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the lowly duties whose sum makes life battle. Gathering up her skirts, and beautiful, the ancient mansion became a flinging her long hair behind her, she paradise of order, and incredulous visitors bounded into the middle of the room, looked wonderingly upon these rosy- and there before the wondering children cheeked workers, these fairy cooks, she whirled round in the dance as she chamber-maids, and laundresses, to whom had done in the days when she wore a their ever-changing tasks seemed like a spangled gauze dress, and heard the merry game devised for their sole amuse- applause of the motley audience in the ment, and life's cruel “Do not” magically canvas tent. changed to “ Do."
The spirit was upon her as the familiar But how fares Annette the while ? and music arose upon the frosty air; she saw in this new existence does she never miss nothing and remembered nothing but the gipsy-like wanderings that had the passion of the moment, and her feet been one of the few charms of the circus? flew faster than they had ever done in Her raven hair that once fell in ripples childish frolic. She was no longer a to her waist is growing long again and child; a wild longing took possession of luxuriant; but for the sealed eyelid, and her. Oh, for her horse! She must have the seamed and disfigured cheek, there one leap before the strain ceased. is no concealment except the hand with Hastily dragging two chairs back to which she hides them-a motion so un- back, she went flying over them as if she consciously pathetic that, as he talks to had wings, and ianding on her feet, the her of her future, the Doctor never sees central figure in the fiery glow, her hair it unmoved. With intense satisfaction unbound, her cheeks crimson, her heart he notices that look passing from her panting for her ancient freedom, beheld face which belongs only to a kicked and among her astonished audience the beaten og, and her first greeting to Doctor. He had seen it all, and underevery frightened new-comer is, “ They stood it, as he held baby Bessie by the don't whip you here!” He was par- hand, and, ah! the grieved look with ticularly anxious that her former life which he turned away! To him the should
remain unknown to her little scene was an exquisitely painful one, companions, and be forgotten even by unveiling as it did the scars, not alone herself, and eagerly she promised to on the cheek, but on the womanly soul forget-gratitude made it so easy to as well. Even the bright-eyed little trot please him, her best if not her only by his side saw the unusual expression friend. Poor Annette ! she could not upon his face, and lisped, half-coaxingly, realise till long after that the flowers half-questioningly, “But I'm a dood dir) ; which unfold and yield their perfume Bessie is dood,” so well she knew that only in the night are deadly some one was not good. He stooped and because of the darkness, and in her kissed her, and without a word strode heart former years had dropped the away into the darkness. As for Annette, seeds of poisonous remembrance which was there ever remorse and shame and sprung suddenly into blossom, only to penitence like hers? Passionate exhilasting her cruelly when she uprooted it ration changed by a look to blackest with shame and penitent tears.
despair, and wild exultation to bitter Tired with their play at the close of a mortification that knows not where to frosty day in the fall, the trooping hide its head. He had gone out into the children seated themselves before the darkness, and, thankful for the night, she laundry fire to sing. It was a favourite flew after him, pursuing him through amusement, and their voices grew softer the long hall and out into the street. and fainter as the twilight deepened and “ Come back! come back!” she entreated, the long shadows flickered on the walls. weeping. " Come back and forgive me. They had no light but the glowing fire The music made me forget you ; but, oh, in which they fancied a fairy world, I'd rather be tramped to death by the when they were startled by merry music, horses than have you look at me like clear and sweet, beneath the window. that!” It was a band of wandering musicians, Gravely he retraced his steps, holding playing with might and main. Annette, her by the hand, and standing once more who had long been silent, sprang to her in the hall, he said, in a tone whose sadfeet like the war-horse who scents the ness pierced her soul as no rebuke could
ever have done : “What have I to for- Miss Margaret she bestows a grateful give, poor little one? I cannot even affection, I fancy I see another, a deeper blame you. I am only grieved that the feeling in the light upon her quiet face innocent memory of a child should hold ' as we listen to the Doctor's dissertations such scenes within it. You have not by the library fire, and that there is wronged me, Annette, though I had another reason besides the scars why she hoped, while helping you in this "- will never leave them and go out into touching lightly with his finger the the world. She has the look of one who scarred cheek which in her agitation she in the very morning of life has seen the had forgotten to hide— " that the harm future unrolled as a scroll, and knows had sunk no deeper, for I would give that whatever else may be denied, or much to wipe away for you that miser- whatever changes may befall, while he able past."
lives fate cannot banish her from her After that could she ever forget again ? place at his feet, and that is gladness No; in that bitter hour the book was enough for her. His hair is whitening, shut and the seal was set : she never and Miss Margaret's step is not so brisk opened it again. “After all,” thought as it was in years gone by, but when a the Doctor, in his homeward walk, “it is garrulous friend regrets aside that they just as well that it happened, for she has never married, this brother and sister, seen herself, as one startled by a light- Annette speaks up, with a spark of ning flash sees every object in a dark jealous fire in her tone, and makes reply: room, and the shock will work a quicker “But I am glad! No children born to and more effectual cure than time's them could call them more blessed or slower process would have done ; and love them half so well as those they he was right. When at eighteen she snatched from ruin.” left her home with Mother Mein, to And is it all a myth, the House Beauwhom she had been as a beloved daughter, tiful, the Silver-Voiced, and the happy it was to gratify the most ardent desire children? Nay; there stands the school, of her heart, and take her place at Miss firm on its foundations, where little ones Margaret's right hand, her faithful and are carefully trained to intelligent housemost trusted servant. They taught her hold service; but its beneficent work, its to make drudgery divine,” and no task utmost capacity, is but a drop in this could be too lowly to perform for those great ocean, while thousands of children who had given her all the happiness and fill the almshouses, the prisons, the peace her life had ever known. It is houses of refuge, or wander homeless in many years since I first saw her keeping the streets. It seems that with our steadfast watch beside the two who had light, and before the dawning of the new been her guardian angels, and if upon century, we might do better.
Editor's Easy Chair.
given some account of a visit he paid how they feared God and honoured the to the little English graveyard, where during King.” The burial-ground is but a small the past two hundred years those foreigners place, though it has been there so longwho have ended their days in that far-off half an acre, perhaps, in extent-and the country have been laid to rest. Nature is entrance is by a vaulted archway, the gate of kind in the tropics, and has strewn roses and which is always kept locked to guard against myrtle over those lonely graves with lavish outrage, while on all sides are the high walls and impartial hand. Many English Consuls and barred windows of the Arab houses. In are buried there, and the wives of some of this melancholy spot there was one special them, and there are little graves of English grave to which every English and American children who died without ever knowing visitor turned with peculiar interest. The their mother-country. Then there are the visitor from whom we have quoted, Mr. graves of "merchant adventurers” of the Wemyss Reid, places it before us in a few last century, who, as our author says, must graphic words: “ There was a plain stone have had stout hearts when they came to slab, surrounded by a little bed of heliotrope these piratical shores in search of fortune. and dwarf roses, and it bore an inscription All that is left of them now, he tells us, is telling how beneath it lay Colonel John Howard Payne, a citizen of the United States Tree, “ composed and partly founded upon a of America, and how this monument had Sicilian air by Henry R. Bishop.” But Payne's been erected by his grateful fellow-country- name is not even mentioned. Clari, the Maid men in honour of the author of Home, Sweet of Milan, was the rage. For many years it Home.”
was often sung, and its performance is a Thirty years have passed since, by strange pleasant reminiscence of theatre-goers of irony of Fate, the dust of John Howard Payne thirty and forty years ago. Payne continued was buried on the shore of Africa, thousands to write tragedies and comedies, operas and of miles from the home he loved, and not farces, and in 1832 he returned to America. until this year have his countrymen seen fit A complimentary benefit was given to him at to pay the honour that was due to his memory the Park Theatre, which produced seven by transferring his ashes to America. This thousand dollars. '“ And Mr. Jones,” says a tardy duty has at last been performed. One recent report--" whoever Mr. Jones wasspring day a few weeks ago, a steamer from sang Home, Sweet Home.'” Alas! here Europe moving slowly up the bay of New again is the untoward fate of the actorYork was greeted by flags at half-mast on “ whoever Mr. Jones was.” Why, sir, Mr. the Battery and Governor's Island. At the Jones was long the dulcet tenor of the old landing a deputation of citizens was waiting Park, and in the English version of Masaniello to receive a coffin covered with the flag of his singing of the aria, “Morning its sweets the United States, and conduct it to the is flinging," was the delight of the lovely Governor's room of the City Hall, funereally belles of long ago, whose grandchildren are draped for its reception, where it lay in the matrons of to-day. solemn state. Next morning, while flags For ten years Payne led the same Bedouin still hung at half-mast, the coffin was borne life, full of literary and humane and romantic “ in sad array” through the streets, while a projects, but he never again wrote or did anymilitary band played “ Home, Sweet Home,” thing memorable. In 1843 he was appointed and with its guards and attendants set Consul at Tunis, where in 1852, “an exile forward on its journey towards the national | from home,” he died. There is an inevitable capital. For a day John Howard Payne was melancholy in the impression of such a life, the topic of the press. The story of his yet it is not clear that Payne was especially life was told in all the newspapers, and it unhappy. But he was always a rover and has the pathos which so often surrounds the was never married, and often knew the pinch tale of an actor's career.
of poverty. After thirty years Mr. Corcoran, Payne was a boy prodigy upon the stage, of Washington, who personally knew him, but not a remarkable actor in his maturity. obtained permission to remove his remains, Then he was a manager, a writer and adapter and in June they will be laid finally in Oak of plays, a "general utility” man in trans- Hill Cemetery, near Washington. lating and arranging. He lost money as a Except for his one song the name of Payne manager, and was imprisoned in London. would be preserved only in biographical dicHe opened his prison door with a successful tionaries and in some perishing traditions of translation, played Richard the Third for a the theatre. But his song is that one touch few nights, and left the stage. Then he of nature which makes the world kin. It is sent some plays in manuscript to Charles the frailest thread of which fame was ever Kemble, and among them was Clari, and if spun. For the poetry is but a rude expresKemble would give him £50 he would have sion of a common sentiment, and it would Bishop arrange the play with music for the hardly have aroused attention except for the stage. Kemble sent the money ; Bishop pathetic melody to which it was adapted. arranged the music; Ellen Tree's sister sang That touches every hearer,as it touched Payne it. One song in it melted the heart of when he heard it sung by the Italian girl. He London and of the world, and the plaintive vindicated his claim to the name of poet by melody is everywhere familiar, and every- his perfect interpretation of the sentiment of where its tender pathos invests with affec- the music. It was in the year that he died tionate regard the name of John Howard that New York heard Jenny Lind sing his Payne.
song. There was a simple, honest, generous It was in Italy that he heard the melody peasant air in her aspect, and when her sung by a peasant girl carrying flowers and marvellous voice broke into a ringing shower vegetables. The wandering Goldsmith might of limpid trills in have heard it, and trilled it at twilight from
“The birds singing gayly that come at my call," his flute; for it is the very pensive motive of the “Deserted Village.” To the loitering it was as if all the birds of spring warbled playwright the melody suggested the words together, or a choir of larks sang at heaven's which he has associated with it, and jotting gate. down the notes of the air, he sent both There are a hundred monuments of distinwords and music to Bishop, who duly ar- guished men in Washington who were very ranged them, and after the immediate and conspicuous, and some of whom performed great success of the song, it was published great and memorable services. But no monuas sung by Miss Tree,” sister of Ellen ment there will be visited by a greater throng of pilgrims, and no memory will appeal more It is undoubtedly true that the author tenderly to all of them, than those of the has in a certain way invited this confidence wide-wandering actor who lived and died by appealing to the sympathy of the reader, alone, and of whom nothing is remembered and although he may justly say that he has but that he wrote one song.
given all that he chooses to give of himself
to the world, he cannot expect to elude the THE Easy Chair receives many friendly let- law which draws us to those who charm us. ters, sometimes criticising what it says, some- The author himself, whoever he may be, has times asking advice, sometimes suggesting a felt this attraction. He, too, has been thrall fruitful text. Many of the letters are anony- to some sweet enchanter. He has paid his mous, and many are signed by the writers. homage in some one of the ways in which it But they do not always require a reply, and is paid to him. He cannot therefore put many of them do not wish one. The Chair aside as impertinent the confidence which finds in them many a useful as well as kind would not have been offered him if he had word, and often a question which it cannot not won it, especially when it is thought that answer.
the confidence may be made useful to others, It is one of the privileges and rewards of and it is precisely such a confidence which has such a post as that of the Chair that it estab- served the Easy Chair for its present text. lishes a certain intimacy of relation with un- A New England girl writes that while known friends, which enables it to receive still a child she taught a district school, from them what could be intrusted only to supporting herself and helping the other personal confidence. This relation is one of children, devoting the evenings to drawing the most gratifying and touching possible. Her hope was especially to aid her second “ He spake to my condition” is a conscious- sister, and to be able to take lessons in ness which justifies intimacy; and if the drawing and painting. But her school poet be truly defined as he who says ade- salary was very small, and it was long-how quately what all men feel, why should not very long it seemed !--before she could feel all men claim the right to speak to their that she could honourably begin to study interpreter?
art under a teacher. The way to the artist's Long ago, on a perfect June morning, in studio was long, and in winter it was very the forest of Fontainebleau, two young men hard. But time pressed, and when a year sat under the trees, one industriously sketch- was passed the artist with ready and eloquent ing, while the other read aloud the “ Pippa tongue persuaded her that she should give Passes of Browning. “What would you her life to the study and practice of painting. not give,” said the reader, as he paused, to The advice was kindly meant, and the study his comrade, “ to write a book which two went on, but alone now, for the money was youths unknown to you should read with gone. The artist criticised the work, and delight in a distant land, and with a sense at last the pupil sold some little flower of personal gratitude ?" If that be the last pieces, and then painted “mats” for photoinfirmity of a noble mind, surely it is the graphs, and then the artist teacher went to noblest weakness known to humanity. To Europe, and there was no more criticism. make unknown friends-friends so true that The work was not pastime, for the pay they naturally pour out to you their private was the sole support of father, mother, and thoughts and wishes and purposes and brother, besides herself. Sickness came, struggles, asking your sympathy, your coun- and barely could the painter support herself. sel, or at least some word of recognition, and Then she went to the great city, where her to do all this with honest naturalness and work was praised, and not sold. There were simplicity-is to become conscious of a many and grievous vexations. The expleasing but important responsibility. hibitions did not accept her proffered works.
But Dr. Holmes wisely reminds the reader A lady well-to-do sent some sketches to a that the kind of relation between him and dealer; they were accepted, and the lady the author must be determined by the author. was paid. But the works offered to the He is under no obligation to make any same dealer by the sadly struggling student response whatever, to answer any question, were returned. She tried to exhibit her still less to sacrifice his time or to forego paintings, but in vain; and there seemed to his tasks in order to gratify the curiosity of be no chance for her in the world. “I am his reader. Dr. Holmes holds him even not fitted for anything else, but I do not absolved from writing an autograph unless see that by painting I can
earn bread the request be accompanied by a card, and a enough to eat. Painting is a luxury beyond stamped and addressed envelope. Tennyson the poor unless they have great genius like is said to have changed his abode to escape Millet.” There is a host of girls, poor girls, his worshippers. Longfellow received them who are studying to paint as a livelihood. all with sublime patience. Greeley secluded “It is a delusion," says the Easy Chair's himself for work in a retreat to which only sorrowful correspondent; "they will prea few intimate friends had the clue, and sently learn, as I have learned, that it is an many a busy man of letters finds himself impracticable road. Save them if you can.” driven to the same kind of defence.
It is a brave, pathetic letter. But it is an appeal to those who are just entering the proofs of the deeper and wiser humanity of race to be warned by those who are faltering the age. They are illustrations of the same and failing. They will not heed. Why spirit which organises charity and ameliourge the springing green of April to be rates penal systems. Mr. Bergh and Mr. Gerry warned by the dry and crimson leaf of are in the right line of moral descent from October ? Why conjure hope to listen John Howard and Sir Samuel Romilly and to despair? It is natural for such bitter Mrs. Fry and Miss Carpenter, and when Mr. experience to wish to serve others, and McMaster brings his History of the American it is a generous and humane impulse. But People down to the last decade he will record the secret of the eternal spring of hope, the purpose and work of the two modest which is the fountain of perpetually renewed societies as among the striking illustrations life, is that it shall not heed the warning of of the actual progress of that people. experience, but prove all things for itself. It is in Lecky's detailed account of the Why because Phaethon fails should not horrible carelessness of suffering and of the another, with sublime audacity, gather up inhuman desertion of prisoners and the poor the reins? Why because Dædalus sinks in the last century in England that we get helpless should not another, undaunted, the true key to the actual condition of the spread his mighty vans and scale the country. Mr. McMaster has thrown a heavens? It is no argument for the Milton similar light upon the same inhumanity in who feels the inspiration of song to refuse it America a hundred years ago. Yet every a voice because of the mute brethren, endeavour to correct that inhumanity, to inglorious only because they were not heard. remember the man in the criminal, and Why should Keats hold his peace because wisely to succour a brother in the beggar, Savage and Chatterton were miserable ? has been greeted as an effort to make a silk
The sorrowful tale of our correspondent purse of a sow's ear, to make water run upwill show her younger comrades how doubt- hill, as rose-water philanthropy and the ful and thorny is the path which they are coddling of scoundrels, by the same spirit resolved to tread. But the decision to which sneers at the work of Mr. Gerry and abandon it must be their own. Each must Mr. Bergh. Left to that spirit, England tolearn for herself, like our correspondent; and day would be where it was a hundred and the learning, as with her, will be the result fifty years ago, and the signal triumphs of of her own experience, not of that of another. the century would have been unwon. Such
a spirit is mingled of ignorance, cowardice, THERE has been some joking over Mr. and stupid selfishness. It is always the obGerry's proposal to bring Mr. Barnum to struction of advancing humanity, always the legal judgment for violating the statute in contempt of generous and courageous minds. exhibiting the young riders upon the bicycle It is true, undoubtedly, that every forward at his circus. Mr. Barnum invited a distin- step is not wisely taken, and that there are guished company, including eminent physi- the most absurd parodies of philanthropy, as cians, to witness the performance, and they well as a great deal of pseudo-philanthropy were of opinion that it was harmless, the which is merely the mask of knavery. We physicians adding that it was no more than have taken great pleasure in these very healthful exercise. Thereupon the cynics, columns in stripping off sundry masks of who have never given a thought or lifted a such philanthropy which is pursued as a hand to relieve suffering or to remedy wrong, business by impostors of both sexes in every sneer at superserviceable philanthropy. Mr. city. Common-sense, careful scrutiny, and · Bergh also complained of the killing of the intelligence are indispensable in every form elephant Pilot, and when the matter was ex- of charity and beneficence. But because of plained there was contemptuous chuckling at the conduct of Shepherd Cowley shall noththe sentimental tomfoolery of philanthropic ing be done for the relief of wretched busy bodies, and the usual exhortation to l'e- children? Because of the elaborate system formers to supply themselves with common- of fraudulent charity of the reverend knave sense.
who has been exposed here and elsewhere But meanwhile the mere knowledge that shall the poor be left without succour? there is an association for the protection of Everything said and done by the friends children from cruelty, and another for the of the societies for protecting children and defence of animals against human brutes, is animals may not be wise, but there could be in itself a protection for both classes of nothing more exquisitely ridiculous than to victims. No parent or employer can wreak deride the societies and their labours for that his vengeance or ill-temper upon a child, no reason. Those who lead the van of reforms driver or owner can torment an animal, with- are so much in earnest that they must someout the consciousness that some agent of the times offend, sometimes mistake, or nothing society may hear of it, or perhaps see it, and would ever be done. Emerson says that if bring the offender to justice. Both of these Providence is resolved to achieve a result it movements, which at first seemed to so many overloads the tendency. This produces enintelligent persons to be strange and im- thusiasm and fanaticism, and also the inpracticable fancies, are among the chief domitable devotion and energy which cannot