The Sun.
London, England, 1841-01-26 00:00:00

LITERATURE.

MRS. HALL'S IRELAND.—PART
Bow and Parsons,London, 1841.
In this Part we have two very superior engravings
—one of Youghall Church, which, with its deep-
wooded back-ground, forms a pleasing sylvan land-
scape ; and the other of Bantry Bay, whose gleam-
ing waters, sunny islands crowned with old castles,
romantic headlands fringed with copses, and distant
precipitous mountains broken into a thousand fan-
tastic shapes, and projecting their dark shadows
far across the wave, almost realise one of those
lovely scenes in fairy-land, which, as Dr. Johnson
tells us, Collins the poet was so fond of dreaming
of. In the literary department there are several
amusing stories respecting old Irish superstitions—
the most whimsical and original in the world ; and
copious descriptions of the scenery in the neighbour-
hood of Cork, where Mrs. Hall seems delighted to
linger, as though it were associated with her earliest
recollections. Of the lake of Gougane Barra she
says—" A scene of more utter loneliness, stern
grandeur, or savage magnificence, it is difficult to
conceive ; redeemed, however, as all things savage
arc, by one passage of gentle and inviting beauty,
upon which the eye turns as to a spring-well in the
desert—the little island with its group of graceful
ash trees and ruined chapel. Down from the sur-
rounding mountains rush numerous streams." The
authoress then proceeds to quote a poem descriptive
of this striking landscape, which was written in the
year 1826 by Mr. Callanan, who died at Lisbon in
1829. We also have great pleasure in placing it
before our readers, for, if we mistake not, it
breathes the true poetic spirit, is stately and vigor-
ous in the march of its versification, and fervid and
romantic in its turn of thought. Sir Walter Scott
would have been delighted with it :
" Ther© is a green island in lone Gougano Barra
Where Allu of songs rushes forth like an arrow ;
In deep-valley'd Desmond a thousand wild fountains
Come down to that lake, from their home in the moun-
tains.
There grows the wild ash ; and a time-stricken willow
Looks chillingly down on the mirth of the billow,
As like some gay child that sad monitor scorning,
It lightly laughs back to the laugh of the morning;
' And its zone of dark hills—oh ! to see them all
brightening,
When the tempest flings out his red banner of lightning,
And the waters come down 'mid the thunders' deep rattle,
Like clans from their hills at the voice of the battle ;
And brightly the fire-crested billows are gleaming,
And wildly from Malloc the eagles are screaming :
Oh, where is the dwelling, in valley or highland,
So meet for a bard as that lone little island !
" How oft, when the summer sun rested on Clara
And lit the blue headland of sullen Ivera,
Have I sought thee, sweet spot ! from my home by the
ocean,
And trod all thy wilds with a minstrel's devotion,
And thought on the bards who, oft gathering together,
In the cleft of thy rocks, and the depth of thy heather,
Dwelt far from the Saxon's dark bondage and slaughter,
As they raised their last song by the rush of thy water.
High sons of the lyre oh, how proud was the feeling
To dream while alone through that solitude stealing;
Though loftier minstrels green Erin can number,
I alone waked the strain of her harp from its slumber,
And gleaned the grey legend that long had been sleeping,
Where oblivion's dull mist o'er its beauty was creeping,
From the love which I felt for my country's sad story,
When to love her was shame, to revile her was glory.
" Last bard of the free! were it mine to inherit
The fire of thy harp and the wing of thy spirit,
With the wrongs which like thee to my own land have
bound me,
Did your mantle of song throw its radiance around me;
Yet, yet on those bold cliffs might Liberty rally,
And abroad send her cry o'er the sleep of each valley.
But rouse thee, vain dreamer ! no fond fancy cherish,
Thy vision of Freedom in bloodshed must perish.
" I soon shall be gene—though my name may be spoken
When Erin awakes, and her fetters are broken—
Some minstrel will come in the summer eve's gleaming
When Freedom's young light on his spirit is beaming,
To bend o'er my grave with a tear of emotion,
Where calm Avonbuce seeks the kisses of ocean,
And a wild wreath to plant from the bank of the river
O'er the heart and the harp that are silent for ever."

SCHLEGEL' S LECTURES.
Blackwood, Edinburgh, 1841,

We have in this volume a-translation from the
German of Frederick Schlegel, whose Lectures on
the History of Literature, ancient as well as mo-
dern, have been long generally admired, both here
and on the Continent. The Lecturer commences
with critical sketches of some of the best Greek
writers in prose and verse, and dwells with particu-
lar fondness on Thucydides, who appears to be his
idol as an historian. His remarks on Homer have
little novelty about them—but, indeed, who can
say anything new of this great poet ? and of Euri-
pides he speaks—at least so it appears to us—in a
style at once flippant and superficial. He expa-
tiates on the faulty construction of his plays, in
terms of superfluous exaggeration ; sneers at what
he calls " his long, pedantic, and ill-placed dig-
quisitions ;" and awards him, as if grudgingly, the
coldest measure of justice, when alluding to his
pathos, which was exquisite, but too simple and
natural, we suppose, for the artificial and somewhat
fastastic task of a German philosopher and critic.
The lecturer's estimate of Roman literature is, on
the whole, judicious, though by no means remark-
able for any superior shrewdness or originality ;
but as regards the French writers of Louis the
Fourteenth's times, to this branch of his subject,
M. Schlegel brings much subtle reflection, and able
analytical criticism. His opinions, too, of modern
English literature are worthy of attention, for here
he shows himself a thoroughly discriminating
scholar, who speaks his mind fearlessly, because
he knows that, if called on, he can give reasons for
the faith that is in him.

ENCYCLOPIE DIA BRITANNICA.
Vol-- XXI. RIBT I.
A. Black, Edinburgh, 1841.
(SECOND NOTICE )
We resume our notice of this comprehensive and
valuable work, which we were compelled to dismiss
in a few hasty sentences the other day, owing to

the crowded state of our columns. The present
Part, which, agreeably to the alphabetical arrange-
ment maintained throughout the Encyclopmdia, is
confined to the consideration of subjects ranging
under the letters S and T, contains several
carefully digested memoirs of men eminent
in war, politics, literature, and science, together
with disquisitions on practical matters, and con-
densed historical accounts of one or two European
States. The treatise under the head " Surveying"
exhibits a formidable array of mathematical figures
and algebraical calculations, illustrative of the
nature of the pursuit, whence we infer that
it is one of slow and difficult attainment, argu-
ing the possession of superior scientific abili-
ties. Indeed the writer says as much, for the
expressly tells us that " as a surveyor has perpe-
tual occasion for calculation, it is necessary that he
be thoroughly master of arithmetic, and understand
the nature of logarithms, the use of logarithmic
tables, and algebraic notation. As it is his busi-
ness to investigate and measure lines and angles,
and to describe them on paper, he should be
well acquainted with the elements of geometry
and trigonometry, and with the application of
their principles to the mensuration of heights,
distances, and surfaces. In particular he should
be familiar with the best practical methods of
solving the ordinary geometrical problems, and
should be expert in drawing lines and describing
figures. He should know something of the prin-
ciples of geology, optics, and magnetism, and pos-
sess some skill in drawing and painting." In other
words a surveyor should be a man of remarkable
scientific acquirements, and possess, besides, a
competent knowledge of the Fine Arts, which is
a combination of qualities which, we suspect,
not one in a hundred possess. Under the
words " Suspension Bridges " we find a detailed
notice of the late Mr. Telford's master-piece--
namely, the Menai bridge, which connects the
Island of Anglesea with the northern coast of
Wales, but which, observes the writer, " has been
greatly surpassed, both in length and height, by a
far lighter and much less expensive one, though of
great strength, which has since been constructed by
M. Chalky, of Lyons, over the river Sarine, at
Friburg, in Switzerland. This was completed in
1534. The span is 870 feet, and the roadway i 3
elevated 167 feet above the water of the Sarine.
The lightness of this bridge is in a great measure
owing to its neither being suspended by chains nor
solid iron rods, but by four cables of iron wire, each
containing about twelve hundred iron wires, the
united strength of which could support thrice
the load they will ever be likely to bear,
or three times the weight of two rows
of loaded waggons extending over its whole length."
The historical and geographical account, under the
title " Sweden," of this extensive northern king-
dom, which in the reign of Gustavus Adolphus
was the chief support of the Protestant faith, and in
that of Charles the Twelfth was the bugbear of
Europe, is condensed with great tact, for, on
running our eye over it, we perceive that no
one fact of importance is omitted, while, on the
subject of the romantic vicissitudes of Gustavus
Vasa—whose whole career is one of the most
striking episodes in Swedish history—the writer is
as circumstantial as could be desired. The bio-
graphical sketch of " Swedenborg," so well
known for his religious fanaticism, which
closely bordered on insanity, mentions a cir-
cumstance which we were not previously aware
of—namely, that this dreams- enthusiast, who re-
velled in fantastic visions of Heaven and Hell, and
whose imagination was never for an instant idle,
commenced his literary career by an essay on the
" Value of Money," the most practical and matter.
of-fact of topics ! We remember meeting with
Swedenborg's works some years since, in a little inn,
in a town of South Wales, and endeavoured to
master the contents of one of the volumes ;
but the task was hopeless, and after getting
perfectly bewildered with the crazy Swede's
description of spiritual parties, consisting wholly
of angels, and of cities and palaces which
exist in the other world, and various other absurdi-
aside the volume in the full conviction ties, we flung
that it was the most perplexing and ridiculous ever
penned by mortal hand. In closing our notice of
this Encyclopmdia, we must not forget the plates,
which are executed in the very first style of art.