The Sun.
London, England, 1845-02-01 00:00:00

TAIT'S MAGAZINE.

A tale of " Celts and Saxons," by Mrs. Johnstone,
increases in interest, and creates a desire for the con-
tinuation promised in the next Number. The re-
view of Sergeant Talfourd's " Vacation Rambles" is
treated with the characteristic fairness of this Maga-
zine ; they appreciate his graphic descriptions, and
have been felicitous in their selection of extracts,
which convey a vivid impression of the work as a
whole. Notwithstanding Walpole, both as a letter-
writer and historian is such a hackneyed theme, the
present notice of his " Memoirs of George III." will
find readers whose attention will be pretty sure to be
awakened by it. In " The Letters from Naples," by
Madame Wolfensberger, we find the following sur-
prising, but half revolting, account of the lower classes
in Naples :
" Throughout the whole population of Naples there is
a language of signs, which, in many instances, renders
words unnecessary ; and when understood and put in
practice by a stranger, frequently saves him from serious
impositions, by at once convincing these people that he
is aware of their tricks ; for it is quite certain, that in
whatever way he may have dealings with them, their
fir. t tterapt will be to cheat or deceive him. if there is
anything to be gained by deception. To a bystander, it
is truly amusing to observe the expressive looks and ges-
tures of these poor creatures, without shoes or stockings,
and not half covered with their filthy garments, discours-
ing with a fluency, ease, and grace, which the finest
actor would be rejoiced to attain. By nature they are
gay and jocose ; and we often observed the fathers, when
there boats are drawn on shore, nursing their little chil-
dren with the tenderest care. But misery, and the
pressure of continued want, blunt the edge of the best
affections ; and we were told by a native of the city,
scarcely a degree above this class, that if a poor man
was reduced to the necessity of being taken to an hos-
pital, even in a dying state, none of his children or rela-
tives troubled themselves to make any further inquiries
concerning him. When I expressed my surprise and
horror at such heartless conduct, he cooly replied, Ah,
the rich are no better here ; what can you expect of the
poor ?—they have enough to do to think of themselves.' "

DOUGLAS JERROLD'S MAGAZINE.
The story of " St. Giles and St. James" is con-
tinued, but not exactly with so much interest as that
with which it opened. The fact that the children of
the poor and destitute are not brought up, but
dragged up, as Lamb has it, is too well known to
admit of a doubt, and scarcely requires illustration.
Some of Douglas Jerrold's descriptions of character
in this Number are fully worthy of him. Here is
one of a new acquaintance he is about to introduce
us to—it is that of Mr. Capstick, the muffin-maker:—
" One of the seven airiest and finest streets that com-
pose the Seven Dials—for we care not to name the exact
spot—boasted the advent of a tradesman, who employed
the whole vigour of his mind, and he himself thought
not meanly of it, on the manufacture of muffins. At
the time of our present chapter, Mr. Capstick had only
lived a twelvemonth under the protection of St. Giles ;
paying the Saint due parish rates for such advantage.
Where Mr. Capstick came from nobody knew. It was
plain he was one of those people who now and then drop
from the sky into a neighbourhood, for no other end
than to adorn and dignify it. At least, it was plain that
Mr. Capstick thought as much ; and he was not a man
to disguise his thoughts when they at all tended to his
self-glorification. True it was, muffins had been known in
St. Giles's, ere Mr, Capstick lighted his oven there. But
what muffins 1 now, too, were they made—where
vended ? Why, as Mr. Capstick would observe, they
were made as if they were bad halfpence—and they were
quite as hard to chew—in guilt end darkness. Nobody
knew what they were eating. Now, all the world might
see him make his muffins. Indeed, he would feel obliged
to the world if it would take that trouble, To be sure,
he was throwing his muffins to swine—but lie couldn't
help that. It wasn't his nature to do anything that
wasn't first-rate t he knew he was a loser by it ; all men
who did so were ; nevertheless, a man who was a true
man would go on ruining himself for the world, though
he might hate the world all th© tithe he was doing it.
Nevertheless, his muffins was open to the universe.
There was no mystery in him, none at all, And
then he would say, glowing at times with a strange
eloquence, ' What a glorious thing it would be for the
world if every man made his muffin—whatever that
muffin might be—in the open light of Heaven ; and not
in a cupboard, a hole, a corner I It was making muffins
in secret, and in darkness, that made three parts of the
misery of mankind.' When people heard Mr. Capstick
discourse after this fashion, they would confidentially
declare to one another that it was plain he was born
above his business ; ho was a broken down gentleman ;
perhaps come of a Jacobite family, and made muffins to
hide his disgrace. True it was, there was a pompous-
[WS,' a swagger, an affected contempt of the
people with whom he turned the penny, that gave
some warranty for these opinions. Nevertheless, Mr.
Capstick, with all his consequence, all his misan-
thropy,—and he wore his hatred of mankind as he
would have worn a diamond ring, as a thing at once to
put in the best light and to be very proud of—was agreat
favourite. The cellars of St. Giles's echoed his praises.
lle was, in his way, a great benefactor to his poorest
his
is wife, whaYou see, Mary Ann,' he would say to
,t a blessing there is in corn. When
muffins are too stale to sell, they're always good enough
to give away." And these remainder muffins he would