The Sun.
London, England, 1845-02-01 00:00:00

frequently bestow upon the veriest needy, accompinied
j with phrases that ;pAc,.) his co.lt.c.rpt of human nature,
I his particular nature included."

The story proceeds to show how inevitable crime
is under the system of training to which young St.
Giles is submitted ; by imperceptible degrees fate
drags him on from evil to evil, until at last he is the
robber of young St. James. We will conclude the
notice of this story by an amusing extract, which
may please our readers
:
" We cannot say—and in truth it is a ticklish question
to ask of those who are best qualified to give an answer,
if there really be not a comfort in substantial ugliness :
in ugliness that, unchanged, will last a man his life ; a
good granite face in which there shall be no wear and
tear. A man so appoigted, is saved many alarms, many
spasms of pride. Time cannot wound his vanity through
his features ; he eats, drinks, and is merry, in despite of
mirrors. No acquaintance starts at sudden alteration,
hinting in such surprise, decay and the final tomb. He
grows older, with no former intimates—churchyard
voices !—crying, How you're altered !' How many
a man might have been a truer husband, a better father,
firmer friend, more valuable citizen, had he, when
arrived at legal maturity, cut off—say, an inch of his
nose. This inch—only an inch !—would have
destroyed the vanity of the very handsomest
face ; and so, driven the thoughts of a man from
a vulgar looking-glass, a piece of shop chrystal—and
more, from the fatal mirrors carried in the heads of
women to reflect, heaven knows how many coxcombs
who choose to stare into them—to the glass of his own
mind. With only such petty sacrifice, he might have
been a philosopher. Thus considered, how many a cox-
comb may be within an inch of a sage ! True, there
was an ago when wise men—at least a few of them—
glorified in selt-tnutilation, casting sanguinary offerings
to the bird of wisdom. But this was in the freshness
and youth of the world ; in the sweet innocence of early
time. But the world grows of l ; and, like a faded,
I,:shionable beauty, the older it grows the more it lays
on the paint."
There is a little poem of some interest, which we
will insert for the entertainment of our readers :
.

THE DRUM.
Yonder is a little drum
Hanging on the wall,
Duty wreaths and tatter'd flags
Round about it fall.
A Shepherd youth on Cheviot's hills
Watch'd the sheep, whose skin
A cunning workman wrought and gave
Tae little drum its din.
0 pleasant are fair Cheviot's bills
With velvet verdure spread,
And pleasant 'tis amid its heath
To make your summer bed.
And sweet and clear are Cheviot's rills
That trickle to its vales,
And balmily its tiny flowers
Breathe on the passing gales.
And thus bath felt the Shepherd boy
Whilst tending of his fold,
Nor thought there was in all the world
A spot like Cheviot's weld.
And so it was for many a day,
But change with Time will come,
And he—(alas ! for him the day I)
He heard the little drum.
" Follow," said the drummer-boy,
" Would you live in story ;
" For ho who strikes a foetuan down,
" Wins a wreath of glory !"
" Rub- a-dub and rub-a-dub,"
The drummer beats away—
The Shepherd let kis bleating flock
On Cheviot wildly stray.
On Egypt's arid waste of sand
The Shepherd now is lying,
Around him many a parching tongue
For water 's faintly crying.
O that he were on Cheviot's hills
• With velvet verdure spread,
Or lying 'mid the blooreiug heath,
Where oft he'd made his bed.
Or could he drink of those sweet rills
That trickle to the vales,
Or breathe once more the balminess
Of Cheviot's mountain gales.
At length upon his wearied eyes
The mists of slumber come,
And he is in his home again—
Till waken'd by the drum.
" Take arms I Take arms," his leader cries,
The hated foeman's nigh;"
Guns loudly roar—steel clanks on steel
And thousands fall to die.
The Shepherd's blood makes red the sand,
" Oh ! water—give me some !
" My voice might reach a friendly ear,
"But for that little drum !"
'Mid moaning men—'mid dying men,
The drummer kept his way,
And many a one, by " glory' lured, .
Did curse the drum that day.
" Rub-a-dub and rub-a-dub,"
The drummer beat aloud—
The Shepherd died, and ere the morn,
The hot sand was his shroud.
And this is glory ? Yes ; and still
Will man the tempter follow,
Nor learn that glory, like its drum,
Is but a sound and hollow.

THE THEATRES.
SADLERS' WELLS.

A new five act play, from the pen of Mr. T. J. Serle,
was produced at this theatre on Thursday, with the
most complete success. It is entitled the Priest's
Daughter, and the scene is, laid in the middle ages,
just at the period when the celibacy of the clergy was
introduced. The heroine, Madeleine (Mrs. Warner),
is the daughter of a married priest, whose marriage
has been rendered null by the edict enforcing the ce-
libacy of the clergy, while at the same time the issue
of such marriages are condemned to serfdom. This
takes place during her infancy, and the priest, to save
her from such a dreadful doom, conceals his relation-
ship to her, and she is brought up by a peasant wo-
man, Sybilla (Mrs. Marston), the priest watching over
her as her confessor. Count Robert de Velery
(Marston), whose serf she would be, according to the
provisions of the edict, sees and loves her. He
protects her from the violence of the soldiery,
and wins the maiden's affections. Luitprand (Mr. J.
Webster), the son of Sybilla, also loves her, but his
suit is Scorned. The disputes between himself and
his mother on the subject of the treatment of the
beautiful maiden by the latter was full of comic hu -
moor. Madeleine is unhappily in the cottage of
Sybilla, and escapes to the castle of Count Robert,
who receives her with open arms, but has no inten-
tion of marrying her. The priest-father appears
and warns her of her danger. The acting of Phelps
in this part of the drama was exceedingly fine. He
delineated beautifully theheartfelt agony of the father,
rendered ten thousand times more acute from the
necessity there was to suppress the visible demonstra-
tion of it under the guise of the righteous indignation
of the passionless priest. He urges the peasants to
attack the castle and deliver Madeleine. They refuse,
alleging that Madeleine is not a peasant's wife, and
there is no reason which calls for their interference.
The priest, accompanied by Luitprand, obtains ad-
mission into the Castle, and insists on Madeleine's in-
stantly marrying her peasant lover. She refuses; at
length the priest tells her that he is her father, and,
in obedience to a parent's command, she consents to
wed Luitprand. The ceremony is interrupted by the
arrival of the Count, who is indignant at the sup-
posed falseness of Madeleine. The attack of the
vassals on the Castle calls him away, and during his
absence, the priest, who is left alone in the banquetting
hall with Madeleine, puts poison in the Count's drink-
ing cup, notwithstanding all the efforts and persua-
sions of Madeleine to prevent him. The Count returns
victorious, and threatens to hang all his prisoners
unless Madeleine will consent to his purpose.
The Count is about to drink, when the priest rushes
forward, and renews his supplications to him, to in-
duce him to desist from his purpose with regard to
Madeleine. The Count is inexorable—the priest leaves
him. He has lifted the goblet to his mouth, when
Madeleine rushes forward and dashes it from his
hand, declaring it is poisoned. The Count, struck by
the generosity of her conduct, determines to wed her,
and the priest, who has himself swallowed the poison,
joins their hands as he is in the agonies of death.
The parts of the Priest and Madeleine were admirably
sustained by Phelps and Mrs. Warner, who were
called for at the conclusion of the piece, and much
applauded. A call was then made for the author,
and Mr. Serle appeared and briefly addressed the
audience, stating, that he should consider that night
as the proudest of his existence, if this play should
turn out to be only the commencement of a series of
similar productions at that theatre. He was loudly
cheered, and the piece was announced for repetition
amidst tumults of applause.

STRANGE, IF TRUE.--A circumstance the most
extraordinary that ever fell under our notice occurred:in
the lower part of Exeter on :Sunday last. A person,
living in Sherman's-court, having occasion to draw some
soft water from the cock, was surprised to find it of a
reddish brown chlour, and still more surprised, on tasting
it, to find it like good beer ! and. beer it was beyond all
doub., though evidently it had been very lately brewed.
He could not conceal his good luck, the news of which
soon spread throughout the neighbourhood. Other
cocks were tried, with the same result, and the police
have now in their possession the particulars of seven
different houses, the tenants of which, paying for soft
water, mo-4 unexpectedly obtained general home.brewed.
There must have been a considerable quantity of it, too,
for the drawing and drinking coral! ued on Sunday and
part of Monday, and the denizens of the quarter made
the most of the chance, by getting gloriously drunk.
How to account for it is, at present, not so easy, but
it seems quite clear that some brewer in the neighbour-
hood must have suffered, and that the b, er must have
been .drawn off by the pipes which were only designed
to bring the water in. At present no brewer can be
found who will cfnaress to having 1( st any beer at all.
Perhaps the same pipes that emi-tl( d his vats of their
contents have by this time fill d them again with the
pure fluid of the reservoir.— Wes of England Con-
servative. ,
•