The Sun.
London, England, 1841-03-01 00:00:00

MONTHLY CHRONICLE.

We are glad to meet with, in the " Careless
Word," a tale far superior to the general run qj
Magazine fictions. It is told- simply and feel-
ingly, and turns upon a hasty, thoughtless re-
mark let drop by a young girl, just before her
union with a jealous and sensitive youth, who,
taking her random observation seriously, breaks
off the match, and, as a natural consequence,
breaks her heart, which, according to Sam Slick,
is the most difficult thing in the world to do,
ladies' hearts being generally as tough as India-
rubber. The tale may be considered as au illus-
tration of Moore's well-known couplet,

" Alas, how slight a cause may move
Dissension between hearts that love."
In the " Hungarian Daughter"' we find a lengthy
notice of a recently published tragedy of that
name, in which the author's defects are diligently
pointed out, and his merits as diligently insisted
on. We hope the following sanguine prediction
of the Reviewer may soon be realised, but we
must acknowledge that we are somewhat scepti-
cal on the point. "We feel," he says, " that
there is a great dramatic era before us, when the
monopoly shall have been broken down, as it
must be soon. New poets will then crowd round
new theatres, and the age of all the bright
galaxy that filled the • reign of Elizabeth with
glory--7of all but one—will be, revived in a
younger life." There is unquestionably a growing
taste for dramatic poems, as must be evident to
those who watch the literary signs of the times; but
as yet, there are but few indications of a revival
of the stirring genius of the Elizabethan age.
"National Education" is a shrewdly reasoned
essay. How just is this observation :—" It is not
from the diffusion of knowledge that danger is to
be apprehended, but from the higher orders be-
ing left behind in the race of improvement. It
is not by supercilious looks or by an air of as-
sumption that the deference of the vulgar is now-
a-days to be attained. It is intellect and acquire-
ment, the precious fruits of time and opportunity,
which fix upon individuals the stamp of supe-
riority." " Fragments from Richter" are a col-
lection of aphorisms in which sense and fantastic
absurdity are strangely jumbled together. " Or-
pheus" is a poem by Mr. Horne: There are some
impressive thoughts in it, but there is also far tco
much cant about the old Greek mythology,
which we had hoped had expired with Johnny
Keats. " Sketches of Spanish Generals"—by far
the most entertaining series of papers that have
yet appeared in this periodical—are devoted this
month to the famous Spanish Guerilla General,
Mina, whose character is fairly enough pour-
trayed. We quote an animated account of an
ambuscade into which he and his soldiers be-

trayed a large body of French soldiers, who were
on their road from Madrid:—
" They halted at the entrance -of the defile, as well for the
purpose of breathing the horses as to take a careful survey of
the formidable ground on which they were about to enter. *Af-
ter a short delay in this spot, the officer who commanded the
escort, discovering no apparent cause for alarm, and learning
nothing of the movements of Aline, who was supposed to be at
that moment in the neighbourhood of Los Arcos, or Niana on
Ebro, gave orders that the column should move forward, si-
lently, steadily, and cautiously. 'I hey advanced deep into the
gorge ; yet not a s'gn nor a sound betra)ed the presence of a
hidden foe. Not until they had penetrated into that part where
four men could scarcely walk abreast, and where they were al-
most concealed from each other's sight, was that awful silence
broken. When the last man of the rear-guard had entered the •
mouth of that abyss, then indeed did the echoes of that moun-
tain solitude leap into life. But one short shrill whistle w.ss
heard, when a discharge of more than 3,000 muskets shook the
hills as if with an earthquake, and suddenly flung over the sky
the darkness of midnight. Again—and again—and again ; from
every fissure of the rock, from every crevice, death was vomited
amongst the bewildered French, who knew not, and saw not,
the enemy that destroyed them. '1 he veterans of the army of
Italy were astounded ; and the hearts of those who had braved
death in a thousand shapes now failed them for a space. They
were armed—but what could arms do against naked rocks ?
Three hundred men lay dead after the first discharge : and
nearly double that number, mortally wounded, were writhing
in anguish, like crushed serpents, beneath the masses of granite
which, hurled from their frail resting-places, came rushing and
thundering into that valley of death. Waggons and carriages
of all descriptions were shivered to atoms, or upset and en-
tangled amongst the rocks and brushwood. The thunder of the
musketry—the screams of the women as they beheld their chil-
dren slaughtered in their arms—the low moans of feeble old
age—the frantic cries of equally helpless youth—the groaning
of the wounded, the sick, and the dying—the shouts of impo •
tent rage, and the loud execrations uttered by the soldiers t f
Napoleon, who were thus massacred by a foe they could nut see
—the darkness of the gorge itself, relieved only by the flashing
of the muskets, from which streamed the ceaseless tide of death

—all flung over this spot the terrors of hell. The demoniacal
character of the scene was deepened still more when the pal-
rilleros, seeing that the work of carnage was thus effectually
begun, leaped forth from their hiding-places into the defile, ut-
tering those yells which vengeance throws forth in its hour cf
maddest intoxication. They continued with the cold bayonet
that which had been so well commenced with the bullet ; and,
in their blind fury, did not even spare the unhappy prisoners,—
their own countrymen—who, confounded with the enemy in
this terrible melee, called in vain for mercy !"

TAITS' MAGAZINE.
In his leading article—to speak professionally
—on the " Present State of Parties," our Radical
friend Tait delivers it as his conviction that " the
Administration is verging to its fall." Certes, it
is not in the most flourishing condition possible,
but as things now are, even its poor majority of
five, may be considered as a tolerable working
majority. The days of boroughmongering on a
comprehensive scale are past for eyer, and with
them have gone those overwhelming majorities
which—aided by the tactics of Billy Holmes—
used to delight the hearts of Ministers. The
writer's observations on the political conduct
of Sir Robert Peel are founded in justice and we
agree with bins that " all the Right Hon. Ba-
ronet's delays have for their object the getting
rid of the assistance of the Orange faction.' This
faction are a perfect drag-chain on his movements.
They will not advance themselves, and they will
not let him advance ; what wonder then that he
should be anxiously looking about for the means of
extricating himself from their clutches ? The
time, we apprehend, is not far distant when the
Right Hon. Baronet will fling off his Tory
shackles, and start up, an unencumbered Re-
former. This is the only alternative he has left
him, and if he do not hasten to avail himself of
it, he will be extinguished as an influential
statesman, as surely as to-morrow's sun shall
rise. " Violet Hamilton," is the continuation of
a story commenced several months ago in this
Magazine. There is one piquant sketch in it
of the provincial manager of a great London
Joint Stock Company. " A Visit to the Mo-
nastery of La Trappe," is passable. We cannot
give it higher praise. " Memoirs of Jeremy
Bentham" are replete with reminiscences of pub-
lic characters, who, having played their parts,
have long since passed from the stage of life.
Here is a sketch of Lord Shelburne, the friend
and contemporary of Burke, in the earlier period
of his political career :
Lord Shelburne used frequently to say, " Tell me what is
right and proper—tell me what a man of virtue would do in
this matter." I told him that Balak, the son of Zippor, wanted
Balsam to prophesy, who stpwered, " That which the Lord
puts into my mouth will I prophesy ;" and that was the answer
ldiLdiomgmeranade;dstiliaeemin.nad:
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e of
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vagueaanns manner was
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were
the bottom, when, in fact, there was nothing at all. He askee
me what he could do for me-. 4 told him, " Nathing"—and he
found this so different to the universal Spirit of those about
him, as to endear me to him. He was afraid of me, so there
was not much intimate communication. I was occupied in
writing and reading between breakfast and dinner, while lie
took walks with the eldest Miss Vernon (now Mrs. Bauher
Smith). I seldom saw him except at dinner, where there was
mostly company. Supper I never took, but betook myself to
my room. I was of more importance, however, to him, than I
could bring myself to believe. I was -cowed by my past humi-
liation. —I felt like an :outcast in the world.—l had known a
few tolerable people, one at a time, but no extensive acquaint-
ance. That a mast shclabl be born in the great place called
" abroad," was a sufficient recommendation. Lord Shelburne

had a wifdnes; about him, and conceived groundless suspicions
about nothing at all. I remember going to ride out with one
of his servants, and being accosted by some man whom.
rpoke to out of pure civility; and, on mentioning it to fstad