ment painted on his high features, the knight of Thirlestane gazed around him, as though to learn from whom the prince had drawn his information; but from every visage was reflected the same wondering aspect.

Speak-I command ye-speak ! while I have power to hear ye!-Say! say it is a boy, and I will bless ye!" and the violent excitement which had momentarily supported him, subsiding as rapidly as it had flashed out, the king sank down upon the cushions from which he had just risen-faint, gasping, and exhausted.

"Her majesty is passing well!" replied the herald, as soon as his astonishment at the strange scene he witnessed permitted him to speak-" she hath presented to your grace a lovely daughter."

"A daughter!”—murmured the dying sovereign—“ alack the day, a daughter! With a lassie came the crown of the Stuarts-and with a lassie shall it pass away!" A quick spasm shot across his face-a shiver ran through all his limbs -his eyes glared wildly, and then closed for a second's space! Again his lids rose, leaving the balls exposed-rigid and sightless-the jaw dropped, and the struggle ended. With a fearful prophecy upon his lips a prophecy in after days too well remembered for too well was it fulfilled-he passed away-happy that he lived not to see his realm dismembered! He passed away-and scarcely had the spirit parted from its mortal shrine, ere the same trumpets, which had roused him from his recent stupor, rang yet more loudly over his senseless clay, proclaiming, with the mingled voice of the heralds-" Mary-by God's gracequeen of France and Scotland !''

MANAGING A HUSBAND.

THIS is a branch of female education too much neglected; it ought to be taught with "French, Italian, and the use of the Globes." To be sure, as Mrs. Glasse most sensibly observes, "first catch your hare," and you must also first catch your husband. But we will suppose him caught-and therefore to be roasted, boiled, stewed, or jugged. All these methods of cooking have their matrimonial prototypes. The roasted husband is done to death by the fiery temper, the boiled husband dissolves in the warm

water of conjugal tears, the stewed husband becomes ductile by the application of worry, and the jugged husband is fairly subdued by sauce and spice. Women have all a natural genius for having their own way; still the finest talents, like "the finest pisantry in the world," require cultivation. We recommend beginning soon.

When Sir William L- - was setting off on his wedding excursion, while the bride was subsiding from the pellucid lightness of white satin and blonde into the delicate darkness of the lilac silk travelling dress, the lady's maid rushed into his presence with a torrent, not of tears, but of words. His favourite French valet had put out all the bandboxes that had been previously stored with all feminine ingenuity in the carriage. Of course, on the happiest day of his life, Sir William could not "hint a fault or hesitate dislike," and he therefore ordered the interesting exiles to be replaced. "Ver vell, Sare William," said the prophetic gentleman's gentleman, "you let yourself be bandboxed now, you be bandboxed all your life."

The prediction of the masculine Cassandra of the curling-irons was amply fulfilled. Poor Sir William! One of his guests, a gentleman whose wits might have belonged to a Leeds clothier, for they were always wool-gathering, confounded the bridal with one of those annual festivals when people cruelly give you joy of having made one step more to your grave-this said guest, at his wedding, literally wished him many happy returns of the day! The polite admitter of the bandboxes found, however, one anniversary quite sufficient, without any

returns.

Now, we do consider it somewhat hard "to drag at each remove such a very perceptible chain; it might as well have been wreathed, or gilded, or even pinchbecked. A friend of mine, Mrs. Francis Caldwell, does the thing much better. We shall give a domestic dialogue in Curzon-street, by way of example to the rising generation.

"I have been at Baldoc's this morning, my love," said Mrs. Caldwell, while helping the soup: "he has two such lovely Sèvre tables, portraits of Louis the fourteenth's beauties; you must let me have them for the drawing-room, they are such loves."

"I really do wonder," exclaimed Mr. Caldwell, in his most decided tone,

"what you can want with anything more in the drawing-room. I am sure that it is as much as any one can do to get across it as it is. I will have no more money spent on such trash."

"This fish is capital, the sauce is a chef-d'œuvre," exclaimed the lady, hastening to change the discourse; "do let me recommend it."

Dinner proceeds, enlivened by a little series of delicate attentions on the part of the wife. One thing is advised; another, which she is well aware is her husband's aversion, playfully forbidden, with a "my dear Francis, you are so careless of yourself-consider les horreurs de la digestion."

Dinner declines into dessert, and Mr. Caldwell eats his walnuts, peeled

'By no hand, as you may guess, But that of Fairly Fair," alias Mrs. Caldwell's very pretty fingers. Towards the middle of his second glass of port, he perceives that there are tears in his wife's soft blue eyes-which become actual sobs as he progresses in the third glass.

"I see how it is, Laura; well, you

shall have the tables.'

"The tables!" cried the lady, with an air, as the school-boy said of ancient Gaul, quartered into three halves, of disdain, wounded feelings, and tenderness; "I have really lost all wish for them. It was of you, Francis, that I was thinking. Good heavens ! can you weigh a few paltry pounds against the pleasure of gratifying your wife. I see I have lost my hold on your affections. What have I done? I, whose whole life was but one happiness, that of pleasing you!"

We will not pursue the subject to its last conjugal close of tears and kisses; suffice it to say, that the next day the tables were sent home; not given-but only accepted as a favour!

Now this is a beautiful way of doing business. We seriously recommend its consideration as a study to our lady readers. Scolding does much, for as the old riddle says, “anything," is what Many a man who has a wife, Submits to for a quiet life."

But, fair half of the world, out of whose very remains the rose, as the Eastern proverb has it, was formed at the creation-flattery, that honey of the heart, is the true art of sway. Instead of divide, our new state secret is, "flatter to reign."

A STORY OF THE FIRST DISCOVERERS.

scape

amorous

"ALAS!" sighed Alonzo Fonseca, as he impatiently strode the gloomy halls of his castle-"Alas! that my lot has been cast in an age when the son must be content with the glory of his ancestry: when, instead of shivering a lance with the fiery Moor, or striving for valour's reward under the soft eye of beauty, he must pine away his existence in a mouldering castle, where the arms that have ennobled so many brave ancestors must fall to decay on the dreary walls of a dungeon." Stung by his own bitter reflections, the young nobleman unconsciously lingered near one of those long narrow apertures which used to answer the purpose of windows. Below him lay one of the loveliest scenes of his of the Guadalquiver immediately beneath own lovely country. The glowing waters him, the beautiful villas that studded the waving surface of the country, and the distant hills as they caught the last lingering rays of the sun, formed a landtoo, might be heard the jingling bells of exquisite beauty; occasionally, and plaintive ditty of some banks of the river, and a passing shepmuleteer as he slowly wound along the herd might be seen languidly following his flock; but what most interested our hero was a small but compact body of spearmen, whose armour might be sometimes discerned as they emerged from the shades of the forest that bordered On these his the path to the castle. eye was fixed in unfeigned admiration, until the mellow sound of their bugle, alice, recalled him to the duties of hosas they arrived at the gates of the fortpitality. On his arrival at the large open court of his dwelling, he perceived by the pennant of their chieftain, that father, which caused him no little joy, he was an old companion-in-arms of his for Alonzo was a lover of valour, and almost adored the time-worn warriors days the old walls of the castle echoed of the Spanish king. For the next few with the sounds of festivity: in every direction was seen the bustle of preparation; and the old servants of the family looked dismally at each other as they saw the unusual care and anxiety of their young lord; but everything was sufficiently explained when, after a few days, he issued out of the gates of his home in company with his respected guest,

who easily persuaded him to embark in an expedition that was about to set out for America.

Years had elapsed since the abovementioned occurrence, and time had produced revolutions that in less stirring periods might have demanded centuries. Our scene, following the eccentric course of our hero, must now shift to the wilds of America, leaving the pastoral landscapes of Spain for the wild luxuriance of the western continent. In one of those frightful passes, which are so frequent in the mountainous ranges of the Andes, two travellers were making their slow and toilsome way. The elder, dressed in the picturesque costume of the cavaliers of the day, was, in his person, somewhat below the middle size, but so compactly built, that every fibre of his body seemed to have hardened into the consistency of muscle. His countenance was frank and engaging, and his gait possessed the elasticity of youth with the firmness of manhood. The large muscular body of his companion, his bold and energetic gestures, and the beautiful mould of his limbs, marked him as one of the natives of the land; while his fine expressive countenance,

his erect carriage, and a large ornament of gold that he wore in his hair, showed that he was not among the meanest of the sons of the wilderness. The two seemed to be engaged in earnest conversation. "Bocao," said the Spaniard, addressing the Indian, " you have never yet told me your story; yet have we not hunted together, and together fought the dark warriors of the enemy? why do you keep that from your brother which he ought to know?"

"White man," replied the other, in the deep musical tones of the savage, "seest thou the pines on the side of yon mountain? such were the warriors of my tribe. The hills shook when they went like the storm to the battle. Where now are the young men of my race? Their bones are whitening the hill-side where they stood up against the enemy of their country. But Bocao shall yet avenge them." Fonseca, for he was the companion of Bocao, remained silent, unwilling to increase the irritation of the susceptible Indian. They had arrived at a lofty eminence; from their station might be seen interminable forests stretching to the very edge of the water. The ocean itself, lit up by the rays of the

setting sun, seemed a mass of liquid gold, and the hoarse murmur of its waves broke in a flood of music on the ear. On the distant beach was a little encampment, over which a flag seemed lazily waving its tiny folds in the breeze, and a few men, scarcely perceptible in the distance, were idly loitering on the narrow beach. "Behold!" said the Indian, pointing with an air of dignity to the distant pavilions, "There lie the tents of the white men. Depart, brother, and be happy among the friends of your youth." So saying, Bocao turned rapidly away, and before his astonished comrade could express his surprise, his erect form might be seen far down the side of the mountain.

It was several years after the departure of Alonzo for America, that his aged father was seen slowly moving in one of those long Gothic halls of the Alhambra which display such a luxuriance of architecture his venerable beard seemed touched with the snow of many winters; but grief, more than age, had dimmed the fire of his eye, and taken the strength from his body. A young knight presently joined him; he was a youth of bold and gallant spirit, and had been the brother-in-arms of Alonzo. He was now come to take leave of his friend's father before setting out for America, where he intended to search for the adventurous young knight, whose fate was entirely unknown, as he had not been heard of after his sudden departure for the continent. With few words the aged warrior conferred his blessing upon the brave young soldier, and with mutual hopes for the success of his search, they parted, the one to participate in the stirring scenes of the continent, the other to brood over his sorrows in silence.

When Don Garcia (the young cavalier that we have just mentioned) arrived in America, he found there the bustle of extensive preparation. The fierce energies of Pizarro had just commenced that arduous expedition to the Pacific Ocean which he afterwards accomplished in so wonderful a manner. No wonder, then, that the ardent mind of the strange cavalier was fired by so adventurous an undertaking, and Garcia embarked in it the more readily that he thought it might be the means of discovering the young nobleman whom he had always loved as a brother, and in search of

whom he had come to this country. The further progress of Pizarro and his companions are now matters of history. I need only remark that at the head of his small band of adventurers, he rushed like a whirlwind over the barriers of the Andes, made the most distant nations to feel the weight of his unrelenting arm, loaded himself with booty, and, with heart elate, was finally preparing to retrace his steps to the place of his departure. But he was not destined to escape so easily. The fire of Indian resentment, which had been for some time smothered by the skill and fortunes of the adventurers, was now breaking out in a flame that it would require almost supernatural efforts to extinguish. It was on the evening preceding the intended departure of the Spaniards, that an Indian of a noble aspect was conducted to the tent of Pizarro, under the excuse that he was the bearer of important tidings. "How now, descendant of many fathers?" said the reckless general, as the erect form of Bocao entered his tent; "what new treason have you come to reveal to your friends the Spaniards?" "Bocao loves not the Spaniard," said the Indian in a low melancholy accent-" and treason belongs to the robber: the pace of the young warrior is bold, but the wolf walks by night for his prey. But know, spoiler of our tribes, that a son of your race is on the mountains, and danger is near him." "Ha!" exclaimed Pizarro, astounded at the boldness of the savage; "this is treason in earnest ; enter, guard, and put this wretch in irons." So spoke Pizarro, and his order was executed; but the information of the Indian was at once banished from his mind.

There is something lovely in the calmness of evening: the silent twinkling of the stars, the holy serenity of the atmosphere, and the silvery outline of every object under the rays of the moon, can soften the most impenetrable heart. Even Pizarro, as he walked forth on that eventful evening, felt a feeling of almost remorse as he thought on the actions of his life. The bright moon lighting up the calm bosom of the ocean, the elegant pavilions of the Spaniards, and casting a still deeper shadow on the distant mountains and forests, recalled scenes of joyful innocence: he remembered his own native land, the kind face of his mother, the companions of his

His

childhood; and as he compared those scenes with the more stormy ones of his after career, Pizarro sighed. But more absorbing objects soon called for his attention. On turning his eyes to the dark shades of the forest, he thought he perceived a dim form emerge for a moment into the moonlight, and immediately disappear again. The daring general, keeping his eye fixed on the spot, presently saw several other figures moving rapidly about, until about twenty dark forms were collected in a small body, apparently in deep conversation. The words of Bocao at the same time recurred to his mind, and with characteristic energy Pizarro quietly awoke his troops and put them in readiness. precautions were not in vain; for but a few moments elapsed before a long dark column of warriors was seen issuing from the woods and proceeding silently toward the Spanish encampments. I need not describe the particulars of a battle where skill and valour had to contend with brutal ferocity. The engagement had lasted some time, and the adventurers, exhausted by their efforts, were sullenly retiring from the field when the cry of 'Santiago" was heard in a distant part of the battle-ground. Could it be a mere echo, or some delusion of fancy? Their doubts were dispelled in a moment, for a horseman was seen furiously galloping through the ranks of the astounded savages, and in an instant, the exhausted cavalier, Don Garcia, was locked in the embrace of his long-lost friend, Alonzo Fonseca. The savages, too, believing heaven enlisted on the side of the Spaniards, dispersed in every direction. I need not add that the arrival of the young cavalier procured the liberation of his Indian friend, Bocao. His eventful story, too, was told in a few words to a little circle of friends. that he had been wrecked on the coast of America, taken by the Indians and earried off to a tribe residing near the mountains; but he gained the affections of the savages to such a degree, that on the death of the chieftain, he ruled in his stead. At last, hearing of the expedition of Pizarro, he settled the government upon another, and with a single guide, set out in search of his countrymen, whom he found in the way that we have related. The next morning the sun shone brightly on the armour of the Spaniards as they wound up a narrow path in the mountain; the particulars of

It appeared

that long and arduous retreat are too well known to be repeated; but we may conclude that Alonzo was not among the least valiant, if we may judge by the favours lavished upon him on his return to his country; and upon his faithful companion, Bocao, whom the fair dames of Spain seemed to take under their special protection to the discomfit of many a noble cavalier.

THE CONSPIRACY OF THE DUKE D'AVEIRO.

THE Duke d'Aveiro, whose family name was Mascarenhas, descended from Don George, a natural son of John the Second, King of Portugal, one of the most illustrious princes who has reigned in modern ages: the contemporary of our Henry the Seventh; and to whose exertions we owe, in an eminent degree, the discovery of a passage to India, round the Cape of Good Hope. D'Aveiro's talents appear to have been very moderate, and his courage very equivocal: but his temper, ferocious as well as vindictive, rendered him capable of embracing the most flagitious measures for the gratification of his revenge. The King of Portugal's escape from assassination, which was altogether fortuitous, resulted from the coolness or presence of mind manifested by the coachman who drove the royal carriage. For this man, finding that several shots or balls had passed through it behind, and not doubting that Joseph was wounded, instead of proceeding forward, immediately turned round his mules, and took the road that led to the house of the king's surgeon. By this sudden and unexpected manœuvre Joseph avoided falling into the hands of four other armed parties of conspirators, who were posted at different places, where it was known he must pass in his way to the palace.

A woman, the old Marchioness of Tavora, formed the soul of this sanguinary enterprise, which conducted the principal persons engaged in it to a cruel and ignominious death. Revenge, heightened by personal enmity towards the king and the first minister, who had refused to raise the Marquis of Tavora to the dignity of a duke, rather than any well ascertained intention, or expectation of subverting the government, and dethroning the Braganza family, seem

to have stimulated the conspirators to so atrocious an undertaking.

Precisely similar motives impelled the Duke of Orleans to produce those commotions, which eventually overturned the French throne, and led to the horrors of the revolution. It was not ambition, or the hope of reigning, but personal hatred and revenge. The late Duke of Dorset, who, from the situation that he occupied during several years, as ambassador to the court of Versailles, had opportunities of obtaining the most authentic information, has many times assured me of this fact. He knew it from the queen herself. She constituted the principal object of the Duke of Orleans' detestation, whose malignity was not so much levelled against Louis the sixteenth as against the queen. That princess had given him many causes of aversion; one of which consisted in endeavouring successfully to prevent the marriage of his daughter, Mademoiselle d'Orleans, with the Duke d'Angoulême. Marie Antoinette naturally wished to unite her own daughter in marriage with the young prince, as she thereby secured to her the succession to the throne of France, in case Louis the sixteenth should not leave behind him any son. The Duke of Dorset told me, that as early as 1786 or 1787, the queen has said to him, on her seeing the Duke of Orleans at Versailles : "Monsieur le duc, regardez cette homme là. Il me deteste, et il a juré ma perte. Je la vois dans ses yeux, toutes les fois qu'il me fixe. Il ne sera jamais content, jusqu'à ce qu'il me voit etendue morte à ses pieds." He lived in fact to witness her tragical end, but he survived her only a very short time. I return from this digression to the Portuguese conspirators. They executed their attempt like men destitute of courage: for if the first band, who intercepted the king as he was returning from Belem, had fired into the carriage as he advanced, instead of waiting, as they did, till he had passed, before they discharged their pieces, he must have fallen. The ball with which he was wounded passed between his side and his arm, tearing the flesh of both, but without inflicting any severe wound.

The consternation excited by the attempt was augmented by the obscurity in which it was enveloped, the court remaining for some weeks in total ignorance of the authors of the conspiracy; as the