The Sun. — 1830-06-01 (London, England)

MAGAZINE DAY.  BLACKWOOD'S MAGAZINE.  A very spirited and intelligent number, replete with variety. " The Christian 'Year" is an eloquent notice of a volume of Poems of that name, by Mr. Keeble, an Oxonian, in the course of which occur some just remarks respecting the canting trash (just now exceedingly popular) which arrogates to itself the proud title of " religions poetry :"  " At this particular juncture or crisis, the disease would fain assume the symptoms of religious inspiration. The poetasters are all pious—all smitten with sanctity—Christian all over—and crossing and jostling on the course of Time—as they think, on the high road to Heaven and Immortality. Never was seen before such a shameless set of hypocrites. Down on their knees they fall in booksellers' shops, and, crowned with foolscap, repeat to Bluestockings, prayers addressed in doggerel to the Deity ! They bandy about the Bible as if it were an Album. They forget that the poorest sinner has a Soul to be saved, as well as a set of verses to be damned ; they look forward to the First of the Month with more fear and trembling than to the Last Day ; and beseech a critic to be merciful upon them with far more earnestness than they ever beseeched their Maker. They pray through the press—vainly striving to give some publicity to what must be private for evermore ; and are seen wiping away, at tea-parties, the tears of contrition and repentance for capital crimes per. petrated but on paper, and perpetrated thereon so paltrily, that so far from being worthy of hell-fire, such delinquents, it is felt, would be more suitably punished by being singed like plucked fowls with their own unsaleable sheets. They are frequently so singed; yet singeing has not the effect upon them for which singeing is designed; and like chickens in a shower, that have got the pip, they keep still gasping and shooting out their tongues, and walking on tip-toe with their tails down, till finally they go to roost in some obscure corner, and are no more seen among bipeds."  " The Silent Member" has, as usual, many good political points about it. The remarks throughout are strong and forcibly put ; but there is much, particularly as regards the Duke of 'Wellington, that must be objected to. " Heat and Thirst, a Scene in Jamaica," is an impressive account of an adventure that the writer met with while lying at anchor in Blufield's Bay. There are many rough vigorous touches of painting 'in his description of the incident. " To my Babe, by Delta," is pretty much like all other poems written t o babes ; that is to say, very harmless milk-and-water reading. We have abundance of " soft •blue eyes," an exuberant variety of " lilies of the brook," two " living flowers," " a storvnless sea," and " a glass drugged with woe." These form the staple of Delta's address to his babe—an address, the amiable spirit of which is more to be commended than its ability. " On the Punishment of Death" is an elaborate essay, penned in an earnest and philosophic spirit. We recommend it seriously to the notice of our readers. " The Reigning Vice" is a satire distinguished by no little thought ; the versification is somewhat rough, but full of muscle and energy. " Some remarkable Passages in the Life of the Baron St. Gio" is a Towerfully written tale of murder, from the pen of the Ettrick Shepherd. The " Noctes" are less brilliant and amusing than usual.