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

ILLUMINATED MAGAZINE.

Mr. Jerrold's allegorical " Chronicles of Clover-
nook" are here resumed ; it is impossible not to ad
mire the vigorous power of fancy that pervades them,.
but we fear that they do not possess sufficient direct-
ness and obviousness of meaning to please the genera-
lity of periodical readers, who are apt to turn with
impatience from whatever taxes thought. Yet the
author has written few .cleverer things, and certainly
none whose moral tone is so sound and elevated.
The ".Orphan Milliners, a Tale of the West End" is
by Miss Camilla Toulmin ; it is forcibly and unaffec-
tedly written; and is illustrated by an engraving,
which represents a groupe of emaciated girls toiling
like slaves at their needle by midnight in order to
meet the demands of fashion—that smooth but inex-
orable tyrant who laughs to scorn all the claims of
humanity. " Sketches of Parisian Life" convey a
livily idea of the dandy of that over-refined capital.
In the essay on the " Belles of England" we find a
brief biographical notice of the famous Duchess of
Marlborough—the conqueror of the conqueror of
France, and who ruled her terrified sovereign with a
rod of iron. " Levy Papers" is a whimsical exposure
of some of the trickeries of legal pettifoggers. The
theme is a tempting one, and the lash cannot be laid
on in too severe a spirit. The " Chaunt of Death"
contains a striking image or two, and we subjoin it
accordingly :
" I am not of earth, but spirit born,
Yet the wide world owns my sway;
Its pomp and its might I laugh to scorn,
For all must my will obey.
I visit the halls of dazzling light,
Enter the loftiest domes,
And all is anguish, and all is night,
Where the King of Terror comes.

" I reign o'er the waves of the mighty deep—
I ride on the stormy wind—
On every shore where breakers sweep,
My ruthless track you find.
I soar on the.wings of the pestilence—
Am heard in the tempest's crash—
And when earth is veiled in gloom intense,
I sail in the lightning's flash.
" Yet oft in loveliest guise I dwell,—
On the light of the clear blue eye,
On the blooming cheek, set I my spell,—
They wither—decay—and die.
And often I lurk in the night-wind's sigh,
And steal in the youthful breast,—
And gently, calmly, and silently,
Doth that spirit sink to rest.
" And I smile as I mark the youthful brow
Bent over the midnight page,
And list the fond enthusiast's vow
At the shrine of Bard and Sage,
When I have doomed him to sure decay,
And know, while his bays are green,
That his toil-worn frame shall pass away
From earth, and " no more be seen."
" I care not for pomp or glittering crown,
Serf and Lord are alike to me—
For the mightiest king must bow him down
To a mightier king than he.
I speak! and the loftiest head must bend.
From creation's earliest dawn
I have reigned, and my reign shall only end
With the last of woman born.

" All things of earth—of air—of sky—
Must yield them unto me,
And the vast and glittering worlds on high
Shall my parting conquest be;
For the heavens shall melt and pass away
Ere the work of death be done,
And the Sun himself shall see decay
Ere my earthly race be run.

" The universe with my fame hath rung
Since my banner I unfurled, •
And my parting requiem shall be sung
'Mid the ruins of a world.
Lord over all with life and breath!
The same triumphant chime
That sounds the dirge of the monarch, Death,
Must sound the knell of Time." •