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

THE SUN, LONDO

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 subtle, 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
bngenerous ; but it is based on truth :—" I would not
ue 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.
Ncwcome 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 an
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 fellow."
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 ; btit he was, at best, but a mas-
ter of mellifluous sing-song. The remarks on S wift 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 'o+7o -a.:..strong feeling of dis-
gust. Show us the inatviri-o-everlead " Gulliver's
Travels" or the " Tale. °fl .Tub" tutee, and we will
give a shilling for a sight of tite-:Thenomenon !
" Anecdotes of Actors" agkprosy •ana?,Xosipid. There
is some elegance in tbe,tpts to ‘4‘l4.lllanche," and
to
accordingly we subjoirtii, , ri 140ern
You ask me 441, '*)t.' il. 1..
To every steanirn*ar:'l.7,
Each secret tlioughtlLeach libly 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 bath never wept
O'er human joy or ill,—
Nor that this heart hath always slept,
Or that its pulse is still ;
For all unchanged, it yet can beat,
As it hath 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
Hath 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 actots 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 bath 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 sleek.
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 of amusement, went into a small em-
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
Isar" 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 frequent flattery. The world, however, has taken
him at his own valuation, and decided that he was all
that he represented himself to be, 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-
plumaed 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, Randulph 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. rink 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 Randulph con-
cluded 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 corners.
A sntall 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 usquebau&h, 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 ?"