The Sun.
London, England, 1847-11-04 00:00:00

BEIV ILEY.

The present number of Bentley opens with an in-
teresting biographical sketch of Thorwalisen, from the
pen of Hans Christian Andersen, translated, at the
desire of the author, by Mr. C. Beckwith. It is il-
lustrated with engravings by Cooke, from Horace
Vernet's celebrated portrait of the great Danish
sculptor. " The Flaneur in Paris" brings his some-
what desultory' but most amusing sketches of Pa-
risian life to a conclusion in this number, as does
Mr. Maxwell his novel of " Brian O'Linn." Cooper
continues his " Captain Spike," and seems preparing
for a catastrophe. The S wash is moored alongside
the wreck of the schooner, and Spike is endeavouring
to weigh her, to secure the doubloons ; in the
meantime the Poughskeepie, with Mulford and Rose
on board, is advancing from the Dry Torturgas to-
wards the place where the S wash is moored. The
most interesting paper in this number is the one
entitled " The Marriage of Philip 11. of Spain and
Mary of England," and is a Spanish account of the
marriage and of the negotiations by which it was pre-
ceded. It consists principally of translations from
the letters of Count Egmont, Simon Renard, the
Spanish Ambassador, and Rui Gomez de Silva, a
gossipping nobleman, who came over to England in
the suite of Philip 11. Mr. Duncan continues his
account of the " Niger Expedition," and Mr. Marvel
his " Gallop through South Austria." Albert Smith
contributes a humorous poetical epistle from an Old
Country House, and Charles Whitehead gives us a
paper on the " Wooden Walls of Old England,"
which is illustrated by a quaint engraving from
Froissart, of the Expedition of the Knights of France
and England to Africa in 1390. The number con-
cludes with three exquisite Latin translations of the
nursery rhyme, " Twinkle, twinkle, little Star."
The first into hexameters, the second into pentame-
ters, and the last into sapphics. Of these the last
is the most elegant.

DOMBEY AND SON. No. XIV. By Charles
Dickens.

Chapter the forty-second, being " Confidential and
Accidental," recounts the installation of Rob the
Grinder in the household of Mr. Carker the Mana-
ger, every one of whose glittering teeth seem to the
imagination of that young gentleman to be perpe-
tually " finding him out, and taxing him with every
fancy of his mind." Mr. Dombey breakfasts one
fine morning at Carker's, and in the course of a pom-
pous conversation, entrusts his agent with an insolent
message to Edith. After the breakfast the great
merchant and his crafty menial proceed townwards
on horseback, Mr. Dombey, in his dignity, not only
riding with very long stirrups and a very loose rein,
but very seldom condescending to look down to see
where his horse went. In consequence of which it
happened that Mr. Dombey's horse, while going at a
round trot, " stumbled on seine loose stones, threw him,
rolled over him, and lashing out with his iron-shod
feet, in his struggles to get up, kicked him." He is
conveyed home with divers contusions and several
lesser ribs broken. Florence creeps into her
father's chamber in the dead of the night, and kisses
him while he is sleeping. The scene is exquisitely
drawn. The terrible Mrs. Pipchin has been duly
installed as housekeeper, and is described by Susan
Nipper as among those Mrs. Pipchinses " who keep
guard at Mr. Dombey's door like crocodiles—only
make us thankful that they lay no eggs !" Susan
can stand this state of things no longer, and rises
next morning resolved to penetrate into the awful
presence of her master, and have speech with that
gentleman alone. " I have often said I would," she
remarks, " and now I will." This she accordingly
does. She reminds Mr. Dombey of her long attend-
ance on Miss Floy, and her consequent fitness to
judge of the real character of her young mistress.
" I may not be Meethosalem," she says, " but I am
not a child in arms." Mr. Dombey is aghast, and
orders her to leave the room. The relentless Nipper,
however, declares her resolution to say her say out—
"I may not be an Indian widow sir and I am not
and I would not so become but if I once made up
my mind to burn myself alive I'd do it !" She stays
accordingly, and opens a brisk fire of eloquence upon
the sick g‘intlernan on the sofa. Mr. Dombey, in a
paroxysm of rage, makes a grasp at the bell-rope
that was not there, and, in its absence, pulls his hair,
rather than nothing. Miss Nipper then declaims at
great length on the desolation of Florence, and de-
clares that she has long seen her wretchedness—" I
may not be a peacock,"
,is her ustrAion, "but I
have my eyes," In the midst of this harangue, the
as
sxcellent ogress who presides over the establishment
housekeeper bursts into the apartment:—
" Why, hoity toity I" stied the voice of Mrs. Pipchin,
as the black bomb.,zeen garments of that fair.
Peruvian
Miner swept into the room. " What's this, indeed!"
Susan favoured Mrs. Pipchin with a look she had

invented expressly for her when they first became ac-
quainted, and resigned the reply to Mr. Dombey.
.
-1;;," What's this!" repeated Mr. Dombey, almost foam-
ing. " What's this, Madam? You who are at the head
of this household, and bound to keep it in order, have
reason to inquire. Do you kno this woman?"
"I know very little good of her, Sir," croaked Mrs.
Pipchin. "flow dare you come here, you hussy? Go
along with you!"
_ _ _

But the -inflexible Nipper, merely honouring Mrs.
Pipchin with another look, remained.
"Do you call it managing this establishment,
Madam," said Mr. Dombey, "to leave a person likethis
at liberty to come and talk tome! A gentleman—in his
own house—in his own room—assailed with the imper-
tinencies of women servants!"
" Well Sir," returned Mrs. Pipchin, with vengeance
in her hard grey eye, "I exceedingly deplore it;
nothing can be more irregular; nothing can be more
out of all bounds and reason; but I regret to say, Sir,
that this young woman is quite beyond control. She
has been spoiled by Miss Dombey, and is amenable to
nobody. You know you're rn,t," said Mrs. Pipchin,
sharply, and shaking her head at Susan Nipper. " For
shame, you hussy! Go along with you!"
" If you find
controlled Mrs. Pipchin," said Mr. Dombey, turning
people in my service who are not to bo
back towards the fire, " you know what to do with
them, I presume. You know what you are here for?
Take her away!"
" Sir, I know what to do," retorted Mr:. Pipchin,
"and of course shall do it. Susan Nipper, snapping
her up particularly short, " a month's warning from this
hour."

" Oh indeed!" cried Susan, loftily.
"Yes," returned Mrs. Pipehin, "and don't smile at
me, you minx, or I'll know the reason why! Go slung
with you this minute!"

I intend to go this minute, you may rely upon it,"
said the voluble Nipper. "I have been in this house
waiting on my young lady a dozen year and I won't
stop in it one hour under notice from a person owning
to the name of Pipchin trust me, Mrs. P."
" A good riddance of bad rubbish !" said that wrath-
ful old lady. " Get along with you, or I'll have you
carried out!

" My comfort is," said Susan, looking back at Mr.
Dombey, " that I have told a piece of truth this day
which ought to have been told long before, and can't
be told too often or too plain, and that no amount of
Pipchinses—l hope the number of ' ern mayn't be great"
(here Mrs. Pipchin uttered a very sharp "Go along
with you!" and Miss Nipper repeated the look) " can
unsay what I have said, though they gave a whole year
full of warnings beginning at ten o'clock in the forenoon
and never leaving off till twelve at night and died of the
exhaustion which would be a Jubilee!"
With these words, Miss Nipper preceded her foe out
of the room; and walking up stairs to her o n apart-
ment in great state, to the choaking exasperation of the
ireful Pipchin, sat down among her boxes and began
to cry.
From this soft mood she was soon aroused, with a
very wholesome and refreshing effect, by the voice of
Mrs. Pipchin outside the door.
" Does that bold-faced slut," said the fell Pipchin,
"intend to take her warning, or does she not?"
Miss Nipper replied from within that the person de-
scribed did not inhabit that part of the house, but that
her name was Pipchin, and she was to be found in the
housekeeper's room.
"You saucy baggage!', retorted Mrs. Pipchin, rat-
tling at the handle of the door. "Go along with you
this minute. Pack up your things directly! How dare
you talk in this way to a gentlewoman who has seen
better days?"
To which Miss Nipper rejoined from her castle, that
she pitied the better days that had seen Mrs. Pipchin;
and that for her part she considered the worst days in
the year to be about that lady's mark, except that they
were much too good for her.
" But you needn't trouble yourself to make a noise at
,my door said Susan Nipper, " nor to contaminate the
keyhole with your eye, I'm packing up and going you
may take your affidavit.
The Dowager expressed her lively satisfaction at this
intelligence, and with some general opinions upon
piescsiaDllyombey, withdrew
upon their de-
ytmooeuriltgs preparehauflses irtehsbeae Nisi) iagp spoiledpr ea rcs wa na
gbl ye
se.M3 Susan then bestirred
hcnelf to get her trunks in order, that she might take
an immediate and dignified departure; sobbing heartily
all the time, as she thought of Florence.
Susan Nipper is soon afterwards conveyed away
in a hackney-coach, escorted, at the request of Flo-
rence, by Mr. Toots. Previously, however, to her
departure from London to her brother's at Essex,
Miss Nipper is hospitably entertained at the chambers
of Mr. Toots, where she is introduced to the Game
Chicken, recently discomfitted in single combat with
the Larkey Boy,'his visage being in such a state of
dilapidation as to be hardly presentable in society
with comfort to the beholders :
The Chicken himself attributed this punishment to
his having bad the misfortune to get into Chancery
early in the proceedings, when he was severely fibbed
by the Larkey one, and heavily grassed., But it ap-
peared from the published records of that great contest
that the Larkey Boy had had it all his own way from
the beginning, and that the Chicken had been tapped,
and bunged, and had received pepper, and had been
made groggy, and had come up piping, and had endured
a complication of similar strange inconveniences, until
he had been gone into and finished.

At the coach-office Mr. Toots pops his head in at
the coach-window :

" I say, Susan! Miss Dombey, you know—"
" Yes, Sir."
"Do you think she could—you know—eh?"
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Toots," said Susan, "but I
don't hear you."
"Do you think she could be brought, you know—
not exactly at once, but in time—in a long time—to—
to love me, you know! There!" said poor Mr. Toots.
" Oh, dear no!" returned Susan, shaking her head.
" I should say, never. Ne—verl"
Thank'ee!" said Mr. Toots. " It's of no eons-
quence. Goad night. It's of no consequence, thank'ee!'
Chapter the forty-fifth tells of the interview between
"The Trusty Agent" and Mrs. Dombey. The aim
of Carker's slyness is here disclosed more palpably.

DOLMAN.
Not a single paper from the old contributors—from
Mr. Keegan, Mr. Jerningham, Mr. Buckingham, or
the rest—is contained in the number for November.
Even the editor has lapsed into silence, excepting in
the compilation of " Catholic Intelligence," where he
takes occasion to commend in a few earnest words the
glorious social and political reforms adventured upon
by Pope Pius. An American writer,, in the first
article, commences a series of " Irish Gleanings,"
and imparts to a familiar theme something like an air
of novelty, seeing that Ilibernia is there regarded as
it appeared to an United States' man. " The Mixed
Marriage" is rather an induction to a story than a
story itself—the pith of the narrative being reserved for
December. This induction, however, is smartly told,
and in a new manner, being the conversations of the
occupants of a railway carriage. " The Adventures
of a Schoolboy," by a Convert, is an odd passage of
autobiography, which will be pleasant reading even
to children of a larger growth. But the best con-
tribution in the Number is that headed " The Catho-
of English Poetry." It is a graceful effusion.
licity