The Sun.
London, England, 1842-05-02 00:00:00

MINS WORTHS MAGAZINE.

The sale of Strawberry-hill, and the eclat connected
,h
*ith that grotesque specimen of Gothic architecture,
has had the effect of once again setting all the essay-
ists to work' on Horace Walpole—his tastes, humours,
wit, sarcasm, fancy, and so forth. An ingenious
paper on the subject appears in the present number of
this periodical, in which a tolerably correct estimate is
formed of the livay-Whig trifler. The writer, how-
ever, is mistaken in supposing that Walpole was a
man of the world, in the enlarged sense of the term.
He was a man of the West-end of the World only.
He had no other notion of humanity than that it com-
prised some one or two hundred individuals of rank
and fashion in London and Paris. Of all below this
grade he was profoundly ignorant, and had no other
ideas of the " People," than that they were a mass of
brute animation, created for no nobler purpose than
to be "hewers of wood and drawers of water" to
their aristocratic rulers. A man like Burns would
have perplexed him cruelly. He would have under-
stood him quite enough to know that he was not one
to he despised; his powers of mind would have ex-
torted his involuntary respect ; but he would have
been repelled by his plebeian origin ; and when as-
sured that nature had been the sole prompter of his
genius, he would have stared at him as a sort of sole-

cism in Walpole had a sound, clear head
enough, but ;the smallest of all possible hearts.
Healthy, natural emotion—that quickening power of
genius—was -.wholly unknovial t:) him, Such sym-
pathies as he had to bestow were bestowed exclusively
on the artificial and the COnVentional. He shrunk
from the rude vigour of untrained humanity; and a
horse-laugh Would have thrown him into hysterics.
His chief objection to Chatterton was, that he was a
Nobody'— a inere attorney's clerk ; and even the
classic intellect of the low-born, Only scarcely secured
him from his supercilious contempt. Of true poetic
taste he had little or nothing, or he would never
have written in such rapturous terms of Darwin
—the most turgid, empty, and presumptuous of
poetasters. The present essay indulges in much
lively gossip respecting Horace Walpole's private
habits, and reminds us of the airy, good-humoured
manner Of Leigh Hunt. It is, in truth, a very cre-
ditable imitation of his style. The "Miser's Daugh-
ter" improves gradually in interest. The description
of the old man's agonies on discovering the loss of his
darling treasures, exhibits more earnestness and sin-
cerity of feeling than Mr. Ainsworth has yet evinced.
But what a ludicrous figure does the Miser cut, as re-
presented by George Cruikshank ? He is not horri-
fied, but is simply making faces, and stands with his
legs stretched wide apart, just like a pair of com-
passes. In his next establishment, where Randolph
refuses to drink the King's health over the water, the
artist shows to more advantage. Here he is at home.
again, and throws infinite force and propriety of ex-
pression into the countenances of the astonished re-
vellers. Ciankshank should never attempt the heroic
or the impassioned, but stick to the familiar, the fan-
tastic, and the humourous, where he reigns without a
rival.—Verbum sap. The " Two Minstrel Bands" is
a strange, wild ballad, of German origin. We are
not quite sure that we understand it, so extract a
portion, in order that our readers may judge for
themselves :

I slept one night in the gloomy wool,
The tombs of the minstrels near me Stood ;
The birds had WM me, from every tree,
The sound of the branches was meloly.
And when every eye was in slumber closed,
When all except anguish and love reposed,
The bolts and the coffins were rattling and shaking,
The bolts and the coffins were bursting and breaking
As wave upon wave on a boist'rous ocean
Pass thousands of forms, iria wild commotion,

The harpers in troops froni the coffins appear, -
Their harps in their skeleton arms they hear. •
Their lips are dry. and their glapee is cold,
Their pallid cheeks are sunken- and old ;
14ro feeling is in this rhostly band-L-.
They strike at their harp-strings with lifeless hand.

though they strike and hammer on,
The lisening ear can detect no tone ;
The owlets leaving their nooks are seen,
While fiends from rocky crevices grin.
Beneath the harpers the grass is dried—,
The bashful moon must her visage hide,
And ever at midnight thus tinkle they--
And "Oblivion" is their constant lay.
A tone like the angel's trump is heard,
When God had the world's foundations rear'd • ,

Through mead and through tree what a sound is
rushing,
How joyously is the streamlet gushing - •
With flapping noise all the coffins close—
The harpers reel to their dull repose.;.
And now from a thousand coffins springing,
Come other bards, who are gladly singing.
A race for an endless time I see,
Who have suck'd at the breaSt of eternity ;

Their eye is so mild, yet it shines like lightning,
Their face with love's rosy tint is bright'ning.
They strike the sounding harp with,fire,
They raise it on high—that gallant choir ;
As an avalanche-fall, as -a seraph song,
It echoes the spacious fields along.
The waters hear, and they cease to flow--
The roses, as if it were spring-tin]?, blow ; •
And while the moon is more brightly glancing,
Young fags are around, the minstrels dancing.
'The tree shakes with joy-as the 7,ong, is heard—
On his branch more sweetly dreams the bird ;
And ever at-midnight thus sing they,
And " Immortality " is their lay.

" The Tengin Pass" is a common-place narrative
from the pen of Captain Medwin. " Sultan Stork"
is a whimsical travesty of the tales of enchantment in
the " Arabian Nights." Of the " Pirate Knight" we
can say no more than that it is a passable Scottish
ballad. " A Country Dinner Party" is a. sprightly
prose sketch, apparently from the life. Charles
Matthews Not at Home," by Mr. Buller, of Brazen-
nose, is an imitation—and not a very successful one—
of Thomas Ingoldsby's style of versification. Among
the critical notices, is an intelligent and generous re
view of Mr. Lever's `c Charles O'Malley," in which
admirable tale, we may assure our readers, occurs
the most graphic description yet penned, of the battle
of Waterloo. " Truth and Rumour" is such a grace-