PEN AND INK SKETCHES. No. III. MY VISIT TO RICHMOND-PART I. BY MRS. VALENTINE BARTHOLOMEW. After an unusually successful season in London I proposed to my husband, whose weakness daily increased, that we should take a quiet week's holiday at Richmond, as I began to pay the penalty of an over-wrought frame; so exquisitely modelled by the divine hand are both moral and physical laws that neither can be outraged with impunity. Beautiful Richmond! the pride of the cockneys and the admiration of foreigners-even whilst they wonder at our designating so slight an eminence a hill-but, how many from a stranger land have felt with us the soothing influence of its groves and vallies! And away through the Twickenham meadows the noble Thames gambols like a free and happy child, glad as ourselves to be far away from the bricks and mortar-the dust and turmoil of the mighty city. We were fortunate in meeting with neat cottage lodgings in the vineyard, down the first turning to the left after passing through the town, just beyond the Catholic chapel which raises on high its holy cross to be kissed or buffeted by the winds of heaven. Our landlady (blessings on her, if she be still alive) was a straight gaunt old woman, with a mind as upright as her form, and the elasticity of youth in her step; she belonged not to the present race of lodger victimizers, who are perfect vampires on the land. Mrs. Pople's well-fed cat never purloined the remnants of a cold leg of lamb, nor did a mutton chop require a bushel of coals to broil it; candles were suffered to abide their usual term of light and life; tables had their lawful number of good thick substantial legs, and the bright green sofa with brass nails was not stuffed with straw; the old arm chair was not palsied in the back, nor were Mrs. Pople's soft words put down as soft soap items in the weekly accounts; et ceteras, &c., &c., were figures or marks unknown to her simple understanding. Her pretty drawing-room (would I were writing there now) was filled with the perfume of the lilac and laburnum from the opposite garden, and the Venetian blinds shaded but did not obscure the beams of the noonday sun. We were so enchanted with our rural abode that for the sake of my husband's health, as well as my own, and still undiminished enjoyment of a country life, I was anxious if possible to prolong our stay, and therefore sent to London for a case of my miniatures, which a frame-maker in Highstreet very obligingly consented to place in his shop window, generously refusing the usual terms for such arrangements; and both Mr. and Mrs. Kanely were indefatigable in showing off my specimens to the best advantage, much to the delight of the butchers' and bakers' boys, who lost half their time in cogitating upon the respective charms of a blonde and brunette, wishing in their hearts they could afford to have the likeness taken of a Sally Dobbs or a Mary Miggs, rustic sweethearts they had perchance danced with at the adjoining village fair. At length the wishes of these bystanders assumed a more tangible form, and through the frame-maker I received a summons to wait upon a Mrs. Corrie, of Downe House. "And a troublesome customer you will find her," said Mrs. Kanely; "by all accounts she is quite a recluse, visiting no one, and of course no one visiting her; none of us can find out who she was, what she was, or where she came from; although she has lived ten years in the place she has never once changed her servants." "I think that speaks volumes for her good temper," replied I. "May be not," hastily answered Mrs. Kanely. "No doubt she has her own reasons for keeping her household together; but la, Ma'am, its of no consequence to you or I; one person's money is as good as another, and if she'll pay you handsomely for your picture, and me for my frame, we have no need to care about her oddities. But," continued Mrs. Kanely, "may I put one question to you without giving offence?" "A hundred," said I, "if you like." "Well then, Ma'am, do you ever use scents?" "No," I replied, a little surprised, "I never do." "Not eau de Cologne, Ma'am? nor lavender water?" "No." "Quite sure?" "Quite." "Nor Macassar oil, or bears' grease, or pomatum for your hair?" "Not one of these perfumed things," said I, laughing; "I only use pure salad oil. But what in the name of wonder do these questions mean?" "I will tell you," said Mrs. Kanely. "Some time ago, it is said, Mrs. Corrie had an attack of nervous fever." "Poor lady," exclaimed I, "well can I feel for her." "Dear Ma'am," said Mrs. Kanely, "such fiddle faddle complaints of the gentry are all imaginings." "And the more to be pitied, because for such there is rarely a cure. But go on." "Well, Ma'am, after this illness she took such an objection to good or bad odours that even a flower is not permitted to come near her; the baker's bread is left in an outhouse for some days to be purified from the smell of the oven before it is permitted to enter the kitchen, and a fast-day of fish is unknown in Downe House, the domestics never being permitted to pass even a fishmonger's shop." "Well," said I, "she will have nothing to fear from me." But suddenly I paused at a recollection of a dilemma which had occurred on the preceding night, and which I felt half ashamed to own. In undressing I had let fall a bottle of oil on my black silk gown, and as I had thought of only staying a week at Richmond, that and my morning wrapper were the only articles of outward attire I had brought with me. My good landlady, | seeing my distress, had repaired the injury by well saturating the greasy spots with turpentine, and I remembered no more of the circumstance until the conclusion of Mrs. Kanely's conversation; nor would she have discovered any disagreeable effect remaining, but I had no hope of its escaping the sensitive olfactory nerves of Mrs. Corrie. "What shall I do?" said I in dismay at the idea of the odd lady's guineas vanishing before my sight. "Can I take the stage to London, change my dress, and be back in time for a sitting?” Impossible! your appointment is at eleven o'clock this morning; it now wants but a quarter to that hour. Delays are dangerous, and you had better trust to the risk now than put off the sitting. My dresses are all too long for you, but I can lend you a large shawl, which you can keep on whilst you paint, as it will prevent the smell escaping, which I now discover faintly remains on your clothes." The offer I most gladly accepted, and tripped gaily along in the warm sunshine, little caring for the additional heat the weight of my borrowed plumes gave me; but forming various plans of attitudes in my own mind for the new miniature, and wondering if my sitter would turn out as tiresome as "Mrs. Jonas Smyth." True to time I reached Downe House, one of those cottages ornées, with which Richmond abounds: and as I peeped over the gate which opened into the lawn I could not help remarking how carefully the flowers were planted away from the windows; still there was an air of elegance and refinement about the premises, which showed that its owner, whatever might be her eccentricities, was not tainted with vulgarity. A respectable elderly maid-servant answered my ring at the bell, and ushered me into a well furnished parlour, until she announced my name. "My mistress will see you in the drawingroom," said the maid, re-entering the room; and I was preparing to obey the summons, when she gently detained me by begging to take off my shawl. "I would rather keep it on," said I firmly, taking a step towards the door. "But pardon me, Ma'am," stammered the maid, "my mistress is a leetle particular, and makes a point of never seeing any one in their walking attire-it is, indeed Ma'am, her only peculiarity, for she is an angel in goodness, and the fear she has of any smell being brought in from the streets is more a disease than a whim so please, Ma'am, don't be offended, but be kind enough to leave also down here your bonnet and gloves." There was no resisting such a request, and I comprehended in a moment my fate as I ascended the staircase, weak in the spirit of hope and strong in the spirit of turpentine, and made my curtsey in fear and trembling to Mrs. Corrie, whom I found languidly reclining on the sofa, but I took especial care to keep at a respectful distance. "You are very punctual,” said the lady, half rising, in that sweet low voice which at once impresses you that the speaker, though sad and suf fering, must be an amiable and gentle being; she motioned me to take a seat beside her, but for powerful reasons I took a chair the farthest off. "Do you think," continued Mrs. Corrie, with an encouraging smile, for no doubt she concluded my shy behaviour was the effect of timidity, "do you think you will be able to take a favourable likeness of me?" "I am sure of it," I replied, looking at her beautiful face, faded more by sickness than by age, for she could scarcely have passed her fortieth year. "I am sure of it," repeated I, forgetting in my admiration of the subject all fears of my unfortunate dress. The lady turned quickly round, and seemed to scrutinize my features attentively, as she hurriedly asked me if I were not from Norfolk. "I am," was my answer, a little mortified that my long residence in London had not destroyed my provincial accent; but whenever I was constrained, or what is commonly called put upon my P's and Q's, my native dialect returned in full force. "And you too, Ma'am, must be also born in my county, from so soon detecting my pronun. ciation." A cloud seemed to knit the lady's brow, as she coldly replied she had been much there in her youth. I longed to ask what part of Norfolk she had visited, but her altered tone prevented my indulging my natural curiosity. And, whilst I was apparently busy preparing my palette and pencils, I observed Mrs. Corrie hastily brush away a tear from her eye; it was some minutes, therefore, before I could summon resolution to ask her to sit in the necessary light, for I felt some broken chord had been touched, vibrating with mournful thoughts of the past, and through my own mind passed those exquisite and touching lines of Byron : "But ever and anon of griefs subdued, A tone of music-summer's eve-or spring- Striking the electric chain wherewith we are darkly bound." But the lady soon recovered her outward calmness, and I looked as full of professional importance, as if no glance of mine had ever penetrated beyond carmine and gamboge. It was an easy and pleasant task my first sketch, but as I keenly observed the features of my sitter, I found many a wrinkle lurking about the mouth, which is always sure to indelibly retain the trace of mental suffering; the decay of time is gentle and gradual, whilst that of grief is like the ruin of the storm, which, in its blind fury, scatters the strong hold in the dust, and lays low on the earth the knotted branches of the kingly oak. The ravages on Mrs. Corrie's expressive face reminded me of the fissured walls of some picturesque old church, where the ever-green ivy loves to twine, but where the altar within the broken pane remains undefiled; her dress was also suited to an older person-a rich black satin, made high to the throat; a collar of Mechlin lace, fastened with a pearl brooch containing a golden curl. "Was it her child's? but question asked I none, I only knew she wept unloved beneath the sun." A cap of costly material, trimmed with that pale lavender ribbon so becoming to all complexions, completed her attire. If ladies of a certain, or rather uncertain age, would show such judgment in their toilettes, they would be greeted with respectful love, instead of suppressed titters by the young companions with whom they mingle in society. Are ringlets à la Valliere, bought of the barber, and are white satin and tulle, fit to adorn the face and form upon which the hand of age has set his mark? can the scraggy arm compete with the rounded one? the rouged cheek with the pure rose tint which health and joy gives to the young? And yet, how the hearts of the young expand with love towards those, who pretend not to be of them, but with them in sympathies! Beautiful, thrice beautiful, is the union thus of the young and old! One with the deep experience of years, describing the rocks of Scylla and Charybdis, which had nearly wrecked her own frail bark, when first sent out upon the ocean of life; the other listening with attentive and greedy ears: the one pointing upwards to the haven of rest, with the words of persuasion on her sibyl lips; the other following the track in meekness and humility. My first sitting being concluded, I prepared to depart, but Mrs. Corrie begged me to partake of luncheon." I see," said she, "by your smile, you are perfectly satisfied with your commencement; but I wish you to paint me as I am, no softening of the crow's feet, no heightening of the complexion; I want it as a pendant to a picture painted of me when a girl." "How I should like to see it!" I involuntarily exclaimed. "That cannot be; it has long been sealed up, and yours will be placed in a corresponding case, and sent to the only being who still chains my soul to this dreary earth." I longed to ask who that being was, but perceiving a sadness again pervading her countenance, I changed the subject, and tried to interest her in some details of my husband's sufferings. "It is strange," said she, "that all diseases of the nerves have baffled the skill of medical men ; owing, perhaps, to their classing them with the vulgarly received opinion of nervousness, arising solely from ennui: but I was fortunate, when I was thus afflicted, in meeting with a sympathising and scientific physician; he neither encouraged nor scorned the imaginary evils which are sure to follow any diminution of the nervous energy; but discovering the source from whence the morbid sensations spring, he was in a few months enabled to give me ease, and the only feeling still left is a particular dislike to odours of any kind. Most absurd, no doubt, are the stories circulated about me, but as I know it is but a perverted imagina tion, I always try to conquer it; although I cannot bear the perfume of flowers, without feeling a faintness come over me. My servants too are so attached to me, that for fear of giving me pain they rather encourage this folly; and I am half ashamed to own to you, that at this moment I fancy something smells of turpentine." "Then indeed, dear madam," said I, turning as red as a full-blown piony, "it is no fancy:" and I proceeded to relate to her my disaster and manifold vexations, which amused her exceedingly, and also pleased her, because she felt imagination had not been playing the fool with her senses. It was at a late hour in the afternoon that I returned to Mrs. Poples, and I became so interested in my miniature, that I could not desist from painting till it was too dark to see any longer. On my second visit to Mrs. Corrie I ventured to show her the portrait, adding, I had gone on so rapidly with it, that one more sitting would be sufficient. "I know it is very like," said the lady with a melancholy smile, "and pray finish it as you best like; you will not be doomed to the ordeal of the remarks of friends, for I have none to show it to." I own I was selfish enough to rejoice that Mrs. Corrie knew no one to criticise my performance, inducing me to destroy the resemblance, by saying, "Oh, certainly, it is like, but don't you think the mouth is scarcely wide enough? the nose is good, perhaps too good, a hair's breadth wider would have a wonderful effect; and, by-the-bye, what is that dark spot under it?" "The shadow, ma'am." "Well, dear me, so it is! but I never observed it in my friend before." "The eyes are not hers! no-they are so like somebody's I know. How wonderfully that touch has improved them; the eye-brows are a leetle too arched, but the forehead I should know any where; and the wrinkles, solto voce, where are they?" And the looker-on in dumb show plainly insinuates the portrait is too youthful; the unhappy artist alters and alters in utter despair, till at last, neither the employer nor the friends can recognise the likeness: no wonder, then, I rejoiced that Mrs. Corrie had no friends, although the saddened tone with which she made the avowal would at any other moment have touched my heart; but, with full liberty to go on my own way, I used my pencil rapidly and boldly, whilst my sitter seemed absorbed in thought, and some minutes of silence had ensued when she abruptly broke it, by asking me what part of Norfolk I came from." "Dalton, beautiful Dalton! have you ever been there?" inquired I. An inclination of the head was her expressive answer. "Did you not admire its neat market-place, and the burley old bell tower, apart from the picturesque church, looking, as it were, with scorn upon the light tracery of its ancient porch and windows? Then the hilly church-yard," continued I, "sloping down to the green fields, through which runs the spring, over which, a daughter of a king of the East Angles erected a bath-house: many an hour of frolic have I had there, and many a happy summer's day have I passed with my early and still cherished friend, in seeking for the wild hyacinth and pale 'forget-me-not,' which grew beneath the willow banks, past which glided the clear waters of the wash brook.' I feel still a child," said I, "as I recall those beloved scenes;" and, warmed with enthusiasm, the touches of my pencil kept pace with the glibeness of my tongue. At last I remembered my conversation, so pleasant to myself, might be wearying to my sitter, and I looked up to apologise to Mrs. Corrie for my loquacity, and found her lip quivering, and her cheek a shade paler; but she urged me to go on with my descriptions, in that low gentle tone which was irresistible. "Every street," resumed I, "of my native place has a history for me, although I shall never tread them again, for all I loved are dead, or have departed from the town; that old red house with its gothic chimneys, is a romance that haunts me for ever. Have you ever heard of its inhabitants, the James Gordons?" and carried away by the recollections of by-gone times, I paused for no reply, for seldom was it I met with any one who knew my beloved county. "How beautiful," continued I, going over the back ground of my picture fifty times until it looked like enamel, "how very beautiful I thought Mrs. James Gordon, when I once caught a glimpse of her face, which was almost always concealed by the folds of a long black veil; how anxiously I used to listen for her timid step, following her husband's stern tread (how I hated his expression) into the church pew, but a short distance from where I sat with the clerk's wife, and often have my thoughts wandered from the eloquence of the preacher to the occupants of the Gordons' curtained seat, picturing the kneeling penitent communing with that God, who alone knows the secrets of all; and often on a summer's sabbath evening, wandering with my only companion alive through the flowery lanes of Dalton, we would talk over the history of that lonely and unfortunate being, whom we called 'THE VEILED LADY;' and, although laughed at by all the town for our romance, we firmly believed in the tyranny of her husband, and her own innocence; and,”. a suppressed sob from Mrs. Corrie caused me to raise my eyes from my occupation; hers were hidden by her delicate hands, but the tears were fast trickling down between each finger. Grieved and agitated by this unexpected emotion, I approached her, when she suddenly flung her arms round my neck, and in a voice choked with grief, she exclaimed: "I AM MRS. JAMES GORDON!" and then to all appearance she lay insensible on my shoulder. Greatly embarrassed, I quite lost my presence of mind, but in a few moments I reached out my arm to pull the bell, but the lady made an effort to summon forth her strength to prevent me, and I placed her on the sofa, and bathed her pallid face with cold water. She seemed to possess a wonderful control over her mind, for in a short time her composure returned, and scarcely a trace was perceptible of the internal storm, whilst I remained trembling like a culprit before her. "You have my grateful thanks," said Mrs. hair; Are less rich than my own, and her cincture less The rubies in Persia's vales that shine, lave; r, dreamy and soft, as the far waters roll, With the music of lutes enchant my soul. As the Harem's bright Queen, I have this, all this, Yet my foot knows no freedom, my spirit no bliss: Dear joys of the heart, these walls never gave; Though the mistress of slaves, I myself am a slave! The Frank is permitted to hear, read, and see, And darken the hues of the beautiful thing, And when the sharp shaft of Azrael flies, While we by the waters of crystal must rove, ANGELO DEL CANO. A TALE OF MYSTERY. From the German of Spindler. BY MYRRHA. THE PROGRAMME. It is to one of the crowded soirées of the Countess Villingi, that we are about to introduce our readers. The concert was over, refreshments had been handed round, and the lively valse was just begining to be heard in the orchestra, while numerous couples stood around, eager to spring forward into the whirl of that exciting dance. The Countess stood apart from the giddy throng, leaning on the arm of a German prince, who had just returned from a tour through Italy and France. A little behind them, half concealed by the drapery of a window, stood a young and beautiful woman; her large dark eyes were fixed with an expression of pain and anger on some objects at a distance, and her features, lovely as they were, seemed almost disagreeable, so much were they distorted by some internal emotions. The prince spoke : "Can you tell me the name of that young man, who is just rising-that pale Italian ?" "The Signor Del Cano, your highness," replied the countess. The lady before mentioned involuntarily drew nearer, as this question and answer met her ear. "Does he follow any profession?" enquired the prince. "None whatever," was the reply; "his introductions, and the peculiar fascination of his manners, have gained him an entrance into all society, and won for him the heart of the lovely Baroness Lindorf, who sits by his side." The prince gazed admiringly on the lady pointed out to him; not so the listener: a smile of envy and malice curved her full lips, and her eyes shot forth flashes of rage. "She is a widow," continued the countess "when only sixteen, her family forced her to give her hand to the rich, but unamiable Baron Lindorf; he died within a year and a half, leaving her sole mistress of his immense property, and guardian of their infant. Since then that child has been her only joy, her amusement, and her idol, until-” "Until yon graceful Italian stept in to share the worship; is it not so?" said the prince smiling. "But now, my dear countess, I must explain to you the reason of my curiosity respecting this Del Cano. You will perhaps smile when you have heard me out I smile myself, even now, at the power of my imagination, and yet the resemblance is most wonderful. During my late tour through Italy, I came to M, where my physician was taken ill: unwilling to leave him, I lingered on for several weeks, and amused myself as best I could. Among the inmates of the hotel at which I was staying, was a young Italian, of the name of Angelo; his manly, graceful form, handsome fea tures, and dark expressive eyes, could not fail to attract attention; and in the evenings he struck the guitar with so masterly a hand, and sang the delicious airs of his native land, and the lively barcaroles of Venice, in tones so full, rich and expressive, that all hearers involuntarily held their breath, lest they should lose even a single note. Most deeply did I regret my inability to speak Italian, for I longed to become acquainted with this gifted young man ; but as it was, a mere bow, or the exchange of some trifling courtesy, was all that could pass between us. About a week after my arrival at M—, on my return one evening from the theatre, I found all in confusion, and on enquiry learned that this young Italian had been taken suddenly ill, and was not expected to live. Not to weary you by prolixity, he died in the night; the interest which I had felt in him, caused me to wish to look upon his corse. I stood by the coffin, and gazed on those once animated features, now pale and rigid in death; I saw those once brilliant eyes closed by his faithful attendant; I was present when a notary was called in to take an inventory of the effects of the deceased, and seal up his papers, jewels, and money; I witnessed the grief of his attendant, who mourned as one refusing to be comforted, and could scarcely be torn from the coffin, when it was to be nailed up. The day appointed for the funeral came, and the coffin was just placed on the shoulders of the bearers, when a travelling carriage stopped at the door, and a lady alighted, followed by two attendants. Angelo's old servant became pale as death, as he beheld her, and advancing towards her wringing his hands, he murmured some words in Italian. The lady cast on him a look of rage and scorn, and turning to the bearers of the coffin, desired them to set it down and open it. Some hesitation was shown, on which she produced an order from the police, authorising her demand; she was therefore obeyed. Sternly, and with unmoved features, did this stranger survey the dead Angelo; she touched his face, moved back the masses of black hair from his lofty forehead, and revealed a dark brown mole of a peculiar shape. "Yes, yes! 'tis he," she mur mured. "Dead-quite dead!" and signing to them to close the coffin up again, she demanded the keys from the servant, and proceeded at once to the rooms of the deceased. The procession now moved on: I saw the coffin lowered to its place, I heard the earth rattle down upon it, and left the old servant weeping and be moaning his lost master. On our return to the hotel, we heard that the stranger lady had left the place, taking with her all the property left by the deceased. Shortly afterwards I quitted Mbut never have I forgotten those events, or been able to banish from my mind's eye the pallid features of that young Italian, as last I gazed on them; and, so wonderful is the likeness that, I could almost swear that him you call Del Cano, who is now bending with such animation towards the lovely baroness, is the very Angelo whom, two years ago, I saw buried at M." "Gracious heavens! your highness is surely jesting !" exclaimed the countess, while the lady behind them dropt pale and trembling on a seat: |