The Sun.
London, England, 1861-07-08 00:00:00

A MIRACLE OP A 177 ITORSHIP.

~.._~_~T

Jo the review contained in our impression of
Saturday evening, by a ludicrous transformation of
one small monosyllable, we appeared to state as an
actual fact what was of course in itself, upon the
very face of it, a physical impossibility. The extra-
gance of the intimation, however, virtually corrected
itself. So that it is in a manner superfluous to add,
what we nevertheless do add here very explicitly—
not being in any way ambitious of claimieg for our-
selves a lineal descent ifrom Baron Munchausen

Erratum—line 78—for " weeks" read months."
In his charming volume of puns and poetry, a book
brimful (from rim to rim—of the cover) with the
gravest and the gaiest disquisitions—" Tho Jar of
Honey from MoUnt llybla"—Leigh• Hunt (it may
be remembered by those who know the volume)
speaks incidentally of the wonderful brass pot drag-
ged up in his net out of the deep by the Fisher-
man in the Arabian Nights Entertainments, the
brass pot sealed with the seal of the Great Solyman,
as containing within it "the concentrated essence of
Jinn." That miracle of compression, however, told
of by the oriental fabulist—wonderful though it is
—would be nothing to the one here incidentally hit
upon by this lapsus calami—aimcst we had written
that last word (indeed we must so have written it
but for the delightful absurdity of the lapsus)—
calami-ty ! In the story of the Fisherman and the
Geni, of course one may conjecture that the latter
was squeezed into the vessel—during all those ages
through which it lay buried under the ocean—by the
the agency (shall we venture to hint ?) of—hydrau-
lic pressure. It would be rather bewildering to
Swift !) one of the glibest goosequills familiar
to the grasp of the immortal one-eyed philo-
sophers. The "achievement," in fact (re-
ferred to on Saturday), when completed,
must have left that old allegorical personage
conjecture, however, the nature of the force, mecha-
nical, mental, or moral, that could affect to explain
even bya joke this other, this far more astounding
compression—not in regard to "space" but in regard
to " time"—not of the Arabian but of the English
Genius. Remembering the description of the
former incident as related in the glorious Arabian
Tales—

"Immediately the form of the genie began
to change into smoke [a very reasonable thing
truly for it to end in !] and extending itself as
before, over both the shore and the sea ; and then
collecting itself, began to enter the vase, and con-
tinued to do so, in a slow and equal manner, till
nothing remained without. A voice immediately
issued forth saying, Now then, thou incredulous
fisherman, dost thou believe me now I am in the
vase' P"—

one may certainly pronounce that to have
been " a cram." But—recollecting the description
of the more recent incident thus, Es we have seen,
accidentally blundered upon in regard to one of eur
glorious English Tales, we would almost go so far
as to pronounce that—may we hope to be forgiven
for saying it P—" a crammer." A hand that could
so write must certainly have been worked by no
other than a steam arm—a patent match for the
famous steam leg in the old comic song. It must
have written too, that marvellous hand, literally,
as we said on Saturday curreizte calamo—it must
have been armed, that is, in other words, with a
Flying Pen, plucked from the wing of one
of the most volacious birds of the Flying Island (of
with the scythe and hour-glass somewhat in the
same utterly blown and exhausted condition as
Dr. Johnson describes him to have been reduced to
at the close, Shakspere's career, where the Doctor
sings, in a strain of magnificent hyperbole, that—
" Panting Time toiled after him in vain."

It could only be accomplished, indeed—this high-
pressure velocity, in the way of "ready writing"—
by, we will suppose, Munchausen himself redivivus,
armed with the steam arm already imagined, and
dipping the Flying Pen (already referred to as
dropped from the Flying Island) in an American
standish of " greased lightning." The result, of
course, to be applauded afterwards in due course
by resounding peals of Mr. Philip Bailey's " but-
tered thunder.*

* For the which see Festus.