The Sun.
London, England, 1844-10-01 00:00:00

BENTLEY'S MISCELLANY.

We received this Magazine at so late an hour
yesterday, that we are compelled to be brief in our
notice of it. The Number seems to be a very fair
one, though we have but cursorily glanced at its
contents, and cannot therefore speak with positive-
ness. Mr. Smith resumes his " Fortunes of the
Scattergood Family," and furnishes us with a whim-
sical sketch of Mr. Glenalvon Fogg—a minor actor
of first-rate ability in his own opinion. " A Few
Pages from My Journal in Greece, Turkey," &c.,
are from the pen of Mr. Fynes Clinton. The author
glves a spirited description of his voyage down the
Danube, and alluding to the present Sultan, whom
he saw at Constantinople, pourtrays him " as a pale
and ill-looking youth, without a spark of intelligence
in his face." " Miss Pif kin's Benefit" is an agree-
able prose sketch by the author of "Richard Savage."
" Sketches of Legendary Cities" gives some legends
and historical reminiscences connected with the cu-
rious old city of Chester. The " Two Fortune
Hunters of Galway" contains one or two diverting
incidents ; but the story halts in places, and, as a
whole, is much too long. A little judicious abridg-
ment would have greatly improved it. " Smoking
Robin" is chiefly deserving of notice as forming the
subject of an excellent illustration from the pencil of
Leech, who has grouped his characters with singular
ease and freedom. In his " Physiology of London
' Life" Mr. Murray gives several animated descrip-
tions of the various tea-gardens in the immediate
vicinity of the metropolis ; but we prefer quoting his
account of the death of a waggon horse in the streets,
and his conveyance to a knacker's yard :
" Crack—crack—crack—into his flanks goes the whip-
cord with right good will—he brinks up a bit—ithw he
stumbles again—crack--crack—he goes on his knees—
' he is whipped on his feet—he falls over on his side—he
never gets up again. Crack—crack—Oh ! very well—
whip away till you aro black in the face—the poor ani-
mal s time is up—his slavery is over—he will never drag
wain more. he mob comes up, as usual, through the
chinks of the stones, or else drops down from the sky ;
but there it is, talking, shouting, giving advice, loosen-
ing the traces, dragging away the waggon shafts from
poor old Dobbin, whose glazing eye, and short, heaving
breath, shows that his heart is broken. The whip—
that universal horse medicine, is applied to head, withers,
and flank ; but it won't do ; Dobbin merely lifts his
head, as he would say, let me die in peace, winces under
the lash, and lays himself doan again.
" The knacker is sent for. Dobbin cannot 1?e.
horn'
are to die in peace—a dead horse and a hi!
kle
erlt—h
the
are two different things in the
.cat's-meat
admires
knacker's cart arrives in double tiuick7tliminoabr
Knacker
the cart, the royal arms, and the inscription,ka, swll knacker
to her Majesty.' The royal knac cr
in cords and tops, with a bit of_a.butcher s apron, just as
big as a bishop's—merely to distinguish his profession—
pole-axe in had, descends from his vehicle ; the de.
lighted mob closes in,
eager
to witness the scientific
operation. The pole
-axe is driven at one blow through
the frontal bone of the expiring animal ; a willow wand.
finger thick,
is pushed into the hole, and twisted about
in the brain-pan with
great dexterity ; the animal is
fearfully convulsed, writhing in the most intense agony
—the mob is quite in raptures at every kick of one brute
and twist of the other—fainter and fainter become the
death-struggles of Dubbin—another turn or two, as a
finisher—he is dead. Now a chain is fastened to the
dead horse's neck, and made fast at the other end to a
windlass, with rack and pinion fixed between the shafts
of the knacker's vehicle ; this is tilted up, and Dobbin
slowly ascends, amid the facetious remarks and jocose
, sallies of the gratified spectators. Sasseagers,' exclaims

N
one fellow—(A laugh)—' Real Epping,' shouc6, 4
—(Laughter) Polonies,' shrieks a thir.
,
laughter)—' Small Germans,' Leg of boO,'"t •
puddins,' and a profusion of other allusions •
bable esculent qualities of the respected de,Ciiied,..
few extempore fights, got up by rival pot-boya,divksifi,
the entertainment ; the royal knacker disappears;l4l)
mob maketh itself air, into which it vanishetb, and you -
walk off, greatly pleased with the extreme sencibilityi ::1 , 1,1:1
and innate dislike of anything like cruelty, which so emi-
nently distinguishes the true-born cockney."

NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
'We have here more " Conversations with the late
Mr. Beckford." They exhibit that gentleman's social
qualities in a very amiable light, but they are far
from impressing us with any exalted notion of his
superior powers of intellect. Few of his observations
rise above common-place, and as for his passing criti-
cism on Byron, it is shallow to a degree that we
should scarcely have expected from the author of
" Vathek." " Social Piracy" is the continuation of a
series of lively sketches of every-day life in the
middle classes, that were commenced in the last
month's Number of the New Monthly Magazine.
The " Last of the Contrabbandieri" is a tale of deep
tragic interest, professing to be founded on truth.
It relates to the adventures of Paul Moro, a good-
hearted, bold, reckless Italian smuggler who, while
taking a walk one evening among the mountains with
a young girl to whom he is passionately attached, is
betrayed by her into the hands of the local military
authorities. The consequence is, his imprisonment
for life ; but after a protracted confinement, lie con-
trives to make his escape, and by the merest acci-
dent again encounters the girl who had betrayed
him, and who is so shocked and remorse-stricken by
the sight of her credulous victim, that she falls dead
on the spot; and Paul, a prey from that moment to
hopeless grief and despair, joins the French in their
war against the African Arabs, where, after gal-
lantly distinguishing himself in many severe actions,
he meets his death. The story is forcibly and un-
affectedly told. "Africa in .France" is a sprightly
quiz on the Parisians for their present fancy for wear-
ing long beards and moustachios. "When a party
of young Frenchmen approach," says the author, "it
is like the advance of a herd of goats, or the moving
of a forest. If Macassar has done this, mighty is
Macassar. Bear's grease it can hardly be, witless
Ursa Major himself has been immolated to manure
the moustaches of Monsieur." We quote the follow-
ing passage from the " Recollections of Beckford :"
" The apartment in which we were now standing, was
a long room, well proportioned as to width and height,
with a deep red drugget running round the floor-7a
splendid Persian carpet in the centre, extending itself
until it reached the drugget, and spreading its deep
rich purple fringe upon its surface. From the floor,
rising to about six feet in height, there was a range of
oaken bookcases all round, filled with every kind of
work, handsomely bound, and of the finest editions—
travels, histories, biographies, in every European lan-
guage, with observations by the author of Vathek,'
written at the end in the same language. A little bit of
purple cloth, tipped with scarlet geranium, about two
inches in depth, was suspended from each shelf, so as to
exclude the dust, whilst the ever-subdued colour of the
oak was here and there relieved by a little gilding.
Above the bookcases, the wall was covered with a silk
damask of a red tone, richer and lighter than that of
the drugget, and upon this wall was hung portrait after
portrait, the likenesses of great and historical charac-
ters, painted by the most eminent old masters, Holbein,
Velasquez, Titian, Rembrandt, and Vandyke ; then
above these was a gold cornice which supported the
ceiling, with a slight blush of rouge in it. Opposite the
window stood a most costly Florentine table inlaid with
various marbles, and which were fashioned into flowers
and ornaments. On this table was set a splendid and
graceful enamelled vase by Jean Cousin, after designs
by Annibal Carracci. On the solid marble chimney-
piece of this room, were gold candlesticks, after designs
by Holhima, and finally, at the extreme end there was
an open doorway, apparently leading somewhere else,
but whether to Paradise or to the infernal regions, was
upon the first look doubtful, in consequence of. the in-
tensely brilliant, and fiery-looking colour which the
atmosphere assumed. As this apartment, with its blue,
and purple, and scarlet, seemed to be the great hall of
literature, and the great tabernacle of learning, we
looked more at the books than at the other things sur-
rounding. He pulled down many editions of different
works to illustrate his conversation—it really was some-
thing extraordinary to see with what facility he would
find any particular passage in an author. I asked him if
he had a catalogue of his endless collection ?
" Oh, gracious goodness ! what do I want with a
catalogue?—l know every book in my possession, and
where to put my fingers upon it.'
" This I afterwards proved to be correct, for I never
asked him if lie had such or such a work in his posses-
sion, but that he instantly went and got it and placed it
in my hands. He inquired of me if I was fond of reading.
"I told him particularly so, and that I was at that
time studying Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy.'
" Strange work,' Mr. Beckford replied; it is filled
with deep reading—half your modern works are decanted
out of it.

" Perceiving Q. fine copy of Junius's Letters,' I asked
him if he thought those forcible productions were from
the pen of Lord Chatham?

Most decidedly not—none of us (for he always
spoke of the Pitt family as if he were Ono of them)
ever for a moment thought that they were, and if they
had been we should have certainly known it. There is
much in them which resembles the peculiarities of
Burke, and many of his admirers entertained tho
opinion so positively, that Burke felt himself called
upon solemnly to disclaim the imputation. My opinion
is, Dr. Wilmot was the author.'
" ' Dr. Wilmot !' I reiterated, with surprise.
" Ay, Dr. \Wilmot ; no man had better opportuni-
ties ; he was a good scholar, a sincere Whig, and a most
intimate friend of Lord Chatham's. He had oppor-
tunities of being fully acquainted with everything, from
his enjoying such an exclusive confidence of George 111.,
which arose from the following singular affair :
George HI., when Prince George, fell in love with a
beautiful Quakeress of the name of Hannah Lightfoot.
She resided at a linendraper's shop, at the corner of
Market-street, St. James's-market. The name of that
linendraper was Wheeler. As the Prince could not ob-
tain her affections exactly in the way he most desired,
he persuaded Dr. Wilmot to marry them, which he did
at Kew Chapel, in 1759—William Pitt, afterwards
Lord Chatham, and Ann Taylor, being the piles wit-
nessing ; and, for aught I know, that document is still
in existence.' "