The Seattle post-intelligencer. [volume] (Seattle, Wash. Terr. [Wash.]) 1888-1914, 1892-03-13

English are worse even than they are
made out TO be in America, bien eIltendu.
Miss Marryat, however, spoke very earn
eStly and thoughtfully on the matter,
and her book is we'll worth careful pc
rusal. 'Blindfold" she told me dealt
with hypnotism. In Brave Heart and
True" she shows how good man can
forgive the greatest sin a woman
cen commit, and then marry her. And |
am bound to add that her hero is a far
nobler character than Angel Glare in Mrs.
Hardy's much talked of new novel, ''Tess
of the D'Urbervilles." He forgot the great
truth enunciated forty years ago by +. w.
Robertson, OF Brighton, that "a woman's
worst fault is often the result of per-
verted idea of self-sacrifce The sweet
est, womanliest woman is frequently the
one who has committed what is in her
sisters eyes the objectionable sim"
my prices increase yearly" said Miss
Marryat. II draw double money now to
what l used to do three years ago
2-6 for loan only at Brighton
library. 1t may do good by throw
ing light on very wonderful subject.
1t IS the record of twenty years per-
sonal experience. My father was strong
believer in ghosts. How long does it take
me to write my books? Sometimes six
weeks, sometimes three months. | am
very rapid. My cousins say they could
compile my life from my novels. That is
the way with woman writers. They like
to conhde to their readers. They give
themselves away dreadfuliy.
Here is group of my children" she
went on, handing me large photo. Zone
of my boys is sailor. That young fellow
is a gunner Anglice tan officer in the
Royal artillery. My daughters are taking
to writing. Yes, We are quite literary
family"
And for one really the Daughter of
the hero of my childish days" said l,
gazing at her with interest.
Eyes, l really am the daughter of Cap
dren. Let me show you some relics of my
dear father" So l stepped across the
room to look at some portraits of the great
novelist OF the sea" which hung upon the
wall.
This is the only portrait really done
from life of my father" said Miss Mar
ryat, as she pointed to the picture of q
naval officer in the uniform of seventy
years ago. THAT was painted by Behnes,
the sculptor, when he was made post cap
tain, at the age of "a. Here is another
sketch made of him in 1Si1 by Count
d'0rsay."
That sketch was specially interesting to
me. First of all, it was the portrait of one
of my heroes. and then it was the work of
a man, the dillettante. clever leader of So
ciety of a most brilliant period of our
social history, and memories of I'D Israeli
and the Young Duke" and poor Lady
Blessington and hundred others hoated
before my mental gaze. And the next
portrait was the work of Captain Mar
ryat's cousin, Sir Edward Belcher, the
great Arctic explorer. Beneath them
hung brass upon which had been
most beautifully etched by the great novel
ist himself, beaver lying upon a bank
surrounded by strip of water. The
lamp which illuminated the room stood
upon small tea table made out of
a piece of my fathers old ship.
the Ariadne" "And here is the
medal of the Legion of Honor which the
Emperor Napoleon, who died in my faith
er's arms when he was one of the guard of
honor at st. Helena. gave to him just be-
fore he breathed his last. Poor dear
father. he was never received at court by
King William after that. Here is his orig
inal code of Signals " and Miss Marryat
placed in my hands little book in which
Captain Marryat had written with exquis-
lite care and neatness. And then she gave
me the pen with which he wrote his last
novels. and which greatly interested me.
my father was under 81 years of age
when he published his first novel, Frank
GREETED its rather fast tone, and always
sorrowed that he had written it. l have
only the modern editions of his novels,
which, am told by Routledgs, still have
r greater sale than any other books of
their class. | would pay anything for a
few of the original editions. He always
wrote with every one about him in the
room. No amount of conversation seemed
to interfere with the ready flow of his
thought. But then, indeed, he always
had glass of brandy and water beside
him, and so in a world of his own he
would be unconscious of all surround
ings He took much longer over book
than we wretched writer's of the present
day. He was in fifty-nine naval engage
ments before he was 21; his first one was
when he was on board the Arethusa at IL
years of age. How well can / remember
those evenings after dinner when he would
have US all down to dessert and tell stories
to US and the friends round the table.
Lord Byron was one Of his special chums
He used gleefully to tell US a story
of his childhood days. His little
brother used to walk in his sleep a great
deal. One day my father was very
naughty, SO he was put on bread and
water diet. He didn't like it much, but
he was determined not to show his feel
ings. So, munching manfully away at
the bread. he said: 1 don't carei love
bread and water. I'r blow myself tight
on bread and water Whether he did or
not, / don't know, but later in the day my
grandmother happening 10 look in at tie
pantry, caught my father busy devouring
the contents of huge jam pot. Turning
round suddenly, to his horror he saw her.
With great readiness he shut his eyes, and
stretching out his hands as though feel
ing his way, he said: L am walking in my
sleep l don't know where I am. What
am ! doing?' He died in 1913. when was
quite child. The night before he died
he dictated these words, Christianity must
be implanted in the breast of youth; there
must be bias toward it given at an early
age. 1t is now half-past nine. World,
adieun Early next morning, before any
one was UP, he had learned the great Sc
cret"
So passed the strong, heroic soul away,