The Sun.
London, England, 1870-07-18 00:00:00

"Die of a rose in aromatic pain;"

but, at any rate, the closing words are these, " I have been
in Corisande's garden,' said Lothair (in answetto her grace)
and she has given me a rose.'" Viola tout: for we then read
—THE END. Yet, while the ingredients of the work are
altogther too rich to leave the palate of the reader
uncloyed, as though he had been surfeitting on wedding-
cake, black with luscious candies and several inches thick
in almond paste, it is sown half through with little appe-
tising atoms that give a relish to it, nevertheless. The
merit of the work, the one, almost the only, merit of it is
its radiant impertinence, having about it often the sus-
picion of wit, always the certainty of persiflage. Take
the merest taste of it, picked out like a plum here and
there—

" If we could only so contrive our lives as to go into the
country for the first note of the nightingale, and return
to town for the first note of the muffin-bell—existence, it
is humbly presumed, might be more enjoyable"—" Lord
and Lady Clanmorne, both near kin to the Duchess, were
themselves so good-looking and agreeable that they were
as good at a dinner party as a couple of first-rate entrees"
—" It is a wonderful place, this London ; a nation, not a
city, with a population greater than some kingdoms, and
districts as different as if they were under different Go-
vernments, and spoke different languages "—" 'Tis the
gondola of London,' said Lothair, springing into a Han-
som"—" Pinto never told an anecdote : indeed he would
sometimes remark when a man fell into his anecdotage,
it was a sign for him to retire from the world"—" Instead
of being a parasite, everybody flattered him ; and instead
of being a hanger-on of society, society hung on Pinto"--
" Sometimes those who had passed a fascinating evening
with him would try to remember what he had said, and
could recall nothing. He was not an intellectual Croesus,
but his pockets were full of sixpences"—" Lord St. Jerome
gave at his ball suppers the same champagne that he
gave at his dinners, and that was of the highest class. In
short a patriot. We talk with wondering execration of
the great poisoners of past ages, the Borgias, the inventor
of aqua tofana, and the amiable Marchioness de Brin-
villiers ; but Pinto was of opinion that there were more
social poisoners about in the present day than in the
darkest and most demoralised periods ; and, then, none of
them are punished, which is so strange, lie would add, as
they are all found out "—" What you call ignorance is your
strength," said Mr. Phoebus, " Books are fatal ; they are
the curse of the human race. The greatest misfortune
that ever befell man was the invention of printing.
Printing has destroyed education. I would not have a
book in the house, or even a newspaper "—" The religion
of •God is now so explained as to allay all fears. It is the
religion of science. Instead of Adam, our ancestry is
traced to the most grotesque of creatures ; thought is
phosphorus, the soul complex nerves, and our moral sense
a secretion of sugar "—" The venerable patron of art
smiled when he met Madame Phoebus, signed as he
glanced at Euphrosyne. The first gave him a beautiful
flower, the second fastened it in his buttonhole. What
could the Psalmist mean in the immortal passage ? Three
score and ten at the present day is the period of romantic
passions "---4‘ To-morrow the critics will commence. You