Act II.

"Youdear old boy," said the girl, "I am sure I wish it could be—with all my heart—if I have any heart."

"I don't believe you have," replied the boy, gloomily.

"Well, but Reg, consider; you've got no money."

"I've got five thousand pounds. If a man can't make his way upon that, he must be a poor stick."

"You would go abroad with it and dig, and take your wife with you—to wash and cook."

"We would do something with the money here. You should stay in London, Rosie."

"Yes. In a suburban villa, at Shepherd's Bush, perhaps. No, Reg, when I marry, if ever I do—I am in no hurry—I will step out of this room into one exactly like it." The room was a splendid drawing-room in Palace Gardens, splendidly furnished. "I shall have my footmen and my carriage, and I shall——"

"Rosie, give me the right to earn all these things for you!" the young man cried impetuously.

"You can only earn them for me by the time you have one foot in the grave. Hadn't I better in the meantime marry some old gentleman with his one foot in the grave, so as to be ready for you against the time when you come home? In two or three years the other foot I dare say would slide into the grave as well."

"You laugh at my trouble. You feel nothing."

"THIS HEARTLESS HAND."

"If the pater would part—but he won't—he says he wants all his money for himself, and that I've got to marry well. Besides, Reg"—here her face clouded and she lowered her voice—"there are times when he looks anxious. We didn't always live in Palace Gardens. Suppose we should lose it all as quicklyas we got it. Oh!" she shivered and trembled. "No, I will never, never marry a poor man. Get rich, my dear boy, and you may aspire even to the valuable possession of this heartless hand."

She held it out. He took it, pressed it, stooped and kissed her. Then he dropped her hand and walked quickly out of the room.

"Poor Reggie!" she murmured. "I wish—I wish—but what is the use of wishing?"

Two men—one young, the other about fifty—sat in the verandah of a small bungalow. It was after breakfast. They lay back in long bamboo chairs, each with a cigar. It looked as if they were resting. In reality they were talking business, and that very seriously.

"Yes, sir," said the elder man, with something of an American accent, "I have somehow taken a fancy to this place. The situation is healthy."

"Well, I don't know; I've had more than one touch of fever here."

"The climate is lovely——"

"Except in the rains."

"The soil is fertile——"

"I've dropped five thousand in it, and they haven't come up again yet."

"They will. I have been round the estate, and I see money in it. Well, sir, here's my offer: five thousand down, hard cash, as soon as the papers are signed."

"FIVE THOUSAND DOWN, HARD CASH."

Reginald sat up. He was on the point of accepting the proposal, when a pony rode up to the house, and the rider, a native groom, jumped off, and gave him a note. He opened it and read. It was from his nearest neighbour, two or three miles away: "Don't sell that man your estate. Gold has been found. The whole country is full of gold. Hold on. He's an assayer. If he offers to buy, be quite sure that he has found gold on your land.—F. G."

He put the note into his pocket, gave a verbal message to the boy, and turned to his guest, without betraying the least astonishment or emotion.

"I beg your pardon. The note was from Bellamy, my next neighbour. Well? You were saying——"

"Only that I have taken a fancy—perhaps a foolish fancy—to this place of yours, and I'll give you, if you like, all that you have spent upon it."

"Well," he replied, reflectively, but with a little twinkle in his eye, "that seems handsome. But the place isn't really worth the half that I have spent upon it. Anybody would tell you that. Come, let us be honest, whatever we are. I'll tell you a better way. We will put the matter into the hands of Bellamy. He knows what a coffee plantation is worth. He shall namea price, and if we can agree upon that, we will make a deal of it."

The other man changed colour. He wanted to settle the thing at once as between gentlemen. What need of third parties? But Reginald stood firm, and he presently rode away, quite sure that in a day or two this planter, too, would have heard the news.

A month later, the young coffee-planter stood on the deck of a steamer homeward bound. In his pocket-book was a plan of his auriferous estate, in a bag hanging round his neck was a small collection of yellow nuggets; in his boxes was a chosen assortment of quartz.

"Well, sir," said the financier, "you've brought this thing to me. You want my advice. Well, my advice is, don't fool away the only good thing that will ever happen to you. Luck such as this doesn't come more than once in a lifetime."

"I have been offered ten thousand pounds for my estate."

"Oh! Have you! Ten thousand? That was very liberal—very liberal indeed. Ten thousand for a gold reef."

"But I thought as an old friend of my father you would, perhaps——"

"Young man, don't fool it away. He's waiting for you, I suppose, round the corner, with a bottle of fizz ready to close."

"He is."

"Well, go and drink his champagne. Always get whatever you can. And then tell him that you'll see him——"

"I certainly will, sir, if you advise it. And then?"

"And then—leave it to me. And—young man—I think I heard, a year or two ago, something about you and my girl Rosie."

"There was something, sir. Not enough to trouble you about it."

"She told me. Rosie tells me all her love affairs."

"Is she—is she unmarried?"

"Oh yes, and for the moment I believe she is free. She has had one or two engagements, but, somehow, they have come to nothing. There was the French Count, but that was knocked on the head very early in consequence of things discovered. And there was the Boom in Guano, but he fortunately smashed, much to Rosie's joy, because she never liked him. The last was Lord Evergreen. He was a nice old chap when you could understand what he said, and Rosie would have liked the title very much, though his grandchildren opposed the thing. Well, sir, I suppose you couldn't understand the trouble we took to keep that old man alive for his own wedding. Science did all it could, but 'twas of no use——" The financier sighed. "The ways of Providence are inscrutable. He died, sir, the day before."

"That was very sad."

"A dashing of the cup from the lip, sir. My daughter would have been a Countess. Well, young gentleman, about this estate of yours. I think I see a way—I think, I am not yet sure—that I do see a way. Go now. See this liberal gentleman, and drink his champagne. And come here in a week. Then, if I still see my way, you shall understand what it means to hold the position in the City which is mine."

"And—and—may I call upon Rosie?"

"VERY LIBERAL INDEED!"

"Not till this day week, not till I have made my way plain."

"And so it means this. Oh, Rosie, you look lovelier than ever, and I'm as happy as a king. It means this. Your father is the greatest genius in the world. He buys my property for sixty thousand pounds—sixty thousand. That's over two thousand a year for me, and he makes a company out of it with a hundred and fifty thousand capital. He says that, taking ten thousand out of it for expenses, there will be a profit of eighty thousand. And all that he gives to you—eighty thousand, that's three thousand a year for you; and sixty thousand, that's two more, my dearest Rosie. You remember what you said, that when you married you should step out of one room like this into another just as good?"

"Oh, Reggie"—she sank upon his bosom—"you know I never could love anybody but you. It's true I was engaged to old Lord Evergreen, but that was only because he had one foot—you know—and when the other foot went in too, just a day too soon, I actually laughed. So the pater is going to make a company of it, is he? Well, I hope he won't put any of his own money into it, I'm sure, because of late all the companies have turned out so badly."

"But, my child, the place is full of gold."

"Then why did he turn it into a company, my dear boy? And why didn't he make you stick to it? But you know nothing of the City. Now, let us sit down, and talk about what we shall do—Don't, you ridiculous boy!"

"OH, ROSIE. YOU LOOK LOVELIER THAN EVER!"

Another house just like the first. The bride stepped out of one palace into another. With their five or six thousand a year, the young couple could just manage to make both ends meet. The husband was devoted; the wife had everything that she could wish. Who could be happier than this pair in a nest so luxurious, their life so padded, their days so full of sunshine?

It was a year after marriage. The wife, contrary to her usual custom, was the first at breakfast. A few letters were waiting for her—chiefly invitations. She opened and read them. Among them lay one addressed to her husband. Not looking at the address, she opened and read that as well:

"Dear Reginald,—I venture to address you as an old friend of your own and schoolfellow of your mother's. I am a widow with four children. My husband was the Vicar of your old parish—you remember him and me. I was left with a little income of about two hundred a year. Twelve months ago I was persuaded in order to double my income—a thing which seemed certain from the prospectus—to invest everything in a new and rich gold mine. Everything. And the mine has never paid anything. The Company—it is called the Rynard Gold Reef Company—is in liquidation because, though there is really the gold there, it costs too much to get it. I have no relatives anywhere to help me. Unless I can get assistance my children and I must go at once—to-morrow—into the workhouse. Yes, we are paupers. I am ruined by the cruel lies of that prospectus, and the wickedness which deluded me, and I know not how many others, out of my money. I have been foolish, and am punished: but those people, who will punish them? Help me, if you can, my dear Reginald. Oh! forGod'ssake, help my children and me. Help your mother's friend, your own old friend."

"This," said Rosie, meditatively, "is exactly the kind of thing to make Reggie uncomfortable. Why, it might make him unhappy all day. Better burn it." Shedropped the letter into the fire. "He's an impulsive, emotional nature, and he doesn't understand the City. If people are so foolish. What a lot of fibs the poor old pater does tell, to be sure. He's a regular novelist—Oh! here you are, you lazy boy!"

"Kiss me, Rosie." He looked as handsome as Apollo and as cheerful. "I wish all the world were as happy as you and me. Heigho! Some poor devils, I'm afraid——"

"Tea or coffee, Reg?"

From a|AGE 20.|Photo.AGE 25.From a Photo.AGE 45.From a Photo.From a Photo. by|PRESENT DAY.|Burton Bros., Dunedin.

From a|AGE 20.|Photo.

AGE 25.From a Photo.

AGE 45.From a Photo.

From a Photo. by|PRESENT DAY.|Burton Bros., Dunedin.

Whereverthe English tongue is spoken the name of J. L. Toole is a household word. After winning his spurs in Dublin, he made his first appearance in London at the St. James's Theatre, which was then under the management of Mrs. Seymour. This was in 1855. From the St. James's he migrated to the Lyceum, where he played, among other characters,Flip Flapto Charles Dillon'sBelphegor, Mrs. Bancroft, then Marie Wilton, being in the cast. It was but a step from the Lyceum to the Adelphi; and his merry reign there, in conjunction with Paul Bedford, will be always remembered in connection with that theatre. It was during this period that our first two portraits were taken. The third portrait represents him at forty-five years of age, before which time he had produced Byron's "Dearer than Life" at the Queen's, Henry Irving playingBob Gassett, and Lionel BroughUncle Ben. The theatre he built for himself in King William-street was opened in 1879. Our fourth portrait was taken in Dunedin, New Zealand, about five months ago, in the course of his remarkably successful tour through the Australasian colonies.

For these portraits we are indebted to Mr. Toole's courtesy.

Born 1854.

From a|AGE 18.|Photograph.

From a|AGE 27.|Photograph.

Mr. E. S. Willard, whose career at the Shaftesbury Theatre within the last two years firmly established his claim to be regarded as one of our few really great actors, made his first bow to a theatrical audience at the Theatre Royal, Weymouth, in December, 1869, and afterwards gained some useful experiences on the "Western Circuit." In 1875 he married Miss Emily Waters, now well known in literary circles as "Rachel Penn," and then he made his first appearance in London at the Covent Garden Theatre. Five years of hard work in the provinces followed, leading to his engagement at the Princess's under the management of Mr. Wilson Barrett. His performance of theSpiderin "The Silver King" was no less popular than that of his chief. Although Mr. Willard's position in the first rank of actors could not have been long delayed, his sudden leap to the front was almost the result of a fortunate accident. He had accepted a long engagement from Mr. Hare for the new Garrick Theatre, which, fortunately for Mr. Willard, was cancelled by him when he refused to play the opening part assigned to him. This left him free to assume the reins of management at the Shaftesbury Theatre, where his remarkable performances ofCyrus BlenkarnandJudahestablished his claim to pre-eminence, and more than justified the faith and confidence of his numerous admirers.

From a Photo. by|AGE 36.|J. Templeton Grove.

AGE 12.

AGE 14.

Miss Kate Rorke, at the age at which our first portrait represents her, was already on the stage, in the character of one of the little school-girls in "Olivia." At fourteen she was still a stage school-girl, this time in the Bancrofts' production of "School" at the Haymarket. Soon afterwards she joined Mr. Charles Wyndham's touring company, and at the age of our third portrait was delighting the audiences of the chief provincial theatres in a variety of characters. These early studies, combined with great natural abilities, have borne the fruit to be expected; and to-day Miss Rorke, as the frequenters of the Garrick Theatre know to their delight, is one of the most charming and finished actresses at present on the English stage.

AGE 16.

PRESENT DAY.

Born 1864.

AGE 5.From a Photo. by Messrs. W. & D. Downey.

AGE 5.

From a Photo. by Messrs. W. & D. Downey.

AGE 7.From a Photo. by Messrs. W. & D. Downey.

AGE 7.

From a Photo. by Messrs. W. & D. Downey.

Atthe age of seven Prince Albert Victor was receiving his education at home. At fourteen—at which age he is here depicted in a Highland costume—he was, like his brother George, a cadet on board H.M.S.Britanniaat Dartmouth. At nineteen, he became an undergraduate at Trinity College, Cambridge; after which he was transferred to Aldershot to study military science.

These portraits are published by special arrangement with Messrs. W. and D. Downey, whose permission thus to reproduce photographs of celebrities from their enormous and unique assortment we are the first to obtain.

AGE 14.From a Photo. by Messrs. W. & D. Downey.

AGE 14.

From a Photo. by Messrs. W. & D. Downey.

AGE 19.From a Photo. by Messrs. W. & D. Downey.

AGE 19.

From a Photo. by Messrs. W. & D. Downey.

From a Photo. by|AGE 26.|Messrs. W. & D. Downey.

From a Photo. by|AGE 3 MONTHS.|Messrs. W. & D. Downey.

From a Photo. by|AGE 6.|Messrs. W. & D. Downey.

TheDuchess of Fife, as our readers are aware, inherits in no small degree the conspicuous gifts of grace and beauty for which her Royal mother is so pre-eminently distinguished. That such has been the case throughout her life is manifested by the charming portraits which here represent her from the age when, as a solemn baby, her first photograph was taken, down to her appearance at the present day.

From a Photo. by|AGE 10.|Messrs. W. & D. Downey.

From a Photo. by|AGE 15.|Messrs. W. & D. Downey.

These portraits are reproduced by special arrangement with Messrs. W. and D. Downey.

From a Photo. by|PRESENT DAY.|Messrs. W. & D. Downey.

Born 1865.

From a Photo. by|AGE 3.|Messrs. W. & D. Downey.

From a Photo. by|AGE 5.|Messrs. W. & D. Downey.

OfPrince George at the ages of three and five we have nothing to record; but at the time at which our third portrait represents him, he was a middy on board H.M.S.Britannia. A sailor is always a popular member of all classes of society, and "our sailor prince" enjoys the reputation of being among the most popular of his profession.

From a Photo. by|AGE 14.|Messrs. W. & D. Downey.

From a Photo. by|AGE 18.|Messrs. W. & D. Downey.

From a Photo. by|AGE 25.|Messrs. W. & D. Downey.

These portraits are reproduced by special arrangement with Messrs. W. and D. Downey.

From a Photo. by|AGE 18.|Levitsky, Paris.

From a Photo. by|AGE 19.|Bergamasco, St. Petersburg.

Thefirst portrait we give of Mme. Albani-Gye shows her at eighteen years, when a student under M. Duprez, of Paris. The second represents her at nineteen, asLa Sonnambula, in whichrôleshe made a triumphantdébutin 1872 at Covent Garden. Mme. Albani spent her 25th birthday in New York, where she created the part ofElsa. The last photograph represents her asDesdemona, a character which particularly appeals to her.

From a Photo. by|AGE 25.|Sarony, New York.

From a Photo. by|PRESENT DAY.|Sarony, New York.

From a Photo. by|AGE 18.|M. Hansen, Stockholm.

From a Photo. by|AGE 24.|Florman.

Thefirst photograph we give of Miss Agnes Jansen brings her before us at eighteen years of age, then a student at the Royal Academy of Music in Stockholm. Under the guidance of her accomplished master, Hugo Beyer, she made such marked progress that she was shortly afterwards engaged to appear in the leading contraltorôlesat the Opera House of her native city. In 1885, on pleasure bent, she came to England, and, in the cause of a charity, made herdébutat the Albert Hall, since when she has been continually sought for concerts in town and country. Only a few weeks back she appeared for the first time in a London opera at Covent Garden, where she is now performing.

From a Photo. by|AGE 27.|Chancellor, Dublin.

From a Photo. by|PRESENT DAY.|The Stereoscopic Co.

With Fac-similes.

Thepages in the "Post Office Album," through which we were looking in our last number, are by no means exhausted. There is yet another curiously addressed missive to Her Majesty—"To the lady queen vicktorieha queens pallice London" (Fig. 1); the late Earl of Beaconsfield was also signalled out for an hieroglyphic wrapper (Fig. 2); the gentleman occupying the civic chair at the Mansion House in 1886 was the recipient of a somewhat remarkable envelope—sufficiently suggestive, however, to reach him (Fig. 3); whilst the Receiver and Accountant-General of the Post Office received a veritable puzzle in "Receive the county general Cheapy hall London" (Fig. 4). One remaining specimen (Fig. 5) here reproduced—which was actually delivered to the proper persons for whom it was intended—we will leave to those of our readers who revel in the unravelling of the mysterious.

FIG. 1.

FIG. 2.

Turn over another leaf, and you are requested to make yourself acquainted with an interesting little Welsh town in Merionethshire, familiarly known as "Llanllanfairpyllghyllgheryogogogoch"; and the next page gives rise to unbounded sympathy for the unfortunate postman who dutifully delivered a letter to—

"Mr. Paddy O'Rafferty O'Shaugnessy,'The Beautiful Shamrock'Next door to Barney Flynn's Whiskey Store.Knock me down entirely street,Stratford on AvonIn the County Cork if ye like Dublin."

FIG. 3.

One gentleman is evidently partial to boxing—all his envelopes are pugilistically illustrated, whilst another individual's wrappers always bear a request—in big capitals—to carry his communication by a British vessel, and on no account by a foreign one. A minister, evidently just ordained, and residing in Jamaica, is depicted in the pulpit with his old college cap and boots in the distance, with the reminder to "Never forget old friends." One envelope strongly suggests that somebody has a weakness for anything but toast and water, for the gentleman is represented fast asleep, with a huge barrel of beer above him, and the tap still flowing freely into his opened mouth, which is waiting to receive it.

FIG. 4.

FIG. 5.

The volumes devoted to humours nearer at home are brimming over with merriment, whilst not a few leaves contain somewhat serious impressions. Suggestions of holiday making form a prominent feature. Pretty and effective views of the sea and country lanes, picturesque valleys and mountains, are liberally displayed on thevarious envelopes. One lady is at Margate, attired in such masculine clothing, with binocular under her arm, that the artist has added a flowing beard to her face. There is a landlady presenting a bill, whilst the next is really a very original idea of the various stages of matrimony. On a number of boards resting on an easel, is one marked "1883," with a pair of lovers drifting down a stream in a boat, whilst "1884" finds the same pair in wedding garments. Other "years" are waiting for their events in the lives of the young people.

FIG. 6.

Poetical addresses are as numerous as they are varied. Here are one or two examples. A postman read the following instructions:—

"Near Bristol City may patience lead thee;At Totterdown Row—postman, heed me—Stands Gordon House, 'tis passing fair,And Mr. Brittain dwelleth there."

FIG. 7.

Another envelope, bearing the Peckham post-mark, thus silently appeals:—

"To Exeter fair city, by Western Mail,Good postman, send me without fail;And when in Devonshire I arrive,Over Exe Bridge and through St. Thomas drive,Past the old turnpike, and up the hillHeld sacred to Little John's ✠ still,Just where the road begins to turn,You'll find Rose Cottage and Mrs. Hearn.Ask her if there's a fair young lassCome down from London her holidays to pass;To her please deliver without delay,For I'm postage paid, and so you need not stay."

The poetry is not great, but it is suggestive.

An eminent maker of umbrellas received a most artistic wrapper, with numerous illustrations showing the position his umbrellas held amongst the community. Gentlemen are using them as a means of roaming the seas, whilst a more adventuresome spirit, remarking that "Umbrellas make you rise in the world," is going upà laballoon with one. Finally, at the death of the worthy manufacturer his own umbrella is carried in state followed by an appreciative populace, and the head of his memorial stone is further decorated by a number of these very useful protectors. The uncertainty of our glorious climate is the subject for another wit, who has drawn a monumental stone over which a watering can is freely flowing with the words—

Sacredto thememory of the fine weatherwhich departed from this landJune, 1888.* * * * *Alsothe sun of the above.

Sacredto thememory of the fine weatherwhich departed from this landJune, 1888.

* * * * *

Alsothe sun of the above.

FIG. 8.

One envelope has an ingenious direction on it. It is intended for s.s.Kaisow, lying in the Red Sea. It shows a very intelligent-looking sow labelled K, with a belt round it in the form of the letter C painted red.

A somewhat similarly addressed wrapper is one despatched to Wales. Swansea is represented by a swan with a capital C in the immediate vicinity of its tail (Fig. 6); whilst following the word South is a representation of a number of enthusiastic fishermen making every effort to harpoon some whales. A stalwart Highlander, in all his glory, appears upon another, wishing "A guid New Year to ye," and as he holds out a palm almost as large as himself, he merrily exclaims, "And here'sa hand, my trusty fren'!" An invalid is lying with a heavy box on him, labelled appropriately "A Chest Complaint." John Bull and Young Australia occupy two corners of the wrapper, shaking hands across the sea, whilst the next is a loving message to an ocean roamer, showing an energetic little nigger indulging in what is frankly admitted to be a "mangled version of an old song," to the effect of—

"Good bye, John,Don't stop long,Come back soon to your numberless chickabiddies;My heart is low,The winds blow so,And takes away my sailor."

FIG. 9.

Niggers seem strong favourites for illustrative purposes. A magnificent specimen of a black is that of a gentleman in a huge broad-brimmed straw hat, with the name and address written on an equally prodigious collar. The gentleman destined toreceive the letter rejoiced in the name of Black, hence the presence of our dark friend (Fig. 7). Here (Fig. 11) is a merry little drummer boy, whose face is hidden by the paper he is reading, which bears the postage stamp.

FIG. 10.

A young lady residing at Port Elizabeth probably felt a shock when she found on an envelope from "home," a gentlemanly but gluttonous cannibal making a small lunch out of a venturesome white man, whom he is swallowing at a single bite. "A Native Swallowing a Settler" is the comforting inscription on it. Equally startled, too, probably, was the lady who found that she had been singled out as "Lost, Stolen, or Strayed," with a crowd of interested onlookers—including representatives of the military and police—eagerly scanning the bill on which was set forth her name and address (Fig. 8).

What looks like a sly hint at matrimony was sent by an amorous swain to a young damsel at Cape Town. A gentleman's head, labelled "An unfurnished flat," surely suggests house furnishing. Page after page of the postal scrap-book is replete with illustrations: artists, sculptors, eminent politicians, all classes of the community, all have their own particular "skit"—a musician, probably, and a violinist to wit, receiving his envelope with a pictorial representation suggesting the weight of his instrument, so much so that it took a couple of men to carry it between them, and even then the fiddle and case proved too heavy, and was allowed to fall to the ground, much to the evident hurt of one of those engaged in the job (Fig. 9).

"The lion is a noble animal, and to his keeper he appears to possess no small degree of attachment." So says an envelope with the king of beasts taking his unwary keeper into his paws.

It is needless to say that married people receive a fair share of attention from the envelope artist. The "delighted parent" is in strong evidence, whilst the nurse approaches with gladdened step and joyfully exclaims "Twins, sir!"

And a wit winds the series up with a request on his missive addressed to the care of a post-office to the effect:—"Don't give him this unless he calls for it."

FIG. 11.

We append a couple of illustrationswhich seem to have escaped the usually keen eye of those at the Post Office, always on the look-out for these little curiosities in envelopes. One is kindly forwarded by a gentleman interested in these "Postal Humours," and shows a boar partial to boating playfully flying a kite, on the tail of which is the name and address. The sun looks on somewhat dubiously from above (Fig. 10). The second is a specimen of many similar ones which arrive at the office ofTit-Bits, and depicts the various stages through which a letter passes whilst on its way to compete for the weekly "Vigilance Prize," until it is finally handed in at its proper destination (Fig. 12).

FIG. 12.

"Woman, be fair, we must adore you;Smile, and the world is all before you."

Lookingback across the gulf of years which divides us from the latter portion of the last century, we must be struck by the total change that has passed over society generally. No men like those giants in intellect, Chatham, Fox, Swift, Johnson, now fill the canvas; no fine gentlemen, who, as Thackeray says, were in themselves a product of the past, and for which the finikin, white-vested masher is but a poor substitute. And the women!—those wondrously fair creatures, whose faces have been handed down to us by Reynolds or Gainsborough, and who smile at us from their gilt frames. What witchery in the almond-shaped eyes, long and languishing; what pouting lips; what arched and lovely necks; what queenly dignity in their gait and carriage, and withal nothing of the voluptuous immodesty which marks the wanton beauties of Charles II.'s Court: they were mistresses, these were wives.

ELIZABETH GUNNING (DUCHESS OF HAMILTON).(From the Picture by C. Read.)

ELIZABETH GUNNING (DUCHESS OF HAMILTON).

(From the Picture by C. Read.)

There was never a period when so much homage was paid to beauty as in the last century. Men went mad for a lovely face, fought duels for a smile or a flower given by their mistress to a rival, and threw prudence to the winds to obtain her. We are now going to take a glance at some of these fair magicians, whose stories read, many of them, like fairy tales; Cinderella, for instance, pales before the history of the two Irish girls who, more than 150 years ago, crossed the fish-pond which divides the sister countries, and came to seek their fortunes, with only their lovely facespour tout potage. The surpassing beauty of the sisters has become matter of history, nor, perhaps, is there a parallel instance of mere beauty exciting so extraordinary a sensation as that produced by these portionless girls.

Horace Walpole, writing to Sir Horace Mann, says:—"You who know England in other times will find it difficult to conceive what indifference reigns with regard to Ministers; the two Miss Gunnings are twenty times more the subject of conversation than the Duke of Newcastle or Lord Granville."

Again he says:—"The Gunning girls have no fortune, and are scarce gentlewomen, but by their mother. (She was the Honourable Bridget Bourke, third daughter to Theobald, sixth Viscount Mayo.) The Bourkes have Plantagenet blood, quite enough to compensate for the inferior tap of the Gunnings."

Maria was the eldest of "the goddesses,"as Mrs. Montagu styles the two girls. She was born in 1733, Elizabeth two years later. Consequently, when they appeared in London, one was nineteen, the other seventeen.

The character of the beauty of the Gunnings will be seen in the accompanying portrait of Elizabeth—long swimming eyes, and small, delicate mouth, and the soft, composed face, breaking from between the two lace lappets, secured in a top-knot over the head.

Soon both sisters had admirers. "Lord Coventry, a grave lord of the remains of the patriot breed," dangled after Maria, while Elizabeth was singled out by the Duke of Hamilton, who was wild and dissipated. He fell desperately in love with the young beauty, who, on her side, was well tutored by her Plantagenet mother how to play the noble fish she had on her line. The sequel is well known; how the Duke, inflamed by Elizabeth's coyness and coquetry, insisted upon the extempore marriage at midnight, the curtain-ring doing duty for a golden fetter. Her sister's good fortune decided the fate of Maria, who in a short time wedded her grave lord.

It is an old maxim that "Nothing succeeds like success," and the furore caused by the "goddesses" increased after their elevation to the peerage. "The world is still mad about the Gunnings.[1]The Duchess of Hamilton was presented on Friday; the crowd was so great that even the noble crowd in the drawing-room clambered upon chairs and tables to look at her. There are mobs at their doors to see them get into their chairs, and people go early to get places at the theatre when it is known they will be there. Doctor Sacheverell never made more fuss than these two beauties." A shoemaker got two guineas for showing a shoe he was making for Lady Coventry. But the mind of her ladyship was not equal to her beauty, the fact being that neither of the girls had been educated decently. The Duchess, however, concealed her deficiency better than Lady Coventry, who, Horace Walpole tells us, said every day some new "sproposits." Stories flew about of her sayings which, no doubt, lost nothing in the repetition; as when she told the good-natured king that the only sight she wished to see was a coronation. It was to him she also complained that she could not walk in the park, the people stared at her so much; upon which George II. sent her a guard to keep the starers in order. This incident caused the circulation of the accompanying ballad, composed by Horace Walpole:—

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