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

taken great pains to show its utter absurdity. But
slander has strong powers of vitality—in fact, as
many lives as a cat. " A Chapter on Dogs" is as
amusing as usual. "Detached Thoughts" are trans-
lated from the German of Jean Paul Richter. Some
of the reflections are shrewd, and sagacious, and worldly
enough, but the majority are tinged with the cloudi-
ness, indistinctness, and fantastic character of the
German school of metaphysics. " Memory," says
Richter, "is the privilege of the dunce, and rarely
fails the :unintellectual." What dunces, then, Dr.
Johnson, Sir Walter Scott, and a hundred other
writers that we could mention, must have been,
for their powers of memory 'were perfectly prodi-
gious ! The following thought is sarcastic, and perhaps
ungenerous ; but it is based on truth :—" I would not
be a woman, for then I could not lOve her." From
Nimrod's entertaining account of his " Life and
Times," we quote a racy anecdote :
The following excellent anecdote was related by Mr.
Newcome of himself. "When in the act of composing a
sermon, he made use of the term "ostentatious man."
Throwing down his pen he wished to satisfy himself,
ere he proceeded, as to whether a great portion of his
congregation might comprehend the meaning of the
said term and he adopted the following method of proof.
Ringing the bell, his footman appeared, and he was thus
addressed by his master :
" What do you conceive is meant to be implied by an
ostentatious man ?"

"An ostentatious man, Sir," replied Thomas ; " why,
Sir, I should say a perfect gentleman."
" Very good," observed the Vicar : " send Ellis (his
coachman) here."

"Ellis, said the Vicar, "What do you imagine
ostentatious man to be ?"

"An ostentatious man, Sir," replied Ellis ; " why I
should say an ostentatious man means what we calls
(saving your presence) a d—d jolly
I need scarcely add that the Vicar substituted a less
ambiguous word, the schoolmaster not having been at
that time abroad.

" Notes Written in the Margins of Books" contain
some just, but sketchy, criticisms on Waller, one of the
most over-rated poets in the language. Dr. Johnson has
praised this indifferent writer, and worse man, for his
mastery over melody ; but he was, at best, but a mas-
ter of mellifluous sing-song. The remarks on Swift are
too partial. There is little in the Dean's character to
commend, and • notwithstanding his extraordinary
powers of mind, few, we believe, ever rise from the
perusal of his works without a strong feeling of dis-
gust. Show us the man who ever read " Gulliver's
Travels" or the " Tale of a Tub" twice, and we will
give • a shilling for a sight of the phenomenon !
" Anecdotes of Actors" are prosy and insipid. There
is some elegance in the lines to "L. Blanche," and
accordingly we subjoin a portion of them :
You ask me why I do not tell
To every stranger's ear,
Each secret thought—each holy spell,
That memory renders dear?
Or why it is I care to be
But as a trifler known,
Though higher thoughts may visit me
When with the Past alone?
Not that this eye hath never wept
O'er human joy or ill,—
Nor that this heart bath always slept,
Or that its pulse is still ;
For all unchanged, it yet can beat,
As it bath beat before,
And still as freshly, wildly greet
Each passion felt of yore.
But when youth's fondest visions melt,
The wholesome truths life brings
Are mingled with a sadness felt
Amidst Earth's brightest things.
The wisdom each so dearly buys
'lath much of coldness too,--
A chilling, real cloud that flies
'Twixt us and heaven's blue.
A feeling which, through all we see
And all that years can bring,
May be, perhaps, as all should be,
A winter after spring;
Yet makes us turn with fond regret,
To hopes which once we nurst,
Which like to sweet wild flowers we met
When on our rambles first.

'Tis true we learn a wiser part,
And find how hope deceives ;
But what shall ever touch the heart
Like that sweet Past it leaves ?
We know it, and from feeling pass
To be but actors here ;
With women or the sparkling glass,
Still triflers insincere.
Yet blame me not, if now I seem
The thing the world bath willed,—
Whose past is but an idle dream,
Whose wayward pulse is stilled.
Each temple hath a holy shrine
From common gaze removed,—
Why open then this heart of mine,
Or tell all it hath proved ?

The rays that light the wave reveal
No treasures of the deep ;
The upper day may never steal
Where they in darkness sleep.
Thus on the face a smile may sit,
Welcomed a passing guest ;
Yet on the surface die—unfit
To dwell within the breast.

AINSWORTH'S MAGAZINE.
Among the contributors to the Number before us is
Lord William Lennox, who details the particulars of
a curious adventure with the late Theodore Hook.
He, and Hook, and Stephen Price, formerly manager
of Drury-lane Theatre, set out, it seems, one day on
a trip to Epsom during the bustling time of the races ;
and, by way oiamusement, went into a small gam-
bling-house, where they speedily contrived to pick a
quarrel with the proprietors, and, after breaking
divers heads, and kicking sundry pairs of shins,
marched out again with all the honours of war. The
anecdote is well told, though there is little to tell ;
and the specimens which his Lordship gives of
Hook's talent for improvising, show that he must have
possessed that rare, un-Euglish quality. in a very
high degree. " Legend of the Monts-dores," by Miss
Costello, are told with simplicity and earnestness.
This lady excels in relating old traditional supersti-
tions. " Shakspeare "is a graceful piece of versifica-
tion. The " Play behind the Scenes " is a clever
sketch of American theatricals, a little overcharged,
perhaps, but still exceedingly diverting. " Sonnet
written in the fly leaf of Isaac Walton's Complete
Angler," is much too eulogistic of the virtues of this
sentimental Cockney minnow-catcher, who under the
specious mask of simplicity, concealed a vast deal of
worldly cunning and selfishness. While affecting a
manly and artless independence of spirit, "cunning
Isaac" was ever playing the sycophant to those whose
station in life was superior to his own, and who he
thought might promote the interests of Number One.
There he showed himself a truly adroit angler, and
hooked several bishops, to say nothing of a
lively and fashionable son-in-law, by baiting
with adroit flattery. The world, however, has taken
him at hiS own valuation, and decided that he was all
that he represented himself to he, and it is a hopeless
task now to endeavour to alter its opinion. The
" Fight of the Fiddlers " is not one of Mr. James's
most successful efforts in prose fiction. "Blue
Stockings " is a sprightly poem, in the Haynes
Bayley manner, by Miss Pardoe. " Strawberry-hill
Revisited" is illustrated by some able wood-cuts.
This is its chief recommendation. The "Miser's
Daughter" runs its course rejoicing. It is one of
Mr. Ainsworth's most natural and entertaining pro-
ductions, and the dialogue approximates nearer to real
life than is the case with many of his earlier tales.
We quote a minute, carefully finished description of
Beau Villier's dressing-room. &c.
The apartment into which they were ushered was the
beau's dressing chamber—that part of it, however, de-
voted to the toilette-table and its appliances being sepa-
rated from the rest by a magnificent Indian japanned
screen. It was furnished with the most refined and
luxurious taste. Rose-coloured curtains drawn across
the windows subdued the light, and threw a warm tint
on all around, while the air was loaded with delicious
perfumes. A very diminutive monkey, clothed in a scar-
let coat, and wearing a bag-wig and a little sword,
played its diverting tricks in one corner, while a gaudily-
plumaged macaw screamed in the opposite angle. Choice
flowers in pots added their fragrance to the artificial
odours ; and a couple of exquisite little spaniels of
Charles the Second's breed, with the longest and -silkiest
ears imaginable, and large, gazelle-like eyes, occupied a
cushion on the hearth. At a table, covered with the
whitest and finest linen, and glittering with silver of the
rarest workmanship; together with a superb service of
china, sat, or rather reclined, in the easiest of easy
chairs, Beau Villiers. He did not rise on the appear-
ance of his guests ; but moving slightly, and graciously,
to them, though with somewhat, Bandulph fancied, of a
patronizing air, motioned Mr. Cripps to set them chairs.
He was quite in dishabille ; his graceful figure being
enveloped in a loose dressing-robe of the richest brocade,
while the place of a peruke was supplied by a green silk
cap, very becomingly put on. His shirt was open at the
throat, and decorated with a profusion of lace at the
bosom and wrists. Pink silk hose and velvet slippers
completed his costume. There were two other persons
present ; Sir Singleton Spinke, and a very portly gen-
tleman with puffed-out, inflamed cheeks, who was intro-
duced as Sir Bulkeley Price, and whom Bandulph con-
chided must be the hero of the story he had just heard
related by the barber—a circumstance which gave him a
peculiar interest in his eyes. Meanwhile, Mr. Cripps,
who, together with the page, officiated at breakfast, pro-
ceeded to do the honours, and twirling the mill of a
richly-chased silver chocolate-pot, poured out two well-
frothed cups of the unctuous beverage, and handed them
to the new comers.

A small modicum of a Strasbourg pate, washed down
by a cup of green tea and a glass of claret, constituted
the beau's breakfast. Sir Singleton Spink took chocolate,
picked the wing of a chicken, and wound himself up with
a glass of usquebaugh. Ample justice was done to the
cutlets, the broils, and various other dishes with which
the covers were filled, by Sir Bulkeley Price ; nor did
Trussell or Randulph come far behind him, notwithstanding
the preliminary breakfast of the latter. Just before the
introduction of the usquebaugh, Sir Bulkeley, after look-
ing round and coughing significantly, said, in a low tone,
to the chief valet, " I suppose, Mr. Cripps, there is no
ale in the house ?"

Mr.
"No what ! Sir Bailieley ?" rejoined e limi bee
staring as if he could not possibly imagine he
sright, • • listie'.
"Ale, rascal—ale !" replied the knight, ernl)
and rather angrily. . beA
" No, Sir Buliceley," replied Mr. CripPs,..h "' at,
" there is no ale, but there is toasted cheese, II
serve your turn."
At knightAthleigrvayleats'shiemapvearst,inthenene;
in which he pledged the old beau, entirely aPPe
.41,
Theeonversation during the meal was live
ensouo
was chiefly maintained by the beau and fru, ,se wiiio
and cam iglldi
glass
sont
of
helpn silist4e.
discourse running an all sorts of fashionable
scandel, women, play, and public amusements ",4.0'
as he knew so little hbout the matters discus"
dulph took no great interest.
In his " Notice to Correspondents," gar' in'9
worth—alluding to a remark that aPPeare 04'0
Sun last month—says :—" The peculiar ma1e,411,,1
ment of the mortgage-money, introduced it.li
number of the Miser's Daughter, is foundeonslo
It occurred to a member of one of the in .:e oep
tant Denbighshire families, and at the preeiloneil,
in question. This circumstance is ment D
cause the possibility of such an occurrence lire
doubted by a critic in an evening paPer• the pitti
tainly doubted—not the possibility, but ' we dt''
bility of the incident ; and haying 'done so, ,II•ii
it but fair and just to publish Mr. Ainsi.°ltigi#
answerable reply. We may mention, at .500
time, that the circumstance affords another
.
proof of the correctness of Lord Byron's Tr 400
" Truth is strange—stranger than fiction.
TAIT'S MAGAZINE. d proo
Mrs. Gore—one of the most popular an stor,
novelists of the day—here carries on herLi fie
"Abednego, the Money-lender," with unahatole
exhibiting as much freshness and vivacity °f
0,0!
as if she had not already written some tostile:
thirty fictions. The scene of her present n
se fo?'
laid for the most part in fashionable life, whtlaitite
and errors she touches off with a light, sal. to rill'e ,
Her sketch of the Maitland family bids falter i Id'
even the scandal-loving coterie in her
otcl 0
the "Dowager." A Lecture on the "I'd :- .
succeeded Milton, and preceded Cowper an
is by Ebenezer Elliott. Some of his criticisms
et
and all are ingenious; but there are not a fevi 0
against which we must enter our prote4.4
for instance, is rated much too high, aii!jiioo; /1
as undeservingly depreciated. Did Mr-, "/.1' (OS
read the latter 's fine tale, " Theodore and roe',
We almost doubt it, for othrwisehe could nevell'ot 0.,
of him that he " was a rhyming poletnie,,44,ol,„';
poet." Then, too, we are told that " DrY'''' wri,,,v,'
heart!" If so, then some one else must hale i.ihii!
that exquisite epistle to Congreve, to willeginclS;
nature is attached, for it abounds in deeP, P*
fected touches of pathos. In discussiltidel)
claims, our Lecturer betrays singular ine°""-oitil
In one place he says, " Pope was conversinfo6
heart (such as it was) when he wrote his `hi;
Abelard,'—a master-piece which, because OA,. I
wrote it, will never be excelled ;" and in ve;
page he adds, " unfortunately I cannot feel / i-Vtj
and-therefore cannot make it felt-by you I'' ij ili
gret to see Mr. Elliott sanctioning the °,, l'ir
that " all poets are mad, more -or less*,,4ol;dp
was there a' greater fallacy. Our true poets 74,00
almost uniformly remarkable for the strengt t, 1,
ness, and healthy character of their intellec
Shakspeare mad, or Milton, or Young, or Tbk
or Pope—or, in more modern times, Crahhe'esei
worth, Moore, Scott, or Hogg? In the 044
these eminent men, the judgment moved
.700:ri,„
with the imagination, the one tending to o"'
bring within the limits of propriety the .0 of
and exuberances of the other. Poor Collins, t° '
was cracked, and so was Cowper ; but they
poets in consequence of their malady, but is
it. The " Furze-cutter "is a• striking Irish„ ;' it
of the troublous times of 1798, by .1"":ot
so well known for his admirable delineati°e.
and manners in the sister countr " Miss' ettic
Diary and Letters" contains some delightfuci;ii
from the second volume of this work, wh'e 4
as we can judge from the specimens here Oil)
to us—is infinitely superior in interest t° 0.4.
volume. In the " Postscript Political" Tait etier,i,ji
most decided protest against the income taxo.°o 0)
" the country is already ringing from sl, 0e.F.4,4
with indignation ; and no man can pain" tlitl,'(',
injustice and the injurious and torturing Ither,o
such a tax black enough." The. " Poets 0 otieL.,
is a sprightly quiz, in the broad reckless,llloel
O'Doherty. We extract from it a " Pot-'l°ll6-
toral," which is a passable parody on one °f
Eclogues :
,;114
THE ARGUMENT. 'ten/V
Smifzer and Smacker, two Metropolitan 11-,00;litil
expert at disposing of " brandies and water,s."'",, 11,,,
enter into a friendly contest as to their relati.,'l.„iyt)l
merits, over a hot tumbler at the "Blue 1,,-"/,
loser to pay the -bal. Eiekiel Sininkt,;_ifoV",
establishment is n.ppeint.,-a- ofilliite; hblas the De
keeps them. The disputants end where the,'-,.- ••1
- i -
the bar is closed. ~i 1
SMIFZER. ,s 0
Smauker ! while thus our hunger we apse'
With—frugal supper !—tripe and toasted C
Ere yet the alcoholic juice be poured, 01,
And smoking tumblers grace the genial bc'''
Let not the voice of prudence be forgot,
But let us settle who's to pay the shot. •
SMAUKER. ii,
Like Plato, Smifzer, bast thou reason'd ice
But what reply to give, I cannot tell. ---
Methinks, unless my recollection fail,
Last night I paid for oysters, and for ale ; „g, . :
Not Dando's self could faster clear the se°'- '
Than you, my Smifzer, bolted the Palla°re-
,..
SMIFZER.
You paid for oysters, Smauker, that is true'
Nor only paid, for you devoured them too.ii, .
But calm oblivion closed your eyes at lengtel4lll
With twelve hot tumblers, each of extra l',„ fir,'
And broke from memory's chain one binding
You stood the vittles, but. I stood the drink'
SMAUKER.
Smifzer, you did ! then hear what I propose'
To end this strife, and liquidate the goes; ' • i
Let's order in the fluids, stiff and strong,
And straight contend we in alternate song'
And he who bears the palm of verse aws'i'
Shall calmly drink, and see the other POP
SMIFZER.
To that proposal gladly I agree ' - tliree '
So—waiter ! bring us pipes and drink fec,F3e,
And our good landlord here, Ezekiel Sulu;
Shall of this 'brothers' contest be the judo"
SMUDGE.
I does not care, as-how sitch trash I hear'
If so be that you covies stands the beer.
SMAUKER.
Smifzer ! begin the dithyrambic lay.
SMUDGE. • ~,. 1
"Mix up your tums,'my lads, and fire away
SMIFZER. og,
c
Soft is the breeze, when Zephyr nightly , ,
With wistful sweep, the cat-frequented ea„-0, .
Soft are the cries that haunt our early sle7er ir
When pot-boys wail, and cinder-maidens '.
But softer still the verse—so virgins tell---t, Sell'
Which Smifzer writes, and minstrel-pael‘nie
SMAUKER. Olt
I heard, like rain, the pensive tear-drops, qv! „ I
In thy resplendent grove, lamp-lit Vauxil- Art
When young Squalini, with her silver note's tliv
Wove the long quiver through her twill° ode, 1":
And Scroggins muttered, as she trilled the
fej
1, b/°` e
"If that's not Smauker's writing, DI '-'e VP' lie
DUBLIN UNIVERSITY MA"(2—,4
t 0
o/l""Aer 11°r 4
This Number makes its appearanclieti lv
auspices of Mr. Lever, author of " '",;drei.4l,, ore
requer," who, as he tells us in bis;,l7lbeifilftliii
gained " the object of his ambitiot,l, ;lily °,, a°,
pointed Editor. We congratulate cieslictil
extreme moderation of his ambitiotlsit, anic3.:
trust that he may long continue to e" pell°4lllol
tribute to, the pages of this clevelaardiiiitl
His own story of "Jack Hinton, the siiig t,,elit",,:
is, as might be expected, the most atou f ogi''i jo‘,i
the Number, abounding in passages °,ool,ip ,',,i
unforced humour, and describing;
irl'ell's Yoreiv,o
pWieeclelinogitobni'o'
dents in a natural manner. " 31.31°f this eller,p'
gisraapnhiym:par,t,iacolunrotricoergtero,roitiollis:rl'itfv
acoecnotamiipisanaiedfulbl-ylenagtrnbempoolit4avvithoeire?
itribierytit:lkit,
does no more than justice to thi.vie 0)% Vre
political squibs of this unquestion3,t ail /11,11%;
his humorous poetry, Moore has left itoiiisc
decessors and contemporaries at islibtlitiiyo
able distance behind him. Sir C. s'l Callbiiii #
liams—Sheridan—Frere--and eve d t° 'et! t'cle4'l
are not for an instant to be compare nroalicAlf
political squib•writers. They have las Pre eil-tell
•
or three brilliant,jeux d'esprit--"e way b 00,4
hundreds. The likeness of bin:idea of 63,,9
t,
recognised, but it conveys the:, Last Ptile ~ilie
taller man than he is. Tile . , and
~01'1
Dundee" is an interesting historiet,tioiliecitle:l
count of his last famous battle of
rite e,,siti.rt,
is described with vigour. In the every one itr,t
" Politics and the Parliament"
public affairtott,,:i
view is taken of the state of
_arra fl,
_iiiis
sample of the Editor's mode of
viri knil'ts tr.
subjoin his account' of the well- rieutelli`j 0 +o`.
of an Irish peasant, by the Lord „is fro'
.:
Duke of Rutland, in one of "
, curd"
drunken moods : up, the .be :iii
his Grace was standing alone at. T
rsi:'.:_'is eyes
.?, fla
As Lord Dudley had gone to 0rd:r,,..-t a t. _,,,,,,„
leaning his back against the haunts
ae..-nfdded ere__`,fp::,ri#
and shutting alternately as his he.o-_,"and the_ *,lit" _i,
and then forward, overcome by s!ecFbiit crocipl
had drunk. Exactly in front of him, Corny cernY, hiolif
the attitude of an Indian monster, s• Tripe° .s to,
onlY Par" el tl'e 01
up in his master's cloak, and the
_ore,
_ad, no .
op
To keep himself from the cold, be had " l'' f Di • 0
perceptible was the little wrinkled
.f firmly if tis.eo
it
,i0.,4
, tufr..
Duke's countenance..
"said his Grace' g ;
licious-looking fiery eyes beneath it, or
" Give me your sword, rnandin ,
me, in a tone half sleeping, half-tom
Or me your sword, sir."
fully.
Drawing it from the scabbard, I presennt 7.:
_. I