The Sun.
London, England, 1841-06-01 00:00:00

MAGAZINE DAY.

NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.

The present chapter of the Editor's story of
" Fathers and Sons " is full of delicate per-
plexities and entanglements regarding the billin,!•
and cooing of the hero and heroine, which will
greatly edify the lover of sentimentality. There
is Else a diverting dialogue between the fashion-
able baronet, Sir George Grindle, and his second
son, Francis,. who, though meant to be a pattern
of propriety, is, to our thinking, exceedingly in-
sipid, like stale soda-water. " Beethoven " is a -
brief biographical sketch of this eminent Inns!-
! cal composer, who died a few years since at
Vienna, utterly neglected by his countrymen,
though,. immediately after his death, they dis-
played the most hypocritical grief for his loss,
gave him a splendid public funeral, while his
ashes were followed to their last home by up-
wardS of twenty thousand individuals, scarcely
one of whom would have given him a farthing
to save him from starvation The biographer
thus describes him in his latter years:—
" Beethoven is lost to society in consequence of his
extreme deafness. The neglect of his person which he
exhibits, gives him a somewhat wild appearance. His
features are strong and prominent ; his face is full of
rude energy ; his hair, which neither comb nor scissors
seem to have visited for years, overshadows his broad
brow in a quantity and confusion to which only the
snakes round a Gorgon's head offer a parallel. His
general behaviour does not ill accord with the unpromis-
ing exterior. Except when he is among his chosen
friends, kindness or affability are not his characteristics.
The total loss of hearing has deprived. him of all the
pleasure which society can give, -and perhaps soured his
temper. Ile used to frequent a particular cellar, where
he spent the evening in a corner, beyond the reach of all
the chattering and disputation. of a public
room, drinking wine and beer, eating cheese,
and fed herrings, and studying the newspapers.
One evening a person took a scat near him whose coun-
tenance did not please him. He looked hard at the
stranger, and spat on the floor, as if he had seen a toad ;
then glanced at the newspaper, then again at the intruder,
and spat again : his hair bristling gradually into more
shaggy ferocity, till he closed the alternation of spitting
adstaring, by fairly exclaiming, What a scoundrelly
face !' and rushing out of the room. Even among his
oldest friends he must be humoured like a wayward
child. lie has always a small paper-book with him, and
what conversation takes place is carried on in writing.
In this, too, though it is not lined, he instantly jots down
any musical idea that strikes him. These notes would
be utterly unintelligible even to another musician, for
they have thus no comparative value ; he alone has in
his own mind the thread by which he brings out of this
labyrinth of dots and circles the richest and most as-
tounding harmonies. The moment he is seated at the
piano, he is evidently unconscious that there is anything
in existence but himself and his instrument ; and, consi-
dering how very deaf he is, it seems impossible he should
hear all he plays. Accordingly,‘ when playing very piano,
he often doesnot bring out a single note. He hears it him-
self in the mind's ear.' While his eye, and the almost
imperceptible motion of his fingers, show that he is.fol-
lowing out the strain through all its dying gradations,
the instrument is actually as dumb as the musician is
deaf."

" A Word to the Schoolmaster" is a dry, tame
essay. " Foreign Sporting" is by Nimrod. It
is not unamusing, but we have too much of it.
The best portion of the article is that which
refers to Arabian horses. " Ephraim Rue, the
Victim of Society," is a story which inculcates a
useful moral, through the medium of that apt and
accommodating agent, the Devil, The story ex-
hibits much of that grave caustic satire for which
Mr. Jerrold is so remarkable. There is far too
much of the laudatory in the Memoir of the
French Royalist lawyer and statesman, Ber-
ryer. By the writer's account, it would seem
that this clever man monopolized all the
wisdom all the patriotism—all the political
sagacity of modern France. Now, Ber-
ryer, from all that we have heard and read of
him, is simply a shrewd, practised lawyer, and.
consistent politician, nothing more. II is powers
are by no means of a first-rate order, and
it is party only that has raised him to his
present celebrity. " Berryer," says his eulo-
gist, " will not undertake every cause : he
will not defend vice, he will not quibble
about flaws in an indictment, he will not conde-
scend to small and paltry tricks to insure a ver-
dict of acquittal for a real criminal. He begins,
when he undertakes a case, by examining its;
morality." It is not often that an English
lawyer is thus particular about the morality of
the cause he advocates. " Wanted a Neigh-
bour" is a light, readable sketch of character,
whose sole defect is, that it is rather too much
in outline. As a specimen of the poetry of the
number, we quote some gracefully versified
stanzas suggested by "Hearing the Wind
whistle through Lincoln Cathedral" :
When Night her sable curtain draws
Around the drowsy earth,
Shrouding in that solemn pause,
The whole creation's birth ;
I love by yen cathedral pile,
To hear the low wind sigh,
And echo through the eloister'd aisle
Aolian harmony !
Round every pinnacle and tower,
Through every curve and line,
. Glides on a gently breathing power,
That seems inspired—divine !
Sweet music- from a brighter Them
On'ebon wing to fly--
Bedewing the enchanted ear
With liquid melody I
Soft dulcet notes that whisper peace
To the soul's longing rest ;
Where troubles of the weary cease,
And all who seek are blest.
Anon, those thrilling accents cintngt;
T 9 the 9113,,
• That tiirQPgli the Tag and vaulted range,
Chants nature's lullaby !
List to the aerial song awhile—
Mark how each varied tone
Quivers through the fretted pile,
So musical and lent
4od :jaw 4as good to wander now
Where sounds so sweet are nigh,
And deeply quaff the copious flow
Of heavenly psalmody !
Not long those plaintive dove-notes catir.4o
Theiy tvny lYith P.,qnlP i
loftier 464 u—a wilder form—
Soon swells the rushing gale ;
And tuneful in its richness there,
Tho winged breeze sweeps by,
While silence lingers in despair—
Disputing sovereignty ?
As beings of.the wo.rld of liAt
pik4tini
ion in a flood of pure delight
Many mortals joy in this ;
And while those sylph-strung lutes shall peal
O'er hill and tower and tree,
Sweetly will l'elUe,MbrAnoti steal
The'Night, Wind's Monody.