blanket, the donkey brays to Don Quixote, as
the latter looks over the wall, imploring him to
interfere.

It is in rough humorous sketches such as
these, and in studies of effect, that Gustave
Doré shows to the greatest advantage. When
he aims at the beautiful, the symmetrical,
or the complete, he for the most part breaks
down; just where our own men are most
successful. He has his merits and defects, and
they have theirs. To sum them up on both
sides, it may be said that Gustave Doré gives
us pictures about something, imperfectly
executed: while our own book-artists of the new
school give us well-executed pictures about
nothing.

MRS. M.

THE following is a pendent to the paper which
recently appeared in this journal, headed "Is it
possible?"* It is a simple narrative taken down
in short-hand from the lips of the narrator. He is
a man now getting on in years, who, distrustful
of all other people's experience verging on what
we impertinently term the supernatural, scarcely
even ventures to believe his own. As a statement
at first hand of an appearance testified to
by the narrator and corroborated by his wife,
both living, it has seemed to me, while simply
transcribing the notes, to possess an interest
often wanting in more artistic stories of artificial
manufacture.

My wife's sister, Mrs. M., was left a
widow at the age of thirty-five, with two
children, girls, of whom she was passionately fond.
She carried on the draper's business at Bognor,
established by her husband. Being still a very
handsome woman, there were several suitors for
her hand. The only favoured one among them
was a Mr. Barton. My wife never liked this
Mr. Barton, and made no secret of her feelings
to her sister, whom she frequently told that
Barton only wanted to be master of the little
haberdashery shop in Bognor. He was a man
in poor circumstances, and had no other motive
in his proposal of marriage, so my wife thought,
than to better himself.

On the 23rd of August, 1831, Mrs. M.
arranged to go with Barton to a pic-nic party at
Goodwood Park, the seat of the Duke of
Richmond, who had kindly thrown open his grounds
to the public for the day. My wife, a little
annoyed at her going out with this man, told
her she had much better remain at home to look
after her children and attend to the business.
Mrs. M., however, bent on going, made
arrangements about leaving the shop, and got
my wife to promise to see to her little girls
while she was away.

The party set out in a four-wheel phaeton
with a pair of ponies driven by Mrs. M., and a
gig for which I lent my horse.

*See page 614 of vol. xvii.

Now we did not expect them to come back
till nine or ten o'clock, at any rate. I mention
this particularly to show that there could be no
expectation of their earlier return in the mind
of my wife, to account for what follows.

At six o'clock that bright summer's evening
my wife went out into the garden to call the
children. Not finding them, she went all round
the place in her search till she came to the empty
stable; thinking they might have run in there
to play, she pushed open the door; there, standing
in the darkest corner, she saw Mrs. M.
My wife was surprised to see her, certainly, for
she did not expect her return so soon; but,
oddly enough, it did not strike her as being
singular to see her there. Vexed as she had
felt with her all day for going, and rather glad,
in her woman's way, to have something entirely
different from the genuine casus belli to hang a
retort upon, my wife said, "Well, Harriet, I
should have thought another dress would have
done quite as well for your pic-nic as that best
black silk you have on." My wife was the
elder of the twain, and had always assumed a
little of the air of counsellor to her sister.
Black silks were thought a great deal more of
at that time than they are just now, and silk
of any kind was held particularly inconsistent
wear for Wesleyan Methodists, to which
denomination we belonged.

Receiving no answer, my wife said, "Oh!
well, Harriet, if you can't take a word of
reproof without being sulky, I'll leave you to
yourself," and then came into the house to tell
me the party had returned, and that she had
seen her sister in the stable, not in the best of
tempers. At the moment it did not seem
extraordinary to me that my wife should have met
her sister in the stable.

I waited in-doors some time, expecting them
to return my horse. Mrs. M. was my neighbour,
and, living so close, and being always on most
friendly terms, I wondered that none of the party
had come in to tell us about the day's pleasure.
I thought I would just run in and see how they
had got on. To my great surprise, the servant
told me they had not returned. I began then
to feel anxiety about the result. My wife,
however, having seen Harriet in the stable, refused
to believe the servant's assertion, and said there
was no doubt of their return, but that they had
probably left word to say they were not come
back, in order to offer a plausible excuse for
taking a further drive, and detaining my horse
for another hour or so.

At eleven o'clock Mr. Pinnock, my brother-
in-law, who had been one of the party, came in,
apparently much agitated. As soon as she saw
him, and before he had time to speak, my wife
seemed to know what he had to say.

"What is the matter?" she said."
Something has happened to Harriet, I know!"

"Yes," replied Mr. Pinnock. "If you wish to
see her alive, you must come with me directly
to Goodwood."

From what he said, it appeared that one of
the ponies had never been properly broken in;
that the man from whom the turn-out was