The Sun.
London, England, 1844-05-01 00:00:00

NEW MONT/IL Y MAGAZINE.

The "Hl-Humorist" is an entertaining quiz on
John Bull's well-known propensity to grumble, no
matter how little cause hemay have for querulousness.
" To be abusing somebody or something the live-long
day," says the author, " is an enjoyment not to be
dispensed with by those who have once tasted it ; and
the abuse highest in favour is that which comes in
our way most frequently, and affords us the greatest
number of occasions for exhibiting our spleen. We
have known a man keep a three-legged stool in his
study, for no earthly purpose but to knock his shins
against and to swear at. Upon the same principle,
many people keep cats and dogs in their houses, that
they may have something to execrate forevery broken
saucer, and to cuff and kick whenever they meet it
on the stairs." Humorous as this passage is, it is still
full of truth, as every one's experience must ;con-
vince him. " The Robertses on their Travels" is a
sketch by Mrs. Trollope, and possesses much of her
breadth, coarseness, but, at the same time, masculine
vigour of touch. The " Gladness of May" is a pas-
toral that makes its appearance just at the right sea-
son. The versification is correct, and in places spi-
rited, but there is a little too much about " zephyrs,"
" love," and " flowers." We have a surfeit of such
sweets. In the late " Prince Talleyrand" we find
accounts of this veteran statesman's conversations
respecting the once-popular quack—and necromancer,
as he was considered at the time—Count Cagliostro,
and Voltaire, the keen, restless, and malignant ex-
pression of whose eye the Prince describes with great
exactness. These Talleyrand papers are adroitly
worked up, but we suspect that they must not be all
looked on as gospel. truths. The facts related in them
must be taken cum.. grano salis. The " Bit of Pre-
ferment" is a bold, dashing sketch of character, by a
contributor who adopts the quaint soubriquet oiPeter
Priggins. " Deceased People whom we meet Daily"
is an exceedingly lively little egsay, containing
several home-truths, expressed in a sportive vein of
raillery. In his poem on " Lachrymose Writers,"
Mr. Horace Smith, very justly denounces the folly,
the puerility, and extravagance of the writers of the
Sardonic Byronian school, whether in prose or verse.
Fortunately for the interests of our national litera-
ture, this school is nearly, if not quite, extinct.
" 11lilicent, or Summer and Winter," is one of Mrs.
Gore's entertaining fictions. It is entitled a lore
story,
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ewed when been quite so sentimental. We subjoin Mr. Kenney's
sprightly poem on " Mrs. Hope, the Fortune-teller :'
Illiveabasehyatoedung,
han
First, she cried,
On your shoulders fortune thrust is—
Mrs. Hope, to do her justice,
Really talks extremely well.
" You're devilish clever,
Push fur fame and pocket pelf,
Write a play and lay for ever
Billy Shakspeare-im the shelf."
'Twas done—the curtain rose, I nearly
Felt the laurels deck my brow—
Deuce a bit, I wish sincerely
Mrs. Hope had heard the row.
Eloquence, at her suggestion,
Conscious too that I possess d,
I, on some important question.
Soon the sovereign mob address'd.
Strange to say such storms assail'd me,
Showers of worse than hail or rain,
All my el cution fail'd me
Mrs. Hope was out again.
Whisp'ring then my wondrous merit
Claino'd at court a leading place,
I at length contrived to ferret
First my Lord and then his Grace.
Much they said conceit to soften—
Promis, s they made a few—
Mrs. Hope,
great people often
Humbug Fools as well as you.
Oft she vow'd the sex adored me,
Conquering all where'er I chose,
Husbands, lovers,
tho' they bored me,
Ne'er could such a smile oppose.
Yet I scored by wives and misses,
When I came to-count my game,
Quite as many kicks as kisses—
Mrs. Hope, oh ! tie, for shame !
Wedded bliss, she now reported,
I should taste serene and true ;
Trusting still, I proudly courted
Quite a stylish black-ey'd blue.
Though the fair could not refuse me,
What the sort of wife she made,
If you wish to know, excuse me—
Mrs. Hope's a cursed jade.
Thus with endless tarrididdles,
Gulls us all, and fondly wheedles
Shallow pates like mine astray.
Lions, lords at routes to meet,
FT
ahStnetniel lbaltnuhdee gipsy wins her way,
Fashion thus allure us
devils come to cure us—
Mrs. Hope is fairly beat.
Yet, old girl, on recollection,
Why should I your tricks resent,
Since I've fo,m'd a new connexion—
That sweet modest maid, Content.
Weary now of you and blarney,
Snug with her I dwell secure,
In my little chambre parole—
Mrs. Hope, votre servileur.

AIIVSWORTH'S MAGAZINE.
The intrigues and ingenious disguises by which
Magham contrives to outwit the Duchess of Marl-
borough, and procure the restoration of Queen
Anne's favour towards him, are cleverly described in
the present chapter of the Editor's " St. James's ;"
but we must protest against one portion of this in-
cident—that, namely, in which the footman Snell,
dressed up as Masham, deceives in broad daylight,
and while standing close beside her, the latter's
inamorata, Abigail Hill. No woman who really
loved a man, and who had seen him not once but a
hundred times, could have been so deceived. "An
Ode-let to Master Izaak Walton," is a sort of pas-
toral panegyric from the pen of John Hamilton. If
we except, here and there, some quaintnesses and
affectations of expression, the poem is pleasingly
written. But the praise of the old cockney fisher-
man is much too exaggerated. Isaak Walton was
by no means the meek, pure, simple creature that it
is now the fashion to represent him ; on the contrary,
he was as sly, shrewd, and oily a man as ever perhaps
existed, and never failed, in his peculiar unobtrusive
manner, to look sharp after. his own interests. " A
..