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

NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.

We have little sympathy for Maria Louisa,
ex-Queen of France, and can read of her re-
verses, as duly set forth here in an article des-
cribing her career as " Duchess of Parma," with
marvellous sang froid, for we cannot forget her
heartless neglect of Napoleon in the days of his
adversity, who, despot as he was, to her at least
was ever the most affectionate of husbands. In
his last moments the names of his wife and child
fluttered on his lips, yet at that very time the
former was pursuing a reckless career of dissipa-
tion at her Court of Parma, and intriguing with
her Chamberlain, Count eipperg, without a
sigh—without even a thought of him who had
raised her to a station in the world's eye, which
she could never .have hoped to obtain. Of her
paramour, and subsequently her husband, Neip-
perg, we are told that " on his arrival in Parma
he was not much above thirty. He had a bright,
martial countenance, and his left-side face was a
type of manly beauty. In his early campaigns
the lance of a French hussar had deprived him of
Ws left eye. That honourable wound was carefully
covered with a black band, and there were charms
enough in the eye that remained, to win a weak
woman's heart. The Count was a man of liberal
sentiments. He was mild, abhorred violent mea-
sures, and generally upheld the cause of justice
and truth. He was very popular; his style of
living was simple; his manners affable and easy.
He died in 1827. " Fathers and Sons" is carried
on with vigour, but the present chapter contains
no incidents worthy of notice. " Might against
Right" is a romance of the Tyrolese war of
1809, when the patriot Hofer, whose murder is
one of the darkest stains on Napoleon's scut-
cheon, distinguished himself so highly. The
theme is a fertile one for the purposes of fiction,
and we have often wondered that it has never till
now been attempted. Mr. Phipp's romance,
which is now only in its commencement, pro-
mises favourably, but we should be glad to see a
little more vigour and terseness thrown into it.
At present, it is too diffuse, and the opening dia-
logue is languid. Mrs. Trollope's " Life and
Adventures of Charles Chesterfield" is neither
better nor worse than usual. There is a hard
ness and stiffness of manner in this lady's
latest productions, which act with a repelling
power on the reader. Her humour is
without good-nature—her , sarcasm has no
finer edge than a hand-saw ; as for
her sentiment, it is positively excruciating.
" Foreign Sporting," by Nimrod, is interesting,
principally on account of the sketches it supplies
us with of Washington's hunting establishment
at Mount Vernon, prior to the American Revo-
lution. In the article headed " French Press,"
the reader will find some useful statistical infor-
mation respecting the eirculation, influence, &c.,
of the Parisian journals, whose theatrical and
gossiping matters, we are told, " are the most
lively and witty in Europe." The Charivari is
certainly a gem in its way—but no wonder, for
the French have ever been remarkable for their
ready powers of wit and repartee. This national
peculiarity may be seen to advantage in Vol-
taire's tales, who sneers away a principle by a
pointed sarcasm, and demolishes an argument by
a joke. The " Friend in Need" is an imitation
of Sterne's manner. It is aptly enough called
an " Extravaganza," for it is very—very broad.
" Anti-Pacification " is an arch, airy little es-
say. " Pellets for Prosers" is a quizzical hit, in
the form of an allegory, at the present mania for
prose in preference to poetry. We subjoin the
opening stanzas :
One day, when the fetes on Parnassus were ended,
And Helicon dull for the rest of the year,
Like other gay tourists, Apollo descended
With Momus—to visit his votaries here !
For whoever the other gods took to amuse them,
They found them so learned, or so dull, or so prim,
That sometimes they'd leave them—and sometimes they'd lose
•
them ;
So he always took Folly to travel with him !

Having lasso'd two Pegasus-ponies—they bound them
With sunbeams for traces—took stars for their seat ;
And thus, at each step flinging rainbows around them,
They alighted, like sunset, in Marlborough-street !
But tliere the old Temple they stopped at so often,
Was shot in their teeth !—and 'twas only in spite
Of orders the strictest, they managed to soften
The P.rter—and sit in the shop for the night !
But Apollo, who cares very little for sleeping,
Tried over some " Chansons" that seemed rather new ;
While Memos, who always loved bindings—and peeping
At pictures and Peers—look'd the Annuals through !
And often, when struck by some discord within it,
Apollo would fling down his song with sneer ;
While Momus cried out with delight ev'ry minute,
" What a gent of a Print !—What a love of a Peer !"
So they got through the night ;—and next morning they
wander'd
Through all the new streets, and new squares they could find;
And though Momus his whole stock of sympathy squandered,
Apollo could scarce find a spot to his mind !
There were altars to Reason, and temples to Science,
But Poesy's minarets nowhere arose ;
And go where they would, still a look of defiance
Glared on them from some hideous statue of—Prose !

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