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according to precedent; and if any terri-| Eva how he had promised her, as a means ble incidents did come out of this journey of securing Susanna against any approaches into Somersetshire, they would issue in of the Irishman, to make some few inquiries good, no doubt. So Mrs. Ballow wrote as to the recent life of the great Protestant back, that she had no decided objection to advocate. He now could tell her that his offer to the scheme, which did, however, fill inquiries had issued in a result at once her with a lively anticipation of something painful and pleasing. Painful, inasmuch horrible.
as they revealed fresh wickedness in a man On the very same day which brought this already known to be so wicked; pleasing, letter from Minchley there came a letter inasmuch as they afforded a means of from old Mrs. Torring, to say that she guarding Mrs. Roberts against him. *I should have great pleasure, on her nephew's learn," Mr. Dowlas wrote, " that this unrecommendation, in trying how she and Miss happy man, employing his old pretence of March were suited one to another.
controversial zeal, obtained, some few years And the upshot of all these arrangements ago, an employment connected with a was, that on Saturday, the 6th of September, ladies' school (i believe he taught Latin Eva, escorted by Mrs. Check, went down and one or two other things) : but what into Somersetshire to Mrs. Torring, to re. chiefly concerns us is, that some very main during a month for certain, for such questionable intercourse between himself longer time as mutual liking and mutual con- and one of the under-teachers there comvenience might render agreeable to both pelled the mistress at once to dismiss them parties. It must not be imagined that Eva, both. And, should be persecute your all this while, was forgotten by her friends in mother with any serious proposals, it will Wales. It was not thought expedient, until be something to have this matter against the arrangements could be made complete, to him. Your accession to so much wealth is inform Mr. Dowlas of the wealth in store for likely, I fear, to bring him upon you, when him. Not to make her continued absence he hears of it. It is sad to speak to you of from Tremallyoc too much of a wonder, your father as of your enemy; but we are Eva did inform him that she was endeavour- both agreed that all your duty is due to your ing, with the advice and assistance of her innocent parent. My children send you lawyer, to contrive some concession in his their best love." favour. The nonentity of their relation- Eva was glad to be assured that, in about ship would not be made known to him until a week, the whole truth of the affair would the other matters were all made ready. be just as well known to the family in
To Mrs. Roberts Eva wrote, assuring her Wales as to herself. of a sufficient income for her own enjoy- The evening was coming on, when she ment; but warning her against acting as entered the town of Chelford, in the fly though she bad become very rich. This which had brought her from Bridgewater caution was rendered necessary by the be- station. Mrs. Torring lived in an old-fashhaviour of the poor woman herself. For, ioned house in the outskirts of the quiet as Mr. Lewis heard through old Miss Tudor, little town. Mrs. Check and Eva alighted Mrs. Roberts was beguiling her lonely days at the gate, and the luggage was carried in by a series of tea-parties — tea-parties as through the little garden in front to the gay as decorum allowed in a house out of house-door. At that door stood Mrs. Torwhich a funeral had so recently passed. ring. She was scarcely a woman whom Not as yet had she succeeded in showing you would pass at any time without regar:the splendid tea-service to her sister's envy-ing, and Eva, of course, was disposed to ing eyes. Mrs. Dowias continued sulkily look at her attentively. resentful, an 1 thàt supreme drop of joy in She was decidedly tall. She carried her Mrs. Roberts's cup, figurative and literal, eighty-four years as well as ever so great a was to remain untasted forever. But, as number was borne since the days of our sothere was really no knowing to what ex- journ shrank to their present brief span. travagance this foolish woman might be She was very nearly as upright as she tempted, on the strength of her daughter's could have been at twenty. She wore her fictitious heirship, it was a positive duty to own hair, white as wool, but abundant in give her some idea that things were not as quantity. Almost as white was the tint of she supposed.
her face, and though you could scarcely say A day or two before Miss March went that her features carried so much as the down into Somersetshire, she received a relics of any beauty; yet, so gentiy had the letter from Mr. Dowlas, in which he spoke hand of time passed over them, that, with of Murphy M'Quantigan. He reminded the tale of years which was written on
them, they were most attractive now. She lady in her drawing-room, and they had. walked wonderfully; her eyesight was good, their tea. It was a pleasant room, with a and her hearing would have been quick for little of that preciseness which we associate a person in the prime of life. Eva had rather with old maids than with old widows. been warned to expect that, with manners But Mrs. Torring had never had any chilfundamentally good, this lady mingled a dren. She was the widow of a colonel, had few eccentricities. She found the warning seen a great deal of the world in her time, available at the very first. When she ap- and, what had now become a distinction proached the door, at which Mrs.' Torring very rare, had visited France before the was standing, the old lady gave utterance Revolution. She talked, during tea, of to her apparent astonishment in one em- this and kindred matters. When it was phatic — "La* !”
over, she entered on things more directly Eva scarcely knew what to say on her concerning the immediate present. side. But she was presently greeted very
The old lady sat back in an arm-chair, intelligibly and warmly.
with a large book on an easel before her; , but . you, and'ı "hope we shall get on well to- ** Well, my dear, now I've got a question gether. I had no idea you were so very to ask you. How do you
shall pretty.. I was never so pretty as you are,
?" but I'll tell you what I was once as “I think I shall like you very well,” Eva young ; yes, I was indeed. And how old said, taking Mrs. Torring at her word, and do you think I am now? Why I'm eighty- giving her a direct reply. four; and I've had a very comfortable life. “ You think you will ? Well, I'm very and am very well off in my old age. Well, glad to hear you say so, because it's not now come in, and have your tea, and Pat everybody that does like me. There's terson shall show you up to your room. Miss Varnish, at Deverington Hall, she Why, who have you got here?
doesn't like me in the least; she knows Eva presented Mrs. Check, and Mrs. Tor- I've found her out.” ring, with peremptory hospitality, insisted " A friend of yours ? ” Eva asked, feelthat Eva's escort should remain with her ing that she must say something. until the Monday, wbich arrangement was
• A friend of mine! No - nasty crea-. accepted. Eva made a movement towards ture! I hope I know her a little better. the staircase.
She's a nasty, wily, slimy thing. I as good "Law, Patterson!” said her mistress, as told her so when she was last here. "why, you look as if you'd lost your wits. What do you think she's doing? Why, Show the young lady to her roon, and look making love to her master, or whatever out to see where you can put the old you may call him, while his wife is still one."
alive. There, my dear, now what do you Mrs. Patterson, who really had been think of such conduct as that ? ” looking as one from whom the present has Why, I think, Mrs. Torring, it cannot vanished, and whose thoughts are gone be too severely condemned. But on that. back into the past, now started, as one sud- very account, one should be quite sure bedenly awakened, and performed her duty fore accusing anybody of it.” towards Eva. Miss March knew that ser- “Well, my dear; you're right to say so.. vants are not always well disposed towards I consider that remark of your's a very persons in the capacity in which she had wise and proper one. Yes, my dear, I do. come to Chelford, and she was very much You know we are told never to speak evil relieved to find Mrs. Torring's principal ser- one of another. But, as for that nasty vant so extremely attentive. Patterson thing, we'll have her some day, and then seemed to take a positive pleasure in con- you shall see for yourself." sulting her as to every little arrangement Eva felt no particular interest in the involved in the taking possession of her blame which might or might not attach to room. She looked at Eva, and watched the the aspiring Miss Varnish. Knowing how replies which her questions called forth, just bitterly and unjustly she herself had been like some one waiting for the responses of a credited with matrimonial intriguing, shemighty oracle. It would have been an at- was, perhaps, rather inclined to disbelieve tention almost oppressive, only that Eva's such accusations, and to support those expectations bad rather run the other way, against whom they might be levelled. and so the disappointment could not be too But the name of Deverington Hall had a complete.
very great interest indeed for Eva. BeAfter a brief toilette, Eva joined the old fore parting with her Minchley friends on,
the previous day she had been entrusted cept, by all means, the acquaintance of
THE Russian STEPPE. – Not unlike our phase ends. No yellow cornfields, no russet own western prairies, the Russian steppe con- leaves, throw a glory over the later portion of sists of a vast illimitable plain, its monotonous the year; but October comes in wet and expanse stretching away in every direction to stormy, and soon after winter arrives, cold and the horizon, never broken by a bill or even a terrible, sweeping the plains with hurricanes tree, but undulating like an ocean whose waves and snowstorms. have suddenly been arrested. For thousands and thousands of miles these gentle undulations succeed one another, such a sameness pervading
MeMOIRES D'UNE ENFANT. Par Madame the landscape, that, at last, though the traveller Michelet. (Hachette.) — In this volume the knows that his horses are galloping on and he wife of the eminent French historian tells, in a sees the wheels of his car tuin round, yet he charmingly brilliant, though artless style, and seems fastened to the same spot, unable to with genuine though ingenuous feeling, the make any progress. Not even a bush is to be story of an interesting childhood, made someseen on the level ground, not a rivulet is to be what gloomy through the coldness of her mother heard, but here and there in the hollow are tall and the want of genial playmates. She was green reeds and scattered willows, where sullen the second girl, and remembers'so minutely all rivers flow slowly along between sandy banks. the drawbacks of her infancy, that we can unSo far do these desolate tracts extend that it derstand now why second girls are so often a has been declared that a calf born at the foot little unhappy, whilst the first-born becomes of the great wall of China might eat its way the companion of her mother. Madame Miche. along till it arrived a well-fattened ox, on the let gives us, with a dramatic simplemindedness, banks of the Dneister. In the spring the the key to many traits in childhood which so steppe possesses a peculiar charm of its own. few of us can thoroughly interpret or analyze, The grass is then comparatively soft, and of a because few of us have any but a rather dim dazzling green. Here and there, literally, “ you reco!lection of what we thought and felt long cannot see the grass for flowers,”. “ for they years ago. The writer's story of her first doll, grow in masses, covering the ground for acres which she had to manufacture herself out of together, hyacinths, crocusses, tulips, and mig- scraps of wood and rags and a little bran, is nionette. The air is fresh and exhilarating, almost tragic; the reader follows it with the the sky is clear and blue, and the grass rings lively interest which he would bestow on a with the song of innumerable birds. In some plot contrived by the grown-up people in a halfdistricts the steppe retains for a length of time sensational novel. The bright spot in this sad the beauty with which spring has clothed it, childhood is the unbounded, almost idolatrous but in the interior, where rain is unknown, love, which the affectionate child bears to her when summer comes, the pools and water-old father. The life of this adventurous father, courses dry up, and the earth gradually turns who was with Toussaint l'Ouverture at St. dry, and hard and black. Shade is utterly un. Domingo, and with Napoleon at the Isle of known; the heat is everywhere the same. At Elba ; who fought in the ranks of negroes, and morn and eve the sun rises and sets like a globe married, after forty, his young pupil, the fourof fire, while in the noontide it wears a hazy teen-years-old daughter of an American slaveappearance, due to the dust which pervades owner ; who lived at Montauban, and went to the atmosphere like smoke. The herds grow die at Cincinnati, is related with enthusiastic lean and haggard, and the inhabitants appear affection, and was, indeed, worth relating. wrinkled and inelancholy and darkened by the Although Madame Michelet belongs to the constant dust to an almost African hue. In school of sentimental writers, she is so superior the autumn the heat lessens, the dust colored to them in graceful vigour and terseness of style, sky becomes once more blue, and the black genial openheartedness, boldness of expression, carth green, the haze gathers into clouds, and and frankness of feeling, that she has made of the setting sun covers the sky with the splendor the analysis of a child's sentiments a philosophof gold and crimson. With September this ical and almost manly book.
thins out the lips and draws them wide, From the Spectator.
sending away from the corners elliptic THE CLOTHES OF THE MIND. curves, with the long axis horizontal. In
the phlegmatic man's face, on the contrary, Mr. Ernst Schulz's very extraordinary the under lip is thick and prominent, entertainment at the Egyptian Hall is throwing a deep shadow on the chin, and something more than a mere amusement. the only line is that which seems to divide Any one who has seen the forty-eight utter- the double chir, the true chin from the ly different transformations through which underhanging flesh. Here the whole charthe young German's sensible, observant, acter of the very same face is altered withslightly humorous, not otherwise very re-out even a change of hair or beard, or the markable face passes in the course of the slightest alteration in the angle at which it ninety-six minutes or so during which the is seen, from a type of the most abstract entertainment lasts, – just one transforma- dogmatic activity, - square with the acute tion for every two minutes of the time, - inculcation of positive teaching, - into one will be dull if he does not begin asking of gross phlegmatic heaviness, that would himself a dozen different and not very seem to be not only of a much lower type easily answerable questions on the secret of culture, but of a coarser family stock. of mental clothes, the mode in which one Mr. Schulz's own natural face, though much and the same mind, in one and the same younger and less lined altogether, is no body, manages to assume and throw off doubt nearer to that of the professor,this immense variety of widely separated German professor, by the way, — than to moral costumes, ranging from the stupid, the pblegmatic man,” of whom he has pudgy pride of the wealthy English Philis- very little trace indeed in his natural comtine, to the wild animal pride, deeply position; but no one would suspect his very seamed with animal cares, of the Red close personal relationship to either of the Indian Chief. Of course in such a charac- two characters, if they did not know it beter as the Chief of the Fox Indians Mr. forehand. One of his most efficient exSchulz gives himself the help of bead- pedients in effecting these changes is, – dress and costume; but in several of the that after he has thrown bis face into the changes through which his fice passes, 'deep, artificial lines which he chooses for there is absolutely no alteration even in the the moment to assume, he casts upon it, arrangement of his bair, the whole trans- thus metamorphosed, a very much intenser formation being due to the alteration in light than any which is ever thrown upon the attitude and lines of his face, the altered his own natural face, the effect of which is curve of the eyebrows and the lips, the very much to heighten all the lights and angle at which ihe head is held, or thrown deepen all the shadows, so that the newly back or forwards, and the lines, deep or assumed expression is enormously intensified shallow, into which he ploughs his pliant as compared with what it would express in countenance. Take, for instance, his rep- an ordinary light. If any one has ever resentation of what he calls the phleg- noticed how much any even common exmatic temperament, - a full front, sallow pression of pleasure, or awe, or misery is face, with very few lines, hair brushed to intensified by a flash of lightning suddenly the back, lips full, chin slightly heavy, eyes passing over the face which wears it, he not closed, but only half open, great dis- will get some slight conception of one of play of ears, big white cravat, and very the most important means of Mr. Schulz's little neck, and compare it with just the wonderful self-transformations. We obsame front face, as he gives it us in his ideal served repeatedly that, after he had asProfessor, the hair arranged in precisely sumed his new aspect, we could still trace the same way, no addition whatever, ex- clearly enough Mr. Schulz's own natural cept in the blue-rimmed spectacles, a white expression beneath the new one, until the cravat not very different in magnitude intense light of the lamps was cast upon it, from that of the phlegmatic mang and yet when the natural Mr. Schulz entirely vanwithout even a family likeness of expres- ished, and the expression he had a-sumed sion between the two faces. The whole was so greatly intensified as to swallow up, difference consists in the open, bright, as it were, the natural face beneath. So, a twinkling eyes, which peer out eagerly room with a new window thrown out will through the professorial spectacles, the look at first, even in the dusk, half strange slightly distended, dogmatic nostrils, which and half familiar, but if a blaze of light is seem to quiver with positive assertion, and let in through it, the whole effect of the the horizontally elongated mouth, which room is so changed by the emphasis thus
given to this new feature of it, that you can the excess of self-esteem into the imploring barely recognize the old features at all. hope of female vanity that it has not quite
It is curious to notice how much of our failed. natural interpretation of the meaning of The least interesting and yet perhaps certain lines and attitudes of the face de most popular part of the entertainment is pends not so much on those lines and atti- the exhibition of the various kinds of tudes themselves, as on the context in beards and moustaches which Mr. Schulz which we find them, and which is made to manages to exhibit by means of an optical suggest to us an interpretation of its own. apparatus, which casts the appearance of In one part of his entertainment Mr. a very black beard or moustache of any Schulz takes a framework of painted card- shape he chooses, on his face, from which it board, or some substance of that nature, vanishes again at a touch like a shadow of representing various head-dresses, such as a cloud on the appearance of the sun. The a monthly nurse's, a scolding elderly fe- only intellectual interest this part of the male's in a bonnet with yellow strings, a exhibition has, is not in itself, — for there is fascinating spinster's “of a certain age,” nothing but the novelty of the optical deand so forth, and frames his own face in it, lusion which is its method to distinguish it so as to give a new marginal gloss or com- from the disguising effect of false beards mentary as it were to the very same atti- and moustaches, in which none but children tudes of face which he has before presented would take much interest, — but in the to us under no such disguise. The same illustration it gives us of the absolute exthing is done later in the evening by the use ternality of the whole machinery of exof real head-dresses, — turbans, feathers, pression. When you see the great, rough, &c. In each case the observer, preoccu- black “democratic beard,” as Mr. Schulz pied and retained as it were in favour of a calls it, cloud the air for a moment with a special interpretation by the associations shadowy flicker, and then settle in a solid connected with the head-dress, whether grove on the face, and again at a touch dispainted or real, construes the very same sipate into the air and leave it as white lines and expressions of countenance which and pale as ever, we can scarcely help seemed to say one thing when they stood realizing not only that the special gleams of alone, into quite a different meaning when expression which Mr. Sehulz brings and he is prejudiced by this external commen- banishes at pleasure are equally shadows, tary. Thus two of Mr. Schulz's represen- and still more of intellectual shadows, but tations are really, if you compare the that the mind sits as loose to the mechanism countenances alone -- the mere lines and of expression, worked through the moveexpressions of the face — precisely alike, ment of its own features, as it does to that
the one which he calls, we think, “the worked by casting external shadows upon genial man,” and in which he is unaided the face, or making itself in actual cosby adventitious costume and framework, tumes. When Mr. Schulz, in imitating and the one in which he represents the “ the pious man,” makes himself — no doubt amiablé spinster whom he calls Miss Eve without knowing it — look so absurdly like lina Matilda Peablossom. Put your hand Lord Shaftesbury in a moment of lugubriover the hair and neck-tie of the photo- ous devotion, or, in imitating "the melangraph of the one, and over the ringlets and choly man,” makes himself the image of lace of the photograph of the other, and an acquaintance of ours who was once precisely the same features in precisely the melancholy mad, it is impossible not to same posture, and lined with precisely the fancy that Mr. Schulz might, if he pleased, same lines, remain ; yet while the one pic- almost live one distinct life in his own ture seems to express a self-satisfied smirk mind, and quite a different apparent life in of self-love overflowing into general appro- the external world; that to himself he bation and good humour, the other seems to might be known, for instance, as a man express a (rather vulgar) admiration felt never even for a moment content with his for another, overflowing into a certain position, while to the world he might live limited measure of humble satisfaction with as a man abounding in pride and selfherself. The long ringlets are alone an- elation; or that to himself he might be swerable for this difference of impression. known as an acute and vigilant observer, Long ringlets so uniformly plead for appro- while he could seem to the world a model bation, and are so expressive not of self- of absolute inanity. He makes us feel, at confidence, but of plaintive requests for all events, that with him the expression admiration, that they put a new gloss on assumed by the face is almost as voluntary the smirk of the features, and turn it from as the costume assumed by the person, that