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that I only wonder she can spare a penny, but other way. So at least I gather from Beatrice's she contrives to save a good deal.”
words, though she never allows me to say 60; "By going shabby," said Bertram.
and she bears it beautifully, I know." “Bertram, how can you talk such nonsense ? “Very benevolent of her," said Bertram, Beatrice never looks shabby. That is just with something approaching a sneer. what I admire so much-that there is no " It is benevolent,” replied Constance quickly. parade of her generosity. She always looks “She will never gain anything by it. And she perfectly ladylike and in good taste; and all never hesitates to tell Miss Vivian what she her things are made nicely, for she works at thinks-I mean, when Miss Vivian is arguing them a great deal herself; but she chooses for anything that is wrong." plain, inexpensive materials, and good wearing “I know she is your paragon,” exclaimed colours, and denies herself all useless extras. Bertram. She always tries to please Mrs. Wentworth, “Never mind him, Constance,” said Captain too, by looking nice, because Mrs. Wentworth Vivian, with a slight smile. “ You and I like is particular about that, but she never buys paragons, don't we? But I was going to ask anything merely to please herself.”
after Vivian Mansion. Is it as much of a wil. " That is not much in your line,” said Ber
derness as ever?” tram, with a short laugh, glancing at his sister's
“ Much worse.
In most parts you really light delicate summer dress.
cannot walk at all without being held fast by “I am not so poor as Beatrice,” said Con- thorns, or stung by huge stinging.nettles stance; "and papa will always give me money almost as high as my head. And the upper for the poor if I ask him."
windows of the house are in a most dilapidated “ Aye, and then you present it, and get the state, Beatrice says-though the house stands credit of being very generous,” said Bertram, too far back for us to see that from the road. drawing an angry flush into Constance's Less than half a dozen rooms in the house are cheeks.
occupied, and the rest are all left to go to ruin. “Really, Bertram, you say such things” Miss Vivian won't spend a penny in repairs.
“That no one can suppose them to be true," What is the use, she says, when she doesn't interposed Captain Vivian.
care for a garden, and never has to look “Thank you,” said Constance, with a grateful through the broken windows ? She doesn't look. “I never have meant for a moment to care in the least what other people think gain credit on false pretences, if I ever have
about it." done such a thing."
"I am afraid she is not much softened by “No one could suppose it possible,” kindly time and age," said the Captain, thoughtfully. observed Leonard.
* Const ce, I am going “Does she know of my return ?” to make an inquiry now after my respected She knows we expect you. Beatrice told cousin of Vivian Mansion. She is still alive her; but she showed no particular pleasureand well, is she not?”
rather the contrary, I am afraid. Queen “ Alive, but not very well, though she won't Elizabeth could not endure James the Sixth of allow that anything is the matter with her. Scotland!” and Constance laughed. She ages very fast, and looks very feeble, and “Your simile is a very incorrect one in all. sometimes hardly leaves the house for weeks important respects. But here we are, almost together. Poor old lady! I believe Mr. Went. at home. How little the place has changed !" worth thinks rather badly of her.”
Another moment, and they were through "Do you ever see her ?”
the gate, driving round the broad carriage"Never, to speak to her. Occasionally- drive that encircled the lawn in front of the very occasionally-we meet her out of doors; house. Many were the recollections of former but I should never dream of saying a word to days that came thronging into Leonard's mind. her. Papa calls at her door once in a way, as he gazed upon the low irregular building, but she is always 'engaged' when he does, and with its rich creepers, its green lattice porch she never returns the compliment. Beatrice covered with jasmine, and its square unorna. knows her better than anyone else does. I mental wing, containing the drawing-room. believe she is the only person in the world that At the door they were met by Mr. Mansfield Miss Vivian really cares for; though it seems with the warmest of welcomes. A son of his to me that she shows her affection more by own could hardly have been received with scolding and contradicting her than in any greater affection and pleasure. Nor was Mrs.
Mansfield behindhand, though always quieter | or, as Bertram says, they may find they have and more listless in her manner of speaking made a mistake." and moving
Constance coloured, and he patted her cheek “So Constance and Bertram found you on kindly. Then turning the subject, he asked. the way?" said Mr. Mansfield. “I was won- if they intended to starve Leonard after his dering if you would meet one another, when I journey. heard from your letter this morning that you “He has had lunch in London, papa, and would be coming by the same train; but I says he would rather wait now until our regular thought it very doubtful whether there would dinner-time. Oh, there is another thing I be any recognition between you."
wanted to say, Bertram : How could you treat “Very, considering how Constance and that man in such a way at the station ?” Bertram are altered,” said Captain Vivian, “ Treat him how!” asked Bertram. “What glancing up from the depths of the easy chair would you have had me do ?” to which he had been consigned by unanimous “Give him a reward, of course. It was such consent. “If I have changed half so much, I a shame." do not wonder at our not knowing one another.” What was ? I offered him something, and
“Where did you meet ?” asked Mr. Mans- he would not take it." field.
“I should think not!" returned Constance “Let me tell,” said Constance. “We tra- warmly. “A paltry little threepenny-piece in velled down from London, papa, in a carriage return for thirty pounds! I wonder you had with only one gentleman and lady besides our. the face to offer it." selves. I took rather a fancy to the gentleman,
“ You talk as if the thirty pounds belonged without knowing why, except that something to him instead of to me. It was only common in his face seemed very familiar, and recalled honesty to return it to me. I don't see what pleasant associations. I felt almost as if I must occasion there was for rewarding him at all." know him, though I could not really remember “Rather uncommon honesty I should call seeing him before, and it never once occurred it," quietly remarked Captain Vivian. "Nine to me that he was Leonard. I had no idea of men out of ten in such circumstances would meeting him there, of course. However, he have been as likely as not to have kept the offered Bertram his paper, and Bertram an- purse and its contents for their own use." swered, and gradually we found ourselves in • Then they would have been stealing.” the midst of quite a conversation.”
Certainly they would, but that does not “And Constance was almost as much at her alter the case, nor the fact that indirectly at ease as if she had known him all her life,” said least you have been doing something to-day to Bertram.
encourage dishonesty." “Which I had,"cried Constance triumphantly, Bertram coloured up, and Constance ex. and there was a general laugh.
claimed, “But you didn't know that,” persisted Ber. “Ob, I am so glad you think so, Leonard. tram. “He might have been any sort of cha- I can't bear not rewarding people for honesty." racter. How could you tell that he wasn't a “ It is very wrong not to do so in such cases pickpocket, or a swindler, or a garotter” as this,” said Captain Vivian. “I have never lost
Constance burst out laughing afresh. “ As the impression made upon me by a conversation if garotters were in the habit of discussing I once heard between two cabmen at a station, scenery and travels with their victims before just before I left England. One of them was commencing operations,” she cried. “Oh, Ber
saying that he had several times discovered tram, you really are too simple. Besides, you things left in his cab by passengers, and had talked quite as much as I did. I believe it was restored them to their owners, usually receiving a kind of instinct which made us feel at home in return nothing but thanks.' He was ridi. with him—that we really recognized him with. culing very much the extreme cheapness of the out being aware of it.”
reward to those who bestowed it.” Bertram muttered, “Nonsense!” half to him. "I don't think anyone has a right to expect self; and Mr. Mansfield remarked,
a reward for mere honesty,” persisted Bertram. "Nevertheless, I should be rather careful “I don't know about that,” said Leonard about trusting to instinct in such cases, Con- gravely. “You or I ought certainly to expect
I stance. Young ladies should be cautious about nothing of the sort, were we ever in such cirmaking new acquaintances in railway carriages, cumstances. Indeed, it would be almost an
insult if one were offered to us. But in the brother, a fine little fellow of about eight. case of a poor man, depending for daily food He was highly delighted to find that Leonard on daily work, it is a very different thing. had arrived, and immediately began begging Probably he has a wife and family at home,
for some “stories about snakes and tigers.” poorly fed and poorly clad, to whom the pos- “My dear Edwin, what a request!” laughed session of such a purse as yours to-day, or one Constance. “ Just after Leonard's journey to of even a quarter its value, would seem like be obliged, without an hour's rest, to give you the sudden opening of a perfect mine of wealth. a history of the last seven years; for if he Is it strange that they should look for some once begins, he will have no peace till you reward in return for the great sacrifice they know everything." make in giving up anything of such importance,
Then I think I shall defer the commencewhen they might easily retain and make use ment a little longer," said Captain Vivian, of it? or that they should feel some bitterness “ Another day I will do my best to satisfy you. at the parsimony of those who would fain deny Edwin. Do you know you have grown a little them even this slight encouragemeut of their in the last few years ? You were a baby when self-denying honesty? I beg your pardon, Ber- I last saw you.” tram, for speaking so warmly,” added Leonard, Edwin looked incredulous. breaking off as he became aware of the energy “ Was I? I don't remember." of his own words and manner. “I hope that “No, I should suppose not,” said Captain in your case it is only through thoughtlessness, Vivian, laughing. “I am afraid you have forand ignorance of the harm you may do, that gotten me quite, Edwin." you have so acted to-day.”
“No; Connie told me you would have lots of “ Bis dat cito dat !” suggested Mr. Mansfield, Indian stories to tell me," said Edwin, rejoining the circle. “Is that the moral you promptly; "and I haven't forgotten that.” are trying to impress upon him, Leonard ? “Ah, I see! Then if I tell you some stories What is it all about?”
to-morrow, you must promise to take me for “I have heard of that saying being rather your brother,” said Leonard. curiously used, or rather misused,” said Con. “ Arn't you my brother P” asked Edwin, stance. “Do you know the story, papa ? An looking puzzled. Oxonian had been borrowing two sovereigns “Ask Constance,” he said, smiling. of a companion, and promised to return them “That depends upon yourself,” said Con. before long in some sbape or other. 'I should stance, laughing. “I used to say you were prefer to have them back as nearly as possible just as much my brother as Bertram, except in the shape of the two sovereigns,' said the when you teased me, and blinded my dolls, and lender; ‘and I hope you will not forget the old then I never could acknowledge the relation. adage, Bis dat cito dat—he that gives quickly ship.” gives twice.' The other immediately gave “ And you will acknowledge it now, on conhim back one of the sovereigns, exclaiming, dition that I don't blind any more of your *Then we are quits !'”
dolls? I think I may safely promise that, " Very good,” said Leonard, laughing, eh, Edwin ?” " though not exactly what my father meant. “ Connie doesn't play with dolls at all,” reIf every one attempted to pay their debts in turned Edwin, rather indignantly. that fashion, the adage would soon cease to be “So much the better for me. I am the less of any force.”
likely to break through the condition. Yes, I Constance was about to proceed with the am your brother, Edwin. You see, Constance narration of Bertram's parsimony, but to the will let me say so. Rather an important relief of the latter the conversation was here point settled satisfactorily!” he added with a nterrupted by the entrance of his younger smile.
LIVES THAT SPEAK
VIII.-JOSEPH MALLORD WILLIAM TURNER.
E were enabled to accompany our then fashion of making the standard of ex
sketch of the career of Sir Edwin cellence by which all landscape painters were Landseer, the greatest modern painter to be measured. It was unnatural or impos
of animals, with engravings from two sible for Turner to be an imitator; and after of his most telling paintings, “ Dignity and developing a style somewhat analogous to that Impudence," and "The Guard.”* The annexed of Claude, he almost immediately afterwards engraving, from one of the most effective forsook it for one quite peculiar to himselfpaintings of another distinguished artist, justly less vigorous than his earlier style, but more considered the prince of landscape painters, poetic. This was developed after his visit to will be equally. vpreciated by our readers. Italy in 1819. Towards the close of life, he
Joseph Mallord William Turner, was born gave way to a careless facility of style-a loose in London, on the 23rd of April, 1775. His version of that of his maturer taste. The father, William Turner, was a hair-dresser, Fighting Témeraire," 1839, marks the line and of sufficient liberality of mind to allow his between the two. son to follow the bent of his genius, so that From the time of his election into the even while a boy he prosecuted at leasure his Academy, Turner appears to have made a large passion for drawing. As early as his sixteenth income from his drawings alone, or at least such year we find him admitted as an exhibitor to one as to render it a matter of indifference to the Royal Academy. In 1790 he exhibited a him whether he sold his pictures or not. He view of Lambeth Palace, a water-colour not only refused to sell many of them, when drawing. His early efforts were nearly ex- they had been returned from the Academy exclusively water-colour drawings.
hibition unsold, but some he re-purchased at His first oil picture, a “ View of the Thames higher prices than those he had received for at Millbank by Moonlight,” was exhibited in them-as "The Sun rising through Vapour," 1797, and is now in the National Gallery. The the “ Blacksmith's Shop," and others. He also style of his early youth was that of Girtin and made an income from the sale of prints, esCozens, who both died while he was still pecially of the celebrated series in brown ink, young-Cozens in 1799, having been deranged known as the “Liber Studiorum,” consisting the last five years of his life; Girtin in 1802. of seventy-one plates. He sold them in the The dry manner of these masters, pioneers in set, in 1820, for fourteen guineas; a single their art, scarcely deserves the title of “ water. good proof, now, is worth as much money as colour painting.” The best of their works are the set was then. but flat, tinted, Indian-ink drawings; they In 1812 Turner built a house and gallery in display much spirited handling, but little Queen Anne Street West, which he retained colour, and less chiaroscuro. The imitation of until his death, though he used it only as a these men must have kept Turner back, rather depository for his pictures during the last than otherwise-enforcing the importance of few years of his life. He resided at this period the early influence of artistic taste by the in a small house in Chelsea, under the assumed supply of first-class models. Turner's true name of Booth; and here he died, on the 19th master was Wilson; many of his earlier oil. of December, 1851, in his seventy-seventh year. pictures are so like Wilson's, that it is difficult, He was buried in St. Paul's Cathedral, where a if not impossible, to distinguish them.
statue has been placed to his memory, for the He appeared as a finished oil-painter in cost of which he made a provision of £1,000 in 1799, when he exhibited his “ Battle of the his will. Nile.” He was elected an Associate of the The portraits of Turner are very rare. Leslie Academy in this year, and a full Academician in the painter says, in his own life, that “Turner 1802. His early studies of Wilson soon led to was short and stout, had a sturdy sailor-like an independent style; and the same happened walk, and might be taken for the captain of a with his emulation of Claude, whom it was the river steamboat at a first glance.” • Pages 1 and 36.
There is much to lament, in connexion with
Turner's biography, upon which we purposely are the greatest examples; and then his abstain from dwelling; and, probably partly third style, which gradually declined into a owing to his exclusive devotion to his art, he mere extravagant display of contrasts of light, has the character of having been exceedingly colour, and shade, with scarcely a definite form eccentric in his habits, and of an unsocial dis- in any of his compositions. Many of his position.
pictures, however, even at this third period of His property was sworn under £140,000. decline, are works of great genius. The He bequeathed nearly everything to his country noblest of these may be considered the “ Fight-his pictures to the National Gallery, and ing Témeraire tugged to her berth to be his funded property towards the establishment
It is now in the National of an institution for the benefit of decayed Gallery. artists. The will, however, was disputed, and Whilst admiring-enthusiastically admiring settled by compromise in 1856: the pictures-the marvellous productions of the illustrious and drawings were awarded to the nation; genius of Turner, and desiring to guard against £20,000 to the Royal Academy, for the benefit any depreciation of the independent and geneof art; and the rest of the property to the rous spirit which he fréquently manifested, we next of kin.
cannot but feel that one less of his life may About one hundred of his finished pictures, serve to impress upon all, whether gifted with besides some thousands of drawings, are now artistic genius or not, the necessity and the exhibited at the National Gallery. The importance of the most diligent watchfulness pictures comprehend, independent of his imi. and prayerful effort, in order that the character tations of Claude, three styles : his early may be formed, not after the varying standard vigorous manner; his own original brilliant of human example, but after THE ONLY style, of which "Caligula's Bridge,” “The Bay PERFECT MODEL. The painter aims at per: of Baiæ," and " Childe Harold's Pilgrimage" fection : let the Christian emulate him.
C. Α. Ε. Β.
THE OLD HOUSE IN SUNKEN HOLLOW:
A PARABLE FOR THE LITTLE ONES AT “OUR OWN FIRESIDE.”
There was once an old, very old house, stand- there was nothing heard but the hiss of sering in a low hollow. It was at least four thou. pents, or the barking of wild dogs. Instead of sand years old. On looking at it, you could at the well, where pure cool water once gushed once see that it was in ruins. And it was up, there were now little pools of stagnant plain at a glance that it was not time that had water, in which frogs croaked and reptiles ruined it, for the stones in its walls were all as crawled. fresh as if just erected. And yet it was in a The place where the house stood was called sad state. The walls were bowing, and the Sunken Hollow-because it had once been a stones lying in all sorts of positions, as if beautiful hill covered with gardens and trees, shaken by some mighty earthquake. The roof and the house had stood on its very summit; was broken in here and there, as if great rocks
terrible convulsion it had been dehad fallen on it, and crushed it. The chimneys pressed and depressed, till it became the low were leaning this way and that way, as if disagreeable spot I have been describing. And ready to fall. The windows were covered with yet at a distance, as you looked at the house, dirt, so that it was next to impossible to see it seemed fair and whole, and the grounds through them. The trees that stood around seemed covered with a hazy kind of light, so it, once so shady and ornamental, were now that you would think it a most beautiful spot. broken and twisted, stripped of leaves, and Many a one, on passing by in the distance, going to decay. All round the house, where had pronounced it the fairest thing he had ever once was a garden, and walks, and fruit, there This was owing to the peculiar light was now nothing but weeds and thistles, briers which hung around it, created by the vapours and thorns. Instead of the song of birds, that rose up from the hollow.