The Sun.
London, England, 1848-01-10 00:00:00

TIIE SUN, LONDON.

MAGAZINES—(CONTINUED).
TAIT.
In a political memorandum of rather unsatisfactory
brevity, we observe that Tait expresses a judicious
contempt for the Currency Committee, by the ap•
pointment of which, towards the close of 1847, Par-
liament virtually shelved the question of our mone-
tary difficulties. The tone of the writer is as depre-
ciative as his remarks are sententious. " Currency
Committees," says he, " portend evil—each succes-
sive Committee has produced something worse than its
predecessor." After observing that the science into
which they have to examine is plain and comprehen-
sible even to triteness, he observes— There might
be with the same propriety a Parliamentary Com-
mittee appointed every other year to sit upon the rule
of three, or consider vulgar fractions, and extract
the cube root of the National Debt." How much
truth there is in this may be guessed by those who
have glanced through the library of blue books.
What shall we say of our cotemporary when, speak-
ing of the " Irish Coercion Bill," as he calls it, or as
the Act itself was entitled, " The Prevention of
Crime and Outrage (Ireland) Bill," he observes—
" Our principal objection to this measure is to be
found in its companionless origin ?" Has he
forgotten the boon of a poor •la w by which
that Act had been preceded, during the session
which had only then recently expired ? A couple
of leading articles are prefixed to the January number
—one on " Ragged Churches," the other on " Reme-
dies for Highland Famine"—both brief but pithy.
The first of a bundle of gossiping " Letters from the
Channel Islands" follows ; and then a criticism on
Mr. Westgarth's historical and topographical account
of Australia Felix. George Gallen contributes a
rambling estimate of the intellectual character, and
moral, mission and literary position of Ralph Waldo
Emerson. How far the estimate is penned in a fan-
tastic manner may be conjectured from the fact of
Emerson being at one moment likened to a " flunky,"
at another to a "melon," at another to "Rip van
Winkle," at another to a " grocer," at another to
" Simon Stylites," at another to a "tree" with sap
running in his veins instead of blood. Still the paper
has thoughts that are shrewd, large-hearted, and
manly; it will be an agreeable introduction to Scot-
land for the great essayist from Massachusetts. With
all deference to the very oracular opinions of Mr.
Gilfillan, we must dissent from him with intense
emphasis when he speaks of Emerson as the greatest
poet of America. While the Song not only of
Longfellow, but of Bryant, resounds in our
memory, we cannot coincide in such a pre-
posterously wide decision. Neither can Mr.
Gilfillan monopolise to himself the faculty of
appreciating, or the capacity for depicting, the glories
of nature. Let him be wary, lest he degenerate from
pertness into self-sufficiency. He has one sly and
severe blow at the age, where he mentions Emerson
as " teaching spiritual truth to those to whom Mam-
mon—not Moses—has become the lawgiver, and Cant
—not Christ—the God." "Furstenruhe" is con-
tinued, and so also are the chapters of Sir Thomas
Dick Lauder on "Scottish Rivers." Elizabeth
Youatt contributes a pleasant essay on " Old Songs,"
and the sanitary question is considered in its imme-
diate application as a preventive of physical disease.
Several literary reviews are comprised in the number,
but we miss the tart and sarcastic spirit of De
Quincey.

DOUGLAS JERROLD.
We hail with satisfaction the appearance in this
number of the first chapters of the new novel of
"'Twiddlethumb Town," by the editor. It promises
to surpass in pungency and truth anything that
Douglas Jerrold has yet written. What, for instance,
can be more bitterly sarcastic than the following, on
the magpie crest of the Duke de Bobs ?
" For the magpie—the crest of the blood of the De
Bobs—was of ancient nest. his ancestress, much put
to her wits for materials, hid built and set in the Ark ;
her husband, it may be, looking curiously at the sea-
gulls through the windows, and wishing himself for a
short time web-footed, aquatic. The De Bobs' magpie
could trace a progenitor to Babel ! a magpie in the pos-
session of a hod man ; a bird that, flying from his mas-
ter with his master's confounded tongue, brought Irish
to the children of Erin, at that early day seated
upon thrones of ivory, and carrying walking-sticks of
virgin gold.
"It could only be such a magpie, hatched in such a
genealogical tree, that could be borne by a Duke de
Bobs. The bird had been the crest of his family for
many, many ages. An officer of the Herald's college of
Twiddletbumb—a pious looking man. with so smooth a
cheek that no lie for any money could be made to hang
upon it—a herald's officer declared that he had traced the
De Bobs' magpie to so early an age, that he fouud Time
himself a very little boy, feeding the bird with grubs
and caterpillars. Was it not a virtue in the Duke de
Bobs to be proud of such a magpie ?
" The Duke de Bobs swore by his magpie.
" A big, solemn nook has yet to be written on the
oaths of the high and mighty swearers of the earth. Oft-
times, curious and precious oaths. Sometimes, too, cu-
rious and serviceable as old china, that however cracked
and flawed, still serves for customary, household use, as
well as the soundest. The oaths of emperors and kings
—oaths of old fashion—are instructive, provoking me-
ditation. We think of them with wonder when unbroken.
We consider them with astonishment; even as we should
contemplate a silken thread that had tethered rhinoce-
ros—a trout hook once holding leviathan.
" The Duke de Bobs swore by the magpie ; for his
oath, inspired by his tutelary bird, ran ever thus, By
Black or White.' A good, serviceable, working-day
oath, befitting the Dukedom of a De Bobs ; an oath
that it was impossible to break. For the Duke de Bobs,
though he took the oath sometimes as often as he winked,
was never known to be forsworn. By Black or White
was, in sooth, an oath made very easy.
" Ansi now the reader of his own cunning may under-
stand wherefore the townsfolk of Twiddlethumb looked
uneasily at the Duke's crest—the terrible magpie. The
bird was mixed up in their recollections with many
wrongs and many sufferings. The Tvriddlethinxiber,
spoiled of a cow—robbed of a goose—his hen-roost ra-
vaged—or his pocket picked of twopence—laid the loss
to the thievishness of the magpie. The bird—the Duke's
winged Black and White familiar—was accounted the
curse of Twiddlethumb. For there ran throughout the
town--nay, it was a belief brimming in the hearts of the
Twiddlethumbers—that the Duke's crest, though seem-
ingly a thing of paint, or oak, or stone, according to its
place—now smooth and shining OR the Duke's couch—
now perched on the Duke's state chair—and now carved
over the Duke's windows—was a creature of most mali-
cious vitality. The magpie crest—swore the Twiddle-
thurnbers—was a living mischief ; of such cunning and
such force, that it could pick the lock of a money-box,
or carry off a bullock. The thing was a devil in feathers,
that when he liked hopped out from the Duke's shield, or
flew down from the Duke's chair, to pillage the 'rwid-
dlethumbers—t he Duke's unresisting people.
"We cannot believe in this black art of heraldry. It
is a coward's blow to strike the dead ; and to give our
faith to the superstition of Twiddlethumb would be—we
profoundly feel as much—to smite the honourable dust
of iron mighty men. For should we not tamper with
the ignorance of the many, whom we do not refuse to
call our fellow-creatures, were we to allow a vital rapa-
city to the Duke's crest—a carved or painted magpie ?
For after such allowance, what man's crest would be
safe...? Griffins and leopards and tigers, whelped hue-
dreds of years ago in the bed of glory, and fed on human
flesh, were notwithstanding harmless creatures ; of no
more ill-will than tame rabbits. They sprawled in
shields. and stood upon helmets, and had strong thews
of silk and worsted worked for them by female fingers.
The lord of the castle looked upon his hangings, and saw
therein his griffius, the children of his own sword and
his wife's needle. Anil shall we give air to a belief in a
possible necromancy that, at any age of the world,
could animate the panther of a Baron Fitz.-rmonois, suf-
fering the beast to prowl out from his tapestry at night
among the homesteads of the baron's tenants ; now
killing a child, and now sucking the blood of poultry ?
" Such superstition once afoot, where would it stop ?
Would it respect royal crests ? We think not. No :
the audacity of the human mind would, we much fear it,
give words of abuse even to imperial eagles. Felon
knave !'—some hardy slave might say, glaring on the
royal bird ; some biped clod of the soil, his blood of no
richer compound than converted black bread felon
knave ! dead thing that thou seemest, thou bast accursed
life : thou art here, thou hypocrite of honour, to attest
to foolish men thy daring and thy might. Thou eanst
give look for look with the all-lighting sun, and carry
thunderbolts. This is said of thee, but this we know :
this the myriad lowly best can tell. Thou fattenest on
the poor man's lamb, and devourest the poor man's kid.'
And should it chance that the eagle have two heads, tbo
malice of the opprobrious boor perchance might add—
' And if thou bast two heads, is it not that thou mayst
eat lamb and kid at the same time ?' "
" Galleries of Art for the People" is a paper well
worthy the consideration of all those who would wish
to imbue our people with P. love of art. The proposal I
to establish in all our large provincial towns' galleries of
engravings from the best pictures and of casts from
the best specimens of sculpture, is one which, if car-
riedet
ha
ep epnecoep, wille.
Idno mh
eu clhi
gthotwe
ra rdd
es
out, and carried out it may be at a very small
gofthleitetarsatteuroef
artm ptrnoevnitn
we have a well• told tale, entitled, " Vanity in Death,"
giving a most pathetic description of the death-bed
scene of a " poor player," and a farcical paper full
of dramatic effects, entitled, " Rather too much of
a Benefit." This last is from the practised pen of
Horace Mayhew. This is the best number of this
magazine that has appeared for some time.
,he

HOOD'S MAGAZINE.
Ovid never depicted a more incomprehensble meta-
morphosis than that which is exemplified in this
magazine. It is no longer the organ of Hood, although it
still bears the name of that remarkable and lamented
man. It is no longer " The Humourist." It is a
literary, scientific, and dramatic journal. In the
commencement oft 1848, the editor begins a serial,
which he facetiously terms a novel, but which, as yet,
is only a jumble of very serious common-places. It
must be acknowledged that we have only got the two
first chapters, yet we conceive, from their exceeding
aridity of style, they might have been termed a pre-
face, or an introduction, or an advertisement, or
-perhaps judiciously—have been left out altogether

-
organ we may judge from the fact of its favouring
us'. with an instalment of a second-hand translation
from a cheap edition of Ranke's " History of
the Popes." how far it is scientific may be guessed
from its containing not one tittle of scientific infor-
mation ; and how far it is a competent dramatic
authority is shown by its statement—in the account
of the Shakspere night at Covent-garden—that " the
entertainment commenced with a prologue written
by Mr. Charles Knight, and spoken by Mr. Phelps,"
and its sententious judgment upon the said prologue
that "it was scarcely worthy of the occasion ;"
when the truth is the entertainment did not com-
mence with the prologue, because Mr. Phelps did
not deliver it then, or during any part of the evening,
and when every one who has a single fibre of sensibi-
lity, or who can appreciate two lines of poetry, must
have felt that the composition in question was an
honour to the intellect and the enthusiasm of Mr.
Charles Knight, and, in a peculiar manner, worthy
of that memorable and national occasion. There is,
on the whole, a terrible falling off in this periodical.

THE BELLE ASSEMBLEE.
One thing strikes us as an extraordinary omission at
the very outset of the number for January. There is a
wood-cut as well as a brief description of the beautiful
church of St. Mary Radcliffe, Bristol, and in the
description there is not even an incidental mention of
Chatterton—the tragedy of Hamlet with the Danish
prince omitted. For its musical sweetness, its hope-
fulness, and its simplicity, we have pleasure in trans-
cribing the verses on
•• EIGHTEEN 111.INDRED AND FORTY.EIGHT.

" BY CAMILLA TOULMIN.
" What is the star of thy birth, New Year?
Is any so learned t...) prove a seer?
The" Forties" have done pretty well we must own,
So You come of a race whose prestige is known;
Then pray do not place on their 'scutcheon a blot,
By what you may do or what you—do not.
They've work'd pretty hard, those brethren of yours
—For what once took up weeks is now done in hours.
There is not (thank Heaven) a Corn-law for you
To be in at the death, or like hunters pursue.
And the Factory-child has a thanksgiving said,
For the meed of cold justice was poured on her head.
But You've plenty of work if you have but the will,
And, indeed, I don't think we shall let you stand still!
If you could—but you can't; it will take many years,
The brightest and best made of hopes, joys, and fears—
To raise up the Wretched from Ignorance's slime,
And save from the plunge to the Waters of Crime!
But I pray you attempt—look forward, not back,
Though you leave in your wake a bright silver track.
Rouse the souls that are dormant with eloquent words,
That are struck from the fire-heart of Genius like
swords,
To storm all the strongholds of error and wrong,
By the right and the might that to Truth must belong.
Cast the idol of Self from the hearts where its rule
Corrupts the hest natures to fashion a fool!
Making blind, making deaf, making dull every sense,
To the soul's truest joys, that are lasting, intense.
Ah, indeed, if you can but achieve such a feat,
All the good will rush in, like waters that meet
To form a strong river, and bear on its tide
Humanity onward, with Hope for its guide;
Till the haven that Worldlings still doubt and deride,
Shall be found and be seen by Reality's light,
And the Day that is dawning succeed the world's
Night!"
The publication is graced with its usual diversity of
prose and poetical contributions.

SPORTING REVIEW.
Craven gives a comprehensive and sparkling narra-
tive of " The Racing Season of 1847," and his coad-
jutors—Oxonian, Castor, Harry Hieover, Scribble,
and Brushwood, add their quota to the number for
January. They all begin 1848 in tip-top spirits, and
with an unaffected gusto that promises admirably.
The engravings are excellent, being a vignette tandem,
a portrait of Van Tromp, and " The Fortune of
War," the last-mentioned being the trip of a hunter.

THE JOURNAL OI AGRICULTURE.
There is nothing whatever of a superficial character
in the writings contained in this able and practical
quarterly. The various papers are the result of re-
search and experience. A spirit of true benevolence
has actuated the contribution of the first article
for January—being an examination into the condi-
tion of " The Labouring Classes," suggested by the
eloquent disquisitions of M. Charpentier. The re-
marks upon the " Influence of Railways," and the
necessity of road reform are judicious; and we
would particularly direct attention to the admirable
paper on " The use of Lime in Agriculture," by
Professor Johnston.