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repeated attacks of gout had rendered less active than the enthusiasm of youth and the glory of an ancient heretofore in the discharge of that arduous portion of and unsuilied name, whose brilliant victories retrieved his pastoral duties which included promiscuous flagel- the cause, and threw a halo over the troublous sunset of lation. After the simultaneous interment of the bodies, his martyed monarch — the chivalrous but ill-fated all present dispersed peaceably to their several homes; Montrosu. perfectly satisfied that, in consequence of Nagle's in- The undying loyalty which endeared him to the genious expedient, the purgatorial labour of water- Highland clans,—the victories he won for the royal carrying would be fairly divided between the departed. standard, amid Highland snows and immemorial

Soon afterwards a circumstance occurred in the same mountains, were meetly followed up by the magnaniplace, somewhat similar to the above, yet also differing i mity and Christian heroism with which he met a death from it. Mr. had been very kind and constant in as terrible and undeserved as that of his king. visiting and relieving a poor man who lived at some A dreary pageant it must have been, that, on that distance, and who had long been afflicted with an in- May morning, wended its way through the quaint curable disease. His dim eyes used to brighten, and streets of Edinburgh ; Montrose richly dressed, his thin hands were clasped together, as, with all the like a bridegroom than a criminal going to the gallows, fervour of an Irish heart, and all the eloquence of his delicate white gloves on his hands, his stockings of an Irish tongue, he was wont to invoke unnumbered incarnate silk, and his shoes with their ribbands, on his blessings on the head of the visitor, who, kneeling beside feet,” seated aloft on a miserable cart, gazing around his straw pallet, sought to direct his mind towards the him with an unmoved eye on the ill-suppressed joy of things of the eternal world. At length he died, the craven Argyle, on the stern array of Saxon soldiery, and his family were left desolate mourners. They and, high above all, the grim apparatus of death. were poor-miserably so-and could not afford “a handsome wake;" but, when the day of interment

“There was glory on his forehead,

There was lustre in his eye, arrived, the remains of Daniel Lynch were followed to

And he never walked to battle the grave by a weeping train of relatives, whose hearts

More proudly than to die.” swelled with sorrow, deeper perhaps and more sincere than is sometimes found under crapes and sable drapery. Repelling the offers of spiritual comfort made by the Their number, however, was few when compared with Covenanting ministers, with the gentle words, “I pray the crowds that thronged towards the house of a rich you, gentlemen, let me die in peace,” he bent on his farmer, who had died on the same day, and was to be knees, and that rude multitude beheld with tears the buried at the same hour as his humble neighbour. hero-death of a high-minded and Christian nobleman.

It so happened, that Mr. - was again in his gar- | Thus died, at the age of 37, James Grahame, Marquis den, engaged in the pleasant task of cultivating his of Montrose--a man whose presence was a sure prestige flowers, and watering them from a clear well, which of victory among Highland hosts, whom in his exile bubbled up near the boundary edge. Even in that kings had delighted to honour, and of whom Cardinal country, famous for its thousand sparkling streams- de Retz, the friend of Condé and Turenne, spoke as “diamonds enchased in a setting of emeralds," a jeweller “the only man that had ever reminded him of the might call them, if a jeweller happened to be taken heroes of Plutarch.”. poetical—this spring was distinguished for the sweet- According to the barbarous custom of the age, in his ness and clearness of its waters. He looked up, as the doom it was pronounced that " his head was to be keening met his ear, and saw the two parties approach- affixed on an iron pin, and set on the pinnacle of the ing. They met at the churchyard gate, and for a west gavel of the new prison of Edinburgh," while his moment, loud sounds of contention and mutual limbs were to be distributed among four principal towns threatenings of hostility drowned the plaintive tones of Scotland. On the night in which this doom was of grief. Dr. immediately hastened towards the pronounced, he wrote with a diamond on the windows ground, and when he arrived there, saw with pleasure of his prison these lines, which, from the circumstances that the weaker party had resolved to yield. Already of their composition, are truly remarkable :the priest's voice was heard reading the solemn service “ Let them bestow on every airth' a limb; over the rich man's grave, while poor Daniel's friends Then open all my veins, that I may swim drew moodily aside, and bent their eyes on his humble To thee, my Maker, in that crimson lake; coffin. Mr.

-went towards them, wishing to speak Then place my parboiled head upon a stake, some words of comfort, but they seemed not to regard Scatter my asbes—strew them in the airhim. At length the widow, clasping her hands, threw Lord! since thou know'st where all these atoms are, herself on her knees, and raising her streaming eyes

I'm hopeful thou'lt recover once my dust, towards his face, cried, with a voice as earnest as though

And confident thou'lt raise me with the just." she were begging for her life,

But they who sought to deepen the guilt and infamy “Ah! Mr. , 'tis yourself that was fond of him, of the dead Montrose were but the unwilling instruwhile he was alive; and sure, now that he's gone, and ments of spreading his renown; for it was these blackhas the sore burden laid an him, you won't refuse to ened remains of all that was once so graceful and true, let him go to your well for the water!”

that evoked the spirit of justice, and brought his murderers to a doom no less fearful. It was the vision too of these insulted remains that ever haunted the mind

and nerved the red arm of his avenging grandson, the THE HEART OF MONTROSE.

terrible Dundee. The civil war of Scotland during the seventeenth When this reaction took place, and the friends of and eighteenth centuries, so truly denominated “ The Montrose came forth from their hiding-places, and Troubles," while they created wounds which required gathered from the four winds his bleached remains, the the lapse of more than a century to heal, have yet heart alone-that heart which had throbbed so truly afforded some of the noblest examples of chivalrous for his king and country—was nowhere to be found. loyalty and generous devotion which history has ga A deep mystery for long hung over its disappearance, thered in her starry zone.

Whatever the judgment which was only elucidated by the publication of family passed on the risings of 1715 and 1745, when, notwith traditions.? standing the growing prosperity of the empire under At the time of his execution, the friends of Montrose the peaceful dynasty of Hanover, men, ay, and women were scattered abroad, and most of them had sought too, gladly perilled life and fortune for the wandering and forlorn Pretenders, few have refused to do honour

(1) Point of the compass.

(2) We allude to the Appendix to Napier's "Montrose and the to the memory of him who brought to the royal cause Covenanters," 1835.

for safety in foreign lands. It was to woman alone-owner safety in battle. We find that it was stolen, and that “ministering angel” in the darkness of affliction, afterwards traced to the palace of an Indian chief, who that he was indebted for much of his undaunted bearing had bought it from some one at a high price. And in his final trials; the hands of women had woven for there it lay enshrined amidst the fantastic symbols of him “the fine scarlet, laid over with rich silver lace, a strange religion, the simple object of a Hindoo's the bands and cuffs exceeding rich,” in which he died adoration. This chief was the Pollygar or captain of so bravely, and it was a woman who, in her deep love of Pundlar-Courchy, a fort and district in the neighbourthe dead, at the risk of her own life, possessed herself hood of Madura. of the heart of Montrose.

More than a century had passed away since the execuNine years before this event, his nephew, the Master tion of Montrose; the factions that were renewed orer of Napier, had wooed and won the Lady Elizabeth his grave had for ever become quiet; the royal race to Erskine, a daughter of the Earl of Mar. She proved whose cause he had devoted his life-blood was reprewell worthy to be the wife of one who (to use his own sented by one old man, a cardinal of Rome; British words) “could have lived with her meanly in the deserts arms and enterprise had opened up a pathway to the of Arabia ;" but who left his youthful bride to follow fabled wealth of the East, and now, beneath the tropical the fortupes of his kinsman. During the brief respite sun of India a Hindoo chief was prostrating himself from public turmoil which he enjoyed, Montrose had before the heart of the “Great Marquis," and bearing become fondly attached to his gentle niece, and to her it about with him as a spell of sufficient power to he had promised to leave, as his most sacred memorial, shield him from the dangers of Mahratta warfare. Thus, his heart. His mutilated body had been scarcely two when, in the land of his birth, his chivalrous career, days in the grave when this youthful lady, no unworthy his high spirit of loyalty, and his heroic end, had bedaughter of the land of Catherine Douglas and Flora come the theme of poet and novelist, all that was Macdonald, at imminent peril procured the rare me- material of James Grahame was cherished by an ignomento of the illustrious dead. After having been rant Hindoo, as the source whence his spirit derived carefully embalmed, it was placed within a steel case, strength in the turmoil of war, and the suspicious calm made of the sword of the hero, and this again within of Indian tranquillity. We could wish we knew more of a gold box, which had been presented to an ancestor of this man's history than we do; we know enough, bowthe family by a Doge of Venice. The whole was de- ever, to pay the tribute of admiration to his character, posited in a large silver urn, and cherished by the lady , and of sympathy to his misfortunes. For it remains as the dearest and proudest relic of the departed. It is to be told, how, when informed of the circumstances pleasing to think that the features of this high-souled connected with his “charm,” he generously restored the woman may yet be seen on the canvass of Lely: An casket to the English lady, saying, that "he considered old picture hangs in Merchiston Castle, near Edinburgh, it his duty to fulfil the wishes of the brave man whose the seat of her descendants, in which she stands, calm heart was in the urn, and whose wish it was that his and noble in her look, in the brilliant dress of the time heart should be kept by his descendants." As if the of Charles II., and with her hands placed piously around charm that ruled the destiny of his life had indeed dethe silver urn.

parted, he was hurried into revolt from the Nabob of Let us now follow the heart in its strange vicissitudes. Arcot, and fell a victim to the rigour of Anglo-Indian Dearly as Lady Napier prized the relic, she deemed justice. There is something infinitely touching, we that it ought to be in the hands of the Marquis's son, think, in the wish expressed by him on the eve of exe. who, along with her husband, was still a refugce in cution, that some one would preserve and cherish his Holland, and to him it was accordingly sent. Years heart, as they had done who loved the European warpassed away, and the generation that witnessed the rior so well. death of Montrose had been gathered to the grave. The heart thus singularly preserved and generously Continued troubles surrounded the family, and the pre- restored, remained in the lady's possession till accident cious urn was lost abroad. Chance, however, restored again deprived her of it, and that for ever. Returning it to the fifth Lord Napier. A friend of the family had home from India with her husband through France, in recognised it in the shop of a curiosity-dealer in Holland, 1792, their plate and jewellery were required to be and immediately purchased it. This nobleman, when given up to the French Government. For greater travelling in France. was taken ill, and, on his death security, she entrusted the heart to the care of an Enbed, bequeathed to his daughter as his most precious glish women, resident at Boulogne. Years passed on, legacy, the golden casket of her ancestors.

the plate and jewellery were scrupulously restored, but Again the scene changes and the “sole daughter of death had removed the keeper of the casket, and with his house and heart” is wedded and accompanies her her all knowledge of the place where it was deposited. husband on his country's service to distant India.

T. While off the Cape de Verd Islands, the feet of which their Indiaman is one is attacked by some French frigates. With the ardour and zeal that distinguish THE GREAT MYSTERY ON SALISBURY his countrymen, her husband volunteers to ake he

PLAIN. command of four of the quarter-deck guns. In the midst of the conflict stood the lady, with all the chi- | Years have passed since first a certain huge pile of stones valry of her race, on the open quarter-deck, her son attracted attention. Ages have passed since the erection clinging to one hand, and the heart of Montrose in the of these majestic remnants. Years, pregnant with the other. It seemed as if that heart had power, even in advent and reception of vast and weighty truths, have its dust, to animate those around it to noble deeds, for long since gone by, and yet they have neither brought there stood this weak woman with her youthful son, while the enemy's fire mowed down two of the men at

nor left any certain record of those mystic monuments. the guns, and a splinter struck and shattered the outer There they stand on Salisbury plain, apparently defying case of the casket. The frigate was called off, and the all the influences of Time, the great destroyer of all gallant Englishwoman lived to see the relic repaired by things—assuredly defying all human ingenuity to the cunning of a Hindoo goldsmith, and to cherish it decipher. A great mystery, truly! Who shall their as the proudest memorial of her mountain home. But alas ! the veneration with which she viewed it the Iron Mask have alike baffled human perceptions to

purposes unfold to us? The Pyramids and the Man in became to her the cause of its loss, and it does not seem strange that what the English lady cherished so fondly, solve and define. So, too, Stonehenge is the great should, to the superstitious mind of the Hindoo, seem wonder of our isle, and, if anything can add to the to possess the charm of an amulet, and confer on the astonishment which its appearance excites, it is the

extraordinary fact, that the greater proportion of visi. | forming an oval. An altar and cell completed the tors to it, consist of foreigners ; Germans of all states, temple. Italians, Frenchmen, Americans, &c. It seems impos- Such is a very cursory description of the state of this sible to account for the insensibility which leads many most remarkable building, in the days of its normal a tourist to leave it on one side, and seek for objects to greatness. Many of the stones have disappeared gratify his curiosity miles and miles away. England altogether, others have fallen, and but few remain in does not contain any more stupendous piece of art, and their pristine erectness. Enough, however, is left to certainly cannot boast of anything more wonderful; show the design and intention of the founders ; enough yet, to the majority of wonder-loving, pleasure-seeking to impress the spectator with sublime and exalted feelEnglishmen it is unknown, unthought of, and, it is to ings, which the character of the monotonous and dreary be feared, uncared for. The very situation of it is both scenery surrounding is well calculated to heighten :imposing and commanding-standing quite alone, on solemn temple, made with hands yet withal so simple, a plain which looks interininable, and which on a hot with materials so plain yet so monstrous, that its ettect summer's day or on a winter's night has neither tree is magnificent. One author says, “these upright stones or hut for shelter or repose near it. Majestic, wondrous seem to grow out of the earth as they stand.” Another pile ! thy artificers unknown, thy uses undiscovered, doubts the possibility of their having been conveyed how solemnly thou remainest in thy solitary glory! from any considerable distance. It is said that the nearest Thy bard should be another Ossian, and the chorus that point whence these stones could have been brought responds to the chanting of thy grandeur, the roaring is sixteen miles distant. How they were brought, waves of the old ocean, that roll for ever and for ever, is one of the mysteries peculiar to the entire subject. till Time and thou shall be no more. To attempt an The Rev. J. Bathurst Deane, in his book, written in explanation, or to elucidate this mysterious temple, is 1833, on Serpent Worship, states as his belief that they in these our later days of careful and rigorous inquiry came from Grey Wethers near Abury, and that they an unsatisfactory task, and one which could afford no were probably conveyed on rafts to their destination; possible advantage to any one. Truth to say, we should these rafts being floated on a river which ran, as he end where we began. All is conjecture. That it was considers, under the hill on which Stonehenge stands. a temple erected for worship seems feasible enough to In a survey made in the year 1845, it does appear that believe. That that worship was the religion of the there are some grounds for this opinion, as evident aborigines of Great Britain, is also most probable. And traces of a river having formerly run by and past if this latter supposition be received, we must at once Amesbury were visible. But here, all is again mere give to the Druids the credit of its erection and appro- conjecture, and in that dubious field it is impolitic to priation for sacred rites. The theory at one time offered enter. Upwards of a hundred years since, Dr. Stukely, to the scientific world by that celebrated architect Inigo the Rector of All Saints, in Stamford, wrote an elaborate Jones is capable of a thorough refutation. It was his treatise on Stonehenge. Sir Richard Colt Hoare has pleasure to give the Romans the credit of this structure; made it the object of his studies, and corrected the but it is manifestly an error to suppose that that people, errors of many previous writers. Wordsworth has made who, long anterior to their invasion of this country, it the theme of one of his exquisite sonnets. Pepys in were masters of the arts of design, and lived and wors his amusing diary, written in Charles the Second's time, shipped in buildings of a most constructive character, has the following passage, written in his own familiar would have contented themselves with any temple so quaint manner :-“ So the three women, behind W. simple as Stonehenge. Besides, there are no analo- Hewer Burford, and our guide, and I single to Stonegous remains in localities more densely populated by the henge, over the plain and some great hills, even to Romans than Britain ever was. Among all the relics fright us. Came thither, and find them as prodigious exhumed from the barrows that are near, or surround as any tales I ever heard of them, and worth going this Stonehenge, no Roman work has been found — no coin journey to see. God knows what their use was: they are has ever been discovered in any of the tumuli - nothing hard to tell, but yet may be told.” to afford a clue or trace of a Roman origin. One more Mr. Turner, the celebrated artist, has transferred on proof against the idea is the fact that a number of these canvas his impressions, and depicted the scene as viewed circles of stone, more or less broken, are to be seen in during a storm of thunder and lightning. It is a very all parts of the kingdom, in Ireland, Scotland, and in vivid and actual representation of the spot. By moonthe smaller isles, and places where it is well known the light the effect is admirable, though no especial paintRomans never went. The skilful reasoning and accurate ing of it under that influence has been hitherto investigation of Dr. Stukely are all against the proba- exhibited. It is greatly to be deplored that from the bility of a Roman origin. The fanciful hypotheses that cupidity and stupidity of treasure seekers, who have have been given to the world from time to time are fancied they should be richly rewarded for their pains, most amusing, and would form an odd volume for the many of the stones have fallen and become otherwise entertainment of those who are wont to date their con- detached from their places. The loosening of the soil, clusions from realities, and not imaginary speculations. consequent upon repeated diggings, has been the cause

But to one conclusion we must come at last. The of this mischievous foolishness. The name, Stonehenge, Druids are almost beyond question the originators, and is derived from the Saxon words, Stane-hangen, or as priests the performers in this stupendous temple. Hanging Stones. Camden styles it as “insana subIt stands, as has been before noticed, on a vast plain. structio," and in the works of many old authors it is There is an outer and inner circle of stones. The outer called Choir Gaur, or Chorea Gigantum. Godfrey Higis in diameter about one hundred and nine feet. The gins has contributed not a little to dispel the obscurity thickness of the stones forming this circle is three feet which for so many ages has enveloped Celtic remains, and a half; the number of stones forming the outer and Stonehenge has been particularly noticed by him. circle was sixty, of which thirty were stones standing An ingenious argument has been given by Dr. Stukely, upright, the remaining thirty being what are called which he deduces from Sir Isaac Newton's Chronology, imposts, that is, stones placed on the top of others. namely, that as the average duration of a king's reign Both the uprights and imposts are each of one piece, is nineteen years, so, as he found nineteen barrows about so that the labour and difficulty with which they were the eminences round Stonehenge, he conceives the placed in their position may be conceived. These Druids to have enjoyed their magnificent structure uprights and imposts are maintained together by means about three hundred and sixty years. of mortices and tenons, which are geometrically adapted There is one pompous absurdity, which for its magto their work in the most methodical manner. The niloquent bombast shall not be omitted in the catalogue inner circle of stones was more irregularly shaped and of those essays and essayists who have discoursed upon smaller than the outer. In this were a number of stones ! this matter.

A writer seriously announces his belief that it was / vast, tremendous, significant, and potent in its very erected countless ages ago, and that the stones, huge stillness; a silence that reigns where once the voice of and vast, were carried to the plain on the backs of the man spoke in tones all-powerful and commanding, mastodon, and other extinct genera of the fossil world. astounding in their very depth and meaning, pregnant Why did not the man set to work, and paint a pano- with terrible utterings, gone -- lost; a silence that, of all rama of the gigantic procession wending its lengthy others, makes itself the most felt, and appals the tremway to the desired locality ?

bling heart of man to contemplate; a silence whose To leave all suppositions and questionings to their origin is written in the downfal of past dynasties, whose inventors, let us view Stonehenge as it is, and taking quietude is more terrible than speaking, whose history for granted that it is a Druidical temple, let us is of the past, and whose end is shrouded in the future. transport ourselves to the outer circle, and then ar- And this is the type of all mysteries. ranging it as it was, and indulging ourselves with a peep, like the learned Stukely, at the Sanctum Sanctorum, let us wait the rising of the moon from behind the sacred grove at Amesbury; so shall we see the en- THE PUBLIC WRITER; OR. THE EFFECTS OF trance of the officiating priests, the Druids and Druid

GAMBLING. esses, and witness the solemn and hoary chief advance to “ Father,” said Severin, “I come to entreat your the altar with slow and reverent footsteps, his face down. assistance in an awful moment, in which my life, honour, cast, his beard long and smoothly trimmed ; his clothes and situation, are at stake." reaching to his knees are fastened with a girdle, to which

“Do you doubt,” said his truly excellent father, is attached the bronze celt. In his hand he carries a " that I will assist you if in my power ?" forked stick, which fits on to the celt, and has enabled

" I owe an immense sum of money, and I do not him to cut the mystic misletoe which he holds in the possess twenty francs in this world; the officer grasp of his other hand. But ere the rites are accom- will arrive to-morrow, to morrow! Do you hear, plished and ere the victim is sacrificed, let us awaken father!--to-morrow !--and if I have not twenty-four from our dream and hail with thankfulness the advent thousand francs before noon, I ain undone !” As he and installation of Christianity all over the fair land.

said this, the unhappy young man trembled and wept In this spirit we shall view this mysterious fane with bitterly. It was indeed a sorrowful sight to behold a deep and inward sense of the happy change, that has him thus humbled, and in the deepest despair. abolished for ever religious customs so abhorrent to our

“ Twenty-four thousand francs !” said his father ; nature, and which have in them so much that is in " and where are they to be had ?” manifest antagonism with an humble prostration of the “ The sum you have in the funds, Sir,” said Severin, heart. In this spirit we shall see, as it were in a mirror, “ and the interest of which you receive every three very dimly reflected, a scene from the earliest history months.” of old Britain ; and the vision of that scene, and the That would not suffice,” said the almost heartreflections it will naturally suggest, cannot but prove broken old man; “ but I see I must add to it the price attractive and useful. So it is permitted us in our of this cottage, and then all your debts will be paid ; mental comprehensions to unroll the pages of the tran- but, before I sign the deed, which leaves me without a script of our ancestors' lives and actions; and, if for no

8048, I require you to acquaint me thoroughly with the other purpose than this, it is to be hoped that Stone- state of your affairs.” henge will be preserved to us for ages yet to come, as “ They are not desperate; I have still resources.” an illustrative memorial of the past. In the criticisms Well, then, I must know them all; I will go to of this past let us not altogether despise the contrivances your house, and examine for myself.” of our rustic forefathers. We see here an admirable

Severin, at these words, became still more pale and adaptation of many of the soundest principles of art. trembling, but his father spoke with so determined a In the imposts, or overhanging stones, nothing more voice, that he knew he must be obeyed. Madame Vacffectual could have been devised than the mortices and ranchau was awaiting in the saloon the return of her tenons by which they were united to the uprights. Nor husband; the poor young woman knew too well their could the founders have met with any spot so appro- misfortunes ; her eyes were filled with tears, but the priate for the effect they intended to produce. Viewed expression of her countenance was that of resignation. from whichever side it may be, it is ever the one im On seeing her father-in-law, she rose to salute him. posing object. After traversing the monotonous plain My dear Lucie,” said he, as he kindly took her in any direction, it presents itself to the eye with an land in his; “ place all your confidence in me, for I absortion of interest which is uninterrupted, and which will never forsake you.” is heightened every way by the universal stillness, and

She began to weep; and, as she sat down by her the absence of anything to detract from the one great husband, he exclaimed with bitterness : “ My father feature of the place. Even admitting it as a druidical says he must know all the particulars of my affairs ; so temple, it is still open to scientific investigation. It is we must tell him; and you must know, my dear Lucie, still, to all intents and purposes, a great mystery, one that I would gladly spare you both this mortification if whose solution will, in all probability, never be accom

you would place more dependence in me.” plished. And if, from what tradition has handed down

“ Let us go into your office, Severin,” said M. Varanto us, we are to believe the awful accounts of human chau. “I am come here to investigate your affairs, and sacrifices, the shedding of human blood, the profanities to sign a deed.” acted in religion's holy name, and rites from which all " It is quite useless to show you my books,” said but the Arch Druids were excluded, we shall indeed Severin, sullenly; “ of what use will it be to make the rejoice that all these things have passed away; and clerks in my office witnesses of this examination ?--I that it is what it is, this wonderful Stonehenge, a great can tell you-" Then, after a moment's pause, he mystery. Silence may well become its best and most added, with a hoarse voice, and wringing his hands in fitting attribute; silence that, like night, spreads a veil agony, “ I am ruined !” over all things; a silence not of that nature where “ But you have not told me what has caused your sound (or human sound) hath never been, as in the ruin !” cried M. Varanchau ; and that is what I now unpeopled deserts yet unknown, or in the great and require you to explain. I suspect the cause, I have pathless woods, where rifle never disturbed the natural already said so,--but now I must learn it from your voices of Nature's fairest children, the gentle birds ; own lips.” nor as that silence which bangs around the silver orbs Severin was silent. at midnight, or nourishes itself in the caverns trodden by no foot, whether of man or beast; but a silence

(1) Concluded from p. 204.

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" Then,” said M. Varanchau," I must tell it myself: | reputation : he had a method of petitioning which It is gambling which has brought you to this miserable would have softened the hardest heart; and it is even

recorded, that the stern inspector of the police shed It is true," said Severin, proudly.

tears as he read a petition penned by Father Pierre. “ And I," said his unhappy father, “had fondly During the day, those who walked in the square St. hoped your honour was not sacrificed!"

Geneviève might see through the bright windows of the * Have I lost my reputation," interrupted he, scorn- shop, the white head of this industrious old man, whose fully, “ for having gambled, and lost ? Truly, Sir, to attention was never diverted from his employment. hear you speak, one would imagine I was a rogue !' Every one knew Father Pierre,--every one loved and

You are not yet one, perhaps, but you will become honoured him; but all their inquiries to discover one eventually, - prison, -- the galleys, - such will be who he was were in vain. They remarked his bearing, your fate! May I die before that day arrives !” education, and politeness: some said, “He is a great

Severin was enraged at these words; his eyes flashed Polish lord, ruined by the late war;" others, from his fire, and his voice trembled with rage, as he thus ad- southern accent, thought him to be a Spanish refugee, dressed him: “Sir, you have no business in my house, but no one knew his real name. At night, Madelaine since you are come to insuit instead of assist me; this came for her old master, and both repaired to a retired conduct is only that of a heartless man,-depart !" apartment in the vicinity of the shop, which was neatly

At these words M. Varanchau rose up, but Lucie kept, and tolerably well furnished. caught him, exclaiming, “ Oh, my father, he is your

My good master," said Madelaine frequently, whilst son -he is in despair !"

they supped together, “when will you ease working? “ I have no longer a son,” answered the unhappy old -it appears to me we are now rich enough.” man, his voice agitated with anger and grief : "he who “ Not yet,” said he ; “if ever my unhappy child reonce bore that name I renounce,-a father's blessing turns, I must have enough for him and myself.” rests on him no more !”

Thus twelve years passed away. Father Pierre was To these sad words the gambler, the wicked son, only very old, but his hand had not lost its skill, nor his replied by a threatening look, for he feared to give vent mind the power of framing petitions; and he had to his passion.

always more to do than he could accomplish. During " Will you come with me, my child ?" said M. Va- these twelve years he had written several times to ranchau, affectionately, to Lucie;" you shall share with Marseilles to inquire for his son, and no one had anme the little I now can call my own.”

swered his letters, for they had nothing to communiShe kissed her father-in-law's hand; then, with meek cate respecting him. “He is dead; surely, he is dead," resignation, followed her husband, saying,—“ Death often repeated the poor old man; he has died with alone shall separate us!”

his father's curse upon his head-my poor child !” The following morning M. Varanchau sent his son a One day, when Father Pierre was seated at his usual deed, assigning to him all his property; this satisfied occupation in his shop, a little girl came up to him the creditors, but left him and his family in extreme timidly; she was very pretty, but her patched gown, poverty. In the evening, when Lucie went to the cot- worn-out shoes, and scanty covering, indicated her extage to thank him for all his kindness, and to entreat treme poverty. Sir," said she, “ I will thank you to his forgiveness for her husband, she could find neither write a petition for me, but I have only six sous to give him nor Madelaine; and there was written on the gate, you for your trouble.” “ To be Sold." She went away disheartened ; and no Father Pierre looked over his spectacles at her: one in the town could tell her what had become of My child, how old are you?” them. In a few days, Severin quitted Marseilles, accom- I shall soon be ten, my good Sir.” panied by his truly devoted wife.

" And is this money your own?” When M. Varanchau saw himself without fortune or Oh, yes ! yes ! it is indeed !” said the child, with home, compelled to expatriate himself, and to quit the a voice so sad, that it struck the old man. place where he had lived for many years, respected and “ I never tell lies, Sir! Oh, do you not believe my happy, he was at first tempted to give way to despair; word ?". but, as he was a religious man, he trusted that God “Will you tell me how you got this money, my dear? would not forsake him in his adversity. He knew he --it is certainly very little, but it is a great deal for one should now work for his livelihood, and he submitted in the condition you are." to it without a murmur, notwithstanding his declining The child hesitated at first, then replied, with her years. His faithful Madelaine had accompanied him; eyes cast on the ground, “I have saved it, Sir.” they lived together in Paris, and at first it occurred to • Saved it, child! then you must have saved it from M. Varanchau to give lessons in history and geography; the money your mother gave you to buy bread for her?” but then his advanced age was against him ; besides Oh, no! no ! no !" cried she, as the colour rose to this, he should have to wait till pupils presented them- her pale face at being thus suspected: “I have saved it selves, and now he had no other resource than Made from my own meals; every day my father gives me two laine's little savings. Laying aside all false pride, he sous to buy bread for myself, and I have only spent one determined to become a Public Writer.” He wrote sous every day for the last week.” very well, understood grammar better than the aca- " I will write your petition for nothing,” said Father demy, and calculated like Barême. Nothing more was Pierre, returning the child her six sous. required than a writing shop in the square of Saint mother alive!" Geneviève. It was indeed an affecting sight to behold “ Alas, Sir! it is a month since she died !” Here this poor man, at sixty-five years of age, commencing a the little child began to cry, but she hastened to wipe trade which required so much patience and application. her tears away; and, pointing to her patched frock, Early in the morning he was to be seen seated in an old she said: “We are so poor that I am not able to get a arm-chair, at a table, on which were ranged papers of black frock as mourning for my mother.” every size, a variety of seals, and models of complimen- " And you wish me to write a petition for you,” said tary notes in prose and verse. Soon “ Father Pierre,” | Father Pierre, kindly; "you have, then, some proas he was now called, was in great request. He could tector?" scarcely attend to the crowds of people who daily as- “ No, my kind friend, I have not; but a thought sembled round him; and was obliged to enlarge his came into my head,

,-a very good thought, too, I assure shop, and take clerks. There was a desk for compli- you.”. mentary letters, another for recommendatory ones, Well, we shall see; sit down there, and warm yourothers for invitations and petitions. It was in this last self by the fire." kind that Father Pierre excelled, and acquired a great Encouraged by his kindness, she sat down by him,

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