The Sun.
London, England, 1844-02-01 00:00:00

AINSWORTH'S MAGAZINE.

The intriguing character of the well-known
Harley, Earl of Oxford—whom Swift has praised in
such fulsome terms—is skilfully brought out in the
chapters before us of Mr. Ainsworth's " Court of St.
James," and there is much nature and propriety in
the dialogue which he holds with Queen Anne, and
in which he is interrupted by the sudden irruption
of the Duchess of Marlborough into the royal pre-
sence. Nor is humbler English life less truly painted
in thts story, as may be seen by reference to the
entertaining conversations that take place between
Sergeant Scales and the Queen's State coachman.
There are one or two lyrics, we perceive, interspersed
among the chapters, but they are certainly not in
the author's most successful manner. The best is a
humorous song, sung by the redoubtable sergeant,
and entitled the "Boots of Marlbrook," which is full
of pointed allusions to the Duke's victories over the
French Marshals. The "Long Hours" is the con-
tinuation of a story, by Mrs. Hall, which
was commenced last month, and is founded
on the fact of the exhausting labours to
which young apprentices are too often subjected
in the metropolis and elsewhere, and the
evil habits which they are apt to engender. " Oriana
and Vespereila " is a species of fairy tale, with a
dash of allegory mixed up with it ; hut we must con-
fess that it is not much to our taste. "John .Manesty,'
the Liverpool merchant," is rather prosy this month,
and the dialogue between the merchant and a Mo-

ravian priebt -might have been very' advantageously
curtailed. The " Seven Sleepers of Ephesus"—as its
title imports—is a prose version of the celebrated
legend of that name. The sleepers, it may be re-
membered, were Christians, who one fine 'day fell
into a heavy slumber in a cavern, and did not wake
up till two hundred years had rolled over their un-
conscious heads. Had Mr. Robert Montgomery's
poems been written in those days, we could at once
have accounted for the sleepers' long nap, on the sup--
position that each had taken a copy of those drowsy
productions with him into the cavern, and gone off " as
fast as a church" in a vain effort to master their contents.
Under such circumstances, the sleep would have been'
no miracle, but the most natural thing in the world.
" A Jar of Honey from Mount Hybla" is a light,
graceful, critical essay, from the pen of Mr. Leigh
Hunt, who is certainly one of the most cordial and
discriminating of living critics. In the new series of
the "Elliston Papers, which we are glad to meet
with again, we find an entertaining account or a sort
of 0. P. row, which took place in 1810 at the Surrey
Theatre, in consequence of a professional dispute be-
tween two rival Columbines. Shortly after this row,
the great lessee, says his biographer slily, [had " a
chronic attack of a religious nature" .in other words,
took to Methodism for a season—a distressing ma-
lady to which, it appears, he vvas at times peculiarly
liable. " James's Late Romances" is a very com-
mon-place criticism ; and the " Song of the Sabbath"
is one of those mediocre poems which it is more diffi-
cult to read than to write. In looking about for ex-
tracts, we have lighted on the following description
of Queen Anne's state coachman, which we quote
from the Editor's romance :

- .
"On the morning after the ball at the Palace, and just as
the clock of old Saint Martin's Church (for the present struc-
ture was not then erected) was striking eight, Mr. Thomas
Proddy, the Queen's coachman, issued from the Royal Mews
at Charing Cross, and bent his steps towards Marlborough
House. A little man was Mr. Proddy—a very. little man—
but great, exceedingly great, in his own estimation; indeed,
it may be doubted whether the Lord-Treasurer entertained a
higher opinion of his post or himself, than did Mr. Proddy.
Nature had been singularly kind to him, and if she did not
actually design him for his exalted situation, she formed him
in such a manner as ensured his elevation to it. She coloured
his gills with the blushing hues ordinarily bestoWed by her
on the turkey-cock ; moulded him after the fashion of the
Bacchus on a rum-puncheon ; and kindly limited his growth
to four feet nothing. Not insensible, it has been said,
to these natural advantages, was Mr. Proddy. No man was
prouder of his calves that he was, or set greater value on
his paunch, or took more pains to nourish the genial tinting
of his cheek. He felt it incumbent upon him to strut in Ids
gait when called upon by necessity to walk; to nod slightly,
very slightly, if he encountered a friend ; to eye disdain-
fully all other persons who might cross his path ; and to
cock his nose, which, being small and snubby, suited the
action well, and thrust out his under-lip and double chin in
a manner that should leave no one in doubt as to his self-
importance. Great was little Mr. Proddy on his feet, but he
was greater far on the box. To see him seated on the ham-
mer-cloth of the Royal 'state-carriage, in all the glories of
his rich livery, his laced three-cornered hat, his bouquet, and
his flaxen wig, contrasting so happily with his rubicund
face, his little fat legs fixed upon the splashing-board, and
his eight milk-white horses in hand—this was a sight worth
beholding. All the dignity of all the coachmen in the king-
dom seemed then to be concentered in Mr. Proddy. He was
deaf to the shouts of admiring crowds; but you saw a smile
of ineffable consequence irradiate his cheek and chin, and
twinkle in his round protruding eyes, while he now and then
addressed a brief injunction to the grooms at the horses' heads
in the tone of a general issuing orders to his aides-de-camp.
Once, and once only, did he forget himself, and this was on
the occasion of the Queen's recent visit to St. Paul's, to re-
turn thanks for the victory of Ramilies, when the name of
Proddy being shouted forth in feminine accents near Temple
Bar, he looked up for a moment, and recognising some fami-
liar face, winked in reply. But this discomposure was mo-
mentary, and is merely mentioned to show that the great are
not entirely free from the infirmities that beset other less
distinguished mortals. We must now follow Mr. Proddy up
Pall-mall, along which he was slowly marching, or to speak
more correctly, waddling, with one 'hand thrust up to the
thumb in his waistcoat-pocket, and the other sustaining the
stem of a yard of clay, from which he was drawing huge .
whiffs, and expelling them at the noses of the casual passen-
gers. The hour being early, he was somewhat in dishabille,
and wore only a white calico jacket, crimson plush breeches,
and stockings drawn above the knee. His shirt was unbut-
toned, and as his little white wig merely covered the top of
his head, it gave to view the back of a neck, precisely re-
sembling in colour and expanse the same region in a scalded
pig. Then he had a velvet cap, bound with gold, with au
immense neb."