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had an eye to M. Herbois's 40,000 livres a-year.

“She leaned her head on Anatole's shoul

der, and said-'What if you were to carry me off?" He shook a little. 'I know very well,'

continued she, 'that your career would be ruined, that the Emperor and his minister would never forgive an abduction; that my father would exclaim, that my brother in the public service would injure you, and that Madame Norbert would go all lengths; and I should be separated from the world, never to re-enter it. No matter; my love for you would suffice for all. We would find some

corner of the earth, where we might conceal our happiness. I am confident in your love

-carry me off.""

But of course Anatole loved her too well to expose her to poverty and solitude. So she kept her character for unselfishness and constancy, and married M. Herbois, and his work on manures, and his 40,000 livres per


This of course added to Anatole's resentment against Juliette, but he had soon an opportunity of revenging the wrong. Elleviou, the accomplished singer and actor of that day, was a terrible lady-killer. Anatole one day saw a lady enter the celebrated restaurant, the Cadran Bleu; he recognised the head-dress, the shawl, the height, and shape of Madame Norbert, and going into the house he learned, at the expense of a couple of Napoleons, that the dame was at that moment dining in a private room with Elleviou. It was not long till his acquaintances were as well informed on the subject as he ; and Juliette, without knowing the cause, found herself treated very coldly, avoided in fact, by the ladies of her circle. She had begun to entertain favourable thoughts of Ernest de Meyran, being ignorant of his dissipated and gambling propensities; and, on one occasion had advanced him a considerable sum to acquit a gambling debt, on some false pretences of his, and this was also unfavourably interpreted.

In this strife of wrong-doing Anatole did not escape. A litigious miller, a tenant of Madame Norbert's, going to law with the prefect of his district, lost his cause, but came up to Paris to get himself rightified. He brought his papers (sealed) to the proper office, of which Anatole was the chief. He winked at the great

man, and told him the documents were to be read by him alone, and that he would find them very convincing. The adroit miller had inserted among the papers twenty notes of 1,000 francs each. Anatole gave the parcel to his clerk to be laid in a certain press; and at the proper time favourably represented to the minister the man's case. The cause went against him, however, and then he loudly claimed his twenty notes from Anatole, though liable to be severely punished himself, for attempting to This bribe a public functionary. was a severe blow for the ambitious prefect that was to be. He blamed Juliette for inciting the miller, for he looked on the presence of the notes as a pure invention. The wife of the minister, Juliette's relation, exerted herself to such purpose, that though he considered Anatole innocent in the matter of the notes, he determined to have him deprived of his appointment for his calumnies against Mme. Norbert. At last his clerk was discovered to have purloined the miller's money, and his integrity was so far justified; and he discovered that he had mistaken an actress for Mme. Norbert, in the Cadran Bleu concern. He was, however, convinced that all hopes of high office were at an end. Driven to bay, he paid a visit to Mme. Norbert, who had just returned from an entertainment at the minister's, where she had been openly insulted by an outspoken woman of doubtful virtue.

chair, began the strife.

"These two persons regarded one another some time without speaking; they examined each other like two tigers thirsty for blood, devising where best to strike the first stroke. At last Anatole, taking a 'We hate each cannot explain how I have forced myself other cordially, madame,' said he, and I into your presence. I have deeply injured you, but unfortunately I cannot repair the wrong if you alone are to be benefited. I am lost also. You have enveloped me in the meshes of a shameful accusation-that of a vile theft.' 'I hated you sufficiently to believe the charge. Did you suppose that I could act like a woman without name, in meeting an actor in a house open to all comers?' 'I believed that you were the very was too late to undo the mischief. person; and when I found my mistake it You have prevented me from marrying a woman I loved; restore me Charlotte de Meyran madame. You can satisfy yourself to

morrow that I am innocent of the theft, however it may annoy you. We both are lost. I can well conceive how two enemies can rush to the place of combat where one is to lose his life. But if it is proved to them that both must perish, I cannot imagine the after struggle, especially when the prize they fight for is reputation.' 'It is you,' said 'Juliette, who have brought me to the place of combat. I had no choice, I must follow.'

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"Well,' said he, 'I am neither vile nor cowardly, and I know your conduct to be free even from suspicion. Yet I hate you, and my hate is returned. However, I know the value of reputation. It is more than life more than talent. For a woman especially, reputation is as necessary as the air she breathes.' I know it well,' said Juliette. Both suffering equally, I have been obliged to make this visit.' 'Have you brought poison or the dagger to put an end to my sufferings?' 'It may be so, madame. Career in an honourable profession is as necessary to my well-being as reputation is to yours. Though we hate, we cannot help esteeming each other, and I see but one means to effect our deliverance from the abyss which opens for us.' And this means -what is it? To espouse each other.' M. de Linant added not a word; he bowed respectfully, opened the door, and departed."

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"The church was plunged in the most profound darkness, but the Virgin's chapel sparkled with a thousand lights. The bride was arrayed in white, and a coral ornament adorned her hair, depended from

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her ears, and wound round her neck. She was beautiful but frightfully pale. The coral on which the light fell in floods gave a strange and ghastly colour to her skin. No joyous hymns, no sunlight, no incense! The mass was celebrated in the deepest silence, broken only by the voices of the priest and his assistants, the heavy thud of the rain coming down in torrents, and the rumbling of distant thunder. At last came the moment, when placed under bridegroom and bride laid their hands each in the other, and he put the gold circlet on her finger. You would have said their hands were of marble, with

the canopy,

The ceremony being

out a pulse of life. ended, the priest was about addressing them on their reciprocal duties, when a frightful clatter stopped his discourse. Some heavy object had fallen with a stunning noise on the pavement, and it seemed as if the pulpit had tumbled, a mass of wood had cracked, and the organ fallen to pieces with a dismal shriek. The thunder was heard in a prolonged rattle, and a sudden flash of lightning revealed a cloud of dust in the nave, as if rising from the vaults. A clash of iron accompanied these terrors, and a voice repeating in wild terror, Sancta Maria ora pro nobis.* Juliette fell in a

swoon into the arms of Madame C., and was borne lifeless into the sacristy."

After a while, Anatole, about to follow to make inquiry after his wife, was accosted by the minister, who, congratulating him on being just appointed prefect in Aveyron, politely handed him into a travelling carriage which was to convey him to his government. Away he went in his light wedding garments, and would have suffered not a little from the cold had it not been for a comfortable padded cloak which had been thoughtfully provided for him.

He had now gained his coveted object; and by his ability and naturally good disposition he soon was very popular in his capital of Rhodez. Moreover, Charlotte, now Mme. de Herbois, lived near, and he could frequently relax from his pleasant duties in her society. (The sensation British

maid or matron need not become nervous at this point-tender speeches were the worst that occurred between the quondam lovers.) But, alas, Napoleon would not allow a prefect and his lady to live apart. So he requested Mme. de Linant, who had lived in the minister's family since her marriage, to come and take possession of the lady's apartments in the prefeture, promising that he would never abuse his privileges, or inflict his society on her except at public receptions. She had to submit to hard fate. She was left completely at liberty, however, in her state apartments; and by degrees both husband and wife, discovering their mutual good qualities, began to regret their estrangement. She began to be tor

*The rain and thunder excepted, all this confusion arose from trivial causes, namely, the falling of a heavy picture, the clash of the frightened beadle's halbert on the flags, and the prayer of the terrified distributor of the holy-water.

imented with jealousy on account of the visits made to Mme. Charlotte, and just at the time received a visit from Ernest, who was flying from the pursuit of justice.

He informed her that his sister, with Anatole's concurrence, had placed one of her own creatures in her (Juliette's) service, and that she had promised her a dowry, and would effect her marriage with her suitor, on condition of her poisoning her new mistress, still with Anatole's concurrence. On inquiry, she found the poison in the maid's possession; and in Ernest's presence, burst out into a passion of jealousy and resentment, exclaiming as once did Henry II., "Oh ! who will free me from this man?" At this

juncture Anatole was away at Mme. de Herbois's, and intended, without returning, to join a party of huntsmen at some distance next day. Ernest, on hearing the frenzied wife's exclamation, started to do the deed, i.e., waylay and murder Anatole, and then oblige her as his accomplice to fly with him to another country. After his departure, she found that Charlotte's guilt consisted in bribing Rose to administer a liquor which would make her ill, and thus compel her to return to Paris for medical advice, and that Anatole had no knowledge whatever of the compact. She at once sent messengers in all haste to find her husband, and urgently require him to return.

On his meeting with Charlotte that day, she let him into her design of sending her husband to Italy to study the science of manures under a celebrated professor, and also how she would oblige his wife to quit Rhodez, as already explained. She showed him her favourite dog, once a lively little animal, now moving about in a listless fashion from a dose of the poison, and explained that it would be as brisk as ever in a day or so. Anatole had been suffering from remorse and re-awakened love of his wife, and now he bitterly reproached Charlotte-rushed from the house

sprung on his horse-saw the poor little hound lying dead as he was crossing the yard, and rode home like the wind to save his wife, if not too late. Meantime, she was in agony for his safety. Rose, who had decided on not administering the medicine, cried out,

"Madame, Monsieur is alighting.' A shivering seized on the young wife. She felt her limbs tremble under her, but her feelings were all gratitude that her rash expressions had not borne their bitter fruit. Oh, Rose! are you sure?' She heard the outer door clash, and trembling with emotion, she retreated to the farthest part of her boudoir. At last the door flew open, and Anatole springing towards his wife clasped her to his heart. Juliette,' cried he, trem

bling, you are pale; your lips and under your eyes are discoloured. Am I too late?' Then perceiving Rose, he cried out, ‘Let this girl be arrested.' Juliette laid one hand on her husband's mouth, and with the other held before his eyes the little bottle still full to the stopper. 'No,' said she, ‘Rose is a true girl. We must recompense her instead of delivering her to justice.' 'Oh, God be praised!' cried he, that you have escaped death. How dreadful that I who love you most tenderly should have been selected as her arms round her husband, and her past an accomplice for your death!' She flung sufferings were as if they had never been.”


But we are constrained to omit all further circumstances of the unlooked for reconciliation, and the fortunes of the other personages of the story, high and low, and the many picturesque and humorous passages with which the book is filled. Our object being to present a sensation French story of an unobjectionable character, and a date anterior to the Lady Audley school, we have spared our readers everything in the shape of criticism. Being destitute of the evil qualities so dear to the admirers of the wicked works of Feydeau, Sue and Co., it has missed such popularity as is enjoyed by their writings, and will, therefore, as we "hope, possess the virtue of novelty for many of our readers.


SHE stands beside a pillar fair,
A maiden girlish-slight,

But stronger than the column there

Her innocency's might;

And simple straight her thoughts go up, in purest white arrayed,
And far above the pillar's shaft their resting place is made.

She kneels beneath the arching lines
That o'er the chancel sweep,
And on her brow the holy signs
Of peaceful conscience sleep,

And higher than the arches' height her steadfast eyes do look,
The while they meekly seem to fall upon her

A sunbeam laughs into her face,
The face that knows no stain,

open book.

And laughs to see from out their place,
Within the window pane,

The olden saints, in quaint array, come sliding, gliding down,
To hover o'er her winsome face, and weave for her a crown.

St. Matthew gleams about her lips,
For all his mien so staid;
And see, upon her finger tips

St. James's palms are laid;

The loved Apostle calmly floats o'er one so purely fair,
And hoar St. Peter, with his keys, lies tangled in her hair.

Mine eyes are dazzled with the blaze;

For oh! she is so fair:

Yet do I nought but gaze and gaze,
For glory has no glare;

And then I murmur to myself, all wondering, "How can she,
This being, in her radiancy, my own betrothed be?”

Anon the organ's minstrelsy,
And all the choir join in ;
But she, albeit her silency,
Is holier than a hymn;

For "Jubilate Domine" her every look doth show,
And "Gloria" is writ upon the brightness of her brow.

Then, for his text, the Pastor takes

A verse I know full well,

And every word he utters makes

A new-born glory-spell

Come showering down from out the pane to light up every word, Yea, "Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see the Lord."

For lo! I see it shining out,

A gorgeous blazoned text,

With crimson, purple, strewn about

The golden blaze perplext;

And then upon my clasped hands I bow my face and pray,

And "Blessed are the pure in heart," I softly, softly say.



THE second of the works whose titles are subjoined describes the present era in American affairs as the "great transition." The writer, a strong Abolitionist partisan, means that a change is occurring from a national constitution stained by negro Slavery, to a reconstructed Union within which no man shall be held in bondage. This vision of the Lincoln party has its inspiring elements; and vast political strength has been derived by the Northern Ministers from the supposed tendency of their policy to bring about such a result. It is unnecessary at present to discuss whether a transition in that sense is really in progress; but there can be no question that a great transition is taking place, one which will momentously affect the character of the American people and the nature of their institutions, whether the South and North again coalesce, or are finally resolved into two distinct nations, founded on principles mutually repellent. Little is known in this country of the effect of the existing struggle upon society in the Southern States. Tourists, and the correspondents of leading journals, have confined themselves chiefly to the Federal districts of the continent; but from such books as the intelligent diary of Colonel Fremantle, and the evidence afforded by the public acts of the Confederate Cabinet, there is ground to conclude that no social disorganization has ensued in the Southern States, as the result of the war, bearing the smallest comparison with the moral disturbance, and perilous revolution in public sentiment, caused in the North by the strife of factions, and the harsh necessities of a contest into which the American-born inhabitants of the Federal States have never gone with enthusiasm, or a spirit of self-sacrifice. What we know of the South is, that the population, high and low, have

vied in zeal for what they regard as the cause of national independence. Mr. Davis has had no difficulty in obtaining men from a community much smaller in numbers than his opponents draw from. No Conscription of his has been resisted; none has ever failed of producing the expected totals. The last of the Confederate President's manifestoes is a letter of thanks to the soldiery, who, being entitled to their discharge after a protracted period of service, and privations unprecedented in modern war, instead of embracing the opportunity, and retiring to their homes, have all but unanimously re-enlisted. It is a noble act, even Federal advocates allow; and, were there nothing else to judge from, would show that the Southerns are not demoralized by the war.

Into the various reasons of this difference of experience in North and South, it seems superfluous to inquire. The principal must doubtless be sought in the circumstance that the Southerns are bound together by a common purpose. Some may be inclined to describe this as defence of their homes and hearths, others as the preservation of their vile monopoly of unpaid negro labour; but whichever theory is taken, the strength and value of unity are undeniable. Mr. Davis and his colleagues have been able to devote undivided attention to their military tasks. They have not suffered from the distractions of political intrigue. They have not trembled for their authority as for a power that might any day be suddenly overthrown. Their journals have subjected them to criticism, and often sharply; but this has only been when they seemed to be prosecuting the war tardily-never with the view of deposing them from their seats in favour of a rival faction.

In the North things have been very different. Mr Lincoln and his

"Forty Years of American Life." By Dr. Thomas L. Nichols. John Maxwell & Co.

2 vols. London:

"Peculiar a Tale of the Great Transition." By Epes Sargent. Edited by William Howitt. Authorized edition. 3 vols. London: Hurst & Blackett.

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