The Sun.
London, England, 1842-07-04 00:00:00

LITERATURE.

FRANCE DAGETER.REOTYPED.
Saunders and 01ley, London, 1842.
While we protest against much of the spirit that
pervades this volume, we cannot but acknowledge that
it is written in a nervous and forcible manner ; that
the author wields the pen of an able but most trucu-
lent satirist ; and that, to all appearance, he is perfectly
sincere in his contempt and hatred for " Young
France." Such desperate, unremitting abuse as he
pours forth on the head of this effervescing nation !
And, as if he were not satisfied with expressing his
scorn of it in good, round, set phrase, he has recourse
to the pictorial art to add to the effect of his invectives !
111. Thiers, of course, comes in for no small portion of
his abuse. He describes him,as a shrewd, conceited,
tricky, unprincipled adventurer; and then sets to work
at his face, which he caricatures in so whimsical a
manner, still preserving a certain resemblance, that it
is impossible to see it without bursting into outra-
geous laughter. As regards the war mania, which
111. Thiers was so successful in, inflaming a year or
two since, our author seems to think—and on this
point we join issue with him—that it was a miracle
that peace was preserved at that period; and adds
that the serpent is scotched, not killed. "Its crest
will' again be erected, hissing for war ! A struggle
for pre-eminence between Prance and England, I
believe to be almost inevitable; and the lightest straw
that ever was blown by the winds of heaven may
afford a solid pretext. She will probably shun us at
sea ; the struggle will be chiefly by land, and the
bayonet, not the shell, will decide. The omnipotent
press of France can soon raise Thiers again to power.
Louis Philippe will not—dare not resist; for brave as
he is, he has not an utter contempt for life. Nay,
more, I believe him to be, after all, no very strenuous
opponent of the military views entertained by all other
Frenchmen." Notwithstanding this very decided ex-
pression of opinion, we still believe that there is quite
enough of good sense in France to neutralize the in-
cendiary efforts of the war faction, which—were it
ever, with M. Thieis at ifs head, to get the ascen-
dancy—would most probably be the means of subject-
ing the capital to another unceremonious visit from
the Allied Powers, and not improbably occasion the
country to be dismembered by indignant coalesced
Europe.

ASTOLFO. Purkess, London, 1842.

There is some power of fancv exhibited in this
" dramatic romance," as the author calls it, but it is
mixed up with much that is mystical, and even un-
intelligible ; and the diction is at times so grotesque,
substantives being made to do duty as verbs and
verbs to officiate as adjectives, that it is next to im-
possible to peruse it with a grave face. The poem is
of the " Manfred" school, and opens with a monologue,
Wherein Astolfo, the speaker, invokes the spirits of
the dead, who accordingly—as in the case of Robert
the Devil—rise thickly about him from their resting-
places in an old monastery, of which he is the lord
abbot. In consequence of his thus tampering with
the black art, and communing at midnight in his cell,
and among the mountains, with wizard forms, not of
earth, he is denounced, by two of his monks, and
thrown into the dungeons of the Inquisition, rind
where he soon afterwards swallows poison, infinitely
to the annoyance of the demon Thorosmades, who had
visited him in disguise in his cell, and vainly en-
deavoured to prevail on him to sell his soul to the
Prince of the Powers of Darkness. There is little that
is original in this conception, nor indeed can we con-
gratulate the author on the skill with which he has
worked out his design ; he has numerous passages
that " lead to nothing ;" spectres that come and go,
apparently without a why or a wherefore ; and abrupt
and purposeless dialogues, in which the vague mys-
ticism of Shelley is curiously blended with the gloom
and feverish restlessness of Byron. We do not deny
that, here and there, the poem contains some striking
passages, chiefly of the descriptive sort ; but its
general tone is far from healthy; there is a constant,
visible straining, too, after effect, and a harshness and
dissonance in the blank verse that are at times quite
offensive.

CASTLES AND ABBEYS OF ENGLAND.
Part V. Mortimer, London, 1842.
Dr. Beattie, the editor of this amusing work, con-
tinues to discharge the duty of superintendence with
considerable tact and diligence ; and in the present
Part, enters into curious circumstantial details respect-
ing tho fine old Abbey of Tewkesbury, which was long
celebrated for its magnificence and the wealthy en-
dowments attached to it, and was one of the earliest
sacred edifices erected in England, its foundation
dating from the first fifteen years of the eighth cen-
tury. There is a clever engraving of the Abbey in
the frontispiece, representing it throughout its entire
extent ; and the letter-press descriptions of it are
enlivened by frequent poetical quotations, chiefly, if
we are not mistaken, from the works of Sir Walter
Scott.

THOUGHTS ON THE SENSIBILITY OF THE

IMAGINATION. Simpkin, London, 1842.
The first section of this essay—which, by the way,
is much the best portion of it—is devoted to a con-
sideration of some remarks made by Mr. Moore, in
his Memoirs of Lord Byron, respecting the sensibi.
lities of the imagination as distinguished from those of
the heart. The author observes that it is questionable
whether such a distinction be rightly drawn, adding,
" instead of thus conceiving a fictitious and a real
sensibility, both of which are real to those under their
influence, we would rather say, that they who are
most sensitive to pleasure,- are of necessity most sen-
sitive to pain." The author then goes on to illustrate
his position by reference to certain peculiarities in the
characters of Petrarch, Sterne, and Lord Byron, and
evinces no slight acumen in the manner in which he
handles this branch of his subject. His essay, re-
garded as a whole, is an ingenious one, though he
sometimes ventures a little beyond his depth.