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and passion, "The last glimpse of ner, himself came to die, in February, Erin!" The spell wrought at once: he 1876. I attended, on one bleak mornwas enchanted! He listened without a ing, to see him to his last home. I word of interruption till the close. cannot recall very distinctly who was Some other things were tried, but he there on that chilly morning. In J. broke out, "Ach! play Coulin again!" F.'s stately drawing-room, where he and after an interval was heard yet had received many an important peronce again to order, “Play Coulin sonage before "going down to dinner," again!" For long after in our family there was now a meagre half-dozen, of that became a pleasant catchword: Play whom two were business folk. Here, Coulin again!" calling up at once that in- however, was a mournful-looking, semiteresting night, and the ever pleasant monastic figure, James Antony Froude, and original sage himself. It proved little recking at the moment what to me it was an old friend and favorite storms, and troubles, and miseries of his, which he could "growl” now even, were awaiting him a few years and then in his own fashion.

hence, on the score of Thomas of This little incident appears to me to Chelsea and his dame. There were offer a pleasant and dramatic scene. also the Lyttons, who were “legatees" There was the great sage, rough and under the will. rude, but trying to be gracious and When Dickens died he left to Forster encouraging-in fact, in high good in his honest, manly will, a valuable humor. Here also was the tremen- memorial, his gold watch, chain, and dous host-another habitual despot, seals, which he himself had carried so John Forster lui-même, who, when he long, heralding the bequest with the chose, could be gentle; his ever-amia- happy words: “To my trusty friend, ble, much-suffering dame. And then John Forster." Nothing could be more the three competing ladies.

appropriate, for to all his friends was Carlyle's truly pathetic and yet John Forster “trusty." When Forster highly humorous sketches of Irving died, it was found that he had be“of the tongues" seems linked to me queathed this watch and chain to his now by a family tradition. My good also “trusty' friend, Thomas Carlyle. mother used to describe a scene on So thus had the little monitor been some Scottish steamer when she and carried by no less than three distinher husband were touring it on the guished men of letters. It might have Lakes. The Prophet was the cyno- been worthily preserved, duly shown sure of all, and she would tell how my and cherished for such memories. But father, a politician and M. P., brought this was not to be. Carlyle, it seems, her to him, when he solemnly blessed had handed it over to his niece, she hér, I think, or went through some tells us, to do what she willed with it. rite. Other ladies were proud to be In February, 1876, the very month and saluted by him, in addition. His style, year in which the good Forster died, after her account, was certainly cap- Mrs. Mary Carlyle Aitken tells us, tivating enough. I think I may have “My uncle gave me the watch, &c., told him this.

which had belonged to Charles DickAt last it came about that the faith

I gave away the watch, the ful, ever-useful Forster, who had seals, and the chain in my uncle's lifebusied himself all his life with other time, without asking his permission." folks' business, who had arranged for Had his permission been asked, would their marriages, birth's, deaths, fu- he have shown this indifference or the nerals, &c., in the most efficient man. contrary? An interesting speculation.


But a solution is readily found, and it even does credit to the sage's dellcately sensitive heart. He had his own watch, a faithful companion, which he had carried for innumerable years, which he cherished affectionately, as though it had been one of his own loved kindred at Scotsbrig. It was doing its duty still, and would until 'his end. Why should be admit a rival? This

The Contemporary Review.

he had no notion of leaving locked up in drawer unwound, doing no duty in living a sham life. So he gave it away. Here is a typical illustration of the way in which trivial things were turned and twisted to Carlyle's prejudice. Had it come under Froude's ken, he would have taken a jaundiced view of the matter.

Percy FitzGerald.


BY BIR J. H. YOXALL, M.P. When I consider the behavior of thought it man who had been civilized Audacia Faithorne I the more admire by woman. Mrs. Mary Home. I am married,” But perceive Audacia running away Mrs. Home informed Mr. Spectator by from the fire, with difficulty, because letter, "and have no concern but to of her foolish hobble-skirt and her please the man I love. He is the end prison of long, strait corset; observe of every care I have. He is almost her deliberately doing an act of crime, the end of my devotions.

Half my

and then shirking the penalty in a prayers are for his happiness. I love most unsportsmanlike way. She had tato talk of him, and never hear him ken out no policy on the Heath Pavilion, named but with pleasure and emotion." she would draw no insurance money; After two centuries there still are which shows her lack of what is called foolish, happy wives like that; for in- the business instinct, as well as somestance, Marian, spouse to my neighbor thing else. “Revolt" she calls her Coelebs, at The Laurels.

behavior; all Vallambrosa Gardens, N. Audacia Faithorne would snort at W., calls it revolting; Miss Virginia that letter, and in a most disconcerting and her sister Josepha at The Nest way. Audacia is Faithorne's daugh- cannot find adequate words in which ter: it was she who committed arson to express their opinion of "such unupon the Heath; Faithorne is glad, ladylike behavior, my dear!" It now, or so he tells me, that his wife seems that the policeman caught Auher mother is dead. We cannot com- dacia fire-raising at three-fifteen in plain of not being warned of the the morning-a pretty time for a girl coming of the Audacias, however; to be out of her bed, on the Heath, in twenty years back a woman writing the dark! under the name of a man told us that Faithorne says he can't control her, men “have overlooked the eternal wild- and doesn't know any man who could. ness, the untamed primitive savage The constable says that he caught temperament, that lurk in the mildest, Audacia hothanded; but she tergivbest women,” and more than fifty ersated in a way no blessed martyr years ago Sir Austen Feverel is re. would ever have condescended to do. ported to have said that “woman will “What are you doing here?" X. 91 be the last thing civilized by man." inquired; "I've come to see the fire,” I confess that until lately I had she answered. Then she laughed; the



Audacias always laugh. “I said, 'You ently will be able to keep the girl in will have to come to the police-station bounds. She still goes to church, howwith me'; and she replied 'All right.... ever; perhaps women will always do Don't touch me!' The Audacias are that. always chary "the chaste Hours come in every woman's life beams of the watery moon"; this girl when she feels she must passionately could fire a Pavilion, but scorns to worship, must feel the comforting prosallume a man. It appears that she

tration of prayer.

The golden myshad with her a saw, a hammer, a bun- teries of the Romish altars will claim dle of tow which smelled of paraffin, woman's knees the longest, I dare say and three pieces of paper smeared —the trembling candle-flames, the with tar, all contained in a dressing- swinging fumes, and the mystic celibag which smelled strongly of pitch. bacy of the ministrants. These affect These things she thinks she may the bodily emotions which she othertouch and be touched by, without be- wise holds in check. ing defiled.

But if ever the courageous and copiAudacia hunger-struck, toodid

ously expressive She whom Mr. Wells, ever the holy martyrs kick away their Mr. Zangwill, and others of our moralpyres? Audacia scratched the police- ist writers delight to encourage slips man's hands, Audacia insulted and the anchor of religious faith, truly I assaulted the magistrate. She picked do not know what else shall hold her, up a local directory,—all directories what shore she will drive to, or what are heavy, it is the hyphenated and

mooring find. For she will swear by no fanciful names which swell them out- mere man, as Marian does and Mrs. and she flung it at the Magistrate's Mary Home did; she will lift no Psyche aged white head. He resembles lamp to gaze with fond admiration upon Father Christmas, and is obviously the partner of her sleep. If she marries, close on eighty years old, but no mat- she will make as glad-eyed a widow as ter. He might have been Audacia's

any;-nay, not such as the widow of great-grandfather mourning over her, Ephesus did, it is true, but a merry he was so courteous and kind and sad, relict all the same, or so it seems, at but no matter. She flung the compact, present, to a sad eye. heavy book at his head, without a mo- The good old Vicar says he pities inent of warning. No matter. It goes the coming corporation of men. He without saying that she missed him; laments the mutiny of the monstrous when Audacia went window-breaking regiment of

women. "Why all down Piccadilly she did not hit don't they marry?” he naively de two plate-glass panes in ten. The mands. He reads in an old book most dangerous place when Audacia called "Heaven our Home," and looks is throwing things is short leg, so to forward to family reunion in the sky. speak—a little to the rear of her left

If home is not any longer to be the elbow. The policeman

earthly heaven, he asks, how can have held her by the elbow only, Heaven our Home continue to be realbut she called him "a filthy-minded ized? If, as jewellers fear, a perma. brute."

nent slump in the wedding-ring trade Audacia a parishioner of his is impending, and such a drop in the makes the old Vicar of St. Swithin's birth-rate as shall make the Registrarfeel very uncomfortable; I doubt if

General gasp, there may soon be no even the ascetic person in cassock and home our heaven nor Heaven our biretta who will get the living pres- Home to look forward to, either at





twenty-six on earth, or at six-and- duces joint love or liking, or lukewarm seventy in the sky.

esteem. But who is Audacia's afinity, Faithorne argued with his daughter poor man? till he developed tonsilitis: Faithorne The mutual election of two souls is reasons loudly. “You must leave me generative a thing which Audacia to find my own soul," she answered, ows she will never be. There is a "in my own way. You don't suppose touching of perispheres, an union of it is the vote itself I'm so keen on? perispirits, and their child is love or The vote only stands for the soul of loving friendship: when it happened my poor sex.” She often mentions to young men and young women in her soul in a non-theological way. the Vicar's day it was called first love Observe that it is a new kind of soul —that sweet certainty of an intimate, she is seeking after, not the old-fash- ineffable link. In my young day souls ioned, separable, spiritual thing that were still thought to be separate used to flee to Heaven its home.


entities; but if souls be separable, her father says, what is the soul, after have they sex, and which is Audacia's ? all? One's soul is the sum and totality It was the look and smile of Marian of one's being, surely? Is it not the told Coelebs what she was his comaccumulation of all the habits and re- plement in petticoats, his born commembrances of one's life?

Are we rade of other shape; at sight he knew not each of us building up our souls, her as sympathetic with his dormant as Jerry Balbus did The Laurels? Up

domestic qualities, she would make a to the point the building has developed pleasant, giggling, devoted little wife can't you see the soul? Did not Da and housewife, he felt sure of that on Vinci, Cooper, and La Tour depict the sight. Dutifully she would accept his soul?—the smile of it on the lip, and prejudices and habitudes, be married the gaze of it in the eye?

at St. Swithin's and consent to go To look at Audacia you would never there with him on Sundays, although think it was she who wrote to the

she was born a daughter of the NonPrime Minister threatening to kidnap

conformist camp.

But Audacia ?- sbe and do bim slowly to death with red- is the total nonconformist, amazing hot hairpins. If the face, form, and girl. mien reveal the soul, I really cannot When Audacia says she must find understand Audacia writing that let- her own soul she means that she must ter, or even throwing that book, for discover herself to herself and to no she is quite a charming, graceful girl man. Marian never had a self worth to look at. One's soul is one's self- mentioning, Audacia thinks; Marian is one's whole, interfused, comprehensive parasitic, it seems—Audacia decides to being, poor Faithorne used to say, be- be self-sufficingly a woman, she will fore this trouble came upon him— live in no unholy matrimony. She study the face and the form, the mien means to be une femme forte, though and the mind, if you wish to know the the true femmes fortes are those whom soul. But what about this girl's? home our heaven makes happy, AuLong ago Newton and Kepler laid dacia. She vows herself to a barren down the law of the attraction of severity, as nuns do; they do it in the bodies, but that is a gravitation which name and for the love of God, but she Audacia resists. By mutual studying in the name and for the glory of of visible souls the gravitation of woman. She may break her vow-I friendship or affection is born; the do not know, and I am sure she does reciprocal cognizance of two souls in- not know, quite what she is straining



after, out of the villa gate, along a Audacialike-because of their new avenue, totally out of bounds. failures in civilizing their late busThe freedom of the garçonnière, can bands, I suppose. No, it is not the it be? The liberty of the passe-partout? garçonnière and the passe-partout they Nay, not that; but she runs risks of rave and fumble after; it is the lonely, that. It is a far cry from the harem cold dignity of the epicene. to the forum, Audacia-it is a whole I will think no evil of women, howcontinent from the suttee to the Di- ever, be they Mary Homes or be they vorce Court, my girl; a dangerous, dis- Audacias. Grant exceptions a place tant flight for wings untried.

and phases a period, women are still No, it is not the garçonnière and the and always will be what Ledyard passe-partout the Audacias are making

found them to be in various climes for. “Don't touch me!" they cry in- more than a century ago. Listen, Austinctively—there are to be no more

dacia-listen to the high mark of your "little white geese" perhaps (as M. calling: "Among all nations they are Brieux says), but the speckled ones the same, civil, kind, obliging, humane, will be no more numerous than they tender beings." Shall they not all be have been. As for night in home so again? our heaven, woman can better live “Timorous and modest," the panewithout man than man can without gyric went on, “more liable to err woman; not there lies the source of than men"-certainly when aiming the feline acerbities the Audacias show missiles—“but also more virtuous, and lis, like sudden unsheathed claws. performing more good actions. I never Audacia's cheeky young lip would curl addressed myself in the language of if she read of

decency and friendship to a woman,

whether civilized or savage, without "The woman in me orying for the man,

receiving a decent and friendly answer. The mother in me crying for the child";

With men it has often been otherwise." but she will break down and cry be Rave, plot, and throw directories a fore long. “You say you love me!" while, Audacia, if you must. You will some Audacias answer at present. revert to type, as we all have to do,"Love me in another way, then. Or you will fail and break down, you will do not love me at all.” Many widows weep and lament and love.

The Cornhill Magazine.



It had rained overnight, and the high hang in a diffused, tempered sunshine, winter sky was mackerel-barred with in a golden mean between the gloom ladders of dove-colored cloud mounting of an overcast day and the brilliancy of with exquisite regularity of structure cloudless weather. To draw breath from the horizon to the zenith. There a luxury; to ride at a walk, was no flaw in their continuity nor the sniffing the pure odors of the Central slightest motion apparent in their Indian forest, the very summit of ranks. Below them the hollow dome wellbeing. A long spell of duty in a of the firmament enclosed a vault-like wheat district had whetted my appesilence, an immense, Olympian calm. tite for this. Wheat and linseed, linPearl of the World, my mare, cast no seed and wheat, with never a wild shadow, and yet the earth seemed to tree in view for miles, these had been

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