The Sun.
London, England, 1849-07-02 00:00:00

BENTLEY.

The "Note Book of a Coroner's Clerk, with which
this number of Bentley commences, gives us the tra-
gical conclusion of the comical adventure recorded in
the preceding number. It should be read attentively
by those witless but not in general evil-intending per-
sons who indulge in what are called practical jokes.
The consequences of a " practical joke," played in the
travellers' room of a commercial inn, were, in this in-
stance, the deaths of two persons, and the ruin—the
irretrievable ruin of many more, including the perpe-
trator of the joke. The author of" Wayside Pictures "
takes us a pleasant trip to Ghent, Courtrai, and
Waterloo. Courtrai has been, as our author says,
shabbily treated in the guide•books, and as
it lies out of the tract of ordinary tour-
ists, is, comparatively speaking, unknown.
Our author, however, has made a discovery which
will henceforth secure for Courtrai a visit from ali

artists and lovers of art. He shall describe it in h i
own words—

" But the one grand thing which has altogether es.
caped notice, and which has thus tempted me to invite
the reader to an excursion of two minutes to remote
Courtrai, is a Vandyk in one of the churches. A
stranger would as soon think of looking for a Michael
Angelo under a paving-stone as for a Vandyk in
Courtrai; yet here is an unmistakeable, veritable' Crucia
fi-xrl
i°'b
detecttha t mhaismtera.t
a HiAnhgaleud is so clearly in it, that
you may
glance. The figure of
the Christ is figs, and the head, and the heads of the
figures all about; but;for Vandyk, in whose great pic-
tures there is always an epic sense of repose, a solemn
purity of treatment, and lofty grandeur of expression,
the composition is more elaborate and crowded than
might have been anticipated. For this reason, perhaps,
people may have passed by this Vandyk, and bought it
a capital picture by some obscure artist, and so left it.
But expend a little time over its:and by degrees you will
find the figures coming alive out of the canvas, and the
various characteristics and modifications of the emotion
in each palpably individualized. Still, there is too much
effort in it, too many arms straining upwards, too much
physical movement; anti one' bannot help regretting,
notwithstanding the melancholy beauty with which the
principal figure is invested, thaVVandyit did not more
strictly follow the suggestions of• his own chaste judg-
ment in a picture which he appears to have entered upon
with a bold conception and more than ordinary enthu-
siasm. No doubt the greatest of his Crucifixions is that
at St. Michael's in Ghent, which, defaced, and retouched
and injured as it is, still retains, like the- 'Last Supper'
of Leonardo da Vinci at Milan, vivid traces of the force,
invention, and originality of the master. His genius
seems to have reached its happiest achievement in that
famous picture, which, spoiled as it
.has been by bung•
ling attempts at restoration, is not so much spoiled, after
all, as Sir Joshua has represented it to be. The ama-
teur of high art will be better able to appreciate its
merits by a peep at this other Crucifixion,' in which the
subject is treated in a different manner, and with greater
variety. After he has seen this picture, he will not
think that he has thrown away an hour or two in the
little excursion by railroad from Ghent to Courtrai."

Mrs. William Kirkland furpishes an excellently
written and admirably intentioned paper, en-
titled, " What Strikes an American in Eng-
land." The aim of the authoress is to smooth
down those asperities which —too often prevent
a cordial social intercourse taking place between
the subjects of her Majesty Queen Victoria and the
citizens of the United States, who visit this " our
tight little island;" a worthy object, and one which
Mrs. W. Kirkland is admirably adapted to carry out.
Sylvanus continues his "Bye Lanes and Downs of
England," and Warren his " Adventures on
the Banks of the Amazon." An ela-
borateisiiiu memoirs obiyrsaEficlinf°eltl'yrienlne‘ge'
Rupert
review of srrabvueron'asn portraitd
trhoee
Cavaliers,f-
cently published
the Prince, from the original painting of Honthorst, in
the Earl of Pembroke's collection, at Wilton. The
illustration of the month is by Leech, to the Note-book
of a Coroner's Clerk. We have, in addition to these, a
classical tale, entitled Cleomenes, a fourth instalment
of the memoirs of Chauteaubriand, some pleasantgos-
sip anent Boulogne, by Maxwell, besides more than
the usual quantity of verse contributions.

DAVID COPPERFIELD. No. 111. By Charles

Dickens.

It is not possible to read this number of bucid
Copperfield without weeping. Those, at least, who
can peruse the last chapter in it, the ninth, without
shedding tears, can never have known what real sor-
row is, or must have had their natural feelings
blunted by misfortune, or can never have experienced
the bitterness of losing those they love, in death. A
more simple, true, or more touching piece of compo-
sition even Dickens himself has never before written.
It is another and most exquisite testimony of the
genius of this great writer; another and most re-
markable proof that the golden wand of the very
highest orders of genius has been confided to his
hand—that wand which can evoke at will either tears'
or laughter, and which constitutes the sceptre exclu-
sively of the " bright particular stars" of literature.
Much as it has become the fashion of late to decry
Charles Dickens, and to depreciate his extraordinary
intellect, such an incident as alb of the death of little
David's mother shows in a sudden gush of emotion
the absurdity of his assailants. When the last number
of the:last work of" l3oz" contains such passages as the
one to which we are alluding, our illustrious author may
well afford to laugh at these who are envious of his
immense reputation. He knows the way, not merely
to the admiration, but to the affection of his reader.
He can command at pleasure those overflowings of the
heart through the eyes which are expressive of a
nobler homage to his great gifts as an author than
the most impassioned panegyric. Chapter VII., "My
First Half at Salem House," gives an amusing por-
traiture of the life of a schoolboy in one of those
suburban academies In the neighbourhood of the
metropolis where " the system" is excessive cruelty,
and where " the Principal " is an ignorant, " hies-
, pable brute," with " no more right to be possessed of
the great trust he held than to be Lord High Admiral
or Commander-in-Chief." Mr. Crealle is just such
a character. Many as are the evils and atrocities
which have already been " put down" in such places
by the writings of Dickens, especially by his account
of the diabolical Yorkshire schools, through the esta-
blishment of Mr. Squeers, and especially again by
his sketch of the ruinous "forcing system" as evinced
in the House of Dr. Blimber, he is here em-
ploying his powers generously for the suppression
of not the least miserable of all the grievances yet
surviving in such regions for the tuition of young
gseelnf tal
ne emend
ehiro. siasrkeui
oell
emnrh,radescribing the
thereupon
ay i
dm
en i ill-treatmentons theof h
habit
ti m-
h is
pcuonttionbgs'e'
ravtintghevberoyysnwaiivtehlyts
fcealnl oe
wore his
" I am confident that he couldn't resist a chubby Loy
especially ; that there was a fascination in such a
subject which made him restless in his mind, until
he had scored and marked him for the day." Une
\
luckiest of all the unlucky little dogs at the school
is poor Traddles—who is described as being dressed
in such a very tight ekyblue suit that it made
this arms and legs look " like German sausages or
I roly-poly puddings." His career proves him to have
I been in truth " the merriest and most miserable of all
the boys." By way of comforting himself after.
being caned or ruler'd, Traddles has a habit of
drawing skeletons all over his slate. Little David
at first seems to have wondered what possible comfort
Traddles could have derived from this operation ;
but after various surmises be comes to the conclusion
that Traddles only drew skeletons " because they
were easy and didn't want any features." On one
day he is described as having been imprisoned so
many hours (after a severe castigation) "that he
came forth with a whole churchyard full of skeletons
swarming all over his Latin dictionary." This was
after the occasion when Steerforth laughed in chmcli,
and Tommy Traddles, wrongfully mistaken for the
offender, was walked out in custody of the beadle,
" despised by the congregation." Mr. Mell is dis-
charged through the medium of a quarrel with James
Steerforth, when Traddles is moved to tears by the
circumstance, and " relieves himself as usual
by a burst of skeletons." Mr. Peggotty and Ham pay
David a visit at the academy, and at the end of six
months the latter goes home for the holidays.
Chapter VIII. depicts, those holidays, " especially,
one floppy afternoon. The description of the meet-
ing between little David end his mother is exquisitely
beautiful—"l spoke to her and she started, and cried
out. But seeing me, she called me her dear Davy, her
own boy l and coming halt across the room to meet me
kneeled down upon the ground and kissed me, and
laid my head down on hsr bosom near the little crea-
ture that was nestling there, and put its band up to
my lips. I wish I had died. I wish I had died
then, with that feeling in my heart! 1 should have
been more fit for heaven than I ever have been since."
Soon afterwards, he says, poor Peggotty " comes
running in, bounces down upon the floor, and goes
mad about us for a quarter of an hour." On the
close of the holidays ,ahich have been effectually made
miserable by Mr. and Miss Murdstone, the poor child
is bundled off again to Salem House. Chapter IX.,
"I have a memorable Birthday," is as yet the gem
of all the chapters of Copperfield. It is written
not
from the head, but from the heart. All of it is
touchingly beautiful—from the moment when Mrs.
Creakle breaks the news to little David that his
mother is dead, and he bursts into "a desolate cry,"
and feels an orphan in the wide world—to
the time when he reaches the Rookery and beholds
"those solemn windows,,,looking blindly on him, like
closed eyes once bright.. llow wonderfully natural
that minute account of the child's grief—where it is
said "It ever child was stricken with sincere grief I
was. And yet Lis thoughts
nhhoeoatuarietn,,t
beonifitti on the calamity
ihatweig`h`
evsd'erueponidhleis;
hidelylitltoleitebraibnyg,noetahrisit
father's
thelie thoughtgrave of,andof
b isa
hundred other things. Then—" I stood upon a chair
when I was left alone, and looked into the glass to see
how red my eyes were, and how sorrowful my face.
I consKlered, after SOME hours were gone, if my tears
were really hard to flow now as they seemed to be, what
in connexion with my loss it would affect me most to
think of when I drew near home—tor I was going
home to the funeral." The account of the mother's
death, and of her little baby's, and of their funeral,
and of David's wretchedness, is, to us, eminently
pathetic, and, from its marvellous truth to nature,
singularly sad and beautiful.

MAKING HAY ON A. RAILWAY.—We have heard
of grass growing in the streeta of decayed towns, but
—sue on hovi ever,is the fact,
edhit', where during the
onnevtehretillilnneofwromonErxiseßtw s
Exeter
raio
Cr
present week haymaking bas been in full operation.
This Me, which was constructed three years since, is,
owing to a dispute between the, broad gangers and Dar-
still unopened for traffic, though there is,
another in the kingdom better situated
rrotow perhaps:
it. gaugers scarcity
General Lahubaudiere died suddenly, aim days
since at Quimper, at the moment when he was getting
into a carriage to proceed to join his family at Brest.