THE MAGAZINES.

THERE is nothing striking in the magazines of this month,

but there is plenty to read. We should say, on the whole, though we do not wholly agree with it, that the most suggestive paper was Miss Wedgwood's in the Contemporary .Review, called "Male and Female Created He Them." Miss Wedgwood accepts Darwin's idea that hereditary qualities descend most perfectly in the same sex, and deduces from it the belief that women, inheriting as they do the maternal instinct through ages, have necessarily more morality—that is, more of the instinct of protecting the feeble—than men. In the latter, morality was an acquired quality, though they extended protection to those, not their own, of whom women scarcely thought. She thinks the moral superiority of women is recognised in the earliest creeds, and that the belief has reappeared at intervals in all, coming forward now in the intense, even the exaggerated recognition of the feminine side of Christianity. She holds, in fact, that justice is the child of love, love like that of the mother, which reeks not of the want of merit in its object. The paper will make every man think, but has it not in it an assumption of which Miss Wedgwood is unconscious ? She leaves an impression that virtue and altruism are identical, which is by no means so certain as she in this paper appears eo assert. Duty to God is at least as imperative as duty to fellow-beings, and cases are conceivable in which the highest virtue would be indifferent or even opposed to altruisna.—Professor Sayce states once more, in "The Primitive Home of the Aryans," his great historic doubt whether the tall, light-haired, conquering race to whom we give that name did come from the northern slopes of the Hindoo Koosh. He shows that much of the philological evidence which is the basis of that theory has been overstrained, and is inclined to believe that

the original home of the pure whites was Scandinavia. He does not, of course, assert that this is proved, but thinks him-

self justified in this cautious paragraph :—

" I cannot now enter fully into the reasons which have led me gradually to give up my old belief in the Asiatic origin of the Indo-European tongues, and to subscribe to the views of those who would refer them to a northern European birthplace. The argument is a complicated one, and is necessarily of a cumulative character. The individual links in the chain may not be strong, but collectively they afford that amount of probability which is all -we can hope to attain in historical research. Those who wish to -study them may do so in Dr. Penka's work on the Herknnft der Arier,' published in 1886. His hypothesis that southern Scan- dinavia was the primitive Aryan home' seems to me to have more in its favour than any other hypothesis on the subject which has as yet been put forward. It needs verification, it is true, but if it is sound the verification will not be long in coming. A more profound examination of Teutonic and Keltic mythology, a more exact knowledge of the words in the several Indo-European languages which are not of Indo-European origin, and the progress of archEeological discovery, will furnish the verification we need."

More evidence is now the great thing required, and we wonder that the learned of Europe do not inquire more carefully, especially in Chinese records, whether positive proof of the

existence of a white race in Asia cannot be obtained. It is a little difficult to believe in the swarming off for thousands of years of successive armies from a region like Scandinavia, which at present can scarcely maintain the thinnest of popu- lations.—Professor Sunday's essay, with its rather ambitious title," The Future of English Theology," really amounts only to this, that Mrs. Ward underrates the value of English theological criticism. English divines are studying patiently, and will utilise German criticism without losing their own religious temper. Let us hope so, even if we are forced to believe that some of the English patience and thoroughness is due to nothing higher than English slowness.—Mr. Town- send contends, in a paper on "Cheap Missionaries," that the idea of inducing Europeans to live like natives is fallacious, that the only possible cheap missionaries are natives them- selves, and that the true use of the European missionary is to be a Bishop of the old type, the head and counsellor of a group of native preachers. Such a Bishop cannot be cheap in the new sense, because he must have wife and family, and the means of keeping them from sinking to a lower level of civilisation than his own. The answer will be that the writer underrates the force of enthusiasm ; but has enthusiasm ever produced in Protestant countries a celibate caste ?

The most important article in the Fortnightly .Review is un- signed. The writer, who claims to have studied the subject for himself, and to have travelled carefully over the ground he speaks of, maintains that if France declares war on Germany, she must violate Swiss neutrality, and she will. She could privately mobilise one hundred thousand men in the great entrenched camps of Belfort, Besancon, and Lyons, pour them by the five railways into Switzerland, and "within twelve hours" possess herself of every bridge over the Rhine from Bile to Constance. He doubts whether if Switzerland were struck thus suddenly, the Swiss Army could be massed in time, transport and artillery being quite unready, while there is no line which could be de- fended until the Germans came up. As to the moral objection to such a breach of national law, the writer thinks the French would not feel it, especially as the neutrality of Switzerland rests on the Treaties of Vienna, already torn to shreds, and is guaranteed by the very Powers against which war would be declared. There is, of course, some exaggeration in the paper, as its author's object is evidently to wake up Switzerland ; but there is much in it which deserves consideration. Certainly, France, if she decides on a rush, will hesitate at nothing, for her very existence will depend on her making the war, at the worst, a drawn game. —Mr. J. D. Bonrchier sends an account of his stay in the Balkans with Prince Ferdinand, which is interesting to read, but a little too entirely optimist. He testifies, like all other observers, including the Emperor of Austria, to the immense material improvement in Bulgaria, whose capital, Sofia, is becoming a fine city ; and declares that Prince Ferdinand is growing not only in popularity, but in personal vigour and intelligence. The people, the Greek popu- lation included, heartily appreciate his efforts to develop com- munications and commerce, and have assisted in his attempts to improve the Army. "The number of regiments has been doubled, and Bulgaria can now bring 120,000 well-disciplined men into the field, the flower of a sturdy and well-nourished peasantry, together with a reserve of 30,000 men still under thirty years of age, who showed what they could do on the hills of Slivnitza,." There are no Russian officers now, and the spirit of the Bulgarians who have succeeded them leaves nothing to be desired. With a most difficult country to defend, the Bulgarian Army should be able at least to delay that even of a first-class Power.—Mr. E. Gosse publishes a most interesting account of Mr. E. Fitzgerald, the poet who rendered "Omar Khayyim," and who appears to have lived his life as a Suffolk squire, reading everything, learning most things, but detesting publicity, and perhaps too indolent to use his amazing faculties. He did nothing in life except his magnum opus, which might be printed in fifty pages, and a few transla- tions from Calderon and Aschylus, and only used his power of brilliant prose description in letters to his friends, whose numbers he in late years never increased. Fitzgerald had, in fact, the Oriental spirit in him, and sauntered through life musing on what he met. It is well there should be some men of that type, though in his case wonderful powers produced little fruit of benefit to the world. It is a curious fact in literary history that "Omar Khayyam" nearly missed fire, the first edition attracting no attention, and descending with unprecedented rapidity to the book-stalls.—"Nordanskiir"— Nordanskar is the name of an island in the Gulf of Bothnia, which M. Bergman, the timber-king, hopes to change into a watering-place--by Sir H. Pottinger, is a good description of travel in Sweden under exceptionally favourable circumstances. The account of the steamer's descent of the rapids of the Kalix is as good a piece of writing as we have lately seen, and makes one wish that its author would give us more serious and

sustained work :—

" My further impressions are : of a few quiet moments when the banks of the river seemed to be rushing past us up-stream, even as the earth below seems to drop away from the released balloon, and where I could see the long vista of rapids over the heads of the rowers; of a sudden plunge, yet still without any violent shock to the boat, in amongst enormous ridges of foam, sharp tossing crests and boiling mounds of liquid, wrestling nd battling

in horrible confusion, trampling down and . • ting each other, amidst a hubbub of sound that was all angry and half- articulate, like the shouts, yells, hisses, and blasphemies of a savage mob, and without a trace of pleasant aqueous tones ; of a wall of spouting foam directly ahead charging upwards to meet the boat ; of a strong lurch and swirl at the moment when it appeared to be close upon us, like that of a train at full speed when it feels the influence of the points, and of the bow oar-blades dipping within a foot of the hidden rock; of rank behind rank of towering waves, never changing their position, and curling back in white crests over their gleaming troughs ; of the boat being caught between two of these and plunging madly until we were well-nigh jerked from our seats, and the planks seemed likely to shiver under our feet, while a cloud of foam burst over the bows and deluged the oarsmen ; of escaping from this trap and dragging heavily across the face of a seething slope, at whose base a dreadful hollow, large enough to admit a man's body, with streaky spume circulating rapidly round its edge, gulped and hissed; of release also from this deadly suction, and a swift run through boisterous but not dangerous water until we rounded into the expanse of smooth foam-laced current below the curve, and the first and worst stage of Kamlunga was over. And here, so great was my admiration for our pilot's skill, that I caught myself applauding 'loudly, even to clapping of hands."

Is not that last touch the very quintessence of the modern spirit, with its permanent sub-idea that man is in a theatre, andalways looking on P Mr. Lilly writes a fine essay on "The Ethics of Punishment," in defence of the old and true thesis that law must have another and higher sanction than utility. The essence of the paper is in this paragraph :— "Man, as man, has no claim upon my obedience. Only to the law of Right, speaking through human ministers, is that obedience due. Man is social quit rational. He is gregarious and something more : he is a political animal: civil polity is his natural state. And here is to be found the underlying principle which makes human justice just. The moral law apprehended, not made, by our practical reason, implies that right is rewarded and wrong punished. That, as we have seen, is involved in the very con- ception of law. Criminal jurisprudence is simply a moral judgment exhibited in visible form. Thus Aquinas, with his usual clearness and precision : The law of nature '—that is the law arising from that divine reason which is the nature of things = proclaims that he who offends shall be punished. But to define that this or that punishment should be inflicted upon him, is a determination drawn from the law of nature by human law.' And so Butler: Civil government being natural, the punishments of it are natural, too.'

—Of the two reviews, one on Massinger, by Mr. Swinburne, and one on Ibsen, by Mr. W. Archer, we prefer the latter as reading ; though we fancy, if we had read all Ibsen, we should differ from it fundamentally. Having only read Nora, we can

only say that we see little ground for Mr. Archer's high appre- ciation of Ibsen's powers as displayed in that drama.—The advocates of female suffrage once more defend their ease with a long list of well-known names, the whole being, in fact, a counterblast to the recent revolt of some able women against the assertion that the sex is unanimous in claiming direct political power.

Mr. Gladstone's new paper in the Nineteenth Century, "Plain Speaking on the Irish Union," is one more account of the many atrocities the English in Ireland once committed. It is all true ; as true as that the English conquest of Britain was one long-continued scene of massacre, expulsion, and other cruelties. That does not prove that the English of to-day ought to hand back the country to the Welsh. The narrative has value as explaining why a people with long memories hate us so hard ; but continuous vindictiveness is no proof that those who are its objects are incompetent to rule well. As, whether Home-rule is granted or not, the English and Irish must live together for ever, we question the expediency, in a statesman, at all events, who expects to govern both races, of reviving these shameful

memories.—Dr. Kidd's account of Lord Beaconsfield's "last illness" will be read with interest, though it does not add much to our real knowledge of the patient, and is much too like an advertisement. It is worth remembering that he was one of the many men who disbelieve in exetcise :—

" The greatest difficulty was to get the patient to take exercise. My grandfather,' he said to me, 'lived to ninety years ; he took much open-air exercise. My father lived to eighty, yet he never took any.' Lord Beaconsfield tried to steer a middle course, but the utmost he could be persuaded to take was a short walk two or three times a week if Lord Rovrton or some other pleasant friend called to accompany him, otherwise he easily found an excuse for not going out. His slow pace in walking prevented him from getting much benefit from it. Riding he had given up, although in his early days passionately devoted to it. For many years his life had been a sedentary one ; presuming on his hardy constitu- tion, and the fact of his father's great age without open-air exercise, he considered it a matter optional in his case. He had the excuse of urgent occupation in his political and literary life to hinder it. Yet Nature has a 'Nemesis' power of revenging her- self on the man of sedentary life. In the end the liver suffers. In one of his letters to his sister he says : I have recovered from the horrors of a torpid liver which has overwhelmed me the last few days.,

Probably half the Jews in the world share Lord Beaconsfield's opinion, yet the race is exceptionally healthy, and he himself survived his seventy-sixth year. Lord Beaconsfield died of Brighes disease, facing his final illness with his habitual courage and that evenness of temper which must have been a

gift.—Many readers impatient of other essays will read with

avidity Dr. Jessopp's account of his parishioner, Dandelow, the horse-coper, who looked and sometimes talked like an old noble, knew French perfectly, and with all the instincts of a gipsy, was in some respects a model man. He was apparently the son, accidentally deserted, of a Dutch noble, and his " half- told " story might make the basis of a first-rate novel of adventure. If it is, as we presume, all true, it is stranger than most fiction.—Mr. Rees' account of the "Persia of the Shah" is a laudation of that monarch, mainly, we fancy, because he has made some commercial concessions ; but we must find room for this most characteristic story :—

" It a village near Kermanshah I begged ten minutes' leave from a curious crowd for the purpose of bathing in an irrigation channel. Before I could dress, the villagers were upon me, and the headman noticing that I was covered with bites and stings, the result of sleeping, or rather of sleepless vigils on the floors of filthy caravanserais, I sorrowfully remarked that there was no country like Persia for insect tortures. How else ?' said he; it is the country of Nasr-ud-din-Shah." Was this meant in com- pliment to his Majesty ?' I asked. How else ?' said he ; could aught be said in any other spirit of the centre of the world's adoration?' ' No, of course not,' but I did not understand. He fixed the audience with his eye, and while I tried to struggle into my clothing said; These insects are as good as a daily bleeding. No man can be bled daily. Praise be to God, who devised this substitute in the land of Iran !' "

We remember once hearing a similar apology for mosquitoes, as specially created in marshy districts to prevent fever.

Mr. Oscar Wilde publishes in Blackwood a new theory as to

the subject of Shakespeare's sonnets. He suggests that they may be addressed, not to Lord Pembroke, as is generally sup- posed, but to "Willie Hughes," a handsome lad who, it is imagined, acted the female parts in the earlier plays, and for whom Shakespeare may have written them. The theory is ingeniously worked out, but rests on air, all trace of Willie Hughes's history having been lost.—Colonel M. S. Bell, Royal Engineers, sends a most interesting account of a journey through Persia, in which he incidentally mentions that the settled population, exclusive of the towns, cultivating the

600,000 square miles of the Empire, is not above 4,000,000. He adds as many more nomads and townsfolk ; but even this estimate is far in excess of many calcula- tions since the great famine. Colonel Bell has apparently been surveying routes from Bushire to. Ispahan, and is much struck by the potential fertility of the plains.—The author of a paper on "The Critical Position of Europeans

in Africa," who does not give his name, confirms all that has been said of the revival of the Arab slave-stealers' power, and of the urgency of the plan for planting a great colonising Company on both sides of the Central Zambesi, a plan which will be carried out if Portuguese opposition can be overcome. —We mark a story by a new pen, Miss Beatrice Harraden, as worth the attention of those who like to watch beginnings. The story is incredibly absurd, but it is full of evidences of

intellectual force which the young lady does not yet know how to use. There should be something from such a pen some day, though it has not come yet.