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

FRASER' S MAGAZINE.

The portrait of Sir Egerton Brydges, to whom
the public is indebted for many a clever tale and
essay, and who now figures full-length in Fraser's
Literary Gallery, must either be an outrageous
caricature, or else the gifted Baronet, both in
phiz and figure, must approximate closely to an
old clothes-man. He looks, indeed, as if he had
just stepped out from Rag Fair; his beard and
mustaches are of Israelitish luxuriance ; the ex-
pression of his eye indicates a fit of the horrors—
just as if he had been cheated in a bargain—
and his loose, shapeless garments look exactly as
if they were flung, at one random throw, upon
an upright mop-stick. But, of course, the pic-
ture must be a quiz. " The Case of the
Church of England" is clever and seasonable,
but penned in a jaundiced spirit. " Dulce
Dotnum" is a broad Irish story, full of brogue
and bluster. " Sartor Resartus," we suppose,
is meant as a solemn, learned piece of irony.
We say " suppose," for we are by no means
sure on the point ; the irony is so very recondite
and perplexing. We regret our inability to give
anything like an analysis of this mysterious
production ; but the truth is, we cannot under-
stand it, and are by no means desirous of being
enlightened. " Allan Cunningham's Fifty
Years" is a most delightful notice of a series of
papers that appeared lately in that clever and
rising periodical, the Athenaeum. Allan is
quizzed in fine style, and Alaric Attila Watts
by no means treated with the reverence due to
the author of " Lyrics of the Heart"—a volume

with which he has been in the pangs of partu-
rition for upwards of seven years, and of which
we hope he is now about to be safely deli-
vered. We subjoin a glod-humoured attack on
Rogers :

" What can Mr. Cunningham possibly mean by stating
that Rogers was thirty years old when his first poen
was published ; when his second appeared, he was fifty ?
This is really insufferable. Mr. Rogers was one hundred
and thirty when the Pleasure'? of Memory appeared.
Talk of thirty ! why, what has a man of thirty to remenz
Ger? The business of such a youngster is to forget a*
much as possible ; and the few things that will hold a
seat in the distracted brain are rarely the pleasures a:I
memory. They are, for the most part, recollections of
fooleries of all kinds, burst bubbles, such as calf-love,
booby friendships, and every conceivable botheration. But
a man of a hundred and thirty is in a very different
situation. He looks back on a considerable portion of
existence with the self-complacency of one who knows
that, come what may, he has had his fun for his money ;
and when, as in the case of Rogers, the money has been
abundant, we may presume that the fun cannot have
been small. Wherefore such a man is entitled to write
of the pleasures of memory ; and Rogers of all men, be
cause he can afford to print and illustrate an unsaleable
book at his individual expense. Before we quit the
subject of this distinguished banker's hooks, we will jus.
quote a quaint and pregnant passage in Cunninghaii.'s
criticism :—' Concerning the composition of the Pleasures
of Memory, it is related that be corrected, transposed, and
changed, till he exhausted his own patience ; and then
turning to his friends, he demanded their opinions,
listening to every remark, and weighing every objection.'
Thanks to the immortal Jove ! we are not far enough
advanced in years to have been one of his friends. Fancy,
good reader ! a mighty dealer in namby-pamby, having
first bored himself to death, or near it, proceeding delibe-
rately to the destruction of the peace and happiness of his
friends ! It is ' too bad;' as, indeed, Lord Liverpool told
Rogers at the time."