The Sun.
London, England, 1841-12-01 00:00:00

MAGAZINE-DAY

BLACKWOOD'S MAGAZINE.

In the dissertation on " Homer and the Ho=
meridae" which is here continued from the last
Number, Mr. De Quincey—for we suspect that
he is the author—strenuously contends tor the
" absolute integrity" of the Iliad, in opposition
to the theory of some of the Germancommenta-
tors. It was scarcely worth his while to enter
iat so much length into the question, for it s one
that has been long since set at rest by the com-
mon sense of the learned world ; and indeed no
one can peruse the Iliad with attention, without
seeing that it is throughout the harmonious pro-
duction of a single, vigorous, imaginative, well-
proportioned intellect. The character of Achilles
alone—as the author justly remarks--" has an
ideal finish and a divinity about it, which argue
that it never could have been a fiction, or a gra-
dual accumulation from successive touches. It
was raised by a single flash of creative imagina-
tion, it was a reality seen through the har-
monizing abstractions of two centuries; and it is
in itself a great unity which penetrates every
section where it comes forward, with an identifi-
cation of these several parts as the work of one
man." In Mr. Aird's " Churchyard Eclogue"
there are „some striking thoughts, and a power of
versification that proves the author to have a
true ear for the various melody of rhyme. " Phi-
losophic Nuts" is a clever sarcastic notice of a
work lately published under this quaint title. In
some of its passages we think we can detect
traces of the manner of Christopher North,
whose versatile and vigorous pen has been most
unaccountably idle for several months. "Sketches
of Italy" will amuse those who are casilypleased,
but the theme is a terribly hacknied one, fbr who
has not already read, in verse as well as prose,
all he cares to read on the subject of Italian
scenery, manners, antiquities, and so forth ?
The " World of London" sketches the various
classes of Irishmen in the metropolis with great
minuteness, but in rather too prejudiced a spirit.
There is truth, however, in the following ob-
servation—" You hear many complaints from
Irish gentlemen of the aversion and hostility
with which they imagine they are regarded by
Englishmen; to hear them talk you would ima-
gine that all England was in a conspiracy against
them to crush their rising talent, and to put
them down. Never was prejudice so unjust. An
Englishman deals with the adventurers of other
countries in a spirit worthy his commercial cha-
racter; he examines him, and if he finds he suits
the market he buys him; if otherwise, he will
have nothing to do with him." In " Modern
Schools of Art in France, Belgium, and Swit-
zerland," we find several details respecting the
most eminent living French painters. The author
commences by asserting that the exhibition at
Paris was this year far superior to that in Tra-
falgar-square, not only in manual execution and
the special technicalities of art, but also in the
poetry of painting, sculpture, and desiotf,i • and
then goes on to give brief biographical and criti-
cal sketches of several of the most celebrated
French painters, foremost among whom he
ranks Horace Vernet, of whom he says, " his
delineations possess all the vigour of Rubens
without any of that illustrious master's exagge-
rations, and his colouring, in xnany instances,
shows that he has been a careful student of the
great Fleming's best qualities. He is not only
very bold, but very rapid in his execution, and
anecdotes are told of some of his feats in painting
against time that are quite surprising." The
" Hints to Authors" are excellent—more parti-
cularly the introductory portion, wherein the
author launches his fiercest fulminations against
those abandoned wretches who neglect to pre-
pay the post, and who " to make the paltry
saving of a penny, force their correspondents to
an outlay of two-pence." For such wretches
there can indeed be no hope. of salvation. The
hottest seat in Tophet is their destined lot for
ever. The account of the " Tower of London"

is mere common-place twaddle, dished up pretty
much in the style of a local Guide-Book. From
the " Tittle-Tattle of a Philosopher," we quote
an account of the writer's—who was one of the
Professors of the University of Leipsic—inter-
view with Napoleon, about the time of the cele•
brated battle which took place in the immediate
neighbourhood of that city :

At length the day dawned on which the great Napo-
leon himself was expected to honour Leipsic with his
presence. He did not appear, however, until three days
after the time appointed ; and meanwhile the chief
authorities of the town were moved about from place to
place, and kept almost continually on their feet. We
had, indeed a most weary time of it during these three
days. At length the great man arrived, and gave us
an audience in the King of Saxonv's palace in the
market-place. Hero the domineering character of the man
displayed itself most conspicuously. He came burning
with wrath against the University, and almost the first
words he uttered were—" Where are the deputies of the
University ?" My colleagues and myself immediately
came forward, when he overwhelmed us with a torrent
of invective, on account of some students who had en-
listed in the corps of Luckow's volunteers—as if the
students had been schoolboys, who could not take a
single step without the permission of the Senatus Aca-
demicus. He then turned to the mercantile authori-
ties, and demanded—" How many millionaires have
you in Leipsic ?" (he alluded to francs, but those in-
terrogated thought that he meant dollars) ; and when
it was answered him that there• was not one, he clapped
his hand upon his pocket with a sarcastic leer, as much
as to say—l'll find out a method to make them render
up their coin. Avarice and the lust of dominion seemed
to be the only passions of his soul.
When the audience was at an end, and Napoleon was
departing, one of my colleagues ventured to step for-
ward to address him. The Emperor started back, ap-
parently doubtful what the intentions of my friend
might be. For so timorous was this great man grown,
that he lived in the constant dread of assassination ;
and when I was at Konigsberg I remember his once
leaping out of a boat in the middle of the Pregel,
and making for the shore, because he had observed a
movement among the crowd upon the opposite bank
of the river, and imagined that an attempt was about
to be made upon his precious life. But on the pre-
sent occasion, when he discovered that the Professor
had no dagger in his bosom, and merely wished to
mollify the tiger with a few civil words, he grinned
scornfully in his face, and then turned his back upon
him. And this was the great man who had made the
world his footstool, and whom all the nations wor-
shipped as a perfect god ! To me he appeared to be
nothing but a drill- sergeant, who had a certain knack
of railing the rabble into obedience to his will. Nei-
ther in his demeanour nor in his language was there the
smallest trace of dignity or grace. Terror was his only
talisman.

The colossus was now tottering on his pedestal, but
he had not yet fallen. He collected his strength for
one last desperate effort, and assembled all his forces
in the neighbourhood of Leipsic. My house was in
the outskirts of the town, and commanded a prospect
of a large portion of the battle-field. Cannon-balls
and hand-grenades flew around us on all sides, and
many peaceful inhabitants were struck dead in the
streets. The hot tide of battle then set in upon the
city itself, and raged furiously within its narrow pre-
cincts. But the brave Allies were at length victorious,
and before nightfall I had the satisfaction of witnessing
from my windows the flight of the discomfited foe. And
what a flight it was! Pell-mell they went—neck and
heels, by scores into the ditches which intercepted their
ignominious retreat., Napoleon himself escaped by blow-
ing up a bridge in his rear, and thereby consigning to
death or captivity many of his devoted train.