HYSTERIA OF THE PRESS.

MHE past week has been one of singular trial for the newspapers,

and there is scarcely one of our able daily contemporaries which does not seem to have emerged from the paroxysm of national emotion with a somewhat sprained imagination and the appearance of dropsical loyalty. There has been one of those sudden and natural bursts of popular feeling which seek expres- sion in almost anything rather than words ; but then, unfortu- nately for the newspapers, words are the only medium in which they work. Having but one feeling to express over and over again, namely, that it is a very happy marriage, that the Princess Alexandra is more than all we had ventured to hope, and that it is -very pleasant to exchange our mourning for joy, the spirit of heaviness for the garment of praise, there is nothing for it but to ring the changes on this sentiment. And naturally enough, chords struck so monotonously get strained at last, and require very violent handling to give any semblance of variety at all. What was wanted was to illustrate the depth of the feeling, not by saying the same thing over and over again, but by translating it into all sorts of different symbols of expression, tracing it in every practical form in which the public joy of a nation fmds it natural to depict itself. Once heartily expressed in words, the instinct of loyalty turns elsewhere to find the means of signalizing the strength of its feeling ; writes its reverence for the Crown in pictures and emblems on the walls, its personal affection for the reigning House in gorgeous presents, its gratified self-esteem in gay clothes and concerted processions, its ardour in bonfires, and its emphatic recognition of the rarity and splendour of the occasion by turning night itself into a semblance of day. But the newspaper press meanwhile has no variety of resource of this kind. It is infected, of course, by the ornate mood of the public mind ; but then nothing bears elaborate ornament BO ill as the style of vigorous business sense in which our papers are usually and properly written. When they try to throw up rockets, it is in the way of flaming metaphors, which, even if they go off gorgeously, are sure enough to come pat- tering down on the writers' heads before the end in a shower of blackened sticks. Indeed, Englishmen can seldom express wealth of joy and affection by the instrumentality of lan- guage with ordinary taste and success. Accustomed to practical speech, when we attempt to unbend in that direction we are in an element so strange to us that we lose all sense of self-restraint, and break out, like social parvenus, into what De Quincey happily

calls a sort of hemorrhage of jewellery. Profoundly as we have sympathized with the public feeling of the week, we must say that the gaspings of the daily journals have, on the whole, offered a very painful spectacle. But if you are obliged to translate a shout of affection or an impulse of gaiety into articulate language every few hours, what can you expect ? Imagine a face utterly deprived' of the power to smile, or laugh, or express enjoyment except in words, and bound under the heaviest penalties to render every shade of such feeling, without the aid of the eyes or mouth, by sentences and sentences alone, and you have an embarrassment very nearly identical with that of our daily contemporaries. Of course they get morbid and hysterical. The natural outlet for such sentiment being absolutely closed to the journalist, he becomes- hoarse and broken-winded in his efforts to keep pace with public enthusiasm, and hopes that the roaring which only expresses his own difficulty in breathing, will be taken by his readers as a solemn organ-peal of public joy.

In short, the daily papers have been vainly trying all the week

to effect a moral illumination in their style of expression. But high-pressure writing, while it refuses to convey the charm and glitter of sparkling crowns and stars and Prince of Wales's feathers, or the soft radiance of the transparencies, comes near- enough to it to remind us of the oppressive and artificial smell of escaping, though not the brilliance of burning, gas. Take, for instance, our popular contemporary the Daily Telegraph,

which has dealt a good deal in these gorgeous efforts at moral illuminations during the week. Here is something that clearly corresponds to a Crown and Prince of Wales's feathers, with "God bless the Prince of Wales "in shining letters, above, and "England's 'Ope," as the awe-struck throng spelt it out, in startling capitals below:—

" Ho came at last, young, gallant, confident, with a noble bearing and an upright mien, walking with the assured tread of one who knew himself to be porphgrogenitus, yet bowing his comely head from side to side gracefully to those who rose to do him homage. This was the- Prince of Wales. It is a wonder that the people did. not leap up at him,. or cast their garments upon him, as the Athenians did of old to their favourites, or at least shout themselves hoarse with enthusiasm ; but they were a courtly throng, and the dazzling pageant swept by in alraost , breathless silence, and then a low murmur of approval and of devotion ran through the refined assembly. It was admitted on all sides that he looked handsome and dignified, and that his face beamed with intelli- gence. The dress be wore enhanced the charm of his manner, and seemed to add height to his stature. He was clothed in the robes; of the Order of the Garter, and in that gorgeous panoply, a general's uni- form beneath, and a hat heavy with plumes in his hand, he looked from top to toe the favourite of fortune and the idol of his countlynien ; who one day, please God, is to be Edward the Seventh, King of England, and. who, we humbly pray, may prove fully worthy of his amazing felicity and the priceless inheritance of a great people's love."

That ‘. porphyrogenitus" is alone far more meritorious in con-

ception than even the crown on the Wellington in Piccadilly,. magnificent as it was. Indeed, the whole passage is in richness of colour and design quite equal to the illumination on the National Gallery ; only while you don't have the gay effect of the light,. you do smell the gas very strongly indeed. Sometimes- the practised penmen who produce these great pictures must be themselves conscious of the dead effect of their great and magnificent designs_ Thus another eminent con- temporary, the Daily News, in describing a companion picture-

to the above, says, with an audacity which must certainly have amused the writer if he had not quite lost all consciousness of the meaning of his own words, that the expression of the Prince of Wales in the Royal Chapel "was that of one who felt that at that moment the good and sincere wishes of a people were accom- panying him to the bridal altar." This is a very refined expres- sion to put into His Royal Highness's face indeed. Of course it cannot mean that the Prince looked as if he knew that he was. being admiringly looked at ; yet we strongly suspect that it is only the reporter's gorgeously illuminated form of conveying that rather- common-place idea. You must not be too simple and intelligible on

such an occasion, and certainly there is grandeur in supposing that the Prince of Wales expressed in his noble lineaments not only a visible censciousness of visible admiration, which is not difficult to imagine, but the rather complicated consciousness that "good and sincere" wishes accompanied him to the altar, and that those good and sincere wishes were the wishes of "a people." We would not deny that all that might be written on a human face but it at

least requires an illuminated mind to read it.

But some of the most ineffectual of the forms of verbal orna- Nentation in which the press have indulged bear more resemblance to a very different species of illumination, which has evidently grown in popularity since our last festivity of this sort. It had clearly struck the public that to illuminate the natural lines of a building would be a happy form of radiance ; and so, indeed, it often proved. We saw few things prettier than the triple parallels of light with which Messrs Smith and Son had illuminated their great building in the Strand, and nothing equal in its effect to the sweeping curves of flame along the Quadrant in Regent street. The same idea was, in many places, carried out in a poorer and stiffer way in complicated rectangular illuminations, which looked like blazing doorpanellings, but which were likewise intended, we suppose, to bring out the natural lines of the masonry. The newspapers have not by any means neglected the analogous verbal emblazonings. Very old and trite maxims of human duty have been inlaid with the most magnificent ornament with an in- tention of quite overwhelming effect. Thus when one contem- porary wishes to say that it hopes the Prince of Wales will not forget his moral responsibilities in his happiness, it remarks that "he must hear all the solemn notes which sound for Him in the music of the Marriage March. This morning, to that sweet and holy symphony, his footsteps cross the true threshold of his life. Behind him lie youth and the past ; the present beams from his bride's eyes radiant and joyous ; what then will he make his future? Upon that answer, given by his firm determination and sealed by his steady actions, depends not only his weal,—that even for a Prince must be a matter for his own choosing,—but much of the weal of this majestic England, whose hope he is. If he has sat attentively at the feet of our history, he will be aware that never yet in its ample scope did graver fears and greater hopes cluster about an Heir of the Empire." That is surely only the translation into embossed and illuminated English of the very sound old notion that the Prince in his hour of happiness should resolve to do his duty to the nation, as well as the nation does its duty to the Prince ; but there is the same defect which we have noticed before, that the ornament, though so richly designed, won't light up,---with this in addition here, that the preparations for brilliancy, as they don't produce the expected brilliancy, rather confuse and destroy the outline of the very simple duty enforced than illuminate it. You come out of the sentence rather breath- less, and with a singing in your ears, but certainly no distinct notion that the Prince is bound to do his duty faithfully. This beautiful writer has seen the natural lines of his subject clearly in this case, but the wreaths of the gas machinery have half obli- terated them and, after all, the gas won't light.

No doubt, however, the most profuse and ineffectual spasms have been those in which the newspapers have striven hard to see which can surpass the other in depth and warmth of sentiment about the feelings of the Royal lovers. The many transparencies of princely rapture in which we have been indulged have been the most ornate and nauseous reading of the week. The newspapers entirely mis- understood the public when they supposed that this sort of thing inserted in a respected contemporary would meet the demand of public enthusiasm :—

" At last the gangway was run on shore, and in another moment the Prince might be seen hurrying along the dock of the Victoria and Albert towards the entrance of the saloon. At the same moment a young and graceful figure passed rapidly along the interior of the latter, and at the threshold His Royal Highness saluted, with the ardour of a lover, tempered by the respect of a gentleman, the lips of his intended bride. It was an honest, hearty English kiss, and the English people cheered it in a perfect paroxysm of approbation. That cheer must have been heard to have its loyal and virtuous sentiment understood, the meaning of that sentiment being that the English people accepted the kiss as the seal of a virtuous union bringing life-long happiness to the royal couple, and good example and prosperity to the entire nation. There is a verse of a forgotten drawing-room poet, which describes not inadequately the character in which assembled thousands accepted that royal kiss of welcome :—

"'Sweetest seal of soft affection, Tenderest pledge of future bliss ; Dearest tie of young connection, Love's first snowdrop-virgin kiss.'

"There was but one wish breathed amongst the myriads who witnessed the salute of Saturday last, and that was that it should prove the har- binger of life-long love and happiness to the young and graceful royal couple who thus, with Northern openness, had interchanged it innocently in the face of the world."

The forgotten drawing-room poet certainly well deserved to be forgotten, and no one will thank the extatic writer who recalls him to our memories for the mere sake of showing how disagreeable extasy can become when thus professionally strung to a high pitch. If it were possible to make Englishmen dislike a subject in which their natural feelings are so deeply interested, it would be by this luscious and sticky sort of sentiment. Why can't a Prince kiss a Princess without all this moral treacle? Because we find the praises of our rulers sweet, and love to sympathize with their hap- piness, it is supposed to be impossible to disgust us with any amount of vulgar smacking of the public lips. We are almost ashamed to find that the newspaper press does not better under- stand the self-restraint and dignity of the feeling which mingles with even the most enthusiastic outbursts of English loyalty.