The Sun.
London, England, 1846-02-23 00:00:00

p.

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.... _
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s,..4Qile SPeCitnen Pf
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Via gardens
die-
„tat site was very apparent, and indsOfrilleemesaestes of
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.;44t N„ii-ewreuleh had been -but slightly affected, but showed
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tally ,1" Parpetuated—a fact which could not be too gene-
I'd bl'lLCit known arnongit growers. In many
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th browern-
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‘4llssq,-;11'n those from the country, showing that it was a
ZtSir p ee, and not the cause of the disease.
ttl?' Prerinei4 Hopkins has written a letter to the editor i
Leery itr.4ln. referring to evidence give, ty him at trielli,!c .
q.'4aiiitati% 431 (inter alia) the
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10 first r
--'l4t4 rft„, -argo of manure ever shipped to. thainisterp"obri.t
`4v64, daring the past week.—Bridgew(it'r run°.

LITERATURE.

31F VOIR S A C(►I.!J SPON D ENCE OF
Til6 MARQUIS W ELLESLEY. By Robert

Rosiers Pearce, Esq. 3 Yds.
These memoirs, though not arranged in the best
manner, nor distinguished by much ability in writing,
are, however, of great value, as they embody the prin-
cipal events in the life of a most distinguished statesman,
and furnish many useful letters and documents necessary
to form a just estimate of the vast services which the
Marquis Wellesley rendered to his country. With the
exception if his illustrious brother and the immortal
Nelson, it would be difficult to find any one who did so
much to raise the character of England, or who achieved
such important victories. Mr. Pearce begins from the
beginning, and gives ample details of the Wellesley
family, its antiquity, and even royal descent, for he
traces it to one of the Kings of Ireland, the character
of the first Earl of Mornington, father of the Marquis,
his great love for music, and many other circumstances,
with which the curiosity of the reader will be much gra-
tified. Till we read these volumes, we were not aware
that the family name was so lately changed as during
the administration of Lord Mornington in India, and
that when the Duke went out to that part of the world,
he was called the Hen. Arthur Wesley. The follow-
ing brief but interesting letter places the matter beyond
doubt, and it is curious to observe that the qualities for
which Wellington has been distinguished through his
long career, attracted so early the attention of the Mar-
quis Cornwallis. It is a simple letter of introduction
from a former Governor-General of India to gir John
Shore, who preceded the Earl of Mornington in that
high station :
" Dear Sir—l beg leave to introduce to you Colo-
nel Wesley, who is Lieut.-Colonel of my regiment ;
he is a sensible man and a good officer, and will, I
have no doubt, conduct himself in s manner to merit
your approbation.—l am, &c.,—Coustwarsus."
It thus appears that Col. Wesley left for India a consi-
derable time before the Marquis was appointed Gover-
nor-General. These memoirs embrace the public life
of the Marquis from his first appearance in the Irish
House of Lords till his appointment as Lord -Lieutenant
of his native country ; but by far the most important
part of it relates to his Government in India. At the
period of his appointment, the year 1797, the British pos-
sessions in India were in a most defenceless, and conse-
quently, dangerous condition. French influence was all
powerful at several of the courts of the native princes,
and especially at Hyderabad and Nizam, as well as
throughout the greater part of the Mahratta territory.
Tippoo Saib was plotting against England—he was in
constant correspondence with French agents, and even
the Government at Paris—he was enlisting French
troops into his service, and the Marquis Wellesley (then
Lord Moruington) had every reason to believe that is a
very short period after his arrival, India would be
invaded by a Fi ench army, His Lordship, with the
usual decision of his family, resolved at once to defeat a
project which involved the fate of India ; aid India, owing
to the parsimonious system lately adopted, was but little
fitted for a contest with Tippoo Saib and the other discon-
tented nabobs, aided by French reinforcements. Welles-
ley, however,would see no difficulties ; he resolved to rouse
the sleepy officials appointed by the India House, and
announced that nothing short of depriving Tippoo
Saib of the power of doing mischief could afford
the British Government security against his de-
signs, as well as those of the French Directory.
When the fact was made known to General Harris,
then Governor of Madras, it created the utmost con-
sternation. The bare idea of the renewal of war with
Tippoo filled the members of that Government with ap-
prehensions, and several of them protested in the
strongest terms against the proposition to assemble an
army on the coast of Coromindel; even the Commander-
in-Chief, Lord Harris, shrunk at first sight from the
enterprise, but, like a good soldier, answered—" On my
part, your Lordship may depend on my following your
instructions implicitly." Remonstrances, however, were
still urged by the timid ; and difficulties for money, and
men, and everything, were pointed out ; but the noble
Governor-General could see no " lion in the way;" he
saw that victory was within his reach, that the strength
of England was equal to the task, and notwithstanding
Tippoo's 700 elephants, 6,000 camels, 300,000 fire-locks,
200,000 swords, 2,000 pieces of cannon, and a regular
army of 100,000 men, with 40,000 irregular infantry,
he resolved to lose not a moment in bringing the affair
to an issue. With that view, he began with Nizam ;
induced the ruler of that territory to admit, in place of
2,000, 6,000 subsidiary British troops into his pay,
and compelled him, by great tact and daring.
to disband the whole French corps as soon
as the British troops should arrive. Eleven
thousand men laid down their arms on promise of pay
and future employment, and the French officers com-
manding them were delivered up to the British com-
mander, who sent them, with all their property and
arrears of pay, to France. The result of this great
negotiation raised the spirits of the officials at Madras;
Marquis Wellesley began to be regarded as a man of some
ability, and its effects were visible on the rulers of the
neighbouring states. Tippoo, however, still held out, and
endeavoured, by deceit and 'yang, to protract the contest
till he could be assured of speedy assistance from France.
That the Governor-General was determined to anti-
cipate, and he accordingly gave directions to General
Harris to put his army in motion and pursue Tippoe
Sultan to his last retreat. In the short apace of two
mor the the war was brought to a close, and a kingdom
yielding an annual revenue of more than a million
sterling was transferred in full sovereignty to the East
India Company. In nearly all his other measures for
the better government of India, the Marquis was equally
successful, yet the directors and he never acted cor-
dially together. He had reason also to complain of want '
of support from the Board of Control, at the head of
which was Henry Dundas, afterwards Lord Melville. In
a letter to Lord Castlereagh, dated 1805, he states
the difficulties he had to contend with in these words:—
" The motives of the conduct of my personal enemies at
the India-house are sufficiently evident; and my expecta-
tions from that quarter are rather disappointed by any
transient and momentary gleam of justice and reason, which
may acidentally appear in the general tumult of personal pre-
judice and vindictive fury. But from your Lordship I con-
fidently expect more comprehensive views of policy and early
jnstica. Perhaps my long habits of familiar acquaintance
with the affairs of this country may render objects clear and
distinct to my comprehension, which may require explana-
tion and illustration for the information of others. My
situation, however, is, under such circumstances, become
most painful, and indeed dangerous—exposed to the most
severe responsibility and pressed by the constant and urgent
necessity of acting for the security of this vast empire, upon
the view of local exigencies, with limited means of exertion,
with a certainty of the most indefatigable counteraction from
the India-house, aid with a doubt of timely, effectual, or
direct support from the Crown.'
In adver.ing to the conduct of the directors he uses
different language., and his provocation must have been
great, for with this exception he speaks mildly, and
generally favourably of almost every person about
whom he writes. He appears to have been a man of a
most amiable disposition, with a mind totally inaccessible
to envy, jealousy, or personal hatred. The following
extracts, however, will show that he could resent perse-
cution, and also that he preferred the interests of his
country to the favour of the Lords of Leadenhall-street:—

" TO LOZD VIIICOUNT CASTLERIAOII.

" 'Fort William, lot March, 1404.

" ' My dear Lord,—
* ♦ • • •
" ' I request your Lordship to be assured of the deep sense
which I entertain of your honourable conduct towards me.
It is unnecessary to repeat to your Lordship my utter con-
tempt of any opinions which may be entertained by
Mr.
that I expect every practicable degree of injustice and base-
ness from that faetion.—l have the honour to be, &c.,
" ' WELLESLEY.'

"Lord Wellesley speaks in a still higher strain of asperity
and anger in a subsequent part of the same letter (19th of
Jue'rloSuro4)L:o ,n,
—rdship may be assured that I entertaina just
sense of the sentiments of public andprivat
honour
and that n I
which your conduct towards me has proceeded;
rely with the most entire confidence upon your Lordship's
justice and public spirit to frustrate the vindictive profligacy
of the Court of Directors, and to expose to the view of my
Sovereign and my country, in the most distinct and per-
spicuous manner, the motives, principles, conduct, and re-
sult, of every branch of my administration in India. My
sincere and anxious hope is, that every point of diffrrence
between me and the Court of Directors may be fully ex-
plained to Parliament and to the public. Nor can your
Lordship and Mr. Addington, by an act of friendship,
afford me a protection so grateful tom y f!elings, or so El-
i vantageous to my character, as by a full disclosure to Par-
liament of every act of my administration, and of every
proceeding of the Court of Directors, since I have had the
misfortune to be subjected to the ignominious tyranny of
Leadenhall-street. lam induced to hope that I shall be en-
abled to relinquish the service of my honourable employers
in the month of January or February next. Your Lordship,
however, may be assured, that as no symptoms of tardy re-
morse displayed by the Honourable Court, in consequence of
soy recent succors in India, will vary my present estimation
of the faith and honour of my very worthy and approved
good masters, or protract my continuance in India for one
hour beyond the limits prescribed by the public interests, so
no additional outs-age, injury, or insult, which can issue from
the most loathsome den of the India-house, will accelerate
my departure, while the public; gafety shall appear to require
my aid in this arduous station,'"
The rest of the work is occupied chiefly with details
on the assistance which the Marquis in Parliament gave
to his brother while commanding in the Peninsula, his
administration of Ireland, and a brief account of his
latter days.

COUNT JULIAN; a Romance of Spanish History
By W. Gilmore Sienna.
The author of this fiction has been already introduced
to the novel readers of Great Britain, through reprints
of some of his most successful productions. Among
these, " The Yemassee," " The Kinsmen," &c., identified
him as not the least gifted of American novelists, while
they tended much to extend his popularity. In the pre-
sent work, "Count Jutish,'' the spirited proprietor of the
Novel Newspaper, brings ito OtifiP4l, that is to say, a
hitherto unpublished romance, rom OW pen of Mr.
Slams, into his clever serial, of whici, It form Flirt
WOC/J. As to giving a summary of the plot, or even
s mention pf the catastrophe—.we consider such a course
as the most gngrateful one a renewer can adopt,
destroying as it does the main allurement of the work
under consideration—namely, its interest. We shall
therefore content ourselves with saying that " Count
Julian" is a somewhat fascinating, but also a somewhat
cumbrous story. A few actual occurrences form its
skeleton—imagination does the rest ; and this fact is
throughout too perceptible. The incients are visionary
—singularly visionary. Some of the characters are too
repulsive— tinctured with a Sue-like villainy that de-
stroys their probability : of this ckit is the Archbishop
Oppas, the like of whom never existed except in a
morbid fancy like thit of Mr. Simms. We may par-
ticularize the description of the battle-scene as the most
powerfully wrought in the volume. The dust, and the
blood, and the yells, and the eteam of the conflict envelope
the reader during its perusal. There are glimpses. too
—dainty ones and delicate—of the greenwood, with its
surging tree-tops and its solemn army of grey trunks

and trailing boughs. Nor Is there a lack of love-
passages, of trysts, and troth and plighted hearts ; the
belle paasionne in in, hands of Mr. Siunns ri•sembling in
some measure the golden key ,of the Calendar in the
Arabian story—leading on to many episodes of other
and darker passions—revenge, and hatred, and envy,
and scorn, and malice. The text upon which the entire
fiction is fabricated is the " glorious fault," ambition.
As another illustration of that so-called crime, " Count
Julian" has an almost )erplexing interest.

THE NEW TIMON. A Romance o London.
Part 111.

In several particulars there is much improvement in
this portion of our poetical romance ; it is not flawed
with those churlish and unmannerly foot-notes which we
notified as so ill-judged in the preceding part. Besides
this very acceptable omission, the story in this, its con-
tinuation, is developing more passion and earnestness
than heretofore, the characters are less vague and more
like creatures with live nerves and throbbing pulses.
Of the language in which the sentiments are clothed, we
can speak in tones of emphatic admiration ; it is singularly
chaste and elegant ; it is choicely culled, and forcible
beyond expression. The ideas are pointed like steel
arrows, and glitter with epigrammatic smartness ;
while occasionally through the stream of couplets peeps
forth some quaint thought of the most delicate and
statuesque beauty. In this manner, when mentioning
that tenderest of love-scenes between Morvale and the
maiden Lucy, the anonymous poet starts off with a
dainty conceit—in truth, an exquisite conceit—as to the
birds that twittered within their adjacent avaries:—
" Sole witnesses and fit—those airy things,
That, midst the bars, can still unfold the wings,
And soothe the cell with language learn'd above;
As the caged bis d—so on the earth is love !"
A most etherial and subtle symbol is this I It accords
with our pre-conception of the God-origin of the master-
passion; it abstracts from it all particles of the " earth
earthiness" with which to more ignoble natures it is
ever tarnished. At the same moment it affords a suit-
able prelude to the more intense, and nevertheless the
more chastened, description of the lovers' happiness—a
description which loiters gently over the converse of
their future, as they conjecture its perspective visions,
even " where the golden dimness veiled the gaze"—
. Till silence cams, and the full sense and power
Of the blest Present,—the rich-laden hour
That overshadowed them, as some hushed tree
With mellow fruitage bending heavily,—
What time, beneath the tender gloom reclined,
Dies on the lap of summer noon the Mind !"
Nothing, in fact, saving possibly John Dryden's choicest
fantazie, " Clown and Iphagenia," nothing—and we
utter this in all honesty and simplicity of heart—can
convey a more pure, a more lucent, a more spiritual
notion:of a love interview than the one delineated in this
section of the " New Timon." There are no mawkish
efforts at the sentimental—there are no strained labour
ings for the picturesque ; it carries with it all the natu-
ralness of truth, and its diction seems to flow sponta-
neously. Even the introduction has (to us at least) a
singular tone of fascination ; when, immediately after
the damsel has finished chaunting an old romaunt about
a king that wooed a cottager, the bard ejaculates, as he
gazes in his imagination upon the listening Morvale—
" How had the lay, as in a mirror, glass'd,
The sullen present and the joyless past,
Loch'd in the cloister of that lovely soul !"
And afterwards, when describing the supremacy which
the young girl's face—so meek and childlike in its mo-
desty—exercised over the enamoured Indian, he ex-
claims—

" Lo I as young Una thrall'd the forest-king,
She leads the savage in her silken string ;
Plays with the strength to her in service shown,
And mounts with infant whim the woman's throne !"
Every one will surely trace in the peculiar glibness and
exactitude which each word tallies with, and enforces its
neighbour, throughout this romance of " London," a
very visible partiality, on the part of its author, 'or
the mannerism—the epigram of narrative—which cha-
racterises the most admired and classical of our native
poets. Nor has our satirist manifested any feebleness
while treading in their foot-prints ; on the contrary,
some fragments are so richly moulded, and suffused
with such a genuine poetic bloom, that we are some-
times fain to regard this present poem as but the pre-
liminary chords of some fine symphony—as but the
vanguard of some vaster array of fancy. Whether that
symphony will ever be audible time and the writer of
the " New Timon" alone can testify. That there are
indications in this rhythmical romance of a richer sub-
,,tratum than is generally visible in a brockeur like the
present, take the following passage, descriptive of a
chamber filled with sculpture. To us it sounds like the
voice of Boccaccio.
"There, gleam the shapes in which, immortal, still,
Live the bright exiles from the Olympian Hill ;
Still mooned Dian from the breathing stone
Haunts, with pure eyes, thy dreams, Endymion;
Still on the vast brow of the Father-god,
Hangs the hush'd thunder of the awful nod;
Still fair, as when on Ida's mountain seen,
By Troy's young shepherd, Beauty's bashful Queen ;
Still Ind's divine lacchus laughing weaves
His crown of clustering grapes and glossy leaves;
Still thou, Arch-type of Sony," whose task to soothe
The rest of Heroes, and with deathless youth
Crown the celestial Brotherhood—dost hold,
Brimm'd with the drink of gods, the urn of gold I"
* Hobo.

These are peeps of deep reading, and signs of a
sincere relish in classic lore ; they show that the
beauties of the ancient mythology have penetrated
into the heart's core of the writer. His epithets like-
wise, in conveying to the reader some of his most fan-
tastic notions, are remarkably apt and appropriate: thus,
when speaking of the insincerity which is so rife among
wordlings, he calls it "the bland hollowness of formal life !"
thus also, when alluding to the potency of kind words,
and looks, and tears, upon the human soul, he says
‘. they fade from joy to anodynes for grief r —and again,
when speaking of the approach of night over a great
city, he exclaims—

" She comes, to keep
Beneath the stars her solemn tryst with sleep."

These undoubtedly are subordinate parts in a produc-
tion of this nature, nevertheless they are deserving of
mention as they materially enhance the merits of the
" New Timon:" they are details—but they are such
details as, to a summer landscape, are the dew-
drops, and the hedge-flowers, and the green " grass-
stalks." After perusing Part 111., much of
the mystery which previously enveloped the
plot is cleared away, and the characters assume
a more recognisable relationship with each other. Mor-
vale's sullenness is nearly altogether scared away by a
fresh and exultant feeling, arising from his affection for
the outcast "Lucy"—their troth is mutually plighted
in the interview already mentioned. Lucy, in the
ardour of her happiness, unfolds to the Indian noble-
man the history of her misfortunes ; and, in displaying
a miniature of her father, shows to the astonished Morvale
the likeness of his friend, Lord Arden. With the usual
egotism (if it may be so harshly termed) of love, the
Indian, in his turn, pours into the greedy ears of his
mistress an account of his own wretchedness ; and this
narrative forms one of the most vigorous passages in the
fiction. In a ball-room, his senses are startled by the
voice of some unseen person informing him of his sister's
dishonour—" blistering her name" with infamy, and
babbling the tidings among the dancers, until " from lip
to lip the dizzying slander flies," and he himself is half
delirious with having no head upon which to direct a
just retribution, until, in his own emphatic words,
" One felt, unseen, infection circling there,
A bodiless venom in the common air."
Calantha dies :—a victim it proves to Lucy's father:—
the perjured, the perfidious, the pernicious Arden. Fur-
ther of the story we are loath to divulge, as by so doing
we might weaken the pleasure of many a reader. Of all the
situations in this " part"—the scene in the death-chamber
of Calantha is the most dramatic, the most enthralling,
and the most fraught with passion. The picture of
Lord Arden "fixed to stone" by the " horrid glamour"
of the Indian—the vengeance boiling like a hell within
the lattor's bosom—the hour, the awful presence of the
corpse,re and
s d e
es
athtteendatri
oe
nr dreary
nd adjunctsare fi xoefd the spectacle,upon hi s
memory.rou s e
author
e One
hhh ooaarttu tfis
rbsmoufivri rinense:
wldyohbf
ciecgoshirndi
cgeeer—f
ievaetet
inhdde
t:
hphsee
aeesnrhdetaitdmihot en t on the part of' our
is—
"Butgawtf"peo smiledp 1e
dbelow r
el
Which says to Sorrow-4 Tnou canst wound no more!'
Which says to Love that would rejoin—' Await !'
That says to Wrong that would redeem..—' Too late!'
That lingering halo of oar closing skies
Cold with the sunset, never more to rise !"

Scarcely less excellent is " the iaterruption,"—the
girlish hand that stays the upraised dagger of Morvale,
and, in doing so, unconsciously protects her parent ; is
there not a virgin brightness about these four lines—are
they not lustrous with beauty ?
" Her airy clasp upon the murtherer's arm,
Her pure eyes chaining with a solemn charm,
Like some blest thought of mercy, on a soul
Brooding on blood—the holy image stole 1"
We could hardly do better than conclude our notice
with that simple extract, but that the justice of criticism
obliges us to cavil at one great blemish in the pre-
sent effusion. Its author cannot surely suppose us
to be in any manner prejudiced against him ; in-
deed, the positive terms of panegyric in which we
have conceived it to be our duty to particularise this, his
anonymous production, will, we feel assured, screen us
from such an imputation. We have endeavoured to
illustrate the merits of the "New Timon" by quotations,
and have accompanied those quotations with comments
ries most eulogistic to the author, because we considered
him entitled to that recompense in all fairness. Never-
theless, as impartial critics, we could not close our eyes
to whatever imperfections lurked among those passages
—seeing the sunbeam we could not be blind to the mote.
Our allusions are directed against many intolerable blun-
ders or oversights in the rythm—defects which cause
several verses to hobble most wretchedly. How, for ex-
ample, could any one, laying pretensions to a rigid taste
and a keen ear, be guilty of couplets so crippled and mal-
formed as these :
" Not to the crowd in cold detail allow
B§ delicate worship, its mysterious row

For the sich fragrance and the delicate dies
Which art calls forth by walling out the skies!"
They are essentially false and unmusical, and their de-
formity is so apparent that we marvel at their being ad-
mitted to such good company. These, however, are
not solitary instances, but have " fellows" of a number
quite inexcusable. We cannot induce ourselves to
consider this condemnation of ours as anything
at all bordering upon hypercriticism, since it com
prises one of the chiefest requisites of the divine art
—symmetery. Besides which, no one—excepting always
(and reverentially) Shelley—has ever attained last-
ing popularity, or indeed any share of real fame,
without a strict adherence to the rules of rhythm; or, as
we may indeed term them, the rules of musical intona-
tion. In the author of this " Romance of London,"
we recognise the ore—and, in speaking as we have done,
we are only anxious to see it purified from alloys and
moulded into just proportions.