The Sun.
London, England, 1845-12-01 00:00:00

TAIT'S MAGAZINE.

Mr. De Quince- ha; another article on Gilfillan's
" Gallery of Portraits," in which he draws at consider-
ab!e length the character of William Hazlitt, with a
degree of severity approaching to personal hostility,
which we think totally unwarranted by facts, Hazlitt
was a singular character, and in many instances exposed
himself to just censure; but, in the words of Gilfillan,
" he was a subtle thinker, an eloquent writer, a lover of
beauty and poetry and man and truth, one of the best of
critics, and not the worst of men." De Quincey con-
curs in this eulogium, while he preposterously endeavours
to contradict it throughout the whole of an article which
appears to have been dictated under the influence of one
of those morbid fits to which some people are subject.
The political retrospect for the month is rather a poor
affair; it contains little novelty, and what novelty them
is exhibits a most unpatriotic and cowardly disposition,
not at all in unison with the noble sentiments expressed
by Tait. After alluding to the opportunity now offered
for supplying our wants from the granaries of the
United States, it makes an attack on Sir Robert Peel
fur defending the undoubted rights of England, and
preventing the Americans from monopolising the whole
trade of the Pacific, and it recommends that England
should show " magnanimous weakness." This shows a
mean spirit. England in her contests with America has
shown herself so weak that she cannot afford to be mag-
nanimous without being assailesi by the whole Union
%%ith one universal cry of cowardice. There are no men
in England who will follow such contemptible advice.
We leave our readers to judge for themselves:—
" Correspondence between 'Washington and: 'Westminster
is in a state of the greatest activity. Is it engaged in herald-
ing the supplies which the fertile fields of the central and
western states of America are ready to pour into the lap of
Great Britain and Ireland? Alas, no! instead of discussing
how much each may serve, and aid, and benefit, and bless
the other, we are occupied in fierce controversy; we are on
the verge of alienation about barren districts, whose very
names are unknown to us;
.which have never produced to us
any revenue, never given to us any produce, never associ-
ated themselves with any real interests of commerce or colo-
nization ! We dare not believe that the madness of men on
either side of the Atlantic will peril the general peace by un-
willingness to submit the question to any ordeal but that of
war. And should every effort fail, it is a case where the
of strength England might

"' bend, •
But in magnanimous weakness.' "

BENTLEY'S MISCELLANY.
Albert's Smith's romance. " The Marchioness of.
Brinvilliers," is finished in the present number, and the
concluding chapters, describing the trial and execution
of Marie, are of the most intense interest. This is by
far the greatest work that Albert Smith has yet given to
the world. It is full of power. The " Gaol Chaplain"
continues his dark pages from life's volume. In his
present contribution he pays a graceful and just tribute
to the memory of Mrs. Fry, and commences a story en-
titled " The Avenger's Witness against Murder," which
promises well. " The History of Miss Dora Hobbs,
the Young Lady that was fond of Dogs," is capitally
told by Everard Clive. The author of " Wild Sports of
the West" gives us the second chapter of "Brian
O'Linn," in which the hero is introduced to the reader
as a rejected recruit and leader in a faction fight, and is
about to relate his adventures, which we suppose he will
do in the next number. From "A Literary Retrospect,
by a Middle-aged Man," we extract the following sketch
of poor Dr. Maginn, as lie appeared in his prime..—
" It was a low, long, narrow room through which I made
my way into the throng of a party. That gentle confusion
prevailed which shows that all is going off' well. That
Trophonius's-cave look which we sometimes see on the faces
of those who are coming out as you go in, and which ap-
pears to proclaim that they are never to smile again, was not
to be ob3erved. And yet there was no singing, no dancing,
no charades—and yet—it was that hateful assemblage known
by the name of a literary coterie.
" I made my way into the very thick of
,the throng; el-
bowed a poetess to the right, trod upon the slipper of a lady
historian, touched the saintly shoulder of some Charlotte-
Elizabeth of the day, and oh! more formidable than all,
brushed, may be, the sacred dust off the sleeve of a Re-
viewer. All were. standing, all were listening to some one
who sat in the middle of a group; a low-seated man, short
in stature, was uttering pleasantries, and scattering witti-
cism about him, with the careless glee of his country—this
was Maginn. His articulation was impeded by a stutter, yet
the sentences that he stammered forth were brilliant repar-
tees, uttered without sharpness, and edged rather with hu-
mour than with satire. His countenance was rather agree-
able than striking; its expression sweet, rather than bright.
The grey hair, coming straight over his forehead, gave a
singular appearance to a face still bearing the attributes of
youth. He was thirty or thereabouts, (yes, saucy niece of
mine, thirty is still young); but his thoughtful brow. his
hair, the paleness of his complexion, gave him many of the
attributes of age. I am, however, a firm believer in the
axiom, that age can never be concealed upon a careful in-
spection, —we may look older than we are, but we rarely,
alas ! look younger. True, the first impression may deceive ;
but there is always some line, some tell-tale change some-
where, which betrays the ugly truth. I looked on for a mo-
ment, as the crew of authors, reviewers, plav-wrights, and
novel-weavers paid homage to Dr. Magian. Re was then in
the zenith of his glory—the glory which radiated from John
Bull or sent forth a rich stream of light from the pages of
Fraser. His conversation was careless and off-hand, and,
but for the impediment of Lis speech would have had the
charm of a rich comedy. His choice of words was such as I
have rarely met with in any of my contemporaries ; for, in-
deed, in my day it has become the vogue to corrupt English
in many ways, to bring down your subject by homely, if not
coarse phrases, and to neglect all those adjuncts to rea-
soning and to wit which a true use of our language affordn."
In the same paper there is a sketch of one of the
most gifted men whom Ireland has ever produced—
Gerald Griffin, the author of " The Collegians." But he
was, alas! to quote the words of poor L. E. L., " a poor
and almost friendless young man," and with saddened
heart sunk into an early grave, his talents unappreci-
ated by his contemporaries—another sad exemplification
of the truth of the aphorism,
"The world knows nothing of its greatest men."

Mrs. Mathews finishes her gallery of deceased en-
nobled actresses by a lively sketch of the career of
Harriett, Duchess of St. Alban's; and Alfred Crowquill
gives us some excellent pictorial and pen and ink illus-
trations of one of the many phases. of London life, in
his mystery, " The Old Woman at the Corner." The
magazine is illustrated, besides, with an engravincr re-
presenting the procession of the Marchioness of Brin-
villiers to the place of execution, and with a portrait of
Albert Smith, the author of the romance, accompanied
by a biographical sketch. The other papers are all
pleasant reading, and Bentley this month is an admirable
fireside companion for a winter's evening.

NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
There is a lack in the present number of those light
and amusing magazine papers (par excellence), the pre-
sence of which formerly distinguished the New Monthly
so favourably from its contemporaries. After a heavy
course of politics and literature in Blackwood, and before
commencing a similar course in Fraser or Tait, the New
Monthly came like a glass of champagne, sparkling, re-
freshing, and reviving. Ent where be those quips and
quiddities now—those dissertations upon walking-
sticks and umbrellas—those sketches of eccentrics of all
a;es, and of both sexes, which were wont in days gone
by to keep the features of the readers of the New Monthly
radiant with smiles? Alas !in the present number
we find them not ; but, instead, we have no
less than six portions of six separate works,
continued from former numbers, and not ended in
the present. Now, although all these are good of their
sort, yet we must protest against a novel or a romance,
which should be a sort of prose epic, and of which unity
is one essential characteristic, being broken up in this
manner into vulgar fractions ; and we must also protest
still more vehemently against these fractions being per-
mitted to usurp the place of legitimate magazine articles.
These continuations actually outnumber the contributions
which are complete, and which amount in number only
to five, and of these two are sonnets from the pen of
Thomas Roscoe. One of these, on sleep, is very beau-

tiful :
" Sweet death of each day's weary laden life!
Balm of hurt minds—care's nurse—heart soothing sleep !
Soft air the mourner's couch thy calm watch keep.
No sigh—no murmur wake past thoughts of strife;
Nor Hope's fond dream with troubled visions rife
Breathe o'er the folded lids thy still dews steep;
No memory's scones again to live—to weep—
The conscious bos,nn bare to fate's sharp knife.

Oh, blest forgetfulness 1 thy votary's prayer
In hour of fiercest pangs to thee ascends,
Thee the wish'd haven of his heart's despair,

. .
His genius of the stormy deep that sends
lis shatter'd bark through life's seas of care,
To that far shore where his strange voyage ends."

COLBURN'S UNITED SERVICE MAGAZINE.

The present is an excellent number of this admirably
conducted periodical, and contains much information that
cannot but be most valuablo to its professional sub-
scribers, whilst the general reader will find ample amuse-
ment in the perusal of the narratives of " moving acci-
dents by flood and field," with which its pages abound.