OLIVE ETHERINGTON.* BY MISS L. H. MEDINA. Thus lived-thus died she never more on her Byron. actor." Charles colored deeply. "Mother, I had not expected to hear a word so-pardon me if I say vulgarfrom your lips; and yet, if that title may express the gentleman the scholar, poet, painter and orator all in one, apply it certainly to Hannam. The stage is to him the mighty arena of his power-no other profes sion could display his extraordinary talents, nor should it be held lower than the other fine arts, since it certainly embraces them all." "Brother," said the younger lady, now first breaking silence, "is not the stage a slavish choice for a free and independent spirit?” "You have but to defend the actor's morals as well, Charles,” said Lady Frances, "and then your nonsense would be complete." It was round a small breakfast table in the salon à "No Olive, not more than any other public busi. dejeuner of a house in Grosvenor Square, that a family ness. Look at the soldier, sailor, senator, judge. Have party of three persons were assembled at the very we not seen the hero of Waterloo pelted through the fashionable hour of eleven, to partake of the morning's meal. The table did not indeed display the abundant streets? Has not the scaffold flowed with the blood of luxuries of an American or a Scotch breakfast, but still a Byng? Did not Castlereagh take his own life, and in the superb damask linen, the sèvre china which fur-Canning break his heart? And what was their banenished the tea-board, the rich antique chasing of the public disaffection. The actor endures no more, yet wins a triumph worth all put together." urn, toastrack and sugar bowl; and more than all, in the aristocratic crest blazoned on every spoon and fork, a connoisseur might have decided that our party were of the élite. It consisted of an elderly lady, in whose still handsome face pride and passion had drawn more lines than time,-a young Psyche looking girl and a gentleman, whose age and resemblance to both ladies pronounced him the son of one, and the brother of the other. So deeply engrossed was this young man in the morning papers, that his coffee had been twice removed cold, and his dry toast remained untouched upon his plate, while his fine features were lighted up with a glow of interest and pleasure as he eagerly perused the Morning Herald. "Upon my word, Mr. Etherington," at last exclaimed his mother, "you are very agreeable company! The interesting nature of your conversation is not at all likely to disperse the fumes of dulness I inhaled at that stupid party last night. If I may tax your powers of speech so far, what very delightful intelligence engrosses you so greatly?" "A thousand pardons, my dear madam,” exclaimed Charles Etherington, relinquishing the offending paper "And, why not, madam? Is any set of men on earth immaculate? Look at your list of noble barristerscall to mind all the fox hunting parsons you know— canvass the characters of our fashionable Esculapiansare these all faultless? You know otherwise, and yet you know nothing of them compared with those of the histrionic art: they alone must pass the fiery ordeal of unnoticed, but actors are bound by more than Monkish public censure. Writers, artists of every class may sin bonds. And yet, this is of all others, the life of wildest seduction-of deepest temptation." "How do you mean?" do "This I mean: I am as you know, or rather as you not know, honored by a close intimacy with Han nam. Last night I was in his dressing room; as he came off from every act, he received billets perfumed like the Attar Gul-feathers-gloves almost warm from the fair hands they had graced--invitations from the nobles of our land-and finally, a gracious message from royalty itself. So much for his private room. Does ing upon his words, suspending their breath to watch his motions; he sees bright eyes dimmed with the tears his art calls forth; he hears the bursting cheers that hail his mastery over the human heart." "But you cannot deny, Charles, that this hero of the lamps makes up like a mountebank for a fair, paints his face, and figures in tinsel and spangles." "but my politeness was merged in my pleasure at read-the stage flatter him less? He beholds thousands waiting this splendid critique upon George G. Hannam." "And pray, who is George G. Hannam?" "Who? Oh, Lady Frances, not to know him would argue yourself unknown. But I forget that you are but just arrived in London, though I should have imagined that fame had blown his name from pole to pole, so I will enlighten your darkness. George G. Hannam then, (for like Cæsar or Shakspeare, we never call him Mr.) is the greatest genius of the age-the master spirit of the populi―the great magician of the heart-the idol of the ladies, and the envy of the men; and more than all, the only living ideal of those mighty conceptions formed by Shakspeare, Beaumont, Otway, or Massin ger." "That an actor suits his dress to the character and time he represents is true, but is that more than the writer or the painter does, when they depict scenes they addition of color on account of the glare, so much of wish you to behold? Or is the common and well known artifice as the padded coats, and laced-up waists of half our beaux, or the false ringlets and touched-up complexions of our belles? No, no, madam; good and bad there are of course in every class; but believe me, a great actor is a great man." "This may be all very fine," said Lady Frances rising, "but to me it is more wearisome than long whist, or Dr. Prosy's sermons; so I will leave you, Charles, to finish your eulogy for the benefit of Olive, whom it seems much to edify-only begging, that if this mighty | seal: "it is from the Earl of Derwentwater, and contains beau in buskins has bought your praise by free admis- a proposal for yourself." sions for the season, he will not prevail on you to offend me by offering to introduce him." "For me?" said Olive, coloring violently, "he has never even seen me." "What matters that ?" said Lady Frances violently, think you that men of the world marry for a piece of painted red and white flesh? Listen to me, Olive." She caught her shrinking daughter's arm, and led her to a cheval glass that reflected at full length her sylph-like With this conclusion, Lady Frances languidly sauntered out of the room, leaving her son more vexed than" a philosopher should be, at her contemptuous treatment of his friend. Olive, who in the meanwhile had been perusing the article in the morning paper which first introduced the discussion, now inquired with some in-figure-" look upon that form that I have nursed, and terest "Is Mr. Hannam handsome, Charles ?" "He is handsome I think Olive, or something that is generally considered so; but you would soon forget his features, expressive though they be, in the fascination of his manners. I wish to heaven that my mother's prejudice did not prevent you judging for yourself; and yet," added he, as he suddenly encountered the intense gaze of his sister, "and yet it is perhaps better as it is. Good morning sister. I will not be so cruel as to detain you from your toilet, considering that this is your first morning in the Park, and that you are but sixteen." watched, and fostered into beauty-look on the reflec tion of that loveliness which might do honor to a throne. I would sooner see that face shrouded in the cere cloththat form dressed in the habiliments of the grave, than behold them withering in poverty, or bestowed upon obscurity! Go-and mark me, Olive-I will be obeyed!" At three o'clock in the afternoon, Lady Frances and her beautiful daughter were seated in their barouche, slowly making the tour prescribed by fashion in Hyde Park. Charles, who was on horseback, attended them, enjoying with boyish delight the sensation created by his mother's regal dignity, and his sister's exceeding beauty. Carriage pressed on carriage,—the inmates of each surpassing the former in splendor,—pedestrians thronged the foot path-and a few of the boldest, perhaps not the most modest of the ladies, mingled with the prancing equestrians. A halt, occasioned by the denseness of the throng, stopped the barouche of Lady Frances exactly opposite the gates leading out to Park Place. Charles Etherington pressed his lips to his young sister's cheek and left her; yet an hour after, she was sitting precisely in the same attitude, when a message from her mother summoned her to her boudoir. Rising, she heaved a deep inspiration, and proceeded slowly enough to obey the summons. Lady Frances had employed the intermediate time to arrange French blonde and ribbons, so as to conceal the ravages of ruthless time on her still handsome face. She was in a better humor from the result of her labors, and addressed her daughter graciously. "Sit down Olive, and listen to a few words of common sense, before plunging into the giddy whirl of pleasure. You are not ignorant that the small residue of fortune, left at your father's death, has been deeply involved, to afford your brother and your-rueful physiognomy." self the advantages of superior education. Learn now, that for the purpose of making this one visit to London, in a style befitting my rank, I have taken up all the funds that now or ever may accrue to me; and should it fail its purpose-I am a beggar !" "Charles, Charles-who is that aristocratic looking person talking to Lord Somerset and Prince Pulaski?” "That-where!-Oh that, madam, is little Sir Peter Peuley-Peter Penitence as they call him, from his "You are absurd-I do not mean that ape; see him to the left, leaning against the gate." “Oh, that!--that is the Earl of Derwentwater, madam." Olive reddened, until the rich crimson seemed about to gush through her transparent skin. Lady "Good heavens, madam--and what motive could in- Frances directed a triumphant glance at her; and then duce a course so rash ?" "My conduct, Miss Etherington," haughtily replied the mother, "is not subject to your criticism. Rash do you call it? Would you not sooner be dead than live to vegetate unknown, unseen, obscure-merely dragging on an animal life-to eat, and drink, and sleep,—the world forgetting, by the world forgot." "I entreat your pardon, mother; 1 intended no offence. Let me hear your commands: I wait to receive them." "And to obey them, I trust, when heard. Olive: the purpose for which I am here is to procure you a splendid settlement in life. You have youth, beauty, manners, accomplishments; with you it rests to restore your mother to that situation it befits an Earl's daughter to hold; with you to advance your brother-your only brother--to the station his talents qualify him to adorn. Do not answer me-I will bear no contradiction." "But, dear mother," said Olive mildly, "how do you know that even if my will consented, I should have the power?" "There is my answer," said Lady Frances, offering her daughter a letter bearing a coronet upon its remarked carelessly "Indeed! I did not think he had arrived yet he is a magnificent looking man. Good heavens! That lady will certainly be thrown-who is she?" Before Charles had time for reply, the horse of the lady alluded to, which had long been extremely unruly, now took fright at some music, and plunged in a frightfal manner, each moment threatening to dash his terrified rider to a dreadful death. Screams and exclamations rent the air; but as usual where all exclaim, none act-and in another moment the lady would have paid the forfeit of her life for her fondness of display, when a strong arm caught the falling reins; and as the adventurous assistant threw back the foaming animal upon his haunches, he caught the lady from the saddle, and placed her safely in the arms of her companions. A loud shout made Olive withdraw her hands from her eyes. She gazed earnestly on the heroic deliverer-it was the Earl of Derwentwater! "Bless me," said Lady Frances, "he is quite a hero of romance ce grand Orosmane. Olive, you could not have been better suited." Perhaps Olive thought so too. That evening, the Countess of Dressington, one of the most fashionable exotics in the great garden of fashion, and perhaps not the less so that the notoriety of scandal had breathed lightly on her leaves, gave a select soiree; and although Olive was not, strictly speaking, out yet, still she and her mother were to be of the favored few. But, alas! imperious as were the mandates of Lady Frances to all under her command, health was not to be commanded. The agitation she had endured in the morning, and the unwholesome fog in which she had been sitting for fashion's-sake three hours, conjoined to produce so violent an attack of a constitutional malady, that her going became out of the question. Still, true to her desired aim, she insisted on Olive accompanying another chaperon, and, as opposition seemed but to increase her illness, Olive unwillingly obeyed. Her mother gazed long and proudly, as arrayed in simplest guise with a few pearls braided in her glossy hair, her daughter might have challenged the earth to produce aught more beautiful. "Go, Olive. And remember--should that magnificent stranger (for I will spare your blushes and suppose that you have not heard his name) be there, let no ridiculous prudery cause you to refuse an introduction, or prevent your shining to the uttermost of your ability. Remember a mother's blessing will attend obedience. Refusal-be visited by a mother's curse!" deep though covert sensuality of the scene, had stained her cheek with a crimson flush, and made her heart beat thickly with a tumultuous throb before unknown. Suddenly, her brother's voice accosted her. Speaking gaily, and yet with a peculiar emphasis— "Miss Etherington," he said, "let me have the pleasure of introducing to you my esteemed friend, the potent, puissant, celebrated-Lord bless me, those musicians make so much noise you cannot hear me speak. Adieu-I see Lady Clara Dudley waiting for me to waltz with her." Off he ran, leaving both parties considerably annoyed at this half spoken, scrambling sort of introduction; but the feeling, which with Olive was painful to excess, moved her companion but for an instant. Taking his seat by her side-with all the ease of bon ton, he said-"I hope Miss Etherington will not impose on me the forfeit of her brother's wildness--it were paying too severe a penalty for the transgressions of a friend to relinquish a pleasure which renders that friendship so valuable? May I presume to name myself to Miss Etherington ?" Olive bowed hurriedly-"It does not need. I have the pleasure of knowing the” soon the easy unembarrassed tone of his remarks restored poor Olive to herself. And now she seemed, for the first time in her life to live, as enwrapt in a glorious dream, she listened to the flowing music of enlightened converse--now borne away into smiles by the playful wit--now wrought into enthusiasm by the impassioned eloquence of this so much dreaded Earl. She forgot the passing hours-she noted not the inquisitive stareshe heard not the singer's voice; for the lute of Israfel would have sounded less sweet to her enchanted ears. It was a glorious trance, and first broken by her brother's voice. Earl of Derwentwater she would have said. But suddenly the thought-he will think my mother has told me all! rushed across her mind, and staid her utterThe room was crowded, although the party was ance. Shade after shade of deepening crimson glowed called a small one; still, none but the élite were present. upon her cheek, and even colored the translucent purity Peeresses were there, whose hearts and words were of her bosom. Whatever surprise her companion might cold and brilliant as the gems upon their brows-dowa-have felt, he was far too well bred to evince it; and gers still haunting the magic scenes of their pristine triumphs, and finishing their life of folly with an old age of cards;-young maidens, eagerly bending their lovely heads to the words of withered roues, so they but glossed their age and wickedness by rank;—poets and writers prostituting the mighty gift of mind to the flattery of pride and power-the author of the last poem--the hero of the last crim con—the object of the last satire the successor to the last title-all the latest lions of the day were assembled at the conversazione of the Countess. Chess and ecarte were set-music fur. nished amusement for one saloon, and a party amused themsevles in another with dramatic tableaux vivants; but the principal interest of the evening was conversation. Here, the brilliant repartee-the pointed antithesis--the acute remark passed round, and seemed to create an atmosphere of their own-a glowing radiance from the mighty sun of mind. Here too-alas! that genius will stoop to such companionship, breathed the whispered scandal-the insinuation more smiled than spoken-the delicate double entendre--the sneering satire; and here too, more dangerous than all, flowed the witchery of compliment-the artificial sophistry-the covert immorality-the glowing passion, whose deformity was converted by the prism of ardent fancy into beauty. Here then Olive tarried-and drew, unconsciously, long draughts of poison to her soul. Possessed of a passionate and enthusiastic temper, the meretricious glare of all she saw and heard inflamed her admiration. Too unskilled in deceit to suspect the frailty of the shining fabric, she gave full sway to the pleasure with which she viewed it. Much that was spoken, fell from her innocent heart, like lightning flashing innocuous upon ice; yet, the novelty--the excitement-the "Mille pardons, sister Olive, for my abrupt departure. I am returned, after a lapse of two hours, to finish the introduction. Allow me to present to your notice the most potent, puissant, celebrated George G. Hannam." Olive raised her eyes, and gazed wildly and inquiringly into her brother's exultant face. For an instant her eyes passed to that of his friend ;-then with a low cry bursting unconsciously from her parted lips, she sunk fainting at his feet. The error had been a natural one. Her giddy brother had mistaken the person of whom his mother had asked in the morning. And in the evening, moved by a desire to gain Olive over to his opinion, had purposely introduced his friend without naming him, lest his sister should have evaded the interdicted acquaintance. With the first energies of returning life, Olive besought her brother to keep the whole transaction secret from Lady Frances. By a trifling equivocation, she avoided her questions; and for the first time in her life she wilfully deceived her mother. The Rubicon was past! * Alas! we pray for mercy, even when we wilfully turn from mercy's God! And the votary of passion called upon Him, at the very moment when immolating herself beneath the car of the idol for whom she had forsaken her early faith. Weeks after weeks rolled on, and the Earl of Der- | whelp, and found it ever obedient to his will, starts terwentwater (the real Simon Pure) wooed Olive Ether-rified to see the savage nature suddenly break out, and ington for a bride-not indeed much as a lover wooes, flies dismayed before the thing he hitherto controlled, but rather as a Sultan throws the handkerchief to so Lady Frances beheld with wonder and alarm the some favored slave. And she became the blazing sun of roused passions of her child assert their superiority. fashion, before whose radiance all other stars hide their Erect she stood--her dark dilated eye fixed firmly on diminished heads. Her beauty was the theme of every her mother; her form, from which Canova might have tongue-her joyous bird-like glee the charm of every learned to chisel, braced rigidly and stern-one hand circle. What was it that brought the color in such fit-instinctively put back her falling hair-the other pointed ful gleams, like melting rubies, to her cheek? What in cold impassive silence to the door. Lady Frances brightened the passionate lustre of those gem-like obeyed the mute behest,--and Olive was left alone. eyes? What breathed upon her lips that fluttering Long-long she stood, as might have seemed some insigh? Ye who have known first love in its depth, and mate of the buried cities, who even in the moment of its power-answer! Ye who have lived in the halo of high resolve had found beneath the flowing lava a its glory, as an eagle basketh in the sunlight-answer! living tomb. At last the trance was dispelled. She Ye, who in the innermost shrine of your hearts have lifted her clasped hands high above her head, and exworshipped the gorgeous idol-oh, answer! Speak of claimed, "Ay, the hour is come. Now-now." Hurits wild delight-its glorious fancies-its solitary mys- riedly she caught a pen from the standish, and traced a teries-tell of the hopes and fears that kindle hope—the single line on paper. As she wrote, the clock struck visions imbued with tints of heaven-the power-the seven. "He cannot receive it until his return-thenpurity and pride; and oh, forget not to record its eva- oh God, be merciful unto me !" nescence too! As a meteor glancing through the gloom-as a flower fading in the noonday—as a bright oasis in a farspread wilderness;—such and so transient is love-first love! Proud, sullen and cold as was the Earl of Derwentwater, it excited some surprise, that as Olive was known to have neither wealth nor influence, he should press his suit so closely; still, it was so. The young Misses envied, and the Dowagers wondered; but the worthy Peer's actions alone were open-his motives lay within his lordly breast. And Olive? oh, she was constantly in his society, who was become the day-star of her life; she sat continually in the arena of his triumph—and witnessed the perfection of his art ;—she drank in the music of his voice--and gazed upon his flashing eye, as the Indian on his sun. To the future she shut her sight, or rather gave it creation from her own wild fancy, and then bowed down in worship of what herself had made. Moments would come-like storm clouds dimming a summer sky-and doubts mutter to her startled heart, like the distant rolling of the thunder's chariot wheels. Then, like the belated traveller, she would gaze on death in fearful nearness, and shudder at the sight. But generally, her spirits though hurried, were gay; and in her large dreamy eyes a strange unnatural light would gleam-more like the lurid glare that lights corruption, than the cheerful beam of day. At last the time arrived, when the answer of Olive must be signified in form to her titled lover; further delay could not be made, for the aristocratic lips of the noble Earl had muttered something like ill-used, and Lady Frances' ambition speedily took the alarm. Olive listened in silence. "To-morrow,"-at last she said very slowly-"Tomorrow, he shall be answered!" "And why not to night, Olive? This is childish coquetry. Think you the Earl of Derwentwater is to be trifled with as a rural Phyllis treats her swain? Remember he is one of England's oldest Peers." "Were he the mightiest of earth's sons, as he is one of the most insignificant, he should not receive it earlier! Mother," continued Olive, with startling energy, "urge me no farther! Both you and he will have my answer soon enough." As a man who has played and toyed with a lion's | She rang impatiently; her maid and confidante appeared and received the note. "See that he has it Morton-it is perhaps your latest trouble. Do this one office my good girl; and then if you will, rest forever! And Morton-mark me-I must be alone to night. Should Lady Frances or my brother ask for me, say I am ill-sleeping-dead. Oh, soon may the last be true. Now go-leave me to my rest—my rest !” She was obeyed. Bolts and bars secured the entrance door of her chamber-a private one leading to a servant's staircase remained unfastened—a large cloak and calash lay beside her. Flinging herself upon a sofa, she exclaimed Eight-nine-ten o'clock-three hours more of suspense, and then to know my fate!” A play had been that night commanded by royalty, and of course the house was thronged with the nobles of the land. The tragedy was a translation from the celebrated Sylla, which Talma had made so famous in France; and glorious that night was the personation of the actor. He looked indeed the very ideal of Byron's Sylla. "The Roman when his burning heart So deep-so enthralling was the illusion-that when the curtain fell, sighs and tears were the only plaudits, until the relieved heart could throw off the powerful spell. At the door of his dressing room, Hannam was met by an officer in attendance on the King, who presented him a gold snuff-box as a token of the pleasure afforded to his sovereign, accompanied by a few gracious words expressive of the royal admiration. The actor bowed, returned a suitable and manly answer, and hastened to disencumber himself of the stage habili who shall promise for themselves, that they would not have done the same? When she became conscious, he laid her quietly on a sofa, and kneeling by her side, with calm and gentle words at length compelled her ments. Long and loud now rang the shouts in front; Alone in the sumptuous drawing room, a female form was seated. "In the name of God, Miss Etherington, what can have brought you here ?" She dropt her mantle. There was a fearful expression on her pale brow. "Forbear," she said. "I come to speak and not to listen. Say you nothing, for there are voices whispering to me that will be heard,-and they tell of wounded pride-lost honor-and forgotten peace; and to them responds a fearful chorus, made up of laughing scorn, and wedding bells. Oh! I have listened to it for so many hours till my heart and brain vibrated to its fearful music, that I can hear nothing now-nothing-nothing." "Miss Etherington let me take you home. There we will speak on what you will. Here you must not--here you shall not stay." "Home!" she said wildly. "I have none. I have left it-left it forever! Let go my arm-you shall not drag me back." "For your own sake, lady, I must summon a female here; for the love of all you hold dear, Miss Etherington, let not a stranger see you thus!" Loosing her hand from his, she dropt at his feet. "Have mercy upon me! If I am lost to honor and to pride, it is not you should tell me of it! If the whole world scorn me, with you my madness should be sacred. I love you. My heart--my brain is bursting with anguish. Save me from the horror of these nuptials. Give me but leave to be your slave, and I will follow you through the world-and live upon your smile! Do not despise the extremity of my misery. See, my knee is on the ground!" As she spoke, she fell prostrate-overwraught nature gave way, and a long and deathlike swoon followed the terrible excitement. There she lay, like a beautiful statue fallen from its base; like a scarce blown lily, which the storm has smitten. Her long luxuriant hair, swept round, as if it mourned for her; and on that breast whose loveliness might have moved a cherub's envy, there arose nor pulse, nor swell. Hannam raised her gently, and applied restoratives to summon back the life which seemed departed. If for a moment his resolution wavered as he gazed, what stoic or philosopher shall dare to blame him? If for once he prest those cold pale lips with a kiss The first-the last that frailty stole from faith "You are now laboring under a strong excitement, and to that alone do I impute the words you have this night uttered; yet, if for a moment I could presume to hazard a contrary supposition, would Miss Etherington make a villain of one whom she honors with her regard? Would she have her brother's friend take the advantage of his trusting confidence, to steal from his family its ornament and pride? Could she contemplate for a moment the disgrace-the sorrow such a step would entail upon her name, and not shrink back from a rashness so appalling?" A momentary cloud shadowed her face as he spoke, yet almost instantly gave way to returning energy. She would have spoken, but he gently staid her; and while a deep crimson suffused his own cheek, he continued "Could Miss Etherington have done all this, still she would have made a sacrifice so tremendous, at a worthless shrine-the heart she would seek is no longer mine to give-I love another?" She started from the sofa. "Pardon me, lady," he said-"the wound though painful, will be salutary. You will accept the deep regard, the full and fervent esteem of one who would be as a brother to you; and when this passing wind has ceased to ruffle the gentle waters of your soul, you will think on what has past to-night as a disturbed visiona dream in which your fancy alone has acted, while your reason slept. Lady, let me conduct you hence." She gave him her hand without a word. Steadily and slowly she arose, gazing on his face as though magnetic influence fastened her eyesight there; then in a low impressive tone, she said: "Hark! I hear those bells still,-but they have changed their note--they ring for a wedding yet-but the bridegroom is Death!" * Brightly and beautifully dawned the morning, when Olive Etherington was to plight a hand without a heart and lest any to the most noble Earl of Derwentwater; one should be mistaken enough to suppose that this proud peer wooed her for her loveliness and youth, we may as well state, that a rich West Indian merchant, a distant kinsman to the Earl, and an old friend of the late Mr. Etherington, had upon his recent decease willed an immense legacy to the Earl if he married the daughter of his ancient friend,—if not, it was to endow a hospital. This bequest was unknown to Olive, but thoroughly understood by her worldly mother, who thus certified that love had no share in her future sonin-law's attentions, was still willing to sell her only daughter for a coronet. But little change had been visible in Olive since that eventful night-at times she would mutter to herself, and mope alone-but such fits of dejection were ever followed by a proportionate glee and thrilling exultation. None doubted that she was happy-how should they? Was she not to be united to an Earl? On the eventful morning, she seemed more than usually calmher bridesmaids decked her in satin and blonde-they wreathed her dark locks with a profusion of pearls, and VOL. III.-73 |