top of his bent." And, after many an absurd speech, and many a madcap trick, suddenly wound up the scene by seizing a red-hot poker and applying it "whizz! fizz! whizz!" to the elbow of the deaf and dumb boy's woollen jerkin.

All thought him crazed, the sufferer included. One shrieked; another cried help!" But "Dummie," wholly forgetting his part, and put suddenly past his guard, roared out, in tones which completely o'er-mastered the rest,

"Fire! fire! you infernal fool! what devilry are you up to?"

Strange accents, certainly, from "innocent lips!" Such was the impression of Miss Matilda Barkworth. For, after one long, vacant, incredulous stare, she uttered a dismal shriek, and fainted.

Exposure, magisterial reproof, and imprisonment, followed. His mother bore with Spartan indifference, the shame of detection; but lamented, characteristically enough, the curtailment of her income.

"It was a cruel thing," she said, "that the lady's hateful nephew -I wish he may die of skilly in a union workhouse !-would n't take things quietly. How am I to live, I should like to know, without Caleb's infirmity? He was as good as sixty pounds a-year to me. We thought it a bad day's work when we did n't bag three-and-sixpence; and I have, in summer time, before now, counted up, within a penny, a half-sovereign. And how am I to get my living? I can't work, I never could! And them Unions is horrible to think of!-I can't abide 'em."

How this knotty point was smoothed away, and whether to the satisfaction of the complaining party, I cared not to inquire. The destiny of the boy was, pro tempore, certain. He was lodged for three months in her Majesty's gaol at and came daily under my personal observation. A lad of remarkably fine parts he unquestionably was, greedy of information-endued with a singularly retentive memory, and able to connect the lessons which were regularly given him; and thus to make the information of to-day explain and illustrate the morning reading of yesterday. I persuaded myself-or nearly so that a durable impression had been made upon him. Deep was the sorrow which he expressed as to his past life, and repeated were his assurances that he would seek an honest livelihood: means and appliances towards such a result were not wanting on his release. For myself-shall I confess my folly ?—I believed him. I conceived his disgust at imposture real, and his determination to abjure it sincere. But ere long, I lost sight of him. He had flitted,-none could say whither. After some months, a fragment of an Exeter paper casually met my eye. There was in it a paragraph headed "Deaf and Dumb," to the details of which I turned with eagerness. They were to this effect-that an interesting-looking boy, deaf and dumb, of about eleven years old, had been met with on the Hoo at Plymouth ; that whence he came or how he got there, was a mystery; that he had light hair, a fair complexion, and an expression of countenance singularly artless and winning; that a subscription for his relief had been entered into and among various parties named as interested in his behalf was that of General Sir John Cameron, Government House, Devonport.

Sir

Vexatious as was the paragraph, I laughed at its close. John was one of the most cautious and wary of human beings. Phlegmatic in temperament—a “canny Scot," and slow in arriving at

his conclusions,-prudent in disposing of his well-earned "siller"wide awake on most occasions-an old soldier, and therefore proof against the "gab,”—that Sir John should have been duped, was glorious indeed.

I took my own disappointment infinitely less to heart when I found I had a fellow-sufferer in the valorous old General. What was the feat of mystifying a parson compared with that of victimizing Sir John Cameron? I was at peace with all the world when I reflected upon it!

Another "juvenile delinquent," on whom considerable pains were bestowed, to apparently as little purpose, was a pinched, diminutive, sad-looking girl, who gave in the name of Fanny Marks. Her age was never correctly ascertained. We could only guess at it. She meekly assured us that she did not know it herself "for a certainty," but believed it to be eleven. As such it was inserted. But Mr. Croak always denied the accuracy of the entry, and maintained she was years older. Her line was original, and she was well up to her part. She had a peculiar method of elongating her face, of drawing down the muscles of her mouth, and assuming an air of misery and wretchedness which few passers-by could resist. She never begged. She was too "fly" for that. But she held in her hand a tiny basket, filled with tape, bobbin, needles, bodkins, and similar small ware; and as each respectable foot-passenger neared her, she, with mute and respectful gesture, solicited CUSTOM.

A miniature personification was she of misery and want; and her colourless cheeks,-large, sunken eyes,-hands over which the skin seemed drawn like parchment; and long, thin, spider-like claws-fingers they were not, well kept up the deception. When addressed, her answer ran, and the reply was invariably given in the most feeble accents, "Faint! faint!" varied occasionally to "Bread!_bread!" The frequent result was relief; afforded with many words of compassion for one so young and so destitute.

At length her evil stars shed their malignant influence over her. A vigilant, magistrate crossed her path, observed her proceedings, deemed them suspicious, subjected her to "surveillance," and ascertained her home. That home, though in an unfrequented part of a lonely suburb, and in its exterior squalid, dark, and dreary to the last degree, was found well-plenished; and the issue was an introduction, for a brief period, to Gaol. As she came into the chaplain's room on her commitment, I looked at her, and thought I had never seen in a child such a melancholy, desponding, oppressed expression,-had never gazed on a face so hopelessly and unnaturally sad. Three days afterwards, as I passed by the day-room of the female prisoners, I heard, during the temporary absence of "the women's turnkey," unwonted commotion and hilarity. Bursts of laughter arose on all sides. They were caused, I learnt afterwards, by the melancholy girl, Marks. She was "going through her leaps,"-her agility was extraordinary,—and giving her delighted auditory some idea of what she could do, and had done, when she travelled with Richardson's company, and played in "Peter Wilkins; or, the Flying Indians."

"In truth," as the matron angrily remarked, "there never was a girl more difficult to control. Nothing she could say or do could keep

down her fun!"

Poor Fauny! she had an irresistible turn for mirth-real, right

down, unmistakable mirth. The sadness and melancholy of her visage, -the piteous expression of her eye, these were part and parcel of her trade. But her drollery, fun, and sportiveness were native to her. Touching them she was "to the manner born." Let justice be done. From hypocrisy she was free. She never gave me to understand that by the privations, warnings, or restraints of a prison, she had been at all impressed; would never make any promise that she would abandon her idle and fraudulent course of life. When urged to seek, and follow an honest livelihood, she coolly remarked:

"She couldn't work. It didn't agree with her."

The matron was earnest on the same point; and suggested to her, as she could sew neatly and quickly, household needlework.

"No! no!" was her rejoinder, "needlework won't do. It wearies me, and it worries me. I don't come of a working family."

The term of her imprisonment drew on, and her aversion to honest labour was as vigorous as ever. She was perfectly respectful in her demeanour; read in class quietly, carefully, and earnestly. But her views were unchanged.

"Your career of imposture here is at an end," was my closing remark. "Here you are well known, and will be watched." "I will spare all parties that trouble," said she promptly. "Do so, and effectually, by earning an honest livelihood."

"I cannot say that, sir, because I do not mean it. I understand my situation. I must move, and go farther. I intend to do so. I have no fears. There are compassionate people everywhere!”

Much effect, truly, had prison discipline had upon her!

THE MARCHIONESS OF BRINVILLIERS,

THE

POISONER OF THE SEVENTEENTH

A ROMANCE OF OLD PARIS.

BY ALBERT SMITH.

[WITH AN ILLUSTRATION BY J. LEECH.]

CHAPTER X.

CENTURY.

What further befel Louise in the catacombs of the Bièvre.

As the last of the lawless band departed from the carrière, Lachaussée advanced towards the altar, at the foot of which Louise Gauthier had claimed a sanctuary. In spite of Bras d'Acier's last threat, the denunciation of the Abbé Camus had somewhat awed him. But Lachaussée was less scrupulous. He was as dead to all religious feeling as the others, and besides this, superstition had no power over him. Advancing to the cross, he seized the arm of Louise, and tore her from the altar into the middle of the apartment.

The knocking which had struck such terror into the hearts of the subterraneous gang, still continued: and again Louise raised her voice for assistance.

66

They will murder me!" she cried. be too late. There are but two, and-"

"Help! this instant, or it will

Lachaussée placed his hand over her mouth, and stopped her cries. And then, assisted by Bras d'Acier, he hurried her into a smaller carrière leading from the great one by a rude archway, which could be closed after a manner, like the door, by a large curtain of rude sackcloth. It was a vault hewn out similarly to the other, with a rough attempt to form a gothic roof and buttresses from the limestone. But there were horrid features in the apartment which made Louise shudder as she looked timidly round. A dull and smoking lamp was here also suspended from the ceiling; and by its light could be seen coffins in every direction round the walls: some with their feet projecting some inches beyond them; others lying sideways, such as we see bounding the grave of a crowded burying-ground. In many instances they were open, but no remains were visible. Their cases appeared to have been appropriated to the use of cupboards, in which articles of various kinds were stored. In one corner were a few skulls and bones thrown carelessly together; the number was insignificant, and they were not ranged in the order of the existing catacombs. As we have stated, the carrières were at present the mere result of excavations for buildingstone; it was not until more than a century after the date of our story that the health of the city demanded the removal of the foul and reeking burial-ground attached to the Eglise des Innocens, at the corner of the Rue St. Denis and the Rue aux Fers, near the present market, with whose beautiful fountain every visitor to Paris is familiar.*

* The ill effects which the overcharged Cimetière des Innocens had upon the salubrity of Paris, situated as it was in its most crowded quarter, had been matter of complaint for four hundred years. Yet, such was the opposition of the ecclesiastical authorities, and the blind and superstitious obstinacy of the people generally, although the tainted air they breathed was thick with putrefaction and disease, that it was not until 1785 that the Council of State ordered its demolition. It was supposed, up to that time there had been one million two hundred thousand bodies forced into its comparatively narrow limits!

VOL. XVII.

A A

In one corner of this ghastly chamber was a large font filled with water, which distilled drop by drop from the stalactites that overhung it, and the reflection of the lamp quivered on its dark surface. It ran over at one corner, and small channels hewn in the floor conveyed it away to carrières still deeper.

"Another word," said Lachaussée, "and we leave you to your own company in this dreary place."

"I ask no more," replied Louise, recoiling from him as he relaxed his hold. "Let me be anywhere, so long that I am alone, and away from those fearful people."

"I am sorry you do not like them," said Bras d'Acier; "the more so as you will perhaps have to pass a little time amongst us. Only it would not have answered to have taken you from the sanctuary before them. They are particular in matters of religion."

And he accompanied these last words with a horrid laugh.

"Do not take me among them again, M. Lachaussée," said Louise, "I implore you. Let me remain here rather, even in this dismal

vault."

"Pshaw!" cried Lachaussée; "you know not where you are. Look at those coffins-they have long since been despoiled of the festering contents, to hold Bras d'Acier's riches. You are below the cemetery of St. Medard, hemmed in on all sides by corpses, the accumulation of centuries. Would you like this for a companion?”

He stooped to pick up a skull, and held it in mockery over the flame of the lamp, which hideously illuminated it. Then, tossing it back to the corner of the chamber, he went on.

"The very air is redolent of mortality. The decay of ages, in some of the coffins, leaves but the food for that lamp which is now burning above us. Bras d'Acier is an economist; and many of the quiet inhabitants of the cemetery become more useful to mankind in death than they ever were in lifetime. They form his flambeaux."*

"Is there no one to aid me," cried Louise in agony, and shrinking from the accumulated horrors of Lachaussée's description.

The dull knocking sound was again audible, but louder. It appeared to be close at hand, and the girl redoubled her outcry.

"Be still, I tell you," said Bras d'Acier, "and come instantly with us."

"With you!" exclaimed Louise; "never; you shall kill me first. -Mother of Mercy! pity me: for to you alone can I now look for assistance."

She fell on her knees, and grasped a small crucifix that was suspended from her neck. Lachaussée snatched it from her, and thew it amidst the bones and rubbish in the corner.

"One moment's delay," he added, "and you are lost. Do you see that wall where the water is trickling and oozing into the font? It is not thicker than the length of your hand, and that is the only boundary between us and a branch of the cold Bièvre, which flows over our

Adipocere is the substance alluded to. Its name conveys its properties, and it was first made the subject of an interesting analysis by M. Thouret in 1784, upon the occasion of removing the burial-ground of the Innocents. It has always been found most abundant where the bodies have had the chance of being exposed to inundations of fresh water, its formation being the result of some peculiar decompo sition of the human frame hitherto unsatisfactorily accounted for. A piece is in the possession of the author.