« AnteriorContinuar »
for safety in foreign lands. It was to woman alone- owner safety in battle. We fnd that it was stolen, and that “ministering angel" in the darkness of affliction, afterwards traced to the palace of an Indian chief, who that he was indebted for much of his undaunted bearing had bought it from some one at a high price. And in his final trials; the hands of women had woven for there it lay enshrined amidst the fantastic symbols of him “the fine scarlet, laid over with rich silver lace, a strange religion, the simple object of a Hinda's the bands and cuffs exceeding rich," in which he died adoration. This chief was the Pollygar or captain of so bravely, and it was a woman who, in her deep love of | Pundlar-Courchy, a fort and district in the neighbourthe dead, at the risk of her own life, possessed herself hood of Madura. of the heart of Montrose.
More than a century had passed away since the erat: Nine years before this event, his nephew, the Master tion of Montrose; the factions that were reneved over of Napier, had wooed and won the Lady Elizabeth his grave had for ever become quiet ; the royal nice to Erskine, a daughter of the Earl of Mar. She proved whose cause he had devoted his life-blood was repte well worthy to be the wife of one who (to use his own sented by one old man, a cardinal of Rome; Brah ! words) “could have lived with her meanly in the deserts arms and enterprise had opened up a pathway to the of Arabia ;" but who left his youthful bride to follow fabled wealth of the East, and now, beneath the tropia: ! the fortunes of his kinsman. During the brief respite sun of India a Hindoo chief was prostrating himsel from public turmoil which he enjoyed, Montrose had before the heart of the “ Great Marquis," and bearing become fondly attached to his gentle niece, and to her it about with him as a spell of sufficient power to he had promised to leave, as his most sacred memorial, shield him from the dangers of Mahratta warfare. Thes, his heart. His mutilated body had been scarcely two when, in the land of his birth, his chivalrous career, days in the grave when this youthful lady, no unworthy his high spirit of loyalty, and his heroic end, had been ! daughter of the land of Catherine Douglas and Flora come the theme of poet and novelist, all that 31 Macdonald, at imminent peril procured the rare me- material of James Grahame was cherished by an igen? mento of the illustrious dead. After having been rant Hindoo, as the source whence his spirit derived carefully embalmed, it was placed within a steel case, strength in the turmoil of war, and the suspicious calor made of the sword of the hero, and this again within of Indian tranquillity. We could wish we knew more a gold box, which had been presented to an ancestor of this man's history than we do; we know enough, hor. the family by a Doge of Venice. The whole was de ever, to pay the tribute of admiration to his character, posited in a large silver urn, and cherished by the lady and of sympathy to his misfortunes. For it remains as the dearest and proudest relic of the departed. It is to be told, how, when informed of the circumstatus pleasing to think that the features of this high-souled connected with his “charm," he generously restored the woman may yet be seen on the canvass of Lely. An casket to the English lady, saying, that "he considered old picture hangs in Merchiston Castle, near Edinburgh, it his duty to fulfil the wishes of the brave man who the seat of her descendants, in which she stands, calm heart was in the urn, and whose wish it was that t and noble in her look, in the brilliant dress of the time heart should be kept by his descendants." As if the of Charles II., and with her hands placed piously around charai that ruled the destiny of his life had indeed do the silver urn.
parted, he was hurried into revolt from the Nabob of Let us now follow the heart in its strange vicissitudes. | Arcot, and fell a victim to the rigour of Anglo-Indian Dearly as Lady Napier prized the relic, she deemed justice. There is something infinitely touching, te that it ought to be in the hands of the Marquis's son, think, in the wish expressed by him on the eve of eit who, along with her husband, was still a refugee in cution, that some one would preserve and cherish his Holland, and to him it was accordingly sent. Years heart, as they had done who loved the European w passed away, and the generation that witnessed the rior so well. death of Montrose had been gathered to the grave. The heart thus singularly preserved and generovali Continued troubles surrounded the family, and the pre-restored, remained in the lady's possession till accident cious urn was lost abroad. Chance, however, restored again deprived her of it, and that for erer. Returir: it to the fifth Lord Napier. A friend of the family had | home from India with her husband through France, in recognised it in the shop of a curiosity-dealer in Holland, 1792, their plate and jewellery were required to de and immediately purchased it. This nobleman, when given up to the French Government. For greate travelling in France, was taken ill, and, on his death security, she entrusted the heart to the care of an Es bed, bequeathed to his daughter as his most precious glish women, resident at Boulogne. Years pased ca. legacy, the golden casket of her ancestors.
the plate and jewellery were scrupulously restored, b: Again the scene changes and the “sole daughter of death had removed the keeper of the casket, and his house and heart” is wedded and accompanies her her all knowledge of the place where it was deposit husband on his country's service to distant India. While off the Cape de Verd Islands, the fleet of which their Indiaman is one is attacked by some French frigates. With the ardour and zeal that distinguish THE GREAT MYSTERY ON SALISBURY his countrymen, her husband volunteers to take the
PLAIN. command of four of the quarter deck guns. In the midst of the conflict stood the lady, with all the chi
Years have passed since first a certain huge pile of todas valry of her race, on the open quarter-deck, her son attracted attention. Ages have passed since the erectica clinging to one hand, and the heart of Montrose in the of these majestic remnants. Years, pregnant with the other. It seemed as if that heart had power, even in advent and reception of vast and weighty truths, bare its dust, to animate those around it to noble deeds, for long since mone by and ret they have neither broust: there stood this weak woman with her youthful son,
nor left any certain record of those mystic monuments while the enemy's fire mowed down two of the men at the guns, and a splinter struck and shattered the outer
There they stand on Salisbury plain, apparently defying case of the casket. The frigate was called off, and the | all the influences of Time, the great destroyer of ... gallant Englishwoman lived to see the relic repaired by things--assuredly defying all human ingenuity to : the cunning of a Hindoo goldsmith, and to cherish it decipher. A great mystery, truly! Who shall their as the proudest memorial of her mountain home.
purposes unfold to us? The Pyramids and the Man in But alas ! the veneration with which she viewed it
the Iron Mask have alike baffled human perceptions to became to her the cause of its loss, and it does not seem strange that what the English lady cherished so fondly,
solve and define. So, too, Stonehenge is the great should, to the superstitious mind of the Hindoo, seem wonder of our isle, and, if anything can add to be to possess the charm of an amulet, and confer on the astonishment which its appearance excites, it is the
extraordinary fact, that the greater proportion of visi. | forming an oval. An altar and cell completed the tors to it, consist of foreigners; Germans of all states, temple. Italians, Frenchmen, Americans, &c. It seems impos- | Such is a very cursory description of the state of this sible to account for the insensibility which leads many most remarkable building, in the days of its normal a tourist to leave it on one side, and seek for objects to greatness. Many of the stones have disappeared gratify his curiosity miles and miles away. England altogether, others have fallen, and but few remain in does not contain any more stupendous piece of art, and their pristine erectness. Enough, however, is left to certainly cannot boast of anything more wonderful ; | show the design and intention of the founders ; enough yet, to the majority of wonder-loving, pleasure-seeking to impress the spectator with sublime and exalted feelEnglishmen it is unknown, unthought of, and, it is to ings, which the character of the monotonous and dreary be feared, uncared for. The very situation of it is both scenery surrounding is well calculated to heighten :-å imposing and commanding-standing quite alone, on solemn temple, made with hands yet withal so simple. a plain which looks interminable, and which on a hot with materials so plain yet so monstrous, that its effect summer's day or on a winter's night has neither tree is magnificent. One author says, “ these upright stones or hut for shelter or repose near it. Majestic, wondrous seem to grow out of the earth as they stand.” Another pile ! thy artificers unknown, thy uses undiscovered, doubts the possibility of their having been conveved how solemnly thou remainest in thy solitary glory! from any considerable distance. It is said that the nearest Thy bard should be another Ossian, and the chorus that point whence these stones could have been brought responds to the chanting of thy grandeur, the roaring is sixteen miles distant. How they were brought, waves of the old ocean, that roll for ever and for ever, is one of the mysteries peculiar to the entire subject. till Time and thou shall be no more. To attempt an The Rev. J. Bathurst Deane, in his book, written in explanation, or to elucidate this mysterious temple, is 1833, on Serpent Worship, states as his belief that they in these our later days of careful and rigorous inquiry came from Grey Wethers near Abury, and that they an unsatisfactory task, and one which could afford no were probably conveyed on rafts to their destination; possible advantage to any one. Truth to say, we should these rafts being floated on a river which ran, as he end where we began. All is conjecture. That it was considers, under the hill on which Stonehenge stands. a temple erected for worship seems feasible enough to In a surrey made in the year 1845, it does appear that believe. That that worship was the religion of the there are some grounds for this opinion, as evident aborigines of Great Britain, is also most probable. And | traces of a river having formerly run by and past if this latter supposition be received, we must at once | Amesbury were visible. But here, all is again mere give to the Druids the credit of its erection and appro- | conjecture, and in that dubious field it is impolitic to priation for sacred rites. The theory at one time offered | enter. Upwards of a hundred vears since, Dr. Stukely. to the scientific world by that celebrated architect Inigo the Rector of All Saints, in Stamford, wrote an elaborate Jones is capable of a thorough refutation. It was his | t patise on Stonehenge. Sir Richard Colt Hoare has pleasure to give the Romans the credit of this structure; / made it the object of his studies, and corrected the but it is manifestly an error to suppose that that people, errors of many previous writers. Wordsworth has made who, long anterior to their invasion of this country, | it the theme of one of his exquisite sonnets. Pepvs in were masters of the arts of design, and lived and wor- | his amusing diary, written in Charles the Second's time. shipped in buildings of a most constructive character, has the following passage, written in his own familiar would have contented themselves with any temple so quaint manner :-“ So the three women, behind W. simple as Stonehenge. Besides, there are no analo | Hewer Burford, and our guide, and I single to Stonegous remains in localities more densely populated by the | henge, over the plain and some great hills, even to Romans than Britain ever was. Among all the relics | fright us. Came thither, and find them as prodigious exhumed from the barrows that are near, or surround as any tales I ever heard of them, and worth going this Stonehenge, no Roman work has been found — no coin journey to see. God knows what their use was : they are has ever been discovered in any of the tumuli - nothing | hard to tell, but yet may be told.” to afford a clue or trace of a Roman origin. One more Mr. Turner, the celebrated artist, has transferred on proof against the idea is the fact that a number of these canvas his impressions, and depicted the scene as viewed circles of stone, more or less broken, are to be seen in during a storm of thunder and lightning. It is a very all parts of the kingdom, in Ireland, Scotland, and in vivid and actual representation of the spot. By moonthe smaller isles, and places where it is well known the light the effect is admirable, though no especial paintRomans never went. The skilful reasoning and accurate | ing of it under that influence has been hitherto investigation of Dr. Stukely are all against the proba- exhibited. It is greatly to be deplored that from the bility of a Roman origin. The fanciful hypotheses that cupidity and stupidity of treasure seekers, who have have been given to the world from time to time are fancied they should be richly rewarded for their pains, most amusing, and would form an odd volume for the many of the stones have fallen and become otherwise entertainment of those who are wont to date their con-detached from their places. The loosening of the soil, clusions from realities, and not imaginary speculations. consequent upon repeated diggings, has been the cause
But to one conclusion we must come at last. The of this mischievous foolishness. The name, Stonehenge. Druids are almost beyond question the originators, and is derived from the Saxon words, Stane-hangen, or as priests the performers in this stupendous temple. Hanging Stones. Camden styles it as “insana subIt stands, as has been before noticed, on a vast plain.structio," and in the works of many old authors it is There is an outer and inner circle of stones. The outer | called Choir Gaur, or Chorea Gigantum. Godfrey Hig. is in diameter about one hundred and nine feet. The ! gins has contributed not a little to dispel the obscurity thickness of the stones forming this circle is three feet | which for so many ages has enveloped Celtic remains. and a half; the number of stones forming the outer and Stonehenge has been particularly noticed by him. circle was sixty, of which thirty were stones standing | An ingenious argument has been given by Dr. Stukely, upright, the remaining thirty being what are called which he deduces from Sir Isaac Newton's Chronology, imposts, that is, stones placed on the top of others. namely, that as the average duration of a king's reign Both the uprights and imposts are each of one piece, is nineteen years, so, as he found nineteen barrows about so that the labour and difficulty with which they were the eminences round Stonehenge, he conceives the placed in their position may be conceived. These Druids to have enjoyed their magnificent structure uprights and im posts are maintained together by means about three hundred and sixty years. of mortices and tenons, which are geometrically adapted There is one pompous absurdity, which for its mag. to their work in the most methodical manner. The niloquent bombast shall not be omitted in the catalogue inner circle of stones was more irregularly shaped and of those essays and essayists who have discoursed upon smaller than the outer. In this were a number of stones I this matter.
A writer seriously announces his belief that it was / vast, tremendous, significant, and potent in its fer erected countless ages ago, and that the stones, huge stillness; a silence that reigns where once the roice of and vast, were carried to the plain on the backs of the man spoke in tones all-powerful and commanding, mastodon, and other extinct genera of the fossil world. astounding in their very depth and meaning, pregnant Why did not the man set to work, and paint a pano- with terrible utterings, gone---lost; a silence that, ci ali rama of the gigantic procession wending its lengthy others, makes itself the most felt, and appals the treenway to the desired locality?
bling heart of man to contemplate; & silence shume To leave all suppositions and questionings to their origin is written in the downfal of past dynasties, wbre inventors, let us view Stonehenge as it is, and taking quietude is more terrible than speaking, whose history for granted that it is a Druidical temple, let us is of the past, and whose end is shrouded in the future transport ourselves to the outer circle, and then ar- | And this is the type of all mysteries. ranging it as it was, and indulging ourselves with a peep, like the learned Stukely, at the Sanctum Sanctorum, let us wait the rising of the moon from behind the sacred grove at Amesbury; so shall we see the en
see the en. | THE PUBLIC WRITER; OR, THE EFFECTS OF trance of the officiating priests, the Druids and Druid
GAMBLING. esses, and witness the solemn and hoary chief advance to " FATHER,” said Severin, “I come to entreat out the altar with slow and reverent footsteps, his face down-assistance in an awful moment, in which my life, honou, cast, his beard long and smoothly trimmed ; his clothes
med ; his clothes and situation, are at stake." reaching to his knees are fastened with a girdle, to which « Do you doubt,” said his truly excellent father, is attached the bronze celt. In his hand he carries a “ that I will assist you if in my power!". forked stick, which fits on to the celt, and has enabled " I owe an immense sum of money, and I do no him to cut the mystic misletoe which he holds in the
possess twenty francs in this world; the officer grasp of his other hand. But ere the rites are accom- | will arrive to-morrow, to morrow! - Do you hear, plished and ere the victim is sacrificed, let us awaken father-to-morrow !--and if I have not twenty-ker from our dream and hail with thankfulness the advent thousand francs before noon, I am undone !" Asbe and installation of Christianity all over the lair land., said this, the unhappy young man trembled and went
In this spirit we shall view this mysterious fane with bitterly. It was indeed a sorrowful sight to behold a deep and inward sense of the happy change, that has him thus humbled, and in the deepest despair. abolished for ever religious customs so abhorrent to our “ Twenty-four thousand francs !” said his father ; nature, and which have in them so much that is in
“and where are they to be had ?"
and wher manifest antagonism with an humble prostration of the ! « The sum you have in the funds, Sir," said Severie, heart. In this spirit we shall see, as it were in a mirror, " and the interest of which you receive every time very dimly reflected, a scene from the earliest history months." of old Britain ; and the vision of that scene, and the “That would not suffice," said the almost beartreflections it will naturally suggest, cannot but prove broken old man ; “ but I see I must add to it the priæ attractive and useful. So it is permitted us in our of this cottage, and then all your debts will be paid: mental comprehensions to unroll the pages of the tran- but, before I sign the deed, which leaves me without a script of our ancestors' lives and actions; and, if for no sous, I require you to acquaint me thoroughly with the other purpose than this, it is to be hoped that Stone-state of your affairs." henge will be preserved to us for ages yet to come, as “ They are not desperate; I have still resources." an illustrative memorial of the past. In the criticisms “ Well, then, I must know them all; I will go to of this past let us not altogether despise the contrivances your house, and examine for myself." of our rustic forefathers. We see here an admirable Severin, at these words, became still more pale and adaptation of many of the soundest principles of art. | trembling, but his father spoke with so determined a In the imposts, or overhanging stcnes, nothing more voice, that he knew he must be obeyed. Madane lg effectual could have been devised than the mortices and ranchau was awaiting in the saloon the return of bet tenons by which they were united to the uprights. Nor husband ; the poor young woman knew too well therr could the founders have met with any spot so appro- misfortunes ; her eyes were filled with tears, but the priate for the effect they intended to produce. Viewed expression of her countenance was that of resignation. from whichever side it may be, it is ever the one im. On seeing her father-in-law, she rose to salute him. posing object. After traversing the monotonous plain “My dear Lucie,” said he, as he kindly took be: in any direction, it presents itself to the eye with an hand in his; “ place all your confidence in me, for 1 absortion of interest which is uninterrupted, and which will never forsake you." is heightened every way by the universal stillness, and she began to weep; and, as she sat down by her the absence of anything to detract from the one great | husband, he exclaimed with bitterness : " My father feature of the place. Even admitting it as a druidical says he must know all the particulars of my affairs; temple, it is still open to scientific investigation. It is! we must tell him; and you must know, my dear Lucke. still, to all intents and purposes, a great mystery, one that I would gladly spare you both this mortification : whose solution will, in all probability, never be accom
you would place more dependence in me." plished. And if, from what tradition has handed down
“Let us go into your office, Severin," said M. Tans to us, we are to believe the awful accounts of human chau. “I am come here to investigate your affain and sacrifices, the shedding of human blood, the profanities
to sign a deed." acted in religion's holy name, and rites from which all “It is quite useless to show you my books," sail but the Arch Druids were excluded, we shall indeed
Severin, sullenly; “ of what use will it be to make the rejoice that all these things have passed away; and clerks in my office witnesses of this examination! that it is what it is, this wonderful Stonehenge, a great can tell you--" Then, after a moment's paue, be mystery. Silence may well become its best and most added, with a hoarse voice, and wringing his hands in fitting attribute; silence that, like night, spreads a veil agony, “I am ruined !" over all things: a silence not of that nature where
“ But you have not told me what has caused your sound (or human sound) hath never been, as in the
ruin !" cried M. Varanchau ; " and that is what I now unpeopled deserts yet unknown, or in the great and require you to explain. I suspect the cause, - bave pathless woods, where rifle never disturbed the natural already said so,- but now I must learn it from your voices of Nature's fairest children, the gentle birds ; own lips." nor as that silence which hangs around the silver orbs Severin was silent. at midnight, or nourishes itself in the caverns trodden by no foot, whether of man or beast; but a silence
(1) Concluded from p. 204.
" Then," said M. Varanchau, “I must tell it myself: , reputation : he had a method of petitioning which It is gambling which has brought you to this miserable would have softened the hardest heart; and it is even state."
recorded, that the stern inspector of the police shed " It is true," said Severin, proudly.
tears as he read a petition penned by Father Pierre. “ And I," said his unhappy father, “had fondly During the day, those who walked in the square St. hoped your honour was not sacrificed!"
Geneviève might see through the bright windows of the “ Have I lost my reputation," interrupted he, scorn shop, the white head of this industrious old man, whose fully, " for having gambled, and lost? Truly, Sir, to attention was never diverted from his employment. hear you speak, one would imagine I was a rogue !" Everyone knew Father Pierre,-every one loved and
* Yon are not yet one, perhaps, but you will become honoured him; but all their inquiries to discover one eventually, - prison,- the galleys,- such will be who he was were in vain. They remarked his bearing, your fate! May I die before that day arrives !" education, and politeness : some said, “He is a great
Severin was enraged at these words; his eyes flashed Polish lord, ruined by the late war;" others, from his fire, and his voice trembled with rage, as he thus ad- southern accent, thought him to be a Spanish refugee, dressed him : “ Sir, you have no business in my house, but no one knew his real name. At night, Madelaine since you are come to insult instead of assist me; this came for her old master, and both repaired to a retired conduct is only that of a heartless man,--depart !” apartment in the vicinity of the shop, which was neatly
At these words M. Varanchau rose up, but Lucie kept, and tolerably well furnished. caught him, exclaiming, “Oh, my father, he is your “My good master," said Madelaine frequently, whilst son !-he is in despair !”
they supped together, “when will you cease working? “ I have no longer a son," answered the unhappy old -it appears to me we are now rich enough." man, his voice agitated with anger and grief : "he whol “Not yet," said he ; “if ever my unhappy child reonce bore that name I renounce,-a father's blessing turns, I must have enough for him and myself.” rests on him no more !"
Thus twelve years passed away. Father Pierre was To these sad words the gambler, the wicked son, only very old, but his hand had not lost its skill, nor his replied by a threatening look, for he feared to give vent mind the power of framing petitions; and he had to his passion.
always more to do than he could accomplish. During “Will you come with me, my child ?" said M. Va- these twelve years he had written several times to ranchau, affectionately, to Lucie; “you shall share with Marseilles to inquire for his son, and no one had anme the little I now can call my own."
swered his letters, for they had nothing to communiShe kissed her father-in-law's hand ; then, with meek cate respecting him. “He is dead ; surely, he is dead," resignation, followed her husband, saying,-“ Death often repeated the poor old man; “ he has died with alone shall separate us !"
| his father's curse upon his head-my poor child !” The following morning M. Varanchau sent his son a One day, when Father Pierre was seated at his usual deed, assigning to him all his property ; this satisfied occupation in his shop, a little girl came up to him the creditors, but left him and his family in extreme timidly; she was very pretty, but her patched gown, poverty. In the evening, when Lucie went to the cot- worn-out shoes, and scanty covering, indicated her extage to thank him for all his kindness, and to entreat treme poverty. “Sir," said she, “I will thank you to his forgiveness for her husband, she could find neither write a petition for me, but I have only six sous to give him nor Madelaine; and there was written on the gate, / you for your trouble.” “ To be Sold." She went away disheartened ; and no Father Pierre looked over his spectacles at her: one in the town could tell her what had become of “ My child, how old are you?" them. In a few days, Severin quitted Marseilles, accom
“ I shall soon be ten, my good Sir.” panied by his truly devoted wife.
“ And is this money your own ?” When M. Varanchau saw himself without fortune or “Oh, yes ! yes ! it is indeed!" said the child, with home, compelled to expatriate himself, and to quit the a voice so sad, that it struck the old man. place where he had lived for many years, respected and “I never tell lies, Sir! Oh, do you not believe my happy, he was at first tempted to give way to despair; / word ?” but, as he was a religious man, he trusted that God “Will you tell me how you got this money, my dear? would not forsake him in his adversity. He knew he —it is certainly very little, but it is a great deal for one should now work for his livelihood, and he submitted in the condition you are." to it without a murmur, notwithstanding his declining The child hesitated at first, then replied, with her years. His faithful Madelaine had accompanied him; eyes cast on the ground, “I have saved it, Sir.” they lived together in Paris, and at first it occurred to “ Saved it, child ! then you must have saved it from M. Varanchau to give lessons in history and geography; the money your mother gave you to buy bread for her?” but then his advanced age was against him ; besides “Oh, no! no! no !" cried she, as the colour rose to this, he should have to wait till pupils presented them- | her pale face at being thus suspected : “I have saved it selves, and now he had no other resource than Made from my own meals; every day my father gives me two laine's little savings. Laying aside all false pride, he sous to buy bread for myself, and I have only spent one determined to become a “ Public Writer." Ile wrote sous every day for the last week." very well, understood grammar better than the aca-' “ I will write your petition for nothing," said Father demy, and calculated like Barême. Nothing more was Pierre, returning the child her six sous. “Is your required than a writing shop in the square of Saint mother alive!" Geneviève. It was indeed an affecting sight to behold “ Alas, Sir! it is a month since she died !" Here this poor man, at sixty-five years of age, commencing a the little child began to cry, but she hastened to wipe trade which required so much patience and application. her tears away; and, pointing to her patched frock, Early in the morning he was to be seen seated in an old she said: “We are so poor that I am not able to get a arm-chair, at a table, on which were ranged papers of black frock as mourning for my mother." every size, a variety of seals, and models of complimen “And you wish me to write a petition for you,” said tary notes in prose and verse. Soon “ Father Pierre," Father Pierre, kindly; "you have, then, some proas he was now called, was in great request. He could tector?" scarcely attend to the crowds of people who daily as “No, my kind friend, I have not; but a thought sembled round him ; and was obliged to enlarge his came into my head,-a very good thought, too, I assure shop, and take clerks. There was a desk for compli- | you." mentary letters, another for recommendatory ones, “ Well, we shall see; sit down there, and warm yourothers for invitations and petitions. It was in this last self by the fire.” kind that Father Pierre excelled, and acquired a great! Encouraged by his kindness, she sat down by him, and said: “I am going to tell you my story, which is , father could scarcely recognise him. He adranced with not long,-My poor mother is dead, and I have no one a retiring air, holding his daughter's hand, and said, to love me but my father, who is very kind and good, without raising his eyes, “Sir, I cannot express the but he cannot work, for he is almost always ill, and the gratitude I feel for all your kindness to one unknown miserable home we have is enough to break his heart; to you." as to me, I do not mind it for myself, but I weep when Father Pierre rose, and answered falteringly: "ht I see him wanting everything. We have nothing; appears to me, this is not the first time that-* neither wood, nor a blanket on our bed; and it is so At the sound of that voice Severin threw himself into cold, the other night I could not sleep 1-I heard my the old man's arms, exclaiming, “My father! oh, my poor father weeping !- then a good thought came into dear father!" For a quarter of an hour there is my head ; and that is, to ask some assistance from the nothing but tears, embracings, half-finished sentence Count of C- , who is a very rich and charitable - they heard not each other,-all spoke together, and man; he lives at the corner of this square; and, if he appeared intoxicated with joy. When these transporte would take me into his kitchen, I would wait on the of delight were over, Father Pierre took Lucie on his servants, and work day and night to get a little bread knee, and said, “My child, you are now to live with and money for my dear father ! Do you think you could your grandpapa,,we will never separate again." make such a petition for me, dear Sir?”
“ Never, never!" said Severin, weeping. “Oh, if my Father Pierre took his best pen, and wrote a touching poor wife could but witness our happiness! She, wu letter, in which he described the poverty and goodness shared all my misfortunes,-if she only knew you for, of the little orphan, who only asked for work in order gave me, father! But, doubtless, from heaven-xhere to earn her bread. “ Now it is finished, my child," said she now is-she watches over her child, and me; she he, " we must sign it, what is your name?”
sees us now, and participates in our joy !" “ Lucie Varanchau."
“My dear son, it was she who led Lucie to my shop At this name, Father Pierre's pen fell from his hand, Alas! without that providential occurrence, I might and he trembled so much that the child feared he was ill. have died without again seeing you, and you would not
“Oh, my good Sir !” said she, “what is the matter?" | have got my blessing !".
“ Nothing, nothing," said he, recovering himself. “Misery and misfortune have punished my fanlts i “ My dear little one, I myself will send your petition ; | Oh, by what a train of suffering have I been led to come to me again to-morrow, and you shall have, per- | repentance !" haps, an answer; and that a very favourable one."
* My son, that is all past now; sou no longer shall She was leaving the shop, having thanked him most want for anything, as God has blessed me abundantly." warmly:
“ Grandpapa," said Lucie, “ I will attend on you, and “ Embrace me, Lucie !" said the old man, extending take great care of you ; and will you allow me to help his arms to her.
Madelaine in the house ?”. She threw herself into them, weeping with hope and “Yes, my child," said Madelaine : “come, we siil joy.
go and prepare supper;—a good supper I have got for The next day, when she returned, he took her on his you and our dear Severin !” knee, and said to her, “My love, I have delightful news Whilst they were arranging the table, Father Pierre for you.”
took his son into a little closet, opening into their st“Ah! I shall be taken into the Count's service, and ting room, and made him acquainted with his good my father shall have some assistance !”
fortune, and the state of his affairs : -“I have in the * Better than that, perhaps; but, tell me, what does desk a bill of two thousand francs, that is a nice capiisl; your father do now?"
so, my dear son, if you wish to enter on a profession, 1 “He copies letters, for he writes a very good hand- am able, and very willing to assist you.' almost as good as yours; it is he who taught me to “ I have chosen one, father." read and write a little."
“ What is it, my son ?” " Are his parents alive?"
“ The same as yours,- we will work together, -1 “ They are both dead, Sir; my father taught me a never again will leave you." prayer, which I repeat every day for grandpapa's soul.” / “Supper is ready,” said Father Pierre ; "to-moto
Father Pierre could not hide his tears; he embraced the I will install the new Writer in his office." child, and exclaimed, in broken accents, “ You are a good little girl, Lucie, and God will bless you !” When his emotion had a little subsided, he took several
THE EARL'S SON. crowns from his desk, and gave them to her, saying, A CHRONICLE OF THE TIME OF KING RICHARD DI.' “ Take these to your father: with them he can buy “Sir John, have you in your chronicle, what I am going in clothes for yon and himself; and this evening you must
speak of?” come and sup with a person who can and will help you. "I do not know," replied I, “but begin your story, which! There is the address."
shall be happy to hear, for I cannot recollect every particulus The little child ran with the greatest eagerness to my history, nor can I have been perfectly informed of eiety communicate the joyful tidings to her father. In the event.” meantime Father Pierr) gave his orders to Madelaine.
“That is true,” added the squire, and then began his history “ Have a good supper,” said he ; “this shall be the best in these words.-Froissart's Chronicles. I ever had; a bottle of good wine,-the poor man has 1 King Richard of England, learning how the French not taken anything for a long time ;-and, especially, and the Scots had invaded the north, and were ori have an excellent fire, for he has suffered much from running it with fire and sword, issued forth with a noncold."
mons for a large armament, and, with the numerous Madelaine was in such delight, she scarcely knew lords who obeyed it, took the field, and marched towards what she was doing, and could hardly contain herself | Scotland. There was a young and valiant knight, su at the thought of the charming Lucie, to whom she was Oliver de Versy, who heard and answered this call with to be a second mother. Father Pierre had already much joy, for he had been sore disheartened by the walked fifty times up and down his room, and was truce made between France and England. Thougti anxiously looking at the alabaster clock which orna-young, Sir Oliver had often shone in the tournament mented his mantelpiece, when a gentle knock at the land in the field, and his gallantry being well known” door announced their arrival : then his strength seemed he was at his coming greeted accordingly. He brougat to forsake him, and he was obliged to sit down while with him a fair young squire, who for the first time, Madelaine ran to open the door. Severin entered :how old he looked !-how changed he was !-even his/ (1) By the Author of " The Lunatic Asylum."