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

THE DUBLIN UNIVERSITY.

November has given us another admirable number
of this excellent periodical. The first article con-
tains an account of Mademoiselle Le Normand, the
extraordinary fortuneteller, whose wonderful powers
excited such astonishment in the French metropolis,
and who for half a century maintained the reputation
she had acquired in her very childhood. Certainly,
if there is any foundation for the legends that have
been related of this lady, and some of which are now
presented to the readers of the Dublin University
Magazine, it is by no means surprising that she
should have attracted so much of the public atten-
tion. She it was who, when a prisoner in the Lux-
embourg, confirmed the prediction which had been
made respecting Josephine Beauharnois in her in-
fancy, by an Obi woman, as to her:future exalted rank,
a prediction which was afterwards so wonderfully
verified. She it was who prophesied the extraor-
dinary advancement of Napoleon, and his no less sur-
prising reverses ; and who, on being pressed on one
occasion to give a more satisfactory explanation of an
obscure answer, replied, " that it was a problem
the solution of which she should reserve until
the 31st March, 1814," a day which afterwards
proved to be so eventful to the fortunes of the Em-
peror, as witnessing;the entry of the allied troops into
Paris. Strange details are given of her mode of pro-
ceeding from the papers of a lady, under the title
of the Countess N. N., and also from those of the
well-known President Von Malchus ; but perhaps the
strangest of all her oracular exploits was the
manner in which she divined the lucky num-
bers in the lottery, of which various anecdotes
are told. " Wills's Lives of Illusrious Irishmen"
is the subject of the next paper; full justice is done
to the great research, patient investigation, sound
judgment, and strict impartiality of the author, whose
work is at once a history of Ireland and a biography
of her most illustrious children, and we are promised
a continuation of the notice in a future number.
" The Watcher" is indeed a story of deep and pain-
ful interest, closely bordering on the supernatural ; it
purports to give an account of occurrences which
some fifty years since created a sensation in the
fashionable society of the Irish metropolis, and which
ended in the melancholy death of a person, whose
real name is concealed under that of Captain Barton,
R.N., and which are enveloped in impenetrable mys-
tery. " Stray Leaflets from the German Oak" contains
seven new translations by I. C. M., whi h are marked
by the great taste and feeling, the poetic inspiration,
for which the writer has acquired so high a character,
and which render all his contributions so acceptable
to the readers of the Irish Magazine. " The Comic
isbsacoyofnuMtohniertlection of some really.
Alpenstock " is continued, and there is no abatement
s
of the comic spirit by which the first chapter was
communicated animated.
would o,6f
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on of
;ok information m
Churchoa e
valuable
aolrna
oa iebs
Poetry,"
es:
to
recently published tical works
the traveller, notwithstanding the strange form in
ria sga sbmaYri
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ya and r FRe rra
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isw haicnhotiitceisopfutthrfeiperwar.pdmpy.
given, and both of which
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The Song
columns if our
beautifuldepicts
of the Pen,"
and talent, com-
giving
afew quotations
We cannot,
space permitted. The first,
possesses smwe sans'ne two
great
ef
right
vigourg awhichdly taarrnaedn s foe originality,
to
the
painful struggles of men of genius
of the writer. The
palled to write for their daily:bread,
and for the support
of those dearer to them than life •
however, refrain from
cimens of the style and power quotations as spe-
first stanza is as follows :
" Sing of the pen! sing of the Den
Sing of the thousands of
gifted men,
Who Wring with pain a beggarly gain
From the sweat of their
While the goose-quill dancethbrain,
Over the paper, and driv th e away
Beneath the taper,
Through the hours when mortals dream, and fairies play!
And again—

~ sing of the pen! sing of the pen!
Sing of the pleasures of gifted men!
Ye who delight
To 101 l in listless interest lost,
Little ye reek what the theme hath cost
The tribe who write.
it Drive, drive the pen along
In something—tale or song;
No matter, so we cast
A wet page o'er the last,
And enter in our score
One mouthful earned the more.
There's silence in the house—l'm free,
Dear heart! to work for such as thee.
Hie to thy bed, beloved one—
Dark as it was, the day is done;