upon in the neighbourhood, as spirit-haunted and accurst. I had a surprise in store for him; but was desirous, in the first place, to ascertain whether he would be capable of supporting it; for I was moved with compassion at sight of his grey hairs. Nothing could be more pitiable to behold, than the grief of that old man, excepting, perhaps, the thoughtless gaiety of the two little ones, who, as yet ignorant of the whole matter, had got into a corner of the room to play at marbles. With his hands stretched out over the hearth, on which he had raked together the smouldering embers, and with his face bent downwards towards the floor, the grief-stricken old man awaited in silence an explanation of the object of my visit ; but I was at a loss how to break the matter to him. Meanwhile, a storm had come on, and the hail rattled from without against the glazed casements. 6 "It was the bad weather, no doubt,' said the old man, after an awkward pause, that could alone induce you to seek shelter beneath a roof like this-the abode of despair and misery? By Siant Jacques, and his bosom-friend Saint Yves, to boot!, answered I, 'pray you, to take me not for one of those who shun misfortune, as they would avoid a leper. No! my good sir; you may give free scope to your sorrows in my presence. The loss was, indeed, great; but 'tis some consolation, that some few exist who believe him innocent.' I was talking at a venture, in order to say something, at least, and watch my opportunity. Innocent! ay, that he certainly was,' replied my aged host, raising his shrivelled and trembling hands towards Heaven: 'the barbarians! they condemned him, for having, as they pretended, seduced a young girl-his wife, by dint of sorcery and arts of magic; but it was nothing but natural that he should gain her heart, without having recourse to the aid of the arch-fiend; for he was well versed in all points of learning, and tall and wellmade, and with one of the handsomest heads in the world.' 'Very true,' said I, the expression escaping me unawares. You knew him, then?' eagerly enquired the poor old man. By sight only,' I replied. 'Alas!' he continued, his death, dreadful as it was, is not the sole cause of my sorrow; for after all, we must all die one time or another, and whether that be sooner or later is perhaps of little moment; but, the most hortible of all, is to think that he will not repose entire and unmutilated in his grave! The noblest portion of his body will be exposed to insult and derision on the city gates! where, perhaps, the Crows the convulsive sobs of the old man here stopped his utterance. I was, however not displeased at the turn the conversation had taken; although, to say the truth, I felt that my compassion for his sufferings bade fair to operate a woful deduction in the price of my merchandize; and I foresaw that the pleasure of doing a good action was all the advantage I should derive from the adventure; but,' thought I to myself, once and away don't constitute a habit.' After a short silence, the unhappy father added, as though in a reverie, Strange! that in the number of friends he had during life, there should not be found one-ay, but one-with courage enough to seize upon and carry off the precious relic; dearer, far dearer to me, than the few days of life I have left to wear away in sorrow. I should then at least have one thought to cheer me.' Old man,' said I, 'scarce able to restrain my feelings of exultation, 'your wish is rash in the extreme; for of a certainty, the aspect of your son's bleeding head would paralyse you with grief and horror! Oh! by no means.' Ay, but, it certainly would.' 'Not at all, of that I am quite confident.' 'Suppose now,' I continued, ' that at this very moment a messenger should enter the room, with a wallet or sack in his hand, such an one as this for instance; and suppose he should address you in this manner: Be firm, old man! now gather all thy courage! for I bring thee thy son's head! and that, so saying, and in proof of these terrible words, he should suddenly draw forth from this bag the bleeding head of your murdered son, as I do now!' Whilst speaking this, I suited the action to the word, doing exactly as I was supposing another might do; and in this manner I prepared him for the shock, · until, with the last words, I exposed the contents of the headsman's wallet. His first stare of horror and amazement, I will not attempt to describe; then followed a phrenzied laughvacant and chilling, and dreadful to hear: at last somewhat recovered from his fit, he burst into tears, and, pressing his hands over his eyes, he exclaimed, Heaven be thanked, our grave will be properly filled!'" "Perceiving clearly enough that I should get nothing save benedictions by waiting, I was hastening away with my empty sack; but the aged serving man hobbled quickly after me, saying his master begged to remind me that I was carrying off something that belonged to him! whereat I was, at first, somewhat nettled, seeing that, for the first time during the whole week, I happened that day to have clean hands. I soon found however, that the old man alluded to the blood with which the inside of the wallet was all over stained. So I gave it into the hands of the aged domestic, who bidding me tarry an instant, carried it to his master; by whose orders he quickly returned with a sack made of new cloth, and with three hundred florins inside. Now, my merry companions, laugh if you like at Jake Plouganet: ye may jeer at him, and welcome, but the money's no joke!" WOMAN'S VOW. "I take thee to my wedded husband-to love, cherish, and obey." Love!-oh mine own!-the joy, the bloom, The wealth, the crown of life, the spring Cherish, most dear!-I will, I may, And am I "to obey ?" the lips The heart, and into venom turn Obedience-strongest, purest, test, Whose love, life, soul, are vow'd to thee! THE ROSE-WATER OF EGYPT. Although in our northern latitudes usually regarded in the light of a mere refinement in luxury, may yet be said to constitute throughout the eastern world, an actual object of necessity, and a source of considerable revenue and of commercial wealth. The lands of the province of Fayoum, in Egypt, are the only ones proper for the cultivation of the rose-tree. In the month of March, the ground selected for this species of cultivation is made to undergo two separate courses of preparation by the spade; it is divided into squares, and cuts or shoots of the rosetree are then planted in holes two feet and a half asunder, and covered over with earth. This operation completed, frequent watering is resorted to, in order that the soil may be kept moist until the slips have taken root, and appear above the earth: the process of watering is now gradually diminished, and the rosetrees quickly attain their natural height; namely of a foot and a half or two feet. Towards the end of December the plants are cut down even with the surface of the earth, when the frequent waterings again recommence for about forty days, the time requisite for enabling the buds to shoot out afresh, and the roses to expand in full bloom. Then it is, that every morning before the sun has risen, and whilst the roses are still moistened with the dew, that they are carefully plucked and immediately placed in the alembic to prevent their becoming dry, and consequently fermenting, which would be the case if they were left for any length of time before being submitted to the process of distillation. A layer of sand is first spread at the bottom of the alembic, to keep the leaves from burning: the distillation lasts about six hours. The rose-water is perfectly colourless as it comes from the still; the yellowish tint perceptible in the rose-water of commerce, is understood to arise from the subsequent admixture of water to the residuum of rose-leaves left in the alembic after the first distillation; the yellow-tinted produce, therefore, of the second distillation, is of inferior quality. A feddan of land yields, upon the average, from six to seven bundred weight of roses. Rose-water is of three different qualities, varying considerably in price: that of the first quality sells for seven piastres a flask, containing a rotle; the second quality is fixed at five piastres, and the last at three piastres the rotle. A feddan, planted with rose-trees, costs about sixty piastres in outlay for cultivation and taxes: it yields, loss and waste included, three hundred weight of roses, the distillation of which (producing three-hundred bottles, sold, even at the lowest price, say three piastres each), leaves a net profit of nine hundred piastres. This branch of industry in Egypt, probably the most lucrative of all, is monopolized by the government. No person is allowed to distil roses on his own account: those who cultivate them are obliged to sell the produce to the government agents at a very reduced price. Thou hast not felt Ambition's thrall, Simple and artless are thy pleasures; I know the spell to soothe thy sadness, The magic of thy father's kiss Can soon transform thy grief to gladness ! The world, my fair and frolic boy, A parent's look-a parent's greeting; And, oh! may He whose boundless love Beyond the fondest mother's kindnessTeach thy young heart for Him to glow, Thy ways from sin and sorrow sever, And guide thy steps in peace below, To realms where peace endures for ever! THE OMNIBUS. Being one of the chance fares, we entered an Omnibus which has yet no other inside passenger; and having no book with us, we make intense acquaintance with two objects: the one being the heel of an outside passenger's boot, who is sitting on the coach-top; and the other, that universally studied bit of literature, which is inscribed at the further end of every such vehicle, and which purports, that is under the royal and charming jurisdiction of the young lady now reigning over us, by whom it is permitted to carry "twelve inside passengers, AND NO MORE;"-thus showing extreme consideration on her Majesty's part, and that she will not have the sides of her loving subjects squeezed together like figs. Enter a precise personage, probably a Methodist, certainly "well off," who seats himself right in the midway of his side of the Omnibus; that is to say, at equal distances between the two extremities; because it is the spot in which you least feel the the inconvenience of the motion. He is a man who seldom makes a remark, or takes notice of what is going forward, unless a payment is to be resisted, or the entrance of a passenger beyond the lawful number. Now and then he hems, and adjusts a glove; or wipes a little dust off one of the cuffs of his coat. In leaps a youngster, and seats himself close at the door, in order to be ready to leap out again. Item, a maid-servant, flustered with the fear of being too late, and reddening furthermore betwixt awkwardness, and the resentment of it, at not being quite sure where to seat herself. A jerk of the Omnibus pitches her against the precisian, and makes both her and the youngster laugh. Enter a young lady, in colours and big ear-rings, and excessively flounced and ringletted, and seats herself opposite the maid-servant, who beholds her with admiration, but secretly thinks herself handsomer, and what a pity it is she was not a lady herself, to become the ringlets and flounces better. Enter two other young ladies, in white, who pass to the other end in order to be out of the way of the knees and boots of those who go out. They whisper and giggle much, and are quizzing the young lady in the reds and ringlets; who, for her part (though she knows it, and could squeeze all their bonnets together), looks as firm and unconcerned as a statue. Enter a dandy, too handsome to be quizzed; and then a man with a bundle, who is agreeably surprised with the gentlemanly toleration of the dandy, and, luckily, unaware of the secret disgust of the Methodist. Item, an old gentleman; then, a very fat man; then two fat elderly women, one of whom is very angry at the incommodious presence of her likenesses, while the other, full of good humour is comforted by it. The youngster has in the mean time gone to sit on coach-top, in order to make room; and we set off to the place of our destination. What an intense intimacy we get with the face, neck-cloth, waistcoat, and watch-chain of the man who sits opposite us! Who is he? What is his name? Is his care a great care,an affliction? Is his look of affliction real? At length he looks at ourselves, asking himself, no doubt, similar questions; and, as it is less pleasant to be scrutinized than to scrutinize, we now set him the example of turning the eyes another way. How unpleasant it must be to the very fat man to be so gazed at! Think, if he sat as close to us in a private room, in a chair ! How he would get up, and walk away! But here, sit he must, and have his portrait taken by our memories. We sigh for his plethora, with a breath almost as piteous as his wheezing. And he has a sensible face withal, and has, perhaps, acquired a painful amount of intellectual as well as physical knowledge, from the melancholy that has succeeded to his joviality. Fat men always appear to be "good fellows," unless there is some mani. fest proof to the contrary; so we wish, for his sake, that every body in this world could do just as he pleased, and die of a very dropsy of delight. Exeunt our fat friend, and the more ill-humoured of the two fat women; and enter, in their places, two young mothers,-one with a good-humoured child, a female; the other with a great, handsome, red-cheeked wilful boy, all flounce and hat and feathers, and red legs, who is eating a bun, and seems resolved that the other child, who does nothing but look at it, shall not partake a morsel. His mother, who "snubs" him one instant, and lets him have his own the next, has evidently been a spoiled child herself, and is doing her best to learn to repent the sorrow she caused her own mother, by the time she is a dozen years older. The elderly gentlemen compliments the boy on his likeness to his mamma, who laughs and says he is "very polite." As to the young gentlemen, he fancies he is asked for a piece of his bun, and falls a kicking; and the young lady in the ringlets tosses her head. Exit the Methodist, and enter an affable man; who, having protested it is very cold, and lamented a stoppage, and vented the original remark that you gain nothing by an Omnibus in point of time, subsides into an elegant silence; but he is fastened npon by the man with the bundle, who, encouraged by his apparent good nature, tells him, in an undertone, some anecdotes relative to his own experience of Omnibusses; which the affable gentleman endures with a variety of assenting exclamations, intended quite as much to stop as to encourage, not one of which succeeds; such as “ Ah”“ Oh Indeed Precisely_I dare say"-" I see"-"Really?"-" Very likely ;"—jerking the top of his stick occasionally against his mouth as he speaks, and uobody pitying him. Meantime the good-humoured fat woman having expressed a wish to have a window closed which the ill-humoured one had taken upon her to open, and the two young ladies in the corner giving their assent, but none of the three being able to pull it up, the elderly gentleman, in an ardour of gallantry, anxious to show his pleasing combination of strength and tenderness, exclaims, "Permit me ;" and jumping up, cannot do it at all. The window cruelly sticks fast, and, only brings up all the blood into his face with the mingled shame and incompetence of the endeavour. He is a conscientious kind of incapable, however, is the elderly gentleman ; so he calls in the conducter, who does it in an instant. "He knows the trick," says the elderly gentleman. "It's only a little bit new," says the conducter; who hates to be called in. Exeunt elderly and the maid-servant, and enter an un-refleeting young gentleman who has bought an orange, and must needs eat it immediately. He accordingly begins by peeling it, and is first made aware of the delicacy of his position by the gigglement of the two young ladies, and his doubt where he shall throw the peel. He is "in for it," however, and must proceed; so being unable to divide the orange in its segments, he ventures upon a great liquid bite, which resounds through the Omnibus, and covers the whole of the lower part of his face with pip and drip. The young lady with the ringlets is right before him. The two other young ladies stuff their handkerchiefs into their mouths, and he, into his mouth, the whole of the rest of the fruit, "sloshy" and too big, with desperation in his heart, and the tears in his eyes. Never will he eat an orange again in an Omnibus. He doubts whether he shall even venture upon one at all in the presence of his friends, the Miss Wilkinsons. Enter, at various times, an irascible gentleman, who is constantly threatening to go out; a long-legged dragoon, at whose advent the young ladies are smit with sudden gravity and apparent objection; a young sailor, with a face innocent of every thing but a pride in his slops, who says his mother does not like his going to sea; a gentleman with a book, which we long to ask him to let us look at; a man with a dog, which embitters the feet and ancles of a sharp-visaged old lady, and completes her horror by getting on the empty seat next her, and looking out of the window; divers bankers' clerks and tradesmen, who think of nothing but the bills in their pockets; two estranged friends, ignoring each other; a pompous fellow, who suddenly looks modest and bewitched, having detected a baronet in the corner; a botanist with his tin herbarium; a young married couple, assuming a right to be fond in public; another from the country, who exalt all the rest of the passengers in self opinion by betraying the amazing fact, that they have never before seen Piccadilly; a footman, intensely clean in his habiliments, and very respectful, for his hat subdues him, as well as the strange feeling of sitting inside ; four boys going to school, very pudding-faced, and not kuowing how to behave (one pulls a string and top half way out of his pocket, and all reply to questions in monosylables); a person with a constant smile on his face, having just cheated another in a bargain; close to him a very melancholy person, going to see a daughter on her death-bed, and not hearing one of the cheater's happy remarks; a French lady, looking at once amiable and worldly,-hard, as it were, in the midst of her softness, or soft in the midst of her hardness,-which you will,probably an actress, or a teacher; two immense-whiskered Italians, uttering their delicious language with a precision which shows that they are singers; a man in a smock-frock, who, by his sitting on the edge of the seat, and perpetually watching his time to go out, seems to make a constant apology for his presence; ditto, a man with some huge mysterious accompaniment of mechanism, or implement of trade, too big to be lawfully carried inside; a pedant or a fop, ostentatious of some ancient or foreign language, or talking of a lord; all sorts of people talking of the weather, and the harvest, and the Queen, and the last bit of news in short, every description of age, rank, temper, occupation, appearance, life, character, and behaviour, from the gentleman who quietly gives himself a lift out of the rain, secure in his easy unaffected manner, and his accommodating good breeding, down to the blackguard who attemps to thrust his opinion down the throat of his neighbour, or keeps his leg thrust out across the door-way, or lets his umbrella dip against a sick child. Tempers are exhibited most at night because people by that time have dined and drunk, and finished their labours, and because the act of going home serves to bring out the domestic habit. You do not then, indeed, so often see the happy fatigue, delighted with the sudden opportunity of rest; nor the anxious look, as if it feared its journey's end; nor the bustling one, eager to get there. The seats are most commonly reckoned upon, and more allowance is made for delays; though some passengers make a point of always being in a state of indignation and ill-treatment, and express an impatience to get home, as if their house were a paradise (which is assuredly what it is not, to those who expect them there). But at night tongues are loosened, wills and pleasures more freely expressed, and faces rendered less bashful by the comparative darkness. It is then the jovial" old boy" lets out the secret of his having dined somwhere, perhaps at some Company's feast in Goldsmith's or Stationer's Hall; and it is with difficulty he hinders himself from singing. Then the arbitrary or the purse-proud are wrathful if they are not driven up to the identical inch of curb-stone, fronting their door. Then the incontinent nature, heedless of anything but its own satisfaction, snores in its corner; and politicians are loud; and gay fellows gallant, especially if they are old and ugly; and lovers, who seem unconscious of one another's presence, are intensely the reverse. Then also the pick-pocket is luckiest at his circumventions; and the lady, about to pay her fare, suddenly misses her reticule. Chiefly now also, sixpences, nay, purses, are missed in the straw, and lights are brought to look for it, and the conductor is in an agonizing perplexity whether to pronounce the loser an impudent cheat, or to love him for an innocent and a ninny. Finally, now is the time when selfishness and generosity are most exhibited. It rains, and the coach is full; a lady applies for admittance; a gentleman offers to go outside; and according to the natures of the various passengers, is despised or respected accordingly. It rains horribly; a "young woman" applies for admittance; the coach is overstocked already; a crapulous fellow who has been allowed to come in by special favour, protests against the exercise of the like charity to a female (we have seen it!), and is secretly detested by the least generous; a similar gentleman to the above, offers to take the applicant on his knee, if she has no objection; and she enters accordingly, and sits.-Is she pretty ?-Is she ugly?-Above all is she good-humoured? A question of some concern, even to the least interested of knee-givers. On the other hand, is the gentleman young or old, pleasant or disagreeable; a real gentleman, or only a formal "old frump," who has hardly a right to be civil? At length the parties get a look at one another, the gentleman first, the young woman suddenly from under her bonnet. Ought she to have looked at all?-And what is the particular retrospective expression which she instinctively chooses out of many, when she has looked? It is a nice question, varying according to circumstances.-" Making room" for a fair interloper is no such dilemma as that; though we may be allowed to think, that the pleasure is greatly enhanced by the pleasantness of the countenance. It is astonishing how much grace is put, even into the tip of an elbow, by the turn of an eye. There is a reflection which all Omnibus passengers are agreed upon, and which every one of them perhaps has made, without exception, in the course of their intellectual reciprocities; which is, that Omnibuses are very convenient;"-"an astonishing accommodation to the public;"-not quick,-save little time (as aforesaid),—and the conductors are very tiresome; but a most useful invention, and wonderfully cheap. There are also certain things which almost all Omnibus passengers do; such as help ladies to and fro; gradually get nearer to the door whenever a vacant seat occurs, so as to force the new comer further up than he likes; and every body stumbles, forward or sideways, when they first come in, and the coach sets off before they are seated. Among the pleasures, are seeing the highly satisfied faces of persons suddenly relieved from a long walk; being able to read a book; and, occasionally, observing one of a congenial sort in the hands of a fellow passenger. Among the evils, are dirty boots and wetting umbrellas; broken panes of glass in bad weather, afflicting the napes of the necks of invalids; and fellows who endeavour to convenience themselves at every body's expense, by taking up as much room as possible, and who pretend to alter their oblique position when remonstrared with, without really doing it. Item, cramps in the leg, when thrusting it excessively backwards underneath the seat, in making way for a new comer,—the patient thrusting it forth again with an agonized vivacity, that sets the man opposite him laughing, Item, cruel treadings upon corns, the whole being of the old lady or gentleman seeming to be mashed into the burning foot, and the sufferer looking in an estacy of tormented doubt whether to be decently quiet or murderously vociferous, the inflictor, meanwhile, thinking it sufficient to say "Very sorry" in an indifferent tone of voice, and taking his seat with an air of luxurious complacency. Among the pleasures also, particularly in going home at night, must not be forgotten the having the Omnibus finally to yourself, readjusting yourself in a corner betwixt slumbering and waking, and throwing up your feet on the seat opposite; though as the will becomes piqued in proportion to its luxuries, you always regret that the seats are not wider, and that you cannot treat your hat, on cold nights, as freely as if it were a night-cap. The last lingerers on these occasions (with the exception of play-goers,) are apt to be staid suburb-dwelling citizens,-sitters with bands crossed upon their walking-sticks-men of parcels and eatables, breakers of last baskets of oranges, chuckling over their bargains. There's one in the corner, sleeping,-the last of the dwellers in Paddington. To deposit him at his door is the sole remaining task of the conductor. He wakes up; hands forth a bag of apples,-a tongue,-a bonnet, and four pair of ladies' shoes. A most considerate spouse and "Papa" is he and a most worthy and flourishing hosier. Venerable is his lax throat in his bit of white neckcloth (he has never taken to black); but jovially also he shakes his wrinkles, if you talk of the stationer's widow, or the last city feast. "Don't drop them ladies' shoes, Tom," says he, chuckling; "they'll be worn out before their time." "Wery expensive, I believe, Sir, them 'ere kind o'shoes," says Tom. "Very ;-oh, sadly. And no better than paper. But men well to do in the world, can't live as cheap as poor ones." Tom thinks this a very odd proposition; but it does not disconcert him. Nothing disconcerts a conductor, except a passenger without a sixpence. "True, Sir," says Tom; "its a hard case to be forced to spend one's money; but then you know-I beg pardon" (with a tone of modest deference and secret contempt), “it's much harder as they say, where there's none to spend." "Hah! Ha, ha! Why, yes, eh?" returns the old gentleman, again chuckling; "so there's your sixpence, Tom, and good night." "Good night, Sir." And up jumps Tom on the coach-box, where he amuses the driver with an account of the dirt which the hosier has got from the coach-wheel without his knowing it; and off they go to a far less good supper, but it must be added, a much better sleep, then the rich old citizen. Leigh Hunt. LINES TO MY MOTHER. THEY tell us of an Indian tree, Which, howsoe'er the sun and sky May tempt its boughs to wander free, And shoot, and blossom, wide and high, Far better loves to bend its arms Downward again to that dear earth, From which the life, that fills and warms Its grateful being, first had birth. 'Tis thus, though woo'd by flattering friends, And fed with fame (if fame it be), This heart, my own dear mother, bends, With love's true instinct, back to thee! THE PIECE OF A HUNDRED SOUS. (From the French of Eugine Guinot.) A young and handsome pair had just returned from the altar, where their destinies were irrevocably united. They were about to start for the country, and they had bidden a temporary farewell to the friends who were present at the ceremony. t'or a short time, while their equipage was preparing, they found themselves alone. The newly-wedded husband took one of his bride's hands into his own. "Allow me," said he, "thus to hold your hand, for I dread lest you should quit me. I tremble lest all this should be an illusion. It seems to me that I am the hero of one of those fairy tales which amused my boyhood, and in which, in the hour of happiness, some malignant fairy stept ever in to throw the victim into grief and despair!" Reassure yourself, my dear Frederic," said the lady; "I was yesterday the widow of Sir James Melton, and to-day I am Madame de la Tour, your wife. Banish from your mind the idea of the fairy. This is not a fiction, but a history." Frederic de la Tour had indeed some reason to suppose that his fortunes were the work of a fairy's wand; for, in the course of one or two short months, by a seemingly inexplicable stroke of fortune, he had been raised to happiness and to wealth beyond his desires. A friendless orphan, twenty-five years old, he had been the holder of a clerkship which brought him a scanty livelihood, when, one day, as he passed along the Rue St. Honoré, a rich equipage stopt suddenly before him, and a young and elegant woman called from it to him. "Monsieur, Monsieur," said she. At the same time, on a given signal, the footman leapt down, opened the carriage door, and invited Frederic to enter. He did so, though with some hesitation and surprise, and the carriage started off at full speed. "I have received your note, sir," said the lady to M. de la Tour, in a very soft and sweet voice; "and in spite of your refusal, I hope yet to see you to-morrow evening at my party." "To see me madame!" cried Frederic. "Yes, sir, you Ah! a thousand pardons," continued she, with an air of confusion," I see my mistake. Forgive me sir; you are so like a particular friend of mine! What can you think of me? Yet the resemblance is so striking, that it would have deceived any one." Of course, Frederic replied politely to these apologies. Just as they were terminated, the carriage stopt at the door of splendid mansion, and the young man could do no less than offer his arm to Lady Melton, as the fair stranger announced herself to be. Though English in name, the lady, nevertheless, was evidently of French origin. Her extreme beauty charmed M. de la Tour, and he congratulated himself upon the happy accident which had gained him such an acquaintance. Lady Melton loaded him with civilities, and he received and accepted an invitation for the party spoken of. Invitations to other parties followed; and to be brief, the young man soon found himself an established visitant at the house of Lady Melton. She, a rich and youthful widow, was encircled by admirers. One by one, however, they disappeared, giving way to the poor clerk, who seemed to engross the lady's whole thoughts. Finally, almost by her own asking, they were betrothed. Frederic used to look sometimes at the little glass which hung in his humble lodging, and wonder to what circumstance he owed his happy fortune. He was not ill-looking, certainly, but he had not the vanity to think his appearance magnificent; and his plain and scanty wardrobe prevented him from giving the credit to his tailor. He used to conclude his meditations by the reflection, that assuredly the lovely widow was fulfilling some unavoidable award of destiny. As for his own feelings, the lady was lovely, young, rich, accomplished, and noted for her sensibility and virtue; could he hesitate? When the marriage-contract was signed, his astonishment was redoubled, for he found himself, through the lady's love, the virtual possessor of large property, both in England and France. The presence of friends had certified and sanctioned the union, yet, as has been stated, Frederic felt some strange fears, in spite of himself, lest all should prove an illusion, and he grasped his bride's hand, as if to prevent her from being spirited away from his view. “My dear Frederic," said the lady smilingly, “sit down beside me, and let me say something to you." The young husband obeyed, but still did not quit her hand. She began, “Once on a time"-Frederic started, and half-seriously exclaimed, "Heavens! it is a fairy tale!" "Listen to me, foolish boy," resumed the lady. "There was once a young girl, the daughter of parents well born and at one time rich, but who had declined sadly in circumstances. Until her fifteenth year, the family lived in Lyons, depending entirely for subsistence on the labour of her father. Some better hopes sprung up, and induced them to come to Paris; but it is difficult to stop in the descent down the path of misfortune. For three years the father struggled against poverty, but at last died in an hospital. The mother soon followed; and the young girl was left alone, the occupant of a garret of which the rent was not paid. If there were any fairy connected with the story, this was the moment for her appearance; but none came. The young girl remained alone, without friends or protectors, harassed by debts which she could not pay, and seeking in vain for some species of employment. She found none. Still it was necessary for her to have food. One day passed, on which she tasted nothing. The night that followed was sleepless. Next day was again passed without food, and the poor girl was forced into the resolution of begging. She covered her head with her mother's veil, the only heritage she had received, and, stooping so as to similate age, she went out into the streets. When there, she held out her hand. Alas, that hand was white, and youthful, and delicate! She felt the necessity of covering it up in the folds of the veil, as if it had been leprosied. Thus concealed, the poor girl held out the hand to a young woman who passed-one more happy than herself, and asked 'A sou—a single sou to get bread!' The petition was unheeded. An old man passed. The mendicant thought that experience of the distresses of life might have softened one like him, but she was in error. Experience had only hardened, not softened his heart. The night was cold and rainy, and the hour had come when the night police appeared to keep the streets clear of all mendicants and suspicious characters. At this period, the shrinking girl took courage once more to hold out her hand to a passer-by. It was a young man. He stopped at the silent appeal, and, diving into his pockets, pulled out a piece of money, which he threw to her, being apparently afraid to touch a thing so miserable. Just as he did this, one of the police came to the spot, and placing his hand on the girl's shoulder, exclaimed, Ah, I have caught you have I?—you are begging. To the office with you! come along!' 、 that she is an acquaintance of mine,' repeated the young stranger; then turning to the girl, whom he took for an old and feeble woman, he continued, 'Come along my good dame, and permit me to see you safely to the end of the street.' Giving his arm to the unfortunate girl, and then led her away, saying, 'Here is a piece of a hundred sous. It is all I have-take it, poor woman.' The crown of a hundred sous passed from your hand to mine (continued the lady), and as you walked along, support |