Chapter VII: Act V (1)

Another house just like the first. The bride stepped out of one palace into another. With their five or six thousand a year, the young couple could just manage to make both ends meet. The husband was devoted; the wife had everything that she could wish. Who could be happier than this pair in a nest so luxurious, their life so padded, their days so full of sunshine?

It was a year after marriage. The wife, contrary to her usual custom, was the first at breakfast. A few letters were waiting for her--chiefly invitations. She opened and read them. Among them lay one addressed to her husband. Not looking at the address, she opened and read that as well:

"DEAR REGINALD,--I venture to address you as an old friend of your own and schoolfellow of your mother's. I am a widow with four children. My husband was the Vicar of your old parish--you remember him and me. I was left with a little income of about two hundred a year. Twelve months ago I was persuaded in order to double my income--a thing which seemed certain from the prospectus--to invest everything in a new and rich gold mine. Everything. And the mine has never paid anything. The Company--it is called the Rynard Gold Reef Company--is in liquidation because, though there is really the gold there, it costs too much to get it. I have no relatives anywhere to help me. Unless I can get assistance my children and I must go at once--to-morrow--into the workhouse. Yes, we are paupers. I am ruined by the cruel lies of that prospectus, and the wickedness which deluded me, and I know not how many others, out of my money. I have been foolish, and am punished: but those people, who will punish them? Help me, if you can, my dear Reginald. Oh! for _God's_ sake, help my children and me. Help your mother's friend, your own old friend."

"This," said Rosie, meditatively, "is exactly the kind of thing to make Reggie uncomfortable. Why, it might make him unhappy all day. Better burn it." She dropped the letter into the fire. "He's an impulsive, emotional nature, and he doesn't understand the City. If people are so foolish. What a lot of fibs the poor old pater does tell, to be sure. He's a regular novelist--Oh! here you are, you lazy boy!"

"Kiss me, Rosie." He looked as handsome as Apollo and as cheerful. "I wish all the world were as happy as you and me. Heigho! Some poor devils, I'm afraid----"

"Tea or coffee, Reg?"

_Portraits of Celebrities at different times of their Lives._

JOHN LAWRENCE TOOLE.

Wherever the English tongue is spoken the name of J. L. Toole is a household word. After winning his spurs in Dublin, he made his first appearance in London at the St. James's Theatre, which was then under the management of Mrs. Seymour. This was in 1855. From the St. James's he migrated to the Lyceum, where he played, among other characters, _Flip Flap_ to Charles Dillon's _Belphegor_, Mrs. Bancroft, then Marie Wilton, being in the cast. It was but a step from the Lyceum to the Adelphi; and his merry reign there, in conjunction with Paul Bedford, will be always remembered in connection with that theatre. It was during this period that our first two portraits were taken. The third portrait represents him at forty-five years of age, before which time he had produced Byron's "Dearer than Life" at the Queen's, Henry Irving playing _Bob Gassett_, and Lionel Brough _Uncle Ben_. The theatre he built for himself in King William-street was opened in 1879. Our fourth portrait was taken in Dunedin, New Zealand, about five months ago, in the course of his remarkably successful tour through the Australasian colonies.

For these portraits we are indebted to Mr. Toole's courtesy.

EDWARD S. WILLARD.

BORN 1854.

Mr. E. S. Willard, whose career at the Shaftesbury Theatre within the last two years firmly established his claim to be regarded as one of our few really great actors, made his first bow to a theatrical audience at the Theatre Royal, Weymouth, in December, 1869, and afterwards gained some useful experiences on the "Western Circuit." In 1875 he married Miss Emily Waters, now well known in literary circles as "Rachel Penn," and then he made his first appearance in London at the Covent Garden Theatre. Five years of hard work in the provinces followed, leading to his engagement at the Princess's under the management of Mr. Wilson Barrett. His performance of the _Spider_ in "The Silver King" was no less popular than that of his chief. Although Mr. Willard's position in the first rank of actors could not have been long delayed, his sudden leap to the front was almost the result of a fortunate accident. He had accepted a long engagement from Mr. Hare for the new Garrick Theatre, which, fortunately for Mr. Willard, was cancelled by him when he refused to play the opening part assigned to him. This left him free to assume the reins of management at the Shaftesbury Theatre, where his remarkable performances of _Cyrus Blenkarn_ and _Judah_ established his claim to pre-eminence, and more than justified the faith and confidence of his numerous admirers.

MISS KATE RORKE.

Miss Kate Rorke, at the age at which our first portrait represents her, was already on the stage, in the character of one of the little school-girls in "Olivia." At fourteen she was still a stage school-girl, this time in the Bancrofts' production of "School" at the Haymarket. Soon afterwards she joined Mr. Charles Wyndham's touring company, and at the age of our third portrait was delighting the audiences of the chief provincial theatres in a variety of characters. These early studies, combined with great natural abilities, have borne the fruit to be expected; and to-day Miss Rorke, as the frequenters of the Garrick Theatre know to their delight, is one of the most charming and finished actresses at present on the English stage.

THE DUKE OF CLARENCE AND AVONDALE.

BORN 1864.

At the age of seven Prince Albert Victor was receiving his education at home. At fourteen--at which age he is here depicted in a Highland costume--he was, like his brother George, a cadet on board H.M.S. _Britannia_ at Dartmouth. At nineteen, he became an undergraduate at Trinity College, Cambridge; after which he was transferred to Aldershot to study military science.

These portraits are published by special arrangement with Messrs. W. and D. Downey, whose permission thus to reproduce photographs of celebrities from their enormous and unique assortment we are the first to obtain.

_From a Photo. by Messrs. W. & D. Downey._]

_From a Photo. by Messrs. W. & D. Downey._]

_From a Photo. by Messrs. W. & D. Downey._]

_From a Photo. by Messrs. W. & D. Downey._]

THE DUCHESS OF FIFE.

The Duchess of Fife, as our readers are aware, inherits in no small degree the conspicuous gifts of grace and beauty for which her Royal mother is so pre-eminently distinguished. That such has been the case throughout her life is manifested by the charming portraits which here represent her from the age when, as a solemn baby, her first photograph was taken, down to her appearance at the present day.

These portraits are reproduced by special arrangement with Messrs. W. and D. Downey.

PRINCE GEORGE OF WALES.

BORN 1865.

Of Prince George at the ages of three and five we have nothing to record; but at the time at which our third portrait represents him, he was a middy on board H.M.S. _Britannia_. A sailor is always a popular member of all classes of society, and "our sailor prince" enjoys the reputation of being among the most popular of his profession.

These portraits are reproduced by special arrangement with Messrs. W. and D. Downey.

MME. ALBANI.

The first portrait we give of Mme. Albani-Gye shows her at eighteen years, when a student under M. Duprez, of Paris. The second represents her at nineteen, as _La Sonnambula_, in which _rôle_ she made a triumphant _début_ in 1872 at Covent Garden. Mme. Albani spent her 25th birthday in New York, where she created the part of _Elsa_. The last photograph represents her as _Desdemona_, a character which particularly appeals to her.

MISS AGNES JANSEN.

The first photograph we give of Miss Agnes Jansen brings her before us at eighteen years of age, then a student at the Royal Academy of Music in Stockholm. Under the guidance of her accomplished master, Hugo Beyer, she made such marked progress that she was shortly afterwards engaged to appear in the leading contralto _rôles_ at the Opera House of her native city. In 1885, on pleasure bent, she came to England, and, in the cause of a charity, made her _début_ at the Albert Hall, since when she has been continually sought for concerts in town and country. Only a few weeks back she appeared for the first time in a London opera at Covent Garden, where she is now performing.

_Humours of the Post Office._

WITH FAC-SIMILES.

II.

The pages in the "Post Office Album," through which we were looking in our last number, are by no means exhausted. There is yet another curiously addressed missive to Her Majesty--"To the lady queen vicktorieha queens pallice London" (Fig. 1); the late Earl of Beaconsfield was also signalled out for an hieroglyphic wrapper (Fig. 2); the gentleman occupying the civic chair at the Mansion House in 1886 was the recipient of a somewhat remarkable envelope--sufficiently suggestive, however, to reach him (Fig. 3); whilst the Receiver and Accountant-General of the Post Office received a veritable puzzle in "Receive the county general Cheapy hall London" (Fig. 4). One remaining specimen (Fig. 5) here reproduced--which was actually delivered to the proper persons for whom it was intended--we will leave to those of our readers who revel in the unravelling of the mysterious.

Turn over another leaf, and you are requested to make yourself acquainted with an interesting little Welsh town in Merionethshire, familiarly known as "Llanllanfairpyllghyllgheryogogogoch"; and the next page gives rise to unbounded sympathy for the unfortunate postman who dutifully delivered a letter to--

"Mr. Paddy O'Rafferty O'Shaugnessy,
'The Beautiful Shamrock'
Next door to Barney Flynn's Whiskey Store.
Knock me down entirely street,
Stratford on Avon
In the County Cork if ye like Dublin."

One gentleman is evidently partial to boxing--all his envelopes are pugilistically illustrated, whilst another individual's wrappers always bear a request--in big capitals--to carry his communication by a British vessel, and on no account by a foreign one. A minister, evidently just ordained, and residing in Jamaica, is depicted in the pulpit with his old college cap and boots in the distance, with the reminder to "Never forget old friends." One envelope strongly suggests that somebody has a weakness for anything but toast and water, for the gentleman is represented fast asleep, with a huge barrel of beer above him, and the tap still flowing freely into his opened mouth, which is waiting to receive it.

The volumes devoted to humours nearer at home are brimming over with merriment, whilst not a few leaves contain somewhat serious impressions. Suggestions of holiday making form a prominent feature. Pretty and effective views of the sea and country lanes, picturesque valleys and mountains, are liberally displayed on the various envelopes. One lady is at Margate, attired in such masculine clothing, with binocular under her arm, that the artist has added a flowing beard to her face. There is a landlady presenting a bill, whilst the next is really a very original idea of the various stages of matrimony. On a number of boards resting on an easel, is one marked "1883," with a pair of lovers drifting down a stream in a boat, whilst "1884" finds the same pair in wedding garments. Other "years" are waiting for their events in the lives of the young people.

Poetical addresses are as numerous as they are varied. Here are one or two examples. A postman read the following instructions:--

"Near Bristol City may patience lead thee;
At Totterdown Row--postman, heed me--
Stands Gordon House, 'tis passing fair,
And Mr. Brittain dwelleth there."

Another envelope, bearing the Peckham post-mark, thus silently appeals:--

"To Exeter fair city, by Western Mail,
Good postman, send me without fail;
And when in Devonshire I arrive,
Over Exe Bridge and through St. Thomas drive,
Past the old turnpike, and up the hill
Held sacred to Little John's [+] still,
Just where the road begins to turn,
You'll find Rose Cottage and Mrs. Hearn.
Ask her if there's a fair young lass
Come down from London her holidays to pass;
To her please deliver without delay,
For I'm postage paid, and so you need not stay."

The poetry is not great, but it is suggestive.

An eminent maker of umbrellas received a most artistic wrapper, with numerous illustrations showing the position his umbrellas held amongst the community. Gentlemen are using them as a means of roaming the seas, whilst a more adventuresome spirit, remarking that "Umbrellas make you rise in the world," is going up _à la_ balloon with one. Finally, at the death of the worthy manufacturer his own umbrella is carried in state followed by an appreciative populace, and the head of his memorial stone is further decorated by a number of these very useful protectors. The uncertainty of our glorious climate is the subject for another wit, who has drawn a monumental stone over which a watering can is freely flowing with the words--

Sacred
to the
memory of the fine weather
which departed from this land
June, 1888.

* * * * *

Also
the sun of the above.

One envelope has an ingenious direction on it. It is intended for s.s. _Kaisow_, lying in the Red Sea. It shows a very intelligent-looking sow labelled K, with a belt round it in the form of the letter C painted red.

A somewhat similarly addressed wrapper is one despatched to Wales. Swansea is represented by a swan with a capital C in the immediate vicinity of its tail (Fig. 6); whilst following the word South is a representation of a number of enthusiastic fishermen making every effort to harpoon some whales. A stalwart Highlander, in all his glory, appears upon another, wishing "A guid New Year to ye," and as he holds out a palm almost as large as himself, he merrily exclaims, "And here's _a hand_, my trusty fren'!" An invalid is lying with a heavy box on him, labelled appropriately "A Chest Complaint." John Bull and Young Australia occupy two corners of the wrapper, shaking hands across the sea, whilst the next is a loving message to an ocean roamer, showing an energetic little nigger indulging in what is frankly admitted to be a "mangled version of an old song," to the effect of--

"Good bye, John,
Don't stop long,
Come back soon to your numberless chickabiddies;
My heart is low,
The winds blow so,
And takes away my sailor."

Niggers seem strong favourites for illustrative purposes. A magnificent specimen of a black is that of a gentleman in a huge broad-brimmed straw hat, with the name and address written on an equally prodigious collar. The gentleman destined to receive the letter rejoiced in the name of Black, hence the presence of our dark friend (Fig. 7). Here (Fig. 11) is a merry little drummer boy, whose face is hidden by the paper he is reading, which bears the postage stamp.

A young lady residing at Port Elizabeth probably felt a shock when she found on an envelope from "home," a gentlemanly but gluttonous cannibal making a small lunch out of a venturesome white man, whom he is swallowing at a single bite. "A Native Swallowing a Settler" is the comforting inscription on it. Equally startled, too, probably, was the lady who found that she had been singled out as "Lost, Stolen, or Strayed," with a crowd of interested onlookers--including representatives of the military and police--eagerly scanning the bill on which was set forth her name and address (Fig. 8).

What looks like a sly hint at matrimony was sent by an amorous swain to a young damsel at Cape Town. A gentleman's head, labelled "An unfurnished flat," surely suggests house furnishing. Page after page of the postal scrap-book is replete with illustrations: artists, sculptors, eminent politicians, all classes of the community, all have their own particular "skit"--a musician, probably, and a violinist to wit, receiving his envelope with a pictorial representation suggesting the weight of his instrument, so much so that it took a couple of men to carry it between them, and even then the fiddle and case proved too heavy, and was allowed to fall to the ground, much to the evident hurt of one of those engaged in the job (Fig. 9).

"The lion is a noble animal, and to his keeper he appears to possess no small degree of attachment." So says an envelope with the king of beasts taking his unwary keeper into his paws.

It is needless to say that married people receive a fair share of attention from the envelope artist. The "delighted parent" is in strong evidence, whilst the nurse approaches with gladdened step and joyfully exclaims "Twins, sir!"

And a wit winds the series up with a request on his missive addressed to the care of a post-office to the effect:--"Don't give him this unless he calls for it."

We append a couple of illustrations which seem to have escaped the usually keen eye of those at the Post Office, always on the look-out for these little curiosities in envelopes. One is kindly forwarded by a gentleman interested in these "Postal Humours," and shows a boar partial to boating playfully flying a kite, on the tail of which is the name and address. The sun looks on somewhat dubiously from above (Fig. 10). The second is a specimen of many similar ones which arrive at the office of _Tit-Bits_, and depicts the various stages through which a letter passes whilst on its way to compete for the weekly "Vigilance Prize," until it is finally handed in at its proper destination (Fig. 12).

_Celebrated Beauties._

"Woman, be fair, we must adore you;
Smile, and the world is all before you."

Looking back across the gulf of years which divides us from the latter portion of the last century, we must be struck by the total change that has passed over society generally. No men like those giants in intellect, Chatham, Fox, Swift, Johnson, now fill the canvas; no fine gentlemen, who, as Thackeray says, were in themselves a product of the past, and for which the finikin, white-vested masher is but a poor substitute. And the women!--those wondrously fair creatures, whose faces have been handed down to us by Reynolds or Gainsborough, and who smile at us from their gilt frames. What witchery in the almond-shaped eyes, long and languishing; what pouting lips; what arched and lovely necks; what queenly dignity in their gait and carriage, and withal nothing of the voluptuous immodesty which marks the wanton beauties of Charles II.'s Court: they were mistresses, these were wives.

(_From the Picture by C. Read._)]

There was never a period when so much homage was paid to beauty as in the last century. Men went mad for a lovely face, fought duels for a smile or a flower given by their mistress to a rival, and threw prudence to the winds to obtain her. We are now going to take a glance at some of these fair magicians, whose stories read, many of them, like fairy tales; Cinderella, for instance, pales before the history of the two Irish girls who, more than 150 years ago, crossed the fish-pond which divides the sister countries, and came to seek their fortunes, with only their lovely faces _pour tout potage_. The surpassing beauty of the sisters has become matter of history, nor, perhaps, is there a parallel instance of mere beauty exciting so extraordinary a sensation as that produced by these portionless girls.

Horace Walpole, writing to Sir Horace Mann, says:--"You who know England in other times will find it difficult to conceive what indifference reigns with regard to Ministers; the two Miss Gunnings are twenty times more the subject of conversation than the Duke of Newcastle or Lord Granville."

Again he says:--"The Gunning girls have no fortune, and are scarce gentlewomen, but by their mother. (She was the Honourable Bridget Bourke, third daughter to Theobald, sixth Viscount Mayo.) The Bourkes have Plantagenet blood, quite enough to compensate for the inferior tap of the Gunnings."

Maria was the eldest of "the goddesses," as Mrs. Montagu styles the two girls. She was born in 1733, Elizabeth two years later. Consequently, when they appeared in London, one was nineteen, the other seventeen.

The character of the beauty of the Gunnings will be seen in the accompanying portrait of Elizabeth--long swimming eyes, and small, delicate mouth, and the soft, composed face, breaking from between the two lace lappets, secured in a top-knot over the head.

Soon both sisters had admirers. "Lord Coventry, a grave lord of the remains of the patriot breed," dangled after Maria, while Elizabeth was singled out by the Duke of Hamilton, who was wild and dissipated. He fell desperately in love with the young beauty, who, on her side, was well tutored by her Plantagenet mother how to play the noble fish she had on her line. The sequel is well known; how the Duke, inflamed by Elizabeth's coyness and coquetry, insisted upon the extempore marriage at midnight, the curtain-ring doing duty for a golden fetter. Her sister's good fortune decided the fate of Maria, who in a short time wedded her grave lord.

It is an old maxim that "Nothing succeeds like success," and the furore caused by the "goddesses" increased after their elevation to the peerage. "The world is still mad about the Gunnings.[1] The Duchess of Hamilton was presented on Friday; the crowd was so great that even the noble crowd in the drawing-room clambered upon chairs and tables to look at her. There are mobs at their doors to see them get into their chairs, and people go early to get places at the theatre when it is known they will be there. Doctor Sacheverell never made more fuss than these two beauties." A shoemaker got two guineas for showing a shoe he was making for Lady Coventry. But the mind of her ladyship was not equal to her beauty, the fact being that neither of the girls had been educated decently. The Duchess, however, concealed her deficiency better than Lady Coventry, who, Horace Walpole tells us, said every day some new "sproposits." Stories flew about of her sayings which, no doubt, lost nothing in the repetition; as when she told the good-natured king that the only sight she wished to see was a coronation. It was to him she also complained that she could not walk in the park, the people stared at her so much; upon which George II. sent her a guard to keep the starers in order. This incident caused the circulation of the accompanying ballad, composed by Horace Walpole:--

[1] Horace Walpole's letters.

"Shut up the park, I beseech you,
Lay a tax upon staring so hard;
Or, if you're afraid to do that, sir,
I'm sure you will grant me a guard.

"The boon thus requested was granted,
The warriors were drawn up with care.
With my slaves and my guards I'm surrounded,
Come, stare at me now, if you dare!"

The beautiful Coventry enjoyed her title but a short time, killing herself by the excessive use of white paint. She died at the early age of twenty-eight, and it was a tribute to her that she was regretted by all who had known her; even the heartless set who made up her world have a word of sorrow for this beautiful simpleton.

Elizabeth was more prosperous. Her life from end to end was a success. She was double-duchessed, marrying, a second time, after a year's widowhood, Colonel Campbell, who succeeded to the Dukedom of Argyle. The Duke of Bridgewater had also proposed for her. She was created Baroness in her own right, and given the office of Lady of the Bedchamber to Queen Charlotte. She died in 1791, having been mother to four dukes and wife to two, a dignity which few women could claim.

Here come another pair of charming sisters, Catherine and Mary Horneck, daughters to Reynolds' kinsman, Captain Kane Horneck; they are best known to this generation through the medium of Oliver Goldsmith's admiration for them, just as the Miss Berrys' best claim to celebrity is Horace Walpole's quasi-Platonic friendship. The loving nicknames of the "Jessamy Bride" and "Little Comedy," which were given to the sisters by Oliver, show the terms of intimacy upon which he stood. And this friendship seems to have brought out some of the best points in the character of the lovable author of the "Immortal Vicar." Now we see him leading them through the crowded masquerade at the Pantheon, arrayed in his plum-coloured suit and laced hat; or he is conducting them and their mother on a trip to Paris, his simple, harmless vanity highly pleased at being the escort of such a lovely trio (for Mrs. Horneck was as handsome as her daughters). As usual, his innocent pride was misinterpreted. Boswell, whom Horace Walpole calls the "Mountebank to a Zeno," talks of his envious disposition, and adds that when accompanying two beautiful young women with their mother on a tour in France, he was seriously angry that more attention was paid to them than to him. But Boswell seems always to have hated Goldsmith.

Of the two sisters, Mary, the younger, the "Jessamy Bride," seems to have exerted a strange fascination over him. "Heaven knows," as his biographer, Mr. Forster says, "what impossible dreams may have come to the awkward, unattractive man of letters, but he never aspired to other regard than his genius and simplicity might claim at least, for the sisters heartily liked him, and perhaps the happiest years of his life were passed in their society."

One is glad to hear of even a ray of happiness crossing the path of the poor, sensitive poet; but it was nevertheless through his admiration for the "Jessamy Bride" that he met one of those mortifications which press keenly upon one of his highly strung, nervous temperament. This annoyance came when he was in the full tide of the success of "She Stoops to Conquer." We may assume that the sweetest part of this success had been that it raised him in the eyes of his dear Mary. Nine days after, _The London Packet_, in an abusive article directed against the author of the new comedy, attacked him coarsely. "Goldsmith had patiently suffered worse attacks, and would doubtless here have suffered as patiently, if baser matters had not been introduced, but the libeller had invaded private life and dragged in the 'Jessamy Bride.' 'Was but the lovely H---- k as much enamoured, you would not sigh, my gentle swain, in vain.'"

On reading this, Goldsmith fell into one of his sudden furies. He rushed off to the publisher, Evans, and beat him with his cane. Evans, who was a sturdy man, returned the blows; the combatants were at last separated, and Goldsmith was sent home in a coach much disfigured. The affair did not end here; the poor, sensitive poet was abused in every newspaper of the day, all steadily ignoring the _real_ ground of offence. He had in the end to pay fifty pounds to Evans for the assault.

It is pleasant to think that during the lifetime of the poet no rival disturbed his peace of mind. Catherine, "Little Comedy," married early Mr. Bunbury, second son to Sir Charles Bunbury, of good Suffolk family, but up till the time of Oliver's death, the "Jessamy Bride" had no declared lover, nor did she marry Colonel Gwynn until three years later. Both sisters mourned their gentle friend sincerely. At their request his coffin was opened that a lock of hair might be cut from his head for them. It was in Mrs. Gwynn's possession when she died nearly seventy years later. She lived to a great age, preserving her beauty even in years. The Graces in her case had triumphed over Time. Haslett met her at Northcote, the artist's; she was talking of her favourite, Dr. Goldsmith, with recollection and affection, unabated by age.

"I could almost fancy the shade of Goldsmith in the room," adds Haslett, "looking round with complacency."

Let us make place now for the most lovely of all Sir Joshua's lovely creations--and the woman in the flesh was quite as beautiful. Her beauty got her a royal husband, hers legally with all sanction of Church, but not of State. Ah! there was the sore place. It was, in fact, her beguiling of the Duke from the right path of royalty that induced the famous Marriage Act of 1772. The Duke of Cumberland, third brother to George III., was little more than an overgrown school-boy; his manners, Wraxall says, made his faculties, which were limited enough, appear even meaner. He was immensely attracted by Lady Anne Horton, recently a widow, and daughter to Colonel Simon Luttrell, of famous, or rather infamous memory; an Irishman of wild, roistering habit, who had been put forward to fight Wilkes, and so made Lord Carhampton.

Anne Horton is described as having bewitching, languishing eyes, which she could animate to enchantment if she pleased. Her coquetry was so active, so varied, and yet so habitual, that it was difficult not to see through it, and yet as difficult to resist. She danced divinely, sang charmingly, and was by no means deficient in talent. Like all the members of her family, who were cunning and specious, she laid her snares for the weak prince so adroitly that he fell in with all her plans; and, her marriage being duly witnessed, she had none of the heart-burnings and uncertainty which poisoned the life of Lady Waldegrave, who had married the Duke of Gloucester, but had left matters very much to his honour. Both ladies, to say the truth, had a troublous time. It was hardly worth the fuss and the turmoil, the ups and the downs, the humiliations and the slights inflicted upon them by the Royal pair, and their subservient Court.

(_From the Picture by Sir Joshua Reynolds._)]

Here we have another group of sisters--Irish too--the Miss Montgomerys, daughters to Sir William Montgomery. They are painted by Sir Joshua as twining wreaths round a statue of Hymen, a pretty allegory, for the three girls were standing hand in hand on the threshold of Hymen, one of them being engaged to Mr. Gardiner, afterwards Lord Blessington; the other to the Honourable J. Beresford; the third and handsomest to the Marquis of Townshend, then Viceroy of Ireland. The Marquis, who was son to the odd Lady Audrey, who figures in Walpole and Selwyn, was a frank and fearless soldier, having fought at Dettingen and Fontenoy. His fancy had been taken by Miss Montgomery, whom he had seen some two years before performing in a Masque of Comus at Marlay, the residence of Mr. Latouche. He had then prophesied she would be a lovely woman, and felt bound to set the seal of his approval upon the fair creation. Mrs. Delaney says that the women did not admire Lady Townshend, which, no doubt, is a proof that she attracted the admiration of the worthier sex. In Sir Joshua's picture she fills the canvas--her attitude is commanding, her smile bewitching. Her sisters are of a less majestic type.

What a lovely creature have we here--Elizabeth Linley, whose talents and mental endowments were something surprising, joined as they were to a beauty which seems to have captivated every soul who came near her; indeed, we have only to look at her portraits by Sir Joshua and Gainsborough, both evidently stimulated by love of their subject, to gather an idea of the spell she worked. The expression of the faultless face is so divinely sweet, there is such a mixture of archness and intelligence in the wondrous eyes, that we can make a guess at what the impression must have been when life animated the lovely picture. So, too, it was with her singing; she was possessed of the double power of delighting an audience equally in pathetic strains and songs of brilliant execution, a combination allowed to few vocalists.

LADY TOWNSHEND.

(THE MISS MONTGOMEREYS.)

(_From the Picture by Sir Joshua Reynolds._)

MRS. GARDINER.]

The life of this gifted being was a troubled one. It began in a romance, which added to her interest in the eyes of the public. The Linleys were all musicians; her father, Dr. Linley, was a teacher of great eminence, living at Bath. When the Sheridans came to reside there, the two brothers fell at once in love with the siren Elizabeth, who had already more lovers than she knew how to manage. She preferred, however, Richard Sheridan, and eloped with him to France, to avoid an importunate lover, Captain Matthews. On their arriving in France, the astute Richard worked on his companion's feelings and persuaded her to be married to him at Lille by a clergyman who performed these irregular marriages. The bride at once retired to a convent, where she remained until her father came to fetch her. Of late this version of the incident has been denied, and it is said there was no marriage; anyhow, the father, daughter, and Sheridan returned to London. Richard fought two duels with Captain Matthews, and finally the course of true love ran smooth, and he and Elizabeth were publicly wedded, with all pomp and ceremony, in April, 1773. From the first the public took the young pair under its protection; they made friends everywhere. It was in truth an ideal union of beauty and talent. Mrs. Sheridan's lovely voice would have ensured them a good income; but her husband would not allow her to sing in public. This resolution on his part earned him the hearty commendation of Johnson:--"He has acted wisely and nobly. Would not a gentleman be disgraced by having his wife singing publicly for hire? No, sir, there can be no doubt here." _Autre temps, autres moeurs_--a gentleman does not now disdain to live by his wife's earnings!

Meantime, admirers crowded round the beautiful Mrs. Sheridan. Sir Joshua's portrait of her as "St. Cecilia" was exhibited in the Academy of 1775. Most simple and beautiful, was the praise of the carping critic, Horace Walpole. Even the excellent and most virtuous King took notice of the young beauty, and it was said ogled her when she sang in oratorios.

The struggle in which Sheridan was more or less engaged during his whole life had begun. A brilliant, erratic genius, such as was the author of the "Rivals," is not a safe guard of domestic happiness; but, after all is said and done, Sheridan was not so much to blame, and even his worst enemy cannot deny that he had a warm heart.

Moore tells us that, with all her beauty and talent, Mrs. Sheridan was not happy, nor did she escape the censure of the world; but that Sheridan was ever unmindful of her, Moore declares to be untrue. On the contrary, he says he followed her with a lover's eye throughout. Her letters to him would certainly give the reader the idea that she was on the best terms with her husband. They are delightful, fresh, and natural, and perfectly frank.... This gifted woman died early. She was only thirty-one when consumption laid its fatal hand upon her.... During her last illness Sheridan was devoted to her. His grief and his remorse for any shortcomings in his married life are most touching! Miss Le-Fanu, writing an account of the last days to Miss Sheridan, says: "Your brother behaved most wonderfully, although his heart was breaking, and at times his feelings were so violent that I feared he would be quite ungovernable at the last. Yet he summoned up courage to kneel by the bedside till he felt the last pulse of expiring excellence." And Mr. Moore tells us that, some weeks after his wife's death, "a friend, happening to sleep in the room next his, could hear him sobbing through the greater part of the night." But soon after he fell in love with Pamela, and married a Miss Ogle in two years.

(_From the Picture by Gainsborough._)]

And now we come to the most beautiful woman of her time, Isabella, Duchess of Rutland. Looking at her picture by Sir Joshua, we cannot but be struck by the infinite grace of the attitude, the queenly dignity mixed with womanly sweetness. The Duchess was in fact eminently womanly, although acknowledged to be a queen of beauty. No word of scandal touched her name; and this in an age of Sneerwells and Backbites.

In _The European Magazine_ of 1782 there is this curious testimony to her Grace's devotion to her lord:--"Annexed to the respective names are the amusements which the following women of fashion principally delight in:--

Lady Spencer, riding.
Lady Salisbury, dancing.
Lady Craven, acting.
Lady Pembroke, Viol de Gambe.
Mrs. Damer, platonics.
Mrs. Greville, poetry.
Duchess of Devonshire, admiration.
Lady Weymouth, mankind.
Lady Huntingdon, The Tabernacle.
Lady South, the last word.
The Duchess of Rutland, her husband."

In 1782 the Duchess accompanied the Duke to Ireland, where he filled the post of Lord Lieutenant. She was well fitted to win the hearts of the Irish people, who were then, as now, easily impressed by beauty. The magnificence of the little Court had never been equalled, while at the same time decorum and a certain order were preserved, which had not always been the case. Under Lords Chesterfield and Townshead, Mrs. Deans talks of the guests carrying the dishes off the supper tables, and in Lady Hardwicke's time there it was that the romping bouts and the famous Cutchacutchoo prevailed, but no wicked tales are told of our Duchess's Viceroyalty. Once only did she descend from her pedestal of dignity: it might be that the breath of frolic was too strongly in the air for even a Saxon nature to resist. Anyhow she _did_ repair to the Irish Ranelagh Gardens to see the fun, disguised in the dress of one of her own waiting-women She was of course recognised, and mobbed.

On another occasion, her jealousy was excited by hearing the Duke say he had accidentally seen the loveliest woman he had ever beheld. She never rested until she found out the residence of this Mrs. Dillon, and forced her way into her presence, when a glance told her she was both beautiful and virtuous. Ashamed of her suspicions, she frankly told what had brought her, and warmly invited the other to return the visit. This, however, Mrs. Dillon had the good sense and dignity to decline.

In Mr. Gilbert's interesting history of Dublin, he mentions that the body of the Duke was waked (according to the Irish custom) in the House of Lords for three nights. The coffin was then carried by bearers to Christ Church Cathedral, where it lay in State. The Duchess returned to England, and never married again.

(_From the Picture by Sir Joshua Reynolds._)]

_Three Birds on a Stile._

BY B. L. FARJEON.

A learned bishop has declared that the night before men and women are married should be spent in solitude, and devoted to prayer, repentance, and meditation; but a bishop may be very learned, and yet deficient in common sense. Miss Adelaide Dorr, who was to be married to-morrow to Mr. Arthur Gooch, had several sisters, two brothers, and the usual number of parents. With all these around her, popping in and out, asking questions, making remarks, laughing, crying, teasing, and kissing, and trying on things, you may imagine the state she was in. Arthur had put in an appearance, but he had gone away early, he had so much to do to complete his arrangements for to-morrow. There was, of course, a tender leave-taking in the passage, from which Adelaide came in rather quieter than usual, but she was not allowed to be quiet long. The entire house was in a flutter of excitement, and had the charming girl expressed a desire for solitude, for the purpose of following the learned bishop's advice, it would instantly have been feared that the prospect of approaching bliss had turned her head. She had no wish for solitude, and as to her having anything to repent, the idea was monstrous and absurd. There is little doubt that before she fell asleep on this important night in her young life she would breathe a prayer, but it would not be exactly such a prayer as the bishop had in view. And it is true she thought a great deal of Arthur; indeed, she thought of little else--a statement, perhaps, which my female readers will dispute when they take into consideration the wedding dress and the trousseau. All I can advance in proof of my assertion is that Adelaide was very much in love, and that there are circumstances--rare, I grant--in which dress does not occupy the first place in a woman's mind.

Neither did Arthur Gooch, who was as much in love as Adelaide, spend the last night of his bachelor existence in solitude and repentance. When he left Adelaide, he jumped into a hansom, and was driven to his chambers, where he expected to find a letter of pressing importance. He was not a man of fortune; he had good prospects, which were almost certain of realisation, and he had a little investment or two which paid him fair interest, and which could not, without loss, be turned immediately into cash. Now, the expenses of the coming wedding, and the furnishing and decoration of a house he had taken on lease, had made more serious inroads on his bank balance than he expected. Calculating the expenses of the honeymoon trip on the Continent, he found that he would run short of money, and in this dilemma he applied to a friend, Jack Stevens by name, for a loan of seventy-five pounds, which, with seventy-five of his own, which he had by him, would carry him and his pretty bride comfortably through. It was Jack Stevens' answer to his letter asking for the loan that he was expecting as he rode to his chambers with the image of Adelaide in his mind. What a dear girl she was! Was there ever such another? Was he not the happiest man in the world? And so on, and so on. Who is not familiar with a true lover's rhapsodies? Arthur was the sort of man who would have rivalled Orlando, had the positions been similar. He would have carved Adelaide's name on every tree.

Running up to his rooms, which were at the top of the house, he found half a dozen letters in his letter box, and among them one from his friend. It may be mentioned that Jack Stevens would have been his best man, had it not been that his presence was imperatively demanded in another part of the country on the day of the wedding. It was provoking, but it could not be helped.

"Dear Arthur," said Jack Stevens in his letter, "certainly you can have the money, and more if you want it. As time is so short, I do not care risking it through the post, and a crossed cheque might not suit you. I have to catch an early train in the morning for Manchester, as you know, but I shall be at Lady Weston White's 'At Home' between eleven and twelve o'clock to-night. I saw a card for the crush stuck in your looking glass. Look me up there, and I will hand you the notes. I am awfully sorry to give you the trouble, but I can't come to you, and I am anxious to be certain that you are properly furnished before you and your bride start for Paradise. Always yours, dear boy, JACK."

Lady Weston White was not one of Arthur's intimate friends, but he was on her list, and he generally received cards from her three or four times in the course of the year. He had not intended to go to her house in Grosvenor-street on this occasion, but Jack's letter settled it, and he got out his swallow-tail. The money he must have, and there was no other way of getting it. There were letters to write, and a lot of things to be attended to which he calculated would keep him up till one o'clock in the morning. Well, he would have to stop up another hour or so, that was all. At half-past eleven he was in Grosvenor-street, engulfed in one of those London crowds of ladies and gentlemen which contribute to the success of a London season. The beautiful house was literally packed; to ascend a staircase was a work of several minutes, and to find his friend Jack in such a vast assemblage a matter of considerable difficulty. It was a notable gathering; the _élite_ of society were present, distinguished men and fair women, and Arthur, as he squeezed his way along, thought he had never seen so wonderful a profusion of diamonds and lovely dresses. The ladies seemed to vie with each other in the display of jewels. They glittered in the hair, round the necks, in the ears, on the arms and bosoms, on shoes, and fans, and ravishing gowns; and Arthur observed that a new fashion was coming into vogue, diamond buttons on ladies' gloves. "If any of the light-fingered fraternity were here," thought Arthur, "they could gather a fine harvest." And said aloud, "Allow me." A lady had dropped her fan, and Arthur managed to rescue it from the crush of feet. It sparkled with diamonds. At length Arthur reached the hostess, who held out two fingers to him.

Lady Weston White was a woman of great penetration, and, as became a society leader, of perfect self-possession. She never forgot a face or a circumstance, and, busy as she was at present in the performance of her arduous duties, she remembered that Arthur Gooch was to be married within a few hours; she remembered, also, that to her R. S. V. P. she had received a line from him regretting he could not accept her kind invitation. She said nothing, however, but gave him rather a questioning look as he passed on to allow other guests behind him to pay their respects to their hostess. The look puzzled him somewhat; it seemed to ask, "What brings you here?" He had quite forgotten that he had declined her invitation. At length, after much polite squeezing and hustling, after dropping his handkerchief and picking it up again, to the annoyance of some neighbours who had become fixtures and could scarcely move for the crush, he saw Jack Stevens in the distance. They were both tall men, and communication being established between them they made simultaneous efforts to get to each other. This accomplished, Arthur hooked Jack's arm, and said:

"Let us get out of this as quick as we can."

It happened that Lady Weston White was close enough to hear the words, of which fact Arthur was oblivious, but as they moved on he turned in her direction, and caught another strange look from her. "What on earth does she look at me in that manner for?" he thought. "One might suppose I came without an invitation." He and Jack got their hats and coats, and going from the house, stopped at the corner of a street a few yards off.

"I haven't a moment to spare, Arthur," said Jack, "nor have you, I should imagine. I had almost given you up; it is a mercy we met each other in that crowd." He took out his pocket-book. "I would walk home with you, old fellow, if I had time; you must take the will for the deed."

"All right, old man," said Arthur; "it was very good of you to take all this trouble for me. I don't know how it was I miscalculated my finances so stupidly."

"Oh, these accidents happen to all of us. Feel nervous about to-morrow?"

"It makes me rather serious, you know."

"Of course. Wish I could be there. Now, no nonsense, Arthur. Will seventy-five be enough? Isn't it cutting it rather close? Don't spoil the honeymoon for a ha'porth of tar. You can have a couple of hundred if you like. I've got it by me."

"Well, make it a hundred," said Arthur. "It will be safer perhaps. Adelaide might take a fancy to a new bonnet."

"Or to some chocolate creams, or to the moon and stars," said Jack, with a good-humoured smile, "and you'd get them for her. Say a hundred and fifty."

"All right. A hundred and fifty."

Jack Stevens, shaded by his friend's tall form--for several persons passed them as they were talking--counted out thirty five-pound Bank of England notes, and slipped them into Arthur's hand.

"Thank you, Jack."

"Not necessary. Good night, old fellow, and good luck to you. Kiss the pretty bride for me, and give her my love."

"I will, old man."

A few minutes afterwards Arthur Gooch was in his chambers, "clearing up," as he called it. He wanted to leave things as orderly as he could, and in the accomplishment of this laudable design there was a great deal to do. All the time he was writing and tearing up papers and burning them, and packing bags and portmanteau, he was thinking of Adelaide.

"Dear little woman! I wonder if she is asleep. She hasn't left things to the last as I have done. Altogether too tidy for that. While I am fussing about in this musty room--what a cosy nest we shall come home to after the honeymoon!--there she lies, with a smile on her pretty mouth, dreaming of me. Your health, my darling!"

He had opened a bottle of champagne, of which he had already drunk a glass, and now he poured out another, and as he held it up to the light he saw Adelaide's bright eyes amid the sparkling bubbles.

"Your health, my darling, and God bless you!"

He drained the glass, and set it down.

It was really a love match, of which there are more in this prosaic world than cynics will admit. These young people were all the world to each other, and if anything had occurred to prevent the wedding coming off their hearts would have been broken.

Arthur set the glass upon the table with a tender light in his eyes, and as he did so he heard a ring at the street door below. As has been stated, his chambers were at the top of the house, but everything was very quiet, and that is why he heard the bell so plainly. The window of the room in which he was working looked out upon the street. He took no notice of the ringing, and proceeded dreamily with his packing. The wine he had drunk intensified his sentimental mood, and he paused many times to gaze upon the portrait of his darling which stood in the centre of the mantelpiece. It was a speaking likeness of the beautiful face; the eyes seemed to look at him with looks of love; the lovely lips seemed to say, "I love you, I love you." And Arthur pressed his lips to the sweet face, and murmured in response, "I love you, I love you! With all my heart and soul, I love you, and will be true to you."

Suddenly it occurred to him that the street door bell continued to ring. The sound jarred upon his ears. Throwing up his window he leaned forward, and at the top of his voice inquired who it was that continued to ring so pertinaciously.

"I have come to see Mr. Arthur Gooch," was the answer.

"To see me?" he cried in wonder.

"Yes, you, if you are Mr. Gooch."

"What for?"

"On most particular business."

Wondering more and more, the young man ran down the stairs and opened the street door. In the dim light he saw the figure of a gentleman with whose face he was not familiar.

"What do you want with me?" he asked.

"It will be best for us to speak privately," replied the stranger. "It is a most delicate matter."

"A most delicate matter!" stammered Arthur.

"A most delicate matter!" repeated the stranger in a grave tone.