The Sun.
London, England, 1828-08-01 00:00:00

•" there is a skill

To read the tnind'a observance in the face ;"
or, rather, there is an instinctive feeling that supersedes
the necessity of skill, and that nothing but artificial cir-
cumstances can destroy, or render dormant. For those
who are susceptible of natural impressions, to look upon
this lady's face was to see delineated there the history and
the prophecy blended of an all absorbing passion—a passion
that had been the one moving principle of her past life,
and was to remain so through the future, in spite of all
chance or change in ether things--a passion capable, as
all true and deeply-seated passion is, of turning all things
to food and nutriment, and yet, in the absence of all
things, of sustaining itself alone and undieted. The effect
of it, in the present instance, was most singular, and not
to be understood or believed but by those who have pene-
trated into some-of the recesses, and fathomed the depths
of that mystery of mysteries—the human heart, as it exists
in the female bosom. Her face was "as .a book, where
you might read strange matters ;" hnt matters scarcely at
all connected with the gtrange scene aid circumstances
about her ; or, rather, it was as a glaeS, where you might,
see reflected, not what was before it—which aplifirnaii
could have reflected—but thing/411A itself alone
capable of cietectiniV
,She lookeCOV,her husband's' 'W.'
and as thext was.; such was,l?ers : tiritaa thai-14ight have
seemed to Others, bWs tEtyleecing glance of passion en-
Able(' her to see*, fflftu,qh the external mask which it
wore. The raving of theltvinds—the beating of the rains—
the heaving of the waters—above all the scene_imtneellately
about her—the wretched, terror-striken inmates of the
cabin—all this was as nothing to her; except that, now
and then, she would turn round her sweet, calm face, to
speak a word of comfort (which she did not feel) to a
poor creature who lay near her, weeping, praying, and
raving by turns, in the very madness of womanish fear.
The tempest and its terrors were (directly and in them-
selves) indifferent things to her. Even the " dead, lights"
moved her not at all ; she alone, of all those who hettid the
sound, did not speak, or move from her place; she onliturned,
with a more than usually eager and inquiring look, to the
face of her husband ; and, finding nothing there to increase
her fears, she placed her hand in that which he •• betlattst
then offered her, listened silently to something thail4o4,
and resumed her look and air of entire trust and depend-
ence en him. It was of him alone that she thought, and
of herself only as connected with him. I verily believe
she thought death was at band, and not to be avoided ; but
death was to leer a word that had hitherto meant nothing
but separation from him ; and if it was now to come, and
not separate her from him, it was as nothing. If he did
not dread it, why should she ?—and, if they were to die
together, what was death but a consummation of life ?
So entire an absence (lid there seem to be of all fear, but
that of parting from him, that, when the apparently in-
creased cause of terror to which I have just alluded pre-
sented itself, and he in consequence held out his hand for
her to place her's within it, a faint smile• passed over all
her pale face (seeming to rise out of the soft depth of her
eyes, and spread itself all about, till it faded away round
her still, patient mouth), which seemed to say, in the very
spirit of the doating Moor, " If it were now to die, 'twere
now to be most happy !"

" A Night at, Venice" resembles night in
nothing but its soporific properties. " Slang
Dictionaries" is as it ought to be, vulgar, and
as it ought not to be, unintelligible. " Friar
Bacon's Key" is a pleasant piece of diabltrie:
the writer supposes himself to have fallen asleep
at an auction-room, while bidding for an old
rusty key, supposed to have once belonged to
this famous Friar. During sleep he fancies that
the key enables him to open the gates of a sub-
terranean palace, where he meets with adven-
tures which we cannot stop to detail. 'We
have no objection to this lively Essay of the
Fancy, except that the scene is laid in a wrong
place. No man could possibly fall asleep in a
bustling auction-room ; had it been in the House
of Lords, when my Lord Londonderry was
speaking, the circumstance would have been
perfectly natural. In taking leave of this Ma-
gazine, we cannot help alluding to the infamous
and negligent manner in which its proof-sheets
have been read. In the following choice speci-
men of Latinity, consisting but of one line,
there are no less than four blunders :

" Cum mopes alios gum nunc perscriben losqua."

LONDON MAGAZINE.

The analysis of " Mr. Irving"—his personal
and mental peculiarities, is by far the best article
in the present number. It is temperate and
well-jutted in its remarks, but overrates, we
think, his deserts. Mr. Irving's popularity,
notoriety rather—is nothing more than the dif-
ference between six feet one; and five feet seven
or eight—the usual standard of height. All,
however, must allow him great and effectual
powers of sarcasm. He is the fittest man in the
world to frighten a refractory spirit into piety.
As some old, historian observes of Pericles, he
electrifies—thunders—lightens in his eloquence.
The following remarks are strictly pertinent :
Dogmatism and bigotry are probably necessary to season
the other ingredients of such a Christianity as that of Mr.
Irving ; and in him accordingly there is enough of both.
Dissenter as he is, he is distinguished at the same time in
a remarkable degree by all that is weakest and worst it; tile
mere churchman. This person, in one word. should have
lived in the days when the public executioner was the
grand corrector of theological errors, and tire and faggot
termed the most approved logic •f orthodoxy. In making
his appearance among us in these times, he has come at
least three or four ages too late. He might have deli-
vered his raving prognostications too with quite as much
acceptance and effect some hundred years ago as at present;
and, with the aid of a few of those tricks of manner and
attire which he understands so well, might have succeeded
in passing for a genuine prophet, at least till the arrival
of the time in which he had laid the scene of his fictions.
The scepticism of our day will hardly, it is to be feared,
allow him quite so long a trial.

" Historical Persons and their Portraits" is
a criticism, spiced with point and anecdote, on
" Lodge's Gallery of Portraits." Its length
is its only fault. " Diary for the month of Au-
gust" is a compilation of such among the public
events of the last month as afford room for com-
ment and satirical observation. The idea, though
not new, is happily wrought out, and will repay
attention. The Series of Law Papers carrying
forward in this Periodical must not be forgotten,
they evinoe a considerable reach of intelligence
and some shrewdness.