his true spirit of poetry, sublimity, and piety." She has not nearly so much to say for Sophocles when they read Franklin's translation of him, for, though she thinks "it is very agreeable to see how poets wrote above one thousand years ago," she finds their plots wanting in variety when compared with modern plays, but adds, "I believe they are in truer taste." However, prose was the main staple of their reading, and it is amusing in this blast age to see the enthusiasm and excitement she feels about historical characters that seem to be quite as new to her as if they were in some novel. For a long time Carte's History of the Duke of Ormonde supplies their mental food. "He is the completest fine gentleman and loyalist I ever read of, but the sufferings of King Charles I. break one's heart." Then they read the life of Constantine the Great "what a glorious man he was!" Further on she says: "We are now deep in Robinson's Mary, Queen of Scots; it is a most agreeable book, but she was, I fear, a bad woman, and yet extremely to be pitied-very young, beautiful, great, admired, flattered, strong passions, not taught to subdue them, led on from fault to fault, till plunged into the most deplorable distresses that ever befell a woman of her rank. It is impossible not to lament her fall from virtue, endowed as she was with so many charms and graces of person and mind! But, great as her faults were, I think Queen Elizabeth's usage of her was both ungenerous and cruel." Not many women of fifty-nine, writing to their sisters, would discuss Mary Queen of Scots' case as warmly as if it were a scandal in their own circle; but, perhaps history was more living in those days, for Mrs. Delany observes apropos of Sully's Memoirs: "They are both useful and entertaining; such great characters as Henry IV. and his minister are so often the subjects of conversation that one wishes to be well acquainted with these, and bear a part in the conversation." It might give a fresh zest to schoolroom studies if girls felt they could thereby "make points" in conversation on "coming out," but I fear Henry IV. has ceased to be such a household word. The crimson very At the beginning of 1747 we find the Delanys established in a lodging in Pall Mall at four guineas a week. and yellow flaring hangings of paper in the bedroom" somewhat distressed her artistic eyes, but the window made amends by looking out into a pretty garden and over the Prince of Wales's into the park. She was graciously received at Court, and went to the Birthday in a flowered silk, which she considered "extremely pretty and modest," of a pale deer-colored figured ground, the flowers mostly purple and mixed with white feathers. The Duke of Portland was there, too, and was "very fine." His coat, “dark mouse-color velvet, embroidered with silver, the work of Jenny Gleg [the first embroiderer of the day], the finest I ever saw. The waistcoat, Isabella satin, the same as the coat." The size of the hoops greatly scandalized her provincial eyes, and she prophesies a reaction, that "from looking like so many blown bladders, we shall look like so many bodkins stalking about." Not for seven years longer, however, do we find her writ ing, "I am glad hoops are out of fashion: 'tis good news." In May, that same year, 1747, she sadly turned her steps homeward, and had the vexation of leaving her sister sooner than was necessary, contrary winds detaining them at Park Gate so long that she used up all her working materials--a serious matter to one who, as her husband said of her, "always found employment for her hands, even between the coolings of her cups of tea." However, seeing a painter in the act of repairing the inn-sign, she paid him to let her do it for him, and so wiled away the weary hours of waiting. A few months after she got back her mother died in the act of praying-a fitting end for one to whom John Wesley wrote seventeen years before as "being almost possest of the crown which he saw dimly afar off." There are curious directions about mourning in the letters of this date, showing that gray poplin and gray unwatered tabby were considered deeper than black silk. "I think black bombazine will do very well in a sack. have one in a manteau and petticoat which I wear when in full dress; at home, a dark gray poplin; and abroad, undrest, a dark gray unwatered tabby; after three months black silk is worn with love-hood and black glazed gloves for three months more." Soon after this the Delanys paid a round of Irish visits, which they did with the more ease, as "a comfortable circumstance belonging to this country is that the roads are so good and free from robbers that we may safely drive to any hour of the night." England and Ireland seem unable to follow each other's lead, for in those days Hounslow Heath offered the same contrast to Irish security that we now see reversed in the two countries. Everywhere they went, their hosts seemed to be rebuilding, till one wonders once again if any old houses are still left in Ireland. One of their visits was to Callidon, near Clogher, belonging to my Lord Orrery, who had just built a hermitage of roots on an island, with a couch and wooden stools, a table with 1 manuscript on it, a pair of spectacles, a leathern bottle, an hour-glass, a weather-glass, sevral mathematical instruments, and, "in short, verything you would consider necessary for recluse [indeed, the list is longer than ould be needed by a spiritually-minded ne]. Four little gardens surround his house, n orchard, a flower garden, a physick garen and a kitchen garden. I never saw so retty a whim so thoroughly well executed." Mrs. Delany herself had pretty whims: ie morning she ordered breakfast under the it-trees at Delville, with cherries, strawberis and nosegays on the table, while a harp was concealed among the bushes, that ey might eat to other harmony besides he soft eye-music of slow-waving boughs." rs. Hamilton was to breakfast with them, d be "cunningly led to this place and sursed." After breakfast, they worked, talked, But dined, listened to the harper, and then picked roses-three baskets full. At seven, they drank tea in the orangerie, visited the deer, and watched the cows being milked. her guests were not always allowed such placid enjoyment: another day she set to work to improve her house, making shell flowers and ornaments for the chapel, and hanging her closet with a dove-color flock paper on which the pictures looked very well, and which contrasted with the crimson damask curtains and chairs. Letty Bushe and a whole family of Hamiltons came to breakfast, and "as soon as that was done I set them all to work: gave each a dusting cloth, brush, sponge, and bowl of water, and set them to cleaning my picture frames. undertook cleaning the pictures and egging them out, whilst the carpenters and I fixed up the shelves for my books and china: everybody that popped their heads in was seized to work; no idler was admitted; a very merry working morning it was, and my dressing-room is very spruce and handsome." The nephews and nieces were flourishing all this time, though one cannot help feeling a little sorry for Bunny the younger, when we read in his mother's letter that "he is quick but very heedless; and has a natural artfulness which is generally commended in children, but which I take great pains to break him of." It is satisfactory to find that though "Pauline is not so genteel as Jacky, because she is so very fat," yet that "she bridles very well." In those days one of the first lessons of deportment was to bridle on entering the room, which meant to hold up the head and to keep the chin in, and then, having courtesied at the door, to advance deliberately toward the person who had the first claim to greeting, to sink low gradually and to rise slowly and gracefully. Lucy H. M. Soulsby. TOURGUÉNEFF. THE feature which first strikes the reader upon opening a novel of Tourguéneff is the distinctive sketches of the external appearance of the characters. The introduction of a person is accompanied by a compact penportrait of his form, physiognomy and dress. The author does not give complete descriptions, but rapidly summarizes those salient points which would impress the beholder at a single glance. The following paragraph, announcing the entrance of Dimitri Roudine into the parlor of Daria Michaelovna, is a fair illustration: "There entered the room a man about thirty-five years old, tall but somewhat round-shouldered, with thick, curly hair, a dark complexion and irregular but expressive and intelligent features. His eyes, dark blue in color, were bright, his nose broad and straight; his lips were cleanly cut. His clothes were not new, and they were a rifle small for him, as if he had grown since hey had been bought. *** Roudine's hin voice was not in keeping with either is height or his broad chest." These graphic pictures occur constantly, nd one soon perceives that they constitute n important element of Tourguéneff's methd. Other accessories to the objective prentation of a character are employed with ainstaking care. It is related how a man ts or stands while he is talking; whether he oks at his neighbor or drops his eyes; by at particular signs a person manifests emrrassment; when a woman blushes or curls r lips. Frequently, when the situation is ensely dramatic, and the characters are der high stress of emotion, the account of stures, changes in expression, and bodily ns in general, is minute enough to serve complete stage-directions if the scene were be actually performed by players. In h scenes the spoken dialogue is monosylic and interjectory, as it would be in the ual world, and they are vivid and thrilling ply because of their scenic realism. The objective method is adhered to in the portrayal of the inner nature of the characters. Our acquaintance with them begins and proceeds as in living society. What knowledge we have is gained only from their conversation and actions. The writer does not in his privileged capacity draw aside the vail and expose the secret workings of their minds. In "Dimitri Roudine," the novel from which I have already quoted, Natalie Alexievna, the young girl of the story, retires on the night after the first interview with Roudine, profoundly impressed by his eloquence, and already unconsciously in love with him, and the reader is informed as follows: "Nor did Natalie close her eyes that night. Lying in her bed, with her head resting on her arm, she gazed into the darkness; her pulse beat as in a fever, and many a deep sigh escaped from her perturbed breast." This, it will be seen, is a narration of physical facts. Trivial enough in itself, it affords a striking example. Here, indeed, is an opportunity for psychological analysis, which George Eliot, for instance, would have improved to the extent of an essay of goodly proportions. Tourguéneff systematically neglects such opportunities. He talks very little about his characters. The rule is not inflexible. Occasionally, in minor incidents, the motive for an act or a saying is revealed by a peep within the person's mind. Sometimes no other expedient will avail, as in the concluding portion of the novel "Smoke," where a chapter of secret mental history, involving a complete transformation of character and purpose in the hero, is written out at length. But, wherever possible, this course is avoided and the characters are portrayed dramatically and not subjectively. Obviously, Tourguéneff's method is in strong contrast with that most in vogue at present, which has been developed through Thackeray's tendency to chat and moralize up to its most conspicuous exemplification in the a force outside of and superior to nature. The moderns do not recognize or imply any supernatural elements in the inevitable tendency of character. They reproduce it as they find it in mankind. works of George Eliot, replete with subtle the myth, as it comes down to us, represents analysis and philosophical reflection. Tourguéneff's novels have a high psychological quality. The workings of the mind are revealed, as in actual dramas, through speech and action. Nor does he scruple to use other means where, in theory, the revelation may proceed from the characters themselves. In "On the Eve," for example, Ellen Nikolaevna keeps a journal for a time in which she records her secret feelings. In "Virgin Soil" Neshdanof has a friend to whom he writes long letters and is unreservedly confidential. The dramatic poets, for the same purpose, resort to soliloquies and "asides," both of which detract from the illusion and must be indulged in sparingly. Tourguéneff's work is, as we have seen, objective in form and it will bear strict tests of logic and probability. It naturally follows that his characters have strong identity and individuality. It is doubtful whether such perfect verisimilitude could be obtained by any other process of delineation. Both George Eliot and Tourguéneff are uncompromising realists. The fatalistic spirit of which sentimental readers complain in the English woman's productions also pervades the Russian's work. The so-called fatalism of modern creators of human character is a different thing from the idea of fate which inspired the ancient tragic writers. With the Greek poets the fate principle was an artificial theory, a religious superstition. With the great modern novelists, the underlying, inexorable necessity is taken from nature, and results simply from the refusal, for the sake of ideal charm or a happy ending, to preserve the characters from the destiny which hereditary and acquired disposition and their own actions have made inevitable. Given a person of certain constitution and temperament and subject him to certain external influences, and he will follow a course of development or retrogression with which nothing short of a miracle can interfere. The pagan Fate was, probably, like similar Greek creations, originally the personification of a force in nature, but the ancients superadded qualities drawn from the imagination, and op It is one thing to write a novel in which actions and incidents serve only as manifes tations of character in its present state; in which no development is attempted. It is a different and a greater thing to delineate character in the course of transformation. In George Eliot's and Tourguéneff's stories, men and women change under our eyes, as dormant qualities are brought into force by external circumstances. In the eration of revolutionizing the inner self, the inevitable tendency of character is given full play. With George Eliot the change is generally one of slow growth, as, for instance, the spiritual elevation of Gwendolen Harleth under the influence of Daniel Deronda, and the debasement of Tito Melema through temptation which he was too weak to resist. Tourguéneff was a Russian, and the people he depicted were also Russians. We find in his work little of that gradual unfolding and modification of character. When a powerful influence is brought to bear on a man, it acquires complete ascendency almost from the start. The result can be predicted; he is in the toils of destiny. The Russian people, as here portrayed, are creatures of what might be termed blind impulse, but for the fact that we associate something spasmodic and transient with the word impulse. It is a force, as unreasoning as uncontrollable, and often as violent as impulse, only it is indefinitely prolonged. Some of the disclosures of the Nihilistic movement exhibit this quality of the Slavonic temperament. We have seen young and luxuriously reared women tearing themselves from their homes and committing the most atrocious crimes in the face of certain death with self-sacrifice that would amount to heroism were the cause a nobler one. The inspiring motive is the mad passion of liberty and the childish hope of bringing into existence a social chimera. Probably the true explanation is |