Evelyn Lascelles. An autobiography. Edited [or rather written] by J. Addison

Book I. Chabteb

I. yodih's DAY-DEBAMS. Childhood ! what magic is there in that word ! What a host of tender and happy memories throng into our minds when we hear it ! But although our own recollections of that early period of life may afford us intense pleasure, we do not care much for those of other people. I will, therefore, be brief, and merely state that my father, who was an officer in the army, died when I was about four years old, and that my mother, with myself and two younger VOL. I. B children, went to reside with a brother, nearly twenty years her senior, the rector of a small village not very far from London, which I shall call Heathfield. How I loved the dear old man, and my sweet mother, and my young brother and sister, and the home where my happiest days were spent ! Berhaps a still happier period than childhood is that of very early youth, when we have tasted, but in sparing draughts, the pleasures of thought and action — when every day, almost every hour, we feel fresh powers developed within us — when the world seems a paradise, and life a romance.

How well I remember my seven teenth birth-day ! It was one of those bright days which sometimes occur in early spring, when nature seems to smile upon the infant year, and the tender green shoots of the bud ding trees expand almost visibly to the soft breezes and genial sunshine. " I like spring," said my sister, as we walked along towards one of our favourite haunts, " because everything is so fresh and joyous, and we have the whole bright, happy year to look forward to." " So do I, Annie," I replied. " It is like the spring of life. We have everything before us — a bright, happy future to look forward to. I often wonder whether our day-dreams will be realised." " Whether you will become the first author of the day," said my sister, smiling, and play fully laying her ha id on my shoulder.

" Not quite that, dear, I am afraid," I an swered, laughing. " Would you be content with less ?" " I would not be content with aiming at less. You know the Bersian proverb, ' He who shoots at the sun shoots higher than he who shoots at a shrub.' " " J have, at least, no doubt of your success," said Annie, seriously. " I am sure of one thing, Annie — that I shall never come near my own standard of excellence." " I intend, however, that you should be very celebrated," continued my sister ; '' and though, of course, that is secondary — make a large fortune like other great authors. And when we are rich, you and I, how many things we will do for dear mamma and our uncle and Bercy. We shall no longer have the pain of seeing mamma, as she often does, go without different things that she would like, because they are too expensive, or that she may have something to send to her poor old aunt and our sick cousin Ellen.

And do you not recollect, b we are to allow Ellen and her mother a hundred a year ?" "And poor old nurse?" I suggested. " She is the last person I would forget, or our other humble friends. And then we are to build a house for ourselves among the Welsh mountains, with a studio, and a conservatory, and a few beautiful paintings, and the busts of our favourite poets. And we will be always — always together, Evelyn." "There would be no happiness for me if we were not, dearest," I replied with emotion. " To say that I would gladly give up every cherished vision of fame, and every pleasure the world can bestow, rather than be separated from you, were to say little, for what would be fame and pleasure without you ? A desert island, with you by my side, were far — far better. We could be happy even on a desert island, if we were together — could we not, Annie ?"

"I could be happy anywhere with you, Evelyn," replied my sister. "But do not let us talk of separation, even for a moment." She paused, and then added " Even the little trials and disappointments we have had lately seem to make us love each other better, if that were possible, do they not?" J " If that were possible ! indeed, dear, I scarcely think it is." There was a pause, and then Annie observed — " There is only one thing to sadden me, and that is the thought that you are so soon going away for your annual visit to London. Mrs. Stanley goes earlier than usual this year. I know that it is quite right you should go, but I never felt so sorry to part with you before." " Nor I to leave you, Annie. But you must remember, that next year you are to accompany us." " Yes, that is consoling," answered Annie, brightening up, and brushing a tear from her eyes.

" And how delightful it will be to go about together, and how much I shall like to hear your first impressions. Meanwhile I shall write to you very often, and have so much to tell you when I come back." " Mrs. Stanley," observed Annie, " tried to console me yesterday, by teding me what a number of new friends and admirers you will have. But none of them will love you as I do." " I am sure they will not, darling, nor shall I care for any of them half so much as for you." CHABTIB II. A LITERARY SOIREE. Mrs. Stanley had, from the time I was twelve years old, taken a kind interest in me. Her husband, a gentleman of independent fortune, was a distant connection of my father's. Every Spring I had passed two or three months at their house in Cavendish Square, and was treated by both as a child of their own.

There was not a sight in London I was not taken to see, and various lessons and masters contributed to make the time pass both with pleasure and profit. A great many intelligent people came to the house, and in one way or other I gained from these visits innumerable fresh ideas, of which, on my return, Annie was the delighted sharer. Mr. Stanley was a very quiet, stay at-home individual, but his wife enjoyed society, and went out a great deal. From the time I was fifteen, she had taken me with her whenever she could find the slightest excuse for doing so, so that I had been rather prema turely introduced to the world. This was the first season that I was looked upon as regularly " come out ;" and the glimpses I had had of London life and society, made me eager to increase my experience. " My dear Evelyn," said Mrs. Stanley, as she entered my room, one evening about a week after my arrival, " have you forgotten that this is the night of Mrs. Somerset Wood ville's soiree t You will scarcely be dressed in time."

" Oh, I hope so !" was my exclamation, as I started from the perusal of a very interesting book. " I have reckoned so much of this soiree. You say I shall be sure to see some real authors — how charming 1" " I hope you wid not be disappointed," said my friend. "One seldom meets any one very celebrated at her house. She prefers those to whom her patronage is an object, and often falls into the common error of mistaking eccen tricity for genius. But dress now, my dear child, I will send Clemence to you as soon as she has arranged my hair." Before Clemence had put the finishing touches to her mistress's head dress, I was in Mrs. Stanley's dressing-room. "Is it possible, my dear, that you are ready ?" exclaimed that lady, who was always three hours dressing. "Well, you look very nicely. That white muslin dress is extremely becoming.

But will you wear nothing in your hair ?" " Mademoiselle tink, and wid reason," observed the French maid, who, like the rest of her nation, never lost the opportunity of pay ing a compliment ; "Mademoiselle tink, dat wid such beautiful cheveux noirs, it is not necessaire to wear de flower." " And yet 1 should like to see one in her hair," said Mrs. Stanley. " Will any of these suit you, Evelyn ?" I begged leave to choose a white moss rose from a bouquet of real flowers that stood on the table, in preference to any of the artificial ones. " Bardon, Mademoiselle," said Clemence," " un peu plus d cote droit. One least bit more to the right — it is more fashionable so." " Bnt it is more graceful thus," I con tended. " Evelyn is right," said Mrs. Stanley, " Do not alter it, Clemence, " grace is more important than fashion, although few people think so.

We shall be in excellent time." On arriving at Mrs. Woodville's we found a large number of people, dispersed in groups about the rooms, which were gloomy and badly lighted. The hostess, a woman considerably advanced in years, dressed in rich ruby coloured satin, and a profusion of lace; received us very graciously, and, to my great confusion, presented me to several of the guests, as " a very talented young friend of hers." Among these was a tall lady, about six-and-twenty, with high shoulders, large teeth, prominent eyes, and very thick eyebrows, whose name (as is generally the case with introductions) I could not hear. This lady sat down beside me, and commenced a conversation. " Do you know many of the gens here to night ?" she enquired. I replied in the negative. " Some of them are bien remarkable," observed my new friend.

Many of them are at least very remarkable looking," I returned. " I shall be bien heureuse to play cieerone," said the lady. " I know presque tous." "Thank you. Bray tell me who is that stout old lady with the crimson face, and the b EVELYN LASClLLES. flame coloured dress, who is fanning herself and gesticulating so vehemently as she talks to that pale thin gentleman with the turned down collar and a geranium in his button hole ?" " That is Mrs. Broomley Croker, the great advocate for the independence of woman. She thinks our sex is cruelly illused, that we ought to have all the rights and privileges of men, and most especially to sit in parliament. She has written on political economy, the currency, the corn laws, free trade, and negro emancipa tion ; on theology, philosophy, mesmerism and metaphysics; tragedies, comedies, farces ; poems, lyric, epic, and dramatic ; besides tales, essays, and novels without end.

She has also published a version of the Bsalms, a treatise on Algebra, a History of New Zealand, and trans lated Milton into German. She is vraiment unefemme bien extraordinaire." " She must be indeed," I exclaimed breath lessly ; not feeling sufficient moral courage to confess that I had never before heard of this extraordinary woman. " Cet homme by her side is a dramatic author. He has had fifty seven tragedies and seventy three comedies rejected, but has great hope of succeeding with his seventy fourth." " Boor man ! and that lady in a dark morn ing dress, with the stern face and green glasses ?" " That fraulein is Miss Sims, also an au thoress ; the very antipodes of Mrs. Broomley Croker, for she undervalues her own sex, is au desespoir because she is not a man, and asserts the immeasurable inferiority of women, upon every occasion.

She thinks herself, how ever, a brilliant exception, and says that she only writes for men, that she does not wish women to read her books because they would not understand them. She is not more than five and twenty, though she has such an old face. Her first book, " Ammenstagaroth," or the " Memoirs of an Antediluvian," has not long been published. It is a tremendously heavy work, but very learned. She is said to read ten hours a day at the British Mu seum." " I have seen the book," I answered, " and quite agree with Miss Sims that few women would understand it, or few men either, which I think is not to be regretted, as she announces in her preface that she sets moral and social laws at defiance." "Sie haben gam recht," replied my new friend. " You understand German ?" " I can read it a little."

" Euna bellissima lingua. But the professor has arrived. Do you see him ? The small man with the bald head and spectacles. I wonder what he will lecture on to-night." " Oh 1 is there to be a lecture ?" "Yes. But pardon, Mrs. Broomley Croker is disengaged. I want to speak to her a moment about one of my little books. I shall return in an augenblick." " One of my little books !" I repeated to myself. " Then I am talking to an authoress. They seem to be innumerable." " Me voila de retour," said my new friend, after a few minutes' absence." " Have you been in England long ?" I presently enquired. " Why do you ask ?" demanded my com panion, rather sharply. " Because I thought you spoke English very well for a foreigner." " A foreigner, del ! I am not a foreigner. What countrywoman did you take me for ?"

" I confess 1 was puzzled. But are you really English ?" " To be sure I am. What made you think I was not ?" " Because you spoke so many languages, which I thought arose from your imperfect knowledge of English." " I hope I know English," she answered, drawing herself up and looking affronted ; " but if one knows other languages it is a pity not to make use of them." "Certainly; yet—" " Yet what ?" " Yet I must own I prefer speaking only one at a time. I can speak Italian tolerably, if you like we will — " " No ; Italian is too soft for a party." " Shall we try German, that is not too soft." " I fear I have forgotten my German ; it is so long since — " " French, then ?" "Thank you, not tonight. Introducing foreign words is one thing, and speaking a foreign language another." I admitted that this was true, and being now sent for by Mrs. Stanley, went to the other end of the room, near the lecturer.

This was a good move, as regarded hearing the lecture, for the professor had a weak voice and an indistinct mode of speaking, besides being troubled with a short cough. My chaperon was conversing with an agreeablelooking young man, the most so I thought of any person in the room. She introduced me, and then con tinued the conversation. " We were remarking just now," said the young man, whose name was Courteney, " on the peculiar failings and virtues of our own age, as compared with other ages, and I think that among the former may be reckoned a greater degree of vanity than belonged to our ancestors. Literature is a case in point. Beople of the most mediocre talent, or indeed with no talent at ad, take up the pen, and inundate the public with their vapid trash, without feel ing or even affecting the slightest modesty or diffidence.

Yet what a combination of natural gifts and acquired attainments are requisite to make an author. It is not to be wondered there are so few really great." " An author," said I, "ought to be a lin guist, a painter, and a musician. If he is not familiar with, at least, the rudiments of several languages, living and dead, he cannot thoroughly know his own, if he have not the feeling of an artist his descriptions of persons or scenery will never be graphic or pictorial, and if he does not possess a fine ear, and some knowledge of the science of music, theoretical and practical, his style will never have that harmonious beauty which is indispensible both to verse and prose." " And of which so many authors appear to have no conception, or even comprehension," said Courteney. " A knowledge of music may afford some assistance, but there must also be a peculiar feeling for harmony and rythm of words, which a fine musician does not necessarily possess.

An author should not be ignorant of any one in the whole circle of arts and sciences. But we must bear in mind that all these acquirements will never in themselves make an author. We are, of course, presup posing genius." " "Undoubtedly, " said Mrs. Stanley ; " but is there no risk that a genius endeavouring to acquire such numerous accomplishments and such varied knowledge might end in becoming a mere smatterer ?" " 1 think not," said Courteney ; " for although, of course, one life time is far too short to allow of a deep and thorough stu ly of more than one or two branches of art or science, yet genius is never superficial. With out entering into minute details, it goes at once to the heart and core of every subject which engages its attention, grasping with ease what ever is most important and most interesting, and bringing all to bear upon its one great end."

" Then you do not think it dangerous to aim at universality ?" " For ordinary people, or for people of mere talent, not for those possessed of genius ; aud depend upon it, where there is genius, the passion for the universal will never be carried to excess." The conversation was here put a stop to by the commencement of the lecture. My curiosity was roused by the sight of some thirty or forty small jars, containing substances of different shades of black, brown, red, and yellow ; but what I could not ascertain. The professor commenoed by stating that he was going to explain a new theory of his own — namely, that the varieties of colour, disposition, feature, aud habits, met with among the different nations of the earth, were all occasioned by the different peculiarities of soil and geological formation of that part of the globe on which they lived.

"lam aware, gentlemen and ladies, that is to say, ladies and gentlemen," continued the professor, "that this — a — a — this — a — theory may, and, indeed, must appear very — a — a — extraordinary — that is to say very — I mean not at all what any gentleman, or — I mean lady or gentleman, who had been asked to assign a cause — for we must remember that cause is the consequence of effect — I mean to say that effect is the precursor of cause " Here he was seized with a fit of coughing, during which Courteney whispered to me that the last emendation of the professor reminded him of a correction in some newspaper, where appeared under the head of erratum — for his Grace the Duchess of Devonshire, read, her Grace the Duke of Devonshire. " Considering, then," continued the learned professor, " that no one would naturally assign this as a cause, I — a — a — I must observe that it is the province of science to teach us that what would, at first sight — a — a — a — appear — a — seem unnatural, will, upon investigation, prove to be perfectly correct.

These little jars, ladies and gentlemen, contain specimens — that is — a — a — portions of earth, collected with much trouble and considerable — a — a — in point of fact, expense, from different regions of the globe, as I thought it absolutely necessary, in plain English, that it was impossible, or next to impossible, to substantiate my theory with out them ; but with their help, I hope, gentle men and ladies, I mean ladies and gentlemen, to be able to prove the said theory to your — a — a — a — a — to your entire satisfaction." Here the lecturer paused to take breath, and then proceeded to pour out and drink some water, after which he made several alterations in the arrangement of the little jars of earth, his assistant, he said, having numbered them wrong. He then proceeded to explain his theory, which, as he went on at the same rate, occupied a full hour and a half, at the end of which time, no one, to judge from the perplexed countenances around, knew any more about it than when he began ; at least, I can answer for myself.

The professor had become so heated and red in the face, that he seemed in danger of apoplexy, although he had, in the course of the lecture, drank so much cold water, that I suspected he must be a hydropathic patient. I felt extremely glad when the contents of the last jar, consisting of some earth, brought, as the lecturer averred, from the most southern point of the most southern of the South Sea islands, had been handed round among the company, and the exhausted professor sank into a chair, and was speedily concealed from view by numerous guests, who crowded round the little table, to ask questions, or to ex amine the specimens again. Several recitations followed, in which I could see no beauty ; and many anecdotes were told, in which I could discover no point. I began to grow very much wearied, and heartily to wish myself at home.

Courteney had left the party about the middle of the lecture, as he had another engagement, so that I had no longer his conversation to amuse me. Some very dry sandwiches and very bad wine were handed round, and then a gentleman sung a very dismal comic song, with a chorus, in which nobody joined. I was requested to re cite some poetry, but begged to be excused ; and I began to think the evening would never come to an end, when, to my great relief, Mrs. Stanley's carriage was announced. " I could not leave the party before," said Mrs. Stanley, as we drove home, " for Mrs. Somerset Woodville would have been eter nally offended if I had ; but I would have given the world to come away long ago. By the-bye, my dear Evelyn, you looked uncom monly wearied during the latter part of the evening." " I felt so."

" I have no doubt you did ; but that is no reason why you should show it. There is no merit in looking pleased and amused when you are so. Now I, for example — did you happen to observe how I looked ?" " Bleased with everything and everybody." " Well, I am certain I was not a shade less wearied than you were ; but it does not do in society always to look as one feels. Besides, a bored expression of face is very unbecoming. You must try to acquire more command over your features, Evelyn." " I will try to improve, dear Mrs. Stanley," I replied ; " though I fear in this instance I shall find it very difficult to satisfy you." CHAFTEB III. A LITERARY FRIENDSHIP. " And what do you think of my old, or rather my young friend, Cecil Courteney ?" said Mrs. Stanley, the next morning as we were sitting together in the drawing-room.

" Meet ing him at Mrs. Woodville's was an unexpected pleasure. I did not know he had re turned from the continent." I replied that I was much pleased with his conversation. " Do you think him handsome ?" "Yes; but it was the expression of his face that particularly pleased me." " You will like him still better when you know him more ; which 1 hope you soon will do — for he is going to call, and I have asked him to dine here on Tuesday. He will have an ample fortune, Evelyn, and his family is well connected. He would be a very good match." "ThaDk you; but it is very probable that he might not consider me a good match." " Oh, he is epris already. He had been looking at you before you came up, and said you were the most interesting girl in the room." " That was no great compliment," I replied, laughing.

" I never saw such an assemblage of odd, ugly-looking people." " You and he are exactly suited to each other," proceeded Mrs. Stanley; "both clever, and both fond of literature. And you are a nice contrast in person. You look well to gether. He, with his rich brown hair and bright animated face, and you, with your long dark curls and pensive cast of features. It is just the thing ! I shall see you Mrs. Cecil Courteney before the season is over." "Not quite so soon, I hope, at all events. I wish for at least several years more freedom. Besides, what would my darling Annie do if I were married ?" " Well, my dear, we shall see. Was not that a knock at the door ?" " Mr. Courteney," said a servant ; and that gentleman entered. " I have not been long in profitting by your kind peimission to call," he said, after the first salutations were over.

" I am most happy to see you," said Mrs. Stanley. " My young friend and I were just talking of you." In the course of conversation we discovered that Courteney's uncle had known something of my father. This was an additional reason for friendship ; not that any seemed wanting, for from this time scarcely a day passed during the remaining two months of my stay without our meeting, and we became every day more intimate. Although not an author, Courteney was so fond of literature, and so frequently spoke on the subject, that I, by degrees, con fided to him, and consulted him, upon my literary designs. At his request, I showed him some of my manuscripts, with which he expressed himself pleased. " You have only to exert yourself," he ob served, " and I have no doubt of your becom ing a distinguished author."

" You are very kind to encourage me," I replied. " Literature is a pursuit in which, perhaps, we find less sympathy and companion ship than in any other." " Yes," answered Courteney, " for painting, music, almost every other art or science can, in a great measure, be taught, and however decided our natural talent, we cannot learn these well without an instructor ; but the art of writing we must teach ourselves." " Yet," said I, " a sensible friend who will point out our errors, as you have kindly done some of mine, is invaluable." He was beginning to say that I valued his criticisms too highly, but I cut him short by observing — "An old friend, who knows my fondness for literary pursuits, recommended me seriously, when my work was completed, to lay it by for nine years, according to Horace's advice, before I thought of publication."

" How very absurd," said Courteney, " unless manuscripts improved by keeping like port wine, or man had several centuries of life at his command. Not that I mean to undervalue mature reflection, or frequent and careful revision, but there is a medium in all things." " Has Mr. Courteney made you an offer yet, my dear ?" demanded Mrs. Stanley. " An offer !" I exclaimed. " Yes ; he offered to transcribe some blotted pages of manuscript for me." "Nonsense, Evelyn; you know what I mean. Has Mr. Courteney asked you to be his wife ?" EVELYK LASCELLES. 25 "No." " Has he told you he loves you ?" " No." " Dear, dear ! And your mamma will not allow you to stay more than a week longer." " Do you think that would make any difference in Mr. Courteney's sentiments for me ? But seriously, my dear Mrs. Stanley, why can not you let me enjoy an agreeable friendship without thinking or talking of love and mar riage ?"

" But, Evelyn, surely your heart is touched ?" " I am not aware that it is." " But I will quickly make you aware. Do you not feel an indescribable thrill of emotion when you hear him approaching ?" " No, I cannot say that I do." " Does not your heart beat faster when he is speaking to you ?" " I never observed that it did." " You were together alone for three quarters of an hour this morning. What were you talking about ?" " Capital punishments." " What else V " Stay, let me see. The state of religion in North America." Mrs. Stanley sighed vol. i. c " There was one thing more. He begged that on the strength of his family having known something of my father, he might be allowed to ride down from London and see mamma at Heathfield." " Well, come," said Mrs. Stanley, brighten ing up. " That does look a little more hopeful.

What did you say ?" " That I was sure mamma would be very happy to see him." As the day of my departure approached, Courteney expressed much regret. He lingered till a late hour the last evening we were to be together. An early friend of Mrs. Stanley's had that day arrived, and they were engaged in talking over old times, so that Courteney and I were left to entertain each other. " You will soon forget me," said Courteney, after a rather long silence, with a shade of melancholy in his voice and manner, which I had several times remarked of late, " but I shall not soon forget you." " Indeed," said I, " I should be very un grateful to forget one who has been so kind to me." "Then you will remember me !" he resumed earnestly ; " and yet — yes, remember me as a friend — as — as one who will always take the deepest interest in your welfare — in your success — as one who but for — " He paused abruptly, and then rising sud denly, walked towards the piano-forte.