"at seven in the morning James Brown | live together; and yet there was never a In Edinburgh, there were aunts, loved, but gently caricatured, and Betty Betty, the beloved servant-woman of old, to whom she was always the "dear bairn," whom she sent the writer once to see in a little roadside hamlet out of Edinburgh, an old woman with a still, wise face that had seen many a sorrow, in the still, little room, with its spark of fire, and the house door which admitted straight into it open to the summer air. Is she there still, one wonders, in her close cap and gray gown, and patient gravity and love? There seems no reason why such an example of the antique world should ever die. She outlived her mistress, her "bairn," at least, so far as our recollection goes. We must, however, before leaving this publication, do what is odious to us if it were not necessary, and that is, call the attention of our reader to what we cannot call less than a deliberate outrage upon a helpless dead woman, with neither son nor champion to stand up for her. These volumes were announced as prepared for publication by Carlyle himself, and so they were in great part, with many interjected notes which we can scarcely call less than foolish, besides some valuable explanatory details. But in the midst of this mass of letters, thus prepared (enough of them, Heaven knows! to have been by good judgment, one would have said, pared and weeded a little, rather than increased), Mr. Carlyle's executor found certain brief extracts whch he did not quite understand. This set his curiosity to work, and he once more examined the mass of papers left to him by the fond old man who trusted him, and found therein This sweet and tender picture it would a diary of Mrs. Carlyle which explained be well to end upon but in the painful the matter. The matter was that there circumstances of the case it will not be had once crossed that self-tormented for such touching episodes as this that spirit a cloud of bitter but visionary jealreviewers or critics will look, but for ousy: the word is too strong-of hot something that will throw light upon the intolerance rather, impatience, bitter irricanker of this woman's life, so full of im- tation, called forth by the pleasure her passioned feeling as she was. And such husband took in the company of a certain passages will not be far to seek. The great lady, a brilliant woman of society, canker was chiefly in herself in the self- whom she did not herself love, but whose tormenting faculty which never existed in charm and influence fascinated him. greater perfection in any woman, though There were none of the features of ordithat is saying much. Those keen and nary jealousy in this dark fit, no possibility passionate souls each with the sharp two- of unfaithfulness, unless it might be inteledged sword of speech, cutting this way lectual - a preference for the talk, the and that, each so intolerant, so impatient, dazzle of a witty circle in which worship so incapable of endurance, all nerves and was paid to him, and the still more flattersensation, and nothing but themselves to ing devotions of its presiding spirit. This try their spirits would they have been fascination drew him night after night better apart, each perhaps sheathed in the away from home, depriving his wife of his silky tissues of a milder and softer na- society, and suggesting to her over and ture? We doubt it much. The milder over again by that whisper of the devil at partner would have bored them both, her ear, which she was always too ready whereas in swift change of mood, in in- to listen to, that she had ceased to be the finite variety, in passions of misery and first and only woman in the world to him. recovered happiness, there was no weari- Such a breath of hell has crossed and ness. "I am always wondering," she withered many a blooming life; in this case says, after one of her bad moments, "how the fit was temporary, lasting but a short I can, even in my angriest mood, talk time, and buried in the tender rapprocheabout leaving you for good and all; for toment of the later chapter of life. The disbe sure were I to leave you to-day on that covery of this bit of writing was a godsend principle, I should need absolutely to go to the biographer, who must have felt by back to-morrow to see how you were tak- this time that the mass of letters were by ing it!" Most true and certain! There no means so comformable to his theory as were times when they could with difficulty might have been desired. He sent it off at once to Miss Jewsbury to have her elucidations, the only person living who could speak with authority on the subject. Neither the one nor the other seem to have asked themselves what right they had to spy into a secret which the husband had respected. Geraldine, good and kind as woman ever was, but romantic and officious, and pleased too in a regretful way at the discovery, did her part, as may be imagined. "The reading has been like the calling up of ghosts. It was a very bad time with her then, no one but herself, or one constantly with her, knows what she suffered, physically as well as morally," Miss Jewsbury says. And here is produced triumphantly between them this little basket of fragments, with a preface from the male friend, historical and philosophical, "married him against the advice of friends," "worked for him like a servant," all over again and a postscript from the female friend, sentimental and descriptive: "She was bright and beautiful, with a certain star-like radiance and grace. She had gone off into the desert with him. The offering was accepted, but like the precious things flung by Benvenuto into the furnace when his statue was molten, they were all consumed in the flames: he gave her no human help and tenderness." So Geraldine, in a piece of fine writing — words as untrue as ever words were, as every unprejudiced reader of this book will see for himself, and entirely contrary to that kind soul's ordinary testimony. Not a critic, so far as we are aware, has ever suggested that this proceeding was unjustifiable, or outside of the limits of honor. Is it then permissible to outrage the memory of a wife, and betray her secrets because one has received as a gift her husband's papers? She gave no permission, left no authority for such a proceeding. Does the disability of women go so far as this? or is there no need for honor in respect for the dead? "There ought to be no mystery about Carlyle," says Mr. Froude. No, poor, foolish, fond old man! there is no mystery about him henceforward, thanks to his own distracted babble of genius, first of all. But how about his wife? Did she authorize Mr. Froude to unveil her most secret thoughts, her darkest hours of weakness, which even her husband passed reverently over? No woman of this generation, or of any other we are acquainted with, has had such desperate occasion to be saved from her friends and public feeling and sense of honor must be at a low ebb indeed when no one ventures to stand up and stigmatize as it deserves this betrayal and exposure of the secret of a woman's weakness, a secret which throws no light upon any thing, which does not add to our knowledge either of her character or her husband's, and with which the public had nothing whatever to do. From The Cornhill Magazine. MY DAUGHTER-IN-LAW. I HAD, as widow, undertaken, till my son was of age, the management of his property, consisting of a large estate on the Continent. Things are managed quite otherwise in the part of Europe where my little sketch is laid than elsewhere. The Herrschaft, owner or representative of the owner, delegates his or her authority to a Schaffner, a sort of bailiff, who has complete command over the men, and to a Schaffnerin who holds the same authority over the maids. Men and maids all live in the castle, and day-laborers are only taken when there is a press of work. The usual work, as well as attending to the horses, cattle, etc., is done by servants hired from year to year, and living in the house; we had upwards of twenty. I, as mistress, scarcely ventured to interfere with either of the important personages I have mentioned, as they needed all the prestige that could be given them, to keep order among the often refractory and always rude farm servants. It happened, just at the time I am describing, that one of the maids was of rather a better class, she being the orphan child of a peasant proprietor, who had been sent to my house to learn farm-work. The girl had struck me once or twice by her graceful figure, carrying her milk-pail poised upon her head; and as she saluted me in passing with the usual "I kiss your hands, gracious lady," in a sweet, low voice, I thought she looked like a spell-bound princess, only waiting for the proper moment to step out of her shabby garments and glitter in silk and satin; once, too, in passing I had heard a splendid contralto voice singing an old song in the stable, and set to words which were fitter for the music than the indecent lines which are usually joined to the old songs of our part of the world. As I waited listening, my enchanted princess came out of the stable with her milk-pail on her head, still singing, "Ach ja, du bist mein Stern, aber, ach! so fern." On seeing me she stopped, blushing rosy red, and even forgot her he looked, my son! his grey eyes as black as night with anger and indignation, and how proud of him I felt; but, alas! only for one short moment. The next the anger had gone out of his eyes, and they were shining with another light, more, One evening I had taken my knitting beautiful, perhaps, but oh! for me how and sauntered out looking at the fruit much sadder! He, it was evident, was trees, and as I candidly confess reckoning the one waited for, he was the writer of about how much cider they would pro- the verses, he was the star of my poor duce, and whether there would still be a maiden's dream. What should I do? chance of selling some fruit, when hap- Alas! in such a case what could I do? I pening to raise my eyes a little higher slowly went down the steep stairs, but so than the apples, I saw indications of a engrossed were they with themselves, that splendid sunset. I hastened up the little I was close to them before they noticed. steep path to the press-house at the top of me. He had his arms round her, pressthe vineyard, and mounting the narrowing her fondly to him, and in spite of mystaircase on to the wooden balcony con- self I noticed with approbation that he structed after the model of a Swiss house, did not guiltily start away when he saw was soon absorbed in the wonder and me. admiration called forth by the sublime spectacle. 66 Then they parted, but we all stood. uncomfortably conscious that something further must happen. "My dear, you had better go home; I cannot allow you to stay here knowing what I now know!" "Mother," said my son, breaking silence for the first time, "take care what you say to my future wife." His future wife! And were my dreams to end thus! But it was too absurd, he a boy of eighteen, and she the maid who milked the cows! So I resumed, addressing her, "Do you hear, my dear? you must go away and at once." My child," I said to the girl as gently, as I could, for, you see, she was so young, As the colors were fading in the sky I". you must know it is not fit to behave in turned to descend the stairs again, when this manner; and, Erwin, have respect I saw my fairy maiden standing with her enough for my presence to loose your back to me so evidently waiting, that I hold of the girl." involuntarily stopped and said to myself, "Now then I shall see who wrote those pretty verses." I could not easily be seen by any one approaching the little press-house, as the balcony was nearly covered on that side by a large overhanging pear-tree. I had hardly waited a minute when I saw, before even the girl did, a youth coming up from the contrary side to the one I had come by, and with open arms advancing to the unconscious girl. He was the son of an impoverished nobleman in the neighborhood, and of whom, though very young, the neighbors spoke but ill; my heart sank within me at the thought that this graceless youth had found favor in my pretty maiden's eyes, but I was soon undeceived; as soon as he advanced near enough to startle her she sprang back as from a reptile and called out, "Hands off, sir! You know I won't listen to you!" He did not seem inclined to take the warning, and I was considering whether I should interfere, but I thought as I saw the two together that the lass was a "likely lass enough," and quite able to hold her own with such an antagonist, when suddenly the scene was changed by the approach of a third combatant. It was my son then at home for "But what?" I repeated a little impathe holidays, a youth of eighteen; he ap-tiently, for I wanted to make an end of peared not to share my views regarding the contest, but laying hold of the young baron by his collar twisted him round and round, and then sent him at double-quick pace down the hill. Oh, how handsome 'Oh, madam, forgive me," said the poor girl; "but what shall I do, and where shall I go?" "Cannot you go home?" I said, forgetting for the moment that she was an or phan and had no home. "I have no home," she said, with tears running down her cheeks; "father and mother are both dead, and I never had any brothers or sisters." 66 'Well, my dear," I said, still more gently than before; "you must have a guardian then; can you not go to him?” "Yes," she said, "but the scene. "He is afraid for Mark," at last stammered forth the poor girl. "Oh," said I somewhat bitterly, "he has a son too, has he?" But she looked up so imploringly and | but she had already taken her departure. so sadly that I could not give any further He did not seem very willing to talk about vent to my bitterness, the more as I could her; I fancy his conscience was not at barely keep my son from mixing in the ease, for I heard it said afterwards that controversy, which would certainly have he had allowed himself to be persuaded only made things worse. He had held by the girl to give her the savings bank the girl by the hand all this time, and now book where her money, some hundred and then whispered a word of tenderness. florins, was written down, and by means It was a scene too ridiculous to be touch- of which she could get the money into ing, but too serious to be laughed at. her own.possession. She had persuaded him that she could not, and would not, stay in the country and do country work, but she would go to the next considerable town, and in some way contrive to go to school and learn to be something better than a peasant's wife. I made some inquiry about her, but after a while pretty much forgot her: only now and then, when I was watching the sunset from the little press-house, I thought of the scene that I had witnessed there, and wondered whether my son now thought as little about it as I did. At last I said, "Well, you must go to your guardian" (a peasant in the neighborhood) "for to-night, and I will come to-morrow and arrange something with him and you for the future." "Yes, madam," she said, with a little curtsey and a quiver of her pretty mouth; but still my son did not loose her hand, and waiting a moment I turned away that he might at any rate have the satisfaction of being unobserved, and said, "Erwin, you must let her go, so bid her good-bye." In less than a minute their adieux had been said, and turning again, we both, I and my son, watched her flitting down the hill in the blue light of the summer twilight till she was lost to our sight. When she had quite disappeared I turned to my son, not altogether quite clear what was best to say or do; he began first, with flaming eyes and in a deep voice still moved by emotion. "Well, mother, are you now satisfied? Shall you like it better that your son's future wife should be tossed about from one place to another till I am old enough to claim her?" "But, Erwin, how can you talk" ("such nonsense," I was on the point of saying, but a look in his face altered the phrase to) "about marrying when you are only eighteen, and you will not be of age till you are twenty-four? You and she will have time to change your minds twenty times in those six years, and I do not doubt you will do so; at any rate, if she were to be your future wife, as you call her, twenty times over, she must go away now, as well for her own sake as for yours." As I said this an involuntary smile passed over my face, for I felt so sure that, as I said, time would bring the desired change of thoughts, that I began to see the thing only on its ridiculous side. Perhaps my son discovered this, for instead of answering me as he had evidently intended, he quietly walked down the hill at my side, and from that moment, for years, the pretty milk-maiden was never mentioned between us. I went the next morning, as I had promised, to the house of her guardian, Years passed on; my son studied well, in some things wonderfully so. He grew in strength and stature, and delighted in nothing so much as when he could make some neck-breaking excursions among the mountains. In due time he took his degree at the university; served his year as volunteer; and at last attained his majority, which with us is at the age of twenty-four, when there were the usual rejoicings and banquetings, and I formally resigned into his hands the management of his property. The day after the guests were gone and the business was concluded, he came into my little morning-room, and sitting down in his favorite chair, stretched himself almost across the little room from side to side, and said, "Well, Mi Mo" (a nickname he used to call me when a child, but long disused, and I started at his again taking it up), "aren't you glad it's all over? I am, I know. Don't you think we deserve a reward? Wouldn't it be nice to make a tour through the hills, and take some fashionable watering-place say Baden on our return?" I was rather surprised at this proposal, for my son had always expressed a decided dislike to watering-places; but what pleased him would certainly, I thought, please me, so our plans were soon made, and as soon put into execution. We travelled leisurely, enjoying ourselves much. I stayed at the bottom of the hills while my son tried unknown and hazardous short cuts to the summits, and my peace of mind was often sadly disturbed when he was delayed in his as cents or descents, and did not reach me two. He looked at me, and, seeing the tears standing in my eyes, he whispered, "She will be a good daughter to you." "We will hope, at any rate, she will be a good wife to you, my boy," said I. The old lady, Countess A., I had known years ago. She had never married, and, as I found later, had, three years ago, taken the fairy princess, as I sometimes called her, as companion. Till then Genevieve such was her name— had been at school; at first as half-servant, halfpupil, and afterwards as half-pupil, halfteacher. She had given such satisfaction that the mistress of the establishment, on her wishing to obtain some other situation, had recommended her most strongly to the countess, who had taken her, and had very soon become quite dependent upon her. Genevieve had, on the pccasion of a fire in their dwelling, shown such coolness and intrepidity that the countess always declared that she owed life and property to her exertions. This was all very nice to hear, and as the young peo After a few weeks spent in this manner we slowly journeyed on to Baden. We arrived there just after the table d'hôte, and my son begged me to make my toilet, and go with him on to the promenade. I stared, bewildered, but did as he begged me, and we went down. After a saunter-ple were walking on and losing themselves ing turn or two along the public walk we took our seat on an empty bench and pretended to listen to the music. At last I ventured the remark, "My boy, do you really like this?" but as my question remained unanswered, I looked round and found my son's eyes fixed intently on two figures slowly approaching us -two ladies, an old one and a young one; the latter struck me at the moment as being the most beautiful person I had ever seen. I recognized, directly afterwards, an old acquaintance in the elderly lady, but I was watching them quite unconsciously and carelessly, only attracted by the exceeding beauty of the younger, when, as they had nearly come abreast of us, the girl raised her eyes and with a vivid blush acknowledged my son's greeting. in the bye-walks of the gardens, as well Yes, yes," I said, "I know all that; but I cannot tell how it was, but at that do you know that she used to milk our moment I knew it all; yes, it was the cows?" As I said it, however, I felt dairy-maid transformed, if not into the ashamed of myself, for it was really nothprincess, at any rate into a lady. I heaved ing bad, and continued hastily, "and how a little sigh. I knew my fate at once, and can she take her place as lady of the tried as gracefully as I could to take up manor' there, where every one knows her my heavy burden. The two had reached and knew her family?" "Well," admitthe end of the walk and were turning ted the countess, "that is certainly an again, when I at last broke silence. "My objection; it might easily become a source boy, that old lady is an old acquaintance of great discomfort to him and to her." of mine; would you like to be intro-" Especially to her," added I. duced? I can easily claim acquaintanceship." For answer he suddenly turned, and taking my hand kissed it, and, rising, put it upon his arm, and led me towards the The result of our consideration was that the countess declared herself desirous of legally adopting Genevieve as child; and as she was quite her own mistress, and over the fifty years of age |