Some for the Rump, and some more crafty, For agitators,' and 'the safety' Some for the cutting down of groves, The cross, in shop-books, or baptizing; A restoration or a new dictatorship were inevitable. Monk, after long wavering, decided to bring back the king; unconditionally, save indeed that he stipulated that if Charles Stuart wore the English crown, George Monk should wear the ducal coronet of Albemarle. Milton, Vane, Hutchinson, and “ some few truehearted Englishmen," still contended for their beloved but visionary commonwealth, or with more reason argued that some securities should be demanded ere public and private liberty were yielded to a prince in whom they anticipated an avenger, whom they believed to be a despot, and knew to be a selfish profligate; they struggled vainly, the reaction of enthusiastic loyalty had not merely excited, it had maddened almost the entire population. The king's return was voted with uproarious acclamations by the Parliament; -he was welcomed by the populace with shouts of wild delight; once again the Stuarts had an opportunity of retrieving all their errors and perpetuating their ill-fated dynasty. The triumphant progress from Dover cliff's to Rochester, from Blackheath to London, is sketched by Mr. Macaulay briefly, but in his best manner; yet with every respect for his abilities as an historical portrait painter, we are, we own, inclined to prefer the concluding paragraphs of "Woodstock": Sir Henry Lee, though "his cheek was ashy pale, his long beard bleached like the thistledown, (A simple tribute of esteem from "Catharine" to وو and his blue eye cloudless, while it was obvious that its vision was failing," well deserves to be for ever reverenced as the last of the Cavaliers in whom loyalty was at once a passion and a principle. Shall we be forgiven if in Colonel Markham Everard, we recognize what, under happier auspices, Colonel Hutchinson would have been? And may we not compare Alice, "matured in matron beauty,' to the glory of her name and sex, the high-souled Lucy? Roger Wildrake, prince of roysterers: Phoebe Mayflower, queen of rustic coquetry (with no offence to Jenny Dennison be it spoken);— Jocelyn Joliffe, with the trusty quarter-staff, who, when the "Merry Monarch" hailed him, "looked down at the king in sheer bashfulness, like a bull about to push" and thou too, old Bevis, our gallant stag-hound;-kind friends, bright shadows all, flit around the fancies of our lady readers, and win their gracious pardons for our unconscionably lengthened criticism. * Hudibras, part iii. canto 2. L. her Friend,' in Sheridan Knowles' play of "Love.") Graceful and gentle on the mimic scene, As in the quiet of the social hour, Choose thee as type whereby to do it right. That in its motley bosom fosters thee! Many bright names its annals have adorned, Not least among the brightest thine shall be. FANNY VINING. "The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together; our virtues would be proud, if our faults whipped them not; and our crimes would despair if they were not cherished by our virtues."Golden Treasury of Life. THE VIRGIN OF VAN DYCK. (Adapted from the French.) BY ROSE ACTON. In one of the large saloons of St. James's Palace, during the reign of the first James, was assembled a bright group of mirth and beautyyoung, fair girls, from whose softly rounded and dimpled cheeks the blush of hope and pleasure had never faded; whose laughing eyes could never have known tears. These were gathered round an open window, looking upon the Palace gardens, bending over the tapestried work, then so commonly seen in the delicate fingers of those lifted by rank beyond the cares and concerns of household management; and the bright buds, blooming beneath the skilful needles of the fair workwomen, seemed all that engrossed their thoughts on that lovely morning; though over the graceful heads had passed enough of summers to teach that, however gently we tread, even among flowers, we must encounter thorns. But ah! there lay the secret: it had been always summer to those light-hearted ones. Each bent laughingly over her task, now and then pausing in expectation of a summons; for the Queen had not yet risen, and the terrible tyranny of court ceremonies had not commenced. Every sunny spot has its shade; and the only shadow cast over that fair scene was the presence of a lady, who, by her age and grave dignity, seemed of advanced rank, and in evident recollection of her responsibility and required stateliness. This lady was the Grand Duchess D'Alby, first lady in waiting, and guardian and monitress to the young maids of honour, gathered round her, awaiting Her Majesty's summons to their duties. Of the lovely work-women, one was distinguished from her companions, amidst their coquettish adornments, by the studied simplicity of her dress, and the quiet thoughtfulnees of her fair features: her robe of black velvet fell open, discovering a full white satin petticoat; while deep ruffles, falling from the elbows, only allowed a partial glimpse of the small rounded arm; and her only ornament was a little diamond cross, the souvenir of a lost and beloved mother: this simple attire was further deepened by a long veil, flung over her dark tresses, and mingling with the folds of her sombre dress. Dorothea was of one of the noblest Scottish families, and inheritress of its high pride and dignity; Lord Ruthven, her father, possessing an escutcheon as famed for its unstained nobility as his vast estates for their extent. A short time before our tale opens, the young Scotch maiden had been brought from her Highland fastnesses, to occupy a post of honour' near the Queen, for the purpose of completing her education in the accomplishments extant in those days. But one heart had charms for the young student: naturally thoughtful, motherless, and left to the guidance of her own fancies, Dorothea had from childhood loved to make to herself friends among the pictured ancestors of her house. Daily, in the large galleries, might be seen a fair young form holding converse, in thought, with the generations passed away; and insensibly the girl's untutored mind began to notice and appreciate, as time passed by, the glorious creations of the painter's visionings; and Paul Véronèse, Guido, and Rubens, were able masters to the young dreamer; and when youth usurped the place of childhood, the childish fancy deepened to a fervent passion; and Dorothea came forth upon the world, to taste its pleasures and experiences by the side of royalty, with but one aim and hope in her young, guileless heart: the yearning to achieve a glorious fame in the noble art of which she was a worshipper. But to return to the morning tasks of the fair group. Ten o'clock struck, and each young head was lifted to the large time-piece, while a chorus of wondering voices was raised in evident surprise at the absence of an expected addition to their circle. Hardly had the echoes died away when the door of the saloon was flung open to give entrance to the object of their surmises-the painter, Van Dyck. At the an nouncement of his name, there was a flutter among the pearls and satin robes of the fair girls, like the waving of a group of flowers beneath the touch of the evening breeze, and each graceful fold was re-arranged on the silken ottomans. The young pupil of Rubens, accustomed as he was to look upon the beautiful among creation, could not refrain a glance of surprise and admiration, on suddenly finding himself in the midst of so brilliant a circle. Nor was the involuntary emotion unnoticed by the noble maidens. The Duchess D'Alby, attributing the young man's embarrassment to the dignified hauteur of her greeting, condescended to relieve him by a polite smile and tone-"We have been told of your talent, my dear sir; and I suppose truly," she commenced patronizingly. "They do me too much honour, Madame. Those who told you this have judged it by the intention; but I have yet done nothing to prove their assertion correct." Van Dyck bowed, as he spoke, with as much haughtiness as had characterized the question of the noble lady. 66 "Well, well," continued the Duchess, more gently, we shall be able to judge of this; for Her Majesty wishes the decorations of the chapel to be renewed; so you will have sufficient motive for exertion. For your winter studio you will be allowed Blaifford House; it is an ancient monastery, which you can see from here: you will be quite alone there, and uninterrupted. And for the summer you will be granted Eltheim House. I think the arrangements sufficiently agreeable for the requirements of an artist ?" 66 My art is a regal talent, Madame, that knows no equal," replied the artist proudly. "If I possess it to the height of my ambition, the favours which you speak of as beyond a painter's deserts will not suffice to procure materials for my work." "That may be, Sir," said the Duchess softly. "You are proud, and we are powerful; but, however, let me assure you that these favours are offered on one condition. The Queen nominates you as Court Artist, when you have won the prize offered to the pupils of the Italian school for the Head of the Virgin." 'Yes, Madame, I know it-know it too well," replied the young painter, with a half-sigh. "If the Queen's favour can be obtained on this condition alone, it is not for me. I shall not gain the prize." And why not, Sir? Do you refuse the honour, or is it that you have not faith in your powers?" And the eyes of the noble inquisitress were bent wonderingly on the suddenly drooping figure of the young man. "How is it possible, Madame, to represent the features of Our Lady, glorious as they should be? I have no model.' And, as he spoke, he fixed his earnest glance on the gentle face of the Scottish maiden. "I have sought everywhere for the beautiful peace and holy resignation upon an earthly face-and vainly." As he ceased, Van Dyck bent his glowing gaze again on the young Dorothea; while the maiden's unquiet mien and flushing brow betrayed her consciousness of the words' veiled meaning; and on the minds of each of the fair workwomen burst the same suspicion, Dorothea was the noble model of the proud young painter's wishes. The Grand Duchess alone was blind to the passing scene; and a greater degree of sympathy blended in her tone as she turned again to the artist. By the same impulse of enthusiasm, the graceful heads of the young girls were raised to the despondent speaker, and for the first time did they acknowledge the attraction of the inspired countenance. Nothing could exceed the brilliant glow of the soul's sunshine on the face of Van Dyck, and nothing could so enhance the beauty of that expression as the shade of pensive thoughtfulness then mingling with it. The Duchess was the first to break the spell flung round the listening group. "And yet, surely you could somewhere find a perfect model?" Yes, Madame, among those who are exalted as well as beautiful; and even there I have seen whose perfection realizes my visionings. Alas! she whom I have found is lost to me; she is a noble lady, who would disdain to sit to but one a poor artist." "And this noble lady-who is she?" "The Virgin herself, Madame." He rose as he spoke, and bent gracefully and gravely in adieu, casting a last glance upon the troubled features of his pictured subject. "If I gain this prize, Madame," he murmured as he passed before the Duchess, "you will see me again; if not, I shall leave England." According to the Queen's arrangement, Van Dyck took possession of Blaifford House, situated opposite to the Palace; there he was to work out his design for the offered prize, as well as to re-decorate the chapel ornaments. Hardly had he been installed in the royal studio, when his pencils were seized to pourtray the form which had haunted his imagination ever since his interview with the Duchess. But as the bright figure of the young girl rose before him, his gaze was dimmed and unsteady, and his hand faltered in its task. A new feeling, intense in its depth, was struggling in his heart; myriads of vague fancies rose each time that he essayed to complete the creation. Alas! for the dreamer! The day was passed in struggling to realize his vision; and the night surprised him, pale and exhausted, by his easel, despondent of success. And for the young subject of these dreams! From the moment of the absence of Van Dyck from the Palace, the mockeries, the envious glances, the sarcasms of the fair group were lavished on the drooping head of the young Dorothea without mercy. Before they separated that night, the slighted beauties had made their gentle companion bitterly rue the chance that had given her the painter's choice. We know not how far the promptings of each of those young vain hearts led them, in their dreams; but we do know, that, after her evening prayer, the last thought in the Scottish maiden's pure and guileless mind was devoted to her fellowworshipper at the shrine of the most noble of the arts. It was midnight: the broad shadows of the tall trees in the Palace gardens stood out in bold relief against the moonlit statuary, and dewy flower-beds beneath; while the old abbey walls, adjoining the ground-even among their creeping mosses and ivy-glistened in the silver light flung down by night's fair Queen. Midnight: yet that silent hour found one of earth's denizens sleepless, and-unconscious of Time's passingstruggling amidst the sternest of all toil, that of the teeming brain. The hour had come round to find Van Dyck before the unfinished image of his visionings in his monastic studio: there | next, Van Dyck had fallen on his knees before were traces of heavy thought and exhaustion on the painter's features, as he laid down his palette and pencils with a sigh; and in that sigh there was a bitter despair which held the key to his broken murmurings:-" Unlike! unlike! It will be ever thus. I am but striving to preserve a vision that is too dazzling for my poor weak gaze. So it will be. Peace, joy, all love for her; while I-like the poor worshipper that grovels in the dust before his glittering idol--stand here, hoping on, struggling with memory, adoring my distant shrine-unknown, unremembered alone!" his beautiful visitant, in gratitude for her re membrance of him. There was a remnant of her noble pride, in the calm gesture of the young girl, as she waved him to his task, and pointed to his scattered pencils. That earnest, passionless gaze recalled the dreamer to himself The fair face, turned towards him, was lighted by so peaceful and guileless a light, that the reality of her presence faded from the ideas of Van Dyck; and the holy vision of the Saviour's Mother rose before him again. Bending reverentially before her as he approached the easel. the artist continued his task with a faltering hand; but the calmness of his fair model communicated itself to him by degrees as he preceeded; and, at its close, that midnight hour found not two hearts beating within the Palace walls more evenly with inward peace than those drawn together in that silent work. Four hours had passed, and the early morning light fell upon the pale features of the artist as he turned towards his noble model, and laid his palette in silence at her feet. The task was ended; a work of beauty and inspiration, glorious in its ma Alone! Pause in thy murmuring, Van Dyck. It is an hour when hearts that know not care or suffering should be beating with the calm pulse of sleep; and yet other eyes than thine are waking in it. We will leave the dreamer to his inward communing, and pass out again into the moon-lit gardens of the Palace. At the moment when the painter's sigh echoed through his cloistered studio, and he fancied himself the sole disturber of the night's solitude, a window of the Palace was gently opened, and a female form stepped out upon the stone balcony; and, tra-jesty, was given to the world, to become hereversing its length, descended the broad steps into the garden, passed into the deep shadow of the tall trees, and, emerging from the grounds, paused at the gothic portal of the monastery. It was strange to see that slight figure gliding on in that solemn silence, amidst ruined stonework, and tree and shrub, rustling in the night breeze; but the wanderer seemed too much engrossed by thought to recollect where and how she stood. Passing through the porch, she wound her way among the dim aisles of the chapel, and entering one of the galleries, pushed open a half closed door; and, without pausing to observe its occupancy, stood in the lonely studio, looking calmly and gravely upon the drooping form of the young artist, at his task of memory. For an instant, the young man's cheek paled, as his gaze fell on the motionless form of his mysterious visitant, old forgotten visions of the supernatural rushing across his heated mind. What did she there, breaking upon his midnight vigils? Did not the long veil hide from mortal gaze features radiant in the purity of a celestial world? While the thought rose in the gazer's heart, his cheek paled; for a vague vision connected the frail form before him with the object of his dreams. And what did it forebode-that silent watch upon his actions? As if conscious of these communings, the figure advanced from the gloom, and approaching the easel, seated herself silently before it, flinging back the long drapery from her face as she did so. The gentle rustling of her garments made the only sound to break the dead silence; for the breathing of the painter was inaudible in the bewilderment of that revelation; while the hot blood rushed to cheek and brow in that sudden revulsion of feeling. Before him, on his vacated couch, rested the form of the Scottish maiden-Dorothea! All this had been the action of a moment; the after the guiding-star to the fame of Van Dyck, A sense of the reality of the passing scene rushed back upon the young man's heart, as he turned to meet the clear, calin gaze of the Scottish maiden; and, stretching out his hands imploringly, he stood struggling to frame to speech some expression of wondering gratitude for the boon thus strangely granted him; but, as if conscious of his intention, Dorothea rose, and drew round her slight form the folds of her veil, bent a long earnest look on the noble revelation of the Virgin Mother; and, without word of adieu or explanation of her silence, glided from the chapel, across the Palace grounds, and ascended the stone staircase, disappearing at the window from which she had emerged. Alas! for the poor visionary! For a moment he stood watching that form pass from his sight. with the last struggling remnant of his wild hopes; and then, overcome with exhaustion and excitement, fell on the vacant couch in the heavy sleep which succeeds intense mental exertion. The morning light, streaming in upon his haggard features, roused the painter from his lethargy. Bounding from the couch, he rushed to gaze upon his work; and its glorious beauty struck upon the heart of its creator, all aspiring as were his visionings. A dream of fame, of glorious distinction, rose before him; and then, a sudden recollection by whose aid he advanced on that high path of fortune. The painter fell on his knees before his creation, and wildly bursting tears were his acknowledgments. The close of an hour had brought composure, and Van Dyck rose from his couch with a firm step and flushed brow. Who can tell what had been the ponderings of that hour in the teeming brain of the future noble master of imagery? He seated himself before his writing materials, and with an untrembling hand traced a few lines; and then, as if fearful of their considera tion, hastily securing them with their silken | Duchess had placed a guard at the door of the string, went forth from his monastic studio, and among the busy, stirring world. For an instant sat the stately monitress, gazing upon the words, asking question of her outraged dignity whether the meaning of the missive were not a jest-at the worst, a breach of courtly etiquette. But with the thought came a sudden recollection of the painter's singular introduction the day before, and a vivid remembrance of the half-veiled sarcasms of the slighted companions of the fair culprit. To decide was to act, and the presence of the young girl was commanded before her inquisitress. Few words of explanation sufficed, and the tale of deception poured into the listener's ear betrayed the Duchess's cognizance of the scene of the past night. A deep flush overspread the fair cheek of Dorothea, as it was followed by a volley of vituperation from the beautiful lips of her scornful friends, and the large tears stood in her downcast eyes. "And now your defence!" broke from the quivering lips of the stern monitress. Then, and for the first time, the voice of the culprit rose above the murmuring of her accusers-" It is false !" A momentary silence fell on all at that firm denial in the face of proof. The Duchess had expected to have been met with tears and prayers for pardon; and then, in her proud dignity, to have cast from her the clinging form of the pleader; but, at the defiant tone of the defence at the overthrow of her pictured exultation— burst forth the fierce fire of the smouldering passion. The story of the deception rang through the Palace, calling for judgment on the offender. Each hand held the stone of accusation against the stricken suppliant, and ere night the verdict had been given, which was to drive her forth from the side of royalty, to seek shelter beneath the roof of her Highland home. Another midnight had come round, to bring rest and calm to light hearts, and haply forget fulness to the care-laden. Dorothea retired to her chamber, for the last time; but not unnoticed was she to pass the intervening hours before day. To secure the culprit from a repetition of the secret meeting with the painter, the apartment. The midnight hour struck, and the echoes rang in the heart of more than one listener in the Palace. A step approached the apartment of the Duchess, and a hurried summons called her from her sleepless bed. Dorothea had been overheard to pace her room with cautious steps, and the window had been gently opened to admit her egress upon the balcony. A moment sufficed to collect the excited watchers for that second act of deception. Flambeaux were procured, and an exulting throng poured forth from the Palace gates in pursuit of the truant. Onwards, through the grounds-among flowers-rushing beneath the tall trees, the hostile band followed the track of the fugitive-neared the monastery-passed noiselessly across the portal, and burst into the chapel, confronting the painter, at his silent task; the veiled maiden seated before him. The vivid light, the tramp of many feet, startled the former from his visions, and recalled him to earth. Upon the beautiful truant the effect was more startling: springing from the couch, her hands clasping her fair brow, her eyes lighted by wild terror, a cry of intense fear broke from her lips. At the sound, all rushed to gaze upon the convulsed features; while the truth burst simultaneously on each heart, in that revelation, teaching a lesson of repentance for the past of tyranny and distrust; calling up, in many, long dormant feelings of human kindliness. They looked on a somnambulist! Thus had she been led, in her dreams, to become the inspiration of the unconscious painter-thus led him onward in his path of fame. And need it be told that his creation won for him the yearned-for prize; and far more, laid the foundation of his greatness? What need it to be told, that, a few months from the passing of these scenes, there was celebrated the marriage of the painter Van Dyck, and Dorothea, the beautiful" Virgin" of his dreams, among her Highland fastnesses? SYMPATHY. When thou art poised upon some rocky height, When thou art listening to some warbled song, Endeared by fire-tried bonds of memory; To which fond woman's faith and truth belong, O, unforgotten! wilt thou weep for me? When the dear faces gather round thy hearth, With God's high word and deeply-reverent knee; Sending above the whispered hope of worth, O, unforgotten! wilt thou pray for me? A. E. S. |