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But in forcing himself to the truthful, what is called “The Earl's Walk.” and terrible pictures he has given the The pathway seems cut in the side of public, he at least protected these dear the rock overhanging the sea, the friends from the utterly unscrupulous rocky sides clothed with greenery, and monstrous distortions that would while arching shrubs make almost á certainly have been presented by some darkness broken only now and then by sensational writer or other, who, with opener spaces ; the sun shone in golden half the truth and an unbridled real-arrows here and there, and the deep ism, would have produced a portrait murmur of the water below was never for the world to gape at and gaze at. quite lost. Now and then came The position was a hard one, but vision of the whole scene — point and Froude never flinched. We have only headland and bay, one after the other to remember Mrs. Stowe's theories – very exquisite and harmonious. about Byron and Lady Leigh to illus- The talk was desultory. At a sudden trate our meaning.

turn in the winding path we came on a Speaking of “humbug," Froude party of six or seven pedestrians, ladies said :

“Of course, there always must and gentlemen, headed by a lady, who, be humbug while the world lasts." introducing her friends, and her hus

“Yes," I said, “there must be self- band, expressed much disappointment deceivers, at any rate, but not neces- at finding Mr. Froude bound for a sarily those who deliberately and walk, and not " at home” that particuknowingly wish to deceive others.” lar afternoon. "Well," he replied, “if the people 6. You see," said she,

66 when one first deceive themselves, they naturally has friends down from town, one has take in others."

but two attractions to offer – the fine “ But,” said I, “there is surely a scenery, and a call on Mr. Froude." choice between the blindness of self- This speech was perhaps not allodeception and the cold and calculated gether a wise one.

But the company deception imposed upon the upwary?” bad driven some miles, and left their And Froude laughed and said : “I carriage at

and then walked suppose there is a choice ; but the some miles, and now found themselves clever deceivers have one merit, at within twenty minutes' walk of their least — they have an object in view avowed object. They were doubtless the others are generally such fools." literary people, too, an Oxford pro

On one occasion the talk turned on fessor or so, and a recently returned Roman Catholicism — the priesthood. Indian warrior, the names only heard

" I don't like them,” said Froude ; by me, and forgotten. But "but perhaps you do."

Froude could not be “lionized." He “Not at all," I answered. “I have was not a man to "show his paces.' no leaning that way.”

He responded with perfect courtesy to “Ah! so you say,” said Froude, the appeals made to him, and said with a keen glance at me. “But I quietly : dare say they will make a convert of “It's rather unfortunate, but I wish you yet."

to open this part of the country to my And he laughed.

friend, Mrs. and I must go a little No," ” I said sternly, they never further round the Point; but my daugh

: will."

ter will be delighted to go back with " I'm glad to hear you say so," was you to the Molt." And, raising his his rejoinder ; “but I should enjoy it cap, he made his adieux. immensely if they did convert you, and I had stood back, and now wondered then I should have a little talk with if I should say, “Pray don't consider you on the subject.”

me in the matter." But instinct toll One lovely afternoon, just before I me that such a speech would be ridicu

started a walk — Miss lous, and would expose me to a sharp Froude, Mr. Froude, and I – through and well-deserved snub. It was not I,

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essentially not I, who was being con- “It's a horrid-looking thing," I said, sidered. Mr. Froude simply did not " whoever it is." choose to be forced to entertain his " Atrocious !said Mr. Froude emfriends' friends. And he was right. phatically. 66 Is it not? Well, I'm So I held my peace. We walked along sorry to say it's a bust of myself, just with very little conversation. But, on presented to me by Sir Edgar Boehm. our return, the whole party were seated Very kind of him, wasn't it? And on the lawn, and footmen were bring. now, of course, I have to stick it up ing out afternoon tea, fruit, etc., and I there in a very prominent place, and went to my own room. The visit was show it to all my friends. Pleasant, not a long one.

isn't it?" The next day I left the Molt.

“ Boehm doesn't see you with my But more than once I had occasion eyes,” said I. " It doesn't remind me to see Mr. Froude at his house in of you in the least.” Onslow Gardens, and had further op- And he laughed heartily, and said : portunity of studying that deeply inter- " That's well ! I didn't think I was esting personality.

quite such a ruffian as that!" An awkward incident marked one of Froude rarely spoke of having known these calls of mine. It happened that Mrs. Carlyle, and I was left to infer I had been at the Kensington Mu- whether he saw her often or seldom, seum a few days before, examining and whether it was friendship or mere Greek models, reproductions of various acquaintance that formed the tie beantique, and sometimes not very attrac-tween them; or whether he had letters tive, classic torsos aud casts of cele- from her, or had ever possessed her brated statues.

confidence in any way. Mr. Froude accompanied me on one

Once only did he speak more peroccasion and told me much about what sonally of her while I was with bim, interested him. Some weeks later, I saying: “At any rate, she told me I had been at luncheon with him and his was the only one of her husband's family in their own home, and, the friends who had not made love to her.” meal over, the ladies had just bid me He certainly felt a deep compassion for good-bye, as I had some literary ques- lier. But it was never expressed to tions to ask of Mr. Froude. He and I me, in so many words. were just adjourning to the library, when he stopped a moment, and, point- [In a letter to Mr. Ireland, Mr. Froude ing out a bust on a bookcase, the centre thus spoke of the “ Life of Mrs. Carlyle :' of three full-sized and dignified repre

“You may well be proud of Mrs. Ireland. sentations in marble, he said :

In indifferent health, and under conditions “I must not forget to show you the severe and trying, she has executed a most

difficult and delicate work with remarkable very latest addition to my treasures.

Her own generous and enthusiWhat do you think of it ?"

astic sympathy with her subject alone could I looked up, and, with my head full have enabled her to go through with it. of the galleries and museums I had the book can have done nothing but good. been visiting, said :

Some day or other the world will under“It's a very terrible head, and most stand Carlyle's own action in preparing repellent."

these memoirs, and will see in it the finest “Yes,” he said, “I agree with you. illustration of his own character. Mrs. Now, who should you say it is ?”

Ireland has brought that day appreciably I, being ignorant about these things,

I rarely or never read literary answered vaguely :

criticisms in newspapers. They are mainly

written to order by persons who know Nero, perhaps, or one of the old

nothing of what they are writing about. Borgias ?

They are, however, the echoes of the pubMr. Froude laughed and said :

lic opinion of the time, and so far as I have • Try again ; you ought to know seen, Mrs. Ireland and you may be well it.”

satisfied. To yourself, as so old a friend

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OF

ELIZABETH

BARRETT

AND THE LATE EMPEROR

LOUIS NAPOLEON.

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and admirer of Carlyle, it must be pecul- , so full of soul. She wore her thick iarly agreeable that from your home has brown hair in ringlets which hung come a work which marks the return of the down on each side of her cheeks ; she tide.”]

struck me then as being all eyes and hair, not unlike a spaviel dog.

After a few minutes of general con

versation, which I thought common

From Temple Bar, place talk for such great poets, Mrs. A LITTLE GIRL'S RECOLLECTIONS Barrett Browning beckoned to me. I

BROWNING,

approached her feeling very shy ; what WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY,

was this great woman going to speak about to a little girl like me ? But I

was soon put at my ease; she kissed LOOKING back through the mists of me and, turning to Penini, placed his time I distinctly remember a visit that little hand in mine, saying, “ You must Mr. and Mrs. Robert Barrett Browning be friends, you and Pen. He is my paid to my mother in Paris. We were Florentine boy,” stroking his head lovthen living in the Rue Basse des Rem- ingly. “Has he not got beautiful hair parts, on the Boulevard des Italiens.

so golden — that is because he was As I was then a mere child, I think born in Italy, where the sun is always what has impressed this particular visit golden." on my mind, is the fact that my The tea-things were brought in ; on mother had told me that two poets the tray was a big plum cake. The dog were coming to see lier that afternoon. wagged his tail, and then Mrs. BrownI had never beheld a poet, and im- ing said to me, “Flush is a dear old agined that they must be wonderful dog ; I love him. When I was so ill beings, walking about with wreaths of about a year ago, Flush never left laurel round their heads — I had seen my side day or night. Every time I pictures of Dante and Tasso — so I put my hand out of the bed, I could was keenly disappointed when the always feel his curly head and cold French servant opened the alvor aod nose." announced: 66 Monsieur el Madame Flush now looked up in his misBruniy."

tress's face with intense devotion in Could that frail little lady, attired in his wistful eyes. a simple grey dress and straw bonnet, We gave Flush some slices of bread and the cheerful gentleman in a brown and butter, which he accepted, but inovercoat, be great poets? They had stead of eating them, he disappeared brought with them their little son, underneath a big yellow satin divan ; Penini; he had long, flowing, fair, when I presented him with a piece of curly hair, and wore white drawers plum cake, he swallowed it there and edyed with embroidery. These pecul- then with much gusto. iarities impressed me, for I thought he I remember that Mrs. Barrett Brownlooked like a girl. The trio were fol- ing whispered to me that if I looked lowed by a beautiful brown dog, with under that divan, I would find the golden eyes.

We lived on the fifth bread and butter hidden there ; she floor; Mrs. Browning was quite ex- said that Flush was far too polite a hausted after climbing so many stairs ; dog to refuse anything offered to him, she was pale, and she panted a great but from personal observation, she deal. My mother gently pushed her knew that he could not eat bread and into a large, low armchair. How thin butter when he saw any chance of getand small she looked, lying back in the ling plum cake. biy seat. I remember staring at her, Penini and I crept on all fours, and overpowered by a kind of awe, wonder- looked under the divan. Yes, there ing where was the poetry ; and then I were three slices of thin bread and felt sure it was in her large, dark eyes, butter all in a row, and untouched.

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During her visit, Mrs. Barrett us all. Her voice was like herself, Browning kept her right arm round her despotic. We gathered round her. little boy's neck, running her fingers The humiliating fact of my still being through his golden curls. She struck fed like a baby was becoming unbearme as being very loving.

able, and that day I was in a particA few days after I heard that the ularly rebellious frame of mind. Brownings had left for Florence ; my Just as Reine was digging the spoon mother often received letters from in the soup), there was a ring at the “ Casa Guidi,” but I never met again front gate. As everybody happened to Mrs. Barrett Browuing.

be out, Reine had to leave us children A few years ago, a paper of wine in order to answer the door. She dewas published in Temple Bar, “A posited the tureen on the grass plot, Child's Recollections of William Thack- and departed.

7. Two incidents in which the “ Horrible, most horrible soup !" I great writer appeared in a charming hissed out, making ugly faces at the light had then escaped my memory. I tureen. Then a diavolina of mischief feel they will not be out of place if I seized me; I poured out the contents give them her

at the root of a tree. When Mr. Thackeray came to Paris, My brothers and sister were amazed he continually visited my parents, who and frightened at my audacity, and lived there, my father being the Paris cried out, “ Reine will punish us.' correspondent of the Morning Herald, “I would rather be punished than etc. We had at that period of my ex- eat this nasty soup," I exclaimed. istence, a French woman servant, Just as. I uttered these words I looked called Reine, a despotic being who up, and there, standing on the doorruled our household with a rod of iron ; step, was Mr. Thackeray. He had she often made us little ones tremble in taken off his hat ; his white hair shone our shoes. Amongst her many manias like silver in the sun, his face was rosy, on the proper rearing of children was he was smiling at me; and what a dethat of nourishing us with a soup, con- lightful smile he liad. sisting of fabby pieces of bread swim- “Ah! is that potage à la Bisque that ming in bouillon. As we disliked this you are throwing away, little one ?' potage, Reine insisted upon feeding us I grew crimson, and longed for the herself, i.e., we five children had to eartlı to open and swallow poor me, as stand round her, while she, holding the well as the unfortunate tureen, which tureen in one hand, and a spoon in the had dropped out of my hand. other, thrust the soup in our open

“ It is such disgusting stuff,” I mouths, like birds in a pest. Reine blurted out, “and I am so tired of had a will of iron ; no use grumbling. having to swallow the same soup every I was the most troublesome, and often day.” kept my mouth lightly closed when the Reine glared at me ; her nose grew awful spoonful approached me. suddenly more hookey, her small eyes

One sultry afternoon we were then were like steel gimlets ; she was the spending the summer months in a image of an angry vulture. This open pretty house near the Bois de Boulogne rebellion had infuriated her. But now

- Reine had determined to feed us in that Mr. Thackeray was near me I felt the garden in front of the house. I more secure. can see her now, in her black dress, 6. You will go to bed early, and you black lace cap ; hook nose, small, will have a piece of dry bread for suppiercing grey eyes she reminded me per,” said Reine, her voice trembling of a vulture. She hugged the tureen, withi rage. with its greasy contents, in her left 6 Don't let her punish me," I whisarm ; in the right she held the spoon ; pered in English to Mr. Thackeray, it was her sceptre.

clutching hold of his coat. Allons enfants !" she called out to TIe walked solemnly towards the

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tureen, which had rolled down the brother ; would I not then eat a big gardeu path. He picked it up care- lot !” fully, asked Reiue to give him the ** How nice to be always hungry, aud spoon, which she did most reluctantly. always to have as many tarts as one There was just a wee drop left. Mr. can eat ! (my exclamation). Thackeray tasted it -oh, what Mr. Thackeray's spectacles twiukled funny expression he had on his face with fun. theu ! He evidently did not relish the “Eat as many as you can digest,” he soup, for he went up to Reine and, said. “ I am going to make a purchase, bending his big head, he whispered a few doors off.” He left the shop, something into her ear. She muttered and we began tucking in vigorously. a remark; then they both went into the person who sat at the counter the house. After a few minutes, Mr. (how happy she must be, for she could Thackeray returned.

eat cakes and bonbons all day long) Now, little ones, I am going to give kept her eyes fixed on all us children. you a treat.

We shall go to the best She was evidently counting how many pâtissier in Paris, and you can eat as cakes we devoured. And we did demany tarts as you like."

vour a great many, especially the little “Hurralı, burrah 1” we shouted. brother who wished he had as many

“ Vive Mr. Thackeray !" I screamed stomachs as the camel. out, looking at Reine with triumph in When Mr. Thackeray reappeared in my eyes, for I had wou a great vic- the shop, our mouths, noses, cheeks, tory.

were covered with jam and cream. I Reine was crestfallen, the vulture- remember that he pulled a large red like expression had disappeared. silk pocket-handkerchief out of one of “ Put on your hats and pelisses,'

," bis many pockets and wiped all our said Mr. Thackeray," while I go and faces. When we re-entered the cab, fetch a voiture."

we begged Mr. Thackeray to finish the Mr. Thackeray was now our king of story of the giant. men; he had delivered us from the Ah, poor giant !” exclaimed Mr. dragon, Reine. How joyfully we got Thackeray (wiping his spectacles, as if into that cab. The cocher cracked his he were shedding tears), after he had whip; the old horse jogged on to the licked up the whole of his chocolate promised land of cakes. We had bedstead, eaten his sponge cake pildecided upon going to a well-known lows, and the blankets (inade of jelconfectioner in the Rue de Rivoli. lies), he roared with pain, he bad such

During the drive, Mr. Thackeray told a fearful indigestion ; but," continued us a story about a giant, who had a big Mr. Thackeray (opening a paper parbed made of chocolate, which he licked cel), “he hail a dose of this medicine, continually, pillows of sponge cakes, “a bottle of fluid magnesia.?" blankets made of jellies. (How we I bought this at the chemist in envied that giant !) At last the case you have eaten too many tarts, “ growler ” stopped in front of the like the poor giant." famous cake shop. Mr. Thackeray

When the cab stopped at our door, helped us all out so carefully, and Mr. Thackeray landed the maguesia to heading the

small procession, le Reine, and I saw him slip a coin in her opened the glass door of the palace of band, and from that eventful day the cakes.

soup we disliked never again made its "Oh, what delicious tarts !” ex- appearance. claimed Mr. Thackeray, pointing to a Another little Thackeray incident varied display of open fruit-cakes, dis- (which I recall with a mixture of played on a big table in the centre of amusement and humiliation) :the room.

I went afternoon with my “Oh, I wish that I had as many mother to pay a visit to Mrs. Carmi. stomachs as the camel !” remarked my chael Smythe (Mr. Thackeray's aged

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