The Sun.
London, England, 1844-04-01 00:00:00

TAIT'S MAGAZIA-E.

Mrs. Gore—one of the most prolific as she is one
of the most brilliant novelists of the day—here re-
sumes her story of " Blanks and Prizes," which is
more remarkable for the ease and vivacity of its
style, than the freshness or the individuality of its
character. Doctor Poddles is a passable portrait, but
the rest of the personages have few, if any, strong
distinctive peculiarities. " Music" is, as the author
justly calls it, " a rhapsody," rather than a poem.
The lines are slovenly, and the sentiments much too
exaggerated in their character. A " Summer at
Port Philip" gives apparently an impartial account of
the present state of things in that remote colony,
where, we are told, " the possession of five thousand
pounds enables a man to make a rapid fortune." Not-
withstanding this statement, we should conceive that
a man with such a sum in his possession would act
far more wisely to turn it to account in his own coun-
try, than to speculate with it in such a distant, half-
formed colony as that of Port Philip. " Sketch of
the Irish Great Debate" in the House of Commons
last month is moderate in its tone, but so:newhat
heavy. A few apt sketches of character, which
might easily have been introduced, would have added
greatly to its interest. The writer justly observes
that the political and religious temper r.f the House
is much improved of late years, and that angry bursts
of bigotry and intolerance are no longer received with
favour. We quote the following passage from a read-
able essay entitled "A Gossip on Sensuous Influences."
The reference in it to "Napoleon and the village
bells of Brientz"—it should have been Brienne—is
taken, word for word, without acknowledgment, from
the " Old Manor House"—a story which appeared in
Blackwood's Magazine some seven or eight years
since

" Beethoven loved to wander forth by himself. The
hollow meanings of the coming storm, the whistlings of
the agitated trees, the flowing stream, the gushing
waterfall, the song of birds, the hum of voices, and the
thousand things which fall upon the ear, filled him with
delight, and imbued him with those wild and wondrous
combinations which astonish and please every lover of
music. The grand compositions of Ilandel were sug-
gested by the hum and noise of London, as he himself
states in a letter to Lady Luxborough; while Gluck,
the composer of the operas, Artaxerxee," Demetrius
in Venice,' and The Fall of the Giants,' was accus-
tomed to have his pianoforte carried, on a fine clay, into
some beautiful meadow, fancying himself more capable
of composing when under the influence of flowers and
sunshine. Sarti, the Imperial Chapel Master at St.
Petersburg, loved the mysterious gloom of a badly-
lighted room; and the eloquent Bossuet, and the no less
brilliant Curran, prepared for their oratorical display by
wild and extemporaneous airs on the violoncello. Music
is a sensuous influence which powerfully excites the
mind; even the philosophic Bacon found his ideas more
rife, and his capacity for writing increased, by having an
organ played in the adjacent room; and, happily, music
is not limited to the pealing tones of the organ, the soft
breathings of the lute, the stirring appeals of the
trumpet, or the lively strings of the violin—there is
music in the passing breeze and gushing rill, in the
song of birds and hum of bees, and in the village bells,
as they echo along the plain; and even on the battle-
field has their influence been felt: for who forgets the
anecdote of Napoleon and the villagebells of Brientz?' Ile
was riding late one day over a battle field, gazing, stern
and unmoved, over the dying and the dead that strewed
the ground by thousands round abeut him, when, sud-
denly, " those Evening Bells" struck up a merry real.
The Emperor paused to listen: his heart was softened—
memory was busy with the past: he was no longer the
conqueror cf Austerlitz, but the innocent, happy school-
boy at Brientz; and, dismounting from his horse, he
seated himself on the stump of an old tree, and, to the
astonishment of Rapp, who relates the circumstance,
burst into tears: Our gossip, a thing of shreds and
patches,' is too long to tell of young Fergueson's early
wonder at the power of the lever, and his thus acquired
'fondness for Natural Philosophy, and of other like
sensuous influenees which have lit up a love for specific
pursuits; but we cannot forego to speak of the influence
of scenery on the mind, by pointing to the death of the
restless Rousseau, who, a few minutes before he breathed
his last, spoke thus to his wife:—' Be so good as to open
the window, that I may have the pleasure of seeing
once more the verdure of that field. How beautiful it
is! How pure the air! How serene the sky! What
magnificence in the aspect of nature! Look at the sun.
whose smiling aspect seems to rail me hence! God
himself opens to me the bosom of hi. peternal goodness,
and invites me to taste and enjoy, at last, that eternal
tranquillity which I have so long mai so ardently panted
for.' It was on the Lake of Geneva that Byron com-
posed the most beautiful portions of Chile Harold:' the
soft beauties ( f the place seemed, fur a time, to woo him
from the reckless career he too much loved."