The Sun.
London, England, 1838-02-07 00:00:00

BENTLEY'S MISCELLANY

The first chapter of " Oliver Twist" this month, which
describes a tender and delicate flirtation scene between the
pompous Mr. Bumble, the parish beadle, and Mrs. Corney,
the matron of the workhouse, who has " been left a help-
less widow-woman for five-and-twenty years," is full of rich
humour, without, however, violating the proprieties of
nature. Boz keeps up this desultory tale with remarkable
spirit ; but we trust he will not lay too much stress on his
flash scenes at the old Jew's. Enough is as good as a feast
—especially in sketches of this nature. " Poisoners of the
Seventeenth Century" is as interesting historiette, something
after the manner of D'lsraeli's Curiosities of Literature.
When Mr. Hogarth has completed these singular articles,
he should republish them under the title of " Curiosities of
Crime." The sketch of a " Sporting Ramble in the
Highlands" is a common-place theme, treated in a
common-place style. In the broad extravaganza of
the " Cannon family at Bologne" there is some rich
description. The account of the duel is ludicrous in the
extreme. " Nights at Sea" contain an anecdote told by an
old sailor about his method of providing dogs, on the spur
of the moment, for a shooting excursion, which is quite
equal to any of the numerous characteristic anecdotes re-
lated by the veracious Samuel Weller to his all-believing
master, Pickwick. " English Comforts" is very serious and
premeditated prosing ; and Dr. %Vagen's sketch of " Artists
in England" not much better. The " Innkeeper of Ander-
matt" is a striking incident which might have been turned
to better account. Marks of haste and carelessness are
visible throughout this article. We should have noticed
this periodical, together with some others, before, but it did
not reach us till three o'clock on the lst—just as The
Sun was going to press. Our very contracted limits pre-
vent us from giving extracts.

MONTHLY REPOSITORY.
The Editor's strictures on that remarkable publication,
the " Diary of the Times of George the Fourth," which
rumour, we know not with what justice, has attributed to
the pen of Lady Charlotte Bury, though severe in the
extreme, are replete with truth. Mr. Leigh Hunt boldly
sets his face against all such scandal and idle tittle-tattle
as are contained in the work in question, and denounces
them in terms creditable to his sense of propriety. We
cannot too highly commend the spirit and temper that have
dictated this earnest diatribe. " A Hymn to Bishop Saint
Valentine" is a lively, rhymed jeux d'esprit, in Mr. Hunt's
most popular manner. It has all the airy and cordial
qualities of his " Feast of the Poets." " A Brief Eulogium
on Snuff" is ingenious ; but snuff-taking needs no culo-
gium. It is a truly classical and orthodox practice ; in
proof whereof, we may instance the well-filled waistcoat
pocket of Dr. Paley, who used to shovel a handfull or so
up his nose at a pinch. Gibbon, too, was a prodigious
snuff-taker, and had it not been for this indispensable sti-
mulant, we might probably never have had " The Decline
and Fall of the Roman Empire." .‘ What great events
from little causes spring !" The poem of " Rosabel" is a
truly graceful production, far superior to the ordinary run
of periodical poetics. Tho Author has sound staff iu Lim--
much fancy, and feeling in proportion. In his manner, he
reminds us occasionally of Wordsworth. But he is no ser-

F vile imitator. " Taylor, the Platonist," is a reminiscence
of a very able and eccentric Greek scholar, who died tin
other day, after having translated all the Greek sophists,
from Plato to Proclus. We take for granted that his
publisher also died of the speculation. Mr. Taylor, like
the late Major Cartwright, was literally a man of one idea
All modern literature he held in the most profound con-
tempt, and spent a long life exclusively in the perusal of
the philosophers of Greece. He scarcely even tolerated
Homer and the dramatists, so incurably wedded was he to
his philosophical hobby. If he met you on a rainy day in
the streets, he would talk to you under his umbrella—
which, by the bye, was as classical as himself, for it re-
minded you of the sieve of the Danaides—about the last
new chapter of Proclus which he had just finished ; and, if
in particular good humour, would promise to read it you—
by way of a treat ! Yet a kinder or more beneficent spirit
than Mr. Taylor never walked the earth. He was as un-
sophisticated as an infant, and could he but have desisted
from seizing you by the button-hole, would have been all
but perfect. The Memoir before us gives some pleasant
anecdotes of this good-natured Platonist, together with
some specimens of his translations from the Orphic Hymns.