The Sun.
London, England, 1842-04-01 00:00:00

NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.

Mrs. rholope here resumes the,iistory of the ad-
ventures of her well-known " Widow Barnaby," who
is now about to figure at New Orlehns, together with
her exemplary husband, and affectionate daughter
Patty. This is a good idea, and will enable the
authoress to indulge in many a sarcastic and carica-
ture sketch of the habits of the Yankees, who are in
no respect the gods of her idolatry.: , The " School-
mistress Abroad" is the continuation of an article
that appeared in the last Numbed. It is by the
Editor, who hits off the splenetic whims of a travel-
ling Englishwoman with much 'caustic humour.
This lady makes a point of " hating every thing and
every body she meets with." She hates " every
thing foreign ;" hates the Continent, " because its
so large ; hates the aristocracy, " because they're
so fond of going abroad ;" and hates Dissenters,
"because they are not High Church." Sterne in his
" Sentimental Journey" has already noticed this nu-
merous class of discontented English travellers, " who
travel from Dan to Beersheba, and find all barren ;"
so Mr. Hood is merely treading in his footsteps. " Suit-
ing the Action to the Word," is a sprightly prose
essay, and indulges in some arch sallies, at the ex-
pense of matter-of-fact people, who can afford to be
laughed at, seeing that they constitute the stirring
portion of the community. " Reminiscences of a
Medical Student" is a story on the old subject of
seduction ; the detaili, however, are well wrought
up. " Phineas Quiddy"—Mr. Poole's best prose
tale—evinces much practical acquaintance with the
habits of the every-day world about us. " Courts
and Court Journals" is harmless gossip ; but it lacks
point and vivacity, and is therefore ;unworthy of
Lady Morgan. In the series of reflections,
entitled " Short Rides in an Author's Omnibus,"
there are several ingenious aphoristic thoughts.
We have been pleased with the following pertinent
illustration of disinterested grief :—" Cooke, the tra-
gedian, was in the habit of giving orders to a widow
lady, who was once sitting in the pit with her little
girl, when their friend, the performer, was about to be
stabbed by his stage rival. Roused by the supposed
imminence of his danger, the girl started up, exclaim-
ing, Oh don't . kill him, sir, don't kill him ; for if
you do, he won't give us any more pit orders !' Her
disinterested grief, like the gratitude of some people,
was a lively sense of benefits to come." The " Earth-
quakers" is a passable quiz on the late predicted cala-
mity. A " Remonstance" is a graceful poem, and we
subjoin it for our reader's amusement :
A REMONSTRANCE.
" No charm hath he of form or face,
To win a woman's heart withal !"
Alas ! you wrong him !—many a grace
Fond Love can see around him fall.
Yet trust me 'twas not aught df this
That in my bosom wrought deray,
It was that gentle tongue of his
That witched my very wits away.

For when, in whispers light and low,
lie praised my form and features fair;
My dimpled cheek's May-morning glow,
And the gold sunset of my hair ;
And vowed he ne'er had loved in sooth,
Nor e'er through life could love anot! er;
Oh ! judge me by your own warm youth,
Could I do ought but love him—Mother?

And when, as hand in hand we walked
Yon wide and windy park alone,
At midnight's starry hour—he talked
Of themes to lovers only known ;
And rising in his deep, dark eye
I saw the gem he could not smother,
And felt his fond heart beating high,
Could I do well but love him—Mother ?

And when from every lip, the praise
Of his high intellect I heard ;
How nothing e'er escaped its rays,
Or said by sage or sung by bard ;
And to his mind full well could see
The homage deep of every other ;
And knew that mind did worship me,
Oh, was I wrong to love him—Mother ?

PRASER' S MAGAZINE.
The character of Mirabeau, who was the great pro-
pelling power of the earlier movements of the French re-
volution of 1789, has often been discussed, but seldom
with more spirit than in an essay in the present
Number, by a writer who quaintly signs himself
Morgan Rattler." But ingenious and vigorous as
this essay is, it is not, as a whole, satisfactory, for it
takes much too favourable a view of Mirabeau. It
represents him as having been of the first order of
great men, and affects to regard him as equal
to Napoleon in intellectual capacity. Now, this
he certainly was not, and never could have been,
even under the most favourable circumstances. The
utmost that can be said of him is, that he was a bold,
ardent, intriguing spirit, and as passionately fond of
the bustling, feverish turmoil of politics, as ever was
the Cardinal de Ritz, whom in this respect he closely
resembled. He had nothing enlarged—nothing
disinterested in his ambition. He carednot, like the
French Emperor, for the applause of posterity. He
was haunted by no generous, though delusive dreams
of glory. His motions for action commenced with
self and ended in self. lie threw himself into the
vortex of the Levolution—not to procure redress for
wrong—not to promote the interests of France—
but to revenge himself on the Court and the Noblesse
for the insults he had sustained at their hands.
But for these insults, he would most proba-
bly have been found, at the assembling of the
States-General, battling for the privileges of his
order ; for notwithstanding his rabid democracy—
which was throughout over-acted, and began to be
suspected before his death—he was a determined aris-
tocrat at heart. Self-willed, haughty, despotic, un-
scrupulous, and utterly unprincipled, few—none—
can respect the memory of Mirabeau, though all
must allow that his intellect was far above the
ordinary level, and that he was well fitted to the
turbulent times in which he lived, and which he in-
fluenced. He is now nearly forgotten, or remem-
bered only as a successful agitator, made so by a
burning sense of personal injury. " Something upon
an Old Subject" revives the old story about Drum-
mond of Hawthornden having betrayed:the confidence
.of Ben Jonson, and published certain conversations
which the latter had intended as strictly confidential.
We had hoped this calumny had been long since for-
gotten, especially as Professor Wilson, in one of his
baunerous masterly eritioieras in Blackwood, had