The Sun.
London, England, 1846-08-03 00:00:00

THE SUN, LONDON, MOND
AY J EVENING,' AUGUST 3, 1846.

(of which latter we ourselves have already given a !fa-
vourable notice), have suggested a theme to one of the
contributors of the Lublin University, which he has
treated in a capital article, leading off the Au-
gust number. The delineations of an uncommon
race of beings in a distant quarter of the globe ; the
account of their donKstic manners, of their recreations,
their religious cerein cnies, disposition, features, language,
dress, and general character, is always a subject of the
utmost fascination; but that fascination is infinitely en-
hanced when the narrator writes in a good-humoured
and a;greeable strain. Such is the case in the specimen
before us, and the reviewer has rendered his composi-
tion equal in attractiveness to a passage of romance. In
the subsequent pages of the magazine, however, we are
presented with veritable pieces of fiction, among others,
the continuation of Mr. Carleton's vivid tale of an "Irish
Famine," and " Signor Formica," a pleasant fiction, in
four chapters. Now that the French metropolis is in an
unusual state of animation from the elections, and from
the recentattempt upon the King's life by Henri, the paper
entitled " Paris in 1846 " will be devoured with
an appetite. Nor has the recent recurrence of the July
jubilations detracted from the interest with which any-
thing relating to that brilliant city will be re(earded.
With no city in the world, perhaps, are associated more
reminiscences of glory and shame than Paris—the glory
of Charlemange, Henri IV., le Grand Roi, and Napo-
leon ; the glory of the Champ de Mai and 1830 ; the
shame of its double capitulations, and the devilries per-
petrated in its precincts during the Reign of Terror.
Paris is indeed tesselated with grandeur and meanness,
and the writer of this article has felt this whilst penning
his lucubrations. "Stray Leaflets from the Oak of
German Poetry"—alway's right welcome—are this
month peculiarly so. Some of the verses are inimitable.
We cannot refrain from quoting a very elegant sonnet,
addressed to Sir E. Bulwer Lytton, by Kenealy, and we
do so the more readily, as they are a favourable speci-
men of the poetry admitted into the magazine :
" Like the young Moon, when down from Heaven she came,
To court the slumbering Shepherd, as he lay
Nooked in a dell amid the Latmian hills,
Filling the spot with an ambrosial flame
Of light ethereal from her silver ray—
So to thy soul comes genius from the skies,
And such immortal splendours there instills
As charm the young, and glad the old and wise.
O Venus-sourd—Historian—Minstrel—Sage—
Weaver of dreams of light from olden lore—
How shall I thank thee for the enchanted hours

Passed with thy spirit o'er the golden page?
So Plato mus'd—so Shakspere wrote of yore—
So dreamed of love. Rousseau, 'mid Clarens' lakes and WWI S.'
" Political Prospects" is a marvellously sombre and
long-winded lamentation on the hopeless position of
national affairs. The Dublin University might have saved
itself the trouble of writing such unnecessary expressions
of grief. It will meet with few sympathies, either in its
indignation with Sir Robert or its melancholy forebod-
ings as to the Russell Cabinet. Its intolerant spirit,
moreover, :is here and there developed in a manner ab-
solutely udicrous. It scorns the Maynooth grant, as
another " attempt to give to Popery an ascendancy" in
Ireland, as if Popery was not already in the ascendant
among a people more than eight-tenths of whom number
themselves in the pale of that church! Again, it speaks
of Popery being "aggrandised in Ireland" by that same
grant. As well might we talk of a pauper at the street-
corner being aggrandised by the gift of a few halfpence!
The literary portion of the magazine is, however, of ex-
ceeding merit.