The Sun.
London, England, 1838-08-02 00:00:00

to the reader, when, in truth, be peruses the article
only for the hope of obtaining a general notion of
them by that very perusal. The picture which is
given of Stilling i 3 an interesting one, his character
having throughout his life been marked with the grave
simplicity which belonged to it in childhood, and of
which the following little extract is a fair specimen :
" Henry was about eight years old. He sat in a chair
and read a book, looking, as was his fashion, very serious ;
arid I believe in honesty that up to that time of he had
never yet indulged in anything worthy the name of a laugh.
Stabler looked him in the face and said, Henry, what ai e
you doing there so seriously?' lam reading. Have
you learned to read so young ?' Henry looked him in the
face, expressed surprise, and said, That is surd:, a fool-
ish question ; am I not a man ?' and straightway he began
to road aloud with great fluency, giving at the same time
the proper emphasis and expression to every word.
Stah!er was astonished. May the devil take me (said
he) if I ever saw the like of that !' When Henry heard
this oath he sprang -suddenly up, trembled, and looked fear-
fully round. When, however, he saw that the Devil did
not make his appearance, he said, God, how gracious
art thou !' Turning then round to Stabler, he said,
Man, bast thou seen Satan ?'—‘ No !' replied Stabler.
Then never call on him again,' said Henry, and went into
another room."

There is an article on the " Menioirsof Queen Hor-
tense," an amusing sample of that historical gossip
which idle people love to read, in the self-complacent
persuasion that they are " studying." But those por•
tions of the present Number which we think are likely
to excite the greatest attention are three articles upon
the novels of the Italians, the naval romances of the
•

French, and (most unlooked-for of all) the poetical
and dramatic works of the Dutch. The genius of
Walter Scott, impregnating the liturature of his age,

gave an historical, or at least a legendary, character to
the productions of fiction, and to the taste for it,
throughout a great part of the civilized world. Histo-
rical novels appears to have become especially popular
in Italy. One of the most successful of these is the
" Duca d'Atene," of Tommaseo ; written, if not ex-
actly upon the model, yet probably upon the impulse,
of " Quentin Durward." The outbreak of the Flo-

rentine insurrection in July, 1313, against the Comte
de Brienne, the titular Duca d'Atene, who had con-
trived to invest himself with a kind of perpetual dicta-
torship of Florence, and whose minions had abused his
power by all the profligacies inciden t to arbitrary rule,
is sketched by Tommaseo in a spirited manner, of
which the Reviewer gives a full extract. We select the
following passages of the narrative :
" About sunrise a tumult arose in Porta San Piero ; an
apprentice first commenced screaming from his shop-door to
a neighbouring apprentice,' We are now not Florentines,
but Frenchmen, I tell you, having a French ruler ; he who
calls himself a Florentine is a traitor." Who denies it ?'
cried the other, with the full strength of his lungs. We
are Frenchmen ; I well know that !" Thou'rt flouting
me, and dost not speak as thou truly thinkest,' replied the
first ; ' and thou liest in thy throat.' And I tell thee
that Florence is no Florence now, and that thou'rt a
scoundrel—the very refuse of Porta San Piero.' From all
sides the people flocked to the scene of strife. Lower down
in Niercato VecchiO two blackguards got up another quarrel.
Thou grumblest,' said the one, because wine is dear ;
and I tell thee, the dearer wine is, the better it relishes,
and cheers without getting into the head, and leaves us
free to think of the mercies of our Lord the Duke.' To
which the second replied, Who denies the Duke's mer-
cies ! Villain, would'st set me at loggerheads with Giulio
d'Assisi (The bargello, or head of the police). I'll
have a bout with thee first.' And grappling each other,
they rolled together in the kennel. The noise attracted
a crowd. When, hark ! a cry of To arms !' burst from
one of the nearest houses. Some shops are already closed,
and the owners hurrying along, shouting, To arms I'
Other tradesmen are precipitately shutting up theirs ; arti-
ficers and labourers run each to his own ward, whilst a few
companies, some mounted, others on foot, impetuously
scour through the town. Men in the streets call forth
their comrades who had remained at home. Cries hurtle
in the air like arrows in battle. Banners with the arms of
the people, a cress gules on a field argent, some with, some
without, the reged portcullis, waved from the mansions of the
noble and the citizen, and even from the meanest hovels.
The red lily, too, was there ; whilst the Duke's banners
were thrown down and dragged by a rabble of boys through
the filth and blood from the slaughter-house, with cries of
Death to the Duke and his minions." Long live the
people and Commonwealth of Florence.' One thou;ht,
that of mutual assistance, filled every mind. From the
windows the women loudly reiterating the cries of Death !'
and Long life!' threw one a 'flag, another a spear, to
husb.ind or to father. Otheri knelt to pray, but inter-
rupted their devotions to chorus from their windows
the cry of Death! death !' The streets were instan-
taneously thronged with people, active as ants expecting
rain. The Duke's soliicrs armed hastily at the sound of
the tumult, and hurried to their posts. The best marks-
mea thronged the windows of the palace, the horsemen the
piazza below. But many were made prisoners on their
way thither ; one was intoxicated ; the right foot of an-
other was grappled by a boy, whilst the left was already in
the s'irrup ; others were set upon unawares, bound, and
and stripped of their splendid armour. One Burgundian
giant, his shield covered with a tiger's skin, brandishing his
huge spear, and uttering terrific threats, routed all before
liim ; but a tanner, armed with a scythe, came behind, and
aiming at the joint of the armour between the head and
the neck, cut right through. The body fell to the left.,
the spear to the right, and the head, in its helmet, spun
amongst the horses' feet. Two fair twin youths, reared
under the joyous sun of Provence, covered with gold-
, pointed and beautifully-carved shields, and mounted on
white mares, were galloping with unclosed visor:, when
two arrows struck them, and they fell dead at the same in-
stant. The womea set up a cry of pry ; but two of the
populace, catching the flying mares, exclaimed, Thanks
to the good Duke for the gift ! Oil ! the Florentine
people for ever!' "
The French naval romances, of which the Reviewer
treats at some length, are all by Eugene Sue, an
author who steers in the wake of the American no-
velist Mr, Cooper. The adventures of 13tnoit, a
slave-trading Captain, are sketched with great power,
and extracted; very fully in the Review, but we can
spare space for only a part of them. After a violent
storm, in which he describes, but escapes from, a sus-
picious sail, Benoit reaches the Fish River on the
western coast of Africa, where Van flop, a Dutch
jobber in slaves, introduces him to a King of the
Great Namaquois, who has prisoners of war to dis-
pose of.
" King Taroo, seated majestically upon a table, with his
legs crossed like a tailor, was smoking a huge rape. Ile
was an ill-looking negro of about 40, arrayed in full state ;
p7oudly surmounted by an old three-cornered cocked hat
with narrow copper lacing, and bearing, by way of all-
garment, a large cane with a silver heal, and a rag of red
cloth which scarcely sulEced for propriety."
During the negotiation the African continued to
scour his intellects with ruin ; and by the time the sale
was concluded tumbled down dead drunk.
" It is unnecessary to say, that the negroes allowed
themselves to be led, hoisted, chained on board, in stupid
insensibility. Not: imagining any other object for their pur-
chaser than that they were to be eaten, they exerted their
utmost courage to remain passive. Before weighing anchor
M. Benoit had a fair distribution made of salt fish, biscuit,
and water, with a little rum. But they would scarcely
touch it, far the blacks, it is well known, remain generally
the first five or six days of the voyage almost entirely with-
out eating, and it is then that mortality is greatest among
them."
Benoit had not got far to sea with his cargo, when
he was brought to by a cannon-shot from a vessel,
which hailed him, through her trumpet, with " Brig,
a-boy I send a boat with the Captain on board." No
answer being returned by Benoit, who was in an un-
comfortable state of hesitation, the stranger, through
the trumpet, repeated in the same style, " Brig, a-Foy,
send a boat with the Captain on hoard." And a
match was seen burning on the stranger's gangway.
Benoit now began to pour forth questions and answers
of his own, thus
Schooner, ahoy! where are you bound from ?'—
What do you want with the Captain ? why don't you
hoist your flag ? what countryman are you ?'—' I am
French ; I am from Nantes, for Jamaica ; -I have not
fallen in with anytbing.' The schooner's speaking trumps t,
the huge mouth of which was pointed to them the whole
time, bore with this volley of questions ; and after a mo-
ment's silence, repeated, in the same style, the same words,
• Brig, ahoy ! send a boat on board with the Captain,' and
the explosion of a cannon, which injured no one, concluded
the speech by way of peroration. The dog! is he bam-
boozling?' said Benoit ; Caiot, let dawn the yawl, and
four men in her.'—' Look out, Captain,' said Caiot, ' she
has to me the look of a pirate.'—' Why the d— should he
touch me ;he wants water, perhaps, or stores. Who ever
heard of a pirate touching a slaver Perhaps—the boat
is ready, Captain,' and the unfortunate Benoit got into it
half dressed, without arms, or a hat, just as the accursed
speaking trumpet repeated once more in the same style the
same words, Brig, ahoy! send a boat with the Captain
aboard.' "

_ .
Benoit, as he comes on board, is a little re-assured