The Sun.
London, England, 1848-05-10 00:00:00

MAGAZINES, &c.--(CONTINUED.)

BENTLEY.

Bentley this Month opens with a biographical sketch
of Prince Metternich (illustrated with a portrait en-
graved by Cook, from the picture by Sir Thomas
Lawrence), in which the writer contends that Met-
ternich has, throughout his whole career, been the
victim of circumstances, inasmuch, as during the
whole reign of the Emperor Francis, Metternich was
only permitted to be the exponent of the views and
executor of the designs of the Emperor himself; and
that at the Emperor's death he had become so entan
gled in the system, that it was less dangerous to
proceed and play out the game, than to attempt to
retrace his steps. This is a new theory of the
character of Prince Metternich, and one by no means
improbable; and it has, moreover, the merit of recon-
ciling. many seeming contradictions in the character
of the late Minister of Austria. The next paper is a
sketch of the career of M. Guizot, by Mr. James
Ward, which, however, communicates no new fact
with regard to M. Guizot's career. " The Flaneur"
gives some amusing sketches of the Republican clubs
of Paris, and these may be considered all the political
articles which appear in this month's Bentley, unless
the " Chapters in the Life of an Old Politician" may
claim to be placed in this category: He is a most
amusing purveyor of gossip—is this old politician,
and his reminiscences of the days of the agitation for
emancipation and reform are very entertaining. A
pleasant tale is that of " The Three Nuns" contributed
by Alfred Crowquill, and Maxwell's "Robert Emmett
and Arthur Aylmer; or, Dublin in 1803, (an owre
true tale, we believe,) commences well. The most
interesting paper in the present number is " The
Hospital of San' Spirito at Rome, by E. V. Rippin-
gille. After visiting all parts of the hospital he
arrives at the ward appropriated to consumptive
patients, which he thinks is vacant, and accordingly
he sits himself down beside one of the beds
At this moment the hour of the Ave. Maria sounded
—the end of another
d ay—a point of time observed in
very touching countries, and marked pretty generally by a
versation are ceremony, in
which all motion and con-
and repeats ash Suddenly suspended, and every one stops
ed" prayer. At this moment the nurse
I had seen enter
over my shoulder approaching thibed, she reached
of holy water by thlePpl94 her fingers in the little vessel
head, and sprinkled side of the crucifix just above my
she then sank
ink
acqua
.6ettedstia upon the bed,
bnried her face in her stir her knees by its side, and
prising to me in this acatads. There was nothing sur-
similar: but in what words having frequently witnessed
a notion of my astonishment and
I convey, to the reader
my head, I observed that this little
emotion when, turning
sat so long was occupied! Never,ttle bed by which I had
life, shall I fail to see distinctly to the last hour of my
object that now rivetted and abseetcr mind's eye me
actually, for the moment, bewildered mlnYf attention, and
a minute or more I gazed with wonder,
EL
aabcluel ties. For
my eyes, or distinguish clearly the truth and to remove
reality of
what was before me. I had seen so many owe
the last few hours similar in aspect and situation,le
s
t within
for the instant, I believed my fancy had played me this
trick, and, aided by my sympathies, had placed this
beautiful and soup touching phantom in the little bed by
which I was sitting. But the nurse, rising from her
knees, dispelled the illusion ; her eyes were wet with
tears, and she looked with a feeling of deep interest and
sorrow upon the wasted form within it.
" As soon as I recovered myself so as to speak, I re-
marked in a whisper, • I thought all these beds were
vacant?'
" Without raising her eyes, and in a voice evidently
affected by emotion, she replied, They will be to-
morrow!'

" No I I ejaculated: 'is it true, must it be so?'
" The sympathising woman shook her head, and
walked towards the other side of her own room, where,
offering me a chair, she seated herself.
" Must this beautiful creature die?' said I; if she
really still lives, is there no hope for her; pray tell me
who is she, and what, and where does she come from,
from what country?'
" 'Ah!' said the nurse, with a sigh who knows, who
can tell anything about her, dear patient girl, too good
for this cruel world; who knows her birthplace, the land
in which she first drew her breath, the hands that first
tended her, the eyes that first looked upon, or the bosom
that first warmed and cherished her, who knows, alas!
who knows?' and here the kind woman wept bitterly.
" Seeing that I regarded her emotion with interest
and some surprise, she made a faint attempt to excuse
her want of professional firmness, if not insensibility,
and remarked, despondingly, that this was the begin
ning of her career as a hospital nurse, that this was her
last patient, and that when she was gone her vocation
should go with her!'
" ' And is it possible,' said I, that no one knows who
she is, or whence she comes ?'

" ' Not unless she has told her confessor;said the woman.

She knows not a word of Italian ; and there is but
one priest in the Propaganda, I believe, who speaks her
languat;e;
Good God 1' I exclaimed, 'is it possible ?—no
parent, no friend, no one to know the locality or the
cause—thus to die, poor creature, so young, so beautiful !
Alas 1 alas 1'

"Seeing me look towards the bed, and hearing me speuk
in an undertone, the nurse remarked,
"0, you need not fear to disturb her; sho has re-
mained in this state for almost two days, and appears to
know nothing. I think she sleeps, and I hope now
she does not suffer. The padre, when he left her at
mezzo giorno (noon), crossed her hands upon her breast,
as you now see them. I expect him soon again, and he
will find her as he left her; and to-marrow--to-morrow
it will be over.' _ _

"I now rose from my chair, and on tiptoe approached
the bed. The light within the last few minutes had been
lowered into gloom and obscurity, so that the chamber,
the bed, and its beautiful tenant appeared more visionary
and affecting than ever; so much so that I felt my foot.
ing upon the floor unsteady, and a swimming sensatio❑
in my bead. The bed appeared further from me than it
had been, and I was obliged to stoop down in order to
see distinctly what was within so short a distance of my
eyes. Heavens ! what powers of language are equal to
convey an idea of that sweet vision, that image of ail that
is melancholy, touching, and sad on earth, or beautiful
in heaven—of all that is calculated to inspire serious
thoughts, to burst the heart with its own sympathies, to
break the bonds of earth, and to recal the soul from its
mad career among the trifles of this trifling world ?
Who, to have looked on such a face, such a form, would
not have given half his life to reanimate it? Alas !
alas ! that anything so beautiful should perish and be
lost, or become but

"A flower of memory's sad and fickle clime,
Chill'd by the frown of all-destroying time;
Frail thing of thought, that with oblivion strives,
And,"tanned by sighs, bedew'd with tears, survives!"
" Fortunately at this moment I heard the burgeon's foot-
step at the door. Ou joining the kind old man, he apo-
logised for keeping me so long; but, choked with emo-
tion. I could make him no reply. I was ashamed of my
weakness, and affected to cough to conceal it. It did
not, however, escape his observation, and he remarked,
... Ay, these are sad scenes for those not accustomed to
them, and sometimes for those, too, that tire.'
"It is very nutural to suppose I wade inquiries about
this lonely and lost creature ; but the surgeon could tell
me nothing except as to the appropriation of that part
of the building; upon which point Irfeuudnidd
ranyot come conjec-
tures were correct. The patients he.
r 0 awaresed
within his department. Ile, therefore, was
not
of any such a case as that I described; but hf 0 promised
me. He
he would immediately make every inquiry
knew some probationers and padri in
the Propaganda;
and, if any information was to be
I should have itr. obtained, he promised
" Alas ! alas ! how little, and yet how much, of the
history of this poor creature
ultimately came to m)
knowledge. What a victim 1 what a fate!! How often
have I reproached myself that I did not speak a word of
English to her. Perhaps I
might have had some mes-
sage, some mission, some wishconfided to me, and m)
promised performance of
anything she could have asked
might have given one l' g immer of hope, one gleam of
consolation to her sinking heart, in the terrible gloom
that was fast closing the
short and dismal day of her
young life. Never can I cease to regret this, because
now I know the country that gave her birth. No doubt
the priest had reasons for communicating with her in
her native tongue. Perhaps she might have known
English but very imperfectly. Her home was in a re-
mote-part of Ireland. This victim of a cruel destiny WAS
an Irish peasant girL"
The Gaol Chaplain concludes his mysterious story_„
entitled, " Are there those who Read r
the Future
and Mr. Warren continues his pleasant account of
" A
his " Adventures on the Banks of the Amazon.
Edward
ce Charles
well written biography of " Prin
etchL.,
Stuart," and a "Biographical S
kiven in this number
illustrated by a portrait, are also i_z,
reasy
gives a com-
of Bentley, in which Professor C
" as the fifth of the
mentary on the "Battle of Tours,
rld.
six decisive battles of the wo

. _____—___—_ ,
AINS WO R 7 11.
Another " old familiar face" beams upon us from
the cover of Ainsworth's 21!agazzne -associated
as
it i 3 so plesantly with recollections of " indsorCastle
and Cruikshank.. The
,yivid and somewhat gorgeous
romance of " Ciichton, ' by Harri▪
son Ainsworth— a
romance long since familiar to the world of novel
needle of
readers—is revived in a revised edition with plc-
" Tale of
turesque embellishments from the etching
a Flirt," which
Phiz. "Am I Murdered ?" is an odd contribution by
H. R. Addison ; and the
choiceisthsed, some years back in
espteglerie. It
remindsf 110 w s i tu, iso
of
admirable api iarpaebrl epfuobr l i
a magazinel
the New Monthly, called " The a Islteoycrya ni dt iissmc
capital
ttahl‘•
continuations ,D.Ehraerweinagre-rcooonmti.n"
of "lh
and " The Countess of Rudolst d "• Mrs. White con-
tributes a very pretty
chapter—seasonable enough too
—called
" The Footprints, A delightful,
of Spring."
descriptive paper about
,The Escurial," the most
the world, not excepting Windsor,
wonderful palace in
Versailles, Peterhoff,
, or the Vatican, is suggested by