The Sun.
London, England, 1844-08-01 00:00:00

wood. " Young Scotland," one of the speakers, talks
well, but he is not for an instant to be compared with
" Old Scotland," so worthily represented by Chris-
topher North. There are several snatches of verse
interspersed through the dialogues, from among
which we select a poem on the " Interment of Tho-
mas Campbell," who, it may be remembered, was
buried a month or two since in Westminster Abbey :
See, what eager throngs are pouring inwards from the busy

•
street ! -
Lo, the Abbey's•hush is broken with the stir of many feet
iltith I St. blitrgaret's bell is tolling, but it is no common clay,
To that dull and rueful anthem, shall be laid in dust to-day
hu you Minster's hallowed corner, where the bards ands ages

- rest,
Is a silertit chamber waiting to receive another guest.
There is sadness ih the heavens, and a veil against the sun ;
Who shall motirn-so well as Nature when a poet's course is run ?
Let us in and join the gazers, meek of heart and bare of brow,
For the shadows of the mighty dead are hovering o'er us now.
Souls that kept their trust immortal, dwelling from the herd

apart,
Souls that wrote their noble being deep into a nation's heart,
Names that, on great England's forehead, are the jewels of
her pride,
Brother Scot, be proud, a brother soon shall slumber by their

_
side I
Ay, thy cheek is flushing redly, tears are crowding to thine eyes,
And thy heart, like mine, is rushing back where Scotland's
_ mountains rise;
Thou, like me, host seen another grave would suit our poet well,
Greenly braided by the breckan, in a lonely Highland dell,
Looking on the solemn waters of a mighty inland sea,
In the shadow of a mountain, where the lonely eagles be :
Tou hast seen the kindly heather bloom around his simple bed,
Heard the loch and torrent mingle dirges for the poet dead ;
Brother, thou hast seen him lying, as it is thy hope to lie,
Looking, from the soil of Scotland, up into a Scottish sky !
It may be, such grave were better,—better, rain and dew
should fall,
Tears of hopeful love to freshen Nature's ever-verdant pall ;
Better that the sun should kindle on his grave in golden smiles,
:Setter than, in palsied glimmer, stray along these sculptured
aisles ;
Better after times should find him,—to his rest in homage

bound,— _
Lying in the land that bore him, with its glories piled around
Such, at least, must be the fancy that in such a time must

start,—
For we love our country dearly,—in each burning Scottish
heart ;
Yet a rest so great, so noble, as awaits the minstrel here,
'Mong the best of England's children, can be no unworthy bier.
Hark ! a rush of feet They bear him,—him, the singer, to

his tomb ;
Yonder what of him is mortal lies beneath yon sable plume.
Tears along mine eyes are rushing, but the proudest tears
they be,
That on manly eyes may gather,—tears, 'twere never shame
to see ;
Tears that water lofty purpose; tears of welcome to the fame
Of the bard that bath ennobled Scotland's dear and noble

name.
Sadder, sadder, let the anthem yearn aloft in wailing strain,
Not for him, for he is happy, but for us and all our pain !
Louder, louder, let the organ like a seraph anthem roll,
Hymning to its home of glory our departed brother's soul_!
Ile has laid him down to slumber, to awake to nobler trust,
Give his frame to kindred ashes, earth to earth, and dust to
dust !

Louder yet, and yet more loudly let the organ's thunder rise !
Hark a louder thunder answers, deepening inwards to the
skies,—
Heaven's majestic diapason, pealing on from east to west,
Never grander music anthem'd poet to his home of rest.

FRASER'S MAGAZINE.
Mr. Horace Twiss's recently published " Life of
Lord Chancellor Eldon," which has attracted public
attention in no ordinary degree, is reviewed at con-
siderable length in this Number, and with a tact and
spirit that denotes the hand of a practised writer.
The fairness and moderation, too, of the criticism are
- not among its least recommendations. We con-
fidently expected—knowing well the high Tory:charac-
ter-of Fraser—to have seen it-stuffed full of the most
fulsome eulogiums on Lord Eldon ; instead of which,
while it does justice to his merit, it points out his de-
fects frankly and boldly, with a conscientious regard
to truth of portraiture. Commenting on Mr. Twiss's
hasty remark, that the Chancellor's powers " were of
that rare and standard order from which a whole
generation is fain to take its impulse," the Reviewer
appropriately observes, " his position was essentially
one of resistance, and that only. It was impossible,
then, that he could give an impulse to a generation.
One might as well say that a breakwater gives an
impulse to the billows, or the fortifications of a city
to the artillery discharged against it." This is an
apt and faithful illustration of the character of Lord
Eldon's political system. He deemed it his duty as
astatesman, not to accelerate, but to check, as far as
in him lay, the inevitable progress of events ; to
defend the existing state of things, and oppose him-
self to every species of innovation. He had no faith
in Reform theories, whether legal or constitutional,
but was desirous to leave the world in his old age in
the same condition in which he found it in his youth.
Had he lived in the days of witchcraft he would
never have consented to abolish the statutes against
it; would have maintained the legality of general
warrants as an integral part of our " glorious con-
stitution ;" and would have given " one cheer more',
in favour of the doctrine of constructive treason.
That he was clever, learnecl,and conscientious all must
admit, but none can say that he was a great man, in
the comprehensive sense of the term. The elements
of greatness were not to be found in his composition.
He had no enlarged conceptions—no generous enthu-
siasm—no foresight ; his views were limited—his na-
ture distrustful—and, instead of turning a hopeful
eye towards the future, he was ever casting a fond
look back upon the past. Abuses of every kind, pro-
vided they had antiquity to recommend them, always
found in him a staunch supporter ; and he was ready
to defend the most monstrous paradoxes, if they hap-
pened to accord with his political prejudices. A bet.
ter man never lived—a worse statesman never influ•
enced the destinies of a kingdom. Like his master,
George the Third, whom he resembled in his worldly
craft and inveterate obstinacy, his private presented a
striking contrast to his public character—the one being
as irreproachable as the other was glaringly defective.
However, he is now gone to his account, and far be
it from us to treat his memory with undue harshness.
Throughout his long political career he acted uni-
formly according to the dictates of his conscience,
and committed a world of mischief with the best pos-
sible intentions. Alluding incidentally to Lord El-
don's residence at Oxford, and the system of classical
study pursued at that university, and also at our
public schools, the Reviewer says—" As to the odes,
essays, and the like, in Greek and Latin, we know no
occupation on which the human intellect can be more
lamentably prostituted." What, indeed, can be more
absurd than to compel a boy against the grain to com-
pose Greek and Latin alcaics, sapphics, iambics, &c.
We laugh at the idea of his being made an English
poet on compulsion, and yet we strive to make him
a poet in a dead language by dint of a strenuous
process of flagellation ? This is a species of scholastic
bigotry that needs a thorough reformation. The
" Lectures of Professor Keble considered with refe-
rence to some of the Latin poets," is a rams)ling
essay, written in a fluent style, full of imagery, but
without any direct object that we can perceive. In
the article on the " Marquise de Sevigne," we have a
biographical sketch of this accomplished lady, the
heartless vivacity of whose famous letters—so illus-
trative of the character of the age in which they were
written—Horace Walpole has imitated with marked
success. " A Fine Day in Piccadilly "is a gossiping
account of the numerous changes that have taken
place in this fashionable thoroughfare. Among other
singular metamorphoses, the well-known public-house,
the "Hercules Pillars," where Fielding's Squire
Western put up on his visit with Sophia to London,
has, it seems, been transformed into Apsley House,
the present town residence of the Conqueror of Na •
poleon. Thus the site has an historical as well as a
literary celebrity attached to it. The "Luck of Barry.
Lyndon " is at length brought to a close. It is an
amusing tale, and will, we suppose, be re-published
in the usual three volume form. From "Military
Tableaux " we quote an account of the battle of
Dennewitz, fought between the French and Prussians
in the year 1813 :

" Early in the morning an aide-de-camp of the Crown
Prince of Sweden" (the reader will recollect that Berna-
dotte commanded the allied army of the north during
the campaign of 1813) " brought General Borstell an
order to remain in observation before Wittenberg; but
the roar of artillery, which had for some time been
heard in the direction of Dennewitz, was now•gathering
thicli and fast upon the ear, and calling loudly upon us
ta hasten to the aid of our countrymen. Tell his Royal
'ighileas; said General Borstell to the staff-officer,
that the battle is raging in the direction of Lower Gers-
derff.; there it is that the result must be decided, and
there my duty calls me in consequence.' Events jus-
ttfied,Borstell's resolution but his answer shows the
little harmony that existed between the allied troops and
commanders during, the early part of the campaign of
1813.1 the total want or confidence- reposed by the Prus-
sians 'in 1-rnadette, as well as the low and dangerous
ebb to which subordination had fallen in consequence—
evils of which a skilful enemy might have takenthe most
fatal advantage.
" The order to march was instantly given, the sol-
diers were in the act of cooking, but no time
was left to
prepare, still lees to enjoy the frugal meal ; the soup was
thrown away, and the half-boiled meat peeked into
camp-kettles, and the arms quickly grasped, Our course
lay straight on, over stubhle fields and broken ground,
and almost always at a double-quick step, for
every
moment staff officers were arriving and urging us to
speed and increased exertion. The roar of artillery Was
nvery:moment growing louder and louder, dust and pers-
piration had already disguised every countenance be_
need); impenetrable masks, when, about eleven o'clock,
we fduud ourselves on the right of the line, and joined
in the action. Our arrival tended greatly to revive the
spirits of the other brigades of Bulow's corps, no longer
able to withstand the continued assault of such vastly
superior foes. Before us we could see nothinF, as the
soldiers said, but the sky of the French ; and we
really perceived the enemy standing on several lines,
while to retain an equal front with them we were obliged
to bring not only our second line, but our reserve also
into front line. The battle of Dennewitz certainly does
the Prussian soldiers great honour, for the French were
at Jesat double our number, as we had not more than
40,000 men in the field. They were also superior to us
in artillery, for our brigade had generally from twelve
to twenty guns rattling at us, and could only reply with
two six-pounders that stood near our battalion, and with
four other field-pieces posted some three battalions to
our left ; and, its stated, we fought without a reserve.