THE MASQUERADE. THE MASQUERADE. [Mrs. Hofland, born (Barbara Wreaks) in Sheffield, 1770; died, 1844. She was the author of about seventy different works, chiefly novels and moral tales, which obtained for her extensive favour, although they are little known in the present day. She was twice married, first to Mr. T. Bradshaw Hoole, who died two years after the marriage. During her widowhood she conducted a school in Harrogate, until her second marriage, to Mr. Thomas Christopher Hofland, the landscape-painter. Her principal works are: The Daughter-in-law; Bmily; Captives in India: The Clergyman's Widow: Decision; Integrity: Self-denial; Fortitude: Tales of the Manor; &c.] 66 'You speak, Emma, with as much seriousness as if I were going to do a positively wrong thing, to be guilty of some unfeminine impropriety of the most reprehensible nature. Surely I have a right to a little innocent amusement, when I go in good company?" "Very true, Alicia; but you also know that different definitions are given by different persons to words and things, and that no young woman who has given herself to another can act always upon her own conviction. No person for a moment will doubt that our fancy balls in the country, where each assumed a character, were as innocent as they were gay; but I apprehend a London crowd of people in masks, who are thereby privileged to address you, be they who they may, is a very different affair, and might subject a gentlewoman of correct manners to very embarrassing feelings." "Impossible! when she is with a party. promise you not to leave Lady Forester for a moment: no, I'll hang upon her like a drowning creature, rather than subject myself to I 187 any attentions that could by possibility give future pain to your brother." "But will you be able to do that? You have often compared Charles, in days past, to Captain Wentworth in the admirable novel of Persuasion, not only on account of his person and profession, but for that acute sensibility, and even fastidious perception, of the honourable, modest, and virtuous, in female character; and whilst admiring him have said, 'Would I were like Anne Musgrave, for his sake!' Now do you, can you think, that on the eve of her lover's return from a long and dangerous voyage, she could have given even her wishes to a masquerade?" "No, Emma, she would not, I grant you; but we know that when the story commences she was five or six years older than I am; and these 'tamers of the human breast,' disappointment and comparative poverty, had impaired her spirits, diminished her beauty, and rendered her a pensive, gentle, stay-at-home sort of a person. Now, try as I may, I cannot become like her, for I have had indulgent friends, a plentiful fortune, and an attached lover; I cannot become compliant, and meek, and dejected, do what I will." "But you can be, and have been, constant, tender, and affectionate. You are capable of the heroism of self-denial, of sacrificing the love of admiration, and the stimulus of curiosity, to a deeper and more endeared motive of action!" As Emma uttered the last words she withdrew, perceiving she had made an impression on her gay friend, who soon began thus to soliloquize: "If I thought dear Charles would come today, or to-morrow, it is true I should not think of going: but seamen are so uncertain, and I may never have another opportunity; for he is very particular, and thinks so much of me, that I question if he would deem me safe, even in his own protection; he is so ardent, so sincere, so unlike everybody one sees The tide of tender recollections now beginning to flow in the young beauty's bosom, would have soon restored her to her wonted feelings, if the cunning tempter had not arrived at this moment, and influenced her decision by reiterating her former entreaties, and adding the blandishments of well-acted interest in her lovely young friend,-who was little aware that her company was sought not only to add brilliance to the dowager's evening parties, but for the purpose of ensnaring her person and fortune, as the prize of some one of her ladyship's favourites. So short a period intervened between the time when Alicia's promise was exacted and that when she was to be called for, that she found herself much at a loss how to procure a dress, such as she could approve herself, or please her new and her former friend by adopting. "I will not be a flower-girl," said she, "for everybody says the rooms will overflow with them; and Lady Forester would laugh at me as a nun, or a tragic muse, or a Quaker: and suppose I were Thalia, or Rosalind, or Perdita, or a sultana, or even Diana, Emma might see something in my dress that would be painful to her; and she is so good, and loves me so truly, I could not bear to wound her. I could better bear the sneer of Lady Forester when she talks of blue-stocking ladies, and sentimental country misses than grieve dear Emma." In this dilemma her grandmother suggested the idea of her wearing the dress of one of her female ancestors, as she appeared at the court of George II., and which had been carefully preserved in the family since that time. It was accordingly tried on by an ancient waiting-woman, proud of understanding bygone fashions; and was found to be not only splendid in general effect, but exceedingly becoming, and so perfectly adapted to her height and shape, that Emma herself declared it unexceptionable. Thus attired, Alicia joined the motley party of Lady Forester, who appeared in the costume of Maria Theresa; and she proceeded to the masquerade, assuming no particular character, and of course affecting no theatrical graces; but by no means unconscious of the elegance of her figure, and the graces of her manners, and under the full persuasion that the novelty of the scene on which she was entering, and the abilities of those with whom she must mingle, would not fail to elicit her talents, and render her wit still more conspicuous than her person. She concluded that all the former abodes of gaiety in which she had found herself happy, and the cause of happiness to others, must be eclipsed for ever by this. But, alas! those spirits that "live i' the sunbeam" of young hearts, and light young eyes with rapture, refused on this eventful evening to visit Alicia. When she indeed found herself one in the midst of a crowd, at once brilliant and low, the motley group, in their numbers and incongruity, oppressed her spirits; and she felt much more inclined to moralize on their characters, than laugh at their absurdities. This feeling increased when ever a domino appeared, for to the wearers of this dress her active imagination appended the office of an inquisitor; and she shrunk from every one that approached, as if he had the power to read alike her thoughts and her situation, and report both to her disadvantage. She was compelled to resign her reflections, and exert herself to recover those powers of mind, and, if possible, obtain that vivacity for which she was so generally admired; but her efforts to this end were paralyzed by the fulsome adulation of a grand Turk, who belonged to the party, and the teasing attentions of a beau of the last century, who considered himself privileged to address her. As neither of them had either wit, or even the technicalities which belonged to the forms they assumed, effrontery and stupidity appeared to Alicia their only characteristics; but she had not the power of even satirizing these tormentors, for the Hungarian queen, her chaperone, did not allow her the power of addressing her. Under the pretext of supporting her character, she threw her on the attentions of one or other so decidedly as to render her sense of impropriety extremely painful. This increased to alarm, when she found the disciple of Lord Chesterfield vanished, and the officious Turk her sole attendant, at the very time when she lost Lady Forester, and the humble companion who accompanied her. As she insisted on following them immediately, she was compelled to accept the stranger's arm and guidance, and hear with burning cheek and heaving bosom his self-gratulations on her soft compliance, no longer uttered in the feigned voice he had previously adopted. Tears of vexation and self-reproach rose to her eye, which she cast round in vain for her conductress to this now hateful scene, when she was interrupted in her path by a mask, who appeared to personate a dumb slave, and, being arrayed in the Turkish costume, by his gestures invited her conductor to follow him. Glad of any interruption, Alicia expressed her willingness to do so; but the representative of an imperial despot determinately resisted her entreaties in this respect, and dismissed the slave, who lost not a moment in darting through the crowd, and with more courage than complaisance compelled Lady Forester to return with him. Alicia's short but pointed reproof effectually silenced the sarcasms the friend was prepared to pour on our mortified heroine; in consequence of which, that amiable personage determined to mortify her, by remaining at the place till the latest moment, being fully aware of Alicia's desire to quit it. before he came hither. It stood at the door half an hour, in the hope of your arrival, when, finding the patient became feverish from anxiety, he set out a little vexed at your delay-but losing his own troubles in his cares for the invalid. You know how tender he is towards all who suffer." Whatever might be her wishes, or those of the Turk, her friend, it was evident that their designs were in a great measure neutralized by the intrusion of the dumb slave, who seemed determined never to leave them, and who stood a battery of observations directed at him, if not to him, with a sang froid that really communicated the idea that he was deaf, as well as dumb. At length, however, he made a sudden start, and ran off, to the evident pleasure of the party; but Alicia had by this time so far recovered her self-possession, and was so "And from such a man as this, so generous certain from the extreme thinness of the rooms, to others, so disinterested for himself, so conthat she must be soon relieved, that she deter-fiding in me, I could flee to mingle in a crowd mined to sustain with calmness the remainder of strangers, to hear nonsense I despised, and of that wearisome time she was called on to witness folly I could notendure. At length their carriage drew up, and under the sickly daylight of a cold spring morning, Alicia drove home, exhausted and harassed, with feelings estranged from her companions, and penitent towards her beloved Emma. As she arrived at the door of her revered relative, a post-chaise and four drove from it: the circumstance struck her as extraordinary; and she eagerly inquired of the servant in waiting, who was in the carriage that had driven thence. Captain Alderson, ma'am; he arrived last night after you were gone. Miss Alderson is up and in the breakfast parlour." Thither Alicia went in extreme agitation. Joy that her lover had arrived, sorrow that she had been absent, and anger that he could have left the house without seeing her, were strangely mingled in her bosom; but fear for the consequences of that conduct which had cost her already so much vexation was her predominant sensation. Seizing the hand of Emma, she exclaimed "Tell me in a moment what is the meaning of all this? Charles (poor Charles, from whom we have been so long parted!) has been here and is gone!" "Yes, he arrived unfortunately before you had left us half an hour. I was very sorry you lost the pleasure of receiving him, for he is looking so well, and is every way so entirely himself; so kind, and frank, and noblehearted." "But why did he go? How could he go without seeing me, knowing that I came to London to meet him?" "He had promised a sick boy, his midshipman, not to part from him till he had given him in charge to his own widowed mother at Tunbridge. He sent an express to this lady, and ordered a post-chaise to be here at six, Alicia threw down her mask, hastily unclasped her necklace, and, throwing herself into the arms of her friend, burst into a passion of tears. At length she exclaimed " "Were you not amused, then, after all?" "No! not for a single half-hour: beyond the first five minutes (in which the novelty of the scene struck me) I found it insupportably dull. I tried to fancy I was in the carnival of Italy, of which one has read so much; but it would not do; there was no exhilarating sun above me, no flashes of merriment or beams of wit around me, and I was teased to death with two stupid coxcombs, who "Were driven away by a third." These words were not spoken by Emma. Alicia started, looked up, and with inexpressible emotion beheld Charles himself before her. The cause of his return was soon explained: he had met the anxious mother whom he sought, placed her son in her care, and returned immediately. Alicia heard this account and her head again sunk on the bosom of Emma, anxious to hide there the traces of her past tears, and the blushes which now lighted her pale cheeks. The lover complained of his reception, adding that she "could give a better to a black slave." "Ha!" cried Alicia, "is my past folly already known to you?" The lover threw himself at her feet, in such an attitude as to show that he had himself been her attendant under that disguise. Alicia's countenance was half smiles, half tears, as she extended her arms to raise him. She felt assured that Charles had read the mortification of her heart, and approved her manners, though he might blame her appearance at the masquerade; and in this sweet conviction she almost forgave herself, though she ingenuously told the solicitude of Emma to save her from committing an action, which, in her present circumstances, might be deemed one of folly and unkindness. "My sister's kindness was worthy of herself, and beneficial to me," returned the lover: "for finding her ticket on the mantle-piece, I was induced to avail myself of it, unknown to any one but my own servant, and by taking the only dress I could procure, to effect relief to you from evident annoyance. I cannot regret an incident which enabled me to read a new page in the heart of her to whom I have been so long and profoundly attached; but never again may I have the pain of fearing to find its innocent gaiety misconstrued, or its purity sullied, by the unfeminine absurdities of a public masquerade!" WORK. [Alice Cary, born 1820; died at New York, 12th February, 1871. An American poet who during a life of much suffering and some privation, produced many beautiful lyrics. Horace Greeley, who knew her well, said of her:-"I do not believe that she ever wrote one line that she did not thoroughly believe to be true, and calculated to convey instruction or pleasure-often both -to her readers. She concentrated all her powers and energies on the task of making truth more palpable and good, more acceptable to hungry, waiting souls." Her sister, Phebe, also wrote verse and prose for the magazines.] Down and up, and up and down, Turn in the little seed, dry and brown: Work, and the sun your work will share, With hand on the spade and heart in the sky Turn in the little seed, brown and dry; Work, and your house shall be duly fed; I hold that a man had better be dead Down and up, and up and down, Work, with a plan, or without a plan, Down and up, till life shall close, Turn in the wild white winter snows, Work, and the sun your work will share, THE SONGSTRESS.1 The opera was over. Still, however, the tumultuous applause uplifted in honour of the fair debutante who had that evening made her first obeisance before the audience of Berlin, reverberated through the house, and seemed as if it would have no end. A thousand clapping hands, and a corresponding number of roaring voices, were employed in bearing testimony to the merits of Henrietta, and in demanding her momentary re-appearance, to receive the homage of the spectators. At length the curtain again rolled up, and the beauty came forward in all the graceful loveliness whereby she had previously enchanted her auditory. In comparison with the noise which now arose, the former might be regarded almost as the silence of the dead! Every one present, in fact, seemed to abandon himself to the most extravagant marks of rapture; the young songstress, alone, was unable to give vent to her emotions, and was obliged to retire with silent obeisances; her eyes, however, were eloquent, demonstrating, by their animated lustre, the gratification she experienced. But the amount of Henrietta's gratification appeared trivial beside that manifested by the glances and exclamations of the gentlemen in the house. A regular epidemic seemed to have seized them (although of no very disastrous nature), and to have included every class and every age within its range of attack. Even old Field Marshal Von Rauwitsch,2 upon whose head, worn gray during numerous campaigns, scarcely a few straggling hairs were to be counted-even he appeared, in his old age, to have been wounded by Love's dart, against which he perhaps imagined himself completely armed. If, however, these right noble warriors were fascinated by the syren, he was more than matched by a couple of royal counsellors Messrs. Hemmstoff and Wicke,3 who had be 1 The above is abridged from a little work published sometime ago at Leipzig, under the title of Henrietta die schöne Sängerin, which excited much attention in Germany. The story is founded on fact. The real name of the heroine was Mlle Sontag. 2 Marshal Von Brauchitsh, then governor of Berlin. 3 Gemmstoff and Wilke. THE SONGSTRESS. come close friends in consequence of a congeniality of sentiment in matters relating to the fine arts and the drama. The latter, his eye fixed on the fallen curtain, broke out with an ejaculation--"Oh, friend! what is life without love? I now understand the delicate lines of the poet." "True, very true!" interposed Hemmstoff, vainly endeavouring to pass, in the true exquisite style, his fingers through the remnant of that luxurious crop of hair which the scythe of Time had cut down-"very truly does the poet say but I feel confoundedly hungry. Shall we sup at the hotel, or where?" "Below, my dear fellow," rejoined Wicke, in a melting tone, "for I understand there is a supply of fresh oysters just arrived. how sweet a thing is love!" Alas! Thus sentimentalizing did he and his companion descend into the supper-room, which was unusually full-doubtless on account of the necessity felt by so many young bucks of recruiting their shaken nerves and spirits by the help of a little eau-de-vie. 191 Amongst her regular train, it will not be difficult to imagine that our friends the orators of the gasthof were duly numbered, including a young man (of whom the rest knew no more than we did). He spoke but little, although a sarcastic smile now and then curled his lip: by Henrietta he was uniformly well receivedbut this courtesy was not extended to him by his fellow admirers, who, indeed, appeared alone withheld by fear (inspired by his evident decision of character) from treating the stranger rudely. Nothing further could be gathered respecting him than that he was a young musician, by name Werner; and he was of superior presence, although his dress did not indicate a man of opulence. One morning, the party assembled in Henrietta's salon were engaged in discourse respecting the journals of the day, and the criticisms they contained, when there arose a general exclamation of-"Here comes Count Regenbogen," who in a moment or two entered the apartment. Count Regenbogen was held to be the most polite and well-dressed cavalier at the court of Berlin. Nobody had a more stylish head of hair; his perfumes were all procured direct from the French capital; his boots and shoes were uniformly made at Vienna-his coats at Paris-his nether-garments and surtouts at London. Even at the very first period of the morning (namely, about twelve o'clock), on lifting himself out of bed, he was elegant! and the report went that he absolutely slept in two waistcoats and a cravat of the finest mixture tomed to dress his hair himself in bed, for which purpose a sheet of looking-glass was affixed to the top! It was also rumoured, on the authority of his lawyer, that he had made provision in his will for being buried in the most fashionable attire-deeming it unbecoming to appear at the day of judgment otherwise than full dressed. All the tables were soon entirely occupied. The discourse naturally turned on the opera; and all coincided in voting Henrietta's abilities to be pre-eminent, although each differed from the other as to her chief qualifications. But, as the uproar began almost to resemble that of Babel (for the parties seemed to think that the strength of the argument lay in vociferation) we turn with pleasure to a more agreeable and interesting object-the songstress herself. To the young, pure, and sensitive heart of Henrietta, the notice she attracted was any--and that, for greater luxury, he was accusthing but congenial. She was conscious that the publicity of her situation could not fail to imply something indelicate to true feminine feeling: but circumstances and custom (together with a certain innocent belief that it could not be otherwise) tended greatly to overcome this sensation. Altogether, however, her lot had more the appearance than the reality of being enviable; and this chiefly from two co-operating causes-namely, the impertinent freedom of the critics, who (probably because they knew nothing of music) seemed to prefer descanting in no measured terms upon her personal accomplishments, and the countless tedious visits which were daily made her, and which she, unfortunately, was obliged to receive. By this latter annoyance, indeed, all those leisure hours were purloined which she had formerly been habituated to devote to the enjoyment of her own thoughts and the society of books, varied by agreeable household occupations. This notable gentleman was assiduously paying his devoirs to the assemblage, when his brilliant nothings were interrupted by the stalking in of a very ghastly apparition, which bore some resemblance to M. Bruckbaner, director of the K- Opera. A universal exclamation ensued upon his entrance—the more particularly as his garments displayed some stains of blood. "Good heavens!" said Henrietta, "what is the meaning of this?" "Let me breathe, dearest lady," said Bruckbaner, "and you shall learn the cause. Never, surely, was any director of a theatre at once so |