The Sun.
London, England, 1842-02-01 00:00:00

shovel, and the glass of gin in his hand, is ca-
pital. We must have seen the original in the
street, standing beside his cart at the door of
a public-house, a hundred times. The Wooden-
legged street-sweeper, too, is not amiss; his hat
is just what it should be, passing an description
—like an Irish hodman's castor—but his counte-
nance is too grave and thoughtful, as if he were
revolving some great truth in political economy,
instead of devising by what means he might
raise the Wind for a supper in St. Giles's. The
" February Saint" is a lively lyric in honour of
St. Valentine—the most sentimental saint in the
Calendar, but who, despite his sanctity, is uni-
versally detested by postmen. In the " Standard
Footmen" we have one of Albany Poyntz's
amusing sketches of character. He thus de-
scribes the fashionable London Footman The
appropriate place for footmen is the pavement,
whence they meet in parliament on the coach-
box, over the opposite corners of whose ham-
mercioth the twin Mercuries swing their legs
and canes on either side of Coachee, like genii
perched on the marble angles of a monument in
Westminster Abbey. There they talk of the
state of the nation, the state of their lords and
ladies, the state of ladies who love their lords,
and f lords who love their ladies. They know
everything--they say everything. With them
no delicate hints—no slight insinuations—no -
shirking a question, or diplomatizing an answer.
They are in everybody's secrets. My lady can
only surmise the mysteries of my lord, or my
lord those of my lady. Their footmen are at the
bottom of both." " Richard Savage," gives an
account of the hero's first introduction to literary
life, and of his acquaintance with a broken-down
'author. Some of the dialogues' are cleverly
dashed off. From the " Legend of the Dead
Drummer," we quote the sailor's confession of
'his murder, and his rude, blunt companion's com-
ments on his narrative :
"'Twas done:!--:-the deed that damns me—done
I kno*;notliow.--I never knew ;
And Hiril StOOd.:-4ut not alone,—
: The prostrate Boy my madness slew,
• Was by my Side—hmh, feature, name,
'Twas HE ! !-Lanother—yet the same.
31, * * *
" Away:! away ! in frantic haste
Throuootout that live-long.night
Away ! away ! across the waste,—
I know not hoW—I never knew
My mind was one wild blank—and I
Had but one thought,—one. hope—to-fly.
" And still the lightning ploughed_the ground,
Thethurider'roaredand there would come
Amid its loudestbursts.a sound
Familiar once—it was—a dram !
Then ca'ue the-morn,--and lightand then
Streets, houses, spires—the hum of men.
" And Ocean rolled before me—fain

Would I have whelm'd me in its tide,
At once-beneath the'hillowy main
My shame, my guilt, my crime to hide
But HE was there !—HE crossed my track,—
I dared not pass—HE waved me back !
" And then rude hands detained me—sure

Justice had grasp'd her victim—no !
Though powerless, hopeless, bound, secure,
A captive thrall, it was not so ;
They cry, The Frenchman's on the wave !'
The press was hot—and I a slave.
" They dragg'd me o'er the vessel's side ;
The world of waters roll'd below ;
The gallant ship, in all her pride
Of dreadful beauty, sought her foe ;

Thou saw'st me, William In the strife—
Alaek ! I bore a charmed life ;,
" In vain the bullets round.me fly,
In vain mine eager breast I bare ;
Death shuns the wretch who longs to die,
And every sword falls edgeless there !
Still HE is near, and seems to cry,
Not here, nor thus, may Matcham die
"-Thou saw'st me on that fearful day,
When, fruitless all attempts to save,
Our pinnace foundering in the bay,
The boat's-crew met a watery grave,—

All, all save ONE—the ravenous sea
That swallows all rejected ME !
" And now, when fifteen suns have each
-Fulfilled in turn its circling year,
Thrown back again on England's beach,
Our barque paid off—HE drives Tu.. Here!
I-could not die in flood or fight-;--
HE drives me HERE ! !"

" And sarve you right !
" Mika' bilk your Comftiander!desart—and then rob?
And, go scuttling a poor littleDrunnuer-hoy's non !
why; thy precious eves ! what a bloodthirsty swab ! •
There's old Davy Jones, , •
WhO cracks Sailors' bones
For his jaw-work, would never, I'm sure, s'elp me Bob,
Have come for to go for to do sich a job !
Hark ye, Waters,=or Matcham,—hichever's your pur-

ser-name,
—T'other, your own, is, I'm saxtain, the woreername,—
'Twelve years have we lived on like brothefand brother !
Now your course lays one way, and mine lays another !"