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May 18, 1850.] &!><> %t&iltt. 189
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A PICTURE IN MUSIC. Music has many meani...
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A GENTLE HINT TO WRITING-WOMEN. It will ...
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software. The text has not been manually corrected and should not be relied on to be an accurate representation of the item.
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Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software. The text has not been manually corrected and should not be relied on to be an accurate representation of the item.
Additionally, when viewing full transcripts, extracted text may not be in the same order as the original document.
The Apprenticeship Of Life. B* G. H. Lew...
te I forgive your suspicions—especially if you are Colonel Delamare ; but if you are , then have I been duped . Your doubts respecting me may be set at rest at once . Come with me to my lodgings I will satisfy you . " " Pish ! " contemptuously exclaimed the Colonel . et not ask to be believed on my own word ... " " Silence ! " said the General . " All denial is fruitless . I have known
you to be an agent almost ever since you first began to talk to me . Your plan was clumsy , and you had not the keenness to detect the most ordinary pitfalls in your path . You are a spy in the camp of an enemy , and must meet the fate of a spy . " " You will not murder me in cold blood .. . " " No , " said the Colonel , " though that were justifiable . But such a deed is superfluous . You have insulted me ; you have thrown dirt on the name of Delamare . I insist upon satisfaction . " A smile of triumph again lit up the pallid features of the agent , as he saw the means of his escape .
" I am at your orders , Colonel , " he quietly said . " Though your suspicions with regard to me are altogether false , yet , as I cannot convince you of it , I should myself demand satisfaction for the insult . " He descended with them into a small garden surrounded with a high wall , and having a fountain playing in the centre . There to his surprise the General brought two swords , and it suddenly occurred to the unhappy agent that the duel was to be fought there and then ! He made resistance , declared he would not fight until he had arranged his papers , and threatened to call for assistance if they endeavoured to detain him . the
" Hearkye , " said the Colonel , sternly , " you are a spy , and deserve death of a spy . I give you the opportunity of dying like a gentleman—or even of killing me—but , if you show yourseif unworthy of that generosity , nothing on earth shall prevent our killing you like a dog . " The agent looked agitatedly at the three stern pitiless faces before him , and then , understanding that all struggle was useless , he snatched one of the proffered swords , and prepared to face his terrible antagonist . The General and the Captain acted as seconds . The moon was shining brightly on the scene , and to her gentle light the combatants were to trust .
A dead silence was preserved for some minutes on all sides . The shiver of the cold steel—that hard , crisp , fearful sound , made by the clashing of swords—and the agitated breathing of the agent , were the only audible sounds . Colonel Delamare had fought an endless number of duels , and was as calm and confident as if he were standing up to a quadrille . It gave him immense gratification to perceive that he was opposed to a dexterous swordsman : one , indeed , who , had he been as calm as the Colonel , might have been an equal match for him . Presently a streak of blood stained the shirt of the Colonel , who , nevertheless , remained as quiet as before , taking no sort of notice of it . " Aha ! " said the Agent , speaking through his set teeth , " touched , are you , Colonel ? "
" Bah ! " replied the Colonel , "I might have touched you a dozen times , but I shall make only one thrust , and that will be through your heart . " " Be not too sure of that , " scornfully retorted the Agent , making a furious lunge . " I am perfectly sure of it , " answered the Colonel , disarming him in the neatest manner , and then pausing for him to recover his sword . " Pick it Up—I shall kill you with the sword in your hand . There—now take care of yourself . Well parried ! Parry that ! No , not the feint—but the thrust!—lla ! I told you it would be through the heart !" " It saves so much trouble , that killing your man at once , " continued the Colonel , as he wiped his sword .
May 18, 1850.] &!><> %T&Iltt. 189
May 18 , 1850 . ] &!><> % t & iltt . 189
A Picture In Music. Music Has Many Meani...
A PICTURE IN MUSIC . Music has many meanings ; and for those Whose souls are stung to rapture at sweet , sounds It shapes itself in pictures . Thus , last night I listened to a quaint and languid strain Which bore my spirit through a dreamy realm , And there this Picture rose before my soul . Tfc is an antique wood , amidst whose glooms The fleams of young Apollo ' s shining thoughts Mingle in dusky splendour . Shady groves Of high o ' erarching and embracing trees { Shut in the coolness . From out the deep recesses of this wood A chorus of the Gods in mirth sublime Itolls on the ear in deep and awful tones : Awful , majestic , passionate , and grave . Whilst in the front a troop of satyrs dance : Tawny , fantastic , both in sliapo and mien ; With antic ears , keen eyes , and sensual mouth : Halt' brutes , half gods : brutes , in their instincts fierce , And gods in their immunity from care I And with them many a delicate delight JJy men called Nymphs , creatures ofecstaoy , With warm round tapering limbs , glowing and soft , And bosoms budding into young desires ; Their faces bright with gladness , and their hearts Free as their foreheads from a single Ptain . 'Micro Nymphs lead on the Satyrs with arch looks . Their steps change with their sentiments : now swift , Now measured , and now languishing , now wild—Wild as their thoughts bursting with revelry . Whirling , and reeling , singing like to Gods Songs of a vinous fire , snatches of love Flushed as their cheeks , and amorous as Spring , They madly dance . The thyrsus in their hands
Rustles against the wine cup . On their brows Chaplets of flowers mingling with their tresses Cool them with morning dew . How madly wild The laughter-broken snatches of old song ! And mad the antics of that whirling dance ! While deep from the recesses of the wood The solemn mirth of the enjoying Gods For ever and for ever soundeth on !
A Gentle Hint To Writing-Women. It Will ...
A GENTLE HINT TO WRITING-WOMEN . It will never do . We are overrun . Women carry all before them . My mother assures me that , in lier day , women were content to boil dumplings ( and what dumplings ! no such rotundities of odorous delight smoke upon our tables : indeed the dumpling is a myth ) and do plain needlework ; if they made a dash at tlie Battle of Prague , that was the summit of their accomplishments . But now , as the same illustrious author of my days justly remarks , now women study Greek and despise dumplings . If they only studied Greek , I should not care ; it would save their coming to me for a translation of those quotations in Bulwer ' s novels which they don't under-
stand ( no more do I , but it ' s as well to pretend one does !); but , from reading books to writing books , the sublime to the ridiculous , you know the distance It ' melancholy fact , and against all Political Economy , that the group of female authors is becoming every year more multitudinous and mqre successful . Women write the best novels , the best travels , the best reviews , the best leaders , and the best cookery-books . They write on every subject and in every style , from terribly learned books on Egypt and Etruria down to in the
Loose Thoughts , by a Lady . They are turning us men into " drugs " ( market , of course ! metaphorically and not apothecarily)—they are ruining our profession . Wherever we carry our skilful pens , we find the place preoccupied by a woman . The time was when my contributions were sought as favours ; my graceful phrase was to be seen threading , like a meandering stream , through the rugged mountains of statistics , and the dull plains of matter of fact , in every possible publication . Then the pen was a profession . But now I starve . What am I to do—what are my brother-pens to do , when
such rivalry is permitted ? How many of us can write novels like Currer Bell , Mrs . Gaskell , Geraldine Jewsbury , Mrs . Marsh , Mrs . Crowe , and fifty others , with their shrewd and delicate observation of life ? How many of us can place our prose beside the glowing rhetoric and daring utterance of social wrong in the learned romances and powerful articles of Eliza Lynn , or the cutting sarcasm and vigorous protests of Miss Rigby ? What chance have we against Miss Martineau , so potent in so many directions ? In fact , the women have made an invasion of our legitimate domain . They write novels , and they write histories , they write travels and they ransack chronicles , they write articles and they write dramas , they write leaders and they write treatises . This is the " march of mind , " where , oh , where are the dumplings ! Does it never strike these delightful creatures that their inked ? it
little fingers were made to be kissed not to be Does never occur to them that they are doing us a serious injury , and that we need " protection ? " Woman ' s proper sphere of activity is elsewhere . Are there no husbands , lovers , brothers , friends to coddle and console ? Are there no stockings to darn , no purses to make , no braces to embroider ? My idea of a perfect woman is of one who can write but won ' t ; who knows all that authors know and a great deal more ; who can appreciate my genius and not spoil my market ; who can pet me , and flatter me , and flirt with me , and work for me , and sing to me , and love me : I have named Julia . Yes , she is a perfect woman ; she never wrote a book . And what shall I say of thee , my stately Harriet , with raven locks and flashing eyes , whom all adore ? It is true there are rumours of your having poisoned your husband , but what could you do less ? At any rate you have never written a book ; and when I think of that , I really see how the little conjugal episode just alluded to may
have many excuses . t Political economists complain of young ladies making purses and embroidering braces as taking work from the industrious classes . But I should like to know what they call writing books and articles but taking work from the industrious authors ? To knit a purse or work an ottoman is a graceful and useful devotion of female energies . Ellen has worked me an ottoman ;
and certain fair fingers are at this moment employed upon embroidering me an arm chair . Thai is what I call something like woman ' s mission I An arm chair ! consider how useful , how luxurious , how suggestive of kind thoughts as wearied from the labours of the day you sink into its arms and say , " Well , dear Penelope worked me this ; God bless her ! " Women of England ! listen to my words : Your path is the path of perdition , your literary impulses are the impulses of Satan . Burn your pens , and purchase wool . Arm chairs are to be made ; waistcoats can be embroidered : throw yourselves
courageously into this department , and you will preserve the deep love , respect , and gratitude ( when you work him chairs ) of your sorrowful and reproachful , Vl 1 VIA ! - P . vS . Since the above went to press I have received a stout packet Jrom Harriet . Opening it with eagerness to find some token of her thoughtful kindness I was aghast at seeing a bulky and illegible M . S . in her own hand * writing . It bears this title , — " Concessions op a Wasted His art . "
It is the story of her own domestic life , which Harriet begs me to t ^ K S ^ ta Colbum and negotiate with him respecting its publication ; £ 300 is the lowest sum she will accept . ... I begin to have modified views respecting that conjugal episode which made Harriet a widow ; doubts assail me as to whether Dowding was the domestic tyrant Harriet ' s mother ahvayfcrfleclared he wast .
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Citation
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Leader (1850-1860), May 18, 1850, page 21, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse.ac.uk/periodicals/l/issues/cld_18051850/page/21/
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