-
ment of their foes, simply because the rest of the
world look on their designs and their promptitude
with disapproving eyes. This, it seems, is the
prime title of any man to appear heroic. Although,
therefore, it is preferable that we should learn this
admirable lesson in the records of fact rather than
in the unsubstantial inventions of fiction, still it is
better that weak brethren should be induced to
sympathise with selfish violence even in a mere
novel than not at all. Of course it is to be la-
mented that the appetite of so many readers for
historical facts is so uncommonly weak, and that
they can only bring their minds to the study of the
imaginary doings of a fictitious set of people. But
babes must have milk. Those who do not care
enough' about history to sit at the feet of Mr.
Froude, and learn that, after all, there is a good
deal to be said for Henry VIII. and his lusts and
his treatment of his various wives, may have an
almost equally improving instruct3r in Mr. Wilkie
Collins. Henry, when his wife became inconve-
nient to him, had her head cut off ; while Sir
Percival Glyde, not being able to cut off his
wife's head, put her out of sight in an
asylum. Henry's excellent principle that it
is possible for a man to get tired of his
wife, and that in such a case it is right for him to
make away with her and take another, is not illus-
trated on so large a scale as in fact ; but the bigamy
of the modern novel, in a small way, may be said to
come to much the same thing. Or there is the other
and more comprehensive doctrine of modern histo-
rians, that if a man wants a thing which does not
happen to be his own, then, if he is a true hero with
insight and veracity, he will do his best to seize and
keep what he wants. Those who have the requisite
strength of mind and taste for history will hasten to
the library and call for Mr. Carlyle's last book. But
those others whose minds are too loosely put together
to bear the weight of gray e study may be excused for
turning to " Paul Clifford," or " Jack Sheppard," or
" Oliver Twist." Frederick the Great appropriated his
neighbours'provinces.TheArtfulDodger appropriated
his neighbours' watches and pocket-handkerchiefs.
The same beautiful simplicity of principle, and the
same unfaltering resolution in action, appear in the
hero of romance as in the hero of history. So there
is still balm in Gilead ; and anybody who is pene-
trated by despair at the thought of the victory of
fiction over fact may find some consolation in re-
flecting that some modern historians have won a
decided victory over the novelists, even in the
novelist's own line. As we have said, however, all
novels are not alike in the eyes of the truly earnest.
THE LONDON REVIEW ON M. E3IILE DE GIRAIIDIN
AS A DRAMATIST.—" Le Supplice d'une Femme,"
when produced with its pe'rilleux elements eliminated,
created a furore. It was brought out on the 29th
of April, and is, we believe, still running. Every-
body concerned with its production was delighted
with its success--everybody but M. de Girardin,
who protested against any applause being given to
the piece, under the idea of its being his piece. To
make out his case, he printed his play—edition (le
luxe, price four francs—both his version and that of
M. Alexandre Dumas fits. Why the one version
was thought to be dangerous and the other was not
is a mystery which we cannot pretend to fathom.
M. de Girardin considered the alterations made to
his play only so many mutilations, and said so
roundly ; in fact, he accused his uninvited collabo-
rateur of having utterly destroyed "Le Supplice
d'une Femme." This was not pleasant for M.
Alexandre Dumas fill, who retorted :—" If M. de
Girardin prefers being hissed to being applauded,
he can easily gratify his fancy ; he has only to write
a play by liiinself." M. de Girardin's character is
well known. He says of himself, in the preface to
the drama in dispute :—" Those who know me,
know that I never decline responsibility for any-
thing I say, or write, or do." A challenge, in any
shape, is the last thing he would think of declining.
The " still young" author had challenged him to
write a piece by himself. Three mornings' work,
and it was done : title, " Les Deux Sceurs ;" subject,
adultery--from another point of view. On
the 12th of last month it was brought out at
the •Theatre du Vaudeville, perfectly mounted,
perfectly played ; but—shocking to relate—it was
hissed ! Alone he did it !—.and it was hissed ! by a
cabal, headed by M. Alexandre Dumasfi/s, says M.
de Girardin, of course. Whereupon there arises one
of the smartest paper wars that has raged for many
a long day. In his own paper, the Presse, M. de
Girardin fights his own battle with as much ardour
as he could display in the service of his dearest
friend,' and he is aided by M. Ernest Feydeau,
author of " Fanny," of impure renown, who spe-
cially falls foul of a former acquaintance of his,
M. Francique Sarcey, a critic, who was actually
heard to hiss " Les Deux Sceurs" on a particular
occasion, when the public were admitted to the
theatre gratuitously, and expressed their satisfaction
by applauding the performances. M. de Girardin's
own account of the affair of the first night's per-
formance is charming from every point of view.
" Rien," he writes, " rien ne saurait donner l'elan
de ce public indigne, se mettant aussitAst a crier It
outrance; l'auteur ! l'auteur !" They believed that
the author was in the manager's box ; they sought
him there without finding him, the actors all the
while remaining on the stage and expressing by signs
that they, none of them, knew where the author
was. Where was he ? He was at the back of one
of the side boxes, chatting tranquilly with M. Ame-
dee Achard ; the persistance of these cries at length
interrupted this chat ; he went out of the box and
learned what was passing; with one bound he sprung
upon the stage, where he appeared surrounded by
his. able interpreters, in the presence of that sym-
pathetic public whom he desired to be the judge,
in the first instance, of his first representation ;
he was greeted with double salvoes of applause.
The entire audience was filled with emotion that
continued some time afterwards ; for, in spite of the
rain, the author found, on leaving the theatre, a
crowd of spectators waiting to give him a new testi-
mony of their sympathy, What is thought of that
by M. Francisque Sarcey, who couples with the
functions of critic those of hisser ?" M. Francisque
Sarcey has put in evidence that he does not think
anything of it ; and so the ink-duel goes on, the
wonder being that the paper bullets which have
been flying about so thickly have not, long ere this,
been changed into lead. We ourselves have not
seen the play which has given rise to all this pother,
nor has the printed copy of it yet reached our hands.
The excellent Paris correspondent of the Daily Tele-
graph has tempered our curiosity, however, by the
amusing account which he has given of the plot.
According to him, the story' of " Les Deux Soeurs"
is this :

"Two sisters marry—one a certain Marquis de Terre-
plane, the other a M. de Puybrun. Husband No. 1 is gouty,
old, and, in fact, just what a husband should not be ; while
husband No. 2 is a compendium of every human excel-
lence, and just what a husband should be, and which most
French husbands decidedly are not. sister No. 1, who is

never so happy as when 'on duty,' like a conscientious
Policemait, acts as a sort of dry nurse to the aged invalid
resented , to, her, by Jier, family, and glorifies herself ad
nauseam; but sister Vo. g, diddatitiled, fqr no earthly rea-
son that I could discover, with het Crichtdili 'shakes the
loose leg,' as an Irish friend says, to an extent that
would lead us to congratulate de Puybrun upon any
oppprtunity, ,to get rid ,of her. She soon becomes the
ithiStitSt, of thB Mit do Beahlieti, about ,as 2ingentlemanly
an 'aristo' as could possibly be imagindd. biscoliery
is inaininent, and the lady throws herself upon
the prdtectidh bf alb lover. The world is all before
us *heft) id choose,' itch tiic. The catitiotts duke does not
see it in that light, and refuses, upon wisat plea, do yet
think ? You will never guess ! Upon the plea that he has
a place at the embassy, and shoudn't like to lose it. The
lady, however, bullies him into a more manly feeling, and
they dart off at a run for the railway station. Alas! the
last ticket has been delivered and the descending wicket
nearly Snaps off the fingers of the unfortunate duke, while
the engine which has taken a shorter time than himself to
get its steam up, rushes off with a whistle and a scream—
the whistles and the screams had begun long before in
another portion of the theatre—leaving them lamenting on
the platform. Now the Crichton of a husband turns up,
and, all fire and fury, demands satisfaction from the duke.
I should have imagined the greatest satisfaction that any
one could have given him would have been to hurry-the
two noodles off by the next train, with strict injunctions
never to come back again. However, M. de Puybrun
thinks differently. The duke, who holds to his life even
more strongly than he held to his place, refuses to fight ;
but it avails him nothing—he is eventually, killed by the
husband, who, acting up to his character of Noodle No. 3,
shoots himself afterwards, just as his wife, attended by her
A 1 sister—constantly on duty—rushes on, and exclaiming
I thought as much ! ' or something very like it, brings
down the curtain amidst roars of laughter."
Many "good things" have been said in the course
of the fight, but, on the whole, we think that of M.
Alexandre Dumas
.fi/s is the saltest and most savoury
of all. It is a note addressed to La Gazette des
Hopitaux (I)
" Mr. Editor, Sir,—l decline to reply to M. do Girardin.
Having consulted Doctor Pinel, I find that one must not
Cross them when they are in that state.—Accept,
"ALEXANDRE DUMAS jas."
THE 44 READER"ON THE DYING OUT OF SLASHING
CRITICISM.—In a recent number of The Shilling
Magazine it was stated that "slashing articles" are
now rarely produced, because they are no longer
fashionable. Moreover, it was maintained that the
public taste has undergone an entire change in this
respect. Undoubtedly, it is as true now as formerly
that authors, if they wish to live, must write to
please. Although we readily admit the fondness
of the public for any particular form of writing will
tend to cause newspapers to furnish what is relished;
yet we cannot grant that the decrease in the produc-
tion of " slashipg articles" is wholly attributable to
an alteration in public taste. Several causes have
combined to bring it about. Chief among these is
the fact that literature is daily becoming more a
matter of business. A journal, if it would prosper,
in other words, prove a profitable speculation, must
gratify not those only who read, but those also who
advertise. It is a well-known fact that most papers,
whether appearing daily, weekly, or monthly, are
remunerative or the reverse, in proportion to the
number of advertisements which they contain.
Obviously, then, the main object of their proprie-
tors is to attract advertisers. If the sale be
very large, the journals are certain to become
valuable properties, unaided by the proceeds
of the advertising columns. A large circula-
tion, however, is a consummation more fre-
quently and ardently longed for than attained.
Another method is to make a journal what is called
a " class organ." By doing this, all those to whom
it appeals will certainly subscribe to it, and may
possibly become " constant readers." At any rate,
the paper, being looked upon as the organ of their
opinions, will be selected as the most suitable ad-
vertising medium by those persons who desire that
the members of that class should patronise, and
render them prosperous and rich. What the con-
ductors of the publication most sedulously avoid is,
giving the slightest ground for complaint on the
part o the subscribers ; what they must uniformly
observe is, to pander to the prejudices of those who
advertise. If this be done, all will go well, and
everybody will rejoice, a small minority alone ex-
cepted, who will grieve to see the pursuit of litera-
ture degraded into a trade. It will readily be un-
derstood that, in a journal conducted on the prin-
ciples referred to, " Slashing Articles" would be out
of place. Such articles can only be produced by
those who are strangers alike to partiality and pre-
judice, and can be inserted only in the columns of a
paper which is thoroughly independent. Written
with the single-minded determination to uphold
the true, wheresoever manifested, and to expose
the false, by whomsoever approved, they must be
impersonal in tone, yet capable of direct personal
application. Those who are attacked may be
annoyed, and even injured, but the public will
be the gainers. The victims, if authors, will find
no purchasers for their bad books, and, having
to bear a pecuniary loss, may deserve commisera-
tion. If aspirants for office, or occupants of posts
of dignity or emolument, they will doubtless think
it hard should their fortunes be blighted through a
merciless exposure of their incompetence or venality.
By such persons, the writers of " Slashing Articles"
are regarded as the hyenas of society. Others,
however, who Lye neither written bad books,
delivered silly speeches, nor disgraced their posi-
tion, class such writers among the benefactors of
mankind. There is a period in the lives of most
journals when their conductors manifest an excep-
tional liking for articles which are both truthful and
telling. When they are newly established, the
desire of filthy lucre, though uppermost in the
minds of their founders, is not openly avowed. A
journal; like a joint-stock company, is generally
started either to regenerate society, or else to fill
up an acknowledged void. For a time it is neces-
sary to make a show of fulfilling the promise of the
prospectus. As fools and knaves. always abound,
it is easy enough to find subjects whereon to vent
virtuous indignation, or to turn into ridicule. It
is notorious how large a reputation a contemporary
obtained by pursuing this course. Week after
week some popular idol was cast down from the
niche which he did not deserve to occupy, or a'
charlatan was overwhelmed with shame, and forced
to change his ways and live honestly. The energy
with which this was done was appreciated by a
public which likes above all things to be amused at
the expense of its favourites. The protests of the
sufferers afforded additional pleasure, *by proving
the severity of the castigation. If they retaliated,
it was in the harmless fashion of affixing
nick-names to the journal which they detested.
This, again, was an advantage, inasmuch as it was
a gratuitous and a capital advertisement. When
men of position denounce certain articles in a jour-
nal, the public immediately concludes that the jour-
nal which is soundly abused must be readable and
worthy of support. The public is often less fickle
than the paper of which it approves. As young men
who are violent Radicals are almost certain when
they grow old to ripen into Tories, so a journal,
which has made its mark by the slashing style of its
articles, is nearly certain, as years roll on, to lapse
into the decorous eulogist of men and books. Its
circulation may be based on ancient fame, rather
than on present character ; but as a compensation
for whatever may be lost in this particular, it will
gain in advertisements. Having a name which is
admirable for quotation, every one will rejoice to
have a favourable,notice from it. As it is commonly,
but most erroneously, supposed that the character
of a review depends in part on the amount of indi-
rect bribery lavished on a journal in the shape of
payments for advertisements, authors will make
great sacrifices in order that the titles of their works
shall frequently figure in the columns of the popular
journal. Thus, it is no longer necessary to fill the
difficult and thankless post of public censor. Almost
insensibly a gentler style is adopted, which is found
to be easier, and quite as useful as the combative
one. " Slashing articles" then become the exception,
and are afterwards tabooed.
" THE ATHEN/EUM" ON MR. JUSTICE HALI BRTON.
—" Sam Slick," the name so much more familiar to
us than the more formal, but real, Mr. Justice Hall-
burton, died on Saturday, at Gcrdon House, Isle-
worth. As a writer, he may be said to have amused
his peculiar world during one generation of men. It
is thirty years since " The Clockmaker ; or, the
Sayings and doings of Sam Slick of Slickville," ap-
peared in a collected form, and founded the reputa-
tion of its author. At that time he was 38 years
of age, and, it may be added, at the height of his
powers both of imagination and of memory. We
say " of memory," for many of his stories were of
older manufacture, but admirably re-cast, exqui-
sitely moulded, and set on high for the world to
admire. Mr. Justice Haliburton belonged to the
last century. He was born in 1797, in British
America. That was the year of sharp trials for
England ; it was the most calamitous of the war ;
the year of two naval mutinies, the year in which
the Bank stopped payment, and the United Irish-
men threatened rebellion ; but also that in which
Jervis reaped his harvest of glory at St. Vincent.
In the year in which the future author of so many
satirical works was born, there died the most refined
of satirists, Horace Walpole, the first of Scottish
lyrists, Burns, the oldest of actors, Macklin, and
the driest of teachers, Enfield. All these names,
however, survive in different degrees. We men-
tion them to show to what at, old world a man
may belong who, like Haliburton, has only just
ceased to amuse the world, after thirty years of
labour which had very much the guise of pastime.
Twenty-three years ago Mr. Haliburton, who had
been a law-student, and had been duly " called,"
was elevated to the office of Judge British North
America. That dignity he resigned, subsequently,
in order that he might reside in England, and
become a maker instead of administrator of the
laws. He resided in modest lodgings, over the toy-
shop in Piccadilly, kept by the amiable Miss Tre-
hidden, the most popular person with all the little
aristocrats of St. James's who found solace or ecstasy
in toys. To those who love to mark the abiding

place where men of genius, or of more than common
note, have dwelt, we may remark that the site of the
ancient toy-shop is now occupied by the Geological
Museum. Mr. ex-Justice Haliburton left it to take
higher seat elsewhere. His ambition was satisfied
by his &coining member for Launceston. Like
many dashing satirists, the man so bold on paper was
a timid and ineffective speaker. The last time he
addressed the house was on the Canadian delenceSl
on which occasion he was listened to with more than
usual respect as a man who spoke with authority.
His principles were of the old Tory school, and
froth these he never swerved. As may be sup-
posed from his " Sam Slick" series of books
he was an excellent story-teller ; but he was as
pleased to listen to a good story as he was himself
skilled in the art of telling one. His observation
of national and personal character was so acute,
correct, and humorous, that in the delineation of
them he rose to the rank of an artist who had no
second in his peculiar vocation, nor, indeed, any
competitor deserving of the name. He was tho-
roughly original, and all imitations of an originality
that defied being imitated, were execrable. In 4, Sam
Slick" he portrayed national character beyond the,
Atlantic. In his "Letter-bag of the Great Western,''
he gave life-like portraits of individuals, their
manners, style, feelings, and expressions. Perhaps
the most faultless of these papers is the " Journal of
an Actress," in which the cleverness and audacity,
refinement and coarseness, modesty and bounce,
pretty humility and prettier arrogance of Miss Fanny
Kemble were touched off in a style which all the
world could identify, and the lady herself not turn
her lip at, except to smile at the skill with which her
literary merits and affectations were imitated so se
to be like reality. Few writers have showered more
innocent mirth on our generation than the late 11r.
Haliburton.