The Sun. — 1834-02-01 (London, England)

NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.  This is one of the best numbers of the New Monthly we have seen for some time. All its articles appeal to the generality of readers, not to the fastidious literary few. " The Gauchos, a Tale of the Pampas," though unusually long, is replete with strange, romantic incident. We have murders by wholesale, a little bit of a love affair, and a very aggravated parricide. " Scenes from the Alcestis of Alfieri" is a criticism on a very over-rated Italian dramatist, from the classic pen of Mrs. Hemans, who, like Goldsmith, touches nothing that she does not adorn. " The Penny Press" pursues an important inquiry, in which the literature of the country is involved, in an honest, uncompromising spirit. Whoever is the writer, he is turning his abilities to a very useful account. " A Chapter on Duns" will amuse, though the subject is enough to give a gentleman the head-ache. Panurge is the only illustrious debtor we ever heard of, who knew how to dispose effectually of these horrid crea tures. I enever he had an oppttunity, he always hanged them. " Two summers ago," says the author of this lively jeux d'esprit,  " Two summers ago I was strolling on the Steyne, a' Brighton, with an officer in a dragoon regiment quartered there, when we suddenly encountered his tailor, up m whose book his name had occupied a conspicuous psac for more than three years. A lovely female was hanging on the tailor's arm, upon whom be was evidently endeavouring to pass himself off for what be really was not ; she, perk Ts, in return, was likewise playing the same game. Such scenes are of daily occurrence at watering places, though it must be confessed that—  " Corsaire contre Corsaire Font de Bien mauvaises affaires."  The major, with a tactical eye, saw that he bad the ad vantaga of ground, and skilfully made the most of it. Extending his hand to the schneider, he exclaimed, " H--n, how are you? Happy to sea you ! Let tilt see you at the barracks ;" and so forth. To be so noticed by an officer of a crack regiment, and at so parti cular a moment, so flattered the vanity of the artiste tail. leer, that his bill was not sent in for nearly eighteen months after. However, when you are not in the clutches of these reptiles, mortify their vanity on every occasion. In the year 1829, I was standing, with another military friend, at the door of the Hotel de Treves at Coblentz. Presently, claque, claque, went the whip, and up galloped an avant courier,—  " Chapeau bas, chapeau bas : Place au Marquis de Carabas !"  followed soon afterwards by a handsome English travel ling chariot and a light German waggon. The former contained Der `loch Voldgeboren Baron Von S—tz. Out rushed our host Herr Mars, at the head of a host of obsequ:ous kellners,to usher the illustrious stranger into the house, who, as be ascended the steps, was addressed by my companion, doubtless to his infinite mortification, with a —" Halloa, S—iz, what the devil brings you here ?" Mons. Le Baron made no stay at Coblentz."  On the necessity of giving an - Opera to the English," is plausible ; but the scheme will never answer. John Bull has no ear for music. The chink of the coppers is his only favourite melody. He affects the operatic, it ;s true ; and is conversant with flats and sharps ; but this is the extent of his musical taste and knowledge. See him at the King's Theatre, puzzled at, yet afraid not to admire, one of Rossini's most finished airs ! See him at the Adelphi, grinning from ear to ear, without an atom of affectation, at one of Jack Reeve's drollest cantatas I No, no, John has no harmony in his composition. He has ears ; but they are not musical ones. " Chapters from the Note Book of a Deceased Lawyer" is a first-rate magazine article, containing an account of the most extraordinary trial for murder on record. " A Singing in my Head" is foolish : " Inhabitants of a Country-town," agreeable, but with too much of the Nlitford monotony about it.