her mother almost as warmly, and bent her cheek down to meet the pleased faces of her young brothers and sisters. Then she returned to her father's side, threw back her large shawl, which, as her shawls always did, fell in an artistic drape across her chair; and now she removed her bonnet, and lifting both hands for a moment to her hair, seemed with one touch to have shaped its plaits and braids to order. She formed at that instant a charming tableau vivant, but loving eyes were the only mirrors in which it was reflected. "It is very kind of you, my dear, to come in to-night," said Mr. Ireton, pressing the hand which had laid itself in his. "Dear papa," replied Frances in a low tone, "I have had quite an adventure, and we could not rest without telling you about it. But it concerns," and here she hesitated a moment," it concerns Uncle Pembroke. Perhaps I had better wait till Willy and baby are gone to bed?" "As you like, my love," returned Mr. Ireton: "it struck eight some time ago. Ah! here comes nurse for the little one, and Willy will soon follow." 66 elder brother, the man of business whose stern integrity had all gathered round one point of honor, bowed beneath the shock; his reason gave way, and in an hour of horror and madness, he destroyed himself. And when the absent pair, who had been recalled from Italy at the crisis of pecunary ruin, arrived in London, they found their poor bereaved father in a yet deeper and darker agony than that for which they were prepared. Now was applied the test to two characters which had hitherto seemed to obey the same laws and follow the same impulses. But a river that glides and sparkles in the sunshine, has often its two currents; and though it seems to flow so evenly among flowers and meadows, parts its waters when shoals and rocks are near. So alike in person were William and Pembroke Ireton, that dear friends mistook them for each other; so alike in tastes had they been, that books were common property between them; pictures, it is true, were sometimes called mine" and 66 thine," but as the brothers never dwelt apart, this had little signified. Ordinary friends of the amateur artists knew not their And while Willy is loitering out his last respective drawings, though, to be sure, certen minutes, showing his Latin prize to his tain connoisseurs had lately announced that brother-in-law, and wishing many good- William had the truer and higher genius; nights," the reader shall be made acquainted and yet it was William who, after a few days with the broad outlines of family history of wrestling thought, abandoned the pursuit which concerned Mr. Ireton and his brother of art forever. Pembroke. They were the twin and youngest Not so Pembroke; he had borne the loss sons of a wealthy banker, who had maintained of fortune less nobly than his brother, for he the highest repute during the first quarter of had fretted, and fumed, and reproached over the present century. An elder brother had it. William had buried his regrets as in a always been intended for the man of business grave, and only relaxed the iron firmness of to succeed in the banking-house; and the his lip when comforting and counselling his twins being amply provided for by the will venerable and heart-broken father. Quickly, of a maternal relative, had for some joyous too, he had addressed his betrothed, releasing years followed pretty nearly the bent of their her from her vow, if so it pleased her, and inclinations. Their according tastes had led yet beseeching her still to love and trust him, them to travel, and chiefly in the south of Eu- and wait but a little space till he could rope; and there had been fostered and culti- decide how independence was to be won, that vated the intense love and appreciation of art he might claim her. And when, " upon this which seemed with both of them to be a hint," her true heart replied, loosening as it master-passion. For a little while bright in- did so some folds of prudery, and she crept deed appeared their human destiny. Blessed one day uninvited to his side, and there, with with health, youth, and fortune, they seemed smiles and tears, re-registered her vows, he free to follow art for its own pure sake, to felt and knew that he had chosen well, and woo it in its loftiest and noblest moods, with- that the fulfilment of near duties commonly out regard to the "jingling of the guineas" brings about our choicest blessings. or instant present fame. As if to crown their felicity, these almost inseparable brothers had attached themselves to two sisters, to whom they were on the eve of being united, when the fearful money-panic of 1825 shook the mercantile classes to their centre. William Ireton abandoned once and forever all dreams of fame, and devoted himself to lead the Human Life- to toil diligently and cheerfully for those who depended upon him. He cheered the last days of his aged father; he married the woman he loved; he threw The banking-house of which old Mr. Ireton his talents, his energies, into business; reared was the head, and which was like a prop to a the fallen fabric of mercantile honor, paid off score of others, fell, involving countless fam-old debts, and established a new firm of such ilies in its ruin; and even the private fortunes noble repute, that its name is a synonym for of the twin-brothers, which had been invested upright dealing. in the bank, shared the general fate. The Pembroke, on the contrary, devoted himself to Art- that jealous mistress who, now that he had determined to live by his pencil, he discovered could bear no rival near her throne; and so he broke off his engagement with the girl whose heart was wholly his; and when William remonstrated with him on the manner in which this was done, he quarrelled with his brother, as he who is in the wrong commonly does with his reprover. The breach widened. Pembroke once more went abroad, but failed to correspond with William, because it was said there was an inmate of his family before whom his name had better not be mentioned. But that inmate died- the brokenhearted girl, the wife's sister: her death was a lesson of faith, and full of beauty and pathos; and there was a sweet message of love and forgiveness to be written to the absent one, which was done very gently; and yet Pembroke Ireton took no heed. Years had rolled on. William was the affluent bankermerchant, secure, humanly speaking, from the ills of fortune, when his sight-which, from an attack of inflammation experienced under peculiar circumstances in early life, had long been failing-showed the most alarming symptoms. The terrible affliction of blindness fell on him; but he bowed to it, meekly calling it the only hard trial of his happy life; and now, indeed, he blessed the loving kindness which had given him so many dear ones to be eyes and hands for him. Meanwhile, Peinbroke Ireton, still estranged from his brother's family, had returned to England, and was established as a painter of singular, but very high repute. His pictures brought him large sums of money, but little was really known of the artist as a man, though many and curious were the stories of his eccentricity which circulated among the lovers of anecdote and gossip. "Bessy and Lotty can keep a secret, I suppose?" Exclaimed Mrs. Crawford, as soon as Willy's last good-night was said, smiling and looking as she spoke interrogatively at the two girls. "Sister, of course we can," replied the younger, answering for both, and seeming by her tone as if the dignity lately acquired by having officiated as bridemaid was tarnished by a doubt being entertained of her discretion. person, a flush rose to her cheek, and turning to her husband, she added: "Edward, will you tell the story as briefly as you can?" "It is a very simple affair," said Mr. Crawford. "Yesterday we were riding on horseback in the Park, when, happening to turn my head, I saw that my groom had stopped for a moment, and was in conversation with a gentleman. I fancied that something was wrong with the horse, and that the stranger had called his attention to it; and as the man galloped on after us the next instant, and, moreover, we met a couple of friends who joined us, the whole thing slipped my memory till this morning, when I received a letter from Mr. Pembroke Ireton. Shall I read it aloud?" As" Pray do" was repeated on every side, he read as follows "SIR-Two years ago, I composed a sketch of a picture illustrative of Tennyson's poem, The Princess, but I have delayed the completion of my design from my inability to find a living realization of the poet's ideal. Feeling convinced that my true model, if discovered at all, would be found among my country women, I last spring visited those places of public resort where beauty and intellect would be likely to congregate, with my search solely in view. One night, at the Opera, I beheld Mrs. Crawford, and from that hour she has been the only Ida in the world for me. She must have sat back in the box during the early part of the evening, for it was only towards the close that I beheld her; and though I made my way to the door as quickly as possible, intending to follow the carriage home, in the crowd and confusion of the occasion she was lost to me. Since then, I have made many inquiries; but, without a clue to her name or abode, how could they be other than fruitless? Latterly, I have stolen an hour from every day's short daylight, with the hope of finding her among the equestrians in our parks; and that I succeeded yesterday, and learned from your servant your name, proves how true was my instinct. Sir, I beseech you, condescend to permit and persuade Mrs. Crawford to sit for my picture. She is the realization of the Princess Ida; I cannot accept any other countenance for her; and if you deny me; I must work from that shifting, imperfect memory bequeathed to me by two transient glances. For the love of art, do not refuse me; and if to this entreaty I may add another, it is that you will accept from me the finest portrait of Mrs. Crawford that can be painted The frequent beautiful smile parted Mrs. Crawford's lips as she observed the manner; but addressing herself more particularly to her parents, she proceeded: "Uncle Pembroke has made our acquaintance without in the least suspecting the relationship. He wants my face for his model in a grand pic- by ture he is painting;" and then, as if a sudden consciousness came upon her, that she could not describe the circumstances she had to re- "Edward, you will not refuse?" exclaimed late without some laudation of her own Mr. Ireton with visible emotion. PEMBROKE IRETON." "Dear 476 Frances, of course you 66 "We have forestalled your wishes," said Mr. Crawford," by appointing to-morrow to call on him. How well," he continued, "I remember that night at the Opera! Frances did sit behind my mother, who rebuked us more than once for chattering.' "Frances is a little like her namesake, my lost sister," said Mrs. Ireton, after a musing pause; "though the likeness is chiefly apparent when she speaks and smiles the tones of her voice are like too. I wonder if Pembroke will trace these resemblances, and waken to the memories of his youth?" II. Pembroke Ireton was accustomed to receive certain connoisseurs of art, and wealthy patrons, which, by the way, he usually did with an air of indifference, that amounted to churlishness; but the visitors whom he was now momentarily expecting, aroused in his mind feelings of delight that were quite new to him. To have a true, perfect, living model for his grand picture, was the realization of one of his dearest hopes; for the man was to all appearance so merged in the Painter, that it seemed as if nothing connected with his merely human life could arouse his sensibilities in a degree to be compared with the influence of circumstances concerning his art. It was about noon was growing impatient, for he had arranged - the high tide, indeed, of December daylight- and Pembroke Ireton the windows, the chair of state, the easel, and made every preparation for his model, when suddenly a new thought possessed him, and he rang his bell sharply. His one womanservant answered the summons. was a comely, portly, middle-aged dame when Hannah she first entered the artist's service, but time, and the strange life she had led, had changed her had never, in her brightest days, been overto the stooping, crone-like old woman. Hannah burdened with ideas, but she had two strong affections in her hearteccentric master, and the other for her brother Timothy, whom, on the strength of his being one towards her ten years her junior, she still called a lad, and whom, soon after her own engagement, she recommended for her fellow-servant. 66 to-day?" was the prosaic question the artist Hannah, what am I to have for dinner asked of his cook and housekeeper. had some chops yesterday; and to-morrow is "A steak to-day, sir," she replied; "you the day for a roast-fowl. a sitter, to whom I should like to offer some "Ah, true, true; but I expect visitors — refreshment." ful cake at the pastry-cook?" suggested Han- thing dainty, and yet substantial say, four It was a large, roomy house which Pembroke Ireton inhabited, just on the outskirts of the now fashionable part of London. Long ago, in the days of the two first Georges, it had been the scene of many a stately festivity; its wide hall had accommodated the sedan-chair, and its staircases been acquainted with hoops and trains; the spinet and harpsichord had resounded in its chambers, where courtly-powdered beaux, sword-girded and star-blazoned, had moved in solemn minuets, with patched and painted ladies. But all these things belonged to the "long ago" of a dinner; only something very elegant, and very "And I don't mean, I don't want a great past century; the old house had survived choice, to be ready about dusk many vicissitudes, and, now, for nearly o'clock. I will give you some money, and twenty years, had been the abode of a bache- you must go the people who supply collalor artist. Not one really comfortable_hab-tions. I don't care what it costs. I cannot itable apartment did it contain-for Pem- stay to talk to you. Didn't you hear a carbroke Ireton, keeping himself apart from all riage? and there's a knock. Timothy is social ties, scarcely knew or remembered the deaf, I think, not to open the door. And tell ways of the world; and his two servants, him to get the wine from the inner cellar — from their forced seclusion and simple routine that tokay that Lord Lof duties, had fallen into a sort of lethargic, hock and champagne, and the port that was indolent mode of life, that rendered them, inlaid down in '38. Mind, four o'clock; and sent me and this busy age, hardly less eccentric than their sweep out the parlor a little if you can. Here, the room as he put a bank-note into her hand, take the money;" and hurrying her out of he added once more: costs." "Never mind what it master. Every room was more or less crowded with pictures, casts, antiquities, draperies, or other adjuncts of the atelier, and into these sanctu Possibly the last words were heard by the Crawfords as they ascended the stairs. Surely there is no costume in the world more becoming to a woman of radiant, queenlike beauty, than a rich winter out-of-door attire. And as Frances Crawford appeared now in a robe of dark velvet, with an Indian Cashmere-whose size, though twice folded, was more than commonly ample drawn gracefully round her; and furs of the rare, costly, peerless Russian sable, she looked, if far too lovely to have stepped- as the phrase is-out of a picture, yet notably worthy a painter's half-adoring study. guests, even at their first visit; and when the deepening winter twilight caused him to rest from his labors, and they all descended into the parlor, where, under Hannah's superintendence, the "collation" had been spread, a stranger looking on, would have considered the trio rather a party of old friends than mere acquaintances of a day. Even certain incongruities of the repast made mirth, and wore off formality'; for Hannah, however much " on hospitable thoughts intent," had no knowledge of rule and custom to guide her; and though the viands were sufficiently good and abundant to afford an excellent Pembroke Ireton's admiration and delight meal, they were so strangely chosen, that it showed themselves in the flush of his sallow was easier for the host to make a laughing cheek, and in the cordial, grateful greeting apology for his servant's selection, than pass he awarded to his guests. The occasion it by unobserved. But the new friends did seemed so much less connected with the relations of social life than with the circumstances of his art, that he lost, in a great measure, the shyness which had for years been gradually incrusting itself round his manners; while his early good-breeding of course prevented the iteration of personal compliments to Frances, which, after all, would have appeared as inadequate as offensive, coming in the wake of the one great compliment he had paid her. The great picture was to represent that scene where the Princess Ida rebukes the seeming "northern ladies," saying: We did not think in our own hall to hear and where the disguised prince and his con- not part without the day for another sitting being appointed; and Mr. Ireton entreated that they would arrange to spend the evening with him afterwards, as he had certain curiosities of art he desired much to show them. As the Crawfords finally consented to this proposed plan, after only a faint, formal demurring at such intrusion," they exchanged a glance which showed how mutually they rejoiced at the turn affairs had taken. Pem But the second sitting was more eventful than the first had been. Now, Frances was placed in the exact pose required for the great picture; and to complete the effect, a light drapery was thrown over her velvet robe, and fastened after the antique style on the shoulder. For this purpose, Pembroke Ireton selected from his stores a rare cameo, to which belonged a history. It was one of the undoubted works of Benvenuto Cellini, and had been nearly from his day in the possession of a noble French family, whose last descendant, fleeing from the guillotine in the Reign of Terror, had rescued it, with some other valuables, to prove his means of existence in exile. Her falser self slipt from her like a robe. broke Ireton purchased the brooch at great cost from the collector, who had received it But while the painter seemed lost in the from the noble exile's own hand; and this delight of his self-appointed task, his visitors matchless head of Minerva- for such it repwere contemplating him with an interest he resented -had, independently of the stamp little suspected. Beneath the calm flow of of its own beauty, an authentic pedigree of its an easy, chatty discourse, his unknown niece possessors. Perhaps to gratify the taste of and her husband saw more than once into some belle of the eighteenth century, it had the depths of his nature. When Mrs. Craw-been gorgeously set round with brilliants; ford first spoke, there was a startled glance but though these were included in the price from Pembroke Ireton's eye; and after he which Pembroke Ireton cheerfully paid for had grown familiar with her voice, he more the brooch, he had ruthlessly broken them than once heaved a quiet sigh after she had away, leaving his treasure in its original been speaking. Again, when Mr. Crawford chaste simplicity. addressed his wife by her Christian name, there was an evidence- they having, as it were, the key to the cipher by which it was betrayed that told of a memory not dead, but sleeping. Very sociable grew the painter and his Very earnest and very honest were Mr. and Mrs. Crawford's expressions of admiration of this exquisite work, and they were discriminating expressions too, so that the painter felt that his guests understood what they praised; and his pale cheek flushed and his But Frances was overcome by a deeper emo ney of early life which had laid the foundation of her father's affliction, had similarly affected the twin brother; and thus that apparently inseparable pair, whom yet strange circumstances had divided, seemed still to be mysteriously united by a common misfortune. "I am not wondering," she replied, trying to speak calmly; "I am only sorrowing, and thinking of a strange coincidence. My own dear father is blind-thus afflicted in consequence of a similar accident to yours-being lost in the snows of Switzerland when travelling in his youth in search of grand scenery." "How strange!" mused the painter. eye sparkled with pleasure as this sympathy wonder at this, my sweet young friend: it is declared itself. the brain that paints, not the eye and the By this time the dusty cobweb-festooned hand." parlor had been something more than "swept out." Pembroke Ireton had felt the incon- tion than wonder. That same perilous jourgruity of entertaining his beautiful guest in a lumber-room, and had taken care that needful renovations and preparations should be made; and, on this second occasion, it was with every appointment of elegance and comfort that the trio sat down to their repast. Now, a party of three, where two of the number are a really united married pair, while enjoying the ease and confidence of close companionship, are usually more animated and conversational even than a tête à tête pair. Thus, merely as a pleasant, social meeting, this second sitting was to be marked with white in the calendar; but after dinner, when the bright fire, and the soft lamplight, and the presence of his guests, threw a home-charm around Pembroke Ireton, to which he was little accustomed, his nature seemed to melt, and his voice modulated to a tone, as if to speak his long pent-up emotions were become a necessity to him. 66 "You must know him," continued Frances in trembling tones : 'you are formed to be friends, companions to each other. Ah, you must know my father; he, too, loved Art most dearly.' "And now?" asked Pembroke Ireton. "He is happy, though blind," returned the "Not unless I tell you a heavy secret," he daughter, with a sort of cruel kindness toexclaimed, addressing Frances, "can you esti-wards her hearer" happy, because our mate my gladness at discovering you, or my love, that seemed before too vast for increase, gratitude for your compliance with my wishes." still grew as his sight waned; and the wealth "I feel it an honor," replied Mr. Crawford, of the heart outweighs the wealth of the "that Frances should be immortalized by so senses. It seems to me a beautiful dispensagreat a painter. Dear sir, never mention tion of Providence, that this heavy affliction gratitude again!" has fallen where every surrounding circum"But I must," continued Pembroke Ireton stance lightens and alleviates it. Had my with visible emotion "I must even one father been lonely and childless, how much year hence might have been too late. The more terrible would have been his lot!" great painter- what a mockery! in a little while to be the desolate, afflicted old man! My friends," he added with forced composure, I am losing my sight - physicians own it to me: unless I give up painting, I shall be blind in two or three years. "Then," exclaimed Frances in a thrilling tone of entreaty "then, in pity to yourself, paint no more: cease from this hour. What is Art to sight?" "Never!" replied the painter vehemently. For Art, long years ago, I gave up more than life and sight, though in my young, hot enthusiasm, I knew not what I relinquished; and to the last, Art shall have me it claims even the dregs of my being." -- "Pembroke Ireton has done enough for fame," said Mr. Crawford. "Fame! Art has been my mistress; if she brought her handmaiden, Fame, I could not help it. It is a noisy busybody, hindering as often as helping. But life is not long enough to do true service to Art. Surely I do not grudge a pair of eyes, that have been but treacherous servants since, five-and-twenty years ago, they were exposed for two nights and days to the glare of Alpine snows. You There was a minute's silence. With the morbid sensitiveness of a recluse, and the keen perception of one who, if only for the purposes of his art, had been accustomed to anatomize the passions, Pembroke Ireton shrank from a display that might have brought about "a scene." Stifled sobs made thick his breathing, and assuaging tears were rising to his eyes, but he controlled these evidences of emotion, and suddenly, and with a sort of set phrases, changed the discourse. "Your father must indeed be a happy man," he exclaimed with forced calmness, " despite his bereavement; yet had I known, dear madam, that my outpourings would have led to this sorrowful subject, indeed I would have refrained." selfish "Nay," replied Frances, "not wholly sorrowful to me; and is not sympathy, warm sympathy, a consolation to you?” "I am not sure-perhaps not. Do not think me ungrateful; but I will not speak of my own trouble again. A little more wine, Mrs. Crawford; pray, half a glass, and let me prepare an orange for you. A resolute host can always give the tone to conversation, and whatever were Pembroke Ireton's faults, want of resolution was not one |