The Sun.
London, England, 1841-02-01 00:00:00

MAGAZINE DAY.

BLACKWOOD'S MAGAZINE.
The present portion of Mr. Warren's tale of
" Ten Thousand a Year" is taken up exclusively
with a description of a small country town elec-
tion, to which upwards of thirty pages are de-
voted ! Now, this is really a dose too strong even
for the digestion of an ostrich! Thirty ofMaga's
pages occupied with the details of a common-
place, which figures in at least three out of every
four tales of modern life, and which Boz has al-
ready so tersely and forcibly hit off in his
" Pickwick Papers," as to render all competition
hopeless! Never was there an instance of worse
taste. Were even the election scenes well
sketched, they would be far too tedious; but,
prolix as they are, and minute to a degree resem-
bling the details of a Parliamentary Committee
of Inquiry, they are—as Dogberry phrases it—
" most tolerable, and not to be endured." We
have read many sermons far less drowsy than
Mr. Warren's lumbering caricature of a provin-
cial election; and if we happen—which is very
likely—to be particularly dull in our present
criticism of Maga, we beg it may be attributed
to the benumbing influence occasioned by our
perusal of the fifteenth part of " Ten Thousand
a Year." One solitary point in its favour, how-
ever, we must not, in common fairness, omit to
notice. The character of the election agent,
Crafty, though only in outline, is delineated
with infinite acuteness, and is, we suspect, a
transcript direct from the life. " History of
France" is a review of an able work by M. Mi-
chelet. The extracts are the most interesting
portion of this article. " Hints to Authors" is
capital. The ridicule of certain modern novel-
ists is well applied, and, calculated to do good.
In the " Memoirs of Strombeck" we meet with
some amusing particulars respecting the Court
of Westphalia, during the brief reign of Jerome
Bonaparte=the most imbecile of all the brothers
of Napoleon. " Syria" is a well-timed article, in
which the writer praises (and justly) Mohammed
Ali for the toleration, as regards religious mat-
ters, which he has adopted, and caused to be re-
spected throughout his dominions. With refer-
ence to the late successful attack on Acre, we are
told that " by this memorable success probably
more was gained than national glory. Its unex-
pected evidence of the power of the British fleet
instantly taught common sense to France, diffi-
cult as that lesson may be to be learned by a
people, all whose hair-dressers and cooks think
that they are made for Admirals and Field-Mar-
shals, and talk once a quarter of conquering the
world. The fall of Acre instantly cooled the
French blood down from the boiling point." The
essay " On Style" is the production of a superior
writer, but of one whose thoughts, not duly dis-
ciplined, play truant too often, and expatiate over
too large a field. We think we cannot be mis-
taken in attributing this ingenious essay to the
pen of Mr. De Quincey. "Secret Societies of
Asia" gives an account of the notorious Thugs of
India. The details would have been more read-
able had they appeared four or five years since,
but now the subject is as hacknied as a discus-
sion on the site of Troy, or a criticism on Shak-
speare. " Song Sung at the Symposium in the
Saloon" is a lively trifle in verse. The " Disin-
terment" is a striking poem by Mr. Simmons,
suggested by the recent opening of Napoleon's
coffin, and his removal from St. Helena to
France. Our readers, we think, will be pleased
with this passage :
'Tis done—his chiefs are lifting now
The shroud from that tremendous brow,
That with the lightnhig's rapid might
Plumed Marengo's awful night—
Flash'd over Lodi's murderous bridge,
Swept Prussia from red Jena's ridge,
And broke once more the Austrian sword
By Wagram's memorable ford.
And may Man's puny race that shook
Before the terrors of that look,
Approach unshrinking now, and see
How far corruption's mastery
Has tamed the tyrant tamer !

Raise
That silken cloud, what meets the gaze?
The scanty dust, or whitening bones,
Or fleshless jaws' horrific mirth,
Of Him whose threshold rose on thrones,
A mockery now to earth ?
No—even as though his haughty clay
Scoff 'd at the contact of decay,
And from his mind's immortal flame
Itself immortalized became,
Tranquilly there Napoleon lies reveal'd,
Like a king sleeping on his own proud shield, •
Harness'd for conflict, and that eagle-star,
Whose fire-eyed Legion f4rensost waked the war,
Still on his bosom, tarnish'd too and dim,
As if hot battle's cloud had lately circled him.
Fast fades the vision—from that glen
Wind slow those aching-hearted men,
While every mountain ccbo floats,
with the bugle's regal notes—
And now the guns' redoubled roar
Tells the lone peak and mighty main,
Beneath his glorious Tricolor
Napoleon rests again
And France's galley soon the sail
Shall spread triumphant to the gale;
Till, lost upon the lingering eye,
It melts and mingles in the sky.
Let Paris, too, prepare a show,
And deck her streets in gaudy woe ;
And rear a more than kingly shrine,
Whose taper's blaze shall ne'er be dim,
And bid the sculptor's art divine
Be lavish'd there for HIM.
And let bite take his rest serene,
(Even so he will'd it) by the Seine ;
But ever to the poet's heart,
Or pilgrim musing o'er those pages
(Replete with marvels) that impart
His story unto Ages ;
The spacious azure of yon sea
Alone his rninster floor shall be,
Coped by the stars—red evening's smile
His epitaph ; and thou, rude Isle,
Austerely-brow'd and thunder rent,
Napoleon's only monument !

BENTLEY'S MISCELLANY.

Mr. Daniel's sketches of " Merrie England in
the Olden Time" are here resumed. They show
lunch out-of-the-way antiquarian research, and
are mixed up with quaint snatches of serious and
humorous verse, by way of setting off the subject
to the best advantage. Some diverting anec-
dotes, too, are introduced, the best, or at any
rate the briefest, of which is the tbllowina :--
" An acquaintance of mine, one Deputy Dewlap,
after dining with the Patten-makers on the ninth
of November, was attacked with a violent fit of
indigestion. His good lady sent for the family
doctor, who was a hutnourist. cried the
medical man, 'the old complaint, a coagulation
in the lungs. Let me feel your pulse. In a high
fever ! Show me your tongue. Aye, as white as
a curd. Open your mouth wide, Mr. Deputy—
you can open it wide 'enough sometimes—wider
still. Good heavens, what do I see here V— 'Oh
my stars !' screamed the fat Deputy's lady,
' what, my dear doctor, do you see ? " Why,
madam, I see the leg of a turkey, and a tureen
of oyster sauce! Halt, halt! gluttons all, glut-
tons all !' " The late Mathews would have made
an excellent thing of this anecdote, for he would
have hit off the open-mouthed Deputy, his
alarmed dame, and the doctor's sly, grave humour
to the life. Indeed it was just the sort of story
that he delighted to dramatize in his "At
Home." Mr. Ainsworth's " Guy Fawkes " moves
steadily onward. In one of the chapters before
us, Viviana, the young heroine, is wrought upon
to confess her love for Guy, but immediately
afterwards consents with singular sang froid to
his proposal to " die the death of a martyr," a
sudden change of, sentiment on the part of
an impassioned virgin, seldom found but in
modern romances of three volumes. The
" Pop Visit" is a scene of low domestic
cockney life. The dialogue portion is natural
enough, and is not without some pretensions to
humour. In the article headed " Children of the
Mobility versus the Children of the Nobility,"
there are several smart hits at the prevalent
fashion among the upper •and •middle classes of
over-dressing as well asunder-dressing children.
" We cannot forgive," says the writer, " the ir-
rational cruelty which exposes the little naked
arms of a new born infant to the nipping of a
bitter winter's day, its sleeves, tied up with satin
ribands. The wantonness of our folly, too, places
on its head a finely-embroidered cap with half a
dozen borders of stiff, welhcrimped lace, on
which, when it lies down to sleep, it must expe-
rience the torments of Regulus. To entitle them
to walk, the childrens' little feet are encased in
shapely shoes of morocco, such as would have
ensured corns to the Venus de Medicis. Theis
waist is at the same time encircled by a prodi-
gious sash, with bows and ends large enough for
the effigy of Queen Anne in St. Paul's church-
yard." As an edifying contrast the writer's ac-
count of the manner in which the children of the
Mobility are brought up ;
The children of the mobility sprawl unmolested, squall
unmolested. No impulse of theirs is checked by the close
fitting of their ragged garments. They enjoy free exer-
cise of limb and lungs. No one excoriates their epidermis
with much scrubbing, or brings on catarrhs by the pro.
longation of their toilet. Their lives, like their garments,
sit easy. They may play with the cat,—they may make
dirt pies,—they may make themselves happy.—lf they
want to sail their walnut-shell boat, there is the nearest
puddle: if they want to fly their kite, the common is at
their door. The woods are theirs, with their early vio- •
lets and late blackberries, their squirrels and birds' nests.
To their imagination, trees are made to be climbed,
rivers to be bathed in. The free air is all their own.
They breathe it uncompressed by stays, unharassed by the
badgering of a nursery governess. They look the sun in

the face, fearless that in return it should visit their cheek
too roughly. They aro accustomed to rough viLitings.
Instead of being tormented about turning out their toes,
their toes are allowed to enjoy a state of nature. Instead
of being engirded with a backboard, their backs support a
sheaf of bulrushes, or basketful of acorns or losechin ist, or
perhaps some little loving younger brother cr sister, offer-
ing kisses in payment of its fare. Fruit not beiac, inter-
dicfsed by Dr. Magnesia, they snatch their sloes from the
hedge, their strawberries from the wood, their rates from
the hazelbush. They have no notion of a juvenile fancy-
ball, with two months training beforehand from Madame
Michau. But on May-day, they rise with the lark (and
who is better up to a lark than a child of the woods and
fields ?) adorn themselves with garlands of wild hyacinths
or eglantine, and caper with all their hearts and souls
round the hawthorn-bush on the village green 1 Who in-
veated cowslip halls ?—The children of the mobility.
Who invented daisy chains ?—The children of the mobility.
—Who made the first necklaces of sparrows' eggs ?—The
children of the mobility.—Who originated leapfrog,
bliudman's buff, and all other boisterous diversions ?—The
children of the mobility.—Unobstructed by finery and
frippery, they pursue the sports of childhood with child.
hood's reckless impulses of joy. instead of the t,clious
airing, smothered up in a nurse's lap—instead of the
monotonous saunter, handcuffed by a nurse's authority,—
instead of the discipline of the school-room, the preven-
tive physicking of the apothecary inflicted upon their
miserable rivals,--the offsets of the mobility bask in the
sunshine, or freshen in the shade. As if to counterbalance
the cards of after-life, the little ragged urchins hunt their
butterflies in inconsiderate delight. A gallop on the
tinker's donkey is a happier thing than the formal ride
under the stiff documentation of a family coachman ; nay,
a swing on a gate is a happier thing, or a see-sax across
the carpenter's bench.

" Sydney" is the story of a strong, but ill-re-
gulated intellect, half-crazed by the reveries of
Swedenborg who--if we except Anacharsis
Clootz—was the most crack-brained fanatic that
ever committed his thoughts to paper. The story
is not amiss, but it is somewhat too maudlin in
its turn of sentiment. The " Praise of Wine"
is a poem translated from the German, but ap-
pears to have been penned under the inspiration
of brisk swipes, rather than of the juice of the
grape. " Irish Superstitions" is a threadbare
topic, but it is lightly and good-humouredly
treated. " Stanley Thorn" goes on pretty much
as usual.

FRASERS MAGAZINE.
In an essay on " Religious Authority as the
Principles of Social Organization," which leads
off thin Number, and which is of too subtle and
metaphysical a character to please generally, the
writer assures us, in his very first paragraph,
that " the old religious mind is gone, and its
place anything but enlightenment has succeeded."
Now we contend, in flat opposition to this dogma,
that the true religious spirit is snore rife through-
out the country than it ever was, though we grant
that religious phrenzy is on the decline ; but
surely the writer would not wish to see revived
among us the purblind, desperate bigotry of the
Millenarians and the other fanatics of the days of
Cromwell ! " Winslow's Physic and Physicians"
is a sharp, satirical notice of a work that ap-
peared the other day under this title; wherein,
alluding to the present dearth of sterling poets,
the Reviewer neatly observes that " pollo is
become an old man, and of infirm nervous sys-
tem." We do not wonder at the superannuated
Deity's nevervousness, seeing that there has been
some talk lately among the Utilitarians of en-
closing his favourite Parnassus, and running a
railroad right across it. " The Pirate Fight,"
is a spirited tale of the sea, as its name imports.
The recent obsequies of Napoleon furnish the
subject of a whimsical poem, in the Ingoldsby
strain, headed the " Funeral Procession." While
the ashes of the Emperor are being conveyed to
the Hospital of the invalids, the spirits of those
whom his ambition has deprived of life, are sup-
posed to join the cavalcade. Here is a descrip-
tion of these indignant hobgoblins :
But, hark I 'tie old Notre Dame chiming for one.
It has struck I To the top of the column upeprang
A spectre terrific in aspect and mien,
First form'd from the haze of the fell guillotine.—
The Spectre of Vengeance was he, I ween I
And his clarion rang
Forth at the blast, through the glorious arch
Of triumph at Neuilly—stiff, stark, and starch_
Some myriads of spectres commence their march I
While Death, tb' undertaker,:
Stalk'd cool as a Quaker,
Or gallant Napier promenading through Acro.
First singing con brio, the Marsellaise,
Come " the terrible sections" of St. Marccau.
Just as they appear'd in their palmier days,
Before they were mow'd by young Bonaparte's cannon,
Which speedily broke
Down the doors of St. Roch,
And pepper'd the altars with many a man on
Waving o'er Albion's " alien" foe
Floats the banner of green
In its ghastly sheen,
Clare the spectral pikes from the shores of the Shannon
Who is be?
Thy shade, D'Enghein I And yonder? Toussaint
One shot like a dog at Valenciennes,
One famish'd to death in his dungeon den I
Thore, the loyal and free,
De lit Rochejacqiielin leads on La Vendee,
•Huzza !
Jena and Wagrarn give up their dead,
And the Vistula sends from her gory bed
Each eski and owski,
Words set to a cow's-key;
Each owski and eski,
As brave as Ficschi,—
The shades of the slain to a tyrant's fell reign;
And next march the patriot spirits of Spain !

" Guerra al cuchillo 1" with crashing caraccos,
Cigars in their mouths of unearthly tobaccos
Stalk the solemn senors
From Iberia's shores,
With knives in their girdles—on crania shakos.
Sounds the death trump of the Osmanli° !
The Crescent glares down on th' Invader's pall,
Who, minus big Kleber,
Could stoutly belabour
The Mameluke Copt and his Padishaw neighbour;
Could smile at the terrors of Mahomet's sabre,
And kick the Impastor from Taurus to Tabor
Next, one and all,
In their terrible glee,
And close on the kibes of the ghost of Mustapha
March 'neatb the arch, quite as gelid as Staffs,
The poor devils poison'd by Honey at Jaffe.
While after the hydrocyanieised Gaul
Rush a pulk of Cosaqies on their spectral hack;,
That were roasted to death near the Kremlin's wall.
" Eminent Soldiers of the Eighteenth Century"
—a good subject for a series of Magazine Papers
—contains a biographical memoir of Prince
. Eugene, the contemporary and rival of Marl-
borough. "Eugene," says the writer, " was
meagre in person, hollow-chested, and rather be-
low the middle size. He had high features, and
fine dark eyes and eye-brows, but nothing pre-
possessing in his face ; and the quantity of snuff
which he took, gave him a habit of always keep-
ing his mouth open. Though of a quick and
lively temperament, he spoke in a slow, delibe-
rate manner. He was never robust, but was dis-
tinguished for bold, elegant, and graceful horse-
manship. Like many other illustrious men, he
was the slave of women, but was never married."
The " Three Great Epochs" maintains its inte-
rest as a narrative unimpaired. In the political
diatribe "On our Foreign Policy and Home
Prospects," Lord Stanley's Irish Registration
Bill is defended with more zeal than ability. We
doubt much if the writer be aware of the ten-
dency of this measure. The " Criminal Bro-
thers" is a highly wrought, tale of guilt and
sorrow.