The Sun.
London, England, 1827-03-01 00:00:00

THE MONTHLY REVIEW.

There are two or three very elaborate and ably penned
criticisms in this number of the " Resurrection Review :"
among others, one on " Dugeld Stewart's Elemetts of the
Philosophy of the Human Mind," front which we are
tempted to make the following brier extract, as a very cor-
rect—though, perhaps, notsvery profound—analysis of the
great metaphysician's peculiar turn of mind.
But aithougl. we thus cheerfully applaud Mr. Stewart's exer-
bona for the imi.tovement of this most interesting, and most
valuable of all studies, yet we have never been blind to his defects,
nor slow to caution our readers against them. Prominent amongst
those faiths, Lppears to be his habit of giving expression to all the
vague ideas that he finds floating in his mind upon the subject
under his consideration, without at all considering whether they
cut upon it the slightest gleam of light. Hence it is, that many
students have co'cplained, and we do not hesitate to acknowledge
ourselves of the n.zraber, that they have often risen from the pages
of this writer, captivated by his enthusiasm, and charmed by his
style, but unenriched by a single clear perception, as to the mean-
ing of the author, or as to the conclusions which he would wish
to establish. The suavity and eloquence with which he addresses
us, seem to aim at something very profound, something hitherto
concealed in the interior of the mind, which he has had the good
fortune to discover, and the benevolence to disclose. But after we
arrive at the end, aad reflect on all this fine array of language, we
feel disappointed that promises so specious and so engaging,
dwindle into mere conjecture, or vanish in some airy vision, upon
which no sound superstructure of knowledge can be erected.
The Review of " Segues Memoirs, are interesting—but
how can they be otherwise ? A critic must have a very
superhuman genius for stupidity, who could fail to delight,
when associated—no matter how remotely—with such a
magician as Count Segur. By the way, a literary friend
of ours, calls him Count Segar, because his anecdotes,
however imposing at the commencement, usually end in
smoke : this may be, but ex funto dare lucem, is no slight
praise. On the whole, we may venture to recommend
this number of the Monthly Review as a sample of very
superior ability.

THE LITERARY MAGNET.
A very light, gossiping, and miscellaneous number, from
which we make the following extract from a review of
Mr. Ryan's Poets and Poetry. It regards the late eccen-
tric Maturin, the well-known author of " Melmoth," a man
whose imagination was as unbounded as his absurdities :
. The curate of St. Peter's, Dublin, was exceedingly vain, both
of his person and accomplishments; and as his income would not
allow him to attract attention from the splendour of his dress and
manners, he seldom failed to do so by their singularity. Mr.
Maturin was tall, slender, but well proportioned, and, on the
whole, a good figure, which he took care to display in a well-
made black coat, tightly buttoned, and 'some odd light-coloured
stocking-web pantaloons, surmounted in winter by a cloak of pro_
digious dimensions, gracefully thrown on, so as not to obscure
the symmetry it affected to protect. The reverend gentleman sung
and danced, and prided himself on performing the movements
and evolutions of the quadrille, certainly equal to any other divine
of the established church, if not to any private gentleman of the
three kingdoms. It often happened, too, that Mr. Maturin la-
boured under an attack of gout, or met with some accident,
which compelled the use of a slipper, or a bandage on one foot
or one leg: and, by an unaccountable congruity of mischances,
he was uniformly compelled, on these occasions, to appear in the
public thoroughfares of Dublin, where the melancholy spectacle
of a beautiful limb in pain, never failed to excite the sighs and
sympathies of all the interesting persons who passed, as well as to
prompt their curiosity to make audible remarks and inquiries re-
specting the possessor.

THE INSPECTOR.
This periodical which is only eleven months old—is a
very fine child for it's age ; full of life, spirit, and juvenility.
A few nionths since, it was weaned, we understand, and
put out to nurse, under the superintendance of a new
Editor, and truly, from that time up to the present, it has
been gradually improving in appearance. This month it is
particularly clever: in proof of which, we extract the fol-
loliving Sonnet, as a choice sample of healthy sentiment
• - TO -A LADY.
" That touching-and unearthly charm,
Where early death has set its seal."—Knight's Quar. Mag.

Thy step is measured by the beating heart,
Thy voice is passion's choaking sigh, thy form
Is trembling with the presence of the storm,
The eyes that see thee, give thee up their tears
For all thou dolt appear, and all thou art ;
Too like a temple, radiant with the flame,
Whose fiery breathings feed upon its frame,
Thy very peril se sublime appears,
We hardly dare thy destiny deplore ;
Such awful loveliness thine aspect wears,
We feel to wrong that beauty with our tears,
And lose our pity, learning to adore ;
Tho' while we look on thee, we cannot keep
From weeping, yet we worship as we weep.
A is