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by commending her to Mr. Chapman as a writer of a schol. arly type. At the end of September she went to stay with the Chapmans at 142 Strand, as a boarder, and as assistant editor of the Westminster Review. ... Miss Frederica Bremer was also boarding with the Chapmans at this time.”

Her letters of the next four years are full of interest, both for the glimpses they give us of her own life, and for the light they throw on well-known figures in the literary circle to which she was now introduced. Froude she already knew ; an article of hers in the Coventry Herald in 1849—a review of his “Nemesis of Faith”-in which he thought he recognized her hand, had made him seek her acquaintance. A close and lifelong friendship with Herbert Spencer soon began. With Lewes she by no means fell in love at first sight. “I was introduced to Lewes the other day in Jeff's shop_à sort of miniature Mirabeau in appearance," she writes at the end of September (1851) ; but Mr. Cross adds that no friendship ensued until Herbert Spencer took Lewes to call upon George Eliot later in the year. Thenceforward the records become more cordial :-“Lewes as always, genial and amusing. He has quite won my liking in spite of myself. . . . He was describing Currer Bell 'to me yesterday as a little plain, provincial, sickly-looking old maid. Yet what passion, what fire in her !”-“ People are very good to

Mr. Lewes especially is kind and attentive, and has quite won my regard, after having had a good deal of my vituperation. Like a few other people in the world, he is much better than he seems. A man of heart and conscience wearing a mask of flippancy."

Of the staff of the Westminster Review, and her editorial labors and anxieties, she writes with delightful humor and spontaneity to her old Coventry friends. “Carlyle,” she says, “was very amusing the other morning to Mr. Chapman about the exhibition (1851). He has no patience with the Prince and that Cole' assembling Sawneys from all parts of the land till you can't get along Piccadilly. ... On Saturday afternoon came Mr. Spencer to ask Mr. Chapman and me to go to the theater ; 80 I ended the day in a godless

me.

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manner seeing the 'Merry Wives of Windsor.' You must read Carlyle's denunciation of the opera, published in the Keepsake. He is a naughty fellow to write in the Keepsake and not for us, after I wrote him the most insinuating letter offering him three glorious subjects. . . . Carlyle called the other day, strongly recommending Browning the poet as a writer for the Review, and saying "We shall see' about himself. Lewes says his article on ‘Julia von Krudener' will be glorious. He sat in the same box with us at the Merry Wives of Windsor,' and helped to carry off the dolorousness of the play. .. Harriet Martineau called on Monday morning with Mr. Atkinson. Very kind and cordial. Last Monday I was talking and listening for two hours to Pierre Laroux-a dreamy genius. George Sand has dedicated some of her books to him. . . . We are trying to get Mazzini to write on Freedom versus Despotism.' I must tell you a bit of Louis Blanc's English which Mr. Spencer was reciting the other night. The petit homme called on some one and said, 'I come to tell you how you are. I was at you the other day, but you were not.""

Her review of Carlyle's “Life of Sterling ” appeared in 1852. Her translation of Ludwig Feuerbach's Essence of Christianity was published in July, 1854, in Chapman's Quarterly Series, with her name on the title-page. This was the first and only time her maiden name of Mary Ann Evans appeared in print. She exchanged it a few weeks later for that of Lewes, and went with her husband to Weimar; a happy sojourn which yielded an article, though not a very distinctive one, for the Westminster Review, and another for Frazer's Magazine. In October of the me year she contributed an essay on “ Women in France : Madame de Sable.” This was followed by “Evangelical Teaching : Dr. Cumming," in October, 1855; “German Wit : Heinrich Heine," January, 1856 ; “The Natural History of German Life : a review of Riehl,” July, 1856 ; “ Silly Novels by Lady Novelists,” October, 1856 ; and “Worldliness and OtherWorldliness,” “The Poet Young,” January, 1857. Several of these are referred to in her letters :-" I have jnst finished a long article on Heine which none of you

will like.” (This was to the Brays and Miss Hennell.) “Since you have found out the 'Cumming,' I write by to-day's post just to

say that it is mine, but also to beg that you will not mention it as such to any one likely to transmit the information to London, as we are keeping the authorship a secret. The article appears to have produced a strong impression, and that impression would be a little counteracted if the author were known to be a woman.' In after years her stepson, Mr. Charles Lewes, tells Mr. Cross that he remembers it was after reading this article that his father was prompted to say to George Eliot, whilst walking one day with her in Richmond Park, that it convinced him of the true genius in her writing. Up to this time he had not been quite sure of anything beyond great talent in her productions. In addition to these articles she was writing frequently for Mr. Lewes's paper, The Leader, and pursuing the weighty task of translating Spinoza's Ethics in what might almost ironically be called spare hours. In 1856 she gradually withdrew from the Westminster, and settled down with her husband to a quieter life in their new home at 8 Park Shot, Richmond.

Yet those were rare Bohemian times in the early fifties at Chapman's in the Strand ! Very often the young sub-editor (for a journalist was still young at thirty in those palmy days !) had to take her share in entertaining the literary lions of the season, and being entertained in her turn with theater, flower-shows, concerts, and fashionable festivals of various kinds. “I had an invitation to the Parkes's to meet Cobden," she writes, “one Saturday night. Heaven send some lions to-night to meet Fox, who is coming." Again,I did go to the Conversazione; but you have less to regret than

you think. Mazzini's speeches are better read than heard. . . . Grote is very friendly, and has propitiated J. S. Mill, who will write for us when we want him . . . Harriet Martineau's article on 'Niebuhr' will not go in the July number. I am sorry for it,-it is admirable. After all, she is a trump,—the only English woman who possesses thoroughly the art of writing. ... I had a pleasant talk with

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Greg and Forster. Greg was 'much pleased to have made my acquaintance.' Forster, on the whole, appeared to think that people should be glad to make his acquaintance. The opinions on the articles in the Review are, as before, ridiculously various. Greg says the article on India is very masterly,' while he calls Mazzini's sad stuff, mere verbiage.' Dickens is to preside at a meeting (of authors against the Booksellers' Association) in this house some day next

week.”

An amusing account of this meeting follows in another letter, describing "Dickens in the chair, preserving a courteous neutrality of eyebrows, and speaking with clearness and decision,”-Professor Owen with his tremendous head” and his " silvery bland way” of speaking,--and George Cruikshank, “ the most homely genuine-looking man, not unlike the pictures of Captain Cuttle.” “The meeting,

" she says, “ went off triumphantly, and I saluted Mr. Chapman with See the conquering Hero comes' on the piano at 12 o'clock, for not till then was the last magnate, except Herbert Spencer, out of the house."

Very different is the picture we get of the George Eliot of twenty-five years later, the author of the Impressions of Theophrastus Such. That early ardor and vivacity which her letters alone, of all her writings, ever show, are almost quenched by years of ill-health and a deepening sense of the responsibilities of authorship. Freshness of sentiment she never lost; but it was with labor and tribulation that she swept to her goal."

The writing of the Essays which comprise Theophrastus Such occupied the summer of 1878—the last summer that George Eliot and her husband spent together--at eir beautiful country home, “ The Heights,” Witley, Surrey-only a few months before Lewes's death. Miss Betham-Edwards's description of her in her mature age corroborates that of Mr. Cross and other lovingly prejudiced admirers, when she says :-“Some people have talked of the ugliness of this great woman because, forsooth, she lacked dimpled cheeks, round eyes, and pretty mouth! If hers was agliness, would we had more of it in the world! When, in speaking, her large, usually solemn features lighted up, a positive light would flash from them, a luminosity irradiate not her own person only, but her surroundings. A sovereign nature, an august intellect, had transported us into its own atmosphere."

In October, 1878, there was an interesting meeting between George Eliot and Tourguénieff, at the house of a friend at Six-Mile-Bottom, near Newmarket. At dinner, Lewes proposed the health of the Russian guest, who gracefully repudiated the title of the greatest living novelist” and transferred it to George Eliot. On the 28th of November George Henry Lewes died, and George Eliot wrote to her publisher, -Pray do not announce Theophrastus ' in any way. It would be intolerable to my feelings to have a book of my writings brought out for a long while to come.” When she recovered enough to see visitors, her old friend Madame Bodichon came to call on her, and made this record of her visit :-“I spent an hour with Marian. She was more delightful than I can say, and left me in good spirits for her, though she is wretchedly thin and looks in her long, loose, black dress like the black shadow of herself. She said she had so much to do that she must keep well,—the world was so intensely interesting.'. . . We both agreed in the great love we had for life. In fact, I think she will do more for as than ever.”

But George Eliot did no more,-save consenting to the publication of Theophrastus in the following May. Thus closed, with the death of Lewes, the chapter that had opened for her with his comradeship in the pages of the Westminster Review.

ESTHER WOOD.

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