The Sun.
London, England, 1849-11-03 00:00:00

ELIZA COOK'S JOURNAL. Vol. I.
Six months having elapsed, the first volume of
Eliza Cook's Journal lies before us completed—a
goodly volume of 416 closely-printed pages of most
entertaining contributions, poetical, anecdotal, and
miscellaneous. Admirably has the accomplished
journalist fulfilled the promises with which she pre-
faced her new adventure in literature. She has our
cordial felicitations. Beyond the verbal felicitations,
however, of her friends and admirers, Eliza Cook
possesses the agreeable consciousness of having secured
the public approbation. Commencing her labours in
the conduct of this charming periodical with diffiience,
she may now proceed with security, familiarized
with the duties of her position, and blending together
in yet more harmonious congruity the effusions of her
very varied and efficient corps of contributors. Al-
though, we presume, unacquainted at the outset with
the peculiar responsibilities devolving upon the con-
ductor of a weekly publication, Eliza Cook, with an
intuitive aptitude, such as might have been expected
from her, has here afforded ample evidence that those
responsibilities have been thoroughly appreciated by
her, and that her appreciation of them has been rapidly
developed. Of this the book before us is
substantial testimony. Number after number of the
Journal has appeared in due succession, each week
yielding alternately the graceful essay, the imagina •
tive narrative, the picturesque biography, or some
metrical composition abounding with natural
imageries and genial sentiment. Exceptions to this
there unquestionably are, but to particularise these
would be nothing less than invidious, seeing that,
comparatively speaking, they are, numerically and
intrinsically, altogether insignificant. What we
must, nevertheless, direct attention to, as constituting
the most prominent characteristics of the periodical,
are the qualities flowing rather from the heart than
from the head, rather from the affections than from
the intellect—its generous tone, its humanizing ten-
dencies, its inculcation of all those nobler and gentler
principles of our nature, to diffuse which is to scatter
abroad a shower of inestimable, benefactions. In her
newly-assumed character, Eliza Cook has been true
to her " antecedents "as a poet. Addressing her
readers, not in the ornate apparel of verse, but in the
humble garb of prose—as a journalist—she has
thought of the People. Drawing her inspirations
from Nature, she has thought of the People, she has
written to the People, and for the People, she has
loved the People. It is M. de Lamartine who has
recently said so beautifully—
" I love the people because I believe in God:"
Eliza Cook has experienced the exquisite charms of
that golden truth ; she had recognised its existence
long before it was articulated by the poet-statesman
in those burning words which she might well assume
as a felicitcus motto for her periodical. It is this
affection for the people which has consecrated her
songs in the hearts and on the hearths of the commu-
nity. It is this devotion to the same glorious cause
which is investing her journal with popularity. She
perceives and appreciates the depth and the delicacy,
the eloquence and the earnestness, of those feelings
which are the true lares of home, the true penates of
family, the vitality of society, the soul of the People.
Her nature is the very antithesis, the very antipodes
of that which pervades the gay world in its
opinion of the People—that opinion which Steer-
forth has expressed where he says of them,
"Their delicacy is not to be shocked, or
hurt very easily ; they are wonderfully virtuous, I
dare say . . . but they have not very fine
natures, and they may be thankful that, like their
coarse skins, they are not easily wounded." Such are
the views of many of the tinselled butterflies of the
community. Such are not the views of Eliza Cook,
and to bear them uttered we doubt not would cause
her no less amazement than it did to little David
Copperfield. This, in truth, is the real secret of her
celebrity—the secret of the fame of those simple songs
and ballads which breathe in every syllable a love of
Nature and of the People. With such an inspira-
tion and such a tendency—an inspiration drawn from
Nature, and a tendency towards affection for the
People—Eliza Cook cannot fail to prosper, whether
as a Poet or as a Journalist.

AINS WORTII'S.
The admirers of Mr. Ainsworth's writings will be
delighted with the long instalment of " Guy Fawkes"
in this number. Some of the other contents of this
magazine, more especially the story of " Mike
Doolan," are beneath notice.

BELLE ASSEMBLER.
The Belle Assemblee has this month a beautiful
poem, by its accomplished editor, " The Mother's
Dream." The most attractive of the prose contribu-
tions is one of Elizabeth Youatt's always delightful
essays, entitled " Mental Architecture. We have
all of us, doubtless, more than once lamented our
" Dreams all vanished—joys all blighted,
Hopes 'twere madness to renew,"
and, therefore, we can all appreciate this gentle
teaching—
" Dear reader, if thou bast ever withdrawn, or art
now withdrawing thyself from the sphere of active duty
and domestic fellowship—if thou hast sat, or art sitting
in solitary places, building aiiriel castles that can never
be realised—for you is the warning written, and this
example recorded. Build no more new homes in your
imagination, but rather devote all your energies of mind
to the making bright, and cheerful, and happy that
home which God has given you. Read the following
sweet testimony of a skilful architect, written in old
age.
How many a stately fabric have I built up, and
watched with tears as it fell crumbling away! But I
have lived to say, " Thank God, that it did fall!
Let cue more attest,
I have lived, seen God titre' that lifetime,
Abel all was for best."
" Thank God for evcryuiing. Where he sees best
to ph:co us, that is the bi,st place: where he plants us,
there we shall most thrive and grow. The sun, and
wind, ar:d rain are all good for us. The wayside flower
is often more useful, more heart cheering, than if it had
sprung up in the fairy bowers we so love to picture to
ourselves.

" WU a dreamer from a child. Beautiful dreams