The Sun.
London, England, 1834-08-28 00:00:00

LITERATURE.

QUARTERY REVIEW. No. CHL (SECOND
:Norzcz.) London, 1834.
In the eloquent, but, in many respects, sophistical
essay on the Eton system of education, the Reviewer,
while professing impartiality, and a willingness to con-
form to—or at any rate to meet half way—the altered
taste and temper of the day as respects,our great scho-
lastic institutions, yet betrays in every page an unequi-
vocal bias in favour of the existing system. With him
classic literature—as with the Utilitarians the exact
sciences—is still the main requisite in a national system
of education. True, he descants on the exped►ency
of our English youth being helped to an acquaintance
with all those practical pursuits which it is the fashion
of the day to affect and patronize ; still it is plain to
perceive that his heart is not with the Utilitarians of
the present, but with the classic scholars of the
past, age ; and that he takes the first opportunity of
escaping from the " stye" of the former, to wander
with Plato in the groves of the Academe—to
philosophize with Cicero at his Tusculum_
and to rusticate with Horace at his Sabine
farm. We cannot but regret this exclusive spirit,
which, however natural and even generous be the mo-
tives that induce it, is yet to be deprecated. There
should be no sectarianism—no one-sidedness in mat-
ters of education. The interests at stake are too va-
rious, too mighty, influencing the destinies, not of in-
dividuals only, but of nations, to admit of being thus
sacrificed to prejudice. Unfortunately, however, the
advocates of the new, as well as of the old, system of
education are equally open to the charge of bigotry.
The one are the Cavaliers, the other the Roundheads,
of scholastic policy. If the one would imbue the
youthful mind with an aristocratic contempt for all but
the refined and ornamental in literature ; the other
would have it attend exclusively to the homely, the
practical, and the useful, and sedulously cultivate the
interests of the pocket, as the noblest and the worthiest,
the alpha and the omega of all interests. We despair
of seeing any really valuable system of education esta-
blished, till these two factions—these rival houses of
Montagu and Capulet—have learned to lay aside their
differences, and join heart and hand in the promotion of
the common weal. In the two great organs of the old and
the new system, the Westminster and Quarterly Reviews,
we fancy we can detect the dawn of this conciliatory
spirit. Neither stand so much aloof, nor are so deeply
wedded to system as they used to be. The West-
minster now affects to patronize classic literature,
and the Quarterly, not to be behind-hand in courtesy,
gives Utilitarianism an encouraging pat on the cheek.
This is cheering to the good cause, for it is not by the
adoption of the one, but by the harmonious blending
of the two rival systems, that the interests of national
education are to be helped forward. The youth who
should venture forth into the world freighted only
with a cargo of classic lore, would be just as helpless,
just as sureto drop:to lee-ward, as he who should attempt
to push his fortune with nothing but utilitarian pedantry
to recommend him.
It is for this reason that we are anxious to see the
Eton system of education—and what we say of Eton
applies with nearly equal force to all our other great
public schools—enlarged, so as to embrace the useful,
as well as the ornamental branches of literature. At
pre sent it is too restricted ; and the time that should
be devoted to those studies (the business parts of lite-
rature) which invigorate the young mind, and fit it for
the wear and tear of life, are frittered away in the manufac-
ture of Greek and Latin prose and poetry, in which the
creative faculty—that which brings out the very essence of
the youthful mind—has not the slightest opportunity
of developement. Classical composition is an elegant
recreation. It can never be any thing more. It may
accomplish the gentleman, but it will never constitute
the scholar, while, as respects the interests of real life,
it is so far from being of use, that it is absolutely a
stumbling-block. Yet we have known many sensible,
business-like parents who have shouted for joy wheu
their sons have distinguished themselves at Eton or
Reading by the composition of Greek lambics or Latin
Alcaics, yet who would have made it a point of con-
science to discourage them, had they attempted to
fritter away useful talents by sporting the poet in their
own language ! Was ever absurdity equal to this ?
We regret to see the Reviewer so warmly insisting on
this most mechanical branch of education. He may
talk of the dull pedantries of political economy, but the
Eton system of verse-making beats even these hollow.
If then he would desire to see the old system perpe-
tuated, let him recommend the infusion of fresh blood
into its enfeebled veins. This he has done to a certain
extent in the present article ; but he has not gone far
enough ; he should advocate utility, as well as orna-
ment, in matters of education, taking as the ground-
work of his creed, those famous lines of Milton—
" to know
That which before us lies in daily life
Is the prime wisdom."
" Belgium and Western Germany" is a favourable
notice of Mrs. Trollope's late book of Travels. This
lady is a sprightly, satirical writer, gifted with a
keen perception of character, and a graphic force of
description, hut she is by no means the prodigy the
Quarterly would make her out. When truth stands
in the way of point, she never hesitates an instant to
sacrifice it. So that her books amuse, she is not at
all solicitous about their instructing. The Americans
afforded her a fine opportunity of showing off her pe-
culiar talent for caricature, hence she offered up a
whole nation on the altar of her vanity. Mrs. Trol-
lope's genius is modelled. on the rules of contrariety.
Her professed fictions (we allude more especially to
the "Abbess") are too full of matters of fact. Her pro-
fessed matters of fact, such as her Travels, are too full
of fictions.
In the " Present State of France," the Reviewer
indulges in the broadest and most diverting vagaries.
this essay has all the bustle, character, and variety
of a drama. Louis Philippe and M. Berard are
drawn to the life—and nearly as richly coloured in
point of humour, as any of Foote's or Colman's farces.
M. Berard, it seems, was one of Louis's best friends
and patrons during the three days ; he not only helped
him to a throne, but actually fixed him there, as tight,
to all appearance, as if he were screwed down to it.
Unluckily, however, when the crisis was over and the
new dynasty established, Louis Philippe's memory be-
gan to desert him, and this, just in proportion as M.
Berard's waxed more lively. The consequences may
he anticipated. M. Berard grew solicitous, Louis
Phillipe ennuyed. The former gave hints of what he had
done, the latter of what he would do, and in this instance
followed up his hints most royally, by sending word,
one fine August morning, to M. Berard, that
his " services were no longer needed." Of course
poor Berard was all agony at such black ingratitude,
and equally as a matter of course, turned patriot on the
spot ; not however, as he magnanimously observes,
from any sense of his own personal grievances (of
course not, where is the monster who could insinuate
such a thing ?), but simply from the consideration of
what was due to his injured country ! He is now all
for the movement ; affects to pity Louis Philippe ; and
writes a big book to prove that he is the blackest of
the black, and himself the most spotless of the un-
spotted. With infinite propriety the Quarterly
proposes this little revolutionary episode as the subjec t

of a comedy, and thus hints how it should be con-

totted t—
ing"s AortlieLc—onTshpieradtorrasmdauwri
The bascule of their discretion and their courage, accordine,
the insurrection looked up or down, even as sketched by
Berard, is supremely ridiculous ; and this act would end with
ontigldthoepetnwowifithrstthdeayvsaraionudsnrgeher:,
that famous meeting in which these doughty patriots coneurr,':
in the necessity of publishing a bold protest, but when the 5;
protest had been drawn out and was ready for signature--
penman found that he was left alone ; the others having.
.e!".
caped by the beck door (literally) to avoid the responsibility
of signing what they had advised.
Act. ll.—The conciliubules ambulances continue to ska.lit.
from place to place, prudently dispersing themselves whenrer
.
the insurgents come to them to ask for ostensible leaders
Meanwhile, the revolt appears to prosper ; the sth re,g.ilasY_
of the line, which is starving on its parade, offers to join tiol(ol
people if it can get something to eat. Colonel ['ernes
Berard calculate that it will require 71. 17s. 6d. sterling (nt
francs) to buy bread enough to bribe these modern Boas' 0,
is a large sum—but nothing daunts the intrepid Berard; ,te
not without great difficulty, borrows 71. 1 7s. 6d. from Lot:
who cashes a bill to that amount—the bread is procured--"1_
regiment joins the people—and the royalists are expelled fro°
Paris.
t` Act. 111. would exhibit the conspirators, lately so tiilgoia
and moderate, become—when the danger is over—' as b°D.test
lions.' The back-door men, who had before shown the grey the
disinclination to be seen in the business, now apear
grand costume of provisional ministers in possession of all
reat offices of the state. But what are ministers without tt.
king ? Accordingly a hue and cry is raised for the Duke t°,
Orleans—he is not in Paris--a deputation hurries ds'ellhe
fetch him from Neuilly—' Not at home—don't know when lA/
will be'—great confusion—the deputation threatens to take
his
wife and children by force if he does not appear—at last
Royal Highness is found stowed away in a summer-house jar
garden. He now learns for the first time how the affair us,
,
ended—assumes the air and spirit of his station—boldly re-a"
justs his dress—and consents to be carried in triumph to Pgrgr;
In the meanwhile, Berard offers a draught of a charter to t
Provisional Ministers, who desire him to bold himself in re:"_
diness to attend in a cabinet council to discuss it—Berard
up all night in the expectation of being sent for, but is n •
summoned, and finds he is mystified—he then soliloquises'
not so much on the indignity thus offered to him, as the hal-a
ship upon a pair of job-horses he had hired, and which bat
stood harnessed at his door from evening till dawn--heing
3
length goes to bed much perplexed in mind—and on
next day be finds that Broglie and Guitot have pilfered :5
scheme and passed it off as their own—that the new itia_f bass
accepted it and the crown together, and that everybody
got something, and is satisfied—except B‘irard.
" Act IV. may rival the masquerade scene in GUStaYlig-':
the splendid inauguration -Berard the king—the magnificent ba,
stout
quet at the Palais Royal's good humour a little rfeo
stored—he patronises the king—he permits the Queell to
r,
brought to him—he is hand and glove with the Duke of c b
tres and Princess Adelaide—gets intoxicated—fancies hialsde
a favourite—goes to bed happy, and dreams he is Madamebo
Parabere. On awaking he finds, like Christopher Sig,
it was all a vision—that he is not a favourite—not eyen„ -011 -
nister—is mortified at seeing his subordinates become his "
periors—descants on the baseness of mankind—and lame„„
the failure of the Revolution. By and by he is a little s%;
soled at finding that he is to be a director-general,—` the
sei
came in with the Conqueror'—with a good house, salary
re-
patronage—that his friends Berthier and Foye are alto'su
jccts, arid that, upon the whole, the Revolution has not tie
gether failed ! Berard orders a grilled chicken and a bet
of Champagne. of
" Act V. exhibits our hero decorated with the Lere,
Honour, and giving audience in all the pride of 'tine es ho
mieres unction de l'administration but in the midst of 'ti
pomp—surgit amari aliquid—he sighs after the higher digltillae,
of a portefeuille—and the superior good luck of the quo pric
Carlist, d'Argout, comes across his mind. At this in°93-0..
the office messenger announces M. d'Argout—' `What, noA
claims the dignitary, ' can he want ?—with me, too, n'h°
him—who sent him off the other day with a flea in his reisir;
ear ?—'tis too bad I—No, tell the man I'm not visible.' , be
rejoins the messenger, M. d'Argout will not be denielog
says he comes from the king.' Oh I the king !—the Ca,
has opened his eyes at last—he means to call me to the le
binet, and, as a preliminary, thinks it necessary to recoils!,
me with d'Argout. Well—well—l am not implasel'l%g
show him in.' We cannot attempt even to sketch the ens": „,0
scene, in which Mr. Secretary of State d'Argout acqual
Mr. Director-General Berard that the king—his own killg,oo
' the king after his own charte'—has no longer any pees he
for his services I Our man is thunderstruck ; but before j;
recovers his senses, enters M. Berthier—' Ah, my dear fri.,,elloo
the ex-director exclaims, lam delighted to see you---1 7t
longer in office—my mind and body both need repose---ieLeij,
set out for your comfortable sub-prefecture at Coro y
where I may pass a few days till I have recovered this tole.th
pected blow.' Alas !my friend,' rejoins Berthier, 'it is -11100
double grief I have to tell you, that, the sub-prefecture igeg,
longer mine—l have travelled all night in the coucoux-..51
sonne, to tell you that I too am dismissed You distniatiii
—then we must both retire to Etampes, where friend Fo./e
to •
afford us an asylum.' My dear patron,' cries Foye ente. 0
on the opposite side—' I am dismissed also !" Grac
heaven 1' exclaims the bewildered charter-maker, what Is
ere
be done now ? All three turned out of house and home! volit,
shall we betake ourselves ? I have it—let us go to Laffitte's;
has an exalted place—a splendid fortune,--a palace in the sere: e
which the gratitude of the revolution has called by his narne"„ie
can at any rate shelter us for a few days--call a coach.' The Le,
of friends get in, and desire thefaere to drive to the Rue Lai' '
' Rue Lajitte P mutters the coachman, 'you mean Rue d'.4ll°-
no matter—they arrive, and ask for the President of the
cil—‘ Alas ! Sir, M. Lafitte is dismissed—his house is 12°-,411
tised for sale—the government are moving heaven and esol
to ruin him—he is subsisting on the charity of his friends, id
he left word that it you called—as he had no doubt Y‘3°
be
desired that you would pay him the 71. 17s. 6d• that
lent you in July, 1830, to bribe the sth regiment of the
And so would end the comedy."
" Crabbe's Posthumous Tales" speaks in a teaVi
rate strain of eulogy of a mediocre—compared it)
bbe
their author's earlier works—performance. Cr--lithe
was a great poet, but his fancy lay always i°
shade. It rarely caught a glimpse of sunshine o'l at
wings. He is read, it is true, with admiration, b.,c
even his most masterly passages seldom or never gh,a
into our hearts, awaken our sympathies, or become 0
•ii
ve
corporated with our own intellectual being. Ilenle,
us squalid poverty without its redeeming traits—we
formity of passion without its interest. He is a ke,ei;
cold, skilful anatomist whose constant ambition it •
h/
to lay bare what had better have been concealed.
trile
descriptions are literal, but seldom picturesque ;
to life, but repulsive to the imagination. Instead 0
the calm seclusion of the cottage , • the honeysuel"e
e
thethe window ; the sunny patch of kitchen-bound' ;
flitch hung up to the ceiling ; the ruddy smiles ft'
or
contented inmates ; or any of those major or r°ll
silc
accessories which the fancy loves to connect with it
scenes, and which Mr. Crabbe must have seen °`
m ley,
daily for at least forty years of his life, he use „.•
0
selects the most loathsome subjects for descriPtio toe
expatiating with far more relish on the poor I°).je
than the cottage, on the black, than on the white' 51
of rural life. Even if lie be iisc.inced to enter a Otte
it is only to take an inventory of its furniture; t° catr
logue its broken chairs and cracked tea-cups' vets
a bailiff who has been sent to distrain for rent. ,r'e
a vr
th eless, he has prodigious energy, great power an .
ero
,
riety of versification—now reminding us of the easy
of Dryden, and now of the epigrammatic point of reP.oiv
and, above all, an archness of humour, and oueelpt
ally a Parson Adams-like simplicity of character'
ct of
never fail to tell, inasmuch as they wear the AV' er
perfect unconsciousness. Except that we I(°°':i o'3
tremes meet, we should be puzzled to understanoost
what princ;ple it was that Sir Walter Scott, the so
invariably social and enlivening of authors, COold wore
fond of the productions of one whose genius
but too often a frown on its brow.

....
ril? 0
A DIGEST OF THE ELECTION R. gr -fi

Br CHARLICS F. F. WORDSWORTH, ESQ.
Maxwell. London, 1834. lotal
The design of this work is admirable, and Nye
not that any great fault is to be found with the eseca
" It was contemplated," says the author, ``tha,tiorig,
book should become an epitome of Election Decisik.
and a companion, for practical purposes, to the the
i
for the Amendment of the Representation °deria
People." This s a rather bold attempt, cons
cases'
the mare magnum of the reported election .crigierr,
0
wherein any but the most expert and stoutest loa
must be lost inevitably. Some of the statement oiete
decisions are not a little amusin,, from their ah 6 the
opposition to common sense in °some cases Ch t°
ttrle°
general practice in othErs. For instance, " one . order,
Gillett was proved to have receivedten
to vote for the sitting Members, and it was a rod'
on their part that, by this act, his vote was destto
But the counsel on that side having called hint OP
evidence that he did not know the mc,i,ey to befor the
Cust's or Mr. Tunes', (excellent 1) the counsel
rid of
the Lgt.°lloittee
petitioners objected to this testimony, on
its tending to exculpate himself—but the C°lll,a hai°
overruled the objection." Common sense wail

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