The Sun.
London, England, 1841-01-02 00:00:00

MAGAZINE DAY.

BLACKWOODTS MAGAZINE.
id.
Christopher North seems to have been no: in,
of late, for we have missed for several months those
op?rtive sallies of humour, and light sparkling cri-
ticisms which used to illuminate the pages of
Maga. We trust " the old man eloquent" will
soon shake off his torpor; rise like a giant re-
freshed ; and come forth in all his wonted power.
Meantime, we have no great cause to complain, for
the Number of Maga now lying on our table is de-
cidedly among the best that the last year has pro-
duced. " Ten Thousand a-Year" commences it,
and forms a worthy commencement, for the tedious-
' net and frequent languor that we have more than
once complained of, are no longer visible in the
tale, which dashes forward, page after page, with
the rapidity of a steam-engine on a rail-road. The
character
of gammon, too—that most astute
and of
of attorneys—is brought out
with a tact and quietness of manner that
will recal the recollection of the admirable
legal sketches in Fielding's " Amelia." " A
Fourth Chapter of Turkish- History" gives an ac-
count of the origin and progress of the Mamelukes
remarkable military corps, not very dissimilar
to the Praetorian Guard of Imperial Rome, who,
until they were annihilated by the present ruler of
Egypt, had kept that country in subjection for cen-
turies. " Lyrics" is a review of the poems of the
late Capt. Morris, once the most fashionable bard
of his day. Often has this celebrated bon vivant
aft the Carlton House circle in a roar ; but the boon
.. companions whom he enlivened with his wit, nay,
the very Palace wherein they used to meet, have
alike passed away ; and he himself but the other
day dropped into the grave with the snows of ninety
Winters on his head. The Captain was Moore 's
immediate predecessor in the festive lyric, in which
he has sometimes equalled, if not surpassed, him.
'We quote the introductory passage of the criticism
on his poems :---
Those who were in the habit, some forty years ago,
of wandering at the West-end of London, must have re-
marked an individual frequently seen in St. James s-
street, about the hour when, the Morning Papers having
been looked over, the Clubs pour out their members
into St. James's-street and Pall-mall. There and then
grottps wore to be met with in all directions, composed
of the most celebrated men of the day—when England
Possessed celebrated men—busily conversing on the pro-
teedings of Parliament the night before, or which were
to take place before another night had passed away.
Prom the close of the American war, these groups were
chiefly composed of the Opposition ; for the unrivalled
ascendancy of the greatest minister that England had
ever seen, gave the Whigs the leisure for these confer-
ences which the occupations of public life generally de-
nied to the Tories, or their reliance on their great leader
reach red unnecessary. There were to be met, from the
hours of two to four, the elite of the Foxites, mingled
"nttsionally with a few of the leading Peers and country
gent!emen who formed the small neutrality of Parlia-
ment ; there stood Fox, with his ponderous figure, good-
humoured sunk, and heavy step ; Grey, grim from his
eCradle, Perpendicular, and repulsive ; Sheridan, with a
ce Purpled over with claret—the stamp of his habitual
eesses—a stooping form and neglected dress, but with
an eye among the blackest, largest, and most beaming
that ever was set in the head of man ; Tierney, grave,
sly' and with a look of inveterate subtlety, that might
have
established him as the most crafty of men, even
before he had uttered one of his cunning syllables ;
Whitbread, short, strong, and broad-shouldered, the
complete model of the brewer that he was, even to his
pepper-and-salt coat, but with a countenance of singular
taanliness, and indicative of the John Bullism of his am-
teeter ; Wyndham, with the graceful figure, airy step,
and handsome countenance that seemed made for Courts
"left
the oddity, fantasy, and ill-fortune of his career had
end' in a state of oscillation between the Whigs
. Tories and, like other pendulums, left him to swing
Wmove ; hile the hands: in front were gaining ground at every
word Dundas, who feared no one, and had a lively
fur all, sometimes mingling with the circle ; for a
moment throwing in his easy jest, and easily bearing
its return, doubtless amused by the sense that he was
the possessor of power while they were but nibblers
at the hook. There to%) was Jenkinson, with the pro-
nonund brow that seemed surcharged with the secrets of
lutae:Ppire ; silent, if not sullen, and returning their sa-
Thermos s cautiously as if a bow were a betrayal.
F tgo on his two huge legs,
folk,was the Duke of Nor-
,in his' grey coat and black cape. Fluttering round
atnd among these groups, was to be seen the individual
ovewhom we have alluded—a man of remarkably expres-
f•atures, with a determined and even a stern air,
"hid), however, frequently relaxed into. a smile of the
liveliest hilarity—his dress rather ttegligc, yet always
that o. f. a gentretnan ; his step ali,rt, and evidently
formed b the drill ; and the Thole man bearing evi-
ji`L"ress eof one who had acquired the art of using his
ri the parade of the Horse Guards. This was
'iCit_hrnerles Morris, the Whig Apollo, the volunteer
h: ate of the Opposition, of whomsoever it might
le_ ,eet"Posed ; the bead of the Beefsteak Club, and the
'r of pleasantry wherever he appeared.
While Speaki 7
114 of Captain Morris's Whig prin-
vlp.les, Which he deserted in order that he might
still continue to bask in the sunshine of Court
favour, the Reviewer asserts that the charge of in-
teniperance was a mere scandal brought against
P"` by his political enemies. Such is not the case.
-rut was notoriously a hd driker, and numerous
zerrthe anecdotes to thisar effectn recorded of him by
and other contemporary memoir-writers.
intlints to Authors' is a very felicitous quiz on
sm. ern writers of fiction, whose love of the impas-
toned and the intense—in other words, of the non-
ae.nskal--is cleverly hit off in a mock-romance,
Where
°f the 'la the chief personages, in pursuance of the taste
such y, arc thieves, cut-throats, swindlers, and
thou Mohammed
attractive creatures. Mohammed Ali,"
gh the dish be somewhat of the stalest, is served
upi with piquant sauces, so as to render it perfectly
ateahle. One historical error, however, in it,
NAe must correct. "At the commencement of
, a,P°le°ll's Egyptian campaign," says the author,
` tl e Masnelukes were a vigorous enemy, but they
wanted numbers. Not amounting to more than three
thousand cavalry g
, and having neither infantry nor
solid
gulls, they were unable to snake an impression on the
columns of the French ; and at the battle of
the Pyramids they were almost totally destroyed by
the musketry and the cannon." Now, it happens
that at this famous battle the Mameluke cavalry
were, not three thousand, but ten thousand strong,
for Mourad Hey, their commder, ad gathered theni from all quarters
of Egyptan ; andh their charge,
as they came thundering on in a body, is described
by the French historians as having been one of the
most impressive military spectacles ever witnessed.
" The Chew Tragedy is a spirited and diverting
poem, in the Colman style of humour. " Wit and
'Wisdom is an ironical allegory, setting forth, in
terms of solemnity worthy of the inspiring theme,
'Mhow Christopher North sprang full-fledged, like
inerva, from the brain of Jupiter. In the essay
on the " Foreign Policy of France," the lash is
applied to M. Thiers' back with as much vigour
and dexterity, as if it were laid on by a six-foot
drummer at the triangles. We are not sorry to see
the little man thus flagellated, for he is a busy,
restless, mischievous personage, who mistakes the
promptings of vanity for the impulses of ambition ;
and is constantly vaunting his regard for the honour
of France, when he is merely consulting his own
self-interest. M. Thiers is a greater man at the
Bourse, which is the barometer by which he regu-
lates his patriotism, than in the Senate, where lie
is a mere pert, shallow, though entertaining, de-
claimer.

" It
The

And

BENTLEY'S MISCELLAVY.
Toni Ingoldsby, the prince of wags, who com-
bines broad practical humour with a play of fancy
to be found in Wilson alone, of all the writers of
the day, opens the new year with a comic legend
calculated to put us all in the best possible spirits,
notwithstanding the disheartening fact that with the
advent of 1841, we are all of us a year older, and
but few of us a year wiser. The theme that Tom
has selected for his drollery, is the tradition of Nell
the cook-maid, who having found favour in the
eyes of a fat old monk in the monastery to which
Belonged, was afterwards supplanted in his
good graces by a handsome young lady who repre-
sented herself as his niece, and was in consequence
furnished by him with board and lodging in a vil-
lage within a comfortable walking distance of the
monastery. Here the monk often visited her at
ilightfall---no doubt for purposes of spiritual cdifi-
eatino ; but Nell thinking that she had quite as
nnich right to be edified as her rival, took umbrage
4t the ghostly man's neglect of her soul ; and one
fine day, in a fit of raging jealousy, poisoned both
un and his niece, as is duly related in these
stanzas :----
;he Canon's house is lofty and spacious to the view
;
Tie Canon's cell is order'd
well—yet Nelly looks askew ;
e a Ladyd—
's bower is in the tower,—yet Nelly shakes her
„he he
V,ides the poker and the tongs in that gay Lady's bed 1
weeks were gone and over, full six weeks and a day,
in that bed the poker and the tongs unheeded lay !
lioSa
n 1 which, I fear, it's pretty clear that Lady rest had
e•
Or, if
she slept ist any becl..it WU not in her own.
/--7 i

" But where that Lady pass'd her nights I may not well
Perhaps in pious oraisons at good St. Thomas' Shrine,
And for her father far away breathed tender vows and true—
It may be so—l cannot say—but Nelly look'd askew.
" And still at night, by fair moonlight, -salmi all arc lock'd
in sleep,
She'd listen at the Canon's door,—she'd through the key-
hole peep—
I know not what she heard er saw, but fury fill'd her eye-
-She bought some n ►sty Ductor's-stuff, and she put it in
a pie !

was a glorious summer's ere—with beams of rosy red
Sun went down—all Nature smiled—but Nclly shook
her head I
Full softly to the balmy breeze rang out the Vesper boll-
-Upon the Canon's startled car it sounded like a ksiell
" Now here's to thee, mina Uncle! a health I drink to
thee
Now pledge me back in Shcrris sack, or a cup of Mal-
voisie
The Canon sigh'd—but rousing, cried, • I answer to thy
call,
And a Warden-pie's a dainty dish to mortify withni
'Tis early dawn—the matin chime rings out for morning
And Prior and Friar is in his stall—the Canon is not there
Nor in the small licfeet'ry hall, nor cloister'd walk is he—
All wonder—and the Sacristan says . Lauk-a-daisey-me I'
They're searched the aisles and Baptistry—they're searched
abore—around—
The Sermon House—the ' Audit Room'—the Canon is
not found.
They only find the pretty cook concocting a ragout ;
They ask here whare her master is—but Nelly looks Nkers
They call for crow-bars—' jemmies' is the modern name
they bear—
They burst through lock, and holt, and bar—but what a
sight is there!—
The Canon's head lies on the bed—his Niece lies on the
floor I
—They arc dead as any nail that is in any door

" The livid spot is on his breast, the spot is on his back!
Ills portly form, no longer warm with life, is sw•oln and
black I
The livid spot is on her cheek--it's on her neck of snots-,
And the Prior sighs and sadly cries, Well I here's a
pretty Go r
" All at the silent hour of night a bell is heard to toll,
A knell is rung, a requiem's sung as for a sinful soul,
And there's a grave within the Nave, it's dark, and deep,
and wide,
And they bury there a Lady fair, and a Ginon by her side !
" An Uncle I—so 'tis whisper'd now throughout the sacred

fane,—
a Niece—whose father's far away upon the Spiniih
D 1 ~in—
. . .

The Sacristan he says no word to indicate a doubt,
But be put his thumb unto his nose, and he spreads his
fingers out 1"
" Guy Fawkes" proceeds pretty much in its usual
style—that is to say, with a full flow of incident, but
with an utter disregard to anything like individu-
ality of character. The scene wherein Viviana,
the heroine, is represented as being put to the
torture, is meant to be impressive, instead of
which it is simply repulsive. We hate to read of
pretty young girls having their taper fingers crushed
by thumb-screws, which of course involves the ne-
cessity of a poultice, and God knows how many
other unsentimental applications I But Mr. Ains
worth is always prodigal of his horrors, and whe-
ther we like the feast or not, compels us, like
Macbeth, to sup full of them. " Merrie England
in the Olden Time," abounds in quaint conceits
and characteristic anecdotes. " Opinions of the
Times" is horrid stuff. The "Village Blacksmith" is
a spirited poem, some of whose descriptive touches
are as literally true to life as Crabbe's. Charles Lamb
and his jokes are again brought on the tapis in
an amusing paper, headed, the " Old Ledger,"
the writer of which eulogizes Elia in far too ex-
travagant terms. He was a discriminating critic,
but his sphere was a circumscribed one, and his
powers of humour and fancy were equally limited.
He wrote many quaint essays, through which
trickled a small stream of thought, but he •
achieved nothing really great in literature. As for
his poems, they have quite a cast-iron stiffness
about them, and, in point of melody, resemble no-
thing so much as the drone of the bag-pipes. The
" Biographical Memoir of the late Thomas Hill"
is penned in a friendly, cordial spirit. This lite-
rary veteran, who knew everything and everybody,
and who was already in the autumn of his life when
half the present generation were in their cradles,
confessed in his last illness to the patriarchal age
of eighty-two, but we learn on good authority that
in the agitation of the moment, he had omitted a
century in his confession. It is conjectured, and
not without reason, that he assisted Gay in his
Beggar's Opera, and some years afterwards lent
Goldsmith the money with which he purchased his
famous peach-blossom coat. Poor Tommy Hal! He
had set death:at defiance so long,that most people thought
that, like Godwin's St. Leon, he was proof against mor-
tality ; but the old archer brought him down at last.
" My Grand Tour" is a rough sketch hastily dashed off in
oils. In " Cohn Clink," the closing scenes of the
murderer, Dr. Rowel's, life are pourtrayed with vigour,
yet without any visible straining after effect. The
power is that of robust health, not of convulsion. We here
lay down our pen, for just at this moment, the clock on
our mantel-piece warns us that the old year is cad !
It was " launched into eternity" scarce half a minute
since, so that our sentence about " Colin Clink" which
wos commenced in 1840, was actually not concluded
till 1841 ! We might indulge in divers grave and sage
reflections on this subject ; but shall content ourselves
—in lieu of solitary meditation which is apt to make
one too thirsty—with just drinking a temperate bumper
of port to the memory of the departed year, and
another in honour of its successor, whom we earnestly
conjure to load us with no war taxes, but to keep us in
peace and good fellowship with all the world.