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am the King of Sweden," he cried out," and I seal equally sheltered situation: and accordingly selected with my blood the liberty and religion of the whole the dining-room, which, as the family never entered German nation." Another grand saying was that it till luncheon-time, she had all to herself from the of the Emperor Rodolph, who said, when dying, "I moment the housemaid had done her duty in the am on my way to Spires, to visit the kings, my pre-morning, and retired, leaving, as she was accustomed decessors." The last words of Frederic V. of Den- to do, the window open. How long the bird had mark were, "There is not a drop of blood on my carried on her operations unnoticed we know not; hands." The beautiful Anne of Austria, Queen of but a servant, accidentally moving the drapery of France, when her hands, the finest in the world, one of the window-curtains, discovered in the folds began to swell in her last illness, said, “It is time of a festoon the robin's nest. for me to depart." The mind of Charles II. was occupied to the last with thoughts of Nell Gywn; "Let not poor Nelly starve," said he at parting. Here indeed was the ruling passion strong even in death.

BIRDS' NESTS.

TH HE interior of a skull, as well as the interior of a magpie's nest, were-however singular-at least better suited to the sedentary life of a bird when sitting upon her eggs, than the noisy workshop of a brass-founder's factory; yet, in such an unlooked for place did a female water-wagtail once build her nest, within a foot of the wheel of a lathe, in the midst of the din of hammerers and braziers. There, unmolested and unconcerned, she hatched four young ones. The cock, not reconciled to such a scene, instead of taking his part in feeding the nestlings, carried the food he collected to a spot on the roof, where he left it till the hen fetched it when wanted. She became quite familiar with the men who were constantly employed in the shop, and flew in and out without showing signs of fear; but if a stranger approached, she immediately flew off her nest, or, if absent, would not return till he had departed.

We once found a wagtail's nest under the halfdeck of a pleasure-boat, which was anchored on a sheet of water. Several times from the discovery of ⚫ the nest to the final departure of the young ones, we embarked and sailed about, the old birds keeping a look-out upon our motions, and frequently alighting upon the gunwale. Finally the brood was reared, and flew away with the old ones.

The redstart-one of the prettiest summer birds of passage-though in its general habits very shy, is frequently, in the choice of position for its nest, the very reverse. We remember one which built on the narrow space between the gudgeons or upright iron on which a garden door was hung; the bottom of the nest, of course, resting on the iron hinge, which must have shaken it every time the door was opened. Nevertheless, there she sat, in spite of all this inconvenience and publicity, exposed as she was to all who were constantly passing to and fro.

In this instance the bird availed itself of a situation in which, during the greater portion of the day, she was in solitude and silence; but solitude and silence do not seem to be essential to all robin adherents, for we lately heard of a pair which took possession of a pigeon-hole book-shelf in a school, which was constantly frequented by seventy children. The hole selected was at the furthest extremity of the room, immediately above the heads of a junior class of little girls from four to five years of age, who, much to their credit, never disturbed the bird. There she laid and hatched five eggs. One of the young ones died in a few days, and the body was carried off by the parent birds. The remaining four were regularly fed in the presence of the children, and in due time reared. Soon after their departure, the old bird repaired the nest and laid three more eggs, which she attended to with the same perseverance and success. We have often alluded to the frequent return of birds to the nests, and perhaps the most singular feature of this anecdote is, that about twelve years ago a robin built in that identical pigeon hole. Why the visits were not renewed every year, it is impossible to conjecture; but that the pair of the present year were either the same old birds or young ones of the brood then reared in it, is more than probable, from the circumstance of the pigeon-hole being selected; when others, forming the school library, within the same framework, would equally have suited the purpose.

Another nest was constructed, and for two successive years, in a still more extraordinary situation, which we give not on our own authority, but fully believing it. A few years ago, a pair of robins took up their abode in the Parish church of Hampton, Warwickshire, England, and affixed their nest to the church Bible, as it lay on the reading desk. vicar would not allow the birds to be disturbed, and therefore supplied himself with another Bible, from which he read the lessons of the service.

The

A similar instance occurred at Collingbourne, Kingston Church, in Wiltshire, England, on the 13th of April, 1834: the clerk, on looking out for the lessons of the day, perceived something under the Bible in the reading-desk, and, in a hollow place, occasioned by the Bible's resting on a raised ledge, found a robin's nest containing two eggs. The birds not having been disturbed, laid four more, which were hatched on the 4th of May. The still more extraordinary part of the story is, that the cock-bird actually brought food in its bill, and fed the young brood during divine service, which was performed twice every Sunday; and it is further highly creditable to the parishioners-particularly the junior portion of them that the birds were never molested, and not an attempt ever suspected to have been made on the nest and eggs deposited in so hallowed a spot. We can

Among robin redbreasts, many instances of strange selection have come to our knowledge quite as singular as those hitherto mentioned. Thus, we know of one which attempted to build in the library of a gentleman's house at least so it was suspected, from a few suspicious materials, such as dried leaves, &c., having been occasionally found amongst the shelves, without anybody having been able to ascertain whence they came. Probably disappointed by perceiving that they were swept away as soon as deposited, the domestic bird determined to try another remember a robin, indeed, hopping, more than once,

familiarly, as if aware how safe from peril it was at such a moment, upon our own Bible as it lay open before us, whilst we were reading the lessons on a Christmas Day.

We will close our anecdotes of singular situations chosen for building nests in, with the instance of a sparrow, who, like the preceding robin, attached herself to a church—but instead of the parish Bible, selected the middle of a carved thistle, which decorated the top of the pulpit in a chapel at Kennaway, in Scotland. It found free ingress and egress by means of the windows, which were left open, for airing the chapel, upon week-days.

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"He took part," says a biographer, "in the battles of Roleia, Vimiera, Talavera, and Busaco -where he was seriously wounded; in the attack upon Oporto, and its capture; the operations against Soult; the retreat to the lines of Torres Vedras, and their occupation; the pursuit of Massena; the battle of Fuentes d'Onor; the first siege of Badajoz; the affair of El Bodon; the siege of Ciudad Rodrigo; the capture of Badajoz ; the battle of Salamanca ; the capture of Madrid, and the Retiro; the driving of the French from Valladolid to Burgos; the siege of Burgos; the affairs contingent upon it, and the retreat to the frontiers of Portugal; the final advance in 1813; the battle of Vittoria; the battle of the Pyrenees; the affair at Irun; the passage of the Bidassoa; of the Nivelle, of the Nive; the advance, in 1814; the battle of Orthes; the battle of Toulouse, and in the other affairs which took place before the surrender of Napoleon."

the 13th of the following May, he received his commission as a lieutenant. In three years more, he obtained the command of a company, and in 1809, when only twenty-one, had rendered himself so deserving of notice, that Wellington was induced to appoint him one of his aides-de-camp. The following year saw him raised to the military secretaryship of his chief. He next became a major; and in 1812 received a lieutenant-colonelcy.

contact with the Duke, and he could not help imbib. ing some of the principles of that extraordinary man. He has therefore served an apprenticeship to the trade of arms, and as he is now called upon to commence business on his own account, considerable anxiety will naturally be excited to see whether he will succeed. The gallant nation against whom he was formerly called to fight, now goes to combat side by side with his own troops against an antagoWhen Napoleon escaped from Elba, and once nist whose military power, discipline, and inflexi

[THE COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF

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bility were sufficiently proved by the French, in 1812 and in these quali

ties they have by no means become less dis tinguished.

It will, in all likelihood, be in the province of Bulgaria where the English troops will first unite with the Turks in endeavoring to drive tho Russians back to the country from whenco they came, and where the first duties of Lord Raglan, as a General-inChief, will be called into operation. Wherever he has yet been, he has distinguished himself by personal bravery-which, however, is a merit no higher than belongs to the British soldier in general.

It was the opinion of Wellington, and it is ours, that there is no such thing as a coward in human nature. Every man is brave, according to the position in which his predominant organisation is called upon to act. Thus, the man who may be firm in the field of physical conflict, may tremble to deliver his sentiments before an auditory, or to place himselfin a situation wherein his moral nature might be wounded. Demosthenes roused the Greeks

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of his undaunted oratory; but he saved his life only by a pusillanimous flight at the Battle of Cheronaea. Thus was he brave in the senate, but timid in the field: the one arena being proper to his nature, and the other opposed to it.

more summoned the British army to the field, Lord | against Philip of Macedon by the tremendous force Fitzroy Somerset was still attached to the Duke of Wellington, in the capacity of Military Secretary. He took his share in the affair of Quatre Bras, and at Waterloo was so severely wounded, that he was compelled to have his right arm amputated. With this disaster, his military career up to the present ended.

Throughout these campaigns, Lord Fitzroy Somerset superadded to the usual duties of an officer, acted in other situations of the most difficult and In tracing the remarkable career of Lord Raglan, responsible kind. The circumstance of being in- there is one circumstance which cannot escape trusted with these, at his early age, is in itself a great testimony to his merit. He was gazetted in the 4th Light Dragoons, on the 4th of June, 1804, when he was only sixteen years of age; whilst on

notice-and that is, the early development of faculties suitable for the situation which the unerring sagacity of his leader chose him to fill. The duties of this situation necessarily brought him much in

That high expectations are entertained from the ability of Lord Raglan, is a thing no more than just, when we consider the brilliant exploits which were performed by the chief under whose auspices he was initiated in the art of war, and from whom he must have imbibed those lessons which, we trust, he will now be able successfully to put in practice, should necessity demand it.

PRINCE NAPOLEON BONAPARTE,

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"When the nation takes up arms," says he, 'your majesty, will find, I hope, that my place is in the midst of the soldiers; and I pray you to permit me to join them, in order to support the rights and the honor of France. My place is in the midst of the soldiers."

"That such a letter should have been written by the person whose signature is affixed to it," says a correspondent, " is not the least of the extraordinary events which have occurred in France of late. That a man whose political hostility to Louis Napoleon all the

have an existence. But if this amounted to his estimate of these monarchs and their appendages, THE HE head and countenance with which this then it must have undergone a wonderful change page is illustrated-and in which a striking since he has for some time been an able seconder of resemblance to the portraits of the great Napoleon, the designs of his cousin the Emperor, whilst he susso familiar to the public, is at once perceptable- tained his authority with every exemplification of represents the son of Jerome Bonaparte, by his cordiality and loyalty. Such sudden revolutions in second marriage with the Princess Frederika of the sentiments-or rather conduct-of political adWurtemburg. He is the cousin of the present venturers, however, are by no means uncommon. Emperor of the French, and has taken an active part | In many instances they take place by a gradual proin many of the political proceedings which have succeeded the return of his family to France, and which are being continually agitated in the capital of the grand empire. He was born in Trieste, on the 9th of September, 1822. When he first saw the light his father was suffering under the cloud of adversity; but, as if the name of Bonaparte had an exalted destiny to fulfil, that was fated to be dissipated, and the gloom which overcast the dawn of his existence gradually dissolved, and left his path comparatively clear. His early days, however, were passed in neither mental nor physical inactivity. Whilst the mind was receiving the discipline of study through the medium of books, his views were enlarged and his health preserved by travel. His youth has therefore been passed in a continual change of scene. Trieste Vienna, Florence, Rome, America, have at different periods shared a portion of his time. Like many of the other members of his family,

[PRINCE NAPOLEON, COMMANDER

OF

THE FRENCH

RESERVE IN THE EAST.]
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the political hemisphere like a clap of thunder,
astonishing the world by the rapidity with which
they have been achieved. This, in some measure,
was Prince Napoleon's case. From democracy to
autocracy in his opinions, he made it but a step.

he took no active part in the political arena of his | cess, which apparently has led to a carefully de-
country until the last revolutionary period afforded liberated conviction; but in some they come upon
the opportunity of presenting himself conspicuously
as a candidate for public honors. He was then
elected to the Constituent Assembly-in which,
from motives which we have no means of explaining,
he became the leader of the extreme republican party
known as the Mountain. In this position his
violence in favor of the principles he professed was
frequently manifested. He was the sworn foe of
kings and emperors. These, no doubt, were in his
estimation so many puppets; unnecessary titled
dignitaries, with crowns on their heads and sceptres
in their hands, to be ridiculed as mere emblematic
devices of a power which had a name, but should not

Since the elevation of his cousin to the Emperorship, Prince Napoleon has received all the honors due to his distinguished position. When it was determined that the difficulties with Russia should be decided by the sword, he addressed a communication to the Emperor, which consisted of a request to be permitted to take part in the expeditionary army against the Russians in Turkey.

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bitter from the closeness of the relationship between them-whose republicanism was of the reddest hue-in whose eyes royalism was a crime not to be forgiven -and whose outbreaks of temper in the National Assembly surprised even those who had their seats on the summit of the Mountain, of which he was named the prince, that such a person should live to address his cousin by the style and title of Sire and Majesty, and express the devotedness of the most attached subject, realises the truth of the vulgar maxim, On ne doit jamais jurer de rien !" True, but as we have already remarked, he does not stand a solitary monument of the revolutionary nature of political sentiment, opinion, conduct, or whatever, in his case, it may be called. Nor does he stand alone, even in the extraordinary character of his request. George IV., when Prince of Wales, and holding the same

relationship to the crown of England as Prince Napoleon at present holds to that of France, made a similar demand to his father, when England was threatened with invasion by the uncle of the present Emperor of the French. Were we inclined to speculate upon the evidences which his disposition has discovered, during the brief period he has performed his parts upon the political stage, we should set him down as a person of an ardent temperament, a daring ambition, and unscrupulous in the means of effecting the object he seeks to attain. Fame may be his object; but whatever it be, he seems a spirit who must be kept employed, and who will create employment for himself, if the state cannot find it.

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ST. FLORE.

A NEW HISTORICAL ROMANCE.

(FROM THE GERMAN OF HORN.)

Continued from the July number.

As night spread her mantle over the dark mountains of Auvergne, the moment drew nigh. Rabaud, who had long since obtained the child's affection, briefly told him that his father must leave him for a time; and Viole, with as much self-possession as he could assume, pressed the little one to his bosom with a deep sigh, and bade him farewell. The castle was soon left far behind; and, while he was travelling towards Rochelle, Rabaud and the boy were on their way to Dauphiny. Wrapped in a cloak, the boy slept soundly during the journey, and they continued their route without any interruption or halt until they were sufficiently far from St. Flore to be out of danger of immediate pursuit.

"Dare I trust you?" said Viole, bending down to him, and speaking in a low tonę.

"Know him! I should think so, indeed. Most people know Pierre Rabaud, of Crenella. His wife "To be sure," said the other; "don't you see I am has done me many a good turn." in the King's service."

The horseman looked doubtfully at her, for his suspicions were not yet lulled.

"Shall I tell you your fortune, sir?" said Adelma. "Pooh," said the soldier, "go and seek some one

"Now," said Viole, "you know very well that the Huguenots are making preparation to rise, led by Coligny." "No!" returned the horseman, evidently surprised who will believe you." at the news.

"You may believe me it is a fact," continued Viole. "The Duke of Guise, too, is collecting an army in Lorraine. He wants horses, and I and two comrades have undertaken to furnish him with a hundred fine animals. I am come here to purchase some, and my two comrades are gone on the same errand to Languedoc and Dauphiny?"

"But how will you manage the matter if you exceed your commission, and you are overstocked?" said the horseman.

Viole laughed loudly.

"Ah, I see you don't understand our trade. Cheap buying and dear selling is the maxim of sharp men of business."

"True," returned the horseman; "but I can tell you, you won't make any very grand bargains in these parts." "Come the "That's your opinion," said Viole. day after to-morrow to the inn where I shall lodge in yonder village, and I will show you that I don't do business in the dark.”

Viole fled in the disguise of a horse-dealer-a character which, from acquaintance with the habits and love of the noble animal, he could well assume. His long hair and beard were shaved, and the sorrow and watching of the last few weeks had effected such a change in his appearance, that his recognition would, under his present disguise, be almost impossible. His horse was one of the small sturdy Auvergne breed, and, from intimate knowledge of the language and habits of the country people of his The soldier was silent. Easy and unconcerned native province, he was able to speak their patois as Viole appeared, he could not get rid of the suspiwith a readiness and freedom which were astonish-cion that the horse-dealer's character was assumed. ing. He pursued byways as much as possible, and when he was obliged to cross into the high road, he took care that it should always be by night. For some days he travelled safely, and without any adventure; but danger threatened him unawares.

His enemies had made the best of their time during his detention at St. Flore, and were now nearer than he imagined. One day, after a long and fatiguing journey, he was obliged towards night to seek the highway. Only one day more, and he would be at La Rochelle! More freely breathed the traveller, and more urgently still did he press his little Auvergne steed towards a small village which lay at a short distance, where he hoped to enjoy a little repose, and the refreshment of which he stood so greatly in need, when suddenly he thought he heard the sound of horses' feet behind him. Soon there was no doubt of the matter, and his fears were at once aroused. The morning was just beginning to dawn, and in order to excite no suspicion, he slackened his pace, and allowed the horseman to come up to him. By a glance which he stole at his companion, he recognised one of the King's soldiers. His heart almost failed, but he assumed a careless, easy air.

"A horse-dealer!" said the soldier.

"Yes," answered Viole, in the Auvergne dialect. "What art thou doing so far from home?" said

the horseman.

"I am on business," said Viole. "Our trade often obliges us to go a long way before we find what suits us."

"And what are you seeking, if I may ask?" said the soldier, his searching eye surveying his companion, whose suspicion was excited.

At the tavern the horseman sat in a dark corner, and eyed his fellow-traveller's movements sharply. Viole was eating his meal, and conversing freely with the peasants, who sat at the table, in the patois of the province, when the door opened softly and an old gipsy woman stepped in. Her quick eye, after running over the company, at last fixed on Viole, and she greeted him with a pleasant smile. Viole at once recognised in the visitor the bearer of Mornay's letter, and was in great fear of a dénouement; but he concealed his emotion, and to his great relief the woman said boldly:

"Ah, good evening, Pierre Rabaud. How long hast thou been here? Hast thou got an inkling that Giles Rollet, of Domville, is going to sell his white

mare ?"

"Where did you learn that, Adelma," replied Viole, immensely relieved.

"Ah!" said the old woman, 66 we hear many things in our travels, as you know." "Is she dear?" asked Viole, in an under tone, bending down to the gipsy.

"Pah! she is not become younger in two years time," said the other; "but the Duke of Guise may

still ride him with credit."

Viole here made a cautionary sign to the woman, and Adelma, after looking carefully around her, continued:-" When it suits you, Pierre Rabaud, I should like to have a little talk with you on this business."

"To-morrow, with all my heart," said Viole; "but for to-night I am tired, and must go to bed. Good night!" and he left the room.

The soldier beckoned to the old woman.
"Do you know the horsedealer?” he asked.

"You will believe me when you have heard a few words," said the fortune-teller, with an expression so peculiar that the soldier at once gave her his hand. "These lines," she said, "point out Clermont. To the right of the cathedral, No. 187, sits a bird in a small back-chamber—a bird which has flown from St. Flore. Good night!" and she turned to leave the room.

"Hold!" said the soldier; "what do you say? Stop!"

"You have just heard, sir," said the woman. "Where did you learn this?"

"By a sign that never deceives me; it is writ

ten

"May I depend on this information?"
"You may."

"Good mother, thou shalt be richly rewarded," said the soldier, springing up and hastening from the room.

In a few moments more his horse's hoofs were heard on the road to Clermont. The gipsy appeared extremely indifferent, but was rejoicing inwardly at the thought of the success of her plot. When the room was empty, she squatted in a dark corner, for she was at home in the house, where she often made great gain of the guests' credulity, and as soon as everything was quiet, and all the inmates were asleep, she stole secretly out at the door, entered the stables, and binding straw round the horse's feet, led it into the court, and gently tried the door of Viole's chamber. Viole, who was neither undressed nor asleep, opened it immediately.

"Quick!" she said; "follow me!"

Viole obeyed. As she conducted him to his horse, she said in a low tone:

"I recognised you in the forest when you crossed it, and know your danger by the way, for that soldier is a knave. I have put him on a wrong scent. But you must be quick; for when he finds his mistake, he will be back in a twinkling. Ride hard, and you will be at La Rochelle by noon."

"Adelma," he said, "I am, indeed, your debtor!" as, throwing himself into the saddle, he pressed a gold coin into her hand, and rode away.

The woman stood like a statue, and turning the piece of money round and round-" Gold !" she said. "Yes; the rich think they can achieve everything by gold!" and with a murmuring tone she returned to the inn. After closing every door and window carefully, she left the place, and, disappearing under cover of the night, was soon at a considerable distance. Viole, meantime, arrived safely at La Rochelle, and was happy enough to find a vessel on the point of sailing for England, in which he embarked, and after a prosperous voyage landed on its hospitable shores.

It was indeed high time for him, as well as for Rabaud, to make their escape; for on the following day the Castle of St. Flore was seized by the fol

1

lowers of Diana of Poitiers, and a strict search instituted for its master. So quick had been their proceedings, that it was almost a miracle they had not fallen into their adversary's hands.

After much. fatigue, Rabaud and his little charge arrived at the native village of the faithful steward. His old friends, indeed, recognised him, but no one knew of his residence at St. Flore, not having heard anything of his history since he had quitted Dauphiny years ago. The information, therefore, that Gui was his child excited neither surprise nor inquiry.

Simple and joyous was the boy's life, and he grew up noble in mind, and strong and muscular in body. His greatest delight was in the chase; and it was his pride and joy to spend whole days in the forest, returning at evening laden with the spoils of the wood.

The character of the scenery around him fostered this inclination for rude sports. The country was partially clothed with dense forests, which offered a refuge for game, such as is rarely found in modern times; and in those days, when a strong arm and determined will were essential to self-preservation, almost every man was a hunter or a soldier.

No one, in short, doubted his tale, and Rabaud, and the little one who called him father, lived in a humble house, which he hired, carefully husbanding the sum which he had saved in his late master's service, for the use of his beloved child. Day after day he looked for tidings of that master, but in vain, and he began to mourn him as dead. The cause of this silence was in consequence of a deep-laid scheme of Tavannes. When he discovered that both father and child had escaped him, that Viole was now safe from his power in England, and that the boy lay concealed somewhere in the provinces, he spread the report that Viole had adopted a cloister lon, in order to make them each subservient to her life, and every letter of his to Rabaud was inter-detestable projects. cepted. Du Plessis Mornay used every effort to discover the place of the child's residence, but in vain; Tavannes' tale was universally believed, and his heart exulted. This news found its way over the channel, and came to ears that should not have heard it.

Viole was safe in England; but keeping his rank a profound secret, he retired to a village near London, where he lived in strict retirement, and gave himself up to study. Astrology still continued his favorite pursuit; for he steadfastly believed that in the heavens he could read the fate of his beloved

child. The more that his sorrows estranged him

One lovely autumn day he was wandering with no other companions than his trusty dogs in the wood, intending to hunt. It still wanted an hour to noon, and the rays of the sun fell softly through the thick foliage, and made the walk under the leafy roof particularly delightful.

The young man mused as he walked, and without thinking in which direction his path lay, he found himself suddenly on the border of the wood, which commanded an extensive view. Before him lay a valley with sloping pastures, in the distance a village, and situated on an eminence he discerned a fine strong castle, which, as he was unacquainted with the locality, he could not conceive to have been situated so near his home. But he soon recollected to have heard of the Castle d'Arbèque, and as he could see no other, he settled it in his mind that He was tired and thirsty, and looked around for some stream of water. To his joy he saw one at the foot of a rock at no great distance, and was about to proceed in its direction, when his dog gave a loud bark, and sprang

this was its name.

forward at some object in view.

At the same

Years glided peacefully away with the youth in his free forest life, and whilst France was distracted with internal commotions, in her constant efforts to repress Protestantism, perfect tranquillity reigned in this retired spot. Gui was arrived at early manhood when, by the sudden death of Francis II., his brother, Charles IX., then a child, ascended the throne, and the Regency fell into the hands of his mother, the notorious Catherine de Medicis, who, with a cunning policy peculiar to her own, tried to reconcile the conflicting parties of Guise and Chatil-moment he felt a nervous grasp on his arm, and looking round beheld a stranger. He was of majestic bearing, clad in a rich green hunting-dress. He carried a matchlock over his shoulder, and a handsomely wrought knife in his hand. He was evidently past the meridian of life, and verging to old age; his lips had a serious, earnest, almost mournful expression, and his eyes beamed with a clear, steady light.

Condé, over whom the axe had been long sus-
pended by a hair, was set at liberty, and Catherine
saw herself at the pinnacle of her ambition--sole

Regent of France. One of the first acts of her
Government had been to issue an edict which pro-
hibited all meetings of the Reformed party. The
mild council of the venerable Chancellor l'Hôpital
was cried down, and the edict put in force; but in
Languedoc signs of insubordination were soon mani-

fest.

The Court plainly foreseeing the consequences which would ensue to the country if the fanatical

66

What do you seek here?" asked the stranger. "One would fancy you belonged to the gipsy race."

felt his pride offended by the authoritative tone of The first impulse of Gui was an angry one. He the man, and rudely shaking off the hand which grasped his arm, he stepped back, and surveyed the stranger with an expression of dignity and con

intentions towards the Protestants were carried into tempt.
effect, L'Hôpital's counsel at length gained atten- "You have asked the question," he replied,
tion in the House. In the meantime, the star of sharply, "as though you were the Procurator of
Protestantism seemed in the ascendant. Catherine the Parliament at Paris, and came with authority;
ened. The law against their heretical gatherings seek water from yonder spring to quench my
allowed them to suppose that her heart was soft- for your information, I beg to say, that I came to

He turned towards the rock accordingly; but was

somewhat astonished to see the stranger intercept his path, saying, as he did so, in a severe tone :

"I would have you know, young man, whoever you are, that you are trespassing on my property, and that therefore I have a right to demand your name and your business."

from communion with mortals, the stronger became his faith in the science, and the more dreary and melancholy was his life. In the meantime, no news of Gui had reached him, and the only reply which he obtained to his letters from Plessis du Mornay, was the news which Tavannes had spread. The was repealed; they were allowed the exercise of thirst, and that I have no connection with gipsies. grief of the poor father was indescribable, and brought him to the brink of the grave; but the their faith in private, and the Regent assumed a Adieu!" power of his strong mind overcame bodily weak-neutral position. The Huguenot party, astonished ness-and his spirit triumphed over despair. His at the change in their affairs, and blinded by the faith was not one to leave him without hope. hope and joy which the Queen's permission gave, Tavannes was unwearied in his efforts to prevent all communication between parent and child, and even the trusty man in whose hands Viole's little one remained believed in the reported seclusion of Viole. Rabaud and Salers, the servant, continued to live in the strictest seclusion; and seemed to have only one end in view-the happiness of the boy. They trained him in feelings of reverence for his father's faith and religion, and his young heart was early filled with love and admiration of all that was good, holy, and true. By degrees the remembrance of his father faded from his mind. He knew no other parent than Rabaud-no other friend than the faithful Salers. But, as he grew older, Rabaud committed the charge of his education to a good Protestant minister, who, in due time, communicated to him the secret of his family, and the fate of his father, Gui de St. Flore.

relaxed in caution, and were far from seeing through
her deep-laid schemes. The glad news of the tole-
ration of the Reformers' faith spread even to the
Rabaud, after a journey
valleys of Dauphiny.
which he had made to Angers, brought home the
tidings to his secluded village; and in the heart of
Viole's son something like hope dawned of reunion
with his unknown yet venerated parent.
might now return to his native country, if indeed
alive, where everything seemed to promise the
peaceable enjoyment of that religion for which he
had been ready to die, and for the profession of
which he had endured expatriation and disgrace.

He

Often in his solitary rambles through the forest, the glad thought of meeting with his father so filled his heart, that he felt himself already in his embrace, and heard again the voice which had been dear to his infant ear.

"That right I have no desire to dispute," returned Gui, "and consequently I will quit your grounds at once."

The haughty tone of this speech did not daunt the hunter. He seized Gui's hand.

"No," he said, "whoever you may be, it shall never be said that Robert d'Arbèque allowed any one to suffer from thirst on his land," and handing him a flask which he carried in his belt, he desired him, in a kinder tone, to drink.

Gui coldly declined, and was turning away, when D'Arbèque said, in a softer tone

"You are somewhat perverse; but I have vexed you, and regret it; don't let us part in anger."

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