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

THE ME7 oPoL I TAN

The number before us, like the majority of its pre-,
decessors, consists almost exclusively of prose tales,
with here and there, a slight- sprinkling of verse.. As
the tales, generally speaking, are g,ood, we do .not feel
much disposed to complain, though we still could
have wished that therh had beenca little more variety
of matter. 'The " Man without Honey," what a theme
for thesdisplay of pathos !—is one of the cleverest of the
stories• and turns upon the stratagems of a needy
adventurer to win a prize in the matrimonial lottery.
Of course he fails, for the days-of sentiment, like those
of chivalry, am past -And gone, and.ladles, grown wise
in their g,=!neration, -no longer throat' away their hands
and hepts on fellows who have nothing but their
amorous synsibilities to recommend them. Old
South,
.the preacher, who dearly loved a pun, once
exclaimed from the pulpit, " marriage was formerly a
merry age, hut matrimony is now become a matter of
money." If this was true in Charles the Second's
dayS, how muehtruer is it now, when habits of -busi-
ness have suprseded everything in the shape of
natural emotion ! In -affairs of the heart we now
split upon settlements, where formerly, we split upon
sentiment. From " Savindroos," an agreeable story,
whose scene is laid in the East, .we quote some pleasing
stanzas :
When the beetle's drowsy horn,
Winds across the silent lea,
Ere the rosy-fingePd 'Mora.
Throws a bright tint o'er the sea :
When the moon her orb displaying
Beams upon the lonely night.
And the wolf-dog loudly baying
Seems to mock her silver light ;
Then we soldiers; ever cheery,
O'er the rugged mountain roam,
Briskly dancing, never weary,
To the:merry Real of the hollow drum.
Now the song, the joka, the story,._
Swell around and cheat the.way ; • -
Feats of hive and deeds of glory
Grace the merry Roundelay. -
Peals of laughter, care bi-guiling,
Round their genialjnagiespread,
Till the day-star sweetly smiling
Tints the grey cliff's mussy head :
Then we soldiers, ever cheery,
O'er the rugged monntaityToarn, , •
Briskly dancing, never weary,
' Tu the merry peal of the hollow drum.
When the sun is fiercely beaming
, • O'er the snowy tented field, ,
Of the morrow seldom dreaming,
We to balmy slumber yield.
Or, beneath the -shady bowers,
In the jungle we recline';
•
Strewing life's dull path with flowers,
Cull'd from love and rosy-wine.
Thus we soldiers, ever cheery,
. 0'•i• the rugged mountain roam;
Briskly lancing, never, weary,
To th& merry peal of the hollow drnm.

THE QUEEN'S MAGAZINE.
There is too great a sameness in this Number,
which, though it consists but of two or three sheets,
comprises not less than three prOse tales. The tales
themselves are as good 'as such things usually are in
periodicals, but, as the old song says, " three at a
time there's no mortal can bear.' The first, which is
on the hacknied subject of " Jane Shore," is the best,
and is illustrated by .somc cleverish engravings.
Neglected Genius" is a quizzical account of a:silly
young poetaster, who imagines himself inspired, and
writes indifferent verses'On the strength of his halluci-
nation; Of course his poesy is ridiculed by the
critics, and then he discards
,his cravat, turns down
his shirt-collar, a la Byron, waxes sour and sardonic,
and ultimately dies in a windy back-garret, a victim
to the neglect of a heartless, undiscerning public !