THE LIGHTER MAGAZINES.
Blacicwood is quite itself again ; "Scold, and clatter, and bang ;
bang, and clatter, and scold," about the sayings and doings of the Recess, and spitefully dissatisfied with us, because we said -that Mr. Lowe had earned the public gratitude in his capacity as Chancellor of the Exchequer as privately as possible,—a phrase which does not sound to us like the utterance of ardent admira- tion; but the Boythorn of political literature has the privileges of the "amiable bull to whom every colour is scarlet," and every Liberal "a most intolerable and pernicious villain ; " and we are al-ways more or less amused by its exercise of them. This time we are less amused, because the abuse of Mr. Gladstone offends our critical taste by its manner. There is too much slang to the paragraph in the following :—" Will he patiently subside into an inferior seat, or will he resent his deposition and shut up alto- gether? Anything at all is supposable, even a return to his early love,-and to a steadfast conviction that a Protestant State Church in Ireland is required by justice and by policy. He is too fond of all that appertains to a certain Mr. Gladstone to do a bit of Cranmer on 'that unworthy hand ' ; but it is quite on the cards that he may talk and moan a good deal-hereafter about the mis- chief which the hand has been so unworthy as to do." When angry passions rise into print, they ought to be given vent to in
language of superior elegance ; if railing be not neat, it's nothing.
Blackwood is unreasonably exercised by the Premier's reticence ; even a Tory writer must not expect to be able to condemn a statesman for speech and for silence at the same time. Mr. Lowe has spoken, Mr. Bright has not held his peace, and Mr. Gladstone's silence is assuredly golden, for the purposes of Blackwood, judging by the interpretation thereof before us. We are in the bands of a dumb devil, it appears, but he As going to be cast out very soon ; and then we shall hear the voice of the charmer, reaching us through a trumpet which, after the blower has had the ransacking of the pigeon-holes, shall never -give out an uncertain sound. Though every one is growing 'rather tired of Vienna and the Exhibition, no one ought to leave 'Blackwood's fresh and charming paper about them unread. The article on French politics and prospects is very moderate and philosophical, as befits the discussion of affairs of the people on the other side of the streak of silver sea. "A Railway Junction" is a capital story, full of innocent craft, and shy, pardonable coquetry, with plenty of fun in it, and an under- lying strain of the true love, the real downright sweethearting that is so rare in books now-a-days, though there is reason to believe it lurks about a good deal in real life even yet. "Edgar Wayne's Escape" is a very clever story, in which it is easy to recognise Mrs. Oliphant's hand. There is admirable humour in the dismission of Edgar's probable marriage "outside his own congregation," by the members of the Meadow Street con- nection. The chief feature of Blackwood is, however, a "Narrative of Prince Charlie's Escape," written by one of his companions, John Macdonald, and entrusted for tran- scription and publication to Mr. George Skene, by the Misses Macdonald, of Dalilea, grand-daughters of the author. A brief, interesting introduction prefaces the narrative, which is simple, touching, and unconsciously humorous. The writer's native tongue was Gaelic, and though he was a man of con- siderable education, in writing English he was using a foreign tongue. The unlucky Prince, who ought to have been killed at Culloden, shows in the story more after the fashion of a trouble- some, valuable bale of stolen goods, too big for one person to carry, and impossible to hide, than in any heroic form ; but the loyalty, fealty, and acuteness of his friends come out admirably,—likewise the naïf treachery of his aide-de-camp, one Mr. Sullivan, who, after the disaster at Culloden, was sent to Stornoway, to get some vessel to carry him [the Prince] to France. "There," says the narrative, "he found one, but would not wait the Prince's coming, therefore made off with himself, and landed safe in France:" We close the second part of Miss Phillimore's essay on Petrarch, in Macmillan's Magazine, with a sense of having acquired a true and complete view of the man, and a comprehension of the soul and the aim of the poet. We do not know a more perfect specimen of biography in little than this essay, nor a more enviable summary of a gifted human life than the following :—
"Petrarch's personal character was of a most amiable kind. Ile neither desired nor despised riches. Without conceit, he knew his own worth. He loved fame, but he was not eager in the pursuit of it. Liberty and tranquillity were most dear to him, and in order to preserve them he refused many a dignified position, and the chance of still greater wealth and power. His habits and tastes wore of a most simple nature. Adversity never disheartened him, and the influence of the Court and the world never sullied his character, which was firmly established upon the basis of morality and religion. His patience was exemplary, and his vigorous memory never recalled an injury, while his anger was easily appeased. The error of his life, which he acknow- ledges with perfect candour in his later poetry, arose from the violence and excess of his passion for Laura, which although it raised the tone of his moral character, absorbed him too entirely. 'Keep the choicest of thy love for God,' says Dante ; and Petrarch knew that in the early part of his life he had not done this • but what can be more beautiful than the concluding lines of his 'Epistle to Posterity ' ? 'And now I make my prayer to Christ, in order that He may sanctify the close of my earthly life, that He may have mercy upon me, and pardon the sins of my youth, remembering them not And with an earnest heart I pray that it may please God, in His own good time, to guide my long erring and unstable thoughts; that as hitherto they have been scattered over many earthly objects, they may now be centred in Him, the One true, unchangeable, certain, and Supreme Good."
The third volume of "Professor Masson's Life of Milton" is ably analysed in a paper by Mr. G. B. Smith, and Mr. Goadby contributes an article on "Strauss as a Politician," of which we have written at length elsewhere, strikes us as subtle and sound. A delightful little paper on the Oxford Union takes us back to the days when enthusiasm was proud of itself, and gives us the early history of a great and illustrious society. It is very pleasant reading, above gossip, and yet with the personal piquancy of gossip, in its " account of the opinions entertained in youth by men on whose lips the world hangs in their matt:L.1.er age." Is Mr. Black going to let us off in the matter of his incomparable Princess, or is he only giving us a little respite, in order to deepen the tragedy ? He redeems Frank Lavender in this instalment, makes us pity instead of hating him, searches Sheila's heart with that surpassing power of his, and fills us with horrid misgivings that he is going to kill either Lavender or Sheila. If he drowns Frank off Sheila's Island, off that Highland Thule '—and he is quite capable of it— can we forgive him, even though we know Frank could never be worthy of Sheila, and must make her unhappy again? Mr. Black is by no means so merciful as he is strong.
In the Cornhill, Miss Thackeray's "Jack and the Beanstalk" is completed. It is not quite equal to its predecessors ; it is wanting in the demure humour which characterises them. The clear, serene good sense, the womanly tenderness, and the gentle gravity, just touched with sadness, are all there ; but we miss the rosy and golden rim from the curtain of fleecy cloud that she rolls up from before the face of her fairyland. Perhaps it is because this Jack is called Hans ; and all the fun and fancy have gone out of every- thing that is even by implication German, since blood and ,iren have come in. An interesting essay on Southey gives a fine sketch of his character, and justly claims appreciation for his prose ; but we do not think the writer will succeed in making people believe that Southey was a great poet, or in beguiling them into reading Madoc and the Curse of Kehama. A beautiful article on "Sunset on Mont Blanc," by a loyal adherent of the ancient Monarch of Mountains, is a treat to be enjoyed over and over again. The Second Period of "The French Press" is as ably chronicled as the first was, in last June ; and it has a nearer and more vital interest, because we know more about its influence on the history of its own time, and on the future which will
form the theme of the narrative of the Third Period ; that in which gazetteers and journalists applied themselves to the work of pre- .paring the great Revolution which sent most of them to the scaffold. Respecting the serial story, "Young Brown," which opened with so fair a promise, we feel bound to say, with regret- ful protest, that the production itself is even less surprising than the place and the company in which it is found. The Corn hill is, for once, singularly unfortunate in its serial fiction. We bad not read" Zelda's Fortune" hitherto, but when on perusing one chapter we find a murder committed in a cellar, the victim a female miser, who catches and eats rats, the murderer her gipsy husband, and the accidental witness a young actress of world-wide fame, be- trothed to an English earl, but who is also a gipsy, who cannot read or write, who has never seen death, and "knows no definition of moral or legal murder," and farther, that "the sacredness of human life was not within the scope of her education," so that it is to be presumed she regards these proceedings as a matter of course,—we cannot congratulate the magazine which has replaced Rornola, Molly Gibson, Miss Thackeray's sweet and gentle women, and even Mr. Trollope's eligible widows and pretty young ladies, by such repulsive impossibilities. " Omphale " is a fine poem, not all beautiful, but with grand thoughts in it, and a deep further reading of the Herakles myth.
Saint Path has three clever papers. The first is on" Palmistry," and forms a supplement to last month's _essay on " Chiromancy." They are both rather fascinating, and one could not do better than give them to a fidgetty guest whom one wanted to occupy. The second is on "An American House of Correction" at Detroit, Michigan, which must be an exceedingly pleasant residence. It is regulated on a system which "embraces pure atmosphere, personal cleanliness, neat dress, and appropriate dietary," and includes "educational efforts" and "a co-operative colony." The effect of the perusal of the article is perhaps not strictly moral, it is simply a wish that one could better oneself by going "straight away" to Detroit, Michigan, and getting "took up." The third is an amusing protest againt the common notion of Milton's estimate of women, and his manner of dealing with them, in his great treatises on Divorce. The paper (by "An Irreconcilable ") is ingenious, but the reader will be less interested in the writer's attempt to make out that Milton was not a "brute," in the femininely-interpreted social sense, than in his audacious challenge to the Woman-movement, which he pro- claims in the following tremendous terms :—" If a man really manages to get out of the Bible any doctrine about woman, except that she is man's inferior, man's tempter, man's subordinated helper, under a special curse for the fault of Eve, and under a special ban,—ceremonial ban, too,—then I say he is either dis- honest or wanting in mental fibre." If the Irreconcilable is in earnest, it is to be hoped his incognito is strictly preserved, and that he either writes it at his club, or is preternaturally careful not to leave his " copy " about.
A story by Major Whyte-Melville, called "Uncle John," opens pleasantly in Temple Bar ; it is of the thistle-down order apparently, but it promises well. "A Line of French Actresses" and "Madame Du Barry" are clever papers, and "Mr. Superin- tendent Pryse " tells the brave and worthy story of one of the unknown heroes of our modern days with force and effect.
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