"And now for the world of arts, the divine, fresh, and ever-inspiring arts." "So you have recovered from your indisposition, my dear Inez, and have come to assist me in criticising and admiring-and Mr. Howard, too; this is a double pleasure." "He has been drawn into the snare by the hope of obtaining a favor from you, Clara." "A favor from me! It is granted, if anything reasonable, and in my power." entirely, we should often make enemies of friends, give to some credit for qualities which they do not possess, and not render to others the justice they deserve. "Though the study of mankind is man, it is not always a pleasing one; nor does it always afford satisfaction. But as you are so much interested in living pictures-look at this gentleman, whose high intellectual forehead and dark brilliant eye announce at once the man of talent. Yet, how the world makes genius weep! That man is truly clothed in the mantle of modesty and humility, which is ever the "He is anxious to become better acquainted accompaniment of true genius. Yet this, like with the French and Italian languages," said a veil, is shrouding him from public notice: Inez, with an arch smile, "and requested per- while arrogant pretension and shallowness mission to assist me in my daily task. I have of thought are pushed forward as models of referred him to you." the perfect scholar. He has drudged and toil"The prospect of having such a pupil," re-ed on from youth, not for fame, nor to gratify plied Clara, "is so flattering to my vanity, that I cannot refuse. But come, both of you, and admire a painting which I think a perfect gem." "I," said Howard, "am as much amused with the living characters I meet in such places, as anything else. I sometimes wish I had the skill of Lavater, that I might read the character in the face." "And do you think the acquisition of such knowledge would afford you any pleasure?" asked Clara. "I haye heard that artists often draw their inferences of the qualities of the mind from external appearances; and phrenology has unfolded a new and startling system by which, if we were disposed to be guided ambition, but to escape from the bitter sting of poverty. With a mind enriched with all the treasures of ancient lore-those deep vast mines which to the wealthy and retired philosopher would have been funds of perpetual pleasurehe has been obliged to pour it forth upon a world that has ill requited him. His feelings are too sensitive, his mind too lofty, to make him fit to combat with the crowd. He feels that there is little nobleness in pursuing fame to escape from want. All the proud impulses which incite to glory are checked within his heart, because he is obliged to exert his energies, not for his own gratification, but to please the herd of senseless beings who are not capable of understanding him. How false is the conclusion that all the light and joyous strains of poetry we meet with, are the emanations from a cheerful heart. Perhaps over many a line which causes a burst of merriment, the bitter tears of the author have fallen." "It is, indeed, a sad truth," replied Howard; "yet the world pretends to reverence, delight in, and reward talent." "Oh, yes," said Miss Legard, "it reverences, delights in, it may be; but too seldom does it reward "You speak feelingly," said Howard, observing a deep shade of sadness upon her brow. "I speak from experience," replied Clara, sighing. "And if you could see what I have scen of the miseries of neglected genius, you would agree with me. I yesterday visited the family of one of our best authors. The husband, the father, sat by the table writing an essay, by which he hoped to procure a few dollars from a popular magazine, the editor of which had already refused several of his articles; yet, nothing daunted, he was trying again, in hopes that the last might be more successful. At the same time, I had seen in this very magazine a silly tirade, by a wouldbe genius, which had been already published, and well paid for, by four different papers! Well, there sat the husband at his arduous toil, pale, care-worn, almost exhausted with fatigue, both of body and mind. Bending over a sick infant, and listening with anguish to its deep heavy breathing, was one of the loveliest of earth's creatures; one who had given herself to him in her unshadowed girlhood, and who still, in poverty and misery, clung to him with all the fond devotedness of womanthe wife, endeavoring to cheer the drooping spirits of her husband: the mother, awaiting the last struggles of her idolized child! But enough of this: I am making you as sad as myself, and this is hardly the time or place to indulge in gloomy reflections." "But is it not possible to relieve this amiable family without giving offence, or wounding their feelings?" asked Howard. "It has been done,” replied Clara, "by Col. Stanbrook; and-nay, turn not away from welldeserved praise our little Inez here, who would not let the old gentleman rest until she had wheedled a hundred dollars out of him." Well might Inez turn away, and veil her eyes from the admiring gaze that was fixed upon her; and with a heart throbbing with tumultous feelings she hastened to change the conversation, and Clara perceiving her confusion, turned the attention of Mr. Howard again upon the passing crowd. "There," said she, pointing to a fine-looking man who stood near; "there is one who unites every talent-the scholar, the statesman and the perfect gentleman-yet I think he is a pupil of nature rather than of books, and possesses more general knowledge than sound learning. He is a philosopher in his own way: seeks rather to promote the happiness of man by external comforts, than by internal resources. It appears to me that, in order to be a great statesman, a man should read a great deal, but he should observe more than he reads. His mind should be more active than the philosopher's, for he should be capable of grasping a great many subjects at once. It is not alone necessary that he consider what is best for the happiness of this or that individual, but what will benefit the mass. But, above all, he must be, like this gentleman, a good speaker. The most splendid speech that was ever written, will appear tame and spiritless unless delivered with power. True eloquence is a great gifta rare gift. There are many, very many, who write well, but not one in a hundred who read or speak well. As in the language of a late author, 'Words should be delivered from the lips as beautiful coins newly issued from the mint, deeply and accurately impressed, perfectly finished, neatly struck by the proper organs, distinct, in due succession, and of due weight.' But grace in eloquence is seldom found." "Well," said Inez, "now that you have discussed all these grave characters, pray tell me who is this lady? Is she not beautiful?" "It is Mrs. one of the sweetest poetesses of the day, a genius, but not a pedant; and because she makes so much sport of the senseless nothings of flattering fools, has attained the appellation of coquette. But she is not one in the common acceptation of the word. She flirts with the crowd because they amuse her, not because she takes any real pleasure in their society. She is a perfect visionary, and lives more in the realms of imagination than in the realities of life. She loves admiration: not such as is drawn from the idle and frivolous, but from the gifted and nobleminded. Above all, she despises those who are continually praising her beauty." "That is rare in a lady," said Howard, smiling. "Not in a sensible one," replied Clara. "We have quite forgotten the picture you spoke of,” said Inez. "Pray, where is it ?" "On the other side of the room. If we can only force our way through the crowd, I will show you, Mr. Howard, the brightest face you ever looked upon." "I doubt it," replied Howard, fixing his deep, earnest gaze upon the variable countenance of Inez. "I doubt it, if it is only a picture, and not a reality." "You will almost imagine it reality," answered Clara. "There seems nothing wanting in it but the power of speech. The figure seems starting forward, as if to embrace some object of affection, and," she continued, as they approached the subject of her remarks, "look at those half-parted lips! and the dimpling smiles around the lovely mouth, and the clear glowing cheek, and, more than all, the dark, beautiful eyes! What a depth of feeling is displayed in their expression! Is she not a glorious creature? One for whose love the knights of old might have shivered lances, and the poets of the present day gone mad in adoring. A creature calculated to create smiles even on the stern face of a stoic; and to tease the very heart and soul out of a sensible man?" The portrait was, indeed, that of a young girl in the first blush of womanhood. A bright, intelligent, animated creature. Her snow-white muslin dress was thrown back sufficiently from the throat to reveal a neck and shoulders of exquisite symmetry. Her soft, undulating figure was half veiled under a cloud of transparent gauze, which, fastened in the braided hair at the back of her head, fell in light folds over her shoulders a fine relief to the sombre background of the picture. A rich India shawl lay carelessly upon the shoulders, and fell over each arm. And then those arms! so white, so soft, so round! And those small, perfect hands, lying so sweetly over each other, giving a look of quiet repose to the whole form, which the sparkling eyes, blushing cheek, and parted smiling lips so sweetly contradicted. The lovely girl seemed about to step out of the frame, and answer in person the admiring gaze and rapturous encomiums of the spectator. "I never saw a more admirable likeness," exclaimed Howard. "How can I know anything, unless you tell me who is your supposed original ?” Howard turned and looked at his companion, who, half conscious of his meaning, and yet in utter amazement at the sight of a portrait for which she had never sat, could only turn to Clara for an explanation of what appeared to her so mysterious "Then you do recognize a likeness, Mr. Howard? The artist could not have received a higher compliment, since it was taken in the absence of the individual, and without her knowledge." 66 But, how-where-when, dear Clara?" asked Inez, deeply blushing, and yet feeling that it would be affectation to pretend ignorance that the picture was intended for herself. "Do you recollect you entreated me, not long ago, to think of some present that might be acceptable to the dear old Colonel, your best friend and benefactor, as you call him: something that would surprise and please him at the same time? Well, I cast round in my mind for some way of assisting you. At length, with the aid of your miniature, and the assistance of a good artist, I managed to procure this beautiful picture; and we together arrayed and ornamented you, you see, according to our own taste." "And never was taste better displayed!" said Howard. "And what will the Colonel think of it ?" said Inez, unconsciously gazing at her own lovely self, a shade of thought passing over her face. "What will he think of it ?" answered Clara, smiling. Why, he will think that his little peri-his pet-his spoiled child, as he calls you, is actually running towards him to congratulate him on the return of his birth-day." "But he may think it presumptuous in me," said Inez, still more thoughtfully, "to present him with my portrait; especially as he has two handsome nieces of his own, whose pictures are not there." "I did not think of that, to be sure," replied Clara, while there was rather an equivocal smile on her lip: a peculiar meaning in her eye, and she seemed to long to give utterance to some remark which, upon second thought, she suppressed. Then, what shall we do with It cannot stay "A likeness! likeness of whom?" asked this unfortunate picture? Clara, smiling. "Can you ask? Do you not know? It is impossible there should be any mistake!" here." "Give it to me! Give it to me!" exclaimed Howard, eagerly. The arm of Inez trembled in his own, and she attempted to withdraw it lest he should observe her agitation. But Howard seized that small trembling hand, and pressed it in his own, while he continued to urge his request, Clara caught the imploring glance of Inez, in which maiden modesty was contending with new and powerful feelings. She understood that beseeching look, and the slight shake of the head, and immediately answered: "No, no, Mr. Howard. If my picture is rejected by the one for whom it was intended, I claim it myself, as my own special property. I prize even the shadow of my dear Inez too well, to part with it except for some particular purpose." of giving way to vague conjectures, what misery might be spared! Truth-frankness— confidence-ye are rare virtues! Yet the young too often shun ye-too often delight in mystery. Our heroine neither shunned the one, nor delighted in the other, but she had once loved the original of that picture with all the fervor of her soul. To prove him unworthy of that love, had been the greatest pang ever inflicted upon the heart of the sensitive girl. Reason and reflection had convinced her that between her own pure heart and a mere man of the world, however handsome, fascinating, or talented, there could be no sympathy. He who could sport with the feelings of others-he who could laugh at all law, both moral and divine, that kept a restraint over the passions and inclination - he who could consider woman only as a toy for idle hours, like the "Let us go on to the next room," said Inez, despots of the East, who have no idea that much embarrassed. women are gifted with souls to be saved or lost Clara, pitying her confusion, immediately he who could sever the dearest ties to concomplied. "And do you think I should not prize it as much as you?" said Howard, in rather a reproachful tone. "What beautiful eyes the original of that portrait must have," said he. “But, then, there is something peculiar about the mouth, a sinister and scornful smile, as of one who understands the world and despises it. Do you not think so?" Whatever Inez thought, she said nothing; for at sight of this picture, she turned so deadly pale that Howard thought she was going to faint. At first he attributed it to the heat of the room. But the shrinking of her whole figure, her evident agitation, the instant withdrawal of her eyes after the first glance, convinced him there was something more in it. He felt uneasy, he scarcely knew why. A second look at the portrait convinced him that the original was one who, once seen, could never be forgotten. Inez must know that original, and his thoughts reverted back to their first acquaintance, when a word from Cornelia Stanbrook had called up the vivid blushes in the cheek of Inez, and her evasion of the cause. Suspicion! how often has thy baneful influence cast a blight over earth's fairest flowers! Could we pause to consider the consequences tribute to his own private gratification-he who cared not for a husband's vengeance, a father's or mother's agony, a brother's or sister's grief-such a being could not long have influence over the heart and mind of Inez Laurence: and yet she alone had power "To still The busy demon in his heart, and mold him to her will." Maddened by her grace and beauty, enslaved by her thousand attractions of heart and mind, Edward Hofland acknowledged himself at length defeated, and knelt in passionate admiration at the shrine of this new goddess. Inez was at first attracted by his talent, and admired his heroic beauty and accomplishments. He told her that, though he had been often led astray by the allurements of beauty, he had never till then found an object to fill his whole soul. That she, and she alone, would be able to fix his affections. It was thus he spoke, and Inez at first listened and believed. But soon, too, too soon, came the assurance that he was not worthy of her regard. Then fell the bitter tears of the young warm-hearted girl at the conviction of his baseness. Then was her soul roused to indignation, that he should presume to solicit her love while his heart was so corrupted, so stained with the vices of the world. Inez had but one confidant-that was Miss Legard. To her she told all, and her advice was immediately to discourage his visits. It was done. His letters came, and were returned unopened. The sudden and unexpected. sight of that portrait, so true to the life, for a moment startled and confused her. She had not the art of many in this world, of repressing emotion. Her face was like a clear mirror, that reflected every feeling of her soul; and if a few doubts and surmises still lingered in the mind of Howard, they passed away as the usual serenity of her countenance returned "What a splendid landscape, by Cole!" exclaimed Clara, withdrawing their attention from each other, and fixing it upon the objects which excited her admiration. 66 Look at the depth of shadow in those woods. The perspective is perfect; and then the water, now lying bold and clear in the broad sunshine, now stealing along by the high banks, or peeping in and out of the cavities in the rocks as if it were tired of sport, and seeking a hiding place. We can almost imagine that we see the motion of that stag as it tosses its proud antlers, after drinking of the clear stream. Cole is a true lover of nature. He seizes upon its greatest beauties with the imagination of a poet, and the skill of a painter. His conceptions of the truly picturesque are not grand, but they are beautiful. His pictures may want sublimity, but they are never wanting in rural beauty. The lake, the glen, the mountain, are brought before our mental vision with all the force of reality. CHAPTER IX. THE THEATRE. A CELEBRATED actress was in the full zenith of her fame, and the most recherché and fashionable audience the Park had ever exhibited, were assembled to witness her last performance previous to her departure for Europe. Every corner was filled-boxes, galleries, pit, crowded to overflowing. One private box alone still remained unoccupied, and this was reserved for a set of exclusives, who had hired it at an enormous price, and who, determined that nothing plebeian should come in contact with their gentility, had stipulated that none but their own party should be admitted. Tickets had been difficult to procure on this particular night, and many whose claims to distinction were undoubted, and whose purse strings easily opened to procure luxuries unknown to one-half the world, were content to obtain a view of the scene by suffering for two mortal hours a squeeze in the door-ways, and the fatigue of standing; and yet the closed entrance to this particular box remained the same. The curtain had risen. Jewels flashed from the splendidly attired circles, and bright eyes turned upon the stage, awaiting with ill-concealed anxiety the appearance of the bright particular star hired to contribute to their amusement. Lesser objects of attraction came and went in the drama, scarcely noticed, or received with low hisses or vulgar criticism. At length, amid a loud burst of applause, Miss. appeared upon the stage; and, at the same moment, a noise and bustle in one direction announced that the long vacant box was at length tenanted. Cornelia Stanbrook, the foremost of the distinguished group, flung her splendid cashmere upon the arm of Allan Graham, and took her seat in front. Mrs. Fortescue, Mrs. Beaumont, and their daughters, took one side, and Mrs. Lennox, Laura, and the Misses Lindsay the other. The gentlemen of the party remained standing, or lounging against the sides of the box. The actress, somewhat interrupted in her part by the commotion they made, raised her dark eyes in that direction, but immediately after courtesied to the noisy applause made by Beaumont, and echoed on all sides. The play was "The Wife," by Sheridan Knowles. At the question put to Marianna, after the relation of her affecting story, "And is your love the same ?" and her reply those few words so thrilling, so significant, "Am I the same?" Graham pressed his hand upon his throbbing forehead, and, heedless of the gay company around him, seemed wrapt in his own troubled thoughts. Cornelia Stanbrook, proud of securing in her chains the most elegant and talented man of the day, occasionally addressed to him some remark upon the performance of the piece, to which he replied mechanically, as if his thoughts were far away. Happily his emotion was unnoticed or unheeded. The play went on, and the fashionables applauded, not the beautiful sentiments of the author, but the performance of the actors and actresses. "She speaks as if she felt all she said," observed Beaumont. "With good reason, for I understand she is in love with somebody," said Mrs. Seymour. "A hopeless love, I imagine," said Mrs. Lindsay, "for it makes her appear so melancholy." "Oh, that is all affectation," remarked Cor |