laced coats, which had doubtless been worn at Versailles or the Tuileries, whilst he returned to procure an instrument to loosen the staples of the locks. "Would you believe it, Adolphe?" said Marie, in a whisper, to her returning husband, who imprinted a kiss on her lips, the sweet reward of courage; "he has sworn twice, dreadfully, and declares his misfortune is owing to me! He wishes he had never seen me!" "If he keep to that wish," replied the youth, we need not trouble our friends in the south." 66 The staples were twisted aside without noise, and Adolphe enjoining his young bride to keep strict guard, without quitting the post she then occupied, passed into a room, spacious and dark as the one he had quitted, but without its rich spoil, void even of furniture, save a low, wooden bestead on which lay outstretched the figure of a man. Turning the lantern in that direction, he beheld the general, his mighty rival, an object of pity even to his greatest enemy-bound hands and feet to the four posts of the bedstead, the limbs stretched out as though he were impaled cruciform. By extraordinary efforts, he had dislodged the gag, recovered the exercise of his speech, but further approach to liberty seemed hopeless; in struggling he had tightened the cords so much that he suffered extreme agony, which found vent, and perhaps relief, in the oaths and adjurations which so frighted our little heroine during her lone vigil. The long flowing wig being displaced, the bare pate of the poor general was exposed; the face was pale, and bore deep traces of mental and bodily distress; blood had flowed from a lip, bitten in vexation and despair, over the rich lace scarf which covered the throat. The strong rays from the lantern made distinctly visible the bed and its wretched occupant, whilst the person of Adolphe was shrouded in gloom. "Hide not thy knife, ruffian, behind the light, but come forward and strike!" cried the resolute old soldier. De Regnier closed the lantern, and, approaching the bedside, stood over the prisoner, whose eyeballs glared fearfully in the dark. "General," asked the youth, "what would you award him who should set you free, keep secret the disgrace you now suffer, and afford the means of capturing those who brought you to this pass?" "Twenty-five thousand crowns already offered, ten thousand more from my private purse, my estate will not afford more, and—whatever else in reason you ask. But I pray you, loosen but a little the cord which binds the right ankle-it jars me so fearfullyor I cannot listen to you." Adolphe did as bidden, and then, in rejoinder, remarked that one condition more was essential-that the general should renounce right to the hand of Marie Lambert, in favor of his deliverer, and should use his own, and, if necessary, the influence of King Louis in persuading Monsieur Lambert to consent to the union. "Mille diables!" shouted Gombaud, "what, marry la patite mignon to a cut-throat-one base enough to sell his comrades! You may tighten the cord, Monsieur Poltron, as much as you like, or unpocket your knife, but I am not bought and sold in that fashion.” "It gladdens me much, general, to hear these sentiments," replied Adolphe, “but let me loosen the other limbs, and we may come the more cheerfully to a right understanding." Adolphe! Adolphe! was at this instant uttered, in a loud whisper-the youth started-it was the voice of Marie. "What, a comrade!" cried Achille Gombaud, "does it take two" "Be quiet, old man, for a few seconds," uttered the youth, in a petulant tone, flying at the call of the forlorn beauty. She sat shivering with cold and dread, and was only half persuaded by the caresses of Adolphe to remain a little longer whilst he concluded a treaty with the general. What would become of both, and of General Gombaud, asked Marie, if the robbers were to approach before the treaty were ratified? "That can never happen with the delicate ear of Marie for sentinel," replied Adolphe, returning to the prisoner. The young man now resolved to show himself and his pretensions more openly, believing that if he reposed confidence in the general-who was a man of honor-he should gain more than by working on the prisoner's sense of fear and apprehension of disgrace. At least, this was the ostensible motive, but in reality, though unconsciously, he was in a considerable degree influenced by horror and disgust at being taken, even for a few minutes, for one of Daru's gang. Acting under this impression, he loosened the cords, though without giving the general entire liberty; the lantern was so placed that each party might read the countenance of the other. "I wait your reply to my terms, General Gombaud," said the youth, after narrating the strange incidents which brought them together under the robber's roof. Achille Gombaud was a long while silent. "I deserve this!" he said at length, in a bitter tone, speaking to himself rather than to Adolphe. "I deserve this!-fool! fool! to venture unguarded through the cursed streets-in a quarter, too, where—but, mille diables! I will not submit to any one but my royal master. I yielded not an inch, young man, to Daru, himself, nor will I make myself ridiculous by negotiating with a notary's clerk. Marie Lambert, you say, loves you-let me have the confession from her lips, alone-and-I love her too well to behave ungenerously-let her approach now, she has naught to fear." Adolphe's pride was much hurt by the austerity of the general's remarks, yet he submitted, and was successful in prevailing on Marie to approach the couch; there was no danger, as he whispered, for the general was still bound, and he should remain within call. In the dismal lumber room, De Regnier waited the result of the conference between his young bride and her elderly lover-waited, not without some pang of jealousy, for which he felt there was no just cause; nor without a sense of humiliation, for which there might exist better ground in the assumption and overbearing deportment of the intendant of police. But Adolphe wisely reflected that the happiness of Marie was risked, even to extremity, by their sudden, unprepared union and uncertain plans of future life; smothering a disposition to quarrel with the general's haughtiness, he eagerly snatched at the hinted prospect of reconciliation. He was soon recalled to the presence of Gombaud. "Marie and I," said the intendant, "have made up our quarrel, Monsieur De Regnier; and I am certain mademoiselle now loves me better than ever she did"-here an exclamation and start from Adolphe caused the speaker to pause, but he continued "since I have listened to her pleadings in your favor." Adolphe at these joyful words flew to cut the ropes which still held fast the prisoner, proposing that they should instantly escape through the, sliding panel, and down his staircase to the street. "Not so fast, young man! not so fast!" cried Gombaud, "one of my conditions with Marie was, that you should have the twenty-five thousand crowns. But we have not yet caught Daru, and you must win the reward ere you wear it." Gombaud's scheme was as follows. Adolphe should conduct Marie to a place of safety-the hôtel of the intendancy of police, if she disliked meeting her father at present-and that De Regnier, being furnished with the general's signet-ring, would have no difficulty in procuring the aid of a military police force sufficient for the purpose required. That the suspicions of Daru or his confederates might not be awakened, should they think fit to visit their prisoner, he determined to remain partially bound, though furnished with all Adolphe's armory for use, if occasion required. It was a torturing, unpleasant half hour which followed the departure of Marie and her spouse; and the general lay ill at ease, listening on one side for the chance visit of his jailers, and on the other for the approach of succor. But the old man braved the risk to ensure the capture of Daru-any success short of capture was as naught in his eyes. A noise was now heard-it was the step of one approaching, but from which quarter he could not tell. Ah! joyful event! It is in the lumber-room, light shines through the partition-the door opens, and Adolphe appears alone, armed to the teeth. The guard, he said, was set at both stations-one division hidden near the entrance into which Gombaud was deluded; the other lining the staircase which conducted to De Regnier's apartment. | dernier resort-my hopes of success are founded on this belief." In Adolphe's room, the old man staid a few moments to adjust his apparel in fitting order to be seen by subordinates-the panel was carefully shut, the chamber-door closed, and the strategy functionary, having disposed his men throughout the winding staircase, at the points he deemed best, sent an orderly with command to the officer of the other division to commence the attack. Soon the heavy din of beating down doors, removing obstacles, was heard intermingled with the discharge of fire-arms. The strife each minute grew louder the tramp of feet and clash of arms were heard overhead-Adolphe's chamber-door flew open, and a disorderly gang of ruffians threw themselves down the staircase. Nearly all were caught, as in a net, by the wily Gombaud-a few retreated through the panel aperture, but were finally captured by the advancing party of assailants. Many of the gang, at that hour abroad on their nefarious duties, escaped, but amongst the captured was-to the extreme joy of Gombaud, who soon recognized the stranger who had misdirected him-the notorious chief, Daru. They were led to prison-and next morning, by order of Gombaud, sent to the galley service at Toulon, lest by their staying longer in Paris the secret of the intendant's ignominious adventure might transpire. It was a late hour at night, for one of the notary's quiet habits, when he was summoned by royal messenger to repair without delay to the palace. Monsieur Lambert, who was waiting impatiently the long expected return of Gombaud and Josephine with his wilful-headed daughter, obeyed the mandate in astonishment. He was much surprised to find closeted with the monarch, the general, young De Regnier and the truant Marie. Louis, in his accustomed style of mingled condescension and dignity, acquainted the notary that General Gombaud, in capturing Daru and his gang, had been mainly assisted by the coolness and address of the youth, De Regnier, and that the little heroine, Marie, being also present at the scene of danger, had exhibited courage which won the monarch's admiration. It was no secret to royalty that his majesty's intendant of police was on the eve of marriage with mademoiselle; nor should it be kept longer secret from Monsieur Lambert that General Gombaud, discovering that affection existed between Marie and the youth, had magnanimously relinquished his claim to her hand, and besought the king to intercede with the father in favor of De Regnier. "Now we can no more refuse the petition of Monsieur Gombaud," continued the monarch, "than "But you have not exposed my awkward predica- could the general avoid yielding to generous imment?" asked Gombaud. "Nay, general," replied the youth," in my story to the lieutenants, I gave you the credit of tracking the robber to his den, and holding watch till you procured assistance." Monsieur nodded complacently, and as he followed the youth, cried-" Now mark! The gang understand the trick of the panel, and will use it as a pules, by which he sacrifices his own affection." The notary, though not pleased with the substitution, gave assent with the best grace he could assume. Louis, as one used to command rather than entreat, then, and not before, hinted to Lambert that the match was not an unequal one, as he had provided a post for Monsieur De Regnier, who being also entitled to the reward of twenty-five thousand crowns, would have wherewithal to surround his young bride with a becoming appanage. The notary replied with show of deep humility, that he was grateful for his majesty's favors, and he valued his son-in-law yet more, inasmuch as he was of good though impoverished family. The latent scorn which animated this declaration, conveying intimation from the man to the monarch, that he valued not his son-in-law for what the king had made him, but for prior advantages which royalty had no share in bestowing, implied a smothered resentment against the interference of Louis, which the latter, a quick-witted prince, was at no loss to perceive; but he was in good humor, through recent events, and suffered the covert impertinence to pass unrebuked. When the notary returned home he found Josephine, who had been carried to St. Denis and confined in a lonely house in that town, but report coming from Paris that Daru was taken and the game up, she was set at liberty, and hastened to her old quarters. In her faithful ear the notary failed not to stigmatize Gombaud as a fool, Marie an ungrateful daughter, Adolphe a scheming villain, and the king a busy meddler in matters he ought to refrain from. There followed this confidence, a declaration of more tender charac ter, and the housekeeper shortly became Madame Lambert. The other personages of our history were dismissed the royal presence in far better humor. Gombaud, by the capture, gained several steps in the military profession and enjoyed high credit with Louis. He was secretly much ruffled and vexed to lose the pretty Marie, but wisely judged he had escaped handsomely from peril even at that sacrifice. Adolphe De Regnier and his young wife had no reason to repent their hasty courtship and marriage. Both kept secret the true version of the aid afforded Gombaud, holding to the compact with fidelity. LAMENT OF THE FAITHLESS SHEPHERDESS. THE morning smiles, the Spring beguiles, Yes, all I see, and all I hear, Invites to peace, and hope, and joy, But naught can now my bosom cheer, Or the sharp canker-worm destroy. Remorse is festering in my side, I think of him whose heart I won, Whose heart I broke with scorn and pride, And strive in vain the thought to shun. I hate all that is blithe and fair, The flowers, the meads and warbling birds, I hail them not, I feel them not, My heart is dead but to one thought, A thought that ever makes it bleed. The shepherd's pipe, like screech-owl's din, Which wrings my heart and mads my head. And when I see a shepherdess, With blooming cheek and laughing eye, Lighted with sunny happiness, With envy I could almost die. She never trifled with a swain ; She ne'er deceived with lips and eyes; Nor did she e'er love's transports feign, Or snare, to kill the fluttering prize. Nor will she ever live like me By day and night to pine and mourn; To nurse the babe of misery, And know no other eldest born. THE SOUL'S EXPRESSION. BY ELIZABETH B. BARRETT. J. K. P. WITH stammering lips and insufficient sound I strive and struggle to deliver right Both dream, and thought, and feeling interwound, From the dark edges of the sensual ground! But if I did it as the thunder-roll Breaks its own cloud-my flesh would perish there, Before that dread apocalypse of soul! Never a surprise had startled those languishing eyelids from their deliberateness-never a suffusion other than the humid cloud of a tender and pensive hour had dimmed those adorable dark eyes. Or, so at least it seemed! She was a fine creature, nevertheless-Mabel Wynne! But she looked to others like a specimen of such fragile and costly workmanship that nothing beneath a palace would be a becoming home for her. "For the present," said Mr. Bellallure, one of the gentlemen who entered," the bird has a fitting cage." Miss Wynne only smiled in reply, and the other gentleman took upon himself to be the interpreter of her unexpressed thought. MABEL WYNNE was the topmost sparkle on the | whose dictates had been from infancy anticipated. crest of the first wave of luxury that swept over New York. Up to her time, the aristocratic houses were furnished with high buffets, high-backed and hairbottomed mahogany chairs, one or two family portraits and a silver tray on the side-board, containing cordials and brandy for morning callers. In the centre of the room hung a chandelier of colored lamps, and the lighting of this and the hiring of three negroes (to "fatigue," as the French say, a clarionet, a bass viol and a violin) were the only preparations necessary for the most distinguished ball. About the time that Mabel left school, however, some adventurous pioneer of the Dutch haut ton ventured upon lamp-stands for the corners of the room, stuffed red benches along the walls and chalked floors; and upon this a French family of great beauty, residing in the lower part of Broadway, ventured upon a fancy ball with wax candles instead of lamps, French dishes and sweetmeats instead of pickled oysters and pink champaign; and, the door thus opened, luxury came in like a flood. Houses were built on a new plan of sumptuous arrangement, the ceilings stained in fresco and the columns of the doors within painted in imitation of bronze and marble; and at last the climax was topped by Mr. Wynne, who sent the dimensions of every room in his new house to an upholsterer in Paris, with carte blanche as to costliness and style, and the fournisseur to come out himself and see to the arrangement and decoration. It was Manhattan tea-time, old style, and while Mr. Wynne, who had the luxury of a little plain furniture in the basement, was comfortably taking his toast and hyson below stairs, Miss Wynne was just announced as "at home," by the black footman, and two of her admirers made their highly-scented entrée. They were led through a suite of superb rooms, lighted with lamps hid in alabaster vases, and ushered in at a mirror-door beyond, where, in a tent of fluted silk, with ottomans and draperies of the same stuff, exquisitely arranged, the imperious Mabel held her court of 'teens. Mabel Wynne was one of those accidents of sovereign beauty which nature seems to take delight in misplacing in the world-like the superb lobelia flashing among sedges, or the golden oriole pluming his dazzling wings in the depth of a wilderness. She was no less than royal in all her belongings. Her features expressed consciousness of sway-a sway "The cage is the accessory-not the bird," said Mr. Blythe, "and, for my part, I think Miss Wynne would show better the humbler her surroundings. As a Perdita upon the greensward, and open to a shepherd's wooing, I should inevitably sling my heart upon a crook-" "And forswear that formidable, impregnable vow of celibacy?" interrupted Miss Wynne. "I am only supposing a case, and you are not likely to be a shepherdess on the green." But Mr. Blythe's smile ended in a look of clouded reverie, and, after a few minutes' conversation, ill sustained by the gentlemen, who seemed each in the other's way, they rose and took their leave-Mr. Bellallure lingering last, for he was a lover avowed. As the door closed upon her admirer, Miss Wynne drew a letter from her portfolio, and turning it over and over with a smile of abstracted curiosity, opened and read it for the second time. She had received it that morning from an unknown source, and as it was rather a striking communication, perhaps the reader had better know something of it before we go on. It commenced without preface, thus: "On a summer morning, twelve years ago, a chimney-sweep, after doing his work and singing his song, commenced his descent. It was the chimney of a large house, and becoming embarrassed among the flues, he lost his way and found himself on the hearth of a sleeping chamber occupied by a child. The sun was just breaking through the curtains of the room, a vacated bed showed that some one had risen lately, probably the nurse, and the sweep, with an irresistible impulse, approached the unconscious little sleeper. She lay with her head upon a round arm buried in flaxen curls, and the smile of a dream on her rosy and parted lips. It was a picture of singular loveliness, and something in the heart of that boy-sweep, as he stood and looked upon the child, knelt to it with an agony of worship. The tears gushed to his eyes. He stripped the sooty blanket from his breast, and looked at the skin white upon his side. The contrast between his condition and that of the fair child sleeping before him brought the blood to his blackened brow with the hot rush of lava. He knelt beside the bed on which she slept, took her hand in his sooty grasp, and with a kiss upon the white and dewy fingers poured his whole soul with passionate earnestness into a resolve. whom you receive with favor. And with your glorious beauty and sweet, admirably sweet, qualities of character, it would be an outrage to nature that you should not choose freely, and be mated with something of your kind. Of those who now surround you I see no one worthy of you-but he may come! Jealousy shall not blind me to his merits. The first mark of your favor (and I shall be aware of it) will turn upon him my closest, yet most candid scrutiny. He must love you well-for I shall measure his love by my own. He must have manly beauty, and delicacy, and honor-he must be worthy of you, in short-but he need not be rich. He who steps between me and you takes the fortune I had amassed for you. I tell you this that you may have no limit in your choice-for the worthiest of a woman's lovers is oftenest barred from her by poverty. "Of course I have made no vow against seeking your favor. On the contrary, I shall lose no oppor tunity of making myself agreeable to you. It is against my nature to abandon hope, though I am painfully conscious of my inferiority to other men "Hereafter you may learn, if you wish, the first struggles of that boy in the attempt to diminish the distance between yourself and him-for you will have understood that you were the beautiful child he saw asleep. I repeat that it is twelve years since he stood in your chamber. He has seen you almost daily since then-watched your going out and coming in-fed his eyes and heart on your expanding beauty, and informed himself of every change and develop-in the qualities which please a woman. All I have ment in your mind and character. With this intimate knowledge of you, and with the expansion of his own intellect, his passion has deepened and strengthened. It possesses him now as life does his heart, and will endure as long. But his views with regard to you have changed nevertheless. "You will pardon the presumption of my first feeling-that to attain my wishes I had only to become your equal. It was a natural error-for my agony at realizing the difference of our conditions in life was enough to absorb me at the time-but it is surprising to me how long that delusion lasted. I am rich now. I have lately added to my fortune the last acquisition I thought desirable. But with the thought of the next thing to be done, came like a thunderbolt upon me the fear that after all my efforts you might be destined for another! The thought is simple enough. You would think that it would have haunted me from the beginning. But I have either unconsciously shut my eyes to it, or I have been so absorbed in educating and enriching myself that that goal only was visible to me. It was perhaps fortunate for my perseverance that I was so blinded. Of my midnight studies, of my labors, of all my plans, self-denials and anxieties, you have seemed the reward! I have never gained a thought, never learned a refinement, never turned over gold and silver, that it was not a step nearer to Mabel Wynne. And now, that in worldly advantages, after twelve years of effort and trial, I stand by your side at last, a thousand men who never thought of you till yesterday, are equal competitors with me for your hand! "But, as I said, my views with regard to you have changed. I have, with bitter effort, conquered the selfishness of this one life-time ambition. I am devoted to you, as I have been from the moment I first saw you-life and fortune. These are still yoursbut without the price at which you might spurn them. My person is plain and unattractive. You have seen me, and shown me no preference. There are others done is to deprive my pursuit of its selfishness-to make it subservient to your happiness purely—as it still would be were I the object of your preference. You will hear from me at any crisis of your feelings. Pardon my being a spy upon you. I know you well enough to be sure that this letter will be a secretsince I wish it. Adieu!" Mabel laid her cheek in the hollow of her hand and mused long on this singular communication. It stirred her romance, but it wakened still more her curiosity. Who was he? She had "seen him and shown him no preference!" Which could it be of the hundred of her chance-made acquaintances? She conjectured at some disadvantage, for she had "come out" within the past year only, and her mother having long been dead, the visiters to the house were all but recently made known to her. She could set aside two thirds of them, as sons of families well known, but there were at least a score of others, any one of whom might, twelve years before, have been as obscure as her anonymous lover. Whoever he might be, Mabel thought he could hardly come into her presence again without betraying himself, and, with a pleased smile at the thought of the discovery, she again locked up the letter. Those were days (to be regretted or not, as you please, dear reader!) when the notable society of New York revolved in one self-complacent and clearly defined circle. Call it a wheel, and say that the centre was a belle and the radii were beaux(the periphery of course composed of those who could "down with the dust.") And on the fifteenth of July, regularly and imperatively, this fashionable wheel rolled off to Saratoga. "Mabel! my daughter!" said old Wynne, as he bade her good night the evening before starting for the springs, "it is useless to be blind to the fact that among your many admirers you have several very pressing lovers-suitors for your hand I may safely say. Now, I do not wish to put any unnecessary re |