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tween laughter and tears by her It is the usual misfortune of such witty sallies.

marked men — happily not one Her excitability was highly invariable or inevitable —that they wrought upon by her visits to the cannot allow other minds room to old countries. Rome kept her breathe. . . . Carlyle, indeed, awake all the time she was there. is arrogant and overbearing; but She took letters of introduction to in his arrogance there is no littlethe people of note in the places she ness-no self-love. It is the went to, and has left many inte heroic arrogance of some old resting accounts of the celebrities Scandinavian conqueror. ... she met. Writing to Emerson, You do not love him perhaps, nor after meeting Carlyle in London, revere ; and perhaps, also, he would she gives a vivid account of this only laugh at you if you did; but great man, for whom Edgar Allan you like him heartily, and like to Poe said she had what he called a see him the powerful smith-the “blind reverence.” In his critique Siegfried melting all the old iron upon her he accuses her of “un- in his furnace till it glows to a justifiable Carlyleisms”; and doubt. sunset red, and burns you, if you less she had been much influenced senselessly go too near. He seems both in thought and style by Car- to me quite isolated—lonely as the lyle ; but she had passed through desert... For the higher kinds the phase of blind reverence before of poetry he has no sense, and his she met him, for she goes so far talk on that subject is delightfully even as to allow that she had and gorgeously absurd. He somewearied of his writings.

times stops a minute to laugh at it “I meant to write on my arrival himself; then begins anew. ... in London, six weeks ago ...; “It is much if one is not only a but in three days I was in such a crow or magpie-Carlyle is only a round of acquaintances that I had lion. Some time we may, all in hardly time to dress, and none to full, be intelligent and humanly sleep during all the weeks I was in fair. London.... I find myself “For a couple of hours he was much in my element in European talking about poetry ; and the society. It does not, indeed, come whole harangue was one eloquent up to my ideal; but so many of the proclamation of the defects in his incumbrances are cleared away that own mind. ...." used to weary me in America that She gives a quaint characterI can enjoy a freer play of faculty, touch of both Carlyle and Emerand feel, if not like a bird in the son, when, in writing to the latter, air, at least as easy as a fish in the she tells him of how she had made water. .....

Carlyle laugh by an anecdote, and “Of the people I saw in London says: “Carlyle is worth a thousand you will wish me to speak first of of you for that; he is not ashamed the Carlyles. Mr. C. came to see to laugh when he is amused, but me at once, and appointed an goes on in a cordial human evening to be passed at their fashion.” house.

We have treated Margaret as “Accustomed to the infinite wit yet principally as a woman, enand exuberant richness of his deavouring to seize her personality writings, his talk is still an amaze from amid the mass of recollections ment and a splendour scarcely to which her friends have given to the be faced with steady eyes. He world. These recollections are does not converse—only harangues. often contradictory; but Emerson,

who has evidently endeavoured to appear uncertain and unsatisfacput down his true impression of tory, yet may have been the very her, excuses this by saying that quality which justified her arroshe herself varied from day to day. gance and sense of queenly power. At one time she would appear to be She was conscious of a wide spiritual devoid of some sense or intuition range: of ability to move quickly or belief. At the next interview in that region of spiritual thought she would seem to have leaped and belief in which most people right on and taken up a new take up a fixed position, and are position. If her friends found it almost proud of being incapable of difficult to form a definite and movement. consistent idea of her when alive, As a journalist, as a critic, as it is hard to expect them to do one of the transcendental thinkers, so when she is among them no and as the Countess d'Ossoli, we longer. But this chameleon-like have yet to consider her. character of mind which may often

(To be concluded in the next number.)




THERE were persons living in London not many days ago, persons of some position, moreover, who believed in the existence of two very distinct individuals of the name of Morris. One of these was the wellknown author of “ The Earthly Paradise," a book which every lover of poetry of the present day has read and enjoyed; the other Morris was quite a different being, and the head of a representative firm whose specialty has been the introduction of real art work into the common things of decoration and furniture. In regard to these two Messieurs Morris, it was deemed quite possible to revel in the poetry thrown off by the magical hand of the one, while seated in an easy chair upholstered in the rare brocade of the loom of the other.

It is our duty to dispel this illusion, and, instead of asking the reader, as Ben Jonson of Shakespeare, to “ look, not on his picture but his book," to state that “this figure that thou here seest put” was stamped in a sheet of lead from a photographic film representing William Morris, poet, yet equally well pourtraying William Morris, of the firm of Morris | and Company.

The fact is curious enough to be worth noting, that a single individual should have made so distinct a mark in such different walks of life as to be taken to include in himself two separate celebrities, and that in a day when it is difficult to emerge from the vast undistinguished crowd in any single capacity. That there is a slender thread common to the work done by the “ dreamer of dreams" and the work done by the practical man of business in the case before us, it might be possible to demonstrate; but the fact is evidently not sufficiently manifest to have disturbed the believers in the twofold and distinct personality.

William Morris was born the 24th March 1834, at Walthamstow. It cannot be said that he was the heir of any breath of genius, for it

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