The Sun. — 1846-04-06 (London, England)

MAGAZINES-(CONTINUED.) NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.  Strong in his own powers as a poetical translator, John. Oxenford dares a comparison with John Gibson Lockhart, by a new version of the renowned " Spanish Ballads relating to the Infants of Lara." And although it is deficient in that barbaresque beauty and lambent enthusiasm which gained Mr. Lockhart's book of Spanish ballads such a deserved popularity, the present translation is eminently good, because it is so eminently characteristic. It is no paraphrase, but, on the contrary, adheres as closely to the original as symmetry of metre would permit. The more we dip into ancient ballad literature the more are we impressed with the sagacity of the philosopher in selecting it in preference to all other means of governing the populace. How the" Ranz des Vaches " fires the patriotism of the Switzer ; haw the " Marselloise" kindled the democracy of Frenchmen; and how that superb outburst of our brave Robin's love for fatherland, and reverence for the heroes of Scotland, " Scots wha ha'e wi' Wallace bled," thrills to the bosom's core of every Caledonian ; are only individual instances of a principle which pervades all nations and animates all generations. Ballad literature is thus potent in its influence, because it circulates through the whole mind of the people, and appeals to the tenderest and noblest feelings of the million. Precisely what the ditties relative to Robin Hood and his merry men in Lincoln green where, in relation to our English forefathers, responding to their affection for freedom, and their partiality for valour, are these olden songs of Spain in reference to the inhabitants of the Peninsula. Their every sentiment breathes of that sunny clime—they are most apposite as addressed to the land of the Cid—they are tinctured with that exalted spirit of chivalry, the annihilation of which Cervantes seemed to regard as his peculiar mission. And excellently well does this version of Mr. Oxenford typify these emotions in English verse. The five ballads are suffused with a delicious combination of intrepidity and pathos ; and, if we might permit ourselves to select one among them as the more preferable, we should almost be tempted to choose the most melancholy-toned of the collection—that descriptive of the destruction of the infants " Salienda de Canicosa." It is exquisitely conceived and charmingly transcribed. A better paper could hardly have commenced this number of the New Monthly. Those readers who have literary appetites, somewhat in accordance with the taste of many would-be connoiseurs in painting, who will not eulogise a landscape until they have traced it to a Cuyp or Claude, nor a pitta until it is proved to be a Caracci, nor abattlepiece until it is shown to have proceeded from the easelof Wouvermans, will find a rich banquet of additional chapters in this magazine, graced with the names of G. P. R. James, Captain Marryat, and W. H. Maxwell. "Echoes from the Backwoods" are repeated by Captain Levinge as pleasantly as the hill sides do those on the margin of Killarney. A. nameless old man (we do not allude, mind, to the venerable gentleman in black !) becomes very garrulous in his " arraignment and defence of Time." It is a quaint conceit, however, and not unworthy of perusal. We pray Mr. Jolly Green to desist from boreing the public any further, either with his tra vels or his opinions. He is rather a superficial pilgrim with a very enticing pseudonym. " The last Ball at the Tuileries" is smart and agreeable enough ; the tracing of the temperaments and futurity of the Dec de Nemours, the Due d'Aumale, the Duo de Montpensier, the Princease Clementine, and the Princesse de Joinville, from their stile of dancing! is a very happy eccentricity. There is much wisdom, we conjecture, in its very flippancy. In the tale, however, which the authoress has embodied in this article, she has forgotten to express her obligations to that right-clever novel " Cyril Thornton." The story is absolutely identical—it is a most egregious and intolerable specimen of plagiarism. " A sketch of the Lives of Lords Stowell and Eldon" introduces us to the latter venerable personage in a more pleasant character than usual, namely, as the partaker of the frolics of children. It reminds us of a picture ever dear to us —Charles James Fox lying upon the carpet among a pile of toys. Charles Hooton gives us a very commonplace narrative in ryhme about a Captain Blackstone ; there is only one redeeming point in the contribution— the suicide of Melicate. The April number is concluded with not the least interesting paper, " The Loss of the Great Liverpool," described by one of the passengers in that luckless vessel, over whose destruction such a mournful interest has been cast by the recent felo dece of her unfortunate Captain. The New Monthly for this month is altogether an improvement upon many of its predecessors.