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ill, and I fear that the exertion will make her my summons in person. As she recognizes moment later, and I move away, answering worse."

me, in the dim light of the little side-hall, her with light and smiling words. Just as I “Then it is not your special wish to leave face takes a paler look than it already wore. reach my own room again, I hear her door the mountains, Mr. Stoddard ?"

I fix my eyes steadily on that face, and closed. “Oh, no. It is entirely Agatha's wish. I begin speaking in low tones.

And just then, also, I find myself face to suppose you know, by this time, that she “Mrs. Small has lost a valuable fan. In face with Agatha Stoddard. She is standing rules me like a thorough young despot, in passing my room she said some unpleasant at a short distance from my door. The dim that quiet way of hers. 12"

worus, full of suspicion. Is she right ? " lamp-light makes her countenance very indis“Papa!”

She lifts one hand, pressed together in a tinct. This interruption, clear, sharp, almost white knot, and rests it directly over her “I heard you," she whispers, her words commanding, startles us both. We both heart. Her lips tremble once or twice, hav- as slow as they are low. “It was most gen. turn. Agatha stands at the head of the ing grown of a pallor that well matches her erous of you; and, if you value them, you stairs, whence, here at the doorway, she can cheeks.

have my best thanks." see and be seen equally well.

“What do you want to know ?" she “I do value them." “Yes, my daughter," Mr. Stoddard makes just manages, in a choked, effortful way. “Can we speak together !--somewhere ready answer.

“Nothing that you do not choose to tell else, I mean. Will you go down and wait for “I must ask you to come up here, papa, me. Give it me, if you have it—that is all. me on the piazza ? I will join you there in a please. I can't quite get along in my pack. I will return it to her, and say—something moment." ing without you."

-never mind what. I shall clear you in her “ Agreed," I answer; and at once go He looks at me with the soft, amiable eyes ; she must believe me.”

down-stairs, she passing toward ber own smile that so often breaks sunnily from under A silence. Her eyes meet mine, and there his iron-gray mustache, and goes up-stairs is something in her look which makes this The piazza is vacant to-night, also. The while replying: “Then I am quite at your conviction pass thrillingly through me: dew lies thick and silvery on steps and railservice, Agatha."

“They have lied about her ; she is inno-ing, and the air, windlessly tranquil, has alI walk out into the growing dusk. It is cent!”

most a sting in its moonlit coldness. no hyperbole to say that I am suffering men- Immediately afterward she turns away. I She joins me, after I have waited about tal torments, now. Reflection is misery to have not waited three minutes when she three minutes, dressed as if for a walk. me. Thought of the future brings only a again appears in the space of the partially- “ Not here,” she whispers. “Let us stroll dreary disgust. The exquisite dewy blue of open door, holding the fan. I take it, while out into the garden.” the twilight presently makes long to es- I shiver under the pang of a terrible disap- I assent with only a movement of my cape from it. Perhaps my reason for sud- | pointment; and as she is turning away once head, and we go down the steps slowly todenly going up-stairs into my own rooin, and more I catch her hand,

gether. We are about twenty yards from the lighting the lamp and opening a book, is half “In God's name," I burst fortb, house when she again speaks, calmly, but because I am nearer to her while thus situ- nothing be done for you?”

with the calmness of braced perves and stim. ated; though her room is in a side-hall, at Her whole face seems to harden ; her | ulated will. some little distance away from the one off hand draws itself from mine; and in a meas. “You are a man of cultured mind, of which mine opens.

ured, frigid way that would sound utterly broad intelligence. You have read and studThree-quarters of an hour bave probably hopeless did it not sound so utterly without lied more than most people: you are a think. passed, when I rise and throw aside my book; all feeling, she answers :

er, unbigoted, catholic, unhampered by false I have not read a word of it understand. “Nothing."

prejudice." ingly.

And here she closes her door, quietly but There is a pause; but I feel that my time Just then I become aware of some rather quickly.

for speaking has not come. loud and excited talking outside my door. It I wait until I am calm enough for the “Your attention may perhaps have been is a lady's voice, and one which I am prompt performance of my self-set task, and then I called, Mr. Embury, toward some of those to recognize.

pass onward to the door of the room which I unfortunate insanities which now and then “ Why, Aurelia, I left it on the mantel in know Mrs. Mackenzie Small occupies. afflict human beings. I do not mean insanity the parlor about an hour before tea. It's The smart little widow opens it herself, in its more usual shapes; I mean those dread. that small jet fan, you know, with the heavy a few seconds after I have knocked. She ful caprices of it which make the ordinary carvings — you've often admired it. Why stares at me in astonishment while I extend curse seem almost a blessing." shouldn't I suspect her, after what has hap- her fan.

“I understand you perfectly." (And ah! pened ? Nobody else would dare touch it. “Pray let me return this," I begin. “I how I long to pour out my vast pity" in I tell you—"

took it by mistake from the parlor-mantel, words that shall leave her no doubt of its And then the voice becomes indistinct, as thinking it belonged to Miss Stoddard, who deep existence !) the speaker and her evident companion pass had mislaid hers.”

After a longer pause than the preceding, on to the farther end of the hall. A little Mrs. Mackenzie Small receives the fan and she goes on : later I hear a door close. The hall is now looks bewilderedly from it to me.

“I am compelled to give you this explaquite quiet again.

"Why, yes, Mr. Embury,” she stammers; nation to-night. I should never have given I think that both my hands are clinched “it is mine-sure enough-I thought—" it of my own accord.” tightly as I stand near my door for a brief “You thought, no doubt, that you'd lost Who compels you ? " space, after hearing those words. My face it forever," I break in, with a laugh. “Well, My father.” buros hotly, too, with shame-shame for the you are agreeably disappointed, perhaps ? In “Your father?" woman whom a few hours have shown me the most absent-minded way I put it in my

“ Yes. He was in my room when you that I love with a strong, unconquerable pas- pocket, after having brought it to Miss Stod. knocked at the door. He heard what passed sion. A little later my mind is made up. dard and ascertained that it was not her prop- between us. He insisted that I should tell She shall be spared, this time, if it is in my erty; she had sent me to look for bers, you you the whole truth." power to spare her. They go to-morrow. know, which she thought she had left some- It is impossible for me to convey an idea She shall be spared. where in the parlor."

of how, just at the end of this last sentence, Her room, as I have before said, is in a I speak with so much careless off-handed- her composure wholly forsakes her-how her side-hall, communicating with the one out- ness of tone and manner that there is slight voice grows one succession of stifled sobsside. Her father's room is, however, on the doubt of my words carrying full conviction, how her eyes, shining with a rieh fire in the next story above. I open my door, and with although I can detect a certain prim change suave moonlight, rivet upon my face their out another moment of hesitation I pass di- of countenance in my hearer the last time brilliant fixity. rectly on to hers. that Miss Stoddard's name is mentioned.

“Some one told you about that brooch," It is closed. I knock. She responds to Mrs. Small thanks me quite blandly, a she speeds on, the words rusbing from her

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lips in a pell-mell of eager utterance. "I and pity you can for—for poor papa ; and, if I Professor Owen, appropriately — not exsuppose it was Miss Bostwick, although she possible, make them keep it a secret between actly gnawing the bone of a megatherium, promised me that she would tell no one. themselves, and make them, when they see but examining it—was pointed out as one of Papa took it; and I discovered that he had him again"

the curiosities. Many of the learned men done so. I meant, at the earliest opportuni. The tears will not let her finish; but her connected with the institution passed before ty, to replace it, but because Miss Bostwick hand, falling upon my arm, tenderly presses our vision, as did the illuminated manulocked her door afterward I almost de. it.

scripts (the best collection in the world) and spaired of doing this. Then it was taken “I understand," is my low answer, as my the letters of distinguished men, and the Elfrom my drawer-doubtless by the girl, Mar. lips touch her forehead. “I understand, and gin marbles and the Museum of Natural His. garet, who bad seen it and suspected me. I promise!"

tory-all, all merely arousing that vain reMiss Bostwick met me in the hall the night

EDGAR FAWCETT.

gret of all travelers that human faculties are of its disappearance"

so limited that eye cannot see, nor ear hear, “I know, I know! You need tell me no CERTAIN LONDON SIGHTS.

half that the mind would gladly grasp did it more of that ! Thank God!”

possess supernatural powers of endurance. I have turned and caught both her hands

Sir John also kindly took us to the Zoö. in both of mine as those two final words are

IT

T was my good fortune, when in London | logical Gardens of a Sunday afternoon, where spoken. Each hand is trembling within my several years ago, to form the acquaint- we saw much fashion, much people, many close clasp, but she makes no attempt to free ance of Sir John Bowring. This learned and animals. The huge hippopotami, Frank them.

agreeable man, wbo had been known so Buckland's pets, were disporting themselves “And you have acted this way to shield widely as an Asiatic traveler and scholar, in their basin, for the dukes and duchesses your father! And I—I have dared to be- had been living in England many years, en

and common clay to laugh at. Nature had lieve so differently! How can I ever dream joying the cultured leisure which he had so abandoned herself to her love of the groof getting your pardon ? "

well earned. His home was in the country, tesque when she made these animals. Then "I give it without the asking," she mur. but he came to London for the “season," as we went to the monkeys, Nature's effectual murs, while bright tears besiege her beauti- is the custom of the English gentry, who re- attempts at caricature and parody. Then to ful uplifted eyes. “I saw how you admired, gard the city merely as a temporary abode, see the giraffes. I said : almost loved him, and this made me strong, not the place for gentlemen to live in.

“ What a useless animal, with its long you know. It is an insanity with him—an Sir John Bowring was my learned “ cice- neck!" awful insanity, that lies like a black blot on rone" to many of the sights of London.

** Ah,” said Sir John, "you must not say bis pure, honorable life! Very few people It is in June, when England, rural Eng. that. What do you suppose the giraffe thinks know about it. When it first developed it. | land, is at its loveliest, when the roses and of us! Remember the lines : self, several years ago, he voluntarily went rhododendrons and every flowering shrub

• " What is this animal, and what's its use ? to a private asylum and has remained there, and tree are in fullest flower, when the hedge

" Man's made for mine," returned the pampered under strict medical care, ever since. The rows are the sweetest, when the pheasant

goose.'" physicians thought him cured, and indeed stalks lazily like a moving gem through the recommended this change. I would have tall grass, that the English people forsake And so, with many an apt quotation and left at once, when the first symptoms of the their country-places and come to London, witty speech, he led us round, and showed us old trouble was manifested to me, but for that great and motley thing called London, the pleasant spot where Londoners meet of a fear of rousing more suspicion by so very which is not a city, but a nation. “It is to Sunday afternoon. sudden a departure. Miss Bostwick met me the politician merely a seat of government, But the most amusing and unique of our in the hall this morning, as you know, and to the grazier merely a cattle-market, to the explorations was to two London clubs. These insisted on our leaving to-morrow.

When merchant a huge exchange, to the dramatic haunts of masculine appropriation and reyou knocked at my door to-night I-I had enthusiast a congeries of theatres, to the man tirement are supposed to be sacred and inapjust discovered about the fan—"

of pleasure an assemblage of taverns. The proachable to the foot of woman, and yet Her shaken voice falters into silence. intellectual man is struck with London as they are not. Once a week a gentleman may The tears are streaming down her pale comprehending the whole of human life in all bring lady friends to see their lofty, splendid cheeks - I lift her hands, hardly knowing its variety, the contemplation of which is in- rooms, their rare pictures, their beautiful what I do, and cover them with many kisses exhaustible." Such was the summing up of libraries, and well-appointed kitchens. -and then, as she draws away, I follow her, London by one who knew it well. In fact, The Athenæum was the first we visited. speaking passionate, headlong words, that London is all you know, and a great deal | It is most beautifully arranged. Its large winwould sound like exaggeration-like fatuity more--a lifetime would not exbaust it, nor dows looked out on broad street, ornamentperhaps — if I wrote them down now — but need any man's taste go a-begging. There ed (if that is a proper word) by statues of they are words that imperiously demand their is ample food for every one's spirit of in- royal dukes and a monument commemorating answer, and that receive it, not much later. quiry.

English victories. The library, a most quiet, And it is an answer which makes me su- Finding that, as Americans, we had an in- | opulent, learned, and Russia-leather-feeling premely happy!

domitable curiosity, and wanted to see every apartment, had in it, as we entered, two English The moon is very low over the mountain thing that was improving and agreeable that bishops, to both of whom Sir John introduced before we reënter the house, and has changed we could compass in six weeks, Sir John kind. They were quiet, unpretending gentlefrom silver to mellowest gold, bringing to my ly gave us of his time, which was undoubt. men, these lords spiritual, and both greeted then mood the sweet suggestion of a hopeedly very valuable, two or three days. We us with most unhesitating and flattering corthat has ripened into rich golden reality! went first to the British Museum, which is | diality. In fact, we found the word " Amer

“One thing I must exact of you," I mur. itself an encyclopædia of useful and enter- ican " a good letter. Hearing that we were mur, a little while before we pass in-doors : taining knowledge. The inexhaustible purse going to Oxford, one of the reverend gentle"to let me tell Miss Bostwick and her friend of this great place enables it to buy every men turned to his desk and wrote us a letter the whole truth."

thing it wants; the admirable management, of introduction which afterward unlocked for She smiles very faintly, and I see that her the gravitation toward it of all the learning, us the treasures of the Bodleian Library. eges, dim in the failing moonlight, are filled wit, and research of the great English na- The other asked us to his country-house for with soft regret.

tion, make it a répertoire of the most endless a visit. I mention these facts because I of. “Well, as you please. It is only just to value. Sir John's knowledge enabled us to ten hear that English people are inhospitable, Fou nowo, perhaps, that they should know. skip judiciously, and to see superficially the cold, and forbidding. I found them exactly But oh " (and never voice took lovelier | best things; for, had we attempted to see all, the contrary—in fact, willing to take more pleading into its tones than hers takes at we should have been there now vainly strug- trouble than we are as a rule. this moment), “ promise me that you will try gling with all that the world has of human From the learned, grave Athenæum, we and rouse in both of them all the sympathy | acquisition.

went to the Reform Club, where we met

us.

owners.

Dr. Charles Mackay, the poet. He showed about prery thing else. He did not care The best ones stay at home. The breadth, us the portrait of the Duke of Sussex, who much about it either. We had evidently not beauty, and variety of these pictures, their had been always identified with reforms, and come out of chaos for Sir John Bowring. He great merit, must be seen to be appreci. told us a good story of Haydon's portrait, I loved the old civilizations: China was his ated. Then, having tasted freshness in these or picture, of “Satan,” which had been a dream and belief; yet so conscientiously los pictures, we would drive out to Sydenham sort of white elephant in the hands of its pitable is an Englishman, so absolutely the Crystal Palace to a rose-show, and see Eng-

Some one finally suggested, as an slave of a letter of introduction, that he land's flowers in a thousand varieties. There appropriate place for it, that it should be treated us with all the tenderness and polite is no doubt England's rose must be seen on sent to the Reform Club. “For," said Lord ness with which he could ave treated a dis- English soil to be appreciated. The rose in Houghton, “Satan was the first great agitator | ciple of Confucius. I have spoken of the England is a much handsomer flower than and reformer!”

word “ American as a letter of introduc- bere. That moist and soft climate brings all This club building, though less elegant tion; so it was, but not to Sir John Bow. things to perfection, and the rose-show at Sythan the Athenæum, struck me as being more ring; we needed with him what we were for- denham in June, where every cultivator in the cheerfül. It is more accessible-strangers tunate enough to possess, a letter from a man kingdom brings his best and most perfect are admitted on shorter probation—it is up whom he much respected and admired-Dr. flower, is a thing to live for. They arrange to its name. A few gentlemen were break- į· Bellows, of New York. Sir John Bowring the charming things in moss baskets, on a fasting in the eating-rooms, with the inevi- died, I think, in 1874, and the world lost in long, narrow table, and the people in two table Times newspaper before them, and him a profound scholar, a keen observer, and processions walk on either side these tables looked askance at the intruder who thus a very agreeable old man.

for nearly a quarter of a inile. In fact, going ruthlessly had crossed their dead-line. I We of course made a pilgrimage early to and coming, I thought we had nearly & mile afterward went with a gentleman of the mili. “Temple Bar,” the centre of historical Lon- of the best roses in the world. tary profession to see the “United Service don, lately revived for us in the beautiful Westminster Abbey would claim us for Club,” and here the glory was the kitchen, spectacular play of “Henry V.” To think that days, and never weary us. After morning serand the chef, who with velvet cap on head, in 1772, a little more than a hundred years vice we would drive out of London, perhaps and gold chain on neck, received me with the ago, a rebel's head figured on this gate! We to Kew Gardens to see the people—the humdignity of a sovereign. He showed us his could not help recalling Dr. Johnson, as he bler people enjoy the day in these public batterie de cuisine; his solid silver sauce. and Goldsmith chatted at the gate of Temple pleasure-grounds. The conservatories at Kew pans; his rows of cooking - utensils, all Bar, as Addison, Steele, and Congreve, may are the finest in England. Here are the pineshining with cleanliness. The gentleman have done. We saw in spirit the lofty pageants ries, palmeries, orchid-houses, where one can with me, long connected with the New York that have passed under that smoky dome. find the beautiful curiosities of the air-plant clubs, inquired with some interest into de- Queen Elizabeth, in gay attire, drove through -parasite family to perfection. There we tails which were of course beyond my ken, to St. Paul's to thank God for the destruction saw the white dove of the Isthmus of Panaas to supplies purchased and dinners cooked of the Armada; Richard II. shook his golden ma, tbe “St.-Esprit” poising its wings over which were never eaten, etc., to all of which bells from his bright raiment here ; Cromwell a dry branch ; Nature—again a plagiarist, the chef gave affable and learned answers. I here laid sacrilegious hands on the keys.of imitating herself. Canary-birds in flowers, asked him if he gave every dish his personal | London, which were none of his. Brilliant white rabbits peeping out of purple liliessuperintendence. “Not the plain things,” living Henry V. and poor dead Heory V. alike the orchid-flower is always an animal in dissaid he, “but the soups and entrées always; went under the old storied gate-way. In fact, guise. Sitting in the shady grounds of Kew, they must be, as you are well aware, my dear History, Literature, Romance, three knightly I talked to my next neighbor, a poor woman madam, works of genius !

companions, bear us company as we drive in of London; one of the thousands who came He seemed to me to be a man who would our cab through Temple Bar, and we look out to enjoy the Sabbath rest and coolness. kill himself if the turbot did not arrive in lingeringly back on their splendid pageantry. She told me of their humble preparations, time. An enthusiast in his noble art, would The one scarcely less regal than the other, their bringing their own tea and sugar, and there were more of them! He evidently had for who shall say which is greatest-he who their stopping at a farm-house to make the his Mordecai at the gate, his “ rival beauty" lives and fights, he who lives and dreams, or tea, where they bought a little milk and in the person of the cook at the Junior Unit- | he who lives and writes ? Which was great. bread. “ The whole day only costs us a shiled Service Club, for he referred to that func. est, Henry V. or Shakespeare? which could ling," said she. “If it cost more we could tionary with some asperity, and told the no- we give up ?

not do it." The drive home from Kew is ble officer who accompanied us that the cook At the Tower of London, where every Ameri. over the very roads which were once haunted of the Juniors boasted that be served twice

can goes to put his hand directly upon history, by highwaymen. We are not stopped, but as many dinners as he did.

strange to say, the heart-shaped ruby of the reach London in safety. We enjoyed going “Ah!” said the colonel, “they naturally Black Prince interested me more than all the to Covent Garden Market to buy flowers and have better teeth there than we do here at jewels, the armor, or the block. Our Lon- fruits. The English strawberries are imthe Seniors."

don friends were always amused at our ever- wense things, twice as large as ours, and of Our last visit with Sir John Bowring was new enthusiasm for Fleet Street, Temple Bar, the most irregular shape. They do not eat to the National Academy. Here he was sim. Ludgate Hill, and East Cheap. Old stories them as we do, with cream, but, daintily tak. ply invaluable, taking us to every importaut to them, they could scarcely understand why | ing them by the green stem, dip them carework of art, telling us its history, giving us we had come three thousand miles to look at fully in sugar, and always give two bites to a the whole story of the Hogarths, the Turners, the familiar places. They could hardly re- berry, which amply deserves the compliment. the Raphaels, and the Sir Joshuas. He alize that it was grandfather's house to us, I once picked them from the vine, in Anne paused a moment before the beautiful por- that we had come to ferret out the legends Boleyn's Garden, at Hampton Court, and trait of Mrs. Siddons, by Sir Joshua, and of childhood, the reading of a lifetime. whether it was the recollection of her lips, told us many interesting anecdotes of this Americans will feel as much bereaved as any poor thing, or whether the strawberries were daughter of genius, whom he well remem- history-loving Englishman can, when Temple particularly well flavored, I know not, but I bered. In fact, his conversation was all his. Bar is taken down, ugly old useless thing taste them still—that glorious English vatory. He had seen and known everybody, that it is.

riety called the Queen. had been mixed up in the great, interesting After a morning spent with antiquity, we Another pleasant sight of London was of world of London for more than fifty years, would vary the scene, and descending into course the “ Ladies' Mile," that row of fair and it might be said of him, as Sydney Smith the present century with some patronizing amazons in the park of a morning when the said of Wbewell, that his “foible was omnis. sense of condescension, we would go to see band plays in front of St. James's Palace, and cience."

the Water-Color Exbibition, most wonderful you hire a chair and sit down to look on as The country, and the only one, which he and most beautiful. We have no idea bere all London's best horse-flesh and all Enghad never seen, was our own. He was as ig- of the English water-colors, although many land's best beauty, aristocracy, and elegance, norant of the United States as he was learned are brought here by opulent picture-buyers. I file past you. An Englishwoman never looks

| Lered that Shakespeare haunts St. Paul's. He

so well as on horseback; we thougbú them you in a Continental city, but then comes less handsome than our young American wom- shabbiness. In England the elegance never makes Falstaff here, Bardolph there; and Ben en, but they had fine figures, and were very ceases, the pride of the nation seems to be Jonson lays the third act of “Every Man in stately. The men are superb, and the best. in its “turn-out." The English love of horses his Humor " in the middle aisle ; then did I dressed men in the world. is inextinguishable.

remember that “horrid, bloody, and mali. The Crystal Palace at Sydenham is a great

cious flame” which in 1666 destroyed St. Paul, "Shadows we are, and like shadows we depart," source of amusement. There one hears those

and made way for Wren's genius, which monster concerts of a thousand, sometimes says the old sun-dial in the Temple, which raised the dome. “I build for eternity,” five thousand, voices. There one can see the

Charles Lamb loved. Oh, that Inner Temple said Wren, and it was a courageous speech. models of the Alhambra, the famous sculpt-garden, right in the heart of smoky London ! Since 1697 the daily voice of prayer and ures, and almost, I had said, buildings of Here the Knights - Templars have sat and praise has never ceased in St. Paul. One Europe ; there the best flowers, birds, beasts, talked of Jerusalem. Here may Shakespeare hour I do remember as fittingly spent there. and curiosities of the world. There can one, have sat, and thought out that law which the In the chapel, near its historic dead, I heard after a day of music and sight-seeing, get a world now pronounces perfect. Here Sir service in St. Paul's. The boys' voicescomfortable dinner, luncheon, tea, or any Walter Raleigh sat and dreamed of glory, “those children of Paul's ”-rent the air with thing, and drive back to London comfortably and of the poor maid - of - honor whom he their delicious soprano, and fitly bore the tired, in time for a theatre, opera, and two or loved, nor thought how brief was to be bis mind upward to the grand associations and three balls. There is no doubt that London

hour of freedom and sunsbine. Here came ideas which should fill that noble dome. taken in this way is fatiguing, and requires Beaumont and Fletcher, Wycherly and Con

M. E. W. S. a robust love of pleasure, and a strong con.

greve, and imprisoned the light, the fragrance, stitution to do it, and to do it well.

and the memories, which they afterward The theatres in London are not on a par threw, with many a rainbow - tint, through

A DAY WITH DUMAS. with her other splendors. They are small, the diamond lens of genius, on the pages of dingy, ill-lighted, compared with ours, with

THE few exceptions; but the acting, especially of Johnson, under yon famous sycamore-tree, in the women, is far better. Last winter, how- which some one has called an

august mum- the little hotel occupied by Alexandre Duever, certain excellent plays were produced my.” Here comes now the stranger, to enjoy mas, on the Avenue de Villiers-one of the in New York with great care. But in Lon- the hospitality of the ages. Here come the wide and handsome streets that the seven. don, where competition is so enormous, the children, “in search of the lost Eden;" and teenth arrondissement owes to the skill of theatrical as well as all other business must here blossoms England's rose and England's Baron Haussmann. be well done, or it does not succeed.

hawthorn in beautiful luxuriance. I know no The house has quite a commonplace asThe dinners of London are very late, \ word to describe these half-garden, half-park pect. At the first glance it looks small, and never before eight o'clock; this allows of a paradises of England, except the old word one can scarcely realize that it can shelter so

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vast.

one of the sights of London to see its well- that disappointed me. Perhaps it was too house of an ordinary person. The severely dressed pairs, in a neat clarence or brougbam, It looked naked, and grim, and lonely. | simple decoration of the antechamber, the going out to dinner, each gentleman carrying “ The noblest church in its style of Christian vases filled with exotic plants, the portières of his bat in his hand for fear of disturbing his Europe, the masterpiece of Wren, the glory Gobelin tapestry, the thick carpet with its well-dressed hair. The late twilight in that and pride of London," overwhelmed me with dark, rich coloring, the old lamp of wroughthigh latitude leaves London as bright almost its memories, its grandeur, and its fame. I iron, Bonnington's great composition repreas morning at eight o'clock, and the whole could remember only the poorer and more senting the Rue Royale in 1825—all that city seems to be going out to dine with some- foolish allusions to it in modern literature. | impresses the spectator greatly. It is the body else. You almost wonder if there is a The Roman Temple, wbich was its site; the porch of a temple, not the entrance of a house of a respectable grade where the peo- legend of St. Paul preacbing there; William | dwelling. And at all events the god does not ple are staying at home and dining off their the Conqueror's Norman bishop, who inter- keep you waiting. Dumas likes to know at own shoulder-of-mutton. Should you wish to ceded with the monarch and recovered the once the name of the indiscreet person who go to the theatre or opera, you must refuse lost privileges of London citizens ; William comes to disturb him, so he conceals himself Four dinner - party, and dine humbly at six Fitzosbert denouncing Richard Cæur de Lion behind the folds of the portière. Thence he o'clock.

from St. Paul's Cross; the meetings which can see the visitor without being seen him. It was always a sight to us to see the led to Magna Charta ; Old John of Gaunt, self, and a slight sign dictates his reply to enthusiasm of the crowd when the Prince of time-honored Lancaster, threatening to drag the valet who has admitted you. Wales or any member of the royal family the bishop out of the church by his hair; In spite of the early hour, I knew that I drove through the streets in state. Loyalty Richard II., dissolute, rash, and unfortunate, would find the great author already up and is a new sight to us here in free America, 1 coming in all his pomp and splendor; even dressed. He rises earlier than any one else and it takes us out of our reckoning. The the stories of the ruthless Wars of the Roses ; in Paris. On the other hand, there are very "Guards"-splendid men, in the most brill- even beautiful Jane Shore doing penance; few wbo retire earlier. iant dress in the world—were another glit- even Wolsey coming to sing mass and cele- “I do not think that I have gone to bed tering and pompous sight. All this was to brate peace between France, England, and after ten o'clock more than twice during be had for nothing, merely a part of your Spain-even these great ghosts failed to move eighteen years," he once said to me,

" And I day, and your own participation in it was to me. I thought of them afterward. It is one of am the awakener of the whole house, I al. keep your eyes open. So with the handsome the imperfections of the mind that it refuses ways light the fires in all the rooms. I have English children playing in the parks with sometimes to be great with greatness, and never been able to find a servant who would their dogs, groups right out of Punch; so carries its own bitterness, as a peddler might save me that trouble. I have often engaged with the equipages, with their faultless turn. wear his pack, in the presence of royalty. I servants who, finding me, when they came out, the servants chosen for their good looks, could only tòink of Sydney Smith's witticism down-stairs, sitting on the floor before the clean limbs, and the coachmen necessarily about the old lady who called the vergers hearth and arranging the fagots, have comstout, the neatness of the livery, and the per- virgins, and who asked Mr. Smith if it was plimented me on my skill at that task, and fection of the horses, harness, and belongings true that he walked down St. Paul's with .who were evidently saying to themselves, 'If -all is charming.

three virgins carrying silver pokers in front it amuses him we will not disturb him!' I This intense care bestowed on the equi- of him. He shook his head.

“ Madame,”

even think of the kitchen-fires, so that, when page produces a result which is not reached

said he,

some enemy of the Church, some my cook comes down to his domain, he has anywhere on the Continent. The state-car- dissenter, has been misleading you." nothing to do but to put on the blazing fire riages of emperors and kings may ilaslı past It was after I came away that I remem- the soup that I take every morning regularly

“ The poor

before setting to work. I have tried every the desk, whereon I perceive a large sheaf of in book-form. The interest is not managed thing-tea, coffee, chocolate-but it is soup, quill-pens, the only kind that the great au- as it is in the works that are published in which is honest food when it is well made thor uses. It gives him a strange pleasure to divisions, and in which the action advances which has gained the preference. No matter hear them scream on the smooth, blue paper by leaps. I thought at first that it was pos. how strong it may be, or how much there is which he always uses. We must not forget sible, but, while I was copying my manuof it, it is easy to digest. It has, moreover, the inkstand-a prosaic block of glass. script for the fourth time" that advantage which doctors, who so rarely " It is the inkstand that belonged to the “ You copied that liuge volume four times agree about any thing, unanimously attribute Countess Dash,” said Dumas.

over!

You are jesting.” to it: it whets the appetite, and puts the woman bequeathed it to me in her will. I “I am telling the truth. It is by copying stomach into a good humor for the breakfast." shall use it all my life. But I changed the my productions again and again that I give

Having finished his soup, Dumas passes inks. I am satisfied with my own; the pub. them those qualities which people are kind into his study, which occupies the ground. | lishers are not dissatisfied, and the theatrical enough to attribute to them. I find each floor with the dining-room, the library, and managers seldom complain.-But what are time changes to make, expressions to modify, the parlor. This study is a place where stat. you looking at?"

incidents to make more dramatic, without uettes, manuscripts, pictures, books, and I had caught sight of a pile of letters counting all the superfluities which I cut out. arms, are heaped together in picturesque dis. ready for the mail. On the top envelope, These successive revisions, made word by order. Some are on the floor, others lie in which was larger than the others, I read dis-word, pen in hand, are wearisome, fastidious confusion on the tables. There is scarcely | tinctly, “ To Monseigneur Dupanloup.” even, but I will never renounce them, for I enough room for the visitor's arm-chair and “Do you know what I am sending there appreciate too well what I owe to them. the cane-stool on which the dramatist always to the eminent prelate ? " asked the author Whenever I deliver up one of my manuscripts sits. But you will say-he must have an of “La Dame aux Camélias.” “Well, it is into the bands of Michel Levy, I have frantic iron bar in his spine to enable him to pass my preface to Manon Lescaut.' I ask him desires to tear it away from him and to copy whole hours in a seat without a back, and to read it, and to let me know what he thinks it all over again." without support of any kind. To this re- of it. As for the others, they are of no I have said that there are arms in Du. mark I will answer by stating the fashion account. I receive an enormous number of mas's study. The one which he takes great in which Dumas works. He sits at his desk letters, and I am weak enough to answer pride in showing is the breech-loading gun just long enough to concentrate his thoughts. them. Most of them are alike. Out of ten constructed by Devisme, to be used in “La Then he rises, walks about, returns to his letters of my correspondents, there are seven Femme de Claude." At first I took this inmanuscript, writes again, rises again, goes to people, of whom I had never heard, who ask strument of destruction for a fowling. piece, kiss his children or to change the place of me for something, two people whom I know and I asked Dumas if he was a sportsman. one of his beloved knick-knacks, takes up | slightly who ask me for something, and one “Not at all,” he answered. " While I the pen once more, and so on.

person whom I know very well, and who— admit that it is right to kill an adulterous In the middle of the room stands tbe thanks me for something. You will say that man or woman, I do not admit that it is right desk-an enormous piece of furniture of the the aid of a secretary would save me all this to kill a rabbit.” time of Louis XVI., with shelves, compart- labor; that is true, but I have a horror of Dumas pointed out to me an admirable ments, and drawers. On the top-shelf stands secretaries. I do not like that gentleman picture of still-life which hung over the manan iron candlestick with three branches-four who rummages among your papers, keeps a tel-piece of his study. less than the sacred candlestick of Jerusa- copy of your correspondence, and who, after “ Vollon paints marvelously," he said. lem. Its three tapers, half burned out, show having lived on you during your life, con- “Well, he can do still better. His genius is that Dumas does not believe the superstition tinues to live on you after your death by sell lazy; it needs a stimulant. It is like a borse of the “three lights,” and that can be readi- ing to the papers, the day after your funeral, whose action is only developed under the inly believed when we remember that he was revelations more or less authentic concern. fluence of the spur. I had reflected for a lighted by them while writing “Monsieur Al- ing your private life. A secretary is rarely a long time how to get from Vollon a Vollon phonse,” and the preface to “Manon Les. friend; he is usually an enemy, who never superior to himself, when one day, as I was caut.” Beside this candlestick is a hand in forgives you for the kindness you have shown walking along the Rue d'Amsterdam, I saw, bronze displayed on a black-marble pedestal. him, and who willingly allows it to be under-. in the window of a dealer in second-hand furThis hand is small-to call it short would stood that he has been your collaborator.uiture, the frame of carved wood in which be more correct. Its slender, tapering fin- As, before telling this lie, he waits until you the picture is set. Look at it!" gers, whose nails are distinguished by their are six feet underground, you cannot pro- I examined the frame, wbose artistic perfect oval, are spread apart like the claws test against the falsehood. One's best sec- beauty had escaped me, and I uttered a cry of an eagle. The palm is fleshy, large, and retary is oae's self. He at least does not be- of admiration at the sight of its two wreaths powerful. One can understand that this tray you, and he has the great advantage of of flowers, wrought with unequaled finish, had dying at the same as

and caught together at the top by a slight

knot of ribbons. the hand of the elder Dumas, moulded at works till poon. Four hours a day (and that “ I bought that frame," continued Du. Puy from his corpse, in 1870.

not every day) have sufficed for him to pro- mas, “I had it regilded, and sent it to Vol. After having shown me not without duce in twenty years the books and the lon, with these words: 'You will be very emotion—this eloquent bronze, the author dramas which both worlds have read and ap- good if you will put in this the dish of fruit drew out before my eyes the drawers of a plauded. It must not be imagined that he that you promised me, and which you have small piece of furniture whose form recalled | reaches at once the clear, sparkling, and im- not yet commenced.' To execute a picture that of those cabinets in which coin-collect-aginative style which is the distinguishing which would make that frame forgotten, was ors keep their collections. I saw these hands quality of his genius.

not an easy thing to do. One does not put in marble, in plaster, and in stearine; hands The following anecdote will prove the vinegar into a silver flask. Vollon underof men and hands of women; the ignoble contrary :

stood that he would have to surpass himself hands of assassins and the slender hands of When it was rumored that the “Affaire to prevent his canvas from being annihilated duchesses; the hand of Troppmann and that Clemenceau" was about to appear, M. de Ville- by its setting, and you see he has succeeded." of the eldest Mademoiselle Damain-the per. messant, the editor of the Figaro, asked Du- Time passes swiftley in such a house and fection of its kind.

mas for the novel, with a view to publishing with such a host. The clock struck the hour " I like hands," said Dumas. “They are it as the feuilleton of his paper. After two of noon while I was admiring a composition by more expressive to me than faces; I have had weeks' reflection, the author went to see M. Madame Lemaire, one of Chaplin's best pupils, hands under my eyes which have revealed de Villemessant.

“You must breakfast with us,” said Du. infamous actions, and others that have told “I refuse," he said; “we would both mas. “I have the usual disease of collectors, me of great actions."

make a bad speculation. The 'Affaire Clemen- I like to show my picture-gallery, so I will This digression has led me away from ceau' is intended to be read all at once, and keep that for dessert. And then I will intro

treated them all with an equal vigor. It is after having sent off his mail, Dumas

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