The Sun. — 1840-09-01 (London, England)

EVENING ED1T107,,.. MONTHLY CHRONICLE. " Letters from the Continent," though dated from Paris, a quarter in which one wculd imagineit impossible to gather anything like :.rovelty, will amuse by the liveliness of their manner, and the sagacity of the opinions they enforce. The writer has not traversed the French capital with his eyes shut or his ears closed, but has made gook.] use of his senses, and exhibited just that sort o! busy, restless inquisitiveness, without which a traveller is no better than Sterne's Mundungus, who vent from Dan to Beersheba, and found all barren. Speaking of Louis Philippe, the writer tells us that he is by no means popular among the middle classes, as a strong impression is abroad among them that he has not only played false to the men who placed the crown on his head, but has also broken a great many promises, if not expressed, yet certainly implied. Nevertheless, we are assured, these classes will rally to a man round his throne, should he require their support, for " the republic is at this moment their bug-bear, and there is no sacrifice they are not prepared to make, no arbitrary measures on the part of Government they are not prepared to support, rather than see the republican party in possession of power." If this be so, then the King of the Barricades is as firmly seated a monarch as any in Europe ; indeed, far more so than the Emperor Nicholas, who with all his apparent power, is but a helpless instrument in the hands of a reckless and bigotted aristocracy. " Introduction to the study of the Old English Dramatists" is not devoid of a certain cleverness, but its tone is too arrogant, and there is a constant attempt to exhibit acuteness and profundity of remark. NVith a little less pedantry and superciliousness of manner, it would have been a very acceptable essay. " Lord Povverscourt on the state of Ireland," is an article that should have appeared early in the last Session. Just now, it will find few readers. " Sketches of Spanish Generals" gives a brief biographical sketch of Maroto. "To the Queen" is a poem from the pen of Leigh Hunt, who congratulates her Majesty on her recent escape from assassination. Here are the opening passages of the poem : Recovering with one breath, one joy, one prayer, From sudden horror, such as lifts :he hair, Three kingdoms bless thee, lady, and thy lit: ; Bless thee as queen ; bless thee as child and IFife ; Bless thee as their ow❑ kin. Thy consort, too, Him as thyself ; for both in one they view ; Yet thee the most, as theirs. Fathers and mothers, As daughter, bless thee ; as a sister, brothers ; Bridegrooms as bride,—oh ! with what thoughts the last ! With what embraces, tretrbiing for the past! Shuddering to think bow madness might have torn The dearest burden which on earth is borne. Every least class, and every time of life, Thrill'd for the gentle prince and the young wife,— Themselves not childless now. The driest cheek Of daily sorrow felt its eyes grow weak ; The poor (Oh, Madam ! yO2/ can think of those) For her forgot the scorners of their woes ; And Madness self, with twice hewilder'd eye, Star'd at the light fantastic prodigy, That with no cheek made pale, nor spirit stung, ' Lay lurking to destroy two hearts as young.  Great God ! to picture what a pass was there! How but that moment, to the gladsome air Issuing for health and pleasure from her door, Home at her back, and homage all before, 'Faking possession, with her happy eyes, Of all the world with all its sympathies,— The husband at her side,—he, too, a heart Loving and just, that takes the poor man's part, Full of all impulses of good and true,— To picture them, I say, thus borne, those two, The few months' wife, and mild and manly spouse, Bending to those who bend; with pleasant brows, Through avenues of hearts, and paths of green ; And suddenly, when not a cloud was seen In heaven above, or human face below, • Thus to be dash'd at with a deadly blow ! To have harsh bullets horribly displace Their summer air, and see a murderous floe, And feel their gentle foreheads, in despite Of their brave hearts, bow'd downward in affright, Dark, as though noon had stumbled into night I Not long. The bravest well may start to see, For the first time, the face of Enmity And enrnest Death.