We have yet to mention the literary work by which alone 'the ingenious Mr. Bonnell Thornton' (to use the phraseology of the age) still holds a certain position, though only a subordinate one, in English literature, ranking among good company-our standard essayists of the last century. We allude to the Connoisseur, written by him, jointly with Colman the elder, under the assumed character of Mr. Town, Critic and Censor-General.'

The two young men commenced this paper, with considerable boldness, in 1754, whilst the Adventurer (conducted by Hawkesworth, with the powerful assistance of Johnson and Joseph Warton) was still issuing, and the World (to which a cluster of titled wits-Lord Chesterfield, Lord Cork, Horace Walpole, and others, lent their pens) was commanding great popular favour. Johnson's Rambler, moreover, had recently tuned-or attempted to tune-the public ear to a different and graver pitch in the tone of essay writing than that with which the matchless Tatlers and Spectators, forty years before, had charmed the world. Yet the two friends, for nearly three years, sustained in the Connoisseur a vein of pleasantry and good-humoured raillery upon folly which, without pretensions to equal the merits of Addison or Steele, would certainly not have disgraced their pens. At times, Thornton and Colman completed their papers under peculiar difficulties-partly, indeed, selfoccasioned.

'We have not only joined in the work taken together, but almost every single paper is the joint product of both. A hint has perhaps been started by one of us, improved by the other, and still further heightened by a happy coalition of sentiment in both; as fire is struck out by a mutual collision of flint and steel. Sometimes, like Strada's

lovers conversing with the sympathetic needles, we have written papers together at fifty miles' distance from each other; the first rough draft or loose minutes of an essay have often travelled in the stage-coach from town to country, and from country to town; and we have frequently waited for the postman (whom we expected to bring us the precious remainder of a Connoisseur) with the same anxiety as we should wait for the half of a bank-note, without which the other half would be of no value... Nor could this work have been carried on with so much cheerfulness and good-humour on both sides, if the two had not been as closely united as the two students whom the Spectator mentions, as recorded by a Terra Filius of Oxford, "to have had but one mind, one purse, one chamber, and one hat!" (Connoisseur, No. 140conclusion.)

Colman the younger has (rather unamiably) ascribed both laziness and poverty of ready wit to Thornton in the prosecution of this close literary partnership.

'On one occasion,' he relates, the joint authors met in hurry or irritation; my father enraged or sulky, Thornton muzzy with liquor; the essay to be published on the next morning; not a word written nor even a subject thought on; and the press waiting; nothing to be done but to scribble helter-skelter. "Sit down, Colman," said Thornton; 'by 'od, we must give the blockheads something !" My industrious sire sat down immediately, writing whatever came into his head currente calamo. Thornton in the mean time walked up and down, taking huge pieces of snuff, seeming to ruminate, but not suggesting one word or contributing one thought. When my father had thrown upon paper about half a moral essay, Thornton, who

was still pacing the room with a glass of brandy-and-water in his hand, stuttered out : Write away, Colman! By 'od, you are a bold fellow! You can tell them that virtue is a fine thing !"

Despite the younger Colman's insinuation, the above anecdote by no means proves that Thornton had the lesser share in the authorship of the Connoisseur. His superiority in years, coupled with his love of the whimsical, point to the shrewd views of life interspersed in the essays, and the sprightliness with which the follies of the times are noted and ridiculed, as chiefly owing to his pen. The oddities of cits are as accurately depicted as the affectations of beaux and collegians, and the whole series of essays forms a moving picture of the laughable side of all classes at a most quaint period.

As instances, out of many, may be taken the descriptions of 'A Citizen's Visit, with his Wife and Daughters, to Vauxhall' (No. 68); 'A London Tradesman in the Country' (No. 79); 'Sea Officers' (No. 84), &c.

The papers in the Connoisseur by other hands than those of Thornton and Colman are not many.

Four are by Cowper, of which one

the 'Mishaps of Christopher Ironside, an old Bachelor'-has humour enough to remind us that the gentle poet of the 'Task' and 'Tirocinium' was also the writer of everfamous 'John Gilpin.'

The Connoisseur has been included in all the standard collections of British essayists. Its place by order of merit is side by side with the World and Adventurer. A little more gravity at times would have improved it, and it must be considered as classically inferior to the Rambler and the Idler.

We have not mentioned several of Thornton's minor productions, such as City Latin, published in 1760, in ridicule of the inscription on Blackfriars or 'Pitt's' Bridge (as it was first called). He was also a frequent contributor of short pieces of wit to the St. James's Chronicle and other newspapers. Of these, after his death, Colman proposed to make a collection, but never executed the task.

Of Thornton's translation of several plays of Plautus (2 vols. 1766) it is not within our design to speak. The translation, now very scarce, was highly praised by Warburton for its elegance and fidelity.

J. CANNON.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

IN skill with the sword De Gaillefontaine and René were fairly equal. René, constitutionally strong, vigorous, quick of perception, and resolute in carrying out a set purpose, had applied herself to the art of fencing at De Gaillefontaine's instigation, and had succeeded in it so well that her master was glad to discontinue his lessons. His pupil at that time had attained to a sufficient proficiency. She fenced as well as he; and further practice might disturb the nice equilibrium which should be sustained between pupil and master. Since those fencing lessons neither had handled a weapon, except when René took up the foil in Hugh's studio.

De Gaillefontaine had not admitted even to himself that René was his superior; such an admission with respect to any one or anything was impossible to one with so good an opinion of himself; and René did not overrate her own ability in thinking herself nearly as adroit as her instructor. Nevertheless, as they stood before each other now, the advantage was with René, notwithstanding her loose costume and the mask upon her face.

In the first place she knew, by her practice with De Gaillefontaine, which were his weakest guards, his most dangerous attacks; but a like knowledge, which had given him an occasional ascendency over René upon former occa

VOL. XXI.

sions, was useless to him now that her identity was concealed from him.

But he suffered from still greater disadvantage owing to his adversary's mask.

Á swordsman's safety depends upon his sight as much as his dexterity. The expression of his opponent's eye tells him what attack to parry, what advantage to seize. René's eyes told M. de Gaillefontaine nothing; the mask entirely concealed their expression. He felt this disadvantage the moment their swords met. Through the piercings in the black-silk visor he saw nothing but devilish fire that dazzled his eyes and baffled his understanding. It took all his courage to meet that steady basilisk look; what to prepare for, what to do, he knew not.

René, detecting his weakness, made a pass which De Gaillefontaine barely attempted to parry, and at once pricked her adversary's sword arm above the elbow. They dropped their points. René shuddered as a little red patch made its appearance upon the white shirtsleeve. Hugh stepped to her side as De Gaillefontaine's friends surrounded him.

'My dear fellow,' said he, 'throw away that cursed steel, and have done with this villanous folly. The man's got as much as he wants; leave him.'

'To you? I might as well have risked nothing as to leave the work half done.'

SS

'Will nothing induce you to desist ?'

'Will you promise me to slink out of your quarrel if I sneak out of mine? No, you won't, because this wonderful René's honour is concerned. Now, supposing that I value your life as much as you do this girl's honour, will any inducement make me forego my service to you? No.'

De Gaillefontaine's sleeve was turned back, and his wound declared a trifle. He would gladly have had it more serious. He received advice from all sides, and was assured that his victory was certain against this foolhardy boy. Feeling how little he could depend upon himself, and galled by the advice and consolation for the wound, which all declared was accidental, the Gascon grew desperate at heart. 'When you can't parry, thrust,' recurred to his mind, and he took his place with the determination to attack boldly. René saw his intention before they crossed swords, although De Gaillefontaine avoided her eyes until the last moment. He lunged twice in rapid succession, but his point was turned in each instance. The eyes behind the mask showed nothing, neither of motive nor apprehension, but their steady gleam was insupportable. De Gaillefontaine blinked as though lightning flashed in his eyes, and, maddened by dread and passion, he shortened his rapier and threw himself furiously against his adversary. With a rapid movement and a firm guard, René saved herself; but her point, again catching his sword-arm almost in the place of the previous wound, was driven through to the guard by the force of his impetuous lunge.

René shrieked with horror, and dropping her hand, tottered backwards, leaving her rapier in De Gaillefontaine's arm. The sight of

his blood upon her hand stopped the swift beating of her heart; a strange humming noise in her head drowned the words she was conscious Hugh spoke to her; a cold clammy sweat broke out upon her face; a deadly sickness came over her; a confused vision of the gailycostumed maskers drawing her rapier from De Gaillefontaine's arm, mingled with the look of hate and pain upon his features; the trees above her, and the face of Hugh livid with fear, whirled before her, and she lost consciousness. As Hugh caught the tottering Spaniard in his encircling arms, he became aware that the body he held was a woman's.

'Water, water!' he cried. 'Quick! An Italian with a spirit-flask turned to assist, and advised Hugh to remove the mask. He remembered being told that the mask was fastened to the wig. Supporting Rene's head upon his knee, he took the wig by the edge, and lifted it. A loud cry of astonishment from Hugh and the Italian attracted attention, and De Gaillefontaine and the man supporting him moved towards the lesser group to discover the cause of surprise. The Spaniard's wig and mask were upon the grass, and the mystery was solved. The blue-black hair had fallen down, released from confinement, and Rene's head was reduced to its natural proportions; and though the lower part of her face was disfigured with hair and smeared with moistened paint, she was at once recognised.

his shoulder; and so he carried her slowly to the arbour, where the rugs were spread upon the seat. Whilst he thus bore her, her bosom heaved; a sigh coming from her lips flooded Hugh with delight. He knew that she was living, who, body and soul, was ten times lovelier than his hopeful imagining had pictured her; and that she loved him.

Now was patient faith rewarded, and he possessed the joy which comes with the triumph of a forlorn hope.

CHAPTER XL.

In

LEFT to himself, M. de Gaillefontaine, after a moment's reflection, quitted the party noiselessly and as quickly as his exhaustion permitted. His wound had been. bound tightly with handkerchiefs; and the hæmorrhage stopped, it would take no hurt for a while. A more momentous matter called for despatch. He had expressed his intention of bolting, and to do so he must act immediately. half an hour's time the servants would know of the revolution that had taken place, and the carriage to take him away would not be at his command. He had revealed to René his most sinister intentions, and had no hope of forgiveness from her. His affairs were too desperate to think of any resort save the safest, and that was to take his little bag of gold and notes out of the country whilst it was possible.

As he approached the theatre, he stopped to draw the cloak over his wounded arm, and slouch his hat. The ligature about his arm gave him pain; and as he was loosening the knot with his teeth and fingers, he felt a hand laid

He turned in

upon his shoulder. fear, and found himself faced by the woman in white velvet, whom he had mistaken for René.

She raised her mask sufficiently for him to see the face of Beatrice Raffiolli, as with a sardonic smile, and pointing to his bloody shirt, she asked,

'Do you love me very much?'

She replaced her mask, and with a light laugh rejoined a couple of men waiting for her at the angle formed by the path.

De Gaillefontaine clenched his teeth, and followed her quickly; at the angle he stopped and watched her cross the lawn and enter the theatre. She turned once, and kissed her hand. The Gascon's rage and bitter thirst for revenge upon this woman, to whom he now attributed all his misfortunes, were too deep for the ordinary form of relief-cursing.

It was broad daylight; there was no time for delay, not even for revenge. He must hasten his departure, if only to avoid the derision and ridicule that would pursue him when his humiliation was no longer secret. Ah, how those enemies would rejoice in his disgrace and defeat! Oh, that this venom in his heart would take the form of a deadly pestilence, and strike down every one of these revelling foes! With such bitter yearning in his soul he mounted the terrace, and made for the door of the house. Suddenly he stopped, inspired with an idea.

'Why shouldn't I, who raised this place, ruin it?' he thought. 'At least in my going I may show that I am great; no miserable thief stealing away, but a defeated king retiring from the palace I built and destroyed. Why not? It would avert attention from myself, and facilitate escape.'

A pantaloon and an Irishman coming towards him decided him