of degradation from the honour of, tants can change its nature, or lull her sex. She had yielded all to a the self-upbraidings of a mind early royal lover; but when the substance imbued with virtuous sentiments and of an action is wrong, no concomi- || self-respect.

B. G.


(Concluded from p. 21.) One day, in strolling through the , O‘Beirne was conscious that his imaTuilleries, O‘Beirne chanced to seat igination frequently presented objects himself on the same bench with a in a false point of view, and he still chevalier de St. Louis. There was hesitated, when a circumstance ocsomething in the countenance of this curred which convinced him that he gentleman which pleased and inter- was not mistaken. ested him. He made an advance He happened one evening to be in towards conversation, which the other a coffee-house about five o'clock, met with the polite urbanity of his when he saw the chevalier enter, nation. Arthur met him again in and call for a cup of coffee and a the same place and at the same hour roll, which he began to eat with an at different times, and each time he appearance of appetite which plainly felt the interest with which he had shewed that it was to be a substitute at first inspired him increase.- for dinner. OʻBeirne observed also Though but little turned of middle that he was for the first time without age, his hair was perfectly white; his cross. and it was evident, from the pensive Shocked at what he saw, and deexpression of his fine and noble fea sirous of sparing the feelings of the tures, that grief had done upon poor old officer, Arthur slipped out them the work of time; but he ap- unperceived, but loitered about in peared to bear his sorrows with re- | the intention of dogging the chevasignation, and spoke of the world lier to his lodgings. He was preas one who was in perfect charity vented from doing so by an acquaintwith it.

ance, who recognised and fastened Arthur suspected that pecuniary upon him; but he determined on distress was at the bottom of the doing it the next day when they stranger's troubles, for his dress, should meet at the Tuilleries. though scrupulously neat, was thread. The next day and several succeedbare. He longed for an opportunity ing ones passed; he saw no more of to have given what might be at least the chevalier, and he did not fail to a temporary relief; but there was reproach himself for the procrastisomething in the appearance of the nation which had perhaps exposed veteran which rendered it impossible a fellow.creature to die for want; for to touch the subject. Arthur ob- he felt convinced that the old officer served that for several days his looks would perish rather than ask relief. were more sad; he even thought The day of his departure for Irethat the traces of want began to be i land was fixed, and on the morning visible in his interesting countenance: before it, as he was crossing the Rue still this might be only fancy.-- " du Bacq, be saw a Sister of Charity, who was unable to get out of the || step, he saw nobody; but a voice way in time, thrown down by the from a bed placed in one corner pole of a carriage: he darted for- said, " Is it you, sister Agatha ?” ward, and rescued her from further He could not be mistaken, it was injury; but though she had no bones the voice of the chevalier. His first broken, she was evidently hurt and impulse was to spare the feelings of frightened by the fall.

the old officer by hastily retiring, O‘Beirne conveyed her immedi- and conveying bis assistance through ately into a shop, and when he saw the hands of the sister; but a moveher perfectly recovered, offered to ment of the sick man rendered it call a hackney-coach to carry her impossible for him to retreat unseen. home. Hurt as the poor woman was, He advanced, and with as much she was desirous of proceeding on timidity as if he came to ask a faher mission; but when she tried to vour instead of conferring one, he move, she was evidently unable to recounted what had happened, and stand. “ Ah! iny God,” said she, delivered the message of the sis“ how unfortunate it is! I am ex- ter. . pected just at this hour; my poor “Ah! sir," said the officer to him patient will be so grieved, so disap- | in English, “I recognise in this trait pointed!"

that benevolence for which I had al“ But, my good sister, cannot I go ready given you credit! Come near in your place?"

me. A few days ago I should have " What! a fine young gentleman blushed to receive you in this miselike you?”

rable apartment, but I am drawing “I shall not make so good a nurse near the moment when earthly pasI grant you; but I can carry a mes- sions and prejudices cease; and I sage for you, and if there be occa- | avow it will be sweet to me to prefer sion for any pecuniary relief, I may || a last request to one who has the be of some use.".

power, and I am sure has the will, The sister paused." There is to fulfil it.” occasion,” said she, “ but— No, U “My dear sir," cried Arthur with you must not offer it; only tell him | an emotion which he sought not to what has happened, and say that one conceal, “ your request shall be saof my sisters will be with him in an cred: but call it not a last one; I hour."

| hope, I trust that you have yet many He handed the good nun into a days to see." coach, and cheered her with an as- | “No, my kind sympathizing friend, surance that he would proceed di- my hours are numbered, and I feel rectly upon her charitable errand; | my last one rapidly approach. I am and in fact he lost not a moment in an emigrant; I returned in the bedoing it. .

| lief that my name and my services He found the object of her pious would command a provision for my solicitude in a small room, miserably last days. I have been deceived. furnished, and on the fifth story of My royal master cannot himself judge the house to which she had direct- | of all the claims upon his bounty; ed him.

they are too numerous, alas! and On entering the room with a light doubtless there are many others more weighty than mine. The small sum | He wept upon the bosom of his beI brought with me was soon exhaust- nefactor; and his oppressed heart, reed; my necessities have compelled lieved from the load of sorrow which me to raise a supply upon two cross- | had so long weighed upon it, began es, the reward of my services, and once more to taste of peace. very dear to me from the circum As soon as he was able to converse, stances in which they were bestow- || Arthur revealed to him the discovery ed ”

of the treasure, and inquired how it "I will get them for you immedi- || happened that the numerous adverately,” interrupted Arthur.

tisements had never met his eye. "No, all will soon be over; if you He accounted for it by saying, that will then obtain them, and let them he had lost his wife through the be deposited in my coffin- You shock she received by reading acweep, generous young man! had we cidentally in a newspaper the murmet in happier circumstances, you der of her father-in-law. It was so would have found De Mersanville sudden and so violent, that she fell not unworthy of your friendship.” into fits, which carried her off in a

It was with difficulty that Arthur few hours. From that period he could restrain himself at this unex. could never bear to look at a news. pected discovery: he had, however, paper. He quitted England soon presence of mind enough to consi- | afterwards, hoping to find an ho. der, that the least emotion might be nourable death in the army of fatal. He obtained the chevalier's Condé or in La Vendée; and as, in consent to see a physician, though the obscurity to which he was rehe declared that it would be useless ; | duced when the royalist party was at and the physician was himself, after length quelled in France, he had two or three visits, of the same opi- dropped his title, calling himself Mr. nion. “ I do not believe,” said he Mersan, the very few persons who to O‘Beirne, " that there is a chance knew him did not suspect that the of his recovery: he himself will, or advertisement might relate to him. rather can, do nothing to accelerate A few weeks saw him repossessed it; for I see that his spirit is broken, of that part of his paternal inheritand he looks forward to death as a ance on which he was born. The relief from poverty and sorrow." coffer afforded the means of satisfy

“ He has no cause to dread them,” ing Arthur's pecuniary claims upon said Arthur, declaring immediately him; but bis debt of gratitude is his purchase of the property, and one that he thinks he can never pay. his intention of resigning it. "This He declares that he looks upon himwill be a cordial indeed," cried the self as only holding a life-interest in physician; " but it must be cautious the property, which he has secured ly and skilfully administered. I will to Arthur and his children. Never take the task upon myself.”

was father moré fondly attached to a He performed it admirably; it son; and there are not perhaps many drew from the eyes of the poor suf- sons more duteously attentive to ferer those tears which his misfor- | their parents. Arthur, who has a tunes could not cause him to shed. | soul above pecuniary considerations,

Vol. VI. No, XXXII.

cian, thoner's Condeble deat


finds the reward of his honourable || sciousness of having restored a wot: conduct in the acquisition of a pa- thy man to life and happiness. ternal friend, and in the sweet con- ||



A LEGEND. NEPHRITIC concretions are seldom || faces in her garments. But she told known among Highlanders, and they them that the stranger spoke the ascribe that happy exemption to the same words which she had often úse of a plant, vulgarly called mug heard from dark-visaged sailors, who wort, which they boil and eat as brought home many of the chiefs from greens in the early spring, before the wars of the holy cross; and she their gardens afford a supply of ve- rose and placed a stool for him, and getables. The young leaves of mug shook the sleet and snow from his wort thus prepared resemble spinach, | black cloak. His breath was short and the plant is valued as an anti- and quick with fatigue, and his hands dote to, or specific for, distempers of were blue with cold. The children the bladder or kidneys. Tradition stood for a while gazing at the old has its legend to account for the dis- man, and their tender hearts melted covery of its virtue.

to observe how feeble and weary and Centuries have beheld new ge- chill was his tottering frame. They nerations, wailing infants, turbulent drew near, and chafed his hands and boys, valiant men, and gray-haired legs, and the eldest boy took his seniors, and those, with their descend Aowing beard between his hands to ants and the offspring of their pos- wipe off the moisture. The old man terity, are mouldered into dust since a smiled, and clasped them one by one mendicant, speaking the language of in his arms, making the sign of the countries far over the seas, came to cross on their heads; and raising his the house of a poor widow in the Is- eyes, muttered prayers and blessings. land of Lismore. It was early in the The widow had nothing to offer him spring; the preceding harvest had but mugwort greens. He took a been spoiled by heavy rains, so that little dish from his scrip, and a rug. meal was scarce and dear. The wi ged stone, which the widow with surdow had nothing to appease the prise saw him put into the hot greens growing hunger of her children but that she had poured on his dish. the herbs of the field; and the chil. He continued stirring the greens dren were gathered round a little till they were nearly cold, and then fire of drift-wood, impatiently asking with sounds of joy took from his girif their mess was ready, when an old i dle a purse, which he threw into the man with a long white beard opened lap of the widow. She declined to the latch that secured the entrance, accept so large a recompence for and stooping his long back to enter her poor services, and she even fearthe very low door-way, spoke wordsed that he was an evil spirit come to so strange, that the little ones crept tempt her poverty to the commission close to their mother to hide their l of some misdeed. He seemed to en

ter into her feelings, and to remove || virtues. In order to effect a discoall scruples, he drew aside the pil. very, the abbot had the concretion grim's cloak, and shewed the crosier extracted from the body of his friend, and mitre, to convince her that he and after having in vain tried every was an ecclesiastic of high dignity, production in his own country, he who could have no sinister design in vowed to prosecute bis search through the benefaction offered to her. He all the regions of the globe. He gave her to understand, that he wish had wandered far, made decoctions ed to be conducted to an ecclesiastic. and mixtures of all that sprung from No holy man dwelt nearer to the wi- the earth wherever he travelled; but dow's hovel than a distance of two | the stone lost neither weight nor size long miles: however, she sent with till it yielded to the solvent power of him her eldest boy as a guide and the greens bestowed on him by the interpreter.

poor widow. It was now reduced At his return, the boy told his to air or water, he could not tell mother that their late guest was lord which, though of a certainty it had abbot of a great monastery in a land disappeared; and the purse of gold where the fields are always green, belonged of right to the poor widow, and ripe fruits hang on every tree as he had always destined it for the through all the seasons. He related person who might be instrumental that a dear friend, suffering extreme in leading to the discovery. agony from the stone, had expired Tradition adds, that this stranger in his arms; and the grief of the ab. | founded an abbey at Lismore, the bot was increased by the conviction, vestiges of which remain to this day, that there existed a remedy for the i and the monks brought sea-fishes to painful disease among the rich pro- the lake, some of the progeny of fusion of plants and flowers which which are still gliding in the waters adorn the earth, though indolent and of that lake, in the Isle of Lismore, heedless man had not found out their on the coast of Argyleshire.

SHAKSPEARE'S HEROINES. SIAKSPEARE's female characters 1 to do--to suffer. Their sorrows are creations of a very different stamp | are not outrageous and theatrical; from those which have been gene- || but rally and immediately popular in his | “The still sad music of humanity," trionic record. They are not mere

l'as Wordsworth has finely phrased it, ranting tragedy queens; every line |

is heard throughout all their history. of their speech is not a clap-trap;

Shakspeare's description of a lover, they are not talking statues; and

in “ As you like It,” will apply as they have something else to do be

well to his delineations of woman in sides walking about with a handker

the abstract, as opposed to the comchief in their hands, and a confidante

mon herd of stage heroines: holding up their train. They are

“ All made of sighs and tears; women, “ very women!" their bu

All made of faith and service; siness is, if my readers will allow me | all made of fantasy; to use a schoolboy illustration, to be | All made of passion, and all made of wishes;

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