The Sun.
London, England, 1840-03-02 00:00:00

EVENING EDITION

MAGAZINE DAY.

.ILA (7K W 0 OD S MAGAZINE.
The late " Vote of Confidence" debate in the House
of Commons, forms the subject of a whimsical Jere-
miad in the present hlaga. Because the Whigs happen
to be in, and the Tories out, of office, the writer pre-
dicts all sorts of national disasters. " The Corn-laws
are going"—he tells us—" the Land, anti the House of
Peers are falling—Universal Suffrage is in prospect—.
the Church is falling—Christianity expiring—all pro-
perty will soon be common"—and all this, because the
Tories are seated opposite the Treasury bench, instead
of being glued to it, as in the good old times ! So, when
the Minister Roland entered the presence-chamber of
Louis the Sixteenth, without the usual Court costume,
the Master of the Ceremonies, horror-struck with such
an innovation on estabiished etiquette, exclaimed, " All
is lost ; the man has no buckles in his shioes!' But let
Blackwood take heart. Ail is not lost, even though
the Whigs are in office. Have we not a Sibthorp in
the Commons, and n Londonderry in the Lords, to
look sharp after our interests, and see that Ministers do
not ruin us? And shall we despair, while such are our
defenders? Never ! The salutary apprehensions en-
tertained by Lord John Russell for the thunder-and-
lightning phillippics of the Gallant Member for Lin-
coln ; and by Lord Melbourne for the Demosthenic
eloquence of that most gifted of Marquises, London-
d'-'!ry, will be quite sufficient to shield us from the
'horrors so confidently vaticinated by our Tory alarmist.
' Teo Thousand a Year" shows considerable descriptive
power, but the author is a little too exuberant :n his
sketches. He should strive to condense his matter,
which is only weakened by being spread over an undue
surface. We subjoin a favourable specimen of his
manner. Mr. Aubrey, a gentleman of large landed
estates in Yorkshire, is riding over his grounds with his
Ytmeg, sister, Catherine, when they come to an aged,
sapless sycamore, which the Squire is determined to cut
d"o• The order is accordingly given to the stoward
'nd the under-bailiff to get ready the axe, when Kate
thus pleads on behalf of the old tree :
" The sun shone brightly upon the doomed sycamore—
' the axe was laid at its root.' As they rode up the ave-
bnue, Kate begged very hard for mercy ; but for once her
brother seemed obdurate—the tree, he said, must come
down.

drew Remember, Charles,' said she, passionately, as they
it I Poor' Kate,
P
how we've all of us romped and sported under
"a also'
See, Kate, how rotten it is,' said her brother; and
riding close to it, with his whip he snapped off two or three
of itsfeeb'e eilvery-grey branches—'it's high time for it to
come dos n,'
It fills thi, grass all round with little branches, sir,
whenever there's the least breath of wind,' said Waters.
" It won't hardly hold a crow's weight ou the topmost
branches, sir,' said the under-bailiff.
" Had it any leaves last summer ?' enquired Mr. Aubrey.

"I don't Link,' said Waters, it.had a hundred a,

over it.'
" Really, Kate, 'tis such a melancholy, unsightly objec

when seen 'from any past of the quadrangle,'—..turning
round on his horse to look at the rear of the hall, which
was at about eighty yards' distance. 'lt looks such an old
withered thing amongst the fresh green trees around it-_
'tis quite a painful contrast.' Kate had gently urged on
her horse while h, r brother was speaking, till she was close
behind him. ' Charles,' said she in a low whisper, 'does
not it remind you a little of poor old mamma, with her grey
hairs, among her children and gi andchildren? She is not
out of place amongst us—is she 7' her eyes filled with
tears. So d'd her brother's.

" ' Dearest Kate,' said he, with emotion, affectionately
grasping her little hand, you have triumphed I The old
tree shall never be cut down in my time ! Waters, let the
tree stand ; if anything be dane to it, let the greatest care
be taken of it.' Miss Aubrey turned her head aside to
conceal her emotion. Had they beer, alone, she would
have flung her a. ms round her brother's neck."
We have been much pleased with the generous,
healthy sensibility developed in the sentence which we
have purposely marked in italics. It is like one of
those hearty bursts of natural emotion which we so
frequently meet with in the tales of that most cordial of
writers, Walter Scott. The " Plagiarisms of S. T.
Coleridge" is a curious paper, from which it appears that
Samuel could crib as well as others of his fraternity, even
While vaunting his own originality. "On the Mar-
riage of the Queen of England" is a stately lyric by Mr.
Simmons. The sounding and orderly march of some
of the stanzas, especially the third, reminds us of Gray.
There is no mistaking the " fine Roman hand" that
penned the notice of Leigh Hunt's " Legend of Flo-
rence." It is a generous, eloquent criticism by one of
the first poets and critics of his day—need we say we
mean that venerable octogenarian, Christopher North
How eloquent and thoughtful is this passage, which
Jeremy Taylor might have been proud to have written
Indeed, there are few things finer in his sermon on the
" Marriage Ring."

" Ginev-ra exercises the most difficult, the most compre-
hensive, and the most efficacious of all the virtues—pa-
tience; which, for ever inwardly blessing the heart wherein
it broods, for ever keeps effusing outwardly a celestial
calm, of which at times troubled natures are made to par-
take ,hether they will or no, while the war of passion is
subdued into noiseless peace. Did we say for ever?
Nay, there is no perfection beneath the sun, moon, and
stars, aor yet among them ; and even Ginevra's sweet, sad,
seibmissive, and resigned self—a Christian lady indeed—
an Italian Roman Catholic Christian lady—hath not per-
fect patience; and even in her blood, the same being
purely human, we have seen—nor therefore loved her the
less, but the more—that temper could quicken the pulse,
till her pale face for a moment flushed—half-anger, half-
shame, yet not even for that moment without the look of
sorrovr—and then fixed again into its colourless beauty, be-
tokening, though none are to be seen there now, that few
so young had shed such multitudes of unpitied tears.
The law of divorce is different in different countries; but
for eighteen hundred and forty years marriage has been a
holy thing in Christendom, and those whom God bath put
together let no power on earth put asunder—save under
sanction of conscience, the controller and the legislator
whom all the peoples of the earth must obey—in order
that they may not perish but have everlasting life. The
grave, where husband and wife who lived in love come to

lie at last, is their marriage-bed, and its curtains will be
drawn to let in the day. Them death divorces not--
though for a little while there is a survivor among these
our shades. waiting for the reuniting night."
The " Nameless Man" is a tale of the ordinary
Magazine calibre. " Literature in the Jungles" is a
lively review of an oriental sporting periodical. The
introductory remarks on hare-hunting are capital, both
as regards spirit and style. In the poem entitled " Je-
rusalem," we think we can trace the pen of Dr. Croly,
.Whose ornate and emphatic declamation is seldom to he
mistaken. " War with China and the Opium Quer-
t!on" is a common-place article, which calls for no par-
ticular comment.

BENTLEY'S MISCELLANY.
TOM lneoldsby, the richest and oiliest of humourists,
has furnished the present Number of the Miscellany
with one of its choicest articles, in the shape of a
Poem entitled the " Bagman's Dog," which, to say
nothing of its droll imagery, and the singular ingenuity
of its rhymes, contains one or two touches of descrip-
tion, characterised by such earnest feeling, as convinces
us that, were he to turn his attention that way, he
would show to advantage in stern, impassioned narrative.
HiB portrait of the old French smuggler creeping up
stairs, knife in hand, to the chamber of his victim, with
a view to murder him, has a ghastly reality about it,
that chills one blood. We will give, in preference, how-
ever a specimen of Tom's livelier manner
The Sea! the Sea 1 the open Seal—
That is the place where we all viish to be,
Rolling about on it merrily l"
So all sing and say,
By night and by day,
In the boudoir, the street, at the concert, and play,
In a sort of coxcombical roundelay;
You may roam through the City, transversely or straight,
From Whitcchapel turnpike to Cumberland gate,
And-every young Lady who thrums a guitar,
Ev'ty mustaehio'd Shopnian who smokes a cigar,
With affected devotion,
Promulgates his notion,
Of being a Reeer" and child of the 0cean".......
Whate'er their age, sex, or condition may be,
They all of them long for the " Wide, Witte, Sea,"
But, however they doat,
Only set them afloat
In any craft bigger at all tle..n a boat,
Talo, the.ii dohs to 'lie Nore,
Aid u'll see that ilefore
The NVe,s• i" they " Woyage" in has half mode her way
Between Sh 11-Ness Point and the pier at Herne Bay,
Let the wind meet the tide in the sightegt degree.
They'll be all of them heartily sick of " the Sea."
" Guy Fawkes" improves in interest as it proceeds
In the chapters before us we have a spirited sketch
of a chase across that dreary and dangerous swamp,
Chat Moss, over the details of which Ainsworth
lingers, as though he loved his task The incidental
allu•ious to those mos,-lights, the ivies fatui, whicn are
introduced with much skill in this sketch, are lifted up
above the level fl :ts of prose, and rise to the poetic.
The Hlied Girl of Castel Cuille" is an old French
'Pend, sweetly and unaffectedly versified. It is from
the pen of Lady G,orgiana Fullerton. " I zaak Walton
and his Friends" is somewhat too lavish of its paw,
Pries on this inveterateaegler, whose well known Pastoral
hy no means deserses tedieuedtal eulogies which it
to now the fa•mon to bestow. on it. Doubties-, there
ere many grac,.ful Wean sketches in the " Complete
Angler," but, as a whose. the work is tame and languid ;
and its simplicity often degenerates into the mere drivel
°C a good-natured old twaddler. Besides, there is an
air of quiet, methodical self-complacency about it—a
sort of simpering egotism—that rather offends than at-
tracts. If it were not for " Maud the pretty Milk-
maid," and the delightful allusion toy the cuckoo who
" lives in the dead hollow of the hill," the honk would
be intolerable. We doubt much whether old Izaak was
the simple, single-hearted being that his admirers re-
present him to have been. On the contrary, we sus'
Peet that he was a shrewd, sly fellow, with a good deal
o f the worldy sagacity of the tradesman about him, who
took care to select for his associates those who could ad-
vance his interests, and administer to his self ove ; who
had the tact to pet a bishop's sister for his wife, a
young man of rank and fashion for his son-in-law, and
God knows how many prelates for his friends and
'eulo-
gists ! Now your unsophisticated, simple-minded men—
especially if they happen to be of low Origin—seldom
make
connexions like these. It is worldly tact and