Mrs General Talboys | Page 6

of visiting together the haunts in Rome
which are best loved by art-loving strangers; but here, in this
drawing-room, we were sure to come together, and here before the end
of November, Mrs. Talboys might always be found, not in any
accustomed seat, but moving about the room as the different male
mental attractions of our society might chance to move themselves. She
was at first greatly taken by Mackinnon,--who also was, I think, a little
stirred by her admiration, though he stoutly denied the charge. She
became, however, very dear to us all before she left us, and certainly
we owed to her our love, for she added infinitely to the joys of our
winter.
"I have come here to refresh myself," she said to Mackinnon one
evening--to Mackinnon and myself; for we were standing together.
"Shall I get you tea?" said I.
"And will you have something to eat?" Mackinnon asked.
"No, no, no;" she answered. "Tea, yes; but for Heaven's sake let

nothing solid dispel the associations of such a meeting as this!"
"I thought you might have dined early," said Mackinnon. Now
Mackinnon was a man whose own dinner was very dear to him. I have
seen him become hasty and unpleasant, even under the pillars of the
Forum, when he thought that the party were placing his fish in jeopardy
by their desire to linger there too long.
"Early! Yes. No; I know not when it was. One dines and sleeps in
obedience to that dull clay which weighs down so generally the particle
of our spirit. But the clay may sometimes be forgotten. Here I can
always forget it."
"I thought you asked for refreshment," I said. She only looked at me,
whose small attempts at prose composition had, up to that time, been
altogether unsuccessful, and then addressed herself in reply to
Mackinnon.
"It is the air which we breathe that fills our lungs and gives us life and
light. It is that which refreshes us if pure, or sinks us into stagnation if
it be foul. Let me for awhile inhale the breath of an invigorating
literature. Sit down, Mr. Mackinnon; I have a question that I must put
to you." And then she succeeded in carrying him off into a corner. As
far as I could see he went willingly enough at that time, though he soon
became averse to any long retirement in company with Mrs. Talboys.
We none of us quite understood what were her exact ideas on the
subject of revealed religion. Somebody, I think, had told her that there
were among us one or two whose opinions were not exactly orthodox
according to the doctrines of the established English church. If so, she
was determined to show us that she also was advanced beyond the
prejudices of an old and dry school of theology. "I have thrown down
all the barriers of religion," she said to poor Mrs. Mackinnon, "and am
looking for the sentiments of a pure Christianity."
"Thrown down all the barriers of religion!" said Mrs. Mackinnon, in a
tone of horror which was not appreciated.
"Indeed, yes," said Mrs. Talboys, with an exulting voice. "Are not the
days for such trammels gone by?"
"But yet you hold by Christianity?"
"A pure Christianity, unstained by blood and perjury, by hypocrisy and
verbose genuflection. Can I not worship and say my prayers among the
clouds?" And she pointed to the lofty ceiling and the handsome

chandelier.
"But Ida goes to church," said Mrs. Mackinnon. Ida Talboys was her
daughter. Now, it may be observed, that many who throw down the
barriers of religion, so far as those barriers may affect themselves, still
maintain them on behalf of their children. "Yes," said Mrs. Talboys;
"dear Ida! her soft spirit is not yet adapted to receive the perfect truth.
We are obliged to govern children by the strength of their prejudices."
And then she moved away, for it was seldom that Mrs. Talboys
remained long in conversation with any lady.
Mackinnon, I believe, soon became tired of her. He liked her flattery,
and at first declared that she was clever and nice; but her niceness was
too purely celestial to satisfy his mundane tastes. Mackinnon himself
can revel among the clouds in his own writings, and can leave us
sometimes in doubt whether he ever means to come back to earth; but
when his foot is on terra firma, he loves to feel the earthly substratum
which supports his weight. With women he likes a hand that can
remain an unnecessary moment within his own, an eye that can glisten
with the sparkle of champagne, a heart weak enough to make its
owner's arm tremble within his own beneath the moonlight gloom of
the Coliseum arches. A dash of sentiment