The Sun.
London, England, 1844-03-01 00:00:00

that have recently appeared; of Mr. Hood's " Song
of a Shirt." It
.is by Miss Camilla Toulmin, who
shows herself a melodious versifier, if not
a decided poet. " A Jar of Honey from
Mount Hybla," is from the pen of that veteran essayist,
Leigh Hunt, who observes, in reference to the earth-
quakes that are of such frequent occurrence in the
neighbourhood of .Etna—" Perhaps the most touch-
ing of all the consolations to be met with in the his-
tory of those catastrophes, is the testimony they bear
to the maternal affections. The men who perish
from the overthrow of houses are said to be generally
found in attitudes of resistance; the women are bent
double over their children." " Oriona and Vespe-
rilla" is a fairy tale, told with feeling and fancy,
though we fear it is not calculated to suit the mat-
ter-of-fact tastes of the day. The adventures of some
town-bred thief or knavish adventurer, with no more
sentiment in his composition than a leg of mutton,
would be far more likely to be popular. " John
Manesty, the Liverpool Merchant"—poor Maginn's
last work of fiction—turns out as we anticipated, not-
withstanding his piety, to be a notorious and blood-
thirsty pirate. As a proof of the affectionateness of
his nature, the worthy Liverpool saint makes this
ugly confession to his own son. From the entertaining
" Elliston Papers" we quote an illustration of the
generosity of this versatile actor. He had won large
sums at hazard from a young man, and thus wound
up the night's proceedings
" Will you for five minutes resume your seat?' said
Elliston, solemnly—' we must not part yet. They tell
me I am fond of long speeches, but I will be brief, for
our time is so. I have told you I must have further—
better security for the work done to-night—l am not
satisfied. But in the first place here'—(continued he, in
the tone of one calmly determined)—' here, Mr. L—,
is the cash, and the whole amount of what I have this
night won from you; and that we may proceed without
fear of retracing a step, I seriously pronounce, no power
on earth shall induce me to retain one guinea.'
" L— gazed, in speechless attention—he knew not
the nature of his own emotions.

" This has been a long sitting,' resumed Elliston—
has broken deeply into our rest, but it shall close to
our comfort—to our happiness, if you but permit it.
Mr. L—, you are far from a state of health—perhaps
not a long-lived man; think how little time, therefore,
could be given to reflection, even were the whole amount
so devoted. Do not despise the admonition of even an
erring man; and let not pride, that pitiful illusion, be
the last cheat to leave you barer than poverty. Never,'
(concluded he, with great energy)—' never will I touch
again one farthing of this sum—it is yours, or it con-
sumes this night before your eyes. Now for the security
I ask—give me the honour of a man you will never play
again.'
" The accents of the young man failed upon his lips,
but the tears rolled down his cheeks, and his frame
drooped by exhaustion.
" Alas! alas!' sighed he, after a labouring pause.
' How am I humbled! In the sense of my own worth-
lessness, and before the generosity of this man, how am
I humbled!'

" Humbled!' cried Elliston, with energy—' humility!
—why, how, is this, when I had hoped on both sides for
exultation? Exultation, I confess it, on my part, that I
had been able to achieve a substantial good, and exul-
tation, still greater on yours, that you had secured the
moment whilst it yet remained, to make peace with
your own conscience. Will you give me the word of a
man?'

" Yes; and before God, my witness—'
" No—no—not that!' interposed Elliston. I have
no right with such a bond; and believe me, my friend,
if the deliberate word of a deeply impressed mind should
ever submit to dishonour, a more solemn contract would
yet live to be despised, whilst the penalty would be mul-
tiplied a hundredfold. Give me but your word—your
word of honour.'

" Such was the generous appeal, awakening, as may
be imagined, the long abused and paralysed energies of
the poor youth to whom it had been addressed. It was
not made in vain; and the security which our hero had
so warmly sought, was given with all the impassioned
evidence of sincerity.
"Elliston was of a temperament fully to enjoy that
sublimation of delight, which such an adventure was so
calculated to produce. His end had been accomplished;
for when again visiting (strange and inconsistent as is
the nature of man) the old scene of riot and dissipation,
he discovered his friend had returned no more, but had
been recalled by his means to the timely task of binding
up a wounded conscience, he felt a sense of happiness
far surpassing any amount of his varied life. But
strange and inconsistent, we repeat, as man's nature is,
Elliston himself still continued to visit Blackfriars as
usual, so that all traces of the past scene were soon lost
in the mazes of the hazard-table."

FRASER'S MAGAZINE.
Unlike the rest of the world—that is to say, the
London world, which was the only one recognised
by Selwyn and Horace Walpole—we have never yet
seen the celebrated danseuse, Fanny Elssler, which
we are somewhat disposed to regret ; not that we
would care to give even the lowest coin of the realm
to see the most accomplished dancer that ever stood
on one leg, like a stork, for half an hour together on the
boards of her Majesty's Theatre, but that we have
missed seeing a lively, intelligent, and we may add,
witty young woman, who writes with remarkable
grace and fluency, and, by the arch bonhommie of her
manner, imparts an interest to the veriest trifles.
Fanny Elssler's "Letters from the United States,"
which are continued in the present month's Fraser,
are indeed full of vivacity ; and the little way-side
sketches of character and manners that she,intro-
duces, are as relishing as that famous French sauce
with which, an enthusiastic gastronomist once ob-
served, a man might digest his own grandmother.
Our fair letter-writer was by no means slow in de-
tecting the social eccentricities of Jonathan, which
must have caused her infinite diversion ; but she
touches on them in such a laughing, good-humoured
spirit that the most touchy Yankee cannot possibly
take offence. On her arrival at New York,, true to
the professional instinct, she of course hurried to the
theatre, where she saw Forrest in one of his best
characters, and thus records the impression which he
made on her :—" Never in my life did an actor in-
spire me with deeper admiration ! Mr. Forrest has
ardently studied the mysteries of his most difficult
art. A more refined and accomplished artist I have
never seen, and he gives a tint so natural and familiar
to his lifelike creations that you are seduced into
utter forgetfulness of the actor. It is idle to attempt
a description of his classic attitudes, his noble gait,
his distinct enunciation, and, above all, of the fine
dramatic expression he gives to every passion of the
heart--every working of the mind.' Ardent as is
this eulogium, we subscribe to every word of it.
We had ourselves the good fortune to see Mr. Forrest,
when he played at Drury-lane some years since, and
shall not readily forget the strongimpression he made
on us in Othello—that impressive character, all whose
leading points Mr.: Macready disguises with such
curious and diligent pertinacity. We quote Fanny
Elssler's account of her first appearance before a
New York audience, which she seems to have looked
forward to with the most unaccountable misgivings :
" I trembled in every limb with apprehensions I could
not control; I had hardly strength to walk upon the
stage. The curtain rose, and breathless silence pre-
vailed; the music struck up, and the moment came, and
I appeared. The scene that ensued beggars description.
The whole house rose, and such a shout ascended, as
stunned my senses, and made me involuntarily recoil.
Men waved their hats, and women their handkerchiefs,
and all was inexplicable dumb show for several mortal
moments. I stood confounded, and tears streaming
down my face. Order at length restored, the dance
began. How I went through it I know not ; I was
scarcely conscious of what I was doing. I felt only
one dreadful sensation of a great weight being attached
to my limbs ;oras if palsy had stricken them. But I
must have danced as I hope never to dance again. I was
encored to the echo, and in a few moments recommenced
amid the most cheering applause. A vaudeville suc-
ceeded, and I retired to get ready for the ballet. I
was not curious to know the feeling of the house, for I
feared it must be unfavourable. I began to warm to my
work, and my ambition awoke. I resolved to make
some desperate efforts before I yielded to the struggle.
I soon learned that such a state of feeling prevailed as
had been calculated on. Great confusion of opinion and
impression, perhaps some disappointment, but just that
blank state of mind that I might hope the most from.
This roused my soul to action, and I longed to be at
them. As I dashed in for the ballet, the sensation was
hardly less strong than at the first. My appearance in
feminine and coquettish attire seemed more in harmony
with their expectations, and they evidently liked my
looks. A loud murmur of surprise and intense satis-
faction rose on every side, and gave ins a stirring im-
petus. It is not for me to say what I did, or how I did it,
but never was I carried so resistlessly along on a buoy-
ant tide of feeling that bore me quite away. I danced
without effort, and even Katty applauded some of my
feats. The most deafening exclamations of delight broke
at rapid intervals from all parts of the house, till they
lashed themselves into a perfect tempest of admiration.
Never before did I behold so vast an assembly so com-
pletely under the sway of one dominant feeling, and so
entirely abandoned to its inspiration. The curtain fell
amid a roar that sounded like the fall of nighty waters,
and that quickly brought me before them. Their ap-
plause was perfectly frantic."
" A Summer Hour in Pope's Garden at Twicken-
ham" is an imaginary conversation, a la Landor, be-
tween Pope, Bolingbroke, Arbuthnot, and Swift.
The dialogue is tolerably characteristic, with this ex-
ception, namely, that the great poet is made to allude
too frequently to his edition of Shakspeare—an _allu-
sion which he always .carefully shunned, knowing
how signal had been his failure as a commentator.
Swift's terse, dry manner is well conveyed, but we
could have spared some of Bolingbroke's verbal
exuberance. -In "Military Tableaux' we find a stir-
ring account of the approach of the French to Mos-
cow, and their despair on the conflagration of that
city. By the writer's account, who was a Prussian
hussar, the invading army must have been in a sad
state of disorganisation even on their first entrance
into the territories of the Czar, and the infantry were
distinguished by nothing so much as their dexterity
in stealing the horses of the cavalry. It is a curious
circumstance that the Cossacks took such a fancy to
the showy Murat, that they never attacked him with-
out first saluting him with loud cheers! The "Luck
of Barry Lyndon," is a clever, desultory story,
from the pen of M. A. Titmarsh, to whose sprightly