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

NEW MOATIILY MAGAZINE.

There is too great a sameness in this Number,
and the majority of the articles are too lengthy,
though some of them are clever of their kind.
Six prose tales, four of which are unfinished, are
really too overpowering a dose for one month,
even though each be first-rate. Mr. Hood's
" Friend in Need," in particular, which professes
to be animitation of Sterne, is sadly long-winded,
and ought to have been " pretty considerably"
curtailed of its proportions. " Fathers and Sons,"
by the Editor, contains a lively sketch ofa literary
lady of fashion, who was apt—to use Foote's polite
phrase—to be "somewhat poetical in her prose ;"
in other words, to tell lies like a Munchausen ; and
whose details "of every thing connected with
herself and her daughter, Seraphine, were
full of descriptions of the sensations they
created ; of the eclat which glorified them ;
and of the devoted attentions which were
paid them wherever they went." " Loose
Thoughts on the Choice of a Profession,"
mixes up sound common sense with satire in a
very piquant fashion. There is much truth in
this remark :—" Your regular prig labours harder
in his vocations, and gets more kicks from the
world in the practice of this art, than the hardest
working artizan, to say nothing of the jail and
the gibbet at the end of the perspective. Inde-
pendently of this last chance of abbreviating life,
the honest people sleep soundest, and attain to a
greater age than the rogues, with all their cun-
ning and perverse ingenuity." . A tale of
the Tyrolese war, entitled, " Might against
Right," introduces us to the acquaintance
of the celebrated Swiss patriots, Hofer and
Spechbacher, the former of whom—to the eter-
nal disgrace of Napoleon—was shot in the year
1809, for no worse crime than attempting to
maintain, by an appeal to arms, the liberties of
his native land. The tale is not amiss, but Mr.
Phipps should have thrown more spirit into it.
The " Life and Adventures of Charles Chester-
field" is a caricature, rather than a copy, of real
life. In the " Poacher's Progress"—which will
greatly delight country sportsmen—the awful con-
sequences of poaching are descanted on with a staid,
impressive solemnity worthy of the pulpit. The
story concludes with this pious exhortation—
" Peasants of England, avoid poaching, as you
value your temporal and eternal happiness."
Sound doctrine this, in the estimation of those
who are proprietors of large preserves! " The
French Chamber of Deputies in the year 1841 "is
the most entertaining article in the Number. The
briefsketch of Marshal Soult who " would rather
fight ahundredbattles than make one speech," is
excellent; and equally graphic are the details of
the manners and personal appearance of Odillon
Barrot, and Lafitte. But we must content our-
selves with a description of the Chamber, while
Thiers is haranguing it, for just now he is one
of the fussy little great men on whom the eyes
of Europe are fixed with no slight interest :
And now M. Thiers is the orator, for the noise has again
terminated, the hubbub is once more at an end, the Deputies
have regained their seats. Mark how he turns to the left,
then looks up and smiles at the tribune of the newspaper re-
porters; then sneers at the centres; then bows to the Presi-
dent ; and then look, at himself ! There is one eye he never
seems anxious to meet, but rather seems to avoid—it is that of
Guizot.
The pale, studious, calm, contemplative face of M. Guizot
is seldom lighted up with a smile ; but it was so just now, when
Thiers talked of his own patriotism and self-denial.
When Thiers said this. he looked up at the newspaper re-
porters that they might catch and record his words. But there he
stands : he has been talking away for an hour—and has said
all sorts of things in the most amusing manner ; and no one is
fatigued. Ho has the knack of "palavering," better than any
public speaker we ever heard in any public assembly ; his
speech is a fine-spun conversation, de omnibus rebus—and
would serve for a lecture, &romance, a history, a piece of auto-
biography, or a sermon.
Now again comes confusion !—because a member of the
centres contradicted a statement of the orator at the tribune, by
a sneer.
Thiers is indignant. The extreme gauche pretends to be-
lieve him : the gauche, and a portion of the centre gauche rise
for him.
" Oui ! oui ! c'est vrai 1" cries Arago, with the voice of
Vulcan.
" Vice la France " shrieks a voice in the public tribune.
" Ring--ting—ting," goes the bell of the President; whilst
his eyes are raised towards the scene of such disrespect to the
majority of the Chamber ; but the offender is not discovered.
" Silence ! silence!" cry the huissiers of the Assembly, whilst
the secretaries and qusestors aid these official admonishe :in
securing peace and order.

Berryer laughs aloud ; the Duke de Valmy smiles his little
smile of half-suppressed merriment.
augoin satirically exclaims, " Nous verrons," (he is of no
party but his own).
Oui, c'est vrai," repeats Thiers, as he reassures the House
that if his present plan had been adopted by the empire, the
Bourbons would never have returned to France !
The centres do not believe their antagonist, and the mur-
murs which assail him drown his voice.
But he is not to be defeated : he is not speaking to the
Chamber, but to the press. He cares not for the power of the
House, but for the, fourth power in the State—the newspapers,
which to-night and to-morrow are to repeat his allegations to
" listening and attentive France." There he stands in the
midst of the storm now raging around him, wholly indifferent
to the cries and exclamations of those who differ from him
amongst the Deputies, for he knows that when he shall be
master, he shall be able to command a majority. Still he goes
on : nothing intimidates—nothing daunts him. The hands of
the clock move not so rapidly as his tongue, and Berryer ex-
claims, " ?est admirable
As Thiers is approaching the close of his harangue he is
pungent, nervous, astounding.
He has concluded. There he is—master of the House. He
looks through his spectacles on his auditory ; and now all is
again commotion. His friends press around him. His admi-
rers in the public tribunes are vehement in his favour.
" Vice niers " is a shout which proceeds from the gal-
lei y of the journalists, and Thiers is in his glory.
What a scene. Bears in china-shops would be orderly and
mathematical in their movements when compared to these De-
puties. Oh, what a collection of men ! How badly they are
dressed ! One never shaves; another never washes ; a third
never combs his hair; a fourth never brushes his coat ; and a
fifth wears, one would think, the same boots from one year's
end to the other without ever having them blacked. The name
of Warren has evidently never reached his ears.