Notable Women Authors of the Day Part 13

James Vining, a much respected actor, owned the house which was afterwards occupied by the late Mr. Shirley Brooks. George Colman, the younger, lived and died there. Mr. William Farren, the elder, occupied one house, and owned another, which was the residence of Mr. Payne Collier, who, as Croker says in his interesting "Walk from London to Fulham," gave to the public several editions of Shakespeare, and who was long distinguished by his profound knowledge of dramatic literature and history, and his extensive acquaintance with the early poetry of England. In contradistinction to these more amusing personages, there lived in a house on the east side a man of solid and profound learning, Sir John Stoddard, who, within these walls, wrote at the age of eighty-five, a Polyglot grammar, which was much in use at schools of that period.

In addition to these world-known and histrionic names may be added those of the late Mr. Yates, Mr. John Reeve, Mr. Robson, Mr. Liston, the comedian, and Mr. Henry Luttrell, termed by Lord Byron "the great London wit," once well known in the circles of literature, the author of many epigrams, and of a volume of poetry. These have all been residents in Brompton Square, whilst, in later years, Mr. and Mrs. Keeley inhabited a house on the south side, and Mr. and Mrs. Chippendale lived a few doors further on.

What could be more appropriate than that Miss Jean Middlema.s.s, author of "Dandy," "Patty's Partner," "A Girl in a Thousand," and many other bright and interesting stories, should take up her abode in this time-honoured locality, so full of literary and dramatic a.s.sociations?

She has settled herself in one of the larger houses in the bend of the semi-circle at the top, which was erstwhile the dwelling-place of Mr.

Alfred Wigan. A s.p.a.cious hall opens into two good-sized and lofty rooms, which are divided by ma.s.sive doors, folded back, and draped with heavy Moorish curtains of subdued colouring.

It is all so old-fashioned as to be in thorough keeping with the exterior; but though old-fashioned, the comfortable rooms are by no means dull or gloomy. A flood of sunshine steals in through the long, high windows, lighting up the crimson coverings of the furniture, and casting a bright ray on the picture of a head of Rembrandt, by himself, which is set in a handsomely-carved oak frame of great antiquity over the mantelshelf, on which stand three old and valuable Spode jars. On one side hangs a painting by Bowden of a lovely child, the son of Frederick Reynolds, the dramatic writer, and near it is one of Riviere's elaborately finished and exquisite miniatures of the author's mother taken in her youth. There are some choice bits of Dresden on a carved corner bracket, and scattered about here and there are several j.a.panese and Chinese curiosities, which have just been sent to Miss Middlema.s.s from the East, including a magnificently carved junk, correct in every minute detail. Surely the very smallest writing-table at which author ever sat belongs to Jean Middlema.s.s; but that, too, was a present, and was originally made tall enough for her to write at while standing, but as that position was found to be quite too fatiguing it has been cut down to suit her present requirements. There is a beautiful old oak mounted carving on the wall--so old that she "can remember nothing about it or its subject," she says, "beyond the fact that we always seem to have possessed it, and it has been greatly admired." Above it some delightfully quaint old china is arranged in a half circle; on either side hang four antique engravings of great value, cla.s.sical subjects from Boucher, the French artist's paintings. But the picture which she prizes more than all is a life-size portrait in oils, the last work that was ever finished by the artist Jackson. It represents the author's grandfather. He held an appointment in the Treasury, and was the one member of the family who had any connection with literature, being intimately acquainted in his youth with Sir Joseph Banks, Mdme. de Stael, Lady Blessington, and other people of letters.

There is a look in Miss Middlema.s.s which proclaims the relationship.

She is above the middle height, very upright, with a good figure, fair complexion, grey curly hair, and keen, bright-blue, short-sighted eyes.

She is dressed in black, relieved by a little rose-coloured ribbon round the wrists and throat, tied in a bow on one side. She is sprightly and merry in nature, full of pleasant conversation, and genial in manner.

Jean Middlema.s.s is Scottish by descent. She was born in one of the pleasant terraces surrounding Regent's Park. Naturally a clever, intelligent girl, she began to write at a very early age, and, to encourage her in this taste, when yet quite a small child her father started a magazine for private circulation only, to which she, her brothers, and several other Harrow boys used to contribute sc.r.a.ps and stories, aided by pieces from a few older persons to encourage the juveniles. She describes herself as having been quick at learning by heart, quick in everything, and fond of study. Plays were her chief delight, and at eight years old she had read and could repeat pages of Shakespeare, often astonishing her parents by apt quotations given with considerable dramatic power. Her youthful enthusiasm in this direction soon, however, received a check, for on one occasion, being rebuked by her mother for some trifling fault, and told how much better people would think of her if she behaved well, she pathetically replied--coolly subst.i.tuting a word at the end of the first line which she considered more suitable:--

Amen; and make me die a good old age!

That is the b.u.t.t-end of a mother's blessing; I marvel that her Grace did leave it out.

For this piece of childish and precocious impertinence, as it was deemed, she was punished by the prompt confiscation of her beloved Shakespeare, whereat she wept copiously.

"I was kept hard at my lessons," says Miss Middlema.s.s; "no expense or pains were spared to educate me well, and I enjoyed them. My father was a great student, and himself instructed me in Latin and the rudiments of Greek. I used to attend M. Roche's French cla.s.ses, and constant residence abroad has enabled me to speak French and German as fluently as English. Music I disliked from the first, and when a tiny child, if my mother were singing, I used to cry out, 'Speak it, speak it!' I do not care for music to this day, and rejoice in the exceeding thickness of the old walls of this house, which causes even the sound of neighbouring pianos to be quite undisturbing. History and biographies were always favourite studies, and I prefer reading French to English.

For some years I wrote in a desultory sort of fashion, and it was not until after my mother's death, about fourteen years ago, that feeling lonely--for my four brothers all died young--I adopted writing as a profession."

At the age of eighteen, being emanc.i.p.ated from the school-room, Miss Jean Middlema.s.s was brought out, made her _debut_ at an early Drawing Room, and enjoyed the gaieties of two London seasons, but after the death of her father the family moved to Brighton, where, later on, her inherent talent for acting a.s.serted itself; she studied recitation and elocution, and constantly took part in amateur theatricals, sometimes playing in as many as four parts in one evening at the Royal Pavilion, coached by Mrs. Stirling. On one occasion she recited "Lady Macbeth"

before a full audience at the Dome, and she was always in great request at private parties, where she used to arrange and take part in tableaux, charades, proverbs, and such like entertainments.

Miss Middlema.s.s never acted in a theatre, though she may have had a strong desire to do so, and she smilingly confesses to being perhaps a little of the Bohemian at heart, inasmuch as she dislikes formalities and conventionalities, and loves freedom of action. She has played Esther in _Caste_, Pauline in _Delicate Ground_, Lady Aubrey Glenmorris in _School for Coquettes_, Lady Constance in a scene from _King John_, besides others too numerous to mention. Her most successful recitations have been selections from the works of Dante Rossetti, and Tennyson, Hamilton Aide's "Lost and Found," and Hood's "Dream of Eugene Aram"; also scenes from plays--Beatrice in _Much Ado About Nothing_, and Pauline in the _Lady of Lyons_. Her memory being excellent, her _repertoire_ was very large, and, according to those who witnessed her performances, her histrionic powers ent.i.tled her to a prominent position in the Thespian temple of fame, for in all that she undertook, whether in acting or reciting, she worked with indomitable energy, exhibiting the conceptions of a discriminating and educated mind, marked by the influence of a rich and cultivated taste.

"After a few years," says Miss Middlema.s.s, "I began to publish some of my stories, and as the love of writing grew upon me more and more, I found I could not write and act too, so as the histrionic amus.e.m.e.nts were gradually abolished, I turned my attention more exclusively to my pen, and wrote my first novel, 'Lil.' My mother used to like my stories when they were out, though she never enjoyed them whilst in process of being written. I generally make out a vague plot of half a page, then draw it out into chapters, and arrange the characters. I prefer writing stories of middle or low cla.s.s life, I don't know why; it came to me, and I often pick up ideas of the lower London life from standing about here and there to listen. I compose and write very quickly, going over it all several times; and I have never had much help, but have just struggled on through it alone. At night, when I go to bed, I work out all the thoughts and ideas which have suggested themselves during the day; often going to sleep in the middle of it, but in the morning it all comes back to me, and I write it out readily and rapidly."

"Lil," which is well calculated to keep alive the interest of the reader, and has, moreover, the merit of being animated in dialogue, was soon followed by "Wild George," in which the beautiful but dangerous French adventuress and her faithful old soldier servant play so prominent a part. Next came "Baiting the Trap," "Mr. Dorillon," "Touch and Go," succeeded by "Sealed by a Kiss" and "Innocence at Play." In all these works there is much insight into human nature, and the French scenes are particularly bright and life-like, betokening the author's intimate knowledge of foreign cities. "Four-in-Hand" was the sporting t.i.tle of a volume of short stories. "Sackcloth and Broadcloth" contains some capital sketches of clerical life and its surroundings, about which Miss Middlema.s.s has had considerable experience. Perhaps up to that date she scored her greatest success with "Dandy," written in 1881; of this book the critics and the public were unanimous in their applause.

Penetrating into the haunts of the poorest section of humanity in order to depict naturally and truthfully the scenes so touchingly described therein, she gained an unusual insight into their words and ways, their occasionally high, their too often low standard of morality.

"Patty's Partner" is a delightful and interesting tale of the porcelain manufacture works in the West of England, where Miss Middlema.s.s is as much at home as she is in the scenes in "Dandy." It is full of humour and clever writing. Among other of the author's works may be mentioned "Poisoned Arrows," "By Fair Means," "The Loadstone of Love," and "Nelly Jocelyn, Widow." A three-volume story published lately, ent.i.tled "Two False Moves," contains some powerful pieces of writing, and the characters of Derek Home, Ruth Churchill, and the Rev. John Eagle are drawn to the life. Her last work in one volume is ent.i.tled "How I Became Eminent."

In poetry Miss Middlema.s.s does not as much incline to modern writers as to the ancient cla.s.sics in which she was so early instructed. In politics she is a strong Conservative. Until the last year or two she was, as may be supposed, a frequent visitor at the theatre, but being, unfortunately, so short-sighted, the necessity for using strong gla.s.ses temporarily strained her eyes, so that pleasure is partially laid aside for the present.

Miss Middlema.s.s is, as usual, full of literary engagements. A new novel is being meditated, though it may not actually be begun; several short stories are in requisition, and one appeared in an early number of John Strange Winter's weekly paper. Among other enjoyments, Jean Middlema.s.s delights in travelling; "Not in the sea part of it," she adds, smiling; "I am an especially bad sailor, and do not like being on the water. I always take the shortest sea-routes." She has made many journeys on the Continent, and in former days lived for a year in Paris. She knows her Paris well, and loves it so dearly that she has often felt that she would like to make her home in that gay and festive capital. She is equally familiar with Brussels, and has been a good deal in Germany, but only on the Rhine, pa.s.sing some time at Wiesbaden, and paying what she describes as a "delightful visit to the old city of Nuremberg."

"I keep on my quarters in town," continues your hostess, "princ.i.p.ally as a _pied-a-terre_. The severity of the long winter, then the sudden change of spring for a few days in February, following those dreadful fogs and frosts, and then the terrible gales and east winds, were all most trying, and I am again contemplating a trip abroad to more seasonable climates; first, a short tour in Holland, then on to Paris for a few weeks, and later, into North Italy, perhaps on to Venice, if the weather then be not too hot."

The brightness and vivacity of foreign life suit well Miss Jean Middlema.s.s's happy disposition and sunny nature. Blessed with good spirits, full of clever anecdote and harmless repartee, with great conversational power, her prevailing characteristic is an utter absence of selfishness and affectation. She has a soft, merry laugh, and a kind, warm heart. With this good gift, it is almost needless to say that she goes through life making no enemies, and many friends. In her ready wit there is no sting. Before all things scandal and backbiting are an abomination to her; it has been truly quoted of this talented and amiable woman, as it has been said of many great and famous persons, "Though knowledge is power, yet those who possess it are indulgent to weaker intellects, and become as one of them in sociability and friendship."

[Ill.u.s.tration: A. de Gra.s.se Stevens]

AUGUSTA DE GRa.s.sE STEVENS.

Among the younger American authors who have made their mark on the literature of the day, Augusta de Gra.s.se Stevens takes a high stand.

Highly educated and deeply read, as well versed in the political and civil history of her own country as in that of the land of her adoption, her mind expanded by much continental travel, and inheriting the talents of her brilliantly gifted parents, it is no wonder that she should have attained the depth of thought, the originality of idea, and the fluency of expression which characterise her writings. The young author, who is _pet.i.te_ in stature, and slight in figure, with grey-blue eyes and brown hair, was born in Albany, on the Hudson River, the capital city of New York, a quaint old Dutch town that bears to this day many marked peculiarities of its rich founders, whose manor lands, granted by royal patent, stretched far and wide along the river banks. Her father was the Hon. Samuel Stevens, one of the most brilliant lawyers the American bar has ever produced; his opinions are still quoted in legal matters on both sides of the ocean. He was a man of the keenest intellect, and most wonderful memory; a power wherever he appeared, and one who had the reputation of never losing a case. The courtesy t.i.tle was bestowed upon him by the State Legislature in recognition of his great services to that body. He was the life-long friend of such men as Chancellor Walworth, Henry Clay the statesman, and Daniel Webster, who declared that "in his opinion Mr. Stevens as a lawyer stood first in the United States, and that as a colleague he welcomed him in every case, but as an opponent he hoped each case would be the last." From Mr. Stevens'

conduct of so many cases, involving important inventions, he has been called unanimously "The Founder of American Patent Law."

"Mr. Phelps, the late U.S. Minister, has often told me," says Miss Stevens, "that he, as a young man, used to travel miles to hear my father argue a case, such a lesson was it in eloquence and profound legal knowledge, and he retained as one of his happiest memories the remembrance of certain interviews he had had with him in which he learned more from my father than in hours of study and private research.

My paternal grandmother was of French birth and lineage. She was Mdlle.

Marie de Gra.s.se, the daughter of Pierre de Gra.s.se, who was a brother of the famous Admiral Comte de Gra.s.se, the intimate friend of La Fayette, whose patriotism, like his own, was devoted to the American cause. Her parents left France in the seventeenth century, and established themselves in a country home not far from Albany. My grandmother was very beautiful, and retained her beauty to an advanced age, and it is from her we take the name of De Gra.s.se. My great-grandfather was an ardent patriot, and I have often heard my aunt say, that stored away in the attic of their house were trunks full of 'national paper bonds,' not worth the paper on which they were printed, but which represented the sums that he had advanced to the American Government during the War of Independence, and which afterwards they were unable to redeem. My father married rather late in life, my mother being only a girl of eighteen at the time. She was very charming in manner and appearance and highly educated." On the maternal side, Miss de Gra.s.se Stevens can trace her descent back without a break to that brave Simon de Warde who fought with the Conqueror and who fell at Hastings, and whose name is engraved on the Battle Abbey Roll, among those for whom "prayer perpetual is to be offered up" within the Abbey walls. The Wards emigrated to America some time in the year 1600, and settled in New England. They were staunch Puritans and patriots, and begrudged neither life, nor money, nor substance to the cause. General Artemas Ward, one of Washington's chief generals, early distinguished himself in the service, and he was but one in a long line of similar instances. It was while walking through an old churchyard in Connecticut that the late Samuel Brown, coming upon General Artemas Ward's tomb-stone, first saw the name that he afterwards adopted and made world-famous in a far different fashion.

Miss Stevens can remember well her great-grandfather Ward, though she was only a child when he died. He was a typical gentleman of the old school, and wore to the day of his death his hair tied in a _queue_, the knee breeches, silk stockings, low shoes with gold buckles, fine cambric frill, and neckerchief of his time. Her childish recollections are full of pictures of him, and she can shut her eyes and recall without effort the long, sunny drawing-room, so still, and full of a certain awe, the trees outside bending in the summer wind, the warm crimson hangings at the wide windows, the fire on the open hearth, burning there all the year round, and the great arm-chair drawn close within its rays, in which was seated the dignified figure of her great-grandfather, Dr. Levi Ward, his beautiful clean-shaven face, slightly stern when in repose, breaking into a kindly smile at the first sound of his daughter's voice. By his side on a little table lay the great Bible, always open, which he knew literally by heart, and from which, when the blindness of old age came upon him, he could repeat chapter after chapter with unfailing accuracy. "My great-grandmother, his wife, I cannot remember," says Miss Stevens, "but she, too, was a remarkably handsome woman, and one who throughout her whole life held a distinguished position in society as well as being a leader in all philanthropic and charitable undertakings. Their beautiful home, Grove Place, Rochester, New York, was the perfection of a country seat, and about it cl.u.s.ter many tender memories and a.s.sociations. Their daughter married my grandfather, Mr. Silas Smith, whose daughter in turn became my father's wife, and went with him to his home in Albany, where she soon won for herself a position of much responsibility, and became, puny as she was, a recognised power in all social matters. My father died when I was very young, and my earliest recollections do not date beyond his death. My mother, a young widow, returned with her little family to her father's home, Woodside, just out of Rochester, and with that dear and beautiful home all my happiest, fondest memories are knit up indissolubly. Woodside was a typical home; a large and s.p.a.cious mansion set in the midst of acres of park land, gardens, and meadows. I think there never was just such a home! Everything that refinement, cultivation, and wealth could procure surrounded us, yet all was distributed and governed with so just and wise a hand that luxurious ostentation and wastefulness were never known amongst us. Here I grew from babyhood to girlhood, and to the fond remembrance and recollection of life there my thoughts turn always when I speak or think of--_home_."

The young American author describes her mother and her system of education in touching and eloquent words. Her mother, she says, was possessed of one of those rare, unselfish natures to whom personal grief was unknown. Even in her early widowhood her first thought was for her children, and to their care and education she devoted herself unsparingly. Possessing a gifted mind and great personal attractions, a voice of unusual sweetness and power, and a heart that literally did not know the meaning of the word self, she called forth in everyone with whom she came in contact the greatest admiration and affection. "Her children loved her pa.s.sionately," says Miss Stevens. "How well I can remember when I was but a tiny mite of five, how she would gather us all around her in the grey winter afternoons, and with me nestled close at her knee, read to us by the hour together, but not fairy tales or story books. She went straight to the big heart of Shakespeare, of Longfellow, of Tennyson, of Thackeray, of d.i.c.kens, and opening the treasure-houses of their genius, read them to us with only such explanations and changes as necessity required to meet the status of her youthful audience. I cannot remember the time when Shakespeare was unknown to me, or when the Poet Laureate, and Campbell, and d.i.c.kens, were not dear, familiar friends. Out of this galaxy of riches, _The Tempest_, _Midsummer Night's Dream_, _Hiawatha_, and _Dombey and Son_, stand out clearest in my mind. Then she would sing to us, play to us, and so we became familiar with Mendelssohn, Mozart, Schubert, and with all the plaintive, old English ballads and Scotch border songs; and in the morning hours, while she was busy with a large correspondence and literary work, my dear grandmother taught us, my sister and me, to sew, cut out, and knit, inculcating meantime many a goodly lesson in charity, kindliness, and thoughtfulness for others. To my dear mother, indeed, I owe all that I am. She is gone from me now, but to her clear mind, wise criticism, and sound judgment is due whatever literary reputation I may have earned. I wrote for her, _she_ was my public!"

This beloved home was ever one of open hospitality, and to it came at all times guests of every kind. Here, Miss Stevens tells you, her grandfather had welcomed Talleyrand and Louis Napoleon, and here in later days gathered many a company of literary giants whose names are now household words. After six years of widowhood her mother married the late Mr. John Fowler b.u.t.terworth, a man who was universally beloved and respected, of high position, wealth, and great personal attractions. "We all went with them to the new home in New York," adds Miss Stevens. "He was the only father I have ever known, and I loved him most tenderly."

From this time the family spent much of their time on the Continent of Europe. Miss Stevens and her sister were educated in Paris, having for their instructress a very charming and capable woman, who had been _gouvernante_ to the Orleans Princesses. It was their habit to spend at least three months of every year abroad, and in this way the young girl saw much more of foreign countries than her own. Italy, Switzerland, France, Germany, the Tyrol, each were visited in turn, and such was the method of their travelling that every country and town were indelibly and individually impressed upon her memory. Rome, Florence, Geneva, Verona, Turin, Munich, Innspruck, each one and all are to her bright with particular a.s.sociations. After her stepfather's death Miss Stevens and her mother settled permanently in London, where they had many friends and many family ties, her sister having married and made her home in England.

The young author's first literary efforts were begun at a very early age. "I can scarcely," she says, "remember a time when I did not scribble. My first attempt was a sermon on the text 'G.o.d is Love,' and I distinctly recollect how and where I wrote it, crouched behind a long swinging gla.s.s in my mother's bed-room, printing it off in capital letters--writing being then far beyond my attainments--and getting very hot and flushed in the effort." Her next attempt was a decided advance.

Her sister and two cousins had established a small home newspaper, called the _Dorcas Gazette_, price one halfpenny, circulation strictly private and confidential, its end and aim being the helping of the "Dorcas Society," a body formed to make clothes for the poor. The circulation amounted to six copies a week, each of which had to be written out in fair round hand on two sheets of foolscap paper. To this ambitious venture she was invited to contribute, and for two years was writer in chief, furnishing serials, short stories, and anecdotes, her sister doing the political and poetical parts. "I have still," says Miss Stevens, smiling, "one or two of those old 'gazettes,' time-stained and yellow; I look on them with the utmost respect, and feel that for harrowing plot and thrilling adventure, my 'serial' in five chapters, called 'Blonde and Brunette,' beats the record of any of my subsequent work!" Her first book, written when she was seventeen, was a small novelette called "Distance." It was published by Appleton, of New York, and was well received and reviewed. On coming to London, Miss de Gra.s.se Stevens was asked by the proprietor of the princ.i.p.al American journal, the _New York Times_, to prepare for them a series of articles upon English art and artists, and for ten years she filled the position of special art critic to that paper, her letters upon London artists and their studios being the first of the kind ever written, while her account--a two-column article--of the private view and pictures at the Royal Academy, which appeared in the morning edition in New York the next day, was the first "art-cable" sent across the wires. Her first short story, written long ago, appeared in _Harper's Magazine_. She wrote it secretly, and sent it off furtively. It was called "Auf Wiedersehn," and was subsequently translated into German, and reprinted in many English papers. "After sending it off," she relates, "I waited in sickening suspense for ten long days, and when at last a letter came bearing the well-known Franklin-square stamp, I dared not open it. When I did I fell upon the floor and cried bitterly from bewildering joy! It contained a satisfactory cheque, and a request for 'more matter of the same sort.' From that moment the spell of literature held me as in a vice. I have never known a moment of purer, more unalloyed joy than that, and to it I owe my perseverance in the 'th.o.r.n.y path.'"

Miss De Gra.s.se Stevens's first three-volume novel was called "Old Boston." It was originally published by Sampson Low & Co., and has since been brought out in one volume edition. Its reception was more than flattering, and the reviews upon it were such as a much older and more experienced writer might be pleased to win. The story is partly historical, and is founded on the events just preceding the siege of Boston and the declaration of American Independence. Keenly attracted beyond aught else by history, especially by the history of her own country, in which there is stored away such treasures of romance, of reality, of poetry, and of pathetic prose--the young American writer has, in this delightful romance of a hundred years ago, given clear evidence of her thorough knowledge of her subject; each character is strongly individualised; true pathos and purity of style mark every page; you are carried back a century, yet can feel with unflagging interest that the persons described are living fellow-creatures. The descriptive writing is artistically fine, the love story is tenderly and pathetically told, whilst the whole betokens careful study and research.

This book gained for Miss de Gra.s.se Stevens countless kind and flattering letters from old and, as yet, unknown friends. "Some of my dearest and most trusty friendships," she says, "I owe to it; first and foremost in which was that of the late Mr. Kinglake. I had known his family in Taunton for some time, but to 'Old Boston' I owed the friendship of the author, which ended not with his death, for I am certain such friendships are eternal." She contemplates some day writing a sequel to this book, bringing the history part of it down to the famous battle of Valley Forge and the bombardment and surrender of New York.

The author's next work, "Weighed in the Balance," was a short story written for Mr. W. Stevens's _Magazine of Fiction_, and was of the sensational school. Over a hundred thousand copies were sold, and for this, too, she received so much praise and so many letters that she declares herself to have been "greatly surprised"; among them were two which she prized highly, one from the late Earl Granville and the other from the late Earl Spencer, who both wrote that the scenes being laid at Deal, the book was particularly interesting to them, especially the parts relating to the Goodwin Sands, and the historic, but decayed old town of Sandwich. This book was followed by one that caused a good deal of stir--a historical monograph called "The Lost Dauphin," in which the writer took up the mysterious fate of little Louis XVII., and advanced the theory that he did not die in the Temple but was stolen from there and carried to America, where he was deposited with the Indian tribe of the Iroquois and was eventually taken East, educated and trained as a missionary under the name of Ealeazer Williams. The book is ill.u.s.trated by three portrait engravings. It called forth a storm of controversy and a great number of reviews amongst all the leading journals, the majority of which frankly accepted her hypothesis. Innumerable letters poured in from all sorts and conditions of people, mostly scholars and men interested in out-of-the-way questions. The late Mr. Kinglake was particularly keen on it, and Miss Stevens has a large packet of highly prized letters from him, devoted to the discussion of the theory that she had advanced and in which he thoroughly believed. This, from so great a scholar as the author of "Eothen" and "The Crimea," was praise worth having. The late Robert Browning was another _litterateur_ who wrote in commendation of the book, as did Mrs. Gladstone, Henry James, Mr. Russell Lowell, Miss Sewell, Mr. Phelps, and many others.

"Miss Hildreth" is the name of Miss de Gra.s.se Stevens's next three-volume novel, which, following as it did closely after the sensation made by "The Lost Dauphin," attracted great attention both in France and England. The scenes are laid in St. Petersburg and New York, amidst the society with which she was most familiar. The plot is original, the story is conspicuous by the ability with which it is written, and proves how thoroughly and conscientiously she studies the subject that she has on hand. Very powerfully drawn is the account of the fortress prison of Petropavosk, the descriptions of scenery show how entirely the author is in touch with nature in her every aspect, while the scene of the trial betrays the logical mind and power of argument which she has inherited from her distinguished father. "Miss Hildreth"

is moreover from "start to finish" deeply interesting and exciting, and displays the same experienced pen and graceful language, free from any exaggeration or straining after effect that is so conspicuous in "Old Boston." Mr. Gladstone, in his letter to her about "Miss Hildreth,"

after expressing his deep interest in its _motif_, writes, "I thank you very much for the work you have been so good as to send me. Both your kindness and the subjects to which it refers, make me very desirous to lose no time in beginning it." The young author has just finished a new novel in one volume, called "The Sensation of a Season," which will shortly be published, and is completing another to be called "A Romantic Inheritance." The former work is absolutely different in style, and deals chiefly with American society in London. Besides fiction, Miss Stevens writes several weekly articles for American syndicates, and is a contributor to a South African magazine on more abstruse subjects. She has written, on and off, special articles, by request, for the _Sat.u.r.day Review_ since 1885, notably among these, papers on "Old American Customs," and on "The position of needlewomen in London," bearing upon the work depot established in Cartwright Street, Westminster, by the Hon. Mrs. William Lowther and Miss Burke; also an amusing account of "Christmas in America fifty years ago," in the Christmas number of a weekly paper, and she has for a long time been a regular writer on the _Argosy_ staff. Mention must not be omitted of a particular article called "The Beautiful Madame Grand, Princesse de Talleyrand," for which Mr. Ca.s.sell sent specially to Versailles to copy the portrait in the Grand Gallery for the frontispiece of the magazine. This was followed by a series of ill.u.s.trated biographical sketches in the _Lady's Pictorial_--"American Ladies at Home in London."

When engaged on a novel Miss Stevens puts no pen to paper. "I think it all out in my head," she says, "before writing a word, chiefly when travelling; the movement of the train has a peculiar fascination for me.

I make no notes. When it is all complete in my brain, I write straight away with no effort of memory." But with all her increasing literary work, Miss de Gra.s.se Stevens finds time for a little recreation in exercising her talents for modelling and painting. In both of these arts she is no mean proficient. The gift is inherited from her lamented mother, who painted much for the Royal Family, and who counted among her personal friends H.R.H. Princess Louise, Marchioness of Lorne. Sir Frederick Leighton, another valued friend, used to say that her power of colouring was especially wonderful. The young author is a very early riser, and is up and out of doors every morning before seven. She writes from ten till three, and divides her time between her sister's beautiful country home in Kent and the pretty little house at West Kensington, where she stays with a dear aunt and uncle, Dr. Hand Smith, well known in the scientific world of London for his discovery of the endolithic process, about which the late Sir Edgar Boehm was so enthusiastic an admirer. This little abode may be briefly described as distinctly artistic. The rooms are olive-green in colour, and contain several cherished reminiscences of her mother. The great "Alexandre" American walnut-wood organ--both reed and wind--reaching to the ceiling, is quite unique. On a draped easel stands a large mounted plaque of gorgeous Florida poinsettias, painted by her mother in a method discovered by herself, a _replica_ of the design she furnished to the Queen. Another, almost as beautiful, of different-coloured pansies, by the same beloved hand, adorns the mantelshelf. Many well-used volumes of Tennyson, Browning, Whittier, Thackeray, and of Mrs. Lynn Linton fill the bookshelves. "I delight in Mrs. Lynn Linton's books and papers," says your hostess; "I call her the Modern Crusader, and read everything that she writes with much pleasure." Among these works you notice an "In Memoriam" monograph by Miss Stevens of William Kinglake, ill.u.s.trated with his portrait, and a picture of his home, Wilton House, Taunton, both of which he gave to her. There are a few good pictures on the walls: two of Morland's are especially attractive, _lunette_ in shape, first proofs before letters engraved by Nutter. Yonder hang a couple of paintings of her sister's Kentish home, an old red-brick Elizabethan building, with the peculiar white facings and low white door belonging especially to the Tudor days, surrounded by park lands, lawns, and very old fruit orchards, which are at this season bright with yellow daffodils. Tradition a.s.signs to it a veritable ghost, whose uneasy spirit walks every All Saints' Eve! A packet of letters from great men lies on a little table near. From them Miss Stevens selects some from Gladstone, Kinglake, and Irving. This last was written on the appearance of her papers in the leading Boston and New York journals on the subject of "Macbeth." She has new and pleasant work now on hand as art editor of the _Novel Review_, in which her late biographical monograph upon "John Oliver Hobbes" elicited more than ordinary comment from the general press; also a fresh and important post in connection with a smart New York society journal. "I particularly like the prospect opened out in this new field of journalism," remarks Miss de Gra.s.se Stevens quietly, "as it gives me greater freedom of subject as well as of treatment. I am delighted, too," she adds, smiling, "with the mere thought of grappling with any little difficulties that may arise on the subject."

And to these "little difficulties" you leave the bright young American writer, feeling sure that her clever brain will guide her able pen to solve them aright.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Bertha Leith-Adams]

MRS. LEITH ADAMS

(MRS. LAFFAN).

It is a lovely day in early springtime. A gentle south-west wind is just stirring the meadows, and the young birds are chirping gaily in the hedgerows which are beginning to put forth their tiny buds. All nature seems awake and smiling; truly a fitting morn on which to visit Stratford-on-Avon, the place so fraught with memories of the immortal bard. You have been so fortunate as to make the long journey from London in the company of the well-known and popular Captain Gerard, late of the 23rd Welsh Fusiliers, and as he has been for some years a resident in these parts, he has given you the _carte du pays_ and much useful and interesting information.

The town of Stratford-on-Avon is beautifully situated on the south-west border of Warwickshire on a gentle eminence rising from the bank of the Avon. As the train glides into the station, Mrs. Leith Adams is seen standing on the platform. She has come to meet you, accompanied by many dogs, who insist on jumping into the carriage as an escort home. On leaving the station the road runs past the hospital, down the wonderfully broad High-street of the town with its venerable houses on either side, and as the beautiful old porch of the Guild Chapel (of which Mr. Laffan is inc.u.mbent) comes into view, the pony turns down Chapel-lane and draws up at the School House.

Entering the porch into the hall you face the Head Master's study on the left, a charming room and evidently the haunt of a scholar. The next room on the same floor has two French windows opening on to the garden.