The Sun.
London, England, 1861-01-05 00:00:00

Fraeer's Magazine.

The clever and agreeable authol' of " Digby
Grand," and many another pleasant work of fiction,
commences a new tale with the opening year. It
bears the somewhat unsatisfactory title of " Good
for Nothing ; or all Down Hill," so that we may
anticipate a downward course for its hero. A
group of charcters is introduced, sketched with the
writer's accustomed skill and including very oppo-
site ranks of life. The recently published volumes
on the life of Schleiermacher, a well-known
German theologian and a man of great intellec-
tual power, are the subject of an interesting
article. The writer before us justly blames the
extreme prolixity of the work, whose copious
translations from private correspondence are likely
to give to the English reader, unacquainted with
the facts, the impression that Schleiermacher's time
was mainly spent in writing sentimental epistles,
and that his chief repute was as a complete letter-
writer. Though held in high estimation among
his own people, he is little known in this
country, and those who wish to acquaint them•
selves with the leading features of his life and
character, will have a good opportunity of doing
so in the article before us, which contains a succinct
sketch of his career. " A January Day" gives us
an animated picture of the pleasures of skating
and of some of its pains too, for in the midst
of his rhapsodies the writer makes a deseeit
through the ice, and finds that, like every other
descent, it is easier than the return. The
second paper on the life and writings of Thomas
do Quincey contains much thoughtful and discri-
minative criticism on the multifarious works of

the English Opium eater. The story of " Ida Con-
way" progresses very unsatisfactorily as regards
its fair heroine, who is fast losing her place in the
reader's favour. Shirley contributes a humorous
but somewhat flippant paper " On the Propriety
of Abolishing the Writing of Books." The best
passage is the concluding paragraph, in which the
writer comments on the danger of totally neglect-
ing our older worthies among the multifarious
attractions offered us by the literature of the day.
An essay on Sir Francis Head's recent work on.
" The Horse and his Rider" has some pleasant dis-
cursive writing on hunters and hunting." " The
Modern Medusa" is the title of an amusing paper
on the miseries of short-sighted persons, and the
" Chronicle of Current History" gives a fair outline
of the course of events abroad and at home.

Colburn's New Monthly.

The political article in this number is on the
Venetian question. It discusses the various aspects
of the Italian puzzle with patience and ability, but
we cannot subscribe to the theories it advocates.
It recommends that England should form a close
alliance with Austria and Prussia, in order to oppose
the desire of France to possess herself of Venetia on
the one hand and of the Rhine on the other. The
French supremacy in Europe will be paralysed, says
the writer, so long as Prussia holds the Rhine and.
Austria the Venetese, and these two Powers will
be able to offer England assistance in the event of
war with France. Setting aside higher motives,
wo should have thought past experience would
have afforded a truer estimate of the worth of such
an alliance. The truth of Constance's apo-
strophe, " Thou ever strong upon the stronger
side," was not restricted to the days of King John.
The lessons of experience would be useless indeed
were England to depend on the aid of her quondam
allies of the Russian war. The writer admits that
" Austria's absolutistic tendencies must estrange
her, were not interest in this case far more
predominant than principles." It will be
lone indeed, let us hope, before English policy
is based upon such a contemptible doctrine
in days when the force of the national
feeling is so readily felt.by its rulers.
Any attempt
i
to support the Austrian tyranny n Italy on the
part of English statesmen would
be as unpopular
as it would bo ridiculous: Sir Nathaniel brings
Bubb Dodingtor, the intriguing politician of the
last century, intohis gallery of pottraits,andremarks
thA he presented As good an Antltype of the famous

character of Rigby, as by general consent another
Secretary of later times did. "The Curse of
Wulfheimberg" is one of those dismal German
legends of mystery and murder which Mrs. Bushby
seems lately to patronise. " East Lynne," another
story which hangs upon an undiscovered murder,
but wears at least a healthy English aspect,
is continued with interest. Events seem likely
to reach a crisis before long. We hear no
more of the wretched Isabel, who is supposed
'by her relatives to have perished in a railway
accident, but Mr. Carlyle is going to encounter
the risks of matrimony a second time. A sensible
paper by Cyrus Redding analyses with much truth
and some severity the plots of the great German
dramatists. The poetical contributions are this
month above the average. They consist of some
verses by Nicholas Michell on the old year, and
another of the Stereoscopic Glimpses by W. C.
Kent, showing us the Father of English poetry
basking in the summer sun in the garden at Wood-
stock, while the tellers of the Canterbury tales
appear to his wandering fancy. We cite the fol-
lowing verses showing the opening of the poetical
panorama :

'Tis a nest of fragrant blossoms
Where the greybeard poet dreams;
'Tis the very bank for basking •
Where the sunlight round him streams,
While beforo him troop rare fancies,
Lit by visionary gleams.
Comes the Knight upon his warhorse,
In half-armour, jingling by;
In his mail-stained fustian gipon,
His sheathed sword slung at his thigh ;
His serene mouth dimpling sweetly
Under calm, sedatest eye.
Comes the Squire, a radiant stripling,
With an air of courtly grace
In his curling locks luxuriant,'
With youth's down upon his face ;
His green surcoat bloom-embroidered,
Like some cowslip-sprinkled chase.
Comes the Monk on ambling palfrey
As a berry brown and sleek,
His bald pate all glazed and glistening,
Flushed his health-anointed cheek;
You may hear the supple leather
Of his boot on stirrup creak I
Not like his with rich furs puttied
Are the Friar's loose-hanging sleeves—
Filled with stores of homely baubles
Strown o'er every hearth he leaves :
'Neath grey cowl his blithe eyes sparkle
Like the stars on frosty eves.
Loitering comes the stalwart Yeoman—
One of Lincoln's forest-band—
Silver horn swung at his baldric,
Russet gauntlet on his hand ;
In his grasp a mighty yew-bow,
Whence he drives his levin-brand.
Slouching, next, the tawny Shipman
Rears his rough but limber form ;
Crisp as though with rime his ringlets,
Large his generous heart and warm ;
Thick his beard all blowsed and shaken
By how many a briny storm I
Sauntering past the musing Poet,
Still they move, that motley throng—
Pilgrims from the Southwark Tabard,
Numbered in immortal song :
Towards thy holy shrine, a Becket,
Aye their shades shall glide along I

Temple Bar Magazine.

There aro several articles in this number, some
of which contain a fair share of interest and infor-
mation. A new story is commenced by the Editor,
which is called " The Seven Sons of Mammon."
It promises well so far, and it already attains to a
climax of horror, inasmuch as the eldest of the
tribe is supposed to meet with a dreadful death in
an accident on the Paris Railway. As the body
is so much injured that the features are totally
unrecognisable, and the hero's death is taken for
granted because of the portfolio beside the corpse
containing letters of his name, it is to be presumed
that some mistake may have occurred, and that
Capt. Hugh Goldthorpe may again revisit the story.
The tale entitled, "For Better, for Worse," is con-
tinued, and the decisive step is taken, the deed
perpetrated on which the events of the narrative
are to depend, and Etle -lied is married to Sir
.Philip. It is apparent to the reader that
a sad fate and a dark destiny await
the bright and beautiful young bride, and
that she is taking a lasting farewell of her own
family to enter into another where she will be
coldly received, while her husband is sure to prove
selfish and exacting. " A Financial Difficulty" pre•
sents a most amusing sketch of monetary troubles,
which are ludicrous in their very misery. The
grand coup at the end is most effectively told. Mr.
Smith, as he calls himself, was rushing away from
a suspicious looking individual who he thought
meant to serve him with a writ, but on being caught
by the pursuer, the foe proved a friend, for he only
meant to give him a subpeeha to appear as a witness
in some case on trial. Hence the penniless man
became possessed of a guinea which entirely altered
his position, matured his plans and was finally the
means of his becoming prosperous and wealthy.
" Annus Mirabilis" is the title of a paper which, as
may be supposed, takes into consideration the
events of the year—a striking analysis is given
of the past wonders abroad and at home.
It is said thus—" To the ordinary we take
it 1860 must seem a year of wonders.
For the face of the earth has been changed, and its
governors have been cast out, and new rulers ap-
pointed in their place. The captives have been set
free, and the most hopeless nation in Europe glad-
dened with freedom complete and triumphant. In
this same year, which we must perforce call won-
derful, the eldest son of the Queen of England has
stood bareheaded before the tomb of the man-who

tore the fairest jewel in the British crown from his
great-grandfather." There are some remarks on
the subject, "What our coals cost us," and prefixed
to them is the appropriate quotation—

" Wives and mithers, maist despairin',
Ca' them lives o' men."
There are various other topics descanted upon,
among which are an instructive paper on "Light,"
"A visit to the Iron-clad Ship," etc. The poetry called
" London Poems," is on the Dead, it is written in
a feeling and expressive manner. The following
versos are pleasing :
The Dead ! They have laboured to show
Earth and Heaven a closer communion ;
We are nearer the Dead than we know,
And our sleep is the sign of the union ;
And we daily grow nearer our Dead
Who have laboured and fled,
The types of a duty completed
Let us on—we shall join them at length,
Let us labour, for unto our strength
The labour before us is meted,
We labour together—'t is best;
We slumber with Hope fo): a neighbour,
And slowly departing to rest
Find the infinite enact of our labour ;
We toil in an infinite crowd,
And our toil is P, cloud
The end of our pilgrimage screening—
But God, if His worshippers weep,
In thP.,iinks of His death and their sleep
ides hints of a beautiful meaning.
Sleep, City, and symbol the time
When our sleep bursts to lovely awaking,
When Death shows the Temple sublime
Our toil is unconsciously making I
Each is weak, each is small, each is vain,
In his pride and his pain,
But he leans on the rest it he falter ;
And if taken together we show
The work that must brighten and grow,
When the Dead aro the stones of God's Altar 1

Macmillan's Magazine.
Macmillan shows us a very attactive table o
contents, whose promises are fairly kept. In the
first place it is a matter of congratulation to its
readers that a story is begun by Henry Kingsley,
author of Geffory Hamlyn," and brother of the
brilliant rector of Eversley. It is entitled " Raven-
shoe " and bids fair to be interesting in matter and
graphic in style. The other work of fiction, " Tom
Brown, at Oxford," proceeds with spirit. Poor Tom
is sadly perplexed by his complicated love affairs and
when he takes refuge from theoretical puzzles in
the practical employment of watching for poachers,
he ts not more fortunate. Mrs. Norton and Miss
Muloch are stanch supporters of this serial, each
of these ladies contributing two papers to the
present number. An article on "Books of Gossip,"
by Mrs. Norton, is well worth reading, both for the
substantial justice of the remarks and for the
writer's warm defence of her illustrious ancestor—
" The orator, dramatist, minstrel, who ran
Through each mode of the lyre, and was master of au-
She resents with generous indignation the fireless
c names
calumnies which are so often heaped on the
edotical
of departed celebrities by so-called
biographers," and which are espall yeharacter is
lot of one
H
so versatile in talent and heedlec
sesa,:iirks, were those
of his
faults, nee
age. The as his defer justlsvoc iated with his name
r
ahabitual and constant
was, she observes,and unfortunately held
temptation of the time,"ot the celebrities d
potent sway over most of the ay.
'With regard to his recklessness in money matters,
she pleads in his defence the destruction of Drury
Lane Theatre, in which his whole fortune was
embarked. Sho also asks why such a hard measure
is to be dealt to him above his contemporaries.
Fox's debts were paid three times—who paid
Sheridans' ? The Prince of Wales had his El
Dorado in a submissive nation and a subservient
Parliament." In the biography, which has so
justly awakened her indignation, she finds also
unworthy sneers at Sheridan's parentage. She
asks how it happened, if all these asser-
tions against him are true, " that a man labouring
under such disadvantages of birth, and also de-
scribed as a common-place swindler, drunkard,
and driveller, excelled in everything he attempted ;
and from the obscure son of the Bath actor and
schoolmaster became Minister of State and com-
panioi of ponces." The latter dignity was cer-
tainly a Ivry questionable advantage to poor