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

NE IV MONTHLY-MAGAZINE.

In the continuation of the ""Talleyrand Papers"_
in which,- by the bye, there appears-to be nearly as
much fiction as fact--soave -curious particulars, if
their authenticity could but be relied on, are given of
the closing days of Alirabeau. The Prince of Bene•
ventum was at- that' time in .the very prime of man-
hood, and was the bosom friend of the great leader: of
the Revolution, of whose worth as a man and abilities
as a politician, he is here made to express himself in
terms -of the warmest admiration. Dissipated and
unprincipled as he notoriously was, Mirabeau was vet
not without his redeeming qualities. He was frank,
generous, and ardent in his friendship, and we can
easily believe what a powerful spell he must have ex-
erted by his wit, passion, and eloquence, over the
mind of Talleyrand at an age when he must have been
peculiarly susceptible of impressionS Of adiniration..
It was much- later, in life that this wily statesman
adopted the " nil admirari" system, and we cannot
wonder at his subsequent coldness and scepticism
when We remember the startlina• Vicissitudes he en-
dured at the commencement of Ins public career, thi
extraordinary scenes in which he was a chief actor,
the brilliant adventurers with whom his lot was cast
and the odious and humiliating farm in which human
- nature must too often have exhibited itself to him.
In his old age Talleyrand, who never throughout his
protracted life knew what it was to have One really
conscientious principle, was a confirmed cynie—po.,
iished, indeed, and conciliatory in his bearing; but still
a cynic. There was a bitterness in his most smiling
repartees, and his sarcasms stung like scorpions. The
i attempt made in these "Papers" to prove. that he was
an amiable sentimentalist, is perfectly preposterous:
" Lights and- Shades in the Life of a Gentleman on--
Half-pay" is one of Mr. Maxwell's dashing stories of
love and adventure. in the ingenious essay on
" People who always Keep their Word," occurs the
following reflection, with whose truth we have been.
much struck :—" Education's earliest lessons should
implant in the mind a sense of the sanctity of a pro-
mise. A child should never hear of an oath—that
fatal knowledge kills "the innocent security in the
simple word. If there were no necessity, real or sup-
posed, for oaths, there would be no lies. When the
child has learned that the simple word is not enough
for the ends of truth, it hag learned the first lesson of
falsehood." "La Maison Maternelle" is a heavy,
prolix article, and time subject is not such as to
warrant the wearisome length at which it is treated
The " Robertses on their Travels" is by Mrs. Trol-
lone. it contains some smart, satirical hits, but, on
the whole, is not elevated above •the dead flats of
common-place. The " Tower of the Caliph" is a de-.
scription of the towering structure erected by the late
Mr. Beekford in the immediate neighbourhood of
Bath. We subjoin Horace Smith's poem on " Camp-
Funeral" in Westminster Abbe's.-

'Tis well to see these accidental Great,
Noble by birth, or Fortune's favour blind. •
Gracing themselyes in adding grace and state
To the more noble.eminence of mird,
And doing homage to a bard,
Whose breast by Nature's ge; was
Whose patent by the hand of (..;•oa himself wai.eigli'LL

While monarchs sleep. forgotten, unrevered, • •
Time trims the lamp of intellectual fame.
The builders of the pyramids, who reer'd
Mountains of stone, left none to tell their name.
Tho' Homer's tomb was never known,
A mausoleum of his own,
Long as the world endures his p,,Teatness shell proclaim
What lauding sepulchre does Campbell want
'Tis his to give, and not derive renown. -
What monumental bronze or adamant,
Like his own deathless Lays can hand him down
Poets outlast their tombs: the bust
And statue soon revert to dust;
The dust they represent still wears the laurel crown.

The solid abbey walls that seem time-proof, •
Form'd to await the final clay of doom; -
The eluster'd ►hafts, MA arch-supported roof,.
That now enshrine and guard our Campbell's tomb,
Become a ruin'd shatter'd fane,
May fall and bury him again,
Yet still the bard shall live, his fame-wreath still shall
bloom.

Niethonght the monumental effigies
Of elder poets that were group'd around,
Lean'd from their pedestals with eager eyes,
To peer into the excavated ground.
Where lay the gifted, good, and brave,
While earth from Kosciusko's grave,
Fell on his coffin-plate with Freedom-shrieking sound.
And orer him the kindred dust was strew'd
Of Poets' Corner. 0 misnomer strange!
The poet's confine is the amplitude
Of the whole earth's illimitable range.
O'er which his spirit wings its flight,
Shedding an intellectual light,
A sun that never sets, a moon that knows no change.
Around his grave in radiant brotherhood,
As if to form a halo o'er his head,
Not few of England's master spirits stood,
Bards, artists, sages, reverently led
To wave each separation. plea
Of sect, clime, party, ande degree,
All honouring him on whom Nature .t).11 honottra 44.

To me the humblest of the mourning band, -
Who knew the hard thro' many a changeful year,
It was a proud sad privilep to stand,
Beside his grave awl shod a parting tear.
Seven lustre had he been my friend.
Be that my plea when I suspend.
This all-unworthy wreath on such a poet's bier.