The Sun.
London, England, 1834-11-01 00:00:00

it analyses the literary pretensions of the late Dr. Wat-
son, the well known Bishop of Llandaff. Mr. De
Quincy is no great admirer of the Whig Doctor as an
author, though he does ample justice to his social
qualities as a man. This paper is heavy, though here
and there it contains passages of sterling eloquence.

DUBLIN UNIVERSITY MAGAZINE.
Simphin and Marshall.

This number contains one chapter of " College
Romance" worth all the magazine tales we have read for
the last twelve months. It is the first of a series, and
is one of the most powerful sketches of the imagina-
tion to be found out of the pages of Maturin, of whom
the writer strongly reminds us. Indeed had such a
tale appeared contemporary with the publication of
" Melinoth," the world would have identified the
writers. But we must make room for an extract from
Mr. O'Brien's chapter. We gave the general name
above, and the particular one, which precedes this
sketch is " Reading for Honours—Charles D'Alton,"
in which we are presented with the sad story of one of
the thousand aspirants for collegiate distinction, who
sink daily in a path which is—=in the language now
before us—" strewed with the bleeding remnants of
many an heart that has burst in the effort to be great."
Here it is :

It was within a few days of Christmas, when one evening,
just as the deep and melancholy tolling of the great bell had
begun to announce the approach of the evening muster hour,
or, as a collegian would say, night-roll, I was not a little sur-
prised at receiving a message from Charles, requesting me
immediately to see him, as he was dangerously ill. I was
agitated as much by the request as by the intelligence. I did
not, however, hesitate long—l hurried across the courts,
and a few minutes found me by his bedside—yes, by his bed-
side, for he was lying or rather sitting in bed. A solitary
candle, almost obscured by the length of unremoved snuff, was
shedding an indistinct light through the room ; his features
wore a ghastly look, and a heavy film gathered over his eyes.
A table beside his bed was piled with several huge books; and
there also lay a dagger I and a human skull !! His eye bright-
ened when he saw me. ' Edward,' said he, feebly stretching
out a hand emaciated to the last degree, it is very kind of
you to come to see me die.'
" He pronounced these words with an effort as if speaking
gave him pain. I cautioned him to be silent, and told him I
was come to nurse him until he would be quite well. He
pointed to the skull, and said, Never! never ! never
" I asked him how he felt affected. Do you forget the
scorpion ?' he said, and shuddered ; 'ha ! ha ! ha!' said he,
laughing wildly. He sunk back in the bed overcome, by the
exertion, and muttered something which I could not hear.
" I called his servant—a perfect example of what a college
woman was in the times of which I write. I asked her how
long he had been in this state. Why he has been in his bed
since chapel time on Sunday,' (this was Thursday,) szid she,
but I think he has been worse to-day nor I seen him any day yet.'
* S S ik S * *
" I had not time to waste upon her; I left her to her em-
ployment, and returned to Charles. He bad now brought the
skull into bed, and was fondling it with an affectionate concern
that would, under other circumstances, have been ludicrous ;
but the lankness of his own emaciated jaws, and the ashiness
of his bloodless lips, told me that he would soon be an inmate
of that abode from which he had borrowed his extraordinary
plaything.
" He kissed the fleshless lips of the skull, and patted the crown
of its head—he seemed to take a particular delight in protrud-
ing his fingers through the eyeless apertures—and then he
laughed loud and long at his own conceit. I could not be
mistaken in that laugh—it was the laugh of a maniac I—l
glanced fearfully at the dagger, and knew not how to interrupt
him in his terrible occupation.
" This, Edward,' said he, 'is Nero. This chap, quiet as
he is now, was Emperor of Rome—see what all human great-
ness comes to !—but I can tell you,' added he, he was very
much calumniated—he was a humane prince, but he put an
end to the vices of the court, and 'so they hired the historians
to abuse him ' • but I'll settle that, I'll write a pamphlet in his
defence. Won't I, old boy ?' said he, and he pressed the skull
to his lips, and laughed louder and more terribly than before.
" Judge of my surprise when, as I looked on this strange
scene, I saw a quantity of blood trickle or rather pour down
upon the bosom of his shirt—his face was flushed with a hectic
hue—he dropped the skull, which was strangely stained with
the blood that was welling from his mouth, and sunk in the
bed. I feared that he was dying—there was nothing at hand
that I could administer—l put a glass of cold water to his lips
—it seemed to revive him. He indistinctly articulated 'it is
only another effort of nature.' I called loudly for his college
woman, but she was gone. I knew not what to do—almost
like a madman I ran to the opposite rooms, and telling the
inmates that D'Alton was dying, begged of them to run for a
physician. One of them immediately complied, and the other
returned with me to watch by the bedside of the sufferer.
" He had, by this time, recovered a little from the faintness
which the hemorrhage had produced ; but he lay silent and
exhausted in the bed. His hands, however, still grasped the
skull, and he made occasional efforts to bring it to his lips.
At last he started up as if with invigorated strength. lam
better,' said he, lam always better after the bleeding. You
know the scorpion draws my blood, and this gathers in my
lungs ' • and when I get rid of that I am always better.'.
" I felt as if the sentence of his death had been pronounced,
lam always better after the bleeding 1' So this had hap-
pened before I begged him to be silent, and with difficulty
we persuaded him : he took the skull in his hand, and seemed
absorbed in his own meditations upon Nero.
S * 5 5

" About five in the morning, I was startled from a reverie
by the sound of Charles' voice—he told me to light a candle,
and to bring him a Greek prosody, which I would find in a
particular corner of his bookcase—l did so. I found the vo-
lume precisely as he told me, and brought it to his bedside.
" Look out,' said he, ' for the quantity of pantaprisin, (he
pronounced the word as I have marked it,) and tell me have I
pronounced it wrong.' I did as he desired me, and told him
that his quantity was false; he laughed, and told me to do the
same with regard to the word edikei ;. I did so, and the result
was the same.

" ' So both my quantities were false,' said he, laughing
again ; 'pantapdsin edikei,' repeated he, still adhering to the
false pronunciation.
" What do you think of those things for now ?' asked I.
" ' Only two of Meddleum's quantities,' answered he thought-
fully. Charles dear,' said I, you ought to think of other
things now.'
4" I have not forgot all my prosody yet,' he replied, it is
only three weeks since I was in my examinations (the inter-
val had been nearly two months 0, and I have not been well
since, but now that I have got over this little fit of illness all
will be well. I have been,' added he, sometime engaged in pre-
paring a Greek prosody, I will go to the country to-morrow and
finish it ; and I will prove that all the prosodians, and all the
Greek poets are wrong about these words—they are pantapdsin
eclikei,' and he laughed immoderately at the notion.
" I was shocked to hear him talk thus, as if all the impres-
sions of the night before had been forgotten. I endeavoured
to recal his mind to more serious subjects. I asked him if I
should not read the Bible.

" I will read a chapter myself,' said he, talking unusually
loud, when I get up and dress. The Bible, Edward, is a very
fine book—l will not read so hard for college again—we will
all go to the country, and I will study the Bible—l must be-
come really religious; I will marry a religious woman—we will
all go to the country ; you must come to us in spring. You
know Spring is de—light—help—me—O—God—' "
Of the other articles in this number, most are ably
written, and all evince talent of a tolerably high order.
" Hardiman's Irish Minstrelsy" is concluded, and we
are very glad of it. The " Lyric Poetry of Pindar,"
and the " Ballad of Leonore," have each afforded us

more pleasure in the perusal. Of course there is no
want of lamentations for the downfall of the church,
and the continuance of the Whigs in office, but this is
an old and an ungrateful theme, and so we shall not
dwell on it. The disease we now know to be incur-
able, and except in the way of a passing remark, we
shall henceforth overlook a blotch we cannot hope to
eradicate. We had almost forgotten to observe that
we have here two very sweet ballads by Robert Gil-
Han, a tale from the Ettrick Shepherd, and a
capital article beaded " Horrors of Harmony." This
last is the second best in the collection—full of genuine
humour, and quite original to boot. In a word the
" Dublin University Magazine " is improving rapidly,
and deserves to be popular.

NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
R. Bentley for H. Colburn.
The fault of this number is excessive lightness and
superficialness. It appeals wholly to the fancy ; there
is not one sound or instructive essay in it. Tale fol-
lows tale with a monotony that at length fatigues us ;
but this not because the tales are in themselves bad,
but because there are too many of them. The cursory
observations on Napoleon in the first article, and the
parallel drawn between him and Lord Byron, are in-
genious, though they do not pierce below the surface.

In point of energy, the conqueror and the poet both
stood on an equal footing, though in other respects no
comparison can possibly be instituted between them.
There was a directness, a uniformity in the intellect of
Napoleon, which was wholly wanting in Byron. The
ruling principle of the one was ambition ; of the other,
vanity. Both were intense egotists ; both admired--
thought—dreamed—of nothing but themselves ; but