The Sun.
London, England, 1844-09-02 00:00:00

FRASER'S MAGAZINE.

The proceedings of the late Session of Parliament.;
especially as regards the Church, 'seem to have be-
wildered Fraser as much as they would have be-
wildered Lord Eldon, had that stiff old ultra-Tory
been alive to witness them. "Poor Mother Church,"
says our disheartened monthly Contemporary, "is
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an accredited Minister from the Court of St. James's
to that of St. Peter at Rome ; and it will be no object
of surprise to us to find two Established Churches, or:
possibly no Established Church at all, recognised in
Ireland. And all will have been the work of a Con-
servative Government ?" Really the Conservatives
are a most unlucky set of people, for they appear to
please nobody. The Whigs distrust them—the
Tories all but repudiate them—and the Radicals hold
them in utter abhorrence for their halting and
evasive course of policy. Well, we are not sorry for
the frequent rebuffs they meet with, even from their
former friends, for they have done their best to deserve
them by their want of principle, and the spaniel-like
submissiveness which they have exhibited towards their
task-master, on whom, the more he has lashed them,
the more they have fawned. " Campbelliana" is a
collection of personal reminiscences of the author of
the " Pleasures of Hope." These reminiscences are
not penned in the most friendly spirit, but leave an
impression on the mind that the subject of them was a
~
cold, reserved, waspish creature, deficient alike in
candour, bonhommie, and liberality. Of his first'
great poem on " Hope," we are told that " the four-
teen opening lines were the last that were written,"
and that the work was sold to an Edinburgh book-
seller for the insignificant sum of twenty pounds !
Soon after its publication Campbell came to London,
and for a short time received two guineas a week for
contributing occasional poems to the Morning
Chronicle; in 1806 he had a pension of 1841. a year
granted to him out of the Scotch Excise, which he en-
joyed to the day of his death. Immediately on the
receipt of this pension he took up his residence at
Sydenham, where he compiled, says his biographer,
" Annals of Great Britain from the Accession of
George the Third to the Peace of Amiens. Few
have heard of this work, fewer seen it, and still fewer.
read it. The most intelligent bookseller in London
was, a week ago, unaware of its existence." " Classics
of the Table" is a light, piquant essay on the various,
fruits, sweetmeats, &c., that go to make up a dainty
English dessert. " French Fashionable Life Two
Hundred Years Ago" will remind the reader of the
agreeable and desultory ana of the French memoir
writers of the last century. The " Suniassie" is an
Eastern story, common-place in incident, and by no
means remarkable for ease or vivacity of manner.
"Concerning Dog-stealing" is a feeble attempt at the
facetious suggested by the report of the Parliamentary
Committee on this subject. The following " Vision
of Hoar Frost" may perhaps amuse our readers :
I said, " Oh! time ,of &tilt and rain,
No charm thou wear'st for me ;
Nought, till summer comes again,
Is beautiful to see!
The snow, albeit without a stain,
Dims the visions of my brain,
And brings me thoughtslunereal, .
When it lieth, like a pall,
Veiling earth's sweet, friendly face,
And a mournful silence fills
Every familiar place ;
And the hollows of the hills,
Where the streams in summer-tide
Like happy living creatures glide,
Are still, and eold, and voiceless now,
Save when dreary tempests blow
With a fitful icy breath,
Sounding far, yet sad as death!
" Why is Autumn dolled most sad?
He is like a king
In a robe of triumph clad,
Gayer than the Spring!
In his woods the trees are dight
With a splendour rich and bright,
From their boughs there fall in showers
Leaves of warmer hue than flowers.
Down upon the earth they fall,
Frequent drops of living gold,
Like some fountain magical
In Arabian groves of old,
Dropping with a pleasant sound
Where ,
And wake new glories as they go;
The
winds the
thatgras
Merrily the brooklets leap,
And the streams are wide and deep.
" But in days of frost and snow,
shwernsaldsuhni:nenl breathebrn tow,
When the streams are still,
And the woods no longer glow,
And the air is chiil,