The Sun.
London, England, 1842-03-01 00:00:00

TAIT S MAGAZINE.

The " Peel. Mystery" ;s an energetic, shrewd, pithy,
political article, suggested by the recent discussions
in Parliament, and exhibiting a sturdy spirit of libe-
ralism. The writer observes that the time for com-
promising or shilly-shallying.with the Corn-law que-
t'on is past, and . that " now it must be either total
repeal of the taxes on food, or something ,better still,
which shall include this among 'other gains." Ile
goes on to say, " a storm of wrath is meanwhile.
bursting round the head of the unhappy Minister,
whose condition really moves Compassion. How
could he avoid failure ? Finesse was of no use here.
Those who doubted of -his Statesmanlike capacity la •
an era l'ke the present, yet had faith in his sagacity
and tact as a party leader. And there he stands, eon.
fessing himself in the predicament of the old man
and the ass in the fable, who, trying to please every
body pleased nobody, and lost his ass into the bar-
gain." This is hard hitting, but our stern Radical
:•iend Tait -seldom spares his political enemies.
Ahednego the Money-Lender," is a graceful anti
lively tale, from the pen of Mrs. Gore, One of the most
prolific novelists of the day. " Laing's Notes of a
Traveller" is an intelligent notice of a recent book of •
travels: ".Hiss 13urney's Diary and Letters" is
another review, but much too eulogistic. What the
succeeding. volumes of the Diary may be; we know
not ; but the one just published—namely, the first--is
full of the most sickening ' egotism and self-ceneeit,
just as if the writer 'belieed • there was only one
subject worth talking abont—and that one was her
own over-rated novel of " Evelina r As a favour-
able specimen of Tait's poetry, we quote the "Song
1 of March :".

Hark ! hark !—A crash is in the woods;
The gun, led oak bends lace mountain-larch : •
1% no shakes the forest—whips the floods,
Like March, mad March !
I slid down the storm from the drifting cloud,
To f-olic awhile in sour mansions proud.
While the usurer dreameth cf thieves, in affright,
I will rattle his casements and blow out his light..
I will hurl on the head of the learned owl,
While he studies the stars, the huge chimney cowl ;
It. shall cut his nose, and black his eye,
To test his sublime philosophy.
Thence, where hard Asthma hacks and lieu*,
With purple face and vital sloughs,
Against the w'idows' PI batter the rain,
And thrust the thick smoke down the flue again,
And just ere your tunnel- 'ncath the cover is put,
I will dredge it defty with ashes and soot;
I will rond the furled sails as I ride on the blast,
Singing hurricane tones
Through the navy ;
And I'll the bold mariner down from the malt,
To Dave,
For ;.;ravy
To his marrow bones !
I will bleach for the laundress, and blacken her starch,
Such a whimsical fellow is roaring mad March.

Look ! look !—Amidst yr-i Ocean's strle,
Fe•r's fever brave men's lips duth parch ;
: human
s 3r.
Shall mourning mother—widow'd wife,
C enhipa, madthy. March ?
I am not to be holm 'et!, nor curbed in my glee,
Ily the phantom of hu
I will search round your jaws for the carious teeth.
And fiddle away on the fibres beneath.
I will blast the old iv ter, and ruffle his dam,
And strip off his mill-top like the bladder from jam.
The dishelont dank from a beggar's mail,
I will o'er Patrici- t 'scutchcon trail ; •
While erieth priest, "Lord ! I have drouth,"
I'll whit?' a cobweb in his mouth.
Wherever I find a nervous heart beats,
I will fashion the curtains like winding sheets.
•
While the grey sexton dreameth he hears his death-knell,
Iwillsweep out hi: mattock and toll the church-bell ;
.-
I will shake down the mansion, the trees will uproot,
Decree'd, and contest
Yours eternal.