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

SHARP.E' 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 sirs. 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 return(/' 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 seelnei inevitable. The following extract
records the famous reconciliation :

" LONDON.

" ST, MARTIN'S LE-GRAND.—Trembling, weeping,
hopefulle, disusated, here- I sit in miue uncle's, hired
house, alone in a crowd, scared at mine owne precipita-
tion, readie to wish myselfe back, unable to resolve, to
reflect, to pray. . . .
" Twelve at night.—Alle is silent; even in ye lateVe
busie streets. Why art thou cast down, my heart? why
art thou disquicted within me? !lope thou stifle in 3e
Lord, for he is the joy and light of thy countenance.
Thou halt beeno long of learning him to be such. 01),
forget not thy lesson now! Thy -best fri(nd h sane-
tionsd, nay counselled this step, sod overcome age ob-
stacles, and provided the means of this j Aunty; and to-
morrow at noone, if events prove not cross, 1 have
speech of him whom my soul loveth. To-night let we
watch, fast, and pray.
• " Fridly; at night.—How a.wfdle it is to beholds) a
man weepe! mine owne tears, when I thiLk thereon, well
fut the

" Rose was a true friend when she sayd, our prompt
affections are oft our wise coun,ellors.' Son, Ehe sug-
gested and advised elle; wrung furthe my father's con-
sent, and sett mo on my way, even putting money in my
purse. Well for me had she beenc at my journey's end
as well as its beginning.
"'Stead of which here was onlie mice aunt; a slow,
timid, uccertayn sonic, who proved but a brolu n reed to
lean upon.
" Sue, elle I wouldo have done aright went crosse, the
letter never delivered, ye message delayed till he had left
home, soe that methought I shoulde gee crazie.
" 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 h., knew
not what, a voice in ye adjacent chamber in al-ernation
with mine uncles, drove the blood of a suddain from
mine heart, and then sent it back with impetuous rush,
for I knew the accents right well.
" Enters mine aunt, alle flurried, avid hushing her
voice. Oh, niece, he whom you wot of is here, but
knoweth not you are at band, nor in London. Shall I
tell him ?'

" But I gasped, and held her back by her skirts;
then, with a sudden secret prayer, or cry, or ma) be,
wish, as 'tw tre, darted up unto heaven for assistance, I
took noe thought what I sboulde speak when confronted
with him, hat 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; for not one
word coulde I proffer, nor roe much as look up.
" A quick hand was laid on my head, on my shoulder
—as quiLklie removed . . . . and I was aware of
the door being hurriedlie opened and shut, and a man
hasting forthe; but 'twas enlist 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, and retired a space, I know not whither, but me-
thinks be walked hastilie to and fro. Thus I remained,
agonised in tears, unable to recal one word of )e 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 whero I was cast, at mine
husband's feet.

" Or ever I was aware, he had come up, and caught
me to his breast; then, holding me back soe as to look
me in ye face, sayd, in accents I shall never forget,
" Much I coulde say to reproach, but will not
Henceforth, let us onlie recal this darke passsge ofj our
deeplie sinfulle lives, to quicken us to God's mercy in
affording us this re-union. Let it deepen our penitence,
enhance our gratitude.'
" Then, suddainlie 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 ing 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 the
benefit of alle that I learnt of this sorte at Sheepscote.
Mine husband's eyes follow mo with delight; and once
with a perplexed yet pleased smile, he sayd to me,
Sweet wife, thou art stranglie altered ; it seems as
though I have indeede lost sweet Moll' after elle !"
" 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; doubtlesse the cloke assumed by his griefe to hide
_ .

the ruin I bad made withic. Yet a more leniall influ-
ence is fast melting this away. Again, I note with payn
that he complayns much of his eyes. At first, I observed
be rubbed them oft, and dared not mention it, believing
that his tears on account of me, sinfulle soule I had made
them smart. Soe, perhaps, they did in ye first instance,
for it appears they hue 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 Le now looks to a lighted candle, he sees a
sort of iris alle about it; and, this morning, ho disturbed
me by mentioning that a total darkncsse obscured everie
thing on ye left side of his eye, and that he even feared,
sometimes, ho might eventuallie lose ye sight of both.
In which case,' ho cheerfully sayd, you, deare wife,
must become my lecturer as well as amanuensis, and
content yourself to read to me a world of crabbed ook?,
in tongues that are not nor neede ever be yours, seeing
that a woman has ever enough of her own !'
" Then, more pcnsivelie, he added, I discipline and
tranquillise my mind on this subject, ever remembering,
when the opprehcnsion efflicts me, that, as man lives
not by bread alone, but by evorie word that proceeds
out of the mouth of God, so man likewise lives not by
sight alone, but by faith in the giver of sight. As long,
' therefore, as it shall please him to prolong, however
imperfectlie, this precious gift, soe long will I lay up
store agaynste the days of darknesse, which may be
many; and whensoever it shall please Mim to withdrawe
it from me altogether, I will cheerfully bid mine eyes
keep holiday, and place my hand truatfullie in His, to
be led whithersoever He will, through the remainder of
1 ife.' "