The Sun.
London, England, 1841-07-01 00:00:00

FRASER'S MAGAZINE.

Fraser opens this month with a prose essay under the
comprehensive title of " The Age .we Live in." The
essay is ingeniously reasoned, and defines the character
of the age as being neither classic, romantic, nor utili-
tarian, but a union of all three. This is not the case.
The tendency of the present day is decidedly to utilita-
rianism. Faith is no longer in request, works are every-
thing. The imaginative, to which we were so passion-
ately addicted twenty years sinca, has lest its charms ;
we are now all for the practical and the matter-of-fact.
But perhaps the leading feature of the age is its hurry-
skurry character. Our chief desire is, not that a thing
should be done well, but that it should be done quickly.
The "go a-head" principle is all in all with us. To
succeed in whatever we undertake, we must rattle along
at railway speed. There must be no halting—no taking
time to consider and weigh our progress ; we must tear
along, straight onward, unfalteringly to the end. Even
in the more solemn business of legislation, we require
nothing so much as rapidity of movement, and hence
the contempt into which so many of the more cautious
Tories have fallen, as slow, formal twaddlers, who do not
understand the temper of the times in which they live.
The subjoined remarks are as just in principle, as they
are neat and concise in expression

It's an Age of Travel then—the levelling and locomotive
principles combine. It the press works the steam-engine, the
strain-engine works the press ; and we all think the more we
shall see and understand each other, the more likely we are to
find out error ; the age of travel, then, calls itself the age of
truth. But this is as great an error as any of the rest ; truth
lies more in solitude than society ; but truth lies every where,
if we only seek it; the leaves of the forest unfold it—the stars
of the sky give it out—the waves of the sea purify each other
as they run over the clear, cold sands. Yes, there is truth
every where ; and there is truth in man, though man is a mys-
tery ; and there is enough of truth for us every where, and
enough for our happiness, though not our knowledge. But we
must travel—we must roam every where—we are restless,
over-fatigued, over-excited—we hate simplicity—we are like
those tossing on their beds after the night's fever, and seeking
fresh excitements in proportion to our debility and our de-
bauch. Well, these we get in travel—we pretend to benefit
by it—we see nature in her largest scale, and we think on
nature lies truth. So it does, but how do we get at it?
How does all this operate? How is the age affected? For
this, after all, is the question. Take fifteen out of twenty tra-
vellers that we sec every day, and ask them, are they happier,
or wiser, or more virtuous for their travels? Who goes abroad
for such old-lashioned purposes? Who brings with him from
the old bright lands the oldbright lessons they inculcate? Ask
him who has trodden the snows of Zembla or the sands of
Senegal—ask him who has traced the Caucasus or tracked the
Pyramids, how far has he turned to good account all his wan-
derings ; how far has he imbibed that healthful, moral feeling,
which the spirit of right travel imparts, and which, in enabling
us to compare other countries shows the blessings of our own ?
But no matter, we must all be travellers.
" Stories of Science" are a series of humourous poems
rhymed after the rattling, dancing Ingoldsby fashion.
The " Condemned Cells" contain a striking story of an
approver. The scene is laid in Newgate. We like this
series of tales, for they have all a useful moral purpose
in -View, and do not—as has been too much the case of
late—throw a false halo round the head of vice. The
writer's remark that in many cases of public executions
" the wife and children of the offenders are the only par-
ties really punished," is a sad fact that there is no im-
pugning. The " Three Great Epochs" is again re-
sumed, but the story has lost much of the interest that
attached to the earlier Parts. The Life and Writings
of Dean Graves" is a tame, heavy article. The " Greater
and Lesser Stars of Pall-mall" furnish us with some re-
miniscences of the execrable Judge Jeffries, and the still
more execrable Colonel Kirke—of whom old Pepys has
given such a graphic account in his delightful Diary of
his Residence at Tangiers. We consider Kirke to have
been, without exception, the most finished miscreant
that ever wore the form of humanity. "On Men and
Pictures" is a diverting account, half-critical, half-quiz-
zical, of some of the more modern French paintings.
The Number closes with some account of the recent
Sayings and Doings of the Scotch Non-Intrusionists."

of the " Blue Belles of Eng-
land The eighteenth chapter
METROPOLITAN MAGAZINE.
a sentimental cavalier,
i‘ir.lto" iinfetr,
who et9h;
eraesaadnetrp
arle among those ceru-
leantneieckdeorf time, the
the
dolce lingua of his tongue. He forms one of a party at
ladles by adoring the divinity of Tetrarch, and the
that fastidious lady's, Mrs. Gardener Stewart, and almost
entrances
leCnroynsmtatlnretie,mlv)rutnitabkaets,
gal'ant ainvetit;
questionable answer to which will be developed next
August, The " Irish Barrister" takes " Mr. justice
I3urton" for his study this month, and, with his usual
judgment, limns out his character clearly.
, The Judge
was a sound lawyer. Stanley's continuation of the
" squire of River Hill" forms a thoroughly dark picture,
like Alc)ilk LPWIS's loaends. A shrewd vein of satiricism
.And sport runs through " Forty-one tons of Indigo."
The humour of the tale turns upon a large drysalteez
mistake of a Scotch chandler's letter, ordering to be re-
mitted to him "forty-one pons weight of indigo." In-
stead of " pons, i 071.9 are shipped to the worthy Donald,
whose sagacity in the Cue turns the mistake to most
admirable account. Was there ever such a thing as a
misogynist ; they say Euripides was one, but his beauti-
ful Alcestes belies it, and we do not see that the author
of the " Woman-hater" strengthens the mal-doctrine a
with. The " Stolen Kiss" we leave to Secundus. There
is a sweetly-drawn picture of " The Young Member's
Wife"—art,
perhaps, tfaa painfully true. A fiery spirit
sweeps through the " Memoirs of an Italian Exile,"
and a bold, bright pen indites them. " Mr. Marrable's
Management" is about as well managed by its author, as
Mr. Marrable manages his own affairs,

DUBLIN UINIVERSITY MAGAZINE.
The worst feature in this periodical is its desperate
Toryism. In the political diatribe headed the " Crisis,"
this spirit breaks out in most intemperate style. We
are told of " the diabolical wickedness of the wretched
InPn who new hold a convulsive grasp of the reins of
power," just as if the Tory faction, for whose delight
and edification such coarse Billinsgate language is used,
were in themselves spotless and immaculate 3 The
Whigs may not be all that their best friends could
desire them to be, bvlt compared with their opponents,
they are pi,odigies of patriotism. Think of the system
pursued by the Tories during the days of Pitt, Perceval,
and Castlereagh ; think of their Gagging Bills ; of
their huge standing armies ; of their unVenchable love
of taxation ; of their Test and Qorporotion Acts, Peter-
loo massacres, &o. tuihi4sseti reader think of
those things, and be will be not a little astonished at the
perverse, anti-national spirit that could prefer a Tory to a
Whig Government, "Charles O'Malley, the Irish Dra-
goon," dashes forward at his usual rollicking, slap-dash
pace. Some of the military reminiscences recorded in
the present chapters of this clever blographyl des.NIT
high praise for their liveliness and
,tgr4l.'bi? P, etv.CY C'f 41;
scription. " Our 1 ortrait er.y • e its this month
a balf,lolsrth portrait &title pres Ont Lord Chief Justice

There are two or three sprightly prose sketches in
the present Number of this periodical ; and among
them is one on " The Miseries of Moving," which is
evidently penned by one who is well acquainted with
the troubles and annoyances—whose name is legion—
of moving a whole house full of children and furniture
from one domicile to another. The " Continuation of
Coleridge's Christobel"—a perilous experiment—shows
some poetic promise. but it is much too lengthy, and
occasionally the diction is verbose and inflated. The
" Tendency of Public Opinion in the Nineteenth Cen-
tury" is the production of a thoughtful observer of the
times. • " Extracts from the Diary of a Country Clergy-
man" would have read with more spirit if it had been
less diffuse in manner. Some of the descriptions are by,
no means amiss. As a sample of the poetry of fns
Number we quote an Address to a Child, which is i;rom
the pen of Mr. O'Briun :
The year like thee is young, love,
And mid its vernal bowers,
Thou seera'st the sweet spring's fairy,
The genius of its flowers.
With beauty on thy brow, love,
And gladness in thy smile,
Thou art blooming with the fair
buds
Of thy native northern isle.
The roses thou has culler', love,
Where the honey ,"lekers sip,
In fragrance scare, excel, love,
The coral of 'thy lip.
Though summer birds are singing
In many a joyous tone,
Each lisped word of thine
Has a music of its own.
Mid Nature's fairest works, love,
l'hy‘lrlros.cope be cast,
Tb" ate as calmly bright, love,
Thy future like the past.
No happier fate I wish thee;
And thus from hour to hour,
Still may the bud's sweet promise
Expand into the flower. _