The Sun.
London, England, 1844-10-18 00:00:00

LITERATURE.

QUARTERLY REVIEW. No.'CXLVIII.
!Murray, London, 1844.
The hackneyed subject of Horace Walpole and his
peculiarities—a favourite hobby which the Quarterly
Review has well nigh ridden to death—is again re-
ferred to in the Number before us. The critical re-
marks on the most recently published correspondence
of this prince of letter-writers—that, namely, with Sir
Horace Mann—though the Reviewer has evidently
taken more than ordinary pains with them, are as un-
sound as they are captious; but indeed the whole ar-
ticle is characterised by a spirit of petty sarcasm and
bitterness that sufficiently indicates 'the workshop
whence it emanates. "As to the letters contained in
these last volumes," says the Reviewer, " they cer-
tainly exhibit anew feature in Walpole's Correspon-
dence. Such is the fertility of the writer's -genius,
that the wind-up of two thousand letter is marked by_
an absolute novelty; they are, as compared with all
their predecessors, dull—downright heavy—hardly
readable without an effort." On the contrary, the
correspondence in question is perhaps the most inte-
resting that its author ever penned. True, it has not
smartness and mere verbal felicity of the earlier
series; but it is full of worldly sagacity, of philosophic
observations, and gives evidence in places of a tender
sensibility which feW would give Walpole credit for
possessing. " Passages in the Life of a Radical" is
a notice of a little work publiihed about two years
since by a weaver named Bamford, who made himself
conspicuous in the north by his advocacy of the prin-
ciples of " Orator Hunt," about the period of the me,
morable Manchester massacre. The article is chiefly
interesting from the number and variety of its ex-
tracts ; and towards the close the Reviewer impres-
sively warns the higher and middle classes how they
persist in alienating the affections of the masses by
their assumption and habits of jealous isolation. The
remarks on " Stanley's Life of Dr. Arnold" are
penned in a temperate and even eulogistic spirit, as
regards the sturdpaninded historian of Rome, whic-h
we scarcely expected to meet with in this periodical.
" Arnold,' observes the Reviewer, " was a remark
able man—a man of a character rarely met with now,
who united the simplicity ant.s heroism of a past gene-
ration with the practical energy and inquiry of our
own—a man truly English in his noblest points, and
yet tempering the stern rigour of the English cha-
racter with a reflection and an amiability which
rather belong to the Greek or the German mind. lie
will strike those who study him more closely as a
complete character—complete in its union of moral
and intellectual gifts, and in the steady growth and
deVelopment of both." There is no exaggeration in
this portrait. Dr. Arnold was indeed a man of su•
perior energy of character, the ardour of which was
in a great degree tempered by the meek spirit of the
Christian. As an instructor of youth, who had the
rare ability of drawing forth the intellectual powers
of his pupils, and making himself respected as well
as beloved by them, he shone without a rival, and
during the whole period of his management of it, no
great public school—not even Eton—stood higher
than Rugby. He had much of Dr. Parr's scholar.
ship without any of his pedantry and assumption, and
would—had his life been prolonged—have become
one of the leading spirits of his age. As it is, he has
left a reputation that is not likely to be diminished by
years—more especially as an historian, a department.
in literature in which the fearless and inquisitive turn
of his mind enabled him to exhibit himself to signal
advantage. " Diaries and Correspondence of the
First Earl of Malmesbury" takes a rational and un-
prejudiced view of the diplomatic talents of this over-
rated statesman, who in a few years will be as much
forgotten as if he had never lived. From a " Report
on the Treatment of Lunatics" we quote the follow-
ing curious passage:—

" It was during the Reign of Terror, and while all
France !abound under a new form of insanity, that the
idea was first conceived of setting loose madmen from
their bonds. The good and wise physician, Pinel, seems
to have been struck with the injustice of keeping his
patients chained in the dungeons of Bicetre, while so
many hundreds of his countrymen, more mischievously
distracted than many of them, were at large to work the
bloody frolics of the revolutionary phrenzy. There
were at that time upwards of 300 maniacs chained in
the loathsome cells of the horrible Bedlam of France.
Pinel formed the resolution of setting them free from
their strict restraint, and he entreated permission of the
Commune to that effect. Struck with the novelty of the
enterprise, at that time a sufficient recommendation
before any assembly in France, the Commune listened
to the proposal, and deputed one of their body, the
notorious Couthon, to accompany the physician to the
spot, and judge of the propriety of carrying his under-
taking into effect. They were received by a confused
noise—the yells and vociferations of some hundred of
madmen, mixed with the sounds of their clanking chains,
echoing through the damp and dreary vaults of the prison.
Couthon turned away with horror, but he permitted
Pinel to pursue his enterprise. The philanthropist re-
solved speedily to liberate fifty of the number by way of
experiment, and he began by unchaining twelve of the
most violent. The account of his proceeding has been
recorded by his nephew, Scipion Pine), in a lively narra-
tive, which was read before the Academy of Sciences.
The first man set at liberty was an English captain. He
had been forty years in chains,- and his history was for-
gotten by himself and all the world. His keepers ap-
proached him with dread : he had killed one of their
comrades by a blow with his manacles. Pinel entered
his cell unattended, and accosted him in a kind and con-
fiding manner, and told him that it was designed to give
him the liberty of walking abroad, on condition that he
would put on a waistcoat that might confine his arms.
The madman appeared to disbelieve ; but he obeyed.
His chains were removed, and the door of his cell was
left open. Many times he raised himself and fell back;
his limbs gave way; they had been ironed forty years.
At length he was able to stand, and to stalk to the door
of his dark cell, and to gaze, with exclamations of
wonder and delight, at the beautiful sky. He spent the
day in the enjoyment of his newly-acquired privilege; he
was no more in bonds •, and during the two years of his
further detention at Bicetre, assisted in managing the
house. The next man liberated was a soldier, a private
in the French guards, who had been ten years in chains.
and was an object of general fear. His case had been
one of acute mania, occasioned by intemperance—a die-.
order which often subsides in a short period under absti-
nence from intoxicating drinks, unless kept up, as in this
case, by improper treatment. When set at liberty, this
man willingly assisted Pinel in breaking the chains of
his fellow-prisoners: he became immediately calm, and
even kind and attentive, and was ever afterwards the
devoted friend of his deliverer. In an adjoining cell
there were three Prussian soldiers, who had been many
years in chains and darkness : through grief and despair
they had sunk into a state of stupor and fatuity, the fre-
quent result of similar treatment, and they refused to be
removed. Near to them was an old priest, harmless and
patient, who fancied himself to be the Saviour of the
world. When taunted by his keepers, who used to tell
him that, if he was Christ, he could break the heavy
chains that loaded his bands, he replied, with solemn
dignity, Frustra tentaris Dominum tuunt. After his re-
lease he got rid of his illusion, and recovered the sound-
ness of his mind. Within a few days Pinel liberated
fifty-three maniacs from their imprisonment. The result
was beyond his hopes. Tranquillity and harmony suc-
ceeded to tumult and' disorder, and even the most fero-
cious madmen became more tractable. This took place
in 1792; and the example of Pinel was followed in
various parts of France."

MEMOIRS OF EMINENT ENGLISHWOMEN.

Vols. ill. and IV. Bentley, London, 1844.
Foremost amongst these Memoirs, we find a life of
the celebrated Duchess of Marlborough, wife of the
great Whig General, who was certainly One of the
most remarkable women that ever existed in any age
or country, and ruled her heroic husband in quite as
despotic a spirit as she ruled her Queen. Yet, despite.
the almost sovereign authority she exercised for so
many years over the coun‘ils of the nation, raising
and depressing Ministers of State at her pleasure ;
despite, too, the fact that her ambition was gratified
in almost every respect, the life of the Duchess was,
on the whole, an unhappy one ; calm, sober, ra-
tional enjoyment, she seems never to have known ;
the husband she loved and reverenced she kept
in a constant state of hot water by her irri-
table, capricious temper ; and even in the midst of her
greatest political triumphs she appears to have been
constantly haunted by a dread of reverses. Towards
the close of her chequered career, when her rule as
the royal favourite was at an end, she fell into a state
of spleen and melancholy, and in her last moments
expressed satisfaction that the time of her release was
come. The Memoirs of this illustrious lady afford
another striking illustration of the fact that ambition,
no matter how successful it may be in all its projects,
is wholly unable to confer true or lasting happiness.
The portrait of the Duchess, which is prefixed to her
life, conveys a very accurate idea of her character ;
she rooks just the scornful, irritable, imperious beauty,
who can never be satisfied with anything short of
universal homage and obedience. The. lives of the
unfortunate " Stella and Vanessa"—the victims of.
the heartless pride and treachery of Dean Swift—are
written by Miss Costello in the most just and feeling
spirit. We could have wished, however, that she had
spoken of the conduct of the Dean in stronger terms
of reprobation, and represented him, as he really was,
_
as one of the most callous scoundrels that
Norb te%trrcole
the hearts of two fond and trusting women.
was
thoughtless passion of youth, r
of
this wanton cruelty perpetratedfo isnwitfltiewalsieatthiarit)d,
y
the world, when
hyeaefirrssotf age,ilfcam aend a
acquainted
thorou
Stella,g%hvitinhan and upward:,
of forty wben he was first introduced to the credulous
Vanessa. From the Memoirs of Lady Mary Wortley
Montagu, we quote an amusing Court anecdoteanolgrlyaigeeeamnrrldeyeanit-;,
s
ferring to herself, but related by her in the third
person :
tt
at "t Semhxepaldaheiandhe
deornhwoe nirsehr
eeatvsoeo nn
bisnegt
do
ias
tmhpieas particular
isssue
and the Duchess informed the Ring, who, after a few
complimentary remonstrances, appeared to acquiesce.
But when he saw her about to take her leave, he began
battling .the point afresh, declaring it was unfair and per-
fidious to cheat him in such
_a manner, and saying many
other fine things, in spite of which she at last contrived
to escape. • At.the foot of the great stairs she ran against
Secretary Craggs just coming in, who stopped her-to

inquire what was the matter ? Were the company put
off ? -She told him why she went away, and how urgently
the 'King -had pressed her to stay !firmer ; possibly
dwelling on that head with some smalreomplaceney.
Mr. Craggs made no remark; hut, when he had heard
all, snatching her up in his arms as a nurse carries'a
child, he ran full speed with her up stairs, deposited
her within the ante-chamber, kissed both her hands re
spectfully (still not saying a word), and vanished. The
pages seeing her returned, they knew not how, hastily
threw open the inner doors, and, I,efore she had 're-
covered her breath, she found herself again in the KinO•
presence. Ah ! re-voila ! cried he and the Duchess,
extremely pleased, and began thanking her for her
obliging change of mind. The motto on all palace
gates is ' Hush!' as Lady Mary very well knew. She.
had not to learn that mystery and caution ever spread
their awful wings over the precincts of a Court; where
nobody knows what dire mischief may, ensue from one
unlucky syllable blabbed about anything, or about no-
thing', at a wrong time. But she was bewildered, tint,'
tered, and entirely otT her guard; so, beginning giddily
with Oh, Lord, Sir! I have been so frightened I' she
told his Majesty the whole story exactly as she would
have told it to any one else. He had not done exelairn
Mg, nor his Germans wondering, 1% hen again the doer,.
Hew open, and the attendants announced Mr. Secretary'
Craggs, who, but that M,HICTIt arrived, it should seem.
entered with the u'ual obeisance, and as composed an
air as if nothing had happened. Alais comment done,'
Monsieur Craggs,' said the King, going up to him,
est-ce que e'est l'usage de ee pays de porter des belles
dames eomme un sac de•froinent ?" Is it-the custom:of
this country to carry about fair ladies like a sack of.
wheat ?".I'he Minkter, struck dumb by this uncx-.
tinted attack, stood a minute or two not' knowing which?
way to look ; then, recovering his self-possession, an-
swered with a low bow, There is nothing I would not-
do for yOur Majesty's satisfaction.' This was coining,
tolerably well ; but he did not forgive the tell-tale vie-
!Tit, in whose ear, watching, his opportunity when the,
King turned from them, he 'muttered a bitter reproach,'
with a round oath to enforce it ; which I durst nut rc-
sen►,' continued she, for I had drawn it upon My-
self ; and, indeed, I was heArtily vexed at my own im-
romilenee; "

JOHNSON'S TOUR IN IRELAND;
Highley,- London, 1844. •
Of the numerous works on Ireland with which the
press has teemed for the last dozen years and upwards,.
this, if not one of the soundest, is certainly one of the
most entertaining. It is written in a pleasant, good-,
natured spirit, approaching at times to genuine humour,
and has the recommendation—so rarely to be met
with in a work on the sister country—of being utterly •
free from anything like religious ur political prejudice.
Doctor Johnson, the author, saw and observed for
himself, without reference to the opinions of others ;
and gives expression to his own views of things in a
spirit of the most laudable moderation and impartiality.
Ills account of the famous monster meeting on the ,
hill of. Tara, at which he %% as present, and which he
assures us was attended by upwards of three hundred
thousand individuals, is one of the most diverting epi-.
sodes in his volume.

LIFE IN ATHENS. Painter, London, 1844.
The little work before us is a translation from the
German of Von Wessenberg, and professes to give an
account of the character of life in Athens, in the
palmy days of Pericles, and, moreover, to illustrate
the spirit of ancient and modern democracy. The
work consists of a series of dialogues—more re-
markable for staid good sense than point or bril-
liancy—in the. course of which the dillerent speakers.
discuss the administration of Pericles, the Socratic
wisdom as compared with that of • the Sophists, the
nature of the Eleusiniztn Mysteries, and various other
masters which, we fear, will be caviare to the gene-
rality of readers. There is some show of scholarship
in the book, and occasionally we come across a
graphic descriptive passage.

MISERIES OF A NEWSPAPER
EDITOR.

What a life is that of .a newspaper editor ! How
numerous, how varied, how onerous his duties! lie •
must have under his. eyes all events,. of all, different
kinds, that have passed, that are passing; and that are
expected to pass, in every quarter of the globe. Ile
must have his intentiDn concentrated, at one and the
same time, on the weather, on the crops, on agricul-
ture, on markets, accidents, offences, crimes, ship-
wrecks, railways, births, deaths, marriages, courts of
law, police-offices, the state of the Church, and the
state of the Stocks, the proceedings of politicians and
the proceedings of the swell mob, the blowing up of
steam-boats and the blowing down of chimneys.
There is nothing, in short, too great to come
under his notice, or too small to elude his
grasp. Regularly, • and day by day, is he
under the. necessity of ferreting out and chronicling, .
for the benefit (?) of his fellow-beings, all and sundry
the transactions of this lower world. from the fall of
a leaf to the fall of a kingdom, from the lopping of a
limb to a full, true, and particular account of the last
bloody murder. But, not only is this unfortunate in-
dividual supposed to see everything, but likewise to
know everything, and to be able to do every thing.
Ile is understood to be well informed upon, and able
to answer all sorts of questions upon all sorts of
subjects—on law, on political economy, on his-
tory, on statistics, on aritinnetio, on algebra, on
mathematics, on geology, on theology, on •my-
thology, on chronology, on chronohotonthology. .
By the public at. large he is regarded as a sort of
" standing counsel " in all cases of difficulty. If a man
wants to know the date of any historical event, what
does he do ? lie writes to the editor. Has he any
doubt about the authenticity of any particular piece
of civil, religious, or philanthropic intelligence, what
does he do ? He writes to the editor. Does he want •
to know how Mr. So-and-So, the Parliament man,
voted on such and such a question, when it was, why
it was, and under what circumstances it was that he
so voted, what does he do ? Why, he wrjtes to the
editor as a matter of course. To whom else would
he, under any circumstances, ever so much as dream
of making application ? IVe have said, that this un-
fortunate personage is supposed -to see everything, to
know everything, and to be able to do everything. But
there is yet another call upon him, and that, perhaps,
of a harder kind than all the three put together.
Like the man that. carried the donkey, he is under the
necessity of pleasing every body. We put it to our
intelligent .and dearly-beloved Caledonian cousins
whether it does not consist with their knowledge that
almost every man, without exception, who takes up a
newspaper expects that paper to be written solely and
exclusively for himself. It is to be his paper and his
alone. Ile expects to find in it everything which he
wants. He is displeased if it contains anything else,
or of a different character than what he requires.
The ancient maiden lady, who complains that there
are in the newspapers such dull things as grain mar-
kets, cattle-shows, and cures for the caterpillar,
never once thinks that the editor may have among
his subscribers some few hundreds of six-feet
farmers, to whom such information may be of the
most material consequence ; nor does the farmer, who
finds fault with the. gossip that he sees about the
great vulgar and the small ever consider that to the an-
tiquated mademoiselle these are the oniy tit-bits of
the affair. The public-house reader, who finds fault
with the love stories, and the poetry, and the other
little sentimentalities in a newspaper, remembers not,
that to a large class of juveniles of both sexes, from
15 to 25, such things are almost the only ones about
which they may care a straw : nor does it ever come
into the mind of the love-torn maidens or the smart
young gentlemen who turn up their noses at the vul-
garity and commonplace of the police intelligence,
that, without such things, to the public-house reader a
newspaper would he a body without a soul. The father
of a family, who complains of the scandal and tittle-tat-
tle' and many other little odds and ends that occasionally
be brought before the public, forgets that such things
form the staple of the grim old bachelors ; nor do the
sinful fraternity last mentioned, who find fault with
the moral paragraphs, and the notices of sermons, and
the reports of religious societies which occasionally
appear on the broad-sheet, call to their recollection
that, in the eyes of the many, such things arc the very
gems of a journal. In short, the reader of a news-
paper, through some unaccountable fatality, for the
time forgets that there is, in reruns natura, any other
being than himself. He is an exclusive, a monopolist,
alone in his glory, the only living, sentient, existent
yet fixed upon a
.profeasn-
bweoirnlgd
.on
Rtheeadfearce!
afvtehyi so fairu and newspaper reading.
profes-
sion
;
1 takkeeePin lodger—take
washing. For
lufegn—ot,tankeevteirle opnaccek_. think up
a school—set
humanity's sake, an especial) for vooufr nbecoming
niang_.e
any-
thing rather than become ay newspaper • ed
Glasgow National.

Saturday morning last,
contractor 3 or
I Brookfield f
yed by Messrs. Sykes an(
aiNlltAlTiineijoA'eslEocsnk°, RfivleiGmile'n em-
p o nv DrtovvN
after breakfast, in a small boat; some tricks were played
D EAT tz
the Shannon improvements, were returning to their work
between the persons on shore and those in the boat;
there was a stone thrown by a man named. Kelly, when
all the persons in the boat ran to one side, and she upset;
three that could swim retched the shore, . and two, one
named Ratigan, and the other, named Murphy, both
‘cllaA men, were drowned. .When the news reached
tS-iftflice barracks, Constable Ramsay, and Sub-Con-
stable 13rereton,-after much difficulty. procured a boat,
but being delayed in procuring oars in sufficient time,
they had ruched within a couple' of perches of the
drowning, persons, when the stream carried them away,
and the unfortunate men sonic to rise no more. Too touch
praise cannot be given to the police for their active,
although unfortunately unsuccessful, efforts to save
them. On being taken up medical wistance was in at-
tendance, but to no effect—life was extinct, Next day
there was a coroner's inquest, when th(i '.lo7,7eturned a
verdict of " Accidental death by drowning*Lorwiford
Journal. ,
DeRIIAM SCHOLARSHIP.—RaIph Lindsay,. r.4,.!3;1
Solicitor, of London, and a native of Durham, is abOlifT,,.
to found a scholarship in the university of the latter city,
of the annual value of 401. It will be tenable-for three
years by boys, who must have been two years at Dur-
ham.--Tyne Mercury. •