The Sun.
London, England, 1868-02-11 00:00:00

THE MAGAZINES.

FRASER.—Regina's most attractive paper this
month is R. A. Procter's contribution in regard to
" The Great Nebula in Orion"—a magazine article
that carries the reader's imagination far away into the
depths of infinitude. There are two more chapters
only of the serial story of the " Marstons"—another
of the numerous loyal tributes to the Queen's
" Journal,"—a third "Village Sketch in 0 udh"—
some pleasant " Rambles in the New Forest," and
" A Don's Arguments," for the most part very sen-
sible arguments indee,l, on " University Or-
ganisation."

TlNSLEY'S.—Entering upon its second half year
with this February number, Tinsley's has already
come to be regarded as an old favourite, and still
contrives to sustain its reputation. Although the
place of honour is still gracefully accorded to Dr. W.
Russell's "Adventures of Dr. Brady," by the con-
ductor of Tinsley's Magazine—there is no doubt at
all about it that the serill story of the publication,
the stock piece, the piece de resistance, the chief
attraction of all every month, is Edmund Yates's
own tale of " The Rock Ahead." Three more
chapters are here added to each narrative—each
of the two serials having its appropriate illustra-
tion—the one to Mr. Yates's " Rock Ahead," being
a masterpiece in its way—" The Cut Direct" we
mean, a scene in fashionablelife, drawn with admir-
able grace and audacity. From the Conductor's
[modern fashionable for Editor's] " Flaneur at the
Play" we are tempted to give the following laughter-
moving extract:—
To possess the power of improvisation is of immense
assistance to an actor. When he forgets the language of
the author, when, in technical parlance, he "sticks," how
happy must be the man who can carry on for a few sen-
tences until the prompter, who naturally never has the
book open at the proper place, can give him " the word !"
Instances of such self-possession are rare. It. was my
good luck, some years ago, to be in the society of my
Master in literature at the Rochester Theatre, when a
haggard man in buff-boots strode to the middle of the stage
before it occurred to him that he had not the least notion
of what he was going to say. But he regarded the audi-
ence sternly, then said in portentous tones : " I will return
anon !" and walked off to refresh his memory at the
prompter's desk. A very delicious instance of improvisa-
tion occurred on last Boxing-night, on the first represen-
tation of No Thoroughfare, at the Adelphi Theatre. The
gentleman who represented the Abbot of St. Bernard's, the
custodian of the clock-lock-held secrets in the monastery,
is supposed to be exceedingly angry at Obenreizer's hav-
ing closed the door of the strong closet without altering
the dial of the clock-lock. Obenreizer, deprecating his
wrath, asks by whom the contents of the closet could
possibly be required. The worthy abbot hesitated and
stammered —it was plain that he had entirely forgotten
his part—but at last he said : "By 'oom, my son ? by 'oom ?
Why by—by—by some of the parties staying 'ere p,
Here is the latest theatrical mot. A manager who has
never yet been accused of humour wrote to .a leading
actress, asking her to play an engagement at the autumnal
opening of his theatre, and begging her to name her terms.
The lady, in reply, expressed her willingness to accede to
the proposition ; her terms were thirty pounds a night.
The manager's reply was this: "Dear Madam,—Make it
shillings, and it's a bargain."
The Hon. Alice Brand still continues her " Corre-
spondence," and "An American" this month be-
gins a series of " English Photographs." " Baby
Nell" has an ingenious but rather ridiculous illus-
tratiou—her sire looking simply absurd. Besides
the foregoing, there should be mentioned, among
the contents, " The Romance of a Glove," as a
paper worth glancing at by those who are in search
of entertainment.

COLBURN'S UNITED SERVICE—if for nothing else,
would be remarkable for the third contribution,
" Colonel Herbert Edwards on the Substitution of
Native for British Troops." There are several
other articles of great interest, however, in relation
to both Services in this Febru try number—chief
among these, perhaps, being the papers relating re-
spectively to "Our Naval Defences," and to the
Abyssinian Expedition.

BELGRAVIA.—Miss Braddon is certainly as inde-
fatigable in her industry as she is apparently inex-
haustible in her ideality. Her imaginative power
still appears to run as clearly and freshly as ever,
judging from her own contributions to her own
monthly periodical. And judging not alone from
these, it should be added. For, apart from the
Belgravia, we see that it is announced by her pub-
lisher that in a few days there will be issued from
the press a new three-volumed novel, never before
published, from the pen of the author of "Lady
Audley's Secret." Namely, the promised sequel to
" Birds of Prey"—entitled, " Charlotte's Inheri-
tance." An announcement, this ie, which we our-
selves are doubly glad to see, and for this simple
but sufficient reason—that we have purposely yet
reluctantly refrained hitherto from noticing in The
Sun the earlier half of this as yet incomplete whole,
namely, the three volumes of "The 13irds of Prey"
—because we regard the story, as it is there sud-
denly broken off right in the very middle, as alto-
gether too inartistic to be in any fair way reason-
ably dealt with. Let the lines be continued as
we now hope to see them continued—
and not only continued but completed in
" Charlotte's Inheritance," and Miss Braddon's de-
sign as an artist will then, at last, but then only (so
far as this work is concerned) for the first time come
within the grasp of our appreciation. It was not
so with a great master of his art like Lord Lytton,
when he first of all drew " Ernest Maltravers," and
afterwards "Alice," its sequel—each being perfect
and complete in itself, each " one entire and perfect
chrysolite"—yet when fused together eventually, as
they are now, into a single work of art under the
title of Ernest Maltravers, Part One and Part Two,
distinguishable the one from the other simply as
the Eleusinia and the Mysteries, they remain (when
so fused) one and harmonious in their blended out-
lines. Now that " Charlotte's Inheritance" is an-
nounced, however, as immediately forthcoming, we
are rejoiced to have delayed expressing our opinion
of "The Birds of Prey" until its sequel should also
have made its appearance. We hope, therefore,
very shortly to have the opportunity of noticing
the six volumes together, as making only one work
of art, namely, the 3 vols. of " Birds of Prey" and the
forthcoming 3 vols. of "Charlotte's Inheritance." To
revert, however, to Belgravia—here, too, Miss Brad-
t don, we repeat, shows herself to beboth indefatigable
and inexhaustible. Leading off the February num-
ber with four more chapters of her current serial
story of " Dead Sea Fruit," she closes the number
with some melodious stanzas of her own, entitled
" After the Battle." Percy Fitzgerald continues,
by two more chapters, his novel of " Diana Gay"—
having but just now (this last week) finished in
All the Year Round his serial tale of " The Dear
Girl." From G. A. Sala's delightful paper "On
the Sensational in Literature and Art" we extract
the following admirable passage :

May I whisper in the reader's ear that the agitation
against "Romanticism" in literature and art in France
was an exactly analogous outcry to that with which we
are now deafened in England against "Sensationalism" ?
But ere I take up that Cry of cries, and strive to show
what a hollow, windy, worthless,ululation it is, I wish to
say a few words concerning a Cry as worthless, which im-
mediately preceded it.
Mr. Charles Dickens has enjoyed European, world-wide
fame for thirty years. I have watched his career as nar-
rowly as I have watched it admiringly ; and I think I
have read every line he has written, and have been enabled
to trace with sufficient accuracy the successive phases of

development through which his genius has passed, the
mellowing of his faculties, the chastening of his style, and
their gradual culmination into a splendid but sober after-
noon of intellect. He is probably, at this moment, the
best-known and the most deservedly popular author in the
world; and in the very first number of the very next
serial in the familiar old green cover which he might pub-
lish, we should probably be constrained to admit that there
was something—in the way of character or of description
—as good as, if not bettor than, Charles Dickens had ever
dote before. Yet, having a pretty retentive memory, and
having been all my life more or less intimately connected
with what are called " literary circles," I can perfectly
well recollect that, in the year 1842—and we are now, I
take it, in 1868—there was no commoner cry in polite

society" than that "Dickens had written himself
out." There used to be a man called Crolot., who
had something to do with the Admiralty, and didn't
know where Russell-square was, and wrote scurrilous
articles in the Quarterly Review, especially delighting
when it was upon a woman's shoulders that he could lay
his dirty lash. You see that a woman is more vascular
than a malt. You can fetch the blood sooner frcm her
than from us tough brutes, and she can't hit back again.
This Croker did his best to scarify Lady Morgan ; but ho
himielf has been pilloried to deathless infamy by Mr. Dis-
raeli in Coningsby, and by Mr. Thackeray in Vanity Fair.

lie did almost every conceivable variety of bad and base
thing, but he sometimes said a good one. In the first

bright dawn of Charles Dickens's fame, Oroker observe
that the author of Pickwick had "gone up like a rocket,
but would come down like the stick." This was " sack
and sugar" to the charitable souls who were so fond of re-
peating that 60 Boz" had " written himself out." " Boz "
wrote the Old Curiosity Shop, and pending the appearance
of his next book the charitable souls reported that he had
gone raving mad. He wont to America, and the charit-
able souls put it that he was dead. He wrote Martin
Chuzzlewit, and the charitable souls deelared that there was
"a great falling off in his style." He went to Italy, and
the charitable souls hinted that ho had pawned his plate
to raise funds for the voyage. There was no end to the
malice of the charitable souls. Dombey, Copperfield, Bleak
House, Hard Times, the Two Cities, Great Expectations, Our
Mutual Friend were all asserted to be infinitely inferior to
their predecessors; but somehow the man went on writ-
ing, and enlisting fresh tons of thousands of readers with
every new book he wrote. And yet about this time of the
New Year the rocket ig soaring high over the State of
Pennsylvania, and the stick hasn't come down at all, save
perhaps in the form of a stick of cheerful disdain, which
has hit the charitable smile over the nose badly.
The illustrations to Belgravia are still profusely
abundant, and the literary contributions to it most
agreeably amusing and miscellaneous.

COLBURN'S NEW MONTHLY.—Among so many new
faces, Cornhills, Tinsleys, St. Paula, Belgravias, and
so forth, here comes an old familiar one enough in
the New Monthly, endeared to magazine readers
years ago under the editorial management now of
Thomas Campbell, now of Thomas Hood, now of
Theodore Hook, now of Lord Lytton, when he was
Sir Edward Lytton Bulwer, or was it not when he
was yet Mr. Bulwer?--at any rate when he was de-
lighting the readers of the New Monthly from
month to month with the Essays afterwards col-
lected together in the two charming volumes of
" The Student." By reason of those delightful
recollections in regard to it we have a weakness for
the New Monthly, still presided over as it is by an
eminent editor in the person of Mr. Harrison
Ainsworth. The two serial tales are still continued
in this 566th No. of the "New" Monthly—namely,
" The Deepdale Mystery" and the " Arlingtons."
Besides these there are several other contributions
of interest that we have neither space nor time here
to particularise.

BENTLEY'S MISCELLANY.—Another favourite,
almost as old as the one just mentioned—this being
if not the 566th No., at any rate the 374th—Bent-
ley's Miscellany still finds its chief attraction as it
did so many years ago in another instalment of a
current serial story by William Harrison Ains-
worth. Nowadays, however, that serial story is
" Myddleton Pomfret" instead of "Jack Sheppard,'
and appears too without the added attraction of
marvellous etchings from the hand of George
Cruikshank. Monk Saville this February gives us
the second portion of his serial story, " Worth the
Winning." The other contributors hardly admit of
being particularised.
THE BROADWAY—stiII caters with equal care and
ability for the reading public of New York and
London. If Francis Palgrave descants, in one
paper on " Public Statues in London," Molyneux
St. John, in another, writes (and graphically too)
about " New York Theatres." Henry Sedley ex-
patiates onewhilo " On International Prejudices,"
and Robert Tomes another oa " Emigrants in
America." Besides this, F. C. Burnand continues
his amusing "Second Thoughts," and the Author
of " Guy Livingstone " his dashing, crashing, lance-
splintering " Breakspeare.'

THE DUBLIN UNIVERSITY.—The fashion seems
latterly to tend among the magazines to the issuing
simultaneously or contemporaneously of a brace of
serial stories. Formerly magazine readers were
contented with one—now they must needs have two.
It is so here again in the Dublin—where we have
several more chapters of " Sweet Anne Page," and
several more chapters of " John Hall's Niece."
Besides these we have a scholarly argument on
" Ancient, Mediaeval, and Modern Preaching," and
an able criticism on " Moliere's Predecessors."

THE MONTlL—Happily one story suffices for the
Month, the magazine so-called—not February.
Eudoxia—the picture of the Fifth Century—begun
the other day, introduces us now, among others, to
Atnantine, Gunilda, and Olympias. The most im-
portant contribution to the whole number, how-
ever, is the first article, a politico-religious paper,
having reference to "The Holy See and the Russian
Go vern meat."

TIIE ARGOSY—E iited by Mrs. Henry Wood, and
"laden with golden grail," as its motto saith, still
goes on swimmingly. The E litress, chiefly re-
markable as the Authoress of "East Lynne," pur-
sues her new serial tale of " Anne Hereford," the
illustration to which this month is sufficiently
lugubrious, more appropriate, seemingly, to the
close of a story than to its commencement. There
are plenty of other entertaining papers in this
number under notice—among them " Kate Foley's
Remains," and K. S. Macquoid's " River-side
Story," to say nothing of " The Hungry Sea," by
Frances Freeling Broderip, or of a Charade by the
Dean of Canterbury.
ONCE A WEEK—Edited by E. S. Dallas, and
edited, we must say, at once admirably, and pub-
lished at a cost of no more than twopence for every
weekly number, takes its place now in the form of
its monthly part—this being Part I. of the New
Series—takes its place now by right among the best
and ablest of the magazines. As for the serial
story now adorning its pages it may com-
pete with any serial story at present making its
appearance. " Foul Play " is the admir-
able title of it: Eleven chapters are here given
in the part for January, issued simultaneously with
the magazines for February. It is the joint pro-
duction of Charles Reade and Dion Boucicault, and
as such it is not merely worthy of either of them,
but of both of them put together. Our interest in
the plot has been mastered by them from the outset,
and we get more and more entangled in the thread
of the narrative as the yarn is spun out. When
completed " Foul Play" will dramatise to perfection,
and is safe to have a run that will compete with
the run of " Masks and Faces," or, yet more, of
" Arrali-na-pogue." George Du Maurier is on his
mettle with the illustrations, one or two of which
are befitting the literary excellence of " Foul Play."
The, present number of Once a Week is remarkable,
among other notable contents, for " Death Dealing
his Arrows," a powerful original drawing by I. E.
Millais, R.A. ; and for an original poem—some
curious verses " On a Spiteful Letter"—by Alfred
Tennyson, Poet Laureate.
GOOD WORDS.—Edited by Norman Macleod,
although the Doctor is far away in India on a Two
Years' visit to various parts of our possessions in
Hindostan, fully sustains its claim to be regarded
as the Serial of Serials. It fulfils its admirably
chosen motto from the old Poet Herbert—" Good
words are worth much and cost little." Sixpence
monthly is the cost of it—the worth of it being
difficult, indeed, adequately to appraise. And no
wonder, seeing that among the many illustrious
contributors to this one among the very cheapest of all
our popular periodicals, are numbered Alfred
Tennyson, the Right lion. William Ewart Glad-
stone, Jean Ingelow, and Dinah Alulock—with
promise among others yet of the Dean of West-
minster, and the Bishop of London, and Henry
Rogers, and the Duke of Argyll. Nay, Henry
Rogers and Dean Stanley are here already among
the actual contributors—and associated with them,
too, as such the poet and novelist, George Mac-
donald. The serial story of " The Woman's
Kingdom," begun in January is continued in
February, without making much progress—the two
sisters and the two brothers being brought just a
trifle more into communication with each other. Mr.
Gladstone, by a second instalment, completes hi!:
able and extenuative criticism on " Ecce Homo.
With Henry Rogers' estimate of " Erasmus" we haY°
no sympathy whatever—preference being here ac-
tually accorded by him to that cynical and cool..
blooded nature, as compared with the wise, witY,
warm-hearted, genial, affectionate nature of
Sir
Thomas More I
TuE MASK—is another new venture arnongtl
periodicals : this time, however, among the lighter
class, catering as it does less for the reader's instruc-
tion than for his amusement. The illustrations are
many of them very amusing : instance this,
stillcaricaturetill
more
ore the portraiture
comical oc fu
t SironN Edwino Thoroughfare, .I.Aand.' ee r a:1
in which Charles Dickens and Wilkie Collins v
ir
not fail to be recognised. The monks at the top
are capital ; so, too, is Madame Dor.