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recurring opportunities for the develop- future I fear it may be, if he is to make his ment both of body and mind.

observations from a different standpoint to The physical condition of the people that which we occupy-it will be a most should surely be a very important concern remarkable fact to comment upon, how to the governing persons of all kinds. I little effect the Principles of Christianity never wish to depreciate the powers and have had upon the conduct of Christian influence of individual men; and, there- States to one another. There may be fore, I readily admit that on many of the thousands and tens of thousands of good greatest occasions, even in what appear to Christians among the denizens of any be the crisis of a nation's fate, individual country; but the State, though it may argeneralship, or statesmanship, may turn rogate to itself religious fidelity of the the scale to victory, or at least to safety. highest kind, and claim for its Sovereign But, even in the absence of such general- the titles of Most Christian King, or Deship or statesmanship, I believe that that fender of the Faith, remains essentially nation will ultimately hold its own in the Pagan, if its religion is to be divined from world, and not be down-trodden, even by its conduct to other States. It has, in signal defeat, if its population is able to general, no hesitation to be the first in lift an amount of weight through a given carrying war into a neighboring country, space, equal to that which can be lifted by upon the most ridiculous and frivolous a like number of the population of any pretexts; and, whichever State wins the neighboring State—supposing, of course, day, such use is mostly made of victory that the nations in question are of any as to insure a longing for revenge in the thing like equal magnitude. In a word, conquered country, and a perfect certainty to put it less mathematically, that people of future retaliation. will hold its own whose muscular force is It is a strange, but a marked illustration not inferior to that of its neighbors. No of this fact, that a writer like myself, who nation, I believe, will continue to be great, abominates war, and who holds it to be in which there is a large and constant de- one of the most stupid as well as one of crease of that muscular force. It may be the most wicked things in the world, must thought that this is a very material way of yet, in pleading for recreation, urge, as one looking at things, but we live in a very of the main reasons why it should occupy material world, and must think and act the attention of Government and governaccordingly.

ing persons, that it tends to keep up athEven Christendom has not yet attain- letic power in the people, and so to make ed to that spiritual condition wherein the us fully capable of sustaining an invasion, bodily strength or weakness of the citizens or of undertaking, probably on behalf of of a State is unimportant to that State. allies or colonists, a foreign war. or the future historian-and a far-off

[From Macmillan's Magazine.



the gueldres roses and lilacs, which atone I.

just now for the shabby brown show they The old Court-yard of the “Ours d'Or” will make in autumn, by a perfect luxury is full of warm light, but it is not glowing of blossoms; snowy masses with exquisite August sunshine.



shadows in between; lilac The tall fuschias in green tubs which fowers, now rich, now delicate—always border the court are scarcely in leaf; there exquisite, both in hue and fragrance. are no blossom-buds on the myrtles, though It is almost May, and yet the keen they have put out bright tender little leaves March wind lingers so as to keep Eulalie of expectation; the fountain sparkles, but the cook—there is no male chef at this old the fish are not gamboling in the basin Flemish inn-mindful of her rheumatism, below—they are still housed safely in the and unwilling to venture out of the warm glass globe in Clémence's parlor.

shelter of her kitchen. The sun disports himself chiefly among

Eulalie is a small spare woman,

with a

looks up.

clever face and dark eyes; these are full stantly to brighten the shining brass pots of vexation as she stands beside a small and pans on her kitchen-wall was thorough, table on one side of the kitchen, and strips and led her also to fear lest her tongue too the leaves from crisp young lettuce-plants. might grow dull and rusty unless she some

" It is insupportable,” she grumbles, as times sharpened it against her master she drops each leaf deftly into the shining Auguste de Vos, and even against the brass pan of water at her feet. “ Mam'selle “ angel" Mam'selle Clémence. Clémence goes beyond reason; if her sis- There is a slight sound, and Eulalie ter, Madame Scherer, were to ask for the gown off Mam'selle's back she would send A black-cloaked figure stands at the it her. She gave Madame Scherer a hus- parlor door on the opposite side of the band, though it almost broke her heart, long, paved, arched-over entrance to the and that is enough—too much ; it is folly court-yard of the “Ours d'Or." to go on pouring wine into a full bottle." Eulalie comes forward to the door of

Eulalie shrugs her shoulders and shreds her kitchen, which is on the opposite side off the lettuce-leaves faster than ever; she of the paved entrance way. has a clever head and a warm heart, but “Mam'selle Clémence," she says, shrilly. her temper needs a safety-valve. Some “Yes, yes, Eulalie, I am coming;" the time ago it had found this, when Madame voice is so sweet that one is impatient to de Vos—the mother of the landlord of the see the face which goes with it, but Clé“ Ours d'Or”-came self-invited to managemence has turned back to listen to her her son's household.

father's last words. Eulalie disliked the fat pink-faced dame Auguste de Vos is a stout, florid Belgian, from the beginning, first for the petty vexa- but he has dark hair and an intelligent tions which Madame de Vos had inflicted face. He looks younger, and happier too, on her son's wife, Eulalie's own dear mis- since he has been left to live alone with tress, but chiefly for the unceremonious Clémence; he has the same blessed freeway in which she had installed herself at dom from domestic worry that he enjoyed the“ Ours d'Or” after her daughter-in-law's while his wife lived. Clémence has a dexdeath.

terous way of keeping the bright side of Eulalie had put on her war-paint at that life turned towards her father; even Eutime, and had felt compelled to keep her lalie's querulousness rarely reaches him. fighting weapons sharp and bright, and to Auguste de Vos has never been a demonsay truth this process was in some way strative man; but ever since the evening congenial to the skillful old woman. when Rosalie's marriage was decided, there

At that time had happened the great sor- has been a graver tenderness in his manrow of Clémence de Vos. Her betrothed ner to his eldest daughter, a something not lover, Louis Scherer, had returned at the to be painted in words, but which often appointed time to claim her as his wife; kindles in Clémence that strange emotion but Clémence was absent, and the extreme which brings a sob and a smile together. beauty of her young sister Rosalie, and, as “Well, my child,” Auguste de Vos is Eulalie always persisted in affirming, the saying, “ if thou sayest it is needful, I yield; manoeuvres of Madame de Vos, so infatua- but remember always that Rosalie has ted the young soldier, that Clémence vol- three maids and only two children: it is to untarily released him from his troth-plight, me inconceivable that after all her grandand he and Rosalie were married.

mother has done for her, and for Louis But Clémence's father had been unable Scherer too, they should not contrive to to forgive the wound inflicted on his belov- nurse my mother in her sickness without ed child, and, on Rosalie's wedding-day, thy help.” madame her grandmother went back to Clémence smiles: she has a sweet, penlive in her own house at Louvain.

sive face, but her dark eyes light up at this "Dame! what a happiness ! what a re- smile, and sparkle brightly through the lief!" Eulalie had said. “ Mam'selle Clé. long black lashes. mence will now take the place that should “ Poor Rosalie! Thou art severe, my always have been hers; and what an angel father ; but it is almost the first request she is Mam'selle Clémence !"

has made me since her marriage, and it It

may be that the principle which urg- seems a beginning, and _” here Clé ed the cook at the “ Ours d'Or” so con- mence falters and blushes, and then looks



frankly into her father's eyes-he is father For a time this arrangement had been and mother both to her now—“only thou successful. Madame doted on the young knowest well Rosalie has never been the couple, managed the servants, and contrisame to me since she went away." buted liberally to household expenses; but

Her father's eyes are full of wistful ten- when babies came-two with only a year's derness.

interval between-strife arose about their “The fault is none of thy making, Clé- management, and the discord in his housemence."

hold disgusted Louis Scherer. " I must go to Eulalie;" she nods and It was at his instigation that Rosalie had leaves him. “ Poor Rosalie," she says to now written to ask Clémence to come and herself, “she is not yet forgiven."

help to nurse Madame de Vos in her sick“ Hein,” Eulalie puts her head on one side like a pugnacious sparrow as Clémence

II. steps into the kitchen," fine doings, indeed; and it is true then, Mam'selle, that you go Louis met his wife's sister at the railway to-morrow to Bruges to nurse the bonne- station. Clémence had not seen him for maman who never was once good to more than a year: she thought he looked

aged; his fair, handsome face was full of "Hush, Eulalie, you may not so speak worry. of my grandmother,” Clémence's gray eyes They had met since the marriage, and look almost severe.

all remembrance of the old relations had Eulalie turns to the table behind her. been effaced by the new, save it may be a

“ I speak as I find, Mam'selle. Duty is certain self-complacency in the man in the duty everywhere; and to me, Mam’selle, society of the woman who had once so Monsieur is of more value than Madame dearly loved him, and in the woman a cerhis mother, and he will be sad without you; tain blindness to faults which were visible and she-well she would have perhaps a to all other eyes; but then Clémence de little neglect, what will you ? Madame Vos was indulgent to every one-to every Scherer is young, and she loves her ease; one but herself. but she will be obliged to take care of She asked after all the family, and then, Madame de Vos, if you do not go, “ How is the Sæur Marie ?" she asked. Mam'selle Clémence."

“ Does Rosalie see her often ?" “ Nevertheless I am going.” Clémence “ Ma foi”—Louis twirled his pretty, soft speaks decidedly, and her bright smile qui- mustaches: he was really handsome, ets Eulalie. “ Now I want some broth, a though he looked too well aware of the cold chicken, if you can spare me one, and fact—“ Rosalie may, and she may not, some eggs. I am going to see your friend, see your aunt, the Sæur Marie; but she the wife of the sacristan of St. Michel.” does not tell me. I have no special liking

Eulalie grunts, but she produces the for religieuses, especially when they are no food demanded, and carefully stows it away longer young or pretty ; but here we are, in a basket.

Clémence, and there is your little god" It is all very well,” she says; "I don't daughter peeping out of the window." grudge the food and drink which Mam'selle

They had come up a by-street, which gives, but I ask myself

, when Mam’selle ended on the quay of one of the canals, Clémence marries and goes away-and she bordered on this side by a closely planted will marry some day, I suppose—ah! but line of poplar-trees. The newly opened the man will be lucky !-what will then leaves trembled in the warm sunshine rehappen to the wife of the sacristan and all flected from the red high-gabled houses the other sick folk of our parish ? She over the water_houses which went straight has used them to these dainties; ma foi ! down to the canal edge, and seemed to it will be harder to give them up altogether bend forward so as to get a view of their than to go without them now.”

own full-length reflections in the yellow Louis Scherer left the army on his mar- water.

Behind the houses rose the graceriage; he has an appointment at Bruges, ful tourelles of the Hôtel de Ville, and beand Rosalie found housekeeping so little yond, rising high above all the rest, was the to her liking, that after the first few months beffroi. It was just three o'clock, and sudshe persuaded her husband to let Madame denly the carillon sounded out from the de Vos live with them.

lofty tower, swelling with sweet throbs, through the air above them, as if the angels that followed their greeting Clémence had were holding a musical festival in those seen Loulou shrink away from his mother, melodious, unearthly strains.

and cling to his father's knees. But Louis was too much used to the car- Madame de Vos's bedroom was at the illon to notice it. “ There is your god- end of the upstairs gallery. The walls daughter, Clémence," he said.

were white, and so were the bed-hangings, Clémence started from her rapt lis- with their white tufted fringe. The cushtening. It had seemed to her she heard ion in the window-seat was covered in her mother's voice up there among the white dimity; the window itself was shroudangels.

ed in white curtains, fringed like the bed. Louis Scherer lived in a red stepped-ga- hangings. All this white seemed to bring bled house. There was a pointed window out in yet stronger relief the deeply tinted in the gable, with an arched hood of gray pink face of Madame de Vos. She stretchstone: the window-mullions too were of ed one hand out to greet Clémence; the stone. Below were two similar windows, other lay still on the coverlet, powerless for with a carved spandril between the arches; evermore. and at one of these lower windows peeped “Eh bien, my child, thou art come at out a little smiling cherub-face—a minia- last, then, to look at what is left of thy ture, Clémence thought, of Rosalie. grandmother. Ah! but, Clémence, is it

Clémence kissed both hands to the little not incredible that I, so active, and of so maid, and then went in through the open perfect a constitution, should be lying here archway below the windows.

like a silly old woman, and la mère Berot, There was a patter of little feet, a chirrup that old imbecile, who has at least ten of slight treble voices, and then two laugh- more years than I have, ails nothing? ing baby faces peeped from behind a green, Ma foi, I can not understand how this is. half-closed door on the left of the paved Clémence kissed the fretful face, and entrance.

then seated herself at the bedside. Clémence forgot where she was, forgot “ Thou canst stay a few minutes, Cléeven the bonne-maman's illness, and sat mence,” Rosalie nodded, “but not longer. down on the door-step, with the two

the two. I have much to say to thee.” blooming darlings nestling in her arms. Madame de Vos looked angry.

The younger of the two, the little Clé- “ Rosalie, thou art so selfish. Thou mence, talked glibly in her soft, incoherent hast Louis and the children ; leave gibberish, but little Louis played for a Clémence to me: I have no one." while at being shy, alternately hiding his She closed her eyes with a weary sigh. face in his aunt's black cloak, or else look- Rosalie made an expressive grimace at ing up with round, shining blue eyes, and her sister, and crept out of the room. his pink, fat forefinger between his pouting Clémence sighed too. At home she and lips.

her father lived in such unbroken harmoLouis had passed on into the house to ny, this discord seemed doubly jarring. fetch his wife.

This was only her second visit to Bruges, Tiens, tiens!" Rosalie's voice sound- and when Rosalie had paid short visits to ed so shrill, that Clémence put the children the “ Ours d'Or” she had been gay and off her lap, and jumped up from her low bright. But her grandmother soon claimseat.

ed Clémence's attention. Madame de The sisters kissed each other affection- Vos began with her own sufferings, and ately, and then they exchanged looks. then went on to the neglect, the vanity,

“Ma foi !" Rosalie said to herself, “ Clé- the bad temper of Rosalie. mence grows younger-looking every time I “And, Clémence, she is also jealous. see her."

She will not let thee stay long with me, “ Rosalie looks troubled ;" and Clé- lest thou shouldst love me best. It is the mence followed her sister upstairs, stifling a same with the little ones: they love the wish that she would look more sweet and bonne-maman, poor darlings; and so they simple. She was still a beautiful blonde ; may not run to the end of the gallery but the Rosalie of Clémence's youth had —and I who have done every thing for been lovelier in her simplicity than the be- her.” frizzled, over-dressed lady, whose smile was As soon as she could get the words in, so forced and rare. In the short minute Clémence interrupted


“Does la tante come to see thee—the easy to talk about any thing to Rosalie. Sour Marie ?!

She would not speak either of her husband “ No; no one remembers me now. I or her children. The only subject in which am helpless, and suffering, and forgotten. she seemed interested was a new toiletteI had plenty of friends, as thou knowest, a dress and bonnet she had been choosing when I had a house of my own, and did for the fête to be held next week in the not spend my money on ungrateful chil- Jardin Botanique. dren. The Soeur Marie, why should she “ Thou wilt like it, Clémence. There come ? Rosalie told me that Louis dis- will be music, and the officers will all be liked to see her, and so I told my poor there.” It seemed to Clémence that RoMarie to keep away; and, Clémence, it is salie blushed. true that Marie is not an amusing com- “But I shall not go. The bonne-mapanion."

man is quite helpless, though she can talk, It was such a new pleasure for the in- and I do not think she ought to be left till valid to get so sweet and cheerful a listen- she is better." er, that she would scarcely let Clémence “As thou wilt." Rosalie's sullen look go when she was summoned to supper. came back, and it seemed best to leave her

Sounds of angry voices came from the to herself. eating-room. Clémence opened the door, and met Louis just coming out. He had his hat in his hand, and his face was The fête in the Jardin Botanique beflushed.

gins at two o'clock. There is just time to “ Bon soir, my sister,” he said. “ You hurry over the children's meal, and for Roand Rosalie may have all the talk to your- salie to make a fresh toilette when she selves."

comes in from mass. He passed out, and Clémence looked at She is in a flutter of anxiety when she her sister. Rosalie's face was heated and comes downstairs. Clémence has not angry. She sat in sullen silence, and seen her sister look so bright since her argave Clémence her supper without any re- . rival at Bruges. mark.

“ Come, Loulou, make haste. Rosalie “I find bonne-maman better than I speaks cheerfully, without the fretful ring thought to find her. The attack does not to which Clémence has grown accustomseem to affect her speech.”

“We shall be late, if thou dost not Rosalie shrugged her shoulders. hasten.” She goes to the window. It

“ Thou mayst well say that.” She toss- seems a matter of course that Clémence ed her befrizzed head. “ Very surely she should sit between the two children, givhas been telling thee fine tales about me ing them their dinner. and my doings. Ah! I know”—she dis- “Oh! what lovely weather !”—there is regarded Clémence's attempt to stop her all the glee of a child in Rosalie's voice _" it is always I who do all the wrong.

_" and I was so afraid it would be Others may do as they choose ; but cold !" they are always right with bonne-ma- The door opened, and her husband man.”

came in. He was evidently struck by her Clémence's heart ached; it seemed improved looks. as if there was no union in this house- Are we not gay in our new bonnet ?" hold. A tender motherly longing to he said, to Clémence.

he said, to Clémence. “I am just in time, comfort her young sister urged her to Rosalie, to escort thee to the Jardin Bospeak.

tanique.” “ But how is it, Rosalie ?—thou wast “ Thanks"-Clémence started at the always the one she loved best. When changed voice, and she saw the smile fade people are ill, dearest, they get fractious, away—“I have no wish to be troublesome, and find fault with those they prefer.” Louis. I am sure thou couldst find a more Rosalie shook her head.

amusing companion; and I have to take “It is useless to talk about it, Clémence. care of Loulou and little Clémence." It did not begin with this illness : the “ As it pleases thee; but I suppose we bonne-maman is unjust and selfish, and I may as well start together." do not wish to talk about her.”

Louis spoke carelessly ; but it seemed It seemed to Clémence that it was not to Clémence that he was wounded. He


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