gaslights go out, and the chairs and tables | heim's friend, the doctor, give a curious turn over on their backs and go to sleep. sort of snort. Arnheim came up looking very tired, but 66 • To think,' he said, of some women, he brightened directly at the sight of his and not bad women either, deliberately friend.

choosing such a life as that, and giving “You here?? he said. I imagined up everything in the whole world for it!' you in London. How are the lectures and then he stalked away. getting on ?'

“ But, dear Miss Williamson, it is not "I have been enjoying your lecture true. Women don't deliberately choose ; very much,' said the doctor. "I saw the their lives come to them, and they can concerts advertised at the station at Basel, but take them as they come.” and so I came on to find you.'

“The people scattered. Some went home; some turned into the établissement, I went to show this letter to Josephine, which sits up later than the garden. for I knew it would interest her; but she Mamma, strange to say, had a fancy for a had gone away with her mother for a few stroll. We walked along the avenue, weeks, on a visit to Mrs. Thomas at Craand crossed the road, and the piazza, and dlebury, and I did not send it after her. the bridge, and got out into the open. The colonel was to stay on with Miss

“ High, clear, chill, with strange, unre- Bessie in London. He had business to sponding beauty, the moon shone upon attend to before he went abroad. The the wide, black valley; the waters of the colonel's business was always looked torrent were brawling and circling in cool upon with great respect by his family. eddies; some pines crowded dark, and There was not much of it; but what there whispered mysteriously fragrant. What was always seemed more important than was that flash ? Some planet changing anybody else's. I believe he was enfrom rainbow to rainbow. We walked a grossed, among other things, in negotialittle way by the rushing stream. It was tions for the exchange of the old silver all dim, noisy, bewildering, and sleepy at tea-urn for a dozen fiat candlesticks, the

Weeds floated on the water; the want of which at Cradlebury he felt keen. moon floated in the sky. Across the ly. Mr. Ellis, the father, had been a colplain rose a shadowy presence — the Jung-lector of old plate, and the spoons and frau – which seemed to face us in some forks in Old Palace Square were certainly indifferent mood of chilly lise. The dew a pleasure to contemplate. Burroughes, was falling heavily; and I heard Arnheim in spite of his failings, used to rub up his sigh.

silver to a bright perfection in those un"• Come back,' said the doctor - it was derground regions he affectioned. There quite a relief to hear his comfortable were long, slim spoons and forks with the voice. It is too dark to stay out any handles all curled the wrong way, to the longer.

delight of the knowing; also the spoons Many of the windows of the hotel were an egg-shaped and rounded oval, not were lighted up still when we reached it. pointed as ours are, and heavy and masThe porters and waiters were closing for sive to wield. Early Georgian plate had the night. On our way we passed a certainly much of the spirit of the powground-door window through which we dered and deliberate coinpany for whose could see a peaceful interior scene : a mouths it was intended. It did not sprawl little child asleep on a low couch, with all into vulgar ornamentations; it did not its hair falling upon the pillow; the night-beat out one solid fork into several flimsy, light was shaded; a woman bent over the four-pronged impossibilities; it contented little one, and then came to the window itself with three handsome prongs, firmly and carefully drew down the blind. and massively set, shining and sufficient.

“In the great salle the gas was still But whether it is better that one man faring. Everybody was gone, and the should have a handsome fork all to him. red velvet sofas were empty. One lady self, or that two men should enjoy theirs only remained in the great, empty room. Aimsy, is a difficult question. She was old, painted, and wrinkled; she A comico-tragedy was enacted at Mrs. had a frizz of faxen tow, cheeks of chalk, Ellis's concerning this very plate; for eyebrows of black lead. She was dressed when it came to be counted over, a cerin some grand satin dress, and, as we tain quantity was found to be missing. came in, was kneeling on one of the high What there was left was in a beautiful, red sofas looking at herself fixedly in the shining condition. But though the moth glass. I don't know what made Arn- and rust had been kept at bay, not so the



thieves. It was not that which was used | This absurd piece of news was all I every day that was gone, but a certain had to send to Sophy in exchange for her extra store, which had been fetched from faithful, long letters. I think she was as the bank and confided to Burroughes in glad to write as I to read. Her mother case of emergency, was found to be de- was to her an affection, a tender solicificient. The old fellow's honesty was not tude, but no companion to the girl. Her to be doubted; he had rubbed these only sister was married and away, her spoons for twenty years, and his life's father had little sympathy for the things energy was to be seen twinkling in mani- she cared about. The girl was full of fest activity on their handles. He him- interest, emotion, kindness, sympathy, self had discovered the loss, that other and talkativeness; she wanted a vent, wise would never have been suspected, some one to confide in; and her old govand had staggered in, in consternation, to erness on her second floor was only too announce it. The police were had in, glad to respond. and their opinion was no doubt very valu- One more letter reached me from Soable, but did not lead to much. The sil- phy, still engrossed in her new friends. ver was already melted down, said they; * Alas! we all part to-morrow.

Mam without doubt it had been stolen by some- ma and I go on to St. Pierre. I don't body. Miss Ellis and the colonel were like saying good-bye. Oh, Miss Williammuch perturbed at the liberty which had son, why must one always be saying goodbeen taken. “Few people could spare bye? We have all been sitting out for so much plate better than you," said I, the last time in front of the hotel, watchby way of consolation to Miss Ellis. But ing an odd mixture of elements upon the to this she made no response. I left the terrace. Russian human nature, smoking poor lady, little thinking what a miserable cigarettes, male and female ; English huexperience was still in store for her. man nature, simple and blousy, sitting on

Hoopers, who was a youth of an excit- the benches, looking at the sky and the able and romantic disposition, seems to people underneath it; French human nahave been very much engrossed by this ture, exchanging good-natured, cheerful event in the family; and, moreover, hav. greetings, talkings, and laughter. Then ing been lately thrilled by various ac. the piano strikes up, and some of them counts of robberies in the paper and go in and begin to dance. Dr. Adams elsewhere, which, in Mrs. Ellis's absence, sat with us for a while. He was saying he had time to ponder on thoroughly, he could imagine a passion for nature thought this a good opportunity for exer- coming late in life to people for whom cising his ingenuity and venting his feel all other passion was over, especially to ing against a lady to whom he had taken women, and that a need for absorbing a dislike. Miss Ellis, it seems, was peace-interest is part of the machinery of life, fully asleep in her bed one night, when and does not end with youth. He talks she was awakened by an alarming appari- as if he were an old man, but he is really tion of a short figure swathed in a table- quite young. He hates sitting still, and cloth, with a crape across its face, which soon went off straggling down the pathexclaimed in a crowing voice, “Ho, ho, way, Arnheim looked after him and I am the robber. Your money or your said, life.” The poor lady sprang from her "* I envy him his energy; he will make bed with a scream, and in so doing fell a name for himself. He has a wonderful to the ground, upsetting the night-light gift for discovering work for himself, and which always burned at her side. The for helping others with theirs.' wretched boy, who had merely intended a *** He ought to be a clergyman,' said I. wild practical joke, tried to rush from • Why should he be a clergyman?' the room, but could not find the door. said Arnheim. ' The religion of the The maids came down, the colonel came strong helping the weak is the natural up from his bedroom on the ground floor religion all the world over. There need in an Indian dressing-gown. Hoopers be no paid clergy to teach such a simple was caught red-banded, the police were doctrine as that. You must not forget us again sent for, and not only the police. altogether,' he added, when he said goodThe doctor was also necessary, for i!liss night. Ellis was hurt. Her ankle was badly 66. There is no fear of that. It has been sprained, and for many weeks she was a real happiness to me to know these confined to the sofa. For a person of good simple people, and I shall always her energetic temper this was no small feel as if Fina was a little niece of my infiction.


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Good-bye froin your ever affectionate stay its tottering steps. To say that we

“ SOPHY." love the country is to make an indirect

claim to a similar excellence. We assert Alas! the time came only too quickly, a taste for sweet and innocent pleasures, for Sophy to prove the reality of her good- and an indifference to the feverish exwill.

It was the last day before the citements of artificial society. I, too, love summer holidays began. I had had a long the country - if such a statement can be day's work going from school to school, received after such an exordium; but I from pupil to pupil. I had been think- confess to be duly modest — that I love ing of my own arrangements of Margate it best in books. In real life I have reor Southend as a convenient change, my marked that it is frequently damp and wildest ambition reached no farther than rheumatic and most hated by those who Calais or Boulogne. It was a lovely even know it best. Not long ago I heard a ing, and on my way home I sat down to worthy orator at a country school-treat rest on one of the benches in Kensington declare to his small audience that honGardens and watched the sun setting in esty, sobriety, and industry, in their stafloods of red behind the old Dutch palace. tion in life, might possibly enable them There I sat feeling a little alone perhaps, to become cabdrivers in London. The as if the shadows were creeping from precise form of the reward was suggested, afar, and might engulf me.

I fancy, by some edifying history of an My friends were all away, being amused ideal cabman; but the speaker clearly in company; Miss Ellis had been con- knew the road to his hearers' hearts. veyed to Cradlebury with many precau- Perhaps the realization of this high destions; the colonel was abroad with a cap- tiny might dispel their illusions. Like tain, a friend of his; even my three organ- poor Susan at the corner of Wood Street, grinders had trudged off to the seaside, they would see no doubt; and I went homewards dull and out of spirits, little thinking what Bright volumes of vapor through Lothbury trouble some of those I most cared for glide, were in.

And a river flow on through the vale of Cheap

side. Mrs. Taplow was standing at door.

iny “There's a telegram come for you," she

The Swiss, who at home regards a said ; " a foreign telegram. I have been mountain as an unmitigated nuisance, is looking out for you."

(or once was) capable of developing senThe telegram was from Sophy King at timental yearnings for the Alps at the St. Pierre. “ Arnheim dangerously ill at

sound of a lanz des vaches. We all Interlaken. Let some


agree with Horace that Rome is most Fina."

attractive at Tibur, and vice versa. It is The message seemed to have been de

the man who has been "long in populous layed, for the date was two days old.

cities pent," who, according to Milton,
The smell of grain or tedded grass or kine,

Or daisy, each rural sight, each rural sound;
From The Cornhill Magazine.

and the phrase is employed to illustrate
the sentiments of a being whose enjoy-
ment of paradise was certainly enhanced

by a sufficiently contrasted experience. A LOVE of the country is taken, I know I do not wish to pursue the good old not why, to indicate the presence of all moral saws expounded by so many preachthe cardinal virtues. It is one of those ers and poets. I am only suggesting a outlying qualities which are not exactly possible ground of apology for one who meritorious, but which, for that very prefers the ideal mode of rustication ; who reason, are the more provocative of a can share the worthy Johnson's love of pleasing self-complacency. People pride Charing Cross, and sympathize with his themselves upon it as upon habits of early pathetic remark when enticed into the rising, or of answering letters by return Highlands by his bear-leader that it is of post. We recognize the virtuous hero easy" to sit at home and conceive rocks, of a novel as soon as we are told that the heaths, and waterfalls.”

Some slight cat instinctively creeps to his knee, and basis of experience must doubtless be that the little child clutches his hand to provided on which to rear any imaginary





fabric; and the mental opiate, which stim- emotions which it excites in our abnor. ulates the sweetest reverie, is found in mally sensitive natures. I can never read chewing the cud of past recollections. without fresh admiration Mr. Arnold's But with a good guide, one requires small Gipsy Scholar," but in this sense that external aid. Though a cockney in grain, delightful person is a typical offender. I I love to lean upon the farmyard gate ; to put myself, at Mr. Arnold's request, in hear Mrs. Poyser give a bit of her mind the corner of the high, half-reaped field; I to the squire; to be lulled into a placid see the poppies peeping through the green doze by the humming of Dorlecote Mill; roots and yellowing stems of the corn; I to sit down in Dandie Dinmont's parlor, lazily watch the scholar with “his hat of and bestow crumbs from his groaning antique shape,” roaming the country-side, table upon three generations of Peppers and becoming the living centre of one bit and Mustards; or to drop into the kitchen of true, old-fashioned rustic scenery after of a good old country inn and to smoke a another; and I feel myself half persuaded pipe with Tom Jones or listen to the sim- to be a gipsy. But then, before I know ple-minded philosophy of Parson Adams. how or why, I find that I am to be worry. When I lift my eyes to realities, I can ing myself about the strange disease of dimly descry across the street a vision of modern life; about "our brains o'ertaxed my neighbor behind his looking-glass ad- and palsied hearts,” and so forth; and justing the parting of his back hair, and instead of being lulled into a delicious achieving triumphs with his white tie cal- dream, I have somehow been entrapped culated to excite the envy of a Brummell. into a meditation upon my incapacity for It is pleasant to take down one of the dreaming. And more or less, this is the magicians of the shelf, to annihilate my fashion of all poets. You can never be neighbor and bis evening parties, and to sure that they will let you have


dream wander off through quiet country lanes out quietly. They must always be bothinto some sleepy hollow of the past. ering you about the state of their souls;

Who are the most potent weavers of and, to say the truth, when they try to be that delightful magic? Clearly, in the simply descriptive, they are for the most first place, those who have been them- part intolerably dull. selves in contact with rural sights and Your poet, of course, is bound to be an sounds. The echo of an echo loses all interpreter of nature ; and nature, for the sharpness of definition; our guide may present purpose, must be regarded as save us the trouble of stumbling through simply a nuisance. The poet, by his own farmyards and across ploughed fields, but account, is condescending to find words he must have gone through it himself till for the inarticulate voices of sea and sky his very voice has a twang of the true and mountain. In reality, nature is nothcountry accent. Milton, as Mr. Pattisoning but the sounding-board which is to bas lately told us, saw nature through give effect to his own valuable observabooks,” and is therefore no trustworthy tions. It is a general, but safe rule that guide. We feel that he has got a Theoc. whenever you come across the phrase ritus in his pocket; that he is using the laws of nature "in an article — especially country to refresh his memories of Spen- if it is by a profound philosopher — you ser, or Chaucer, or Virgil; an instead of may expect a sophistry; and it is still forgetting the existence of books in his more certain that when you come across company, we shall be painfully abashed if nature in a poem you should prepare to we miss some obvious allusion or fail to receive a sermon. It does not in the identify the passages upon which he has least follow that it will be a bad one. It moulded his own descriptions. And, in- may be exquisite, graceful, edifying, and deed, to put it broadly, the poets are sublime; but, as a sermon, the more efhardly to be trusted in this matter, how- fective the less favorable to the reverie ever fresh and spontaneous may be their which one desires to cultivate. Nor, be song. They don't want to offer us a for- it observed, does it matter whether the mal sermon, unless “they” means Words- prophet be more or less openly and unworth ; but they have not the less got their blushingly didactic. A good many hard little moral to insinuate. Shelley's sky- things have been said about poor Wordslark and Keats's nightingale are equally worth for his delight in sermonizing; and determined that we shall indulge in medi- though I love Wordsworth with all my tations about life and death and the mys- heart, I certainly cannot deny that he is terious meaning of the universe. That is capable of becoining a portentous wearijust what, on these occasions, we want to ness to the flesh. But, for this purpose, forget; we want the bird's song, not the Wordsworth is no better and no worse



than Byron or Shelley, or Keats or Rous. reflection as some wild animal in a conseau, or any of the dealers in praises of genial country. Weltschmerz, or mental dyspepsia. Mr. |Some kind philosopher professes to put Ruskin has lately told us that in his opin. my thoughts into correct phraseology by ion ninety-nine things out of a hundred saying that for such a purpose I require are not what they should be, but the very thoroughly “objective” treatment. I opposite of what they should be. And must, however, reject his suggestions, not therefore he sympathizes less with Words- only because "objective" and "subjec

“ worth than withi Byron and Rousseau, tive” are vile phrases, used for the most and other distinguished representatives part to cover indolence and ambiguity of of the same agreeable creed. From the thought, but also because, if I understand present point of view the question is ir- the word rightly, it describes what I do relevant. I wish to be for the nonce a not desire. The only thoroughly objec poet of nature, not a philosopher, either tive works with which I am acquainted with a healthy or a disturbed liver, deliver- are those of which Bradshaw's Railway ing a judicial opinion about nature as a Guide is an accepted type. There are whole, or declaring whether I regard it as occasions, I will admit, in which such litrepresenting a satisfactory or a thoroughly erature is the best help to the imagination. uncomfortable system. I condemn neither When I read in prosaic black and white opinion; I will not pronounce Words- that by leaving Euston Square at 10 A.M. worth's complacency to be simply the I shall reach Windermere at 5.40 P.M., it glow thrown from his comfortable do sometimes belps me to perform an imagimestic hearth upon the outside darkness; nary journey to the lakes even better than or Byron's wrath against mankind to be a study of Wordsworth's poems. It simply the crying of a spoilt child with a seems to give a fixed point round which digestion ruined by sweetmeats. I do old fancies and memories can crystallize; not want to think about it. Preaching, to supply a usefal guarantee that Gras. good or bad, from the angelic or diaboli- mere and Rydal do in sober earnest becal point of view, cunningly hidden away long to the world of realities, and are not in delicate artistic forms, or dashed osten- mere parts of the decaying phantasmagotatiously in one's face in a shower of ria of memory. And I was much pleased moral platitudes, is equally out of place. the other day to find a complimentary And, therefore, for the time, I would reference in a contemporary essayist to a choose for my guide to the Alps some lively work called, I believe, the “Shepgentle enthusiast in “ Peaks and Passes," herd's Guide,” which once beguiled a leiwho tells me in his admirably matter-of- sure hour in a lonely inn, and which simfact spirit, what he had for lunch and how ply records the distinctive marks put upon many steps he had to cut in the mur de la the sheep of the district. The sheep, as côte, and catalogues the mountains which it proved, was not a mere poetical figment he could see as calmly as if he were in an idyll, but a real, tangible animal, with repeating a schoolboy lesson in geogra- wool capable of being tarred and ruddled, phy. I eschew the meditations of Ober- and eating real grass in real felis and acmann, and do not care in the least cessible mountain dales. In our childwhether he got into a more or less maudhood, when any old broomstick will serve lin frame of mind about things in general as well as the wondrous horse of brass as contemplated from the Col de Janan.

On which the Tartar king did ride, I shrink even from the admirable descriptions of Alpine scenery in the “i Modern in the days when a cylinder with four pegs Painters," lest I should be launched unis as good a steed as the finest animal in awares into ethical or æsthetical specula- the Elgin marbles, and when a puddle tion. A plague of both your houses! swarming with tadpoles or a streamlet I wish to court entire absence of thought haunted by water rats is as full of romance

not even to talk to a graceful gipsy as a jungle full of tigers, the barest catascholar, troubled with aspirations for mys- logue of facts is the most effective. A terious knowledge; but rather to the child is deliciously excited by Robinson genuine article, such as the excellent Crusoe because De Foe is content to give Bamfield Moore Carew, who took to be a the naked scaffolding of direct narrative, gipsy in earnest, and was content to be a and leaves his reader to supply the sentithorough loafer, not even a Bohemian in ment and romance at pleasure. Who does conscious revolt against society, but sim- not fear, on returning to the books which ply outside of the whole social framework, delighted his childhood, that all the fairy and accepting his position with as little gold should have turned to dead leaves?

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