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Sixth Series,
Volume II.

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No. 2606. - June 16, 1894.

From Beginning,

Vol. COI.

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CONTENTS. I. THREE NOBLE ENGLISHWOMEN,

Edinburgh Review,
II. THE DEAN OF KILLERINE. Part VI.

Translated by Mrs. E. W. Latimer, from
the French of

The Abbé Prévost,
III. RECENT ARCHÆOLOGY. By J. P. Ma-
haffy, .

Nineteenth Century, .
IV. VOLTAIRE'S FAVORITE MORALIST.
W. Fraser Rae, .

Temple Bar,
V. By RIGHT OF WOMANHOOD,

Temple Bar, VI. A GRANTED WIAH,

All The Year Round,

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TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION. For EIGHT DOLLARS remitted directly to the Publishers, the LIVING AGE will be punctually forwarded for'a year, free of postage.

Remittances should be made by bank draft or check, or by post-office money-order, if possible. If neither of these can be procured, the money should be sent in a registered letter. All postmasters are obliged to register letters when requested to do so. Drafts, checks, and money-orders should be made payable to the order of LITTELL & Co.

Single copies of the LIVING AGE, 18 cents.

66

" do not

o fall

ONE WOMAN.

Hide behind this beech-tree, where the Her eyes are not "cerulean blue ;

boughs are leafy, Her silken tresses

Tread the flowers tenderly, elves are In rippling waves of amber hue ;"

quick to hear; She has no “special gift" at all

Crouch down in the bracken, where the This gentle woman, sweet and good,

fronds are thick and heavy, Who sprang not from a royal race,

Could they see us watching, they soon Yet wears her crown of womanhood

would disappear. With more than queenly grace.

Vanish in the brushwood, slide among the

grasses, She does not seem to “float on air,

Swing among the chestnut blossoms far Like thistledown, amidst the dance ;"

out of sight, Nor would her modest spirit care

Dive into the lake, where the kingcups To“hold men spellbound with a glance."

stand in masses But she is gracious to the poor ;

Silence ! for the fairies are dancing in The sick and sorrowful aver

the night. That when she enters at their door The sunshine follows her.

Ah! but they have heard us, the tiny

dancers shiver, She has not soared to Learning's heights,

They wonder, and they feel that someOr sounded Wisdom's depths profound ;

thing strange draws nigh ; She only claims her woman's rights

And they clasp their little hands, and their Where tasks for tender hands abound ;

small, sweet faces quiver, Yet, though she shrinks from themes ab

And some have opened brilliant wings struse,

ready to fly. Nor studies “ethics” overmuch,

Come away, come — we are worn with pain The common things in daily use

and striving, Grow fairer at her touch.

What should we do among these crea

tures fair and bright? Enjoying most where most she loves,

We lost long since our child-hearts, have She has no great desire to roam,

tasted life and living, But by her pure example proves

We may not see the fairies dancing in How love may sanctify the home.

the night.

Spectator. And thus she rules with kindly hand

CLARA GRANT DUFF.
The realm she understands the best,
While all her happy household band

Arise and call her blest.
Chambers' Journal,
E. MATHESON.

THE POET'S HOME.
My attic room is ten feet square —

'Tis large enough to hold my friends My bed is couch and desk and chair ;

My holiday, the sleep God sends
FAIRIES,

To banish dull, corroding care,

To make for day amends. FAIRIES are dancing, are dancing in the meadows,

I have a poet friend who sings Slip out through the window, not a soul

Sweet lyrics for my ear alone ;

His beady eyes and dusky wings
Let us watch them playing, through the Are welcome to my window-stone ;

moonbeams and the shadows, My robin sings of country springs, Darting, flying, swooping, like swallows

And joys forever flown. on the sea. All the earth and air are full of tiny noises, He sings, and then awaits to share All the chestnut candles are scented and The crumbs which are his poet's fee; alight.

And when he finds my table bare, Leave the hot, bright rooms, and the mur- His eyes are filled with sympathy mur of tired voices,

Then flies away, I know not where, Come out where the fairies are dancing Like all my friends from me. in the night.

Temple Bar,

M. M. RYAN.

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From The Edinburgh Review. is certain that Lady Stuart de RotheTHREE NOBLE ENGLISH WOMEN.1

say's two daughters both showed a No taste is more popular or more tendency, through atavism, to revert to enduring than the taste for memoirs. the Lindsay stock, drawing from it The English, as a nation, are not sup- stores of literary, musical, and artistic posed to excel in them, and, perhaps

taste. because we are not a very sociable

Perhaps such women will never come people, it has come to be said that again, and for us at the century's close they manage these things better in their lives and letters may well have a France. In that country the supply double fascination. The first half of does seem to be inexhaustible, but we

the century still affects the imagination have latterly had no cause to complain of the world, whether we think of the of lack of such provender at home. revolutions of '30 and '48, or go back to Even where ladies are concerned we the Empire and its fall, to the literary do not feel disposed at this moment to giants, to the drifting philosophies, or yield the palm to France. We have to the political and social aspirations of had Lady de Ros' souvenirs ; the bril- the whole European family. These liant letters of the ambassadress Lady four noble women mark the close of a Gran ville have just been published; social dynasty, of the great lady who and here we have two books, differing had in her natural sphere the airs greatly in many respects, yet identical and some of the lignity of history. in this - that the women were English Foreign to her needs, as well as to her in blood and culture, in the way in tastes, would have been the vexatious which they developed their talents, fermentation, made up of egotism, resteven in their opposite qualities, and in lessness, and ambition, which poisons their unforgotten charms. They were, so much of modern womanhood. The as we have assumed, types of English rush and struggle of all the nonentities culture during the most cultured days, to arrive, and to be heard of, if it be when local examinations were not,

but in the pages of a “ society paper,” when grace and kindness were thought had not then begun in the day of these excellent, when smartness did

not really great persons. If it had, it could cover, and lead to, a multitude of sins, but have brought a smile to their fair wheu voluble voices did not shriek in and well-bred faces. Born in the purall the keys of self-advertisement, and ple, they had little to wish for and nothwhen the routine of duty was still held ing to fear. Welded into the mass of to be sufficient both for the guidance their equally fortunate or even illustriand for the emotions of life. It may ous connections, they were by this very further be asserted that these beauti- circumstance hedged in from the world ful women were types of race. Lady

while yet all its doors stood open to Burghersh was a Wellesley, and

them. Society, which to women of no such she bore the unmistakable stamp importance, as to the poor, is apt in of her line. The Stuart sisters inher- prove a stepmother, was ready and iled not only from their father's side willing to add gifts to those which these an hereditary gift of wit, but as, on the fortunate beauties already possessed by mother's side, they descended through inheritance. If in some respects their the Yorkes, from the great house of views were limited, they proved themthe Lindsays, Earls of Balcarres, so it selves ready to learn, and apt ou au

emergency to turn courier or cook, sec1 1. The Letters of Lady Burghersh (afterwards retary or sick nurse. They had learnt Countess of Westmoreland) from Germany and in their childhood a courteous considFrance during the Campaign of 1813–14. Edited by her daughter, Lady Rose Weigall. 1 vol.

eration for others ; they were sparer!

the ennui, the petty worries, and the 2. The Story of Two Noble Lives : being Memo- solitude which eat into provincial life ; rials of Charlotte, Countess Canning, and Louisa, By Augustus J. C. and, flattered as they were,

it is greatly 10 their credit that they preserved to

as

Lon

don : 1893.

Marchioness of Waterford.
Hare. 3 vols. London: 1893.

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the last a love of nature, and a taste for | rors of the Indian Mutiny, like Marosimple pleasures. This they managed chetti's angel above the fateful well of to retain, although life had always Cawnpore, rises the pale, sweet face of been presented to them as more or less Charlotte Cauning, with a prayer for of a pageant. They lived for and pardon on its lips. All these women among distinguished men ; they heard are

poco polvere' che nulla of great questions and of world-wide sente ; past fashion, past the midinterests ; but one of them found love ght show, past pain, and past the " in the huts where the poor men lie,”! | leagues which once lay between the and another preserved to extreme old artist and her ideal. To some their age the love of a gifted son who always memories remain, like sweet leaves in greeted her birthday with a poem. The a precious volume stored, and now to world smiled on them when they were those who never knew them their lives born, and it must be remembered that and letters are given. their circumstances were such as to The charm of their correspondence develop the strongest elements of indi- cannot fail to make itself felt. It is as vidual character, so that they managed if history, reflected in the mirrors of to stand out in relief from society. If their boudoirs, wore another face ; but

i they suffered, it was from those name- if any one imagines that these deliless pangs, from that “

vague disease

cately nurtured women wrote of battlewhich outsiders consider to be either fields and civil strife with rosewater, an affectation or a mania bred of idle- he is vastly mistaken. The fascination ness. They had to bear the pangs of of their papers lies in this, that while solitude in a crowd, the bitterness reading pages that would not have disof self-deception, and the shrivelling graced a statesman's pen, we still, of the heart in that refrigerating cham- through all the changes and chances of ber which is commonly spoken of as empire, hear the beating of a woman's

a fashionable life.” They were ex- heart, and can learn something of the posed now and again to a great deal of happiness that these heroines, like the fierce white light which beats on many humbler women, had to win for any position of social success, and in themselves through self-conquest, 'reswhich all the errors, littlenesses, and ignation, and diligence. susceptibilities of women show up only The papers have been judiciously too plainly, but they had very real dan- edited. In a few tender lines' Lady gers, and still more real sorrows to Rose Weigall says all that is needful. confront. They had often to find and Mr. Hare's task has been a heavier to make their own occupations and one, and if his volumes contain a few palliatives ; while in the case of Lady blunders and misprints it would be inWaterford, her genius, extraordinary as vidious to draw attention to them, that was, found itself handicapped all since they can be easily and advanthrough life by the want of the training tageously removed in another edition. 1 which the commonest art student can He has worked up with great skill the Dow obtain in the government schools overwhelming mass of family papers of design, to say nothing cf the studios entrusted to him. The letters, jourof the best French teachers.

nals, and confessions of three generaLady Burghershi and Lady Canning tions were enough to be wilder an were shown to the world by their mar- editor. Yet happy is the man who has riages. Called to posts of responsi- his box full of them, for readers in bility and of ger, they proved of these latter days thirst ore and niore what qualities they were all compact. We shall see Lady Burghersh facing John, third Earl of Bute, never was what Mr.

1 For example, Lady Anne Stuart, daughter of warfare and privations with a girlish Hare calls her, a "charming duchess of Northumbuoyancy through which pierce the berland,” since her misconduct with Mr. Bird iron courage and the stout will of the volume would gain were its proofs read by some

caused Lord Percy to divorce her. The second Wellesleys; while above all the hor-'one conversant with Indian life.

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for what is true in humanity, and for never rack his brain to invent strange what is true to human nature. With-events and unnatural characters. It is out such truth a biography runs the enough if he tells the tale, if he tells the risk of being an unnatural production. story of any person's life faithfully, and Too many memoirs are but controversy

can render that as living as possible. in masquerade ;

are twaddle, The novelist, of course, is able to are vague delineation, few, if turn many a corner adroitly where the any, are fair. If the biographer trusts biographer: would find his task more to his fancy, his vanity, or even his difficult, and the novelist does not skill, his work is apt to turn out like really deal with flesh and blood. The the portrait with which an amateur biographer, for his greater honor and photographer astonishes a sitter ; the his greater perplexity, stands between whole thing being out of focus, the the living and the dead. The veil is in proportions have grown ludicrously his hand, and he must decide how far wrong, and the likeness has been lost. he is justified in lifting it; he may Then, if he trusts to memory only, his have all the right to roll away the stone work will be like Memory's figure in that hides a grave, but how often will one of Lady Waterford's beautiful and he pause before he troubles that august suggestive sketches. He has to stand sleep. Assuredly if women are to be. before a canvas he can never fill. In placed at the bar of history, it is best vain he tries to catch “the fleeting to let them pose and drape themselves, shadows of delight.”. He puts up his No one would choose to tell half truths, hand to shade from his eyes the light yet who would like to tell the whole ? of “ days too fair, too bright to last;" Who would not hesitate to say to pasthe wists collect, and “tears the fading sion, heedlessness, or vanity, " This is visions close." To work from genu- all old history now; but, none the ine, from origiual human documents less, those false steps were of your is the only true plan. Mr. Hare has prompting, you inflicted that wound, had taste and modesty enough to keep and thence those tears."

Mr. Augusbimself mainly within these lines. tus Hare has, in every respect, acquitHis production may not be called very ted himself well. He has not printed striking ; iu fact, readers may be found that which he ought not to have ready to complain that his lengthy vol- printed; he allows his dramatis per: umes are more sad than entertaining: sonce to speak for themselves, and we But the accurate rendering of several only like him the better when, between acts out of the passion play of human the lines, he leaves us to discern infilife must perforce be sad. If there nite passion, and 'the pain of finite are great and beautiful presences in hearts-Hat yearı)." life there is also a constant strain ; the That these fascinating women conmoments of unreflecting gaiety are few, quered their fellow-men is easily unand so difficult to portray that it often derstood, seeing that they had all the seems as if the mystery of joy must weapons needed for such' victories: elude us, while the mystery of pain is Let any man try to imagine what must always with us.

have been the charm of Priscilla BurMr. Hare can boast that he has been ghersh, at twenty years of age. The respectfully faithful to the trust im- lovely Irish girl was newly married :3 posed in him. It is always the life she was lively and accomplished, and itself that is the precious and the poig- full of energy. She had a will of iron; nant thing. George Sand used to ex- the initiative of a fiell marshal, and to press her contempt for invented and all the Wellesley grit she added somestartling situations, even in a novel. thing of the cold indifference to suffer?

There is disorder enough even in the ing which is part of the Irish characie: natural course of things, to say nothing of But for this last characteristic she occasional cataclysms and tempests and of could hardly have endured so quietly the great unexpected; so an author need the many terrible sights and sounds of

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