"We will none of us leave this room until it is found !" exclaimed one of the gentlemen with ominous emphasis. on second thoughts accepted the invitation, | costly trinket was intended as a present to not having, indeed, any good reason to offer his only child, a daughter who had lately for declining it. Having taken leave of the married a wealthy baronet. general, therefore, he proceeded towards home, and announced their rencontre to his wife. She, poor woman, immediately took out his well-saved suit, and occupied herself in repairing, as best she might, the cruel ravages of time; as well as in starching and ironing an already snowy shirt to the highest degree of perfection. Next day, in due time, he arrived at General Vernon's handsome temporary dwelling, and received a cordial welcome. A dozen guests, civilians as well as soldiers, sat down to a splendid banquet. After dinner, the conversation happened to turn on the recent improvements in arts and manufactures; and comparisons were drawn between the relative talent for invention displayed by artists of different countries. Watchmaking happened to be mentioned as one of the arts which had during late years been wonderfully improved, the host desired his valet to fetch a most beautiful little watch, a perfect chef d'œuvre of workmanship, which he had lately purchased in Paris; and which was less valuable for its richly-jewelled case, than for the exquisite perfection of the mechanism it enshrined. The trinket passed from hand to hand, and was greatly admired by the guests: then the conversation turned on other topics, and many subjects were discussed, until they adjourned to the drawing-room to take coffee. After sitting there a while, the general suddenly recollected his watch, and ringing for his valet, desired him to take it from the dining-room table, where it had been left, and restore it to its proper place. In a few moments the servant returned, looking somewhat frightened; he could not find the watch. General Vernon, surprised, went himself to search, but was not more fortunate. "Perhaps, sir, you or one of the company may have carried it by mistake into the drawing-room?" | "That decision," said a young man, who was engaged that night to a ball, "might quarter us on our host for an indefinite time. I propose a much more speedy and satisfactory expedient: let us all be searched." This suggestion was received with laughter and acclamations; and the young man, presenting himself as the first victim, was searched by the valet, who, for the nonce, enacted the part of custom-house officer. The general, who at first opposed this piece of practical pleasantry, ended by laughing at it; and each new inspection of pockets produced fresh bursts of mirth. Captain Dutton alone took no share in what was going on: his hand trembled, his brow darkened, and he stood as much apart as possible. At length his turn came; the other guests had all displayed the contents of their pockets, so with one accord, and amid renewed laughter, they surrounded him, exclaiming that he must be the guilty one, as he was the last. The captain, pale and agitated, muttered some excuses, unheard amid the uproar. "Now for it, Johnson!" cried one to the valet. "Johnson, we're watching you!" said another; "produce the culprit." The servant advanced; but Dutton crossing his arms on his breast, declared in an agitated voice, that, except by violence, no one should lay a hand on him. A very awkward silence ensued, which the general broke by saying: "Captain Dutton is right; this child's play has lasted long enough. I claim exemption for him and for myself." Dutton, trembling and unable to speak, thanked his kind host by a grateful look, and then took an early opportunity of withdrawing. General Vernon did not make the slightest remark on his departure, and the remaining guests, through politeness, imi "I think not; but we will try." Another search, in which all the guests tated his reserve; but the mirth of the joined, but without avail. "What I fear," said the general, “is that some one by chance may tread upon and break it." evening was gone, every face looked anxious, and the host himself seemed grave and thoughtful. Captain Dutton spent some time in General Vernon was a widower, and this wandering restlessly on the sands before he VOL II.-15 returned home. It was late when he entered the cottage, and his wife could not repress an exclamation of affright when she saw his pale and troubled countenance. "What has happened?" cried she. "Nothing,” replied her husband, throwing himself on a chair, and laying a small packet on the table. "You have cost me very dear," he said, addressing it. In vain did his wife try to soothe him, and obtain an explanation. "Not now, Jane," he said; "to-morrow we shall see. To-morrow I will tell you all." Early next morning he went to General Vernon's house. Although he walked resolutely, his mind was sadly troubled. How could he present himself? In what way would he be received? How could he speak to the general without risking the reception of some look or word which he could never pardon? The very meeting with Johnson was to be dreaded. " He knocked; another servant opened the door, and instantly gave him admission. This man, at all events," he thought, "knows nothing of what has passed." Will the general receive him? Yes; he is ushered into his dressing-room. Without daring to raise his eyes, the poor man began to speak in a low hurried voice. "General Vernon, you thought my conduct strange last night; and painful and humiliating as its explanation will be, I feel it due to you and to myself to make it." His auditor tried to speak, but Dutton went on, without heeding the interruption. "My misery is at its height: that is my only excuse. My wife and our four little ones are actually starving !" of being suspected by you of a crime, my "If I had only known!" murmured poor Dutton. "Don't regret what has occurred," said the general, pressing his hand kindly. “It has been the means of acquainting me with what you should never have concealed from an old friend, who, please God, will find some means to serve you." In a few days Captain Dutton received another invitation to dine with the general. All the former guests were assembled, and their host, with ready tact, took occasion to apologize for his strange forgetfulness about the watch. Captain Dutton found a paper within the folds of his napkin: it was his nomination to an honorable and lucrative post, which insured competence and comfort to himself and his family. From "Eliza Cook's Journal." THE PAINTER'S SECRET. BY PERCY B. ST. JOHN. CHARLES DUPONT dwelt in one of those numerous small apartments which form the summit of nearly all large hotels or man "My friend!" cried the general with sions in Paris. He was a young man about emotion. But Dutton proceeded. "I cannot describe my feelings yesterday while seated at your luxurious table. I thought of my poor Jane, depriving herself | of a morsel of bread to give it to her baby; of my little pale, thin Annie, whose delicate appetite rejects the coarse food which is❘ all we can give her; and in an evil hour I transferred two pâtés from my plate to my pocket, thinking they would tempt my little darling to eat. I should have died of shame had these things been produced from my pocket, and your guests and servant made witnesses of my cruel poverty. Now, general, you know all; and but for the fear twenty, and as he stood at his garret window in the light of the summer's sun, smoking, as artists are wont to smoke, a short pipe, he looked handsome, and for many women captivating. He was pale, thin, and intellectuallooking, with long hair, mustaches, and beard. To an indifferent observer, he presented the aspect of one who was simply indulging in the pleasures of tobacco smoke; but such was not the case. The house he occupied ran round three sides of a square court, the fourth being taken up by the wall of the next house. On the opposite side of the court, on the same floor as that occupied by himself, was the apartment of a work-girl. This young person was remarkably pretty, | than ever by the sweet smile that sat upon and had been often remarked by the young her face, and by her really singular beauty. artist, with at first only the admiring eye of An idea flashed across his mind. He took a painter, but afterwards with more tender off his working blouse, passed his hand interest. through his hair, took his hat, and went out of his room, locking the door behind him. He moved rapidly and boldly to the door of the young girl. Once in front of it he halted. Charles was brave; and would have defended a barricade with cool determination; but here he hesitated. Mustering courage, however, he knocked gently. The instant he had done so, he would have given the world to have been away, and his heart beat so violently he could almost hear its throbbings. She was a very industrious girl. She rose early, almost with the sun, and went to bed late, as the young artist knew, for he often noticed her candle burning until midnight. Almost alone in the world, without friends, save a few students like himself, Charles Dupont felt irresistibly drawn towards that happy smiling face, which had so often formed the charm of his garret window. Of late the young man seemed unusually fond of smoking. Every moment not taken up by his art was occupied in inhaling the fragrance of the Indian weed. He scarcely ever went out now, his walks in search of scenery were abandoned, and he never joined his more noisy companions at those public estaminets, where the young hopes of France spend their hours in playing billiards, cards, dominoes, in drinking unnumbered glasses of beer, and in blackening short clay pipes-a perfect science in the city of Paris. But then Charles Dupont was in love, and much as the cold-hearted and worldly may sneer, the influence of this passion, when sincere and pure, is always beneficial to a young man. The change it produced in Charles was that always incident to elevated and superior minds, generally the simplest. He had no care now for noisy pleasures. His dream was to be near the unknown idol of his heart, to sit by her, to read to her, to talk to her, and as these could not be, he was satisfied to gaze on her from a distance. Plans upon plans were laid by the young man to make the acquaintance of his fair mistress; but, like all sincere lovers, in the outset, he was timid. He remarked with pleasure that she had very few visitors, and those always of her own sex None ever escaped his jealous eye, who entered that room, and he never saw a man enter it. Charles sighed, however, deeply, for he too saw no chance of making his way to the side of his beloved. One day, it was in the month of May, the young girl stood at her window, putting some pretty flowers in water. She was dressed better than usual, and had got up a little later. Charles Dupont was more struck "What is it I can do for Monsieur ?" said the young girl, smiling and blushing, as on opening the door she recognized her handsome neighbor the artist. "Mademoiselle," said Charles, with considerable hesitation, "I fancied by your flowers, and your dress, that to-day was your fête. I am your neighbor, and I thought I might take the liberty to come and wish you a happy one." "Monsieur is very good. We are old neighbors it is true, though we have never spoken—” "It has not been for the want of wishing on my part," exclaimed the artist, eagerly. The young girl looked at Charles. There was so much modesty, resigned and respectful affection in the expression of his face, that she could not for a moment confound him with the usual mass of young men, who caught by her pretty face had sought to make her acquaintance. She held out her hand. "Since we are neighbors, let us be friends," said she. "We would begin to-day; but this is your fête. Would Mademoiselle allow me the honor of taking her out for a walk?" Constance, after a moment's hesitation, accepted. When one is young, one makes friends so easily, especially in France; and then Charles had the talent of making himself liked by every body. He entered her little room, so neat, so clean, so pretty, it made him sigh, as he compared it with his own bachelor den, where no woman's hand had for many months disturbed either dust or cobwebs. In ten minutes Constance was ready. She put on a nice bonnet and a neat shawl, the fruits of her industry, and then tripped down stairs happy as a bird, for we may as well reveal a secret. Constance had for more than a month longed as much to make the pale young artist's acquaintance, as he had to make hers. They made for the Boulevards mechanically, as every body does, followed them some distance, crossed the magnificent Place de la Concorde, the finest Place in the world, entered the Champs Elysées, and by common consent made for the Bois de Boulogne. It was a lovely day. But though they had both seen many such, yet they thought they never had. They scarcely spoke. They walked arm in arm, side by side, and in the wood hand-in-hand. Once Charles asked Constance if she enjoyed herself. "I am so happy," she replied, raising her dove-like eyes beaming with happiness towards him. There was something in the words, in the look, which made the young man's heart beat with intense emotion. Thus passed the day in occasional conversation, in constant walking until both felt hungry. They then entered the house of a humble traiteur, and the young artist offered his fair friend a very plain dinner, but which neither would have exchanged for the feasts of the PalaisNational Happy age! happy feelings! happy Charles! happy Constance ! Towards dusk they returned to Paris, and the young man insisted, on the occasion of of the girl's fête, upon taking her to the theatre. They selected a moderate-priced seat, and here again, the thing being rare to both, enjoyed themselves exceedingly. On leaving the theatre they walked quietly home and parted, to think with rapture on the happiest day which either had ever yet spent. The acquaintance so pleasantly made was continued. Every morning they nodded to one another from their windows, and about mid-day, Constance gave the artist a sitting. Several times, too, Charles brought in sketches to show her, and then in the evening he would get books from a cabinet de lecture and read to her. Every day their happiness seemed to increase. They learned each other's good qualities. Charles was well-educated, well-read, with a fund of anecdote, and rich stores of knowledge. Constance knew little, but she was an apt scholar. She had a quick intelligence, a noble and generous heart, and she was pure and innocent as a child. For some weeks the lovers, for such they now were, went on happier each day than the last. The portrait made little progress, because Constance could spare little time, and because Charles talked more than he painted. Still it went on. At the end, however, of a month, Constance remarked that Charles was paler than usual, that his spirits seemed gone, he brought no book in the evening, and went away early to bed. She questioned him, poor girl, for she was deeply anxious. She feared he was falling ill, that he was going to die, and then, poor orphan child what was to become of her. For Constance loved him dearly, as women only love men who are above the common mass, men of mind and intellect, though women who can love such men are more rare and precious than aught else in the world. She watched narrowly the painter's face, and the wild eye and haggard looks made her see that the sufferings of Charles were more mental than any thing else. The mind was ill at ease. She offered to go in and work in his room, while he painted, but he stammered out some excuse, and declined. It was clear then he had a secret, and woman's curiosity was at once at work. She questioned him, she coaxed, she was cross with him, but all in vain, he returned but vague answers to all she said. Constance became uneasy: what could be the matter? He became paler every day, and came less to see her. One day she heard him leave his room and go hurriedly down stairs. She ran out to speak to him, to ask when he would come back, but he was gone. His key was in his door. Moved by an irresisti- | morning had been thus profitably spent ble influence she entered his room. It was a that the afternoon passed more gayly, more miserable garret, containing nothing save a quickly, more delightfully than usual. few paintings and a mattress on the floor. Not a chair, not a table, not a scrap of any thing in the shape of clothes or food. Constance rushed out of the room, turned the key, gained her own lodgings, threw herself on her bed and sobbed aloud. Charles was starving. A few pawnbroker's tickets lying on the mantel-piece had more than anything else convinced her of this fact. The pain and suffering now endured by Constance is not to be described. Her feelings were worked up to an intense pitch of excitement. Far from finding her affection lessened at the discovery of the student's poverty, she found it much increased. An unearthly interest seemed now attached to the name of Charles. She felt his talents to be great, and in her heart was sure that he would rise to competence and fame. But at that moment he was clearly starving. What was she to do? She would have rushed to him, have told him all, and bid him share her humble meal, use her little savings, and thus gain time to work; but she feared to wound his pride. He had hitherto kept his own secret, he therefore wished his sufferings to be concealed from her. In vain she thought of any project for relieving his misery, without betraying her full knowledge of it. The poor girl wept bitterly at her own want of inventive genius. At last, however, an idea flashed across her mind. She caught up some work she had finished the night before, and putting it in a neat parcel, hurried down stairs, taking with her also the half-finished portrait of herself by Charles. She gained the street, and made towards the habitation of a lady for whom she had been working. Madame Pellissier was a young widow, rich, courted, | and happy. With every luxury and comfort around her, which wealth could give, she deserved her well-being, for she made good use of it. Fond of pleasure, she was even still fonder of giving pleasure to others. Many were the poor families which owed to her relief from misery and despair. Madame Pellissier would always give up the most charming day's amusement, to find out the details of some tale of sorrow which had been told her; and she felt, when her "Welcome, Constance," she said as the work-girl was ushered into her breakfastroom. I was waiting impatiently for you. My cousin Pierre is coming to take me for a drive in the Bois de Boulogne by and by, and I want to wear that cloak, which no doubt you have made charmingly.” "I hope it will please you, Madame," replied Constance, taking a proffered seat. "What is that you have in that square parcel, child? and why are you so out of breath and so pale?" "It is a whole history," said Constance, lowering her eyes upon the ground. "Let me have it. You know I am vastly curious. Take this cup of chocolate, and tell it me at once.” Constance, taking courage from the emergency, told, in as few words as possible, her history. She narrated how she made the acquaintance of the painter, and then how, after nearly a month's delay, she had found out his secret. Madame Pellissier listened with rapidly awakened interest. And what would you have me do, child?" said she, when the young girl had told her story. 46 Madame, Charles Dupont is very proud. Relief in money he would not receive, but if you would only be so good as to sit for your portrait to him, you would add deeply to that debt of gratitude which Constance already owes you." "With pleasure," cried the young widow. "But it seems the case is pressing. Give me his address, and I will send round to him at once. But I cannot pay him for the portrait until it be finished. Has he any thing I can buy of him.” 'He has several little pictures in his room,” replied Constance, in a tone of deep emotion. "Go home, child, and be satisfied. My cousin shall ride alone to-day. I will write round to your protégé at once." "But, Madame, not a word of me." "Never fear, Constance; I know your good little heart." About an hour later, Charles was crouching on his mattress, his hands covering his face in mute despair, when a knock came to the door. He started, rose, opened the door |