The Sun.
London, England, 1834-02-01 00:00:00

NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.

This is one of the best numbers of the
New Monthly we have seen for some time.
All its articles appeal to the generality of
readers, not to the fastidious literary few. " The
Gauchos, a Tale of the Pampas," though un-
usually long, is replete with strange, romantic
incident. We have murders by wholesale, a
little bit of a love affair, and a very aggravated
parricide. " Scenes from the Alcestis of Alfieri"
is a criticism on a very over-rated Italian dra-
matist, from the classic pen of Mrs. Hemans,
who, like Goldsmith, touches nothing that
she does not adorn. " The Penny Press"
pursues an important inquiry, in which the
literature of the country is involved, in an
honest, uncompromising spirit. Whoever is
the writer, he is turning his abilities to a very
useful account. " A Chapter on Duns" will
amuse, though the subject is enough to give a
gentleman the head-ache. Panurge is the only
illustrious debtor we ever heard of, who knew
how to dispose effectually of these horrid crea-

tures. I enever he had an oppttunity, he
always hanged them. " Two summers ago,"
says the author of this lively jeux d'esprit,

" Two summers ago I was strolling on the Steyne, a'
Brighton, with an officer in a dragoon regiment quartered
there, when we suddenly encountered his tailor, up m
whose book his name had occupied a conspicuous psac
for more than three years. A lovely female was hanging
on the tailor's arm, upon whom be was evidently endea-
vouring to pass himself off for what be really was not ;
she, perk Ts, in return, was likewise playing the same
game. Such scenes are of daily occurrence at watering
places, though it must be confessed that—

" Corsaire contre Corsaire
Font de Bien mauvaises affaires."

The major, with a tactical eye, saw that he bad the ad
vantaga of ground, and skilfully made the most of it.
Extending his hand to the schneider, he exclaimed,
" H--n, how are you? Happy to sea you ! Let tilt
see you at the barracks ;" and so forth. To be so no-
ticed by an officer of a crack regiment, and at so parti
cular a moment, so flattered the vanity of the artiste tail.
leer, that his bill was not sent in for nearly eighteen
months after. However, when you are not in the clutches
of these reptiles, mortify their vanity on every occasion.
In the year 1829, I was standing, with another military
friend, at the door of the Hotel de Treves at Coblentz.
Presently, claque, claque, went the whip, and up galloped
an avant courier,—

" Chapeau bas, chapeau bas :
Place au Marquis de Carabas !"

followed soon afterwards by a handsome English travel
ling chariot and a light German waggon. The former
contained Der `loch Voldgeboren Baron Von S—tz.
Out rushed our host Herr Mars, at the head of a host of
obsequ:ous kellners,to usher the illustrious stranger into the
house, who, as be ascended the steps, was addressed by my
companion, doubtless to his infinite mortification, with a
—" Halloa, S—iz, what the devil brings you here ?"
Mons. Le Baron made no stay at Coblentz."

On the necessity of giving an - Opera to the
English," is plausible ; but the scheme will
never answer. John Bull has no ear for music.
The chink of the coppers is his only favourite
melody. He affects the operatic, it ;s true ;
and is conversant with flats and sharps ; but
this is the extent of his musical taste and know-
ledge. See him at the King's Theatre, puz-
zled at, yet afraid not to admire, one of Ros-
sini's most finished airs ! See him at the
Adelphi, grinning from ear to ear, without an
atom of affectation, at one of Jack Reeve's
drollest cantatas I No, no, John has no
harmony in his composition. He has ears ;
but they are not musical ones. " Chapters
from the Note Book of a Deceased Lawyer"
is a first-rate magazine article, containing
an account of the most extraordinary trial
for murder on record. " A Singing in my Head"
is foolish : " Inhabitants of a Country-town,"
agreeable, but with too much of the Nlitford
monotony about it.