tobacco smoke, as it did when she took possession of your den. If you
have left any papers about, any bills, any billets-doux, I make no doubt
the ladies have read every single one of them, according to the amiable
habits of their sex. The daughter is a bright little blue-eyed
fair-haired lass, with a very sweet voice, in which she sings (unaided by
instrumental music, and seated on a chair in the middle of the room) the
artless ballads of her native country. I had the pleasure of hearing the
'Bonnets of Bonny Dundee' and 'Jack of Hazeldean' from her ruby lips two
evenings since; not indeed for the first time in my life, but never from
such a pretty little singer. Though both ladies speak our language with
something of the tone usually employed by the inhabitants of the northern
part of Britain, their accent is exceedingly pleasant, and indeed by no
means so strong as Mr. Binnie's own; for Captain Mackenzie was an
Englishman, for whose sake his lady modified her native Musselburgh
pronunciation. She tells many interesting anecdotes of him, of the West
Indies, and of the distinguished regiment of infantry to which the
captain belonged. Miss Rosa is a great favourite with her uncle, and I
have had the good fortune to make their stay in the metropolis more
pleasant, by sending them orders, from the Pall Mall Gazette, for the
theatres, panoramas, and the principal sights in town. For pictures they
do not seem to care much; they thought the National Gallery a dreary
exhibition, and in the Royal Academy could be got to admire nothing but
the picture of M'Collop of M'Collop, by our friend of the like name; but
they think Madame Tussaud's interesting exhibition of waxwork the most
delightful in London; and there I had the happiness of introducing them
to our friend Mr. Frederick Bayham; who, subsequently, on coming to this
office with his valuable contributions on the Fine Arts, made particular
inquiries as to their pecuniary means, and expressed himself instantly
ready to bestow his hand upon the mother or daughter, provided old Mr.
Binnie would make a satisfactory settlement. I got the ladies a box at
the opera, whither they were attended by Captain Goby of their regiment,
godfather to Miss, and where I had the honour of paying them a visit. I
saw your fair young cousin Miss Newcome in the lobby with her grandmamma
Lady Kew. Mr. Bayham with great eloquence pointed out to the Scotch
ladies the various distinguished characters in the house. The opera
delighted them, but they were astounded at the ballet, from which mother
and daughter retreated in the midst of a fire of pleasantries of Captain
Goby. I can fancy that officer at mess, and how brilliant his anecdotes
must be when the company of ladies does not restrain his genial flow of
humour.
"Here comes Mr. Baker with the proofs. In case you don't see the P. G. at
Galignani's, I send you an extract from Bayham's article on the Royal
Academy, where you will have the benefit of his opinion on the works of
some of your friends:--
"'617. 'Moses Bringing Home the Gross of Green Spectacles,' Smith, R.A.--
Perhaps poor Goldsmith's exquisite little work has never been so great a
favourite as in the present age. We have here, in a work by one of our
most eminent artists, an homage to the genius of him 'who touched nothing
which he did not adorn:' and the charming subject is handled in the most
delicious manner by Mr. Smith. The chiaroscuro is admirable: the impasto
is perfect. Perhaps a very captious critic might object to the
foreshortening of Moses's left leg; but where there is so much to praise
justly, the Pall Nall Gazette does not care to condemn.
"'420. Our (and the public's) favourite, Brown, R.A., treats us to a
subject from the best of all stories, the tale 'which laughed Spain's
chivalry away,' the ever new Don Quixote. The incident which Brown has
selected is the 'Don's Attack on the Flock of Sheep;' the sheep are in
his best manner, painted with all his well-known facility and brio. Mr.
Brown's friendly rival, Hopkins, has selected Gil Blas for an
illustration this year; and the 'Robber's Cavern' is one of the most
masterly of Hopkins' productions.
"'Great Rooms. 33. 'Portrait of Cardinal Cospetto,' O'Gogstay, A.R.A.;
and 'Neighbourhood of Corpodibacco--Evening--a Contadina and a
Trasteverino dancing at the door of a Locanda to the music of a
Pifferaro.'--Since his visit to Italy Mr. O'Gogstay seems to have given
up the scenes of Irish humour with which he used to delight us; and the
romance, the poetry, the religion of 'Italia la bella' form the subjects
of his pencil. The scene near Corpodibacco (we know the spot well, and
have spent many a happy month in its romantic mountains) is most
characteristic. Cardinal Cospetto, we must say, is a most truculent
prelate, and not certainly an ornament to his church.
"'49, 210, 311. Smee, R.A.--Portraits which a Reynolds might be proud
of,--a Vandyke or Claude might not disown. 'Sir Brian Newcome, in the
costume of a Deputy-Lieutenant,' 'Major-General Sir Thomas de Boots,
K.C.B.,' painted for the 50th Dragoons, are triumphs, indeed, of this
noble painter. Why have we no picture of the Sovereign and her august
consort from Smee's brush? When Charles II. picked up Titian's
mahl-stick, he observed to a courtier, 'A king you can always have; a
genius comes but rarely.' While we have a Smee among us, and a monarch
whom we admire,--may the one be employed to transmit to posterity the
beloved features of the other! We know our lucubrations are read in high
places, and respectfully insinuate verbum sapienti.
"'1906. 'The M'Collop of M'Collop,'--A. M'Collop,--is a noble work of a
young artist, who, in depicting the gallant chief of a hardy Scottish
clan, has also represented a romantic Highland landscape, in the midst of
which, 'his foot upon his native heath,' stands a man of splendid
symmetrical figure and great facial advantages. We shall keep our eye on
Mr. M'Collop.
"'1367. 'Oberon and Titania.' Ridley.--This sweet and fanciful little
picture draws crowds round about it, and is one of the most charming and
delightful works of the present exhibition. We echo the universal opinion
in declaring that it shows not only the greatest promise, but the most
delicate and beautiful performance. The Earl of Kew, we understand,
bought the picture at the private view; and we congratulate the young
painter heartily upon his successful debut. He is, we understand, a pupil
of Mr. Gandish. Where is that admirable painter? We miss his bold
canvasses and grand historic outline.'
"I shall alter a few inaccuracies in the composition of our friend F. B.,
who has, as he says, 'drawn it uncommonly mild in the above criticism.'
In fact, two days since, he brought in an article of quite a different
tendency, of which he retains only the two last paragraphs; but he has,
with great magnanimity, recalled his previous observations; and, indeed,
he knows as much about pictures as some critics I could name.
"Good-bye, my dear Clive! I send my kindest regards
to your father; and
think you had best see as little as possible of your bouillotte-playing
French friend and his friends. This advice I know you will follow, as
young men always follow the advice of their seniors and well-wishers. I
dine in Fitzroy Square to-day with the pretty widow and her daughter, and
am yours always, dear Clive, A. P."
CHAPTER XXIII
In which we hear a Soprano and a Contralto
The most hospitable and polite of Colonels would not hear of Mrs.
Mackenzie and her daughter quitting his house when he returned to it,
after six weeks' pleasant sojourn in Paris; nor, indeed, did his fair
guest show the least anxiety or intention to go away. Mrs. Mackenzie had
a fine merry humour of her own. She was an old soldier's wife, she said
and knew when her quarters were good; and I suppose, since her honeymoon,
when the captain took her to Harrogate and Cheltenham, stopping at the
first hotels, and travelling in a chaise-and-pair the whole way, she had
never been so well off as in that roomy mansion near Tottenham Court
Road. Of her mother's house at Musselburgh she gave a ludicrous but
dismal account. "Eh, James," she said, "I think if you had come to mamma,
as you threatened, you would not have staid very long. It's a wearisome
place. Dr. M'Craw boards with her; and it's sermon and psalm-singing from
morning till night. My little Josey takes kindly to the life there, and I
left her behind, poor little darling! It was not fair to bring three of
us to take possession of your house, dear James; but my poor little Rosey
was just withering away there. It's good for the dear child to see the
world a little, and a kind uncle, who is not afraid of us now he sees us,
is he?" Kind Uncle James was not at all afraid of little Rosey; whose
pretty face and modest manners, and sweet songs, and blue eyes, cheered
and soothed the old bachelor. Nor was Rosey's mother less agreeable and
pleasant. She had married the captain (it was a love-match, against the
will of her parents, who had destined her to be the third wife of old Dr.
M'Mull) when very young. Many sorrows she had had, including poverty, the
captain's imprisonment for debt, and his demise; but she was of a gay and
lightsome spirit. She was but three-and-thirty years old, and looked
five-and-twenty. She was active, brisk, jovial, and alert; and so
good-looking, that it was a wonder she had not taken a successor to
Captain Mackenzie. James Binnie cautioned his friend the Colonel against
the attractions of the buxom siren; and laughingly would ask Clive how he
would like Mrs. Mackenzie for a mamaw?
Colonel Newcome felt himself very much at ease regarding his future
prospects. He was very glad that his friend James was reconciled to his
family, and hinted to Clive that the late Captain Mackenzie's
extravagance had been the cause of the rupture between him and his
brother-in-law, who had helped that prodigal captain repeatedly during
his life; and, in spite of family quarrels, had never ceased to act
generously to his widowed sister and her family. "But I think, Mr.
Clive," said he, "that as Miss Rosa is very pretty, and you have a spare
room at your studio, you had best take up your quarters in Charlotte
Street as long as the ladies are living with us." Clive was nothing loth
to be independent; but he showed himself to be a very good home-loving
youth. He walked home to breakfast every morning, dined often, and spent
the evenings with the family. Indeed, the house was a great deal more
cheerful for the presence of the two pleasant ladies. Nothing could be
prettier than to see the two ladies tripping downstairs together, mamma's
pretty arm round Rosey's pretty waist. Mamma's talk was perpetually of
Rosey. That child was always gay, always good, always happy! That darling
girl woke with a smile on her face, it was sweet to see her! Uncle James,
in his dry way, said, he dared to say it was very pretty. "Go away, you
droll, dear old kind Uncle James!" Rosey's mamma would cry out. "You old
bachelors are wicked old things!" Uncle James used to kiss Rosey very
kindly and pleasantly. She was as modest, as gentle, as eager to please
Colonel Newcome as any little girl could be. It was pretty to see her
tripping across the room with his coffee-cup, or peeling walnuts for him
after dinner with her white plump little fingers.
Mrs. Irons, the housekeeper, naturally detested Mrs. Mackenzie, and was
jealous of her: though the latter did everything to soothe and coax the
governess of the two gentlemen's establishment. She praised her dinners,
delighted in her puddings, must beg Mrs. Irons to allow her to see one of
those delicious puddings made, and to write the receipt for her, that
Mrs. Mackenzie might use it when she was away. It was Mrs. Irons' belief
that Mrs. Mackenzie never intended to go away. She had no ideer of
ladies, as were ladies, coming into her kitchen. The maids vowed that
they heard Miss Rosa crying, and mamma scolding in her bedroom for all
she was so soft-spoken. How was that jug broke, and that chair smashed in
the bedroom, that day there was such a awful row up there?
Mrs. Mackenzie played admirably, in the old-fashioned way, dances, reels,
and Scotch and Irish tunes, the former, of which filled James Binnie's
soul with delectation. The good mother naturally desired that her darling
should have a few good lessons of the piano while she was in London.
Rosey was eternally strumming upon an instrument which had been taken
upstairs for her special practice; and the Colonel, who was always
seeking to do harmless jobs of kindness for his friends, bethought him of
little Miss Cann, the governess at Ridley's, whom he recommended as an
instructress. "Anybody whom you recommend I'm sure, dear Colonel, we
shall like," said Mrs. Mackenzie, who looked as black as thunder, and had
probably intended to have Monsieur Quatremains or Signor Twankeydillo;
and the little governess came to her pupil. Mrs. Mackenzie treated her
very gruffly and haughtily at first; but as soon as she heard Miss Cann
play, the widow was pacified--nay, charmed. Monsieur Quatremains charged
a guinea for three-quarters of an hour; while Miss Cann thankfully took
five shillings for an hour and a half; and the difference of twenty
lessons, for which dear Uncle James paid, went into Mrs. Mackenzie's
pocket, and thence probably on to her pretty shoulders and head in the
shape of a fine silk dress and a beautiful French bonnet, in which
Captain Goby said, upon his life, she didn't look twenty.
The little governess trotting home after her lesson would often look in
to Clive's studio in Charlotte Street, where her two boys, as she called
Clive and J. J., were at work each at his easel. Clive used to laugh, and
tell us, who joked him about the widow and her daughter, what Miss Cann
said about them. Mrs. Mack was not all honey, it appeared. If Rosey
played incorrectly, mamma flew at her with prodigious vehemence of
language, and sometimes with a slap on poor Rosey's back. She must make
Rosey wear tight boot
s, and stamp on her little feet if they refused to
enter into the slipper. I blush for the indiscretion of Miss Cann; but
she actually told J. J., that mamma insisted upon lacing her so tight, as
nearly to choke the poor little lass. Rosey did not fight: Rosey always
yielded; and the scolding over and the tears dried, would come simpering
downstairs with mamma's arm round her waist, and her pretty artless happy
smile for the gentlemen below. Besides the Scottish songs without music,
she sang ballads at the piano very sweetly. Mamma used to cry at these
ditties. "That child's voice brings tears into my eyes, Mr. Newcome," she
would say. "She has never known a moment's sorrow yet! Heaven grant,
heaven grant, she may be happy! But what shall I be when I lose her?"
"Why, my dear, when ye lose Rosey, ye'll console yourself with Josey,"
says droll Mr. Binnie from the sofa, who perhaps saw the manoeuvre of the
widow.
The widow laughs heartily and really. She places a handkerchief over her
mouth. She glances at her brother with a pair of eyes full of knowing
mischief. "Ah, dear James," she says, "you don't know what it is to have
a mother's feelings."
"I can partly understand them," says James. "Rosey, sing me that pretty
little French song." Mrs. Mackenzie's attention to Clive was really quite
affecting. If any of his friends came to the house, she took them aside
and praised Clive to them. The Colonel she adored. She had never met with
such a man or seen such a manner. The manners of the Bishop of Tobago
were beautiful, and he certainly had one of the softest and finest hands
in the world; but not finer than Colonel Newcome's. "Look at his foot!"
(and she put out her own, which was uncommonly pretty, and suddenly
withdrew it, with an arch glance meant to represent a blush)--"my shoe
would fit it! When we were at Coventry Island, Sir Peregrine Blandy, who
succeeded poor dear Sir Rawdon Crawley--I saw his dear boy was gazetted
to a lieutenant-colonelcy in the Guards last week--Sir Peregrine, who was
one of the Prince of Wales's most intimate friends, was always said to
have the finest manner and presence of any man of his day; and very grand
and noble he was, but I don't think he was equal to Colonel Newcome--I
don't really think so. Do you think so, Mr. Honeyman? What a charming
discourse that was last Sunday! I know there were two pair of eyes not
dry in the church. I could not see the other people just for crying
myself. Oh, but I wish we could have you at Musselburgh! I was bred a
Presbyterian, of course; but in much travelling through the world with my
dear husband, I came to love his church. At home we sit under Dr M'Craw,
of course; but he is so awfully long! Four hours every Sunday at least,
morning and afternoon! It nearly kills poor Rosey. Did you hear her voice
at your church? The dear girl is delighted with the chants. Rosey, were
you not delighted with the chants?"
If she is delighted with the chants, Honeyman is delighted with the
chantress and her mamma. He dashes the fair hair from his brow: he sits
down to the piano, and plays one or two of them, warbling a faint vocal
accompaniment, and looking as if he would be lifted off the screw
music-stool, and flutter up to the ceiling.
"Oh, it's just seraphic!" says the widow. "It's just the breath of
incense and the pealing of the organ at the Cathedral at Montreal. Rosey
doesn't remember Montreal. She was a wee wee child. She was born on the
voyage out, and christened at sea. You remember, Goby."
"Gad, I promised and vowed to teach her her catechism; 'gad, but I
haven't," says Captain Goby. "We were between Montreal and Quebec for
three years with the Hundredth, and the Hundred Twentieth Highlanders,
and the Thirty-third Dragoon Guards a part of the time; Fipley commanded
them, and a very jolly time we had. Much better than the West Indies,