passionate longing of to-day for a closer knowledge of a life than we are entitled to possess to account for their publication. If the system now in vogue of publishing every obtainable scrap of personal detail prevails much longer, men will take refuge in epistolary silence, or will write nothing that is not superficial and unimportant. Now and then, when Phyllis, by means of the law-courts, seeks to rebuke and turn to profitable account the perfidy of Damon, the world is treated to a confidential correspondence, and is allowed to chuckle and make merry over unreserved and sometimes imaginative, sometimes realistic, rhapsodies of affection. Such correspondence is ordinarily given to the world against the will of the writer, and its publication forms, indeed, a portion of the penalty his falsehood has merited. It is different, however, when a man's most confidential utterances are given to the world by those of his own household. Against such posthumous revelations there is no possible protection, except the epistolary silence of which I previously spoke. HEINE'S WIFE AND MOTHER. ONCERNING Heine's wife we have heard little. The mar CONG riages of poets who possess exceptional powers of idealising woman, and can make a Dulcinea of a Blowsalinda, and who are, moreover, not always themselves the easiest of people with whom to live, are not always, perhaps not often, happy. In some regrettable cases, as those of Lady Lytton and Lady Byron, the world, through the impetuosity, to use no stronger word, of the lady, or the indiscretion, to be similarly judicious in phrase, of her friends, gets to know much more than is desirable. In other cases, as in that of Milton, the poet by quasi-dramatic utterance succeeds in leaving to following generations the impression that his spouse was not a miracle of tenderness and forbearance. In the case of Heine, however, so far as I am aware, few hints of domestic dissension or difficulty have been spread. We learn now, from Heine's own lips, that his marriage was not exceptionally happy. This information is conveyed in a fit of depression to his "dear, good mother." In his letter to her Heine says of his wife, "She is a most excellent, honourable, good creature, without deceit or malice. But, unfortunately, her temperament is very impatient, her moods unequal, and she often irritates me more than is good for me. I am still devoted to her with all my soul; she is still the deepest want of my life. But that will all cease some day, as all human feelings cease with time; and I look forward to that time with terror, for then I shall have to endure the burden of the caprices without the alleviating sympathy. At other times I am tormented with realising the helplessness and want of reflection in my wife in case I should die, for she is as inexperienced and senseless as a three-year-old child." Not a very damaging character is that for a husband avowedly suffering from hypochondriac fancies to give his wife. These passages were written, however, by a son to a mother loved and prized as Jewish mothers are, and such utterances are, or should be, sacrosanct. They are given to the world, however, with the sanction of the family, by the nephew of the poet. There is, accordingly, nothing to be said but that "to-day knows naught of yesterday," and that the dead, at least, will not be troubled by the revelation. OF "EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY VIGNETTES." F modern writers upon the eighteenth century in England Mr. Austin Dobson stands avowedly foremost. The eighteenth century in France, the development of which was widely different, has many able historians. In England, the keen interest inspired by the Elizabethan and Jacobean drama, and by the lyrics of the times immediately subsequent, and the absolute renaissance in poetry which was witnessed at the outset of the present century, and has since grown and developed, has made us less than just to the period between. The London of the Georges is, however, neither less picturesque nor less interesting than that of Stuart times, and to that London Mr. Austin Dobson is an enchanting guide. His poems have the very ring of what the Laureate in sufficiently familiar lines calls The teacup times of hoop and hood, In his prose writings, also, Mr. Dobson has left us the most lifelike and delightful pictures we possess. I have before me now the recentlypublished "Eighteenth-Century Vignettes," from the perusal of which I have just risen. A second gallery of portraits so exact and satisfying as this contains I do not know. Steele, Fielding, Johnson, Goldsmith, Chesterfield, Cowper, and a dozen others of hardly less eminence, are presented with unsurpassable fidelity. It is, of course, impossible to give, in a few paragraphs, an insight into a work consisting of twenty detached essays. The whole I may, however, say, is saturated with knowledge of and feeling for the subject, and the reconstitution of Vauxhall Gardens is an absolute triumph. Mr. 'Chatto & Windus. Austin Dobson has, of course, given us works of substantial authority on Bewick and other eighteenth-century celebrities. I am not sure, however, that this gallery of miniatures, each one a portrait, is not equally valuable and welcome with any of the more ambitious paintings in oil which we owe to his brush. FE "NEW WINCHELSEA." EW prospects more picturesque than that from the heights at Fairlight over Winchelsea can be found in England, and few scenes are richer in historical associations. Sufficiently enjoyable is a trip to the once memorable seaport, some trace of whose former greatness is preserved in the fact that it is one of the Cinque Ports. The visitor, however, who counts upon finding shelter in what is now scarcely more than a village will do well to secure his pied-à-terre beforehand, or he may have to stretch his journey to Hastings. Among the inhabitants of Winchelsea has long been Mr. F. A. Inderwick, Q.C., who seeks on its picturesque plateau a peaceful and pleasing contrast from the scenes in which his life avocations are placed. With a capacity which is rare, and a zeal which is to be commended to general imitation, he has constituted himself an historian of the place of his adoption. Winchelsea possessed already an historian of the conventional order. Very different from a local history is, however, Mr. Inderwick's "Story of King Edward and New Winchelsea." It exhibits, indeed, as its second title denotes, "The Edification of a Medieval Town." Work of this class has unparalleled interest. We see how, under the fostering influence of the First Edward, Winchelsea rose into importance, and how loyally it repaid the obligation by its contributions to the wars with France. An animated picture is given of the various trades that assembled in the spot the King delighted to honour. The very names of the traders are given, and one of the most interesting contributions to antiquarian literature ever made is supplied. A mere enumeration of the classes of inhabitants-military, naval, clerical, and the rest; and of its charities, its institutions, including the pillory and the ducking-stool-would occupy many pages. I can attempt no criticism; but holiday time will come again, and I can fancy no more enjoyable effort than that of the traveller who, with the aid of Mr. Inderwick's delightful book, attempts on the spot to reconstitute Winchelsea. Sampson Low, Marston, & Co. SYLVANUS URBAN. THE GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE. APRIL 1893. MARTIN THE SHEPHERD. BY LILLIAS WASSERMANN. 'HE bare, leafless trees in the little dell (or dene, locally speak Ting, creaked and groaned in the sad winter wind, and the waters of the burn foamed and fretted about the great grey boulders continuously. A dull, red sun scarce managed to pierce through the prevailing greyness, and masses of blue-black cloud lay low upon the horizon. Anyone familiar with the district-that wild, bleak, barren country contiguous to the Cheviot range-would have known instinctively that bad weather was in store, that the long-expected snow would make its appearance ere long. Between the fitful gusts of wind there was something solemn and impressive in the aspect of nature, and in the heavy, lifeless atmosphere; something that suggested a breathless waiting for the coming storm. Meanwhile, the scattered flocks of sheep moved in a leisurely fashion along the steep sides of the fells, and a pair of lovers lingered in the dene, too absorbed in their own insignificant portion of the world's business to pay much attention to the impending trouble. The girl was young, and on her cheeks bloomed the roses of vigorous health, but she was poorly dressed; while the young man, who was enacting-after a somewhat mean fashion-the part of lover, looked prosperous and well-to-do. "It's hard upon me, Ralph; you must confess that!" she exclaimed, with a touch of bitterness, as her blue eyes looked wistfully up through a mist of tears. "It isn't ma fault that aw canna keep him straight, and yet aw'm te be punished for it, as if it was!" Ralph turned his head away. He could not bear to meet the VOL. CCLXXIV. NO. 1948. Austin Dobson has, of course, given us works of substantial authority on Bewick and other eighteenth-century celebrities. I am not sure, however, that this gallery of miniatures, each one a portrait, is not equally valuable and welcome with any of the more ambitious paintings in oil which we owe to his brush. FE "NEW WINCHELSEA.” EW prospects more picturesque than that from the heights at Fairlight over Winchelsea can be found in England, and few scenes are richer in historical associations. Sufficiently enjoyable is a trip to the once memorable seaport, some trace of whose former greatness is preserved in the fact that it is one of the Cinque Ports. The visitor, however, who counts upon finding shelter in what is now scarcely more than a village will do well to secure his pied-à-terre beforehand, or he may have to stretch his journey to Hastings. Among the inhabitants of Winchelsea has long been Mr. F. A. Inderwick, Q.C., who seeks on its picturesque plateau a peaceful and pleasing contrast from the scenes in which his life avocations are placed. With a capacity which is rare, and a zeal which is to be commended to general imitation, he has constituted himself an historian of the place of his adoption. Winchelsea possessed already an historian of the conventional order. Very different from a local history is, however, Mr. Inderwick's "Story of King Edward and New Winchelsea." It exhibits, indeed, as its second title denotes, "The Edification of a Medieval Town." Work of this class has unparalleled interest. We see how, under the fostering influence of the First Edward, Winchelsea rose into importance, and how loyally it repaid the obligation by its contributions to the wars with France. An animated picture is given of the various trades that assembled in the spot the King delighted to honour. The very names of the traders are given, and one of the most interesting contributions to antiquarian literature ever made is supplied. A mere enumeration of the classes of inhabitants-military, naval, clerical, and the rest; and of its charities, its institutions, including the pillory and the ducking-stool-would occupy many pages. I can attempt no criticism; but holiday time will come again, and I can fancy no more enjoyable effort than that of the traveller who, with the aid of Mr. Inderwick's delightful book, attempts on the spot to reconstitute Winchelsea. 1 Sampson Low, Marston, & Co. SYLVANUS URBAN. |