The Sun.
London, England, 1842-12-02 00:00:00

trunks, the enormous animal being ever ready and
eager to kill the royal beast should he make the at-
tempt. The tiger, who had just risen, suddenly find-
ing himself hemmed in on all sides, glared around
119 n for an instant. Several shots were discharged at
some of which taking effect, so maddened the
already infuriated brute that he made a sudden spring
llP?n the back of the elephant, on which sat the mu-
sicians, and bit at the principal performer, who was
nearest the croup. 'Tice poor man naturally shrank
back., The tiger, however, caught his foot, and tore
oh a considerable portion of it; then darting into
the jungle,• and. despite cf a volley fired at him,
succeeded in gaining the thick covert, from which
lbr some time we vainly attempted to dislodge him.
Finding all other means fail, we at length sent in the
that carried the fireworks, and began to
throw them lighted into the reeds and brushwood, in
order to frighten the tiger from his hiding-piace.
Presently, to our great horror, the jungle took fire.
The mohut in vain urged the elephant, by goading
him, to leave the spot. Alarmed by the flames, he
stood perfectly still ; nothing could induce him to
move. The mohut, therefore, and those on his back,
WFre fain to slip down, and risking even a rencontre
with the tiger, make their way out of the now burning
cover. This they did in safety. Never in my life did
I look on a more magnificent sight than the confla-
gration now before rue. Disturbed by the fire, animals
of every kind, serpents of every hue, burst from the
burning jungle. The cries of lesser creatures, mingled
with the roar of the affrighted elephant, struck awe
19to our hearts. The flames were high; the whole
Country before us presented one mass of fire. No-
thing could exceed the grandeur of the scene.
Standing on the plain hard by, secure from the
danger, we looked on in silent astonishment and
admiration. Presently a louder roar was heard, and
the elephant dashed out of the fire. He had evidently
been severely burnt. The pads and trappings on his
back were in flames, burning and rankling into his
flesh ; the iron girths were actually red-hot, eating
lnto,his sides. Ile was roaring with agony, and ran
bounding along the open space, his trunk elevated,
.-Ishing his back with his disproportioned tail.
Screaming, mad with torture, in vain we attempted to
Pursue him, or close him in. Pain had driven him
mad; and as the huge animal galloped forward, the
w?ncl, acting on the flames, caused them to devour
still quicker his thick flesh. His mingled roars and
49ries I can never forget. At length, dashing into a
!nullah, he instantly cooled the. iron chains, which
Ilizzed in the Nv a t er, and in returning once more to
their natural colour, added one more pang to the
Wretched animal. We now attempted to offer him
succour , but it was too late. The elephant dived.
,The fire was.extinguished; but as he came up he
turned on his side, and with one convulsive roar ex-
pired. We now proceeded to return home. The
whole way the cries of the poor musician were occa-
sionally heard. His pain was intolerable. He was
but too well aware of his doom. There is a venom in
the bite of a tiger almost always fatal. So,
alas! it turned out in this man's case. He died
Within eight-and-forty hours.

AINSWORTH'S MAGAZINE.

The first thing to be noticed in this Number is
George Cruikshank's ghastly sketch of -the wild
English huntsman—the well-known Herne the
bunter. Nothing can be finer in its way than
this sketch. It is like one of Fuseli's striking
fancies, but with less exaggeration. A strange,
hind gloom—a sort of " darkness visible," has
Settled on earth; a solitary owl is flitting above
the massive folia;e of the forest; and the spec-
tral antler-crowned hunter, mounted on a coal
• black charger—the fac-simile of that which bore
the phantom knight crashing through the woods
• in Dryden's noble tale of " Theodore and Ho-
norie_is just about to plunge into the sable,
Styx-like lake, closely followed by his one-
- beaded Cerberus. All is in perfect keeping
throughout this sketch, though it must be con-
. fessed, that as an engaaving, it shows, in places,
,b9lh'haste and slovenliness. Mr. Ainsworth, in
"Windsor Castle," has contented himself with

Just briefly glancing at this old Berks legend; but
few as are his touches, they are as startling and
bewildering as they should be, to be in harmony
with the subject. Mr. Raymond continues his
Elliston Papers," and we confidently predict
that he will make a very delightful volume of
them. His
account of the young actor's journey
to Bath by the slow " Invalid" coach—what a
vehicle fora bounding, mercurial young spirit
like Eiliston to travel by !—of the snug social
supper at the little way-side inn, with the corn-
passionate hostess and her pretty -daughter,
Alice—which reads like a bit of Boz—the pas-
sing references to Elliston's contrition, and the
• brief biographical sketch of Tate Wilkinson-
- these various matters are hit off with evident
relish by Mr. Raymond, who, by the bye, tells
familiar anecdote with pleasing, unaffected
as our readers will see
managerial phenorne-
'l4 V3rl) Tate Wilkinson. The essay on the " Plea-
rQs and Advantages of Personal Ugliness" %lin
r.'t'arry comfort to the hearts of all Frig
b▪ 'hts—to
Ortow a-phrase from the drawing-room—and
• ev''o enable them to read Lady Blessington's
• " I3uok of Beauty" with something like com-
5031ticene.y--. it is very amiable in the author thus
• tondeavour- to reconcile the dwarfs to their
.L
• -1 ltttrups—the • sons of Anak to their ogre dimen-
"ii 6"
-IS—the Buckhorses to their hare lips—and
the JaCk Wilkeses to their buck-teeth and pug-
• noses. The " Cholera in Ireland" is somewhat
T. doll and prolix. " Sonnets by Mr. Sergeant
--ualfourd" are in the most cordial and graceful
;rein of the stateliest and most imaginative of our
14' living dramatists, whose " Ion," as a recent tra-
veller asserts, has had the high honour of being
• translated by an admiring Hellenist into the lan-
age of the country of Sophocles and Euripides !
We subjoin the sonnet addressed to Boz on the
Publication of his " Oliver Twist:"--

TO CHARLES DICKENS, ON HIS " OLIVER TWIST."
• Not only with the author's happiest praise
Thy work should be rewarded ; 'tis akin
To deeds of men who, scorning ease, to win
A blessing for the wretched, pierce the maze
Which heedless ages spread around the ways
Where fruitful Sorrow tracks its parent Sin,
Content to listen to the wildest din
Of passion, and on fellest shapes to gaze
So they may earn the power which intercedes
With the bright world and melts it ;--for within
Wan childhood's squalid homes, where basest needs
Make tyranny more hitter, at thy call,
An angel face with patient sweetness pleads
„ • For infant suffering to the hearts of all !

FRASER'S MAGAZINE.
The recent " Movements in the Church," oc-
casioned by the zealous and somewhat dogma-
tical writings of the Puseyites, form the subject
of an able treatise in this Number, wherein the
Charges of the Bishops of London and Exeter
are carefully considered, though, from the cautious
character of his observations, we are at a loss to
ascertain whether the writer is Tractarian or
Anti-Tractarian in his sentiments. Of the Bishop
Of London's Charge he says, " We rise from its
Perusal with a painful feeling about us, that it
scarcely speaks the real sentiments of its gifted
author. The Charge might, in most of its telling
.clauses,"U„ pass current for a dissertation of which
I. Pusey or Mr. Newman would not he ashamed
ito claim the authorship. From the view which
iii• his Lordship takes of some of the points under
• discuSsion, Dr. Pusey and Mr. Newman, Dr.
•"_agot and Dr. PhillPotts, also, would with one
accord dissent." In other words, the discreet
l'illshop is neither one thing nor the other; neither
slob Church nor Low Church, but oscillates, like
threndularn, between the two. We must confess
Ku! the honest straight-forward intolerance of
`eYism impresses us with a greater respect
this trimming, evasive conduct of Dr.
ntrifield, whose whole Charge seems to be
Iti;'tlier more nor less than an elaborate attempt
conceal his real opinions. In " Reminiscences
Menof and Things" we find some agreeable
Souvenirs of the late Armand Carrel, the bead
Ot the Republican party in France; of Victor
ugol the popular, and we think, overrated
novelist ; and of Arago, the astronomer. The
death of Armand Carrel, who it may be
remembereda• fell in a duel with Emile de
irardin, is alluded to in a spirit of sincerest
tenderness. " 'Twas Yesterday," is a thoughtful
Poem from the pen of Mr. Charles Swain. We
subjoin it entire :
°Twat; yestei day !" familiar sound,
Heard oft as idle breath ;
• •,. Yet, prophet-like, to all around,
It spoke of woe and death !
A mourner by the past it stands,
In mystic mantle of decay,
, Shrouds in the night of years its hands,
And grasps all life away!
High from the boundless vault of Time
The stars of empire veer ;
" 'Twas yesterday they beam'd sublime,
- • The mightiest in their sphere !
gria 'Twas yesterday reveal'd to Fate
The rival crowns of centuries flown,
Show'd where a phantom sat in state
..„st
. Upon the Caesar's throne !
• Sceptre and robe were cast aside!
. The ghastly bones stood bare ;
The rust fed on the gauds of pride,
f. The worm held council there.
. Nor answer would the phantom give,
But to our constant prayer replied—
"Chas 'twill be said of all that live
:‘) - That yesterday' they died !"
Where are the Grecian conquests now,
The triumphs of her lute?