PEOPLE I HAYE MET ; 
 
 OR 
 
 PICTURES OF SOCIETY AND PEOPLE OF MARK, 
 
 DRAWN UNDER A THTN VEIL OF FICTION. 
 
 BY N, PARKER WILLIS, 
 
 NEW YORK : 
 BAKER AND SCRIBNER, 
 
 145 NASSAU STREET AND 36 PARK ROW. 
 1850. 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1849, T>y 
 
 BAKER AND SCRIBNER, 
 
 In the Clerk s Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern 
 District of New Y.orfe . 
 
 Stereotyped by 
 
 C. W . BENEDICT, 
 01 William street. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 REAL life is not as commonplace as it is represented. The 
 contrasts, surprises, combinations, and novel situations, which 
 some say " are only found in plays," occur in every day society 
 with the difference, that those in a play are published to the 
 world, while those in private life are known only to one or two. 
 The dread of misrepresentation conceals from us most of the ma 
 chinery of life, and all of its most wonderful occurrences, except 
 now and then one that is disclosed by accident. He who fancies 
 that he sees all that is dramatic, even in the circle where he is 
 most intimate, is like a deaf and blind man unconsciously present 
 at a play. 
 
 There is, of course, great difference in the power of observa 
 tion some men seeing less than seems natural, and others more 
 than would be thought possible but the most common observer 
 has only to allow every other man to know as many surprising things 
 as himself, (which few would, at first thought, allow,) and he will 
 
 M 4778 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 easily understand how the sum total fills the world with invisible 
 dramas. Little we know what the heart is busy with, while the 
 lips are phrasing for us the small talk of the day ! Little we 
 dream what we interrupt or further precede or follow help to 
 forget or while away the time for. Few are only about what they 
 seem to be about, or are only what they seem to be. 
 
 The freedom to draw truly, in fiction, gives a fidelity to por 
 traitures in a story, which would be almost impossible even in a 
 literal biography. The most common man s exact and entire 
 impression of any one whom he knows, would read like a passage 
 of Shakspeare because Shakspeare s power of description con 
 sists, not in the coloring of his imagination, but in his utter 
 fidelity to nature. Between what we have seen ourselves, and the 
 same thing verbally described to us by others, there is often little 
 or no resemblance, because, from various influences which do not 
 affect a professedly fictitious description, the describer wavers 
 from the truth. 
 
 It is not from his imagination, as is commonly supposed, but 
 from his store of private observation and knowledge, that the 
 author draws his most effective pictures of character and human 
 event. The names may be fictitious, the scenery and circum 
 stances ideal, the personages painted from fancy, but the motive of 
 the story is true the mainspring of feeling which it developes was 
 a mystery that could not otherwise be told the lesson that the au 
 thor teaches in words to many was first taught by actual occur- 
 
PREEACE. 
 
 rences to himself. No one who is conversant with authors, for in 
 stance, could doubt, that, in Bulwer s novels, under merely such 
 disguises as make identification impossible, are embodied all his 
 own experiences of feeling, and all that he has learned, of human 
 vicissitude and conduct, by access to the inner life of those about 
 him. Does any one suppose that there is one, among the wo 
 men he has loved, who cannot find, in his books, the picture of 
 herself, of her heart as he read it and the record, in truth s 
 most accurate light and shade, of all that was worth remember 
 ing between them ? 
 
 It is in the memory of authors alone, that these vivid and best 
 lessons, in the knowledge of human nature the lessons of expe 
 rience and personal observation are sown, not buried. The ex 
 hibition of character contained in the under-currents of life in an 
 undisclosed conflict, trial, temptation, affection or passion is, when 
 stripped of its names and circumstances, no more recognizable than 
 the particular tree by its seed. The author plants it in another soil, 
 reproduces it in another shape and with other leaves and branches ; 
 and, though the new story has all the essential qualities of the pang 
 or pleasure from which it is drawn, its origin is untraceable. It is 
 one of the rewards of the over-envied and under-paid profession of 
 literature, that the world is led unaware through the author s 
 heart, and sympathizes with all that has moved him. To the 
 hidden qualities he has found and loved, he brings thousands, to 
 add their homage also. For a fine action that could not other- 
 
viii PREFACE. 
 
 wise be told, for a generous self sacrifice made in secret, for pangs 
 and trials unconfessed, for all the deep drama of private life, play 
 ed discouragingly to the appreciation of the few and un-applauding, 
 he can secure a tribute, which the actors alone identify ; though 
 its applause, of the heart unnamed, is as universal as it is unpro- 
 faning and grateful. 
 
 There is more or less of truth, the author of the following pages 
 may, perhaps, as well say, in all the stories he has written. In a 
 world sown so thickly with surprises and exceptions to general 
 rules, one has little need to draw on his imagination for a theme. 
 Having suffered, however, from erroneous applications of some of 
 these descriptions to individuals, he takes this opportunity to state, 
 that by character alone, (which has been an open field to writers since 
 writing began,) and not by true circumstances, names, or histories 
 of private life, is any portion of the ridicule or censure in this 
 volume, applicable or traceable. The greater number of its 
 stories embody such passages, in the personal history of the emi 
 nent men and women of Europe, as the author came to the 
 knowledge of, by conversance with the circles in which they 
 moved portions of the inner life which is seen so imperfectly by ob 
 servers from without lights and shadows, which in their life-time, 
 at least, could not be used for their individual biography, but which 
 are invaluable as aids to the general portraiture of genius. In 
 revealing thus what has impressed and interested him, the author 
 has the pleasure, of course, of so far sharing his secrets with the 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 reader ; but the reader will remember, that, like the visitor to 
 the robber s cave, in the Eastern story, he is brought in, and 
 taken out, blindfold and, of what he has seen, he can reveal 
 nothing. 
 
 N. P. WILLIS. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 A REVELATION OF A PREVIOUS LIFE. 
 
 Phenomena of Consciousness The Listening Lady The Dead Re 
 vivedSpirit Love-Letter, . 1-9 
 
 THE PHANTOM-HEAD UPON THE TABLE. 
 
 Coffee after Dinner Alone with Ladies Self-Recal Need of a 
 Horse Breakfast Invitation A Stolen Advantage A Horse- 
 Stealer A Proposal Premonitions Visible to Another Daugh 
 ter Disowned Conditional Challenge, . . . 10-35 
 
 GETTING TO WINDWARD. 
 
 London Chop House First Step in Poverty Treasured Insult 
 Near Mysteries Truth in Love Scenes A Widow s Proposal 
 Revenge Stronger than Love Value of Attained Objects, 36-62 
 
 TWO BUCKETS IN A WELL. 
 
 Practical Love Love or Wealth Art Foregone Painters Privi 
 leges Style in a Man Change in a Lover Preparations The 
 F6te Bitter Prosperity End Lost in the Means, 53-73 
 
xii CONTENTS. 
 
 LIGHT VERVAIN. 
 
 Tribute to an old Love Ingratitude A Love Letter Re-consider 
 ed Love Chivalry of Politeness, . . 74-84 
 
 BROWN S DAY WITH THE MIMPSON S. 
 
 Facile Manners Delivering a Letter Arrival to Dine Unfortu 
 nate Invitation Secret Information Recognitions Tickets to 
 Almack s, . . ..,.,- . . * 85-99 
 
 MR. AND MRS. FOLLETT. 
 Advice Jealousy Dressed or Not Counter Flirtation, . 100-109 
 
 LADY RAVELGOLD. 
 
 Lady Visit to a Banker What was to be the Equivalent An Aris 
 tocratic Fete A Falcon Flight Approaching a Secret Love at 
 First Sight A Lady Favor Fire Works Tickets to Almack s 
 English Beauty Jealousy A Revelation An Aristocratic Bou 
 doir Change of Relation Supper with Mother and Daughter 
 A Wound A Quarrel A Wedding instead of a Duel, . 110-146 
 
 KATE CREDIFORD. 
 
 First Sad Look The Hand in Love Old Love New Born Meaning 
 in a Cause, . . . . - : . . 146-155 
 
 BEWARE OF DOGS AND WALTZING. 
 
 A Wedding Party Called to Account A Wife Proposed Mental 
 History of a Beau Bringing Lovers Together Tactics A Dog 
 for a Good Angel, . > . 156-170 
 
CONTENTS. xui 
 
 FLIRTATION AND FOX-CHASINa. 
 
 Quarantine Pastime Compulsory Travel Love in Convalescence 
 Contagious Excitement An Involuntary Chase Dangerous The 
 way Hearts Break, . ... 170-188 
 
 THE REVENGE OF THE SIGNOR BASIL. 
 
 Stealing a Portrait A Stolen Portrait A Slight Secrets of a 
 Palace An Aristocratic Angel Use of a Portrait A Palace Re 
 vel Weak Door to a Heart Nearing his Object Love at Court 
 Soiree on Wheels Power at Court Effects of Italy on Love- 
 Vain Obstacle Italian Love Retribution Revelation of Reasons 
 A Woman s Downfall, . . 188-227 
 
 LOVE AND DIPLOMACY. 
 
 Fatal Accident and Love Master and Man Serving a Rival The 
 New Ambassador A Surprise, .... 228-239 
 
 THE MAD-HOUSE OF PALERMO. 
 
 Interesting Visitor Baked Monks Pleasure Hospital for the In 
 sane Story of a Maniac Girl Love for a Cure A Lunatic Wed 
 ding The Effect, 240-265 
 
 AN UP-TOWN CRISIS. 
 
 Preparations On Dress at Home Be Seen Writing The Husband 
 Love, of Some Sort Dramatic Stock-Broker The Snedens 
 Aristocratic Reliances An Angel s Plea, . . . 256-276 
 
 THE ICY VEIL. 
 
 Suppressed Recognition Errand Hither A Secret Home A Lux 
 uryValue of High Life Secrets of Pride A Painter s Error- 
 Strange Love Letter Jessonda Prophetic Parting Revela 
 tion, 277-298 
 
X iv CONTENTS. 
 
 BORN TO LOVE PIGS AND CHICKENS. 
 
 The Astor House Engagement to Marry Good Will of Milliners 
 Love Begun Belle a-Haying Right at Last, . . 299-313 
 
 THOSE UNGRATEFUL BLIDGIMSES. 
 
 Servant for Love Economy in Italy Cheap Trip Cholera out of 
 Place Cholera in a Carriage Toddies for Cholera After such 
 Services The Revelation, . . . : . 314-331 
 
 BELLES OF NEW YORK. 
 
 MRS. VERB, . . . , .332 
 
 MISS AYMAR, OF NEW YORK, . . . . .337 
 
 FANNY TRELLINGER, . . . . ; ,. . 340 
 
 MRS. LETTRELL, . .. -. . . . 345 
 
 HOPE CHASMAR, . . .350 
 
 JENNY EVELAND, . 354 
 
A REVELATION OF A PREVIOUS LIFE, 
 
 " Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting. 
 
 The soul that rises in us, our life s star, 
 Has had elsewhere it s setting, 
 
 And cometh from afar." WORDSWORTH. 
 
 THE death of a lady, in a foreign land, leaves me at liberty to 
 narrate the circumstances which follow. 
 
 A few words of previous explanation, however. 
 
 I am inclined to believe, from conversations on the subject with 
 many sensible persons, that there are few men who have not had, 
 at different intervals in their lives, sudden emotions, currents of 
 thought, affections of mind and body, which not only were wholly 
 disconnected with the course of life thus interrupted, but seemed 
 to belong to a wholly different being. 
 
 Perhaps I shall somewhere touch the reader s experience by 
 describing rather minutely, and in the first person, some sensa 
 tions of this kind not unusual to myself. 
 
 Walking in a crowded street, for example, in perfect health, 
 with every faculty gayly alive, I suddenly lose the sense of neigh 
 borhood. I see I hear but I feel as if I had become invisible 
 
 where I stand, and were, at the same time, present and visible 
 
 1 
 
2 . I lil^OMEN-A.Q? CONSCIOUSNESS. 
 
 elsewhere. I know everything that passes around me, but I seem 
 disconnected and (magnetically speaking) unlinked from the 
 human beings near. If spoken to at such a moment, I answer 
 with difficulty. The person who speaks seems addressing me 
 from a world to which I no longer belong. At the same time, I 
 have an irresistible inner consciousness of being present in another 
 scene of every-day life where there are streets, and houses, and 
 people where I am looked on without surprise as a familiar 
 object where I have cares, fears, objects to attain a different 
 scene altogether, and a different life, from the scene and life of 
 which I was a moment before conscious. I have a dull ache at 
 the back of my eyes for the minute or two that this trance lasts, 
 and then, slowly and reluctantly, my absent soul seems creeping 
 back, the magnetic links of conscious neighborhood, one by one, 
 re-attach, and I resume my ordinary life, but with an irrepressible 
 feeling of sadness. 
 
 It is in vain that I try to fix these shadows as they recede. I 
 have struggled a thousand times, in vain, to particularize and note 
 down what I saw in the strange city to which I was translated. 
 The memory glides from my grasp with preternatural evasiveness. 
 
 In a book called " The Man of Two Lives," similar sensations 
 to these are made the basis of the story. Indeed, till I saw that 
 book, the fear of having my sanity suspected sealed my lips on 
 the subject. 
 
 I have still a reserve in my confession. I have been conscious, 
 since boyhood, of a mental peculiarity which I fear to name while 
 I doubt that it is possessed by others than myself which I should 
 not allude to now, but that it forms a strange link of identity 
 between me and another being to be mentioned in this story. 
 
 I may say, also, without attaching any importance to it, except 
 
A REVELATION OF A PREVIOUS LIFE. 
 
 as it bears upon this same identity, that, of those things which I 
 have no occasion to be taught, or which I did, as the common 
 phrase is, by intuition, drawing was the easiest and most passion 
 ately followed of my boyish pursuits. 
 
 With these preliminaries, and probably some similar experience 
 of his own, the reader may happily form a woof on which to 
 embroider the following circumstances. 
 
 Travelling through Styria, some years since, I chanced to have, 
 for a fellow-occupant of the coupe of a diligence, a very courteous 
 and well-bred person, a gentleman of Gratz. As we rolled slowly 
 along, on the banks of the Mucr, approaching his native town, he 
 very kindly invited me to remain with him a day or two, offering 
 me, as an inducement, a presentation at the soiree of a certain 
 lady of consequence, who was to receive, on the night of our 
 arrival, and at whose house I should see, some fair specimens of 
 the beauty of Styria. 
 Accepted. 
 
 It was a lovely summer s night, when we strolled through the 
 principal street toward our gay destination, and, as I drew upon 
 my friend s arm to stop him while the military band of the fortress 
 finished a delicious waltz (they were playing in the public square), 
 he pointed out to me the spacious balconies of the countess s 
 palace, whither we were going, crowded with the well-dressed 
 company, listening silently to the same enchanting music. We 
 entered, and, after an interchange of compliments with the hostess, 
 I availed myself of my friend s second introduction to take a stand 
 in one of the balconies, beside the person I was presented to, and 
 under cover of her favor, to hear out the unfinished music of the 
 band. 
 
 As the evening darkened, the lights gleamed out from the 
 
4 THE LISTENING LADY. 
 
 illuminated rooms more brightly, and most of the guests deserted 
 the balconies and joined the gayer circles within. The music 
 ceased at the beat of the drum. My companion in the balcony 
 was a very quiet young lady, and, like myself, she seemed sub 
 dued by the sweet harmonies we had listened to, and willing to 
 remain without the shadow of the curtain. We were not alone 
 there, however. A tall lady, of very stately presence, and with 
 the remains of remarkable beauty, stood on the opposite side of 
 the balcony, and she, too, seemed to shrink from the glare within, 
 and cling to the dewy darkness of the summer night. 
 
 After the cessation of the music, there was no longer an excuse 
 for intermittent conversation, and, starting a subject which 
 afforded rather freer scope, I did my best to credit my friend s 
 flattering introduction. I had discoursed away for half an hour 
 very unreservedly, before I discovered that, with her hand upon 
 her side, in an attitude of repressed emotion, the tall lady was 
 earnestly listening to me. A third person embarrasses even the most 
 indifferent dialogue. The conversation languished, and my com 
 panion rose and took my arm for a promenade through the rooms. 
 
 Later in the evening, my friend came in search of me to the 
 supper-room. 
 
 " Mon ami /" he said, " a great honor has fallen out of the 
 sky for you. I am sent to bring you to the beau reste of the 
 
 handsomest woman of Styria Margaret, Baroness R , whose 
 
 chateau I pointed out to you in the gold light of yesterday s sun 
 set. She wishes to know you why I cannot wholly divine for 
 it is the first sign of ordinary feeling that she has given in twenty 
 years. But she seems agitated, and sits alone in the countess s 
 boudoir. Atton-s-y /" 
 
 As we made our way through the crowd, he hastily sketched 
 
A REVELATION OF A PREVIOUS LIFE. 
 
 me an outline of the lady s history : " At seventeen, taken from a 
 convent for a forced marriage with the baron whose name she 
 bears ; at eighteen, a widow, and, for the first time, in love the 
 subject of her passion a young artist of Vienna on his way to 
 Italy. The artist died at her chateau they were to have been 
 married she has ever since worn weeds for him. And the 
 remainder you must imagine for here we are !" 
 
 The baroness leaned with her elbow upon a small table of or 
 molu, and her position was so taken that I seated myself neces 
 sarily in a strong light, while her features were in shadow. Still, 
 the light was sufficient to show me the expression of her coun 
 tenance. She was a woman apparently about forty-five, of noble 
 physiognomy, and a peculiar fulness of the eyelid something like 
 to which, I thought I remembered to have seen, in a portrait 
 of a young girl, many years before. The resemblance troubled 
 me somewhat. 
 
 " You will pardon me this freedom, said the baroness with 
 forced composure, " when I tell you that a friend whom I 
 have mourned twenty-five years seems present to me when you 
 speak." 
 
 I was silent, for I knew not what to say. The baroness shaded 
 her eyes with her hand, and sat silent for a few moments, gazing 
 
 at me. 
 
 a 
 
 You arc not like him in a single feature," she resumed, "yet 
 the expression of your face, strangely, very strangely, is the same. 
 He was darker slighter" 
 
 " Of my age r" I inquired, to break my own silence. For 
 there was something in her voice which gave me the sensation of 
 a voice heard in a dream. 
 
 " Oh, God ! that voice ! that voice !" she exclaimed wildly, 
 
6 THE DEAD IlEVIVED. 
 
 burying her face in her hands, and giving way to a passionate 
 burst of tears. 
 
 " Rodolph," she resumed, recovering herself with a strong 
 effort, " Rodolph died with the promise on his lips that death 
 should not divide us. And I have seen him ! Not in dreams 
 not in revery not at times when my fancy could delude me. I 
 have seen him suddenly before me in the street in Vienna 
 here at home at noonday for minutes together, gazing on me. 
 It is more in latter years that I have been visited by him ; and a 
 hope has latterly sprung into being in my heart I know not 
 how that in person, palpable and breathing, I should again hold 
 converse with him fold him living to my bosom. Pardon me ! 
 You will think me mad !" 
 
 I might well pardon her ; for, as she talked, a vague sense of 
 familiarity with her voice, a memory, powerful, though indistinct, 
 of having before dwelt on those majestic features, an impulse of 
 tearful passionateness to rush to her embrace, well nigh over 
 powered me. She turned to me again. 
 
 " You are an artist ?" she said, inquiringly. 
 
 " No ; though intended for one, I believe, by nature." 
 
 " And you were born in the year ." 
 
 "I was!" 
 
 With a scream she added the day of my birth, and waiting an 
 instant for my assent, dropped to the floor, and clung convulsively 
 and weeping to my knees. 
 
 " Rodolph ! Rodolph !" she murmured faintly, as her long 
 grey tresses fell over her shoulders, and her head dropped insen 
 sible upon her breast. 
 
 Her cry had been heard, and several persons entered the room 
 I rushed out of doors. I had need to be in darkness and alone. 
 
A REVELATION OF A PREVIOUS LIFE. 
 
 It was an hour after midnight when I re-entered my hotel. A 
 chasseur stood sentry at the door of my apartment with a letter 
 in his hand. He called me by name, gave me his missive, and 
 disappeared. It was from the baroness, and ran thus : 
 
 " You did not retire from me to sleep. This letter will find 
 you waking. And I must write, for my heart and brain are over 
 flowing. 
 
 " Shall I write to you as a stranger ? you whom I have 
 strained so often to my bosom you whom I have loved and still 
 love with the utmost idolatry of mortal passion you who have 
 once given me the soul that, like a gem long lost, is found again, 
 but in a newer casket ! Mine still for did we not swear to love 
 for ever ! 
 
 " But I am taking counsel of my own heart only. You may 
 still be unconvinced. You may think that a few singular coin 
 cidences have driven me mad. You may think that, though born 
 in the same hour that my Rodolph died, possessing the same 
 voice, the same countenance, the same gifts though by irresist 
 ible consciousness I know you to be him my lost lover returned 
 in another body to life you may still think the evidence incom 
 plete you may, perhaps, even now, be smiling in pity at my 
 delusion. Indulge me one moment. 
 
 " The Rodolph Isenberg whom I lost, possessed a faculty of 
 
 mind, which, if you are he, answers with the voice of an angel to 
 
 my appeal. In that soul resided, and wherever it be, must now 
 
 reside, the singular power " * **-%#* 
 
 * * * * # # * 
 
 (The reader must be content with my omission of this frag 
 ment of the letter. It contained a secret never before clothed in 
 language a soerot that will rlio with me, unless betrayed by what. 
 
8 SPIRIT LOVE-LETTER. 
 
 indeed it may lead to madness ! As I saw it in writing defined 
 accurately and inevitably in the words of another I felt as if the 
 innermost chamber of my soul was suddenly laid open to the 
 day I abandoned doubt I answered to the name by which she 
 called me I believed in the previous existence of which my whole 
 life, no less than these extraordinary circumstances, had furnished 
 me with repeated evidence. But, to resume the letter.) 
 
 " And now that we know each other again now that I can 
 call you by name, as in the past, and be sure that your inmost 
 consciousness must reply a new terror seizes me ! Your soul 
 comes back, youthfully and newly clad, while mine, though of 
 unfading freshness and youthfulness within, shows to your eye 
 the same outer garment, grown dull with mourning and faded 
 with the wear of time. Am I grown distasteful ? Is it with the 
 sight only of this new body that you look upon me ? Rodolph ! 
 spirit that was my devoted and passionate admirer ! soul that 
 was sworn to me for ever ! am I the same Margaret, refound 
 and recognised, grown repulsive ? Oh God ! What a bitter 
 answer would this be to my prayers for your return to me ! 
 
 " I will trust in Him whose benign goodness smiles upon 
 fidelity in love. I will prepare a fitter meeting for two who 
 parted as lovers. You shall not see me again in the house of a 
 stranger and in a mourning attire. When this letter is written, 
 I will depart at once for the scene of our love. I hear my horses 
 already in the court-yard, and while you read this I am speeding 
 swiftly home. The bridal dress you were secretly shown, the 
 day before death came between us, is still freshly kept. The 
 room where we sat the bowers by the streams the walks where 
 we projected our sweet promise of a future they shall all be 
 made ready. They shall be as they were ! And T oh Rodolph, 
 
A REVELATION OF A PREVIOUS LIFE. 
 
 I shall be the same ! My heart is not grown old, Rodolph ! 
 Believe me, I am unchanged in soul ! And I will strive to be 
 I will strive to look God help me to look and be as of yore ! 
 
 li Farewell now ! I leave horses and servants to wait on you 
 till I send to bring you to me. Alas, for any delay ! but we will 
 pass this life and all other time together. We have seen that a 
 vow of eternal union may be kept that death can not divide 
 those who will to love for ever ! Farewell now ! 
 
 " MARGARET." 
 
 Circumstances compelled me to read this letter with but one 
 feeling exquisite pain ! Love lasts till death, but it is mortal ! 
 The affections, however intense and faithful (I now know), are 
 part of the perishable coil, forgotten in the grave. With the 
 memory of this love of another life, haunting me through my 
 youth, and keeping its vow of visitation, I had given the whole 
 heart of my second youth to another. Affianced to her, waited 
 for by her, bound to her by vows which death had not divided, I 
 had but one course to pursue. I left Gratz in an hour, never to 
 return. 
 
 A few days since I was walking alone in the crowded thorough 
 fare of the city where I live. Suddenly my sense of presence 
 there fell off me. I walked on, but my inward sight absorbed all 
 my consciousness. A room which was familiar to me shut me in, 
 and a bed hung in mourning became apparent. In another 
 instant a figure laid out in a winding-sheet, and partially covered 
 with a velvet pall, grew distinct through the dimness, and in the 
 low-laid head I recognised, what a presentiment had already 
 
 betrayed to me, the features of Margaret, Baroness R . It 
 
 will be still months before I can see the announcement of her 
 
 death. But she is dead. 
 1* 
 
THE PHANTOM-HEAD UPON THE TABLE, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 SHOWING THE HUMILIATION OF THE BARRIERS OF HIGH-LIFE. 
 
 THERE is no aristocracy in the time o niglit. It was punc 
 tually ten o clock, in Berkeley square. It rained on the noble 
 man s roof. It rained on the beggar s head. The lamps, for all 
 that was visible except themselves, might as well have been half 
 way to the moon, but even that was not particular to Berkeley 
 square. 
 
 A hack cabriolet groped in from Bruton street. 
 
 " Shall I ring any bell for you, sir ? " said the cabman, pulling 
 aside the wet leather curtain. 
 
 " No ! I ll get out anywhere ! Pull up to the side-walk ! " 
 
 But the passenger s mind changed, while paying his shilling. 
 
 " On second thoughts, my good fellow, you may knock at tho 
 large door on the right." 
 
 The driver scrambled up the high steps and gave a single 
 knock such a knock as the drivers of only the poor and un 
 fashionable are expected to give, in well-regulated England. 
 
 The door was opened only to a crack, and a glittering livery 
 
THE PHANTOM-HEAD UPON THE TABLE. 
 
 peered through. But the passenger was close behind, and setting 
 his foot against the door, he drove back the suspicious menial 
 and walked in. Three men, powdered and emblazoned in blue 
 and gold, started to their feet, and came toward the apparent 
 intruder. He took the wet cap from his head, deliberately flung 
 his well-worn cloak into the arms of the nearest man, and beck 
 oning to another, pointed to his overshoes. With a suppressed 
 titter, two of the footmen disappeared through a side-door, and 
 the third, mumbling something about sending up one of the stable- 
 boys, turned to follow them. 
 
 The new-comer s hand passed suddenly into the footman s 
 white cravat, and, by a powerful and sudden throw, the man was 
 brought to his knee. 
 
 " Oblige me by unbuckling that shoe ! " said the stranger, in 
 a tone of impertubable coolness, setting his foot upon the upright 
 knee of the astonished menial. 
 
 The shoe was taken off, and the other set in its place upon the 
 plush-covered leg, and unbuckled, as obediently. 
 
 " Keep them until I call you to put them on again ! " said the 
 wearer, taking his gloves from his pockets, as the man arose, and 
 slowly walking up and down the hall while he drew them 
 leisurely on. 
 
 From the wet and muddy overshoes had been delivered two 
 slight and well-appointed feet, however, shining in pliable and 
 unexceptionable jet. With a second look, and the foul-weather 
 toggery laid aside, the humbled footman saw that he had been in 
 error, and that, hack-cab and dirty overshoes to the contrary 
 notwithstanding, the economising guest of " my lord ! " would 
 appear, on the other side of the drawing-room door, only at home 
 or " velvet of three pile "an elegant of undepreciable water ! 
 
12 COFFEE AFTER DINNER. 
 
 " Shall I announce you, sir ? " respectfully inquired the 
 servant. 
 
 " If Lord Aymar has come up from the dinner table yes ! 
 [f the ladies are alone no ! " 
 
 " Coffee has just gone in to the ladies, sir ! " 
 
 " Then I 11 find my own way ! " 
 
 Lady Aymar was jamming the projecting diamond of a bracelet 
 through and through the thick white leaf of an Egyptian kala, 
 lost apparently in an eclipse of revery possibly in a swoon of 
 slumberous digestion. By the drawing-room light, in her negli 
 gent posture, she looked of a ripeness of beauty not yet sapped by 
 one autumnal minute plump, drowsy, and voluptuous. She 
 looked up as the door opened. 
 
 " Spiridion ! " 
 
 " Sappho ! " 
 
 " Don t be silly ! " how are you, Count Pallardos ? And how 
 like a ghost you come in, unannounced ! Suppose I had been 
 tying my shoe, or anything ? " 
 
 " Is your ladyship quite well ? " 
 
 " I will take coffee and wake up to tell you ! Was I asleep 
 when you opened the door ? They were all so dull at dinner. 
 Ah me ! stupid or agreeable, we grow old all the same ! How 
 am I looking, Spiridion ? " 
 
 " Ravishingly ! Where is Lady Angelica ? " 
 
 " Give me another lump of sugar ! La ! don t you take 
 coffee ? " 
 
 u There are but two cups, and this was meant for a lip of more 
 celestial earth has she been gone long ? " 
 
 The door opened, and the rustling dress of Lady Angelica 
 Aymar made music in the room. Oh, how gloriously beautiful 
 
THE PHANTOM-HEAD UPON THE TABLE. 13 
 
 she was, and how changed was Count Spiridion Pallardos by her 
 coming in ! A minute before, so inconsequent, so careless and 
 complimentary now so timid, so deferential, so almost awkward 
 in every motion ! 
 
 The name of "Greek count" has been for a long time, in 
 Europe, the synonym for " adventurer " a worse pendant to a 
 man s name, in high life at least, than "pirate" or "robber." 
 Not that a man is peculiar who is trying to make the most out of 
 society, and would prefer an heiress to a governess, but that it is 
 a disgrace to be so labelled ! An " adventurer " is the same as 
 any other gentleman who is not rich, only without a mask. 
 
 Count Pallardos was lately arrived from Constantinople, and 
 was recognised and received by Lord Aymar as the son of a 
 reduced Greek noble who had been the dragoman to the English 
 embassy when his lordship was ambassador to the Porte. With 
 a promptness a little singular in one whose patronage was so 
 difficult to secure, Lord Aymar had immediately procured, for the 
 son of his old dependent, a small employment as translator in the 
 Foreign Office, and, with its most limited stipend for his means, 
 the young Count had commenced his experience of English life 
 His acquaintance with the ladies of Lord Aymar s family was two 
 stages in advance of this, however. Lady Aymar remembered 
 him well as the beautiful child of the lovely Countess Pallardos, 
 the playfellow of her daughter Angelica on the shore of the Bos- 
 phorus ; and on his first arrival in England, hearing that the 
 family of his patron was on the coast for sea-bathing, Spiridion 
 had prepared to report himself first to the female portion of it. 
 Away from society, in a retired cottage, ornee upon the seashore, 
 they had received him with no hinderance to their appreciation or 
 hospitality ; and he had thus been subjected, by accident, to a 
 
14 ALONE WITH LADIES. 
 
 month s unshared intoxication with the beauty of the Lady 
 Angelica. The arrival of the young Greek had been made known 
 to Lord Aymar by his lady s letters, and the situation had been 
 procured for him ; but Pallardos had seen his lordship but once, 
 and this was his first visit to the town establishment of the 
 family. 
 
 The butler came in with a petit verre of Curayoa for Miladi, 
 and was not surprised, as the footmen would have been, to see 
 Lady Angelica on her knee, and Count Pallardos imprisoning a 
 japonica in the knot a la Grecque of that head of Heaven s most 
 heavenly moulding. Brother and sister, Cupid and Psyche, 
 could not have been grouped with a more playful familiarity. 
 
 " Spiridion ! " said Lady Aymar " I shall call you Spiridiou 
 till the men come up how are you lodged, my dear ! Have you 
 a bath in your dressing-room ? " 
 
 " Pitcher and bowl of the purest crockery, my dear lady ! 
 May I venture to draw this braid a little closer, Angelica to 
 correct the line of this raven mass on your cheek ? It robs us 
 now of a rose-leaf s breadth at least flat burglary, my sweet 
 friend ! " 
 
 But the Lady Angelica sprang to her feet, for a voice was 
 heard of some one ascending from the dining-room. She flung 
 herself into a dor incuse, Spiridion twirled his two fingers at the 
 fire, as if bodily warmth was the uppermost necessity of the 
 moment, and enter Lord Aymar, followed by a great statesman, 
 a famous poet, one sprig of unsurpassed nobility, and one wealthy 
 dandy commoner. 
 
 Lord Aymar nodded to his protege, but the gentlemen grouped 
 themselves, for a moment, around a silver easel, upon which 
 stood a Correggio, a late purchase of which his lordship had been 
 
THE PHANTOM-HEAD UPON THE TABLE. 15 
 
 discoursing, and, in that minute or two, the name and quality of 
 the stranger were communicated to the party probably, for they 
 took their coffee without further consciousness of his presence. 
 
 The statesman paired off to a corner with his host to talk 
 politics, the poet took the punctured flower from the lap of Lady 
 Ayinar, and commenced mending, with patent wax wafers, from 
 the ormolu desk near by, the holes in the white leaves ; and the 
 two ineffables lingered a moment longer over their Curagoa. 
 
 ]?allardos drew a chair within conversation-reach of Lady 
 Angelica, and commenced an unskilful discussion of the opera of 
 the night before. He felt angry, insulted, unseated from his self- 
 possession, yet he could not have told why. The two young men 
 lounged leisurely across the room, and the careless Lord Fred 
 erick drew his chair partly between Pallardos and Lady Angelica, 
 while Mr. Townley Mynners reclined upon an ottoman behind 
 her, and brought his lips within whisper-shot of her ear, and, 
 with ease and unforced nonsense, not audible nor intended to be 
 audible to the " Greek adventurer," they inevitably engrossed 
 the noble beauty. 
 
 The blood of Count Spiridion ran round his heart like a snake 
 coiled to strike. He turned to a portfolio of drawings for a cover 
 to self-control and self-communing, for he felt that he had need 
 of summoning his keenest and coldest judgment, his boldest and 
 wariest courage of conduct and endurance, to submit to, and 
 outnerve and overmaster, his humiliating position. He was under 
 a roof of which he well knew that the pride and joy of it, the fair 
 Lady Angelica, the daughter of the proud earl, had given him her 
 heart. He well knew that he had needed reserve and manage 
 ment to avoid becoming too much the favorite of the lady mistress 
 of that mansion ; yet, in it, he had been twice insulted grossly, 
 
16 SELF-REGAL. 
 
 cuttingly, but in both cases unresentably once by unpunishable 
 menials, of whom he could not even complain without exposing 
 and degrading himself, and once by the supercilious competitors 
 for the heart he knew was his own and, they too, unpunishable ! 
 At this moment, at a sign from Lady Aymar, her lord swung 
 open the door of a conservatory to give the room air, and the 
 long mirror, set in the panel, showed to Spiridion his own pale 
 and lowering features. He thanked Heaven for the chance ! 
 To see himself once more was what he bitterly needed ! to see 
 whether his head had shrunk between his shoulders whether his 
 back was crouched whether his eyes and lips had lost their fear 
 lessness and pride ! He had feared so felt so ! He almost won 
 dered that he did not look like a dependent and a slave ! But oh, 
 no ! The large mirror showed the grouped figures of the drawing- 
 room, his own the noblest among them by nature s undeniable 
 confession ! His clear, statuary outline of features the finely- 
 cut arches of his lips the bold, calm darkness of his passionate 
 eyes his graceful and high-born mien, all apparent enough to 
 his own eye when seen in the contrast of that mirrored picture 
 he was not changed ! not a slave not metamorphosed by that 
 hour s humiliation ! He clenched his right hand, once, till the 
 nails were driven through his glove into the clammy palm, and 
 then rose with a soft smile on his features, like the remainder of 
 a look of pleasure. 
 
 " I have found," said he, in a composed and musical tone, 
 " I have found what we were looking for, Lady Angelica ! " 
 
 He raised the large portfolio from the print-stand, and setting 
 it open on his knee, directly between Lord Frederick and Lady 
 Angelica, cut off that nobleman s communication with her lady 
 ship very effectually, while he pointed out a view of the Acropolis 
 
THE PHANTOM-HEAD UPON THE TABLE. 17 
 
 at Athens. Her ladyship was still expressing her admiration of 
 the drawing, when Spiridion turned to the astonished gentleman 
 at her ear. 
 
 " Perhaps, sir," said he, " in a lady s service, I may venture 
 to dispossess you of that ottoman ! Will you be kind enough to 
 rise ? " 
 
 With a stare of astonishment, the elegant Mr. Townley 
 Mynners reluctantly complied; and Spiridion, drawing the 
 ottoman in front of Lady Angelica, set the broad portfolio upon 
 it, and seating himself at her feet upon the outer edge, com 
 menced a detailed account of the antiquities of the grand capitol 
 The lady listened with an amused look of mischief in her eye , 
 Lord Frederick walked once around her chair, humming an air 
 very rudely; Mr. Mynners attempted in vain to call Lady 
 Angelica to look at something wonderful in the conservatory, and 
 Spiridion s triumph was complete. He laid aside the portfolio 
 after a moment or two, drew the ottoman back to its advantageous 
 position, and, self-assured and at his ease, engrossed fully and 
 agreeably the attention of his heart s mistress. 
 
 Half an hour elapsed. Lord Aymar took a kind of dismission 
 attitude before the fire, and the guests one and all took their 
 leave. They were all cloaking together in the entry, when his 
 lordship leaned over the bannister. 
 
 " Have you your chariot, Lord Frederick ? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes it s at the door now ! " 
 
 " Lady Aymar suggests that perhaps you ll set down Count 
 Pallardos on your way ! " 
 
 " Why ah, certainly, certainly ! " replied Lord Frederick, 
 with some hesitation. 
 
 " My thanks to Lady Aymar," said Spiridion, very quietly, 
 
18 NEED OF A HORSE. 
 
 u but say to her ladyship that I am provided with overshoes and 
 umbrella ! Shall I offer your lordship half of the latter ? " added 
 he in another key, leaning with cool mock-earnestness toward 
 Lord Frederick, who only stared a reply as he passed out to his 
 chariot. 
 
 And marvelling who would undergo such humiliations and such 
 antagonism as had been his lot that evening, for anything else 
 than the love of a Lady Angelica, Count Spiridion stepped forth 
 into the rain to group his way to his obscure lodgings in Parlia 
 ment street. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 SHOWING A GENTLEMAN S NEED OF A HORSE. 
 
 IT was the hour when the sun in heaven is supposed to be least 
 promiscuous the hour when the five hundred fashionables of 
 London West-End receive his visit in the open air, to the entire 
 exclusion (it is presumed) of the remaining population of the 
 globe. The cabs and jarveys, the vehicles of the despised public, 
 rolled past the forbidden gate of Hyde park, and the echo 
 stationed in the arched portal announced the coroneted carriages 
 as they nicely nibbled the pleased gravel in passing under. A 
 plebian or two stood outside to get a look at the superior beings 
 whose daily list of company to dine is the news most carefully 
 furnished to the instructed public. The birds (having u fine 
 feathers ") flew over the iron railing, unchallenged by the gate 
 keeper. Four o clock went up to Heaven s gate with the souls 
 
THE PHANTOM-HEAD UPON THE TABLE. 19 
 
 of those who had died since three, and with the hour s report of 
 the world s sins and good deeds ; and, at the same moment, a 
 chariot rolled into the park, holding between its claret panels the 
 embellished flesh and blood of Lady Aymar and her incomparable 
 daughter. 
 
 A group of gay men on horseback stood at the bend of 
 " Rotten Row," watching the comers-in ; and within the inner 
 railing of the park, among the promenaders on foot, was dis 
 tinguishable the slight figure of Count Pallardos, pacing to and 
 fro with step somewhat irregular. As Lady Aymar s chariot 
 went by, he bowed with a frank and ready smile, but the smile 
 was quickly banished by a flushed cheek and lowering brow, for, 
 from the group of mounted dandies, dashed out Lord Frederick 
 Beauchief, upon a horse of unparalleled beauty, and with 
 a short gallop took and kept his place close at the chariot 
 window. 
 
 Pallardos watched them till the turn of the rin^ took them 
 
 O 
 
 from his sight. The fitness of the group the evident suitable 
 ness of Lord Frederick s position at that chariot window, filled 
 him with a jealousy he could no longer stifle. The contest was 
 all unequal, it was too palpable to deny. He, himself, whatever 
 his person or qualities, was, when on foot, in the place allotted to 
 him by his fortunes not only unnoticed by the contagious admi 
 ration of the crowd, but unable even to obey his mistress, though 
 beckoned by her smile to follow her ! That superb animal, the 
 very type of pride and beauty, arching his glossy neck and tossing 
 his spirited head before the eyes of Lady Angelica, was one of 
 thoso unanalyzed, undisputed vouchers for the owner s superiority, 
 which make wealth the devil s gift irresistible but by the pene 
 trating and cold judgment of superior beings. How should a 
 
20 BREAKFAST INVITATION. 
 
 woman, born with the susceptible weaknesses of her sex, most 
 impressible by that which is most showy and beautiful how 
 should she be expected to reason coldly and with philosophic 
 discrimination on this subject ? how separate from Lord 
 Frederick, the mere man, his subservient accompaniments of 
 wealth, attendance, homage from others, and infatuated presump 
 tion in himself? Nay what presumption in Spiridion Pallardos 
 (so he felt, with his teeth set together in despair, as he walked 
 rapidly along) to suppose that he could contend successfully 
 against this and a thousand such advantages and opportunities, 
 with only his unpriced, unproved love to offer her with a hand of 
 poverty ! His heart ran drowningly over with the bitterness of 
 conviction. 
 
 After a few steps, Pallardos turned back with an instinctive 
 though inexplicable desire to hasten the pang of once more meet 
 ing them as they came round the ring of the park. Coming 
 toward him, was one of the honorable officials of Downing street, 
 with whom he had been thrown in contact, a conceited and well 
 born diner-out, mounted on a handsome cob, but with his servant 
 behind him on a blood-hunter. Mr. Dallinger was walking his 
 horse slowly along the fence, and, as he came opposite Pallardos, 
 he drew rein. 
 
 " Count ! " said he, in that patronising tone which is tossed 
 over the head of the patronised like a swan s neck over the worm 
 about to be gobbled, " a a a do you know Spanish ? " 
 
 " Yes. Why ? 
 
 " A a I ve a job for you ! You know Moreno, the Spanish 
 secretary well, his wife she will persist in disguising her billets- 
 doux in that stilted language, and you know what I want 
 suppose you come and breakfast with me to-morrow morning r" 
 
THE PHANTOM-HEAD UPON THE TABLE. 21 
 
 Pallardos was mentally crowding his contemptuous refusal into 
 the smallest phrase that could convey repulse to insolence, when 
 the high-stepping and foam-spattered forelegs of Lady Ayrnar s 
 bays appeared under the drooping branch of the tree beyond him. 
 The next instant, Lord Frederick s easily-carried head danced 
 into sight a smile of perfect self-satisfaction on his face, and his 
 magnificent horse, excited by the constant check, prancing at his 
 proudest. At the moment they passed, Dallinger s groom, 
 attempting to restrain the impatience of the spirited hunter he 
 was upon, drew the curb a little too violently, and the man was 
 thrown. The sight of the empty saddle sent a thought through 
 the brain of Pallardos like a shaft. 
 
 " May I take a little of the nonsense out of that horse for you ?" 
 said he quickly, springing over the railing, and seizing the rein, 
 to which the man still held, while the affrighted horse backed and 
 reared toward his master. 
 
 " A a yes, if you like !" 
 
 Pallardos sprang into the saddle, loosened the rein and leaned 
 forward, and, with three or four powerful bounds, the horse was 
 at the other window of the chariot. Away, with the bursted 
 trammels of heart and brain, went all thoughts of the horse s 
 owner, and all design, if any had flashed on his mind, of time or 
 place for restoring him. Bred in a half-civilized country, where 
 the bold hand was often paramount to law, the Greek had no 
 habit of mind likely to recognise, in a moment of passion, even 
 stronger barriers of propriety than he was now violating ; and, to 
 control his countenance and his tongue, and summon his resources 
 for an apparently careless and smiling contest of attraction with 
 his untroubled rival, was work enough for the whole mind and 
 memory, as well as for all the nerve and spirit of the excited 
 
22 A STOLEN ADVANTAGE. 
 
 Greek. He laid his hand on the chariot window, and thinking no 
 more of the horse he was subduing than the air he breathed, broke 
 up his powerful gallop to a pace that suited him, and played the 
 lover to the best of his coolness and ability. 
 
 " We saw you walking just now, and were lamenting that you 
 were not on horseback," said Lady Aymar, " for it is a sweet 
 evening, and we thought of driving out for a stroll in old Sir 
 John Chasteney s grounds at Bayswater. Will you come, Spiri- 
 dion ? Tell White to drive there !" 
 
 Lord Frederick kept his place, and, with its double escort, the 
 equipage of the Aymars sped on its way to Bayswater. Spiridion 
 was the handsomer man, and the more graceful rider, and, with 
 out forcing the difficult part of keeping up a conversation with 
 those within the chariot, he soon found his uneasiness displaced 
 by a glow of hope and happiness ; for Lady Angelica, leaning far 
 back in her seat, and completely hidden from Lord Frederick, 
 kept her eyes watchfully and steadily upon the opposite side, where 
 rode her less confident lover. The evening was of summer s 
 softest and richest glory, breezy and fragrant ; and as the sun 
 grew golden, the party alighted at the gates of Chasteney park 
 in tune for love, it must needs be, if ever conspiring smiles in 
 nature could compel accord in human affections. 
 
 Ah, happy Spiridion Pallardos ! The Lady Angelica called 
 him to disengage her dress from the step of the carriage, and her 
 arm was in his when he arose, placed there as confidingly as a 
 bride s, and with a gentle pressure that was half love and half 
 mischief for she quite comprehended that Lord Frederick s ride 
 to Bayswater was not for the pleasure of a twilight stroll through 
 Chasteney park with her mother ! That mother, fortunately, was 
 no duenna. She had pretensions of her own to admiration, and 
 
THE PHANTOM-HEAD UPON THE TABLE. 23 
 
 she was only particular as to the quantity, Her daughter s divi 
 sion with her of the homage of their male acquaintances, was an 
 evil she indolently submitted to, but she was pleased in proportion 
 as it was not obtruded upon her notice. As Pallardos and the 
 Lady Angelica turned into one of the winding alleys of the 
 grounds, Lady Aymar bent her large eyes very fixedly upon 
 another, and where such beautiful eyes went before, her small 
 feet were very sure to follow. The twilight threw its first blur over 
 the embowering foliage as the parties lost sight of each other, 
 and, of the pair who are the hero and heroine of this story, it can 
 only be disclosed that they found a heaven (embalmed, for their 
 particular use, in the golden dusk of that evening s twilight), and 
 returned to the park gate in the latest minute before dark, sworn 
 lovers, let come what would. But meantime, the happy man s 
 horse had disappeared, as well he might have been expected to 
 do, his bridle having been thrown over a bush by the engrossed 
 Pallardos, when called upon to assist Lady Angelica from her 
 carriage, and milord s groom and miladi s footman having no 
 sovereign reasons for securing him. Lord Frederick laughed till 
 the Count accepted the offer of Lady Aymar to take him home, 
 bodkin-wise, between herself and her daughter ; and for the hap 
 piness of being close pressed to the loving side of the Lady Ange 
 lica for one hour more, Pallardos would willingly have lost a 
 thousand horses his own or the Honorable Mr. Dallinger s. 
 And, by the way, of Mr. Dallinger and his wrath, and his horse 
 less groom, Spiridion began now to have a thought or two of an 
 uncomfortable pertinacity of intrusion. 
 
24 A HORSE STEALER A GENTLEMAN. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 SHOWING WHAT MAKES A HORSE-STEALER A GENTLEMAN. 
 
 IT was the first day of September, and most of the gold threads 
 were drawn from the tangled and vari-colored woof of London 
 society. " The season" was over. Two gentlemen stood in the 
 window of Crockford s, one a Jew barrister (kersey enough for 
 more russet company by birth and character, but admitted to the 
 society of " costly stuff " for the equivalent he gave as a pur 
 veyor of scandal), and the other a commoner, whose wealth and 
 fashion gave him the privilege of out-staying the season in town, 
 without publishing in the Morning Post a better reason than 
 inclination for so unnatural a procedure. 
 
 Count Spiridion Pallardos was seen to stroll slowly up St. 
 James street, on the opposite side. 
 
 " Look there, Abrams !" said Mr. Townley Mynncrs, " there s 
 the Greek who was taken up at one time by the Aymars. I 
 thought he was transported." 
 
 " No ! he still goes to the Aymars, though he is t in Coventry 
 everywhere else. Dallinger had him arrested for horse-stealing, 
 wasn t it ? The officer nabbed him as he was handing Lady 
 Angelica out of her carriage in Berkeley square. I remember 
 hearing of it two months ago. What a chop-fallen blackguard it 
 looks !" 
 
 " Blackguard ! Come, come, man ! give the devil his due !" 
 deprecated the more liberal commoner ; " may be it s from not 
 having seen a gentleman for the last week, but, hang me if I 
 
THE PHANTOM-HEAD UPON THE TABLE. 25 
 
 don t think that same horse-stealer turning the corner is as crack- 
 looking a man as I ever saw from this window. What s o clock r" 
 
 " Half-past four," replied the scandal-monger, swallowing, with 
 a bland smile, what there icas to swallow in Mj-nners s two-edged 
 remark, and turning suddenly on his heel. 
 
 Pallardos slowly took his way along Piccadilly, and was pre 
 sently in Berkeley square, at the door of the Aymars. The por 
 ter admitted him without question, and he mounted, unannounced, 
 to the drawing-room. The ladies sat by the window, looking out 
 upon the garden. 
 
 " Is it you, Spiridion r" said Lady Ayniar, " I had hoped you 
 would not come to-day !" 
 
 " Oh, mamma !" appealed Lady Angelica. 
 
 " Welcome all other days of the year, my dear Pallardos 
 warmly welcome, of course" continued Lady Ayniar, " but to 
 day oh God ! you have no idea what the first of September is 
 to us to my husband !" 
 
 Lady Aymar covered her face with her hands, and the tears 
 streamed through her finders. 
 
 C <_; 
 
 " Pardon me," said Pallardos, " pardon me, my dear lady, but 
 I am here by the earl s invitation, to dine at six." 
 
 Lady Ayniar sprang from her seat in astonishment. 
 
 " By the earl s invitation, did you say ? Angelica, what can 
 that mean ? Was it by note, Count Pallardos ?" 
 
 " By note," he replied. 
 
 " I am amazed !" she said, " truly amazed ! Does he mean to 
 have a confidant for his family secret ? Is his insanity on one 
 point affecting his reason on all ? What shall we do, Angelica r" 
 
 " We may surely confide in Spiridion, whatever the meaning 
 of it, or the result" gently murmured Lady Angelica. 
 
 2 
 
26 A PROPOSAL. 
 
 " We may we may!" said Lady Aymar. " Prepare him for 
 it as you will. I pray Heaven to help me through with it this 
 day without upsetting my own reason. I shall meet you at din 
 ner, Spiridion." 
 
 With her hands twisted together in a convulsive knot, Lady 
 Aymar slowly and musingly passed into the conservatory, on her 
 way to her own room, leaving to themselves two lovers who had 
 much to talk of beside dwelling upon a mystery which, even to 
 Lady Angelica, who knew most of it, was wholly inexplicable. 
 Yet it was partially explained by the trembling girl explained 
 as a case of monomania, and with the brevity of a disagreeable 
 subject, but listened to by her lover with a different feeling a 
 conviction as of a verified dream, and a vague, inexplicable 
 terror which he could neither reason down nor account for. But 
 the lovers must be left to themselves, by the reader as well as by 
 Lady Aymar ; and meantime, till the dinner hour, when our 
 story begins again, we may glance at a note which was received, 
 and replied to, by Lord Aymar in the library below. 
 
 " MY DEAR LORD : In the belief that a frank communication 
 would be best under the circumstances, I wish to make an inquiry, 
 prefacing it with the assurance that my only hope of happiness 
 has been for some time staked upon the successful issue of my 
 suit for your daughter s hand. It is commonly understood, I 
 believe, that the bulk of your lordship s fortune is separate from 
 the entail, and may be disposed of at your pleasure. May I 
 inquire its amount, or rather, may I ask what fortune goes with 
 the hand of Lady Angelica. The Beauchief estates are unfor 
 tunately much embarrassed, and my own debts (I may frankly 
 confess) are very considerable. You will at once see, my lord, 
 
THE PHANTOM-HEAD UPON THE TABLE. 27 
 
 that, in justice to your daughter, as well as to myself, I could not 
 do otherwise than make this frank inquiry before pushing my suit 
 to extremity. Begging your indulgence and an immediate answer, 
 I remain, my dear lord, yours very faithfully, 
 
 " FREDERICK BEAUCHIEF. 
 "The EARL OF AYMAR." 
 
 (REPLY.) 
 
 " DEAR LORD FREDERICK : I trust you will not accuse me of 
 a want of candor in declining a direct answer to your question. 
 Though I freely own to a friendly wish for your success in your 
 efforts to engage the affections of Lady Angelica, with a view to 
 marriage, it can only be in the irrevocable process of a marriage 
 settlement that her situation, as to the probable disposal of my 
 fortune, can be disclosed. I may admit to you, however, that 
 upon the events of this day on which you have written, (it so 
 chances,) may depend the question whether I should encourage 
 you to pursue further your addresses to Lady Angelica. 
 " Yours very faithfully, 
 
 " AYMAR. 
 " Lord FREDERICK BEAUCHIEF." 
 
 It seemed like the first day after a death, in the house of Lord 
 Aymar. An unaccountable hush prevailed through the servants 
 offices ; the grey-headed old butler crept noiselessly about, making 
 his preparations for dinner, and the doors, that were opened and 
 ghut, betrayed the careful touch of apprehension. With pene 
 trating and glassy clearness, the kitchen clock, seldom heard 
 above stairs, resounded through the house, striking six. 
 
28 PREMONITIONS. 
 
 In the same neglected attire which she had worn in the morn 
 ing, Lady Aymar re-entered the drawing-room. The lids were 
 drawn up around her large eyes with a look of unresisting distress, 
 and she walked with relaxed steps, and had, altogether, an absent 
 air and seemed full of dread. The interrupted lovers ceased talk 
 ing as she approached, but she did not remark the silence, and 
 walked, errandless, from corner to corner. 
 
 The butler announced dinner. 
 
 " May I give your ladyship an arm ?" asked Pallardos. 
 
 " Oh God! is it dinner-time already! 7 she exclaimed with a 
 voice of terror. " Williams ! is Lord Aymar below ?" 
 
 " In the dining-room, miladi." 
 
 She took Spiridion s arm, and they descended the stairs. As 
 they approached the dining-room, her arm trembled so violently 
 in his that he turned to her with the fear that she was about to 
 fall. He did not speak. A vague dread, which was more than 
 he had caught from her looks a something unaccountably heavy 
 at his own heart made his voice cling to his throat. He bowed 
 to Lord Aymar. 
 
 His noble host stood leaning upon the mantel-piece, pale, but 
 seeming less stern and cold than suffering and nerved to bear 
 pain. 
 
 "I am glad to see you, my dear count !" he said, giving him 
 his hand with an afFectionateness that he had never before mani 
 fested. " Are you quite well?" he added, scrutinizing his fea 
 tures closely with the question " for, like myself, you seem to 
 have grown pale upon this September dullness." 
 
 " I am commonly less well in this month than in any other," 
 said Pallardos, " and now I think of it I had forgotten that I 
 arose this morning with a depression of spirits as singular as it 
 
THE PHANTOM-HEAD UPON THE TABLE. 39 
 
 was unendurable. I forgot it, when I received your lordship s 
 note, in the happiness the day was to bring me." 
 
 The lovers exchanged looks, unremarked, apparently, by cither 
 Lord or Lady Aymar, and the conversation relapsed into the 
 commonplaces of dinner-table civility. Spiridion observed that 
 the footmen were excluded, the old butler alone serving them at 
 table ; and that the shutters, of which he got a chance glimpse 
 between the curtains, were carefully closed. Once or twice Pal 
 lardos roused himself with the thought that he was ill playing the 
 part of an agreeable guest, and proposed some question that might 
 lead to discussion ; but the spirits of Lady Angelica seemed 
 frighted to silence, and Lord and Lady Aymar were wholly 
 absorbed, or were at least unconscious of their singular incommu- 
 nicativeness. 
 
 Dinner dragged on slowly Lady Aymar retarding every 
 remove with terrified and flurried eagerness. Pallardos remarked 
 that she did not eat, but she asked to be helped again from every 
 dish before its removal. Her fork rattled on the plate with the 
 trembling of her hand, and, once or twice, an outbreak of hyste 
 rical tears was evidently prevented by a stern word and look from 
 Lord Aymar. 
 
 The butler leaned over to his mistress s ear. , 
 
 " No no no ! Not yet not yet !" she exclaimed, in a 
 hurried voice, " one minute more !" But the clock at that 
 instant struck seven, counted by that table company in breathless 
 silence. Pallardos felt his heart sink, he knew not why. 
 
 Lord Aymar spoke quickly and hoarsely. 
 
 " Turn the key, Williams." 
 
 Lady Aymar screamed and covered her face with her hands. 
 
 " Remove the cloth !" he again ordered precipitately. 
 
3C VISIBLE TO ANOTHER. 
 
 The butler s hand trembled. He fumbled with the corner of 
 the cloth a moment, and seemed to want strength or courage to 
 fulfil his office. With a sudden effort, Lord Aymar seized and 
 threw the cloth to the other end of the apartment. 
 
 " There !" cried he, starting to his feet, and pointing to the 
 bare table, " there ! there !" he repeated, seizing the hand of 
 Lady Angelica, as she arose terrified upon her feet. " See you 
 nothing ? Do you see nothing ?" 
 
 With a look, at her father, of blank inquiry a look of pity at 
 her mother, sunk helpless upon the arm of her chair a look at 
 Pallardos, who, with open mouth, and eyes starting from their 
 sockets, stood gazing upon the table, heedless of all present she 
 answered " Nothing my dear father ! nothing !" 
 
 He flung her arm suddenly from his hand. 
 
 " I knew it," said he, with angry emphasis. " Take her, shame 
 less woman ! Take your child, and begone !" 
 
 But Pallardos laid his hand upon the earl s arm. 
 
 " My lord ! my lord !" he said, in a tone of fearful suppression 
 of outcry, " can we not remove this hideous object ? How il 
 glares at you ! at me ! Why does it look at me ! What is it, 
 Lord Aymar ? What brings that ghastly head here ? Oh God ! 
 oh God ! I have seen it so often !" 
 
 You 1 you have seen it ?" suddenly asked Lady Aymar, in 
 a whisper. " Is there anything to see ? Do you see the same 
 dreadful sight, Spiridion ?" Her voice rose, with the last question, 
 to a scream. 
 
 Pallardos did not answer. He had forgotten the presence of 
 them all. He struggled a moment, gasping and choking for self- 
 control, and then*, with a sudden movement, clutched at the bare 
 table. His empty hand slowly opened, and his strength sufficed 
 
THE PHANTOM-HEAD UPON THE TABLE. 31 
 
 to pass his finger across the palm. He staggered backward with 
 an idiotic laugh, and was received in his fall by the trembling 
 arms of Lady Angelica. A motion from Lord Aymar conveyed 
 to his faithful servant that the phantom was vanishing ! The 
 door was flung open, and the household summoned. 
 
 " Count Pallardos has fainted from the heat of the room, 7 said 
 Lord Aymar " Place him upon my bed ! And Lady Aymar ! 
 will you step into the library I would speak with } T OU a moment !" 
 
 There was humility and beseechingness in the last few words of 
 Lord Aymar, which fell strangely on the ear of the affrighted and 
 guilty woman. Her mind had been too fearfully tasked to com 
 prehend the meaning of that changed tone, but, with a vague feel 
 ing of relief, she staggered through the hall, and the door of the 
 library closed behind her. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A LETTER from Lord Aymar to Lady Angelica will put the story 
 forward a little : 
 
 " MY DEAR ANGELICA : I am happy to know that there arc 
 circumstances which will turn aside much of the poignancy of the 
 communication I am about to make to you. If I am not mistaken, 
 At least, in believing a mutual attachment to exist between your 
 self and Count Pallardos, you will at once comprehend the ground 
 of my mental relief, and, perhaps, in a measure, anticipate what 
 I am about to say. 
 
 " I have never spo*pn to von of tho frnrfnl inheritance in tho 
 
32 DAUGHTER DISOWN D. 
 
 blood of the Aymars. This would appear a singular omission 
 between two members of one family, but I had strong reasons for 
 my silence, one of which was your possible sympathy with your 
 mother s obstinate incredulity. Now since yesterday s appalling 
 proof you can no longer doubt the inheritance of the phantom 
 head the fearful record of some nameless deed of guilt, which is 
 doomed to haunt our festal table as often as the murderous day 
 shall come around to a descendant of our blood. Fortunately 
 mercifully I shall perhaps say we are not visited by this dread 
 avenger till the maturity of manhood gives us the courage to com 
 bat with its horror. The Septembers, since my twentieth year, 
 have brought it with fatal certainty to me. God alone knows 
 how long I shall be able to withstand the taint it gives to my 
 thoughts when waking, and to the dreams upon my haunted 
 pillow. 
 
 " You will readily see, in what I have said, another reason for 
 my silence toward you on this subject. In the strong sympathy 
 and sensitive imagination of a woman, might easily be bred, by 
 too vivid picturing, a fancy which would be as palpable almost 
 as the reality ; and I wished you to arrive at woman s years 
 with a belief that it was but a monomaniac affection of my 
 own brain a disease to pity but not to share ! You are now 
 twenty. The females of my family have invariably seen the 
 phantom at seventeen ! Do you anticipate the painful inference 
 I draw from the fact that this spectre is invisible to you ! 
 
 " No, Angelica ! you are not my daughter ! The Aymar 
 blood does not run in your veins, and I know not how much 
 it will soften the knowledge of your mother s frailty to know, 
 that you are spared the dread inheritance that would have 
 been vours with a leoritimaey of honor. J had grounds for this 
 
THE PHANTOM-HEAD UPON THE TABLE. 33 
 
 belief at your birth, but I thought it due to the hallowed char 
 acter of woman and wife to summon courage to wait for con 
 firmation. Had I acted out the impulse, then almost uncon 
 trollable within me, I should have profited by the lawless land 
 in which I resided to add more weight to the errand of this 
 phantom avenger. But time and reason have done their work 
 upon me. Your mother is safe from open retribution. May 
 God pardon her ! 
 
 " You will have said, here, that since Count Pallardos has 
 been revealed by the same pursuing Providence to be my son, I 
 may well refrain from appearing as my wife s accuser. I have no 
 wish to profit by the difference the world makes between infidelity 
 in man, and infidelity in woman ; nor to look, for an apology, 
 into the law of nature upon which so general and undisputed a 
 distinction must needs be founded. I confess the justice of 
 Heaven s vengeance upon the crime visited upon me, I fearfully 
 believe, in the unconscious retaliation which gave you birth. 
 Yet I can not, for this, treat you as the daughter of my blood. 
 
 " And this brings me to the object of my letter. With the 
 care of years, I have separated, from the entail of Aymar, the 
 bulk of my fortune. God has denied me a legitimate male heir, 
 and I have long ago determined to leave, to its natural conflict 
 with circumstances, the character of a child I knew to be mine, 
 and to adopt its destiny, if it proved worthy, should my fears as 
 to your own parentage be confirmed by the undeniable testimony 
 of our spectral curse. Count Pallardos is that child. Fate 
 drew him here, without my interference, as the crisis of your 
 destiny turned against you. The innocent was not to be pun 
 ished for the guilty, and the inheritance he takes from you goes 
 back to you with his love in wedlock ! So, at least, appear- 
 
34 CONDITIONAL CHALLENGE 
 
 auces have led me to believe, and so would seem to be made ap 
 parent the kind provisions cf Heaven against our resentful injus 
 tices. I must confess that I shall weep tears of joy if it be so, 
 for, dear Angelica, you have wound yourself around my heart, 
 nearer to its core than the coil of this serpent revenge. I shall 
 find it to be so, I am sadly sure, if I prove incorrect in my sup 
 positions as to your attachment. 
 
 " I have now to submit to you, I trust only as a matter of 
 form, two offers for your hand one from Mr. Townley Myn- 
 ners, and the other (conditional, however, with your fortune) 
 from Lord Frederick Beauchief. An annuity of five hundred a 
 year would be. all you would receive for a fortune, and your 
 choice, of course, is free. As the Countess Pallardos, you would 
 share a very large fortune (my gifts to my son, by a transfer to be 
 executed this day), and to that destiny, if need be, I tearfully 
 urge you. 
 
 " Affectionately yours, my dear Angelica, 
 
 " AYMAR." 
 
 With one more letter, perhaps, the story will be sufficiently 
 told. 
 
 " DEAR COUNT : You will wonder at receiving a friendly note 
 from me, after my refusal, two months since, to meet you ovor 
 i pistols and coffee ; but reparation may not be too late, and this 
 is to say, that you have your choice between two modes of settle- . 
 ment, viz : to accept for your stable the hunter you stole from ; 
 me (vide police report) and allow me to take a glass of wine with 
 you at my own table and bury the hatchet, or, to shoot at me if 
 you like, according to your original design. Mynners and Beau- 
 
THE PI ANTOM-HEAD UPON THE TABLE. 35 
 
 chief hope you will select the latter, as they owe you a grudge for 
 the possession of your incomparable bride and her fortune ; but I 
 trust you will prefer the horse, which (if I am rightly informed) 
 bore you to the declaration of love at Chasteney. Reply to 
 Crockford s. 
 
 " Yours ever (if you like), 
 
 " POMFEET DALLINGEK. 
 " Count PALLARDOS." 
 
 Is the story told ? I think so ! 
 
GETTING TO WINDWAED, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 LONDON is an abominable place to dine in. I mean, of course, 
 unless you are free of a club, invited out, or pay a ridiculous 
 price for a French dinner. The unknown stranger, adrift on the 
 streets, with a traveller s notions of the worth of things to eat, is 
 much worse off, as to his venture for a meal, than he would be in 
 the worst town of the worst province of France much worse off 
 than he would be in New York or New Orleans. There is a 
 " Very s," it is true, and there are one or two restaurants, so 
 called, in the Haymarket ; but it is true, notwithstanding, that 
 short of a two-guinea dinner at the Clarendon, or some hotel of 
 this class, the next best thing is a simple pointed steak, with pota 
 toes, at a chop-house. The admirable club-system (admirable 
 for club-members) has absorbed all the intermediate degrees of 
 eating-houses, and the traveller s chance and solitary meal must 
 be either absurdly expensive, or dismally furnished and attended. 
 The only real liberty one ever enjoys in a metropolis is the 
 interval (longer or shorter, as one is more or less a philosopher) 
 between his arrival and the delivery of his letters of introduction. 
 
GETTING TO WINDWARD. 37 
 
 While perfectly unknown, dreading no rencontre of acquaintances, 
 subject to no care of dress, equipage, or demeanor, the stranger 
 feels, what he never feels afterward, a complete abandon to what 
 immediately surrounds him, a complete willingness to be amused 
 in any shape which chance pleases to offer, and, his desponding 
 loneliness serving him like the dark depths of a well, he sees lights 
 invisible from the higher level of amusement. 
 
 Tired of my solitary meals in the parlor of a hotel during my 
 first week in London, I made the round of such dining-places as I 
 could inquire out at the West End of course, from the reserved 
 habits of the country toward strangers, making no acquaintances, 
 and scarce once exchanging a glance with the scores who sat at the 
 tables around me. Observation was my only amusement, and I 
 felt afterward indebted to those silent studies of character for 
 more acquaintance with the under-crust of John Bull, than can 
 be gathered from books or closer intercourse. It is foreign to 
 my present purpose, however, to tell why his pride should seem 
 want of curiosity, and why his caution and delicacy should show 
 like insensibility and coldness. I am straying from my story. 
 
 The covered promenade of the Burlington Arcade is, on rainy 
 days, a great allure for a small chop-house hard by, called a The 
 Blue Posts." This is a snug little tavern, with the rear of its 
 two stories cut into a single dining-room, where chops, steaks, ale, 
 and punch, may be had in unusual perfection. It is frequented 
 ordinarily by a class of men peculiar, I should think, to England 
 taciturn, methodical in their habits, and highly respectable in 
 their appearance men who seem to have no amusements and no 
 circle of friends, but who come in at six and sit over their punch 
 and the newspapers till bed-time, without speaking a syllable, 
 except to the waiter, and apparently turning a cold shoulder of 
 
38 LONDON CHOP-HOUSE. 
 
 discouragement to any one in the room who may be disposed to 
 offer a passing remark. They hang their hats daily on the same 
 peg, daily sit at the same table (where the chair is turned down 
 for them by Villiam, the short waiter), daily drink a small pitcher 
 of punch after their half-pint of sherry, and daily read, from 
 beginning to end, the Herald, Post, and Times, with the variation 
 of the Athenaeum and Spectator, on Saturdays and Sundays. I 
 at first hazarded various conjectures as to their condition in life. 
 They were evidently unmarried, and men of easy, though limited 
 means men of no great care, and no high hopes, and in a fixed 
 station ; yet of that degree of intelligence and firm self-respect 
 which, in other countries (the United States, certainly, at least), 
 would have made them sought for in some more social and higher 
 sphere than that with which they seemed content. I afterwards 
 obtained something of a clue to the mystery of the " Blue Posts" 
 society, by discovering two of the most respectable looking of its 
 customers in the exercise of their daily vocations. One man, of 
 fine phrenological development, rather bald, and altogether very 
 intellectual in his " os sublime," I met at the rooms of a fashion 
 able friend, taking his measure for pantaloons. He was the fore 
 man of a celebrated Bond-street tailor. The other was the head- 
 shopman of a famous haberdasher in Regent street ; and either 
 might have passed for Godwin the novelist, or Babbidge the cal 
 culator with those who had seen those great intellects only in 
 their imaginations. It is only in England, that men who, like 
 these, have read or educated themselves far above their situations 
 in life, would quietly submit to the arbitrary disqualifications of 
 their pursuits, and agree unresistingly to the sentence of exile 
 from the society suited to their mental grade. But here again 1 
 am getting away from my story. 
 
GETTING TO WINDWARD. 39 
 
 It was the close of a London rainy day. Weary of pacing my 
 solitary room, I sallied out as usual, to the Burlington Arcade 
 (I say as usual, for in a metropolis where it rains nine days out of 
 ten, rainy-weather resorts become habitual.) The little shops on 
 either side were brightly lit, the rain pattered on the glass roof 
 overhead, and, to one who had not a single acquaintance in so vast 
 a city, even the passing of the crowd and the glittering of lights 
 seemed a kind of society. I began to speculate on the characters 
 of those who passed and repassed me in the turns of the short 
 gallery ; and the dinner-hours coming round, and the men 
 gradually thinning off from the crowd, I adjourned to the Blue 
 Posts with very much the feeling of a reader interrupted in the 
 progress of a novel. One of the faces that had most interested 
 me was that of a foreigner, who, with a very dejected air, leaned 
 on the arm of an older man, and seemed promenading to kill 
 time, without any hope of killing his ennui. On seating myself 
 at one of the small tables, I was agreeably surprised to find the 
 two foreigners my close neighbors, and, in the national silence of 
 the company present, broken only by the clatter of knives and 
 forks, it was impossible to avoid overhearing every word spoken 
 by either. After a look at me, as if to satisfy themselves that I, 
 too, was a John Bull, they went on with their conversation ia 
 French, which, so long as it was confined to topics of drink and 
 platter, weather and news, I did not care to interrupt. But, with 
 their progress through a second pint of sherry, personal topics 
 came up, and as they seemed to be conversing with an impression 
 that their language was not understood, I felt obliged to remind 
 them that I was overhearing unwillingly what they probably 
 meant for a private conversation. With a frankness which I 
 scarcely expected, they at once requested me to transfer my glass 
 
40 FIRST STEP IN POVERTY. 
 
 to their table, and, calling for a pitcher of punch, they extended 
 their confidence by explaining to me the grounds of the remarks 
 I had heard, and continuing to converse freely on the subject. 
 Through this means, and a subsequent most agreeable acquaint 
 ance, I possessed myself of the circumstances of the following 
 story ; and having thus shown the reader (rather digressively, 1 
 must own) how I came by it, I proceed in the third person, 
 trusting that my narration will not now seem like the " coinage 
 of the brain." 
 
 The two gentlemen dining at the Blue Posts on the rainy day 
 just mentioned, were Frenchmen, and political exiles. With the 
 fortunes of the younger, this story has chiefly to do. He was a 
 man past the sentimental age, perhaps nearer thirty-seven than 
 thirty-five, less handsome than distinguished in his appearance, 
 yet with one of those variable faces which are handsome for single 
 instants once in a half hour, more or less. His companion called 
 him Belaccueil. 
 
 " I could come down to my circumstances," he said to Mon 
 sieur St. Leger, his friend, " if I knew how. It is not courage 
 that is wanting. I would do anything for a livelihood. But 
 what is the first step ? What is the next step from this ? This 
 last dinner this last night s lodging I am at the end of my 
 means ; and unless I accept of charity from you, which I will not, 
 to-morrow must begin my descent. Where to put my foot ? " 
 
 He stopped and looked down into his glass, with the air of a 
 man who only expects an answer to refute its reasoning. 
 
 " My dear Belaccueil," said the other, after a moment s hesi 
 tation, " you were famous in your better days for almost universal 
 accomplishment. Mimic, dancer, musician, cook what was 
 there in our merry carnival-time, to which you did not descend 
 
GETTING TO WINDWARD. 41 
 
 with success for mere amusement ? Why not now for that 
 independence of livelihood to which you adhere so pertina 
 ciously ? " 
 
 " You will be amused to find," he answered, "how well 1 
 have sounded the depths of every one of these resources. The 
 French theatre of London has refused me point-blank, all engage 
 ment, spite of the most humiliating exhibitions of my powers of 
 mimicry before the stage-manager and a fifth-rate actress. I am 
 not musician enough for a professor, though very well for an 
 amateur, and have advertised in vain for employment as a teacher 
 of music, and what was your other vocation ! cook ! Oh no ! 
 I have just science enough to mend a bad dinner and spoil a good 
 one, though I declare to you, I would willingly don the white cap 
 and apron and dive for life to the basement. No, my friend, I 
 have even offered myself as assistant dancing-master, and failed ! 
 Is not that enough ? If it is not, let me tell you that I would 
 sweep the crossings, if my appearance would not excite curiosity, 
 or turn dustman, if I were strong enough for the labor. Come 
 down ! Show me how to come down, and see whether I am not 
 prepared to do it. But you do not know the difficulty of earning 
 a penny in London. Do you suppose, with all the influence and 
 accomplishments I possess, I could get the place of this scrubby 
 waiter who brings us our cigars ? No, indeed ! His situation is 
 a perfect castle impregnable to those below him. There are 
 hundreds of poor wretches within a mile of us who would think 
 themselves in Paradise to get his situation. How easy it is for 
 the rich to say. c go and work ! and how difficult to know how 
 and where !" 
 
 Belaccueil looked at his friend as if he felt that he had justified 
 his own despair, and expected no comfort. 
 
42 TREASURED INSULT. 
 
 " Why not try matrimony ?" said St. Leger. " I can pro 
 vide you the means for a six months siege, and you have better 
 qualification for success than nine-tenths of the adventurers who 
 have succeeded." 
 
 " Why I could do even that for, with all hope of prosperity, 
 I have of course given up all idea of a romantic love. But I 
 could not practise deceit, and, without pretending to some little 
 fortune of my own, the chances are small. Besides, you re 
 member my ill luck at Naples." 
 
 " Ah, that was a love affair, and you were too honest." 
 
 " Not for the girl, God bless her ! She would have married 
 me, penniless as I was, but through the interference of that 
 officious and purse-proud Englishman, her friends put me hors de 
 combat." 
 
 " What was his name ? Was he a relative ? 
 
 " A mere chance acquaintance of their own, but he entered at 
 once upon the office of family adviser. He was rich, and he had 
 it in his power to call me an u adventurer." I did not discover his 
 interference till some time after, or he would perhaps have paid 
 dearly for his nomenclature." 
 
 " Who did you say it was ? " 
 
 " Hitchings ! Mr. Plantagenet Hitchings, of Hitchings Park, 
 Devonshire and the one point, to which I cling, of a gentleman s 
 privileges, is that of calling him to account, should I ever meet 
 him." 
 
 St. Leger smiled and sat thoughtfully silent for a while. 
 Belaccueil pulled apart the stems of a bunch of grapes on his 
 plate, and was silent with a very different expression. 
 
 " You are willing," said the former, at last, " to teach music 
 and dancing, for a proper compensation r" 
 
GETTING TO WINDWARD. 48 
 
 Parbleu ! Yes !" 
 
 " And if you could unite this mode of support with a very 
 pretty revenge upon Mr. Plantagenet Hitchings (with whom, by 
 the way, I am very well acquainted), you would not object to the 
 two-fold thread in your destiny ?" 
 
 " They would bo threads of gold, man ami /" said the surprised 
 Belaccueil. 
 
 St. Leger called for pen, ink, and paper, and wrote a letter at 
 the Blue Posts, which the reader will follow to its destination, as 
 the next step in this story. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A GREEN angel (I mean an angel ignorant of the world) would 
 probably suppose that the feeding of these animal bodies of ours, 
 if not done in secret, must at least be the one act of human life 
 separated entirely from the more heavenly emotions. Yet the 
 dinner is a meal dear to lovers ; and novelists and tale-tellers 
 choose the moments stolen from fork and plate for the birth and 
 interchange of the most delicious and tender sentiments of our 
 existence. Miss Hitchings, while unconsciously shocking Mon 
 sieur Sansou by tilting her soup-plate for the last spoonful of ver 
 micelli, was controlling the beating of a heart full of feminine and 
 delicate tenderness ; and, as the tutor was careful never to direct 
 his regards to the other end of the table (for reasons of his own), 
 
 O ^ 
 
 Miss Henrietta laid the unction to her soul that such indifference 
 to the prettiest girl who had ever honored them as a guest, 
 proved the strength of her own magnet, and put her more at ease 
 
44 NEAR MYSTERIES. 
 
 on the subject of Monsieur Sansou s admiration. He, indeed, was 
 committing the common fault of men whose manners are natur 
 ally agreeable playing that passive and grateful game of cour 
 tesy and attention so easy to the object of regard, and so delight 
 ful to woman, who is never so blest as in bestowing. Besides, he 
 had an object in suppressing his voice to the lowest audible pitch, 
 and the rich and deep tone, sunk only to escape the ear of 
 another, sounded, to the watchful and desiring sense of her to 
 whom it was addressed, like the very key-note and harmony of 
 affection. 
 
 At a table so surrounded with secrets, conversation flagged, of 
 course. Mr. Hitchings thought it very up-hill work to entertain 
 Miss Hervey, whose heart and senses were completely absorbed 
 in the riddle of BelaccueiPs disguise and presence ; Mr. Hervey, 
 the uncle, found old Mrs. Plantagenet rather absent, for the 
 smitten dame had eyes for every movement of Monsieur Sansou ; 
 and the tutor himself, with his resentment toward his host, and 
 his suspicions of the love of his daughter, his reviving passion for 
 Miss Hervey, and his designs on Mrs. Plantagenet, had enough 
 to render him as silent as the latter could wish, and as apparently 
 insensible to the attraction of the fair stranger. 
 
 How little we know what is in the bosoms of those around us ! 
 How natural it is, however, to feel and act as if we knew to 
 account for all that appears on the surface by the limited 
 acquaintance we have with circumstances and feelings to 
 resent an indifference of which we know not the cause to ap 
 prove or condemn, without allowance for chagrin, or despair, or 
 love, or hope, or distress any of the deep undercurrents for 
 ever at work in the depths of human bosoms. The young man 
 at your side at a dinner-party may have a duel on his hands for 
 
GETTING TO WINDWARD. 45 
 
 the morning, or a disgrace imminent in credit or honor, or a re 
 fused heart or an accepted one, newly crushed or newly made 
 happy ; or (more common still, and less allowed for) he may 
 feel the first impression of disease, or the consequences of an indi 
 gestion ; and for his agreeableness or disagreeableness, you try to 
 account by something in yourself, some feeling toward yourself 
 as if you, and you only, could affect his spirits or give a color to 
 his mood of manners. The old man s thought of death, the 
 mother s overwhelming interest in her child, the woman s up- 
 spring of emotion or love, are visitors to the soul that come 
 unbidden and out of time, and you can neither feast nor mourn, 
 secure against their interruption. It would explain many a 
 coldness, could we look into the heart concealed from us. We 
 should often pity when we hate, love when we think we cannot 
 even forgive, admire where we curl the lip with scorn and indig 
 nation. To judge without reserve of any human action is a cul 
 pable temerity, of all our sins the most unfeeling and frequent. 
 
 I will deal frankly with you, dear reader. I have arrived at a 
 stage of my story which, of all the stages of story-writing, I detest 
 the most cordially. Poets have written about the difficulty of 
 beginning a story (vide Byron) ecu ne me coute pas ; others of 
 the ending that I do with facility, joy, and rejoicing. But 
 the love pathos of a story the place where the reader is expected 
 to sigh, weep, or otherwise express his emotion that is the point, 
 I confess, the most difficult to write, and the most unsatisfactory 
 when written. " Pourquoy, Sir Knight ?" Not because it is 
 difficult to write love-scenes according to the received mode 
 not that it is difficult to please those (a large majority) who never 
 truly loved, and whose ideas, therefore, of love and its making, 
 are transcendentalized out of all truth and nature not that it 
 
46 TRUTH IN LOVE-SCENES. 
 
 would be more labor to do this than to copy a circular, or write a 
 love-letter for a modest swain (this last my besetting occupation) 
 but because, just over the inkstand, there peers a face, some 
 times of a man of forty, past the nonsense of life, but oftener of 
 some friend, a woman who has loved, and this last more particu 
 larly knows that true love is never readable or sensible that if 
 its language be truly written, it is never in polished phrase or 
 musical cadence that it is silly, but for its concealed meaning, 
 embarrassed and blind, but for the interpreting and wakeful heart 
 of one listener that love, in short, is the god of unintelligibly, 
 mystery, and adorable nonsense, and, of course, that which I 
 have written (if readable and sensible) is out of taste and out of 
 sympathy, and none but fancy-lovers and enamored brains (not 
 hearts) will approve or believe it. 
 
 D Israeli the younger is one of the few men of genius who, 
 having seen truth without a veil, dare to reveal the vision ; and 
 he has written Henrietta Temple the silliest yet truest love- 
 book of modern time. The critics (not an amative race) have 
 given him a benefit of the " besom" of ridicule, but D Israeli, far 
 from being the effeminate intellect they would make him, is one 
 of the most original and intrepid men of genius living, and 
 whether the theme be " wine, woman, or war," he writes with 
 fearless truth, piquancy, and grace. Books on love, however, 
 should be read by lovers only, and pity it is that there is not an 
 ink in chemistry, invisible save to the eye kindled with amatory 
 fire. But " to our muttons." 
 
 It was not leap-year, but Monsieur Belaccueil, on the day of 
 the dinner-party at Hitchings park, was made aware (I will not 
 say by proposals, for ladies make known their inclinations in ways 
 much less formidable) he was made aware, I say, that the hearts 
 
GETTING TO WINDWARD. 47 
 
 of three of the party were within the flight of his arrow. Proba 
 bly his humble situation reversed the usual relative position of 
 the sexes in the minds of the dame and damsels and certainly 
 tiiere is no power woman exercises so willingly as a usurpation of 
 the masculine privilege. I have stated my objection to detail the 
 dialogue between Miss Hitchings and her tutor at the dinner- 
 table. To be recorded faithfully, the clatter of silver forks on 
 China, the gurgle of wine, the interruptions of the footmen with 
 champagne and vegetables, should all be literally interspersed 
 for, to all the broken sentences, (so pathetic when properly punctu 
 ated vide Neal s novels) these were the sequels and the accom 
 paniments : " No, thank you !" and " If you please," and " May 
 I fill your glass ?" have filled out, to the perfect satisfaction of 
 the lady, many an unfinished sentence upon which depended the 
 whole destiny of her affections ; and, as I said before, the truth is 
 not faithfully rendered when these interstices are unsupplied. 
 
 It was dark when the ladies left the dinner-table, followed by 
 Monsieur Sansou, and, at the distance of a few feet from the 
 windows opening on the lawn, the air was black and impenetrable. 
 There were no stars visible and no moon, but the clouds which 
 were gathering after a drought, seemed to hush the air with their 
 long expected approach, and it was one of those soft, still, yet 
 murky and fragrant nights, when the earth seems to breathe only 
 without light, sound, or motion. What lover does not remember 
 such a night ? 
 
 Oppressed with the glaring lights and the company of people 
 she cared nothing about, Miss Hervey stepped out upon the lawn, 
 and, with her face lifted as if to draw deeper inhalations of the 
 dew and freshness, she strolled leisurely over the smooth carpet 
 of grass. At a slight turn to avoid a clump of shrubbery, she 
 
48 A WIDOW S PROPOSAL. 
 
 encountered Belaccueil, who was apologizing and about to pass 
 her, when she called him by his name, and passing her arm 
 through his, led him on to the extremity of the lawn. A wire fence 
 arrested their progress, and, leaning against it, Miss Hervey 
 inquired into the cause of the disguise she had penetrated, and 
 softened and emboldened by the fragrant darkness, said all that a 
 woman might say of tenderness and encouragement. Belaccueil s 
 heart beat with pride and gratified amour propre, but he con 
 fined himself to the expression of this feeling, and, leaving the 
 subject open, took advantage of Mrs. Plantagenet s call to Miss 
 Hervey from the window, to leave her and resume his ramble 
 through the grounds. 
 
 The supper tray had been brought in, and the party were just 
 taking their candles to separate, when the tutor entered at the 
 glass door and arrested the steps of Mrs. Plantagenet. She set 
 down her candle and courtesied a good-night to the ladies (Mr. 
 Hitchings had gone to bed, for wine made him sleepy, and Mr. 
 Hervey always retired early where he was bored), and, closing 
 the windows, mixed a glass of negus for Monsieur Sansou ; and, 
 herself pulling a sandwich to pieces, deliberately, and it must be 
 confessed, somewhat patronisingly, invited the Frenchman to 
 become her lord. And after a conversation, which (la verite 
 avant tout) turned mainly on will and investments, the widow 
 dame sailed blissfully to bed, and Belaccueil wrote the following 
 letter to his friend and adviser : 
 
 a MY DEAR ST. LEGER : Enclosed you have the only surviving 
 lock of my grizzled wig sign and symbol that my disguises are 
 over and my object attained. The wig burns at this instant in 
 the grate, item my hand-ruffles, item sundry embroidered cravats 
 
GETTING TO WINDWARD. 
 
 d la veille cour, item (this last not without some trouble at my 
 heart) a solitary love-token from Constantia Hervey. One faded 
 rose given me at Psestum, the day before I was driven disgraced 
 from her presence by the interference of this insolent fool one 
 faded rose has crisped and faded into smoke with the rest. And 
 so fled from the world the last hope of a warm and passionate 
 heart, which never gave up its destiny till now never felt that 
 it was made in vain, guarded, refined, cherished in vain, till that 
 long-loved flower lay in ashes. I am accustomed to strip emotion 
 of its drapery determined to feel nothing but what is real yet 
 this moment, turn it and strip it, and deny its illusions as I will, 
 is anguish. Self-inflicted, you smile and say ! 
 
 " You will marvel what stars will not come into conjunction, 
 when I tell you that Miss Hervey is at this moment under the 
 same roof with me and my affianced bride, and you will marvel 
 what good turn I have done the devil, that he should, in one day, 
 offer me my enemy s daughter, my enemy s fortune (with the 
 drawback of an incumbrance), and the woman who I thought had 
 spurned me. After all, it is a devil s gift for, in choosing that 
 to which I am most impelled, I crush hope, and inflict pain, and 
 darken my own heart for ever. I could not have done this once. 
 Manhood and poverty have embittered me. 
 
 " Miss Hitchings has chosen to fall in love with her tutor. 
 She is seventeen, a sweet blonde, with large, suffused eyes, ten 
 der, innocent, and (without talent) singularly earnest and con 
 fiding. I could be very happy with such a woman, and it would 
 have been a very tolerable revenge (failing the other) to have 
 stolen her from her father. But he would have disinherited and 
 forgotten us, and I have had enough of poverty, and can not 
 afford to be forgotten by my enemy. 
 3 
 
50 REVENGE STRONGER THAN LOVE. 
 
 " You never saw Miss Hervey. It is not much to tell you she 
 is the most beautiful woman I have met. If she were not beau 
 tiful, her manners would win all hearts. If her manners were 
 less fascinating, her singular talents would make her remarkable. 
 She is not appreciated, because her beauty blinds people to her 
 talents, and her manners make them forget her beauty. She is 
 something in the style of the Giorgione we adored at Venice a 
 transparently dark beauty, with unfathomable eyes and lashes that 
 sweep her cheek ; her person tall and full, and her neck set on 
 like Zenobia s. Yet she is not a proud woman I think she is 
 not. She is too natural and true to do anything which looks like 
 pride, save walk like an empress. She says everything rightly 
 penetrates instantly to the core of meaning sings, dances, talks, 
 with the ease, confidence, grace, faultlessness, with which a swal 
 low flies. Perfection in all things is her nature. I am jotting 
 down her qualities now as they are allowed by the world. I will 
 not write of them like a lover. Oh, my friend, with what plum 
 met can you fathom the depth of my resentments, when, for 
 them, I forego possession of this woman ! She offered me, two 
 hours since, the unqualified control of her destiny ! She asked 
 me, with tremulous voice, to forgive her for the wrong done me 
 in Italy. She dropped that faultless and superb head on my 
 bosom, and told me that she loved me and I never answered ! 
 The serpent in my heart tied up my tongue, and, with cold thanks 
 and fiend-like resistance to the bliss of even once pressing her to 
 my bosom, I left her. I do not know myself when I remember 
 that I have done this. I am possessed driven out by some 
 hard and bitter spirit who neither acts nor speaks like me. Yet 
 could I not undo what I have done. 
 
 "To-morrow morning will disappear Monsieur Sansou from 
 
GETTING TO WINDWARD. 51 
 
 Hitchings park, and, on the brief condition of a brief ceremony, 
 the law, the omnipotent law, will deliver into my hands the lands, 
 tenements, goods, chattels, and liberty of my enemy for even so 
 deeply has ho sunk into the open pocket of Mrs. Plantagenet ! 
 She holds mortgages on all he has, for money advanced, and all 
 that is hers will be mine, without reserve. The roof I have been 
 living in degradation under, will be to-morrow my own. The 
 man who called me an adventurer, who stood between me and 
 my love, who thrust me from my heaven without cause or provo 
 cation the meddling fool who boasts that he saved a country 
 woman from a French swindler (he has recurred to it often in my 
 presence), will be, to-morrow, my dependant, beggar for shelter, 
 suppliant for his liberty and subsistence ! Do you ask if that out 
 weighs the love of the woman I have lost ? Alas ! yes. 
 
 " You are older, and have less taste for sentiment even than I. 
 I will not bore you with my crowd of new feelings in this situa 
 tion. My future wife is amiable and good. She is also vain, 
 unattractive, and old. I shall be kind to her, and endeavor that 
 she shall not be disenchanted, and, if I can make her happy, it 
 may mollify my penance for the devil with which I am possessed. 
 Miss Hitchings will lose nothing by having loved me, for she shall 
 
 be the heiress of my wealth, and her father but I will not soil 
 
 my heart by thinking of an alleviation to his downfall. 
 " Farewell, mon ami. Congratulate and pity me. 
 
 " ADOLPHE BELACCUEIL." 
 
 In one of the most fashionable squares of London lives, " in the 
 season," Monsieur Belaccueil, one of the most hospitable foreign 
 ers in that great metropolis. He is a pensive and rather melan 
 choly-looking man by day ; but society, which he seems to seek 
 
52 VALUE OF ATTAINED OBJECTS. 
 
 like an opiate to restless feeling, changes him to a gay man, the 
 most mirth-loving of Amphytrions. His establishment is presided 
 over by his wife, who, as his society is mostly French, preserves 
 a respectable silence, but seems contented with her lot, and proud 
 of her husband ; while in Miss Plantagenet (d-derant Miss 
 Hitchings) his guests find his table s chief attraction one of the 
 prettiest heiresses and most loveable girls in London. How 
 deeply Monsieur Belaccueil still rejoices at his success in " getting 
 to windward," is a matter of problem. Certainly there is one 
 chariot which passes him in his solitary ride in the park, to which 
 he bows with a pang of unabating and miserable anguish. And, if 
 the occupant of that plain chariot share at all in his suffering, she 
 has not the consolation to which he flies in society for a more 
 secluded and lonely woman lives not in the great solitude of Lon 
 don, than Constantia Hervey. 
 
TWO BUCKETS IN A WELL, 
 
 u FIVE hundred dollars a year !" echoed Fanny Bellairs, as 
 the first silver grey of the twilight spread over her picture. 
 
 " And my art," modestly added the painter, prying into his 
 bright copy of the lips pronouncing upon his destiny. 
 
 " And how much may that be, at the present rate of patronage 
 one picture a year, painted for love !" 
 
 " Fanny, how can you be so calculating !" 
 
 a By the bumps over my eyebrows, I suppose. Why, my 
 dear coz, we have another state of existence to look forward to 
 old man -age and old woman-age ! What am I to do with five 
 hundred dollars a year, when my old frame wants gilding (to 
 use one of your own similes) I shan t always be pretty Fanny 
 Bellairs ! " 
 
 " But, good Heavens ! we shall grow old together !" exclaimed 
 the painter, sitting down at her feet, " and what will you care 
 for other admiration, if your husband see you still beautiful, with 
 the eyes of memory and habit." 
 
 " Even if I were sure he would so look upon me !" answered 
 Miss Bellairs, more seriously, " I can not but dread an old age 
 without great means of embellishment. Old people, except in 
 
54 PRACTICAL LOVE. 
 
 poetry and in very primitive society, are dishonored by wants 
 and cares. And, indeed, before we are old when neither young 
 nor old we want horses and ottomans, kalydor and conserva 
 tories, books, pictures, and silk curtains all quite out of the 
 range of your little allowance, don t you see !" 
 
 " You do not love me, Fanny !" 
 
 " I do and will marry you, Philip as I, long ago, with my 
 whole heart, promised. But I wish to be happy with you as 
 na PPy> q u i te as happy? as is at all possible, with our best efforts, 
 and coolest, discreetest management. I laugh the matter over 
 sometimes, but I may tell you, since you are determined to be in 
 earnest, that I have treated it, in my solitary thought, as the one 
 important event of my life (so indeed it is !) and, as such, 
 worthy of all fore-thought, patience, self-denial, and calculation. 
 To inevitable ills I can make up my mind like other people. If 
 your art were your only hope of subsistence why I don t 
 know (should I look well as a page ?) I don t know that I 
 couldn t run your errands and grind your paints in hose and 
 doublet. But there is another door open for you a counting- 
 house door, to be sure leading to opulence and all the appliances 
 of dignity and happiness, and through this door, my dear Philip, 
 the art you would live by comes to pay tribute and beg for 
 patronage. Now, out of your hundred and twenty reasons, give 
 me the two stoutest and best, why you should refuse your brother s 
 golden offer of partnership my share, in your alternative of 
 poverty, left for the moment out of the question." 
 
 Rather overborne by the confident decision of his beautiful 
 Cousin, and having probably made up his mind that he must 
 ultimately yield to her, Philip replied in a lower and more 
 dejected tone : 
 
TWO BUCKETS IN A WELL. 55 
 
 " If you were not to be a sharer in my renown, should I be so 
 fortunate as to acquire it, I should feel as if it were selfish to 
 dwell so much on my passion for distinction, and my devotion to 
 my pencil as the means of winning it. My heart is full of you 
 but it is full of ambition, too, paradox though it be. I cannot 
 live ignoble. I should not have felt worthy to press my love upon 
 you worthy to possess you except with the prospect of cele 
 brity in my art. You make the world dark to me, Fanny ! You 
 close down the sky, when you shut out this hope ! Yet it shall 
 be so." 
 
 Philip paused a moment, and the silence was uninterrupted. 
 
 " There was another feeling I had, upon which I have not 
 insisted," he continued. By my brother s project, I am to reside 
 almost wholly abroad. Even the little stipend I have to offer you 
 now is absorbed of course by the investment of my property in his 
 trading capital, and marriage, till I have partly enriched myself, 
 would be even more hopeless than at present. Say the interval 
 were five years and five years of separation !" 
 
 " With happiness in prospect, it would soon pass, my dear 
 Philip !" 
 
 " But is there nothing wasted in this time ? My life is yours 
 the gift, of love. Are not these coming five years the very 
 flower of it ! a mutual loss, too, for are they not, even more 
 emphatically, the very flower of yours ? Eighteen and twenty- 
 five are ages at which to marry, not ages to defer. During this 
 time the entire flow of my existence is at its crowning fullness 
 passion, thought, joy, tenderness, susceptibility to beauty and 
 sweetness all I have that can be diminished or tarnished, or 
 made dull by advancing age and contact with the world, is thrown 
 away for its spring and summor. Will tho autumn of life repay 
 
56 LOVE OR WEALTH. 
 
 us for this ? Will it even if we are rich and blest with health, 
 and as capable of an unblemished union as now ? Think of this 
 a moment, dear Fanny !" 
 
 I do it is full of force and meaning, and, could we marry 
 now, with a tolerable prospect of competency, it would be 
 irresistible. But poverty in wedlock, Philip " 
 
 " What do you call poverty ! If we can suffice for each other, 
 and have the necessaries of life, we are not poor ! My art will 
 bring us consideration enough which is the main end of wealth, 
 after all and, of society, speaking for myself only, I want 
 nothing. Luxuries for yourself, Fanny means for your dear 
 comfort and pleasure you should not want if the world held them, 
 and surely the unbounded devotion of one man to the support of 
 the one woman he loves, ought to suffice for the task ! I am 
 strong I am capable of labor I have limbs to toil, if my genius 
 and my present means fail me, and, oh, Heaven ! you could not 
 want !" 
 
 "No, no, no! I thought not of want!" murmured Miss 
 Bellairs, " I thought only " 
 
 But she was not permitted to finish the sentence. 
 
 " Then my bright picture for the future may be realized !" ex 
 claimed Philip, knitting his hands together in a transport of hope. 
 " I may build up a reputation, with you for the constant partner 
 of its triumphs and excitements ! I may go through the world, 
 and have some care in life besides subsistence, how I shall sleep, 
 and eat, and accumulate gold ; sonic companion, who, from the 
 threshold of manhood, shared every thought and knew every 
 feeling some pure and present angel who walked with me and 
 purified my motives and ennobled my ambitions, and received 
 from ray lips and eyes, and from thp. beating of my heart against 
 
TWO BUCKETS IN A WELL. 57 
 
 her own, all the love I had to give in a lifetime. Tell me, 
 Fanny ! tell me, my sweet cousin ! is not this a picture of bliss, 
 which, combined with success in my noble art, might make a 
 Paradise on earth for you and me ?" 
 
 The hand of Fanny Bellairs rested on the upturned forehead of 
 her lover as he sat at her feet in the deepening twilight, and she 
 answered him with such sweet words as are linked together by 
 spells known only to woman but his palette and pencils were, 
 nevertheless, burned in solemn holocaust that very night, and the 
 lady carried her point, as ladies must. And, to the importation of 
 silks from Lyons, was devoted, thenceforth, the genius of a Raphael 
 perhaps ! Who knows ? 
 
 The reader will naturally have gathered from this dialogue 
 that Miss Fanny Bellairs had black eyes, and was rather below 
 the middle stature. She was a belle, and it is only belle-metal of 
 this particular description which is not fusible by " burning 
 words." She had mind enough to appreciate fully the romance 
 and enthusiasm of her cousin, Philip Ballister, and knew precisely 
 the phenomena which a tall blonde (this complexion of woman 
 being soluble in love and tears), would have exhibited under a 
 similar experiment, While the fire of her love glowed, therefore, 
 she opposed little resistance, and seemed softened and yielding, 
 but her purpose remained unaltered, and she rang out "no!" 
 the next morning, with a tone as little changed as a convent-bell 
 from matins to vespers, though it has passed meantime through 
 the furnace of an Italian noon. 
 
 Fanny was not a designing girl, either. She might have found 
 a wealthier customer for her heart than her cousin Philip. And 
 she loved this cousin as truly and well as her nature would admit, 
 
 3* 
 
53 ART FOREGONE. 
 
 or as need be, indeed. But two things had conspired to give her 
 the unmalleable quality just described a natural disposition to 
 confide, first and foremost, on all occasions, in her own sagacity, 
 and a vivid impression made upon her mind by a childhood of 
 poverty. At the age of twelve she had been transferred from the 
 distressed fireside of her mother, Mrs. Bellairs, to the luxurious 
 roof of her aunt, Mrs. Ballister, and, her mother dying soon after, 
 the orphan girl was adopted, and treated as a child ; but the 
 memory of the troubled hearth at which she had first learned to 
 observe and reason, colored all the purposes and affections, 
 thoughts, impulses, and wishes of the ripening girl, and to think 
 of happiness in any proximity to privation seemed to her impos 
 sible, even though it were in the bosom of love. Seeing no 
 reason to give her cousin credit for any knowledge of the world 
 beyond his own experience, she decided to think for him as well 
 as love him, and, not being so much pressed as the enthusiastic 
 painter by the " lesoin iV aimer ct de sefairc aimer," she very 
 composedly prefixed, to the possession of her hand, the trifling 
 achievement of getting rich quite sure that if he knew as much 
 as she, he would willingly run that race without the incumbrance 
 of matrimony. 
 
 The death of Mr. Ballister, senior, had left the widow and her 
 two boys more slenderly provided for than was anticipated Phil s 
 portion, after leaving college, producing the moderate income 
 before mentioned. The elder brother had embarked in his father s 
 business, and it was thought best on all hands for the youngei 
 Ballister to follow his example. But Philip, whose college leisure 
 had been devoted to poetry and painting, and whose genius foi 
 the latter, certainly, was very decided, brought down his habit 
 by a resolute economy to the limits of his income, and took uj 
 
TWO BUCKETS IN A WELL. 59 
 
 the pencil for a profession. With passionate enthusiasm, great 
 purity of character, distaste for all society not in harmony with 
 his favorite pursuit, and an industry very much concentrated and 
 rendered effective by abstemious habits, Philip Ballister was very 
 likely to develop what genius might lie between his head and 
 hand, and his progress in the first year had been allowed, by 
 eminent artists, to give very unusual promise. The Ballisters 
 were still together, under the maternal roof, and the painter s 
 studies were the portraits of the family, and Fanny s picture, of 
 course, much the most difficult to finish. It would be very hard 
 if a painter s portrait of his liege mistress, the lady of his heart, 
 were not a good picture, and Fanny Bellairs on canvas was divine 
 accordingly. If the copy had more softness of expression than 
 the original (as it was thought to have), it only proves that wise 
 men have for some time suspected, that love is more dumb than 
 blind, and the faults of our faultless idols are noted, however 
 unconsciously. Neither thumb-screws nor hot coals nothing 
 probably but repentance after matrimony would have drawn 
 from Philip Ballister, in words, the same correction of his 
 mistress s foible that had oozed out through his treacherous 
 pencil ! 
 
 Cupid is often drawn as a stranger pleading to be " taken in," 
 but it is a miracle that he is not invariably drawn as a portrait- 
 painter. A bird tied to the muzzle of a gun an enemy who has 
 written a book an Indian prince under the protection of 
 Giovanni Bulletto (Tuscan for John Bull), is not more close 
 upon demolition, one would think, than the heart of a lady 
 delivered over to a painter s eyes, posed, draped and lighted with 
 the one object of studying her beauty. If there be any mag 
 netism in isolated attention, any in steadfast gazing, any in passes 
 
60 PAINTERS PRIVILEGES. 
 
 of the hand hither and thither if there be any magic in ce doux 
 demi-jour so loved in France, in stuff for flattery ready pointed 
 and feathered, in freedom of admiration, " and all in the way of 
 business" then is a loveable sitter to a love-like painter in 
 " parlous " vicinity (as the new school would phrase it), to sweet 
 heart-land ! Pleasure in a vocation has no offset in political 
 economy as honor has (" the more honor the less profit,") or 
 portrait-painters would be poorer than poets. 
 
 And, malgre his consciousness of the quality which required 
 softening in his cousin s beauty, and malgre his rare advantages 
 for obtaining over her a lover s proper ascendency, Mr. Philip 
 Ballister bowed to the stronger will of Miss Fanny Bellairs, and 
 sailed for France on his apprenticeship to Mammon. 
 
 The reader will please to advance five years. Before proceed 
 ing thence with our story, however, let us take a Parthian glance 
 at the overstepped interval. 
 
 Philip Ballister had left New York with the triple vow that he 
 would enslave every faculty of his mind and body to business, 
 that he would not return till he had made a fortune, and that 
 such interstices as might occur in the building up of this chateau 
 for felicity should be filled with sweet reveries about Fanny 
 Bellairs. The forsworn painter had genius, as we have before 
 hinted, and genius is (as much as it is any one thing), the power 
 of concentration. He entered upon his duties accordingly, with a 
 force, and patience of application, which soon made him master 
 of what are called business habits, and, once in possession of the 
 details, his natural cleverness gave him a speedy insight to all the 
 scope and tactics of his particular field of trade. Under his 
 guidance, the affairs of the house were soon in a much more 
 
TWO BUCKETS IN A WELL. 61 
 
 prosperous train, and, after a year s residence at Lyons, Philip 
 saw his way very clear to manage them with a long arm and take 
 up his quarters in Paris. 
 
 " Les fats sont hs seuls hommes qui aunt soin cVeux nemes," 
 says a French novelist, but there is a period, early or late, in the 
 lives of the cleverest men, when they become suddenly curious as 
 to their capacity for the graces. Paris, to a stranger who does 
 not visit in the Faubourg St. Germain, is a republic of personal 
 exterior, where the degree of privilege depends, with Utopian 
 impartiality, on the style of the outer man ; and Paris, therefore, 
 if he is not already a Bachelor of Arts (qu ^beau s Arts), 
 usually serves the traveller as an Alma Mater of the pomps and 
 vanities. 
 
 Phil. Ballister, up to the time of his matriculation in Chaussee 
 D Antin, was a romantic-looking sloven. From this to a very 
 dashing coxcomb is but half a step, and, to be rid of the coxcombry 
 and retain a look of fashion, is still within the easy limits of imita 
 tion. But to obtain superiority of presence, with no apparent 
 aid from dress and no doscribable manner, and to display, at the 
 same time, every natural advantage in effective relief, and, withal, 
 to adapt this subtle philtre, not only to the approbation of the 
 critical and censorious, but to the taste of fair women gifted with 
 judgment as God pleases this is a finish not born with any man 
 (though unsuccessful if it do not seem to be), and never reached 
 in the apprenticeship of life, and never reached at all by men not 
 much above their fellows. He who has it, has " bought his doub 
 let in Italy, his round hose in France, his bonnet in Germany, 
 and his behavior everywhere," for he must know, as a chart of 
 quicksands, the pronounced models of other nations ; but to be a 
 " picked man of countries," and to have been a coxcomb and a 
 
Q2 STYLE IN A MAN. 
 
 man of fashion, are, as a painter would say, but the setting of the 
 palette toward the making of the chef-cPceuvre. 
 
 Business prospered, and the facilities of leisure increased, while 
 Ballister passed through these transitions of taste, and he found 
 intervals to travel, and time to read, and opportunity to indulge, 
 as far as he could with the eye only, his passion for knowledge in 
 the arts. To all that appertained to the refinement of himself, 
 he applied the fine feelers of a delicate and passionate construc 
 tion, physical and mental, and, as the reader will already have 
 included, wasted on culture comparatively unprofitable, faculties 
 that would have been better employed but for the meddling of 
 Miss Fanny Bellairs. 
 
 Ballister s return from France was heralded by the arrival of 
 statuary and pictures, books, furniture, and numberless articles of 
 tasteful and costly luxury. The reception of these by the family 
 at home threw rather a new light on the probable changes in the 
 long-absent brother, for, from the signal success of the business 
 he had managed, they had very naturally supposed that it was 
 the result only of unr emitted and plodding care. Vague rumors 
 of changes in his personal appearance had reached them, such as 
 might be expected from conformity to foreign fashions, but those 
 who had seen Philip Ballister in France, and called subsequently 
 on the family in New York, were not people qualified to judge of 
 the man, either from their own powers of observation or from any 
 confidence he was likely to put forward while in their society. 
 His letters had been delightful, but they were confined to third- 
 person topics, descriptions of things likely to interest them, &c., 
 and Fanny had few addressed personally to herself, having thought 
 it worth while, for the experiment sake, or for some other reason, 
 
TWO BUCKETS IN A WELL. 63 
 
 to see whether love would subsist without its usual pabulum of 
 tender correspondence, and a veto on love-letters having served 
 her for a parting injunction at Phil s embarkation for Havre. 
 However varied by their different fancies, the transformation 
 looked for by the whole family was substantially the same the 
 romantic artist sobered down to a practical, plain man of business. 
 And Fanny herself had an occasional misgiving as to her relish 
 for his counting-house virtues and manners ; though, on the detec 
 tion of the feeling, she immediately closed her eyes upon it, and 
 drummed up her delinquent constancy for " parade and inspec 
 tion." 
 
 All bustles are very much alike (we use the word as defined in 
 Johnson), and the reader will appreciate our delicacy, besides, in 
 not intruding on the first re-union of relatives and lovers long 
 separated. 
 
 The morning after Philip Ballister s arrival, the family sat long 
 at breakfast. The mother s gaze fastened untiringly on the fea 
 tures of her son still her boy prying into them with a vain 
 effort to reconcile the face of the man with the cherished picture 
 of the child with sunny locks, and noting little else than the work 
 of inward change upon the countenance and expression. The 
 brother, with the predominant feeling of respect for the intelli 
 gence and industry of one who had made the fortunes of the 
 house, read only subdued sagacity in the perfect simplicity of his 
 whole exterior. And Fanny Fanny was puzzled. The bour 
 geoisie and ledger-bred hardness of manner which she had looked 
 for were not there, nor any variety of the " foreign slip-slop" 
 common to travelled youth, nor any superciliousness, nor (faith !) 
 any wear and tear of youth and good looks nothing that she 
 expected nothing ! Not even a French guard-chain ! 
 
64 CHANGE IN A LOVER. 
 
 What there was in her cousin s manners and exterior, how 
 ever, was much more difficult to define by Miss Bellairs than what 
 there was not. She began the renewal of their intercourse with 
 very high spirits, herself the simple nature and unpretending- 
 ness of his address awakening only an unembarrassed pleasure at 
 seeing him again but she soon began to suspect there was an 
 exquisite refinement in this very simplicity, and to wonder at 
 " the trick of it ;" and, after the first day passed in his society, 
 her heart beat when he spoke to her, as it did not use to beat 
 when she was sitting to him for her picture, and listening to his 
 passionate love-making. And, with all her faculties, she studied 
 him. What was the charm of his presence ? He was himself, 
 and himself only. He seemed perfect, but he seemed to have 
 arrived at perfection like a statue, not like a picture by what 
 had been taken away, not by what had been laid on. He was as 
 natural as a bird, and as graceful and unembarrassed. He neither 
 forced conversation, nor pressed the little attentions of the draw 
 ing-room, and his attitudes were full of repose ; yet she was com 
 pletely absorbed in what he said, and she had been impressed 
 imperceptibly with his high-bred politeness, and the singular 
 elegance of his person. Fanny felt there was a change in her 
 relative position to her cousin. In what it consisted, or which 
 had the advantage, she was perplexed to discover but she bit 
 her lips as she caught herself thinking that if she were not engaged 
 to marry Philip Ballister, she should suspect that she had just 
 fallen irrecoverably in love with him. 
 
 It would have been a novelty in the history of Miss Bellairs 
 that any event to which she had once consented, should admit of 
 reconsideration ; and the Ballister family, used to her strong will, 
 were confirmed fatalists as to the coming about of her ends and 
 
TWO BUCKETS IN A WELL. (55 
 
 Her marriage with Philip, therefore, was discussed, CCBUT 
 ouvert, from his first arrival, and, indeed, in her usual fashion of 
 saving others the trouble of making up their minds, " herself had 
 named the day." This, it is true, was before his landing, and 
 was, then, an effort of considerable magnanimity, as the expectant 
 Penelope was not yet advised of her lover s state of preservation 
 or damages by cares and keeping. If Philip had not found his 
 wedding-day fixed on his arrival, however, he probably would 
 have had a voice in the naming of it, for, with Fanny s new inspi 
 rations as to his character, there had grown up a new flower in 
 her garden of beauties timidity ! What bird of the air had sown 
 the seed in such a soil was a problem to herself but true it was ! 
 the confidant belle had grown a blushing trembler ! She would 
 as soon have thought of bespeaking her wings for the sky, as to 
 have ventured on naming the day in a short week after. 
 
 The day was named, however, and the preparations went on 
 nem. con. the person most interested (after herself) accepting 
 every congratulation and allusion, touching the event, with the 
 most impenetrable suavity. The marbles and pictures, upholstery 
 and services, were delivered over to the order of Miss Bellairs, 
 and Philip, disposed, apparently, to be very much a recluse in 
 his rooms, or, at other times, engrossed by troops of welcoming 
 friends, saw much less of his bride elect than suited her wishes, 
 and saw her seldom alone. By particular request, also, he took 
 no part in the plenishing and embellishing of the new abode not 
 permitted even to inquire where it was situated ; and, under this 
 cover, besides the pleasure of having her own way, Fanny con 
 cealed a little secret, which, when disclosed, she now felt, would 
 figure forth to Philip s comprehension, her whole scheme of future 
 happiness. She had taken the elder brother into her counsels a 
 
66 PREPARATIONS. 
 
 fortnight after Philip s return, and, with his aid and consent, had 
 abandoned the original idea of a house in town, purchased a beau 
 tifully-secluded estate and cottage ornee, on the East river, and 
 transferred thither all the objects of art, furniture, &c. One 
 room only of the maternal mansion was permitted to contribute 
 its quota to the completion of the bridal dwelling the wing, 
 never since inhabited, in which Philip had made his essay as a 
 painter and, without variation of a cobweb, and, with whimsical 
 care and effort on the part of Miss Fanny, this apartment was 
 reproduced at Revedere her own picture on the easel, as it 
 stood on the night of his abandonment of his art, and palette, 
 pencils and colors in tempting readiness on the table. Even the 
 fire-grate of the old studio had been re-set in the new, and the 
 cottage throughout had been refitted with a view to occupation 
 in the winter. And to sundry hints on the part of the elder 
 brother, that some thought should be given to a city residence 
 for the Christmas holydays at least Fanny replied, through a 
 blush, that she would never wish to see the town with Philip at 
 Revedere ! 
 
 Five years had ripened and mellowed the beauty of Fanny 
 Bellairs, and the same summer-time of youth had turned into 
 fruit the feeling left by Philip in bud and flower. She was ready 
 now for love. She had felt the variable temper of society, and 
 there was a presentiment in the heart, of receding flatteries, and 
 the winter of life. It was with mournful self-reproach that she 
 thought of the years wasted in separation, of her own choosing, 
 from the man she loved ; and, with the power to recall time, shf 
 would have thanked God with tears of joy for the privilege o: 
 retracing the chain of life to that link of parting. Not worth ; 
 
TWO BUCKETS IN A WELL. 67 
 
 day of those lost years, she bitterly confessed to herself, was the 
 wealth they had purchased. 
 
 It lacked as little as one week of " the happy day," when the 
 workmen were withdrawn from Revedere, and the preparations 
 for a family breakfast, to be succeeded by the agreeable surprise 
 to Philip of informing him he was at home, were finally com 
 pleted. One or two very intimate friends were added to the 
 party, and the invitations (from the elder Ballister) proposed 
 simply a dejeuner sur Vherle in the grounds of an unoccupied 
 villa, the property of an acquaintance. 
 
 With the subsiding of the excitement of return, the early asso 
 ciations which had temporarily confused and colored the feelings 
 of Philip Ballister, settled gradually away, leaving uppermost 
 once more the fastidious refinement of the Parisian. Through 
 this medium, thin and cold, the bubbles from the breathing of 
 the heart of youth, rose rarely and reluctantly. The Ballisters 
 held a good station in society, without caring for much beyond 
 the easy conveniences of life, and Fanny, though capable of any 
 degree of elegance, had not seen the expediency of raising the 
 tone of her manners above that of her immediate friends. With 
 out being positively distasteful to Philip, the family circle, Fanny 
 included, left him much to desire in the way of society, and, 
 unwilling to abate the warmth of his attentions while with them, 
 he had latterly pleaded occupation more frequently, and passed his 
 time in the more congenial company of his library of art. This 
 was the less noticed that it gave Miss Bellairs the opportunity to 
 make frequent visits to the workmen at Revedere, and, in the 
 polished devotion of her betrothed, when with her, Fanny saw 
 nothing reflected but her own daily increasing tenderness and 
 admiration. 
 
08 THE FETE. 
 
 The morning of the fete, came in like the air in an overture a 
 harmony of all the instruments of summer. The party were at 
 the gate of Revedere by ten, and the drive through the avenue to 
 the lawn drew a burst of delighted admiration from all. The 
 place was exquisite, and seon in its glory, and Fanny s heart was 
 brimming with gratified pride and exultation. She assumed at 
 once the dispensation of the honors, and beautiful she looked with 
 her snowy dress and raven ringlets flitting across the lawn, and 
 queening it like Perdita among the flowers. Having narrowly 
 escaped bursting into tears of joy when Philip pronounced the 
 place prettier than anything he had seen in his travels, she was, 
 for the rest of the day, calmly happy ; and, with the grateful 
 shade, the delicious breakfast in the grove, the rambling and 
 boating on the river, the hours passed off like dreams, and no 
 one even hinted a regret that the house itself was under lock and 
 bar. And so the sun set, and the twilight came on, and the 
 guests were permitted to order round their carriages and depart, 
 the Ballisters accompanying them to the gate. And, on the 
 return of the family through the avenue, excuses were made for 
 idling hither and thither, till lights began to show through the 
 trees, and, by the time of their arrival at the lawn, the low win 
 dows of the cottage poured forth streams of light, and the open 
 doors, and servants busy within, completed a scene more like 
 magic than reality. Philip was led in by the excited girl who 
 was the fairy of the spell, and his astonishment at the discovery 
 of his statuary and pictures, books and furniture, arranged in 
 complete order within, was fed upon with the passionate delight 
 of love in authority. 
 
 When an hour had been spent in examining and admiring the 
 different apartments, an inner room was thrown open, in which 
 
TWO BUCKETS IN A WELL. 69 
 
 supper was prepared, and this fourth act in the day s drama was 
 lingered over in untiring happiness by the family. 
 
 Mrs. Ballister, the mother, rose and retired, and Philip pleaded 
 indisposition, and begged to be shown to the room allotted to him. 
 This was ringing-up the curtain for the last act sooner than had 
 been planned by Fanny, but she announced herself as his cham 
 berlain, and, with her hands affectionately crossed on his arm, led 
 him to a suite of rooms in a wing still unvisited, and, with a good 
 night kiss, left him at the open door of the revived studio, fur 
 nished for the night with a bachelor s bed. Turning upon the 
 threshold, he closed the door with a parting wish of sweet 
 dreams, and Fanny, after listening a moment with a vain hope of 
 overhearing some expression of pleasure, and lingering again on 
 her way back, to be overtaken by her surprised lover, sought her 
 own bed without rejoining the circle, and passed a sleepless and 
 happy night of tears and joy. 
 
 Breakfast was served the next morning on a terrace overlook 
 ing the river, and it was voted by acclamation, that Fanny never 
 before looked so lovely. As none but the family were to be pre 
 sent, she had stolen a march on her marriage wardrobe, and add 
 ed to her demi-toilet a morning cap of exquisite becomingness. 
 Altogether, she looked deliciously wife-like, and did the honors 
 of the breakfast-table with a grace and sweetness that warmed 
 out love and compliments even from the sober soil of household 
 intimacy. Philip had not yet made his appearance, and they 
 lingered long at table, till at last a suggestion, that he might be ill, 
 started Fanny to her feet, and she ran to his door before a servant 
 could be summoned. 
 
 The rooms were open, and the bed had not been occupied. 
 The candle was burned to the socket, and on the easel, resting 
 
BITTER PROSPERITY. 
 
 against the picture, was a letter addressed " Miss Fanny Bel- 
 lairs." 
 
 THE LETTER. 
 
 " I have followed up to this hour, my fair cousin, in the path 
 you have marked out for me. It has brought me back, in this 
 chamber, to the point from which I started under your guidance, 
 and if it had brought me back unchanged if it restored me my 
 energy, my hope, and my prospect of fame, I should pray Hea 
 ven that it would also give me back my love, and be content 
 more than content, if it gave me back also my poverty. The 
 sight of my easel, and of the surroundings of my boyish dreams 
 of glory, have made my heart bitter. They have given form and 
 voice to a vague unhappiness, which has haunted me through all 
 these absent years years of degrading pursuits and wasted 
 powers and it now impels me from you, kind and lovely as you 
 are, with an aversion I can not control. I cannot forgive you. 
 You have thwarted my destiny. You have extinguished with 
 sordid cares a lamp within me, that might, by this time, have 
 shone through the world. And what am I, since your wishes are 
 accomplished ? Enriched in pocket, and bankrupt in happiness 
 and self-respect. 
 
 " With a heart SICK, and a brain aching for distinction, I have 
 come to an unhonored stand-still at thirty ! I am a successful 
 tradesman, and in this character I shall probably die. Could I 
 begin to be a painter now, say you ? Alas ! my knowledge of the 
 art is too great for patience with the slow hand ! I could not 
 draw a line without despair. The pliant fingers and the plastic 
 mind must keep pace to make progress in art. My taste is fixed, 
 and my imagination uncreative, because chained down by certain- 
 
TWO BUCKETS IN A WELL. 71 
 
 ies ; and the shortsighted ardor and daring experiment which are 
 idispensible to sustain and advance the follower in Raphael s 
 Dotsteps, are too far behind for my resuming. The tide ebbed 
 rom me at the accursed burning of my pencils by your pitiless 
 land, and from that hour I have felt hope receding. Could I be 
 lappy with you, stranded here in ignoble idleness, and owing to 
 ou the loss of my whole venture of opportunity ? No, Fanny ? 
 surely no ! 
 
 " I would not be unnecessarily harsh. I am sensible of your 
 affection and constancy. I have deferred this explanation un 
 wisely, till the time and place make it seem more cruel. You 
 are at this very moment, I well know, awake in your chamber, 
 devoting to me the vigils of a heart overflowing with tenderness. 
 And I would if it were possible if it were not utterly beyond 
 my powers of self-sacrifice and concealment I would affect a 
 devotion I can not feel, and carry out this error through a life of 
 artifice and monotony. But here again, the work is your own, 
 and my feelings revert bitterly to your interference. If there 
 were no other obstacle to my marrying you if you were not 
 associated repulsively with the dark cloud on my life, you are not 
 the woman I could now enthrone in my bosom. We have 
 diverged since the separation which I pleaded against, and which 
 you commanded. I need for my idolatry, now, a creature to 
 whom the sordid cares you have sacrificed me to, are utterly 
 unknown a woman born and educated in circumstances where 
 want is never feared, and where calculation never enters. I must 
 lavish my wealth, if I fulfil my desire, on one who accepts it like 
 the air she breathes, and who knows the value of nothing but 
 love a bird with a human soul and form, believing herself free 
 of all the world is rich in, and careful only for pleasure and the 
 
72 END LOST IN THE MEANS. 
 
 happiness of those who belong to her. Such women, beautiful 
 and highly educated, are found only in ranks of society between 
 which and my own I have been increasing in distance nay, 
 building an impassible barrier, in obedience to your control. 
 Where I stop, interdicted by the stain of trade, the successful 
 artist is free to enter. You have stamped me plebeian you 
 would not share my slow progress toward a higher sphere, and 
 you have disqualified me for attaining it alone. In your merce 
 nary and immovable will, and in that only, lies the secret of our 
 twofold unhappiness. 
 
 " I leave you, to return to Europe. My brother and my 
 friends will tell you I am mad and inexcusable, and look upon 
 you as a victim. They will say that, to have been a painter, were 
 nothing to the career that I might mark out for my ambition, if 
 ambition I must have, in politics. Politics in a country where 
 distinction is a pillory ! But I could not live here. It is nry 
 misfortune that my tastes are so modified by that long and com 
 pulsory exile, that life, here, would be a perpetual penance. 
 This unmixed air of merchandise suffocates me. Our own home 
 is tinctured black with it. You yourself, in this rural Paradise 
 you have conjured up, move in it like a cloud. The counting- 
 house rings in your voice, calculation draws together your brows 
 you look on everything as a means, and know its cost ; and the 
 calm and means-forgetting fruition, which forms the charm anc 
 dignity of superior life, is utterly unknown to you. Wha 
 would be my happiness with such a wife ? What would be your; 
 with such a husband ? Yet I consider the incompatibility 
 between us as no advantage on my part on the contrary, { 
 punishment, and of your inflicting. W^hat shall I be, anywhere, bu 
 
TWO BUCKETS IN A WELL. 
 
 73 
 
 a Tantalus a fastidious ennuyt, with a thirst for the inaccessible 
 burning in my bosom continually ! 
 
 " I pray you let us avoid another meeting before my departure. 
 Though I cannot forgive you as a lover, I can think of you with 
 pleasure as a cousin, and I give you, as your due, (" damages," the 
 law would phrase it,) the portion of myself which you thought 
 most important when I offered you my all. You would not take 
 me without the fortune, but perhaps you will be content with the 
 fortune without me. I shall immediately take steps to convey to 
 you this property of Revedere, with an income sufficient to main 
 tain it, and I trust soon to hear that you have found a husband 
 
 better worthy of you than your cousin 
 
 " PHILIP BALLISTER." 
 
LIGHT VERVAIN, 
 
 " And thou light vervain, too thou next come, after 
 
 Provoking souls to mirth and easy laughter." Old Somebody. 
 
 ROME, May 30, 1832. 
 
 DINED with F , the artist, at a trattoria. F is a man of 
 genius, very adventurous and imaginative in his art, but never 
 caring to show the least touch of these qualities in his conversa 
 tion. His pictures have given him great vogue and consideration 
 at Rome, so that his daily experience furnishes staple enough for 
 his evening s chit-chat, and he seems, of course, to be always 
 talking of himself. He is very generally set down as an egotist. 
 His impulse to talk, however, springs from no wish for self- 
 glorification, but rather from an indolent aptness to lay hands on 
 the readiest and most familiar topic, and that is a kind of egotism 
 to which I have very little objection particularly with the mind 
 fatigued, as it commonly is in Rome, by a long day s study of 
 works of art. 
 
 I had passed the morning at the Barberini palace with a party 
 of picture-hunters, and I made some remark as to the variety of 
 impressions made upon the minds of different people by the same 
 picture. Apropos of this remark, F told me a little anecdote, 
 
LIGHT VERVAIN. 75 
 
 which I must try to put down by way of a new shoal in the chart 
 of human nature. 
 
 " It is very much the same with everything else," said F ; 
 " no two people see with the same eyes, physically or morally; 
 and faith, we might save ourselves a great deal of care and bother 
 if we did but keep it in mind." 
 
 " As how ?" I asked, for I saw that this vague remark was 
 premonitory of an illustration. 
 
 " I think I introduced young Skyring to you at a party some 
 where :" 
 
 " A youth with a gay waistcoat and nothing to say ? Yes." 
 
 " Well your observation just now reminded me of the dif 
 ferent estimate put by that gentleman and myself upon some 
 thing, and if I could give you any idea of my month s work in his 
 behalf, you would agree with me that I might have spared myself 
 some trouble keeping in mind, as I said before, the difference in 
 optics. 
 
 " I was copying a bit of foreshortening from a picture in the 
 Vatican, one day, when this youth passed without observing me. 
 I did not immediately recollect him. He was dressed like a 
 figure in a tailor s window, and, with Mrs. Stark in his hand, was 
 hunting up the pictures marked with four notes of admiration ; 
 and I, with a smile at the waxy dandyism of the man, turned to 
 my work and forgot him. Presently his face recurred to me, or 
 rather his sister s face, which some family likeness had insensibly 
 recalled, and, getting another look, I recognised in him an old, 
 though not very intimate playmate of my boyish days. It imme 
 diately occurred to me that I cdmd serve him a very good turn 
 by giving him the entree to society here, and quite as mime- 
 
76 TRIBUTE TO AN OLD LOVE. 
 
 diately, it occurred to me to doubt whether it were worth my 
 while." 
 
 " And what changed your mind," I asked, " for of course you 
 came to the conclusion that it was not ?" 
 
 "Oh, for his sake alone I should have left him as he was, a 
 hermit in his varnished boots for he had not an acquaintance in 
 the city but Kate Skyring had given me roses when roses were 
 to me, each a world ; and for her sake, though I was a rejected 
 lover, I thought better of my demurrer. Then I had a little 
 pique to gratify for the Skyrings had rather given me the de 
 haut en las in declining the honor of my alliance (lucky for me, 
 since it brought me here and made me what I am), and I was not 
 indisposed to show that the power to serve, to say the least, was 
 now on my side." 
 
 " Two sufficient, as well as dramatic reasons for being civil to a 
 man." 
 
 " Only arrived at, however, by a night s deliberation, for it 
 cost me some trouble of thought and memory to get back into my 
 chrysalis and imagine myself at all subject to people so much 
 below my present vogue whatever that is worth ! Of course I 
 don t think of Kate in this comparison, for a woman one has once 
 loved is below nothing. We ll drink her health, God bless 
 her !" 
 
 (A bottle of Lagrima.) 
 
 " I left my card on Mr. Skyring the next morning, with a note 
 enclosing three or four invitations which I had been at some 
 trouble to procure, and a hope from myself of the honor of his 
 company to a quiet dinner. Ha took it as a statue would take a 
 shower-bath, wrote me a note in the third person in reply to mine 
 in the first, and came in ball-dress and sulphur gloves at pro- 
 
LIGHT VERVAIN. 77 
 
 cisely the canonical fifteen minutes past the hour. Good old 
 Thorwalsden dined with me, and an English viscount for whom I 
 was painting a picture, and between my talking Italian to the 
 venerable sculptor, and Skyring s belording and belordshipping 
 the good-natured nobleman, the dinner went trippingly off the 
 Little Pedlington of our mutual nativity furnishing less than its 
 share to the conversation. 
 
 " We drove, all together, to the Palazzo Rossi, for it was the 
 night of the Marchesa s soiree. As sponsor, I looked with some 
 satisfaction at Skyring in the ante-room, his toggery being quite 
 unexceptionable, and his maintien very uppish and assured. I 
 presented him to our fair hostess, who surveyed him as he ap 
 proached with a satisfactory look of approval, and no one else 
 chancing to be near, I left him to improve what was rather a rare 
 opportunity a tete-d-tete with the prettiest woman in Rome. 
 Five minutes after, I returned to reconnoitre, and there he stood, 
 stroking down his velvet waistcoat, and looking from the carpet 
 to the ceiling, while the marchioness wag quite red with embar 
 rassment and vexation. He had not opened his lips ! She had 
 tried him in French and Italian (the dunce had told me that he 
 spoke French too), and finally she had ventured upon English, 
 which she knew very little of, and still he neither spoke nor ran 
 away ! 
 
 Perhaps Monsieur would like to dance, said the mar 
 chioness, gliding away from him with a look of inexpressible relief, 
 and trusting to me to find him a partner. 
 
 " I had no difficulty in finding him a partner, for (that far) his 
 waistcoat put him on velvet but I could not trust him alone 
 again ; so, having presented him to a very pretty woman and got 
 them vis-a-vis in the quadrille, I stood by to supply the short- 
 
78 INGRATITUDE. 
 
 comings. And little of a sinecure it was ! The man had nothing 
 to say ; nor, confound him, had he any embarrassment on the sub 
 ject. He looked at his varnished pumps, and coaxed his coat to 
 his waist, and set back his neck like a goose bolting a grasshopper, 
 and took as much interest in the conversation as a footman behind 
 your chair deaf and dumb apparently, but perfectly at his ease. 
 He evidently had no idea that there was any distinction between 
 men except in dress, and was persuaded that he was entirely suc 
 cessful as far as he had gone : and, as to my efforts in his behalf, 
 he clearly took them as gratuitous on my part probably think 
 ing, from the difference in our exteriors, that I had paid myself 
 in the glory of introducing him. 
 
 " Well I had begun so liberally that I could scarce refuse to 
 find my friend another partner, and, after that, another and 
 another I, to avoid the odium of inflicting a bore on my fair 
 acquaintances, feeling compelled to continue my service as chorus 
 in the pantomime and, you will scarce believe me when I tell 
 you that I submitted to this bore nightly for a month ! I could 
 not get rid of him. He would not be let go. Without offending 
 him mortally, and so undoing all my sentimental outlay for Kate 
 Skyring and her short-sighted papa, I had nothing for it but to 
 go on till he should go off ridden to death with him in every 
 conceivable variety of bore." 
 
 " And is he gone ?" 
 
 " Gone. And now, what thanks do you suppose I got for all 
 this ? 
 
 " A present of a pencil-case ?" 
 
 " No, indeed ! but a lesson in human nature that will stick by 
 me much longer. He called at my studio yesterday morning to 
 say good-bye. Through all my sense of his boredom and relief at 
 
LIGHT VERVAIN. 79 
 
 the prospect of being rid of him, I felt embarrassed when he camo 
 in, thinking how difficult it would be for him to express properly 
 his sense of the obligation he was under to me. After half an 
 hour s monologue (by myself) on pictures, &c., he started up 
 and said he must go. i And by-the-by, said he, coloring a little, 
 4 there is one thing I want to say to you, Mr. F ! Hang it, it 
 has stuck in my throat ever since I met you ! You ve been very 
 polite and I m obliged to you, of course but I don t like, your 
 
 devilish patronizing manner ! Good-bye, Mr. F !" 
 
 * * * * # * * 
 
 The foregoing is a leaf from a private diary which I kept at 
 Rome. In making a daily entry of such passing stun 7 as interests 
 us, we sometimes, amid much that should be ticketed for oblivion, 
 record that which has a bearing, important or amusing, on the 
 future ; and a late renewal of my acquaintance with Mr. F , 
 followed by a knowledge of some fortunate changes in his worldly 
 condition, has given that interest to this otherwise unimportant 
 scrap of diary which will be made apparent presently to the 
 reader. A vague recollection that I had something in an old 
 book which referred to him, induced me to look it up, and I was 
 surprised to find that I had noted down, in this trifling anecdote, 
 what turned out to be the mainspring of his destiny. 
 
 F returned to his native country after five years study of 
 the great masters of Italy. His first pictures painted at Rome 
 procured for him, as is stated in the diary I have quoted, a high 
 reputation. He carried with him a style of his own which was 
 merely stimulated and heightened by his first year s walk through 
 the galleries of Florence, and the originality and boldness in his 
 manner of coloring seemed to promise a sustained novelty of the 
 art. Gradually, however, the awe of the great masters seemed 
 
80 
 
 A LOVE LETTER. 
 
 to overshadow his confidence in himself, and, as he travelled and 
 deepened his knowledge of painting, he threw aside feature after 
 feature of his own peculiar style, till at last he fell into the track 
 of the great army of imitators, who follow the immortals of the 
 Vatican as doomed ships follow the Flying Dutchman. 
 
 Arrived at home, and depending solely on his art for a subsist 
 ence, F commenced the profession to which he had served so 
 
 long an apprenticeship. But his pictures sadly disappointed his 
 friends. After the first specimens of his acquired style in the 
 annual exhibitions, the calls at his rooms became fewer and far 
 ther between, and his best works were returned from the galleries 
 unsold. Too proud to humor the popular taste by returning to 
 what he considered an inferior stage of his art, he stood still with 
 his reputation ebbing from him, and as his means, of course, 
 depended on the tide of public favor, he was soon involved in 
 troubles before which his once-brilliant hopes rapidly faded. 
 At this juncture he received the following letter : 
 
 " You will be surprised on glancing at the signature to this 
 letter. You will be still more surprised when you are reminded 
 that it is a reply to an unanswered one of your own written 
 years ago. That letter lies by me, expressed with all the diffi 
 dence of boyish feeling. And it seems as if its diffidence would 
 encourage me in what I wish to say. Yet I write far more 
 tremblingly than you could have done. 
 
 " Let me try to prepare the way by some explanation of the 
 
 past. 
 
 " You were my first lover. I was not forbidden, at fourteen, 
 to express the pleasure I felt at your admiration, and you cannot 
 have forgotten the ardor and simplicity with which I returned it. 
 
LIGHT VERVAIN. 81 
 
 -I remember giving you roses better than I remember anything so 
 long ago. Now writing to you with the same feeling warm at 
 :my heart it seems to me as if it needed but a rose, could I give 
 it you in the same garden, to make us lovers again. Yet I know 
 you must be changed. I scarce know whether I should go on 
 
 with this letter. 
 
 " But I owe you reparation. I owe you an answer to this 
 which lies before me ; and, if I err in answering it as my heart 
 burns to do, you will at least be made happier by knowing that 
 when treated with neglect and repulsion, you were still beloved. 
 " I think it was not long before the receipt of this letter that 
 my father first spoke to me of our attachment. Till then I had 
 
 i only thought of loving you. That you were graceful and manly, 
 that your voice was sweet, and that your smile made me happy, 
 was all I could have told of you without reflection. I had never 
 reasoned upon your qualities of mind, though I had taken an 
 unconscious pride in your superiority to your companions, and 
 
 ! least of all had 1 asked myself whether those abilities for making 
 
 * your way in the world, which my father denied you, were among 
 your boyish energies. With a silent conviction that you had no 
 
 : equal among your companions, in anything, I listened to my 
 father s disparagement of you, bewildered and overawed the 
 very novelty and unexpectedness of the light in which he spoke 
 of you, sealing my lips completely. Perhaps resistance to his 
 will would have been of no avail, but, had I been better prepared 
 to reason upon what he urged, I might have expressed to you 
 the unwillingness of my acquiescence. I was prevented from 
 seeing you till your letter came, and then all intercourse with 
 you was formally forbidden. My father said he would himself 
 4* 
 
82 RECONSIDERED LOVE. 
 
 reply to your proposal. But it was addressed to me, and I have-, 
 only recovered possession of it by his death. 
 
 " Though it may seem like reproaching you for yielding me? 
 without an effort, I must say, to complete the history of my own 
 feelings, that I nursed a vague hope of hearing from you until I 
 your departure for Italy, and that this hope was extinguished not 
 without bitter tears. The partial resentment that mingled with 
 this unhappiness aided me doubtless in making up my mind to 
 forget you, and for a while, for years I may say, I was possessed 
 by other excitements and feelings. It is strange, however, that, 
 though scarce remembering you when waking, I still saw you 
 perpetually in my dreams. 
 
 " And, so far, this is a cold and easy recital. How shall I 
 describe to you the next change, the re-awakening of this smoth 
 ered and slumbering affection ! How shall I evade your con 
 tempt when I tell you that it awoke with your renown ! But my 
 first feeling was not one of love. When your name began to come 
 to us in the letters of travellers and in the rumor of literary 
 circles, I felt as if something that belonged to me was praised 
 and honored ; a pride, an exulting and gratified pride, that feel 
 ing seemed to be, as if the heart of my childhood had been 
 staked on your aspirations, and was borne up with you, a part 
 and a partaker of your fame. With all my soul I drank in the , 
 news of your successes in the art ; I wrote to those who came 
 home from Italy ; I questioned those likely to have heard of you, 
 as critics and connoisseurs ; I devoted all my reading to the litera 
 ture of the arts, and the history of painters, for my life was 
 poured into yours irresistibly, by a power I could not, and cannot 
 now control. My own imagination turned painter, indeed, for I 
 lived on revery, calling up, with endless variations, pictures of 
 
LIGHT VERVAIN. 83 
 
 yourself amid the works of your pencil, visited and honored as I 
 knew you were, yet unchanged in the graceful and boyish beauty 
 jl remembered. I was proud of having loved you, of having been 
 the object of the earliest and purest preference of a creature of 
 genius ; and through this pride, supplanting and overflowing it, 
 crept and strengthened a wanner feeling, the love I have the 
 hardihood to avow. Oh ! what will you think of this boldness ! 
 Yet to conceal my love were now a severer task than to wait the 
 hazard of your contempt. 
 
 " One explanation a palliative, perhaps you will allow it to 
 be, if you are generous remains to be given. The immediate 
 impulse of this letter was information from my brother, long 
 withheld, of your kindness to him in Rome. From some per- 
 verseness which I hardly understand, he has never before hinted 
 in my presence that he had seen you in Italy, and it was only by 
 needing it as an illustration of some feeling which seemed to have 
 piqued him, and which he was expressing to a friend, that he 
 gave the particulars of your month of devotion to him. Know 
 ing the difference between your characters, and the entire want of 
 sympathy between your pursuits and my brother s, to what 
 motive could I attribute your unusual and self-sacrificing kind 
 ness ? 
 
 " Did I err was I presumptuous, in believing that it was 
 from a forgiving and tender memory of myself ? 
 
 " You are prepared now, if you can be, for what I would say. 
 We are left alone, my brother and I, orphan heirs to the large 
 fortune of my father. I have no one to control my wishes, no 
 one s permission to ask for any disposition of my hand and for 
 tune. Will you have them ? In this question is answered the 
 
84 CHIVALRY OF POLITENESS. 
 
 sweet, and long-treasured, though long neglected letter, lyin; ; 
 beside nie. " KATHERINE SKYRING." 
 
 Mrs. F , as will be seen from the style of her letter, is a 
 woman of decision and cleverness, and of such a helpmeet, in th< 
 way of his profession as well as in the tenderer relations of life 
 F wa s sorely in need. By her common-sense counsels an< 
 persuasion, he has gone back, with his knowledge of the art, to th 
 first lights of his own powerful genius, and, with means to com 
 raand leisure and experiment, he is, without submitting th 
 process to the world, perfecting a manner which will more thai 
 redeem his early promise. 
 
 As his career, though not very uncommon or dramatic, hinge< 
 for its more fortunate events on an act of high-spirited politeness 
 I have thought, that, in this age of departed chivalry, the stor^ 
 was worth preserving for its lesson. 
 
BROWN S DAY WITH THE MIMPSON S. 
 
 WE got down from an omnibus in Charing-Cross. 
 
 " Sovereign or ha penny ?" said the cad, rubbing the coin be 
 tween his thumb and finger. 
 
 a Sovereign of course !" said B confidently, pocketing 
 
 the change which the man had ready for the emergency in a bit 
 of brown paper. 
 
 It was a muggy, misty, London twilight. I was coming up to 
 town from Blackheath, and in the crowded vehicle had chanced 
 
 to encounter my compatriot B (call it Brown), who had 
 
 been lionizing the Thames tunnel. In the course of conversation, 
 it came out that we were both on the town for our dinner ; and, as 
 we were both guests at the Traveller s Club, we had pulled the 
 omnibus-string at the nearest point, and, after the brief dialogue 
 recorded above, strolled together down Pall-Mali. 
 
 As we sat waiting for our fish, one of us made a remark as to 
 the difference of feel between gold and copper coin, and Brown, 
 fishing in his pocket for money to try the experiment, discovered 
 that the doubt of the cad was well founded, for he had uncon 
 sciously passed a halfpenny for a sovereign. 
 
 " People are very apt to take your coin at your own valua- 
 
S6 FACILE MANNERS. 
 
 tion!"said Brown, with a smile of some meaning, "and when 
 they are in the dark as to your original coinage (as the English 
 are with regard to Americans abroad), it as easy to pass for gold 
 as for copper. Indeed, you may pass for both in a day, as I have 
 lately had experience. Remind me presently to tell you how. 
 Here comes the fried sole, and it s troublesome talking when 
 there are bones to fight shy of the flow of sole* to the contrary 
 notwithstanding." 
 
 I will take advantage of the hiatus to give the reader a slight 
 idea of my friend, as a preparation for his story. 
 
 Brown was the " mirror of courtesy." He was also the mirror 
 of vulgarity. And he was the mirror of everything else. He 
 had that facility of adaptation to the society he was in, which 
 made him seem born for that society, and that only ; and, with 
 out calculation or forethought by an unconscious instinct, in 
 deed he cleverly reflected the man and manners before him. 
 The result was a popularity of a most varied quality. Brown 
 was a man of moderate fortune and no profession. He had 
 travelled for some years on the continent, and had encountered 
 all classes of Englishmen, from peers to green-grocers ; and, as he 
 had a visit to England in prospect, he seldom parted from the 
 most chance acquaintance without a volunteer of letters of intro 
 duction, exchange of addresses, and similar tokens of having 
 " pricked through his castle wall." When he did arrive in Lon 
 don, at last, it was with a budget like the postman s on Valen 
 tine s day, and he had only to deliver one letter in a score to be 
 put on velvet in any street or square within the bills of mortality. 
 Sagacious enough to know that the gradations of English society 
 have the facility of a cat s back (smooth enough from the head 
 downward), he began with a most noble duke, and at the date of 
 
BROWN S DAY WITH THE MIMPSON S. 87 
 
 his introduction to the reader, was on the dinner-list of most of 
 the patricians of May Fair. 
 
 Presuming that you see your man, dear reader, let us come at 
 once to the removal of the cloth. 
 
 " As I was calling myself to account, the other day, over my 
 breakfast," said Brown, filling his glass and pushing the bottle, 
 " it occurred to me that my round of engagements required some 
 little variation. There s a toujours perdrix, even among lords 
 and ladies, particularly when you belong as much to their sphere, 
 and are as likely to become a part of it, as the fly revolving in 
 aristocratic dust on the wheel of my lord s carriage. I thought, 
 perhaps, I had better see some other sort of people. 
 
 u I had, under a prcsse-papier on the table, about a hundred 
 letters of introduction the condemned remainder, after the 
 selection, by advice, of four or five only. I determined to cut 
 this heap like a pack of cards, and follow up the trump. 
 
 " i John j\Iimpson, Esq.) House of Mimpson and JPkipps^ 
 Mark s Lane, London. 
 
 " The gods had devoted me to the acquaintance of Mr. (and 
 probably Mrs.) John M imp son. After turning over a deal of 
 rubbish in my mind, I remembered that the letter had been given 
 me five years before by an American merchant probably the 
 correspondent of the firm in Mark s Lane. It was a sealed let 
 ter, and said in brackets on the back, Introducing Mr. Brown. 
 I had a mind to give it up and cut again, for I could not guess on 
 what footing I was introduced, nor did I know what had become 
 of the writer nor had I a very clear idea how long a letter of 
 recommendation will hold its virtue. It struck me again that 
 these difficulties rather gave it a zest, and I would abide by the 
 oracle. I dressed, and, as the day was fine, started to stroll 
 
88 DELIVERING A LETTER, 
 
 leisurely through the Strand and Fleet street, and look into the 
 shop-windows on my way assuring myself, at least, thus much 
 of diversion in my adventure. 
 
 " Somewhere about two o clock, I left daylight behind, and 
 plunged into Mark s Lane. Up one side and down the other 
 Mimpson and Co. at last, on a small brass plate, set in a green 
 baize door. With my unbuttoned coat nearly wiped off my 
 shoulder by the strength of the pulley, I shoved through, and 
 emerged in a large room, with twenty or thirty clerks perched on 
 high stools, like monkeys in a menagerie. 
 
 " First door right ! said the nearest man, without raising his 
 eyes from the desk, in reply to my inquiry for Mr. Mimpson. 
 
 " I entered a closet, lighted by a slanting skylight, in which 
 sat my man. 
 
 " l Mr. John Mimpson ? 
 
 " ( Mr. John Mimpson ! 
 
 " After this brief dialogue of accost, I produced my letter, and 
 had a second s leisure to examine my new friend while he ran his 
 eye over the contents. He was a rosy, well-conditioned, tight, 
 skinned little man, with black hair, and looked like a pear on a 
 chair. (Hang the bothering rhymes !) His legs were completely 
 hid under the desk, so that the ascending eye began with his 
 equatory line, and whether he had no shoulders or no neck, I could 
 not well decide but it was a tolerably smooth plane from his 
 seat to the top curl of his sinciput. He was scrupulously well 
 dressed, and had that highly washed look which marks the city 
 man in London bent on not betraying his c diggins by his com 
 plexion. 
 
 " I answered Mr. Mimpson s inquiries about our mutual friend 
 with rather a hazardous particularity, and assured him he was 
 
BROWN S DAY WITH THE MIMPSON S. 89 
 
 quite well (I have since discovered that he has been dead three 
 years), and conversation warmed between us for ten minutes, till 
 we were ready to part sworn friends. I rose to go, and the 
 merchant seemed very much perplexed. 
 
 To-morrow, said he, rubbing the two great business bumps 
 over his eyebrows no yes that is to say, Mrs. Mimpson 
 well, it shall be to-morrow ! Can you come out to Rose Lodge, 
 and spend the day to-morrow ? 
 
 " With great pleasure, said I, for I was determined to follow 
 my trump letter to extremities. 
 
 " Mrs. Mimpson, he next went on to say, as he wrote down 
 the geography of Rose Lodge Mrs. Mimpson expects some 
 friends to-morrow indeed, some of her very choice friends. If 
 you come early, you will see more of her than if you just save your 
 dinner. Bring your carpet-bag, of course, and stay over night. 
 Lunch at two dine at seven. I can t be there to receive you 
 myself, but I will prepare Mrs. Mimpson to save you all trouble 
 of introduction. Hampstead road. Good morning, my dear 
 sir. 
 
 " So, I am in for a suburban bucolic, thought I, as I regained 
 daylight in the neighborhood of the Mansion House. 
 
 " It turned out a beautiful day, sunny and warm ; and had I 
 been sure of my navigation, and sure of my disposition to stay all 
 night, I should have gone out by the Hampstead coach, and made 
 the best of my way, carpet-bag in hand. I went into Newman s 
 for a postchaise, however, and, on showing him the written address, 
 was agreeably surprised to find he knew Rose Lodge. His boys 
 had all been there. 
 
 " Away I went through the Regent s park, behind the blood- 
 posters, blue jacket and white hat, and, somewhere about one 
 
90 ARRIVAL TO DINE. 
 
 o clock, mounted Hampsted Hill, and in ten minutes thence was 
 at my destination. The postboy was about driving in at the open 
 gate, but 1 dismounted and sent him back to the inn to leave his 
 horses, and then, depositing my bag at the porter s lodge, walked 
 up the avenue. It was a much finer place, altogether, than 1 
 expected to see. 
 
 " Mrs. Mimpson was in the garden. The dashing footman 
 who gave me the information led me through a superb drawing- 
 room, and out at a glass door upon the lawn, and left me to make 
 my own way to the lady s presence. 
 
 u It was a delicious spot, and I should have been very glad to 
 ramble about by myself till dinner, but, at a turn in the grand- 
 walk, I came suddenly upon two ladies. 
 
 " I made my bow, and begged leave to introduce myself as 
 Mr. Brown. 
 
 " With a very slight inclination of the head, and no smile 
 whatever, one of the ladies asked me if I had walked from town, 
 and begged her companion (without introducing me to her) to 
 show me in to lunch. The spokester was a stout and tall woman, 
 who had rather an aristocratic nose, and was not handsome, but, 
 to give her her due, she had made a narrow escape of it. She 
 was dressed very showily, and evidently had great pretensions ; 
 but, that she was not at all glad to see Mr. Brown, was as appa 
 rent as was at all necessary. As the other, and younger lady, 
 who was to accompany me, however, was very pretty, though 
 dressed very plainly, and had, withal, a look in her eye which 
 assured me she was amused with my unwelcome apparition, 1 
 determined, as I should not otherwise have done, to stay it out, 
 and accepted her convoy with submissive civility very much 
 inclined, however, to be impudent to somebody, somehow. 
 
BROWN S DAY WITH THE MIMPSON S. 91 
 
 " The lunch was on a tray in a side-room, and I rang the bell 
 and ordered a bottle of champagne. The servant looked sur 
 prised, but brought it, and meantime I was getting through the 
 weather and the other commonplaces, and the lady, saying little, 
 was watching me very calmly. I liked her looks, however, and 
 was sure she was not a Mimpson. 
 
 " Hand this to Miss Armstrong! said I to the footman, 
 pouring out a glass of champagne. 
 
 " Miss Bellamy, you mean, sir. 
 
 " I rose and bowed, and, with as grave a courtesy as I could 
 command, expressed my pleasure at my first introduction to Miss 
 Bellamy through Thomas, the footman ! Miss Bellamy burst 
 into a laugh, and was pleased to compliment my American man 
 ners, and in ten minutes we were a very merry pair of friends, 
 and she accepted my arm for a stroll through the grounds, care 
 fully avoiding the frigid neighborhood of Mrs. Mimpson. 
 
 " Of course I set about picking Miss Bellamy s brains for what 
 information I wanted. She turned out quite the nicest creature 
 I had seen in England fresh, joyous, natural, and clever ; and, as 
 I was delivered over to her bodily, by her keeper and feeder, she 
 made no scruple of promenading me through the grounds till the 
 dressing bell four of the most agreeable hours I have to record 
 in my travels. 
 
 " By Miss Bellamy s account, my advent that day was looked 
 upon by Mrs. Mimpson as an enraging calamity. Mrs. Mimpson 
 was, herself, fourth cousin to a Scotch lord, and the plague of her 
 life was the drawback to the gentility of her parties in Mimpson s 
 mercantile acquaintance. She had married the little man for his 
 money, and had thought, by living out of town, to choose her 
 own society, with hnr husband for hor only incnmbranoe ; but 
 
02 UNFORTUNATE INVITATION 
 
 Mimpson vowed that he should be ruined in Mark s Lane, if he 
 did not house and dine his mercantile fraternity and their envoys 
 at Rose Lodge, and they had at last compromised the matter. 
 No Yankee clerk, or German agent, or person of any description, 
 defiled by trade, was to be invited to the Lodge without a three 
 days premonition to Mrs. Mimpson, and no additions were to be 
 made, whatever, by Mr. M., to Mrs. M s dinners, soirees, 
 matinees, archery parties, suppers, dejeuners, tableaux, or private 
 theatricals. This holy treaty, Mrs. Mimpson presumed, was 
 written c with a gad of steel on a leaf of brass inviolable as her 
 cousin s coat-of-arms. 
 
 " But there was still Ossa on Pelion. The dinner of that 
 day had a diplomatic aim. Miss Mimpson (whom I had not yet 
 seen) was ready to l come out, and her mother had embarked 
 her whole soul in the enterprise of bringing about that debut at 
 
 Almack s. Her best card was a certain Lady S , who 
 
 chanced to be passing a few days in the neighborhood, and this 
 dinner was in her honor the company chosen to impress her 
 with the exclusiveness of the Mimpsons, and the prayer for her 
 ladyship s influence (to procure vouchers from one of the patron 
 esses) was to be made, when she was c dieted to their request. 
 And all had hitherto worked to a charm. Lady S had ac 
 cepted Ude had sent his best cook from Crockford s the 
 Belgian charge and a Swedish attache were coming the day was 
 beautiful, and the Lodge was sitting for its picture ; and, on the 
 very morning, when every chair at the table was ticketed and 
 devoted, what should Mr. Mimpson do, but send back a special 
 messenger from the city, to say that he had forgotten to mention 
 to Mrs. M. at breakfast, that he had invited Mr. Brown ! Of 
 course he had forgotten it, though it would have been as much 
 
BROWN S DAY WITH THE MIMPSON S. 93 
 
 as his eyes were worth to mention it in person to Mrs. Mimp- 
 son. 
 
 " To this information, which I give you in a lump, but which 
 came to light in the course of rather a desultory conversation, 
 Miss Bellamy thought I had some title, from the rudeness of my 
 reception. It was given in the shape of a very clever banter, it 
 is true, but she was evidently interested to set me right with 
 regard to Mr. Mimpson s good intentions in my behalf, and, as 
 far as that and her own civilities would do it, to apologise for the 
 inhospitality of Rose Lodge. Very kind of the girl for I was 
 passing, recollect, at a most ha penny valuation. 
 
 u I had made some casual remark touching the absurdity of 
 Almack s aspirations in general, and Mrs. Mimpson s in particu 
 lar, and my fair friend, who of course fancied an Almack s ticket 
 as much out of Mr. Brown s reach as the horn of the new moon, 
 took up the defence of Mrs. Mimpson on that point, and under 
 took to dazzle my untutored imagination by a picture of this 
 seventh heaven as she had heard it described for, to herself, 
 she freely confessed, it was not even within the limits of dream 
 land. I knew this was true of herself, and thousands of highly- 
 educated and charming girls in England ; but still, looking at 
 her while she spoke, and seeing what an ornament she would be 
 to any ballroom in the world, I realized, with more repugnance 
 than I had ever felt before, the arbitrary barriers of fashion and 
 aristocracy. As accident had placed me in a position to ( look on 
 the reverse of the shield, I determined, if possible, to let Miss 
 Bellamy judge of its color with the same advantage. It is not 
 often that a plebeian like myself has the authority to 
 
 " Bid the pebbles on the hungry beach 
 Fillip the stars. 
 
94 SECRET INFORMATION. 
 
 " We were near the open window of the library, and I stepped 
 
 in and wrote a note to Lady (one of the lady patronesses, 
 
 and the kindest friend I have in England), asking for three 
 vouchers for the next ball. I had had occasion once or twico 
 before to apply for similar favors, for countrywomen of my 
 own, passing through London on their travels, and I knew that 
 her ladyship thought no more of granting them than of returning 
 bows in Hyde Park. I did not name the ladies for whom the 
 three tickets were intended, wishing to reserve the privilege of 
 handing one to Miss Mimpson, should she turn out civil and pre 
 sentable. The third, of course, was to Miss Bellamy s chaperon, 
 whoever that might be, and the party might be extended to a 
 quartette by the l Monsieur De Trop of the hour cela scion. 
 Quite a dramatic plot wasn t it ? 
 
 " I knew that Lady was not very well, and would be 
 
 found at home by the messenger (my post-boy), and there was 
 time enough between soup and coffee to go to London and back, 
 even without the spur in his pocket. 
 
 " The bell rang, and Miss Bellamy took herself off to dress. 
 I went to my carpet bag in the bachelor quarters of the house, 
 and through a discreet entretien with the maid who brought me 
 hot water, became somewhat informed as to my fair friend s posi 
 tion in the family. She was the daughter of a gentleman who . 
 had seen better days. They lived in a retired cottage in the 
 neighborhood ; and, as Miss Bellamy and a younger sister were 
 both very highly accomplished, they were usually asked to the 
 Lodge, whenever there was company to be entertained with their 
 music. 
 
 " I was early in the drawing-room, and found there Mrs. 
 Miinpson and a tall dragoon of ,a young lady I presumed to be her 
 
BROWN S DAY WITH THE MIMPSON S. 95 
 
 laughter. She did not introduce me. I had hardly achieved 
 my salutary salaam when Miss Bellamy came in opportunely, 
 and took me off their hands, and, as they addressed no conversa 
 tion to us, we turned over music, and chatted in the corner while 
 the people came in. It was twilight in the reception-room, and 
 [ hoped, by getting on the same side of the table with Lady 
 5 (whom I had the honor of knowing), to escape recogni 
 zance till we joined the ladies in the drawing-room after dinner. 
 ALS the guests arrived, they were formally introduced to Miss 
 Mimpson by the mother, and everybody but myself was formally 
 
 presented to Lady S , the exception not noticeable, of course, 
 
 among thirty people. Mr. Mimpson came late from the city, 
 possibly anxious to avoid a skirmish on the subject of his friend 
 Brown, and he entered the room barely in time to hand Lady 
 
 S in to dinner. 
 
 " My tactics were ably seconded by my unconscious ally. I 
 placed myself in such a position at table, that, by a little man 
 agement, I kept Miss Bellamy s head between me and Lady 
 
 S , and my name was not so remarkable as to draw attention 
 
 to me when callc.d on to take wine with the peccant spouse of the 
 Scotch lord s cousin. Meantime I was very charmingly enter 
 tained Miss Bellamy not having, at all, the fear of Mrs. Mimp 
 son before her eyes, and apparently finding the Yankee supercargo, 
 or cotton clerk, or whatever he might be, quito worth trying her 
 land upon. The provender was good, and the wine was enough 
 to verify the apocrypha at least for the night a man remern- 
 )jering neither sorrow nor debt with such glorious claret. 
 
 " As I was vis-a-vis to Miss Mimpson, and only two plates 
 emoved from her mother, I was within reach of some syllable or 
 some civility, and one would have thought that good breeding 
 
96 RECOGNITIONS. 
 
 might exact some slight notice for the devil himself, under one s 
 own roof by invitation ; but the large eyes of Miss Aurelia and 
 her mamma passed over me as if I had on the invisible ring of 
 Gyges. I wonder, by-the-way, whether the ambitious youths 
 who go to London and Paris with samples, and come back and 
 sport i the complete varnish of a man acquired in foreign society 
 I wonder whether they take these rubs to be part of their 
 polishing ! 
 
 " The ladies rose and left us, and as I had no more occasion 
 to dodge heads, or trouble myself with humility, I took Lady 
 
 S s place at old Mimpson s right hand, and was immediately 
 
 recognized with great e?npressemcnt by the Belgian charge, who 
 had met me very often, in very agreeable society. Mimpson 
 stared, and evidently took it for a bit of flummery or -a mistake ; 
 but he presently stared again, for the butler came in with a cor- 
 onetted note on his silver tray, and the seal side up, and pre 
 sented it to me with a most deferential bend of his white coat. 
 I felt the vouchers within, and pocketed it without opening, and 
 we soon after rose and went to the drawing-room for our coflee. 
 
 " Lady S sat with her back to the door, beseiged by Mrs. 
 
 Mimpson ; and, at the piano, beside Miss Bellamy, who was pre 
 paring to play, stood one of the loveliest young creatures possible 
 to fancy. A pale and high-bred looking lady in widow s weeds 
 sat near them, and I had no difficulty in making out who were 
 the after-dinner additions to the party. I joined them, and wag 
 immediately introduced by Miss Bellamy to her mother and 
 sister, with whom (after a brilliant duet by the sisters) I strolled 
 out upon the lawn for an hour for it was a clear night, and the 
 inoon and soft air almost took me back to Italy. And (perhaps 
 
BROWN S DAY WITH THE MIMPSON S. 97 
 
 by a hint from Miss Bellamy) I was allowed to get on very expe- 
 ditiously in my acquaintance with her mother and sister. 
 
 " My new friends returned to the drawing-room, and, as the 
 adjoining library was lighted, I went in and filled up the blank 
 vouchers with the names of Mrs. Bellamy and her daughters. I 
 listened a moment to the conversation in the next room. The 
 subject was Almack s, and was discussed with great animation. 
 
 Lady S , who seemed to me trying to escape the trap they 
 
 had baited for her, was quietly setting forth the difficulties of 
 procuring vouchers, and recommending to Mrs. Mimpson not to 
 subject herself to the mortification of a refusal. Old Mimpson 
 backed up this advice with a stout approval, and this brought 
 Mrs. Mimpson out 4 horse and foot, and she declared that she 
 would submit to anything, do anything, give anything, rather 
 than fail in this darling object of her ambition. She would feel 
 under eternal inexpressible obligations to any friend who would 
 procure, for herself and daughter, admission for but one night to 
 Almack s. 
 
 " And then came in the sweet voice of Miss Bellamy, who 
 1 knew it was both wrong and silly, but she would give ten years 
 of her life to go to one of Almack s balls, and, in a long conver 
 sation she had had with Mr. Brown on the subject that morn 
 ing 
 
 " Ah ! interrupted Lady S , if it had been the Mr. 
 
 Brown, you would have had very little trouble about it. 
 
 " And who is the Mr. Brown : asked Mrs. Mimpson. 
 
 " The pet and protege of the only lady patroness I do not 
 
 visit, said Lady S , and unluckily, too, the only one who 
 
 thinks the vouchers great rubbish, and gives them away without 
 thought or scruple. 
 5 
 
98 TICKETS TO ALMACK S. 
 
 " At that moment I entered the room. 
 
 " 4 Good heavens! screamed Lady S , is that his 
 
 ghost? Why, Mr. Brown! she gasped, giving me her hand 
 very cautiously, i do you appear when you are talked of, like 
 
 like like 
 
 " l Like the devil ? No ! But I am here in the body, and 
 very much at your ladyship s service, said I, c for of course you 
 are going to the Duke s to-night, and so am I. Will you take me 
 with you, or shall my po-sha follow where I belong in your 
 train?" 
 
 " I ll take you, of course, said her ladyship, rising, but first 
 about these vouchers. You have just come, and didn t hear our 
 discussion. Mrs. Mimpson is extremely anxious that her 
 daughter should come out at Almack s, and, as I happened to 
 say, the moment before you entered, you are the very person 
 
 to procure the tickets from Lady . How very odd that 
 
 you should come in just then ! But tell us can you ? 
 
 " A dead silence followed the question. Mrs. Mimpson sat 
 
 with her eyes on the floor, the picture of dismay and mortification. 
 
 Miss Mimpson blushed and twisted her handkerchief, and Miss 
 
 Bellamy looked at her hostess, half amused and half distressed. 
 
 " I handed the three vouchers to Miss Bellamy, and begged 
 
 her acceptance of them, and then, turning to Lady S , 
 
 without waiting for a reply, regretted that, not having had the 
 pleasure of being presented to Miss Mimpson, I had not felt 
 authorised to include her in my effort to oblige Miss Bellamy. 
 " And, what with old Mimpson s astonishment, and Lady 
 
 S s immediate tact in covering, by the bustle of departure, 
 
 what she did not quite understand, though she knew it was some 
 awkward contre-temps or other, I found time to receive Miss i 
 
BROWN S DAY WITH THE MIMPSON S. 99 
 
 Bellamy s thanks, and get permission from the mother to call and 
 arrange this unexpected party, and, in ten minutes, I was on my 
 way to London with Lady S , amusing her almost into fits 
 with my explanations of the Mimpson mystery. 
 
 " Lady S - was to be still at Hampstead for a few days, 
 and, at my request, she called with me on the Bellamys, and 
 invited the girls up to town. Rose Bellamy, the younger, is at 
 this moment one of the new stars of the season accordingly, and 
 Miss Bellamy and I carry on the war, weekly, at Almack s, and 
 
 nightly at some wax-light paradise or other, and Lady S 
 
 has fallen in love with them both, and treats them like daughters. 
 
 " So you sec, though I passed for a ha penny with the Mimp- 
 son s, I turned out a sovereign to the Bellamys. 
 
 " Pass the bottle !" 
 
MR, AND MRS, FOLLETT; 
 
 OR, THE DANGERS OF MEDDLING WITH MARRIED PEOPLE. 
 
 THERE are two commodities, much used by gentlemen, neither 
 of which will bear tinkering or tampering with matrimony and 
 patent leather. Their necessities are fair weather and untroubled 
 wear and tear. Ponder on the following melancholy example ! 
 
 My friend Follett married a lady, contrary to my advice. I 
 gave the advice contrary to my wont and against my will. He 
 would have it. The lady was a tolerably pretty woman, on 
 whose original destiny it was never written that she should be a 
 belle. How she became one is not much matter ; but nature 
 being thoroughly taken by surprise with her success, had neg 
 lected to provide the counterpoise. I say it is no great matter 
 how she became a belle nor is it for, if such things were to be 
 accounted for to the satisfaction of the sex, the world have little 
 time for other speculations ; but I will devote a single paragraph 
 to the elucidation of this one of many mysteries, for a reasor 
 I have. Ftenam habet in cornu. 
 
 Poets are the least fastidious, and the least discriminating o~ ! 
 men, in their admiration of women (vide Byron], partly because : 
 their imagination, like sunshine, glorifies all that turns to it, with j 
 
MR. AND MRS. FOLLETT. 1Q1 
 
 Dut which they were not poets, is both mdeleafr ctn\l imperial, 
 from both causes waiting always to be sought. In some circles, 
 bards are rather comets than stars, and thf ono waose orbit for a 
 few days intersected that of Miss Adele Burnham, was the ex 
 clusive marvel of the hour. Like other poets, the one of which I 
 speak was concentrative in his attentions, and he chose (why, the 
 gods knew better than the belles of the season) to have neither 
 eyes nor ears, flowers, flatteries, nor verses, for any other than 
 Miss Burnham. He went on his way, but the incense, in which 
 he had enveloped the blest Adele, lingered like a magic atmos 
 phere about hr, and Toin Follett and all his tribe breathed it in 
 blind adoration. I trust the fair reader has here nodded her 
 head, in evidence that this history of the belleship of Miss 
 Burnham is no less brief than natural and satisfactory. 
 
 When Follett came to me with the astounding information that 
 he intended to propose to Miss Burnham (he had already pro 
 posed and been accepted, the traitor!) my fancy at once took 
 tlie prophetic stride so natural on the first breaking of such news, 
 and, in the five minutes which I took for reflection, I had travelled 
 far into that land of few delusions holy matrimony. Before me, 
 in all the changeful variety of a magic mirror, came and went 
 the many phases of which that multiform creature, woman, is 
 susceptible. I saw her in diamonds and satin, and in kitchen- 
 apron and curl "-papers ; in delight, and in the dumps ; in suppli 
 cation, and in resistance ; shod like a fairy in French shoes, and 
 slip-shod (as perhaps fairies are, too, in their bed-rooms- and 
 dairies). I saw her approaching the climacteric of age, and 
 receding from it -a mother, a nurse, an invalid mum over her 
 breakfast, chatty over her tea doing the honors at Tom s table, 
 and mending, with sober diligence, Tom s straps and suspenders. 
 The kaleidoscope of fancy exhausted its combinations. 
 
102 ADVICE. 
 
 Tom !" sale I (looking up affectionately, for he was one of 
 my weaknesses, was Tom, and I indulged myself in loving him 
 Tvitnoiit a reason), " Miss Burnham is in the best light where she 
 is. If she cease to be a belle, as of course she will, should she 
 marry " 
 
 " Of course !" interrupted Tom, very gravely. 
 
 " Well, in that case, she lays off the goddess, trust me ! You 
 will like her to dress plainly " 
 
 " Quite plain !" 
 
 " And, stripped of her plumage, your bird of Paradise would be 
 nothing but a very indifferent hen with the Disadvantage of 
 remembering that she had been a bird of P&radise." 
 
 " But it was not her dress that attracted the brilliant author 
 of " 
 
 Possibly not. But, as the false gods of mythology are only 
 known by th eir insignia, Jupiter by his thunderbolt, and Mercury 
 by his talaria and caduceus, so a woman, worshipped by accident, 
 will find a change of exterior nothing less than a laying aside of 
 her divinity. That s a didactic sentence, but you will know what 
 I mean, when I tell you that I, myself, cannot see a pair of coral 
 ear-rings without a sickness of the heart, though the woman who 
 once wore them, and who slighted me twenty years ago, sits before 
 me in church, without diverting a thought from the sermon. 
 Don t marry her, Tom !" 
 
 Six weeks after this conversation, I was at the wedding, and 
 the reader will please pass to the rear the six succeeding months 
 short time as it seems to record a change in the bland sky of 
 matrimony. It was an ellipse in our friendship as well ; for advice 
 (contrary to our wishes and intentions) is apt to be resented, and 
 I fancied, from the northerly bows I received from Mrs. Follett. 
 
MR. AND MRS. EOLLETT. 103 
 
 that my friend had made a merit to her of having married con 
 trary to my counsel. At the end of this period Tom called 
 on me. 
 
 Follett, I should have said, was a man of that undecided ex 
 terior which is perfectly at the mercy of a cravat or waistcoat. 
 He looked " snob" or " nob," according to the care with which 
 he had made his toilet. While a bachelor, of course, he could 
 never afford, in public, a negligence or a mistake, and was inva 
 riably an elegant man, harmonious and " pin-point " from straps 
 to whiskers. But alas ! the security of wedded life ! When 
 Tom entered my room, I perused him as a walking homily. His 
 coat, still made on the old measure, was buttoned only at the top, 
 the waist being rather snug, and his waistcoat pockets loaded with 
 the copper which in his gayer days he always left on the counter. 
 His satin cravat was frayed and brownish, with the tie slipped 
 almost under his ear. The heel of his right boot (he trod 
 straight on the other foot) almost looked him in the face. His 
 pantaloons (the one article of dress in which there are no grada 
 tions nothing, if not perfect) were bulged and strained. He 
 wore a frightfully new hat, no gloves, and carried a baggy brown 
 umbrella, which was, in itself, a most expressive portrait of 
 " gone to seed." Tom entered with his usual uppish carriage, 
 and, through the how-d ye-dos, and the getting into his chair, 
 carried off the old manner to a charm. In talking of the weather, 
 a moment after, his eye fell on his stumpy umbrella, which, with 
 an unconscious memory of an old affectation with his cane, he was 
 balancing on the toe of his boot, and the married look slid over 
 j him like a mist. Down went his head between his shoulders, 
 i and down went the corners of his mouth down the inflation of 
 I his chest like a collapsed balloon ; and down, in its youth and 
 
104 JEALOUSY. 
 
 expression, it seemed to me, every muscle of his face. He had 
 assumed in a minute the style and countenance of a man ten 
 years older. 
 
 I smiled. How could I but smile ! 
 
 " Then you have heard of it !" exclaimed Tom, suddenly 
 starting to his feet, and flushing purple to the roots of his hair. 
 
 " Heard of what ? 
 
 My look of surprise evidently took him aback ; and, seating 
 himself again with confused apologies, Tom proceeded to " make 
 a clean breast," on a subject which I had not anticipated. 
 
 It seemed that, far from moulting her feathers after marriage, 
 according to my prediction, Mrs. Follett clearly thought that she 
 had not yet " strutted her hour," and, though everything Tom 
 could wish, behind the curtain, in society she had flaunted and 
 flirted, not merely with no diminution of zest from the wedding- 
 day, but, her husband was of opinion, with a ratio alarmingly 
 increasing. Her present alliance was with a certain Count 
 Hautenbas, the lion of the moment, and though doubtless one in 
 which vanity alone was active, Tom s sense of connubial pro 
 priety was at its last gasp. He could stand it no longer. He 
 wished my advice in the choice between twg courses. Should he 
 call out the Frenchman, or should he take advantage of the law s 
 construction of " moral insanity," and shut her up in a mad 
 house. 
 
 My advice had been of so little avail in the first instance, that 
 I shrank from troubling Tom with any more of it, and certainly 
 should have evaded it altogether, but for an experiment I wished 
 to make, as much for my own satisfaction as for the benefit oi 
 that large class, the unhappy married. 
 
 " Your wife is out every night, T suppose, Tom ?" 
 
MR. AND MRS. FOLLETT. 
 
 105 
 
 " Every niglit when she has no party at home." 
 
 " Do you go with her always ?" 
 
 " I go for her usually but the truth is, that, since I married, 
 parties bore me, and after seeing my wife off, I commonly smoke 
 and snooze, or read, or run into Bob Thomas s and * talk horse, 
 till I have just time to be in at the death." 
 
 " And when you get there, you don t dance ?" 
 
 " Not I, faith ! I haven t danced since I was married !" 
 
 " But you used to be the best waltzer of the day." 
 
 " Well, the music sometimes gets into my heels now, but, 
 when I remember I am married, the fit cools off. The deuce 
 take it ! a married man shouldn t be seen whirling -round the room 
 with a girl in his arms !" 
 
 " I presume that, were you still single, you would fancy your 
 chance to be as good for ladies favors as any French count s 
 that ever came over r" 
 
 " Ehem ! why yes !" 
 
 Tom pulled up his collar. 
 
 " And if you had access to her society all day and all night, 
 and the Frenchman only an hour or two in the evening, any 
 given lady being the object, you would bet freely on your own 
 head?" 
 
 " I see your drift," said Tom, with a melancholy smile, " but 
 it won t do !" 
 
 " No, indeed it is what would have done. You had at the 
 start a much better chance with your wife than Count Hautenbas ; 
 but husbands and lovers are the hare and the tortoise of the 
 fable. We must resort now to other means. Will you follow my 
 advice, as well as take it, should I be willing again to burn my 
 fingers in your affairs ?" 
 
10t> BREST OR NOT. 
 
 The eagerness of Tom s protestations quite made the amende to 
 my mortified self-complacency, and I entered zealously into my 
 little plot for his happiness. At this moment I heartily wish I 
 had sent him and his affairs to the devil, and (lest I should forget 
 it at the close of this tale) I here caution all men, single and 
 double, against " meddling or making," marring or mending, in 
 matrimonial matters. The alliteration may, perhaps, impress 
 this salutary counsel on the mind of the reader. 
 
 I passed the remainder of the day in repairing the damage of 
 Tom s person. I had his whiskers curled and trimmed even, (his 
 left whisker was an inch nearer his nose than the right), and his 
 teeth looked to by the dentist. I stood by, to be sure that there 
 was no carelessness in his selection of patent leathers, and, on his 
 assuring me that he was otherwise well provided, I suffered him to 
 go home to dress, engaging him to dine with me at seven. 
 
 He was punctual to the hour. By Jove I could scarce believe 
 it was the same man. The consciousness of being well dressed 
 seemed to have brightened his eyes and lips, as it certainly 
 changed altogether his address and movements. He had a narrow 
 escape of being handsome. After all, it is only a " man of mark," 
 or an Apollo, who can well afford to neglect the outer man ; and 
 a judicious negligence, or a judicious plainness, is probably worth 
 the attention of both the man of mark and the Apollo. Tom was 
 quite another order of creature a butterfly that was just now a 
 worm and would have been treated with more consideration in 
 consequence, even by those least tolerant of " the pomps and 
 vanities." We dined temperately, and I superseded the bottle by 
 a cup of strong green tea, at an early moment after the removal 
 of the cloth, determined to have Tom s wits in as full dress as his 
 person. Without being at all a brilliant man, he was the next 
 
MR. AND MRS. FOLLETT. 197 
 
 best thing a steady absorbent ; and as most women are more 
 fond of giving than receiving in all things, but particularly in con 
 versation, I was not uneasy as to his power of making himself 
 agreeable. Nor was he, faith ! 
 
 The ball of the night was at the house of an old friend of my 
 own, and Mr. and Mrs. Follett were but newly introduced to the 
 circle. I had the company very clearly in my eye, therefore, 
 while casting about for dramatis persona^ and fixing upon Mrs. 
 Beverly Fairlie, for the prominent character, I assured success, 
 though being very much in love with that coquettish widow 
 myself, I had occasion for some self-denial in the matter. Of 
 Mrs. Fairlic s weak points (on which it seemed necessary that I 
 should enlighten Tom), I had information not to be acquired short 
 of summering and wintering her, and, with my eye solely directed 
 to its effect upon Mrs. Follett, I put the clues into my friend s 
 hands in a long after-dinner conversation. As he seemed im 
 patient to open the campaign, after getting these definite and 
 valuable instructions, I augured well for his success, and we 
 entered the ball-room in high spirits. 
 
 It was quite enough to say to the mischievous widow that 
 another woman was to be piqued by any attentions she might 
 choose to pay Mr. Follett. Having said thus much, and pre 
 sented Tom, I sought out Mrs. Follett myself, with the double 
 purpose of breaking up the monopoly of Mons. Hautenbas, and of 
 directing her attention, should it be necessary, to the suavities 
 between Tom and the widow. 
 
 It was a superb ball, and the music, as Tom said, went to the 
 heels. The thing he did well was waltzing, and, after taking a 
 turn or two with Mrs. Fairlie, the rusee dame ran up to Mrs 
 
108 COUNTEll FLIRTATION 
 
 Follett with the most innocent air imaginable, and begged the 
 loan of her husband for the rest of the evening ! I did not half 
 like the look of earnest with which she entered into the affair, 
 indeed, and there was little need of my taking much trouble to 
 enlighten Mrs. Follett ; for a woman so surprised with a six 
 months husband I never saw. They were so capitally matched, 
 Tom and the widow, in size, motion, style of waltzing, and all, 
 that not we only, but the whole party, were occupied with ob 
 serving and admiring them. Mrs. Follett and I (for a secret 
 sympathy, somehow, drew us together, as the thing went on) 
 kept up a broken conversation, in which the Count was even less 
 interested than we ; and after a few ineffectual attempts to draw 
 her into the tea-room, the Frenchman left us in pique, and we 
 gave ourselves up to the observation of the couple who (we 
 presumed) severally belonged to us. They carried on the war 
 famously, to be sure ! Mrs. Fairlie was a woman who could do 
 as she liked, because she would ; and she cared not a straw for 
 the very protwncd demonstration of engrossing one man for all 
 the quadrilles, waltzes, and gallopades, beside going with him to 
 supper. Once or twice I tried to find an excuse for leaving Mrs. 
 Follett, to put in an oar for myself ; but the little woman clung 
 to me as if she had not the courage to undertake another person s 
 amusement, and, new and sudden as the feeling must have been, 
 she was pale and wretched, with a jealousy more bitter, probably, 
 than mine. Tom never gave me a look after the first waltz ; and 
 as to the widow, she played her part with rather more zeal than 
 we set down for her. I passed altogether an uncomfortable 
 night, for a gay one, and it was a great relief to me when Mrs. 
 Follett asked me to send Tom for the carriage. 
 
 " Be so kind as to send a servant for it," said Follett, very 
 
Mil. AND MRS. FOLLETT. 1Q9 
 
 coolly, " and say to Mrs. Follett, that I will join her at home. 
 I am going to sup, or rather breakfast, with Mrs. Beverly 
 Fairlie !" 
 
 Here was a mess ! 
 
 " Shall I send the Count for your shawl r" I asked, after giving 
 this message, and wishing to know whether she was this side of 
 pride in her unhappiness. 
 
 The little woman burst into tears. 
 
 " I will sit in the cloak-room till my husband is ready, 1 she 
 said ; u go to him, if you please, and implore him to come and 
 speak to me." 
 
 As I said before, I wished the whole plot to the devil. We 
 
 had achieved our object, it is true and so did the man who 
 
 knocked the breath out of his friend s body, in killing a fly on his 
 
 back. Tom is now (this was years ago) a married flirt of some 
 
 celebrity, for, after coming out of the widow s hands with a three 
 
 months education, he had quite forgot to be troubled about Mrs. 
 
 Follett ; and, instead of neglecting his dress, which was his only 
 
 sin when I took him in hand, he now neglects his wife, who sees 
 
 him, as women are apt to see their husbands, through other 
 
 women s eyes. I presume they are doomed to quite as much 
 
 unhappiness as would have fallen to their lot, had I left them 
 
 i alone had Mrs. Follett ran away with the Frenchman, and had 
 
 l Tom died a divorced sloven. But when I think that, beside 
 
 achieving little for them, I was the direct means of spoiling Mrs. 
 
 I Beverly Fairlie for myself, I think I may write myself down as a 
 
 || warning to meddlers in matrimony. 
 
LADY RAVELGOLD, 
 
 CHAPTER 1. 
 
 " What would it pleasure me to have my throat cut 
 With diamonds ? or to be smothered quick 
 With cassia, or be shot to death with pearls ?" 
 
 DUCHESS OF MALFY. 
 
 " I ve been i the Indies twice, and seen strange things 
 But two honest women I One I read of once !" 
 
 RULE A WIFE. 
 
 IT was what is called by people on the continent a " London 
 day." A thin, grey mist drizzled down through the smoke which 
 darkened the long cavern of Fleet street; the sidewalks were 
 slippery and clammy ; the drays slid from side to side on the 
 greasy pavement, creating a perpetual clamor among the lighter 
 carriages with which they came in contact ; the porters wondered 
 that " gemmen" would carry their umbrellas up when there was 
 no rain, and the gentlemen wondered that porters should be per 
 mitted on the sidewalks ; there were passengers in box-coats, 
 though it was the first of May, and beggars with bare breasts, 
 though it was chilly as November ; the boys were looking wist 
 fully into the hosier s windows who were generally at the pastry 
 cook s ; and there were persons who wished to know the time, 
 
LADY RAVELGOLD. HI 
 
 trying in vain to see the dial of St. Paul s through the gamboge 
 atmosphere. 
 
 It was twelve o clock, and a plain chariot, with a simple crest 
 on the panels, slowly picked its way through the choked and dis 
 puted thoroughfare east of Temple Bar. The smart glazed hat 
 of the coachman, the well-fitted drab greatcoat and gaiters of the 
 footman, and the sort of half-submissive, half-contemptuous look 
 on both their faces (implying that they were bound to drive to the 
 devil if it were miladi s orders, but that the rabble of Fleet 
 street was a leetle too vulgar for their contact), expressed very 
 plainly that the lady within was a denizen of a more privileged 
 quarter, but had chosen a rainy day for some compulsory visit to 
 "the city." 
 
 At the rate of perhaps a mile an hour, the well-groomed night- 
 horses (a pair of smart, hardy, twelve-mile cabs, all bottom, but 
 little style, kept for night-work and forced journeys) had threaded 
 the tortuous entrails of London, and had arrived at the arch of a 
 dark court in Throgmorton street. The coachman put his 
 wheels snug against the edge of the sidewalk, to avoid being 
 crushed by the passing drays, and settled his many-caped ben 
 jamin about him ; while the footman spread his umbrella, and 
 making a balustrade of his arm for his mistress s assistance, a 
 closely-veiled lady descended, and disappeared up the wet and ill- 
 paved avenue. 
 
 The green-baize door of Firkins and Co. opened on its silent 
 hinges and admitted the mysterious visiter, who, inquiring of the 
 nearest clerk if the junior partner were in, was shown to a small 
 inner room containing a desk, two chairs, a coal fire, and a young 
 gentleman. The last article of furniture rose on the lady s 
 entrance, and, as she threw off her veil, he made a low bow, with 
 
LADY S VISIT TO A BANKER. 
 
 the air of a gentleman who is neither surprised nor embarrassed, 
 and, pushing aside the door-check, they were left alone. 
 
 There was that forced complaisance in the lady s manner, or 
 her first entrance, which produced the slightest possible elevatior 
 of a very scornful lip owned by the junior partner ; but the lady was 
 only forty-five, highborn, and very handsome, and, as she lookec 
 at the fine specimen of nature s nobility, who met her with a lool 
 as proud and yet as gentle as her own, the smoke of Fleet streel 
 passed away from her memory, and she became natural and ever 
 gracious. The effect upon the junior partner was simply that o: 
 removing from his breast the shade of her first impression. 
 
 " I have brought you," said his visiter, drawing a card fron 
 her reticule, " an invitation to the " Duchess of Hautaigle s ball 
 She sent me half a dozen to fill up for what she calls c orna 
 mentals and I am sure I shall scarce find another who comes S( 
 decidedly under her Grace s category." 
 
 The fair speaker had delivered this pretty speech in the 
 sweetest and best-bred tone of St. James s, looking the while a 
 the toe of the small brodequin which she held up to the fire 
 perhaps thinking only of drying it. As she concluded her sen 
 tence, she turned to her companion for an answer, and was sur 
 prised at the impassive politeness of his bow of acknowledgment. 
 
 " I regret that I shall not be able to avail myself of your lady 
 ship s kindness," said the junior partner, in the same well 
 enunciated tone of courtesy. 
 
 " Then," replied the lady with a smile, " Lord Augusta 
 Fitz-Moi, who looks at himself all dinner-time in a spoon, will b 
 the Apollo of the hour. What a pity such a handsome creatur 
 should be so vain ! By-the-way, Mr. Firkins, you live withou , 
 a looking-glass, I see." 
 
LADY RAVELGOLD. 113 
 
 " Your ladyship reminds me that this is merely a place of 
 business. May I ask at once what errand has procured me the 
 honor of a visit on so unpleasant a day ?" 
 
 A slight flush brightened the cheek and forehead of the beau 
 tiful woman, as she compressed her lips, and forced herself to say 
 with affected ease, " The want of five hundred pounds." 
 
 The junior partner paused an instant, while the lady tapped 
 with her boot upon the fender in ill-dissembled anxiety, and then, 
 turning to his desk, he filled up the check without remark, pre 
 sented it, and took his hat to wait on her to the carriage. A 
 gleam of relief and pleasure shot over her countenance as she 
 closed her small jewelled hand over it, followed immediately by a 
 look of embarrassed inquiry into the face of the unquestioning 
 banker. 
 
 " I am in } T our debt already." 
 
 " Thirty thousand pounds, madam !" 
 
 " And for this you think the securities on the estate of Rock- 
 land" 
 
 " Are worth nothing, madam ! But it rains. I regret that 
 your ladyship s carriage cannot come to the door. In the old- 
 fashioned days of sedan-chairs, now, the dark courts of Lothbury 
 must have been more attractive. By-the-way, talking of Loth 
 bury, there is Lady Roseberry s fete champetre next week. If 
 you should chance to have a spare card " 
 
 " Twenty, if you like I am too happy really, Mr. Fir 
 kins " 
 
 " It s on the fifteenth ; I shall have the honor of seeing your 
 ladyship there ! Good-morning! Home, coachman !" 
 
 " Does this man love me ?" was Lady Ravelgold s first thought, 
 as she sank back in her returning chariot. " Yet no ! he was 
 
114 WHAT WAS TO BE THE EQUIVALENT 7 
 
 even rude in his haste to be rid of me. And I would willingly 
 have stayed too, for there is something about him of a mark that 
 I like. Ay, and he must have seen it a lighter encouragement 
 has been interpreted more readily. Five hundred pounds ! 
 really five hundred pounds ! And thirty thousand at the back of 
 it ! What does he mean ? Heavens ! if he should be deeper 
 than I thought ! If he should wish to involve me first !" 
 
 And spite of the horror with which the thought was met in the 
 mind of Lady Ravelgold, the blush over her forehead died away 
 into a half smile and a brighter tint in her lips ; and, as the car 
 riage wound slowly on through the confused press of Fleet street 
 and the Strand, the image of the handsome and haughty young 
 banker shut her eyes from all sounds without, and she was at her 
 own door in Grosvenor square before she had changed position, 
 or wandered half a moment from the subject of those busy 
 dreams. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE morning of the fifteenth of May seemed to have been ap 
 pointed by all the flowers as a jubilee of perfume and bloom. 
 The birds had been invited, and sang in the summer with a wel 
 come as full-throated as a prima donna singing down the tenor in 
 a duet ; the most laggard buds turned out their hearts to the sun 
 shine, and promised leaves on the morrow ; and that portion of 
 London that had been invited to Lady Roseberry s fete, thought 
 it a very fine day ! That portion which was not, wondered how 
 
 
LADY RAVELGOLD. H5 
 
 people would go sweltering about in such a glare for a cold 
 dinner ! 
 
 At about half past two, a very elegant dark-green cab without 
 a crest, and with a servant in whose slight figure and plain blue 
 livery there was not a fault, whirled out at the gate of the 
 Regent s Park, and took its way up the well-watered road leading 
 to Hampstead. The gentlemen whom it passed or met turned to 
 admire the performance of the dark-grey horse, and the ladies 
 looked after the cab as if they could see the handsome occupant 
 once more through its leather back. Whether by conspiracy 
 among the coach-makers, or by an aristocracy of taste, the 
 degree of elegance, in a turn-out attained by the cab just de 
 scribed, is usually confined to the acquaintances of Lady ; 
 
 that list being understood to enumerate all " the nice young 
 men" of the West End, beside the guardsmen. (The ton of the 
 latter, in all matters that affect the style of the regiment, is 
 looked after by the cl Lib and the colonel.) The junior Firkins 
 seemed an exception to this exclusive rule. No " nice man" 
 could come from Lothbury, and he did not visit Lady ^- ; but 
 Iris horse was faultless, and when he turned into the gate of Rose- 
 Eden, the policeman at the porter s lodge, though he did not 
 know him, thought it unnecessary to ask for his name. Away he 
 spattered up the hilly avenue, and, giving the reins to his groom 
 at the end of a green arbor leading to the reception-lawn, he 
 walked in and made his bow to Lady Roseberry, who remarked, 
 u How very handsome ! Who can he be r" and the junior 
 partner walked on and disappeared down an avenue of la 
 burnums. 
 
 Ah ! but Rose-Eden looked a Paradise that day ! Hundreds 
 had passed across the close-shaven lawn, with a bow to the lady- 
 
116 AN ARISTOCRATIC F^TE. 
 
 mistress of this fair abode. Yet the grounds were still private 
 enough for Milton s pair, so lost were they in the green labyrinths 
 of hill and dale. Some had descended through heavily-shaded 
 paths to a fancy-dairy, built over a fountain in the bottom of a 
 cool dell ; and here, amid her milk-pans of old and costly china, 
 the prettiest maid in the country round pattered about upon a 
 floor of Dutch tiles, and served her visitors with creams and ices 
 already, as it were, adapted to fashionable comprehension. 
 Some had strayed to the ornamental cottages in the skirts of the 
 flower-garden poetical abodes, built from a picturesque drawing, 
 with imitation roughness ; thatch, lattice-window, and low paling, 
 all complete, and inhabited by superannuated dependents of Lord 
 Roseberry, whose only duties were to look like patriarchs, and 
 give tea and new cream-cheese to visitors on fete-days. Some 
 had gone to see the silver and gold pheasants in their wire- 
 houses, stately aristocrats of the game tribe, who carry their 
 finely-pencilled feathers like " Marmalet Madams," strutting in 
 hoop and farthingale. Some had gone to the kennels, to see 
 setters and pointers, hounds and terriers, lodged like gentlemen, 
 each breed in its own apartment the puppies, as elsewhere, 
 treated with most attention. Some were in the flower-garden, 
 some in the green-houses, some in the graperies, aviaries, and 
 grottoes ; and, at the side of a bright sparkling fountain, in the 
 recesses of a fir-grove, with her foot upon its marble lip, and one 
 hand on the shoulder of a small Cupid who archly made a 
 drinking-cup of his wing, and caught the bright water as it fell, 
 stood Lady Imogen Ravelgold, the loveliest girl of nineteen that 
 prayed night and morning within the parish of May Fair, listen 
 ing to very passionate language from the young banker of 
 Lothbury. 
 
LADY RAVELGOLD. 
 
 A bugle on the lawn rang a recall. From every alley, and by 
 every path, poured in the gay multitude, and the smooth sward 
 looked like a plateau of animated flowers, waked by magic from a 
 broidery on green velvet. Ah ! the beautiful demi-toilettes ! so 
 difficult to attain, yet, when attained, the dress most modest, 
 most captivating, most worthy the divine grace of woman. Those 
 airy hats, sheltering from the sun, yet not enviously concealing a 
 feature or a ringlet that a painter would draw for his exhibition- 
 picture ! Those summery and shapeless robes, covering the 
 person more to show its outline better, and provoke more the 
 worship, which, like all worship, is made more adoring by mys- 
 
 tery! Those complexions which but betray their transparency 
 in the sun ; lips in which the blood is translucent when between 
 you and the light ; cheeks finer-grained than alabaster, yet as cool 
 in their virgin purity as a tint in the dark corner of a Ruysdel : 
 the human race was at less perfection in Athens in the days of 
 Lais in Egypt in the days of Cleopatra than that day on the 
 lawn of Rose-Eden. 
 
 Cart-loads of ribands, of every gay color, had been laced 
 through the trees in all directions ; and amid every variety of 
 foliage, and every shade of green, the tulip-tints shone vivid and 
 
 ^brilliant, like an American forest after the first frost. From the 
 left edge of the lawn, the ground suddenly sunk into a dell, shaped 
 
 I like an amphitheatre, with a level platform at its bottom, and all 
 around, above and below, thickened a shady wood. The music of 
 
 j a delicious band stole up from the recesses of a grove, draped in 
 an orchestra and green-room on the lower side, and, while the 
 
 1 audience disposed themselves in the shade of the upper grove, a 
 company of players and dancing-girls commenced their theatricals. 
 Imogen Ravelgold, who was separated, by a pine tree only, 
 
118 A FALCON FLIGHT. 
 
 from the junior partner, could scarce tell you, when it was 
 finished, what was the plot of the play. 
 
 The recall-bugle sounded again, and the band wound away 
 from the lawn, playing a gay march. Followed Lady Roseberry 
 and her suite of gentlemen, followed dames and their daughters, 
 followed all who wished to see the flight of my lord s falcons. By 
 a narrow path and a wicket-gate, the long music-guided train ! 
 stole out upon an open hill-side, looking down on a verdant and 
 spreading meadow. The band played at a short distance behind 
 the gay groups of spectators, and it was a pretty picture to look j 
 down upon the splendidly-dressed falconer and his men, holding ! 
 their fierce birds upon their wrists, in their hoods and jesses, a j 
 foreground of old chivalry and romance ; while far beyond ex 
 tended, like a sea over the horizon, the smoke-clad pinnacles of 
 busy and every-day London. There are such contrasts for the 
 rich ! 
 
 The scarlet hood was taken from the trustiest falcon, and a dove, 
 confined, at first, with a string, was thrown up and brought back to 
 excite his attention. As he fixed his eyes upon him, the frightened 
 victim was let loose, and the falcon flung off; away skimmed the 
 dove in a low flight over the meadow, and up to the very zenith 
 in circles of amazing swiftness and power, sped the exulting falcon, 
 apparently forgetful of his prey, and bound for the eye of the sun 
 with his strong wings and his liberty. The falconer s whistle 
 and cry were heard; the dove circled round the edge of the mea-| 
 dow in his wavy flight; and down, with the speed of lightning,! 
 shot the falcon, striking his prey dead to the earth before the 
 eye could settle on his form. As the proud bird stood upon- 
 his victim, looking around with a lifted crest and fierce eye, Lady: 
 Imogen Ravelgold heard, in a voice of which her heart knew 
 
LADY RAVELGOLD. U9 
 
 he music, u They who soar highest strike surest ; the dove lies 
 i the falcon s bosom." 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE afternoon had, meantime, been wearing on, and at six the 
 i breakfast" was announced. The tents beneath which the 
 ables were spread were in different parts of the grounds, and the 
 quests had made up their own parties. Each sped to his rendez 
 vous, and,- as the last loiterers disappeared from the lawn, a gentle 
 man in a claret coat, and a brown study, found himself stopping 
 to let a lady pass who was obeying the summons as tardily as 
 himself. In a white chip hat, Hairbault s last, a few lilies of the 
 valley laid among the raven curls beneath, a simple white robe, 
 the chef-cPceuvrc of Victorine in style and tournure. Lady Ravel- 
 gold would have been the belle of the fete, but for her daughter. 
 
 " Well emerged from Lothbury !" she said, courtseying, with 
 a slight flush over her features, but immediately taking his arm ; 
 " I have lost my party, and meeting you is opportune. Where 
 shall we breakfast ?" 
 
 There was a small tent standing invitingly open, on the oppo- 
 ,side of the lawn, and, by the fainter rattle of soup-spoons from 
 that quarter, it promised to be less crowded than the others. The 
 junior partner would willingly have declined the proffered honor, 
 but he saw at glance that there was no escape, and submitted 
 with a grace. 
 
 You know very few people here," said his fair creditor, 
 taking the bread from her napkin. 
 
120 APPROACHING A SEC11ET. 
 
 " Your ladyship and one other." 
 
 " Ah, we shall have dancing by-and-by, and I must introduce 
 you to my daughter. By the way, have you no name from youi 
 mother s side ? Firkins sounds so very odd. Give me some 
 prettier word to drink in this champagne." 
 
 " What do you think of Tremlet ?" 
 
 " Too effeminate for your severe style of beauty but it wil 
 do. Mr. Tremlet, your health ! Will you give me a little of th< 
 pate before you ? Pray, if it is not indiscreet, how comes tha 
 classic profile, and, more surprising still, that distinguished lool 
 of yours, to have found no gayer destiny than the signing o 
 4 Firkins and Co. to notes of hand? Though I thought yoi 
 became your den in Lothbury, upon my honor you look more a 
 home here." 
 
 And Lady Ravelgold fixed her superb eyes upon the beautifi 
 features of her companion, wondering partly why he did nc 
 speak, and partly why she had not observed before that he wa 
 incomparibly the handsomest creature she had ever seen. 
 
 " I can regret no vocation," he answered after a momeni , 
 u which procures me an acquaintance with your ladyship 
 family." 
 
 u There is an arriere pensee in that formal speech, Mr. Tren 
 let You are insincere. I am the only one in my family who] i 
 you know, and what pleasure have you taken in my acquain 
 ance ? And, now I think of it, there is a mystery about yoi .* 
 which, but for the noble truth written so legibly on your feature I 
 I should be afraid to fathom. Why have you suffered me c, 
 over-draw my credit so enormously, and without a shadow of i 
 protest ?" 
 
 When Lady Ravelgold had disburdened her heart of this dire ; 
 
LADY RAVELGOLD. 12 1 
 
 question, she turned half round and looked her companion in the 
 face, with an intense interest which produced amid her own fea 
 tures an expression of earnestness very uncommon upon their pale 
 and impassive lines. She was one of those persons of little 
 thought, who care nothing for causes or consequences, so that the 
 present difficulty is removed, or the present hour provided with 
 its wings ; but the repeated relief she had received from the 
 young banker, when total ruin would have been the consequence 
 }f his refusal, and his marked coldness in his manner to her, had 
 stimulated the utmost curiosity of which she was capable. Her 
 ranity, founded upon her high rank and great renown as a beauty, 
 would have agreed that he might be willing to get her into his 
 power at that price, had he been less agreeable in his own person, 
 or more eager in his manner. But she had wanted money suf- 
 ( ficiently to know, that thirty thousand pounds are not a bagatelle, 
 and her brain was busy till she discovered the equivalent he 
 sought for it. Meantime her fear that he would turn out to be a 
 lover, grew rapidly into a fear that he would not. 
 
 Lady Ravelgold had been the wife of a dissolute Earl, who had 
 died, leaving his estate inextricably involved. With no male 
 heir to the title or property, and no very near relation, the beau 
 tiful widow shut her eyes to the difficulties by which she was 
 surrounded, and, at the first decent moment after the death of her 
 lord, she had re-entered the gay society of which she had been the 
 bright and particular star, and never dreamed either of diminishing 
 her establishment, or calculating her possible income. The first 
 iheavy draft she had made upon the house of Firkins and Co., her 
 husband s bankers, had been returned with a statement of the 
 Ravelgold debt and credit on their books, by which it appeared 
 ma< T..-.- l Ravelgold had overdrawn four or five thousand pounds 
 
122 LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT. 
 
 before his death, and that, from some legal difficulties, nothing 
 could bo realized from the securities given on his estates. This 
 bad news arrived on the morning of a fete to be given by the 
 Russian ambassador, at which her only child, Lady Imogen, was 
 to make her debut in society. With the facility of disposition 
 which was peculiar to her, Lady Ravelgold thrust the papers into 
 her drawer, and, determining to visit her banker on the following 
 morning, threw the matter entirely from her mind and made pre 
 parations for the ball. With the Russian government the house 
 of Firkins and Co. had long carried on very extensive fiscal trans 
 actions, and, in obedience to instructions from the Emperor, regular 
 invitations for the embassy fetes were sent to the bankers, ac 
 cepted occasionally by the junior partner only, who was generally 
 supposed to be a natural son of old Firkins. Out of the banking- 
 house he was known as Mr. Tremlct, and it was by this name, 
 which was presumed to be his mother s, that he was casually 
 introduced to Lady Imogen on the night of the fete, while she 
 was separated from her mother in the dancing-room. The conse 
 quence was a sudden, deep, ineffaceable passion in the bosom of 
 the young banker, checked and silenced, but never lessened or 
 chilled by the recollection of the obstacle of his birth. The im 
 pression of his subdued manner, his worshipping, yet most respect 
 ful tones, and the bright soul that breathed through his handsome 
 features with his unusual excitement, was, to say the least, favor 
 able upon Lady Imogen, and they parted on the night of the fete, 
 mutually aware of each other s preference. 
 
 On the following morning Lady Ravelgold made her promised 
 visit to the city, and, inquiring for Mr. Firkins, was shown in as 
 usual to the junior partner, to whom the colloquial business of the 
 concern had long been intrusted. To her surprise she found 
 
LADY RAVELGOLD. 
 
 123 
 
 difficulty in obtaining the sum of money which had been refused 
 her on the preceding day a result which she attributed to her 
 powers of persuasion, or to some new turn in the affairs of the 
 j estate ; and for two years these visits had been repeated, at inter 
 vals of three or four months, with the same success, though not 
 with the same delusion as to the cause. She had discovered that 
 the estate was worse than nothing, and the junior partner cared 
 little to prolong his tetc-a-tetes with her, and, up to the visit with 
 which this tale opened, she had looked to every succeeding one 
 with increased fear and doubt. 
 
 During these two years, Trcmlet had seen Lady Imogen occa 
 sionally at balls and public places, and every look they exchanged 
 wove more strongly between them the subtle threads of love. 
 Once or twice she had endeavored to interest her mother in con- 
 i vcrsation on the subject, with the intention of making a confidence 
 of her feelings; but Lady Ravelgold, when not anxious, was 
 giddy with her own success, and the unfamiliar name never rested 
 a moment on her ear. With this explanation to render the tale 
 intelligible, " let us," as the French say, " return to our 
 muttons." 
 
 Of the conversation between Tremlet and her mother, Lady 
 Imogen was an unobserved and astonished witness. The tent 
 which they had entered was large, with a liiffet in the centre, and 
 a circular table waited on by servants within the ring ; and, just 
 concealed by the drapery around the pole, sat Lady Imogen with 
 a party of her friends, discussing very seriously the threatened 
 fashion of tight sleeves. She had half risen, when her mother 
 entered, to offer her a seat by her side, but the sight of Tremlet, 
 who immediately followed, had checked the words upon her lip, 
 and, to her surprise, they seated themselves on the side that was 
 
124 A LADY S FAVOR. 
 
 wholly unoccupied, and conversed in a tone inaudible to all but 
 themselves. Not aware that her lover knew Lady Ravelgold, she 
 supposed that they might have been casually introduced, till the 
 earnestness of her mother s manner, and a certain ease between 
 them in the little courtesies of the table, assured her that this 
 could not be their first interview. Tremlet s face was turned 
 from her, and she could not judge whether he was equally 
 interested; but she had been so accustomed to consider her 
 mother as irresistible when she chose to please, that she supposed 
 it, of course ; and very soon the heightened color of Lady Ravel- 
 gold, and the unwavering look of mingled admiration and 
 curiosity which she bent upon the handsome face of her com 
 panion, left no doubt in her mind that her reserved and exclusive 
 lover was in the dangerous toils of a rival whose power she knew. 
 From the mortal pangs of a first jealousy, Heaven send thec 
 deliverance, fair Lady Imogen ! 
 
 " We shall find our account in the advances on your ladyship s 
 credit ; said Tremlet, in reply to the direct question that was put 
 to him. " Meantime permit me to admire the courage with 
 which you look so disagreeable a subject in the face." 
 
 " For disagreeable subject, read l Mr. Tremlet. I show my 
 temerity more in that. Apropos of faces, yours would become 
 the new fashion of cravat. The men at Crockford s slip the ends 
 through a ring of their lady-love s, if they chance to have one 
 thus ! " and untying the loose knot of his black satin cravat, Lady 
 Ravelgold slipped over the ends a diamond of small value, con 
 spicuously set in pearls. 
 
 " The men at Crockford s," said Tremlet, hesitating to com 
 mit the rudeness of removing the ring, u are not of my school of 
 
LADY RAVELGOLD. 
 
 125 
 
 manners. If I had been so fortunate as to inspire a lady with a 
 preference for me, I should not advertise it on my cravat." 
 
 " But suppose the lady were proud of her preference, as 
 dames were of the devotion of their knights in the days of 
 chivalry would you not wear her favor as conspicuously as 
 they r" 
 
 A flush of mingled embarrassment and surprise shot over the 
 forehead of Tremlet, and he was turning the ring with his fingers, 
 when Lady Imogen, attempting to pass out of the tent, was 
 stopped by her mother. 
 
 " Imogen, my daughter ! this is Mr. Tremlet, Lady Imogen 
 Ravelgold, Mr. Tremlet!" 
 
 The cold and scarce perceptible bow which the wounded girl 
 gave to her lover betrayed no previous acquaintance to the 
 careless Lady Ravelgold. Without giving a second thought to 
 her daughter, she held her glass for some champagne to a passing 
 servant, and, as Lady Imogen and her friends crossed the lawn to 
 the dancing-tent, she resumed the conversation which they had 
 interrupted; while Tremlet, with his heart brooding on the 
 altered look he had received, listened and replied almost uncon 
 sciously ; yet, from this very circumstance, in a manner which was 
 interpreted by his companion as the embarrassment of a timid 
 and long-repressed passion for herself. 
 
 While Lady Ravelgold and the junior partner were thus play 
 ing at cross purposes over their champagne and bons-bons, Grisi 
 and Lablache were singing a duet from / Puritani, to a full 
 audience in the saloon ; the drinking young men sat over their 
 wine at the nearly-deserted tables ; Lady Imogen and her friends 
 waltzed to Collinet s band, and the artizans were busy below the 
 lawn, erecting the machinery for the fireworks. Meantime every 
 
126 
 
 FIRE WORKS. 
 
 alley and avenue, grot and labyrinth, had been dimly illuminated 
 with colored lamps, showing like vari-colored glow-worms amid 
 the foliage and shells ; and, if the bright scenery of Rose-Eden 
 had been lovely by day, it was fay-land and witchery by night. 
 Fatal impulse of our nature, that these approaches to Paradise in 
 the " daylight of the eye," stir only in our bosoms the passions 
 upon which law and holy writ have put ban and bridle ! 
 
 " Shall we stroll down this alley of crimson lamps ?" said Lady 
 Ravegold, crossing the lawn from the tent where their coffee had 
 been brought to them, and putting her slender arm far into that 
 of her now pale and silent companion. 
 
 A lady in a white dress stood at the entrance of that crimson 
 avenue, as Tremlet and his passionate admirer disappeared 
 beneath the closing lines of the long perspective, and, remaining 
 a moment gazing through the unbroken twinkle of the confusing 
 lamps, she pressed her hand hard upon her forehead, drew up her 
 form AS if struggling with some irrepressible feeling, and in 
 another moment was whirling in the waltz with Lord Ernest 
 Fitzantelope, whose mother wrote a complimentary paragraph 
 about their performance for the next Saturday s Court Journal. 
 
 The bugle sounded, and the band played a march upon the 
 lawn. From the breakfast tents, from the coifee-rooms, from the 
 dance, from the card-tables, poured all who wished to witness the 
 marvels that lie in saltpetre. Gentlemen who stood in a tender 
 attitude in the darkness, held themselves ready to lean the other 
 way when the rockets blazed up, and mammas who were encour 
 aging flirtations with eligibles, whispered a caution on the same 
 .subject to their less experienced daughters. 
 
 Up sped the missiles, round spun the wheels, fair burned the 
 pagodas, swift flew the fire-doves off and back again on their 
 
LADY RAVELGOLD. 137 
 
 wires, and softly floated down through the dewy atmosphere of 
 that May night the lambent and many-colored stars, flung burning 
 from the exploded rockets. Device followed device, and Lady 
 Imogen almost forgot, in her child s delight at the spectacle, that 
 she had taken into her bosom a green serpent, whose folds were 
 closing like suffocation about her heart. 
 
 The finale was to consist of a new light, invented by the pyro 
 technist, promised to Lady Roseberry to be several degrees 
 brighter than the sun comparatively with the quantity of mat 
 ter. Before this last flourish came a pause ; and, while all the 
 world were murmuring love and applause around her, Lady Imo 
 gen, with her eyes fixed on an indefinite point in the darkness, 
 took advantage of the cessation of light to feed her serpent with 
 thoughts of passionate and uncontrollable pain. A French at- 
 tacke y Phillipiste to the very tips of his mustache, addressed to her 
 ear, meantime, the compliments he had found most effective in 
 the Ckaussee & Antin. 
 
 The light burst suddenly from a hundred blazing points, clear, 
 dazzling, intense illuminating, as by the instantaneous burst of 
 day, the farthest corner of Rose-Eden. And Monsieur Mange- 
 poire, with a French contempt for English fireworks, took advan 
 tage of the first ray to look into Lady Imogen s eyes. 
 
 "Mais Miladi !" was his immediate exclamation, after fol 
 lowing their direction with a glance, " ce n est qifun tableau 
 vivant, cela ! Help, gentlemen ! Elk, s evan juit. Some salts ! 
 Misericorde ! Mon Dieu ! Man Dieu /" And Lady Imogen 
 Ravelgold was carried fainting to Lady Roseberry s chamber. 
 
 In a small opening at the end of a long avenue of lilacs, ex 
 tended from the lawn in the direction of Lady Imogen s fixed and 
 unconscious ga/e, was pvesonted, by the unexpected illumination, 
 
128 TICKETS TO ALMACK S. 
 
 the tableau vivant, seen by her ladyship and Monsieur Mange- 
 poire at the same instant a gentleman drawn up to his fullest 
 height, with his arms folded, and a lady kneeling on the ground 
 at his feet with her arms stretched up to his bosom. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A LITTLE after two o clock on the following Wednesday, 
 Treinlet s cabriolet stopped near the perron of Willis s rooms in 
 King street, and while he sent up his card to the lady patronesses 
 for his ticket to that night s Almack s, he busied himself in look 
 ing into the crowd of carriages about him, and reading on the 
 faces of their fair occupants the hope and anxiety to which they 
 were a prey till John the footman brought them tickets or despair. 
 Drawn up on the opposite side of the street, stood a family-carriage 
 of the old style, covered with half the arms of the herald s office, 
 and containing a fat dowager and three very over-dressed daugh 
 ters. Watching them, to see the effect of their application, stood 
 upon the sidewalk three or four young men from the neighboring 
 club-house, and at the moment Tremlet was observing these cir 
 cumstances, a foreign britscka, containing a beautiful woman, of a 
 reputation better understood than expressed in the conclave above 
 stairs, flew round the corner of St. James s street, and very nearly 
 drove into the open mouth of the junior partner s cabriolet. 
 
 " I will bet you a Ukraine colt against this fine bay of yours," 
 said the Russian secretary of legation, advancing from the group 
 of dandies to Tremlet, "that miladi, yonder, with all the best 
 blood of England in her own and her daughters red faces, gets 
 m tickets this morning " 
 
LADY RAVELGOLD. 199 
 
 " I ll take a bet upon the lady who has nearly extinguished 
 me, if you like," answered Tremlet, gazing with admiration at 
 the calm, delicate, child-like looking creature, who sat before him 
 in the britscka. 
 
 " No !" said the secretary, " for Almack s is a republic of 
 beauty, and she ll be voted in without either blood or virtue. 
 Par exemple, Lady Ravelgold s voucher is good here, though she 
 does study tableaux in Lothbury eh, Tremlet ?" 
 
 Totally unaware of the unlucky discovery by the fireworks at 
 Lady Roseberry s fete, Tremlet colored and was inclined to take 
 the insinuation as an affront ; but a laugh from the dandies drew 
 off his companion s attention, and he observed the dowager s foot 
 man standing at her coach window with his empty hands held up 
 in most expressive negation, while the three young ladies within 
 sat aghast, in all the agonies of disappointed hopes. The lum 
 bering carriage got into motion its ineffective blazonry paled by 
 the mortified blush of its occupants and, as the junior partner 
 drove away, philosophizing on the arbitrary opinions and unpro 
 voked insults of polite society, the britscka shot by, showing him, 
 as he leaned forward, a lovely woman who bent on him the most 
 dangerous eyes in London, and an Almack s ticket lying on the 
 unoccupied cushion beside her. 
 
 The white relievo upon the pale blue wall of Almack s showed 
 i every crack in its stucco flowers, and the faded chaperons who 
 I had defects of a similar description to conceal, took warning of the 
 ( walls, and retreated to the friendlier dimness of the tea-room. 
 
 Collinet was beginning the second set of quadrilles, and among 
 j the fairest of the surpassingly beautiful women who were moving 
 
 to his heavenly music, was Lady Imogen Ravelgold, the lovelier 
 
130 ENGLISH BEAUTY. 
 
 to-night for the first heavy sadness that had ever dimmed the 
 roses in her cheek. Her lady-mother divided her thoughts be 
 tween what this could mean, and whether Mr. Tremlet would 
 come to the ball ; and when, presently after, in the dos-a-dos, 
 she forgot to look at her daughter, on seeing that gentleman enter, 
 she lost a very good opportunity for a guess at the cause of Lady 
 Imogen s paleness. 
 
 To the pure and true eye that appreciates the divinity of the 
 form after which woman is made, it would have been a glorious 
 feast to have seen the perfection of shape, color, motion, and 
 countenance, shown that night on the bright floor of Almack s. 
 For the young and beautiful girls whose envied destiny is to com 
 mence their woman s history in this exclusive hall, there exists aids 
 to beauty known to no other class or nation. Perpetual vigilance 
 over every limb from the cradle up ; physical education of a per 
 fection, discipline, and judgment, pursued only at great expense 
 and under great responsibility ; moral education of the highest 
 kind, habitual consciousness of rank, exclusive contact with ele 
 gance and luxury, and a freedom of intellectual culture which 
 breathes a soul through the face before passion has touched it with 
 a line or a shade these are some of the circumstances which make 
 Almack s the cynosure of the world for adorable and radiant 
 beauty. 
 
 There were three ladies who had come to Almack s with a 
 definite object that night, each of whom was destined to be sur 
 prised and foiled : Lady Ravelgold, who feared that she had been 
 abrupt with the inexperienced banker, but trusted to find him 
 softened by a day or two s reflection ; Mrs. St. Leger, the lady of 
 the britsyka, who had ordered supper for two on her arrival a< 
 home from her morning s drive, and intended to have the com- 
 
LADY RAVELGOLD. 131 
 
 mny of the handsome creature she had nearly run over in King 
 street ; and Lady Imogen Ravelgold, as will appear iu the 
 sequel. 
 
 Tremlet stood in the entrance from the tea-room, a moment, 
 gathering courage to walk alone into such a dazzling scene, and 
 then, having caught a glimpse of the glossy lines of Lady Imogen s 
 head at the farthest end of the room, he was advancing toward 
 her, when he was addressed by a lady who leaned against one of 
 the slender columns of the orchestra. After a sweetly-phrased 
 apology for having nearly knocked out his brains that morning 
 with her horses fore feet, Mrs. St. Leger took his arm, and 
 walking deliberately two or three times up and down the room, 
 took possession, at last, of a banquette on the highest range, so far 
 from any other person, that it would have been a marked rude 
 ness to have left her alone. Tremlet took his seat by her with 
 this instinctive feeling, trusting that some of her acquaintances 
 would soon approach, and give him a fair excuse to leave her ; 
 but he soon became amused with her piquant style of conver 
 sation, and, not aware of being observed, fell into the attitude of 
 a pleased and earnest listener. 
 
 Lady Ravelgold s feelings during this petit entretien, were of a 
 very positive description. She had an instinctive knowledge, and 
 consequently a jealous dislike of Mrs. St. Leger s character; 
 and, still under the delusion that the young banker s liberality 
 was prompted by a secret passion for herself, she saw her credit 
 in the city and her hold upon the affections of Tremlet, (for whom 
 she had really conceived a violent affection,) melting away in 
 every smile of the dangerous woman who engrossed him. As she 
 looked around for a friend, to whose ear she might communicate 
 some of the suffocating poison in her own heart, Lady Imogen 
 
132 JEALOUSY. 
 
 returned to her from a gallopade ; and, like a second dagger into 
 the heart of the pure-minded girl, went this second proof of her 
 lover s corrupt principle and conduct. Unwilling to believe even 
 her own eyes, on the night of Lady Roseberry s fete, she had sum 
 moned resolution on the road home to ask an explanation of her 
 mother. Embarrassed by the abrupt question, Lady Ravelgold 
 felt obliged to make a partial confidence of the state of her pecu 
 niary affairs ; and, to clear herself, she represented Tremlet as 
 having taken advantage of her obligations to him, to push a dis 
 honorable suit. The scene disclosed by the sudden blaze of the 
 fireworks being thus simply explained, Lady Imogen determined 
 at once to give up Tremlet s acquaintance altogether ; a resolu 
 tion which his open flirtation with a woman of Mrs. St. Leger s 
 character served to confirm. She had, however, one errand with 
 him, prompted by her filial feelings, and favored by an accidental 
 circumstance which will appear. 
 
 " Do you believe in animal magnetism r v asked Mrs. St. 
 Leger, " for by the fixedness of Lady Ravelgold s eyes in this 
 quarter, something is going to happen to one of us." 
 
 The next moment the Russian secretary approached and took 
 his seat by Mrs. St. Leger, and with diplomatic address contrived 
 to convey to Tremlet s ear that Lady Ravelgold wished to speak 
 with him. The banker rose, but the quick wit of his com 
 panion comprehended the manoeuvre. 
 
 " Ah ! I see how it is," she said, u but stay you ll sup with 
 me to-night. Promise me parole d^honneur /" 
 
 " Parole /" answered Tremlet, making his way out between 
 the seats, half pleased and half embarrassed. 
 
 " As for you, Monsieur le Secretaire, said Mrs. St. Leger, 
 
LADY RAVELGOLD. 133 
 
 1 you have forfeited my favor, and may sup elsewere. How dare 
 y iu conspire against me ?" 
 
 While the Russian was making his peace, Tremlet crossed over 
 t Lady Ravelgold ; but, astonished at the change in Lady 
 I logen, he soon broke in abruptly upon her mother s conversa- 
 t m, to ask her to dance. She accepted his hand for a quad- 
 r lie ; but as they walked down the room in search of a vis-d-vis, 
 si e complained of heat, and asked timidly if he would take her to 
 tl e tea-room. 
 
 c< Mr. Tremlet," she said, fixing her eyes upon the cup of tea 
 which he had given her, and which she found some difficulty in 
 holding, " I have come here to-night to communicate to you 
 some important information, to ask a favor, and to break off an 
 acquaintance which has lasted too long." 
 
 Lady Imogen stopped, for the blood had fled from her lips, and 
 she was compelled to ask his arm for a support. She drew her 
 self up to her fullest height the next moment, looked at Tremlet, 
 who stood in speechless astonishment, and with a strong effort, 
 commenced again in a low, firm tone 
 
 " I have been acquainted with you some time, sir, and have 
 never inquired, nor knew more than your name, up to this day. 
 T suffered myself to be pleased too blindly " 
 
 " Dear Lady Imogen !" 
 
 " Stay a moment, sir ! I will proceed directly to my business. 
 I received this morning a letter from the senior partner of a mer 
 cantile house in the city, with which you are connected. It is 
 , written on the supposition that I have some interest in you, and 
 informs me that you are not, as you yourself suppose, the son of 
 ;the gentleman who writes the letter. 
 
13 4 A REVELATION. 
 
 " Madam !" 
 
 " That gentleman, sir, as you know, never was married. He 
 informs me, that, in the course of many financial visits to St. 
 Petersburgh, he formed a friendship with Count Manteuffel, then 
 minister of finance to the emperor, whose tragical end, in conse 
 quence of his extensive defalcations, is well known. In brief, sir, 
 you were his child, and were taken by this English banker, and 
 carefully educated as his own, in happy ignorance, as he imagined, 
 of your father s misfortunes and mournful death." 
 
 Tremlet leaned against the wall, unable to reply to this 
 astounding intelligence, and Lady Imogen went on. 
 
 " Your title and estates have been restored to you at the 
 request of your kind benefactor, and you are now the heir to a 
 princely fortune, and a count of the Russian empire. Here is 
 the letter, sir, which is of no value to me now. Mr. Tremlet ! 
 one word more, sir." 
 
 Lady Imogen gasped for breath. 
 
 " In return, sir, for much interest given you heretofore in 
 return, sir, for this information " 
 
 " Speak, dear Lady Imogen !" 
 
 " Spare my mother !" 
 
 " Mrs. St. Leger s carriage stops the way !" shouted a servant 
 at that moment, at the top of the stairs ; and, as if there were s 
 spell in the sound to nerve her resolution anew, Lady Imogei 
 Ravelgold shook the tears from her eyes, bowed coldly to Tremlet 
 and passed out into the dressing-room. 
 
 " If you please, sir," said a servant, approaching the amaze< 
 banker, " Mrs. St. Leger waits for you in her carriage." 
 
 " Will you come home and sup with us ?" said Lady Ravel 
 gold at the same instant, joining him in the tea-room. 
 
LADY RAVELGOLD. 
 
 135 
 
 " I shall be only too happy, Lady Ravelgold. " 
 The bold coachman of Mrs. St. Leger continued to " stop the 
 way," spite of policemen and infuriated footmen, for some fifteen 
 minutes. At the end of that time Mr. Tremlet appeared, 
 handing down Lady Ravelgold and her daughter, who walked to 
 their chariot, which was a few steps behind ; and very much to 
 Mrs. St. Leger s astonishment, the handsome banker sprang past 
 her horses heads a minute after, jumped into his cabriolet, which 
 stood on the opposite side of the street, and drove after the 
 vanishing chariot as if his life depended on overtaking it. Still 
 Mrs. St. Leger s carriage "stopped the way." But, in a few 
 minutes after, the same footman who had summoned Tremlet in 
 vain, returned with the Russian secretary, doomed in blessed un 
 consciousness to play the pis aller at her tete-a-tete supper in 
 Spring Gardens. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 IF Lady Ravelgold showed beautiful by the uncompromising 
 light and in the ornamental hall of Almack s, she was radiant as 
 she came through the mirror door of her own love-contrived and 
 beauty-breathing boudoir. Tremlet had been shown into this re 
 cess of luxury and elegance on his arrival, and Lady Ravelgold 
 and her daughter, who preceded her by a minute or two, had 
 gone to their chambers, the first to make some slight changes in 
 her toilet, and the latter (entirely ignorant of her lover s presence 
 in the house), to be alone with a heart never before in such painful 
 need of self-abandonment and solitude. 
 
136 AN ARISTOCRATIC BOUDOIR 
 
 Tremlet looked about him in the enchanted room in which he 
 found himself alone, and, spite of the prepossessed agitation of his 
 feelings, the voluptuous beauty of every object had the effect to 
 divert and tranquillize him. The light was profuse, but it came 
 softened through the thinnest alabaster ; and, while every object 
 in the room was distinctly and minutely visible, the effect of 
 moonlight was not more soft and dreamy. The general form of 
 the boudoir was an oval, but, within the pilasters of folded silk 
 with their cornices of gold, lay crypts containing copies, ex 
 quisitely done in marble, of the most graceful statues of antiquity, 
 one of which seemed, by the curtain drawn quite aside and a 
 small antique lamp burning near it, to be the divinity of the 
 place the Greek Antinous, with his drooped head and full, 
 smooth limbs, the most passionate and life-like representation of 
 voluptuous beauty that intoxicates the slumberous air of Italy. 
 Opposite this, another niche contained a few books, whose retreat 
 ing shelves swung on a secret door, and, as it stood half open, the 
 nodding head of a snowy magnolia leaned through, as if pouring 
 from the lips of its broad chalice the*nringled odors of the unseen 
 conservatory it betrayed. The first sketch in crayons of a por 
 trait of Lady Ravelgold by young Lawrence, stood against the 
 wall, with the frame half buried in a satin ottoman ; and, as 
 Tremlet stood before it, admiring the clear, classic outline of the 
 head and bust, and wondering in what chamber of his brain the 
 gifted artist had found the beautiful drapery in which he had 
 drawn her, the dim light glanced faintly on the left, and the 
 broad mirror by which he had entered swung again on its silver 
 hinges, and admitted the very presentment of what he gazed on. 
 Lady Ravelgold had removed the jewels from her hair, and the 
 robe of wrought lace, which she had worn that night over a bod- 
 
LADY RAVELGOLD. 137 
 
 dice of white satin laced loosely below the bosom. In the place 
 of this she had thrown upon her shoulders a flowing wrapper of 
 purple velvet, made open after the Persian fashion, with a short 
 and large sleeve, and embroidered richly with gold upon the 
 skirts. Her admirable figure, gracefully defined by the satin 
 petticoat and boddice, showed against the gorgeous purple as it 
 flowed back in her advancing motion, with a relief which would 
 have waked the very soul of Titian ; her complexion was dazzling 
 and faultless in the flattering light of her own rooms ; and there 
 are those who will read this who know how the circumstances 
 which surround a woman luxury, elegance, taste, or the oppo 
 site of these enhance or dim, beyond help or calculation, even 
 the highest order of woman s beauty. 
 
 Lady Ravelgold held a bracelet in her hand as she came in. 
 
 " In my own house," she said, holding the glittering jewel to 
 Tremlet, " I have a fancy for the style antique. Tasseline, my 
 maid, has gone to bed, and you must do the devoirs of a knight, 
 or an abigail, and loop up this Tyrian sleeve. Stay first look 
 at the model that small statue of Cytheris, yonder ! Not the 
 shoulder for you are to swear mine is prettier but the clasp. 
 Fasten it like that. So ! Now take me for a Grecian nymph 
 the rest of the evening." 
 
 " Lady Ravelgold !" 
 
 " Hermione or Aglae, if you please ! But let us ring for 
 supper !" 
 
 As the bell sounded, a superb South American trulian darted in 
 from the conservatory, and, spreading his gorgeous black and gold 
 wings a moment over the alabaster shoulder of Lady Ravelgold, as 
 if he took a pleasure in prolonging the first touch as he alighted, 
 turned his large liquid eye fiercely on Tremlet. 
 
138 CHANGE OF RELATION. 
 
 " Thus it is," said Lady Ravelgold, " we forget our old 
 favorites in our new. See how jealous he is !" 
 
 " Supper is served, miladi !" said a servant entering. 
 
 " A hand to each, then, for the present," she said, putting one 
 into Tremlet s, and holding up the trulian with the other. " He 
 who behaves best shall drink first with me." 
 
 " I beg your ladyship s pardon," said Tremlet, drawing back, 
 and looking at the servant, who immediately left the room. " Let 
 us understand each other ! Does Lady Imogen sup with us to 
 night ?" 
 
 u Lady Imogen has retired," said her mother in some surprise. 
 
 " Then, madam, will you be seated one moment and listen to 
 me ?" 
 
 Lady Ravelgold sat down on the nearest ottoman, with the air 
 of a person too high bred to be taken by surprise, but the color 
 deepened to crimson in the centre of her cheek, and the bird 01 
 her hand betrayed by one of his gurgling notes that he was hel( 
 more tightly than pleased him. With a calm and decisive tone, 
 Tremlet went through the explanation given in the previous pari 
 of this narration. He declared his love for Lady Imogen, hi? 
 hopes (while he had doubts of his birth) that Lady Ravelgold f 
 increasing obligations and embarrassments and his own wealtl 
 might weigh against his disadvantages ; and now, his honorabl* 
 descent being established, and his rank entitling him to pro] 
 for her hand, he called upon Lady Ravelgold to redeem her obli 
 gations to him by an immediate explanation to her daughter oi 
 his conduct toward herself, and by lending her whole influence 
 the success of his suit. 
 
 Five minutes are brief time to change a lover into a son-in- 
 law ; and Lady Ravelgold, as we have seen in the course of this 
 
LADY RAVELGOLD. ]39 
 
 tory r was no philosopher. She buried her face in her hands, 
 nd sat silent, for a while, after Tremlet had concluded : but the 
 ase was a very clear one. Ruin and mortification were in one 
 ;cale, mortification and prosperity in the other. She rose, pale 
 )ut decided, and requesting Monsieur le Comte Manteuffel to 
 iwait her a few minutes, ascended to her daughter s chamber. 
 
 u If you please, sir," said a servant, entering in about half an 
 hour, " miladi and Lady Imogen beg that you will join them in 
 the supper-room." 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE spirit of beauty, if it haunt in such artificial atmospheres 
 as Belgrave square, might have been pleased to sit invisibly on 
 the vacant side of Lady Ravelgold s table. Tremlet had been 
 shown in by the servant to a small apartment, built like a belvi- 
 dere over the garden, half boudoir in its character, yet intended 
 as a supper-room, and, at the long window (opening forth upon 
 descending terraces laden with flowers, and just now flooded with 
 the light of a glorious moon) stood Lady Imogen, with her glossy 
 head laid against the casement, and the palni of her left hand 
 pressed close upon her heart. If those two lights the moon 
 faintly shed off from th-j divine curve of her temple, and the 
 stained rose-lamp pouring its mellow tint full on the heavenly 
 shape and whiteness of her shoulder and neck if those two 
 lights, I say, could have been skilfully managed, Mr. Lawrence ! 
 what a picture you might have made of Lady Imogen Ravelgold ! 
 
 " Imogen, my daughter ! Mr. Tremlet !" said her mother as 
 he entered. 
 
140 SUPPER WITH MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 
 
 Without changing her position, she gave him the hand she had 
 been pressing on her heart. 
 
 " Mr. Tremlet !" said Lady Ravelgold, evidently entering into 
 her daughter s embarrassment, " trouble yourself to come to the 
 table and give me a bit of this pheasant. Imogen, George waits 
 to give you some champagne." 
 
 " Can you forgive me r" said the beautiful girl, before turning 
 to betray her blushing cheek and suffused eyes to her mother. 
 
 Tremlet stopped as if to pluck a leaf from the verbena at her 
 feet, and passed his lips over the slight fingers he held. 
 
 " Pretty trulian !" murmured Lady Ravelgold to her bird, as 
 he stood on the edge of her champagne-glass, and curving his 
 superb neck nearly double, contrived to drink from the sparkling 
 brim " pretty trulian ! you will be merry after this ! What 
 ancient Sybarite, think you, Mr. Tremlet, inhabits the body of 
 this bright bird ? Look up, migno-n, and tell us if you were 
 Hylas or Alcibiades ! Is the pheasant good, Mr. Tremlet ?" 
 
 " Too good to come from Hades, miladi. Is it true that you 
 have your table supplied from Crockford s ?" 
 
 " Tout bonnement I I make it a principle to avoid all great 
 anxieties, and I can trust nobody but Tide. He sends my din 
 ners quite hot, and, if there is a particular dish of game, he drives 
 round at the hour and gives it the last turn in my own kitchen. 
 I should die to be responsible for my dinners. I don t know how 
 people get on that have no grand artiste. Pray, Mr. Tremlet 
 (I beg pardon Monsieur le Comte, perhaps I should say ?") 
 
 " No, no, I implore you ! c Tremlet has been spoken too 
 musically to be so soon forgotten. Tremlet or Charles, which 
 you will!" 
 
 Lady Ravelgold put her hand in his, and looked from his face 
 
LADY RAVELGOLD. 141 
 
 to her daughter s with a smile, which assured him that she had 
 obtained a victory over herself. Shrinking immediately, how 
 ever, from anything like sentiment (with the nervous dread of 
 pathos so peculiar to the English), she threw off her trulian, that 
 made a circle and alighted on the emerald bracelet of Lady Imo 
 gen, and rang the bell for coffee. 
 
 " I natter myself, Mr. Tremlet," she said, " that I have made 
 a new application of the homoeopathic philosophy. Hahnemann, 
 they say, cures fevers by aggravating the disease ; and when I 
 cannot sleep, I drink coffee. J^en suis passablement fiere ! You 
 did not know I was a philosopher r" 
 
 "No, indeed!" 
 
 " Well, take some of this spiced mocha. I got it of the 
 Turkish ambassador, to whom I made beaux yeux on purpose. 
 Stop ! you shall have it in the little tinsel cups he sent me. 
 George, bring those filagree things ! Now, Mr. Tremlet, imagine 
 yourself in the serail du Bosphore Imogen and I two lovely Cir 
 cassians, par cxemple ! Is it not delicious ? Talking of Bospho- 
 rus, nobody was classical enough to understand the device in my 
 coiffure to-night." 
 
 " What was it?" asked Tremlet, absently, gazing while ho 
 spoke, with eyes of envy at the trulian, who was whetting his bill, 
 backward and forward, on the clear bright lips of Lady Imogen. 
 
 " Do you think my profile Grecian r" asked Lady Ravelgold. 
 
 " Perfectly !" 
 
 " And my hair is coiffed a la Grec ?" 
 
 " Most becomingly." 
 
 " But still you won t see my golden grasshopper ! Do you 
 happen to know, sir, that, to wear the golden grasshopper, was the 
 birthright of an Athenian ? I saw it in a book. Well ! I had to 
 
142 A WOUND. 
 
 explain it to everybody. By-the-way, what did that gambler, 
 George Heriot, mean, by telling me that its legs should be black ? 
 * All Greeks have black legs, said he, yawning in his stupid 
 way. What did he mean, Mr. Tremlet ?" 
 
 " c Greeks and blacklegs are convertible terms. He thought 
 you were more au fait of the slang dictionary . Will you permit 
 me to coax my beautiful rival from your hand, Lady Imogen ?" 
 
 She smiled, and put forward her wrist, with a bend of its slen 
 der and alabaster lines which would have drawn a sigh from 
 Praxiteles. The trulian glanced his fiery eyes from his mis 
 tress s face to Tremlet s, and, as the strange hand was put out to 
 take him from his emerald perch, he flew with the quickness of 
 lightning into the face of her lover, and buried the sharp beak in 
 his lip. The blood followed copiously, and Lady Imogen, star 
 tled from her timidity, sprang from her chair and pressed he 
 hands one after the other upon the wound, in passionate and girl 
 ish abandonment. Lady Ravelgold hurried to her dressing 
 room for something to staunch the wound, and, left alone wit 
 the divine creature who hung over him, Tremlet drew her t 
 his bosom and pressed his cheek long and closely to hers, while t 
 his lips, as if to keep in life, clung her own crimsoned and trem 
 bling fingers. 
 
 u Imogen !" said Lady Ravelgold, entering, " take him to the 
 fountain in the garden and wash the wound ; then put on this 
 bit of gold-beater s skin. I will come to you when I have locked 
 up the trulian. Is it painful, Mr. Tremlet ?" 
 
 Tremlet could not trust his voice to answer, but, with his am 
 still around Lady Imogen, he descended by the terrace of flower 
 to the fountain. 
 
 They sat upon the edge of the marble basin, and the moonligh 
 
LADY RAVELGOLD. 1 43 
 
 s riking through the jet of the fountain, descended upon them like 
 i rain of silver. Lady Imogen had recovered from her fright, 
 i id buried her face in her hands, remembering into what her 
 f elings had betrayed her ; and Tremlet, sometimes listening to 
 t Le clear bell-like music of the descending water, sometimes 
 itering the broken sentences which are most eloquent in love, sat 
 oit the hours till the stars began to pale, undisturbed by Lady 
 Kavelgold, who, on the upper stair of the terrace, read by a small 
 lunp, which, in the calm of that heavenly summer night, burned 
 unflickeringly in the open air. 
 
 It was broad daylight when Tremlet, on foot, sauntered slowly 
 past Hyde park corner on his way to the Albany. The lamps 
 were still struggling with the brightening approach to sunrise, the 
 cabmen and their horses slept on the stand by the Green Park, 
 and, with cheerful faces, the laborers went to their work, and with 
 haggard faces the night-birds of dissipation crept wearily home. 
 The well-ground dust lay in confused heel-marks on the sidewalk, 
 a little dampened by the night-dew ; the atmosphere in the street 
 was clear, as it never is after the stir of day commences ; a 
 dandy, stealing out from Crockford s, crossed Piccadilly, lifting 
 up his head to draw in long breaths of the cool air, after the close- 
 1 ness of over-lighted rooms and excitement ; and Tremlet, mark 
 ing none of these things, was making his way through a line of 
 : carriages slowly drawing up to take off their wearied masters 
 | from a prolonged fete at Devonshire house, when a rude hand 
 clapped him on the shoulder. 
 
 " Monsieur Tremlet !" 
 
 u Ah, Baron! bien bon jour /" 
 
 " Bien rencontre. Monsieur ! \Tou have insulted a lady to- 
 
144 A QUARREL. 
 
 night, who has confided her cause to iny hands. Madam St. 
 Leger, sir, is without a natural protector, and you have taken 
 advantage of her position to insult her grossly, Mr. Tremlet, 
 grossly ! 
 
 Tremlet looked at the Russian during this extraordinary ad 
 dress, and saw that he was evidently excited with wine. He 
 drew him aside into Berkeley street, and in the calmest manner 
 attempted to explain what was not very clear to himself. He 
 had totally forgotten Mrs. St. Leger. The diplomat, though 
 quite beyond himself with his excitement, had sufficient percep 
 tion left to see the weak point of his statement ; and, infuriated 
 with the placid manner in which he attempted to excuse himself, 
 suddenly struck his glove into his face, and turned upon his heel. 
 They had been observed by a policeman, and, at the moment that 
 Tremlet, recovering from his astonishment, sprang forward to 
 resent the blow, the grey-coated guardian of the place laid his 
 hand upon his collar and detained him till the baron had disap 
 peared. 
 
 More than once, on his way to the Albany, Tremlet surprised 
 himself forgetting both the baron and the insult, and feeding his 
 heart in delicious abandonment with the dreams of his new happi 
 ness. He reached his rooms and threw himself on the bed, 
 forcing from his mind, with a strong effort, the presence of Lady 
 Imogen, and trying to look calmly on the unpleasant circumstance 
 before him. A quarrel, which, the day before, he would have 
 looked upon merely as an inconvenience, or which, under the in 
 sult of a blow, he would have eagerly sought, became now an 
 almost insupportable evil. When he reflected on the subject 
 of the dispute a contention about a woman of doubtful reputa 
 tion taking place in the same hour with a first avowal from the 
 
LADY RAVELGOLD. 145 
 
 lelicate and pure Lady Imogen when he remembered the change 
 u his fortunes, which he had as yet scarcely found time to realize 
 on the consequences to her who was so newly dear to him, and 
 3n all he might lose, now that life had become invaluable his 
 thoughts were almost too painful to bear. How seldom do men 
 play with an equal stake in the game of taking life, and how 
 strange it is that equality of weapons is the only comparison made 
 necessary by the laws of honor ! 
 
 Tremlet was not long the man to be undecided. He rose, 
 after an hour s reflection, and wrote as follows : 
 
 " BARON : Before taking the usual notice of the occurrence of 
 this morning, I wish to rectify one or two points in which our 
 position is false. I find myself, since last night, the accepted 
 lover of Lady Imogen Ravelgold, and the master of estates and 
 title as a Count of the Russian empire. Under the etourdissement 
 of such sudden changes in feelings and fortune, perhaps my for- 
 getf umess of the lady, in whose cause you arc so interested, ad 
 mits of indulgence. At any rate, I am so newly in love with 
 life, that I am willing to suppose, for an hour, that had you known 
 these circumstances, you would have taken a different view of the 
 offence in question. I shall remain at home till two, and it is in 
 your power till then to make me the reparation necessary to 
 my honor. Yours, etc., 
 
 u TREMLET." 
 
 There was a bridal on the following Monday at St. George s 
 church, and the Russian secretary stood behind the bridegroom. 
 Lady Ravelgold had never been seen so pale, but her face was 
 clear of all painful feeling ; and it was observed by one who knew 
 
146 A WEDDING INSTEAD OF A DUEL 
 
 her well, that her beauty had acquired, during the brief engage 
 ment of her daughter, a singular and undefinable elevation. As 
 the carriages with their white favors turned into Bond street, on 
 their way back to Belgrave square, the cortege was checked by 
 the press of vehicles, and the Russian, who accompanied Lady 
 Ravelgold in her chariot, found himself opposite the open britsfka 
 of a lady who fixed her glass full upon him without recognising a 
 feature of his face . 
 
 " I am afraid you have affronted Mrs. St. Leger, Baron !" said 
 Lady Ravelgold. 
 
 " Or I should not have been here !" said the Russian ; and, as 
 they drove up Piccadilly, he had just time, between Bond street 
 and Milton Crescent, to tell her ladyship the foregone chapter of 
 this story. 
 
 The trulian, on that day, was fed with wedding-cake, and the 
 wound on Mr. Tremlet s lip was not cured by letting alone. 
 
KATE CREDIFORD, 
 
 I FOUND myself looking with some interest at the back of a 
 lady s head. The theatre was crowded, and I had come in late, 
 and the object of my curiosity, whoever she might be, was listen 
 ing very attentively to the play. She did not move. I had time 
 to build a life-time romance about her before I had seen a feature 
 of her face. But her ears were small and of an exquisite oval, 
 and she had that rarest beauty of woman the hair arched and 
 joined to the white neck with the same finish as on the temples. 
 Nature often slights this part of her masterpiece. 
 
 The curtain dropped, and I stretched eagerly forward to catch 
 a glimpse of her profile. But no ! she sat next one of the slen 
 der pilasters, and, with her head leaned against it, remained im 
 movable. 
 
 I left the box, and with some difficulty made my way into the 
 crowded pit. Elbowing, apologizing, persevering, I at last 
 gained a point where I knew I could see my incognita at the 
 most advantage. I turned pshaw ! how was it possible I had 
 not recognized her ? 
 
 Kate Crediford ! 
 
14 s FIRST SAD LOOK. 
 
 There was no getting out again, for a while at least, without 
 giving offence to the crowd I had jostled so unceremoniously. I 
 sat down vexed and commenced a desperate study of the 
 figure of Shakspeare on the drop-curtain. 
 
 Of course I had been a lover of Miss Crediford s, or I could 
 not have turned with indifference from the handsomest woman in 
 the theatre. She was very beautiful there was no disputing. 
 But we love women a little for what we do know of them, and a 
 great deal more for what we do not. I had love-read Kate Cre- 
 diford to the last leaf. We parted as easily as a reader and a 
 book. Flirtation is a circulating library, in which we seldom ask 
 twice for the same volume, and I gave up Kate to the next 
 reader, feeling no property even in the marks I had made in her 
 perusal. A little quarrel sufficed as an excuse for the closing of 
 the book, and both of us studiously avoided a reconciliation. 
 
 As I sat in the pit, I remembered suddenly a mole on her left 
 cheek, and I turned toward her with the simple curiosity to kno\f 
 whether it was visible at that distance. Kate looked sad. She 
 still leaned immovable against the slight column, and her dari 
 eyes, it struck me, were moist. Her mouth, with this peculiai 
 expression upon her countenance, was certainly inexpressiblj 
 sweet the turned-down corners ending in dimples, which in that 
 particular place, I have always observed, are like wells of ur 
 fathomable melancholy. Poor Kate ! what was the matter wit 
 her? 
 
 As I turned back to my dull study of the curtain, a little pel 
 tish with myself for the interest with which I had looked at a 
 old flame, I detected half a sigh under my white waistcoat ; bu 
 instantly persuading myself that it was a disposition to cough- 
 
KATE CREDIFORD. 149 
 
 oughed and began to hum " suoni la tromba." The curtain 
 ose and the play went on. 
 
 It was odd that I never had seen Kate in that humor before. 
 
 did not think she could be sad. Kate Crediford sad ! Why, 
 
 he was the most volatile, light-hearted, care-for-nothing coquette 
 
 hat ever held up her fingers to be kissed. I wonder, has any 
 
 i ne really annoyed you, my poor Kate ! thought I. Could I, by 
 
 chance, be of any service to you for, after all, I owe you sorne- 
 
 ihing ! I looked at" her again. 
 
 Strange that I had ever looked at that face without emotion ! 
 The vigils of an ever- wakeful, ever-passionate, yet ever- tearful 
 and melancholy spirit, seemed set, and kept under those heavy 
 and motionless eyelids. And she, as I saw her now, was the very 
 model and semblance of the character that I had all my life been 
 vainly seeking ! This was the creature I had sighed for, when 
 turning away from the too mirthful tenderness of Kate Crediford ! 
 There was something new, or something for the moment mis-writ 
 ten, in that familiar countenance. 
 
 I made my way out of the pit with some difficulty, and returned 
 to sit near her. After a few minutes, a gentleman in the next 
 box rose, and left the seat vacant on the other side of the pilaster 
 against which she leaned. I went around while the orchestra 
 were playing a loud march, and, without being observed by the 
 thoughtful beauty, seated myself in the vacant place. 
 
 Why did my eyes flush and moisten, as I looJked upon the small 
 white hand lying on the cushioned barrier between us ! I 
 knew every vein of it, like the strings of my own heart. I had 
 held it spread out in my own, and followed its delicate blue tra 
 ceries with a rose-stem, for hours and hours, while imploring, and 
 reproaching, and reasoning over love s lights and shadows. I 
 
150 THE HAND IN LOVE. 
 
 knew the feel of every one of those exquisite fingers those 
 rolled up rose-leaves, with nails like pieces cut from the lip of a 
 shell ! Oh, the promises I had kissed into oaths on that little 
 chef-tfceume of nature .s tinted alabaster ! the psalms and ser 
 mons I had sat out, holding it, in her father s pew ! the many a 
 moon I had tired out of the sky, making of it a bridge for our 
 hearts passing backward and forward ! And how could that little 
 wretch of a hand, that knew me better than its own other hand 
 (for we had been more together), lie there, so unconscious of my 
 presence ? How could she Kate Crediford sit next to me as 
 she was doing, with only a stuffed partition between us, and her 
 head leaning on one side of a pilaster, and mine on the other, 
 and never start, nor recognize, nor be at all aware of my neigh 
 borhood ? She was not playing a part, it was easy to see. Oh, 
 I knew those little relaxed fingers too well ! Sadness, indolent 
 and luxurious sadness, was expressed in her countenance, and her 
 abstraction was unfeigned and contemplative. Could she have 
 so utterly forgotten me magnetically that is to say ? Could the 
 atmosphere about her, that would once have trembled betray- 
 ingly at my approach, like the fanning of an angel s invisible 
 wing, have lost the sense of my presence 
 
 I tried to magnetize her hand. I fixed my eyes on that little 
 open palm, and with all the intensity 1 could summon, kissed it 
 mentally in its rosy centre. I reproached the ungrateful littl 
 thing for its dulness and forgetfulness, and brought to bear upoi 
 it a focus of old memories of pressures and caresses, to which i 
 stone would scarce have the heart to be insensible. 
 
 But I belie myself in writing this with a smile. I watched thos< 
 unmoving fingers with a heart-ache. I could not see the face 
 Dor read the thought, of the woman who had once loved me, anc 
 
KATE CREDIFORD. 151 
 
 1 -ho sat near me, now, so unconsciously but, if a memory had 
 tirred, if a pulse had quickened its beat, those finely-strung 
 .ngers, I well knew, would have trembled responsively. Had she 
 orgotten me altogether ? Is that possible ? Can a woman close 
 he leaves of her heart over a once-loved and deeply-written 
 lame, like the waves over a vessel s track like the air over the 
 livision of a bird s flight ? 
 
 I had intended to speak presently to Miss Crediford, but every 
 noment the restraint became greater. I felt no more privileged 
 1:0 speak to her than the stranger who had left the seat I occu 
 pied. I drew back, for fear of encroaching on her room, or dis 
 turbing the folds of her shawl. I dared not speak to her. And, 
 while I was arguing the matter to myself, the party who were 
 with her, apparently tired of the play, arose and left the theatre, 
 Kate following last, but unspoken to, and unconscious altogether 
 of having been near any one whom she knew. 
 
 I went home and wrote to her all night, for there was no sleep 
 ing till I had given vent to this new fever at my heart, And, in 
 the morning I took the leading thoughts from my heap of inco 
 herent scribblings, and embodied them more coolly in a letter : 
 
 " You will think, when you look at the signature, that this is 
 to be the old story. And you will be as much mistaken as you 
 are in believing that I was ever your lover, till a few hours ago. 
 I have declared love to you, it is true. I have been happy with 
 you, and wretched without you ; I have thought of you, dreamed 
 of you, haunted you, sworn to you, and devoted to you all and 
 more than you exacted, of time and outward service and adora 
 tion ; but I love you now for the first time in my life. Shall I 
 
152 OLD LOVE NEW BORN. 
 
 be so Happy as to make you comprehend this startling contradic 
 tion ? 
 
 There are many chambers in the heart, Kate ; and the spirits 
 of some of us dwell, most fondly and secretly, in the chamber of 
 tears avowedly, however, in the outer and ever-open chamber 
 of mirth. Over the sacred threshold, guarded by sadness, much 
 that we select and smile upon, and follow with adulation in the 
 common walks of life, never passes. We admire the gay. They 
 make our melancholy sweeter by contrast, when we retire within 
 ourselves. We pursue them. We take them to our hearts to 
 the outer vestibules of our hearts and, if they are gay only, they 
 are content with the unconsecrated tribute which we pay them 
 there. But the chamber within is, meantime, lonely. It aches 
 with its desolation. The echo of the mirthful admiration, without, 
 jars upon its mournful silence. It longs for love, but love toned 
 with its own sadness love that can penetrate deeper than smiles 
 ever came love that, having once entered, can be locked in with 
 its key of melancholy, and brooded over with the long dream of a 
 life-time. But that deep-hidden and unseen chamber of the 
 heart may be long untenanted. And, meantime, the spirit be 
 comes weary of mirth, and impatiently quenches the fire even 
 upon its outer altar, and, in the complete loneliness of a heart 
 that has no inmate or idol, gay or tearful, lives mechanically on. 
 
 " Do you guess at my meaning, Kate ? Do you remember the 
 merriment of our first meeting ? Do you remember in what a frolic 
 of thoughtlessness you first permitted me to raise to my lips those 
 restless fingers ? Do you remember the mock condescension, the 
 merry haughtiness, the rallying and feigned incredulity, with 
 which you first received my successive steps of vowing and love- 
 making the arch look when it was begun, the laugh when it was 
 
KATE CREDIFORD. 153 
 
 over, the untiring follies we kept up, after vows plighted, and the 
 future planned and sworn to? That you were in earnest, as 
 much as you were capable of being, I fully believe. You would 
 not else have been so prodigal of the sweet bestowings of a 
 maiden s tenderness. But how often have I left you, with the 
 feeling, that, in the hours I had passed with you, my spirit had 
 been alone ! How often have I wondered if there were depths in 
 my heart, which love can never reach ! how often mourned that, 
 in the procession of love, there was no place allotted for its 
 sweetest and dearest followers tears and silence ! Oh, Kate ! 
 sweet as was that sun-gleam of early passion, I did not love you ! 
 I tired of your smiles, waiting in vain for your sadness. I left 
 you, and thought of you no more ? 
 
 " And now (and you will be surprised to know that I have 
 been so near to you unperceived) I have drank an intoxication 
 from one glance into your eyes, which throws open to you every 
 door of my heart, subdues to your control every nerve and feel 
 ing of my existence. Last night, I sat an hour, tracing again the 
 transparent and well-remembered veins upon your hand, and oh ! 
 how the language written in those branching and mystic lines had 
 changed in meaning aud power. You were sad. I saw you from 
 a distance, and, with amazement at an expression upon your face 
 which I had never before seen. I came and sat near you. It 
 was the look I had longed for when I knew you, and when tired of 
 your mirth. It was the look I had searched the world for, com 
 bined with such beauty as yours. It was a look of tender and 
 passionate melancholy, which revealed to me an unsuspected 
 chamber in your heart a chamber of tears. Ah, why were you 
 never sad before ? Why have we lost why have I lost the 
 eternity s worth of sweet hours, when you loved me with that con- 
 
154 MEANING IN A CAUSE. 
 
 cealed treasure in your bosom ? Alas ! that angels must walk the 
 world, unrecognised, till too late ! Alas, that I have held in my 
 arms, and pressed to my lips, and loosed again with trifling and 
 weariness, the creature whom it was my life s errand, the 
 thirst and passionate longing of my nature, to find and worship ! 
 
 "Oh, Heaven ! with what new value do I now number over 
 your adorable graces of person ! How spiritualized is every 
 familiar feature, once so deplorably misappreciated ! How com 
 pulsive of respectful adoration is that flexible waist, that step of 
 aerial lightness, that swan-like motion, which I once dared to 
 praise, triflingly and half-mockingly, like the tints of a flower or 
 the chance beauty of a bird ! And those bright lips ! How did 
 I ever look on them, and not know, that, within their rosy portal, 
 slept, voiceless for a while, the controlling spell of my destiny 
 the tearful spirit followed and called in my dreams, with perpetual 
 longing ? Strange value given to features and outward loveli 
 ness by qualities within ? Strange witchery of sadness in a 
 woman ! Oh, there is, in mirth and folly, dear Kate, no air for 
 love s breathing still less of food for constancy, or of holiness to 
 consecrate and heighten beauty of person. 
 
 " What can I say else, except implore to be permitted to ap 
 proach you to offer my life to you to begin, thus late, after 
 being known so long, the worship which till death is your due : 
 Pardon me if I have written abruptly and wildly. I shall awaii 
 your answer in an agony of expectation. I do not willingly 
 breathe till I see you till I weep at your feet over my blindness 
 and forgetfulness. Adieu! but let it not be for long. I pray 
 you!" 
 
 I despatched this letter, and it would be difficult to embody in 
 
KATE CREDIFORD. 155 
 
 .i inguage the agony I suffered in waiting for a reply. I walked 
 ly room, that endless morning, with a death-pang in every step 
 ; ) fearful was I so prophetically fearful that I had forfeited for 
 c ver the heart I had once flung from inc. 
 
 It was noon when a letter arrived. It was in a hand- writing 
 i ew to me. But it was on the subject which possessed my exist- 
 ace, and it was of final import. It follows : 
 
 " DEAR SIR : My wife wishes me to write to you, and inform 
 you of her marriage, which took place a week or two since, and of 
 which she presumes you are not aware. She remarked to me, 
 that you thought her looking unhappy last evening, when you 
 chanced to see her at the play. As she seemed to regret not 
 being able to answer your note herself, I may perhaps convey the 
 proper apology by taking upon myself to mention to you, that, in 
 consequence of eating an imprudent quantity of unripe fruit, she 
 felt ill before going to the theatre, and was obliged to leave early, 
 To day she seems seriously indisposed. I trust she will be well 
 enough to see you in a day or two and remain, 
 " Yours, truly, 
 
 " SAMUEL SMITHERS." 
 
 But I never called on Mrs. Samuel Smithers 
 
FLIRTATION AND FOX-CHASING, 
 
 The only heart that I have known of late, has been an easy, exciteable sort of j 
 gentleman, quickly roused and quickly calmed sensitive enough to confer a great I 
 deal of pleasure, and not sensitive enough to give a moment s pain. The heart of ! 
 other days was a very different person indeed." BULWER. 
 
 I WAS moping one day in solitary confinement in quarantine at 
 Malta, when, in a turn between my stone window and the back 
 wall, I saw the yards of a vessel suddenly cross the light, and 
 heard the next moment the rattle of a chain let go, and all the 
 bustle of a merchantman coming to anchor. I had the privilege 
 of promenading between two ring-bolts on the wharf below the 
 lazaretto, and, with the attraction of a new-comer to the sleepy 
 company of vessels under the yellow flag, I lost no time in! 
 descending the stone stairs, and was immediately joined by my 
 vigilant sentinel, the guardiano, whose business it was to prevent 
 my contact with the other visitors to the wharf. The tricolor, 
 flew at the peak of the stranger, and we easily made out that she; 
 was a merchantman from Marseilles, subject therefore to a week s 
 quarantine on account of the cholera. I had myself come from a j 
 plague port, Smyrna, and was subjected to twenty days quaran-f 
 
FLIRTATION AND FOX-CHASING. 157 
 
 tine, six of which had passed ; so that the Frenchman, though but 
 beginning his imprisonment, was in a position comparatively 
 enviable. 
 
 I had watched for an hour the getting of the vessel into moor 
 ing trim, and was beginning to conclude that she had come 
 without passengers, when a gentleman made his appearance on 
 deck, and the jolly-boat was immediately lowered and manned. 
 A traveller s baggage was handed over the side, the gentleman 
 took leave of the captain, and, in obedience to directions from the 
 quarantine officer on the quarterdeck, the boat was pulled directly 
 to the wharf on which 1 stood. The guardiano gave me a 
 a caution to retire a little, as the stranger was coming to take 
 possession of the next apartment to my own, and must land at 
 the stairs near by ; but, before I had taken two steps backward, I 
 began to recognise features familiar to me, and, with a turn of the 
 head as he sprang on the wharf, the identity was established com 
 pletely. Tom Berryman, by all that was wonderful ! I had not 
 seen him since we were suspended from college together, ten years 
 before. Forgetting lazaretto and guardiano, and all the salt 
 water between New Haven and Malta, I rushed up to Tom with 
 the cordiality of other days, (a little sharpened by abstinence from 
 society,) and we still had hold of hands with a firm grip, when 
 the quarantine master gravely accosted us, and informed my 
 friend that he had incurred an additional week by touching me 
 in short, that he must partake of the remainder of my qua 
 rantine. 
 
 Aghast and chap-fallen as Berryman was, at the consequences 
 of our rencontre, (for he had fully calculated on getting into Malta 
 in time for the carnival,) he was somewhat reconciled to his lot 
 by being permitted to share my room and table instead of living 
 
158 QUARANTINE PASTIME. 
 
 his week in solitude ; and, by enriching our supplies a little from 
 town, sleeping much, and chatting through the day in the rich 
 sunshine of that climate of Paradise, we contrived to shove off 
 the fortnight without any very intolerable tedium. 
 
 My friend and I had begun our travels differently he taking 
 England first, which I proposed visiting last. It is of course the 
 bonne louche of travel to everybody, and I was very curious to 
 know Tom s experiences ; and, as I was soon bound thitherward, 
 anxious to pick out of his descriptions some chart of the rocks 
 and shoals in the " British channel" of society. 
 
 I should say, before quoting my friend, that he was a Ken- 
 tuckian, with the manner (to ladies) of mingled devotion and 
 nonchalance so popular with the sex, and a chivalric quality ol 
 man altogether. His father s political influence had obtained for 
 him personal letters of introduction from the President, and, with 
 this advantage, and his natural air of fashion, he had found no 
 obstacle to choosing his society in England ; choosing the first, oi 
 course, like a true republican ! 
 
 We were sitting on the water-steps with our feet immersed uj 
 to the ankles, (in January too,) and in reply to some question o; 
 mine as to the approachability of noble ladies by such plebeiai 
 lovers as himself, Tom told me the story which follows. I takt 
 the names at random, of course, but in all else, I shall try tc 
 " tell the tale as twas told to me." 
 
 Why, circumstances, as you know, sometimes put people in th< 
 attitude of lovers, whether they will or no ; and it is but civil ii 
 such a case, to do what fate expects of you. I knew too much o 
 the difference between crockery and porcelain to enter Englisl 
 society with the remotest idea of making love within the red boo] 
 
FLIRTATION AND FOX-CHASING. 159 
 
 >f the peerage, and though I ve a story to tell, I swear I never 
 out a foot forward till I thought it was knightly devoir ; inevitable, 
 :hough ever so ridiculous. Still, I must say, with a beautiful 
 and unreserved woman beside one, very much like other beau 
 tiful and unreserved woman, a republican might be pardoned for 
 forgetting the invisible wall. " Right Honorable" loveliness has 
 as much attraction about it, let me tell you, and is quite as diffi 
 cult to resist, as loveliness that is honored, right or wrong ; and a 
 man must be brought up to it, as Englishmen are, to see the 
 heraldric dragons and griffins in the air when a charming girl is 
 talking to him. 
 
 " "Why should a man whose blood is warm within, 
 * Sit like (her) grandsire cut in alabaster ? ; 
 
 if 
 
 Eh ? But to begin with the " Tityre tu patulse." 
 
 I had been passing a fortnight at the hunting lodge of that wild 
 
 devil, Lord , in the Scotch Highlands, and, what with being 
 
 freely wet outside every day, and freely wet inside every night, I 
 had given my principle of life rather a disgust to its lodgings, and 
 there were some symptoms of preparation for leave-taking. Un 
 willing to be ill in a bachelor s den, with no solace tenderer than 
 a dandy lord s tiger, I made a twilight flit to the nearest post- 
 town, and, tightening my life-screws a little with the aid of the 
 village apothecary, started southward the next morning with four 
 posters. 
 
 I expected to be obliged to pull up at Edinboro , but the 
 doctor s opiates, and abstinence and quiet, did more for me than 
 1 had hoped, and I went on very comfortably to Carlisle. I 
 arrived at this place after nightfall, and found the taverns over 
 flowing with the crowds of a Fair, and no bed to be had unless I 
 
160 COMPULSORY TRAVEL. 
 
 could make one in a quartette of snoring graziers. At the same 
 time there was a great political meeting at Edinboro , and every 
 leg of a poster had gone north those I had brought with me 
 having been trans-hitched to a return chaise, and gone off while I 
 was looking for accommodations. 
 
 Regularly stranded, I sat down by the tap-room fire, and was 
 mourning my disaster, when the horn of the night-coach reached 
 my ear, and, in the minute of its rattling up to the door, I hastily 
 resolved that it was the least of two evils, and booked myself ac 
 cordingly. There was but one vacant place, an outsider ! With 
 hardly time enough to resolve, and none to repent, I was pre 
 sently rolling over the dark road, chilled to the bone in the first 
 five minutes, and wet through with a " Scotch mist" in the next 
 half hour. Somewhere about daybreak we rolled into the little 
 
 town of , five miles from the seat of the Earl of Tresethen, 
 
 to whose hospitalities I stood invited, and I went to bed in a most 
 comfortable inn and slept till noon. 
 
 Before going to bed I had written a note to be despatched to 
 Tresethen castle, and the Earl s carriage was waiting for me 
 when I awoke. I found myself better than I had expected, and 
 dressing at once for dinner, managed to reach the castle just in 
 time to hand in Lady Tresethen. Of that dinner I but remember 
 that I was the only guest, and that the Earl regretted his 
 daughter s absence from table, Lady Caroline having been 
 thrown that morning from her horse . I fainted somewhere about 
 the second remove, and recovered my wits some days after, on 
 the safe side of the crisis of a fever. 
 
 I shall never forget that first half hour of conscious curiosity. 
 An exquisite sense of bodily repose, mingled with a vague notion 
 of recent relief from pain, made me afraid to speak lest I should 
 
FLIRTATION AND FOX-CHASING. 161 
 
 awake from a dream, yet, if not a dream, what a delicious 
 reality ! A lady of most noble presence, in a half-mourning dress, 
 sat by the side of a cheerful fire, turning her large dark eyes on 
 me, in the pauses of a conversation with a grey-headed servant. 
 My bed was of the most sumptuous luxury ; the chamber was 
 hung with pictures and draped with spotless white ; the table 
 covered with the costliest elegancies of the toilet ; and, in the 
 gentle and deferential manner of the old liveried menial, and the 
 subdued tones of inquiry by the lady, there was a refinement and 
 tenderness which, with the keen susceptibility of my senses, " lapt 
 me in Elysium." I was long in remembering where I was. The 
 lady glided from the room, the old servant resumed his seat by 
 my bedside, other servants in the same livery came softly in 
 on errands of service, and, at the striking of the half hour by a 
 clock on the mantlepiece, the lady returned, and I was raised to 
 receive something from her hand. As she came nearer, I remem 
 bered the Countess Tresethen. 
 
 Three days after this I was permitted to take the air of a con 
 servatory which opened from the Countess s boudoir. My old 
 attendant assisted me to dress, and, with another servant, took 
 me down in a fauteuil. I was in slippers and robe-de-chambre, 
 and presumed that I should see no one except the kind and noble 
 Lady Tresethen, but I had scarce taken one turn up the long 
 alley of flowering plants, when the Countess came toward me from 
 the glass door beyond, and on her arm a girl leaned for support, 
 whose beauty 
 
 (Here Tom dabbled his feet for some minutes in the water in 
 silence.) 
 
 God bless me ! I can never give you an idea of it ! It was a 
 new revelation of woman to me ; the opening of an eighth seal. 
 
162 LOVE IN CONVALESCENCE. 
 
 In the minute occupied by her approach, my imagination 
 (accelerated, as that faculty always is, by the clairvoyance of 
 sickness), had gone through a whole drama of love fear, adora 
 tion, desperation, and rejection and, so complete was it, that in 
 after moments, when these phases of passion came round in the 
 proper lapse of days and weeks, it seemed to me that I had been 
 through with them before ; that it was all familiar ; that I had 
 met and loved, in some other world, this same glorious creature, 
 with the same looks, words, and heart-ache ; in the same con 
 servatory of bright flowers, and, faith ! myself in the same pattern 
 of a brocade dressing-gown ! 
 
 Heavens ! what a beautiful girl was that Lady Caroline ! Her 
 eyes were of a light grey, the rim of the lids perfectly inky with 
 the darkness of the long sweeping lashes, and in her brown hair 
 there was a gold lustre that seemed somehow to illuminate the 
 curves of her small head like a halo. Her mouth had too much 
 character for a perfectly agreeable first impression. It was nobil 
 ity and sweetness educated over native high spirit and scornful- 
 ness tho nature shining through the transparent blood, like a flaw 
 through enaxiel. She would have been, in other circumstances, 
 a maid of Saragossa or a Gertrude Von Wart ; a heroine ; per 
 haps a devil. But her fascination was resistless ! 
 
 " My daughter," said Lady Tresethen (and in that beginning 
 was all the introduction she thought necessary), " is, like yourself, 
 an invalid just escaped from the doctor ; you must congratulate 
 each other. Are you strong enough to lend her an arm, Mr. 
 Berryman ?" 
 
 The Countess left us, and, with the composure of a sister who 
 had seen me every day of my life, Lady Caroline took my a 
 and strolled slowly to and fro, questioning me of my shooting 
 
 : 
 
FLIRTATION AND FOX-CHASING. 163 
 
 he lodge, and talking to me of her late accident, her eyes some- 
 imes fixed upon her little embroidered slippers, as they peeped 
 rom her snowy morning dress, and sometimes indolently raised 
 .nd brought to bear on my flushed cheek and trembling lips ; her 
 ingular serenity operating upon me as anything but a sedative ! 
 was taken up stairs again, after an hour s conversation, in a fair 
 vay for a relapse, and the doctor put me under embargo again for 
 .mother week, which, spite of all the renewed care and tender 
 ness of Lady Tresethen, seemed to me an eternity ! I ll not 
 bother you with what I felt and thought all that time ! 
 
 It was a brilliant autumnal day when I got leave to make my 
 second exodus, and with the doctor s permission I prepared for a 
 short walk in the park. I declined the convoy of the old servant, 
 for I had heard Lady Caroline s horse gallop away down the 
 avenue, and I wished to watch her return unobserved. I had just 
 lost sight of the castle in the first bend of the path, when I saw 
 her quietly w r alking her horse under the trees at a short distance, 
 and, the moment after, she observed and came toward me at an 
 easy canter. I had schooled myself to a little more self-pos 
 session, but I was not prepared for such an apparition of splendid 
 beauty as that woman on horseback. She rode an Arabian bay 
 of the finest blood ; a lofty, fiery, matchless creature, with an ex 
 pression of eye and nostril which I could not but think a proper 
 pendant to her own, limbed as I had seldom seen a horse, and his 
 arched neck, and forehead, altogether, proud as a steed for 
 Lucifer. She sat on him as if it were a throne she was born to, 
 and the flow of her riding-dress seemed as much a part of him as 
 his mane. He appeared ready to bound into the air, like Pegasus, 
 but one hand calmly stroked his mane, and her face was as tran 
 quil as marble. 
 
164 CONTAGIOUS EXCITEMENT. 
 
 " Well met !" she said ; " I was just wishing for a cavalier. 
 What sort of a horse would you like, Mr. Berrymaii ? Ellis !" 
 (speaking to her groom), " is old Curtal taken up from grass ?" 
 
 " Yes, miladi!" 
 
 " Curtal is our invalid horse, and, as you are not very strong, 
 perhaps his easy pace will be best for you. Bring him out 
 directly, Ellis. We ll just walk along the road a little way ; for 
 I must show you my Arabian ; and we ll not go back to ask 
 mamma s permission, for we shouldn t get it ! You won t mind 
 riding a little way, will you ?" 
 
 Of course I would have bestrided a hippogriff at her bidding, 
 and when the groom came out, leading a thorough -bred hunter, 
 with apparently a very elastic and gentle action, I forgot the 
 doctor and mounted with great alacrity. We walked our horses 
 slowly down the avenue and out at the castle gate, followed by 
 the groom, and, after trying a little quicker pace on the public 
 road, I pronounced old Curtal worthy of her ladyship s eulogium, 
 and her own Saladin worthy, if horse could be worthy, of his 
 burthen. 
 
 We had ridden perhaps a mile, and Lady Caroline was giving 
 me a slight history of the wonderful feats of the old veteran under 
 me, when the sound of a horn made both horses prick up their 
 ears, and, on rising a little acclivity,, we caught sight of a pack of 
 hounds coming across the fields directly towards us, followed by 
 some twenty red-coated horsemen. Old Curtal trembled and 
 showed a disposition to fret, and I observed that Lady Caroline 
 dexterously lengthened her own stirrup and loosened the belt of 
 her riding-dress, and the next minute the hounds were over the 
 hedge, and the horsemen, leap after leap, after them, and with 
 
FLIRTATION AND FOX-CHASING. 165 
 
 every successive jump ? my own steed reared and plunged un 
 manageably. 
 
 " Indeed, I cannot stand this !" cried Lady Caroline, gathering 
 up her reins, " Ellis ! see Mr. Berryman home !" and away went 
 the flying Arabian over the hedge with a vault that left me breath 
 less with astonishment. One minute I made the vain effort to 
 control my own horse, and turn his head in the other direction, 
 but my strength was gone. I had never leaped a fence in my life 
 on horseback, though a tolerable rider on the road ; but before I 
 could think how it was to be done, or gather myself together for 
 the leap, Curtal was over the hedge with me, and flying across a 
 i ploughed field like the wind Saladin not far before him. With 
 a glance ahead I saw the red coats rising into the air and disap 
 pearing over another green hedge, and, though the field was 
 crossed in twenty leaps, I had time to feel my blood run cold with 
 the prospect of describing another parabola in the air, and to 
 speculate on the best attitude for a projectile on horseback. Over 
 went Saladin like a greyhound, but his mistress s riding-cap 
 caught the wind at the highest point of the curve, and flew back 
 into my face as Curtal rose on his haunches, and over I went 
 again, blinded and giddy, and, with the cap held flat against my 
 bosom by the pressure of the air, flew once more at a tremendous 
 pace onward. My feet were now plunged to the instep in the 
 | stirrups, and my back, too weak to support me erect, let me down 
 I to my horse s mane, and, one by one, along the skirt of a rising 
 ; woodland, I could see the red coats dropping slowly behind. 
 Right before me like a meteor, however, streamed back the loos- 
 I ened tresses of Lady Caroline, and Curtal kept close on the 
 i track of Saladin, neither losing nor gaining an inch apparently, 
 and nearer and nearer sounded the baying of the hounds, and 
 
166 AN INVOLUNTARY CHASE. 
 
 clearer became my view of the steady and slight waist riding so 
 fearlessly onward. Of my horse I had neither guidance nor con 
 trol. He needed none. The hounds had crossed a morass, and 
 we were rounding a half-circle on an acclivity to come up with 
 them, and Curtal went at it too confidently to be in error. Evenly 
 as a hand-gallop on a green sward his tremendous pace told off, 
 and if his was the ease of muscular power, the graceful speed of 
 the beautiful creature moving before me seemed the aerial buoy 
 ancy of a bird. Obstructions seemed nothing. That flowing 
 dress and streaming hair sailed over rocks and ditches, and over 
 them, like their inseparable shadow, glided I, and, except one 
 horseman who still kept his distance ahead, we seemed alone in 
 the field. The clatter of hoofs, and the exclamations of excite 
 ment had ceased behind me, and, though I was capable of no 
 exertion beyond that of keeping my seat, I no longer feared the 
 leap nor the pace, and began to anticipate a safe termination to 
 my perilous adventure. A slight exclamation from Lady Caro 
 line reached my ear and I looked forward. A small river waff 
 before us, and, from the opposite bank, of steep clay, the rider 
 who had preceded us was falling back, his horse s forefeet high in 
 the air, and his arms already in the water. I tried to pull my 
 reins. I shouted to my horse in desperation. And, with the ex 
 ertion, my heart seemed to give way within me. Giddy and 
 faint I abandoned myself to my fate. I just saw the flying heels 
 of Saladin planted on the opposite bank and the streaming hair 
 still flying onward, when, with a bound that, it seemed to me, 
 must rend every fibre of the creature beneath me, I saw the 
 water gleam under my feet, and still I kept on. We flew over a 
 fence into a stubble field, the hounds just before us, and over a 
 gate into the public highway, which we followed for a dozen 
 
FLIRTATION AND FOX-CHASING. 167 
 
 KHinds, and then, with a pace slightly moderated, we successively 
 
 leared a low wall and brought up, on our horses haunches, in 
 
 he midst of an uproar of dogs, cows, and scattering poultry the 
 
 DX having been run down at last in the enclosure of a barn. I 
 
 lad just strength to extricate my feet from the stirrups, take Lady 
 
 Caroline s cap, which had kept its place between my elbows and 
 
 cnees, and present it to her as she sat in her saddle, and my legs 
 
 ;;ave way under me. I was taken into the farmhouse, and, at the 
 
 close of a temporary ellipse, I was sent back to Tresethen Castle 
 
 in a post-chaise, and once more handed over to the doctor ! 
 
 Well, my third siege of illness was more tolerable, for I received 
 daily, now, some message of inquiry or some token of interest from 
 Lady Caroline, though I learned from the Countess that she was 
 in sad disgrace for her inveiglement of my trusting innocence. I 
 also received the cards of the members of the hunt, with many 
 inquiries complimentary to what they were pleased to consider 
 American horsemanship, and I found that my seizure of the flying 
 sap of Lady Caroline and presentation of it to her Ladyship at 
 the death," was thought to be worthy, in chivalry of Bayard, 
 ind in dexterity of Ducrow. Indeed, when let out again to the 
 sonvalescent walk in the conservatory, I found that I was counted 
 i hero even by the stately Earl. There slipped a compliment, 
 too, here and there, through the matronly disapprobation of 
 Lady Tresethen and all this was too pleasant to put aside with 
 a disclaimer so I bid truth and modesty hold their peace, and 
 took the honor the gods chose to provide. 
 
 But now came dangers more perilous than my ride on Curtal. 
 Lady Caroline was called upon to be kind to me ! Daily as the 
 pld servant left me in the alley of japonicas, she appeared from 
 the glass door of her mother s boudoir and devoted herself to my 
 
168 DANGEROUS. 
 
 comfort walking with me, while I could walk, in those fragrant 
 and balmy avenues of flowers, and then bringing me into her 
 mother s luxurious apartment, where books, and music, and con 
 versation as frank and untrammelled as man in love could ask, 
 wiled away the day. Wiled it away ? winged it shod it with 
 velvet and silence, for I never knew how it passed ! Lady Caro 
 line had a mind, of the superiority stamped so consciously on her 
 lip. She anticipated no consequences from her kindness, there 
 fore she was playful and unembarrassed. She sang to me, and I 
 read to her. Her rides were given up, and Saladin daily went 
 past the window to his exercise, and, with my most zealous scrutiny, 
 I could detect in her face neither impatience of confinement nor 
 regret at the loss of weather fitter for pleasures out of doors. 
 Spite of every caution with which hope could be chained down, I 
 was flattered. 
 
 You smile (Tom said, though he was looking straight into the 
 water, and had not seen my face for half an hour) but, without 
 the remotest hope of taking Lady Caroline to Kentucky, or of 
 becoming English on the splendid dowry of the heiress of Trese- 
 then, I still felt it impossible to escape from my lover s attitude 
 impossible to avoid hoarding up symptoms, encouragements, flat 
 teries, and all the moonshine of amatory anxiety. I was in love 
 and who reasons in love ? 
 
 One morning, after I had become an honorary patient an in- , 
 valid only by sufferance and was slowly admitting the unwelcome 
 conviction that it was time for me to be shaping my adieux the I 
 conversation took rather a philosophical turn. The starting point 
 was a quotation, in a "magazine, from Richter : " Is not a man s 
 universe within his head, whether a king s diadem or a torn scull- 
 cap be without ?" and I had insisted rather strenuously on the 
 
FLIRTATION AND FOX-CHASING. 169 
 
 levelling privilege we enjoyed in the existence of a second world 
 around us the world of revcry and dream wherein the tyranny, 
 and check, and the arbitary distinctions of the world of fact, were 
 never felt and where he, though he might be a peasant, who had 
 i the consciousness in his soul that he was a worthy object of love 
 to a princess, could fancy himself beloved and revel in imaginary 
 possession. 
 
 " Why," said I, turning with a sudden flush of self-confidence 
 to Lady Caroline, " Why should not the passions of such a world, 
 the loving and returning of love infancy, have the privilege of 
 language : Why should not matches be made, love confessed, 
 i vows exchanged, and fidelity sworn, valid within the realm of dream- 
 laud only ? Why should I not say to you, for example, I adore 
 i you, dear lady, and in my world of thought you shall, if you so 
 condescend, be my bride and mistress ; and why, if you responded 
 to this and listened to my vows of fancy, should your bridegroom 
 of the world of fact feel his rights invaded ?" 
 
 " In fancy let it be then !" said Lady Caroline, with a blush 
 and a covert smile, and she rang the bell for luncheon. 
 
 Well I still lingered a couple of days, and, on the last day of 
 
 my stay at Tresethen, I became sufficiently emboldened to take 
 
 Lady Caroline s hand, behind the fountain of the conservatory, 
 
 and to press it to my lips with a daring wish that its warm 
 
 i pulses belonged to the world of fancy. 
 
 She withdrew it very kindly, and (I thought) sadly, and begged 
 | me to go to the boudoir and bring her a volume of Byron that 
 lay on her work-table. 
 
 I brought it, and she turned over the leaves a moment, and, 
 with her pencil, marked two lines and gave ine the book, bidding 
 me an abrupt good morning. I stood a few minutes with my 
 
170 THE WAY HEARTS BREAK. 
 
 heart beating ana my brain faint, but finally summoned courage 
 to read : 
 
 ;i I can not lose a world for thee 
 But would not lose thee for the world !" 
 
 I left Tresethen the next morning, and 
 
 " Hold on, Tom !" cried I " there comes the boat with our 
 dinner from Valetta, and we ll have your sorrows over our Bur 
 gundy." 
 
 " Sorrows !" exclaimed Tom, " I was going to tell you of the 
 fun I had at her wedding !" 
 
 " Lord preserve us !" 
 
 , 
 
 " Bigamy wasn t it ? after our little nuptials in dream-land 
 She told her husband all about it at the wedding breakfast, and 
 
 his lordship (she married the Marquis of ) begged to know 
 
 the extent of my prerogatives. I was sorry to confess that they 
 did not interfere very particularly with his /" 
 
BEWARE OF DOGS AND WALTZING, 
 
 THE birds that flew over County Surrey on the twelfth of 
 June, 1845, looked down upon a scene of which many a " lord 
 
 of creation," travelling only by the roads, might well have envied 
 them the seeing. For, ever so merry let it be within the lordly 
 parks of England, the trees that look over the ring fence upon 
 the world without, keep their countenance aristocrats that they 
 are ! Round and round Beckton park you might have travelled 
 that sunny day, and often within arrow-shot of its hidden and 
 fairy lawn, and never suspected, but by the magnetic tremor in 
 your veins, that beautiful women were dancing near by, and 
 
 . " marvellous proper men," more or less enamored, looking on 
 every pink and blue girdle a noose for a heart, of course, and 
 every gay waistcoat a victim venturing near the trap (though 
 
 I this last is mentioned entirely on my own responsibility). 
 
 But what have we to do with the unhappy exiles without this 
 
 | pretty Paradise ! You are an invited guest, dear reader ! Pray 
 walk in ! 
 
 Did you ask about the Becktons ? The Becktons are people 
 j blessed with money and a very charming acquaintance. That is 
 
172 A MORNING PARTY. 
 
 enough to know about them. Yet stay ! Sir Thomas was 
 knighted for his behavior at some great crisis in India (for he 
 made his fortune in India) and Lady Beckton is no great beauty, 
 but she has the mania of getting handsome people together, and 
 making them happier than belongs properly to handsome people s 
 destiny. And this, I think, must suffice for a first introduction. 
 
 The lawn, as you see, has the long portico of the house on one 
 side of it, a bend of the river on two other sides, and a thick 
 shrubbery on the fourth. The dancing-floor is in the centre, 
 inlaid at the level of the smooth sward, and it is just now vibrat 
 ing to the measured step of the mazurka beautifully danced, we 
 must say ! 
 
 And now let me point out to you the persons most concerned in 
 this gossip of mine. 
 
 First, the ladies. 
 
 Miss Blakeney (and she was never called anything but Miss 
 Blakeney never Kate, or Kitty, or Kathleen, I mean, though 
 her name was Catherine) Miss Blakeney is that very stylish, 
 very striking, very magnificent girl, I think I may say, with the 
 white chip hat and black feather. Nobody but Miss Blakeney 
 could venture to wear just the dress she is sporting, but she must 
 dash, though she is in half-mourning, and, faith ! there is nothing 
 out of keeping, artistically speaking, after all. A white dress em 
 broidered with black flowers, dazzling white shoulders turned over 
 with black lace, white neck and forehead (brilliantly white), waved 
 over and kissed by luxuriant black ringlets (brilliantly black) ! 
 And very white temples with very black eyes, and very white 
 eyelids with long black lashes ; and, since those dazzling white 
 teeth were without a contrast, there hung upon her neck a black 
 cross of ebony. And now we have put her in black and white, 
 
BEWARE OF DOGS AND WALTZING. 173 
 
 where she will " stay put." Scripta verla manentj saith the 
 cautionary proverb. 
 
 Here and there, you observe, there is a small Persian carpet 
 spread on the sward for those who like to lounge and look at the 
 dancers, and though a score of people, at least, are availing them 
 selves of this oriental luxury, no one looks so modestly pretty, 
 half-couched on the richly-colored woof, as that simply-dressed 
 blonde, with a straw hat in her lap, and her light auburn curls 
 taking their saucy will of her blue-veined neck and shoulders. 
 That lady s plain name is Mabel Brown, and, like yourself, many 
 persons have wished to change it for her. She is half-married, 
 indeed, to several persons here present, for there is ana consent 
 ing party. Mais Vautre ne veut pas, as a French novelist 
 laments it, stating a similar dilemma. Meantime, Miss Brown is 
 the adopted sister of the black and white Miss Blakeney. 
 One more exercise of my function of cicerone ! 
 Lying upon the bank of the river, with his shoulder against that 
 fine oak, and apparently deeply absorbed in the fate of the acorn- 
 cups which he throws into the current, you may survey the 
 elegant person of Mr. Lindsay Maud a gentleman whom I wish 
 you to take for rather more than his outer seeming, since he will 
 show you, at the first turn of his head, that he cares nothing for 
 your opinion, though entitled, as the diplomatists phrase it, to 
 i your u high consideration." Mr. Maud is twenty-five, more or 
 less six feet, or thereabouts. He has the sanguineous tint, 
 rather odd for so phlegmatic a person as he seems. His nose is 
 un petit peu retrousse , his lips full, and his smile easy and ready. 
 His eyes are like the surface of a very deep well. Curling brown 
 hair, broad and calm forehead, merry chin with a dimple in it, 
 and mouth expressive of great good humor, and quite enough of 
 
174 CALLED TO ACCOUNT. 
 
 fastidiousness If this is not your beau ideal, I am very sorry 
 but experience went to show that Lindsay Maud was a very 
 agreeable man, and pleased generally where he undertook it. 
 
 And now, if you please, having done the honors, I will take up 
 the story en simple conteur. 
 
 The sky was beginning to blush about the sun s going to bed, 
 and the dancers and archers Avere pairing off, couple by couple, to 
 stroll and cool in the dim shrubberies of Beckton park. It was 
 an hour to breakfast, so called, for breakfast was to be served in 
 the darker edge of the twilight. With the afore-named oak-tree 
 between him and the gay company, Mr. Lindsay Maud beguiled 
 his hunger (for hungry he was), by reading a volume of that vei 
 clever novel, " Le Pere Goriot," and, chapter by chapter, h< 
 cocked up his ear," as the story-books say, hoping to hear th< 
 cheerful bell of the tower announce the serving of the soup am 
 champagne. 
 
 " Well, Sir Knight Faineant!" said Lady Beckton, stepping 
 in suddenly between his feet and the river brink, " since whei 
 have you turned woman-hater, and enrolled among the unavail- 
 ables ? Here have you lain all day in the shade, with scores of 
 nice girls dancing on the other side of your hermit tree, and not 
 sign of life not a look even to see whether my party, got up wit 
 so much pains, flourished or languished ! I ll cross you out of 
 little book, recreant !" 
 
 Maud Avas by this time on his feet, and he penitently and 
 spectfully kissed the fingers threateningly held up to him fc 
 the unpardonable sin, in a single man, is to appear unamused, 
 alone failing to amuse others at a party sworn to be agreeable. 
 " I have but half an apology," he said, " that of knowing tl 
 your parties go swimmingly off, whether I pnll an oar or no ; but 
 
BEWARE OF DOGS AND WALTZING. 175 
 
 I deserve not the less to be crossed out of your book. Something 
 ails me. I am growing old, or my curiosity has burnt out, or I 
 am touched with some fatal lethargy. Upon my word, I would as 
 lief listen to a Latin sermon as chat for the next half hour with 
 the prettiest girl at Beckton ! There s no inducement, my dear 
 Lady Beckton ! I m not a marrying man, you know, and flirta 
 tion flirtation is such tiresome repetition endless reading of 
 prefaces, and never coming to the agreeable first chapter. But 
 I ll obey orders. Which is the destitute woman ? You shall see 
 how I will redeem my damaged reputation !" 
 
 But Lady Beckton, who seldom refused an offer from a beau to 
 make himself useful at her parties, seemed hardly to listen to 
 Maud s justification. She placed her arm in his, and led him 
 across the bridge which spanned the river a little above, and they 
 were presently out of hearing in one of the cool and shaded 
 avenues of the park. 
 
 " A penny for your thought !" said Maud, after walking at her 
 side a few minutes in silence. 
 
 " It is a thought, certainly, in which pennies are concerned," 
 replied Lady Beckton, " and that is why I find any trouble in 
 giving expression to it. It is difficult enough to talk with gentle 
 men about love, but that is easy to talking about money." 
 
 " Yet they make a pretty tandem, money on the lead !" 
 
 " Oh ! are you there r" exclaimed Lady Beckton, with a laugh ; 
 " I was beginning too far back, altogether ! My dear Lindsay, 
 see how much better I thought of you than you deserved ! I was 
 turning over in my mind, with great trepidation and embarrass 
 ment, how I should venture to talk to you about a money-and-love 
 match !" 
 
 " Indeed ! for what happy man r" 
 
176 A WIFE PROPOSED. 
 
 a Toi meme, man ami / " 
 
 " Heavens ! you quite take away my breath ! Spare yourself 
 the overture, my dear Lady Beckton ! I agree ! I am quite 
 ready sold from this hour if you can produce a purchaser, and 
 possession given immediately !" 
 
 " Now you go too fast ; for I have not time to banter, and . 
 wish to see my way in earnest before I leave you. Listen to me 
 I was talking you over with Beckton this morning. I ll no* 
 trouble you with the discussion it would make you vain 
 perhaps. But we arrived at this : Miss Blakeney would be 2 
 very good match for you, and, if you are inclined to make i 
 demonstration that way, why, we will do what we can to make i 
 plain sailing. Stay with us a week, for instance, and we will keej 
 the Blakeneys. It a sweet month for pairing, and you are ar 
 expeditious love-maker, I know. Is it agreed ?" 
 
 " You are quite serious ?" 
 
 " Quite !" 
 
 " I ll go back with you to the bridge, kindest of friends, anc 
 return and ramble here till the bell rings by myself. I ll fin( 
 you at table, by-and-by, and express my gratitude at least. Wil 
 that be time enough for an answer ?" 
 
 " Yes but no ceremony with me ! Stay and ponder wher< 
 you are ! Au r avoir ! I must see after my breakfast !" 
 
 And away tripped the kind-hearted Lady Beckton. 
 
 Maud resumed his walk. He was rather taken aback. H 
 knew Miss Blakeney but as a waltzing partner, yet that should b< 
 but little matter ; for he had long ago made up his mind that, i 
 he did not marry rich, he could not marry at all. 
 
 Maud was poor that is to say, he had all that an angel woul 
 
BEWARE OF DOGS AND WALTZING. 177 
 
 uppose necessary in this hungry and cold world assurance of 
 
 ood and clothing in other words, three hundred a year. He 
 
 .ad had his unripe time like other youths, in which he was ready 
 
 o marry for love and no money ; but his timid advances at that 
 
 oft period had not been responsibly met by his first course of 
 
 i weethearts, and he had congratulated himself and put a price 
 
 ipon his heart accordingly. Meantime, he thought, the world is 
 
 i, very entertaining place, and the belonging to nobody in par- 
 
 licular has its little advantages. 
 
 And very gayly sped on the second epoch of Mr. Lindsay 
 Maud s history. He lived in a country where, to shine in a pro 
 fession requires the " audace y patience et volonte de quoi renverser 
 . le mondef and, having turned his ambition well about, like a strange 
 coin that might perhaps have passed current in other times, he laid 
 it away, with romance and chivalry, and other things suited only 
 to the cabinets of the curious. He was well born, he was well 
 ! bred. He was a fair candidate for the honors of a " gay man 
 about town" that untaxed exempt that guest by privilege 
 irresponsible denizen of high life, possessed of every luxury on 
 earth except matrimony and the pleasures of payment. And, 
 for a year or two, this was very delightful. He had a half 
 . dozen of those charming female friendships which, like other 
 ephemera in this changing world, must die or turn into something 
 else at the close of a season, and, if this makes the feelings very 
 i hard, it makes the manners very soft ; and Maud was content with 
 the compensation. If he felt, now and then, that he was idling 
 : life away, he looked about him and found countenance at least ; 
 for all his friends were as idle, and there was an analogy to his 
 condition in nature (if need were to find one), for the butterfly 
 
178 MENTAL HISTORY OF A BEAU. 
 
 had his destiny like the bee, and was neither pitied nor re 
 proached that he was not a honey-maker. 
 
 But Maud was now in a third lustrum of his existence, and it 
 was tinted somewhat differently from the rose-colored epochs pr( 
 cedent. The twilight of satisfied curiosity had fallen imper 
 ceptibly around him. The inner veils of society had, one by one, 
 lifted, and there could be nothing new for his eye in the world 
 which he belonged. 
 
 A gay party, which was once to him as full of unattained ol 
 jects as the festal mysteries of Eleusinia to a rustic worshippt 
 of Ceres, was now as readable at a glance as the stripes of 
 backgammon-board. He knew every man s pretensions ane 
 chances, every woman s expectations and defences. Not 
 damsel whose defects he had not discovered, whose mind he 
 not sounded, whose dowry he did not know ; not a beauty 
 married or single, whose nightly game in society he could nc 
 perfectly foretell ; not an affection unoccupied of which he coulc 
 not put you down the cost of engaging it in your favor, tl 
 chances of constancy, the dangers of following or abandoning. 
 He had no stake in society, meantime, yet society itself was all 
 his world. He had no ambitions to further by its aid. And, 
 until now, he had looked on matrimony as a closed door for 
 had neithci property, nor profession likely to secure it, and cii 
 cumstances like these, in the rank in which he moved, are coi 
 prehended among the "any impediments." To have his 
 way, Maud would have accepted no invitations except to dine 
 with the beaux esprits, and he would have concentrated the re 
 mainder of his leisure and attentions upon one agreeable woman 
 (at a time) two selfishnesses very attractive to a blase, but 
 
BEWARE OF DOGS AND WALTZING. 179 
 
 hi >t permitted to any member of society short of a Duke or a 
 p< rcesus. 
 
 And now, with a new leaf turning over in his dull book of life 
 a morning of a new day breaking on his increasing night 
 I indsay Maud tightly screwed his arms across his breast, and 
 j aced the darkening avenue of Beckton Park. The difference 
 1 3tween figuring as a fortune-hunter, and having a fortune hunted 
 for him by others, he perfectly understood. In old and aris 
 tocratic societies, where wealth is at the same time so much more 
 coveted and so much more difficult to win, the eyes of " envy, 
 malice, and all uncharitableness," are alike an omnipresent Argus, 
 in their watch over the avenues to its acquisition. No step, the 
 slightest, the least suspicious, is ever taken toward the hand of an 
 heiress, or the attainment of an inheritance, without the awakening 
 and counter-working of these busy monsters ; and, for a society- 
 man, better to be a gambler or seducer, better to have all the 
 fashionable vices ticketed on his name, than to stand affiched as a 
 fortune-hunter. If to have a fortune cleverly put within reach by 
 a powerful friend, however, be a proportionate beatitude, blessed 
 was Maud. So thought he, at least, as the merry bell of Beckton 
 tower sent its summons through the woods, and his revery gave 
 , place to thoughts of something more substantial. 
 
 And thus far, oh adorable reader ! (for I see what unfathom 
 able eyes are looking over my shoulder) thus far, like an artist 
 making a sketch, of which one part is to be finished, I have dwelt 
 a little on the touches of my pencil. But. by those same unfathom 
 able eyes I know (for in those depths dwell imagination), that, if the 
 remainder be done ever so lightly in outline, even then there will 
 be more than was needed for the comprehension of the story. 
 Thy ready and boundless fancy, sweet lady, would supply it all. 
 
180 BRINGING LOVERS TOGETHER. 1 
 
 
 - 
 
 L* ui 
 
 - 
 
 Given, the characters and scene, what fair creature who has 
 loved, could fail to picture forth the sequel and its more minute 
 surroundings, with rapidity and truth daguerreotypical ? 
 
 Sketchily, then, touch we the unfinished denouement of o 
 story. 
 
 The long saloon was already in glittering progress when Maud 
 entered. The servants in their blue and white liveries were 
 gliding rapidly about, with the terrestrial nutriment for eyes 
 celestial to wit, wines and oysters. 
 
 Half blinded with the glare of the numberless lights, he stood a 
 moment at the door. 
 
 " Lady Beckton s compliments, and she has reserved a seat 
 you !" said a footman approaching him. 
 
 He glanced at the head of the table. The vacant chair 
 was near Lady Beckton and opposite Miss Blakeney. " Is 
 a vis-a-vis better for love-making than a seat at the lady s ear ?" 
 thought Maud. But Lady Beckton s tactics were to spare his 
 ear and dazzle his eye, without reference especially to the cor 
 responding impressions on the eyes and ear of the lady. And 
 she had the secondary object of avoiding any betrayal of her 
 designs till they were too far matured to be defeated 
 publicity. 
 
 u Can you tell me, Mr. Maud," said the sweet voice 
 Mabel Brown, as he drew his chair to the table, " what 
 the secret of Lady Beckton s putting you next me so per 
 naciously ?" 
 
 " A greater regard for my happiness than yours, probably 
 said Maud ; "but why pertinaciously ? Has there been 
 skirmish for this particular chair ? r 
 
BEWARE OF DOGS AND WALTZING. 
 
 " No skirmish, but three attempts at seizure by three of my 
 : a inirers. 
 
 " If they admire you more than I, they are fitter companions 
 f( p a tete-a-tete than a crowded party," said Maud. " I am as 
 n ar a lover as I can be, and be agreeable !" 
 
 To this Maud expected the gay retort due to a bagatelle of 
 
 ligiUantry; but the pretty Mabel was silent. The soup disap 
 
 peared and the entremets were served. Maud was hungry, and 
 
 h(j had sent a cutlet and a glass of Johannisberg to the clamorous 
 
 quarter before he ventured to look toward his hostess. 
 
 He felt her eyes upon him. A covert smile stole through her 
 lips as they exchanged glances. 
 
 " Yes ?" she asked, with a meaning look. 
 
 " Yes ! 
 
 e 
 And, in that dialogue of two monosyllables, Lady Beckton pre 
 
 sumed that the hand and five thousand a year of Miss Catherine 
 Blakeney, were virtually made over to Mr. Lindsay Maud. And 
 her diplomacy made play to that end, without farther deli 
 beration. 
 
 Very unconscious indeed that she was under the eye of the 
 man who had entered into a conspiracy to become her husband, 
 Miss Blakeney sat between a guardsman and a diplomatist, carry 
 ing on the war in her usual trenchant and triumphant fashion. 
 She looked exceedingly handsome that Maud could not but 
 fidmit. With no intention of becoming responsible for her man 
 ners, he would even have admired, as he often had done, her 
 skilful coquetries and adroit displays of the beauty with which 
 nature had endowed her. She succeeded, Maud thought, in 
 giving both of her admirers the apparent preference (apparent to 
 themselves, that is to say), and, considering her vis-a-vis worth a 
 
182 TACTICS. 
 
 chance shaft at least, she honored that very attentive gentlemai 
 with such occasional notice, as, under other circumstances, woul< 
 have been far from disagreeable. It might have worn a bette 
 grace, however, coming from simple Miss Blakeney. From th 
 future Mrs. Lindsay Maud, he could have wished those pretty 
 inveiglements very much reduced and modified. 
 
 At his side, the while, sweet Mabel Brown carried on with hie 
 a conversation, which, to the high tone of merriment opposite, wa 
 like the intermitted murmur of a brook heard in the pauses o 
 merry instruments. At the same time that nothing brilliant o 
 gay seemed to escape her notice, she toned her own voice an 
 flow of thought, so winningly below the excitement around hei 
 that Maud, who was sensible of every indication of superiorit 
 could not but pay her a silent tribute of admiration. "If th 
 were but the heiress !" he ejaculated inwardly. But Mab( 
 Brown was a dependant. 
 Coffee was served. 
 The door at the end of the long saloon was suddenly throw 
 open, and, as every eye turned to gaze into the blazing bal 
 room, a march, with the full power of the band, burst upo 
 the ear. 
 
 The diplomatist who had been sitting at the side of Mi* 
 Blakeney was a German, and a waltzer comme il y en a pcu. A 
 the bidding of Lady Beckton, he put his arm around the waist 
 the heiress, and bore her away to the delicious music of Straus 
 and, by general consent, the entire floor was left to this pair for 
 dozen circles. Miss Blakeney was passionately fond of waltzing 
 and built for it, like a Baltimore clipper for running close to tl 
 wind. If she had a fault that her friends were afraid to jog h 
 memory about, it was the wearing her dresses a flounce too shor 
 
BEWARE OF DOGS AND WALTZING. 183 
 
 ! Her feet and ankles were Fenella s own, while her figure and 
 breezy motion would have stolen Endjmion from Diana. She 
 waltzed too well for a lady all but well enough for a premiere 
 danseuse de V opera. Lady Beckton was a shrewd woman, but 
 she made a mistake in crying " encore . " when this single couple 
 stopped from their admired pas de deux. She thought Maud was 
 just the man to be captivated by that display. But the future 
 Mrs. Lindsay Maud must not have ankles for general admiration. 
 Oh, no ! 
 
 Maud wished to efface the feeling this exhibition had caused, by 
 sharing in the excitement. 
 
 " Miss Brown," he said, as two or three couples went off", 
 "permit me the happiness of one turn !" and, scarce waiting for 
 an answer, he raised his arm to encircle her waist. 
 
 Mabel took his hands, and playfully laid them across each 
 other on his own breast in an attitude of resignation. 
 
 " I never waltz," she said. " But don t think me a prude ! 
 I don t consider it wrong in those who think it right." 
 
 " But with this music tugging at your heels !" said Maud, who 
 did not care to express how much he admired the delicacy of her 
 distinction. 
 
 " Ah, with a husband or a brother, I should think one could 
 scarce resist bounding away ; but I cannot " 
 
 " Cannot what ? cannot take me for either ?" interrupted 
 ; Maud, with an air of affected malice that covered a very strong 
 desire to ask the question in earnest. 
 
 She turned her eyes suddenly upon him with a rapid look of 
 ; inquiry, and, slightly coloring, fixed her attention silently on the 
 waltzers. 
 
184 YES, MEANING NO. 
 
 Lady Beckton came, making her way through the crowd. She 
 touched Maud on the arm. 
 
 " Hold hook and line ! is it not ?" she said, in a whisper. 
 
 After an instant s hesitation, Maud answered, " Yes !" but 
 pages, often, would not suffice to express all that passes through 
 the mind in " an instant s hesitation." All Lindsay Maud s 
 prospects and circumstances were reviewed in that moment ; all 
 his many steps by which he had arrived at the conclusion that 
 marriage with him must be a matter of convenience merely ; all his 
 put-down impulses and built-up resolutions ; all his regrets, con 
 solations, and offsets ; all his better and worser feelings ; all his 
 former loves (and in that connexion, strangely enough, Mabel 
 Brown) ; all his schemes, in short, for smothering his pain in the 
 sacrifice of his heart, and making the most of the gain to his 
 pocket, passed before him in that half minute s review. But he 
 said" Yes!" 
 
 The Blakeney carriage was dismissed that night, with orders to 
 bring certain dressing-maids, and certain sequents of that useful 
 race, on the following morning, to Beckton Park, and the three 
 persons who composed the Blakeney party, an old aunt, Miss 
 Blakeney, and Mabel Brown, went quietly to bed under the hos 
 pitable roof of Lady Beckton. 
 
 How describe (and what need of it, indeed!) a week at an 
 
 English country-house, with all its age of chances for loving and 
 
 hating, its eternity of opportunities for all that hearts can have to 
 
 regulate in this shorthand life of ours ? Let us come at once to 
 
 , the closing day of this visit. 
 
 Maud lay late abed on the day that the Blakeneys were to 
 leave Beckton Park. Fixed from morning till night in the firm 
 resolution at which he had arrived with so much trouble and self- 
 
BEWARE OF DOGS AND WALTZING. 
 
 control, he was dreaming from night till morning of a felicity in 
 which Miss Blakeney had little share. He wished the marriage 
 could be all achieved in the signing of a bond. He found that he 
 had miscalculated his philosophy, in supposing that he could 
 venture to loose thought and revery upon the long-forbidden sub 
 ject of marriage. In all the scenes eternally being conjured up 
 to his fancy scenes of domestic life the bringing of Miss Blake 
 ney into the picture was an after effort. Mabel Brown stole into 
 it, spite of himself the sweetest and dearest feature of that 
 enchanting picture, in its first warm coloring by the heart. But, 
 day by day, he took the place assigned him by Lady Beckton at 
 the side of Miss Blakeney, riding, driving, dining, strolling, with 
 reference to being near her only, and, still, scarce an hour could 
 pass in which, spite of all effort to the contrary, he did not betray 
 his passionate interest in Mabel Brown. 
 
 He arose and breakfasted. Lady Beckton and the young 
 ladies were bonnetted and ready for a stroll in the park woods, 
 and her Ladyship came and whispered in Maud s ear, as he leaned 
 over his coffee, that he must join them presently, and that she 
 had prepared Miss Blakeney for an interview with him, which 
 she would arrange as they rambled. 
 
 " Take no refusal !" were her parting words as she stepped out 
 upon the verandah. 
 
 Maud strolled leisurely towards the rendezvous indicated by 
 Lady Beckton. He required all the time he could get to confirm 
 his resolutions and recover his usual maintien of repose. With 
 his mind made up at last, and a face in which few would have 
 j read the heart in fetters beneath, he jumped a wicker-fence, and, 
 by a cross-path, brought the ladies in view. They were walking 
 separately, but, as his footsteps were heard, Lady Beckton slipped 
 
186 A DOG FOR A GOOD ANGEL. 
 
 her arm into Miss Brown s, and commenced, apparently, a very 
 earnest undertone of conversation. Miss Blakeney turned. Hei 
 face glowed with exercise, and Maud confessed to himself that he 
 rarely had seen so beautiful a woman. 
 
 " You are come in time, Mr. Maud," she said, " for some 
 thing is going on between my companions from which I air 
 excluded." 
 
 " En revanche, suppose we have our little exclusive secret! 
 said Maud, offering his arm. 
 
 Miss Blakeney colored slightly, and consented to obey th 
 slight resistance of his arm, by which they fell behind. A silence 
 of a few moments followed, for, if the proposed secret were a pro 
 posal of marriage, it had been too bluntly approached. Mauc 
 felt that he must once more return to indifferent topics, and leac 
 on the delicate subject at his lips with more tact and preparation 
 
 They ascended a slight elevation in the walk which overlooked th( 
 wilder confines of the park. A slight smoke rose from a clump o 
 trees, indicating an intrusion of gipsies within, and, the ner 
 instant, a deep-mouthed bark rang out before them, and the twc 
 ladies came rushing back in violent terror, assailed at every step 
 of their flight by a powerful and infuriated mastiff. Maud ran 
 forward immediately, and succeeded in driving the dog back tc 
 the tents ; but, on his return, he found only the terrified Mabel 
 who, leaning against a tree, and partly recovered from her breath 
 less flight, was quietly awaiting him. 
 
 u Here is a change of partners as my heart would have it ! 
 thought Maud, as he drew her slight arm within his own. " Th< 
 transfer looks to me like the interposition of my good angel, and ] 
 accept the warning!" 
 
 And, in words that needed no management to bring them skil- 
 
BEWARE OF DOGS AND WALTZING. 187 
 
 fully on with the eloquence of a heart released from fetters all 
 but intolerable, and from a threatened slavery for life Lindsay 
 Maud poured out the fervent passion of his heart to Mabel 
 Brown. The crust of a selfish and artificial life broke up in the 
 tumult of that declaration, and he found himself once more 
 natural and true to the instincts and better impulses of his cha 
 racter. He was met with the trembling response that such pure 
 love looks for when it finds utterance, and, without a thought of 
 worldly calculation, or a shadow of a scheme for their means and 
 manner of life, they exchanged promises to which the subsequent 
 ceremony of marriage was but the formal seal. 
 
 And, at the announcement of this termination to her matri 
 monial schemes, Lady Beckton seemed much more troubled than 
 Miss Blakeney. 
 
 But Lady Beckton s disappointment was somewhat modified 
 when she discovered that Miss Blakeney had, long before, secretly 
 endowed her adopted sister Mabel with the half of her fortune. 
 
THE REVENGE OF THE SIGNOR BASIL, 
 
 PART I. 
 
 " Un homme capable de faire des dominos avec les os de son pere." PERE GORIOT. 
 
 IT was in the golden month of August, not very long ago, that 
 the steamer which plies between St. Mark s Stairs, at Venice, 
 and the river into which Phaeton turned a somerset with the 
 horses of the sun, started on its course over the lagoon with an 
 unusual God-send of passengers. The moon was rising from the 
 unchaste bed of the Adriatic (wedded every year to Venice, yet 
 every day and night sending the sun and moon from her lovely 
 bosom to the sky), and while the gold of the west was still glow 
 ing on the landward side of the Campanile, a silver gleam was 
 brightening momently on the other, and the Arabic domes of 
 St. Mark, and the flying Mercury on the Dogana, paled to the set 
 ting orb and kindled to the rising, with the same Talleyrand- 
 esque facility. 
 
 For the first hour the Mangia-foco sputtered on her way with 
 a silent company ; the poetry of the scene, or the regrets at leav 
 ing the delicious city lessening in the distance, affecting all alike 
 with a thoughtful incommunicativeness. Gradually, however, 
 
THE REVENGE OF THE SIGNOR BASIL. 189 
 
 ie dolphin hues over the Brenta faded away the marble city 
 ; ink into the sea, with its turrets and bright spires the still la- 
 I oon became a sheet of polished glass and the silent groups lean- 
 : ig over the rails found tongues and feet, and began to stir and 
 1 rarmur. 
 
 With the usual unconscious crystallization of society, the pas- 
 g 3ngers of the Mangia-foco had yielded one side of the deck to a 
 j arty of some rank, who had left their carriages at Ferrara, in 
 coming from Florence to Venice, and were now upon their return 
 to the city of Tasso, stomaching, with what grace they might, 
 the contact of a vulgar conveyance which saved them the hun- 
 idred miles of posting between Ferrara and the Brenta. In the 
 i centre of the aristocratic circle stood a lady enveloped in a cash 
 mere, but with her bonnet hung by the string over her arm one 
 of those women of Italy upon whom the divinest gifts of loveliness 
 i are showered with a profusion which apparently impoverishes the 
 | sex of the whole nation. A beautiful woman in that land is 
 rarely met ; but when she does appear, she is what Venus would 
 have been, after the contest for beauty on Ida, had the weapons of 
 ! her antagonists, as in the tournaments of chivalry, been added to 
 the palm of victory. The Marchesa del Marmore was apparently 
 i twenty-three, and she might have been an incarnation of the 
 morning-star for pride and brightness. 
 
 On the other side of the deck stood a group of young men, who, 
 by their careless and rather shabby dress, but pale and intel 
 lectual faces, were of that class met in every public conveyance 
 of Italy. The portfolios under their arms, ready for a sketch, 
 , would have removed a doubt of their profession, had one existed ; 
 and, with that proud independence for which the class is remarka 
 ble, they had separated themselves equally from the noble and 
 
190 STEALING A PORTRAIT. 
 
 ignoble disqualified by inward superiority from association with, 
 the one, and by accidental poverty from the claims cultivation 
 might give them upon the other. Their glances at the divine 
 face turned toward them from the party I have alluded to, were 
 less constant than those of the vulgar, who could not offend ; but 
 they were evidently occupied more with it than with the fishing- 
 boats lying asleep on the lagoon : and one of them, half-buried in 
 the coil of a rope, and looking under the arm of another, had 
 already made a sketch of her that might some day make the 
 world wonder from what seventh heaven of fancy such an angelic 
 vision of a head had descended upon the painter s dream. 
 
 In the rear of this group, with the air of one who would conceal 
 himself from view, stood a young man who belonged to the party, 
 but who, with less of the pallor of intellectual habits in his face, 
 was much better dressed than his companions, and had, in spite 
 of the portfolio under his arm, and a hat of the Salvator breadth 
 of brim, the undisguisable air of a person accustomed to the best 
 society. While maintaining a straggling conversation with his 
 friends, with whom he seemed a favorite, Signor Basil employed 
 himself in looking over the sketch of the lovely Marchesa going 
 on at his elbow occasionally, as if to compare it with the origi 
 nal, stealing a long look, from between his hand and his slouched 
 hat, at the radiant creature sitting so unconsciously for her picture, 
 and in a low voice correcting, as by the result of his gaze, the 
 rapid touches of the artist. 
 
 " Take a finer pencil for the nostril, caro mio !" said he ; 
 "it is as thin as the edge of a violet, and its transparent 
 curve " 
 
 " Cospetto !" said the youth ; but you see by this faint ligh 
 better than I : if she would but turn to the moon 
 
 
THE REVENGE OF THE SIGNOR BASIL. 191 
 
 The Signer Basil suddenly flung his handkerchief into the 
 igoon, bringing its shadow between the Queen of Night and the 
 /larchcsa del Marmore ; and, attracted from her revery by the 
 assing object, the lady moved her head quickly to the light, and, 
 a that moment, the spirited lip and nostril were transferred to 
 he painter s sketch. 
 
 " Thanks, mio bravo !" enthusiastically exclaimed the looker- 
 < n ; " Giorgione would not have beaten thee with the crayon !" 
 j,nd, with a rudeness which surprised the artist, he seized the 
 paper from beneath his hand, and walked away with it to the 
 stern, and, leaning far over the rails, perused it fixedly by the mel 
 low lustre of the moon. The youth presently followed him, and, 
 after a few words exchanged in an undertone, Signor Basil slipped 
 a piece of gold into his hand, and carefully placed the sketch in 
 his own portfolio. 
 
 II. 
 
 It was toward midnight when the Mangia-foco entered the 
 Adige, and keeping its steady way between the low banks of the 
 river, made for the grass-grown and flowery canal which connects 
 its waters with the Po. Most of the passengers had yielded to 
 the drowsy influence of the night air, and, of the aristocratic 
 party on the larboard side, the young Marchesa alone was waking : 
 |her friends had made couches of their cloaks and baggage, and 
 i were reclining at her feet, while the artists, all except the Signor 
 Basil, were stretched fairly on the deck, their portfolios beneath 
 their heads, and the large hats covering their faces from the 
 powerful rays of the moon. 
 
 " Miladi does justice to the beauty of the night," said the 
 
192 A. STOLEN PORTRAIT. 
 
 OU3 
 
 : 
 
 ,;i: 
 
 waking artist, iu a low and respectful tone, as he rose fron 
 her feet with a cluster of tuberoses she had let fall from he 
 hand. 
 
 " It is indeed lovely, Signor pittore," responded the Marchesa 
 glancing at his portfolio, and receiving the flowers with a gracious 
 inclination ; u have you touched Venice from the lagoon 
 night ?" 
 
 The Signor Basil opened his portfolio, and replied to the indi 
 rect request of the lady by showing her a very indifferent sketch 
 of Venice from the island of St. Lazzaro. As if to escape fron 
 the necessity of praising what had evidently disappointed her, sh< 
 turned the cartoon hastily, and exposed, on the sheet beneath 
 the spirited and admirable outline of her own matchless features 
 
 A slight start alone betrayed the surprise of the high-born lady 
 and, raising the cartoon to examine it more closely, she said with 
 a smile, " You may easier tread on Titian s heels than Cana- 
 letti s. Bezzuoli has painted me, and not so well. I will awake 
 the Marquis, and he shall purchase it of you." 
 
 " Not for the wealth of the Medici, madam !" said the young 
 man, clasping his portfolio hastily, " pray, do not disturb mo: 
 signore ! The picture is dear to me !" 
 
 The Marchesa, looking into his face, with a glance aro 
 which the accomplished courtier before her read better than she 
 dreamed, drew her shawl over her blanched shoulders, and 
 settled herself to listen to the conversation of her new acquaint 
 ance. 
 
 " You would be less gracious if you were observed, proud 
 beauty," thought Basil ; " but, while you think the poor painter 
 may while away the tediousness of a vigil, he may feed his eyes 
 on your beauty as well." 
 
 
THE REVENGE OF THE SIGNOR BASIL. 193 
 
 The Mangia-foco turned into the canal, threaded its lily-paved 
 atefS for a mile or two, and then, putting forth upon the broad 
 osom of the Po, went on her course against the stream, and, 
 ^ ith retarded pace, penetrated toward the sun-beloved heart of 
 ; fcaly. And while the later hours performed their procession 
 T ith the stars, the Marchesa del Marmore leaned sleepless and 
 i nfatigued against the railing, listening with mingled curiosity 
 i nd scorn to the passionate love-murmur of the enamored painter. 
 His hat was thrown aside, his fair and curling locks were flowing 
 in the night air, his form was bent earnestly but respectfully 
 toward her, and on his lip, with all its submissive tenderness, 
 there sat a shadow of something she could not define, but which 
 rebuked, ever and anon, as with the fierce regard of a noble, the 
 condescension she felt toward him as an artist. 
 
 III. 
 
 Upon the lofty dome of the altar in the cathedral of Bologna 
 stands poised an angel in marble, not spoken of in the books of 
 travellers, but perhaps the loveliest incarnation of a blessed 
 cherub that ever lay in the veined bosoni of Pentelicus. Lost 
 and unobserved on the vast floor of the nave, the group of artists, 
 who had made a day s journey from Ferrara, sat in the wicker 
 chairs, hired for a baioch during the vesper, and drew silently 
 from this angel, while the devout people of Bologna murmured 
 their Ave Marias around. Signer Basil alone was content to look 
 over the work of his companions, and the twilight had already 
 begun to brighten the undying lamps at the shrine, when he 
 started from the pillar against which he leaned, and crossed hastily 
 toward a group issuing from a private chapel in the western aisle. 
 
194 A SLIGHT 
 
 A lady walked between two gentlemen of noble mien, and behind 
 her, attended by an equally distinguished company, followed that 
 lady s husband, the Marchese del Marmore. They were strangers 
 passing through Bologna, and had been attended to vespers by 
 some noble friends. 
 
 The companions of the Signer Basil looked on with some sur 
 prise as their enamored friend stepped confidently before the two 
 nobles in attendance upon the lady, and arrested her steps with a 
 salutation which, though respectful as became a gentleman, was 
 marked with the easy politeness of one accustomed to a favorable 
 reception. 
 
 " May I congratulate miladi," he said, rising slowly from his 
 bow, and fixing his eyes with unembarrassed admiration on her 
 own liquid but now frowning orbs, " upon her safe journey over 
 the Marches ! Bologna," he continued, glancing at the nobles 
 with a courteous smile, " welcomes her fittingly." 
 
 The lady listened with a look of surprise, and the Bolognes 
 glanced from the dusty boots of the artist to his portfolio. 
 
 " Has the painter the honor to know la Signora ?" asked th 
 cavalier on her right. 
 
 " Signer, si !" said the painter, fiercely, as a curl arched th 
 lady s lip, and she prepared to answer. 
 
 The color mounted to the temples of the Marchesa, and her 
 husband, who had loitered beneath the Madonna of Domenichino, 
 coming up at the instant, she bowed coldly to the Signer Basil, 
 and continued down the aisle. The artist followed to her car 
 riage, and lifted his hat respectfully as the lumbering equipage 
 took its way by the famous statue of Neptune, and then, with 
 confident smile, which seemed to his companions somewhat mi 
 
THE REVENGE OF THE SIGNOR BASIL. 195 
 
 timed, he muttered between his teeth, li ciascu.no son bel 1 giorno /" 
 and strolled loitering on with them to the trattoria. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The court of the Grand-Duke of Florence is perhaps the most 
 cosmopolitan, and the most easy of access, in all Europe. The 
 Austrian-born monarch himself, adopting in some degree the 
 frank and joyous character of the people over whom he reigns, 
 throws open his parks and palaces, his gardens and galleries, to 
 the strangers passing through ; and, in the season of gayety, almost 
 any presentable person, resident at Florence, may procure the 
 entree, to the court balls, and start fair with noble dames and 
 gentlemen for grace in courtly favor. The fetes, at the Palazzo 
 Pitti, albeit not always exempt from a leaven of vulgarity, are 
 always brilliant and amusing, and the exclusives of the court, 
 though they draw the line distinctly enough to their own eye, 
 mix with apparent abandonment in the motley waltz and mazurka ; 
 and, either from good nature or a haughty conviction of their 
 superiority, never suffer the offensive cordon to be felt, scarce to 
 be suspected, by the multitude who divert them. The Grand- 
 Duke, to common eyes, is a grave and rather timid person, with 
 
 ! more of the appearance of the scholar than of the sovereign, 
 courteous in public, and benevolent and earnest in his personal 
 attentions to his guests at the palace. The royal quadrille may 
 be shared without permission of the Grand Chamberlain, and the 
 
 i royal eye, after the first one or two dances of ceremony, searches 
 for partners by the lamp of beauty, heedless of the diamonds on 
 the brow, or the star of nobility on the shoulder. The grand 
 
196 SECRETS OF A PALACE. 
 
THE REVENGE OF THE SIC NOR BASIL. 197 
 
 Via Calzaiole, they emerged into the sunny Piazza, and, looking 
 jp with understanding eyes at the slender shaft of the Campanile 
 (than which a fairer figure of religious architecture points not to 
 leaven), they took their way toward the church of Santa Trinita, 
 proposing to eat their early dinner at a house named, from its ex 
 cellence in a certain temperate beverage, La Birra. The 
 traveller should be advised, also, that by paying an extra paul in 
 the bottle, he may have at, this renowned eating-house, an old 
 nine sunned on the southern shoulder of Fiesole, that hath in its 
 flavor a certain redolence of Boccaccio scarce remarkable, since 
 it grew in the scene of the Decameron but of a virtue which, to 
 the Hundred Tales of Love (read drinking), is what the Gradus 
 ad Parnassum should be to the building of a dithyrambic. The 
 oil of two crazie upon the palm of the fat waiter Giuseppe will 
 assist in calling the vintage to his memory. 
 
 A thundering rap upon the gate of the adjoining Palazzo 
 arrested the attention of the artists as they were about to enter 
 the Birra, and, in the occupant of a dark-green cabriolet, drawn 
 by a pampered horse of the Duke s breed, they recognised, ele 
 gantly dressed, and posed on his seat a la d^Orsay, the Signer 
 Basil. His coat was of an undecided cut and color, and his 
 gloves were of primrose purity. 
 
 The recognition was immediate, and the cordiality of the 
 greeting mutual. They had parted from their companion at the 
 gate of Florence, as travellers part, without question, and they 
 met without reserve to part as questionless again. The artists 
 were surprised at the Signor Basil s transformation, but no fol 
 lower of their refined art would have been so ill-bred as to express 
 it. He wished them the Ion appetite , as a tall chasseur came out 
 to say that her Ladyship was at home ; and, with a slacked rein 
 
198 AN ARISTOCRATIC ANGEL. 
 
 the fiery horse sprang through the gateway, and the marble court 
 of the palace rang with his prancing hoofs. 
 
 He who was idle and bought flowers at the Cafe of the Colonna, 
 at Florence, will have remarked, as he sat in his chair upon the 
 street in the sultry evening, the richly-ornamented terrace and 
 balustrade of the Palazzo Corsi, giving upon the Piazza Trinita. 
 The dark old Ghibelline palace of the Strozzi lets the eye down 
 upon it, as it might pass from a helmeted knight with closed vizor 
 to his unbonneted and laughing page. The crimson curtains of 
 the window opening upon the terrace, at the time of our story, 
 reminded every passing Florentine of the lady who dwelt within 
 a descendant of one of the haughtiest lines of English chivalry 
 resident in Italy, since many years for health, but bearing, in her 
 delicate frame and exquisitely transparent features, the loftiest 
 type of patrician beauty that had ever filled the eye that looked 
 upon her. In the inner heaven of royal exclusiveness at the Pitti 
 in its constellation of rank and wit the Lady Geraldine had 
 long been the worshipped and ascendant cynosure. Happy in a 
 husband without rank and but of moderate fortune, she main 
 tained the spotless character of an English wife in this sphere of 
 conventional corruption ; and, though the idol of the Duke and 
 his nobles, it would have been like a whisper against the purity of 
 the brightest Pleiad, to have linked her name with love. 
 
 With her feet upon a sofa covered with a gossamer cashmere, 
 her lovely head pillowed on a cushion of silk, and a shghi 
 stand, within arm s length, holding a vase of flowers and th< 
 volume from which she had been reading, the Lady Geraldine 
 received the Count Basil Spirifort, some time attache to 
 Russian embassy at Paris (where he had first sunned his eyes 
 
 : 
 
THE REVENGE OF THE SIGNOR BASIL. 199 
 
 her beauty), and at present the newly-appointed secretary to the 
 minister of the same monarch near the court of Tuscany. 
 
 Without a bow, but with the hasty step and gesture of a long 
 absent and favored friend, the Count Basil ran to the proffered 
 hand, and pressed its alabaster fingers to his lips. Had the more 
 common acquaintances of the diplomate seen him at this moment, 
 they would have marvelled how the mask of manhood may drop, 
 and disclose the ingenuous features of the boy. The secretary 
 knew his species, and the Lady Geraldine was one of those women 
 for whom the soul is unwilling to possess a secret. 
 
 After the first inquiries were over, the lady questioned her 
 recovered favorite of his history since they had parted. " I left 
 you," she said, " swimming the dangerous tide of life at Paris. 
 How have you come to shore r" 
 
 " Thanks, perhaps, to your friendship, which made life worth 
 the struggle ! For the two extremes, however, you know what I 
 was at Paris and yesterday 1 was a wandering artist in velveteen 
 and a sombrero !" 
 
 Lady Geraldine laughed. 
 
 " Ah ! you look at my curls but Macassar is at a discount ! 
 It is the only grace I cherished in my incognito. A resumer I 
 got terribly out of love by the end of the year after we parted, 
 and as terribly in debt. My promotion in diplomacy did not 
 arrive, and the extreme hour for my credit did. Pozzo di Borgo 
 kindly procured me conge for a couple of years, and I dived pre 
 sently under a broad-brimmed hat, got into a vetturino with 
 portfolio and pencils, joined a troop of wandering artists, and, with 
 my patrimony at nurse, have been two years looking at life, 
 without spectacles, at Venice." 
 
 " And painting ?" 
 
200 USE OF A PORTRAIT. 
 
 " Painting !" 
 
 " Might one see a specimen ?" asked the Lady Geraldine, with 
 an incredulous smile. ; -* 
 
 " I regret that my immortal efforts in oils are in the possession 
 of a certain Venetian, who lets the fifth floor of a tenement 
 washed by the narrowest canal in that fair city. But, if your 
 Ladyship cares to see a drawing or two " 
 
 He rang the bell, and his jocki Anglais presently brought, from 
 the pocket of his cabriolet, a wayworn and thinly-furnished port 
 folio. The Lady Geraldine turned over a half-dozen indifferent 
 views of Venice, but the last cartoon in the portfolio made he 
 start. 
 
 " La Marchesa del Marmore !" she exclaimed, looking a 
 Count Basil, with an inquiring and half-uneasy eye. 
 
 " Is it well drawn ?" he asked quietly. 
 
 " Well drawn ? it is a sketch worthy of Raphael. Do yo 
 really draw so well as this, or" she added, after a slight hesi 
 tation " is it a miracle of love ?" 
 
 " It is a divine head," soliloquised the Russian, half closing hi 
 eyes, and looking at the drawing from a distance, as if to fill u 
 the imperfect outline from his memory. 
 
 The Lady Geraldine laid her hand on his arm. " My dear 
 Basil," she said seriously, " I should be wretched if I thought 
 your happiness was in the power of this woman. Do you love 
 her?" 
 
 " The portrait was not drawn by me," he answered, u though J 
 have a reason for wishing her to think so. It was done by a fel 
 low-traveller of mine ; whom I wish to make a sketch of yourself 
 and I have brought it here to interest you in him as an artist 
 Mais revenon* n nos mnutons; la. Ma.rchesa was also a fellow- 
 
THE REVENGE OF THE SIGNOR BASIL. 
 
 traveller of mine, and without loving her too violently, I owe her 
 a, certain debt of courtesy contracted on the way. Will you 
 assist me to pay it r" 
 
 Relieved of her fears, and not at all suspecting the good faith 
 of the diplomatist in his acknowledgments of gratitude, the Lady 
 Geraldine inquired simply how she could serve him. 
 
 " In the twenty-four hours since my arrival at Florence," he said, 
 " I have put myself, as you will see, au courant of the minor poli 
 tics of the Pitti. Thanks to my Parisian renown, the duke has 
 enrolled me already under the back-stairs oligarchy, and to-mor 
 row night I shall sup with you in the saloon of Hercules after the 
 ball is over. La Marchesa, as you well know, has, with all her 
 rank and beauty, never been able to set foot within those guarded 
 penetralia wit her malicious tongue, soit the interest, against 
 her, of the men she has played upon her hook too freely. The 
 road to her heart, if there be one, lies over that threshold, 
 and I would take the toll. Do you understand me, most beauti 
 ful Lady Geraldine ? 
 
 The Count Basil imprinted another kiss upon the fingers of the 
 fair Englishwoman, as she promised to put into his hand, the fol 
 lowing night, the illuminated ticket which was to repay, as she 
 thought, too generously, a debt of gratitude ; and, plucking a 
 flower from her vase for his bosom, he took his leave to return at 
 twilight to dinner. Dismissing his cabriolet at the gate, he turned 
 on foot toward the church of San Gaetano, and, with an ex 
 pression of unusual elation in his step and countenance, entered 
 the trattoria, where dined at that moment his companions of the 
 pencil. 
 
202 A PALACE REVEL. 
 
 The green lamps, glittering by thousands amid the foliage of 
 Boboli, had attained their full brightness, and the long-live 
 Italian day had died over the distant mountains of Carrara, 
 ing its inheritance of light apparently to the stars, who, on th( 
 fields of deepening blue, sparkled, each one like the leader of 
 unseen host, in the depths of heaven, himself the foremost and 
 most radiant. The night was balmy and voluptuous. Tl 
 music of the Ducal band swelled forth from the perfumed apai 
 ments on the air. A single nightingale, far back in the wildei 
 ness of the garden, poured from his melodious heart a chant 
 the most passionate melancholy. The sentinel of the body-guai 
 stationed at the limit of the spray of the fountain, leaned on his 
 halberd and felt his rude senses melt in the united spells of luxury 
 and nature. The ministers of a monarch s pleasure had done 
 their utmost to prepare a scene of royal delight, and night and | 
 summer had flung in their enchantments when ingenuity was ex- j 
 hausted. 
 
 The dark architectural mass of the Pitti, pouring a blaze of j 
 light scarce endurable from its deeply-sunk windows, looked like ; 
 the side of an enchanted mountain laid open for the revels of 
 sorcery. The aigrette and plume passed by ; the tiara and the 
 jewel upon the breast ; x the gayly-dressed courtiers and glittering 
 dames ; and, to that soldier at his dewy post, it seemed like 
 realized raving of the improvisatore when he is lost in some fabl 
 of Araby. Yet, within, walked malice and hate, and the light and 
 perfume, that might have fed an angel s heart with love, but 
 deepened in many a beating bosom the consuming fires of envy. 
 
THE REVENGE OF THE SIGNOR BASIL. 2Q3 
 
 With the gold key of office on his cape, the Grand Chamber- 
 rin stood at the feet of the Dowager Grand Duchess, and, by a 
 ; ign to the musicians, hidden in a latticed gallery behind the 
 i orinthian capital of the hall, retarded or accelerated the soft 
 i leasure of the waltz. On a raised seat in the rear of the 
 ( hairs of state, sat the ladies of honor and the noble dames near- 
 ( st allied to royal blood ; one solitary and privileged intruder 
 alone sharing the elevated place the lady Geraldine. Dressed 
 in white, her hair wound about her head in the simplest form, 
 yet developing its divine shape with the clear outline of statuary, 
 ( her eyes lambent with purity and sweetness, heavily fringed with 
 lashes a shade darker than the light auburn braided on her tem 
 ples, and the tint of the summer s most glowing rose turned out 
 from the threadlike parting of her lips, she was a vision of 
 loveliness to take into the memory, as the poet enshrines in his 
 soul the impossible shape of his ideal, and consumes youth and 
 age searching in vain for its like. Fair Lady Geraldine ! thou 
 wilt read these passionate words from one whose worship of thy 
 intoxicating loveliness has never before found utterance, but, if 
 this truly-told tale should betray the hand that has dared to de 
 scribe thy beauty, in thy next orisons to St. Mary of Pity, breathe 
 from those bright lips, a prayer that he may forget thee ! 
 
 By the side of the Lady Geraldine, but behind the chair of the 
 Grand Duchess, who listened to his conversation with singular de 
 light, stood a slight young man of uncommon personal beauty, a 
 stranger apparently to every other person present. His brilliant 
 uniform alone betrayed him to be in the Russian diplomacy ; and 
 the marked distinction shown him, both by the reigning Queen of 
 the Court, and the more powerful and inaccessible queen of beau 
 ty, marked him as an object of keen and universal curiosity. 
 
204 WEAK DOOR TO A HEART. 
 
 
 - 
 
 By the time the fifth mazurka had concluded its pendulous 
 frain, the Grand Chamberlain had tolerably well circulated the 
 name and rank of Count Basil Spirifort, the renowned wit and 
 elegant of Paris, newly appointed to the court of his royal high 
 ness of Tuscany. Fair eyes wandered amid his sunny curls, a 
 beating bosoms hushed their pulses as he passed. 
 
 Count Basil knew the weight of a first impression. Count 
 Basil knew also the uses of contempt. Upon the first principle 
 he kept his place between the Grand Duchess and Lady Geral- 
 dine, exerting his deeply studied art of pleasing, to draw u 
 himself their exclusive attention. Upon the second principl 
 he was perfectly unconscious of the presence of another hu 
 being ; and neither the gliding step of the small-eared princes 
 
 g in the waltz, nor the stately advance of the last femal 
 
 of the Medici in the mazurka, distracted his large blue eyes 
 moment from their idleness. With one hand on the eagle-hilt o 
 his sword, and his side leaned against the high cushion of re 
 velvet honored by the pressure of the Lady Geraldine, he gaze 
 up into that beaming face, when not bending respectfully to th 
 Duchess, and drank steadfastly from her beauty, as the lotus-cup 
 drinks light from the sun. 
 
 The new Secretary had calculated well. In the deep recess of 
 the window looking toward San Miniato, stood a lady, nearly hi 
 den from view by the muslin curtains just stirring with the vib 
 tion of the music, who gazed on the immediate circle of 
 Grand Duchess, with an interest that was not attempted to 
 disguised. On her first entrance into the hall, the Marchesa 
 Marmore had recognised in the new minion of favor her impas 
 sioned lover of the lagoon, her slighted acquaintance of the 
 cathedral. When the first shock of surprise was over, she looked 
 
THE REVENGE OF THE SIGNOR BASIL. 2Q5 
 
 m the form which she had found beautiful even in the disguise 
 )f poverty, and, forgetting her insulting repulse when he would 
 lave claimed in public the smile she had given him when unob 
 served, she recalled with delight every syllable he had murmured 
 n her ear, and every look she had called forth in the light of a 
 Venetian moon. The man who had burned, upon the altar of her 
 ranity, the most intoxicating incense who had broken through 
 i;he iron rules of convention and ceremony, to throw his homage 
 at her feet who had portrayed so incomparably (she believed) 
 with his love-inspired pencil, the features imprinted on his heart 
 this chance-won worshipper, this daring but gifted plebeian, as 
 she had thought him, had suddenly shot into her sphere, and be 
 come a legitimate object of love ; and, beautified by the splendor 
 of dress, and distinguished by the preference and favor of those 
 incomparably above her, he seemed tenfold, to her eyes, the per 
 fection of adorable -beauty. As she remembered his eloquent 
 devotion to herself, and saw the interest taken in him by a woman 
 whom she hated and had calumniated a woman who she believ 
 ed stood between her and all the light of existence she antici 
 pated the triumph of taking him from her side, of exhibiting him 
 to the world as a falcon seduced from his first quarry ; and, never 
 doubting that so brilliant a favorite would control the talisman of 
 : the Paradise she had so long wished to enter, she panted for the 
 moment when she should catch his eye and draw him from his 
 ,lure, and already heard the Chamberlain s voice in her ear, com 
 manding her presence, after the ball, in the saloon of Hercules. 
 
 The Marchesa had been well observed from the first, by the 
 wily diplomate. A thorough adept in the art (so necessary to his 
 profession) of seeing without appearing to see, he had scarce lost 
 a shade of the varying expressions of her countenance ; and 
 
206 NEARING HIS OBJECT. 
 
 while she fancied him perfectly unconscious of her presence, he 
 read her tell-tale features as if they had given utterance to her 
 thoughts. He saw, with secret triumph, the effect of his bril 
 liant position upon her proud and vain heart ; watched her while 
 she made use of her throng of despised admirers to create a sen 
 sation near him, and attract his notice ; and, when the ball wore 
 on, and he was still in unwearied and exclusive attendance upon 
 the Lady Geraldine, he gazed after her with a momentary curl of 
 triumph on his lip, as she took up her concealed position in the 
 embayed window, and abandoned herself to the bitter occupation 
 of watching the happiness of her rival. The Lady Geraldine 
 had never been so animated since her first appearance at the 
 Court of Tuscany. 
 
 It was past midnight when the Grand-Duke, flushed and tired 
 with dancing, came to the side of the Lady Geraldine. Count 
 Basil gave place, and, remaining a moment in nominal obedience 
 to the sovereign s polite request, which he was too politic to con 
 strue literally, he looked down the dance with the air of one whc 
 has turned his back on all that could interest him, and, passing 
 close to the concealed position of the Marchesa, stepped out upc 
 the balcony. 
 
 The air was cool, and the fountain played refreshingly 
 The Count Basil was one of those minds which never have 
 much leisure for digression as when they are most occupied, 
 love, as deep and profound as the abysses of his soul, was wea- 
 ing thread for thread with a revenge worthy of a Mohican ; yet 
 after trying in vain to count eight in the Pleiades, he raised him 
 self upon the marble balustrade, and, perfectly anticipating th 
 interruption to his solitude which presently occurred, began t 
 
THE REVENGE OF THE SIGNOR BASIL. 207 
 
 speculate aloud on the dead and living at that hour beneath the 
 roof of the Pitti. 
 
 " A painter s mistress," he said, " immortal in the touch of 
 her paramour s pencil, is worshipped for centuries on these walls 
 by the pilgrims of art ; while the warm perfection of all loneli 
 ness the purest and divinest ^of highborn women will perish 
 utterly with the eyes that have seen her ! The Bella of Titian, 
 the Fornarina of Raffaelle peasant-girls of Italy have, at this 
 moment, more value in this royal palace, than the breathing forms 
 that inhabit it ! The Lady Geraldine herself, to whom the sove 
 reign offers at this moment his most flattering homage, would 
 be less a loss to him than either ! Yet they despise the gods of 
 the pencil who may thus make them immortal ! The dull blood 
 in their noble veins, that never bred a thought beyond the in 
 stincts of their kind, would look down, forsooth, on the inventive 
 and celestial ichor, that inflames the brain, and prompts the fiery 
 hand of the painter ! How long will this very sovereign live in 
 the memories of men r The murderous Medici, the ambitious 
 Cardinals, the abandoned women, of an age gone by, hang in im 
 perishable colors on his walls ; while of him, the lord of this 
 land of genius, there is not a bust or a picture that would bring a 
 sequin in the market-place ! They would buy genius in these 
 days like wine, and throw aside the flask in which it ripened. 
 Raffaelle and Buonarotti were companions for a Pope and his 
 cardinals : Titian was an honored guest for the Doge. The 
 stimulus to immortalize these noble friends was in the love 
 they bore them ; and the secret in their power to do it, lay half 
 in the knowledge of their characters, gained by daily intimacy. 
 Painters were princes then, as they are beggars now ; and the 
 princely art is beggared as well !" 
 
01 
 
 ,1- 
 
 = 
 
 208 LOVE AT COURT. 
 
 The Marchesa del Marmore stepped out upon the balcony, 
 leaning on the arm of the Grand Chamberlain. The soliloquizing 
 secretary had foretold to himself both her coming and her com 
 panion. 
 
 " Monsieur le Comte," said the Chamberlain, " la Marchesa del 
 Marmore wishes for the pleasure of your acquaintance. 
 
 Count Basil bowed low, and, in that low and musical tone of 
 respectful devotion which, real or counterfeit, made him irresisti 
 ble to a woman who had a soul to be thrilled, he repeated th 
 usual nothings upon the beauty of the night; and when th 
 Chamberlain returned to his duties, the Marchesa walked fo: 
 with her companion to the cool and fragrant alleys of the garden 
 and, under the silent and listening stars, implored forgiveness 
 for her pride ; and, with the sudden abandonment peculiar to the 
 clime, poured into his ear the passionate and weeping avowal of 
 her sorrow and love. 
 
 " Those hours of penitence in the embayed window," thought 
 Count Basil, " were healthy for your soul." Arid, as she walked 
 by his side, leaning heavily on his arm, and half-dissolved in a 
 confiding tenderness, his thoughts reverted to another and a far, 
 sweeter voice ; and, while the carressing words of the Marchesa 
 fell on an unlistening ear, his footsteps insensibly turned back to 
 the lighted hall. 
 
 VI. 
 
 As the daylight stole softly over Vallombrosa, the luxurioi 
 chariot of the Marchesa del Marmore stopped at the door 
 Count Basil. The Lady Geraldine s suit had been successft 
 and the hitherto excluded Florentine had received, from 
 
THE KEVENGE OF THE SIGNOR BASIL. 2 09 
 
 hand of the man she had once so ignorantly scorned, a privilege 
 for which she would have bartered her salvation : she had supped 
 at his side in the saloon of Hercules. With many faults of char 
 acter, she was an Italian in feeling, and had a capacity, like all 
 her countrywomen, for a consuming and headlong passion. She 
 had better have been born of marble. 
 
 " I have lifted you to heaven," said Count Basil, as her cha 
 riot-wheels rolled from his door ; " but it is as the eagle soars 
 into the clouds with the serpent, We will see how you will rel 
 ish the fall !" 
 
 PART II. 
 
 THE Grand-Duke s carriages, with their six horses and out 
 riders, had turned down the Borg ognisanti, and the " City of the 
 Red Lily," waking from her noonday slumber, was alive with the 
 sound of wheels. The sun was sinking over the Apennine which 
 kneels at the gate of Florence ; the streets were cool and shadowy ; 
 the old women, with the bambino, between their knees, braided 
 straw at the doors ; the booted guardsman paced his black charger 
 slowly over the jeweller s bridge ; the picture-dealer brought for- 
 
 I ward his brightest "master" to the fading light ; and while the 
 famous churches of that fairest city of the earth called to the 
 
 . Ave-Maria with impatient bell, the gallantry and beauty of 
 Tuscany sped through the dampening air with their swift horses, 
 meeting and passing, with gay greetings, amid the green alleys of 
 the Cascine. 
 
 The twilight had become grey, when the carriages and 
 
210 SOIREE ON WHEELS. 
 
 horsemen, scattered in hundreds through the interlaced roads of 
 this loveliest of parks, turned by common consent toward the 
 spacious square in the centre, and, drawing up, in thickly-serried 
 ranks, the soiree on wheels, the reunion en plein air, which is one 
 of the most delightful of the peculiar customs of Florence, com 
 menced its healthful gayeties. The showy carriages of the 
 Grand-Duke and the ex-King of Wurtemberg (whose rank would 
 not permit them to share in the familiarities of the hour) disap 
 peared by the avenue skirting the bank of the Arno, and, with 
 much delicate and some desperate specimens of skill, the coach 
 men of the more exclusive nobility threaded the embarrassec 
 press of vehicles, and laid their wheels together on the southern 
 edge of the piazza. The beaux in the saddle, disembarrassed of 
 ladies and axletrees, enjoyed their usual butterfly privilege of 
 roving, and, with light rein and ready spur, pushed their impatient 
 horses to the coronetted panels of the loveliest or most powerful ; 
 the laugh of the giddy was heard here and there over the pawin 
 of restless hoofs ; an occasional scream half of apprehensior 
 half of admiration rewarded the daring caracole of some youn 
 and bold rider ; and, while the first star sprang to its place, an 
 the dew of heaven dropped into the false flowers in the hat of th 
 belle, and into the thirsting lips of the violet in the field, (sim 
 plicity, like virtue, is its own reward!), the low murmur o 
 calumny and compliment, of love and light-heartedness, of polite 
 ness, politics, puns, and poetry, arose over that assembly upo 
 wheels : and, if it was not a scene and an hour of happiness, it wa 
 the fault neither of the fragrant eve nor of the provisions ( 
 nature and fortune. The material for happiness was there. 
 
 A showy caleche, with panels of dusky crimson, the hammer- 
 cloth of the same shade, edged with a broad fringe of white, the 
 
THE REVENGE OF THE SIGNOR BASIL. 211 
 
 wheels slightly picked out with the same colors, and the coachman 
 and footman in corresponding liveries, was drawn up near the 
 southern edge of the Piazza. A narrow alley had been left for 
 horsemen, between this equipage and the adjoining ones, closed up 
 at the extremity, however, by a dark-green and very plain 
 chariot, placed, with a bold violation of etiquette, directly across 
 the line, and surrounded, just now, by two or three persons of the 
 highest rank, leaning from their saddles in earnest conversation 
 with the occupant. Not far from the caleche, mounted upon an 
 English blood-horse of great beauty, a young man had just drawn 
 rein as if interrupted only for a moment on some passing errand, 
 and, with his hat slightly raised, was paying his compliments ?o 
 the venerable Prince Poniatowski, at that time the Amphytrion 
 of Florence. From moment to moment, as the pauses occurred 
 in the exchange of courteous phrases, the rider, whose spurred 
 heel was close at his saddle-girths, stole an impatient glance up 
 the avenue of carriages to the dark -green chariot, and, excited by 
 the lifted rein and the proximity of the spur, the graceful horse 
 fretted on his minion feet, and the bending figures from a hundred 
 vehicles, and the focus of bright eyes radiating from all sides to 
 the spot, would have betrayed, even to a stranger, that the horse 
 man was of no common mark. Around his uncovered temples 
 floated fair and well-cherished locks of the sunniest auburn ; and, 
 if there was beauty in the finely-drawn lines of his lips, there was 
 an inexpressibly fierce spirit as well. 
 
212 POWER AT COURT. 
 
 II. 
 
 The Count Basil had been a month at Florence. In that time 
 he had contrived to place himself between the Duke s ear and all 
 the avenues of favor, and had approached as near, perhaps nearer, 
 to the hearts of the women of his court. A singular and instinctive 
 knowledge of the weaknesses of human nature, perfected and con 
 cealed by conversance with the consummate refinement of life at 
 Paris, remarkable personal beauty, and a quality of scornful bit 
 terness for which no one could divine a reason in a character and 
 fate else so happily mingled, but which, at the same time, added to 
 his fascination, had given Count Basil a command over the varied 
 stops of society, equalled by few players on that difficult and 
 capricious instrument. His worldly ambition went swimmingly 
 on, and the same wind filled the sails of his lighter ventures as 
 well. The love of the Marchesa del Marmore, as he had very 
 well anticipated, grew with his influence and renown. A woman s 
 pride, he perfectly knew, is difficult to wake after she has once 
 believed herself adored ; and, satisfied that the portrait taken on 
 the lagoon, and the introduction he had given her to the exclu 
 sive penetralia of the Pitti, would hold her till his revenge was 
 complete, he left her love for him to find its own food in his suc 
 cesses, and never approached her but to lay to her heart, more 
 mordently, the serpents of jealousy and despair. 
 
 For the Lady Geraldine the Count Basil had conceived a love, 
 the deepest of which his nature was capable. Long as he had 
 known her, it was a passion born in Italy, and, while it partook of 
 the qualities of the clime, it had for its basis the habitual and 
 well-founded respect of a virtuous and sincere friendship. At 
 
THE REVENGE OF THE SIGNOR BASIL. 213 
 
 their first acquaintance at Paris, the lo\ T ely Englishwoman, 
 newly arrived from the purer moral atmosphere of her own 
 country, was moving in the dissolute, but skilfully disguised 
 society of the Faubourg St. Germain, with the simple uncon 
 sciousness of the pure in heart, innocent herself, and naturally 
 unsuspicious of others. The perfect frankness with which she 
 established an intimacy with the clever and accomplished attache, 
 had soon satisfied that clear-sighted person that there was no 
 passion in her preference, and, giddy with the thousand pleasures 
 of that metropolis of delight, he had readily sunk his first startled 
 admiration of her beauty in an affectionate and confiding friend 
 ship. He had thus shown her the better qualities of his character 
 only, and, charmed with his wit and penetration, and something 
 flattered, perhaps, with the devotion of so acknowledged an 
 autocrat of fashion and talent, she had formed an attachment for 
 him that had all the earnestness of love without its passion. 
 They met at Florence, but the " knowledge of good and evil" 
 had, by this time, driven the Lady Geraldine from her Eden of 
 unconsciousness. StilLas irreproachable in conduct, and perhaps 
 as pure in heart as before, an acquaintance with the forms of vice 
 had introduced into her manners those ostensible cautions which, 
 while they protect, suggest also what is to be feared. 
 
 A change had taken place also in Count Basil. He had left 
 the vitreous and mercurial clime of France, with its volatile and 
 superficial occupations, for the voluptuous and indolent air of 
 Italy, and the study of its impassioned deifications of beauty. 
 ; That which had before been in him an instinct of gay pleasure 
 a pursuit which palled in the first moment of success, and was 
 second to his ambition or his vanity had become, in those two 
 years of a painter s life, a thirst both of the senses and the ima- 
 
214 EFFECT OF ITALY ON LOVE. 
 
 gination, which had usurped the very throne of his soul. Like 
 the Hindoo youth, who finds the gilded plaything of his childhood 
 elevated in his maturer years into a god, he bowed his heart to 
 what he held so lightly, and brought the costly sacrifice of time 
 and thought to its altars. He had fed his eyes upon the divine 
 glories of the pencil, and upon the breathing wonders of love in 
 marble, beneath the sky and in the dissolving air in which they 
 rose to the hand of inspiration ; and, with his eye disciplined, and 
 his blood fused with taste and enthusiasm, that idolatry of beauty, 
 which had before seemed sensual or unreal, kindled its first fires 
 in his mind, and his senses were intoxicated with the incense. 
 There is a kind of compromise in the effects of the atmosphere 
 and arts of Italy. If the intellect takes a warmer hue in its study 
 of the fair models of antiquity, the senses in turn become more 
 refined and intellectual. In other latitudes and lands woman is 
 loved more coldly. After the brief reign of a passion of instinct, 
 she is happy if she can retain her empire by habit, or the qualities 
 of the heart. That divine form, meant to assimilate her to the 
 angels, has never been recognised by the dull eye that should 
 have seen in it a type of her soul. To the love of the painter or 
 the statuary, or to his who has made himself conversant with their 
 models, is added the imperishable enthusiasm of a captivating and 
 exalted study. The mistress of his heart is the mistress of his 
 mind. She is the breathing realization of that secret ideal which 
 exists in every mind, but which, in men ignorant of the fine arts, 
 takes another form, and becomes a woman s rival and usurper. 
 She is like nothing in ambition she is like nothing in science o 
 business nothing in out-of-door pleasures. If politics, or th 
 chase, or the acquisition of wealth, is the form of this rulin 
 passion, she is unassociated with that which is nearest his heart 
 
THE REVENGE OF THE SIGNOR BASIL. 215 
 
 ind be returns to her with an exhausted interest and a fla^o-mor 
 
 OO O 
 
 fancy. It is her strongest tie upon his affection, even, that she 
 s his refuge when unfit for that which occupies him most in his 
 fatigue, his disappointment, his vacuity of head and heart. He 
 thinks of her only as she receives him in his most worthless 
 hours ; and, as his refreshed intellects awake, she is forgotten 
 with the first thought of his favorite theme for what has a 
 woman s loveliness to do with that ? 
 
 Count Basil had not concluded his first interview with the Lady 
 Geraldine, without marvelling at the new feelings with which he 
 looked upon her. He had never before realized her singular and 
 adorable beauty. The exquisitely-turned head, the small and 
 pearly ears, the spiritual nostril, the softly-moulded chin, the 
 clear loftiness of expression yet inexpressible delicacy and bright 
 ness in the lips, and a throat and bust than which those oi 
 Faustina in the delicious marble of the Gallery of Florence might 
 be less envied by the Queen of Love his gaze wandered over 
 these, and followed her in the harmony of her motions, and the 
 native and unapproachable grace of every attitude ; and the pic 
 tures he had so passionately studied seemed to fade in his mind, 
 and the statues he had half worshipped seemed to descend from 
 their pedestals depreciated. The Lady Geraldine, for the first 
 ;time, felt his eye. For the first time in their acquaintance, she 
 was offended with its regard. Her embarrassment was read by 
 ; the quick diplomate, and at that moment sprang into being a 
 passion, which perhaps had died but for the conscious acknow 
 ledgment of her rebuke. 
 
 Up to tho evening in the Cascino, with which the second 
 chapter of this mainly true tale commences, but one of the two 
 leading threads, in the Count Basil s woof, had woven well. " The 
 
216 VAIN OBSTACLE. 
 
 jealous are the damned," and the daily and deadly agony of the 
 Marchesa del Marmore was a dark ground from which his love to 
 the Lady Geraldine rose to his own eye in heightened relief. His 
 dearest joy forwarded with equal step his dearest revenge ; and 
 while he could watch the working of his slow torture in the 
 fascinated heart of his victim, he was content to suspend a blow 
 to which that of death would be a mercy. " The law," said Count 
 Basil, as he watched her quivering and imploring lip, " takes 
 cognizance but of the murder of the body. It has no retributior 
 for the keener dagger of the soul." 
 
 III. 
 
 The conversation between the Russian Secretary and the 
 Prince Poniatowski ended at last in a graceful bow from the 
 former to his horse s neck ; and the quicker rattling of the small 
 hoofs on the ground, as the fine creature felt the movement in th( 
 saddle and prepared to bound away, drew all eyes once mor< 
 upon the handsomest and most idolized gallant of Florence. Th< 
 narrow lane of carriages, commencing with the showy caleche o , 
 the Marchesa del Marmore, and closed up by the plain chariot o 
 the Lady Geraldine, was still open ; and, with a glance at tin 
 latter which sufficiently indicated his destination, Count Basi 
 raised his spurred heel, and, with a smile of delight and th 
 quickness of a barb in the desert, galloped toward the opening 
 In the same instant the Marchesa del Marmore gave a convulsiv* 
 spring forward, and, in obedience to an imperative order, he 
 coachman violently drew rein and laid the back and forwar . 
 wheels of the caliche directly across his path. Met in full caree 
 by this sudden obstacle, the horse of the Russian reared high i 
 
 
THE REVENGE OF THE SIGNOR BASIL. 217 
 
 .ir ; but, ere the screams of apprehension had arisen from the 
 .djacent carriages, the silken bridle was slacked, and with a low 
 >ow to the foiled and beautiful Marchesa as he shot past, he 
 >rushed the hammer-cloths of the two scarce separated car- 
 iagcs, and, at the same instant, stood at the chariot window of the 
 ^ady Geraldine, as calm and respectful as if he had never known 
 danger or emotion. 
 
 A hundred eyes had seen the expression of his face as he leaped 
 past the unhappy woman, and the drama, of which that look was 
 the key, was understood in Florence. The Lady Geraldine alone, 
 seated far back in her chariot, was unconscious of the risk run for 
 the smile with which she greeted its hero ; and unconscious, as 
 well, of the poignant jealousy and open mortification she had 
 innocently assisted to inflict, she stretched her fair and trans 
 parent hand from the carriage , and stroked the glossy neck of his 
 horse, and while the iVlarchesa del Marmore drove past with a 
 look of inexpressible anguish and hate, and the dispersing nobles 
 and dames took their way to the city gates, Count Basil leaned 
 close to the ear of that loveliest of breathing creatures, and forgot, 
 as she forgot in listening to the bewildering music of his voice, 
 that the stars had risen, or that the night was closing around 
 them. 
 
 The Cascine had long been silent when the chariot of the Lady 
 Geraldine took its way to the town, and, with the reins loose upon 
 his horse s neck, Count Basil followed at a slower pace, lost in 
 therevery of a tumultuous passion. The sparkling and unob 
 structed stars broke through the leafy roof of the avenue whose 
 silence was disturbed by those fine and light-stepping hoofs, and 
 the challenge of the Duke s forester, going his rounds ere the 
 gates closed, had its own deep-throated echo for its answer. 
 10 
 
218 ITALIAN LOVE. 
 
 The Arno rippled among the rushes on its banks, the occasional 
 roll of wheels passing the paved arch of the Ponte Seraglio, came 
 faintly down the river upon the moist wind, the pointed cypresses 
 of the convent of Bello Sguardo laid their slender fingers againsl 
 the lowest stars in the southern horizon, and, with his feet pressed, 
 carelessly, far through his stirrups, and his head dropped on hi} 
 bosom, the softened diploniate turned instinctively to the left iu 
 the last diverging point of the green alleys, and his horse s can 
 were already pricked at the tread, before the gate, of the watd 
 ful and idle doganieri. 
 
 Close under the city walls on this side Florence, the travell 
 will remember that the trees are more thickly serried, and tl 
 stone seats, for the comfort and pleasure of those who would ste 
 forth from the hot streets for an hour of fresh air and rest, ar 
 mossy with the depth of the perpetual shade. In the midst o: 
 this dark avenue, the unguided animal beneath the careless am 
 forgetful rider suddenly stood still, and the next moment startin: 
 aside, a female sprang high against his neck, and Count Bas 
 ere awake from his re very, felt the glance of a dagger-bl 
 across his bosom. 
 
 With the slender wrist that had given the blow firmly arreste 
 in his left hand, the Count Basil slowly dismounted, and, after . | 
 steadfast look, by the dim light, into the face of the lovely assas 
 sin, he pressed her fingers respectfully, and with well countei 
 feited emotion, to his lips. 
 
 " Twice since the Ave-Maria !" he said, in a tone of reproaci 
 ful tenderness, " and against a life that is your own !" 
 
 He could see, even in that faint light, the stern compression o 
 those haughty lips, and the flash of the darkest eyes of the V; 1 
 d Arno. But leading her gently to a seat, he sat beside her, am , 
 
THE REVENGE OP THE SIGNOR BASIL. 219 
 
 ?ritk scarce ten brief moments of low-toned and consummate elo 
 quence, he once more deluded her soul ! 
 
 " We meet to-morrow," she said, as, after a burst of irrepressi 
 ble tears, she disengaged herself from his neck, and looked 
 :oward the end of the avenue, where Count Basil had already 
 icard the pawing of her impatient horses. 
 
 " To morrow !" he answered ; but, mia carissima !" he con 
 tinued, opening his breast to stanch the blood of his wound, " you 
 owe me a concession after this rude evidence of your love." 
 
 She looked into his face as if answer was superfluous. 
 
 u Drive to my palazzo at noon, and remain with me till the 
 Ave-Maria. 
 
 For but half a moment the impassioned Italian hesitated. 
 Though the step he demanded of her was apparently without 
 motive or reason though it was one that sacrificed, to a whim, 
 her station, her fortune, and her friends she hesitated but to 
 question her reason if the wretched price of this sacrifice would 
 be paid if the love, to which she fled from this world and heaven, 
 was her own. In other countries, the crime, of infidelity is 
 punished : in Italy it is the appearance only that is criminal. In 
 proportion as the sin is overlooked, the violation of the outward 
 proprieties of life is severely visited ; and, while a lover is stipu- 
 jlated for in the marriage-contract, an open visit to that lover s 
 house is an offence which brands the perpetrator with irremediable 
 shame. The Marchesa del Marmore well knew, that, in going 
 forth from the ancestral palace of her husband on a visit to Count 
 Basil, she took leave of it for ever. The equipage that would 
 bear her to him would never return for her ; the protection, the 
 fortune, the noble relations, the troops of friends, would all drop 
 "roin her. In the pride of her youth and beauty from the high- 
 
220 KETKIBUTION. 
 
 est pinnacle of rank from the shelter of fortune and esteem 
 she would descend, by a single step, to be a beggar for life and 
 love from the mercy of the heart she fled to ! 
 
 " I will come," she said, in a firm voice, looking close into his 
 face, as if she would read in his dim features the prophetic answer 
 of his soul. 
 
 The Count Basil strained her to his bosom, and, starting back, 
 as if with the pain of his wound, he pleaded the necessity of a sur 
 geon, and bade her a hasty good-night. And, while she gained 
 her own carriage in secrecy, he rode round to the other gate, 
 which opens upon the Borg ognisanti, and, dismounting at the 
 Cafe Colonna, where the artists were at this hour usually assem 
 bled, he sought out his fellow-traveller, Giannino Speranza, who 
 had sketched the Marchesa upon the lagoon, and made an aj 
 pointment with him for the morrow. 
 
 IV. 
 
 While the Count Basil s revenge sped thus merrily, the just 
 Fates were preparing for him a retribution in his love. The 
 mortification of the Marchesa del Marmore, at the Cascine, had 
 been made the subject of conversation at the prima sera of the 
 Lady Geraldine ; and, other details of the same secret drama 
 transpiring at the same time, the whole secret of Count Basil s 
 feelings toward that unfortunate woman flashed clearly and fully 
 upon her. His motives for pretending to have drawn the portrait 
 of the lagoon for procuring her an admission to the exclusive 
 suppers of the Pitti for a thousand things which had been unac 
 countable, or referred to more amiable causes were at once 
 
THE REVENGE OF THE SIGNOR BASIL. 221 
 
 mveiled. Even yet, with no suspicion of the extent of his 
 evenge, the Lady Geraldine felt an indignant pity for the un- 
 3onscious victim, and a surprised disapproval of the character 
 unmasked to her eye. Upon further reflection, her brow flushed 
 ;o remember that she herself had been made the most effective 
 :ool of his revenge ; and, as she recalled circumstance after cir- 
 3umstance in the last month s history, the attention and pre 
 ference he had shown her, and which had gratified her, perhaps, 
 more than she admitted to herself, seemed to her sensitive and 
 resentful mind to have been only the cold instruments of jealousy. 
 Incapable as she was of an unlawful passion, the unequalled fas 
 cinations of Count Basil had silently found their way to her heart, 
 and, if her indignation was kindled by a sense of justice and 
 womanly pity, it was fed and fanned unaware by mortified pride. 
 She rang, and sent an order to the gate that she was to be 
 denied for the future to Count Basil Spirifort. 
 
 The servant had appeared with his silver tray in his hand, and, 
 before leaving her presence to communicate the order, he pre 
 sented her with a letter. Well foreseeing the eclair cissemeMt 
 which must follow the public scene in the Cascine, the Count 
 Basil had left the cafe for his own palazzo ; and, in a letter, of 
 which the following is the passage most important to our story, 
 he revealed, to the lady he loved, a secret, which he hoped would 
 anticipate the common rumor : 
 
 : " But these passionate words will have offended 
 your ear, dearest lady, and I must pass to a theme on which I 
 shall be less eloquent. You will hear to-night, perhaps, that 
 which, with all your imagination, will scarce prepare you for 
 what you will hear to-morrow. The Marchesa del Marmore is 
 
222 REVELATION OF REASONS. 
 
 the victim of a revenge which has only been second in my heart 
 to the love I have for the first time breathed to you. I can never 
 hope that you will either understand, or forgive, the bitterness in 
 which it springs ; yet it is a demon to which I am delivered, soul 
 and body, and no spirit but my own can know its power. When 
 I have called it by its name, and told you of its exasperation, if 
 you do not pardon, you will pity me. 
 
 " You know that I am a Russian, and you know the station my 
 talents have won me ; but you do not know that I was born a serf 
 and a slave ! If you could rend open my heart and see the pool 
 of blackness and bitterness that lies in its bottom fallen, drop 
 by drop, from this accursed remembrance there would be little 
 need to explain to you how this woman has offended me. Had I 
 been honorably boin, like yourself, I feel that I could have been, 
 like you, an angel of light ; as it is, the contumely of a look has 
 stirred me to a revenge which has in it, I do not need to be 
 told, the darkest elements of murder. 
 
 " My early history is of no importance, yet I may tell you it 
 was such as to expose to every wind this lacerated nerve. In a 
 foreign land, and holding an official rank, it was seldom breathed 
 upon. I wore, mostly, a gay heart at Paris. In my late exile at 
 Venice I had time to brood upon my dark remembrance, and it 
 was revived and fed by the melancholy of my solitude. The ob 
 scurity in which I lived, and the occasional comparison between 
 myself and some passing noble in the Piazza, served to remind me, 
 could I have forgotten it. I never dreamed of love in this hum 
 ble disguise, and so never felt the contempt that had most power 
 to wound me. On receiving the letters of my new appointment, 
 however, this cautious humility did not wait to be put off with my 
 sombrero. I started for Florence, clad in the habiliments of pov- 
 
THE REVENGE OF THE SIGNOR BASIL. 223 
 
 erty, but with the gay mood of a courtier beneath. The first 
 burst of my newly-released feelings was admiration for a woman 
 of singular beauty, who stood near me on one of the most love- 
 awakening and delicious eves that I ever remember. My heart 
 was overflowing, and she permitted me to breathe my passionate 
 adoration in her ear. The Marchesa del Marmore, but for the 
 scorn of the succeeding day, would, I think, have been the mis 
 tress of my soul. Strangely enough, I had seen you without 
 loving you. 
 
 " I have told you, as a bagatelle that might amuse you, my 
 rencontre with del Marmore and his dame in the cathedral of 
 Bologna. The look she gave me, there, sealed her doom. It was 
 witnessed by the companions of my poverty, and the concentrated 
 resentment of years sprang up at the insult. Had it been a man, 
 I must have struck him dead where he stood : she was a woman, 
 and I swore the downfall of her pride." * * * 
 
 Thus briefly dismissing the chief topic of his letter, Count Basil 
 returned to the pleading of his love. It was dwelt on more elo 
 quently than his revenge ; but as the Lady Geraldine scarce read 
 it to the end, it need not retard the procession of events in our 
 story. The fair Englishwoman sat down beneath the Etruscan 
 lamp, whose soft light illumined a brow cleared, as if by a sweep 
 from the wing of her good angel, of the troubled dream which 
 had overhung it, and, in brief and decided, but kind and warning 
 words, replied to the letter of Count Basil. 
 
 V. 
 
 It was noon on the following day, and the Contadini from the 
 hills were settling to their siesta on the steps of the churches, and 
 
224 A WOMAN S DOWNFALL. 
 
 against the columns of the Piazza del Gran Duea. The artists 
 alone, in the cool gallery, and in the tempered halls of the Pitti, 
 shook off the drowsiness of the hour, and strained sight and thought 
 upon the immortal canvas from which they drew ; while the 
 sculptor, in his brightening studio, weary of the mallet, yet exci 
 ted by the bolder light, leaned on the rough block behind him, 
 and, with listless body but wakeful and fervent eye, studied the 
 last touches upon his marble. 
 
 Prancing hoofs, and the sharp quick roll peculiar to the wheels 
 of carriages of pleasure, awakened the aristocratic sleepers of 
 the Via del Servi, and with a lash and jerk of violence, the 
 coachman of the Marchesa del Marmore, enraged at the loss of 
 his noonday repose, brought up her showy caleche at the door of 
 Count Basil Spirifort. The fair occupant of that luxurious vehi 
 cle was pale, but the brightness of joy and hope burned almost 
 fiercely in her eye. 
 
 The doors flew open as the Marchesa descended, and, following 
 a servant in the Count s livery, of whom she asked no question, 
 she found herself in a small saloon, furnished with the peculiar 
 luxury which marks the apartment of a bachelor, and darkened 
 like a painter s room. The light came in from a single tall win 
 dow, curtained below, and under it stood an easel, at which, on 
 her first entrance, a young man stood sketching the outline of a 
 female head. As she advanced, looking eagerly around for another 
 face, the artist laid down his palette, and, with a low reverence 
 presented her with a note from Count Basil. It informed her 
 that political news of the highest importance had called him sud 
 denly to the cabinet of his chef, but that he hoped to be with her 
 soon ; and, meantime, he begged of her, as a first favor in his 
 
THE REVENGE OF THE SIGNOR BASIL. 225 
 
 newly-prospered love, to bless him with the possession of her 
 portrait, done by the incomparable artist who would receive her. 
 
 Disappointment and vexation overwhelmed the heart of the 
 Marchesa, and she burst into tears. She read the letter again, 
 and grew calmer ; for it was laden with epithets of endearment, 
 and seemed to her written in the most sudden haste. Never 
 doubting for an instant the truth of his apology, she removed her 
 hat, and, with a look at the deeply-shaded mirror, while she 
 shook out from their confinement the masses of her luxuriant 
 hair, she approached the painter s easel, and, with a forced cheer 
 fulness, inquired in what attitude she should sit to him. 
 
 " If the Signora will amuse herself," he replied, with a bow, 
 " it will be easy to compose the picture, and seize the expression 
 without annoying her with a pose." 
 
 Relieved thus of any imperative occupation, the unhappy 
 Marchesa seated herself by a table of intaglios and prints, and, 
 while she apparently occupied herself in the examination of these 
 specimens of art, she was delivered, as her tormentor had well 
 anticipated, to the alternate tortures of impatience and remorse. 
 And while the hours wore on, and her face paled, and her eyes 
 grew bloodshot with doubt and fear, the skilful painter, forgetting 
 everything in the enthusiasm of his art, and forgotten utterly by 
 his unconscious subject, transferred too faithfully to the canvas 
 that picture of agonized expectation. 
 
 The afternoon, meantime, had worn away, and the gay world 
 of Florence, from the side toward Fiesole, rolled past the Via 
 dei Servi on their circuitous way to the Cascine, and saw, with 
 dumb astonishment, the carriage and liveries of the Marchesa del 
 Marmore at the door of Count Basil Spirifort. On they swept 
 by the Via Mercata Nova to the Lung Arno, and there their 
 
226 RETRIBUTION. 
 
 astonishment redoubled : for, in the window of the Casino dei 
 Nobili, playing with a billiard- cue, and laughing with a group of 
 lounging exquisites, stood Count Basil himself, the most unoc 
 cupied and listless of sunset idlers. There was but one deduction 
 to be drawn from this sequence of events ; and, when they remem 
 bered the demonstration of passionate jealousy on the previous 
 evening in the Cascine, Count Basil, evidently innocent of 
 participation in her paSsion, was deemed a persecuted man, 
 and the Marchesa del Marmore was lost to herself and the 
 world ! 
 
 Three days after this well-remembered circumstance in the 
 history of Florence, an order was received from the Grand-Duke 
 to admit into the exhibition of modern artists a picture by a 
 young Venetian painter, an eleve of Count Basil Spirifort. It 
 was called " The Lady expecting an Inconstant," and had been 
 pronounced by a virtuoso, who had seen it on private view, to be 
 a masterpiece of expression and color. It was instantly and 
 indignantly recognised as the portrait of the unfortunate 
 Marchesa, whose late abandonment of her husband was fresh 
 on the lips of common rumor ; but, ere it could be officially 
 removed, the circumstance had been noised abroad, and the 
 picture had been seen by all the curious in Florence. The order 
 for its removal was given ; but the purpose of Count Basil had 
 been effected, and the name of the unhappy Marchesa had become 
 a jest on the vulgar tongue. 
 
 This tale had not been told, had there not been more than a 
 common justice in its sequel. The worse passions of men, h 
 common life, are sometimes inscrutably prospered. The reven< 
 of Count Basil, however, was betrayed by the last act which coi 
 
THE REVENGE OF THE SIGNOH BASIL. 
 
 pleted it; and, while the victim of his fiendish resentment finds a 
 peaceful asylum in England under the roof of the compassionate 
 Lady Geraldine, the once gay and admired Russian wanders from 
 city to city, followed by an evil reputation, and stamped unac 
 countably as a jattatore* 
 
 * A man with an eril eye. 
 
LOVE AND DIPLOMACY, 
 
 " Pray pardon me, 
 
 For I am like a boy that hath found money- 
 Afraid I dream still." 
 
 FORD OB WEBSTER. 
 
 IT was on a fine September evening, within my time (and I am 
 
 not, I trust, too old to be loved), that Count Anatole L , of 
 
 the impertinent and particularly useless profession of attache, 
 walked up and down before the glass in his rooms at the " Arch 
 duke Charles," the first hotel, as you know, if you have travelled 
 in the green-belted and fair city of Vienna. The brass ring was 
 still swinging on the end of the bell-rope, and, in a respectfu 
 attitude at the door, stood the just-summoned Signor Attilio, valei 
 and privy councillor to one of the handsomest coxcombs erran 
 through the world. Signor Attilio was a Tyrolese, and, like hi 
 master, was very handsome. 
 
 Count Anatole had been idling away three golden summe 
 months in the Tyrol, for the sole purpose, as far as mortal eye 
 could see, of disguising his fine Phidian features in a callow 
 mustache and whiskers. The crines ridentes (as Eneas Sylviu 
 
LOVE AND DIPLOMACY. 229 
 
 has it) being now in a condition beyond improvement, Signer 
 Attilio bad, for some days, been ratber curious to know what 
 course of events would next occupy the diplomatic talents of his 
 master. 
 
 After a turn or two more, taken in silence, Count Anatole 
 stopped in the middle of the floor, and, eying the well-made 
 Tyrolese from head > to foot, begged to know if he wore at 
 the present moment his most becoming breeches, jacket, and 
 beaver. 
 
 Attilio was never astonished at anything his master did or said. 
 He simply answered, " Si, signorc." 
 
 " Be so kind as to strip immediately, and dress yourself in that 
 travelling suit lying on the sofa." 
 
 As the green, gold-corded jacket, knee-breeches, buckles, and 
 stockings, were laid aside, Count Anatole threw off his dressing- 
 gown, and commenced encasing his handsome proportions in the 
 cast-off habiliments. He then put on the conical, slouch-rimmed 
 hat, with the tall eagle Vfeather stuck jauntily on the side, and 
 the two rich tassels pendant over his left eye ; and, the toilet of 
 the valet being completed, at the same moment, they stood look 
 ing at one another with perfect gravity rather transformed, but 
 each apparently quite at home in his new character. 
 
 " You look very like a gentleman, Attilio," said the Count, 
 
 * Your Excellency has caught to admiration, Varia del paese," 
 complimented back again the sometime Tyrolese. 
 
 " Attilio !" 
 
 " Signore !" 
 
 " Do you remember the lady in the forest of Friuli ?" 
 
 Attilio began to have a glimmering of things. Some three 
 months before, the Count was dashing on at a rapid post-pace 
 
230 FATAL ACCIDENT AND LOVE. 
 
 through a deep wood in the mountains which head in the Adriatic. 
 A sudden pull-up at a turning in the road nearly threw him from 
 his britska ; and, looking out at the " anima di porco /" of the pos 
 tilion, he found his way impeded by an overset carriage, from 
 which three or four servants were endeavoring to extract the body 
 of an old man, killed by the accident. 
 
 There was more attractive metal for the traveller, however 
 in the shape of a young and beautiful woman, leaning pale am 
 faint against a tree, and apparently about to sink to the ground 
 unassisted. To bring a hat full of water from the nearest brook 
 and receive her falling head on his shoulder, was the work of a 
 thought. She had fainted away, and taking her, like a child 
 into his arms, he placed her on a bank, by the road-side, bathe 
 her forehead and lips, and chafed her small white hands, till hi 
 heart, with all the distress of the scene, was quite mad with he: 
 perfect beauty. 
 
 Animation, at last began to return, and as the flush was steal 
 ing into her lips, another carriage drove up with servants in the 
 same livery, and Count Anatole, thoroughly bewildered in hi 
 new dream, mechanically assisted them in getting their living mis 
 tress and dead master into it ; and until they were fairly out o; 
 sight, it had never occurred to him, that he might possibly wish 
 to know the name and condition of the fairest piece of work he 
 had ever seen from the hands of his Maker. 
 
 An hour before, he had doubled his bono mano to the postilion, 
 and was driving on to Vienna as if to sit at a new Congress. 
 Now, he stood leaning against the tree, at the foot of which the 
 grass and wild flowers showed the print of a new made pressure, 
 and the postilion cracked his whip, and Attilio reminded him of 
 the hour he was losing, in vain. 
 
LOVE AND DIPLOMACY. 231 
 
 He remounted after a while ; but the order was to go back to 
 the last post-house. 
 
 Three or four months at a solitary albergo in the neighborhood 
 of this adventure, passed by the Count in scouring the country on 
 horseback in every direction, and by his servant in very particu 
 lar ennui, brings up the story nearly to where the scene opens. 
 
 " I have seen her !" said the Count. 
 
 Attilio only lifted up his eyebrows. 
 
 " She is here, in Vienna ?" 
 
 " Felice lei /" murmured Attilio. 
 
 " She is the Princess Leichstenfels, and, by the death of that 
 old man, a widow." 
 
 " Veramente /" responded the valet, with a rising inflexion, 
 for he knew his master and French morals too well, not to fore 
 see a damper in the possibility of matrimony. 
 
 " Veramente !" gravely echoed the Count. " And now listen. 
 The princess lives in close retirement. An old friend or two, 
 and a tried servant, are the only persons who see her. You are 
 to contrive to see this servant to-morrow, corrupt him to leave 
 her, and recommend me in his place, and then you are to take 
 him as your courier to Paris ; whence, if I calculate well, you 
 will return to me before long, with important despatches. Do you 
 understand me ?" 
 
 " Signor, si. " 
 
 In the small boudoir of a masion de plaisance, belonging to the 
 noble family of Leichstenfels, sat the widowed mistress of one of 
 the oldest titles and finest estates of Austria. The light from a 
 single long window, opening down to the floor, and leading out 
 upon a terrace of flowers, was subdued by a heavy, crimson cur 
 tain, looped partially away ; a pastille lamp was sending up from 
 
232 MASTER AND MAN. 
 
 its porphyry pedestal a thin, and just perceptible curl of smoke, 
 through which the lady musingly passed backward and forward 
 one of her slender fingers ; and, on a table near, lay a sheet of 
 black-edged paper, crossed by a small, silver pen, and scrawled 
 over irregularly with devices and disconnected words, the work 
 evidently of a fit of the most absolute and listless idleness. 
 
 The door opened, and a servant in mourning livery stood before 
 the lady. 
 
 " I have thought over your request, Wilhelm," she said. " I 
 had become accustomed to your services, and regret to lose you ; 
 but I should regret more to stand in the way of your interest. 
 You have my permission." 
 
 Wilhelm expressed his thanks with an effort that showed 
 had not obeyed the call of Mammon without regret, and reque 
 ed leave to introduce the person he had proposed as 
 successor. 
 
 " Of what country is he ?" 
 
 " Tyrolese, your Excellency." 
 
 " Any why does he leave the gentleman with whom he came 
 Vienna ?" 
 
 li II est amoureux d une Viennaise^ madame^ answered the 
 valet, resorting to French to express what he considered a deli 
 cate circumstance. 
 
 " Pauvre enfant!" said the Princess, with a sigh that partool 
 as much of envy as of pity ; let him come in !" 
 
 And the Count Anatole, as the sweet accents reached his 
 stepped over the threshold, and in the coarse, but gay dress 
 the Tyrol, stood in the presence of her, whose dewy temples 
 had bathed in the forest, whose lips he had almost " pryed int 
 for breath," whose snowy hands he had chafed and kissed wl 
 
LOVE AND DIPLOMACY. 333 
 
 the senses had deserted their celestial organs the angel of his 
 perpetual dream, the lady of his wild and uncontrollable, but re 
 spectful and honorable love. 
 
 The Princess looked carelessly up as he approached, but her 
 eyes seemed arrested in passing over his features. It was but 
 momentary. She resumed her occupation of winding her taper 
 fingers in the smoke-curls of the incense-lamp, and, with half a 
 sigh, as if she had repelled a pleasing thought, she leaned back 
 in the silken fauteuil, and asked the new-comer his name. 
 
 " Anatole, your Excellency." 
 
 The voice again seemed to stir something in her memory. She 
 passed her hand over her eyes, and was for a moment lost in 
 thought. 
 
 " Anatole," she said (oh, how the sound of his own name, 
 murmured in that voice of music, thrilled through the fiery veins 
 of the disguised lover !) " Anatole, I receive you into my service. 
 Wilhelm will inform you of your duties, and I have a fancy for 
 the dress of the Tyrol you may wear it instead of my livery, if 
 you will." 
 
 And, with one stolen and warm gaze from under his drooping 
 eyelids, and heart and lips on fire, as he thanked her for her con 
 descension, the new retainer took his leave. 
 
 Month after month passed on to Count Anatole in a bewil 
 dering dream of ever-deepening passion. It was upon a soft and 
 amorous morning of April, that a dashing equipage stood at the 
 
 door of the proud palace of Lichstenfels. The arms of E 
 
 blazed on the panels, and the insouciant s chasseurs leaned against 
 the marble columns of the portico, waiting for their master, and 
 speculating on the gaiety likely to ensue from the suite he was 
 
234 SERVING A RIVAL. 
 
 prosecuting within. How could a princ e of E be supposed 
 
 to sue in vain ? 
 
 The disguised footinan had ushered the gay and handsome no 
 bleman to his mistress s presence. After re-arranging a family of 
 very well-arranged flower pots, shutting the window to open it 
 again, changing the folds of the curtain not at all for the better, 
 and looking a stolen and fierce look at the unconscious visitor, he 
 could find no longer an apology for remaining in the room. He 
 shut the door after him in a tempest of jealousy. 
 
 " Did your Excellency ring ?" said he, opening the door again 
 after a few minutes of intolerable torture. 
 
 The Prince was on his knees at her feet ! 
 
 u No, Anatole ; but you may bring me a glass of water." 
 
 As he entered, with a silver tray trembling in his hand, the 
 Prince was rising to go. His face expressed delight, hope, 
 triumph everything that could madden the soul of the irritated 
 lover. After waiting on his rival to his carriage, he returned to 
 his mistress, and, receiving the glass upon the tray, was about 
 leaving the room in silence, when the Princess called to him. 
 
 In all this lapse of time, it is not to be supposed that Count 
 Anatole played merely his footman s part. His respectful and 
 elegant demeanor, the propriety of his language, and that deep 
 devotedness of manner which wins a woman more than all things 
 else, soon gained upon the confidence of the Princess ; and before 
 a week was passed, she found that she was happier when he stood 
 behind her chair, and gave him, with some self-denial, those fre 
 quent permissions of absence from the palace, which she supposed 
 he asked to prosecute the amour disclosed to her on his introduc 
 tion to her service. As time flew on, she attributed his earnest- 
 
LOVE AND DIPLOMACY. 235 
 
 ness, and occasional warmth of manner, to gratitude ; and, with 
 out reasoning much on her feelings, gave herself up to the indul 
 gence of a degree of interest in him which would have alarmed 
 a woman more skilled in the knowledge of the heart. Married 
 from a convent, however, to an old man, who had secluded her 
 from the world, the voice of the passionate Count in the forest of 
 Friuli was the first sound of love that had ever entered her ears. 
 She knew not why it was that the tones of her new footman, and 
 now and then a look of his eyes, as he leaned over to assist her at 
 table, troubled her memory like a trace of a long-lost dream. 
 
 But, oh, what moments had been his, in these fleeting months ! 
 Admitted to her presence in her most unguarded hours seeing 
 her at morning, at noon, at night, in all her unstudied, and sur 
 passing loveliness for ever near her, and with the world shut out 
 her rich hair blowing, with the lightest breeze, across his fin 
 gers in his assiduous service her dark, full eyes, unconscious of 
 an observer, filling with unrepressed tears, or glowing with plea 
 sure over some tale of love her exquisite form flung upon a 
 couch, or bending over flowers, or moving about the room in all 
 its native and untrammelled grace and her voice, tender, most 
 tender, to him, though she knew it not, and her eyes, herself un 
 aware, ever following him in his loitering attendance and he, 
 the while, losing never a glance nor a motion, but treasuring all 
 up in his heart with the avarice of a miser what, in common 
 life, though it were the life of fortune s most favored child, could 
 compare with it for bliss ? 
 
 Pale and agitated, the Count turned back at the call of his 
 mistress, and stood waiting her pleasure ? 
 " Anatole !" 
 
236 THE NEW AMBASSADOR. 
 
 " Madame !" 
 
 The answer was so low, and deep, it startled even himself. 
 
 She motioned him to come nearer. She had sunk upon the 
 sofa, and, as he stood at her feet, she leaned forward, buried her 
 hands and arms in the long curls which, in her retirement, she al 
 lowed to float luxuriantly over her shoulders, and sobbed aloud. 
 Overcome, and forgetful of all but the distress of the lovely crea 
 ture before him, the Count dropped upon the cushion on which 
 rested the small foot in its mourning slipper, and, taking her hand, 
 pressed it suddenly and fervently to his lips. 
 
 The reality broke upon her ! She was beloved but by whom ? 
 A menial ! and the appalling answer drove all the blood of her 
 proud race in a torrent upon her heart, sweeping away all affec 
 tion as if her nature had never known its name. She sprang to 
 her feet, and laid her hand upon the bell. 
 
 " Madame !" said Anatole, in a cold, proud tone. 
 
 She stayed her arm to listen. 
 
 " I leave you for ever." 
 
 And again, with the quick revulsion of youth and passion, her 
 woman s heart rose within her, and she buried her face in her 
 hands, and dropped her head in utter abandonment on her bosom. 
 
 It was the birthday of the Emperor, and the courtly nobles of 
 Austria were rolling out from the capital to offer their congratu 
 lations at the royal Palace of Schoenbrunn. In addition to the 
 usual attractions of the scene, the drawing-room was to be grace( 
 by the first public appearance of a new Ambassador, whose 
 puted personal beauty, and the talents he had displayed in a lat 
 secret negotiation, had set the whole Court, from the Queen 
 Hungary, to the youngest dame d konneur, in a flame of curiosit 
 
LOVE AND DIPLOMACY. 337 
 
 To the Prince E there was another reason for writing the 
 
 lay in red letters. The Princess Leichstenfels, by an express 
 message from the Empress, was to throw aside her widow s weeds, 
 and appear once more to the admiring world. She had yielded 
 to the summons, but it was to be her last day of splendor. Hoi- 
 heart and hand were plighted to her Tyrolese minion ; and the 
 brightest and loveliest ornament of the Court of Austria, when 
 the ceremonies of the day were over, was to lay aside the costly 
 bauble from her shoulder, and the glittering tiara from her brow, 
 and forget rank and fortune as the wife of his bosom ! 
 
 The dazzling hours flew on. The plain and kind old Emperor 
 welcomed and smiled upon all. The wily Metternich, in the 
 prime of his successful manhood, cool, polite, handsome, and 
 whining, gathered golden opinions by every word and look ; the 
 young Duke of Reichstadt, the mild and gentle son of the struck 
 eagle of St. Helena, surrounded and caressed by a continual cor 
 don of admiring women, seemed forgetful that Opportunity and 
 Expectation awaited him, like two angels with their wings out- 
 i spread ; and haughty nobles and their haughtier dames, statesmen, 
 scholars, soldiers, and priests, crowded upon each other s heels, 
 and mixed together in that doubtful podrida^ which goes by the 
 name of pleasure. I could moralize here, had I time ! 
 
 The Princess of Leichstenfels had gone through the ceremony 
 of presentation, and had heard the murmur of admiration, drawn 
 by her beauty, from all lips. Dizzy with the scene, and with a 
 bosom full of painful and conflicting emotions, she had accepted 
 
 the proffered arm of Prince E to breathe a fresher air upon 
 
 the terrace. They stood near a window, and he was pointing out 
 to his fair, but inattentive companion, the various characters as 
 they passed within. 
 
238 A SURPRISE. 
 
 " I must contrive," said the Prince, " to sliow you the new 
 Envoy. Oh ! you have not heard of him. Beautiful as Narcis 
 sus, modest as Pastor Corydon, clever as the Prime Minister 
 himself, this paragon of diplomatists has been here in disguise 
 these three months negotiating about Metternich and the devil 
 knows what but rewarded at last with an Ambassador s star, and 
 but here he is : Princess Leichstenfels, permit me to pre 
 sent" 
 
 She heard no more. A glance from the diamond star on his 
 breast, to the Hephaestion mouth, and keen, dark eye of Count 
 Anatole, revealed to her the mystery of months. And, as she 
 leaned against the window for support, the hand that sustained 
 her in the forest of Friuli, and the same thrilling voice, in almost 
 the same never-forgotten cadence, offered his impassioned sympa 
 thy and aid and she recognized and remembered all. 
 
 I must go back so far as to inform you, that Count Anatole, on 
 the morning of this memorable day, had sacrificed a silky but pru 
 rient moustache, and a pair of the very sauciest dark whiskers out 
 
 of Coventry. Whether the Prince E recognized, in the ne 
 
 Envoy, the lady s gentleman who so inopportunely broke in u 
 his tender avowal, I am not prepared to say. I only know (for 
 was there) that the Princess Leichstenfels was wedded to the 
 new Ambassador in the " leafy month of June ;" and the Prince 
 
 E , unfortunately prevented by illness from attending the 
 
 nuptials, lost a very handsome opportunity of singing wit 
 effect 
 
 " If she be not fair for me" 
 
 supposing it translated into German. 
 
 Whether the enamored Ambassadress prefers her husband : 
 
LOYE AND DIPLOMACY. 339 
 
 his new character, I am equally uncertain ; though, from much 
 knowledge of German Courts and a little of human nature, I think 
 she will be happy, if, at some future day. she would not willingly 
 exchange her proud envoy for the devoted Tyrolese, and does not 
 sigh that she can no more bring him to her feet with a pull of a 
 silken string. 
 
THE MAD HOUSE OF PALERMO, 
 
 HE who has not skimmed over the silvery waters of the Lipari, 
 with a summer breeze right from Italy in his topsails, the smoke 
 of Stroraboli alone staining the unfathomable-looking blue of the 
 sky, and, as the sun dipped his naming disk in the sea, put up his 
 helm for the bosom of La Concha d^Oro the Golden Shell, a 
 they beautifully call the bay of Palermo he who has not thu 
 entered, I say, to the fairest spot on the face of this very fair 
 earth, has a leaf worth the turning in his book of observation. 
 
 In ten minutes after dropping the anchor, with sky and wate 
 still in a glow, the men were all out of the rigging, the spars o ! 
 the tall frigate were like lines pencilled on the sky, the bam 
 played inspiringly on the deck, and every boat along the ga; 
 Marina was freighted with fair Palermitans on its way to the 
 stranger ship. 
 
 I was standing with the omcer-of-the-deck, by the capstan 
 looking at the first star, which had just sprung into its place like 
 a thing created with a glance of the eye. 
 
 " Shall we let the ladies aboard, sir ?" said a smiling middy, 
 coming aft from the gangway. 
 
 " Yes, sir. And tell the boatswain s mate to clear away for a 
 dance on the quarter-deck." 
 
THE MAD HOUSE OF PALERMO. 241 
 
 In most of the ports of the Mediterranean, a ship-of-war, on a 
 summer cruise, is as welcome as the breeze from the sea. Bring 
 ing with her forty or fifty gay young officers overcharged with life 
 and spirits, a band of music never so well occupied as when play 
 ing for a dance, and a deck whiter and smoother than a ball-room 
 floor, the warlike vessel seems made for a scene of pleasure. 
 Whatever her nation, she no sooner drops her anchor, than she is 
 surrounded by boats from the shore ; and when the word is 
 passed for admission, her gangway is crowded with the mirth -lov 
 ing and warm people of these southern climes, as much at home 
 on board, and as ready to enter into any scheme of amusement, 
 as the maddest-brained midshipman could desire. 
 
 The companion-hatch was covered with its grating, lest some 
 dizzy waltzer should drop his partner into the steerage, the band 
 got out their music-stand, and the bright buttons were soon whirl 
 ing round from larboard to starboard, with forms in their clasp, 
 and dark eyes glowing over their shoulders, that might have 
 tempted the devil out of Stromboli. 
 
 Being only a passenger myself, I was contented with sitting on 
 
 the side of a carronade, and, with the music in my ear, and the 
 
 twilight flush deepening in the fine-traced angles of the rigging, 
 
 abandoning myself to the delicious listlessness with which the very 
 
 ; air is pregnant in these climates of Paradise. 
 
 The light feet slid by, and the waltz, the gallopade, and the 
 mazurka, had followed each other till it was broad moonlight on 
 the decks. It was like a night without an atmosphere, the ra 
 diant flood poured down with such an invisible and moonlike 
 clearness. 
 
 " Do you see the lady leaning on that old gentleman s arm by 
 
242 INTERESTING VISITOR. 
 
 the hammock-rail ?" said the first lieutenant, who sat upon the 
 next gun like myself a spectator of the scene. 
 
 I had remarked her well. She had been in the ship five or ten 
 minutes, and, in that time, it seemed to me, I had drunk her 
 beauty, even to intoxication. The frigate was slowly swinging 
 round to the land breeze, and the moon, from drawing the curved 
 line of a gipsy-shaped capella di paglia with bewitching conceal 
 ment across her features, gradually fell full upon the dark limit 
 of her orbed forehead. Heaven ! what a vision of beauty ! 
 Solemn, and full of subdued pain as the countenance seemed, it 
 was radiant with an almost supernatural light of mind. Thought 
 and feeling seemed steeped into every line. Her mouth was 
 large the only departure from the severest model of the Greek 
 
 and stamped with calmness, as if it had been a legible word 
 
 upon her lips. But her eyes what can I say of their unnatural 
 lightning of the depth, the fulness, the wild and maniac-like 
 passionateness of their every look ? 
 
 My curiosity was strongly moved. I walked aft to the cap 
 stan, and, throwing off my habitual reserve with some effort, ap 
 proached the old gentleman on whose arm she leaned, and begged 
 permission to lead her out for a waltz. 
 
 " If you wish it, carissima mia . " said he, turning to her with 
 all the tenderness in his tone of which the honeyed language of 
 Italy is capable. 
 
 But she clung to his arm with startled closeness, and without 
 even looking at me, turned her lips up to his ear, and murmured, 
 
 " Mai piu /" 
 
 At my request the officer on duty paid them the compliment 
 of sending them ashore in one of the frigate s boats ; and, after 
 assisting them down the ladder, I stood upon the broad stair on 
 
THE MAD HOUSE OF PALERMO. 343 
 
 the level of the water, and watched the phosphoric wake of the 
 swift cutter till the bright sparkles were lost amid the vessels 
 nearer land. The coxswain reported the boat s return ; but all 
 that belonged to the ship had not conie back in her. My heart 
 was left behind. 
 
 The next morning there was the usual bustle in the gun-room 
 preparatory to going ashore. Glittering uniforms lay about upon 
 the chairs and tables, sprinkled with swords, epaulettes, and 
 cocked hats ; very well-brushed boots were sent to be re-brushed, 
 and very nice coats to be made, if possible, to look nicer ; the 
 ship s barber was cursed for not having the hands of Briareus, and 
 no good was wished to the eyes of the washerwoman of the last 
 port where the frigate had anchored. Cologne-water was in great 
 request, and the purser had an uncommon number of " private 
 interviews." 
 
 Amid all the bustle, the question of how to pass the day was 
 busily agitated. Twenty plans were proposed ; but the sequel 
 a dinner at the Hotel Anglais, and a " stroll for a lark" after it 
 was the only point on which the speakers were quite unani 
 mous. 
 
 One proposition was to go to Bagaria, and see the palace of 
 Monsters. This is a villa about ten miles from Palermo, which 
 the owner, Count Pallagonia, and an eccentric Sicilian noble, has 
 ornamented with some hundreds of statues of the finest work 
 manship, representing the form of woman, in every possible com 
 bination with beasts, fishes, and birds. It looks like the temp 
 tation of St. Anthony, on a splendid scale, and is certainly one of 
 the most extraordinary spectacles in the world. 
 
 Near it stands another villa, the property of Prince Butera 
 (the present minister of Naples at the court of France), contain- 
 
244 BAKED MONKS. 
 
 ing in the depths of its pleasure-grounds, a large monastery, with 
 wax monks, of the size and appearance of life, scattered about the 
 passages and cells, and engaged in every possible unclerical avo 
 cation. It is a whimsical satire on the Order, done to the life. 
 
 Another plan was to go to the Capuchin convent, and see the 
 dried friars six or eight hundred bearded old men, baked, as 
 they died, in their cowls and beards, and standing against the 
 walls in ghastly rows, in the spacious vaults of the monastery. A 
 more infernal spectacle never was seen by mortal eyes. 
 
 A drive to Monreale, a nest of a village on the mountain above 
 the town a visit to the gardens of a nobleman who salutes the 
 stranger with a jet d eau at every turning and a lounge in the 
 public promenade of Palermo itself shared the honors of the 
 argument. 
 
 I had been in Sicily before, and was hesitating which of these 
 various 4 lions was worthy of a second visit, when the surgeon pro 
 posed to me to accompany him on a visit to a Sicilian Count, liv 
 ing in the neighborhood, who had converted his chateau into a 
 lunatic asylum, and devoted his time and a large fortune entirely 
 to this singular hobby. He was the first to try the system, (now, 
 thank God, generally approved !) of winning back reason to the 
 most wretched of human sufferers by kindness and gentle treat 
 ment. 
 
 We jumped into one of the rattling calesini standing in the 
 handsome corso of Palermo, and fifteen minutes beyond the gates 
 brought us to the Casa del Pazzi. My friend s uniform and 
 profession were an immediate passport, and we were introduced 
 into a handsome court, surrounded by a colonnade, and cooled by 
 a fountain, in which were walking several well-dressed people 
 with books, drawing-boards, battledores, and other means 
 
 
 
THE MAD HOUSE OF PALERMO. 245 
 
 amusement. They all bowed politely as we passed, and, at the 
 
 door of the interior, we were met by the Count. 
 
 " Good God !" I exclaimed " she was insane, then !" 
 It was the old man who was on board the nio-ht before 
 
 O 
 
 " E dla ?" said I, seizing his arm before he had concluded his 
 bow, quite sure that he must understand me with a word. 
 
 11 Era pazza." He looked at me as he answered, with a 
 scrutiny, as if he half suspected niy friend had brought him a 
 subject. 
 
 The singular character of her beauty was quite explained. 
 Yet what a wreck ! 
 
 I followed the old Count around his establishment in a kind of 
 dream, but I could not avoid being interested at every step. 
 Here were no chains, no whips, no harsh keepers, no cells of stone 
 and straw. The walls of the long corridors were painted in fresco, 
 representing sunny landscapes, and gay, dancing figures. Foun 
 tains and shrubs met us at every turn. The people were dressed 
 in their ordinary clothes, and all employed in some light work or, 
 amusement. It was like what it might have been in the days of 
 the Count s ancestors a gay chateau, filled with guests and de 
 pendants, with no more apparent constraint than the ties of hos 
 pitality and service. 
 
 We went first to the kitchen. Here were ten people, all, but 
 the cook, stark mad! It was one of the peculiarities of the 
 Count s system, that his patients led in, his house the lives to 
 which they had previously been accustomed. A stout Sicilian 
 peasant girl was employed in filling a large brasier from the basin 
 of a fountain. While we were watching her task, the fit began 
 to come on her, and, after a fierce look or two around the room, 
 she commenced dashing the water about her with great violence. 
 
246 PLEASURE-HOSPITAL FOR INSANE. 
 
 The cook turned, not at all surprised, and, patting her on the back, 
 with a loud laugh, cried, " Brava, Pepina ! bravo, /" ringing at 
 the same moment a secret bell. 
 
 A young girl of sixteen with a sweet, smiling countenance, 
 answered the summons, and, immediately comprehending the case, 
 approached the enraged creature, and putting her arms affec 
 tionately round her neck, whispered something in her ear. The 
 expression of her face changed immediately to a look of delight, 
 and dropping the bucket, she followed the young attendant out of 
 the room with peals of laughter. 
 
 " Venite /" said the Count, " you shall see how we manage our 
 furies." 
 
 We followed across a garden, filled with the sweetest flowers, to 
 a small room opening on a lawn. From the centre of the ceiling 
 was suspended a hammock, and Pepina was already in it, swung 
 lightly from side to side by a servant, while the attendant stood 
 by, and, as if in play, threw water upon her face at every ap 
 proach. It had all the air of a frolic. The violent laughter of 
 the poor maniac grew less and less as the soothing motion and the 
 coolness of the water took effect, and in a few minutes her strained 
 eyes gently closed, the hammock was swung more and more gently, 
 and she fell asleep. 
 
 " This," said the Count, with a gratified smile, " is my substi 
 tute for a forced shower-bath and chains ; and this," kissing his 
 little attendant on the forehead, " for the whip and the grim 
 turnkey." I blessed him in my heart. 
 
 " Come !" said he, as we left the sleeper to her repose, " I 
 must show you my grounds." 
 
 yVe followed him to an extensive garden, opening from th 
 back of the chateau, laid out, originally, in the formal style of 
 
 : 
 
THE MAD HOUSE OP PALERMO. 247 
 
 Italian villa. The long walks had been broken up, however, by 
 beautiful arbors with grottoes in their depths, in which wooden 
 figures, of the color and size of life, stood or sat in every attitude 
 of gaiety or grotesqueness. It was difficult, in the deep shadow 
 of the vines and oleanders, not to believe them real. We walked 
 on through many a winding shrubbery, perfumed with all the 
 scented flowers of the luxuriant climate, continually surprised 
 with little deceptions of perspective, or figures half concealed in 
 the leaves, till we emerged at the entrance of a charmino- sum 
 mer theatre, with sodded seats, stage, orchestra, and scenery, 
 complete. Orange-trees, roses, and clematis, were laced together 
 for a wall in the rear. 
 
 " Here," said the old man, bounding gayly upon the stage, 
 u here we act plays, the summer long." 
 
 " What ! not with your patients?" 
 
 " Si sig-nore ! Who else r" And he went on to describe to 
 us the interest they took in it, and the singular power with which 
 the odd idea seized upon their whimsied intellects. We had been 
 accompanied, from the first, by a grave, respectable-looking man, 
 whom I had taken for an assistant. While we were listening to 
 
 Ci 
 
 the description of the first attempt they had made at a play, he 
 started out from the group, and putting himself in an attitude 
 upon the stage, commenced spouting a furious passage in Italian. 
 The Count pointed to his forehead, and made a sign to us to lis 
 ten. The tragedian stopped at the end of his sentence, and after a 
 moment s delay, apparently in expectation of a reply, darted sud 
 denly off and disappeared behind the scenes. 
 
 " Poreretto ." said the Count, " it is my best actor !" 
 Near the theatre stood a small chapel, with a circular lawn be 
 fore it, on whioh tho rass had Wn latelv much trodden. It 
 
248 STORY OF A MANIAC GIRL. 
 
 was surrounded partly by a green bank, and here the Count seat 
 ed us, saying, with a significant look at me, that he would tell us 
 a story. 
 
 I should like to give it you in his own words still more with 
 his own manner ; for never was a tale told with more elegance of 
 language, or a more natural and pleasant simplicity. But a sheet 
 of " wire-wove" is not a Palermitan Cavaliere, and the cold Eng 
 lish has not the warm eloquence of the Italian. He laid aside 
 his hat, ordered fruit and wine, and proceeded. 
 
 " Almost a year ago, I was called upon by a gentleman of a 
 noble physiognomy and address, who inquired very particularly 
 into my system. I explained it to him, at his request, and he did 
 me the honor, as you gentlemen have done, to go over my little 
 establishment. He seemed satisfied, and, with some hesitation, 
 informed me that he had a daughter in a very desperate state oi 
 mental alienation. Would I go and see her ? 
 
 " This is not, you know, gentlemen, a public institution. I am 
 crazy," he said it very gravely, " quite crazy the first of m; 
 family of fools, on this particular theme and this asylum 
 my toy. Of course it is only as the whim seizes me that I ad 
 mit a patient ; for there are some diseases of the brain, seated i.i 
 causes with which I wish not to meddle. 
 
 " However, I went. With the freedom of a physician, I ques 
 tioned the father, upon the road, of the girl s history. He was 
 Greek, a prince of the Fanar, who had left his degraded peoph 
 in their dirty and dangerous suburb at Constantinople, to forget 
 oppression and meanness in a voluntary exile. It was just befoi 
 the breaking out of the last Greek revolution, and so many oi 
 his kinsmen and friends had been sacrificed to the fury of th( 
 
THE MAD HOUSE OF PALERMO. 249 
 
 Turks, that he had renounced all idea of ever returning to his 
 3ountry. 
 
 " l And your daughter ? 
 
 " < My dear Katinka, my only child, fell ill upon receiving dis 
 tressing news from the Fanar, and her health and her reason 
 never rallied after. It is now several years, and she has lain in 
 bed till her limbs are withered, never having uttered a word, or 
 made a sign which would indicate even consciousness of the pre 
 sence of those about her. 
 
 " I could not get from him that there was any disappointment 
 of the heart at the bottom of it. It seemed to be one of those 
 cases of sudden stupefaction, to which nervously sensitive minds 
 are liable after a violent burst of grief; and I began, before I 
 had seen her, to indulge in bright hopes of starting once more the 
 sealed fountains of thought and feeling. 
 
 " We entered Palermo, and passing out at the other gate, 
 stopped at a vine-laced casino on the lip of the bay, scarcely a 
 mile from the city wall. It was a pretty, fanciful place, and on 
 a bed in its inner chamber, lay the most poetical-looking creature 
 I had ever seen out of my dreams. Her head was pillowed in 
 an abundance of dark hair, which fell away from her forehead in 
 masses of glossy curls, relieving, with a striking effect, the wan and 
 transparent paleness of a face which the divinest chisel could 
 scarce have copied in alabaster. Dio mio ! how transcendant was 
 the beauty of that poor girl !" 
 
 The Count stopped and fed his memory, a moment, with closed 
 eyes upon the image. 
 
 " At the first glance I inwardly put up a prayer to the Virgin, 
 and determined, with her sweet help, to restore reason to the 
 fairest of its earthly temples. I took up her shadow of a hand, 
 11* 
 
250 LOVE FOR A CURE. 
 
 and spread out the thin fingers in my palm, and, as she turned her 
 large wandering eye toward me, I felt that the blessed Mary had 
 heard my prayer, l You shall see her well again, said I confidently. 
 
 " Quite overcome, the Prince Ghika fell on the bed and em 
 braced his daughter s knees in an agony of tears. 
 
 " You shall not have the seccatura, gentlemen, of listening to 
 the recital of all my tedious experiments for the first month or 
 two. I brought her to my house upon a litter, placed her in a 
 room filled with every luxury of the East, and suffered no one to 
 approach her except two Greek attendants, to whose services she 
 was accustomed. I succeeded in partially restoring animation to 
 her benumbed limbs by friction, and made her sensible of music, 
 and of the perfumes of the East, which I burned in a pastille- 
 lamp in her chamber. Here, however, my skill was baffled. I 
 could neither amuse nor vex. Her mind was beyond me. After 
 trying every possible experiment, as it seemed to me, my inven 
 tion was exhausted, and I despaired. 
 
 " She occupied, however, much of my mind. Walking up and 
 down yonder orange-alley one sweet morning, about two months 
 ago, I started off suddenly to my chamber with a new thought. 
 You would have thought me the maddest of my household, to 
 have seen me, gentlemen ! I turned out by the shoulders the 
 rcgazza, who was making my bed, washed and scented myself, 
 as if for a ball, covered my white hairs with a handsome brown 
 wig, a relic of my coxcombical days, rouged faintly, and, with 
 white gloves, and a most youthful appearance altogether, sought 
 the chamber of my patient. 
 
 " She was lying with her head in the hollow of her thin arm, 
 and, as I entered, her dark eyes rested full upon me. I ap 
 proached, kissed her hand with a respectful gallantry, and in the 
 
THE MAD HOUSE OF PALERMO. 251 
 
 tenderest tones of which my damaged voice was susceptible, 
 breathed into her ear a succession of delicately-turned compli 
 ments to her beauty. 
 
 " She lay as immovable as marble, but I had not calculated 
 upon the ruling passion of the sex in vain. A thin flush on her 
 cheek, and a flutter in her temple, only perceptible to my prac 
 tised eye, told me that the words had found their way to her 
 long-lost consciousness. 
 
 " I waited a few moments, and then took up a ringlet that fell 
 negligently over her hand, and asked permission to sever it from 
 the glossy mass in which the arm under her head was literally 
 buried. 
 
 " She clutched her fingers suddenly upon it, and glancing at 
 me with the fury of a roused tigress, exclaimed in a husky whisper, 
 4 Lasciate me, signore / 
 
 " I obeyed her, and, as I left the room, I thanked the Virgin 
 in my heart. It was the first word she had spoken for years. 
 
 " The next day, having patched myself up more successfully, in 
 my leisure, in a disguise so absolute that not one even of my pets 
 knew me as I passed through the corridor, I bowed myself up 
 once more to her bedside. 
 
 " She lay with her hands clasped over her eyes, and took no 
 notice of my first salutation. I commenced with a little raillery, 
 and, under cover of finding fault with her attitude, contrived to 
 pay an adroit compliment to the glorious orbs she was hiding 
 from admiration. She lay a moment or two without motion, but 
 the muscles of her slight mouth stirred just perceptibly, and pre 
 sently she drew her fingers quickly apart, and looking at me with 
 a most confiding expression in her pale features, a full sweet smile 
 
2o2 A LUNATIC WEDDING. 
 
 broke like sudden sunshine through her lips. I could have wept 
 for joy. 
 
 " I soon acquired all the influence over her I could wish. She 
 made an effort, at my request, to leave her bed, and in a week or 
 two walked with me in the garden. Her mind, however, seemed 
 to have capacity but for one thought, and she soon began to grow 
 unhappy, and would weep for hours. I endeavored to draw from 
 her the cause, but she only buried her face in my bosom, and 
 wept more violently, till one day, sobbing out her broken words 
 almost inarticulately, I gathered her meaning. She was grieved 
 that I did not marry her I 
 
 " Poor girl !" soliloquised the Count, after a brief pause, " she 
 was only true to her woman s nature. Insanity had but removed 
 the veil of custom and restraint. She would have broken her 
 heart before she had betrayed such a secret, with her reason. 
 
 " I was afraid at last she would go melancholy mad, this one 
 thought preyed so perpetually on her brain and I resolved to 
 delude her into the cheerfulness necessary to her health by a 
 mock ceremony. 
 
 " The delight with which she received my promise almost 
 alarmed me. I made several delays, with the hope that in the 
 convulsion of her feelings a ray of reason would break through 
 the darkness ; but she took every hour to heart, and I found it 
 was inevitable. 
 
 " You are sitting, gentlemen, in the very scene of our mad 
 bridal. My poor grass has not yet recovered, you see, from the 
 tread of the dancers. Imagine the spectacle. The chapel was 
 splendidly decorated, and, at the bottom of the lawn, stood three 
 long tables, covered with fruits and flowers, and sprinkled here 
 and there with bottles of colored water (to imitate wine), sherbets, 
 
THE MAD HOUSE OF PALERMO. 253 
 
 cakes, and other such innocent things as I could allow rny crazy 
 ones. They were all invited." 
 
 " Good God !" said the surgeon, " your lunatics ?" 
 
 " All all ! And never was such a sensation produced in a house 
 hold since the world was created. Nothing else was talked of for 
 a week. My worst patients seemed to suspend, for a time, their 
 fits of violence. I sent to town for quantities of tricksy stuffs, and 
 allowed the women to deck themselves entirely after their own 
 taste. You can conceive nothing like the business they made of 
 it! Such apparitions! Santa Maria! shall I ever forget that 
 Babel ? 
 
 " The morning came. My bride s attendants had dressed her 
 from her Grecian wardrobe ; and, with her long braid parted over 
 her forehead, and hanging back from her shoulders to her very 
 heels, her close-fitted jacket, of gorgeous velvet and gold, her 
 costly bracelets, and the small spangled slippers upon her unstock- 
 inged feet, she was positively an angelic vision of beauty. Her 
 countenance was thoughtful, but her step was unusually elastic, 
 and a small red spot, like a rose-leaf under the skin, blushed 
 through the alabaster paleness of her cheek. 
 
 " My maniacs received her with shouts of admiration. The 
 women were kept from her at first with great difficulty, and it was 
 only by drawing their attention to their own gaudier apparel, that 
 their anxiety to touch her was distracted. The men looked at 
 her, as she passed along like a Queen of Love and Beauty, and 
 their wild, gleaming eyes, and quickened breaths, showed the 
 effect of such loveliness upon the unconcealed feelings. I had 
 multiplied my attendants, scarce knowing how the excitement of 
 the scene might affect them ; but the interest of the occasion, and 
 the imposing decencies of dress and show, seemed to overcome 
 
254 THE EFFECT. 
 
 them effectually. The most sane guests at a bridal could scarce 
 have behaved with more propriety. 
 
 " The ceremony was performed by an elderly friend of mine, 
 the physician to my establishment. Old as I am, gentlemen, I 
 could have wished that ceremony to have been in earnest. As 
 she lifted up her large liquid eyes to heaven, and swore to be true 
 to me till death, I forgot my manhood, and wept. If I had been 
 younger ma, che porcheria ! 
 
 " After the marriage the women were invited to salute the 
 bride, and then all eyes in my natural party turned at once to the 
 feast. I gave the word. Fruits, cakes, and sherbets, disappeared 
 with the rapidity of magic, and then the music struck up from 
 the shrubbery, and they danced as you see by the grass. 
 
 " I committed the bride to her attendants at sunset, but I could 
 with difficulty tear myself away. On the following day, I called 
 at her door, but she refused to see me. The next day and the 
 next, I could gain no admittance without exerting my authority. 
 
 On the fourth morning I was permitted to enter. She had re 
 sumed her usual dress, and was sad, calm, and gentle. She said 
 little, but seemed lost in thought to which she was unwilling or 
 unable to give utterance. 
 
 " She has never spoken of it since. Her mind, I think, has 
 nearly recovered its tone, but her memory seems confused. I 
 scarce think she remembers her illness, and its singular events, 
 as more than a troubled dream. On all the common affairs of 
 life she seems quite sane, and I drive out with her daily, and 
 have taken her once or twice to the Opera. Last night we were 
 strolling on the Marina, when your frigate came into the bay, and 
 she proposed to join the crowd, and go off to hear the music. 
 We went on board as you know ; and now, if you choose to 
 
THE MAD HOUSE OF PALERMO. 255 
 
 pay your respects to the lady who refused to waltz with you, take 
 another sip of your sherbet and wine, and come with me." 
 
 To say more, would be trespassing, perhaps, on the patience of 
 my readers, but certainly on my own feelings. I have described 
 this singular case of madness and its cure, because I think it con 
 tains in itself the seeds of much philosophy on the subject. It 
 is only within a very few years that these poor sufferers have been 
 treated otherwise than as the possessors of incarnate devils, 
 whom it was necessary to scourge out with unsparing cruelty. If 
 this literal statement of a cure in the private mad-house of the 
 
 eccentric Conte , of Palermo, induce the friends of a single 
 
 unfortunate maniac to adopt a kind and rational system for his 
 restoration, tlia writer will have been repaid for bringing circum 
 stances before the public, which have since had much to do with 
 his own feelings. 
 
AN UP-TOWN CRISIS ; 
 
 OR, MRS. LUTHER LEATHERS S FIRST FRIDAY MORNING." 
 
 IT was one o clock, in a certain new four-story house, within 
 fashionable reach of Union-Square. The two drawing-rooms, 
 with the folding doors sheathed to the glass handles, were in 
 faultless order. There was a fire in one of the grates, to take off 
 the smell of the new furniture, and the chill of a November day ; 
 and just audible was the tick of a showy French clock, wound up 
 for the first time, and expected to swing its pendulum that morn 
 ing and thereafter, in the " first society" of New York. 
 
 As the unsuspecting and assenting clock struck one, there was 
 a rustle of silk down the banisters of the staircase, and the lady 
 of the house (the scaffolding of a well-built woman who had 
 fallen in) sailed into the room. 
 
 " Betsey ! that is to say, Judkins ! are you there ?" she in 
 quired, as she gave the blue curtains of the front windows a 
 twitch each. 
 
 " Yes, mem," said a voice from the little verandah room in the 
 rear. 
 
 " Is the chocolate hot ?" 
 
 "Bilin , mem!" 
 
AN UP-TOWN CRISIS. 257 
 
 " Now, Judkins, you remember aU Mr. Cyphers told you about 
 how to behave when the ladies come in there r" 
 
 " I can t help it, Mrs. Leathers !" said the invisible speaker, 
 without answering the question, " but it flusters me to be called 
 < Judkins, so blunt and sudden-like ! I shall upset this choco 
 late-pot, I know I shall, if you call me so when there s company. 
 Why, it s just like hearing my poor, dead husband called up out 
 of his grave, Mrs. Leathers ! If you please, mem, let it be Bet 
 sey, or Mrs. Judkins least-wise till I get used to it, some 
 how?" 
 
 But this remonstrance had been heard before, and the mistress 
 of the aggrieved Mrs. Judkins paid no attention to it. She had 
 been assured, by fashionable Mr. Cyphers, that head maids in 
 " first families," were always called by their sirnames, for it im 
 plied a large establishment, with two classes of servants the 
 chambermaids and kitchen scrubs being the only legitimate 
 Sallys and Betseys. 
 
 A ring at the bell, while Judkins was meditating another re 
 monstrance, suddenly galvanized Mrs. Leathers into the middle 
 of the sofa, facing the door ; and there she sat, as composed as if 
 she had been sitting an hour for her picture, when the gentleman 
 whose advice had just been acted upon, was shown in by the new 
 footman. 
 
 Like every unfashionable rich man s ambitious wife, Mrs. 
 Leathers had one fashionable male friend her counsellor in all 
 matters of taste, and the condescending guide of herself and her 
 husband s plebeian million through the contempts which form the 
 vestibule to "good society." Mr. Theodore Cyphers was one 
 of two dwindled remainders to a very " old family" a sister, 
 who seemed to be nothing but the family nose walking about in a 
 
258 PREPARATIONS. 
 
 petticoat, sharing with him the reversed end of cornucopia! ances 
 try. He was, perhaps, thirty-five, of a very genteel ugliness of 
 personal appearance, good-humored, and remarkably learned upon 
 the motives, etiquette and usages of fashionable society. Of a 
 thought unconnected with the art of gentility, or of the making 
 of a penny, Mr. Cyphers was profoundly incapable. Skill at 
 thinking, indeed, would. have been a superfluity, for he had had a 
 grandfather, in a country where grandfathers are fewer and more 
 prized than anywhere else, and he had only to do nothing and be 
 highly respectable. The faculty of earning something would 
 scarcely have bettered his condition, either, for his rarity as an 
 unemployed gentleman, in a city where excessive industry is too 
 universal to be a virtue, gave him that something to be known by, 
 which it is the very devil to be without. What paid for Mr. or 
 Miss Cyphers s sustenance and postage, was one of the few re 
 spectable mysteries of New York. He had now and then a note 
 discounted by the house of Leathers and Co., Wall-street; but 
 of course it was not taken up at maturity by his attentions to 
 Mrs. Leathers, nor have we any knowledge that these promises of 
 Cyphers to pay, were still under indefatigable renewal up to the 
 date of the great stockholder s wife s first " Friday Morning." 
 
 It was in expectation of a proper " reception" call, that Mrs. 
 Leathers had taken her seat upon the sofa, and, upon the appear 
 ance of Mr. Cyphers, she came out of her attitude with a slight 
 look of disappointment. 
 
 " I have dropped in early, my dear friend," she he, " to see 
 that everything is comme il faut. Bless me, how light the room 
 is ! Nobody would come twice where there is such a glare on 
 the complexion ! Will you allow me to call Caesar to shut the 
 
AN UP-TOWN CRISIS. 259 
 
 outside blinds ? Caesar !" he cried, stepping back to the entry to 
 recall the man who had let him in. 
 
 But no Caesar answered, for the black footman had a sirname 
 as well as Betsey Judkins, and if she was to be called " Judkims, 
 he would be called " Fuzzard," and he would answer to nothing 
 else. 
 
 " It cannot be permitted, my dear Mrs. Leathers !" expostu 
 lated Mr. Cyphers, when the man carried his point, and shut 
 the blinds to an order given him by the name of Fuzzard ; " a 
 head servant, with a white cravat, is the only man who can go by 
 a sirname in a genteel family. A trifle but little things show 
 style. Pay the man more wages to let himself be called Caesar, 
 but call him Casar ! Pardon me!" (continued Mr. Cyphers, 
 suddenly changing to an apologetic cadence.) " might I venture 
 to suggest a little change in your toilette, my dear madam r" 
 
 "Mine!" cried Mrs. Leathers, coloring slightly, but looking 
 as frightened as if she had been pulled back from a precipice. 
 " Why, Mr. Cyphers, this is the very last fashion out from 
 Paris ! I hope I trust why, what do you mean, Mr. Cy 
 phers ?" and Mrs. Leathers walked to the pier glass and looked 
 at herself, behind and before, in rapid succession. 
 
 " For the Opera, very well, my dear friend," he replied, ap- 
 pealingly, or for a bridal call, or nfete champetre. It is as pretty 
 a three-quarter toilette as ever I saw, and you look quite lovely 
 in it, dear Mrs. Leathers, but " 
 But what, I should like to know : 
 
 " Why, in your own house, you see, it is stylish to be rather 
 under-dressed ; as if seeing people were such an every-day mat 
 ter, that you had not thought it worth while to appear in more 
 than your ordinary toilette." 
 
260 ON DRESS AT HOME. 
 
 " And so everybody in my own house is to look well but me /" 
 remonstratively exclaimed Mrs. Leathers. 
 
 " No pardon me ; morning caps and well studied negliges 
 are very becoming ; but it is not that exactly. Let me explain 
 the principle to you. Sitting up in showy dress to receive calls, 
 looks, (does it not ?) as if you made a great event of it ; as if the 
 calls were an unusual honor as if you meant to be extremely 
 deferential towards your visitors." 
 
 But they are splendidly dressed when they make the calls, 
 Mr. Cyphers !" 
 
 " Yes, but it is, as one may say, open to supposition that they 
 are going somewhere else, and have only taken your house in their 
 way don t you see ? And then, supposing nobody comes a 
 thing that might happen, you know, my dear Mrs. Leathers ; 
 why, there you are in grand toilette evidently expecting 
 somebody ; of course mortified, yourself, with the failure of your 
 matinee, and, what is worse, seen to be mortified, by your neigh 
 bors across the way !" 
 
 " La ! mercy ! of course !" exclaimed Mrs. Leathers, dis 
 covering that there was a trap or two for the unwary in " good 
 society," of which she had been entirely unsuspicious ; " but 
 what am I to do ? I have no time to dress over again ! Mrs. 
 Ingulphus might be here, and " 
 
 " Oh !" interrupted Cyphers, with a prophetic foreboding that 
 (spite of his influence with Mrs. Ingulphus, and the hundred and 
 fifty " At home on Friday mornings" which had been left on 
 people she did not know,) Mrs. Leathers would have very few 
 visitors for many a Friday morning yet to come, "Oh, my dear 
 madam, you are abundantly in time. Pray go up and slip into 
 your prettiest demi-toilette, and take your chance of any one s 
 
AN UP-TOWN CRISIS. 2 Ql 
 
 coming. It looks well, in fact, not to be ready when people call ; 
 not to have expected them so early, as it were. While you are 
 gone, by-the-bye, I will make a little arrangement of your place 
 to sit, etc., etc., which strikes me, at this moment, as a matter 
 we had quite overlooked. Go, my dear Mrs. Leathers !" 
 
 It was upon the call of Mrs. Ingulphus, so confidently alluded 
 to by Mrs. Leathers, that Mr. Cyphers secretly built all his hope 
 of making his friend fashionable. Mrs. Ingulphus s carriage, 
 seen at any door for half an hour, was a sufficient keystone for a 
 new aspirant s arch of aristocracy ; but of such demonstration, 
 Mrs. Ingulphus was exceedingly chary. The sagacious leader of 
 fashion knew that her house must, first of all, be attractive and 
 amusing. She was too wise to smother its agreeableness alto 
 gether, with people who had descended from grandfathers ; but, to 
 counteract this very drowse of dwindledom, she required, of the 
 grandfatherless, either beauty or talent. Mr. Cyphers, in making 
 interest Jor Mrs. Leathers, had not pleaded her wealth. That 
 was now so common as to have ceased to be a distinction, or, at 
 least, it was a distinction which, in mounting to Mrs. Ingulphus s 
 drawing-room, Mrs. Leathers must leave in the gutter with her 
 carriage. 
 
 What Mrs. Leathers was like, after getting inside a door, was 
 the question. She might be dull, if she was Knickerbocratic 
 low-born, if stylish and beautiful scandalized, if willing to under 
 take wall-flowers and make her fascinations useful, but she 
 must be something besides rich and vulgar. Cyphers could plead 
 for her on none of the usual grounds, but, with a treacherous inge 
 nuity, he manufactured an attraction which was, in fact, a slan 
 der on Mrs. Leathers. He reminded Mrs. Ingulphus that 
 foreigners liked a house where the married ladies would flirt, and 
 
262 
 
 BE SEEN WRITING. 
 
 whispered, confidentially, that Mrs. Leathers had a dull money 
 bag for a husband, and (to use his own phrase), " would listen to 
 reason." 
 
 Mrs. Ingulphus said she would think of it, and, upon this encou 
 ragement, Cyphers cherished a hope that she would call. 
 
 With the aid of Judkins and Fuzzard, Mr. Cyphers, on Mrs. 
 Leathers s disappearance, made some important changes in the 
 furniture of the front drawing-room. A fancy writing-desk was 
 taken out from under the pier-table, opened, and set upon a 
 work-stand in the corner, the contents scattered about in epis 
 tolary confusion, and a lounging chair wheeled up before it. 
 With some catechising, Judkins remembered an embroidered foot 
 stool in one of the closets up stairs, and this was sent for and 
 placed in front of thefauteuil. The curtains all let down, except 
 one, and the sofa wheeled up with its back to this one entrance 
 for the light Mr. Cyphers saw that he could do no more. 
 
 " Now, my very expeditious Mrs. Leathers," he said, as she 
 entered, in an unobjectionable morning dress, and a cap rather 
 becoming, " one little word more of general directions. Ladies 
 love to sit with their backs to the light, in a morning call, and as 
 the sofa is placed now, they will easily take a seat in a becoming 
 position, and without any inconvenient drawing up of a chair. 
 As to yourself, sit you at this desk and write " 
 
 " Bless me ! I have nothing to write !" interrupted Mrs. 
 Leathers. 
 
 " Oh, copy an advertisement from a newspaper, if you like," 
 resumed her polite instructor, u but write something, and let it be 
 upon note paper. You must seem to be passing your morning 
 quite independently of visits, and to be rather broken in upon 
 than otherwise, by any one s coining in. Fashionable people, 
 
AN UP-TOWN CRISIS. 263 
 
 you know, admire most those who can do without them. I think 
 that s in Pelham." 
 
 " La ! and must I write till somebody comes r" 
 " Dip your pen in the ink when the bell rings, that s all ; and 
 write till their coming in makes you look up, suddenly and un 
 consciously, as it were. Stay suppose I sit in your chair, and 
 show you how I would receive a call ? You are the visitor, say, 
 and I am Mrs. Leathers ? n 
 
 Mr. Cyphers crossed his feet, in an elongated position, upon 
 the embroidered footstool, and threw his hankerchief over them 
 in imitation of a petticoat, just disclosing a toe and an instep ; 
 then, taking up a pen, he went through the representation of a 
 lady surprised, writing, by a morning call. As, upon Mrs. 
 Leathers trying to do it after him, he found there were several 
 other points in her attitude and manners which required slight 
 emendation, we will leave these two at their lesson above stairs, 
 and take a look into the basement parlor of the story below. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 THE LEATHERS S BASEMENT. 
 
 A PAIR of beautiful partridges, cooked to a turn, had just suc 
 ceeded a bass, done in port-wine sauce ; the potatoes were hot, 
 and the pint bottle of champagne had given place to a decanter 
 of sherry, at the right hand of Mr. Luther Leathers, dining alone 
 in his basement parlor. A fire of bituminous coal burned very 
 brightly in the grate. Dividing her attention between watching 
 
264 THE HUSBAND. 
 
 the blaze, and looking up placidly to the face of the stock-broker 
 as he soliloquized over his dinner, sat a hunchback girl of nine 
 teen or twenty, carefully propped on a patent easy-chair upon 
 wheels. There was no servant waiting on table. The bread and 
 water were within Mr. Leathers s reach, and the bell-handle was 
 at the right hand of the pale and patient-looking little cripple in 
 the corner. 
 
 " Lucy, my dear girl," said the carver of the partridge, 
 holding up a bit of the breast of the bird upon his fork, " I wish 
 I could persuade you to take a bit of this. See how nice it 
 looks !" 
 
 " I know you wish it," she answered, with an affectionate half 
 smile, " and you would give me your own health to enjoy it, i: 
 you could, but I have no appetite to-day except sympathy wit! 
 yours." 
 
 Leathers was a short, stout man, of about forty. He had a fac( 
 roughly lined with anxiety, and a knit contraction of brows 
 which showed a habit of forcibly contracting his attention at shor 
 notice. The immediate vicinity of his mouth, however, was 
 pliable and good-humored, and, in fact, looked as if neither can 
 nor meanness had ever been permitted to have a pull upon it. Hi* 
 hair was pushed rudely away from a compact, well-filled forehead 
 the lids were habitually drawn together around his small twink 
 ling grey eyes, and his head was set forward upon his shoulders 
 in the attitude of one giving close attention. A very carelessly- 
 tied cravat, coat-sleeves turned back over the wrist, and hands 
 that evidently never wore a glove, showed that the passion for 
 fashionable life, which reigned up stairs, had little influence on 
 the thoughts or toilettes in the basement below. 
 
 Yet, to the policy or proceedings of his wife, to her expensive- 
 
AN UP-TOWN CRISIS. 2 65 
 
 ness, or her choice of friends, her hours of going or coming, her 
 intimacies or her ambitions, Mr. Leathers made no manner of 
 objection. He differed wholly from her in her valuation of 
 things and people, and, perhaps, there was a little dislike of 
 trouble in his avoidance of the desperate task of setting her right ; 
 but there was another and less easily divined reason for his 
 strange letting of Mrs. Leathers have her own silly way so 
 entirely. There was a romantic chivalry of mind, laid away, 
 unticketted and unsuspected by himself, in a corner of his capa 
 cious brain, and, silly woman as she was, he had married her for 
 love. In the suburb where he had found her, she was a sort of 
 school girl belle, and, as he had not then struck his vein of 
 prosperity, and was but a poor clerk, with his capacities unsus 
 pected, her station in life was superior to his, and he had first 
 taken her to his bosom with the feeling of a plebeian honored with 
 the condescending affection of a fair patrician. 
 
 To this feeling of gratitude, though they had so essentially 
 changed places he having given her a carriage as a millionaire s 
 wife, and she having only grown silly, and lost her beauty he 
 remained secretly and superstitiously loyal. It was his proud 
 pleasure to give her everything she could ask for, and still retain 
 his nominal attitude as the receiver of favor. He never, by look 
 or word, let Mrs. Leathers understand that the promise of eternal 
 love was not a promise, religiously to pay. Of the dis-illusion in 
 his heart of his real judgment of her character of the entire 
 abandonment, by his reason, of all the castles in the air for which 
 he had romantically married she, fortunately, never had a sus 
 picion, or asked a question, and he would have cut off his hand 
 sooner than enlighten her. In public he assumed a manner of 
 respect and devotion, because his good sense told him there might 
 12 
 
266 LOVE, OF SOME SORT. 
 
 be those who would think ill of her if he did not. Ignorant of the 
 motive, and his appearance not being fashionable, Mrs. Leathers 
 would often rather have been waited on by Mr. Cyphers, and this 
 the husband saw without uneasiness, and would have yielded to, 
 but for the wish to serve her, in spite of herself. With this single 
 exception of occasional contradictoriness, and the exercise of 
 quiet and prior authority as to his own hours of dining, and his 
 own comforts, and those of hunchback Lucy, in the basement 
 the stock-broker and his establishment were under the apparently 
 complete control of Mrs. Leathers, and, thereby, in a state of 
 candidacy for admission into the list of New York fashionable 
 aristocracy. 
 
 Of course, Leathers, the stock-broker, had a heart ; and, like 
 other hearts, human and disappointed, it might have buried its 
 hopes without a funeral, and sought consolation elsewhere without 
 a drum. It was necessary that he should love and love well. 
 How long a want of this nature may go unexplained in the breast 
 that feels it the love-needing man being miserable, he knows 
 not why depends on circumstances ; but, as Leathers was 
 beginning to turn his un-escapeable business faculty of attention 
 upon himself to see what the deuce he wanted, and how to get it, 
 he was accidentally appointed, by the whim of a nominating com 
 mittee, one of the wardens of a poor-house. Compelled, for his 
 character s sake, to visit and report upon the condition of this 
 establishment, he chanced to see, in one of the wards, a little 
 orphan hunchback, whose pitiful and delicate face excited his 
 compassion. His unemployed heart sprang to the child he 
 adopted her, and took her home gave Mrs. Leathers a carriage 
 and horses on the same day, to appease and propitiate her and 
 
AN UP-TOWN CRISIS. 267 
 
 thenceforward had an object of affection, which, (engrossed with 
 business as he was,) sufficed to fill the void in his existence. 
 
 Lucy had no other name, that she knew of, but that was 
 enough. Her education had been such as she could pick up in 
 an alms-house, but she was fond of reading, and passionately 
 fond of music, and when her benefactor was not at home, she 
 was happy with her books in the arm-chair, or with her piano, 
 and Mrs. Leathers seldom saw her except at breakfast. Lucy 
 thought the stock-broker an angel, and so, to her, he was. He 
 loved her with a tear in his throat, and kissed her small, white 
 forehead at night and morning, with a feeling many a brilliant 
 beauty has sighed in vain to awaken. At half-past three, every 
 day, Leathers alighted from the omnibus, at his own house, hav 
 ing, perhaps, passed his wie in her carriage, on his way up from 
 Wall street, and, with an eager happiness, unexplained to him 
 self, went in at the basement door and sat down to his punctual 
 dinner. Lucy dined with him, or sat by the fire. From the 
 moment of his entering she had no thought, wish, or attention, 
 for anything but him. Her little thin lips wore an involuntary 
 smile, and her soft, blue eyes fairly leaned up against his heart in 
 their complete absorption in what he said. She showed the most 
 pleasure, however, when he talked most about himself, and, by 
 questions and leadings of the conversation, she drew from him, 
 daily, the history of his morning, his hopes, successes, obstacles 
 or disappointments. 
 
 He did not confess to her, for he did not confess to himself, 
 why this or that " operation" had pleased him, but there was 
 sympathy in having its mere mention heard with earnest atten- 
 tiveness, and he felt expanded and lightened at heart by her 
 
268 DRAMATIC STOCK-BROKER. 
 
 smile or nod of congratulation. This daily recital, with its 
 interruptions and digressions, usually occupied the hour of dinner, 
 and then, genial with his glass of wine and his day s work, 
 Leathers drew up his chair to Lucy s, and had no earthly de 
 sire, save the passing of his evening between her talk and his 
 newspaper. 
 
 Little stuff for poetry as there would seem to be in Wall-street 
 mornings, Leathers was not undramatic, in his view of his own 
 worldly position, and in his descriptions of business operations to 
 Lucy. He had, early in life, looked askance, with some bitter 
 ness, at people with whom he could never compete, and at refine 
 ments and advantages he could never attain. Too sensible a man 
 to play a losing game at anything, he had stifled his desire to 
 shine, and locked down the natural chivalry, for which, with his 
 lack of graces, he was so certain to lack appreciation. In giving 
 up all hope of distinction in matters of show, however, he had 
 prepared himself to enjoy more keenly the satisfaction of control 
 ling those who were its masters, and it was this secret feeling of 
 supremacy, over the very throne of the empire that had rejected 
 and exiled him, which gave his business the zest of a tourney, and 
 made him dwell on its details, with delight in Lucy s eager and 
 sympathetic listening. 
 
 The household, in short, went on very harmoniously. Mrs. 
 Leathers was never up at breakfast, and usually made her dinner 
 of the lunch in her boudoir, at which Mr. Cyphers daily played a 
 part, and drank his bottle of champagne. Leathers was asleep 
 when she went to bed, she asleep when he got up ; she spent 
 money without stint, and used her carriage as she and Mr. Cy 
 phers pleased, and that made all comfortable above stairs. Be- 
 
AN UP-TOWN CRISIS. 2 69 
 
 low. Leathers was autocrat undisputed, and all was happiness 
 there. 
 
 PART III. 
 
 WILL MRS. INGULPHUS CALL ? 
 
 By the French clock, it was getting towards half-past four in 
 the drawing-room. At five minutes to four, Mrs. Leathers had 
 ordered Fuzzard to oil the joint of the door-bell, for it was incon 
 ceivable that nobody should have come, and perhaps the bell 
 wouldn t ring. Ladies in good society would give up an acquaint 
 ance rather than split their gloves open with straining at a tight 
 bell-handleso Mr. Cyphers seriously assured her. 
 
 The afternoon wore on, and still no sign of a visitor. Of her 
 unfashionable acquaintances she was sure not to see one, for, on 
 them, Mrs. Leathers had left " At Homes" for Saturday, to pre 
 serve an uncontaminated " Friday" for the list made out by Mr. 
 Cyphers. 
 
 Mrs. Leathers walked the room nervously, and, at every turn, 
 looked through the lace curtain of her front window. 
 
 " I ll move from this house," said the unhappy woman, twisting 
 her handkerchief around her elbow and thumb, " for there are 
 those vSneden girls opposite, with their bonnets on, peeping 
 through the blinds, and, if nobody comes, they ll stay away them 
 selves and tell everybody else. Mr. Cyphers ! if some carriage 
 don t stop at the door before dark, I shall die ! How came you 
 
270 THE BNEDENS 
 
 to put those nasty Snedens on the list, Mr. Cyphers ? To leave 
 a card and not have it returned, is so mortifying !" 
 
 " Nasty Snedens, as you say," echoed Cyphers, " but it s no 
 use to despise people till you have something to refuse. Wait 
 till they want to come to a party because Mrs. Ingulphus is 
 coming !" 
 
 " Why, do the Snedens know Mrs. Ingulphus ?" inquired Mrs. 
 Leathers, half incredulously. 
 
 " Know her ? she couldn t live without them !" and glad of 
 anything to take off the attention of his friend from her disap 
 pointment, and enliven the dullness of that very long morning, 
 Cyphers proceeded to define the Snedens. 
 
 " They are of a class of families," he continued, " common to 
 every well-regulated society, all girls and all regular failures 
 a sort of collapsed-looking troop of young ladies, plain and good 
 for nothing, but dying to be fashionable. Every stylish person 
 at the head of a set has one such family in her train." 
 
 " But what on earth can the Snedens do for Mrs. Ingulphus r" 
 inquired Mrs. Leathers rather listlessly. 
 
 " Why, they pick up her scandal, do her cheap shopping, cir 
 culate what she wants known, put down reports about her, collect 
 compliments, entertain bores, praise her friends and ridicule her 
 rivals dirty work you may say, but has to be done ! No posi 
 tion without it I assure you I have come to that conclusion. In 
 natural history there is a corresponding class jackals. As 
 clever what-d ye-call-him says, a leader of fashion without 
 family of girls of disappointed prospects, is like a lion starving tc 
 .death for want of jackals." 
 
 * Twenty minutes to five !" digressed Mrs. Leathers j " I won 
 der if Mrs. Ingulphns is sick ! Oh, Mr. Cyphers !" she con 
 
AN UP-TOWN CRISIS. 271 
 
 tinued, in a tone of as much anguish as she could possibly feel, 
 "canH you go round and implore her beg her anything to 
 make her come only this once ! You told me you knew her so 
 well, and she was certain to be here !" 
 
 Cyphers, in fact, had about given up Mrs. Leathers s " Friday 
 morning" as a failure ; but he went on consoling. The light 
 perceptibly lessened in the room. It was evident that the even 
 ing, without any regard to Mrs. Leathers s feelings, was about to 
 close over the visiting hour. Meantime, however, a scene had 
 been going on in the basement, which eventually had an import 
 ant influence on Mrs. Leathers s " Friday mornings," and of 
 which we must, therefore, give the reader a glimpse, though, (our 
 story is getting so long,) we must confine ourselves to its closing 
 tableau. 
 
 PART IV. 
 
 WHAT BROUGHT MRS. INGULPHUS. 
 
 A middle-aged man, of a very high-bred mould of feature, sat 
 on the forward edge of a chair, leaning far over the table toward 
 Mr. Leathers. He was dressed for a dinner party, and a pair of 
 white gloves lay on the cloth beside him ; but his face looked 
 very little like that of a man on his way to a festivity. The 
 sweat stood in large drops on his forehead and upper lip. His 
 closed left hand was clutched in the palm of his right ; his 
 elbows were crowded to his side ; his drawn-up shoulders crushed 
 his white cravat into a wisp under his pars, and he sat with his 
 
272 ARISTOCRATIC RELIANCES. 
 
 mouth partly open, and eyes glaring upon the stock-broker, as if 
 expecting life or death from his immediate decision. Lucy sat in 
 her chair, looking on, but not with her ordinary calmness. Her 
 lips were trembling to speak, and her thin hand clutched the han 
 dle of the lever which moved her patent chair, while her little 
 bent back was lifted from its supporting cushion, with the prepa 
 ratory effort to wheel forward. Leathers, on whom her moist 
 eyes were intently fixed, sat gazing on a bundle of papers, with 
 his under lip pinched between his knuckle and thumb. 
 
 " Think, I implore, before you decide," said the visitor, at last, 
 breaking the silence. " You are my last hope ! I could not 
 plead with you this morning in Wall street. I should have be 
 trayed myself to people coming in. I did not then think of 
 asking you again. I went home, despairing. Afraid yes, 
 afraid to stay alone with my own thoughts, I dressed to go out. 
 My wife will be here in a moment to take me up, on her way to a 
 dinner-party. Oh God ! how little she dreams we may be 
 beggars to-morrow!" 
 
 He pressed his forehead between his two hands for a moment, 
 and crowded his elbows down upon the table. Lucy rolled her 
 chair a little forward, but Leathers motioned her back. 
 
 " You may think," he resumed, " that I might go to others 
 more intimate friends in such extremity family friends. But 
 I know them. It would be utterly in vain, Mr. Leathers ! 1 
 have no friend, much less a relative, in the world, of the least use 
 in misfortune. I had strained my credit to the last thread before 
 coming to you, in Wall street. Why I suddenly resolved to 
 come to you, here, with no claim, ami at such an unfit hour for 
 business, 1 know not. Instinct prompted. It seemed to me, 
 while I was dressing, like tho whisper of nn ansrol !" 
 
AN UP-TOWN CRISIS. 273 
 
 Leathers made a movement as if to speak. 
 
 " Take care, sir ! for God s sake, take care ! With one word 
 you may bind me to you while I live, with the gratitude of des 
 peration, or you plunge me into ruin !" 
 
 The stock-broker took up the schedules of property which lay 
 before him, and, after an instant s hesitation, pushed them across 
 the table. During the half-hour, while proud Ingulphus, the 
 millionaire, had been pleading with him for salvation from ruin, 
 he had not been examining these, though his eyes were bent on 
 them. He had satisfied himself of their unavailable value, before 
 his refusal of the morning. The struggle in his heart between 
 pity and prudence occupied him now. He knew that the chances 
 were against his ever seeing again the very large sum necessary to 
 prevent the present bankruptcy of Ingulphus, and that a turn in 
 business might make the same urgently necessary to himself to 
 morrow but his compassion was moved. He would have refused 
 over again, outright and without ceremony, in Wall street ; but 
 Ingulphus had taken him at a business disadvantage, with his 
 heart uppermost and open, and a pleading angel listening and 
 looking on. 
 
 As the three sat silent, pity gradually overcoming the reluctant 
 prudence of the stock-broker s judgment, there was a dash of 
 wheels and hoofs upon the clear pavement near the curb-stone, a 
 sudden pull-up, and the splendid equipage of the Ingulphuses 
 stood at Leathers s door. Lucy s heart sank within her, for she 
 had been praying to Heaven, with all her might of sympathy and 
 inward tears, for the success of the plea, and she felt that the 
 influence of this ostentatious arrival was unfavorable. Leathers 
 looked over his shoulder into the street, and rose from his chair as 
 the footman in livery crossed the sidewalk to ring the bell, 
 12* 
 
274 AN ANGEL S PLEA. 
 
 u For God s sake !" gasped the desperate pleader, in an 
 agonised tone, knitting his hands together, and turning his face 
 with the movement, as the stock-lbroker took his stand before the 
 fire. 
 
 There was refusal in the attitude of Leathers, and in his brow, 
 compressed with the effort to utter it. 
 
 The thin, white fingers of the little hunchback gently took the 
 hand of her benefactor now brought within her reach and held 
 it to her lips, while the tears dropped upon it freely. 
 
 " For my sake /" she murmured, in a tone of appealing and 
 caressing tenderness, which a more hard-hearted man than her 
 benefactor would have been troubled to resist. 
 
 Leathers turned and opened his large eyes with an expression 
 of sudden tenderness upon her. 
 
 " For your sake be it, then, my sweet child !" he said, giving 
 her a kiss with a rapid movement, as if his heart had joyfully 
 broken through its restraint with the impulse she had lent it. 
 
 u And now, for the sake of this little angel, Mr. Ingulphus," 
 he continued 
 
 But the sudden rush of hope, and the instant relaxation of 
 despair, were too much for the high-strung frame of the proud 
 suppliant. 
 
 Excited to the utmost tension by anxiety, and, doubtless, for 
 months overdone with sleeplessness and fatigue, his nervous 
 system gave way, and, as Leathers turned to him from Lucy, he 
 fell fainting from his chair. 
 
 To ring the bell and send suddenly to the carriage for Mrs. 
 Ingulphus, was the work of a moment ; and, to the astonishment 
 of the Snedens opposite, and the mingled relief and surprise of 
 Cyphers and Mrs. Leathers, who were peeping at the carriage 
 
AN UP-TOWN CRISIS. 
 
 from the drawing-room window, the queen of the up-town fashion 
 ran up the steps, in full dinner-dress, and went in at the 
 Leathers s ! 
 
 A present of a bouquet with the Snedens s card the next 
 morning was the beginning of Mrs. Leathers s recognition by the 
 discriminating paste-board of fashion but there are many, who, 
 (till they read this story), have considered Mrs. Leathers s ad 
 mission to the " Ingulphus s set," as one of the most inexplicable 
 mysteries of this astounding century. 
 
THE ICY VEIL; 
 
 OR, THE KEYS TO THREE HEARTS THOUGHT COLD. 
 
 ON an afternoon of Autumn s tranquillizing and thoughtful 
 sweetness, the public band, in the Rosenthal of Leipsic, chanced 
 upon an air that troubled the tears of a lady among the listeners. 
 The music, which is sometimes stationed at a small garden nearer 
 the town, was, for that day, at the cafe, deeper in the wood ; and 
 the small tables scattered around beneath the trees, were, at this 
 hour, covered by the coffee and ices of the crowd, an untouched 
 glass of sherbet (her apology for occupancy of a chair) standing 
 before the lady to whose heart the music, as it seemed, had an 
 errand. It was an hour every way delicious, and to all there who 
 had not, in their own bosoms, the discontent that dissolved the 
 spell, the gardens of the Rosenthal were, for that evening, 
 enchanted. The shadow under the thick grove was golden with 
 the coming sunset. The gaily-painted porticoes of the little 
 maison de plaisance looked festal with the addition of the bright 
 colors of shawls and bonnets, students caps and soldiers uni 
 forms. The avenues around were thronged with promenaders. 
 Flower-girls curtsied about with baskets of roses. 
 
 The lady in the simple straw bonnet was alone, except that a 
 
THE ICY VEIL. 277 
 
 servant, standing at the entrance of the wicket enclosure, unob- 
 strusively kept her in sight. She was dressed with a skill detect 
 able only by those of her own class in life, and, to all eyes, 
 plainly ; but the slender wreath of blue and crimson flowers 
 which lay well back between the bonnet and the oval of her 
 cheek, betrayed an unwillingness that the dark hair should be 
 robbed wholly of embellishing contrast, and her movements, 
 though habitual and unthought of, were those of unerring elegance, 
 impressed (indefinably but effectually) with a singular pride and 
 majesty. Beauty, such as is appreciable by common eyes, she 
 had not. The freshness of youth had departed ; but, to the few 
 who know, at first sight, the lustrous up-gleaming from a warm 
 heart deeply covered, she would, at this moment, have seemed 
 more beautiful than in youth. The morning light throws a glitter 
 upon the surface of the sea, that pleases the thoughtless ; but the 
 diver for pearls finds more beauty in the unglittering profound 
 ness of the sea s look at noon. 
 
 Betrayals by angels (it may be !) of what the pride would 
 wrongfully conceal, are the tears, so little subject to the bidding 
 of the eyes that shed them ; and those to which the music of the 
 Rosenthal had so unexpectedly called upon to give testimony, 
 were destined to fulfil their mission. A new comer to the crowd 
 had taken his seat at a table under the portico a young man of 
 remarkable beauty of person and, at the same moment that, 
 with a start of surprise, he rose to address the lady as a recognized 
 acquaintance, her suffused eyes arrested his attention, and pre 
 vented what would have been, at that moment, an evident 
 intrusion. Resuming his seat, and guarding against recognition, 
 by bringing the lattice of the portico between himself and his 
 discovery, he had leisure, during the playing of an overture of 
 
278 SUPPRESSED RECOGNITION. 
 
 Mozart, to marvel at so singular a rencontre in a public garden of 
 Lcipsic ; and still more, at such a miracle of things out of place, 
 as tears in the cold eyes of a woman he had thought made of 
 marble ! 
 
 W ith his fancy weaving cobwebs of conjecture on these points, 
 however, the attention of the stranger was, a second time, 
 arrested. A Tyrolese glove-girl, in the drooping hat and short 
 green petticoat of her country, had approached him with her box 
 suspended over her shoulder, and, with a second glance at her 
 face, he had smilingly removed his ring, and extended his hand to 
 be fitted with a specimen of her merchandise ; availing himself of 
 the opportunity to study her features with the absorbing gaze of 
 an artist. His mind was pre-occupied, however. Hours after, the 
 peculiar value (artistically speaking) of the physiognomy he thus 
 unconsciously stored away, became for the first time apparent to 
 him, and he wondered that he could have parted, so carelessly, with 
 a face so full of meaning But his own features beautiful to a 
 degree seldom seen in the person of a man were destined to be 
 better remembered. 
 
 The music ceased suddenly, and the lady in the straw bonnet, 
 followed at a distance by her servant, took her way long the 
 meadow-path of the Rosenthal. After a few steps she was over 
 taken by the artist. 
 
 " The Countess Isny-Frere, or her apparition, I believe !" he 
 said, removing his hat and addressing her with the deference of a 
 ceremonious acquaintance. 
 
 She stopped suddenly, with a look that began in unwelcome 
 surprise, and ended in well-bred carelessness. 
 
 " I must rally, to think which it is that you see," she replied, 
 " for (I have the pleasure of speaking to Mr. Tremlet, I believe) 
 
THE ICY VEIL. 379 
 
 the sight of an English face has startled me, soul or body, quite 
 out of Leipsic !" 
 
 " And may I ask, meantime, what Leipsic has done to deserve 
 a visit from the Countess Isny-Frere r" he gayly continued but 
 the next instant he remembered that he had but just now seen 
 tears in the eyes of the stately person he was addressing, and his 
 tone and manner became suddenly thoughtful and subdued. The 
 transition was one of insensible ease, however the certainty that 
 he was thus ministering to her chance mood giving him a confi 
 dence, the key to which she was little aware of having herself 
 furnished ; and, as they slowly paced the smooth walk of the 
 Rosenthal, the two, who had never before met but as formal ac 
 quaintances, fell gradually far within the limits of ceremonious 
 reserve. 
 
 The darkly-shaded avenue that alternately touches and recedes 
 from the banks of the Elster, is like a succession of approaches 
 to lovely pictures so beautiful are the sudden disclosures of the 
 secluded bends of the river, at the openings contrived for the 
 purpose. At each opening there is a seat beneath the trees, the 
 swift waters- curling its eddies to the bank on which it is placed, 
 and he would be a cold observer of Nature who could pass such 
 landscapes without availing himself of the opportunity to loiter. 
 Seated in these successive nooks, and leisurely pacing the wind 
 ing alleys that intervene, Tremlet and the Countess had each the 
 leisure to weigh the expediency of extending acquaintance into 
 friendship ; though, in the mind of each, an under-current of 
 wondering reverie kept pace with the conversation each other s 
 capability of natural and tender thoughtfulness being a mutual and 
 most pleasurable surprise. To Tremlet, more particularly, the 
 riddle was inexplicable, for the Countess s simple and confiding 
 
280 ERRAND HITHER. 
 
 ingenuousness was wholly irreconcilable with her character as a 
 heartless leader of fashion. Her house, of all resorts of exclu- 
 siveness, in London, was the one, he believed, the most heart 
 lessly frequented, and she herself known, even among her friends, 
 by the appellation of the " cold Countess," was esteemed, by so 
 ciety at large, as the pre-eminent model of a worldling proud, 
 cautious, and passionless. 
 
 Tremlet s errand to Germany was briefly told. He was uni 
 ting a partly professional object with a summer s excursion. 
 The great Fair of Leipsic had drawn him hither from the Rhine, 
 for in no other gathering in the world, perhaps, are there assem 
 bled so many varieties of strange costume and physiognomy ; and 
 in a week s jostling among the long-robed and bearded Hebrews, 
 the green-jacketed Tyrolese, the mild Hungarians, and the Ger 
 man mountaineers and students, he looked to find novel subjects 
 for his pencil. But this was not all. He had been long seeking 
 a model of female beauty for an unfinished picture one which 
 he designed for the chef cPauvre of his pencil and the peculiar 
 quality of maiden countenance that was necessary to its comple 
 tion had evaded, thus far, both his search among the living, and 
 his imaginative conception. As the subject of the picture had 
 been suggested by one of the wild legends of Tieck, he thought 
 it more probable that he should find the face also in the neigh 
 borhood of the first inspiration. 
 
 " And, strangely enough," he added, after a moment s pause, 
 " I saw a glove-girl in the garden where I met you, whose coun 
 tenance impresses me more in remembrance than when I saw it 
 possibly one of those faces that lack but the heightening of their 
 natural expression to become beautiful." 
 
 He stopped abruptly, recalling musingly the singular counte- 
 
THE ICY VEIL. 281 
 
 nance of the Tyrolese, and mentally resolving to find her on the 
 morrow, and induce her to sit to him for a portrait of careful 
 study. The Countess at this moment chose the left of two paths 
 the one which she took leading in the direction opposite from 
 the return through the Park. 
 
 " It is my turn at the confessional," she said, " and" (she 
 hesitated, coloring slightly) " I presume it would be my best 
 policy, if I am not to part from you before going further, to be 
 frank as to the wherefore of my summering here at Leipsic. 
 Whole secrets," she added, smilingly, " are better kept than 
 halves, and less dangerous if told." 
 
 She resumed after a few steps onward. 
 
 " You will be surprised to discover how little mystery there 
 need be, properly, in what looks at first sight so formidably mys 
 teriousmy giving up of friends and identity for four months in 
 the year but my friends in England should be as welcome to the 
 secret as you will be, if they could comprehend it, or would give 
 any credit, indeed, either to the simplicity of my life here, or its 
 still more incredibly simple motive. You know how I live in 
 London. I lack nothing there that can be given to a woman of 
 wealth and position. But I have another home which is far 
 sweeter to me a small house in a village adjoining this Park of 
 the Rosenthal. The exterior of this little retreat, which I will 
 presently show you, looks as it did when I first saw it like the 
 house of a German villager but the interior is, of course, suited 
 to my taste and liking. The village, by the way, is celebrated as 
 having been the residence of Schiller, who lodged for some time in 
 one of its humble houses, and wrote here his famous Song to 
 Joy but it is a veritable village at this day, and, though a most 
 desirable residence, as standing on the skirt of a Park which 
 
282 A SECRET II Oil r. 
 
 alone separates it from Leipsic, it is inhabited only by veritable 
 villagers myself hardly a noticeable exception. Here I have a 
 faithful household of servants who know me but by the German 
 name of my husband s family (by-the-bye, remember to address 
 me in conversation as Madame Isny) and who serve me without a 
 question, as a widow who has reasons for being absent a great 
 part of the year. But the sunset is losing its brilliancy. Let us 
 hasten our steps towards this mysterious c whereabout of mine. 
 Over a cup of tea, I may, perhaps, tell you its why and where 
 fore. " 
 
 A sudden turn from the graveled walk of the Park brought 
 them to a rude and picturesque bridge over a mill-stream, and a 
 narrow lane led thence to the village. The street upon which 
 they entered was a common thoroughfare, between irregular rows 
 of houses, each with its rough gate and shrubbery, and the hum 
 ble entrance to one of these, which was in no way distinguished 
 from the rest, was opened by the plainly dressed servant of the 
 Countess. A small garden, arranged after the common manner 
 of the country, separated the front door from the neighbor s wall. 
 
 The entry was of German simplicity, and a small room on the 
 right, in which the Countess first, with mischievous formality, re 
 quested Tremlet to be seated, was uncarpeted and furnished with 
 the ill-contrived conveniencies of a German parlor evidently 
 kept as a place of reception for any intrusive visitor whose curi 
 osity might be troublesome. But, from the landing of the dark 
 staircase leading to the second-story, Tremlet entered an apart 
 ment occupying the whole upper floor of the house, and here he 
 recognized,, at once, a fitting home for the luxurious habits of the 
 inmate. It was a blending of boudoir and library, in which there 
 was nothing merely for show, but everything for luxurious ease 
 
THE ICY VEIL. 2 83 
 
 a charming abundance of fawn-colored divans, bookcases and 
 contrivances for comfort the mirror panels so multiplying the 
 recesses, and so deceiving the eye as to the space enclosed between 
 the walls, that it seemed a little wilderness of indefinable extent 
 and luxury. The single alteration that had been made in the 
 exterior of the house was in the long window, from the ceiling to 
 the floor, which was of a single plate of glass, so clear that it was 
 difficult to tell whether it was shut or open. This costly change 
 in the humble architecture was on the side opposite from the 
 street, invisible to the passers-by ; and as the house stood on the 
 little acclivity of the village, the window commanded a lovely 
 reach over the Rosenthal, with glimpses of the Elster. 
 
 An artist of genius is more than half poet, and Tremlet s ap 
 preciation of this unsuspected hiding-place of feminine caprice 
 was glowingly complete. Left alone for a few minutes, he smiled 
 as he buried himself in the silken cushions of a divan, remember 
 ing how formally he had visited in London the presiding spirit of 
 this living romance, and how mistakenly from what he thus 
 hastily saw of her, he had pronounced upon her character as cold 
 and ostentatious. As yet, it is true, he was in the dark as to the 
 motive of this singular seclusion ; but her conversation in the 
 Rosenthal had been of a thoughtful and unaffected earnestness, 
 that satisfied him completely of the elevation and purity of the 
 heart in which the motive had its source, however singular the 
 whim by which it found its way to development. 
 
 A most delicious strain of music commenced suddenly. It was 
 like that of a band stationed at just such a distance that the 
 articulation of the harmony and melody came, to the room in 
 which he sat, softened to the most dreamy degree short of indis 
 tinctness. 
 
284 A LUXURY. 
 
 " That is Beethoven s Sonata to Giulietta," said the Countess, 
 entering, " and it is one of the most eloquent replies of music to 
 the dumb questioning of a heart-ache that was ever vouchsafed to 
 mortal inspiration. You must not think it theatrical in me to 
 have surprised you with music," she added with a deprecating 
 humility, that sat very gracefully on her proud lips, " for, to tell 
 you the truth, you have brought London eyes into my hitherto 
 unseen seclusion, and I cannot resist feeling, for the moment, that 
 the ideal of the spot is a little disenchanted. The music which 
 is ordinarily my only company, is so associated with my solitude 
 that it will re-conjure the spirit of the spot but, meantime, let 
 me dissolve the mystery of its production. 
 
 The Countess touched a spring which threw open one of the 
 mirror panels of the library, and disclosed a little oratory, or 
 chapel, decorated simply with one female figure, of exquisite 
 sculpture, whose face was hidden in prayer the cross and the 
 devotee both in chased silver. This again swung partly open, 
 and showed a closet in the wall, filled with musical cylinders like 
 the barrels of an organ. 
 
 " This, of course," she said, " is but a musical box on an ex 
 tended scale, but it has very varied capabilities. It was con 
 structed for me by an ingenious Swiss, who changes or adds to its 
 numerous barrels at my pleasure ; but I must own that I am as 
 little fickle in my musical likings as in my fondness for poems, 
 and I can scarce tire of a composition that has once moved me. 
 You are aware that several of the composers of Germany have 
 tried their hands upon c Songs without words, in imitation of this 
 touching love-letter in music, which you have just heard, and 
 which Beethoven addressed to the high-born Giulietta. By this 
 to my apprehension at least they have advanced one chamber 
 
THE ICY VEIL. 285 
 
 nearer to the inner sanctuary of feeling, of which common music, 
 if I may so express it, fills only the ante-chamber. I have had 
 all these Songs without words added to my little musical 
 oratory, and the barrels are so arranged that I can either select 
 the melodies I want, or let them follow in a chance succession of 
 several hours continuance. I used to be fond of the harp ; but 
 playing requires an effort and to think luxuriously during music, 
 one should be the listener and not the player. Any trouble with 
 the procuring of music spoils it for me, and if the music is to be 
 used as an habitual accompaniment to reverie, some such obedient 
 automaton as this must be resorted to." 
 
 Tremlet begged to listen to it in silence for awhile. 
 
 " It shall play while we idle over our tea," said the Countess, 
 after a few minutes of silent attention " possibly in that time it 
 may exorcise the English presence out of the room ; but you are 
 too new a coiner to be admitted at once to the full luxury of 
 silence." 
 
 The closet of music, with its costly intricacy of mechanism, 
 was closed and left to play. Its effects, softened with the shutting 
 of the doors, were choral and orchestral, and, in wonderful 
 resemblance to the performances of a troop of admirable musi 
 cians, it executed the delicious compositions chosen as food for 
 reverie. The twilight had meantime died away, and as the room 
 was flooded with a soft light from lamps unseen, Tremlet felt 
 himself fully subject to the influence of the spot. 
 
 " It is indeed a place where one might forget the world," he 
 said at last. 
 
 " It is a place in which to rest from the world," replied the 
 Countess, " and in that you have the key of the use to which I 
 devote it. You need not be reminded what London is how 
 
286 VALUE OP HIGH LIFE. 
 
 wearisome its round of well-bred gayeties how heartless and cold 
 its fashionable display. Providence, I think, has confined to a 
 comparatively low level the hearty and joyous sympathies of our 
 nature ; and it avenges the humble, that the proud, who rise above 
 them, rise also above the homely material for happiness. An 
 aristocrat I am doomed to be. I am, if I may so express it, irre 
 vocably pampered, and must live and associate with the class in 
 which I have been thrown by accident and education. But how 
 inexpressibly tedious to me is the round of such a life, the pains I 
 have here taken to procure a respite from it, may, perhaps, 
 partially convey to you. It is possible probable indeed that I 
 entertain at my house people who envy me the splendors I dis 
 pense, yet who arc themselves happier than I. To young people, 
 for whom it is a novelty to lovers whose happiness is wholly 
 separable from all around them to the ambitious who use it as a 
 convenient ladder gay London life is (what any other life would 
 be with the same additions) charming. But, to one who is 
 not young for whom love is a closed book, and who has no 
 ambition in progress this mere society, without heart or joyous- 
 ness, is a desert of splendor. I walk through my thronged rooms, 
 and hear, night after night, the same ceremonious nothings. I 
 drive in my costly equipage, separated by its very costliness from 
 the sympathy of the human beings who pass me by. There are 
 those who call themselves my intimate friends ; but their friendship 
 la-cks homeliness and abandonment. Fear of committal, dread of 
 ridicule, policy to please or repel, are like chains worn unseen on 
 the tongues and hearts of all who walk the world at that level." 
 
 Tremlet listened without reply, except in looks expressive of 
 assent. 
 
 " It has probably passed through your mind," continued the 
 
THE ICY VEIL. 287 
 
 Countess, " that I might have found a seclusion, as complete as 
 this, in a remote part of England. But I chose Germany for 
 several reasons. I was partly educated here, and the language 
 and habits of the people are like those of a native land to me. 
 My husband s relatives, on one side of the descent, are German, 
 and a presumed visit to these connections furnishes the necessary 
 excuse for absenting myself unattended. But, above all, the 
 people are different the pervading magnetism of the common 
 air is as different as that of another planet. I see no society, it 
 is true. My musical oratory and my books are all the compa 
 nionship I have, within doors. But I go into the public gardens 
 of the Rosenthal, (as in Germany a lady may,) not only fearing 
 no intrusion, but receiving, as one of the crowd, my share of its 
 social magnetism. The common enjoyment of the music of the 
 band brings all in the crowd to a temporary common sympathy. 
 Rid thus of the * fine lady separation between me and my kind, 
 which I feel in England like a frozen wall, my heart expands I 
 cannot express to you how genially and breathingly ! And now 
 is all this comprehensible to you r" asked the Countess, crushing 
 her handkerchief, with both hands upon her eyes, with the na 
 tural suddenness of an impassioned child. 
 
 The reply was one that gave no check to the expansion of 
 heart on which she had entered. 
 
 " This is singular frankness on my part," she continued. " I 
 presume I shall not discover immediately why I am thus un 
 guardedly confiding in one whom I have only known hitherto as 
 an acquaintance. It is an instinctive impulse, however, and I 
 trust it. I was hesitating before trying to express another charm 
 of this seclusion to me partly because I feared I should find 
 some difficulty in putting my meaning into language, and more, 
 
288 SECRETS OE PRIDE. 
 
 perhaps, because it will be the disclosure of a feeling which I 
 have, as yet, hardly dared to summon up for my own examina 
 tion. In this joyous out-of-doors society of Germany in the 
 general distribution of complaisance and regard, the interchange 
 of kindly salutations between all classes, and the strong expres 
 sions of good will in which ordinary politeness is usually phrased 
 I find, somehow, a prolonging of the life-time of the affections 
 a continuance of verdure, as it were, into the desert of the age 
 past loving. A wise woman submits, of course, with well-bred 
 outward acquiescence, when the world s manner informs her that 
 the love-summer of her youth is over. But it came upon me 
 when my heart was in the most prodigal flowering of its tender 
 ness when my capacity to give love, at least, was growing, it 
 seemed to me, hourly, of more value and profoundness. To 
 abandon, then, all hope of loving and with this unlavished wealth 
 too in the heart was society s bitter exaction. I submitted. I 
 would not be the ridicule of the world, for pretensions to attrac 
 tiveness I had outlived, nor would I be a mark for such attentions 
 as are always ready for those who seem approachable through 
 weakness. I was a widow, wealthy, and without children ; and. 
 if I would retain the pride of my position, and, particularly, if I 
 would defy the malice of the envious, I must either marry a man 
 older than myself or show the seeming of a heart beyond all pos 
 sible susceptibility. You yourself visited me in this latter cha 
 racter, and you know how unshrinkingly, when in England, 1 
 revolve and shine in my icy orbit ! Oh, I have a thousand times 
 envied the beggar at my door ! But this life must be lived on 
 Walls within walls circumstances and feelings I cannot now ex 
 plain to you hedge in the necessity of my continuing the main 
 tenance of this conspicuous station in England. Respite, how- 
 
THE ICY VEIL. 289 
 
 ever breathing time is indispensable ! To escape from those 
 who so relentlessly measured my period of loveableness to step 
 out from my fixed place among those of mature years, though 
 without a thought of resuming youth to descend from the cold 
 height of exclusiveness, and claim, once a year, my common share 
 of common life and sympathy for these privileges, and to relax 
 tongue and heart in weeks of luxurious silence and self-abandon 
 ment I contrived the retreat you have stumbled upon." 
 
 " Did you think," asked the Countess, touching the spring of 
 the enchanted closet, and with a gesture compelling silence for 
 the music, by way obviating reply " did you think that this 
 
 formidable mystery had so little in it that was mysterious ?" 
 *##### 
 
 With luxury, music and complete isolation fom the world, love 
 ripens apace. It was one morning, but a fortnight after the 
 chance meeting of the Countess and Tremlet, described in the 
 foregoing pages, that the artist found himself, for the first time 
 in his life, wholly unsusceptible of the seductive temptings of his 
 pencil. He could not paint. Something more critical than any 
 ordinary anxiety outweighed his art. There sat Jessonda, the 
 Tyrolese, in the posture in which she was daily placed (for the 
 character her portrait was to represent) the half-finished sketch 
 on his easel fairly breathing with a new vision of beauty but he 
 saw, that day, neither the sketch nor Jessonda. The living origi 
 nal might well have inspired him, however, for love more intense 
 than was expressed in her face and posture, never offered itself 
 to be pictured. So, indeed, the artist had interpreted it, if one 
 might believe his canvas for her intense gaze of adoration was 
 well copied, though with the addition of a lofty refinement of in 
 tellect breathing through the strangely expressive lineaments 
 13 
 
290 A PAINTER S ERROR. 
 
 hut he had given his imagination credit for the love as well as the 
 intellect portrayed "before him. 
 
 With no suspicion of what so distracted his attention for that 
 day, however, J essonda was troubled. In the usually absorbed de 
 votion of the artist to her portrait in the flushed cheek and ea 
 ger eye with which he gazed on the face she saw copied from her 
 own s he had found stuff for dreams that made her capable of 
 jealousy when that picture was neglected. She had half risen 
 to leave him, when a servant entered with a letter. The door 
 closed upon her as he broke the seal, and Jessonda and his picture 
 were at once forgotten in the perusal 
 
 " MY DEAR TREMLET, In the two days that I have exiled 
 you from my presence, I have exiled my happiness also as you 
 well know without my confessing but I needed to sleep and wake 
 more than once upon your welcome but unexpected avowal. I 
 fear, indeed, that I need much more time, and that reflection 
 would scarce justify what I am now about to write to you. But 
 my life, hither to, has be en such a succession of heart-chilled wait 
 ings upon Reason, that, for once, while I have the power, I am 
 tempted to bound away with Impulse, after happiness. 
 
 " Of course you understand in this an acceptance of your offer. 
 But I have conditions to impose. It is possible that you may 
 withdraw your offer when you know them. Yet they are so 
 much of a character with our acquaintance, and with our inter 
 course, for the month into which we have crowded an age, that 
 I have strong hopes of your not finding them distasteful. Let me 
 preface my exactions by some sort of apology, however showing 
 you, that is to say, the ground work of the foible (if such you 
 think it) which is to be humored by your acquiescence. 
 
 " I have partially expressed to you, in conversation, how com- 
 
THE ICY VEIL. 39 j 
 
 pletely my whole life has been a sacrifice of natural preferences 
 to worldly expediency. For my present station, such as it is, I 
 have given gradually the entire provision made by nature for my 
 happiness my girlish joyfulness, my woman s power of loving, 
 my hopes, my dreams, my sympathies, my parson. I was forced 
 to sacrifice an early affection, to marry for title and fortune. I 
 have since been unceasingly called upon to choose between my 
 heart s wishes and freedom from humiliation. You will say 
 it was at my own risk if I preferred the latter but in every im 
 portant crisis of option, the threatened evils looked appalling, 
 and the happiness comparatively partial. Meantime, (I am quite 
 ready to believe,) my pride has been thus fed to a disease. 
 
 " Of course tlioi-e is something wrung from the world by these 
 sacrifices. To most victims, the wordly advantages are a suffi 
 cient consolation. Bat fortune and title alone would not have 
 continued to tempt me. I could be happy without homage, 
 and with a hundredth part of the luxury I can command. But 
 there is another privilege, accompanying high station coldly main 
 tained, and bought by me with these same bitter sacrifices a dis 
 dainful independence of the world that has so robbed us ! What 
 will you say if I tell you that this is what I am trying to preserve 
 to myself as a twin happiness with your love,! What will you 
 think of me, if I confess to you, that the strongest feeling in my 
 bosom, till you wakened love there, was resentment against 
 society for the cruelties it has sown my life with ! Individuals of 
 course are blameless of design against me, but the cruelty lies in 
 the pervading heartlessness of the class. In their mockery of 
 everything but that which dazzles them in their polished re 
 joicing over the downfall of any social superiority lies the inevita- 
 bleness of the submissions I resent. Is it strange, then, that I wish to 
 
292 STRANGE LOVE LETTER. 
 
 preserve an ascendancy over it, and remain above its sneer or it* 
 pity ? With the glow of tenderness now in my heart, I cannot 
 find the bitter words to express to you how much I value this 
 undeniable power of disdain but this it is which seems to me the 
 only equivalent I have wrung from the world this it is which I 
 look on as the true price of the heart sold, pulse by pulse, at the hate 
 ful bidding of the opinions of the class I live in ! And (for you have 
 already seen my drift) it is this privilege which an open marriage 
 with you would endanger. You are ten years younger than I. 
 Your character and tastes are peculiar. The qualities you love 
 in me, ripen only in the meridian of life. We shall be happy in 
 marriage, I have reason to believe. But the world would not be 
 lieve it ! Oh no ! The first knowledge of the step would be re 
 ceived with a smile, and, with that smile, lightly as it would pass 
 around, would fall from me, like a dream, the ascendancy in which 
 lies my power. 
 
 " Of course you anticipate what I have to propose. I will but- 
 name it to you now, and explain its possibility when we meet. It 
 is to marry you privately, here in Germany. After a week more 
 in this sweet retirement, (for my time here is nearly expired,) I 
 will leave you, and resume my apparently heartless life in Eng 
 land. You shall return to England soon yourself, also apparent 
 ly single, and we will be known to the world but as we were the 
 " cold Countess" Isny-Frere, and Tremlet, the unimpressible 
 artist. The secret can be kept. More difficult things are done 
 by the simplest people around us. Part of the year we will pass 
 in this retirement or another, and, with means so ample as mine, 
 and a character so little open to suspicion of such a secret, innu 
 merable varieties, in the masquerading part of our life, will al 
 ways be possible. 
 
THE ICY VEIL. 393 
 
 " Do you not see, my gifted and beautiful lover, how I thus add, to 
 the wealth of your affection, the jewel for which I sold all my 
 happiness till I met you ? Do not feel offended that in your love 
 I have not forgotten it. We value what has cost us our heart s 
 blood, though it be but a worthless trifle to another. Oh, you 
 must let me preserve my icy veil between me and the world 
 preserve it, for my heart to beat behind it, in a heaven of every 
 day affection. I plead for it with my whole soul but it is yours 
 to decide ! I began my letter thinking that I should inflexibly 
 exact it. I could not hesitate, however, now, in a choice between 
 it and you. I will marry you openly if you so require. 
 
 " Come to me at sunset. Having once broken my wish to you, 
 I can venture to talk of it. And now impatient to press my 
 lips upon your beautiful forehead I record myself your 
 
 EDITH." 
 
 Another fortnight had elapsed. The golden light of another 
 autumnal sunset streamed into the painting room of Tremlet, at 
 Leipsic. Around, against the walls, stood unfinished sketches, 
 in oil, of the most peculiar faces and costumes that had been seen 
 during the crowded fair just over. A Jew from Poland, with his 
 shaggy fur cap, pelisse and shaggy beard ; a Greek from Con 
 stantinople, in flowing juktanilla and cap of scarlet ; peasants and 
 peasant girls, with the sunny hair and strange dresses of moun 
 tain Germany ; pedlars from the Friuli, and Hungarians swathed 
 in twine and tatters, were here transferred from the street to can 
 vas material to figure hereafter in groups of historical pictures. 
 But, among these rough sketches (that, rude as they were, still 
 showed the hand of the master) there was one subject finished 
 with careful study a portrait of the Tyrolean glove-girl true 
 to life, yet representing a quality of beauty rare as the second 
 
294 JESSONDA. 
 
 rainbow ! It stood now upon the painter s easel a figure of 
 matchless nobleness and grace and the colors were fresh about 
 the lips, where he had retouched them within the parting hour. 
 
 The original of this a treasure, trove" (for such was the face of 
 Jessonda to the artist) had just risen from the kneeling posture, 
 in which she had bent herself to his elaborate pencil for an hour 
 of almost every day sines their first meeting in the Rosenthal ; 
 and she stood looking alternately at her portrait and at him, with 
 compressed lips, and an expression far beyond a gratified curiosity. 
 
 With the eye of genius Tremlet had seen, in this girl s embryal 
 beauty, the look with which it would beam, were it perfected to the 
 utmost capability of its peculiar type ; and she saw now, on the 
 easel, a beauty that could only be hers after years of culture, yet 
 of which she still felt as conscious as of the swelling heart under 
 her boddice of green. Her emotions had grown from day to day 
 more tumultuous. While the artist looked on her beauty as on 
 the fitting but cold and shuttered tenement of an unarrived angel 
 of intellect, she looked on his as on something already worthy of 
 the idolatrous worship of that angel. The coupling of the two 
 before her herself, as made beautiful on canvas, and the artist, 
 as he stood breathingly beautiful in the glowing light of the sun 
 set was an appreciation of fitness that might well have come to 
 a brain less enamored. Tremlet was as perfect in form and fea 
 ture as a sculptor s ideal of Antinous. His personal advantages 
 had (contradictorily enough) increased by undervaluing ; for, of 
 the adulation that had been paid him in his first manhood, the 
 greater part, of course, had come from the thoughtless and silly, 
 and he had flung himself, with the reaction of disgust, upon the 
 cultivation of qualities less open to common appreciation. Ab 
 sorbed in his art, he had half lost the remembrance of his beauty; 
 
THE ICY VEIL. 
 
 295 
 
 and nature, thus left to herself in one of her most felicitous com 
 binations, added one grace more that of a noble unconscious 
 ness. After a few years of seclusion, his eminent promise in the 
 art brought him back by a new gate to society, and it was as 
 Tremlet the distinguished artist, that he had been a formal visitor 
 at the house of the Countess Isny-Frere. His early shrinking 
 from superficial admiration, however, had left a habit in his man 
 ners that acted like an instinctive avoidance of the gay and 
 youthful, and he passed for a dreamy man, as marble cold as he 
 was splendidly handsome. The Countess had exchanged with him 
 the politenesses of society without suspicion of his true nature. In 
 the masked procession of London life, spirits the most congenial 
 may walk side by side for years without recognition. 
 
 Upon Jessonda, the glove-girl, Tremlet had made an indelible 
 impression, the day she fitted his hand from her glove-case in the 
 garden of the Rosenthal. His manner to her was soft and win 
 ning, without the forwardness against which she was habitually 
 armed; and, possessed herself of mental superiority in the rough, 
 she had recognized his nobleness without being able to define it. 
 Vivid as was her admiration, however, she would probably have 
 parted from him without the aspiring venture of loving him, if 
 she had not seen disclosed, in the daily progress of her picture, 
 an angel s ladder by which the heaven of an equality with him 
 might be reached. She felt, within her, a vague consciousness of 
 the character he had drawn in the elevated beauty of her 
 portrait. She was capable, she thought, to become like to 
 this heightened semblance of herself. It explained her waking 
 dreams. Her heart declared itself interpreted in the picture s 
 expression. But prophetic flattery, more bewildering was never 
 addressed to mortal and it. was little wonder tliRt the heart of 
 
296 PROPHETIC PARTING. 
 
 Jessonda sprang to its interpreter. As she looked now upon the 
 pictured foreshadowing of what she might be, and from that to the 
 noble form that stood beside it, she saw, with a glowing soul, that 
 were it the picture of his wife, it would be a picture of his mate 
 by nature. The chasm between her present self and her arrival 
 at the lofty reach of this pictured equality, she shrank from 
 measuring. Hope threw before it its glittering veil. Ah, poor 
 Jessonda ! 
 
 She took up from the floor her tall hat with its gold tassel. 
 The band of Tyrolese merchants were already on their way south 
 ward, and she was waited for by her kinsmen at the gate of 
 Leipsic. 
 
 " When shall we meet again r" asked Tremlet, taking her two 
 hands kindly for a farewell. 
 
 She raised his hands hurriedly to her lips, choked back her 
 emotion with a strong effort, and pointed to the picture. 
 
 " Remember me by that," she said, " not by what I am ! 
 When you see me again I shall be like it !" 
 
 Another instant and she was gone. 
 
 Her voice lingered on the painter s ear, and, after a few min 
 utes of musing, he started to recall her, for her words suddenly 
 assumed a new meaning to him ; but another thought checked 
 him, and he returned to his studio, oppressed with an em 
 barrassing sadness. He lighted his lamp and sat down to write 
 to his bride, who, a few days before, had preceded him on her 
 
 way to England. 
 
 . # * * * * * 
 
 It was five years after the acting of this chance romance at 
 Leipsic, when Europe became filled with the murmur of a 
 new renown ; and, from her dehut at Vienna, the great songstress, 
 
THE ICY VEIL. 297 
 
 , made Jier way through adoring capitals toward London. 
 
 Report spoke in wonder of the intellect that beamed through her 
 expressive beauty, but with still more emphatic wonder at such 
 passionate fervor in the acting of one whose heart seemed invul 
 nerable to love ; and while articles of agreement were concluding 
 at Brussels for her appearance at the Queen s Opera, the exclu- 
 sives of London were delighted to know that they should first 
 have a privileged sight of the unsusceptible enchantress, for the 
 " cold Countess" had sent over a messenger to engage her for a 
 private concert. 
 
 A few days wore on, and her arrival in England was announced ; 
 and, on the morning of the day on which she was to sing at the 
 concert of the Countess Isny-Frere, Tremlet the artist received, 
 at his studio, the following brief letter : 
 
 " I promised to return to you when I should resemble my pic 
 ture. It is possible that exile from your presence has marred 
 more beauty than mental culture has developed but the soul 
 
 you drew in portrait has, at least found its way to my features 
 
 for the world acknowledges what you alone read prophetically at 
 Leipsic. I have kept myself advised of your movements, with a 
 woman s anxiety. You are still toiling at the art which made us 
 acquainted, and, (thank God!) unmarried. To-night, at the 
 concert of the Countess Isny-Frere, I shall sing to you, for I 
 have taken pains to know that you will be there. Do not speak 
 to me till you can see me alone but hear me in my art before 
 I abandon myself to the joy long deferred, of throwing myself 
 at your feet with the fortune and fame it is now mine to offer 
 you. 
 
 " Only yours, JESSOND A . " 
 
298 REVELATION. 
 
 But Jessonda did not sing for the Countess that night. The 
 guests were assembled, and the leading performers of the opera 
 were there, to accompany the new prima donna, when a note 
 arrived, written apparently by her dame de compagnie, and announc 
 ing her sudden and unaccountable illness. As she had bean seen 
 driving in the Park that afternoon, apparently in perfect health, 
 it was put down as one of the inexplicable caprices common to 
 those intoxicated with sudden fame, and paragraphed upon, ac 
 cordingly, in the morning papers. The disappointment to the 
 Countess was less than to hor guests for she had lived, now 
 five years, in a world of happiness little suspected by the gay 
 world about her but, slight as it was, she chanced long to re 
 member it by a coincidence. In her private journal, under the 
 same date with the record of so comparative a trifle as a public 
 singer s failure to appear at her conojrt, was recorded, with a 
 trembling hand, the first cloud upon hor life of secret happin3?s 
 her husband, Tremlet, having come to her, after the departure 
 of her guests that night, with a gloom upon his spirits, over 
 which her caresses, for the first time, had no power ! 
 
BOM TO LOVE PIGS AND CHICKENS, 
 
 THE guests at the Aster House were looking mournfully out of 
 the drawing-room windows, on a certain rainy day of an October 
 passed over to history. No shopping no visiting ! The morn 
 ing must be passed in-doors. And it was some consolation, to 
 those who were in town for a few days to see the world, that 
 their time was not quite lost, for the assemblage in the large 
 drawing-room was numerous and gay. A very dressy affair is the 
 drawing-room of the Astor, and as full of eyes as a peacock s tail 
 (which, by the way, is also a very dressy affair). Strangers 
 who wish to see and be seen (and especially " be seen") on rainy 
 days, as well as on sunny days, in their visits to New York, 
 should, as the phrase goes, " patronize" the Astor. As if there 
 was any patronage in getting the worth of your money ! 
 
 Well the people in the drawing-room looked a little out of 
 the windows, and a great deal at each other. Unfortunately, it is 
 only among angels and underbred persons that introductions can 
 be dispensed with, and, as the guests of that day at the Astor 
 House were mostly strangers to each other, conversation was very 
 fitful and guarded, and any movement whatever extremely con 
 spicuous. There were four very silent ladies on the sofa, two 
 
300 THE ASTOR HOUSE. 
 
 very silent ladies hi each of the windows, silent ladies on the 
 ottomans, silent ladies in the chairs at the corners, and one silent 
 lady, very highly dressed, sitting on the music-stool, with her 
 back to the piano. There was here and there a gentleman in the 
 room, weather-bound and silent ; but we have only to do with one 
 of these, and with the last-mentioned much-embellished young 
 lady. 
 
 " Well, I can t sit on this soft chair all day, cousin Meg !" said 
 the gentleman. 
 
 " Sh ! call me Margaret, if you must speak so loud," said the 
 lady. " And what would you do out of doors this rainy day ? 
 I m sure it s very pleasant here." 
 
 " Not for me. I d rather be thrashing in the barn. But there 
 must be some rainy-weather work in the city as well as the 
 country. There s some fun, / know, that s kept for a wet day, 
 as we keep corn-shelling and grinding the tools." 
 
 " Dear me !" 
 
 Well what now?" 
 
 " Oh, nothing ! but I do wish you wouldn t bring the stable 
 with you to the Astor House." 
 
 The gentleman slightly elevated his eyebrows, and took a leaf 
 of music from the piano, and commenced diligently reading the 
 mystic dots and lines. We have ten minutes to spare before the 
 entrance of another person upon the scene, and we will make use 
 of the silence to conjure up for you, in our magic mirror, the 
 semblance of the two whose familiar dialogue we have just jotted 
 down. 
 
 Miss Margaret Pifflit was a young lady who had a large share 
 of what the French call la beaute du dialle youth and freshness. 
 (Though, why the devil should have the credit of what never 
 
BORN TO LOVE PIGS AND CHICKENS. 3Q1 
 
 belonged to him, it takes a Frenchman, perhaps, to explain.) To 
 look at, she was certainly a human being in very high perfection. 
 Her cheeks were like two sound apples ; her waist was as round 
 as a stove-pipe ; her shoulders had two dimples just at the back, 
 that looked as if they defied punching to make them any deeper ; 
 her eyes looked as if they were just made, they were so bright and 
 new ; her voice sounded like " C sharp" in a new piano ; and her 
 teeth were like a fresh break in a cocoa-nut. She was inexorably, 
 unabatedly, desperately healthy. This fact, and the difficulty of 
 uniting all the fashions of all the magazines in one dress, were her 
 two principal afflictions in this world of care. She had an ideal 
 model, to which she aspired with constant longings a model re 
 sembling in figure the high-born creatures whose never-varied 
 face is seen in all the plates of fashion, yet, if possible, paler and 
 more disdainful. If Miss Pifflit could have bent her short wrist 
 with the curve invariably given to the well-gloved extremities of 
 that mysterious and nameless beauty ; if she could but have sat 
 with her back to her friends, and thrown her head languishingly 
 over her shoulder without dislocating her neck ; if she could but 
 have protruded from the flounce of her dress a foot more like a 
 mincing little muscle-shell, and less like a jolly fat clam ; in brief, 
 if she could have drawn out her figure like the enviable joints of 
 a spy-glass, whittled off more taperly her four extremities, sold 
 all lier uproarious and indomitable roses for a pot of carmine, and 
 compelled the publishers of the magazines to refrain from the 
 distracting multiplicity of their monthly fashions with these 
 little changes in her allotment Miss Pifllit would have realised all 
 her maiden aspirations up to the present hour. 
 
 A glimpse will give you an idea of the gentleman in question. 
 He was not much more than he looked to be a compact, 
 
302 ENGAGEMENT TO MARRY. 
 
 athletic young man of twenty-one, with clear, honest, blue eyes, 
 brown face, (where it was not shaded by the rim of his hat,) 
 curling brown hair, and an expression of fearless qualities, 
 dashed just now by a tinge of rustic bashfulness. His dress was 
 a little more expensive and gayer than was necessary, and he 
 wore his clothes in a way which betrayed that he would be more 
 at home in shirt-sleeves. His hands were rough, and his attitude 
 that of a man who was accustomed to fling himself down on the 
 nearest bench, or swing his legs from the top rail of a fence, or 
 the box of a wagon. We speak with caution of his rusticity ? 
 however, for he had a printed card, " Mr. Ephraim Bracely," 
 and he was a subscriber to the " Spirit of the Times." We shall 
 find time to say a thing or two about him as we get on. 
 
 " Eph." Bracely and " Meg" Pifflit were " engaged." With 
 the young lady it was, as the French say, fau-te dt micuz, for her 
 beau-ideal (or, in plain English, her ideal-beau) was a tall, pale 
 young gentleman, with white gloves, in a rapid consumption. 
 She and Eph. were second cousins, however, and as she was an 
 orphan, and had lived since childhood with his father, and, more 
 over, had inherited the Pifflit farm, which adjoined that of the 
 Bracelys, and, moreover, had been told to " kiss her little hus 
 band, and love him always" by the dying breath of her mother, 
 and (moreover third) had been "let be" his sweetheart by the 
 unanimous consent of the neighborhood, why, it seemed one of 
 those matches made in Heaven, and not intended to be travestied 
 on earth. It was understood that they were to be married as 
 soon as the young man s savings should enable him to pull down 
 the old Pifflit house and build a cottage, and, with a fair season, 
 that might be done in another year. Meantime, Eph. was a loyal 
 keeper of his troth, though never having had the trouble to win the 
 
BORN TO LOVE PIGS AND CHICKENS. 303 
 
 young lady, ho was not fully aware of the necessity of courtship, 
 whether or no ; and was, besides, somewhat unsusceptible of the 
 charms of moonlight, after a hard day s work at haying or har 
 vesting. The neighbors thought it proof enough of his love that 
 he never " went sparking" elsewhere, and, as he would rather 
 talk of his gun or his fishing-rod, his horse or his crop, pigs, 
 politics, or anything else, than of love or matrimony, his com 
 panions took his engagement with his cousin to be a subject upon 
 which he felt too deeply to banter, and they neither invaded his 
 domain by attentions to his sweetheart, nor suggested thought by 
 allusions to her. It was in the progress of this even tenor of 
 engagement, that some law business had called old Farmer 
 Bracely to New York, and the young couple had managed to 
 accompany him. And, of course, nothing would do for Miss 
 Pifflit but " the Astor." 
 
 And now, perhaps, the reader is ready to be told whose car 
 riage is at the Vesey street door, and who sends up a dripping 
 servant to inquire for Miss Pifflit. 
 
 It is allotted to the destiny of every country-girl to have one 
 fashionable female friend in the city somebody to correspond 
 with, somebody to quote, somebody to write her the particulars of 
 the last elopement, somebody to send her patterns of collars, and 
 the rise and fall of tournures, and such other things as are not 
 entered into by the monthly magazines. How these apparently 
 unlikely acquaintances are formed, is as much a mystery as the 
 eternal youth of post-boys, and the eternal duration of donkeys. 
 Far be it from me to pry irreverently into those pokerish corners 
 of the machinery of the world. I go no farther than the fact, that 
 Miss Julia Hampson was an acquaintance of Miss Pifflit s. 
 
 Everybody knows " Hampson and Co." 
 
304 GOOD WILL OF MILLINERS. 
 
 Miss Hampson was a good deal what the Fates had tried to 
 make her. If she had not been admirably well dressed, it would 
 have been by violent opposition to the united zeal and talent of 
 dressmakers and milliners. These important vicegerents of the 
 Hand that reserves to itself the dressing of the butterfly and lily, 
 make distinctions in the exercise of their vocation. Wo be to an 
 unloveable woman, if she be not endowed with taste supreme. 
 She may buy all the stuffs of France, and all the colors of the 
 rainbow, but she will never get, from those keen judges of fitness, 
 the loving hint, the admiring and selective persuasion, with which 
 they delight to influence the embellishment of sweetness and love 
 liness. They who talk of " anything s looking well on a pretty 
 woman," have not reflected on the Lesser Providence of dress 
 makers and milliners. Woman is never mercenary but in mon 
 strous exceptions, and no tradeswoman of the fashions will sell 
 taste or counsel ; and, in the superior style of all charming women, 
 you see, not the influence of manners upon dress, but the affec 
 tionate tribute of these dispensers of elegance to the qualities they 
 admire. Let him who doubts, go shopping with his dressy old 
 aunt to-day, and to-morrow with his dear little cousin. 
 
 Miss Hampson, to whom the supplies of elegance came as 
 naturally as bread and butter, and occasioned as little speculation 
 as to the whence or how, was as unconsciously elegant, of course, 
 as a well-dressed lily. She was abstractly a very beautiful girl, 
 though in a very delicate and unconspicuous style ; and by dint of 
 absolute fitness in dressing, the merit of her beauty, by common 
 observers at least, would be half given to her fashionable air and 
 unexceptionable toilet. The damsel and her choice array, 
 indeed, seemed the harmonious work of the same maker. How 
 much was Nature s gift, and how much was bought in Broadway, 
 
BORN TO LOVE PIGS AND CHICKENS. 305 
 
 was probably never duly understood by even her most discriminate 
 admirer. 
 
 But we have kept Miss Hampson too long upon the stairs 
 
 The two young ladies met with a kiss, in which (to the surprise 
 of those who had previously observed Miss Pifflit) there was no 
 smack of the latest fashion 
 
 " My dear Julia!" 
 
 " My dear Marge rine !" (This was a romantic variation of 
 Meg s, which she had forced upon her intimate friends at the 
 point of the bayonet.) 
 
 Eph. twitched, remindingly, the jupon of his cousin, and she 
 introduced him with the formula which she had found in one of 
 Miss Austin s novels. 
 
 " Oh, but there was a mock respectfulness in that deep 
 courtesy," thought Eph. (and so there was for Miss Hampson 
 took an irresistible cue from the inflated ceremoniousness of the 
 introduction). 
 
 Eph. made a bow as cold and stiff as a frozen horse-blanket. 
 And if he could have commanded the blood in his face, it would 
 have been as dignified and resentful as the eloquence of Red 
 Jacket but that rustic blush, up to his hair, was like a mask 
 dropped over his features. 
 
 " A bashful country-boy," thought Miss Hampson, as she 
 looked compassionately upon his red-hot forehead, and forthwith 
 dismissed him entirely from her thoughts. 
 
 With a consciousness that he had better leave the room, and 
 walk off his mortification under an umbrella, Eph. took his seat, 
 and silently listened to the conversation of the young ladies. 
 Miss Hampson had come to pass the morning with her friend, 
 and she took off her bonnet, and showered down upon her dazzling 
 
306 LOVE BEGUN. 
 
 neck a profusion of the most adorable brown ringlets. Spite of 
 his angry humiliation, the young farmer felt a thrill run through 
 his veins as the heavy curls fell indolently about her shoulders. 
 He had never before looked upon a woman with emotion. He 
 hated her oh, yes ! for she had given him a look that could 
 never be forgiven but for somebody, she must be the angel of the 
 world. Eph. would have given all his sheep and horses, cows, 
 crops, and hay-stacks, to have seen the man she would fancy to be 
 her equal. He could not give even a guess at the height of that 
 conscious superiority from which she individually looked down 
 upon him ; but it would have satisfied a thirst which almost made 
 him scream, to measure himself by a man with whom she could be 
 familiar. Where was his inferiority ? What was it ? Why had 
 he been blind to it till now ? Was there no surgeon s knife, no 
 caustic, that could carve out, or cut away, burn or scarify, the 
 vulgarities she looked upon so contemptuously ? But the devil 
 take her superciliousness, nevertheless ! 
 
 It was a bitter morning to Eph. Bracely, but still it went like 
 a dream. The hotel parlor was no longer a stupid place. His 
 cousin Meg had gained a consequence in his eyes, for she was tho 
 object of caress from this superior creature she was the link 
 which kept her within his observation. He was too full of other 
 feelings just now to do more than acknowledge the superiority of 
 this girl to his cousin. He felt it in his after thoughts, and his 
 destiny then, for the first time, seemed crossed and inadequate to 
 his wishes. 
 
 *********** 
 
 (We hereby draw upon your imagination for six months, cour 
 teous reader. Please allow the " teller" to show you into the 
 middle of the following July.) 
 
BORN TO LOVE PIGS AND CHICKENS. 397 
 
 Bracely farm, ten o clock of a glorious summer morning Miss 
 Pifflit extended upon a sofa in despair. But let us go back a 
 little. 
 
 A week before, a letter had been received from Miss Hampson, 
 who, to the delight and surprise of her friend Margerine, had 
 taken the whim to pass a month with her. She was at Rockaway, 
 and was sick and tired of waltzing and the sea. Had Farmer 
 Bracely a spare corner for a poor girl ? 
 
 But Miss Pifflit s " sober second thought" was utter conster 
 nation. How to lodge fitly the elegant Julia Hampson ? No 
 French bed in the house, no boudoir, no ottomans, no pastilles, 
 no baths, no Psyche to dress by ! What vulgar wretches they 
 would seem to her ! What insupportable horror she would feel at 
 the dreadful inelegance of the farm ! Meg was pale with terror 
 and dismay as she went into the details of anticipation. 
 
 Something must be done, however. A sleepless ni^ht of re 
 flection and contrivance sufficed to give some shape to the capa 
 bilities of the case, and, by daylight the next morning, the whole 
 house was in commotion. Meg had, fortunately, a large bump 
 of constructiveness, very much enlarged by her habitual dilem 
 mas of toilette. A boudoir must be constructed. Farmer Bracely 
 slept in the dried-apple room, on the lower floor, and he was no 
 sooner out of his bed, than his bag and baggage were tumbled up 
 stairs, his gun and Sunday whip were taken down from their 
 nails, and the floor scoured, and the ceiling white-washed. Eph. 
 was, by this time, returned from the village with all the chintz 
 that could be bought, and a paper of tacks, and some new straw 
 carpeting ; and, by ten o clock that night, the four walls of the 
 apartment were covered with the gayly-flowered material, the car 
 pet was nailed down, and old Farmer Bracely thought it a 
 
308 EXTEMPORE BOUDOIR. 
 
 mighty nice, cool-looking place. Eph. was a bit of a carpenter, 
 and he soon knocked together some boxes, which, when covered 
 with chintz, and stuffed with wool, looked very like ottomans ; 
 and, with a handsome cloth on the round table, geraniums in the 
 windows, and a chintz curtain to subdue the light, it was not 
 far from a very charming boudoir, and Meg began to breathe 
 more freely. 
 
 But Eph. had heard this news with the blood hot in his tem 
 ples. Was that proud woman coming again to look at him with 
 contempt, and here, too, where the rusticity, which he presumed 
 to be the object of her scorn, would be a thousand times more 
 flagrant and visible ? And yet, with the entreaty on his lip, that 
 his cousin would refuse to receive her, his heart had checked the 
 utterance for an irresistible desire sprung suddenly within him 
 to see her, even at the bitter cost of tenfold his former mortifica 
 tion. 
 
 Yet, as the preparations for receiving Miss Hampson went on, 
 other thoughts took possession of his mind. Eph. was not a man, 
 indeed, to come off second best, in the long pull of wrestling with 
 a weakness. His pride began to show its colors. He remembered 
 his independence as a farmer, dependent on no man ; and a little 
 comparison between his pursuits, and life, such as he knew it to 
 be, in a city, soon put him, in his own consciousness, at least, on 
 a par with Miss Hampson s connexions. This point once attain 
 ed, Eph. cleared his brow, and went whistling about the farm as 
 usual receiving without reply, however, a suggestion of his cou 
 sin Meg s, that he had better burn his old straw hat, for, in a fit 
 of absence, he might possibly put it on while Miss Hampson was 
 there. 
 
 Well, it was ten o clock on the morning after Miss Hampson s 
 
BORN TO LOVE PIGS AND CHICKENS. 309 
 
 arrival at Bracely Farm, and, as we said before, Miss Pifflit was 
 in despair. Presuming that her friend would be fatigued with 
 her journey, she had determined not to wake her, but to order 
 breakfast in the boudoir at eleven. Farmer Bracely and Eph. 
 must have their breakfast at seven, however, and what was the 
 dismay of Meg, who was pouring out their coffee as usual, to see 
 the elegant Julia rush into the first kitchen, courtesy very sweetly 
 to the old man, pull up a chair to the table, apologise for being 
 late, and end this extraordinary scene by producing two newly- 
 hatched chickens from her bosom ! She had been up since sun 
 rise, and out at the barn, down by the river, and up in the hay 
 mow, and was perfectly enchanted with everything, especially the 
 dear little pigs and chickens ! 
 
 " A very sweet young lady !" thought old Farmer Bracely. 
 
 " Very well but hang your condescension !" thought Eph., 
 distrustfully. 
 
 " Mercy on me ! to like pigs and chickens !" mentally ejacu 
 lated the disturbed and bewildered Miss Pifflit. 
 
 But with her two chicks pressed to her breast with one hand, 
 Miss Hampson managed her coffee and bread and butter with the 
 other, and chattered away like a child let out of school. The 
 air was so delicious, and the hay smelt so sweet, and the trees in 
 the meadow were so beautiful, and there were no stiff sidewalks, 
 and no brick houses, and no iron railings, and so many dear 
 speckled hens, and funny little chickens, and kind-looking old 
 cows, and colts, and calves, and ducks, and turkeys it was deli 
 cious it was enchanting it was worth a thousand Saratogas and 
 Rockaways. How anybody could prefer the city to the country, 
 was, to Miss Hampson, matter of incredulous wonder. 
 
310 
 
 BELLE A-HAYING. 
 
 " Will you come into the boudoir ?" asked Miss Pifflit with 
 languishing air, as her friend Julia rose from breakfast. 
 
 " Boudoir !" exclaimed the city damsel, to the infinite deligl 
 of old Bracely, " no, dear ! I d rather go out to the barn ! An 
 you going anywhere with the oxen to-day, sir ?" she added, goinf 
 up to the grey-headed farmer, caressingly, " I should so like 
 ride in that great cart !" 
 
 Eph. was a little suspicious of all this unexpected agreeable- 
 ness, but he was naturally too courteous not to give way to 
 lady s whims. He put on his old straw hat, and tied his hand 
 kerchief over his shoulder, (not to imitate the broad riband of 
 royal order, but to wipe the sweat off handily while mowing,) anc 
 offering Miss Hampson a rake which stood outside the door, h( 
 begged her to be ready when he came by with the team. He am 
 his father were bound to the far meadow, where they were cutth 
 hay, and would like her assistance in raking. 
 
 It was a " specimen" morning, as the magazines say, for th( 
 air was temperate, and the whole country was laden with th( 
 smell of the new hay, which somehow or other, as everybody 
 knows, never hinders or overpowers the perfume of the flowei 
 Oh, that winding green lane between the bushes was like an av< 
 nue to paradise. The old cart jolted along through the ruts, am 
 Miss Hampson, standing up, and holding on to old Farm* 
 Bracely, watched the great oxen crowding their sides togethe 
 and looked off over the fields, and exclaimed, as she saw glimps 
 of the river between the trees, and seemed veritably and unaf 
 fectedly enchanted. The old farmer, at least, had no doubt 
 her sincerity, and he watched her, and listened to her, with 
 broad, honest smile of admiration on his weather-browned COT 
 tenance. 
 
BORN TO LOVE PIGS AND CHICKENS. 311 
 
 The oxen were turned up to the fence, while the dew dried off 
 the hay, and Eph. and his father turned to mowing, leaving Miss 
 Hampson to ramble about over the meadow, and gather flowers 
 by the river side. In the course of an hour they began to rake 
 up, and she came to offer her promised assistance, and stoutly 
 followed Eph. up and down several of the long swaths, till her 
 face glowed under her sun-bonnet as it never had glowed with 
 waltzing. Heated and tired at last, she made herself a seat, with 
 the new hay, under a large elm, and, with her back to the tree, 
 watched the labors of her companions. 
 
 Eph. was a well-built and manly figure, and all he did in the 
 way of his vocation, he did with a fine display of muscular power, 
 and (a sculptor would have thought), no little grace. Julia 
 watched him, as he stepped along after his rake on the elastic 
 sward, and she thought, for the first time, what a very handsome 
 man was young Bracely, and how much more finely a man look 
 ed when raking hay, than a dandy when waltzing. And, for an 
 hour, she sat watching his motion*, admiring the strength with 
 which he pitched up the hay, and the grace and ease of all his 
 movements and postures ; and after a while she began to feel 
 drowsy with fatigue, and pulling up the hay into a fragrant pil 
 low, she lay down, and fell fast asleep. 
 
 It was now the middle of the forenoon, and the old farmer, 
 who, of late years, had fallen into the habit of taking a short 
 nap before dinner, came to the big elm to pick up his waistcoat 
 and go home. As he approached the tree, he stopped, and beck 
 oned to his son. 
 
 Eph. came up and stood at a little distance, looking at the 
 lovely picture before him. With one delicate hand under her 
 cheek, and a smile of angelic content and enjoyment on her finely 
 
312 RIGHT AT LAST. 
 
 cut lips, Julia Hampson slept soundly in the shade. One small 
 foot escaped from her dress, and one shoulder of faultless polish 
 and whiteness showed between her kerchief and her sleeve. Her 
 slight waist bent to the swell of the hay, throwing her delicate 
 and well-moulded bust into high relief : and all over her neck, 
 and in large clusters on the tumbled hay, lay those glossy brown 
 ringlets, admirably beautiful and luxuriant. 
 
 And as Eph. looked on that dangerous picture of loveliness, 
 the passion, already lying perdu in his bosom, sprung to the 
 throne of heart and reason. 
 
 (We have not room to do more than hint at the consequences 
 of this visit of Miss Hampson to the country. It would require 
 the third volume of a novel to describe all the emotions of that 
 month at Bracely farm, and bring the reader, point by point, 
 gingerly and softly, to the close. We must touch here and there 
 a point only, giving the reader s imagination some gleaning to do, 
 after we have been over the ground.) 
 
 Eph. Bracely s awakened pride served him the good turn of 
 making him appear simply in his natural character, during the 
 whole of Miss Hampson s visit. By the old man s advice, how 
 ever, he devoted himself to the amusement of the ladies after the 
 haying was over ; and what with fishing, and riding, and scenery- 
 hunting in the neighborhood, the young people were together 
 from morning till night. Miss Pifflit came down, unwillingly, to 
 plain Meg, in her attendance on her friend in her rustic occupa 
 tions, and Miss Hampson saw as little as possible of the inside of 
 the boudoir. The barn, and the troops of chickens, and all the 
 out-door belongings to the farm, interested her daily, and with no 
 diminution of her zeal. She seemed, indeed, to have found her 
 natural sphere in the simple and affectionate life which her friend 
 
BORN TO LOVE PIGS AND CHICKENS. 313 
 
 Margerine held in such superfine contempt; and Eph., who was 
 the natural mate to such a spirit, and himself, in his own home, 
 most unconsciously worthy of love and admiration, gave himself 
 up irresistibly to his new passion. 
 
 And this new passion became apparent, at last, to the incredu 
 lous eyes of his cousin. And that it was timidly, but fondly re 
 turned by her elegant and high-bred friend, was also very appa 
 rent to Miss Pifflit. And, after a few jealous struggles, and a 
 night or two of weeping, she gave up to it tranquilly for, a city 
 life, and a city husband, truth to say, had long been her secret 
 longing and secret hope, and she never had fairly looked in the 
 face a burial in the country with the " pigs and chickens." 
 
 She is not married yet, Meg Pifflit but the rich merchant, 
 Mr. Hampson, wrecked completely with the disastrous times, has 
 found a kindly and pleasant asylum for his old age with his 
 daughter, Mrs. Braccly. And a better or lovelier farmer s wife 
 than Julia, or a happier farmer than Eph., can scarce be found 
 in the valley of the Susquehannah. 
 
 i; 
 
THOSE UNGRATEFUL BLIDGIMSES, 
 
 " For, look you, he hath as many friends as enemies ; which friends, sir as it were, durst 
 not look you, sir, show themselves as we term it his friends, while he s in directitude. " 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 " HERMIONE. Our praises are our wages." 
 
 WINTER S TALK. 
 
 F , the portrait-painter, was a considerable ally of mine at 
 
 one time. His success in his art brought him into contact with 
 many people, and he made friends as a fastidious lady buys shoes 
 
 trying on a great many that were destined to be thrown aside. 
 
 It was the prompting, no (fcubt, of a generous quality that of 
 believing all people perfect till he discovered their faults but as 
 he cut loose without ceremony from those whose faults were not 
 to his mind, and, as ill-fitting people are not as patient of rejec 
 tion as ill-fitting shoes, the quality did not pass for its full value, 
 and his abusers were " thick as leaves in Vallambrosa." The 
 friends who " wore his bleeding roses," however (and of these he 
 had his share) , fought his battles quite at their own charge. What 
 with plenty of pride, and as plentiful a lack of approbativeness, 
 
 F took abuse as a duck s back takes rain buoyant in the 
 
 shower as in the sunshine. 
 
 " Well, F " I said, as I occupied his big chair one morn- 
 
THOSE UNGRATEFUL BLIDGIMSES. 315 
 
 ing while ho was at work, " there was great skirmishing about you 
 last night at the tea-party !" 
 
 " No ! really ? Who was the enemy ?" 
 
 " Two ladies, who said they travelled with you through Italy, 
 and knew all about you the Blidgimses." 
 
 " Oh, the dear old Blidgimses Crinny and Ninny the un 
 grateful monsters ! Did I ever tell you of my nursing those two 
 old girls through the cholera ? 
 
 " No. But before you go off with a long story, tell me how 
 you can stand such abominable backbiting ? It isn t once in a 
 way, merely ! you are their whole stock in trade, and they vilify 
 you in every house they set foot in. The mildest part of it is 
 criminal slander, my good fellow ! Why not do the world a 
 service, and show that slander is actionable, though it is com 
 mitted in good society ?" 
 
 " Pshaw ! What does it amount to t 
 
 The eagle suffers little birds to sing, 
 And is not careful what they mean thereby, 
 
 and, in this particular instance, the jury would probably give the 
 damages the other way for if they hammer at me till doomsday, 
 I have had my fun out of them my quid pro quo /" 
 
 Well, preface your story by telling me where you met 
 them. I never knew by what perverse thread you were drawn 
 together." 
 
 :t A thread that might have drawn me into much more despe 
 rate extremity a letter from the most lovable of women, charging 
 me to become the trusty squire of these errant damsels wherever 
 I should encounter them. I was then studying in Italy. They 
 
3io SERVANT FOR LOVE. 
 
 came to Florence, where I chanced to be, and were handed over 
 to me without dog, cat, or waiting-maid, by a man who seemed 
 ominously glad to be rid of them. As it was the ruralizing sea 
 son, and all the world was flocking to the baths of Lucca, close 
 by, they went there till I could get ready to undertake them 
 which I did, with the devotion of a courier in a new place, one 
 fig-desiring evening of June." 
 
 " Was there a delivery of the great seal ?" I asked, rather 
 
 amused at F s circumstantial mention of his introitus to 
 
 office. 
 
 u Something very like it, indeed. I had not fairly got the 
 blood out of my face, after making my salaam, when Miss Crinny 
 Blidgims fished up from some deep place she had about her, a 
 memorandum-book, with a well-thumbed brown paper cover, and, 
 gliding across the room, placed it in my hands as people on the 
 stage present pocket-books with a sort of dust-flapping parabola. 
 Is ow, if I have any particular antipathy, it is to the smell of old 
 flannel, and, as this equivocal-looking object descended before my 
 nose faith ! but I took it. It was the account-book of the 
 eatables and drinkables furnished to the ladies in their travels, 
 the prices of eggs, bread, figs, et cetera, and I was to begin my duties 
 by having up the head waiter of the lodging-house, and holding 
 inquisition on his charges. The Blidgimses spoke no Italian, and 
 no servant in the house spoke English, and they were bursting for 
 a translator to tell him that the eggs were over-charged, and that 
 he must deduct threepence a day for wine, for they never 
 touched it !" 
 
 " 4 What do the ladies wish ? inquired the dumb-founded 
 waiter, in civil Tuscan. 
 
THOSE UNGRATEFUL BLIDGIMSES. 317 
 
 " ( What does lie say ? what does he say ? cried Miss Corinna, 
 in resounding nasal. 
 
 " Tell the impudent fellow what eggs are in Dutchess 
 county ! peppered out Miss Katrina, very sharply. 
 
 " Of course I translated with a discretion. There was rather 
 an incongruity between the looks of the damsels and what they 
 were to be represented as saying Katrina Blidgims living alto 
 gether in a blue opera-hat with a white feather." 
 
 I interrupted F - to say that the blue hat was immortal, for 
 it was worn at the tea-party of the night before. 
 
 " I had enough of the blue hat and its bandbox before we 
 parted. It was the one lifetime extravagance of the old maid, 
 perpetrated in Paris, and as it covered the back seam of a wig (a 
 subsequent discovery of mine), she was never without it, except 
 when bonneted to go out. She came to breakfast in it, mended 
 her stockings in it, went to parties in it. 1 fancy it took some 
 trouble to adjust it to the wig, and she devoted to it the usual 
 dressing-hours of morning and dinner ; for in private she wore a 
 handkerchief over it, pinned under her chin, which had only to be 
 whipped off when company was announced, and this, perhaps, is 
 one of the secrets of its immaculate, yet threadbare preservation. 
 She called it her abbo . " 
 
 "Her what?" 
 
 " You have heard of the famous Herbault, the man-milliner, of 
 Paris ? The bonnet was his production, and called after him with 
 with great propriety. In Italy, where people dress according to 
 their condition in life, this perpetual abbo was something a la 
 princesse, and hence my embarrassment in explaining to Jacomo, 
 the waiter, that Signorina Katrina s high summons concerned 
 only an overcharge of a penny in the eggs !" 
 
31S ECONOMY IX ITALY. 
 
 And what said Jacomo ?" 
 
 " Jacomo was incapable of an incivility, and begged pardon 
 before stating that the usual practice of the house was to 
 charge half a dollar a day for board and lodging, including 
 a private parlor and bedroom, three meals and a bottle 
 of wine. The ladies, however, had applied through an English 
 gentlemen (who chanced to call on them, and who spoke Italian), 
 to have reductions made on their dispensing with two dishes of 
 meat out of three, drinking no wine, and wanting no nuts and 
 raisins. Their main extravagance was in eggs, which they ate 
 several times a day between meals, and wished to have cooked 
 and served up at the price per dozen in the market. On 
 this they had held conclave below stairs, and the result had not 
 been communicated, because there was no common language ; 
 but Jacomo wished, through me, respectfully to represent, that 
 the reductions from the half-dollar a day should be made as re 
 quested, but that the eggs could not be bought, cooked, and 
 served up, (with salt and bread, and a clean napkin), for just 
 their price in the market. And on this .point the ladies were ob 
 stinate. And to settle this difficulty between the high contract 
 ing parties, cost an argument of a couple of hours, my first per 
 formance as translator in the service of the Blidgimses. Thence 
 forward, I was as necessary to Crinny and Ninny (these were 
 their familiar diminutives for Corinna and Katrina) as neces 
 sary to Crinny as the gift of speech, and to Ninny as the wig 
 and abbo put together. Obedient to the mandate of the fair 
 hand which had consigned me to them, I gave myself up to their 
 service, even keeping in my pocket their frowsy grocery-book 
 though not without some private outlay in burnt vinegar. What 
 
THOSE UNGRATEFUL BLIDGIMSES. 319 
 
 penance a man will undergo for a pretty woman who cares noth 
 ing about him !" 
 
 " But what could have started such a helpless pair of old 
 quizzes upon their travels ?" 
 
 " I wondered myself until I knew them better. Crinny Blid- 
 gims had a tongue of the liveliness of an eel s tail. It would 
 have wagged after she was skinned and roasted. She had, be 
 side, a kind of pinchbeck smartness, and these two gifts, and per 
 haps the name of Corinna, had inspired her with the idea that 
 she was an improvisatrice. So, how could she die without going 
 to Italy ?" 
 
 " And Ninny went for company ?" 
 
 " Oh, Miss Ninny Blidgims had a passion too ! She had come 
 out to see Paris. She had heard that, in Paris, people could re 
 new their youth, and she thought she had done it, with her tibbo. 
 She thought, too, that she must have manners to correspond. So, 
 while travelling in her old bonnet, she blurted out her bad gram 
 mar as she had done for fifty years, but in her blue hat she sim 
 pered and frisked to the best of her recollection. Silly as that 
 old girl was, however, she had the most pellucid set of ideas on 
 the prices of things to eat. There was no humbugging her on 
 that subject, even in a foreign language. She filled her pockets 
 with apples, usually in our walks ; and the translating between 
 her and a street huckster, she in her abbo and the apple-woman 
 in Italian rags, was vexatious to endure, but very funny to re 
 member. I have thought of painting it, but, to understand the 
 picture, the spectator must make the acquaintance of Miss Fan 
 ny Blidgims rather a pill for a connoisseur ! But, by this time, 
 you are ready to approfond, as the French aptly say, the depths 
 of my subsequent distresses. 
 
320 CHEAP TRIP 
 
 THE STORY. 
 
 " I had been about a month at Lucca, when it was suddenly 
 proposed by Crinny that we should take a vetturino together, and 
 go to Venice. Ninny and she had come down to dinner with a 
 sudden disgust for the baths owing, perhaps, to the distinction 
 they had received as the only strangers in the place who were not 
 invited to the ball of a certain prince, our next-door neighbor. The 
 Blidgimses and their economies, in fact, had become the joke of 
 the season, and, as the interpreter in the egg-trades, I was mixed 
 up in the omelette, and as glad to escape from my notoriety as 
 they. So I set about looking up the conveyance with some alac 
 rity. 
 
 " By the map, it was evidently a great saving of distance to 
 cross the mountains to Modena, and of course a great saving of 
 expense, as vetturinos are paid by the mile ; but the guide-books 
 stated that the road was rough, and the inns abominable, and 
 recommended to all who cared for comfort, to make a circum 
 bendibus by the way of Florence and Bologna. Ninny declared 
 she could live on bread and apples, however, and Crinny delight 
 ed in mountain air in short, economy carried it, and after three 
 days chaffering with the owner of a rattletrap vettura, we set off 
 up the banks of the Lima without the blessing of Jacomo, the 
 head waiter ! 
 
 " We soon left the bright little river, and struck into the 
 mountains, and, as the carriage crept on very slowly, I relieved 
 the horses of my weight and walked on. The ladies did the 
 same thing whenever they came in sight of an orchard, and, for 
 the first day, Ninny munched the unripe apples and seemed get- 
 
THOSE UNGRATEFUL BLIDGIMSES. 321 
 
 ting along very comfortably. The first night s lodging was exe 
 crable, but as the driver assured us it was the best on the route, 
 we saved our tempers for the worst, and, the next day, began to 
 penetrate a country that looked deserted of man, and curst with 
 uninhabitable sterility. Its effect upon my spirits, as I walked 
 on alone, was as depressing as the news of some trying misfor 
 tune, and I was giving it credit for one redeeming quality that 
 of an opiate to a tongue like Crinny Blidgimses s when both the 
 ladies began to show symptoms of illness. It was not long after 
 noon, and we were in the midst of a waste upland, the road bend 
 ing over the horizon before and behind us, and neither shed nor 
 shelter, bush, wall or tree, within reach of the eye. The only 
 habitation we had seen sinco morning, was a wretched hovel, where 
 the horses were fed at noon, and the albergo, where we should 
 pass the night, was distant several hours a long up-hill stretch, 
 on which the pace of the horses could not possibly be mended. 
 The ladies were bent double in the carriage, and said they could 
 not possibly go on. Going back was out of the question. The 
 readiest service I could proffer was to leave them and hurry on to 
 the inn, to prepare for their reception. 
 
 " Fortunately our team was unicorn-rigged one horse in ad 
 vance of a pair. I took off the leader, and galloped away. 
 
 " Well, the cholera was still lingering in Italy, and stomachs 
 must be made cholera-proof to stand a perpetual diet of green 
 apples, even with no epidemic in the air. So I had a very clear 
 idea of the remedies that would be required on their arrival. 
 
 " At a hand-gallop I reached the albergo in a couple of hours. 
 It was a large stone barrack, intended, no doubt, as was the road 
 we had travelled, for military uses. A thick stone wall surround 
 ed it, and it stood in the midst, in a pool of mud. From the 
 14* 
 
322 CHOLERA OUT OF PLACE. 
 
 last eminence before arriving, not another object could be de 
 scried within a horizon of twenty miles diameter, and a whitish 
 soil of baked clay, browned here and there by a bit of scanty 
 herbage, was foreground and middle and background to the pleas 
 ant picture. The site of the barrack had probably been deter 
 mined by the only spring within many miles, and, by the dryness 
 without and the mud within the walls, it was contrived for a mo 
 nopoly by the besieged. 
 
 " 1 cantered in at the unhinged gate, and roared out c casa ! 
 4 cameriere ! botega ! till I was frightened at my own voice. 
 
 " No answer. I threw my bridle over a projection of the 
 stone steps, and mounted, from an empty stable which occupied 
 the ground floor (Italian fashion), to the second story, which 
 seemed equally uninhabited. Here were tables, however, and 
 wooden settees, and dirty platters the first signs of life. On 
 the hearth was an iron pot and a pair of tongs, and, with these 
 two musical instruments I played a tune which I was sure would 
 find ears, if ears there were on the premises. And presently a 
 hoavy foot was heard on the stair above, and, with a sonorous 
 yawn, descended mine host dirty and stolid a goodly pattern of 
 the fat weed on Lethe s wharf, as you would meet in a century. 
 He had been taking his siesta, and his wife had had a colpo di 
 sole, and was confined helplessly to her bed. The man John was 
 out tending sheep, and he, the host, was, vicariously, cook, waiter, 
 and chambermaid. What might be the pleasure of U signorc ? 
 
 " My pleasure was, first, to see the fire kindled, and the pot 
 put over, and then to fall into a brown study. 
 
 " Two fine ladies with the cholera two days journey from a 
 physician a fat old Italian landlord for nurse and sole counsellor 
 nobody who could understand a woid they uttered, except 
 
THOSE UNGRATEFUL BLIDGIMSES. 333 
 
 myself, and not a drug nor a ministering petticoat within avail 
 able limits ! Then the doors of the chambers were without 
 latches or hinges, and the little bed in each great room was the 
 one article of furniture, and the house was so still in the midst of 
 that great waste, that all sounds and movements whatever, must 
 be of common cognisance ! Should I be discharging my duty, to 
 ladies under my care, to leave them to this dirty old man ? Should 
 I offer my own attendance as constant nurse, and would the ser 
 vice be accepted ? How, in the name of Robinson Crusoe, were 
 these delicate damsels to be * done for 1 
 
 " As a matter of economy in dominos, as well as to have some 
 thing Italian to bring home, I had bought at Naples the costume 
 of a sister of charity, and in it I had done all my masquerading 
 for three carnivals. It was among my baggage, and it occurred 
 to me whether I had not better take the landlord into my confi 
 dence, and bribe him to wait upon the ladies, disguised in coif 
 and petticoat. No for he had a mustache, and spoke nothing 
 but Italian. Should I do it myself ? 
 
 " I paced up and down the stone floor in an agony of dilemma. 
 
 In the course of half an hour I had made up my mind. I called 
 to Boniface, who was watching the boiling pot, and made a clean 
 breast to him of my impending distresses, aiding his compre 
 hension by such eye-water as landlords require. He readily 
 undertook the necessary lies, brought out his store of brandy, 
 added a second bed to one of the apartments, and promised faith 
 fully to bear my sex in mind, and treat me with the reverence 
 due my cross and rosary. I then tore out a leaf of the grocery 
 book, and wrote with my pencil a note to this effect, to be 
 delivered to the ladies on their arrival : 
 
324 CHOLERA IN A CARRIAGE. 
 
 u DEAR MISSBLIDGIMS : Feeling quite indisposed myself, and 
 being firmly persuaded that we are three cases of cholera, I have 
 taken advantage of a return calesino to hurry on to Modena for 
 medical advice. The vehicle I take brought hither a sister of 
 charity, who assures me she will wait on you, even in the most 
 malignant stage of your disease. She is collecting funds for a 
 hospital, and will receive compensation for her services in the 
 form of a donation to this object. I shall send you a physician 
 by express from Modena, where it is still possible we may meet. 
 With prayers, &c. &c. 
 
 " Yours very devotedly, 
 
 i p 
 
 " i P. S. Sister Benedetta understands French when spoken, 
 though she speaks only Italian. 
 
 " The delivery of this was subject, of course, to the condition 
 of the ladies when they should arrive, though I had a presenti 
 ment they were in for a serious business. 
 
 " And, true to my boding, they did arrive, exceedingly ill. 
 An hour earlier than I had looked for him, the vetturino came up 
 with foaming horses at a tugging trot, frightened half out of his 
 senses. The ladies were dying, he swore by all the saints, be 
 fore he dismounted. He tore open the carriage door, shouted 
 for il signore and the landlord, and had carried both the groan 
 ing girls up stairs in his arms, before fat Boniface, who had been 
 killing a sheep in the stable, could wash his hands and come out 
 to him. To his violent indignation, the landlord s first care was 
 to unstrap the baggage and take off my portmanteau, condescend 
 ing to give him neither why nor wherefore, and, as it mounted the 
 stairs on the broad shoulders of my faithful ally, it was followed 
 
THOSE UNGRATEFUL BLIDGIMSES. 325 
 
 by a string of oaths such as can rattle off from nothing but the 
 voluble tongue of an Italian. 
 
 " I immediately despatched the note by the host, requesting 
 him to come back and do my dress, and, in half an hour, sister 
 Benedetta s troublesome toilet was achieved, and my old Abigail 
 walked around me, rubbing his hands, and swore I was a mera- 
 mglia di bellezaS The lower part of my face was covered by the 
 linen coif, and the forehead was almost completely concealed in 
 the plain put-away of a false front ; and, unless the Blidgimses 
 had reconnoitred my nose and eyes very carefully, I was sure 
 of my disguise. The improvements in my figure were, unluckily, 
 fixtures in the dress, for it was very hot ; but, by the landlord s 
 account, they were very becoming. Do you believe the old dog 
 tried to kiss me ? 
 
 " The groans of Ninny, meantime, resounded through the 
 house, for, as I expected, she had the worst of it. Her exclama 
 tions of pain were broken up, I could also hear, by sentences in a 
 sort of spiteful monotone, answered in regular humphs ! by 
 Crinny Crinny never talking except to astonish, and being as 
 habitually crisp to her half-witted sister as she was fluent to those 
 who were capable of surprise. Fearing that some disapprobation 
 of myself might find its way to Ninny s lips, and for several other 
 reasons which occurred to me, I thought it best to give the ladies 
 another half hour to themselves ; and, by way of testing my incog 
 nito, bustled about in the presence of the vetturino, warming oil 
 and mixing brandies-and-water, and getting used to the suffoca 
 tion of my petticoats for you have no idea how intolerably hot 
 they are, with trowsers under. 
 
 " Quite assured, at last, I knocked at the door. 
 
 " 4 That s his nun ! said Ninny, after listening an instant. 
 
326 TODDIES FOR CHOLERA. 
 
 " Come in ! that is to say, entrez / feebly murmured Crinny. 
 
 " They were both in bed, rolled up like pocket-handker 
 chiefs ; but Ninny had found strength to bandbox her wig and 
 abbo, and array herself in a nightcap with an exceedingly broad 
 frill. But I must not trench upon the 4 secrets of the prison- 
 house. You are a bachelor, and the Blidgimses are still in a 
 4 world of hope. 
 
 " I walked in and leaned over each of them, and whispered a 
 benedicite, felt their pulses, and made signs that I understood 
 their complaints and they need not trouble themselves to explain ; 
 and forthwith I commenced operations by giving them their grog 
 (which they swallowed without making faces, by-the-by), and, as 
 they relaxed their postures a little, I got one foot at a time hung 
 over to me from the side of the bed into the pail of hot water, 
 and set them to rubbing themselves with the warm oil, while I 
 vigorously bathed their extremities. Crinny, as I very well 
 knew, had but five-and-twenty words of French, just sufficient to 
 hint at her wants, and Ninny spoke only such English as Heaven 
 pleased, so I played the ministering angel in safe silence listen 
 ing to my praises, however, for I handled Ninny s irregular 
 doigts du pied with a tenderness that pleased her. 
 
 " Well you know what the cholera is. I knew that, at the 
 Hotel Dieu of Paris, women who had not been intemperate were 
 oftenest cured by whiskey punches, and, as brandy toddies were 
 the nearest approach of which the resources of the place admit 
 ted, I plied my patients with brandy toddy. In the weak state 
 of their stomachs, it produced, of course, a delirious intoxication, 
 and, as I began very early in the morning, there were no lucid 
 intervals in which my incognito might be endangered. My min 
 istrations were, consequently, very much facilitated, and, after 
 
THOSE UNGRATEFUL BLTDGIMSES. 337 
 
 the second day (when I really thought the poor girls would die), 
 we fell into a very regular course of hospital life, and, for one, I 
 found it very entertaining. Quite impressed with the idea that 
 sister Bellidettor (as Ninny called me) understood not a word of 
 English, they discoursed to please themselves ; and I was obliged 
 to get a book, to excuse, even to their tipsy comprehension, my 
 outbreaks of laughter. Crinny spouted poetry and sobbed about 
 Washington Irving, who, she thought, should have been her lover ; 
 and Ninny sat up in bed, and, with a small glass ehe had in the 
 back of her hair-brush, tried on her abbo at every possible angle, 
 always ending by making signs to sister Bellidettor to come and 
 comb her hair ! There was a long, slender moustache, remain 
 ing on the back of the bald crown, and, after putting this into my 
 hand, with the hair-brush, she sat with a smile of delight till she 
 found my brushing did not come round to the front ! 
 
 " 4 Why don t you brush this lock ? she cried, i this and this 
 and this! making passes from her shining skull down to her 
 waist, as if, in every one, she had a handful of hair ! And so, 
 for an hour together, I threaded these imaginary locks, beginning 
 where they were rooted long time ago, and passing the brush 
 off to the length of my arm the cranium, when I had done, 
 looking like a balloon of shot silk, its smooth surface was so pur 
 pled with the friction of the bristles. Poor Ninny ! She has 
 great temptation to tipple, I think that is, < if Macassar won t 
 bring back the lost chevelure ." 
 
 " About the fifth day, the ladies began to show signs of con 
 valescence, and it became necessary to reduce their potations. 
 Of course they grew less entertaining, and I was oblisred to be 
 much more on my guard. Crinny fell from her inspiration, and 
 Ninny from her complacency, and they came down to their pre- 
 
328 AFTER SUCH SERVICES. 
 
 vious condition of damaged spinsters, prim and peevish. Needs 
 must that I should i play out. the play, however, and I abated 
 none of my pctits soins for their comfort, laying out very large 
 anticipations of their grateful acknowledgments for my dramatic 
 chivalry, devotion, and delicacy !" 
 
 " Well they are ungrateful !" said I, interrupting F for 
 
 the first time in his story. 
 
 " Now, are not they ? They should at least, since they deny 
 me my honors, pay me for my services as maid-of- all-work, nurse, 
 hair-dresser, and apothecary ! Well, if I hear of their abusing 
 me again, I ll send in my bills. Wouldn t you ? But to wind 
 up this long story. 
 
 " I thought that perhaps there might be some little circum 
 stances, connected with my attentions, which would look best at a 
 distance, and that it would be more delicate to go on and take 
 leave at Modena as sister Benedetta, and rejoin them the next 
 morning in hose and doublet as before reserving to some future 
 period the clearing up of my apparently recreant desertion. On 
 the seventh morning, therefore, I instructed old Giuseppe, the 
 landlord, to send in his bill to the ladies while I was dressing, and 
 give notice to the vetturino that he was to take the holy sister to 
 Modena in the place of il signorc, who had gone on before. 
 
 " Crinny and Ninny were their own reciprocal dressing-maids, 
 but Crinny s fingers had weakened by sickness much more than 
 her sister s waist had diminished, and, in the midst of shaving, in 
 my own room, I was called to l finish doing Ninny, who backed 
 up to me with her mouth full of pins, and the breath, for the time 
 being, quite expelled from her body. As I was straining, very 
 red in the face, at the critical hook, Giuseppe knocked at the 
 door, with the bill, and the lack of an interpreter to dispute the 
 
THOSE UNGRATEFUL BLIDGIMSES. 329 
 
 charges, brought up the memory of the supposed absquatulator 
 with no very grateful odor. Before I could finish Miss Ninny 
 and get out of the room, I heard myself charged with more 
 abominations, mental and personal, than the monster that would 
 have made the fortune of Trinculo. Crinny counted down half 
 the money, and attempted, by very expressive signs, to impress 
 upon Giuseppe that it was enough ; but the oily palm of the old 
 publican was patiently held out for more, and she at last paid the 
 full demand, fairly crying with vexation. 
 
 " Quite sick of the new and divers functions to which I had 
 been serving an apprenticeship in my black petticoat, I took my 
 place in the vettura, and dropped veil, to be sulky in one lump 
 as far as Modena. I would willingly have stopped my ears, but, 
 after wearing out their indignation at the unabated charges of old 
 Giuseppe, the ladies took up the subject of the expected dona 
 tion to the charity-fund of sister Benedetta, and their expedients, 
 to get rid of it, occupied (very amusingly to me) the greater part 
 of a day s travel. They made up their minds at last, that half a 
 dollar would be as much as I could expect for my week s attend 
 ance, and Crinny requested that she should not be interrupted 
 while she thought out the French for saying as much, when we 
 should come to the parting. 
 
 " I was sitting quietly in the corner of the vettura, the next 
 day, felicitating myself on the success of my masquerade, when 
 we suddenly came to a halt at the gate of Modena, and the dcg- 
 aniere put his moustache in at the window, with passaporti, 
 signori / 
 
 " Murder ! thought I here s a difficulty I never provided for ! 
 
 " The ladies handed out their papers, and I thrust my hand 
 through the slit in the side of my dress and pulled mine from my 
 
330 THE REVELATION. 
 
 pocket. As of course you know, it is the business of this gate 
 keeper to compare every traveller with the description given of 
 him in his passport. He read those of the Blidgimses and looked 
 at them all right. I sat still while he opened mine, thinking it 
 possible he might not care to read the description of a sister of 
 charity. But to my dismay he did and opened his eyes, and 
 looked again into the carriage. 
 
 " Aspetta, caro ." said I, for I saw it was of no use. I gather 
 ed up my bombazine and stepped out into the road. There were 
 a dozen soldiers and two or three loungers sitting on a long 
 bench in the shade of the gateway. The officer read through 
 the description once more, and then turned to me with the look 
 of a functionary who had detected a culprit. I began to pull up 
 my petticoat. The soldiers took their pipes out of their mouths 
 and uttered the Italian l keck of surprise. When I had got as 
 far as the knee, however, I came to the rolled-up trowsers, and 
 the officer joined in the sudden uproar of laughter. I pulled my 
 black petticoat over my head, and stood in my waistcoat and 
 shirt-sleeves, and bowed to the merry official. The Blidgimses, 
 to my surprise, uttered no exclamation, but I had forgotten my 
 coif. When that was unpinned, and my whiskers came to light, 
 their screams became alarming. The vetturino ran for water, 
 the soldiers started to their feet, and, in the midst of the excite 
 ment, I ordered down my baggage and resumed my coat and cap, 
 and repacked, under lock and key, the sister Benedetta. And not 
 quite ready to encounter the Blidgimses, I walked on to the 
 hotel and left the vetturino to bring on the ladies at his leisure. 
 
 " Of course I had no control over accidents, and this exposure 
 was unlucky ; but, if I had had time to let myself down softly on 
 the subject, don t you see it would have been quite a different 
 
THOSE UNGRATEFUL BLIDIMSES. 331 
 
 sort of an affair ? I parted company from the old girls at Mo- 
 dena, however, and they were obliged to hire a man-servant who 
 spoke English and Italian, and probably the expense of that was 
 added to my iniquities. Anyhow, abusing me this way is very 
 ungrateful of these Blidgimses. Now, isn t it ?" 
 
BELLES OF NEW YORK, 
 
 MRS. VERE. 
 
 A CHILD, educated solely for prosperity, was Violet Fanning. 
 She was literally a belle at twelve years of age, for so accom 
 plished was the beautiful child as a dancer, and so well-bred and 
 self-collected in her manners and replies, that, while passing a 
 gay month with her mother at Saratoga, the beaux approached 
 her with deference due a lady, danced with her, and addressed to 
 her conversation as well suited to the age of eighteen. Her mo 
 ther, being a woman of remarkable elegance and beauty, her 
 father having always lived like a gentleman of fortune, and the 
 family, in all their connections, being understood to be ambitious 
 and worldly, there was little chance for the fair Violet to escape 
 what is commonly considered a a good match." She grew up to 
 the marriageable age in singular perfection of style, personal de 
 velopment and mental aplomb. The admiration she excited for 
 these qualities was the greater, because her spirits were naturally 
 high, and her inevitable style of manner was the brilliant and 
 fearless the most difficult of all manners to sustain proportion 
 ately, and with invariable triumph and grace. 
 
BELLES OF NEW YORK. 333 
 
 At eighteen, Miss Fanning, though not living in the city, was 
 one of the best known and most admired belles of the time. To 
 a connoisseur of symmetry, her movement and peculiar grace, 
 even as she walked in the street, were a study. Of Arabian 
 slightness and litheness, her figure still seemed filled out to its 
 most absolute proportion, and, with the clearness of her hazel eye, 
 the dazzling whiteness of teeth without a fault, color beautifully 
 distributed in her face, and features almost minutely regular, she 
 seemed one of those phenomena of physical perfection, of which 
 sculptors deny the existence. A fault-finder might have found 
 the coral thread of the lips too slight, and the nose too thin, in 
 its high-bred proportion these being indications of a character 
 in which sentiment and tenderness are not prevailing qualities 
 but, perhaps, here, after all, lay the secret of a propriety and 
 self-control never ostensibly cared for, and yet never, by any pos 
 sibility, put in peril. 
 
 Cordial without hesitation, joyous always, confident as a prin 
 cess, frank and simple, Miss Fanning charmed all but appa 
 rently charmed all alike. Of any leaning to a flirtation, no 
 human heart ever could suppose her capable. The finding of a 
 mate for herself never seemed to have entered her mind neither 
 that care, nor any other, apparently admissable through the door 
 of a mind guarded by the merest joyousness of a complete ex 
 istence. Of the approaches which instinct makes every woman 
 understand the approaches of those who, by the silent language 
 of magnetism, inquire whether they could be loved she gave no 
 sign by a manner more thoughtful, and she was too high-minded, 
 of course, to betray any such secret which she might have 
 fathomed ; but many such approaches she doubtless had. The 
 world, not at all prepared by any previous indication, was simply 
 
334 MRS. VERE. 
 
 surprised, of course, one fine day, to hear of Miss Fanning s en 
 gagement to Mr. Verc. It was a match of the highest possible 
 promise the gentleman a son of one of the best and wealthiest 
 families, and the affianced an only daughter, and probably a con 
 siderable heiress. The wedding soon followed, and was unusually 
 brilliant. The prophecies were without a shadow. 
 
 Ten years have passed, and death and change have braided 
 their dark threads in the life-woof of Mrs. Vere, as in those of 
 women less fair. The fortunes, of both her husband s family and 
 her own, some five years ago, lessened, without wrecking alto 
 gether, and Mr. Vere, as hopes from without gave way, turned, 
 with American facility, to resources within ; and, from an elegant 
 pursuer of pleasure, became a hard-working, professional man. 
 Both reared in luxury only both with a youth-seen future of ex 
 clusively prosperous anticipation they are now living a life of 
 simple competence, and doubtless of careful economy ; but, how 
 Mrs. Vere looks now, and how she bears these reversed anticipa 
 tions, and accommodates herself to a sphere many might think 
 trying and hard to bear, are points that, we presume, will interest 
 our readers more than any history of a prosperity unbroken. 
 Men s resistance to adversity is positive a struggle a contest 
 and therefore easy. Women s is negative a simple, inactive 
 endurance and twenty times as difficult. With this truth in the 
 mind, the view of a condition of fortune, whose reverses are 
 shared equally by a husband and wife, makes the latter s history 
 much the more interesting. 
 
 You will not meet, in your daily walk in New York, a more 
 tastefully dressed, lady-like and elegant woman than Mrs. Vere 
 Her gait, and general carriage of person are those of one whose 
 
BELLES OF NEW YORK. 335 
 
 spirit is wholly unsubdued, whose arched foot has a bridge as 
 elastic as in her teens ; whose lively self-confidence is without a 
 shadow of abatement. In even the beauty of her face there is 
 no absolute diminution, for the girlish hue of complexion, and 
 the scarce perceptible fullest degree of outline, are more than re 
 placed by heightened expression, and by a shade of inward ex 
 pectation less exacting. Of the world without, Mrs. Vere ex 
 pects as much as ever. Her unaltered valuation of her own po 
 sition, is her beautiful glory a glory of which she is probably 
 quite unconscious, though it causes her to be looked upon with 
 boundless respect and admiration by any observer who knows the 
 world, and who appreciates the rarity of a pride worn so loftily 
 easy. By it Mrs Vere holds her husband s fortunes, in every 
 important particular, where they were. She compels the world, 
 by it, to believe her untouched by any misfortune worth consider 
 ing to see her in the same posture and place of society as be 
 fore, and yield, to her, every inch as much of admiring conside 
 ration. Though she dresses with extreme care and with becoming 
 economy, it is the dress of a woman who is not at all aware of hav 
 ing lost ground by a loss of fortune, and who dresses still for the 
 same position ; and, obediently, society takes her at her word, 
 rates her at her own estimate, and, at this present moment, gives 
 her as much regard and deference as she could have had with 
 millions of which to make a display. She walks on her errands, 
 or rides in an omnibus, does any proper thing she likes with 
 out fear of committing her dignity Her open and frank eye is 
 is without suspicion of any possible slight. She is, in short, a 
 woman born with a spirit too high for fortune to affect, and, freed 
 thus from the wear which, most of all, makes inroad upon beauty, 
 
336 MUS. VEUE. 
 
 she is likely, for twenty years more, to be beautiful and at 
 tractive. 
 
 Such is Mrs. Vere, and slight observers will not recognise the 
 portrait. Here and there, one, who knows her, will. 
 
THE BELLES OF NEW YORK, 
 
 MISS AYMAR, OF NEW YORK. 
 
 BY the vote of Underdone-dom, (the stripling constituency of 
 belle-ship in New York,) Miss Aymar would, perhaps, scarce be 
 elected a belle ; yet a stranger, accustomed to the society of 
 women of high rank, abroad, would recognize in her, at a first 
 glance, a quality of beauty and manners which would have been 
 the pride and admiration of a court. Dignified without being re 
 pulsive cold without being reserved full and perfect in figure and 
 health, yet of marble paleness frank, yet smiling seldom a head 
 set very proudly upon the shoulders, yet pliant and natural in all 
 its movements she is the type of what is meant, abroad, when 
 they say of a woman that she " looks like a duchess." Add to 
 this an oval cast of features, a well-completed outline to the 
 cheek, a round yet tapering chin, and a throat curved gracefully 
 from the head, and there seems nothing wanting, to Miss Ayrnar, 
 of those peculiarities which, in England, are thought most desir 
 able to grace a title. 
 
 In proportion to the nobleness and fine balance of qualities in a 
 woman, (and this we have admired and wondered at, more than 
 15 
 
338 MISS AYMAIl. 
 
 any other peculiarity of the sex), is the unsuspecting readiness of 
 her assent to destiny. With all the superiority of Miss Aymar, 
 and the manifest want of a proper response to the call of her mind 
 and heart, she plays her part with unaffected earnestness and con 
 tentment, receives what attention falls to her lot with as much 
 pleasure as if any higher intercourse and homage would be beyond 
 her capacity to appreciate, and, (if we may be pardoned the 
 similitude,) simply does her best, like a blood courser at the 
 plough, without intimating, by discontent or resistance, that her 
 fine nature is out of place and unappreciated. The merest 
 dancing partner, who bespeaks an invitation to her mother s 
 house by asking her hand for a quadrille, believes any favor there 
 may be in the matter, to be entirely of his own granting setting 
 down the unvoiced superiority, by which he is mysteriously kept 
 at a distance, as a " something or other about her manner which 
 is not very agreeable. 
 
 Of course there is a " world of one s own," without which un 
 appreciated poets would come down to what is thought of them, 
 and superior women, by mere lack of recognition, grow like the 
 common-place people among whom they are numbered. Miss 
 Aymar ? s door shuts in a tranquil universe of thought, of choice 
 books, and of culture which is a luxury without effort ; and here 
 the mind, which is bent to the world, daily recovers its stature, 
 and the sympathies, whose noble harmony is diminished to accord 
 with lesser natures, resume their capability and tone. It is by 
 natural and unconscious echo to the chance-sounded key-note of 
 a kindred mind, that the true melody of this inner life is alone 
 betrayed, for it is never ostentatiously sounded to those whom it 
 might disparage or rebuke. Miss Aymar has her appreciators ; 
 but, unfortunately, from the very advance of her progress, they 
 
BELLES OF NEW YORK. 339 
 
 are necessarily only those whom she has overtaken who are not 
 of her own age who have learned, by disappointment, compa 
 rison, and life s varied experiences of bitter and sweet, the true 
 value of what she scarce recognises in herself. In foreign society, 
 where the men, up to a marriageable age, are kept away from 
 narrowing cares and devoted wholly to such general cultivation as 
 fits them to adorn fortune when they receive it, and fitly to mate 
 the delicacy and dignity of a superior woman when they wed her, 
 she would only have the embarrassment of choice, among compe 
 titors for her hand, all suitable in age and accomplishments. 
 Here, such youths are rare 5 and, as Miss Aymar is not a woman 
 to marry except with the fullest consent of her own taste and 
 feeling, she is (we admiringly fear !) in some danger of never 
 being the wife she could be the perfect wife made up of contra 
 dictions and contrasts such a one as Shakspeare s Helena pro 
 mises to be to Bertram : 
 
 A thousand loves; 
 A mother and a mistress and a friend ; 
 A phoenix, captain and an enemy : 
 A guide, a goddess and a sovereign ; 
 A counsellor, a traitress and a dear ; 
 His humble ambition, proud humility; 
 His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet; 
 His faith ; his sweet disaster ; with a world 
 Of pretty, fond, adoptions Christendoms 
 That blinking Cupid gossips." 
 
BELLES OF NEW YORK, 
 
 FANNY TRELLINGER. 
 
 FANNY TRELLINGER is a belle by mistake. She does not un 
 derstand it herself. And, if continually " trying on" hearts, 
 like shoes, and dropping them with as little ceremony as mis-fits 
 of morocco, prove a young lady to be a coquette, Fanny Trellin- 
 ger is a coquette. Yet she does not deserve to be called one. 
 
 Miss Trellinger is a blonde of whom even Buchanan Read, that 
 skilful idealizer of the pencil, could scarce make a beauty. Her 
 eyes, hair, waist and shoulders might belong to the most neglect 
 ed of wall-flowers. She dresses well, from obedience to uncon 
 scious good taste, but forgets her dress and her looks, from the 
 moment she leaves her mirror till she comes back to it again. If 
 she has any mere personal charm it is one which is seldom recog 
 nized except by painters (though it indicates a delightful quality 
 in a woman, but it can belong to none but the habitually self- 
 forgetful) her mouth has those Hunt corners which the tension 
 of a forced smile alters to a sharp angle. Probably no man ever 
 admired Miss Fanny from seeing her, merely. She reaches 
 hearts without paying the toll of beauty for passing in at the 
 
BELLES OF NEW YORK. 
 
 341 
 
 eyes. To feel her fascination, one must converse with her ; and 
 the invariable attraction, which affects those who approach her 
 thus near, is as mysterious to most lookers-on, as, to a child is 
 the sudden jumping of needles when brought into the neighborhood 
 of a magnet. It does not seem to require particular qualities to be 
 subject to her influence. All kinds of men, from a Wall-street 
 tetrarch to an unbuttered asparagus in his first tail-coat, find her 
 delightful. She might seem, indeed, indiscriminate in her liking ; 
 for, though her magnetism depends on what is entirely within her 
 own control, she exercises it on every new comer who approaches 
 her withholding it from none except those she has rejected or 
 known enough of. Few people in this world being capable (as 
 the doctors say) of " clearly telling what ails them," the secret 
 of this omni-fascination does not get out, even through the con 
 fessions of its victims ; and Miss Trellinger shops at Stewart s 
 of all the belles who go there, the one whose silks and muslins 
 minister to conquests the most unaccountable. 
 
 It would be vain to look for the secret of this invisible charm, 
 in the education, or reading, or conversational talent of Miss 
 Fanny. Within the ordinary outline of school-routine, she was 
 left to educate herself ; her reading is pursued with no system, 
 and is rather less, than more, than that of other young ladies ; 
 and, in conversation she says singularly little. It is doubtful 
 whether her most desperate admirer ever quoted any remark of 
 hers as peculiar or clever, and she never, herself, entertained the 
 remotest idea of expressing a thought so as to make an impres 
 sion. We seem, thus far, to have almost proved that her fas 
 cination is neither of person nor mind yet it is not so, alto 
 gether. 
 
 Whether from some bent of the mind early taken, or from an 
 
342 FANNY TRELLINGEB. 
 
 accident of combined mental quaUtios, it is difficult to say but 
 Miss Trellinger s most powerful instinct is curiositj^ as to undis 
 closed qualities of character. This is united, of course, with a 
 sanguine belief in the superiority of concealed qualities to those 
 upon the surface ; and the taste, like that for love and pleasure, 
 seems not to diminish by disappointment. Every man who ap 
 proaches her as a new acquaintance, is a new enigma of intense 
 interest ; and she sets aside his first politenesses, or quietly waits 
 for their exhaustion, and brings him as soon as possible to that 
 state of communicativeness when he will talk freely of himself 
 and tell his hates and loves, hopes and ambitions. A botanist 
 does not more attentively and patiently take to pieces a complex 
 flower. Her natural- tact and ingenuity at inspiring confidence 
 and provoking the betrayal of secret springs of thought and pro 
 pensity, are, perhaps, enough, alone, to stamp her as a superior 
 girl, and, differently trained, they might have been the basis of a 
 yery uncommon character for a woman. 
 
 All unconscious that she is doing more than to gratify a sim 
 ple thirst for the discovery of heroic qualities, dormant and un 
 appreciated, Miss Fanny, meantime, plays a game that no art or 
 fascination could outdo. Forgetful of herself, and perfectly hon 
 est in her desire to know deeply the character within, her mani 
 fest sincerity puts incredulity at once to sleep ; and the self-love 
 of the heart she strives to read, throws down its defences, and 
 believes it has found, at last, the fond intensity with which it 
 sighed to be appreciated ! The manner of Miss Trellinger, 
 without being carressing, is that of earnest, exclusive and grave 
 attention. Her eyes are fastened on the lips of the speaker ; the 
 tones in which she gives her assent, or puts her simple and in 
 genuous yet most pertinent questions, are subdued to an appealing 
 
BELLES OF NEW YORK. 343 
 
 contralto by the interest she really feels ; and the expression of 
 her countenance while she listens, says, more earnestly than Co- 
 riolanus : 
 
 " Prithee, say on ! 
 
 The setting of thine eye and cheek proclaim 
 A matter from thee !" 
 
 The love that is incidentally and inevitably made to Miss 
 Fanny, all this time, she receives with the sanguine appreciation, 
 with which she believes in each character while studying it. It 
 is the love of a hero, a poet, a philosopher, a chivalric and high 
 hearted gentleman or so she estimates and answers it. Her no 
 tion of love is as elevated as her expectation of quality in the 
 man she seeks, and by the dignity and earnestness of her brief 
 responses of tenderness, she really inspires that kind of impassion 
 ed respect which is the ground-work of affections the most lasting. 
 
 It will be seen that while the temporary intimacies of Miss 
 Trellinger look, to careless observers, like any other of the flirta 
 tions going on in society, the unseen weapons with which she 
 achieves her conquests are more formidable than is suspected. 
 As was remarked before, her victims could not, or would not pre 
 cisely tell what had attracted and won them ; and their persever 
 ance in attention, after being dropped and slighted by her, is 
 even more a subject of bewildered wonder, to her female acquaint 
 ances, than the conquest itself. She passes, very naturally, for 
 heartless, capricious and hypocritical for one who does her ut 
 most to captivate, for the sake of the triumph only. Her acute 
 perceptions are always waiting for her glowing imagination to ex 
 haust itself, however ; and a sudien arrival at the termination of 
 a shallow character, or an unconscious disclosure of a quality in 
 consistent with her ideal, inspires bor with a disappointment or 
 
344 FANNY TRELLINGER 
 
 disgust proportionate to her expectations, and, it is only by in 
 tercourse abruptly ended that she can avoid even a rude expres 
 sion of her feeling. There is, in the world, unquestionably, such 
 character as Miss Fanny Trellinger seeks with this thirst insa 
 tiable. Should she find it, she would " love with a continuance," 
 there is little doubt ; but she may find, that, with such men, the 
 expectations from the love of woman are large ; and she may re 
 gret that some of the intensity of her nature had not been ex 
 pended on that self-culture which alone can satisfy, in the un-im- 
 
BELLES OF NEW YORK, 
 
 MRS. LETTRELL. 
 
 THERE is a great deal silently recognized and known in this 
 world, which, still, seems first discovered when first spoken of. 
 And there is a great deal understood which seems misunderstood ; 
 for society, very often, confidently expresses one opinion of a per 
 son, and yet, whenever brought into contact with that same 
 person, acts upon an unexpressed and totally different estimate. 
 The truth is that most of us are far wiser than our words would 
 prove us to be the art of first clothing an idea, being so different 
 and evasive that few try it at all, and most people so invariably 
 borrowing the word-clothes for their opinions, that the true 
 things they think are not recognizable in the erroneous things 
 they say. 
 
 The above truisms would probably occur to any one after read 
 ing the sketch I am about to draw ; but it would seem, at first 
 glance, to be something of a riddle, and those who are as little 
 fond of deferred revelations as I, will approve, perhaps, that 1 
 have first given the solution. 
 
 Leaning, one enchanting summer s morning, two or three years 
 
346 MRS LFITKELL. 
 
 ago, from the upper balcony of a hotel on the road to a watering 
 place, I chanced to see, spread out upon the railing of the bal 
 cony below, a lady s hand. A white cuff, with an inch or two of 
 the sleeve of a mourning dress, was all I could see, besides, of the 
 tranquil owner tranquil I say, for she sat, during the fifteen 
 minutes that she was left alone by her companions, with that out- 
 sprea d hand absolutely motionless evidently drinking the sum 
 mer into its pores of pearl with the enjoyment and forgetful 
 luxuriousness of a water-lily newly ungloved. The party, of 
 which the lady was one, had arrived but a few minutes before, 
 and I had not yet seen her face or figure ; but I insensibly 
 formed an estimate of her character from a study of her hand 
 only, and had even sketched to myself, though, of course, with a 
 mere chance of correctness, her expression of countenance, fea 
 tures and form. 
 
 The hand is not always a reliable index to the character. It 
 is, more than any other portion of the body, likely to give a de 
 formed betrayal of any peculiar manual labor in those from whom 
 it has descended. A moderate experience in palmistry will 
 enable one to distinguish a shoemaker s daughter from a tailor s, for 
 instance the enlargement of one particular muscle or finger by 
 constant effort being handed down like a family feature. Where 
 it is unmodified by any special influence, however, the hand is ex 
 pressive of the presence, or want, of two or three leading qualities 
 in female character, and gives often a dumb but lively promise of 
 sweetness else undisclosed. 
 
 In the beautiful and motionless one spread out, so unconscious 
 of observation, on the railing below my eye, I read exquisite sen 
 sibility to pleasure, joyous love of the beautiful, generous freedom 
 from suspicion, delicacy still un-alarmed, frankness, and, if I may 
 
BELLES OF NEW Y011K. 
 
 347 
 
 so express it, sensuous poetry of nature. It was not a small hand. 
 The dimples were round and scarce perceptible. The upper 
 joints of the long and taper fingers were so full as to give an ex 
 quisite expression of dreamy and idle tenderness, while at the 
 same time there was a look of the finest dexterity and nicest ele 
 gance in the slender and rosy nails. The whole posture and 
 form of the hand showed a habit of unreluctant and obedient 
 expansion to impulse, and it looked as unwithdrawing and trust 
 ful as the opening petals of a rose. 
 
 I had thus far studied the viewlessly written page of character, 
 accidentally opened in its dewy fairness to my perusal, when I 
 was accosted by an acquaintance, who chanced to be one of the 
 lady s party. He told me who it was, sitting in the balcony be 
 low, and, to a question or two of my own, gave me her character 
 as that of a lady who disliked society, was very strict in the 
 education of her children, highly religious, devoted to the poor, 
 and passionately fond of riding on horseback. I tacitly made use 
 of my own better reading to separate what was probably true, 
 from what I knew to be erroneous, in this hearsay estimate of 
 character, but stored away a resolution to know more of the 
 owner of that hand, whom I had met and was likely to meet again, 
 but who had hitherto passed, gloved and unobserved, in the dazzle 
 of more pretentious society. 
 
 So easily do we let a superficial impression guide us, in our 
 selection of persons to observe and admire, that, (but for the 
 chance revealing by that expressive hand,) I might very possibly, 
 have continued, even till now, to meet, without recognition of its 
 veiled brightness, this one of the cluster of better spirits, moving, 
 like electric sparks, through the dull metal of every human 
 society Mrs. Lettrell is beautiful, certainly, but it is beauty of 
 
348 MRS. LETTRELL. 
 
 that kind which dissolves film after film from off your eye as you 
 grow interested in gazing on it ; and, much admiration as she 
 attracts from trifling observers, a man of sense would be very 
 likely to take this common attraction to express her whole value, 
 and not give her the after study which would disclose to him the 
 finer quality of the nature, admired thus partially yet instinct 
 ively. 
 
 To anticipate once more. Nature seems to have completed 
 the character of Mrs. Lettrell, and forgetfully, afterwards, to 
 have relifted its cup of perfect mixture and added to it an un- 
 needed drop of conscientiousness. To this double portion of the 
 corrective ingredient, the joyous and life-teeming impulses of a 
 heart, whose self-abandonment would be as safe as a fount s to 
 its overflow, are perpetually in check. No thrill of pleasure goes 
 through her heart unchallenged ; no intention, save one of duty, 
 escapes being called to order ; no glow of impassioned worship of 
 the beautiful kindles in her bosom unrebuked. Like an ingre 
 dient added too late for solution, however, this last superfluous 
 drop has not tinctured, though it mingles with, the other qualities ; 
 and often, in repose, separates quite, and leaves her else perfect 
 and impulsive nature all transparent. To this release she yields 
 with the feeling of escape from school when on horseback, or 
 when the enchantments of summer or moonlight, poetry or music, 
 take her by surprise though, for every such indulgence she calls 
 herself to account, and balances it by a self-imposed penance of 
 distasteful duty. 
 
 Forced into gay society by relatives and unavoidable influences, 
 Mrs. Lettrell constantly and sincerely expresses her unwillingness 
 to be there, dresses pertinaciously in a way to disguise whatever 
 beauty she has that might seem to invite admiration, and per- 
 
BELLES OF NEW YORK. 349 
 
 petually checks her own joyousness and the careless conversation 
 of others, to suggest graver topics or make interest for a benevo 
 lent object. The talk of society takes her at her own valuation, 
 and no one will express an opinion of her except as an over-ex 
 emplary woman, who would not have been handsome if she could 
 have helped it but around her, notwithstanding, cluster the life- 
 loving, the youthful and the impulsive, and, though none would 
 allow that she was not " too good for this world," the most avow 
 ed mirth-hunter feels uncondemned by her presence. 
 
 To those grasping monopolists, (of whom there is here and there 
 one !) who would possess that entire world, a woman s heart, as 
 unshared as Eden when Adam first looked around him alone, this 
 composition of character like a summer s day with a lock and 
 key to it is the treasure that rewards any cost of search, even 
 without beauty ; but, coupled with beauty, of priceless rarity and 
 value. 
 
 J break oif abruptly and unwillingly, leaving a singular and 
 beautiful character drawn only in outline ; but to say more would 
 be an invasion of propriety, and perhaps, too, they who are capa 
 ble of best appreciating it, will be able to supply what is left un- 
 pencilled. In great danger of giving offence, even as it is, I have 
 abstained from sketching form or features, describing only the 
 fair hand which so truly first revealed the character to my own 
 knowledge, and which few, whose recognition would be trouble 
 some, will ever chance to see ungloved. 
 
BELLES OF NEW YORK, 
 
 HOPE CHASMAR. 
 
 IN every block of marble there is a concealed statue. And 
 this assertion, so susceptible of qualification, probably corresponds 
 in truth and definiteness, to the optimistic axiom, that " there is? 
 a beautiful ideal in the character of every human being" want 
 ing only development. I have known some men (and I presume, 
 therefore, that there may be here and there a woman) whom 
 chiselling or developing, by human art or circumstances, could 
 possibly make interesting or admirable. 
 
 Incredulity, however, would as wrongfully lead to the other 
 extreme. In more of the people about us than we should think 
 possible, there are capabilities of the higher displays of character, 
 wanting only favorable culture and opportunity. Among women, 
 more particularly, whose bud and flower of youth are left to grow 
 more spontaneously than those of men less crowded by care and 
 less rudely handled by vice and antagonism the inherent qualities 
 of mind, ready to bloom and bear fruit luxuriantly, with but a 
 little pruning and transplanting, are often beautifully visible. To 
 a philosophic observer, the discovery and appreciation of these 
 
BELLES OF NEW YORK. 351 
 
 uncommon capabilities, in those who pass for but ordinary persons, 
 gives to society the additional interest which a botanist feels in 
 walking over a common field seeing curious plants, and flowers 
 of divine purpose and structure, on ground which another man 
 walks over without thought or interest. 
 
 The writers of romance have found it so much easier to make 
 heroines out of " dark eyes " and " raven locks," than out of blue 
 eyes and fair hair, that a light complexion has, by dint of the 
 mere repetition of this trick of authorship, grown to be considered 
 a natural sign of " nothing remarkable." Almost any one, sent 
 into a ball-room to select, from a hundred young ladies, the one 
 most capable of a heroic action, would first reject all who had 
 had blue eyes and fair hair taking it as a matter of course that 
 the pick must be from the dark-eyed only. And this would be 
 very likely to be a mistake ; for the sanguineous temperaments of 
 light-complexioned people are both more hopeful and more 
 enthusiastic, and these are two essential ingredients of the heroic, 
 which, as mere matters of temperament, may be possessed without 
 affecting the comparison in other qualities. 
 
 Hope Chasmar is not beautiful enough, nor is her family 
 wealthy enough, to account for all the attention she receives. 
 Her light hair is magnificently abundant, it is true, and her head 
 is moulded in those admirable proportions which attract a 
 sculptor s eye ; but neither of these are beauties definitively 
 recognized by the class of beaux who find her attractive. She 
 has the two peculiarities which belong to all people capable of 
 great enthusiasm, an expansive chest and thin nostrils, and she 
 has one other personal mark inseparable from lofty character 
 motion without angles or pettiness so that, whether she lifts a 
 hand or turns her head, it expresses amplitude of feeling, and 
 
352 HOPE GHASMAR. 
 
 freedom from suspicious reserves. Her features, as a whole, 
 inspire confidence and liking, while, in detail, they are neither 
 very regular nor very decided. 
 
 A bird singing his song on a bough, however, and the same 
 bird, with his wings spread for flight, and glittering in the sun- 
 flecks as he sweeps through a wood, is not more different than 
 the countenance of Hope Chasmar habitually, and the same face 
 at transient and fitful moments of startled imagination. Without 
 the conscious but undefined orbit of nobler action for which her 
 soul is instinctively aiming its impulses, she would not, perhaps, 
 have that generous self-forgetfulness and unrebuking nobleness of 
 demeanor, which make her attractive to ordinary men ; so that 
 she owes, indirectly, to her heroic character, the common and un- 
 appreciative homage which makes her a belle ; but her true 
 beauty has probably nevor been seen by one in twenty of her 
 admirers, or, if seen, has passed for an accidental expression of 
 face, which might as easily have been awakened by the same 
 chance light upon any other. In her ordinary mood she seems 
 simply good-looking, lady-like, hearty, joyous and unsuspecting. 
 Jn her rarer and finer moments, her whole countenance awakens, 
 her nostrils and eyelids slightly expand, her neck lifts from ii* 
 forward curve, and bears her fine head with the fearless pose of 
 Minerva s, and the muscles of her face, which seem to have been 
 as much out of place, for effect, as busts, taken down from their 
 pedestals, assume a totally different proportion, and make a 
 totally different impression, on the observer s eye. The most 
 effective change, however, is that of the lips the genial expan 
 sion, which widens the mouth to a disadvantageous straightness of 
 line with its look of good humor, yielding to a relaxation of repose, 
 by which the corners fall, and the " Cupid s bow " of the upper 
 
BELLES OF NEW YORK. 353 
 
 lip becomes perfect, the lower lip, by the same movement, arching 
 into fulness and firmness. In a year or two s observation of this 
 young lady, I have noticed this change of expression, perhaps four 
 or five times ; but, at the late Opera ball, I chanced to see her 
 look suddenly over her shoulder at an exciting change in the 
 music, and I should suppose that the look I then saw awakened, 
 would have revealed to any observer that there stood a heroine 
 capable of life s greatest emergencies. 
 
BELLES OF NEW YORK, 
 
 JENNY EVELAND. 
 
 " A MAN who loses his sight," says Dugald Stewart, " improves 
 the sensibility of his touch : but who would consent, for such a 
 recompense, to part with the pleasures which he receives from 
 the eye ?" The expense at which most kinds of distinction are 
 acquired, seems expressed in this. The right arm of the sculptor 
 has twice the muscular development of the left exercised as it 
 alone is, with the constant lift of the leaden hammer which drives 
 his chisel. But, inseparable as is this enlargement of the 
 thought-conveying portion of the body (and of a corresponding 
 portion of the brain) from the specific labor and construction 
 which can alone bring fame to the worker in marble, it is, no less, 
 an unequal development of the system, and, just so far, a lessening 
 of its perfection. The Apollo Belvidere is a perfect type of a 
 man s figure and limbs, in healthful development ; but he never 
 could have excelled, as a human sculptor, without a special exer- 
 
BELLES OF NEW YORK. 355 
 
 else of brain and muscle, which would have enlarged them at the 
 expense of equal distribution of forces, and so destroyed him as a 
 model, either of perfect health or perfect beauty. While the 
 possession of genius, therefore, may be consistent with entire 
 harmony of proportion, the development of it, or the labor of con 
 centrating it upon any special pursuit to create a fame, enlarges 
 the exclusively-exerted portions of the system, and destroys its 
 healthful balance. 
 
 In the difference between a mean indolence and the lofty re 
 sistance of Nature to this partial development, which is demanded 
 of genius in the perpetual struggle between an instinct to exert 
 all the faculties equally, and an ambition for the distinction which 
 is only attainable by exclusive exercise of one lies the " motive- 
 power" of the character of Jenny Eveland. It was only by pre 
 facing a sketch of her with the foregoing somewhat abstract 
 explanation, that her apparent uncertainty and variableness of 
 aim and effort could be justly drawn. 
 
 Miss Eveland has superiority distributed throughout her 
 nature. Her face has been too long subject to strong emotions 
 to be invariably attractive. At times it would be called plain. 
 It is capable, however, of most illuminated beauty, and it is 
 always expressive, always frank and noble, with the irregular 
 features which arc necessary to the highest expression, her form, 
 in all else, is the perfection of feminine symmetry. Never giving 
 her movements a thought, she walks with a lithe grace and freedom 
 that betrays her at once, to the observing, as a woman of perfect 
 make. Her head is admirably set on. An Indian girl, bred in 
 the forest like a fawn, would not be more erect, nor of more un 
 conscious elasticity of carriage and mien. An unusually arched 
 instep to an exquisite foot gives her the mark of high breeding, 
 
JENNY EVELAND. 
 
 which is most looked to in the East, and her slender, and yet 
 roundly beautiful hand, with its tapering fingers, has a look of 
 discriminating elegance that the most careless of her friends 
 recognize and admire. A bright hazel eye, earnest and fearless ; 
 profuse brown hair, whose natural waves are controlled with diffi 
 culty by her comb, bright teeth, and one of those voices of 
 " clouded contralto" which betray the tearfulness of a throat used 
 to keeping down sadness, are other peculiarities, which go to form 
 her portrait, and which share in the delightful impression she 
 makes on all who have the happiness to know her. 
 
 But, though the mind of Jenny Eveland is gifted as symmet 
 rically as her person (perhaps because it is) she has no 
 believers in her genius, except those who can recognise it without 
 the evidence of its works as some book it has written, some 
 statue it has chiselled, or some picture it has drawn. Feeling 
 constantly the capacity to write as famous authors write, and to 
 image beauty, with clay or pencil, as sculptors and painters do, she 
 talks the language of genius to those who can understand her, 
 and has all the inspired impulses of genius, its longings for 
 creative expression, its profound trances of inaction and melan 
 choly, its visions, and its recognitions. Unusually trying circum 
 stances in her life have shown that she has energy, industry, and 
 an almost absolute power of self-control but, of course, with a 
 nature in such complete proportion, she must needs u listen to 
 its loudest voice," and, if her quick blood and impatient limbs 
 call her off to dance, she must throw aside pen or pencil if her 
 heart says it is time to be gay, she must abandon sadness, though 
 poem or picture demand that she should dwell on it for comple 
 tion. If this be fickleness and idleness, the angels in heaven, 
 (whose thoughts of beauty come, as they come to genius, but are 
 
BELLES OF NEW YOKE 357 
 
 not arrested to be put into books or pictures, nor patiently carved 
 in marble) are fickle and idle. 
 
 Yet, from the curse of industry from the " sweat of the 
 brow" no humanity is exempt, and ambition, which is the shape 
 under which it compels proud minds to action, makes the large 
 endowments, of Jenny Eveland, gifts of uneasy possession. It is 
 not enough for her that she has glorious imaginings that she 
 can exchange the passwords of inspiration with poets and painters, 
 that she can go abroad from common thoughts as the dove from 
 the ark, and return with tidings of what could be found with such 
 wings only. The fever to prove this superiority to the world 
 burns constantly within her. She would fain apply her seal to 
 the impressible events and opinions of the time. Love, that 
 would only call upon her affections, and that would leave unem 
 ployed her finest powers, could not content her. Fame, on the 
 other hand, if it gave her no scope for the boundless tenderness of 
 her heart, would suffice as poorly. She is too gifted for common 
 love she is too fond and sympathetic to breathe only the thin 
 atmosphere of the gifted. And, in this embarrassment of a 
 nature too proportionate for a World which " the curse" has made 
 one of unequal development, the youth of Jenny Eveland is passing 
 unsatisfied away. 
 
RETURN TO the circulation desk of any 
 University of California Library 
 
 or to the 
 
 NORTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 Bldg. 400, Richmond Field Station 
 University of California 
 Richmond, CA 94804-4698 
 
 ALL BOOKS MAY BE RECALLED AFTER 7 DAYS 
 
 2-month loans may be renewed by calling 
 (510)642-6753 
 
 1-year loans may be recharged by bringing 
 books to NRLF 
 
 Renewals and recharges may be made 4 
 days prior to due date. 
 
 DUE AS STAMPED BELOW 
 
 NOV 1 1999 
 
 AUG 2 6 2003 
 
 12,000(11/95) 
 
GENERAL LIBRARY . u.C. BERKELEY 
 
 B000712MSS