The Sun.
London, England, 1851-02-17 00:00:00

! and the Quarterly; your neighbour, the Radical, reads
the Daily News and the Irestnzinster. You associate
with Tories; he with Chartists. You imbibe political
wisdom at agricultural dinners; he at demonstrations
for the ballot. That is to say, you both seek for ii:for-
rnatiun just where you are sure to find your own opinions
glorified, and your neighbour's milreprcsentEd.
" The consequence is, that each of you knows as little
as possible about the real opinions of the other, and
nothing at all of the grounds ma which they have been
formed. Yet you Crest each other as if you knew them
perfectly, and knew that they were evil.
Can you say tha: in this mutual distrust and dispa-
ragement you are not bearing false witness against your
neighbour?
" Or again; perhaps you are a Churchman in religion.
You acknowledge the creeds and the catechism; you
have faith in the efficacy of sacraments; you bow to the
decision of councils, and respect the apostolical succes-
sion. You take much interest in the building of churches,
and you reverence time-honoured ceremonies and autho-
rivd forms.

" Your neighbour is a Dissenter. He accepts no creed
but the Bible, and no interpretation of it but his own.
He loves simplicity, is indifferent about architecture, and
sees the dress of antichrist i❑ a bishop's gown. He ex-
pects no heavenly graces from the services of another,
and looks to obtain them only by the prayer and travail
of his own soul.
" You call him a schismatic, and ho calls you a bigot.
Yon are satisfied that his opinions are the result of a
presumptuous will; be is sure that yours have sprung
from the influence of a blind prejudice. You will not
believe that any humble and devout mind could arrive at
his conclusions; he is quite as certain that honesty and
common sense are incompatible with yours.
" If you could but know each other's spiritual history.
If, with the searching eye of that God to whom yon
both appeal, you could gaz3 openly upon each other's
souls, how different might your judgment be!
"Y,,u would see, perhaps in each the same thirst for
truth—the same dread cf error—the same consciousness

of sin. You would find that, in both cases, belief had
grown up out of many tears and prayers, many doubts
and strugg,les,—through the discipline of lito—by the
bedside of death; with the same sense of God's presence
Ind of man's eternal reaponsibilites."
Among a variety of odd conceits scattered through
the pages, the following may be taken as the one de-
scribed with possibly the most animation. Conway
is depicting to Jenny the circumstances under which
be painted the likeness of Helen for Harry Farnley.
"It was about a year ago—a month or two before
you left the South—l was in this neighbourhood for a
short time, and was visited by a fine young fellow, an
officer in the army, who declined giving me his name,
but told me he wanted a miniature likeness of a lady
who refuted to sit for it. It was therefore to be done
by stealth, at a concert to be given in the town next day.
I have reason enough to remember it! The day was
hot and the room was full. To screen me from observa-
tion, I was placed behind the kettle-drums. The dis-

ranee was too great. I was compelled to use an opera-
glass to see the features of the subject. The concert—
alas! that I should call it so—had begun before the lady
arrived. The little drummer in treat of me rapped
away as if ho would crack the parchment; the mouth
of a huge trombone was bellowing an inch or two
above my ear,—most men would have thrown their
pencils at the kettle-drums, and kicked the hrs,,s abomi-
nation through the window, under similsr eircumQtances;
they affected me indifferently, however. For a minute
I was al cost mad; my fingers shook with the heat and

the noise. I drew a line that was as much like a grass-
hopper as Miss Farnley's nose, or any nose in the uni-
verse. Then a sudden frenzy of enthusiasm seized me;
I shook my fist at the trombone, and d, fied all the drums
of Islam to interrupt me— a grand chorus, in which
•-very instrument joined with red-übled fury, seemed to
be the acceptance of my challange. Ha, ha 1' I
shouted in the midst of it, and tell to work more fiercely
than ever. It was a splendid victory. The portrait
was a masterpiece."
Once, and once only to our recollection, does the
novelist attempt anything like a humorous descrip-
tion. Here it is. He is speaking of summer in the
metropolis.

"It was morning in London—a fine, hot, dusty, sum-
mer's morning. The streets full of bright sunshine and
dreadful smells; the walkers very dry in their throats,
and very moist upon their faces; the shopmen unusually
pale, and much given to sighing; the horses standing
with lather on their necks, as if waiting to be shaved; or
trotting hopelessly over the stones, with lolling tongues,
whipping their own sides unsparingly with their dis-
contented tails."

Such are among the principal characteristics of "The
First Angol "—a fiction which, with care and industry
on the part of its author, may prove only the pre•
cursor of many brilliant romances.