The Sun.
London, England, 1834-06-02 00:00:00

MAGAZINE DAY.

La BLACKWOOD' S MAGAZINE.
"; After formally announcing the decease of the
Constitution, and delivering at least a dozen funeral
discourses over its ashes, Blackwood has just dis-
covered that it is as vigorous and frolicsome as ever,
and likely to survive to a good old age, notwith-
standing the violent cathartics that Whig and
Radical physicians have for two years past been
almost daily administering to it. The " Presert
State of Parties" congratulates the country on the
perfect convalescence of the Constitution, and
broadly asserts that " the last six months have
Opened more cheering prospects to the country than
Iv, any which have dawned upon it, since the fall of the
Duke of Wellington's Administration." If this be
really the case, what a false prophet has Blackwood
shown himself ! How much excellent vituperation
has he wasted ! Not six, nay not three months
since, he assured us all was lost—not a fragment of
constitutional liberty was left ;—the Whigs and
Radicals between them had picked the carcase clean
to the bone. We have seldom met with a more
curious article than the one to which we have been
alluding. It is full of the drollest inconsistencies.
The writer has gone out a mare's-nesting, and come
home, like Lord Londonderry, with an armful. The
beginning of his diatribe congratulates us that all is
right ; the middle condolesewith us that all is
wrong ; and the end vaguely hints that all is but
.8,0-so. The writer's lamentations over the declining

business of the lawyers, " two-thirds of whose busi-

bees the Reform Bill has utterly annihilated," is by
ll° means the least extraordinary portion of his
diatribe. With just as much propriety might Moses
have condoled with Pharaoh on the cessation of the
plague of locusts. Altogether the article is one of
the most inconclusive and contradictory we have
lately met with, and seems modelled on one of Mr.
Baring's speeches, the first half of which always
answers the last half. " The Cruise of the Midge"
Possesses much of the rough, racy vigour of Tom
Cringle's log. There is some strong painting in
this extract
" At length the old man made a violent effort at corn-
4re,—' Gentlemen, you will both pardon me ; disease
*0 broken me down, and fairly unhinged me ; and I couldi,,
You see, cry like a woman. I had, indeed, a very pecut4,
jar cause for loving that boy. I fancy, God help me'—
Here the large tears streamed over his old cheeks, that had
Mood the washing up of many a salt spray—' that I see
n now
" Where?' said I, somewhat startled. He did not no-
tice the interruption.
" I believe he had not an enemy in the world ; lam
sure he will be lamented by every man and officer in the
Ship, poor young fellow. But come, gentlemen, enough
an? to spare of this'—and he rose up, and strode across the
cabin,, speaking with a forced composure, as we could
eas.uY perceive. We must all die, in a sick bed or in
tau
on shore or at sea ; and those who, like him,
`'u fighting gallantly, are better off than others who drag
through a tedious and painful disease. This is trite talk-
g, gentlemen ; but it is true—God's will be done !
Peace to him, poor boy ; peace to him.'
".Thinking he was mad, I several times tried to break in,
`4ll disburden my mind of the whole story ' • but he always
waved me down impatiently, and continued to walk back-
wards and forwards very impetuously.
" At length he made a full stop, and looked earnestly in
Te first lieutenant's face—' He behaved gallantly, and
'lied nobly—all his wounds in the front ?'
0; I could allow this to go on no longer. Why, Sir
ver young De Walden is not killed, so far as we know.'
He gasped--caught my arm convulsively--and burst
14t0 a weak hysterical laugh' Not dead ?'
; " ' No, sir ; none of us can say that he is dead. He did
indeed behave most gallantly through the whole affair ;
but'
But what ?' said he—his eyes sparkling, his brows
'nit, and his features blue and pinched, as if he had seen a
3Peefre--' But what ? Mr. Brail ; for God Almighty's
sake, tell me the worst at once.'
'" Sir Oliver, he is missing.'
His hands dropped by his side, as if suddenly struck with
33' ; his jaw fell, and his voice became hollow, tremulous,
ti indistinct, as if the-muscles of his lips and tongue re-
th to do their office. When he spoke, it seemed es if
e ed
words had been formed in his throat—' Missing !'
at Yes, Sir Oliver,' said Sprawl, utterly thunderstruck
is
suPerior's conduct—' Mr. De Walden is missing.'
_ " The old man staggered, and would have fallen, had he
hecaught hold of the scroll head of the sofa. I thought
e bad fainted, but he gradually recovered himself and
itood erect."
To our Old House Clock" is a quaint poem,
full of familiar images, and might hare been penned
b 37 C. Lamb. "My Cousin Nicholas" is a collec-
tion of anecdotes strung together without much
arrangement, but in a very lively manner. The old
ollege joke of the under-graduate denying himself
his own father, when surprised by him at one of
the' London theatres, is well worked up. " The
Sli'44er "is getting prolix. He does not vary his
theme sufficiently. " Christopher on-Colonsay" is
another of Professor Wilson's impassioned tributes
to the beauties of Winandermere.

TAIT'S MAGAZINE.
Tait has this month sent forth a very clever num-
ber. The Old Black Crow" is a poeni as full of
• meaning and originality as any thing in Coleridge's
Sybilline Leaves. It is very much in his manner.
`` The Hanwell Lunatic Asylum" is one of the most
aseful papers Miss Martineau ever penned. There
much truth and sagacity in this remark :—" In a
quaker lunatic asylum the proportion of cures is not
likely to be great, because quaker lunacy being sel-
cinra caused by drunkenness or the violence of the
13:841°118, usually proceeds from some deeper and
more unmanageable cause." The following is a
curious trait of popular character worthy of note.
The writer is speaking of Mr. Ellis, wife of the
keeper of the Hanwell Asylum :
._` Mrs. Ellis's efforts to procure for them a gradual and
:".? re-admittance into the world have failed, though her
:0 'e
sties were complied with by the committee. She yeti-
,o.ried for a pony chaise, in which the convalescent
patients
Rnight go backwards and forwards between Brentford and
anwell, when a messenger went to Brentford on busi-
ness ; and every one must see the advantage to the patients
'if witnessing a little of the bustle of the world before they
were called on to engage in it for themselves. The pony
'-'liaise was granted; but, alas. the people in the neigh):
and the permission to go to
Inarhood were frightened,
reatford is withdrawn ! For the same reason., no patient
111,,4,.(4, permitted to show himself the parish church,
I,W:ever well he may be. The trial was made, and the
Patients conducted theinselves perfectly well ; but it dis-
buZt the devotions of their neighbours that they should
thanki God for their relief from the worst of
cdlarnit"" ; and at that church they are to be seen no more."
Victor Hugo" is a criticism by 0. P. Q. on the
I%'orks of
this popular French author. Its great
fault is that it is too wordy and discursive. O.P. Q.
should study the art of condensation—a valuable art
an age intolerant of aught that wears the aspect
of prolixity in speech, poem, or essay. " Life of Sir
John Moore" is one of those able criticisms which
told so well in Johnstone's
and Political Registers are Magazine. The Literary
well drawn up.