The Sun.
London, England, 1847-12-14 00:00:00

CHARCOAL AND THE DIAMOND

Brains, pont in such a narrow space
That Spirit has no room to stir;
Wills, that where'er may be their place
Scorn only fit to act and err!
We boast the demigod sublime,
We spurn the wretch of baneful mood—
One, linked divinely with " all time,"
Tho other, stamped with " reign of blood."
Strange Alchemy of secret skill!
That thus sends forth in mortal frame,
The gem of Good—the dross of 111, '
Yet both in elements the same.
An angel's glory lights this eye,
A demon's poison fills that breath;
Yet undistinguished they shall lie
Passed through the crucible of Death.
What is the inspiration held?
Where is the essence that refines?
How is the carbon gloom dispelled?
Whence is the jewel light that shines?
* *

The dream was o'er—l started up,
I saw a spreading oak above;
I tried to snatch an acorn cup—
I strove to mock a cooing dove.
I had been weaving idle thought
In cobwebs, o'er my foolish brain,
And so I snapt the warp, and sought
The common thread of life again.
But still methinks this wonder theme
Of Mind debased and Soul divine—
This diamond and charcoal dream,
Might haunt a wiser head than mine.
ELIZA COOK.

CHEAP NEWSPAPERS.
(From the Glasgow Saturday Post.)
A good deal of speculation has been excited in this
city, during the week, by the failure of Mr. Alexander
Alison, jun., the managing partner of the Ayrshire
Iron Company, who was also the principal or only pro-
prietor of some extensive newspaper concerns. We do
not, as yet, conceive ourselves in a condition to state
particulars regarding the affairs of these literary spe-
culations; but if one-half that is reported be correct,
they must have been conducted under a heedless course
of engagements that has not been surpassed in modern
times, and which has seldom been conceived even in the
overdrawn pictures of extravagance that have been
painted by authors of fiction.
The following particulars regarding these concerns
are condescended on by two contemporary publications
of this morning:—
(From the Railway and Shipping Journal.)
On Wednesday last, Mr. Alexander Alison, jun., the
manager of the Ayrshire Iron Company, called a meet-
ing of bis private creditors. It appears he is indebted
to the company about 15,0001., sixteen hundred pounds
of which he drew out on Friday, the 3d instant. On
an explanation being demanded as to how he had dis-
posed of this sum, he stated that he had given 3001. to
his servants, 1501. to his jeweller, 6001. to a relative,
and that he had 2001. in his pocket. What he had done
with the remaining 3501. he could not tell, but he would
try and remember. It appears that he is the proprietor
of Tait's Magazine, the National Advertiser, and a new
daily paper, set agoing about eight months ago, called
the North British Mail, The National is behind 3,000/.
to 4,000/., and the Mail 11,700—that is to say
the loss upon these are the sums stated, with the excep-
tion of about 2,7001. of assets due to them by parties. Toe
Mail, we observe, states that it is to be carried on by
some gentlemen, who have come forward voluntarily to
support it ; but it does not give the names of the fools.
A daily paper to be maintained in Glasgow at a loss of
fifteen thousand per annum, is an "area in our existence,,
as a Glasgow bailie used to say !
(From the Constitutional.)
just A
happened
It appears
ost deplorable exampleoily,
which w
of bubble-bursting
eg
grieve
to
hassee
the character of our profession is concerned.
that
Company a Mr.pAany have given riselison(whosetransact to a very painful
state with theAyrshire
Iron
thede
time ago established state of affairs among
some the partnersiv orNorth
h o
British
concern)
Mail,
a
lately become insolvent, a
daily paper, of which hendwsausheisoitlteedpaarsttnaetre.ment Havingefhis
last, the astounding
about
affairs to a meeting of
fact his
wcarsedai creditors, Wednesdaynocnedthat
this
paper has incurred a loss of 9,0001., all within
the eight months of its existence. It seems the
state of affairs showing this result sets down a sum of
6,000/. odds as owing to a concern called the City Print-
ing Company, for printing the paper; and it turns out
on inquiry that the editor of the paper, who is not a
partner in the paper, is the only partner, excepting the
This
owneris very curi of the paper, of the City Printing Company.
ous.

LIBERAL ANONYMOUS DONATION TO KING'S
COLLEGE HOSPITAL.—At a meeting of the committee
of the above excellent charity, it was stated that the
liberal anonymous contribution of one hundred sove-
reigns had been received in aid of the funds of the hos-
pital—the benevolent donor merely giving the signature
of " A Friend." It was added by the committee that
it WaS chiefly by such charitable gifts that they were
enabled to distribute the blessings of the hospital
amongst the poor of the densely-populated neighbour-
hood, their annual income, from subscriptions and divi-
dends, dends, being under 1,8002, while the expenditure
exceeded 4,0001. The average number ofr
tmpatients
received during the year is nearly 21,500 of
treatment.
eunpt:
, wards of 1,200 receive the benefit of the indoor

(From the Weekly Dispatch.)
WORDS.--" What's in a name?" says the great dra-
matist. " Something—much—every thing." The world
is governed by names, men have been led by names to
destroy one another for centuries; torrents of Wood
have flowed because some could not or would not say
Shibboleth just as others were used to do. "A rose by
any other name would smell as sweet." Yes, it would
smell, but would it sound as sweet? The familiar word
instantly recalls to memory the charming colour, the
delicious perfume, and the graceful form of the queen or
flowers. Such is the effect of association. No wonder,
then, that words are such mighty things, in spite of the
proverbs that teach us that " fine words butter no
parsnips," and that "hard words break no bones." But
proverbs are two-edged swords. Hard words do
break bones, since they impel men to do so. " Gire a
dog a bad name," cell him mad, and you will bang the
quietest spaniel that ever liked beating. Words are
but air, mere breath; but one such as cost many a man
his life, many a king his throne, many a nation its
liberties.
" Charcoal and the Diamond are precisely the same
in chemical formation. Some secret process of crystal
lization alone constitutes the difference between them,
and when passed through a furnace the gem is imme-
diately reduced to mere carbon."—Philosophical Notes.
The green-wood paths were thick and long,
The sunny noontide shed its glow;
The lark was lazy in its song,
The brook was languid in its flow:
And so I sat me down to rest,
Where grass and trees were densely green,
And found dear Nature's honest breast
The same that it had ever been.
It nurtured, as it did of old,
With Lore and Hope and Faith and Prayer;
And if the truth must needs be told,
I've had my best of nursing there.
I sat me down—l pall'd a flower—.
I caught a moth—then let it fly;
And thus a very happy hour,
Perchance it might be two, went by.
A fragment from a fuel stack
Brushed by a hasty Zephyr's wing,
Fell, in its joyless garb of black,
Beside my one dear jewell'd ring.
I snatched no more the censor bell ;
I held no dappled moth again ;
I felt the dreamer's dreamy spell,
And thus it bound my busy brain.
* * • * * * * •
There lies the charcoal, dull and dark,
With noxious breath and staining touch ;
Here shines the gem whose flashing spark
The world can never praise too much.
How worthless that—how precious this,
How meanly poor—how nobly rich :
Dust that a peasant would not miss,
Crystal that claims a golden niche.
There lies the charcoal, dim and low—
Here gleams the diamond high in fame ;
While well the sons of Science know
Their atom'grains are both the same.
Strange Alchemy of secret skill !
What varied workings from one cause I
How great the Power and the Will
That prompts such ends and guides such laws.
Do we not trace in human form
The same eccentric, wonderous mould?
The lustre spirit, purely warm,
The beasnless being, darkly cold?
Do we not find the heart that keeps
A true immortal fire within?
Do we not see the mind that leaps
O'er all the pit-falls dug by Sin?
Do we not meet the wise, the kind,
The good, the excellent of earth,
The rare ones that appear designed
To warrant Man's first Eden birth?
Oh, many a fair and priceless gem
Is fashioned by the hidden hand,
To stud Creation's diadem,
And fling God's light upon the laad.
And do we not look round and see
The sordid, soulless things of clay,
Sterile and stark as heart can be
Without one scintillating ray?
Bosoms that never yield a sigh,
Save when some anguish falls on self—
Hand, that but seeks to sell and buy,
Grow thin and hard in counting pelf?