FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT.

FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT, novelist, was born in Manchester, England, Nov. 24, 1849. She was educated in Manchester, and it was here that she learned the Lancashire character and dialect. In 1864 her parents came to America and settled at Knoxville, Tenn., but later removed to Newmarket, where she began to write her first stories. In 1873 she married Dr. L. M. Burnett of Knoxville, but soon after their marriage they made their residence in Washington, D.C.

"Surly Tim's Troubles," a dialect story, published in Scribner's (1872), in book form (1877), was the first of her stories to attract attention. "That Lass o' Lowrie's," which immediately became popular, and which was afterward dramatized both in America and England, appeared as a serial in Scribner's (1876), and in book form (1877). She has since published "Haworth's" (1879); "Louisiana" (1880); "A Fair Barbarian (1881); "Through One Administration" (1882); "Little Lord Fauntleroy" (1886); "The Pretty Sister of José" (1889); "Giovanni and the Other " (1892); "The One I Knew Best of All," an autobiography, (1893); "Piccino and Other Child Stories" (1894); "Two Little Pilgrims' Progress" (1895); "A Lady of Quality" (1895); "His Grace of Osmonde," a sequel to the preceding; and a drama, "The First Gentleman of Europe," with George Fleming, represented in 1897.

THE TIDE ON THE MOANING BAR.

THE MOTHER'S REQUEST.

I HAD never liked him. Much as I loved my lady, and long as I had labored in her service, I cannot say that I ever knew the day when I had any affection for Mr. Jack, even the slightest. There was a hard look in his black eyes from the first, and the moment I saw him, as he lay, a day-old baby, bundled up in lawns and laces, it seemed as if I saw into his future, and trembled. As he grew older, the evil spirit grew with him. He was cruel and selfish as a child, though his handsome face

covered his faults, as such faces are apt to do; and even my lady, who was so gentle and kindly, could see no harm in him, thought his wilful ways were only high spirit. And perhaps she was the more blind to it, because his black eyes were so like his dead father's; and she had always clung to her husband's memory so tenderly. But Mr. Jack was not like his father, though my lady fancied he was. Mr. Towther had never made an enemy in his life; and I am sure Mr. Jack never made a true friend. People flattered and feared him, and pretended to admire his beauty and high-handed ways; but no one ever liked him well enough to speak a good word for him behind his back. But for my lady's sake, people bore with him among the rest; and when she lay upon her deathbed, it was me she gave the charge of caring for him, as I had cared for her.

"Don't leave Mr. Jack, Mallon," she said to me when she could not say anything else. "Don't leave my boy. Take care of him, for my sake. I know he will always take care of you, Mallon. His father would have done it, if he had lived; and I know Jack will."

But though I promised, I knew better than expect anything like gratitude from Mr. Jack. I had watched him all his life, and never knew him to show a thoroughly unselfish impulse.

But for my sweet, dead lady's sake, I stayed with him as housekeeper, at the Manse, as the country house was called, and I tried my best to please him; so we had no disagreement, for he never interfered, so long as things were to his liking; and I may add, never even thought to give me thanks, the thanks his father and my lady had never spared. However, I stayed, and attended to the servants, and kept the house accounts; and when he came down from London with his friends, he never had to complain. And so matters went on, until the month after my lady's death, when he suddenly took a fancy that he wanted me to go with him to a little seaside town, where he had been staying for some whim or other; for, as he condescended to say then, for the first time, he "liked my ways, and liked to have me about him." So remembering my promise to his dying mother, I went, without any words; though I must admit it was rather a trial, at my time of life, to make such a change all at once; and, moreover, I could scarcely see how it was that he could require me.

I found his chambers very fine and handsomely furnished; for it was just like Mr. Jack to have everything of the hand

somest and best. There was a large suite of them, in a big house, in the principal square, and the rest of the establishment was let to an Irish officer whose regiment was quartered in the townbarracks. Major Clangarthe, the gentleman's name was; and his family, consisting of a wife and three or four children, was with him. His rooms were not so handsome as Mr. Jack's, I discovered; and even the best of them had a queer, untidy look. Mrs. Clangarthe had been a great beauty in her day, and came of a very fine, very poor, Irish family; and on the strength of this, she used to lie on the sofa or sit in an easy-chair all day, joking with the major, and letting the children run wild. They had made away with plenty of money in their time, shabby as things seemed now; and they were as carelessly-happy, goodtempered a set as ever I saw in my life. When they had money, it flew right and left, and when they gave their gay little winesuppers, I am sure people never enjoyed themselves more than they did; and there was never more hearty laughing than I could hear among the officers who crowded into their drawingrooms, as if they would rather be there than attend the finest entertainment in the West End. But they were queer people, for all that.

The first I saw of them was two or three days after my arrival, when, as I was sitting at my work, there came a rap at my door, and, in answer to my "come in," it opened, and showed me a young lady standing there, laughing.

"Do you mean ' come in' really?" she said, good-naturedly. "If you don't, I can run away again."

She was a very pretty young lady, indeed, and very young; not more than seventeen; but, to my mind, she looked queer enough. She had big, round, lovely gray eyes, and crinkling, silky, black hair, hanging to a bit of a waist; but the crinkling, black hair looked as if it actually needed brushing; and it was tied back with a purple velvet ribbon, which was anything but clean. I had never seen a lovelier, more supple little figure: it was so lithe, and soft, and round; but her crimson cashmere morning-robe was soiled and frayed; and the seam on one of her shoulders had come unstitched, and showed the white skin through plainly. Even her feet - such pretty feet were not tidy. One of her slippers had burst out, and the other had lost its rosette. But she did not seem to care about her appearance, and drew up the chair I offered her close to mine and began to talk with a careless freedom that made me almost catch my breath.