FEMALE NOVELISTS. No. V.-MRS. TROLLOPE 1 I'M THINKING OF THE PAST. BY J. E. CARPENTER THE ANCESTRESS; OR, FAMILY PRIDE. BY MRS. BUSHBY NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. WOODTHORPE. A REMINISCENCE OF A PHYSICIAN. BY KELLY KENNYON. I. YEARS, long, eventful years, have rolled away since I was a student at the university of the northern metropolis. Life since then has presented its varied phases of good or ill; and with the world's concerns and its cares I have been no stranger. Yet such have not made me forget the days to which I now revert. Recollection re-summons to its vision, with strange truthfulness, things long passed away, and brings again into a sort of ideal reality circumstances and their associations which lie far over the vista of time. Wonderful attribute art thou, Memory! A ray of that divinity woven in our natures, mysterious and incomprehensiblethe immaterial something added to material being, subject to no laws of matter, of space, or duration! Having always had a taste for history, I recollect with what pleasure in my walks and hours of leisure I visited the many places of historic interest in that ancient city. It was pleasing to think one trod on ground now classic, and that must be so while the race and language exist; it was pleasing to behold the habitations of high-born peers and ministers of state, who were proud and mighty in their pride of place in centuries long past, and compare their unostentatious dwellings with the palace homes of their descendants; it was pleasing, I repeat, to trace the corroded armorial bearings and effaced inscriptions on walls hoary with age; to see here the fleur-de-lis, there the crescent or the cross, which, vauntingly, had been reared as the proofs of lineage and the emblematic records of military glory. In such contemplations, it were more than probable a thousand questions would suggest themselves relative to those who had flourished and long ceased to be. It might be asked, were they endowed with the same impulses, affections, and passions-erring mortals like ourselves-in every whit resembling the bipeds of present days? It was natural to speculate on their habits and oddities, to form notions of their tastes and amusements, and to associate them with the rough and rude times in which they lived. There was one residence more than any other familiar to me, and which is now, with greater vividness than any other, remembered. In the southern outskirts of the old town there is a cul-de-sac kind of square, which, doubtless, in the days of yore, was more fashionable than now. This is Park-place. There stood the once proud mansion of a metropolitan magnate, darkened and antiquated by the breath of time. In the downward course of its destiny it had undergone various reverses and metamorphoses. The old fabric is now faithfully imaged to my sight. I can see its little wall-girt paddock, which it were utter mockery to designate by the name of park; and surely the place could not have taken its prenomen from that confined little plot. I can still Sept.-VOL. XCVI. NO. CCCLXXXI. B behold the unpretending entrance-gates; the half-dozen dirty, smokebegrimed sheep cropping the bare herbage in their intramural range; the piles of tall and sombre houses by which it was hemmed in; the garden run to waste; the few overgrown shrubs; the air of desolation and decay which pervaded, with divers other features not more welcome in the retrospect. Then entering the mansion, the spacious, dreary, illlighted hall; the narrow stone stairs, that spirally conducted to the upper stories; the gloomy rooms, with their curiously-carved mantelpieces, massive doors, huge locks, and empanneled walls, which showed that earlier generations did not sacrifice strength for decoration. Then ascending to the second floor, and proceeding to the further extremity of a dusky corridor, is presented to my mind's eye a small, retired, lonely apartment, which I called the snuggery. Again, come to view its oldfashioned fireplace; the narrow and stoutly framed windows, with their faded curtains; the small table littered with books and papers; Shakspeare's soiled bust; the half-dozen frameless engravings nailed to the panels; the capacious easy-chair, in which I ensconced myself over the sea-coal fire; again, I say, these come to view with the distinctness of yesterday! Well, this old mansion was the maternetie where I then resided as resident obstetric physician. One evening, now well remembered, when lost in the abstraction of study, immediately previous to my going up to an examination, my attention was roused by a loud knock that threatened to send in the door. "Come in," shouted I; after which momentarily entered the porter, butler, factotum-"aut quocunque alio nomine gaudet," as Dalgelty would have said. "Mr. Kennyon," said he, hurriedly, "you're to gae to No. -, Sailsbury-street the noo, an' ye please, sir." "To Sailsbury-street!--where-where?—what is the name ?—on what business, Davie, eh?" demanded I of the broad-shouldered, thick-set Highlandman, who had bid adieu to the wilds of Mull for the better living and greater opportunities for fame and fortune in Edinburgh. "Dinna ken, sir, dinna ken; the laddie tault me No. street, and awa he gaed as if the deil had sent him." Sailsbury "If I should be detained you'll know where I am, Davie,” said I, throwing on my cloak and hurrying off to the place directed. Pacing along the flags, I could not avoid the idea that there was some mistake in the matter. I had not on my list any patient in that street. "However," thought I, "it is my duty to go." It was a clear, frosty night, but my cogitations made me forget the uncomfortableness of leaving the warm fireside. On reaching my destination, the door of No. was slightly on the jar, and ere I had ascended the steps a respectably dressed female, with a candle in her hand, politely bade me walk in, and ushered me into a small but clean and neatly furnished sitting-room. "Mr. Kennyon, I suppose?" said she, inquiringly. "My name is Kennyon; yes." "Mrs. M'Andrews, the matron of your hospital," returned she, "is my sister, and she recommended you to attend a stranger lady, who is now lodging in my house, and who will, I fancy, soon require your presence." This personage I shall introduce to the reader under the name of Mrs. Logie; she was a squat, square-built, red-faced little woman, apparently |