The Sun.
London, England, 1849-12-10 00:00:00

SHARPE'S.

Sharpe's London Magazine is certainly one of the
very best periodicals of its kind. The serial tales
which it contains are most excellent and most inter-
esting ; as for instance, " Frank Fairlegh's" tale of
" Lewis Arundel," and the " Story of a Family."
The literary criticisms and miscellaneous articles
are, in their various ways, deserving of commenda-
tion. The " Diary of Mrs. Milton " is drawing
towards its conclusion, but we hope to see it re-
published in another form. The artless pathos and
exquisite naturalness with which this work has been
throughout suffused, have rendered it a favourite with
us from its commencement. The following extracts
give a happy specimen of its character. Mrs. Milton
had left her husband's house and returned to her
father in' the first month of her marriage, and
owing to many misunderstandings, and her father's
instrumentality, she had remained away until a final
separation seemed inevitable. The following extract
records the famous reconciliation :

" LONDON.
" ST. MARTIN'S LE GRAND.—Trembling, weeping,
hopefulle, dismaied, here I sit in mine uncle's: hired
house, al-ine in a crowd, scared at mine owne precipita-
tion, readie to wish myselfe back, unable to resolve, to
It fleet, to pray. . • •
" Twelve at night.—Alle is silent; even in ye latelie
busie streets. Why art thou cast down, my heart? %Nil
art thou disquieted within me? Hope thou suite in 3e
Lord, fur he is the joy and l'ght of thy countenance.
Thou hest becne lung of learning him to be such. Oh,
forget not thy lesson now ! Thy best friund hath sane-
tionrd, nay counselled this step, and overcome alle ob-
stacles, and provided the means of this j.,urney; and to-
morrow 'at noose, if events prove not cross, I shall have
speech of him whom my soul lovcth. To-night let me
watch, fast, and pray.
" Friday; at night. —How awfulle it is to beholde a
man weepe! mine owne tears, when I thick thereon, well
forthe

" Rose was a true friend when she sayd, our prompt
afft•ctions are oft our wise counsellors.' Soe, she sug-
gested and advised alle; wrung forthe my fathei's con-
sent, and sett me on my way, even putting money in my
purse. Well for me had she beene at my journey's end
as well as its beginning.
"'Stead of which here was onlie mine aunt; a slow,
timid, uncertayn soule, who proved but is broken reed to
lean upon.
" Sue, alle I woulde have done aright went crosse, the
letter never delivered, )e message delayed till he had left
home, sot that methought I shoulde goe craze.
" While the boy. stammering in.his lame excuses, bore
my chafed reproaches ye more humblie because he saw
he had done me some grievous hurt, though he knew
not what, a voice in ye adjacent chamber in al'ernation
with mine uncle's, drove the blood of a suddain from
mine heart, and then sent it back with impetuous ru,h,
for I kilt w the accent: right well.
" Enters mine aunt, allo flurried, and hushing her
voice. Oh, niece, he; whom you wet of is here, but
knoweth not you are at hand, nor in London. Shall I
tell hitn ?'

" But I gasped, and held her back by her skirts;
than, pith a sudden secret prayer, or cry, or maybe,
wish, as 'twcre, darted up unto heaven for assistance, I
took Doe thought what I shoulde speak when confronted
with him, but opening ye door between us, he then
standing with his back towards it, rushed forth and to
his feet—there sank, in a gush of tears; fur not one
word coulde I proffer, nor soe much as look up.
" A quick hand was laid on my head, on my shoulder
—as quicklie removed . . . . and I was aware of
the door being hurriedlie opened and shut, and a man
halting forthe; but 'twas oulie mine uncle. Meantime
my husband, who had at first uttered a suddain cry or
exclamation, had now left me, sunk on ye ground as I
was, end retired a space, I know not whither, but me-
thinks he walked hastilie to and fro. Thus I remained,
agonised in tears, unable to recal one word of 3e humble
appeal I had pondered on my journey, or to have
spoken it, though I had known everie syllable by rote;
yet not wishing myself, Even in that suspense; shame,
and anguish, elsewhere than where I was cast, at mine
husband's feet.

" Or ever I was aware, he had come up, and caught
me to hie breast; thee, bolding me back soe as to look
me in ye face, se) d, in accents I shall never forget,
" Much I coulde say to reproach, but will not
Henceforth, let us onlie recal this darks passage of( our
deeplie siufulle lives, to quicken us to God's mercy in
affording us this re-union. Let it deepen our penitence,
enhance our gratitude.'
" Then, suddsinlie covering up his face with his hands,
he gave two or three sobs; and for some few minutes
coulde not refrayn himself ; but when at length he un-
covered his eyes and looked down on me with goodness
and sweetnesse, 'twas like the sun's cleare shining after
raine. . . ."

The, concluding entry in the Diary is of peculiar
melancholy, redeemed from gloom by the beantiful
Christian spirit which it reveals :
" I feel pleasure in being housewifelie; and reape tbo
benefit of alle that I learnt of this sorte at Sheepscote.
Mine husband's eyes follow me with delight; and once
with a perplexed yet pleased smile, he sayd to me,
• Sweet wife, thou aft stranglie altered ; it seems as
though I have indeedo lost ' sweet Moll' after elle I"
" Yes, I am indeed changed; more than he knows or
coulde believe. And he is changed too. With payn I
perceive a more stern, severe tone occasionallie used by
him; doebtlesse the cloke assumed by his griefe to hide
the ruin I had made within. Yet a more genial! influ-
ence is fast melting this away. Ageyn, I note with payn
that he complayns much of his eyes. At first, I observed
he rubbed them oft, and dared not mention it, believing
that his tears on account of me, sinfulle soulel had made
them smart. Soe, perhaps, they did in ye first instance,
for it appears they have been ailing ever since ye year I
left him; and over-studdy, which my presence mighte
have prevented, bath conduced to ye same ill effect.
Whenever he now looks to a lighted candle, he sees a
sort ot iris elle about it; and, this morning, ho disturbed
me by mentioning that a to:al darknesse obscured
feared,
thing on ye left side of his eye, and that he even feared,
sometimes, he might eventuallie lose ye sight of both.
•In which case,' ho cheerfully sayd, • you, deare wife,
mu.t become my lecturer as well as amanuensis,. and
content yourself to read to ma a world of crabbed book!,,
in tongnea that are not nor neede ever be yours, seeing
, that a woman has ever enough other own I'

" Then, more pensive e, he added, I discipline and
tranquillise my mind on this subject, ever remembering,
when the epprehi.nsion I.:acts me, that, as man lives
not by bread alone, but by everie word that prcceeds
out of the mouth of God, so man likewise lives not by
iyht alone, but by faith in the giver of sight. As long,
therefore, as it shall please him to prolong, howevir
imperfectlie, this precious gift, soe long will I lay up
store agaynsto the days of darknesse, which may be
many; and whensoever it shall please Him to withdrawe
it from me altogether, I will cheerlully bid mi❑e eyes
keep holiday, and place my hand trusttullie in His, to
be led whitbersoever Ile will, through the remainder of
fe.'"