The Sun.
London, England, 1841-11-01 00:00:00

us• the well-known phrise, he was always "'perfect as
an angel in his part"—could play one character quite as
well, as another—was never too late at a rehearsal—was
quite an authority in character wigs—acted dummy ba-
ronets and virtuous broken-hearted fathers with all the
legendary proprieties,—and, indeed, cast an unusual re-
spectability about that very equivocal theatrical abstrac-
tion—general utility. Yet, with all these advantages,
Smoakly was discharged—ay, ignominiously thrust
forth from the boards of Gag. We hope that the reador
will have curiosity sufficient to 'seek the wherefore. We
will tell him. Smoakly, with all these excellencies, fell
a victim to the letter b. In one of Gag's hardware, do-
mestic tragedies—one of those touching dramas written
with the juice of onions, which the manager had fami-
liarized to the sensibilities of the town, Smoakly had
one of those important characters, the very importance
of which very often consists in saying next to nothing.;
the less that there is to be said of course requiring the
greater condensation of genius to make the little striking.
Smoakly acted upon this obvious principle. The part
was lead, but there was one line in it, which the actor
by the very- alchemy of emphasis was deterwined to
transmute into virgin gold. The incident was briefly as
follows :—The scoundrel of the drama was about to kid-
nap the rightful heir of some very extensive Hungarian
estates, when the bold, good man, intrusted to,Smeakly,
opportunely enters, and in energetic speech addresses
the culprit—
" up the baby !"
was the powerful line intrusted to Smoakly, who had
merely to utter it, draw his sword, stamp with his right
foot, and fixing himself in an attitude, wait for the ap-
plause. Sinoaltly, however, was not content with the
simple energy of " baby" as spelt by Johnson, but striv-
ing to wreak the intensest passion on the word, exclaimed
• " Villaindeliver up the bobby !
Upon ordinary occasions.Smoaltly's improvement of the
.syllables might have passed of unnoticed by Gag's audi-
ence ;. but, unfortunately, it was. Saturday night, and
there being present a number of gentlemen of the Hebrew
persuasion, the auditory were correspondingly critical ;
hence Smoakly's Gabby was received with a burst of
laughter altogether destructive of the intended pathos of
the scene. Smoakly was on the instant discharged,
Mr. Bajazet Gag not condescending to listen to the high
authority of, Shaltspeare himself, which Smoakly sought
to wrest to his own extenuation. " Doesn't Shakspeare
make Marc Antony say,
This was the most unkindest cut of all ?'

the whole passage - betrays gross ignorance:
.Mignet, in his philbsophical history of the Re-
;volution, expressly states that Brissot possessed
.great activity of mind, and an accurate and ex-
tensive acquaintance with the situation of foreign
Powers; and Lafayette, who knew him well,
and of all his contemporaries was the least likely
to uVerrate bears direct testimony, in hie
.Memoirs, to :his.talents as a politieian,:and his
skill as a journalist. -= As for his being the only
man of. his party who could be depended on,
this is ridiculous, and proves how utterly
unacquainted 'Bentham was with the dm-
meter of the Girondists. Roland and Vergniaud
were at least as trustworthy, if not more so, than
Brissot, and this was the general opinion at the
`time. .";Luigia Sanfelice" is] an affecting story,
founded on facts and referring to the period of
the overthrow of the Neapolitan Constitution by
the Frerl'eli Republicans. " Violet Hamilton" is
concluded, and reads off lightly and trippingly
to.the last. " Chapters on English Poetry" ana-
lyze the poetical character of Shelley with much
force and subtlety. . The " Student-Life of Ger-
many" is one of the few dull reviews we have
met with in Tait; but this, perhaps, was un-
avoidable from the nature of the subject. It is
impossible, as the old adage says, to make a
silk purse out of a sow's ear. The " Old Man's
Melodies," is 'a poem so sweetly and simply ver-
sified, that we cannot resist the temptation of
quoting it entire :-
0 the blossoms of youth, and the blighting of years !
How dreary the garden of promise appears !
II& vainly I look, when with age clouded o'er,
For the smiles and the• voices that met me before.!
But lives in my bosom the feeling, as young,
That then to the flowing of 'melody sprung,
When youth's careless bounding was saddened away
By the Flowers of the Forest, and Auld Robin Gray.
I have heard them at home, by the hearth and the bill,
When night winds were dreary, or evening was still ;
I have heard them afar on the deep's Mighty breast,
And their melody moaning in woods of the West.
In a land where the music of mine is unknown,
'Tis there I'm a stranger, and there I'm alone ;
lint there's home in a tune, if the tune that they play
Be the Flowers of the Forest, or Auld Robin Gray.
There is trumping in war---,There is piping in peace—
There is music for mirth, and for sorrow's increase—
There's-a song for the young, merry-hearted, and bold,
And, blest be its music !—a tune for the old.
And in age I have friends that will listen with me,
Nor boast from the power of sweet sounds to be free,
But sadly be solaced, at life's closing day,
By the Flowers of the Forest, and Auld Robin Gray.

and doesn't Shakspeare there mean to show that the
passion of the part is too great, too swelling, to be con-
fined to the vulgar bounds of grammar ? Did you ever
hear a man in a rage care about talking grammar ? Do
you think if you saw a ruffian running away with' your
child, you'd pause to pick out baby from babby ? No,
Sir, the more wrong you were, the more you'd show
yourself in earnest. What't pronunciation to feelings ?"

FRASER' S MAGAZINE.
In -the statements respecting the battle of Wa-
tcrloo, which form the first article in the Num- .
Tier before us, the writer endeavours to prove -
that the French army was more numerous •by
some thousands than- the English. He labours
bard to establish this point, and will no doubt
find many readers willing and eager to be con-
vinced of the truth of his arguments; but the
fact we believe to be, just what Sir Walter Scott
and other historians have 'stated—namely, that
the two armies were pretty equally matched in
point of numbers. It must not be forgotten,
however, that the very flower of the Imperial
troops were present at the action—tried veterans,
whom the peace. had restored to France, and
who had distinguished thethselves in most of the
great battles of Napoleon ; consequently, our
victory over such,men cannot be too highly ap-
preciated. In one of his assertions, which he
repeats more than once, the writer is decidedly
in error. He states emphatically that the " battle
commenced at twelve o'clock." Now this is not
the case, for the Duke of Wellington himself—
who may be presumed to be pretty good autho-
rity—declared, when applied to on the subject
by more than one military man, that, to the best
of his recollection, the action commenced about
ten. • The next article is a biographical memoir
of Theodore Hook, from which we extract a
paF.isqgt, or two :
Mr.' -look's memory was always miraculous. When
about eighteen he undertook for a wager to repeat the
names and trades upon the shop-fronts situated on one
side of Oxford street, after passing down a certain por-
tion of it. This undertaking he accomplished, failing only
in the due succession of one hOuse. But it being after-
wards observed by one of the party, that Mr. Hook
might possibly have been partially acquainted with the
shops previously, he engaged; after the perusal of the
front page of a newspaper, to rehearse every advertise-
ment that stood in its columns. This he also performed
without a single mistake. Although Mr. Hook had
great animal spirits, he did not possess equal vivacity at
all times ; on the contrary, he was subject, as most men
of genius are, to deep and bitter depressions of mind,
most affecting to witness. Strange to say, of so gifted
and intelligent a being, he was superstitious to a painful
degree. He entertained an implicit belief in superna-
tural agency, and would listen to a ghost-story with a
pallid cheek and. awe-inspired interest. Early in life he
wrote a novel called The Man of Sorrow, in-which this

DUBLIN UNIVERSITY MAGAZINE.
The author of " Charles O'Malley," who is by
far the ablest contributor to this Magazine, con-
tinues his', military reminiscences with a vigour
and vivacity that never sink into tameness. In
his off-hand, dashing mode of narration he re-
sembles Mr. Maxwell; but he has more versa-
tility and less assumption, producing effect with-
out the slightest effort or parade. Indeed the
great charm of his writing is its manly unaffect-
edness. His humour is unpremeditated, and his
pathos is equally the impulse of the moment.
In his present chapters he brings back his hero
to Ireland, poor and discontented, having been
compelled to sell out of the army in consequence
of family necessities. While residing in that
country in a state of unwilling seclusion and in-
activity, the author sets him moralising as fol-
lows—for Charles O'Malley, we should premise,
is throughout supposed to be his own biographer :
Life is marked out in periods in which, like stages in
a journey, we rest and repose ourselves, casting a look
now back upon the road we have been travelling ; now
throwing a keener glance towards the path left us. It is
at such spots as these7remembrance comes full upon us,
and that we feel how little our intentions have swayed
our career, or influenced our actions; the aspirations,
the resolves of youth, are either looked upon as puerile
follies, or a most .distant day settled on for their realiza-
; the friends we che-
rished The principles we fondly looked to, like our guide-
stars,riiled are
are
the scenes themselves
dicmhlan
seem no longer the sunshine and the shade we loved ;
gv.eisdiblea,ednogt
eseeeen;
and, in fact, we are living in a new world, where our
own altered condition gives the type to all around us ;
the only link that binds us to the past being that same
memory that, like a sad curfew, -tolls the twilight of our
fairest dreams and most cherished wishes. That these
glimpses of the by -gone season of our youth should be
but fitful and passing—tinging, not colouring, the land-
scape of our life—we should be 'engaged in all the active
bustle and turmoil of the world, , surrounded by objects
of hope, love, and ambition,. stemming the strong tide
in whose fountain is fortune. -He, lioyever, who lives
apart, a dreamy and a passionless existence, will find
that in the past, more than in the future, his thoughts
have found their resting•place ; memory usurps the
place of hope, and he travels through life like one walk-
ing onward, his eyes still turning towards some loved,
forsaken spot, teeming with all the associations of his
happiest hours, and preserving, even in distance, the
outline that he prized. Distance in time, as in space,
smooths down all the inequalities of surface and,
as the cragged and rugged mountain, darkened
,by cliff
and precipice, shows to the far-off traveller
.but some
blue and misty mass, so the long-lost-sight-or hours lose
all the cares and griefs that tinged them ; and, to our
mental eye, are but objects of uniform loveliness and
beauty.
If there be no decided originality in the above
reflections, yet there is an easy grace and elo-
quence in the manner in which they are ex-
pressed, deserving of high praise. It will be
observed, too, that there is no showing-off of
thought in them. The author lays no more on
his theme than it will bear, but just simply
" says his say " in the first language that occurs
to him. His descriptive powers are exercised in
a way not less creditable to his good sense. We
subjoin a sketch of an Irish sylvan landscape,
which a few hasty but discriminating touches
place vividly before us :
It was a fine evening in May, when, rigging up a
spritsail, I jumped into my yawl, and dropped easily
down the river : the light wind gently curled the crested
water ; the trees waved gently and shook their branches
in the breeze, and my little bark, bending slightly be-
neath, rustled on her loamy track with that joyous bound-
ing mction so,inspiriting to one's heart. The clouds
were flying swiftly past, tinging, with their shadows the
mountains beneath ; the Munster shore, glowing with a
rich sunlight, showed every sheep-cot and every hedge-
row clearly out, while the deep shadow of tall Scariff
darkened the silent river where Holy Island, with its
ruined churches and melancholy tower, were reflected in
the still water. It was a thoroughly Irish landscape; the
changeful sky ; the fast flitting shadows ; the brilliant
sunlight ; the plenteous fields ; the broad and swelling
stream ; the dark mountain, from whose brown crest a
wreath of thin blue smoke was rising,—were all there
smiling yet sadly, like her own sons, across whose lour-
ing brow- some fitful flash of fancy every playing, dallies
like sunbeams on a darkening stream, nor marks the
depth that lies below.
" Whewell's Philosophy of the Inductive
Sciences" is an elaborate notice of a masterly
treatise that has excited the attention of the scien-
tific world in no ordinary degree. The " Por-
trait-Gallery " contains a full-length like-
ness, accompanied by a short memoir, of Co-
lonel Chesney, well-known for his recent
surveys, by order of Government, of the naviga-
tion of the Euphrates. The "Proposal for the Re-
conciliation of the Protestant and Roman Catholic
Churches," howeverkindly and charitably meant,
is, we fear, little better than a visionary crotchet.
Two suns cannot rule in the same sphere, nor
can two antagonist religions ever be brought to
act in harmony with each other in England. As
well might we expect to see two rival statesmen;
or two rival beauties, or—more improbable still
—two rival actors--live together in good-fellow-
ship ! The Catholic Church, always ambitious
of supremacy, cannot forget nor forgive her
being supplanted 'by the Protestant; and the
latter Establishment, well aware of this, .repu-
diates the idea of reconciliation, knowing that it
is hopeless. When Mr. Peter Borthwick shall
fail to clear the House of Commons .by his ora-
tory—when Lord Stanley shall recognise the in-
carnation of patriotism in Lord Mayor O'Con-
nell—when Mr. Horace Twiss shall write a
tragedy that cannot be mistaken for a comedy—
then, but not .till then, will the Protestant
and Catholic churches act in amicable concert
together, as. if influenced by one indivisible
nterest.

weakness was manifest ; and though, as his judgmen
strengthened, he conquered much of this tendency, yet to
the last years of his existence he cherished many of his
-early impressions. As a trivial instance, it may be
mentioned that he never would enter upon any undertaking
of importance, if he could help it, on a Friday. He had,
however, a remarkable insight into the weaknesses and
follies of others, and was not unobservant of his own. He
penetrated into the depths of the most wily; and de-
tected the small intents of little minds with the most
whimsical facility, dragging them from their shallow
hiding places, and laying them bare upon the surface
with infinite humour, to their owner's surprise and dis-
may. He held a professed enmity with what he described
under the expressive head of humbug—every evidence of
which he assailed with all the vigour of his powerful
ridicule, inexorably putting the right names upon wrong
things. It has been observed that Mr. Hook continued
his intimacy and friendship with Mathews, with few in-
termissions, up to the period of the comedian's death.
One interruption, however, there was, which threatened
to be fatal to their futere good understanding. It oc-
curred about the year 1827, when Mr. Hook, in one of
his humorous veins, was irresistibly tempted to work
upon some traditional accounts picked up, of the strolling
players of other days (for the race must have been extinct
before he was born), and to publish their supposed
" sayings and doings" in that admirable series in the
story of Gervaise Skinner.
The " Journal of an Autumn in the Country'
is an entertaining melange of literary anecdote
and gossip, interspersed with brief critical re-
marks. Speaking incidentally of Lord Orrery, the
friend of Swift, the writer compares him to Bos-
welt—a strange comparison, for the immortal
Bozzy is like no author we ever heard of, whe-
ther in ancient or modern literature. He stands
alone—a glorious Unit ! Again, we are told' that
'Warburton greatly resembled Johnson. In his
haughty arrogance, perhaps, he did, but in no-
thing else. Warburton was fond of paradox and
of abstruse theological speculations, which he
pushed at times beyond the pale of orthodoxy ;
Johnson had no relish for paradox, and in matters
of divinity was more orthodox, if possible, than
an Archbishop. Warburton obtained fame
chiefly by his show of erudition, which was
prodigious; Johnson obtained it, less by
his scholarship, which was by no means
extraordinary, than by the innate force of Isis
genius. Warburton had some fancy, but no wit;
Johnson abounded in both. Warburton was in
no respect remarkable for his conversational
powers; Johnson was the most brilliant talker
of his day. 'There were many other points of
discrepancy between them ; but we have no lei-
sure to revert to them, so must hurry on.
"'Budget of a Blue Jacket" is a narrative, penned
by one who was present at the time of the dis-
interment of the ashes of Napoleon, during which
solemn proceeding, we are told, "it is not easy
to paint the emotion of all present. General
Bertrand made an involuntary bound, as
though he were about to throw: himself into
the arms of the Emperor. Many sobbed convul-
sively ; others were sad and silent; but every eye
was moist." " A Chapter on Dogs" is .mart and
lively ; and in. the " History of Samuel Tit-
marsh" we have some satirical particulars of one
or two flash Joint-stack London Companies. We
shall be glad to see Mr.Titmarsh's reminiscences
of his ancestor continued, for they teem with
point and vigour. The last article is on the sub-
ject of the late publisher of this Magazine, whose
character is drawn with a friendly pen, though
nothing is advanced that is not strictly warranted.
Mr. Fraser was, really and truly, a generous
friend to literature ; munificent to those men of
genius who needed his assistance ; social, hospi-
table, steady in his attachments, and possessed of
no ordinary powers of understanding.

is a picturesque account of a
the Highlands of Scotland.
UNITED SERVICE JOURNAL.
" A Three Weeks' Ramble and Cruize in the
Summer r
eo
lf a InBd4, I
a, d
scenes immortalized by the genius of Sir Walter
Scott, so set out for the Trossachs, in the full
Conviction that he was about to behold a sort of
"Arcadian clime. But, alas, for the difference
between fiction and fact! The weather was exe-
crable; the sun invisible; the landscape hid
from view by the grey, ragged, spongy clouds ;
and he was actually compelled to make the cir-
cuit of the " Lady of the Lake's" dominions
under an umbrella, which,_as a matter of course,
turned inside out whenever the rain and wind
were more than ordinarily lively ! " Military
Force of Great Britain," is a very useful statis-
tical article, and put forth just at a fitting season.
(t Anson's xpedition," is passable ; and so is
the account of " Syria during the Campaign
under IVlehemet Ali," although. it adds little to
the public stock of information on the subject.

THE CHURCHMAN.
This periodical, described as " a magazine in
support of the Church," must give the reader a
most unfavourable idea of the establishment
which it would take under its protection. It
accuses other sects and political parties of false-
hoodswithout the slightest foundation; claims for
the Church, though covertly, exclusive loyalty
and piety•, and imputes to what the writer is

THE SUN, LONDON, MONDAY, NOVEMBER, 1 1841.

pleased to call the Whig,-Radical Press state-
ments utterly devoid of truth. Whit Whig-
Radical paper ever represented the Queen as
gardless of the sanctity of the Sabbath, as inat-
tentive to family devotion, and as absorbed with
the pleasures of the Court? Not one. - But
some of the parsons did, to their disgrace as Chris-
tiansand men. Now, if we are to believe this
oracle, they overflow with love to her Majesty.
Tn the first half page the word " love " occurs
ten times, and is understood twenty more, form-
ing the most mawkish piece of silly twaddle that
ever issued from the press. "We love the
Church," says this parson, " but we love like-
wise the Queen. We love the -office of the
'Queen—we love the family—we love the illus-
trious foreign houses—we love the house of
Brunswick, the houses of Cobourg and Gotha—
We love the person of our young Queen—we love
herself for her own charms, her sex—we love
her illustrious consort, and their cherished and
beloved child, the Princess Royal," &c. &c. He
then begips a new theme with this charitable an-
nouncement:—" It is false, wholly false, that
Protestant Conservatives do not love their
Queen." For the peace of society we sincerely
hope that this writer does not represent the
clergy of England.

BRITISH MAGAZINE.
A monthly register of religious and ecclesias-
tical information, parochial history, com-
piled with skill and diligence, and containing,
by way of frontispiece, a map of the diocese of
Chester.