The Sun.
London, England, 1838-01-01 00:00:00

Ziotte of must have occasioned severe throes in the
parturition,

BENTLEY'S MISCELLANY.

Oliver Twist is capital this month—the scene of the
burglary particularly, which is as minute and spirited, and
truil•-like, as anything in Jonathan Wild. The touches
of pathos, too, which are interspersed, here and there,
through the description, reach to the heart's cafe. Our
readers, we arc sure, will thank us for this extract, and
regret only that We have not quoted the entire chapter :

And now, for the first time, Oliver, well-nigh mad with grief and
terror, saw that hous.!breaking and robbery, if not murder, were the ob-
jects of the expedition. He clasped his hands together, and involun-
tarily uttered a subdued exclamation of horror. A mist came before
his eyes, the cold sweat stood upon his ashy face, his limbs failed him,
and he milk upon his knees.
" Get op!" murmured Sikes, trembling with rage, and drawing t! e
Pistol Prom his pocket; "get up, or I'll strew your brains upon the
grass:"

" Oh: for God's sake let me go !" cried Oliver; " let me run away
and die in the fields. I will never come near London—never never
Oh : pray have mercy upon me, and do not make me steal : for the
lore of all the bright angels that rest in heaven, have merry upon me :"
The man to whom this appeal wao made swore a dreadltul oath, and
bad cocked the pistol, when Toby, striking it from his grasp, placed his
hand upon the boy's mouth, and dragged him to the house.
" Hush !" cried the man ; " it won't answer here. Say another
word, and I'll do your business myself with a crack on the h,ad that
makes no noise, and is quite as certain and more genteel. Here, bill,
wrench the shutter open. He's game enough now, I'll engage. I've
seen older hands of his age took the same way for a minute or two on a
cold night."

Sikes. invoking terrific imprecations upon Fagin's head for sending
Oliver on such an errand, plied the crowbar vigorously, but with little
noise; and, after some delay and some assistance from Toby, the shut:
ter to which he had referred swung open upon its hinges.
It was a little lattice window, about five feet and a half above the
ground, at the back of the honse, belonging to a scullery or sma❑
brewing-place at the end of the passage : the aperture was so small
that the inmates had probably not thought it worth while to de-
fend it more securely ; but it was large enough to admit a boy of
Oliver's size, nevertheless. A very brief exercise of Mr. Sikes's art
sufficed to everceme the fastening of the lattice, and it soon stood wide
open also.

" Now listen, you young limb !" whispered Sikes, drawing a dark
lantern from his pocket, and throwing the glare full on Oliver's face ;
`' I'm a.doing to put you through there. Take this light, go softly up
the ttcps straight afore you, and along the little hall to the street-door.
Unfasten it, and let us in."
"French Literary Ladies" is an entertaining essay, of an
easy, gossiping character, calculated to become popular in
a sketchy periodical like the Miscellany. Mr. Hogarth is
the author, a gentleman well known by an elaborate and
scientific history of muric. " A Night of Terror" is a story,
partly translated, partly imitated, from the French. It is
full of interest, which is worked up with much skill, and if
well rendered, would make an effective melodrame. We
recommend Planche to try his practised hand at it.
" Bonomye, the Usurer," is a fiction of the middle ages.
It is a good magazine tale, but not of first-rate merit. One
may lounge away a very pleasant half-hour over it. "A Chap-
ter on Seals" is something after the manner of Leigh Hunt
in the Indicator. In the " Tale of Grammaryc" we have
some lively specimens of versification, though the poem
might have been abridged to advantage. " Dr. Ingoldsby's
Story"—we are glad to see this name again in print—is
told with rare spirit. A lady is dying of a quinsey ; her
heart-broken husband, who sits at her bedside, is pouring
forth his sorrows into the sympathising bosom of a pretty
young friend, of the feminine gentler ; when suddenly, in
the midst of his tribulation, finds—for accidents will hap-
pen in the best-regulated families—his lips pressed close to
those of his affectionate friend. At this inauspicious mo-
ment his wife opens her dying eyes ; and seeing how her
husband is occupied, starts fiercely up in bed, and by the
energy lent her by passion, breaks her quinsey, and is
cured, but not before she has saluted her spouse's sconce
with a whack worthy to have been inflicted by an Irishman
at Donnybrook Fair. This incident is told with singular
humour, and will enliven many a Christmas fire-side. The
moral it holds out too is a useful one—namely, that a
husband should never make love to his maid-servant 'till he
has seen his wife fairly screwed down in her coffin ! The
illustrations to the Miscellany are, as usual, by Cruick-
shank, and are as droll as the very best of his earliest
efforts.