assure-"

“O, you know,” interposed Smith, in a half-reproving tone, and with a most benignant air, "we must all help one another in this world. What would life be without good feeling and friendly disposition among us?"

Mr. Tubbs could either have surveyed the Smith," said Tubbs, "truly obliged, I can wretch with a pitying glance, as one would look upon a very deplorable idiot, or he could have kicked him as a ship's mate would kick a negro cook, just as his humor had inclined him. But now Mr. Tubbs's resources were thin and meager as those of a country parson, and his power of borrowing in the open market was about on a par with that of the last-named enviably-placed personage. Still it was to be hoped that difficulties might be to some extent arranged; and therefore the object now was to procure sufficient help just to satisfy clamorous and imperative demands, so that no absolute prostration should take place.

As to this bill, then, for five hundred dollars, due to-morrow; where could the means to meet it be obtained? Why, there was Smith, that fine, hearty, goodnatured, and wealthy fellow; Smith, who had been such a bosom friend, who had been accustomed to come regularly once a week to dinner; he was just the man to do a little favor of this kind. Mr. Tubbs would call on Smith at once.

And he did call on Smith without delay. And Smith said how glad he was to see him, and shook him by the hand so warmly, and looked so kindly in his face that Tubbs was quite affected. But then Smith always was such a nice, free, warm-hearted fellow.

Tubbs was not long in mentioning the object of his visit. He surrounded his request with a little army of apologies, and shifted it backward and forward so many times, that he seemed uncertain whether he should not withdraw it altogether.

But Mr. Smith eagerly interposed. "My dear friend, there's no occasion to apologize. It is a most reasonable request. I am quite delighted you have made it, so pray don't distress yourself."

There was positively a tear in little Tubbs's eye. It was so kind of Smith to treat the matter in this handsome way. He could scarcely have refused, of course, but then he might have acquiesced surlily and savagely, and caused Tubbs to bemoan that he should have had to ask him the favor. Tubbs seized Smith's hand, and shook it warmly.

"Ah, what indeed!" exclaimed Tubbs, looking upward.

"Now, in regard to this little want of yours," resumed Smith, "what pleasure it would have been to me, to be sure, to have assisted you if I had had the means.'

"

"Eh!" exclaimed Tubbs, in amazement, for Smith being notoriously worth fifty thousand dollars at the least, he thought he could not have heard him aright.

"I say, if I had had the means," repeated Smith, in his blandest tone, and pressing Tubbs's hand most kindly again. "But, bless you, you don't know what calls I have upon me just now."

66

"Eh!" exclaimed Tubbs again, still bewildered.

"What a worry money is," remarked Smith, complacently, gently rubbing his hands. "Do you know, Tubbs, I often wish there was no such thing as money in the world."

"Cannot you lend me the five hundred dollars?" inquired Tubbs, recovering himself somewhat.

"I am so sorry," replied Smith; "I really am so sorry; you cannot think how sorry I am. If you had asked me, now, only last week, or the week before that, or if I were not going out of town next week, or if-bless me; I did not know it was so late," (looking at his watch;) "will you excuse me—an important engagement."

"Then you cannot lend me the five hundred dollars ?" again asked Tubbs, relapsing into a dreamy state.

"I'm sorry, very sorry," replied Smith, putting on his hat; " inexpressibly sorry [ditto his gloves] to say I CANNOT."

Tubbs lifted his eyes, and was about to say something; but instead of Mr. Smith he saw Mr. Smith's footman, who was waiting to show him the door. And Tubbs slowly walked forth, and after staring for a moment at Messrs. Bracelet and Bramble the confectioners' cart, which was standing outside, having brought ma"I am sincerely obliged, my dear terials for an elegant supper which Mr.

"Nothing gives me greater pleasure," said Smith, with fervor," than helping a friend when it lies in my power."

Smith was to give that evening to about a hundred wealthy people, (for with no other guests was Mr. Smith minded that his supper should be furnished,) our poor little friend hurried homeward, with dismal forebodings as to the future.

ment.) Things having come to this dire pass, Tubbs might have Schuylerized, so to speak, have made a sortie on his difficulties, and have endeavored, by a desperate piece of swindlerian bravery, to have annihilated them; and in the event of failure he might have annihilated himself, so simultaneously destroying the fortress and its besieging army of creditors. But, unfortunately, such little gunpowder as Tubbs had in him was damped by a small stock of honesty, which, though sadly deteriorated, had not entirely lost its power of spoiling, thwarting, and upsetting many brilliant plans and projects which otherwise he might have been disposed to adopt.

And so poor Tubbs sat down moaning.

There was an end of him, then, of course. When a man is really in difficulties, and he sits down bemoaning his situation, the vultures will soon gather about him and devour him. It quickly got abroad that a man who had made some little stir in certain circles was about making a great stir in certain other circles, circles wherein all mishaps are sources of gratification and profit. People shook their

He thought he would just try Jones about this five hundred dollars. Jones's mansion was in his way, and he would call. Having been an old friend, perhaps Jones might do the needful, although, certainly, it showed Tubbs's inexperience in the borrowing line that he should thus feebly and inconclusively argue. For I cannot forbear a word on this point, reader. If you are really in great difficulty, in sad trouble, in miserable embarrassment, and you are disposed humbly to ask help of some one, go and make your request to that stranger walking in the road. "Eh? why, he will think me drunk, or foolish, or that I mean to insult him." I dare say he will. I have not much doubt but that he will. And yet, what would you propose to do instead? "Why I would ask assistance at the hand of some old friend." Just so. I expected as much. Now let me say to you again, petition the stranger, supplicate Moses, the money-heads, and discovered all at once that lender, inquire of Grasp and Greedy, the rich lawyers, what they can do for you, attack the old lady coming from the bank with her dividends—all these suggestions of mine are profound wisdom compared with your own proposition, when you are in adversity to seek help from "an old friend!" O, dear! this is so very absurd, so truly ridiculous; it shows your judg-Jones remarked, "Yes; I expected what ment to be so very much on the decline, and tells such a woeful tale of decaying intellect!

Jones was at home, and, like Smith, he was very kind. He didn't shrink at all when Tubbs asked him for the five hundred dollars. He quietly answered that he would discount Mr. Tubbs's acceptance, with a good name at the back of it. But as Mr. Tubbs did not see his way clearly to the inducing of any of the city magnates to endorse an accommodation bill for his benefit, no good was done in this quarter.

Now, it is very melancholy to relate that Tubbs was not a man of the stamp which the world delights to stare and gape at, to parade as a marvel of goodness or of wickedness, (giving preference to the latter, through its creating more excite

they had never liked the man, and related the strange misgivings which had filled them, even when partaking of his turtle and venison, as to his soundness and respectability. He was declared to have been a cheat, an impostor, a miserable upstart, a vulgar fellow. Mr. Smith said to Mr. Jones, "I told you so ;" and Mr.

would be the end of it." And when the final crash had come, and Mr. Tubbs's insolvency in respect of a good round sum, represented by five figures, was independently proclaimed, a cheap weekly newspaper, which mainly lived on crimes, bankruptcies, and such like appetizing matters, presented its readers with a portrait of the unfortunate, together with divers pieces of information regarding him, his family, and his ancestors, as false and malicious as the concoctors of the vile trash were mean and base.

Down they came upon him. Everybody who had a claim upon him hurried to get that claim settled first. No one had any mercy. They sold his furniture, they made him bankrupt, they tugged and clawed at him like so many fiends. And Tubbs's little reign was over.

CATHERINE MERCIER.

A TALE OF THE INUNDATIONS IN FRANCE.

lotin are connected with the parent city by several handsome bridges. The faubourg of Les Brotteaux is built upon the

LYONS, the second city in France, and very ground on which the revolutionary

the seat of the celebrated manufacture of silks, is built principally upon a tongue of land formed by the confluence of the Saone with the Rhone, a situation of great advantage commercially, as it affords the facility of water communication both with the Mediterranean and the Atlantic; but, from the low level upon which most of the city stands, and from the rapid and often swollen currents of the rivers, it has frequently been the scene of most terrible inundations. Embankments have been formed at various points to guard the city from its watery foes; but, though useful in restraining any ordinary rise, they are totally inadequate to protect the lower parts of the place from the powerful floods which occasionally overwhelm the unprepared inhabitants, causing such loss of life and property as can scarcely be imagined by people at a distance. Lyons has, however, even a more terrible element than the angry waters running through her streets. In 1794, when Collet d'Her bois and his terrorist associates held their tribunal in the Hotel de Ville, the executions were so numerous that human blood was poured forth like water, and with its crimson current flooded the Place des Terreaux. So horrible was the sight that the agents of the Convention, fearing lest the inhabitants should rise, gave up the guillotine as too much exposed and too tardy for their vengeance; they transported their prisoners across the Rhone, and in the open fields on the left bank of that river, with no hearts near them that felt one touch of pity, were the helpless vic-rection of Les Brotteaux. tims slowly mowed down by discharges of grape and canister, and scenes were enacted, which gave to Lyons a preeminence of suffering, even among the many illfated cities of France.

massacres took place, the memory of which it preserves in a monumental chapel, erected at the end of a street called the "Avenue des Martyrs." Stately buildings are arising on all sides, but, as in the city itself, the more retired streets are narrow and dirty, with tall houses on either hand, making perpetual twilight, containing family above family in their eight, nine, and sometimes even ten flats, until an almost incredible population dwells upon a very small superficial space of ground.

But the open fields which witnessed these guilty deeds are open fields no more. Though the city at the time of the Revolution was confined to the narrow tongue of land between the two rivers, and the opposite bank of the Saone, comprising the suburbs of St. Croix and Fourvieres, it has, since the commencement of the present century, extended to the left bank of the Rhone, and the populous and stately districts of Les Brotteaux and La Guil

The sun was setting one evening during the last week in May, 1856. Heavy rains had poured down hopelessly the whole day, and the sky was dark and lowering, except in the west, where the glorious orb had broken through the clouds, after many struggles, to throw his welcome light upon the city for a few minutes. His rays were but feeble, for the same relentless rain which had just ceased had prevailed for many days, and the very atmosphere seemed saturated. New-born rivulets ran down the narrow streets, finding their way to the great swollen, yellow Rhone, which coursed along with accelerated speed to its ocean home. But, as butterflies come forth to the summer sun, so did the gay inhabitants of Lyons pour forth to enjoy for a short time the fresh air unmixed with rain, and the streets were crowded with people.

Among the many foot passengers who were crossing the Pont Morand, was a young soldier, walking briskly in the diHis regi

mentals were faded and worn, having evidently seen hard service. His face was sunburned, but a pleasant one withal to look at; and the smiling mouth, just overshadowed by a juvenile moustache, and the sparkling, intelligent eyes, seemed to say that he, Victor Chapereau, was in high good humor with himself and all the world. And certainly, if any one had reason to be happy and thankful, it was he, for he had just returned in honor and safety from the Crimea, and was on his way to Les Brotteaux to see Catherine Mercier, who, four years before, when he left Lyons, had almost promised to be his bride.

Victor Chapereau was the son of a soldier who was killed in the riots of the silk-weavers at Lyons in 1834. His mother, previous to her marriage, had been femme-de-chambre in a nobleman's family in the country, and when she was left a widow with an infant in her arms, her former mistress showed her great kindness, established her as a lingère* in the suburb of Fourvières, introducing her to the notice of several influential families in the neighborhood.

Jennie's industry and skill procured her plenty of customers, and she was thus enabled not only to support her child honestly, but also to give him the advantage of a good education. When Victor reached the age of fifteen, nothing would satisfy him but that he must be a soldier, as his father had been before him, and after many a struggle, and much secret grief, his mother gave her consent. To lose her cheerful companion, her bright and beloved boy, was a hard trial to the poor woman, but she bore it with true resignation, and instead of folding her hands in despair, only worked the more diligently that she might lay by a store for her only child. For three years she saw him frequently, as his regiment was stationed at Lyons or in some neighboring place, but after that time it was sent to Marseilles, and when, in two years, the war broke out with Russia, she received a hasty line from Victor, informing her that he was to embark that day for the Crimea, without the opportunity of bidding her farewell. It was, indeed, with an anxious and loving heart that the poor mother joined her prayers to the many strong supplications which rose from all parts of the land for the safety of loved ones who were fighting in the far-off East. Occasionally she heard from her son, who wrote whenever he had time; but sometimes the letters were lost, and sometimes they were written on the eve of an assault, and then came the sickening suspense as to the result. But at last all France rang with the glad tidings that Sebastopol was taken; taken, however, with such a loss of life, that many a widow and orphan were the fruits of all the glory; and Jeannie knew that Victor's regiment had been one of the first to rush up the death-hill

of the Malakoff, and she dreaded the post, lest, instead of the bold writing of her son, it should bring her a cold official letter, to tell her that her only child had followed his father to a soldier's grave.

But a happier fate was in store for her; she received a letter from Victor full of wondering thankfulness that he had been spared, when his companions on both sides were mowed down in their desperate rush upon the Malakoff, and the mother read with pride that he had been one of the first to enter the fort, which had procured for him the special notice of his commanding officer. Some months after, when the welcome peace was proclaimed, Jeannie set herself to work, to prepare the house for his return; and, early in the afternoon on which our story commences, as she was kneeling down on the floor, arranging some linen which she had just ironed, in a basket, she felt two hands laid upon her shoulders, and starting up, found herself in the arms of her soldier son. Four years' absence had altered him much; the slight boy was become a firm and active man, and the Eastern climate had browned his fair skin; but there was the same bright, honest expression, and the same loving heart, and the mother rejoiced indeed to find him unchanged in all but personal appearance.

"Home looks very comfortable after the trenches," said Victor, as he glanced round the neat room, with its bright stone, white walls, and well-cared-for pieces of furniture; "that old press and the little table look to me like particular friends, and here is actually my own favorite chair ready for me. But what a superb new cushion it has! why, mother, I saw nothing prettier than this in the Turkish bazaar at Constantinople."

"It was made by Catherine Mercier's nimble fingers," answered she, " in preparation for your return.”

This piece of information was evidently very gratifying to the young man, for he regarded the cushion more carefully and tenderly, and as he bent over the embroidered flowers, said in a low voice, "How is Catherine, mother?"

"Blooming as a rose, and brisk as a marmotte. Every Sunday she comes across in time to accompany me to mass, and then she spends the rest of the day Lingère. One who makes and gets up all here. In winter, Pierre comes to fetch his daughter home, but in summer we go

kinds of fine linen.

"And do you think she remembers me?" flooded; it is to be hoped that we shall asked Victor.

"It is said that she tells him she does not care a pin for him; but he will persist in being at the house every day, and is her very shadow, and there is no knowing what perseverance might not have done if her favored lover had not returned to claim her; but, with all her little follies, Catherine is true at heart; she is an excellent daughter, and will be a good wife." "And how does Pierre get on? is he the young soldier soon stopped at a door still a journeyman weaver ?" au troisième, and tapping lightly, he lifted the latch and entered a spacious