The Sun.
London, England, 1844-07-01 00:00:00

BENTLEY'S MISCELLANY.

Mrs. Gore—the indefatigable, versatile Mrs. Gore,
who appears to throw off a drama and a novel with
equal facility—contributes to the present Miscellany
a play in three acts, under the title of the " King of
the Cobblers."T here are many energetic passages in
this play, but the plot is not very skilfully conducted;
and there is too much talking and too little action.
The authoress knows how to pourtray character
with effect, and is eminently happy in dialogue,
but she possesses a- very slender portion of the
constructive faculty, whether as a dramatist or a no-
velist. Albert Smith's " Fortunes of the Scattergood
Family" contains, this month, a diverting scene—
namely, the pic-nic party at Gravesend, where Joe
Jollit, a desperate amateur of practical jokes, plays off
a hoax worthy of the inventive powers of Theodore
Hook himself. The "Murder of the Duke d'Eng-
hien" is an attempt to elucidate the mystery that
hangs over this transaction; the attempt, however, is
fruitless, and the matter still remains as obscure as
ever. The advocates of the Bourbons have raised a
terrible outcry about this act, which certainly reflects
no credit on the memory of Napoleon, though it is b
no means of so atrocious a dve as the secret murder
of poor Toussaint; but we do not find that their ex-
quisite sense of justice, honour, and humanity, has
ever induced them to reprobate the attack which some
of their agents made on the First Consul's life, by
means of the infernal machine. " Eton Scenes
and Eton Men" is a series of personal recol-
lections of his school-boy days—those days
which Gibbon so much disliked to look
back upon—by the author of the Puseyite novel,
" Doctor Hookwell." Among other sketches, we
have one of the late Mr. Praed, an accomplished wit
and scholar, and the rival of Macaulay at the Cam-
bridge Union, with whom he divided the suffrages of
this once celebrated Debating Society. " A Ramble
through Styria," is by Mr. Fynes Clinton. The
purely descriptive portions of this tour are the best.
"An Odd Dog" is a highly dramatic story of an
earnest, tragic complexion, whose scene is laid in
Spain. The present portion of Mr. Murray's " Phy-
siology of London Life," is devoted to a sketch of the
House of Commons, and of the manner in which
business is conducted in that spotless House. The
description of Hon. Members passing through the
lobby and being way laid by one or more of their
constituents anxious for a snug berth for themselves
or their sons, is true to the letter ; and not less so,
is the account of the way in which the Premier replies
to an inconvenient question put by some Member of
the Opposition. " Though replying," says our
author, " he takes care not to answer unless he has
nothing to say. In that case he appears communi-
cative enough, and although his responses are occa-
sionally full of mystification, his style is clear and
whatever the matter of his reply ma. be, the manner
never fails." We add Mr. Murray's portrait of Sir
R. Peel:—

" By the time the presentation of petitions is concluded
it may be half-past five o'clock, the hour at which the
Prime Minister usually enters the House. You observe that
tall man, one aim on his breast, the other concealed

under the skirts of his blue frock-coat, walking briskly
up the floor of the House, without stop or stay. Now
he bows gracefully to the Speaker, and takes his seat in
the centre of the Treasury BAich, next to the Home
Secretary. He looks round, and seems care-worn and
exhausted, as if the official duties of the day were suffi-
cient for him, without being in addition harnessed to
those of the senatorial night. He is what most women
and some men would call a handsome man ; his features
regular, his complexion clear, his hair fair ; dressed
neither above nor under the good taste of a gentleman.
If you did not know him, you might imagine him a
wealthy merchant, a prosperous manufacturer, or banker ;
his expression and manner approach more nearly that
of one of the highest commercial class than any other ;
that man is the Prime Minister of England.
" Yes, there he sits, the Premier, and we cannot help
having a good stare at him. Not that he is more or less
remarkable in point of physical stature than the gene-
rality of men :—he is evidently neither an Irish giant
nor Tom Thumb the Great ; nor is there anything
particularly statesmanlike in his air, manner, or expres-
sion. He is a prepossessing•looking man, with a letter-
of-recommendation-face, and there's an end on't. He
looks one of those men you would select in a stage-
coach, or on the deck of a steamer, for advances to-
wards a travelling acquaintanceship, satisfied beforehand
that you would meet with a favourable reception. But
when one contemplates the man's position,—when you
come to consider how much is in his power for good or,
' evil,—how much depends upon him—what a large
small human family look up to him, as to some pre-
siding genius, upon whose will depend the alternations
of public prosperity or distress—when you think of the
weighty interests intrusted to his vigilance and care,—
when you recollect that, placed as he is, war may be
proclaimed from those lips, and that arm, no longer
than another man's, can reach the Antipodes in mercy,
vengeance, or justice—when you remember that to him,
simple as he sits there, is delegated the patronage of the
Crown of Great Britain and Ireland, and that the fates
and fortunes of the aspiring intellect of England, in
every way in which it can be exhibited as connected
with public life, are more or less in his hands—that a
smile from that man is fortune, and his frown exclusion
from expected honours and coveted rewards—l say,
whether you regard the weight of his responsibility, the
depth of his care, or the height of his power, you cannot
behold the Chief Minister of England without some
emotion, with which you aro unaffected in contemplating
any private man, of a station soever exalted.
" The Prime Minister swells beyond the circumference
of ordinary mortals. He is not a man ;he is a body
politic. We do notbehold a Right Honourable Baronet;
he is before our eyes a great gubernating abstraction. In
royalty we regard the pride and pomp ; but in him we
see the circumstance of executive authority. Yet, great
as he is, high as is, above us as he is placed, he is, after
all, the creature of the Crown, the humble servant of
the law ; the power that gave him power is yet more
powerful than he ; he is but as one of the genii, who in
his turn is obliged to obey the spirits that obey him ;
he is tenant of power only at will ; he holds all that his
magnificent position bestows upon him, and enables him
to bestow upon others, of the people of this country.
Recollecting that the power of a Premier is but the
power of the public will, devolved upon one man, ex-
ercised by one man for the time being, we hare a
greater interest in him ; he is nearer us, and all that
concerns him is our concern."

NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
Mr. Cyrus Redding's " Recollections 4 the Author
of Vathek" are here brought to a conclusion, and will
leave a favourable impression on the reader's mind of
the frankness and bonhommie of the eccentric octo-
genarian. Mr. Beckford appears to have exhibited
little reserve in conversation, but gave his opinion of
the numerous great men with whom he had come in
contact in the course of his protracted career, with the
utmost candour. Of the first Lord Chatham he said—
" He was much too high-minded for George the
Third, who was a man of coarse feelings. High-
minded noblemen are not royal favourites." The
Chatham Correspondence, published within the last
five or six years, proves that his Lordship was not
quite so high-minded as Mr. Beckford represents him
to have been. When it suited his purpose to do so, he
could fawn on royalty as readily as even a Newcastle;
and some of his letters to George the Third are
penned in the most abject style of flattery. Yet,
compared with his contemporaries, and keeping in
mind the despicable character of the age in which he
lived, Chatham was certainly a high-minded states-
man. He had a more generous, unhesitating confi-
dence in his countrymen than any Minister has ever
shown before or since his time; and had he not, like
Palteney, committed the grievous blunder of accept.
ing a peerage, which, for many a long year, weighed
heavily on his popularity, he might have kept the
King in a state of all but vassalage up to the period
when he retired from public life. With all his faults,
remembering also his egregious, his almost puerile va-
nity and love of dramatic effect, we must confess
to a hearty admiration of Lord Chatham.
For five years of his meteoric career he
showed himself the loftiest, most energetic, and most
triumphant statesman that England ever produced,
and centuries may elapse ere she will be able to pro-
duce his equal. The " Perfidious Engineer" is a
slight sketchy story, told not without a certain degree
,of easy humour, and turning upon the causeless
jealousy of a lean old woman, as dry as a chip, who
has married the engineer of a railway, and mistakes
the steam-boat Adelaide, which he is constantly
praising, for a female rival of that name. The late
Haynes Bailey would have worked up a lively farce
out of such materials. " Lights and Shades " are
from the pen of Mr. Maxwell, and furnish us with
some entertaining anecdotes, bordering on the extra-
vagant, respecting Irish duels, in the glorious old times
when these affairs were of daily occurence in Ireland,
and a nephew, from some real or fancied cause of
offence, would not hesitate an instant in calling out
his uncle and winging him. There can be no mis-
taking the author of the " Robertses on their Travels"
which displays all that coarse, worldly manner for
which Mrs. Trollope is so remarkable. We miss,
however, much of that broad humour which amused
us in her tale of the Barnabys. " Faults on both
Sides " is an ingenious essay, in which a common-
place axiom is treated with no more deference than it
deserves. In the " Talleyrand Papers" we find here
and there an interesting incident, but the present
chapter is much too long and wire-drawn. " Old
Cries " are gracefully versified by Miss Eliza Cook,
who possesses much of that sweetness and faci-
lity of versification which are so conspicuous in the
poems of the late Mrs. Maclean. The " Libelled
Benefactor" is a poetical allegory in Horace Smith's
best manner. We subjoin it for our readers' amuse-
ment :

They warn'd me, by all that affection could urge,
To repel his advances and fly from his sight ;

They eali'd him a fiend, a destroyer, a scourge,
And wbisper'd his name with a shudder of fright.

They said that disease went as herald before,
While sorrow and severance follow'd his track,

They besought me if ever I came to his door,
Not a moment to pause, but turn instantly back.

" His breath," they exclaimed—" is a pestilence foul,
His aspect more hateful than language can tell,
His touch is pollution—no Gorgon or Ghoul,
In appearance and deeds is more loathsome, and fell."
Such stern prohibitions, descriptions so dire„
By which the most dauntless might well be dismay'd,
In me only awaken'd a deeper desire,
To gazo on the monster so darkly portray'd.

I sought him—l saw him—he stood by a marsh,
Where henbane and hemlock with poppies entwined ;
He was pale, he was grave, but no feature was harsh,
His eye was serene, his expression was kind.

" This stigmatised being," I cried in surprise,
" Wears a face most benignant ; but looks are not

facts ;
Physiognomy often abuses our eyes,
I'll follow his footsteps, and judge by his actE."

There came from a cottage a cry of alarm,
An infant was writhing in agonies sore,
His hand rock'd the cradle, its touch was,a charm,
The babe fell asleep—all its anguish was o'er.
Ile reach'd a proud mansion where, worn by the woo
Of consumption, a beauty lay wither'd in bed,
Her pulse he compress'd with his fingers, and lo !
The complaint of long years in a moment had fled !
He paused where he heard the disconsolate moan
Of a widow, with manifold miseries crush'd ;
Where a pauper was left in his sickness to groan,—
Both were healed at his sight, and their sorrows were
hush'd.

He sped where a king, sorely smitten with age,
In ♦ain sought relief from the pangs he endured.
" I come," said the stranger, " your woes to assuage :"
He spoke, and the monarch was instantly cured.
Astounded by deeds which appeared to bespeak
In the fiend a benevolent friend to mankind,
From himself I resolved a solution to seek

Of the strange contradiction that puzzl'd my mind.
" Chase, mystical being !" I cried, " this suspense ;
How comes it thou'rt blacken'd by every tongue,
When in truth, thou'rt the champion, the hope, the de-

" --
fence,
Of the iting and the beggar, the old and the young ?"
Thou hast witness'd," he answered (his voice and his
face

Were all that is musical, bland, and banign,)
" Not a tithe of the blessings I shed on the race,
Who my form and my attributes daily malign.
" All distinctions of fortune, of birth, of degree,
Disappear, where my levelling banner I wave ;
From his desolate dungeon the captive I free ;
His fetters I strike from the suffering slave.

" And when, from their stormy probation on earth,
The just and the righteous in peace I dismiss,
I give them a new and a more glorious birth,
In regions of pure and perennial bliss."
" Let me bless thee," I cried, " for thy missions of love ;
Oh ! say to what name shall I fashion my breath ?"
" The Angel of Life is my title above ;
But short-sighted mortals have christened me Death !"

THE SUN, LONDON, MONDAY EVENING, JULY 11644

gress through the western counties of England is the
most ridiculous that can possibly be cotietiVeil. He
travelled in first-rate style in a carriage and four, and
was received by the thick-headed squires at whose
houses he lodged on his road, with honours scarcely
inferior to those which would have been paid to a
sovereign prince. As he was not very particular in
money matters, he made a point of borrowing as
much loose cash as his entertainers could con-
veniently spare him ; but, when the promised day of
re-payment came round, behold, the Doctor was not to
he found. Abiit—excessit—evasit—erupit ; in plain
English, he had bolted ! His story is a difficult one
for a novelist to handle with any hope of effect, and, ac-
cordingly-, Mr. Ainsworth judiciously contents himself
with just slightly glancing at it. The " Wrong Om-
nibus" is a strange story, supposed to be told by a
lunatic, respecting a murder which he imagined he
had committed, and for which he requested as a
particular favour that he might be hanged. His
commendable wish, however, was not complied with,
and he was shut up instead within the four walls of
Bedlam. In the critical notice of " Jesse's Life of
Beau Brummell," the reviewer states that " the
qualities which made this prince of fops what he was,
were impudence without limit, and selfishness
without scruple." Brummell must have had
other and rarer qualities than these, or he
never would have ruled so long as a dictator
at _ the West-end. Wit, or if not wit,
great readiness of repartee we know he had; but, he
must have had also imperturbable self-possession,
quick insight into character, and a power of turning
to his own advantage the weaknesses of those with
whom he associated. These are requisites far supe-
rior to those usually found in the mere fop, and will
go far to account for the grinding despotism which
Brummell exercised f)r nearly twenty years over the
world of fashion. Poor George! With alll his min-
cing dandyism he was a gentleman at heart. He
refuied to make money, when he had scarcely a sou
in his pocket, by publishing his memoirs, for which
large sums had been offered him; and in his quarrel
with the Prince Regent—a man every way his infe-
rior—evinced a manly spirit of independence and self-
respect, as rare then as it is now among the courtier
tribe. " A Jar of Honey from Mount Hybla" is one
of Leigh Hunt's discriminating critical essays, who is
never so much at home as when descanting on the
genius of Spenser, as he here does—a poet whom, to
our shame be it said, we have three several times
endeaVoured to read, and as often failed in our attempt.
We can devour Dryden, with his sounding versifica-
tion, vigorous sense, and felicitous periphrases, and
specially relish the courtly compliments and, con-
densed cutting sarcasm of Pope ; but the genius of
Spenser is too abstract for our sympathies; he dwells
in an enchantel world of his own, and few, we sus-
pect, but men of vivid fancy can properly appreciate
him. " A Lapse of Forty Years" is a journal of a
man of fashion at two different periods of his life.
Here is his diary, penned when he had become a
superannuated Roue, 65 years of age :
" MAY, 1840.—Took an airing in my nephew's phae-
ton. Jack drives too fast ; he says it is owing to the
march of intellect. I should have preferred walking, if
it had not been for the gout. Those last boots were con-
foundedly tight. Jack drove me home through Regent-
street, where he said he saw a great many pretty girls,
but I think they used somehow to be prettier. Bond-
street is narrower, and was more convenient for seeing
one's acquaintance on the other side of the way. Jack
said he could not decide whether to marry for love or
for money. I told him love was bad and money worse.
The rogue then owned he was in love with a portion-
less girl, and begged me to
.persuade his father to ap-
prove of the match. I promised my assistance. Jack
helped me out of his phaeton very carefully. My cousin
Maria called to see me, with her two pretty grand-
daughters. It is very considerate of her to come and see
an old man as often as she does. Maria is always cheerful
and has worn vastly well. She does not look her age.
I might have been very happy if I had maried her ; she
makes her home so comfortable. I often wish Emily
had refused me. I wonder why she eloped so very soon,
since she liked me well enough to marry me? My phy.
sician looked in to know how I was. He says I must go
on with the abstemious system. Read the newspapers,
Saw a benefit announced for an old actress, Miss B—.
who left the stage twenty years ago, and is now in dis-
tress. She will play, for that night only, the character
she came out in. To make the evening more attractive,
a celebrated danseuse will sing a song, and a famous
singer will dance the cachuca. The whole will conclude
with a scene from Norma, in which a young lady will
sing the part of the high priest. Now-a-days, the whole
aim of the scenic tribe is to do something that they are
most unfitted for. Nevertheless, I shall take a box, and
twenty pit tickets ; for having been at her first, I am
bound to be at her last representation. I fancy
few of the young men that will go to see her
will believe how pretty she once was, poor thing
Dined on a boiled chicken and a rice-pudding. Drank
toast-and-water as the physician prescribed. If Capt.
D-- had never drank anything else, I should pro-
bably never have married Emily. He saw double, too,
when he spoke of her fortune, for it turned out to be
twenty, instead of forty thousand. My son called in,
when I had half done, to lunch at my dinner. He came
to borrow five hundred pounds. I lent it, but with a lec-
ture. I wish he would leave off his bad habits and take
a wife. I should like to see him marry Maria's grand-
daughter when she comes out. Went to take tea and
play at chess with General Blake. He related to me, for
the hundredth time, how he had run away with Lady
R—'s youngest daughter when he was only a lieute-
nant. It turned out a very good match after all. Colonel
N--, who used to laugh at him, and say he would never
get her, was killed in India years ago. I checkmated
the General at the first game. His grand-daughter came
in to make tea for us. She is a fine girl, and reminded
me of her great-aunt, Fanny, whom she is christened
after. She was so attentive to all my little wants, that I
could not resist taking out of my pocket a ring, which I
had intended for my god-daughter, and offering it to
her. She smiled, and said she was afraid she might not
receive a present except from older men than myself.
Her father told her she was a fool, as I was old enough
for anything of that sort. The little gipsy is full of good
sense and sprightliness. I left the General at ten ; and,
as my foot was better I walked home, for we live within
a street's length of each other. A poor woman, at a
crossing, asked me for money : I gave her sixpence, and,
as she seemed distressed, I inquired her name and abode.
She answered Caroline --. I had nearly made an
exclamation, bnt checked myself, and promised to assist
her further. All the way home I could not get rid of
the recollection of Caroline on the black pony, and how
graceful she used to look. Her merry laugh used to ring
in my ears. Who could have thought that her high
spirits and her blooming cheeks would pass away, and
leave not a wreck behind? I wonder how many fortunes
she has got through since Major S— took her off my
hands. I must get the poor old soul into an almshouse,
and provide for her comfortably. Her support for the
rest of her life will not cost as much as furnishing the
cottage I once fitted up for her at Brompton. Dreamt
that I was a young man again, and galloping to Bromp-
ton on the bay mare. Was just going to leap a high
gate, when I woke with the cramp."

Is tbUe ho method to tell her in Spanish
June's twice June since she breathed it with me ?
Come, bud, show me' the least of her traces,
Tread in my lady's lightest foot-fall—
Ah, you may flout and turn up your faces I
Roses, are you so fair after all ?

HOOD'S MAGAZINE.
We are happy to hear from Mr. Hood's own state•
ment, affixed to the present number of his Magazine,
that he is slowly recovering from the serious indispo-
sition with which he has been lately attacked, and hope
that he may live many longyears to come, to amuse and
instruct the world by his cordial humour and healthy,
unaffected wisdom. Evident proofs of his amendment
may be found in his " Domestic Novel," which gives a
highly diverting account, full of animal spirits, of a
dialogue between a husband and a wife respecting the
number of godfathers which it is necessary to have
for twins. In an impartial sketch of the " Premier,"
we find the followink just remarks :—" The prejudice
which is rising against Sir Robert Peel, is a move-
ment against the spirit of the times, and is a strong
symptom of the character of the approaching age. It
is beginning to be felt that: our age is over mechanical,
and that the physical principle is allowed to predo-
minate over the moral." The " Deception "is a story
of a deeply affecting nature, and relates to the desertion
of a young Spanish lady by her betrothed husband, Sir
Caversham Harley, who had given out that he was
dead, in order to escape from her importunities; and is
in consequence shot soon afterwards in a duel by her
indignant relative, a high. spirited Spanish officer.
" Garden Fancies " are by the author of " Paracel-
sus." We subjoin the first of the series entitled "The
Flower's Name :"
I I
arm, such a short while since :
Hark, Ipush its wicket, the moss
Hinders n dteh re garden she walked across,
s the hinges and makes them wince !
eA ri er's
in my
n now
She must have reached this shrub ere she turned,
As back with that murmur the wicket swung ;
For she laid the poor snail, my chance foot spurned,
To feed and forget it the leaves among.
Down this side of the gravel-walk
She went while her robe's edge brushed the box :
And here she paused in her gracious talk
To point me a moth on the milk-white flox.
Roses ranged in valiant row,
Think will I never she passed you by !
She loves noble roses, I know ;
But this—so surely this met her eye !
gave me. With pride to make no slip,
This flower she stopped at, finger on lip ;
Stooped over, in doubt, settling its claim,
meandering Spanish name :
Was it love or praise ?
Tillvvlhtasstl
ae softnammeen
n 1 d
Speech half-asleep, or song half-awake ?
I must learn Spanish one of those days,
Only for that slow sweet name's sake. •
Roses, if I live and do well,
I may bring her, ono of these days,
To fix you fast kith as fine a spell,
Fit you each with his Spanish phras; !
But do not detain me now ; for she lingers
There, like sunshine over the ground,
at
And ever I see her soft white fingers _
Searching after the bud she found.
Flower, you Spaniard, look you grow not,
Stay as you are and be loved for ever !
Bud, if I kiss you, 'tis that you blow not,
Mind the pink shutau
csmi
oohuues ltr h
efioanpvgeees between,
as. rwierveesrt
l!e
ForTi
lls
Twinklingrno whileoutn tdhietthdpete3 turn and down they nestle—
oha,uer mark still to be seen ?ts u thus
Where I find her not, beauties vanish ; -
Whither I follow her, beauties flee ;

FRASER'S MAGAZINE.
Notwithstanding his strong Ministerial or rather
Conservative predilections, Fraser, like the rest
of the world, is not less astonished than indig-
nant at the late capricious—or, to call it by a fitter
term, sycophantic—conduct of the Conservative
supporters of the Government, and in an article on
the " State of Parties," he observes—" The recent
proceedings in the Commons, in regard to the sugar
duties, have given a shock to the moral sense of the
country from which it will not soon recover. Coming,
too, as this unfortunate blunder has done, upon the
backl of a similar blunder in the management of the
Factory Bill, it seems to have completely amazed the
lookers-on. For our own parts, we do riot know
what to make of it." Fraser may well be astonished,
for such vacillation and pusillanimity as the Conser-
vatives have lately evinced in Parliament, have not
been witnessed for the last century and upwards.
These men have shown a disregard of all moral con-
siderations—a barefaced recklessness of character
which, had it assumed any other than a political form,
could scarcely have failed to ensure them a distin-
guished position in the dock of the Old Bailey.
Toryism was bad enough, but it was at least an in-
telligible principle ; it possessed the undoubted recom-
mendations—no slight ones—of boldness and consist-
ency ; there was no maudlin cant about it ; it did not
profess to be other than it was ' • it hoisted no false co-
lours; it abated not one jot ofits loftypretensions in com-
pliment to the temper of the times, but stood up for its
prerogative, unflinchingly, to the last; but Conservatism
has no steady, intelligible principle ; it is a thing of
pure caprice changeable as an April sky, ready to
receive any impression that the Premier may choose
to stamp upon it, devoid of moral courage, and afraid
even to stand up for its own party interests, except in a
circuitous, indirect, and underhand manner. There is
something about this new-fangled, cowardly illegiti-
mate species of Toryism—this degenerate scion of an
old stock—that treachery itself cannot trust; and he
must indeed be a sanguine visionary who can antici-
pate for it any long possession of power. But Fraser
is not only vexed and annoyed with the Conservatives,
but condemns the Government also for trimming be-
tween the Church and the Dissenting interests—a
well-grounded charge, which even their staunchest
supporters scarcely attempt to repudiate. The "Em-
peror Nicholas" is a rich specimen of old-woman
twaddle. The writer is in ecstacies with the eyes, the
forehead, the demeanor, and superb dimensions of the
Czar, and observes of his conduct while in England,
that he " was dignified but not austere, cordial but not
flattering, gracious but not servile, and looked, spoke,
and acted like a monarch who possessed vast power,
estimated aright his capacity for usefulness, and sought
to use that capacity so as to benefit and bless." From
the sentence immediately preceding this, we learn that
the mode in which the Emperor exhibited his capacity
for benefiting and blessing, was by giving gold snuff-
boxes to half the courtiers and servants in -Windsor
Castle—a very pleasant method of benediction, and
greatly, no doubt, to the taste of the recipients ! It is
soothing to learn, on the authority of this writer, that
his Imperial Majesty embraced Prince Albert "with
affection and interest," and that on visiting Apsley
House, he said to his illustrious host, " may you live
long, my Lord Duke, to enjoy the gratitude of the na-
tion!" These are momentous details, though we think we
remember reading something like them in the daily
papers about a fortnight since. The writer's cursory
allusion to the late revolution in Poland betrays the
most desperate ignorance ; and his description of the
Emperor's appearance at religious ceremonies is so
much in the style of Bombastes Furioso that we can-
not refrain from quoting it—" Jove frozen by eternal
cold, or riven by one of his own thunderbolts, could
not possibly be more statue-like than Nicholas on
such occasions !" The Czar must cut a queer figure
at church if he resembles a God split into halves by a
thunderbolt ! Of one of his Majesty's daughters we
are told that her title is " Grand Duchess of Olga,"
which is about as correct as if the writer were to style
the husband of Queen Victoria, " his Royal High-
ness the Prince of Albert!" But enough of this ar-
ticle on the " Emperor Nicholas," which is worthy
only of the pen of some manufacturer of " dreadful
accidents" for a weekly journal. " Coningsby" is a
smart and somewhat satirical notice of Mr. D'lsraeli's
clever novel. The Reviewer makes a piteous outcry
about its personalities, whence we infer that he is not
unconnected with the Rigby and the Tadpole school
of politicians, whom the novelist has so wofully
mauled. The " Rustic Seat" is a poem, in which
occur one or two pleasing thoughts and images forci-
bly and unaffectedly expressed. From a lively essay
entitled " Classics of the Table," we quote a sketch
of the Marquis de Cussy, a celebrated French epicure,
and whose works on gastronomy are in high repute
with his countrymen :
" We now turn to the productions of the Marquis de
Cussy, who, although prefect to the palace of the Em-
peror Napoleon, was in every sense a gentleman of the
old school, and a mild and amiahle man. Who is there
that was a diner-out of any magnitude in Paris from June
1827 to 1830, who does not remember his portly, well
set-up figure ? He was a clean-looking, comely, well-
dressed old man, and, so far as mere appearance went,
always put us in mind of the late James Smith, of face-
tious memory, one of the most gentlemanly-looking, and
one of the best dressed and best preserved men of his
day. We think we have old Cussy before us now, with
his high, open forehead, benevolent countenance, silvery
hair, smart blue frock, with the inevitable riband in the
button, clean white waistcoot, and black stock. Though
associating for years with the roughest and most under-
bred Marshals and Generals, and the most priggish and
pretentious of civil functionaries, he maintained to the
last the imperturbable dignity and politeness of the old
court. At the moment of the abdication, he flew to
Marie Louise, and he abandoned the Austrian's daugh-
ter, when he found she was about to ally herself with a
one-eyed chamberlain. In society, in which he mixed
much, the old Marquis was an agreeable, lively man,
full of anecdote, and ready-witted. His countenance
beamed with kindliness and benevolence, and, if he had
a fault, it was certainly in loving to excess the pleasures
of the table. But, if he loved good cheer and friandise,
he loved it like a gentleman, and a generous social mem-
ber of a civilised community. If you gave him a dinner,
he was always sure to give you one in return. He did
not, like a certain friend 'of ours, eat at every man's
table, and never see mortal within his own doors. He
did not go down to the early market to look for wood-
cocks for his own private, particular eating, and, thrust-
ing them into his ample double, carry them snugly
homeward, there to gloat on them in solitary sensuality.
He loved the pleasures of the table it is true, but he
loved them reflected ; and he gave his mutton and his
wine with as much goodwill, and as hearty zest, as the
author of the most recent and most amusing tour in
Ireland. There were many who feared, or pretended to
fear, to ask Cussy to dinner, as there are some who pro-
tend to fear to ask our humble selves, but either these
people were humbugs, wishing to be relieved of the
expense (the likeliest supposition), or they did not know
the simple tastes of the man. With an old friend or a
good fellow, who gave the best fare his means allowed,
and gave it willingly, he could dine off a whiting or an
omelette, but he was severe towards those vulgar par-
venus who, presuming on their wealth, heap their tables
with a culinary chaos worthy of barbarous and benighted
times."