wore it, fell down almost to her ancles, was also rather a foreign attribute. Her countenance resembled a most beautiful miniature; and there was a quickness, decision, and fire, in Fenella's look, and especially in her eyes, which was probably rendered yet more alert and acute, because, through the imperfection of her other organs, it was only by sight that she could obtain information of what passed around her. The pretty mute was mistress of many little accomplishments which the Countess had caused to be taught to her, in compassion for her forlorn situation, and which she learned with the most surprising quickness. Thus, for example, she was exquisite in the use of the needle, and so ready and ingenious a draughtswoman, that, like the ancient Mexicans, she sometimes made a hasty sketch with her pencil the means of conveying her ideas, either by direct or emblematical representation. Above all, in the art of ornamental writing, much studied at that period, Fenella was so great a proficient, as to rival the fame of Messrs. Snow, Shelley, and other masters of the pen, whose copy-books, preserved in the libraries of the curious, still shew the artists smiling on the frontispiece in all the honors of flowing gowns and full-bottomed wigs, to the eternal glory of caligraphy. The little maiden had, besides these accomplishments, much ready wit and acuteness of intellect. With Lady Derby, and with the two young gentlemen, she was a great favorite, and used much freedom in conversing with them, by means of a system of signs which had been gradually established amongst them, and which served all ordinary purposes of communication. But, though happy in the indulgence and favor of her mistress, from whom indeed she was seldom separate, Fenella was by no means a favorite with the rest of the household. In fact, it seemed that her temper, exasperated perhaps by a sense of her misfortune, was by no means equal to her abilities. She was very haughty in her demeanour, even towards the upper domestics, who in that establishment were of a much higher rank and better birth than in the families of the nobility in general. These often complained, not only of her pride and reserve, but of her high and irascible temper and vindictive disposition. Her passionate propensity had been indeed idly encouraged by the young men, and particularly by the Earl, who sometimes amused himself with teazing her, that he might enjoy the various singular motions and murmurs by which she expressed her resentment. Towards him, these were of course only petulant and whimsical indications of pettish anger. But when she was angry with others of inferior degree-before whom she did not control herself-the expression of her passion, unable to display itself in language, had something even frightful, so singular were the tones, contortions, and gestures, to which she had recourse. The lower domestics, to whom she was liberal almost beyond her apparent means, observed her with much deference and respect, but much more from fear than from any real attachment; for the caprices of her temper displayed themselves even in her gifts; and those who most frequently shared her bounty, seemed by no means assured -assured of the benevolence of the motives which dictated her liberality. All these peculiarities led to a conclusion consonant with Manx superstition. Devout believers in all the legends of fairies so dear to the Celtic tribes, the Manx people held it for certainty that the elves were in the habit of carrying off mortal children before baptism, and leaving in the cradle of the new-born babe one of their own brood, which was almost always imperfect in some one or other of the organs proper to humanity. Such a being they conceived Fenella to be; and the smallness of her size, her dark complexion, her long locks of silken hair, the singularity of her manners and tones, as well as the caprices of her temper, were to their thinking all attributes of the irritable, fickle, and dangerous race, from which they supposed her to be sprung. And it seemed, that although no jest appeared to offend her more than when Lord Derby called her in sport the Elfin Queen, or otherwise alluded to her supposed connection with "the pigmy folk," yet still her perpetually affecting to wear the colour of green, proper to the fairies, as well as some other peculiarities, seemed voluntarily assumed by her, in order to countenance the superstition, perhaps because it gave her more authority among the lower orders. • Many were the tales circulated respecting the Countess's Elf, as Fenella was currently called in the island; and the malcontents of the stricter persuasion were convinced, that no one but a Papist and a malignant would have kept near her person a creature of such doubtful origin. They conceived that Fenella's deafness and dumbness were only towards those of this world, and that she had been heard talking, and singing, and laughing, most elvishly, with the invisibles of her own race. They alleged, also, that she had a Double, a sort of apparition resembling her, I which slept in the Countess's anti-room, or bore her train, or wrought in her cabinet, while the real Fenella joined the song of the mermaids on the moonlight sands, or the dance of the fairies in the haunted valley of Glenmoy, or on the heights of Snawfell and Barool. The centinels, too, would have sworn they had seen the little maiden trip past them in their solitary night-walks, without their having it in their power to challenge her, any more than if they had been as mute as herself. To all this mass of absurdities the better informed paid no more attention than to the usual idle exaggerations of the vulgar, which so frequently connect that which is unusual with what is supernatural. Such, in form and habits, was the little female, who, holding in her hand a small old-fashioned ebony rod, which might have passed for a divining wand, confronted Julian on the top of the flight of steps which led down the rock from the Castle-court. We ought to observe, that as Julian's manner to the unfortunate girl had been always gentle, and free from those teazing jests in which his gay friend indulged, with less regard to the peculiarity of her situation and feelings; so Fenella, on her part, had usually 03 shewn shewn much greater deference to him than to any of the household, her mistress, the Countess, always excepted.' In the sequel, it appears that Fenella, or Zarah, is the daughter of Christian, and is employed by him as a spy about the person of the Countess of Derby. To forward her father's machinations, she is ultimately brought to London, restored to voice and hearing; and we have a very animated interview between her and the Duke of Buckingham, who imagines that he has secured Alice Bridgenorth within his toils, but really finds Fenella. Some very eloquent writing occurs in this scene. Our remaining extracts shall be confined to the historical portions of the tale; and, first, we shall give a faithful and striking likeness of the merry monarch himself, taken while walking in the Mall in the Park. The person whom Julian looked upon was past the middle age of life, of a dark complexion, corresponding with the long, black, full-bottomed perriwig, which he wore instead of his own hair. His dress was plain black velvet, with a diamond-star, however, on his cloak, which hung carelessly over one shoulder. His features strongly lined, even to harshness, had yet an expression of dignified good humour; he was well and strongly built, walked upright and yet easily, and had upon the whole the air of a person of the highest consideration. He kept rather in advance of his companions, but turned and spoke to them, from time to time, with much affability, and probably with some liveliness, judging by the smiles, and sometimes the scarce restrained laughter, by which some of his sallies were received by his attendants. They also wore only morning dresses; but their looks and manner were those of men of rank, in presence of one in station still more elevated. They shared the attention of their principal in common with seven or eight little black curl-haired spaniels, or rather, as they are now called, cockers, which attended their master as closely, and perhaps with as deep sentiments of attachment, as the bipeds of the group; and whose gambols, which seemed to afford him much amusement, he sometimes regulated, and sometimes encouraged. In addition to this pastime, a lacquey, or groom, was also in attendance, with one or two little baskets and bags, from which the gentleman we have described took, from time to time, a handful of seeds, and amused himself with throwing them to the water-fowl. This, the King's favourite occupation, together with his remarkable countenance, and the deportment of the rest of the company towards him, satisfied Julian Peveril that he was approaching, perhaps indecorously, near the person of Charles Stuart, the second of that unhappy name.' This scene is borrowed from Evelyn's Memoirs: but Evelyn has drawn his Majesty's attachment to the canine race in rather stronger colors. "He took delight in having a number of of little spaniels follow him, and lie in his bed-chamber, where often he suffered the bitches to puppy and give suck, which rendered it very offensive, and indeed made the whole court nasty and stinking." The same author has enumerated the various kinds of wild fowl with which the King stocked his decoy in the Park. The representation of the mercurial Buckingham is not altogether what we might have expected. His wit is evidently laboured, yet by no means first-rate: nor do even his liveliness and versatility sit easily on him. It is very probable that the bons mots, which the novelist has put into the Duke's mouth, may be as good as any which he ever really uttered, but unfortunately this is not sufficient. A very ordinary witticism from the living Buckingham might pass off, and tell most successfully, which, when recorded, would fall exceedingly flat and lifeless from the pen. The following passage will, we think, bear us out in these observations: It was high-tide in the anti-chamber, and had been so for more than an hour, ere the Duke's gentleman in ordinary ventured into his bed-chamber, carefully darkened, so as to make midnight at noon-day, to know his Grace's pleasure. His soft and serene whisper, in which he asked whether it were his Grace's pleasure to rise, was briefly and sharply answered by the counter questions, "Who waits?. What's o'clock?" "It is Jerningham, your Grace," said the attendant. "It is one afternoon; and your Grace appointed some of the people with out at eleven." "Who are they? What do they want?" "A message from Whitehall, your Grace." "Psha! it will keep cold. Those who make all others wait, will be the better of [for] waiting in their turn. Were I to be guilty of ill-breeding, it should rather be to a king than a beggar.' "The gentlemen from the city." "I am tired of them tired of their all cant, and no religion all Protestantism, and no charity. Tell them to go to Shaftes that's the best market bury to Aldersgate Street with them for their wares." Jockey, my Lord, from Newmarket." "Let him ride to the devil he has horse of mine, and spurs of his own. Any more?" "The whole anti-chamber is full, my Lord-knights and squires, doctors and dicers." "The dicers, with the doctors in their pockets, I presume." "Counts, captains, and clergymen." "You are alliterative, Jerningham," said the Duke; " and that is a proof you are poetical. Hand me my writing things." 'Getting half out of bed thrusting one arm into a brocade night-gown, deeply furred with sables, and one foot into a velvet slipper, while the other pressed in primitive nudity the rich carpet 0 4 his -his Grace, without thinking farther on the assembly without, began to pen a few lines of a satirical poem; then suddenly stopped threw the pen into the chimney-exclaimed that the humour was past and asked his attendant if there were any letters. Jerningham produced a huge packet. "What the devil !" said his Grace," do you think I will read all these? I am like Clarence, who asked a cup of wine, and was soused into a butt of sack. I mean is there any thing which presses ?" "This letter, your Grace," said Jerningham, "concerning the Yorkshire mortgage." "Did I not bid thee carry it to old Gatheral, my steward?" "I did, my Lord," answered the other; "but Gatheral says there are difficulties." "Let the usurers foreclose, then there is no difficulty in that; and out of a hundred manors I shall scarce miss one," answered the Duke. "And hark ye, bring me my chocolate." 6.66 Nay, my Lord, Gatheral does not say it is impossible — only difficult." "And what is the use of him, if he cannot make it easy? But you are all born to make difficulties," replied the Duke. "Nay, if your Grace approves the terms in this schedule, and pleases to sign it, Gatheral will undertake for the matter," answered Jerningham. "And could you not have said so at first, you blockhead," said the Duke, signing the paper without looking at the contents. "What other letters? And remember, I must be plagued with no more business." "Billets doux, my Lord - five or six of them. This left at the porter's lodge by a vizard mask." "Psha!" answered the Duke, tossing them over, while his attendant assisted in dressing him" an acquaintance of a quarter's standing." "This given to one of the pages by my Lady woman. man -'s waiting "Plague on it—a Jeremiade on the subject of perjury and treachery, and not a single new line to the old tune," said the Duke, glancing over the billet. "Here is the old cant― cruel broken vows — Heaven's just revenge. Why the woman is thinking of murder-not of love. No one should pretend to write upon so threadbare a topic without having at least some novelty of expression. The despairing Araminta Lie there, fair desperate. And this how comes it?" 6.66 Flung into the window of the hall, by a fellow who ran off at full speed," answered Jerningham. "This is a better text," said the Duke; " and yet it is an old one too three weeks old at least - The little Countess with the jealous Lord I should not care a farthing for her, save for that same jealous Lord Plague on't, and he's gone down to the country in silence and safety-written with a quill pulled from the wing of Cupid — Your Ladyship has left him •this evening pen. |