The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser.
Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1838-05-08 00:00:00

Vottrp.

SKETCHES IN THE MANCHESTER GALLERY.

No. 6.—CH tun AND THE SEVEN PENITENTS.
Ruben and Vandyke.

Lo! round the Lord of Life they stand,
Types of the ransom'd human race;
A few selected from the band
Of those who, brought to see his face,
Their weakness and their-helplessness can feel,
And know one blessed Power alone can heal.
Oh, wisely, painter, bast thou done,
To bring before our eyes those seven,
So different each, yet every one
Now glorious in the courts of Heaven.
Methinks that thou wast led of God to show
Unto what different hearts His light can go!
It finds the monarch on his throne :
Lo! where the royal David stands,
Upon his head the golden crown,
The harp he loved within his hands,—
He weareth now a crown of deathless stars,
And siageth to a harp that never jars !
It reacheth the idolater :
Another kingly form is there ;
He who once made the people err,
Yet humbleth him in lowly prayer :
Manuasseh! none in vain bath ever prayed,
If thou haat found the Saviour's ready aid.
It reacheth woman's clinging heart—
That heart whose pulses gently move
Till some wild worship doth impart
Unhallowed ardour to its love—
Or, with the radient eyes and long bright hair,
Oh, Mary Magdelene! what dolt thou there ?
It found the dying criminal—
Sunshine that closed a dreary day:
It found the wandering prodigal
Far from his native land away;
Behold them here, signs of God's patient love,
That through long years of sin and darkness strove.
And oh, ye servants of the Lord,
Take comfort from th' apostles twain;
If he have failed in deed or word,
Your Master can forgive again.
Lo, they are here—he who his Lord denied,
And he who, to believe, must touch that wounded side.

Oh, skilful bath the painter been,
Each face its history well reveals,
And his, the centre of the scene,
Who sees its lineaments, nor feels
That, like a sleeping ocean, there cloth lie
The majesty and calm of veiled Divinity!
Manchester Courier.

SCENE IN THE COLONIAL OFFICE.

Glenelg• solus, sitting• in a dosing posture; in his hand, Mac-
nish's book on sleep. A scroll of parchment on the table by
him. His lordship soliloquiseth :
It must be so—Macnish, thou reason'st well—
Else whence this pleasing yawn, this fond repose,
This wonted sinking into somnolence ?
Or whence this love of bed, and drowsy pleasure
Of falling into sleep? Why shrinks my sight
Back from all print, and startles at employment?
"ris the sweet lethargy that lies within me;
"ris nature's self that points out inclination,
And intimates a drowsiness to man.
Oh,-arowsiness! thou pleasing, blessed thought!
Through what variety of untried being,
Through what new dreams and fancies must I pass ?
The wide, delightful prospect lies before me;
But parchments, scrolls, and business stay me from
Here will I rest, if there's a God of Sleep above
(And that there is, mythology declares
Throughout its pages), he must delight in slumber;
And that which he delights in must be happy.
But when, or where ?—this place was made for business:
I'm weary of conjectures—this must end them.
(Laying his hand on his night-cap.)
Thus am I doubly arm'd ; my sleep and work,
My night-cap and my desk, are both before me.
'This in a moment lulls me to repose;
But this informs me I must keep awake.
The head, secured in its soft cov'ring, nods
At the dull parchment, and defies its power.
The colonies shall fade, England itself
Sink with neglect, and Ireland oft rebel,
But thou shalt dose on still in peaceful sleep,
Unhurt, amidst the wars of Canada,
The wreck of Britain, and the crush of worlds.
What means this heaviness, that hangs upon me?
This lethargy, that creeps through all my senses?
My head, oppressed with sad official care,
Sinks down to rest. This once I'll favour it.
And homewards shall my body take its Hight,
Wearied with toil, and dosing all the way,
An offering fit for sleep. Let state affairs
Disturb Mel.'s rest, Glenelg knows none of them,
Inditrrent in his choice to sleep, or to resign."

LITERARY NOTICES.

Blackwood's Magazine. Mai-, 1838.

The best article in the present number is " Father
'Tom and the Pope; or a Night at the Vatican"—show-
ing how Father Torn went to take pot-luck at the Vati-
can—how Father Tom sacked his Holiness in Theology
lind Logic—how Father Tom made a hare of his Holi-
ness in Latin—how Father Tom and his Holiness dis-

,puled in Metaphysics and Algebra—and the reason why
Father Toni was not made a Cardinal. The dialogne is
eminently rich and characteristic. The practical jokes
are extremely laughable; and the sly hits at the doe-
trineS of transubstantiation and the authority of the
church are exceedingly well managed. " Tomkins Re-
-divivus" does not rise much above mediocrity. Of the
epigrams it may with truth be said "suet plura plata."
The remarks upon "The supposed sensibility and intel-
ligence of Insects" display much profound reasoning.
'The writer has evidently studied the subject with great
attention. " Sketches of Modern Greece" are very in-
teresting, though melancholy in some of their details.
-" The Battle of the Frogs and Mice" is 'capitally ren-
Aeved. The stictures on "M. Athanase Cocquerel" are
sensible and judicious. "A Vision of Noses" is a splen-
•did article, in which the absurdities of the craniological
school of philosophy are exposed to merited ridicule.
The Arabian Empire" is a paper of a very curious cha-
racter, the style of which is exquisite. ".Our two
'Vases" will be found as replete with sparkling gems as
'ever.