The Sun.
London, England, 1842-06-01 00:00:00

BENTLEY'S MISCELLANY.

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Notwithstanding the want of freshness and novelty
on the subject, the remarks on the " Life and Songs
of Anacreon" will be read with interest, for the
writer's heart is with his theme, and he insensibly
carries his readers along with him. What we chiefly
admire in his essay, is its light, conversational charac-
ter ; there is no formal pedantry about it ; no at-
tempt to show off classical information; the observa-
tions are such as easily and naturally rise out of the
subject. As respects the translations, they are ju-
dicious and tolerably faithful, more Anacreontic than
Moore's, but not so much as Cowley's. But it is dif-
ficult—we might almost say impossible—for any
English version to give an adequate idea of the origi-
nal Greek. How tamely shows the ".Medea" o!'
Euripides in the languid, prosy, paraphrastic transla-
tion of Potter ! And who can venture to say that he
knows aught of Homer, after perusing the " Iliad"
by Pope ? The cursory remarks on water-drinking
are amusing, but, seriously considered, do not apply
to poets, not a few), whom have been awful water-
drinkers—Southey,: ) • instance, and Wordsworth,
and Cowper, and mazy others that we could men-
tion. " Richard Savage "is fuller of stirring incident
this month than usual. The details of the death of
Sinclair are given with terseness and vigour. " A
Chapter on Beards" i s suggested by the writer's re-
collection of his first shave. The theme is inge-
niouily treated, but a little more
thee"bradth of humour
would not have been amiss. In

the writer, who signs himself " A Man about Town,"
sketches the physical and mental peculiarities of a
half-savage Englishman, who for nearly twenty years
had been located in the American back-woods, and
been adopted into one of the numerous Red Indian
tribes. On his return to his native country, he be-
came a regular visitor at Olney's, in Henrietta-
street, where the writer was frequently in the habit
of meeting with him, together wth divers other two-
legged curiosities. The "Great Eagle"--for such
was the only appellation to which he would conde-
scend to answer—wa3, of course, a famous hand at
the war-whoop, and the Indian Avar-dance, and on
one occasion absolutely frightened his landlord into
fits, by taking out his scalping-knife, bounding
towards him vvith-a shrill whoop, and making it
ap-
pear that he was bent on his utter annihilation.
" Precautionary Measures" shows the folly of being
over-cautious in one's actions, as is duly instanced in
the case of an Englishman in India, who, having his
imagination full of serpents, tigers, &c., was so need-
lessly on his guard against them, that one night, fancy-
ing he had been stung while sleeping in his bed by
a venomous snake, he jumped up and cut out the.
part affected with his razor, and discovered imme-
diately afterwards that it was merely a small, harm-
less lizard that had crawled over his naked arm.
" John Bull in Tartary" is from the practised pen of
Mr. Morier who, as most of our readers know, is at
home in the East. The story regards the adventures
of an Englishman who found his way, by some means
or other, to a Tartar camp, where he was hospitably
received, and requited the Khan's hospitality by walk-
ing off with his favourite daughter. " The French
Cook" relates the well-known anecdote of Vatel, who
destroyed himself, like an ancient Roman, with his
sword—it should have been• with his spit—because •
the turbots intended for the dinner of Louis the Four-
teenth had not arrived in time ! " Robins picking
up the Crumbs" is a quizzical allusion, accompanied
with appropriate wood-cuts, to the late sale of the
Strawberry Hill knick-knacks and curiosities. Tom
ingoldsby's description of " The Devil's. Dinner-
party" is one of his best and most fantastic legends.
Sir 'Guy Scrope, a grim old English Baron, having
invited some friends to dine with him, and being
.an-
noyed at their Want of punctuality, exclaims, in a
pet, " the devil take the dinner," whereupon the fol-
lowing incident occurs :--
In a terrible fume
He bounced out of the room,
He bounced out of the house—and page, footman, and
groom
Bounced after their master; for scarce had they heard
Of this left-handed Grace the last finishing word,
Ere the horn, at the gate of the Barbican tower,

Was blown with a loud twenty-trumpeter power,
And in rush'd a troop
Of strange guests !—such a group
As had ne'er before darkened the doors of the Scroope
This looks like De SaYe--yet—it is not De Saye—
And this is—no, 'tis not—Sir Reginald
This has somewhat the favour of Alarmaduke Gres,
But stay !—Where unearth did he yet those long mills?
Why, they're claws!—then, Good Gracious'.—they've
all of them tails !
That can't be De Vaux—why, his nose is a bill,
Or, I would say, a beak !—and he can't keep it still !
Is that Poynings ?—Oh Gemini I—look at his feet ! !
Why, they're absolute hoofs !—is it gout or his corns
That have crumpled them up so ?—by Jingo, he's horns !
Run ! run I—There 's Fitz-Walter, .Fitt -Hugh, and
Fitz-John,
And the Mandevilles, pere et filz, (father and son,)
And Fitz-Osbert, and Ufford—they 'ye all got them on!
Then their great saucer eyes—
It 's the Father of lies •
And his Imps—run ! run ! run !
disouise
Who7ve,pa'rtly assumed, with more sombre complexions,
The forms of Sir Guy Le Scrooge's friends and con-

—they 're all fiends in

ncxions,
And lie—at the top there—that grim-looking elf—
Run ! run !—that ' s the " tnuckle•horned Clootie"
himself !

And now what a din •
Without and within !
For the court-yard is full of them.—llow they begin
To mope, and to move, and make faces, and grin
Cock their tails up together,
Like cows in hot weather,
And butt at each other, all eating and drinking,
The viands and wine disappearing like .winking.
And then such a lot
As together had got !
Master Cabbage, the steward, who 'd made a machine
To calculate with, and count noses,-1 ween
The cleverest thing o: the kind ever seen,—
Declared, when he'd made,
By the suid Machine's aid,
ur, what 's now called, the " tottle" of those he survey'd,
There were just—how he prov'd it 1 cannot divine,—
Nine thousand, nine hundred, and ninth', and nine,
Exclusive of Mm,
Who, giant in limb,
And black as, the crow they denominate Jim,
With a tail like a bull, and a head like a bear,
Stands forth at Aie window,—and what holds he there,
Which he hugs with such care,
And pokes out in the air,
Arid grasps as its limbs from each other he'd tear? •
Oh! grief', and, despair!
It's lesLe Scroope's poor, dear, sweet, little, curly-vyig'd
Heir !
'Whom the nurse had forgot, and left there in his chair,