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way he had of

me

For some days the doll was constantly present numerous cases in which he had been the victim to my mind, danced before my eyes, gazed at of injustice. He complained, especially, of the me, opened its arms to me, assumed in my imagi- Bourbons, and as he neglected to tell me who nation a kind of life, which made it mysterious the Bourbons were, I imagined, I do not know and terrible to me, and all the more dear and why, that the Bourbons were horse-dealers settled desirable.

at Waterloo. The captain, who only stopped to At last one day, a day which I shall never fill our glasses, denounced, besides, a host of forget, my nurse took me to the house of my scurvy fellows, rogues, and good-for-nothings, uncle, Captain Victor, who had invited me to whom I did not know at all, and whom I hated lunch. I had a great admiration for my uncle, with my whole heart. At dessert I thought I the captain, as much because he had fired the last heard the captain say that my father was a man shot on the French side at Waterloo, as because whom people led by the nose; but I am not quite with his own hands at my mother's table he sure that I heard aright. There were buzzing rubbed the garlic over the pieces of bread which noises in my ears, and it seemed to me that the he afterwards

little table was put in the endive

dancing. salad. I thought

My uncle put that very grand.

on his military My uncle Victor

frock-coat, took also produced a

his hat, and we great impression

descended into upon me by his

the street, which braided frock

appeared to me coats, and, above

wonderfully all, by a certain

changed. It

seemed to turning the house

that it was a long upside down

time since I had directly he

arrived at my entered it. Even

uncle's house. now, I do not

However, when know very well

we were in the how he managed

Rue de Seine, it, but I declare

the thought of that when my

my doll came into Uncle Victor was

my head again, in a company of

and caused me twenty people,

extraordinary one saw and

excitement. My heard only him.

head was on fire. My excellent

I resolved to father did not, I

attempt a great believe, share my

stroke. We admiration for

passed the shop; Uncle Victor,

she was there in who poisoned

the window, with him with his pipe,

her red cheeks, gave him great

her flowered slaps on the back

petticoat, and her by way of friendship, and accused him of lacking great legs. “Uncle," said I, with an effort, energy. My mother, while treating the captain “ will you buy me that doll?” with sisterly indulgence, advised him sometimes And I waited. to show less fondness for the brandy-bottle.

“ Buy a doll for a boy!” exclaimed my But I had no sympathy with these dislikes uncle, in a voice like thunder. “Do you wish and reproaches, and was an enthusiastic ad- to disgrace yourself? And it is that fright there, mirer of my uncle. It was therefore with a too, which has taken your fancy. I congratulate feeling of pride that I entered the little dwelling you, my friend. If you keep to such tastes, you which he occupied in Rue Guénégaud. The will not have much pleasure in life, and your lunch was laid out on a little table at the corner comrades will call you a confounded ninny. If of the fire, and consisted entirely of pork and you asked me for a sword, a musket, I should sweetmeats.

pay for them, my boy, with the last silver crown The captain gorged me with cakes and wine, of my pension. But, pay for a doll for you—a unmixed with water. He spoke to me about the thousand thunders! disgrace you—never ! If I

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were to see you playing with a pack-thread crea- But that, captain, was not the inscription inture like that, sir nephew, I should disown you!” tended' by you for your old bones, which had

As I listened to these words my heart was carried you over so many battlefields and into so so sore that pride, diabolical pride, alone kept me many haunts of pleasure. Amongst your papers from crying

was found this proud and bitter epitaph which, My uncle, calming down suddenly, returned notwithstanding your last wish, they dared not : to his opinions of the Bourbons; but as for me, put upon your tombstone :overwhelmed by his indignation, I felt an un

Here lies speakable shame. My mind was soon made up.

A BRIGAND OF THE LOIRE. I determined not to disgrace myself; firmly and for ever I renounced the doll with red cheeks. Thérèse, we will take a wreath of everlastings

On that day I experienced the austere luxury to-morrow, and put them on the grave of the of sacrifice.

Brigand of the Loire. Captain, it is true that in your lifetime you But Thérèse is not here. And how should she swore like a

be near me in pagan, smoked

the circus of the like a Swiss, and

Champs Elysées? drank like a bell

Down there, at ringer, neverthe

the end of the less all honour

avenue, the Arc to your memory,

de Triomphe, not only because

bearing on its you were a brave

arches the names soldier, but also

of my Uncle Vicbecause you re

tor's comradesvealed to your

in-arms, opens its nephew in petti

giant gateway to coats the firstidea

the sky.

The of herois m !

trees of the Pride and indo,

avenue unfold in lence had made

the spring sunyou almost un

shine their first bearable, Uncle

leaves, still pale Victor ; but a

and chilly. The great heart beat

carriages roll under your

past me to the braided frock

Bois de Boucoat. I remem

logne. Without ber you used to

being aware of wear a rose in

it, I have exyour button

tended my walk hole. That

to this worldly flower, which I

avenue, and have now believe you

stopped stupidly allowed the

in front of a stall shop-girls to

in the open air, pluck, that great

on which are full-blown

displayed cakes flower, which

of ginger-bread scattered its leaves in all directions, was the and decanters full of cocoa, with lemons for emblein of your glorious youth. You despised corks. A poor little fellow, with his chapped neither absinthe nor tobacco, but you despised life. skin showing through his covering of rags, is Good sense and delicacy were not to be learned gazing eagerly at these sumptuous luxuries from you, captain, but, at an age when my nurse which are not for him. He shows his longing had still to blow my nose for me, you gave me a with the openness of innocence. His round lesson in honour and self-denial which I shall eyes are steadily contemplating a ginger-bread never forget.

man of tall stature. He is a general, and has You have long been at rest in the cemetery some resemblance to my Uncle Victor. I take of Mont-Parnasse, under a humble slab, which him, pay for him, and hold him out to the bears this epitaph :

poor little boy, who dares not put out his hand to Here lies

take him, for, by precocious experience, he has ARISTIDE-VICTOR MALDENT,

learnt not to believe in good luck; he looks at Captain of Infantry, Knight of the Legion of Honour. me with that expression which is seen in big

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dogs, and which means—“It is cruel of you to " It is he; it is Alexander :” I exclaimed, and make fun of me.”

from the summit of the vaulted roof, that name “Come, you little fool,” said I to him in my resounded in my ears with a crash, as if broken. usual peevish tone, “take, take and eat, since, The grave and stolid face of the verger, whom more fortunate than I was at your age, you can I saw advancing towards me, made me ashamed satisfy your tastes without disgracing yourself. of my enthusiasm, and I escaped. And you, Uncle Victor, you of whose manly face Nevertheless it was, indeed, my Alexander; this ginger-bread general reminded me, come, there was no doubt about it; the translator of the glorious shade, and make me forget my new doll. “Golden Legendary,” the author of the “Lives We are always children, and we are always of Saints Germain, Vincent, Ferréol, Ferrution, running after new playthings."

and Droctovée," was, as I had thought, a monk

of Saint-Germain-des-Prés. And what a good

The Same Day. monk, moreover ; how pious and generous ! He It is most strange how the Coccoz family is caused a silver chin, a silver head, and a silver associated in my mind with clerk Alexander. foot to be made, so that the precious remains

" Thérèse," said I, throwing myself into my might be enveloped in an incorruptible covering ! arm-chair, “ tell me if young Coccoz is well, and But shall I ever be able to become acquainted has got his first teeth, and give me my slippers." with his work, or must this new discovery only

“He must have got them, sir,” answered increase my regret ? Thérèse, “but I have not seen them. On the first fine spring day, the mother disappeared with the

201h August, 1859. child, leaving behind furniture and clothes. Thirty- “I, that please some, try all—both joy and eight empty pomade pots were found in her terror of good and bad—that make and unfold garret. The porter's niece says that she met her error—now take ufon me to use my wings. on the boulevards in a carriage. I told you she Impute it not a crime to me, or my swift passage, would come to a bad end."

that I slide o'er the years." “ Thérèse,” answered I, “ this young woman Who speaks thus? An old man, whom I has neither come to a bad end nor a good one. know too well ; his name is Time. Wait till the close of her life before you judge Shakespeare, having ended the third act of “A her. And take care not to gossip too much with Winter's Tale,” pauses in order to allow the little the porter's wife. Madame Coccoz, whom I only Perdita time to grow in wisdom and beauty, and caught sight of once on the staircase, seemed to when he raises the curtain again, he evokes the me to love her child well. That love ought to ancient scythe-bearer to account for the long days be reckoned in her favour.”

which have weighed upon the head of jealous “For that matter, sir, the little one wanted Leontes. for nothing. You could not have found a single I have left in this journal, like Shakespeare in child in the whole neighbourhood better fed, his comedy, a long interval in oblivion, and, curled, and dressed up, than he was.

She puts a

following the poet's example, I make Time interclean bib on him every blessed day, and sings vene to explain the lapse of seven years. Seven songs to him that make him laugh from morning years have indeed passed away without my till night.”

having written a line in this book, and resuming “ Thérèse, a poet has said : The child whose my pen now I have not, alas! to describe a Perdita mother has not smiled upon him is neither worthy grown in grace." Youth and beauty are the of the table of kings nor of the smiles of queens.' faithful companions of the poets; but these charm

ing phantoms bestow but a passing visit on us

8th July, 1852. ordinary people. We cannot make them settle Having learnt that the parement of the Virgin's with us. If the shade of some Perdita were to be chapel at Germain-des-Prés was being repaired,

seized with the unbecoming fancy to traverse my I went to the church in the hope of finding that brains, she would bruise herself horribly against some inscriptions had been laid bare by the work- piles of shrivelled parchment. Happy poets! their men. I was not disappointed. The architect white hairs do not terrify the shades of Helens, kindly showed me a stone which he had placed Francescas, Juliets, Julias, and Dorotheas. And sideways against the wall. I knelt down to see the nose alone of Sylvestre Bonnard would put to the inscription engraved upon the stone, and in a flight the whole swarm of enamoured ladies of low voice I read, in the dim light of the old apse, story. these words, which made my heart beat:

Nevertheless I, too, have felt the influence of Here lies Alexander, monk of this church, who had beauty ; I, too, have experienced the mysterious the chins of Saint Vincent and Saint Amant and the foot charm which incomprehensible nature has imof the Innocents done in silver; in his lifetime he was parted to animate forms; a piece of living clay brave and valiant. Pray for his soul.

has produced in me the thrill which makes lovers With my handkerchief I gently wiped off the and poets. But I have been unable to love or to dust which soiled this memorial slab; I would sing. In my heart, buried under a jumbled heap willingly have kissed it.

of old texts and formulæ, I find, as it were, a

miniature in a garret, a bright face with eyes like to be found the “ Legends of Saints Ferréol, Ferperiwinkles..

rution, Germain, and Droctovée,” xxviii. pages, Bonnard, my friend, you are an old fool. Read and the miraculous “ Burial of Saint Germain this catalogue which à Florentine librarian sent d'Auxerre,” xii. pages. you this very morning. It is a list of manuscripts, ". This precious manuscript, which formed part and promises you a description of some notable of Sir Thomas Raleigh's collection, is at the present curiosities, preserved by antiquaries of Italy and time preserved in the cabinet of M. Michael Sicily. This is something in your line, and in Angelo Polizzi, of Girgente.' harmony with your outward appearance.

"You hear, Hamilcar-clerk Alexander's manuI read, I utter a cry. Hamilcar, who, with script is in Sicily, in the house of Michael Angelo increasing years, has put on an air of gravity Polizzi! Heaven grant that this man may love which frightens me, looks at me reproachfully, scholars! I am going to write to him.” and seems to ask me if rest is not to be had in this Which I did immediately. In my letter, I world, since he cannot enjoy it with me, who am begged M. Polizzi to let me see the manuscript old myself.

of clerk Alexander, telling him on what grounds I have need of a confidant to share my joyfui I ventured to consider myself worthy of such a discovery, and it is to the sceptic Hamilcar that favour. At the same time, I placed at his disposal I address myself with the effusion of a happy some unpublished texts which I possessed, and

which are not devoid of interest. I entreated “No, Hamilcar, no,” I say to him, “rest is him to favour me with a prompt reply, and I not of this world, and the tranquillity which is inscribed, under my signature, all my honorary your aspiration is incompatible with the occupa- titles. tions of life. And who says that we are old ? “ Sir! sir! where are you running to like Listen to what I read from this catalogue, and that?" cried Thérèse, in alarm, as she rushed then say if this is a time to rest :

downstairs after me with my hat in her hand. * * The Golden Legendary," by Jacques de "I am going to post a letter, Thérèse." Voragine, French version of the 14th century, “Good gracious! are you out of your senses, by the clerk Alexander.

that you fly off bare-headed, like a madman ? “«Superb manuscript, adorned with two minia- “I am mad, Thérèse. But who is not? Quick, tures, marvellously executed, and in a perfect give me my hat.” state of preservation, one representing the purifi- " And your gloves, sir! and your umbrella !” cation of the Virgin, and the other the coronation I heard her still shouting and groaning when of Proserpine.

I was at the bottom of the staircase. " • At the end of the “Golden Legendary” are

(To be continued.)

man.

NEW JERUSALEM GOLD.
"GOLD! is it really gold, that pavement shining

On all the city streets, in radiant light?”
(He had just seen the dark cloud's silver lining

On entering Heaven; earth newly out of sight.)
In his old home one wept, in chamber darkened,

By what she called her husband, bitterly;
And one—the heir--to tempting spirits hearkened,

Who whispered "Joy! his gold has come to thee!"
She, the sad widow, only saw the cloud

(Oh, could she see the gleaming silvery lining!)
He saw but gold to which the poor earth bowed

(Oh, could he see it underfoot clear shining !) Open our eyes, oh Lord! that we may see Silver and gold-only as used by Thee !

MARION.

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FUNERAL SERMON ON H.R.H. PRINCE LEOPOLD, DUKE OF ALBANY. Preached in Westminster Abbey on Sunday Evening, April 6th, 1884, by the Rev. Canon DUCKWORTH, D.D.,

formerly Governor to His Royal Highness.

“Lord, and what shall this man do?”–St. John xxi. 21. You will remember from whom this question lay down his life for His sake. But there was no came, and the circumstances which gave rise to it. protesting, no rash promising now. Peter had It was put by St. Peter, always foremost both in been cured of his self-confidence by that terrible speech and deed, always impatient of reserve and experience of which we shall be again and again delay. He had just heard from his risen Lord a reminded in the services of this Holy Week. No solemn prediction of his own future. In words doubt in the strength of that intense love which half clear, half figurative, he had been given to he had called upon the risen Jesus to witness, he understand that the liberty of his earlier life was bravely accepted the fate marked out for him : he to be exchanged in later days for close constraint felt equal to the stern lesson in store for him. as the preparation for a violent end. “Verily, But he does not dare to say so. He has not a verily, I say unto thee, when thou wast young, word to utter about himself. His thoughts are thou girdedst thyself and walkedst whither thou diverted at once from himself to his fellow-disciple wouldest : but when thou shalt be old, another and dearest friend. What was to become of him, shall gird thee, and carry thee whither thou that beloved partner both of his earthly and of his wouldest not.” We know that there was a time heavenly calling, the man whom Jesus loved with when such a prophecy would have drawn from so special and so personal a love? Might not his Peter some confident expression of readiness, future, too, be unveiled ? “ Lord,” he cries, turnsome eager boast of strength equal to any ing round and pointing to him, "Lord, and what demand. But not so now.

How vehemently he shall this man do?But the inquiry is put back had vowed that he would go with his Master to with a touch of rebuke which could not be misprison and to death, and that though all should taken—"If I will that he tarry till I come, what desert Him, yet would not he: nay, that he would is that to thee? Follow thou Me."

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