The Sun.
London, England, 1841-04-01 00:00:00

BENTLEY'S MISCELLANY.

We would strongly recommend the author of
London Assurance—the best comedy we have had
since Colman's days—to have as little to do with
serious and imaginative poetry as possible: In the
light, sparkling, rapier play of wit and humour
he is at home, but in earnest and impassioned
verse, where fancy attempts a high and bold
flight, he is sadly abroad. In his poem entitled
" Light," which appears in the present Miscel-
lany, the ideas are in general so crude, the versi-
fication so rugged and uncouth, the imagery so
perplexed and far-fetched, that we should have
some difficulty in believing that the author meant
anything but a solemn quiz, were it not, that
here and there, a passage occurs which shows
that he is not destitute of the imaginative faculty,
though he is wholly without the power of turning
it to account. In order that our readers may
judge for themselves, we subjoin a passage which
—though it is by no means barren of ideas—is, in
point of versification, as harsh and discordant as
the bray of the animal that chews the thistle :
God said, let there be light, and there was light,
The murky vault was split : Darkness was rent :
A golden orb sprung from the smile of God,
Stood, created. Width oped her mighty jaws
To gape at this new wonder, for space now
Had eyes to see her own immensity.
The Universe awoke, and dressed in regal
Purple, stood in all the silent majesty
Of the interminable arch.—The infant Globe smiling
Stretched forth its cheek towards its novel nurse,
That sung, and soothed it with a gentle breeze.
All this has been said, and well said, by Pollok,
and without any of that uneasy straining after
effect so evident in the above ext.act. "Guy
Fawkes" is apparently. verging towards a termi-
nation, for the plot is now discovered ; the chief
conspirator is in the Tower, and nothing remains,
we suppose, but for Mr. Ainsworth to put him to
death after the most approved melodramatic
fashion. The interview between Guy Fawkes
and the King is very tame and common-place,
and there is nothing in the dialogue by which
we can get the slightest clue to the charac-
ter of the Royal pedant. " Hyson and Bohea"
is a lively allegory in the good old heroic
measure of Pope. " The Sailor" is a graphic
nautical sketch, with the true smack of the salt-
water. The passing allusion to his polygamous
propensities is a striking touch of character, ap-
plying, however, to past rather than to present
times, .for, thanks to Admiral Gambier and
Boatswain Smith, Jack is now becoming devout;
shirks Portsmouth Point; sticks like pitch to
one Poll, instead of distributing his favours among
half-a-dozen ; substitutes Wesley's hymns for
Dibdin's songs; tea for grog; and a close crop
for the old-fashioned pig-tail. Now and then a
sturdy relic of the days of old makes his bow
before Sir Frederick Roe at the Police-office,
but, generally speaking, the sailor is wholly
changed from what he was in the times of Nel-
son and Collingwood. " A Rencontre with the
Brigands" will not realize the romantic expecta-
tions excited by the title, for, instead of a pic-
turesque murder or two, we are put off with a
mere vulgar picking of pockets. The Italian
bandits seem to be sadly degenerated in their
professional habits, for they contented them-
selves with disembarrassing the writer and
his party of their purses and watches, when they
might have "created a sensation" by carrying
them all off to the mountains, and assassinating
them at leisure. We are willing to believe,
however, that the travelers did not take their
disappointment very seriously to heart. " Nights
at- Offiey's" are continued, and will amuse by
their piquant sketches of character. " Merrie
England in the Olden Time" treats lightly
and pleasantly of home themes that we all love
to read about. The snatches of humourous verse
that are interspersed through the article add
greatly to its interest and variety. " Rumfuskin,
King of the North Pole," is a mock tragedy from
the practised pen of Mr. Poole. It is in the bom-
bastic style of Fielding's "Tom Thumb," and Ca-
rey's " Chrononhotonthologos," and is not much
inferior to those burlesque dramas. Our readers
may perhaps be amused by the following dialogue
between King Rumfuskin and a hackney-coach-
man,who enters the royal presence to detail the par-
ticulars of a conspiracy against the royal pei 50.1 :
(Enter JEM FLOGGEM.
_

What art thou?
FLOG. Driver of a hackney coach.
Rum. What number driv'st thou?
FLOG. Sire, as I'm alive,
I drive no number—t'is a coach I drive.
The number of my coach is four-sixteen.
Rum. Equivocating slave ! 'tis that I mean.
(Aside.) The very number !—then our dream is out.
(To FLoG.) 'Tis plot and treason that thou com'st about.
FLOG. It is my liege. But how carn'st thou to know it—
Rum. Is not thy business.
FLOG. Thou'rt a rum-un—go it.
Rum. 0, insolence ! Now, guided by my rage,
I'd fain condemn the varlet to the cage ;
Thence to the Poultry Counter ; thence—But hold ;
He comes a tale of treason to unfold,
And anger must a while to interest bow.
(To FLOG.) Now tell me all—each when, each where, each
how.
FLOG. I will be candid, sire. I come to serve thee;
Thou'rt in a pickle, but t'is I'll preserve thee.
Rum. Let truth, not puns, o'er what thou say'st prevail.
Proceed. Be that thy cue.
FLOG. And this my tale. -
E'en now, as I was waiting for a fare,
Just at the end of Lisle-street, Leicester-square,
Raseallo call'd me. Big with rage and malice,
Frowning, he bade me drive him to the palace ;
When, stepping in, this paper, thee to save meant,
Fell, from his pocket, smack upon the pavement.
I hid it in the boot ; then set him down.
" Your fare ?" said he ; said I, "'Tis half-a-crown."
To pay so much the spooney was not willing ;
" Jarvey," said he, " I'll give thee but a shilling."—
" You won't ?" says I ; says he, " Most surely not."
Thinks I," Then I'll expose your honour's plot."
Rum. Right loyal Coachee ! (Aside.) How shall I re-
quite him ?
I'll go the cheapest way to work ; I'll knight him.—
Thy name?
FLOG.' Jem Floggem.
Rum. (drawing his sword.) Kneel.
FLOG. Don't go to trim me.
Rum. Kr eel down, Jem Floggem, and arise—Sir Jemmy.
FLOG. I'd rather touch the ready.
R u at. Thankless beast !
FLOG. I thought you'd give me one pound-one, at least.
What good to me with titles to be crammed?
Rum. Art not a knight?
FLOG. Your Majesty be—spiflicated!
RUM. Take this, bold traitor. (Stabs him. )
FLOG. Ha ! I'm summon'd strait—
The grave, the Bow-street —Death, the magistrate.
Cut—cut behind—my fare 's—gee-up—jehu—
Coach to the City—hired—drive on—adieu ! (Dies.)
Rum. There fled the spirit of a saucy whip
Thus be each jarvey taken on the hip.—
Now for the traitors. Let's peruse their scheme :
It answers point for point our royal dream !
We'll place Sir Jemmy's body on the throne.
Rascallo will mistake it for our own. (Places the body on the
throne. )

Thus we'll out-scheme our deadly-scheming foes.—
Hang him, he's coming.
(RumFusKix goes off hastily with long strides,
RASCALLO, dagger in hand, enters, and in.
stantly follows him in the same way, saying)
RAsc. Hang him, there he goes !

FRASER'S MAGAZINE.
" We pronounce the Poor-law Amendment
Act impolitic, unjust, oppressive, and anti-
christian." Such are the terms which this high-
Tory periodical applies, in its opening article, to
a great remedial measure which has received
the approbation even of Sir Robert Peel, the
Corypimus of the Tory party. In accordance
with this sweeping censure, the writer of the
article in question urges the rejection of the Bill
in toto by Parliament, and predicts all sorts of
horrors should his remonstrances not be com-
plied with. He even attacks his political idol,
Sir Robert Inglis, for his recent qualified sup-
port of the measure; and by so doing pays a
high compliment to the Hon. Baronet's sagacity.
The article is an exceedingly noisy one, full of
sophistry and swagger. " Ode to the. Duke of
Wellington" is suggested by his Grace's late in-
disposition in the House of Lords. The spirit
that pervades this lyric is more to be commended
than its fancy. " The Greater and Lesser Stars of
Old Pall Mall" teem with anecdotes of remark-
able characters, who formerly dwelt in this
neighbourhood. Among them we,find one Jem
Spitler, a popular comedian and contemporary of
Hogarth, who in his day was, it seems, consi-
dered quite " a theatrical prodigy." At twenty-
personated wrinkled old
three years of age Jem
men so inimitably that even his most intimate