ANNE HEREFORD.*

THERE are unmistakable signs that the ;mine of sensation incident has been by this time thoroughly worked out. Even the most skilful exploitation of the exhausted lodes of modern fiction fails to discover fresh and startling situations, exaggerated mon- • Anne Hereford. A Novel. By Mrs. Henry Wood. 3 vols. London : Tinsley. strosities of character, and piquant discussions on the morbid anatomy of the human, and especially the feminine, mind. The old pioneers in " prospecting" for sensations have broken down at their work. Miss Braddon, one of the earliest and certainly the most powerful of the school of lady novelists so popular half-a-dozen years ago, has perceived in time that the high- flavoured iniquities of her Lady Audleys and Aurora Floyde have begun to pall upon the public taste ; and in her later works has shown some artistic taste and wish to treat artistic subjects. But all the sensation school have not had the sense or the capacity of Miss Braddon. They draw still from the insipid dregs of the stale old criminalities and absurdities. Mrs. Henry Wood is one of the worst of these offenders. East Lynne was in many respects a remarkable, though surely an unhealthy book. Its plot was at all events original, though in every other page some flagrant instance of bad taste or bad English shocked the reader. From East Lynne to her last novel, Anne Hereford, the descent is melancholy. If possible, in point of taste and style, the latter work is some degrees below the former ; while its plot is ,a flimsy web of impossible situations, and its characters, representing English men and women of the educated classes, could not easily be matched, one and all of them, in real life out of Bedlam. If Mrs. Wood has any regard for the reputa- tion which she acquired by one or two of her former works, she will suppress, as far as she can, this stupid and unpleasant story, with its slipshod English, and its ludicrous travesty of the manners of persons decently bred ; and she will take care not to repeat the damaging mistake of putting the name of "The Author of East Lynne" on the title-page of such an exaggerated specimen of what is most offensive in the sensation novel.

The story of Anne Hereford commences with a tragedy, at first sight a colourless reproduction of the common tale of jealousy and revenge. The girl heroine, who is her own biographer, is taken on the death of her parents to live with her aunt, the wife of Mr. Edwin Barley. She soon learns to see that there is no happiness in the house. Mr. Barley is jealous, his wife a flirt openly admired and dangled after by two young men, the guests of the family, George Heneage and Philip King. Between these two there arose a jealous feud as open as it was unseemly, of which Mrs. Edwin Barley was the subject. Her coquetry, though innocently meant, results in a fierce quarrel between the two young men. A few moments afterwards Philip King is shot dead, and with his dying voice he denounces George Heneage as his mur- derer. The declaration is apparently supported by the state of confusion in which Heneage is seen by Anne Hereford, and his subsequent flight. An attempt, rather clumsily made by the author, to draw the reader's suspicion on Edwin Barley fails in its aim. The tragedy does not end here, for between the shock of the crime and a wetting to which she exposed herself in a vain attempt to warn Heneage against the coming of the police, Mrs. Barley dies. Her will, which she had made in Anne's favour, mysteri- ously disappears, and the girl, left almost destitute, is sent off first to a school iu England, and then to one in France, for the finishing of her education. With her school days and first engagement as a governess the first volume, and the most reasonable and tolerably written part of the book, ends.

At her French school Anne Hereford meets an English girl of high family, Emily Chandos, whose manners we may take to be a representation of Mrs. Wood's ideal of those of the English aristocracy. She is wayward and overbearing, and terminates her connection with the school abruptly by run- ning off with Alfred de Mellissie, a young Frenchman. When about to leave her place as governess to Mr. Paler's family, Anne meets Emily de Mellissie, and the latter, being suddenly left without a companion to accompany her to England, chooses her old schoolfellow. Thus Anne Hereford is introduced to her friend's brother, Mr. Chandos of Chandos, with whom she falls in love, of course, at the outset. An accident leaves her a guest for a long time at Chandos, and it is this part of the story which furnishes the largest part of the absurdities of the plot and the offensive portraits of character. The house and its inhabitants are wrapt in a mysterious gloom ; Lady Chandos, who is supposed to be an invalid, is seen from time to time in perfect health, yet the wing of the house occupied by her is closed to all strangers and servants ; Mr. Chandos misleads Anne with a story of his being a sleepwalker to avert her inquiries respecting nocturnal and unaccountable appearances in and around the Hall ; the servants talk familiarly of the family ghost, and Anne herself is nearly frightened to death by " a tall thin skeleton of a form, with a white and shadowy face." A further trouble arises from an attempt to produce the impression that Anne has been thieving,—a delicate piece of strategy, which falls flat without producing any result. Between these terrors, the knowledge that Mr. Edwin Barley is continually prowling around the house and flattening his unat- tractive features against the drawing-room windows at night, and the troubled course of her " true love" for Harry Chandos, poor Anne leads a rather doleful life ; and probably the dullness must bear the responsibility of some not very commendable prac- tices of peeping and listening with which she diversifies the period of her stay. Partly through these peepings and listenings, as narrated

by the heroine, apparently without the faintest suspicion that they are neither honest nor ladylike, we get a glimpse of the denouement

early in the second volume. The mystery of Chandos is cleared up by the death of George Heneage, otherwise Chandos, the brother of Anne's lover, whose concealment in the west wing gave occasion to the ghostly appearances and complicated fictions which at the outset perplexed the visitors at Chandos. Edwin Barley, thus disappointed of his revenge, for George Heneage had really, though accidentally, shot Philip King, turns repentant in the end, transfers his wife's fortune to her niece, and the story closes, of course, with a happy marriage and a chapter of thanksgiving from Deuteronomy. • The common-place character of the narrative is enlivened by Mrs. Wood's sketches of the social life of English gentlemen and ladies. The principal point in her theory appears to be that if one is " well-born," a "Chandos of Chandos," for example, everything

in life is certain to turn out smooth and pleasant iu the long run. It is not necessary to combine with this right of birth any moral

claims of respect, to be honest, or even well-mannered, or well educated. The talisman which brings Anne Hereford safely through all her trials,—though it does not prevent her from peep- ing, and listening, and talking ungrammatically,—is that her mother was a " Carew of Keppe-Carew." Like a skilful whist- player, Anne keeps this trump in reserve, and always brings it out with effect in every emergency. The potency of this talisman can be affected only by a masalliance. Mrs. Henson, Anne Hereford's aunt, has "forfeited her position" by marrying a per- son " in trade." Anne argues with her on the propriety of this terrible penalty, and asks, is it right; Mrs. Hemson shows the courage of a martyr :—

" 'Quite right ; perfectly right : as you will find when you are older. If you have been gathering from my words that I rebel at existing things, you are in error. The world would not get along without its social distinctive marks, though France once had a try at it.'—' Yes, I know.'—' I repeat, that I sat down and counted the cost ; and I grow more willing to pay it year by year. But, Anne, dear,' and she laid her hand impressively on my arm, would not recommend my plan of action to others. It has answered in my case, for Mr. Hemson is a man in a thousand ; and I have dug a grave, and buried my pride ; but in nine cases out of ten it would bring unhappiness, repentance, bickering. Nothing can be more productive of misery generally than an unequal marriage.' I did not quite understand. She had said that she was paying off the cost year by year. 'Yes, Anne. One part of the cost must always remain—a weighty incubus. It is not only that I have put myself beyond the pale of my own sphere, but I have entailed it on my children. My girls must grow up in the state to which they are born: let them be ever so refined, ever so well educated, a barrier lies across their path: in visiting, they must be confined to their father's class ; they can never expect to be sought in marriage by gentlemen. Wealthy tradespeople, professional men, they may stand a chance of ; but gentlemen, in the strict sense of the term, never.'—' Will they feel it?'—' No, oh no ! That part of the cost is done mine. I have taken care not to bring them up to views above their father's station. There are moments when I wish I had never had children. We cannot put away our prejudices entirely, we Keppe-Carews, you see, Anne,' she added, with a light laugh.—'I dont't think anybody can,' I said, with a wise shake of the head."

This schooling is not lost on a young lady who afterwards makes it a merit that she " bravely avows " that she is a governess to a friend whom she meets at the house where she teaches. This friend, Emily Chandos, Anne's old schoolmate, is kind in her conduct and polished in her language. She carries off poor Anne to Chandos, leaves her there without money enough to pay her fare, and when she comes back is in a rage to find what course her brother's fancy has taken. This is a specimen of her demeanour :-

" She came into the room, crossing him on the threshold. Just casting an angry and contemptuous glance on me, sho withdrew, and shut the door with a heavy bang, coming back again in a short while. 'Closeted with my brother, as usual !' she began, as if not one minute instead of ten had elapsed since seeing me with Mr. Chandos. ' Why do you put your- self continuously in his way ?'—' Did you speak to me, Madame de Mellissie ?' I asked, really doubting if the attack could be meant for me. —'To whom else should I speak ?' she returned, in a passionate and abrupt tone. 'How dare you presume to seek to entangle Mr. Harry Chandos?' do not understand you, Madame de Mellissie. I have never yet sought to entangle any one.'—' You have ; you know you have,' she an- swered, giving the reins to her temper. ' The letter I received warned me you were doing it, and that brought me over. You and he have dined alone, sat alone, walked alone ; together always. Is it seemly that you, a dependent governess-girl, should cast a covetous eye upon a Chandos ?' My heart was beginning to boat painfully. What defence had I to make? ' Why did you leave me here, madam?'—' Leave you here! Because it suited my convenience. But I left you here as a dependent : a servant, so to say. I did not expect you to make yourself into my brother's companion.' " The grammar in which the characters indulge throughout the book is rarely to be met with among persons excluded from the caste of Chandos of Chandos and Carew of Heppe-Carew. Anne confesses to " a curious and most unpleasant suspicion,—that Mr. Edwin Barley's object was me." At a later page she describes her sensations iu the carriage of Chandos of Chandos —

" Again, as before, it was a lovely day, and altogether the greatest treat they could have given me. I liked the drive, and I liked the state it was taken in. A magnificent carriage and horses, powdered servants, and one pretty girl seated inside. Which was us !"

It would be impossible to extract a sufficient number of instances of Anne's prying propensities. We take one or two at random :-

"Would Mr. Chandos—or his ghost, as the servants had it—be out again that night in his somnambulant state ? The subject had taken hold of my most vivid interest, and after undressing I undid the shutters and stood for a few minutes at the window in a warm wrapper, watching the grounds. Eyes and ears were alike strained, but to no purpose. No noise disturbed the house indoors, and all appeared still without. It might be too early yet for Mr. Chandos. But the silence told upon me. There was not a voice to he heard, not a sound to break the intense stillness. I began to feel nervous, hurried into bed, and went to sleep. Not to sleep for very long. I was awakened suddenly by a commotion in the gallery outside. A loud, angry cry ; reproachful tones; all in the voice of Mrs. Chandos ; they wore followed by low, remonstrating words, as if somebody wished to soothe her. Were you ever aroused thus in the middle of the night in a strange, or compara- tively strange, place ? If so, you may divine what was my terror. I sat up in bed with parted lips, unable to bear anything distinctly for the violent beating of my heart ; and then darted to the door, putting on my slippers and my largo warm wrapper, before drawing it cautiously an inch open."

Mr. Chandos displays on this delicate occasion characteristic urbanity :—

" Mr. Chandos turned from the stairs, and I suppose the slender inch- stream of moonlight must have betrayed to him that my door was open. He came straight towards it, with his stern, white face, and I hnd no time to draw back. Ho and ceremony wore at variance that night. Miss Hereford, I bog your pardon, but I must request that you retire within your room and allow your door to bo closed,' came the peremptory injunction. Mrs. Chandos is ill, and the sight of strangers would make her worse. I will close it for you ; I should so act by my sister wore she here.' Ho shut it with his own hand, and turned the key upon me. Turned the key upon me! Well, I could only submit, feeling very much ashamed to have had my curiosity observed, and scuffled into bed. Nothing more was hoard ; not the faintest movement to tell that any- thing unusual had happened."

Here, again, is Miss Hereford playing the part of a Home Secre- tary with a Mazziniau letter :— " She put down the basket, and ran back to the kitchen. Now was my opportunity. I stole to the basket, lifted the lid, and took out the letter, trusting to good luck, and to Lizzy's not looking into the basket on her return. She did not. Sho came back with the umbrella, snatched up the basket by its two handles, and went down the broad walk, at a run. With the letter grasped in my hand, I was hastening to my own room to read it in peace—' Read it !' interposes the reader, aghast at the dishonour. Read it ?' Yes ; read it. I believed that that letter was full of treachery to Chandos, and that I had unwittingly contributed to raise it, through my incautious revelation. Surely it was my duty now to do what I could to avert it, even though it involved the opening of Mrs. Penn's letter. A sudden light of suspicion seemed to have opened upon her—whispering a doubt that she was treacherous."

From these descriptions our readers will be enabled to gather from a respectful distance some little inkling of the manners and cus- toms, as portrayed by Mrs. Wood, of the caste of Chandos of Chandos. Perhaps they will not care to cultivate a nearer acquaintance.