Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 71, No. 437, March 1852 — John Shaqi
Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 71, No. 437, March 1852Various
General
Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 71, No. 437, March 1852
Various
England -- Periodicals; Scotland -- Periodicals
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Small capital text has been replaced with all capitals.
* * * * *
BLACKWOOD'S
EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.
NO. CCCCXXXVII. MARCH, 1852. VOL. LXXI.
CONTENTS.
MISS MITFORD'S "RECOLLECTIONS," 259
STRUGGLES FOR FAME AND FORTUNE. PART III., 272
SKETCHES FROM THE CAPE, 289
MY NOVEL; OR, VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. PART XIX., 298
ENGLISH ADMINISTRATIONS, 320
TIBET AND THE LAMAS, 335
FOREST LIFE IN CANADA WEST, 355
FAREWELL TO THE RHINE, 366
THE REFORM MEASURES OF 1852, 369
EDINBURGH:
WILLIAM BLACKWOOD & SONS, 45 GEORGE STREET; AND 37 PATERNOSTER ROW,
LONDON.
_To whom all communications (post paid) must be addressed._
SOLD BY ALL THE BOOKSELLERS IN THE UNITED KINGDOM.
PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, EDINBURGH.
BLACKWOOD'S
EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.
NO. CCCCXXXVII. MARCH, 1852. VOL. LXXI.
MISS MITFORD'S "RECOLLECTIONS."[1]
[1] _Recollections of a Literary Life; or, Books, Places, and
People._ By MARY RUSSELL MITFORD, author of "Our Village," &c.
No one can have glanced at _Our Village_, or any of the charming
sketches of Miss Mitford, without having been struck by the peculiar
elegance, the raciness, the simplicity of her style. It is as free
in all its movements as that pet of hers, the Italian greyhound
she has made so familiar to us all--as free and as graceful. A
beautiful style is no singularity in our days, and there are many
orders of such beauty; nevertheless, Miss Mitford has a dialect of
her own. It is a style gathered from familiarity with the classic,
and especially the dramatic poets, and with whatever is most terse
and elegant amongst our prose writers, and yet applied with perfect
ease to the simplest details of life, to the real transaction and
the daily scene before her. You would think every one was talking in
the same manner; it is only Miss Mitford who speaks this dialect.
It is as if any one should learn Italian from the works of Petrarch
or Tasso, or any other of their classics, and be able to apply
the language he had thus acquired without the least restraint to
the common purposes of life; every Italian would understand him,
and seem to speak like him, and yet he would remain in exclusive
possession of his own Tuscan speech.
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