TRAITS OF CILaitICTB11. * THIS is a milk and water book
; and what is worse, the propor- tion of milk in it is very small, and the water is ditch water. The amount of original matter it contains might suffice to furnish forth a couple of readable magazine articles, but it has pleased the author to make it fill two volumes, with the help of a quan- tum sufficit of twaddle. By way of exemplifying her mode of operation, we will briefly analyze one of her chapters, which is headed with the name of the late John Abraham Valpy, the well known printer and publisher of the classics. The chapter con- sists of forty paee s, of which just seven are devoted to its no- minal subject. °It opens with six pages and a half of platitudes about cemeteries and the state of the soul after death, all a propos of the fact that Mr. Valpy is dead, and buried at Kensall Green. Then comes an instalment of the seven pages of Valpiaca proper, in which we are presented with a pen and ink portrait remarkable for its unlikeness to the original. We have then a couple of pages about the late Judge Talfourd, only to tell us how the our thor was deprived, by the loquacity of an old lady, of the pleasure of conversing with him on the only occasion on which she met him. The remainder of the Valpiana follows, and the last twenty-four pages of the chapter are occupied with some more sentimental platitudes upon extraneous topics, and with a com- monplace account of the author's visit to Bedlam. Her first meeting with Tyrone Power was at a picnic, and what a loss would the world have sustained had she not been there to record this important "trait of character "—" The first words I heard him utter, as he poised a. tempting and delicate limb of a fowl upon his fork, were, ' Will you allow roe to offer you this wing.' " She called by invitation on Miss Landon, and says, "After the pleasant courtesies of shaking hands, kte. were gone through, I remember her first words to rue were, ' What will you have to eat ? ' " Miss Landon did wisely iu hastening to stop the mouth of her babbling visitor. The poet evidently regarded the senti- mental gossip as a bore ; for says the latter, " You spoke to her of the subjects which she so delighted to write of—of the sorrows of humanity—of the griefs and calamities which sap and shadow life, and hope, and joy, of the weariness and desolateness which abide even [sic] more when faith has been broken, loyalty be- trayed, or trust shipwrecked—and she mocked at all with peals of irreverent laughter ! " It would be a great relief to us if we too could laugh at our author's pretentious inanities; but there is no mirth in the grin they force us to wear. She has seized us by the button and we must hear her out, though she aggravates our die- tress by mocking assurances that she is bent on telling her tale in the most simple and straightforward manner. " I must es- pecially deprecate," thus she says in her own peculiar idiom,. "I must especially deprecate, in these sketches, any approach to,. or indulgence in, sentimentality," and then off she goes at score to sentimentalize as usual. The best thing in her book is an account of two interviews with the late Duke of Wellington. On the first occasion, she accompanied a young married lady, who waited on the Duke—he was then in office—to solicit from him some favour for a relation. The ladies had waited a long time. in an ante-
chamber, when suddenly the Duke stood before them-
" He was dressed in full uniform, as he was about to proceed to some Court or military ceremonial, I forget which, held that day. My friend, who ordinarily was remarkable for the case and gracefulness of her manner, on this unfortunate occasion completely lost all self-possession ; and in fact was speechless—unable to stammer out one articulate word. The Duke re- garded her for awhile with cold and pitiless gaze, nor sought in the re- motest degree to remove or dissipate the confusion which so overpoweringly and really distressingly overcame her. Finding she did not speak, he said, in a voice of exceeding sternness, What paper is that you hold in your hand ? ' She faltered out that it embodied the petition she oame to request in behalf of her relative. 'Give it me !" he said. He took it from her and read it attentively over ; and then in tones the most curt, most harsh, most hopelessly and inexorably decisive, said, I am not the proper person to apply to about this. I could not do it if I wished—I do not know that I should if I could.! "
Amazed as our author was at this treatment of her beautiful friend, she was still more astonished when the Duke came up to herself, took hold of both her hands, and said in the gentlest and blandest of tones, " Is there anything I can do for you ?" She answered in the negative, and the interview ended. A few years afterwards, being engaged with a military friend in preparing a volume on the Peninsular War, which they wished to dedicate to the Duke, she procured an introduction to his Grace from Lord Carnarvon, and on presenting her card was conducted at enceinte
his library.
" Ile received me most courteously and kindly, himself rising to place a chair for me. He looked at me with intense scrutiny, and then said—' So you are a friend of Lord Carnarvon. Ah ! he is a good man. Is he better? I was sorry to hear he had been ill.' He then reverted to the subject which had led me to seek the interview, asking me many questions about my mili- tary friend—the name of his regiment—how long he had been in the army, &c., &c., winding up with the remark, uttered with a playful smile—‘The facets, I suppose, you are going to be married to him. Is it not so ?' I gave a truthful negative to the question. ' Well, never mind, it is no busi- ness of mine. But tell me, have I not seen you before? I am sure I have.' It was said he never forgot any one he had once spoken to. I then re- counted my former interview, when I accompanied Mrs. —. ! I remember it perfectly—the little women that was so frightened at me. I did not like her ; I thought her artificial. I take likings and dialikings in a moment. I thought, after you were gone, of your refusal when I offered to do anything for you. It is not often this occurs to ree : I assure you it is much more frequently I that have to say • No '—laughing heartily as he • Trait* of Character; being Twenty-five Years' Literary and Personal Iticol- Sections. By a Contemporary. In two volumes. Published by Hurst and Blaekett,, said it. But, come now, tell me all about yourself. Are your parents living ?—are you a widow ?—have you any children ?.-and what made you literary?' These interrogatories were 'spoken somewhat rapidly. I then gave him a short bigraphy of my then brief, but too eventful life, to the de- tails of which he listened with •the deepest interest—going into the minute-at facts—commenting with singular shrewdness and sagacity on some of the events narrated. He showed an extraordinary aptitude in disce.rnipg truth. A casual word or expression sufficed for him at once to comprehend a meaning not expressed. When, in the course of my brief history, I had to tell of sorrow suffered, wrong inflicted, nothing could exceed the IcindlyI might say tender—sympathy he evinced. Of my father he inquired much. When I told him he had been identified greatly with Wilberforce and others in writing pamphlets, &c., towards the achievement of that great and noble work,the abolition of the slave-trade--' Was your father English ? You are not an Englishwoman ? '
' Your grace, I am a Scotchwontan.
" Well, you may be, though you are not the least like one ; but I am certain of this, you have Italian blood in your veins—you are the image of an Italian lady I once took a great interest in.' (I wonder who it was ?) I thought so the instant I saw you some years since.' "Had he been a friend of years—one connected by ties of long com- panionship and intimacy—he could not have entered with more anxious, eager interest into my plans and projects, nor famish me with wiser, safer counsel for my future career. After a very long interview, during which I had several times offered to depart, all of which proposals were met with the words, Sit down again, tell you. I want to hear more.' But your grace's time is so valuable.' ' I should soon dismiss you if I wished it.' I remembered, in the case of my poor friend, how abruptly he had indeed ac- complished this. Will you take some refreshment ?—perhaps you will like some tea; you women seem always ready for tea.' I laughed, and told him I had breakfasted long since. We then commenced chatting again. What time do you get up in the morning ? " Eight o'clock. Well, that is not very early. I rise much earlier than that.'
" Whilst talkiug with him, I could scarcely imagine that in the simple, unaffected man before me, the warm and kindly sympathizer with woman's griefs, the familiar adviser in the minor occurrences of a life so different from his, it was the irritable Duke of Wellington I was conversing with, the greatest warrior of the age, the profound statesman and legislator. Ile, too, who, as rumour had asserted, was entitled to his sobriquet of the Iron Duke, from his stern invulnerability to pity, compassion, or sympathy. Never, in my experience of life, had I met with a man more gracious in manner. I was as perfectly at my ease whilst talking to him as if he had been one of my oldest, most familiar friends. At last, for even the pleasant- est things must have a termination, the servant entered with a card, saying the gentleman was waiting to see him. ' Well, now I suppose I must really let you go. Now, do not be offended as what I am going to say. You literary people are not always very rich. Do you want any money to bring out this book ? If so, I will write you a cheque for any amount you choose to name.'
" He took the pen in his hand, and placed the cheque-book before bim. Come, what sum shall I write for ? ' I really believe if I had said 6001. he would have written it ; but, drawing myself up with a terrible air of offended dignity, I answered-' Oh! your grace, I did not come here for money.' He looked at my flashing eyes and kindling cheek, saying, in a good-tempered Come, now, do not look so angry—I would not hurt your feelings for the world; but I am so anxious you should let me do some-
thing for you.' Well, let me, then, as I asked you, dedicate the book, please, to you, and take a copy of it." That you certainly may do ; only put in a paragraph to say I am not responsible for all the anecdotes narrated in it. As for a copy, I will take the whole impression if you like. I should like to see Captain —. If you will name any day when I shall find him at your house, I will call on you.' An arrangement for this was effected, and so our interview terminated."
Previous page
