But,

irk for their musketry. e as Nelson in that particular, ed; and as the only means of ing his danger, they adopted I handkerchief themselves. the greater part of the war, it arm of Henri was useless Found. In this condition, he acked alone in a hollow way ot-soldier. Henri seized him collar with his left hand, and d his horse so well with his at the man could not 'hurt' The peasants came up, and to kill the soldier; but he not suffer it. Return to the cans,' said he to the man; em you were alone with the f the Brigands, who has only d, and no weapon; and that id not kill him.' His pithy to his followers is well known: ance, suivez moi si je recule, Di: si je tombe, vengez moi.' s killed towards the terminathe struggle (1794), by one of enadiers whom he had interto save. The words You shall our lives,' were hardly out of s, when one of them shot him h the head. He was then twenty-one years and a few s old.

seat of the Chouan war was in Bretagne; for the people t province, in the early part of zzle, had constantly sheltered of the Vendéan peasantry as obliged to seek refuge from the ty of the republicans, whom consequently drew upon them fal array. The Chouan war,' Alison, long consumed the viand paralyzed the forces of the blic. The nobles of that dis(he errs as to the nobility of named), Puisaye, Bourmont, ze Cadoudal, and others, comed a guerilla warfare with murs effect; and soon, on a space 200 square leagues, 30,000 men in arms in detached parties of or 3000 each. Brittany, interd by wooded ridges, abounding hardy smugglers ardently de

voted to the royalist cause, and containing a population of 2,500,000 souls, afforded far greater resources for the royalist cause than the desolated La Vendée, which never contained a third of that number of inhabitants. Puisaye was the soul of the insurrection. Proscribed by the Convention, with a price set upon his head, wandering from chateau to château, from cottage to cottage, he became acquainted with the spirit of the Bretons, their inextinguishable hatred of the Convention; and he conceived the bold design of hoisting the royal standard again amidst their secluded fastnesses. His indefatigable activity, energetic character, and commanding eloquence, eminently qualified this intrepid chief to become the leader of a party, and soon brought all the other Breton nobles to range themselves under his standard.'

The marquis de Bonchamps was the last of the Vendéan chief commanders. He made himself master of Fontenai, Saumur, Angers, and other towns; but in endeavouring to effect the passage of the Loire, 1795, he was assailed by a superior republican force, and received a mortal wound. The Vendée royalists were never able to make head again after this event.

In the Chouan war fell, in the cause of royalty, above 200 noblemen passing under fictitious names; and of the private persons and peasantry who commenced the contest, not one in ten was alive at its close. On both sides, it would be no exaggeration to assert that 500,000 men, armed and unarmed, were sacrificed on the occasion. The word Chouan is a contraction of chat huant, a common term of reproach, under the old regime, for a sullen person, who does not reveal his designs. As the word also means a screech-owl, which carries on its labours by night, and as the Vendéans were accustomed to drill their soldiery by night, before their plan of rising was matured, to keep their design as secret as possible, they jocosely styled each other chouan,' till the

6

meaning of the word, in its new application, became known. Since that time Chouannerie is understood synonymously with loyalty,' and designates in France a love of monarchy.

Every thing connected with the Chouan contest is interesting; and it is to be lamented that its history exists only in petty and detached narratives of personal daring and hardships. Out of those small works, the escape of the marchioness de Bonchamps may be selected with advantage to the reader. The tale is from her own memoirs, edited by Madame de Genlis; and it must be premised that the marchioness, who had accompanied the army of which her husband was the heroic leader, remained with it after his decease, until its final dispersion a few months subsequent to that event. She then strove to conceal herself; and, in pursuance of her plan, took refuge, on the first night, at the house of an old servant, who was either unwilling or unable to grant her any longer an asylum.

I was abruptly roused,' she writes, ' at five o'clock by the mistress of the house, who came in haste to tell me that the Blues were coming into those parts. I had only time to save myself, with my two children and the girl who followed us, in order to reach the village of Saint Herbolon. The distance between that village and Ancenis is hardly four leagues; but although we set off at five o'clock in the evening, we only reached Saint Herbolon at six in the morning. It is true we were on foot, and that I carried Hermenée on my back ;-my servant carried my daughter. We often saw the Blues at a distance; and then we were obliged to go back: I am convinced that in this flight we walked six or seven leagues. Having reached Saint Herbolon, after having been exposed to a thousand dangers, we were hospitably received at a farm-that very day a burning fever obliged three of us to be put to bed. My daughter and myself found our bodies covered with pustules; it

was the small-pox. The symptoms were very mild in my little girl, and myself; but with Hermenée the eruption was imperfect, and in that moment he gave me the most heartrending anxiety. We were not yet recovered from this frightful malady, when some neighbours came to tell the farmer with whom we lodged, that if he had Vendéans concealed with him, he ought to send them away without delay, to avoid the destruction of his house by a detachment of Blues who were approaching. The farmer led us, in this extremity, to a barn open to every blast, and there laid us under the straw. We remained there all night. The excessive cold, joined to all that Hermenée had suffered at the passage of the Loire, completely threw back the eruption of the smallpox; and the next day this dear child expired on my bosom. I know not what would have become of me in this horrible situation without religion, which is all-sufficient and all-supporting. I saw this beloved child in heaven, and I only wept for myself. I wrapped him in a large white handkerchief, and I held him dead in my arms for forty-eight hours, unwilling to part with the body till I could deposit it in consecrated ground. At length I found the means of having him secretly buried in the churchyard of Saint Herbolon. This cruel event having led to the discovery that we were sheltered in the barn, we were obliged to leave it. A good man of the village, named Drouneau, came to take us away; and he conducted us (my daughter and myself) to the house of one of his relations at Hardouillière, about half a league from Saint Herbolon. We were yet covered with smallpox. I grieved to part from my faithful servant; but I had the consolation of thinking, that, being no longer with us, she had ceased to incur any individual danger. The Republicans having come from Nantes, to make a search about our new refuge, we were compelled without delay to leave the house; and

we were placed in the hollow of a tree, about twelve feet high. We climbed to this hiding-place by means of a ladder, and we remained in it three days and three nights, still in the smallpox ; I had moreover a gathering in the knee, and one in the leg. I suffered greatly from these two sores; yet I believe they contributed to save my life, as they freely carried off all the humours of my disease. The good peasant placed near us, in the hollow of the tree, a small pitcher of water and a morsel of bread. After the moment of joy which I derived from the possibility of saving myself with my child, even in the hollow of a tree, who can express all that I suffered in that situation? But it was an asylum, and in that terrible hour it was every thing. Never did any one with more satisfaction and pleasure take possession of a convenient and suitable apartment. But, afterwards, what dark reflections came crowding upon my mind! At the end of an hour I found myself so fatigued, by the constrained attitude in which I was obliged to remain in this narrow prison, and which I could not change, that I thought it would be impossible for me to close my eyes. My daughter suffered less than myself, because I held her on my knees, and she could turn about, which she never did without rubbing my diseased knee: in these moments she always gave me extreme pain; but I abstained from complaint. I spent, indeed, a horrible night, and my inquietude, as well as my bodily sufferings, did not allow me a moment of repose. My daughter slept a little; but during her sleep she constantly groaned, and her wailings wrung my heart. When she awoke, it was to ask for drink. I was myself devoured by a burning thirst, which I dared not satisfy, in the fear of exhausting our little store of water. At length, at daybreak, our charitable peasant came to bring us some brown bread and some apples. This visit alone was a consolation to me; it proved to me that

we were not entirely abandoned, and that we had yet a support and a protector. I had no appetite, but I eagerly ate some of the apples, because they quenched my thirst a little; but I soon perceived that this bad nourishment aggravated my disease. My daughter experienced the same effect;-our fever redoubled. In spite of the cold of the season, we were both burning; we were not only without a physician, without any relief from skill, without servants, but without a bed, without a room, without having even the possibility of stretching ourselves; a prey to the sufferings of a dangerous malady, and exposed to the inclemency of the air; for if the weather had not been frosty, and had become stormy, the rain and hail would have fallen in our tree. In this dreadful state, it appeared impossible not to sink speedily under such a combination of evils. This idea caused in me the most extraordinary feeling that could ever distract the mind of a mother; I wished to survive my daughter, had it been only for an hour. I could not bear the thought of what would become of her-of what she would feel, when I should no longer answer her, when she would no longer receive my caresses, when I should no longer support her in my arms, when she should see me motionless, lifeless, cold, insensible to her tears and her cries. These thoughts rent my soul; they would assuredly have cost me my life but for religion, which lifted me above myself. I prayed with confidence, fervour, and resignation; and after every prayer, poured out from the bottom of my heart, I felt myself strengthened and reanimated; my pulse beat with less violence; my fever lessened; my heavy eyes closed; and I sometimes slept two or three hours in succession, with the sweetest and calmest sleep; my daughter also recovered her strength, and I ceased to fear for her life. On the morning of the third day, they brought us some milk, which I saved for my child, and which did her great good. At length

our place of refuge was discovered, or at least suspected. A peasant, passing in the dusk of the evening near our tree, heard me cough several times; he guessed that somebody was hidden in the tree. On his arrival in the village, he mentioned the circumstance. An old soldier of the army of M. de Bonchamps heard his account: he was living with his aged father. Having served in the army of the royalists, he often hid himself when the republicans passed through the village. Believing I was only a fugitive, he soon discovered the truth; but he abstained speaking of it to the other villagers. He pretended to retire to rest; but instead of lying down, he came immediately to the place where I was, of which he had informed himself. All at once, towards the end of the night, I heard myself called by my name;-the unsuitable hour, and the rough voice of a man which I did not recognise, terrified me very much. I did not answer. The soldier was not discouraged; he pronounced his name; but that did not give me confidence, for I did not remember it. Nevertheless, he persisted, adding in a low voice, Trust yourself to a soldier of the army of Bonchamps. This name, so dear, produced upon me the effect which he expected. My tears flowed whilst I thanked God for sending me a deliverer. He climbed the tree, assisted me to get up to him, and prevailed upon me to place myself on his shoulders. Although the load was heavy, he descended with much dexterity and good fortune; but as he was reaching the ground, his foot slipped, and we all fell into the hedge. My fear for my child was extreme; but I was soon comforted, for this poor little girl, who suffered no injury from the fall, began to laugh at it. This laughter, so astonishing in our circumstances, this sound, so strange to my ear, at once caused me surprise, joy, and the most tender emotion. The soldier conducted us to his father's house hard by. The good old man and his

family received us with an affecting cordiality. They lighted a large fire, which produced such an effect upon me, that, having warmed myself for a moment, I fainted. The good people, in their terror, thought at first I was dead. At length, by their kind attentions, I recovered my senses. They put me with my little girl to bed; and although we had only a bad mattress, I found it delightful. The possibility of stretching myself caused me the most agreeable sensation; I never passed a better night. Our sleep was long and peaceful, and the next morning we were really convalescent. But the terrifying news of the approach of the Blues forced us, the following night, to hide ourselves with the soldier in a large stack of hay; I again slept very well, and only awoke in broad daylight, but with a violent headach. However, the soldier, who feared for himself as well as for us, told me that the direction which the Blues had taken made it necessary for us to go back to la Hardouilliere. The good people at la Hardouillière received me with the more joy, as they had been very uneasy on my account, not having found me in my tree. They told me they would give me refuge as long as I pleased. I rested myself there for some days; and surely never did the magnificence of a palace cause so much pleasure as the satisfaction I experienced in that cottage; having the power to sit on a wooden stool before a rude table, with the liberty of going about the house, and enjoying the comfort of a lamp in the evening, and spending the night on a straw bed! But I saw clearly that I compromised my kind hosts, though their friendly reception and generosity were the same. There was, at a little distance from the farm, a large hollow tree; and I there resolved to hide myself, but alone, confiding my daughter to these peasants. I established myself in that tree ;-but not so high up as in the first. I only remained there one day, for nobody could bring me food. They made me leave it