The Sun.
London, England, 1842-09-01 00:00:00

AINSWORTH'S MAGAZINE.

Mr. Downes, the author of the "Mountain De-
cameron"—a work far less known than it deserves to
be—contributes a prose tale to this Number, under
the title of the " Welch Wrecker's Revenge." The
tale is not in his most fortunate manner, still there
are indications in it of that vigorous and impassioned
mind which produced the striking story of the " Her-
mit Vicar"—the closing chapters of which are fraught
with a stern, solemn, heart-felt pathoi such as no
work of fiction. of the day can boast. Mr. Downes's
present narrative is one of sin and suffering ; it is
slight and sketchy in its character, and is chiefly to
be admired for its graphic descriptive touches, which
combine the skill of the painter with the fancy and
feeling of the poet. If he would but look more to the
sunny, and less to the shady, side of life ; and instead
of constantly dwelling on the darker passions of hu-
manity, bring out its redeeming qualities, there is no-
thing to prevent him from winning a foremost rank
among living novelists for he is not merely a man of
talent—that most ordinary of literary cliaracters—
but of decided genius, who can move the springs of
pity and terror as effectively as even the author of
" Anastasius." The "Miser's Daughter" contains
one animated scene—that, we mean, wherein the
Miser is represented digging at midnight in his cellar
for his darling money-bags. His strong determina-
tion of purpose, struggling with, and overcoming for
the time, all sense of physical weakness, is here deli-
neated with more than Mr. Ainsworth's usual energy.
" September" is an amusing lament for the decline of
female influence during this celebrated sporting month.
It is, indeed, but too true that the petticoat is at a dis-
count during this rude; unpolished season. The syren
voice of beauty fails of its wonted effect, for the only
music in request is that of the loud whirr of the
partridge or pheasant, as it springs from the stubble
or the preserve. The ladies should resent this ne-
glect. They should turn-out in all the sporting dis •
tricts, like the northern Operatives, and force the men
to come to terms. " Enough—as good as a Feast," is
a lively sketch from every-day life, illustrating the
truth of this old adage. ft is from the ?Den of Mr.
George Raymond. The " Walls of Famagusta,"
gives some particulars respecting the siege of this
town by the Turks, towards the close of the six-
teenth century. The present chapters of " 'Windsor
Castle" introduce Cardinal Wolsey
.to our notice, who
is represented paying a visit in more than regal
state to Henry the Eighth and Anne Boleyn at.the
Castle. The description of his procession is very
gorgeous, and apparently true to historical fact. To
pourtray the character of this magnificent and am-
bitious adventurer, as it ought to be pourtrayed—
especially at that critical period when Anne Boleyn's
influence was in the ascendant—will task all Mr.
Ainworth's best and highest faculties. The biographical
sketch of the " Late Doctor Magnin" is penned by Mr.
Kenealy in a friendly, cordial, but far from, exagge-
rated spirit. The biographer, however, has scarcely
touched on the Doctor's conversational powers, which
were really extraordinary. Like Johnson, Cole-
ridge, Mackintosh, Sharp, Scott, and other social
and intellectual spirits, he loved talking, for he knew
he talked well. He was not one of your dry, dull,
finical, cautious dogs, who content themselves on all
occasions with a brief sentence or two, because, in
truth, they have nothing to say—no ideas to deve-
lope ; but gave free vent to his feelings and fancies as
they rose, whether grave or gay, worldly or other-
wise. Your mere, hard-headed man of business,.
whose heart is in his breeches-pockets, and the proofs
of whose understanding are to be found only in his
ledger, would not have understood him ; but those
whose praise is an honour—Christopher North,
Southey, Sir Walter Scott, and many others of his
more gifted contemporaries—understood, and valued
him accordingly. We quote a portion of Mr. Ken-
ealy's sketch of the Doctor :
" The first and chief attribute of his mind was its ori-
ginality. The works of no distinguished man, within
our own reading at least, display the same vein of
thought and style. There is scarcely a subject on which
he has written that he has not treated in a new manner,
illuminating the grave by the livelineis of his fancy,
colouring the witty by the solidity of his judgment ; for
he possessed both in an extraordinary degree, and his
mind resembled a mine of gold, curiously prankt on the '
surface with flowers, but truly valuable within. Nor was
his genius acquired by long and patient study ; on the
contrary, it beamed very beautitully in his earliest years,
and was the fair Aurora of his future brilliancy. He
entered Trinity College, Dublin, in his tenth year, and
was a doctor of laws in his twenty-third—a precocity
rivalled but by that of Wolsey, who was a bachelor
when only fourteen. And though his reading was im-
mense, no man was less of a copyist of other men's
thoughts, a stealer of other men's fire, than William
Magnin.
" His memory was the strongest in the world, and was
a rich storehouse of all learning, so that ho might with
propriety have been called, like the sublime Longinus,
the living library.' Often when in want of some scho-
lastic illustrations for our own writings, have we applied
to him, and never did we ask in vain. Quotations the
most apposite ; episodes the most befitting ; obscure
points of literary history, an elucidation of which we had
ineffectually hunted fq.r ; sketches of minor literary men
of other lands, the difficulty of finding which, those con-
versant with such studies alone can appreciate ; stray
lines and sentences from authors read only once in a cen-
tury, and quoted but as curiosities ; parallel passages in
the Greek and Latin and Italian and German autriors—
all these he could refer to without a moment's delibera-
tion, as easily as if they had formed the business of his
whole life. And yet, like Scott, no eye ever saw him
reading. He seemed a, perfectly idle man, and know-
ledge to come to him by intuition.
" His erudition was without pedantry—his mind had
no dogmatism. The Ateroc ai:CX of the Greek sage did
not enter into any of his opinions, which were never put
forth in conversation but. with the most singular mo-
desty. He would talk .to you like a little child on the
most learned subjects, and whenever he advanced a sen-
timent, he would turn to his hearer with an appealing
look, as if he distrusted his own judgment, and would
not willingly mislead another's. We have seen him lis-
ten attentively to the speculations of a boy ; gently cor-
recting.hien when lie was wrong, and when he was right
entering with alacrity into the spirit of his views, but
always more anxious to hear another speak than himself.
We do not think lie ever uttered a sophism in his life,
but was an eager inquirer after truth ; and his investiga-
tions were like those of another illustrious student.—
cat (0,14 v-rat getLicn'ac----who ever, loved justice. His
sense of honour was heroic ; and he adhered, like Sheri-
dan, inflexibly to his principles, though they did not
meet those rewards on which he might hays well calcu-

ated. The devotion with which he loved his family is
well known, and the memory of it is painted on their
hearts. He would instruct his daughters for hours in the
beautiful Italian, of which he was a complete master, and
the sight of them always brought hrightness to his eyes.
Oa his death-bed, the desolate condition in which he knew
he was leaving them, was the great sorrow to his soul ;
but he committed them to the noble generosity of this
mighty country, whose charities are more sublime tro-
phies of its greatness than its grandest copquests by sea
or on the land.
" Hisyoetry was of the highest order of humour—far
superior to Swift, and entirely exempt from its grossness
and obscenity. Not a single line did he ever write
which, dying, he might have wished to blot ; isot a sin-
gle impure thought can be discerned in the whore range
his compositions, poetical, or in prose. The wildne.v3 of
his wit was well known ; but his muse was always dece.l4
and never arrayed herself in the immodest peplos in'
which some of onr modern authors have shown her. His
theological knowledge was extensive. He had deeply
studied the ecclesiastical writers, and spoke of Hooker
and Barrow with rapture. Never -lived a man impressed
with a more humble sense of his own failings, or with a
finer veneration of our Great Creator. He entertained for
mankiud an enlarged and bewitching love, and, conscious
of human frailty, never spoke severely of their errors, but
always in charity. He did not hold himself aloof from
his kind with the sullen dignity of other writers, but
mingled with them with the careless, familiar ease of a
Fielding. or Fox, or Goldsmith, and would share in the
noisy sports of younger spirits as if he were a boy him-
self, and not the rival of Swift in all true greatness, and
infinitely beyond him in every private trait deserving
of our lu*ve."