The Sun.
London, England, 1846-01-02 00:00:00

As to the eulogium which follows, it is as empty as it
is mawkish ; and it requires much more logical and

LITER U RE.
NARRATIVE of tim AT
EXPLORING EXPEDI-
TIOA to the ROCKY MO VA TAINS in the YEAR
1842, crud to UREGOA and NORTH CALI FOR-
. NIA in the YEARS 1844 5. By Brevet Captain J.
C• Fr emo, tof the Topou.aphical Engineers. ti ail a
illap and Must, ations.
This is a remarkably interesting and well-timed
Work. The design of these expeditions was a military
examination of the country between the Mississippi
and an the Pacific Ocean on the line of the Great Platte,
the South Pass, and the Columbia, with a view to the
Maintenance of American imagined rights over a
remote and interesting region. The military exami-
nation was the first object, but science came in for a
re ee the commander's attention ; and sextants,
refracting circles, thermometers, and barometers, as
p
e
wli
-.. as
, rifles, formed a part of the young officer's
gluLPlllent. The result of the combined objects is an
I'lllense collection of geological, botanical, geogra-
phies],,, and meteorological information, mixed up
"itn the details which would enable a general to
ornrareh an army, or an emigrant to move his family to
tategvaeln.u;e..:37.el from which a statesman might judge
the country, and a farmer choose a resi-
oe in it. These expeditions have been made, the
erst R
in 'l2' terminating at the South Pass in the
"Ii idY
Mountains; the other in 1844-5, extending to
tbhe tide. water of the Columbia, and thence south,
ia vast circuit, through the unknown region
nc)* the Alta California ; forced ' forward, when
"nee involved in them, by mountains and
onto
eserts, which carried the expedition far out of its
aded course, and exposed it to perils and suffer-
ga) only to be compensated by discoveries full
et str • •
co ange and romantic interest, among people and
untries never before described. The journals of the
two
of,: expeditions have been published just in the " nick"
b'e'l4le, when the Oregon is the great bone of contention
sid:e,,en two great countries. Towards this vast tract the
4. of emigration is now rolling, and the eyes of
of r°Pe and America turning, and for the dominion
workunding
sv which diplomacy is now weaving its webs, and
it its alarms. To quote from such
is would be almost impossible, so intimately
"e Portion connected with another. It is filled
With d
des .4 ventures hair-breadth 'stapes, and graphic
la criptia__. !
hi. "3 The personal merits of Captain I re-
e-',• in these expeditions have been great, and evince
ar talent for command and fur enterprise. With
bin average of twenty-five men, and no officer to aid
44,0'_fi he has made ten thousand miles of march,
to g tribes of savages, without ever being expord
as !erPrise or defeat. Without the aid of scientific
„msta
that :nee) he has so enriched his report with science,
a
't seems to have been the work of professional
tshebcra4; His work was lacking to complete
the 'new (which Lewis and Clarke commenced) of
11; „geat region from the Mississippi to the
Wieekle Ocean, and it has come at the exact moment
GrAn, it was most wanted, and will be most useful.
ai;•,4' events are impending, of which Oregon is the
sze‘,• English rights and honour are at stake,
%,„ 's civilised world pauses to see, perhaps, the
aar of the third great contest between the old stock
As the . Young shoot of the Anglo-Saxon race.
gofera literary composition it would be unjust to
se the report. It is evidently the transcript of
eat Made in the fields and is what such notes would
alvtatellin,srea II Y be--a brief and rapid delineation.. of all that
eh, and in the order in which it was seen. No
h Pt is made at fine writing. In place of that we
sadden truth and vigour, and the fresh, vivid,. and
law en descriptions which come from a man in the
has of action, and who has something else to do
wr„"es talking. Still many passages are powerfully
cleraLte
hi and the work betrays nothing in the style to
katetgate from the novelty and importance of the
Well e!... , The whole may be read with pleasure as
Nal q 3 benefit, and we heartily commend and re-
end mend it. The volume is illustrated by a map
~,hoBonie fine lithographic illustrations ; and no one
Who es to know anything about Oregon (and
does not ?) should fail to read it.
Ti:/.8
pertE W TIMON : a Romance of London. Part I.
s
pesed P two poets are not more diametrically op-
era, ' both in materials and composition, than are
sianuhe and Byron ; the one as copious in imagine-
preeina_s in language, the other formal, didactic, and
the 'e• Nevertheless, the present poem combines
viitilehara.
eteristics of these two writers, and that
try' out, in the slightest degree, injuring its symme-
-4
Re * Many of its descriptive passages smack of that
Nllaio t4eness and truth which rendered " The Bo-
tl,, gh so popular, while the analogy traceable in these
ek:3Productions may be discerned more clearly in that
11-„"r
avagant affection for antithesis which was so
I,rni,c3rously signalised in the "Rejected Addresses."
"n as an instance of this, the lines
It it
was notmirth, for mir • th she was too still,
twas not wit, wit leaves the heart more chill
ut that continuous sweetness, which with ease
The
riesses all round it, from the wish to please."
to the"rtybil:nocfe, on the other hand, which it bears
Byron is, if possible, more con-
leiliperae°3us than the preceding; the forcefulness of its
stireasull°ns, the energy of its allusions, its alternate
every :nd sentiment, recalling to our memory at
ic,` Childe Harold" and the " Age
kaurely the author must have re-
tt;ittniriieiscirt° arn
of fger 4eei fi' 'l,l of the spirit which actuated the,
"'len h - " rAglish Bards and Scotch Reviewers,'
strec,t e Penned the subjoined allusions to St. James's-
``- ; Alonglsl°wl'arhat space the blood-hound crowd array'd
To to tha'tund the shrine where last the Stuart pray'd;
'T?ielriek th:Pfn'tee the self-same blood-hounds run
of re: throe:telt ofeStuart's yiloer son!
And there4rlsandbm th dusk-rEd t werl—amidst his ring
The didDutchman king;
,piheers—rode the
Therl/40ut, thot4..ngland's Goneril titr ill to hear ?
th,per, where ,kr iumplvd o'er her crown _ d
Tee denry ch`Lie gaslight streams on Crockfor 's door,
swift ' where uckled at the jests of More.
paus You gaze upon the
In ed it„d
muttered, ' shall I have that See ?' "
13°Vvers Panic4l46-sing, however, these specimens of his
the writer
an imitator, we by no means wish to deny
enntrarx er any pretensions to originality; on the
ea espee'•Wie shall presently have occasion to point, in
soale
of ia
manner to his originality in analyzing
As far EL, °t11! most remarkable political characters.
to for_ his first portion of a poem will permit us
in itself an
°Pinien'
the story which it embodies has
i 3 likelyeffectl to
Much that is dramatic, and much also that
produce
a humanising and generous
purpose
OfPon the
minds of its readers. The main
Pourtra the romance, as its title indicates, is to
sequeY. a being sated with riches and its con-
a•he__"l Indolence, and a being at the same time
b, 'e affections are hardened into misanthropy
Or a lack f h
11, la f.,i, o sympathy and kindliness in
la 4,'"Ow-man. M
.e- orvale, a half-caste, (who
betty _ u hero),
.an offspring of unmarried love
live "eh an English chief and an Indian maiden, de-
east: 44 first knowledge of existence among those
liste'ra regions where " the couched strangler"
his ans for his victim, and " the fell serpent, with
efte:eathful eye," sports among the under wood. Here,
fre,(l having depicted the lawless and self-willed
1)044411 which the young alien acquired during the
into of his abandonment, the author hurries him
jaap.lne midst of civilisation, removing him from the
fortlie into the drawing-rooms of London, trans-
Of 0,,n? him from an indigent outcast to the master
eppoPrutienoe and grandeur. These alternations afford
ohr,_
.uunities for very striking contrasts, and of these
siCrratfinities the author has availed himself with con-
from the tact. Many agreeable contrasts result
first ese circumstances the future Timon being
. rape circumstances the future Timon being
bder seLited under the shade child delightingin rambles
as a
14bly ex,sreas ade of melancholy boughs," or, as it is
but ong ;1; „ 'arse "rocking his passions on soft waves
sa suinpt-urouPourtrayed as the owner of a desolate,
sounds °e
werew onlysansion in the metropolis, whose
. fitfully '' jared into joy" by the
which SCRne ‘, s
Mor,l °tare festival." The scene in
°lrePhan Luc 4 ? extends a sheltering hand to the
gr'es, and the is pencilled with an exceeding sweet-
eereY_ streets
_sudden outburst of sunlight over. the.
'1 a ~i.
,4t the very instant the young girl dm-
Poetry W.' eteetor •
tures at stir ,is one of those touches of true.
are que beimit the heart's blood with their pic-
" Ztie scene LY-, But the most remarkable and
vale Timan`;' that with which the first part of the
oe 8 hale.sis, is concluded, namely, where Mor-
Wleirl°°king ther Calantha is seated at her window,
ere
e spot "where Villiers flaunted and
_ ,ze Sedley 3 "
7 ,L 8 to intrnd ung —an occasion which the author
Lue moat -t'ee sonie very clever profile likenesses
TheSe b "t e°lls
their ,erSOnages
Picuous statesmen of the present day.
b„ hey to ti, are supposed to be pass
ing by on
Kiars ree .`le Parliament Houses, and as each ap-
r et
elves a,
" appropriate cluster of adjectives.
and fa • t l'eel, the appropriate • -
by
right otions au , Great Riddlemeree of all sects
w ,
~ , parties, takes precedence, as it were
ay unuu°' Ms competitors jogging over the road.
well 1.- that ver ,
is so
Tiv. flown to y sedate-looking cob which
Ta.,' gist of every lounger in Parliament-street.
"Y be our author's
eautio at
-Mimed u ,
.opinions upon the Premier
trait -us trot the pin his ejaculation, "And still the
, _
.oe the Duke of mind betrays." The por-
utll4ately afterwardsof Wellington, which comes imine-
delin as far as ,is quite a daguerreotype of the
~,,,sneasinu
or
his regards his appearance, but as a
t"'ol_4l.ken 'which , mental character it is extremely
"Nets anitY, with the exception of the few
~We have Next v,it, , selected below :
S'ilir tilanui:3ose rein and careless canter view
oer the /"I mop, the Prince f W •
o aterloo,
The firm I,rlb brow the hat as firmly
With' bhaPe ri i 1 in
In— the err g (the buttoned vest;
iii.nd the close ' n which the fire has proved,
illll'3 the w Sparta of a mind unmoved!
ill
finely lavixtlth to some large natures lent,
~,, aot liberal .sun
se.v?n where mispent,
I up,,lit, sen_}se
affectionof exuberant soul,
,-listed _
otr7. warming up the whole.
Liriird fist_cae. In.and his veriest passions halt,
'i?)4; _
3.,: e , t 1 virtue, disciplined each fault.
~,42 ne er wrong, if circumscribed
"en the pros e
~ the sight,
Stator ea throu _p et and it ne er is right,
,seet: the telescope of habit still,
a cal4P, and all the world—a drilll"

argumentative powers than are possessed— by the
author of the " New Timon," or even by Colonel
Mitchell himself, to prove that the " iron image" of
Wellington would indeed look gallimtly beside
"Marlborough's tomb, or lest Napoleon's throne !"
For a picture of any one but O'Connell none could
mistake the following forcible lines:—
" But who, scarce less by every gazer eyed,
Walks yonder, swinging with a stalwart stride?
With that vast bulk of chest and limb assign'd
So oft to men who subjugate their kind;
So sturdy Cromwell push'd broad-shoulder'd on;
So burly Luther breasted Babylon;
So brawny Cleon bawld his Agora down;
And large-limb'd Mahmoud clutch'd a Prophet's
crown!
Ay, mark him well! the schemer's subtle eye
The stage-mime's plastic lip your search defy.

The blood all fervour, and the brain all guile—
The patriot's bluntness, and the bondsman's wile."
After having thus mentioned that great embodiment
of Irish turbulence, and glanced for a moment on the
errant (not knight-errant) Lord Stanley, whom he
styles the " Rupert of Debrte," our author sketches
Lord John Russell in these peculiar terms :

Next coo], and all unconscious of reproach,
Comes the calm Johnny, who upset the coach.'
How formed to lead, if not too proud to please—
His fame would fire you, but his manners freeze.
Like or dislike he does not care a jot;
He wants your vote but your affection not;
Yet human hearts need sun, as well as oats—
So cold a climate plays the deuce with votes.
And while his doctrines ripen day by day,
His frost-nipp'd party pines itself away;—
But see our statesman when the steam is on,
And languid Johnny glows to glorious John!
When Hampden's thought, by Falkland's muses Brest,
Lights the pale cheek, and swells the generous breast;
When the pent heat expands the quickening soul—
And foremost in the race the wheels of genius roll!"
Mixed with some shrewdness, a dash of erroneous
sarcasm, and an occasional indication of drollery,
these outlines of our contemporary rulers are not
altogether unworthy of the men themselves, while
the introduction of them tends considerably to render
the other portions of the romance doubly piquant
and zestful. That the " New Timon" is the produc-
tion of no inexperienced pen, that the imagination of
its author is modulated to a classical composure, that
he is no obscure observer of the social or political ad-
vancement of this age, is evidenced in every para-
graph. Whoever he may be, he need not disown his
offspring through fear of its demerits.

CONTARINI FLEMING.—ALROY. Romances
by B. Disraeli, M.P. 3 Vol.
_ _ _

Mr. Disraeli has been greatly celebrated during
the last few years for his brilliant and satirical
speeches in the House, and his admirable delineations
of modern society. The new generation look to him
with confidence. He not only thinks deeply, but
speaks boldly : the first to denounce a narrow pre •
judice, the foremost to support a righteous cause.
Though entirely differing from him in political
opinions, at least in what regards the outward form,
we cordially agree with the principles he advocates,
and regard him as a real reformer. The flimsy dis-
guise of political dishonesty, the empty subterfuge of
the hypocrite, give way before the breath of his
withering sarcasm, while the wronged and the suffer-
ing find in him a powerful friend. His pen is ever
ready in their cause, and speaks the language of a
feeling heart. Such are the qualities which have
gained him the approbation of the multitude, such the
qualities which have excited the enmity of the few.
It is in a very different character he appears in the
works now before us. These were written many
years back, and are now republished for the benefit
of the new generation. Here we scarcely recognise
the philosopher and politician so much as the poet.
To write the story of Contarini Fleming was a bold
and original undertaking, but it was successful. The
author's object was not to chronicle the adventures of
an ordinary being, to indite a common biography;
his aim was to pourtray the rise and progress of
genius, to develop the formation of a poet. It is not
a record of events and accidents, but a history of
ideas, and thoughts, and passions.
" The noblest study of mankind is man."

The most glorious subject of contemplation is the
human mind—and what mind can compare to a
poet's ? Ah, what a combination is presented to our
view ! what burning desire for fame—what high
ambition—what thrilling hope, and gloomy, hesitating
doubts—what bright hours of inspiration—what days
of joy and nights of sorrow ! Now raised to the
loftiest eminence of blissful anticipation—now sunk
to the lowest depth of despair ! The creature of
extremes, feeling joy and sorrow in the uttermost
degree—and love, the most ennobling of all human
passions—how pure and holy is the love of a poet ?
From the gorgeous realms of imagination he brings
a thousand unknown charms " to clothe with excel-
lence the thing beloved ;" he paints her beauty with
colours borrowed from the heaven of his fancy ;
he bows in ecstacy before his idol's shrine--
his mighty spirit yields a passionate adoration.
To delineate such emotions Contarini Fleming was
undertaken ; it was a daring task, but its intentions
are fulfilled. It is, indeed, written con amore, with
the ease of one who comprehends his subject, with
the truth of one who has himself experienced the
feelings he describes. Fortune placed Contarini in a
situation well calculated to develop genius. Nursed
amid the cold snows of the north, the young poet
yearned for his mother's lovely land, the beautiful
Ausonia, ignorant of a mother's love, so dear to all,
above all to the children of genius, with a heart
glowing with fond affection, he found few to love, and
none to comprehend him. We sympathise with the
lonely sorrows of the friendless child, we follow with
interest his career at school and college, we see him
ever the creature of extremes—now the gayest of the
gay, the leader of mirth and folly, gaining the hearts
of his comrades by his lively, ardent temper—now
studying Greek twelve hours a day, and winning a
golden medal amidst " classic cheers"—learning the
philosophy of Voltaiye, and flying from the world to
the depths of a lonely forest to be the leader of a band
of robbers. His strange education thus concluded,
he returns to his home and enters public life. He
consigns his wild poetic effusions to the flames, and
devotes himself to politics with all the ardour of his
nature. His father filling the post of Minister, he
is introduced to the Government under his auspices ;
here he waits awhile, versed in all mysteries of poli-
tical intrigue, regarded as a promising statesman.
But the ruling passion of his life is strong, and again
exerts its influence ; he flies to solitude; there he
pours forth the feelings of his heart in a bitter satire
of his recent companions—his ministerial colleagues
are not forgotten. " Manstein" is published without
its author's name ; it excites immediate and universal
attention. In describing this portion of his hero's
.lanirofteree,r7Moacrre.dass. Disraeli seems to have anticipated the pub-
lication of his own " Coningsby," some thirteen years
thationTeLefihiele3dEnsciateemoeunntewlphaircthin the
history celebrated
of
" Manstein." Contarini
roud mingled with the gay
crowd, he heard all a e‘xgaanmtat.ion?s, like the
following Have you readn
must get it directly. The oddest book tnhat eAvehr;Wlsu
written. We are all in it, we are all in it I There
is the Baron de Bragnaes—he is really hit off to the
life—very satirical—very odd—very personal—all
in it—must get it—very witty—very flippant—
everybody is reading it. It is full of imagination,.w
ea
rea
l
and very personal, very personal, indeed;
l
in it. You are there !" The name of the author is
soon discovered, and Contarini finds himself sur-
rounded by enemies ; this troubles him little ; he cares
not for the smiles of the world. There is one thing he
cares for, however ; it is thus powerfully described :

"About two months after the publication of Manstein,'
appeared a new number of the great critical journal of
the north of Europe. One of the works reviewed was
my notorious production. I tore open the leaves with a
blended feeling of desire and fear, which I can yet re-
member. I felt prepared for the worst. I felt that such
grave censors, however impossible it was to deny the
decided genius of the work, and however eager they
might be to hail the advent of an original mind, I felt
that it was but reasonable and just that they should dis-
approve of the temper of the less elevated portions, and
somewhat dispute the moral tendency of the more
exalted.

" With what horror, with what blank despair, with
what supreme, appalling astonishment, did I find myself,
for the first time in my life, a subject of the most reck-
less, the most malignant, and the most adroit ridicule.
I was scarified, I was scalped. They scarcely con•
descended to notice my dreadful satire, except to remark,
in passing, that, by the by, I appeared to be as ill
tempered as I was imbecile. But, with all my eloquence,
and all my fancy, and all the strong expression of my
secret feelings, these ushers of the court of Apollo fairly
laughed me off Parnassus, and held me up to public
scorn, as exhibiting the most lamentable instance of
mingled pretension and weakness, and the most ludicrous
specimen of literary delusion that it had ever been their
unhappy office to castigate, and, as they hoped, to cure.
The criticism fell from my hand. A film floated
over my vision; my knees trembled. I felt that sickness
of heart that we experience in our first serious scrape.
I was ridiculous. It was; time to dv,a; authorship to me?
die. "
What did it signify
What did I care for their flimsy fame—l, who not yet of
age, was an important functionary of the State, and who
might look to its highest confidence and honours? It
was really too ludicrous. I tried to laugh. I did smile
very bitterly. The insolence of these fellows 1 Why!
if I could nut write, surely I was not a fool. I had done
something. Nobody thought me a fool. On the con-
trary, everybody thought me a rather extraordinary
person. What would they think now? I felt a qualm.
" I buried my face in my hands ; I summoned my
thoughts to their last struggle, I penetrated into my very
soul; and I felt the conviction that literary creation was
necessary to my existence, and that for it I was formed.
And all the beautiful and dazzling forms, that had
figured in my youthful visions, rose up before me,
crowned monarchs, and radiant heroes, and women
brighter than day; but their looks were mournful, and
they extended their arms with deprecating anguish, as