"Yes," continued the young man, "I came in here as a guest, and I will not remain as an enemy. He who has received me so kindly shall himself be the arbiter of our rights." bald head, and I think he would not ill-treat his wife. Willis was a fat, white, sleepy fellow---like a broken seal, not at all likely to make a good impression. Fane was a bit---and a good bit---of a rake, much inclined to be ultra in fashion, a loud, impudent fellow, and pretty good-looking; that sable cloak of his especially---but no, no; sit still, my soul. of a friend," interrupted Loffmann, and he tore the ent, thank heaven! from one I have now in my eye, I will generously confess here, that Fane has not a letter in pieces. whose very dress-coat, and choker, and boots were Ritter beheld him with astonishment: Florence unusually loud, to say nothing of his manner; one clasped her hands. who was not, and, I dare be bound, is not aware that Boiste-for his information, a French writer-has said: "Tirer vanité de quelque chose c'est prouver qu'on n'y est pas accoutumé," and I will venture to say that, in spite of his fuss, with him an evening party was a rarity-bah! that a woman could be so blind as to prefer him—his name, I can hold out no longer, was Fane-prefer him to me! But women cannot distinguish between the good and the bad, and that accounts for the wife-beaters and the wives beaten. They ought to take care. "Me!" cried Ritter. "Ah! if I could choose!" Loffmann turned a look full of tenderness on Florence, who cast down her eyes; then taking Michael's hand 46 Is it for her who began our friendship to tie the knot which shall bind us to each other, and render our division of rights more easy," said he. "How?" asked Michael, astonished. "By enabling friends to become brothers." his bosom, and held out her hand to Loffmann. I am afraid I am writing somewhat disjointedly, but what of that?---neither Junius nor Addison would have been models for style---unless it were a disjointed style, if they had suffered what I have, if they had written in such a state of mind as that in which I write as I think of my misfortunes. I merely wish I saw how it would be before I had been at Mrs. to say, that I looked upon Willis as a contemptible, Croole's a quarter of an hour. I knew that I should unfearable rival, and upon Fane as rather dangerous. retire to my bed deeply, madly in love as usual, but Fane danced with her, and so did Willis. Upon Ritter smiled, as Florence hid her blushing face in as yet I had no idea as to who was to be the object the former I cast a glance occasionally, in my proof my adoration. Amid such a throng of bright, miscuous manner: the latter I scarcely deigned to happy eyes and cheeks, maddening arms and throats, regard at all. I saw that Miss Chapman smiled when and beautiful cerise dresses, I was like a thoughtful he spoke, and chatted agreeably with him; but this I bluebottle newly arrived at a butcher's shop-I did attributed to the good nature of a sylph pestered by a not know upon what or upon whom to fix. But bore. Although she appeared indifferent to Fane, I when I had concluded that long polka with her, thought there might be some assumption of indifferduring which we talked-she so feelingly!—of Cole-ence there, for I feared him. Results have proved the correctness of my judgment. ridge's "Love" and Tennyson's "Lord of Burleigh," With every moment the pangs of love increased, was determined to marry Miss Chapman, and to love her to my dying day. In a moment I had forgotten and yet with every kind glance I received from her that my own income did not exceed a paltry two eye-and such glances were many-my hope grew hundred a year, and-believe me-that she is worth stronger. For the whole of that night I was in two thousand pounds per annum. I thought of dream-land-dreaming of marrying her, with Fane nothing, indeed, but love and strange mixture you will say, oh man of the world!-marriage. AT MISTAKEN. T the commencement of my present little story, it appears necessary I should inform my readers that I am of a singularly sensitive, susceptible, amorous disposition-I have been so from my very cradle. My whole life has been one perpetual falling quickly in love, and as quickly falling out of it. The strength of the first trait would lead me to suppose that I was in some way or other descended from Romeo and Juliet; the fatality of the second, that I was a near relative-of whom shall I say? of any ill-used vagabond you like, who would have been a respectable citizen and the "father of a family," if men and circumstances would only have permitted him. How very few are treated according to their deserts! If I had been treated according to mine, I should have married an angel years ago, had various little cherubs around me now, had plenty of money, which I should have spent at Thompson's upon the angel and the cherubs; and I should be expending one half of my time in caressing them, and the other half with the angel at evening parties, at Wallack's Theatre, and Maretzek's Opera. This would be just to my taste, and-for the greatest crime I ever committed was once to steal the pocket-handkerchief of one who had ravished me, and to offer to deny the fact on oath when afterwards charged with it (I had fallen out of love again then) par conséquence my deserts. Hamlet asks, who would escape whipping if all had their deserts? and I have no hesitation in saying that Alfred Dower--that's my name-would. I The polka ended, I of course clung to her all But I soon received convincing, yet unpleasant, proof of the excellence of my taste. I was told that the flower I had chosen from a score of flowers could be admired by other eyes than mine. I had hardly had time to feel myself in love with Miss Chapman, before I discovered that Fane was in love with her too; and I had no sooner taken my eyes off Fane Another virtue of mine is, that whenever I re- than I found that Willis had his eyes set on mon ceive an invite out to dine, or to an at-home, or to ange, like a man that was sea-sick gazing on the anything you like, I always give an answer directly; boatswain. Well, I am not a coward. I was inand therefore, when on the 3d of last December I clined neither to despair nor faint. If I had some opened a pink note-that is a note on pink paper-slight desire to thrash them both for their audacity, scented, from Mrs. Croole, requesting the honor-or that was a little weakness with which I am sure the favour, I forget which-of a little party at her gentlemen will not find fault, and at which I hope house on the 5th, I cast my eagle eye around, and ladies will wink; yet I neither fainted, nor fought, finding I had no engagement whatever for that night nor despaired, but preserved that quiet, neat style, I instantly dropped her a line, written in the most which I believe I mentioned before, and which is aristocratic, unreadable hand I could command, | natural to me. Yet I was not comfortable. I cared saying that I should be most happy, et cetera. little or nothing about Willis, the sea-sick gentleman, I went for I always do what I promise-another but Fane occasioned me some uneasiness; not but I went; and I wish I hadn't gone. I went that he was infinitely inferior to myself, but, as 、ual quiet, neat style, different, very differe- I just remarked, women cannot distinguish. But looking helplessly and distractedly on, while Willis went to drown himself-of angels and cherubs, of Thompson's and Wallack's, of Niblo's and Maretzek's Opera, as usual; and by the time the last guests were preparing to depart, and Miss Chapman and I, and Willis and Fane were of them, I felt doubly heroic, and thrice armed to work my way the empire of love-and thereby hangs my tale. to I think about half a dozen of us had secured our hats, and over-coats, and cloaks (oh, d— - those cloaks!) and what not, and were just descending the staircase. I was on the landing, Miss Chapman was near me, and Fane was not far off, while Willis was half-way down-when suddenly the lamp went out, and left us in the dark. In an instant a tumultuous throng of images flitted across my brain-Romeo "Dearest !" I passionately whispered. I had not expected quite so much as this, and was so much the more delighted. I hugged the mantled form more closely, and was just placing my lips to those lips, when Brills, who was a great smoker, had lit a match and the lamp, and showed me that I was embracing Fane, and showed Fane that he was embracing me. It also showed us that, at the foot of the stairs, Willis had hold of Miss Chapman's hand making love, while she was smiling and blushing, apparently well pleased. But this was not the end. She cared nothing about Willis; that was all a joke; and she is now going to marry Fane. TETE-A-TETE, WITH READERS AND CORRESPONDENTS. IT must be conceded that, taken altogether, our American ladies dress well. They will compare favorably with the best dressers in the world the French and their taste is far superior to that of the English women. And yet how much bad taste in ladies dresses do we continually encounter? The great prevailing fault is an excess of ornament and a fondness for overdressing for the street. It is wonderful, the accumulated mass of things they pile upon themselves, the flowers, feathers, ribbons, ornaments, jewelry, the variety and contrasts of color, which combine to constitute a lady's dress. We will not stop to speak of the low bodices and uncovered arms so common in our streets, except to say that this style of dress is manifestly improper for the street or the promenade, however much it may add to the brilliancy and effect of the drawing-room. Our present object is merely to allude to the general fondness for excess of ornament. Now, however beautiful in itself, viewed disconnected with the wearer and apart from the human face, a bonnet may be; however elegant in form, color, or ornament a shawl, or a mantel, or indeed any article of dress may be, the very attractiveness and beauty which these articles in themselves possess, detract from and help to weaken the natural beauties and charms of the wearer. An artist can understand this principle well, because he knows that one grand secret of his art is to obtain effects by contrasts. Whatever is most powerful and brilliant will overshadow and destroy that which is lesser. A lady once thoroughly appreciating this principle cannot lut perceive that by excess of dress she is simply made a victim, and to the full proportion of that which her dress excels in beauty, she of herself loses in beauty. She thus becomes an injury to herself and to the world. The true aim of dress is to heighten, to set-off, to add to the attractiveness of the wearer; and if this object is lost sight of in an admiration for the foil rather than for the gem itself, -in a fondness for that which ornaments in its abstract self, then dress ceases to fulfil its mission. And there is a vast difference, too, in the capacity of different ones for adornment. Some require much, others will scarcely bear it at all. Hawthorne admirably illustrates this idea in a description of one of his characters-Priscilla, in "The Blithedale Romance." He says:-" She was a person who could be quite obliterated, so far as beauty went, by any THE last new thing that is most talked about In a little pamphlet, recently published, in town circles and country circles, is Mrs Stephens' giving a history of American poets and poetry, we “Fashion and Famine." We have already given our find some amusing samples of the poetry that used readers a critique on this admirable book, but we to please our ancestors. The first book printed have been permitted to see a private letter from a dis- among the pilgrims of New England was a version tinguished Southern literary lady to a friend in this of the Psalms, the joint labor of three worthy gentlecity, in which occur a few remarks on this volume men. Here is a specimen of its style in the followso excellent in many ways that we have obtained ing verse :permission to publish them : "There is a profound and painful interest in the character and position of Ada that overshadows the whole novel. and casts into obscurity others of the story which, with a more commonplace heroine, would shine out with great distinctness and brilliancy. There is the deepest beauty and pathos in Florence and her surroundings, and her story would engage all our thoughts were we not most painfully fascinated by the tragic interest that invests Ada Leicester. Jacob Ada. And Mrs. Gray is delicious. And after one's nerves Strong is admirable. He is just the man to be placed near have been strained to the snapping by Ada, it is just delightful-no, not delightful-we can't be delighted so soon-Ada has made us too sad-but it is most refreshing and consoling Mrs. Gray's sunny country home, and the old trees, and the to be spirited away from the darkness and the shadow, to dahlias and chrysanthemums. The old couple are beyond praise-they are the Christian heroes and martyrs of the book. And except the Bible, I have never read anywhere so sublime and beautiful a moral scene as the temptation in the Florence was a broken flower that no binding up and watercondemned cell. But I think it should have been a tragedying could ever restore to life and bloom; Ada a splendid ruin-her life spoiled beyond restoration by anything but death. "How she haunts one-that Ada of the flaming heartwith her deathless, burning and consuming love that had outlived all the chances and changes of life, and time, and reparation, and sin and sorrow. "I hope, indeed, the work will have all the success it so well merits. The taste of novel-readers of this age, however, seems to be decidedly in favor of cant and cookery. And if "Remember Lot's wife." The Lord's song sing can we? being in strangers' land, then let One Wolcott, of Connecticut, employed his pen to describe American scenes and events. But his de scriptions are amusingly prosaic, as in this sketch of the Connecticut River : "The water's fresh and sweet; and he that swims Twenty-four miles surveyors do account At a later date, one Joel Barlow attained quite a notoriety, principally from a very stilted affair called The Columbiad. But his best poem was one on Hasty Pudding, which he opens in this wise : "I sing the sweets I know, the charms I feel, My morning incense, and my evening meal; WHAT a study are the advertising pages of human follies and weaknesses they frequently afford ! If one reads but curiously enough he can often see the beatings of the inner heart of humanity. We clip a few recent curious advertisen.ents that are very suggestive: you would only write a novel all about a perfect heroine who the daily journal! What insights into human nature, talks of original sin, total depravity, the wrath of Heaven and eternal perdition-and who prefers to fry cakes on a hot stove, and doesn't mind the grease and smoke-why, your past--look not behind after it. book would go-like-hot cakes! But the age of heroism is Remember Haydon! and his " grand style." Contrast him with his contemporary, Wilkic. Haydon with his great heroic subjects, such as the "blind Belisarias,” “Banishment of Aristides," &c., lived in hopeless debt and diffculty, and died by his own hand. The taste of the people were for "ca' fingers," "cottage windows," "cat paws." &c., and the result was, that of the two artists, the greatest one remained "poor Benjamin Haydon," while the lesser became "Sir David Wilkie!" We understand that "Fashion and Famine" is wonderfully successful. We are glad of this, because the book deserves it, and because Mrs. Stephens deserves it. We certainly hope that its success will ensure a golden reward to that estimable lady. thing unsuitable in her attire; her charm was not positive and material enough to bear up against a mistaken choice of color, for instance, or fashion. It was safest, in her case, to attempt no art of dress; "To Isabel :" for it demanded the most perfect taste, or else the happiest accident in the world, to give her precisely the adornment which she needed." We know of ladies of this description, who seem to fade away by the side of ornament, like drooping flowers. But really, madam, we did not commence this paragraph with any thought of a dissertation on dress. We know our hopeless ignorance of the matter, and the utter absurdity of any of our sex pretending to dictate on such a subject. And yet, madam, there may be a hint or two we've thrown off which will prove suggestive to you. A CORRESPONDENT sends us an epigram, "Some men pronounce my loved one fair, Some prude ones think she is a swell, But, to one and all I answer this, Her name conveys her worth, she is-a-bel(le)." "Sophie! Could you but see the misery you nave created, it would touch even your heart. When the still, small voice of conscience awakens, let the thoughts of your chil‹rea deserted be your punishment. Gratitude! affection! 01.bs! Adieu, eternally, E." The above was in a late number of the "London Times." Here is another from the same issue: "From Elsey to Edmund: Did you but know the immense amount of mental sorrow you are causing to one who still dearly loves you, you would at once desist from persecuting her who is innocent of the vile charges your party have so falsely accused her of, the characters of whom she is quite prepared to fully show are basely vile. Remember our children, and in God's name no longer persecute her who vows herself innocent, and who loves you still. notwithstanding all the past. Your relations oblige her thus to meet your eye, as they prevent all correspondence. May the spirit of the living God, that great heart-searcher, direct your heart and your actions." Still another from a later date, but upon a similar sorrow: "Sarah R. You are earnestly entreated to see your And still another to "Augusta." He appears to be rather fond of epigrams and his puns are ratherwell, well, Lamb said that the worst pun was always husband and your sister Elizabeth, and be reconciled. He the best one: "A shrew I ween you'v often heard of, But greater shrew than thee Augusta, I for one have never heard of The ory is ever-Gracious! what A-gust-er accuses others of knowing where you are, and of preventing your return." Bold and honest this: "Poverty and nonor? I'll not touch the money; it's stolen property. E. J. W." Fierce fire more durable than Etna's roar, A thousand groans ascend the skies, but the four winds return And breathe heaven's deflance To the departure of war's most awful sound, Discordant as the breathings of hell's fiery flames. And groans bespeak the angry grave of strife, Thunders roll, fire's the reigning element But "Julia" is by no means desirous of letting the subject drop. The letter from " Lewis seems to have stirred her gall a little. We append her communication: MR. EDITOR :-I'm not going to answer Mr. Lewis's nonsense about cabalistic words, Eastern enchanters and gorgeous dreams and all that kind of fol-de-rol, Neither am I going to compliment him on his puns. Some of them I'm quite sure I have seen before, and those I hav'nt are so bad they never ought to have been seen at all. But what I am going to call your attention to, Mr. Editor, is the following sentence from his letter which I wish you would print in big capitals: THE Crystal Palace closes in October, when the building is to be sold. What a strange, eventful history it has been, to be sure. Beautiful as it is conceded to be, all worthy the praise of the artist or the critic, and all important to the artisan and mechanic, yet it has proved a disastrous financial failure. More disastrous than any other undertaking we remember of. Think of its stock falling from the high figure of one hundred and seventy down to five! Almost every one has his own pet reason to which he attributes its failure. But the reasons are manifold. Undoubtedly the delay and the incompleteness of its opening were the main causes; but we do not believe, with everything else favorable, that the citizens of New York would have generally supported it in its present inconvenient situation. It was too much of a journey to reach it. There was too much of an undertaking necessary to visit it. People usually saunter into such places. They want them in the way of their usual walks. But to go to Forty-fourth street, to most people, included the necessity of considerable preparation the use of the weed sends us a poetical rhapsody in and "Lewis" I presume is always preaching. And then he and fore-thought. But the question now is-what is to become of the building ?-to what uses, vile or otherwise, is it to be put? Can't some plan be devised to retain it here-to have it erected in some more central locality, and put to some use that would not be attended with great expense, and yet be attractive? THE theatres are preparing for the coming season, and most of them will soon be opened. Guila, Grisi, and Mario are not only positively to visit us, but by this time they are probably on their way across the Atlantic. Their engagement is with Mr. Hackett. Mr. Barry has just returned from England with a company for his Boston theatre. Of Mr. Wallack's and Mr. Burton's movements, we have not heard. The death of Mr. Lysander Thompson will leave a vacancy in Mr. Wallack's company which it will be impossible for him to fill. At the Broadway we perceive they will give us the "stars" in their due course, supported, we sincerely hope, a little better than they were last season. It is also to be hoped that some of our managers will have the virtue to give us a new play occasionally. For our part, we are heartily wearied of these old stereotyped affairs, that season after season are acted and re-acted upon our boards. We should like to have the power to forbid for ten years the acting of the 66 Hunchback," "Love," "Lady of Lyons," and sundry other plays of a similar cast, that occupy our boards nine-tenths of the time. Give us, Messieurs Managers, new plays, even if-O, dire necessity!— you should have to pay for them. A NEW poet has appeared in England who will no doubt, wither the laurel on the young brow of Alexander. Do you doubt us, reader? We will convince you. Read this extract from a poem which he calls "The End:" "But where religious awe and zeal display'd, And valiant courage reigns alike in armies heart, oppos'd Ah deadly is the scene, oh! sore misery, Ah hell's ferocity the spectacle.-. Through heaven and earth, deadly echoes rend the air, cano's awe, Fire and blood-bred shrieks, With foggy smoke as deadly as 'tis dark, And flames tangible. It is Isn't there sublimity for you? Grand absolutely! must confess. "Do WE LIVE WHOLLY IN THE WORLD FOR OURSELVES, AND IS THERE NO SUCH PRINCIPLE AS MUTUAL FORBEAR ANCE?" Now sir, did you ever hear of cool audacity equal to that? Was there ever such unblushing impudence? The idea of a man talking about mutual forbearance and not living wholly for ourselves! Man' The most intensely selfish creature to be found anywhere, who thinks of nothing but his own comfort, and like a tyrant, as he is, compels everything and everybody, including us poor down-trodden women, to slave and exist solely for his selfishness. O the monstrous impudence of this fellow! Talk to us, to us about "mutual for bearance," when it is just what we are always practicing adds, Let us be lenient to the little weaknesses of either its defence which he clipped from an English Jour-sex." I should like to know, sir, if your sex are not connal. It is called A WHIFF! "Let poets rhyme of what they will, "They tell us that an angel's foot The source of ev'ry pleasure. "Throughout the world, who knows thee not! The universal guest. And soothes us into rest. "With thee, the poor man can abide "All honor to the patriot bold, 'And thou, O Leaf, shall keep his name And teach us to remember,- Made Summer of December!" tinually tantalising and tormenting us about our peculiarities. Don't I see in the papers every day fun made about our bonnets and our flounces and our skirts, and our rib bons, and our long dresses, and low bodices? And, do these trouble your arrogant sex, sir? Do they interfere with your comfort, sir? No! But because I venture to remonstrato against the use of a thing that is an intolerable nuisance to everybody that makes your breath smell vilely, that soils our dresses, makes disgusting our streets, offensive the concert room, sickening our own houses, and intolerable the world-when I speak of this thing that has come upon the world like a blight and a curse, then you talk about "mutual forbearance!" I'm vexed, and I can't help it. These men would provoke an angel, and I'm sure my temper is called a good one. But I was so glad to see Emily's letter. I want her though to tell her brother Charles that I'm not an old maid and nothing like one. As for the lawn dress I've had just such things happpen to me. O the horrid stuff! Yours, anti-tobacco, for ever, JULIA. P.S. Mr. Editor, do you chew, or smoke, or snuff? If you do, my hope in man is gone for ever. THE lady who sends us the subjoined letter, pleads so bewitchingly, that we might well be tempted to accede to her request : OUT ON THE VERANDAH, TWILIGHT. My Very Dear Friend, Mister Editor.-Wont you allow me to make a suggestion? Certainly! I know your proverbial good nature and of course y" say, Certainly! I am every bit as sure you say "certainly as if I heard you say so with my own ears; so, then, to come back to the point-which was my suggestion. Well. you. paper is a dear. delightful love of a paper, but it has got une faultthere aint any deaths and marriages. That's a grea' mistake; for I do delight in deaths and marriages—and births! Can't you give us a weekly summary of all these pleasan items, printed in order, just as they occur in life? That would be so delightful' Do, that's a dear Mister Editor, and oblige one who loves to have a "Tete-a-tete" with you. KATE. SIR CHARLES NAPIER, the commander of the Baltic fleet, gave recently, at a dinner party, this toast: "Our Navy in the Baltic-the Bull-works of the English people!" Very good, Sir Charles, very good! If you can't entertain us by a little fighting, why the next most acceptable thing of course is a good joke. So fire away, Sir Charles. PUBLISHER'S COLUMN. is with much satisfaction that the Publisher of this JOURNAL is able to announce that on the resumption of the Weekly Edition, with the last number, a large circulation was immediately obtained. Its beauty and cheapness were the subjects of general remark. MR. DICKENS'S STORY, "Hard Times," (commenced in the May number,) approaches completion; and the Publisher, anxious to lay before his readers as large a portion of it as possible, publishes with this number A GRATIS SUPPLEMENT of eight pages, making the present issue equal to one number and a half. ST. FLORE. This beautiful historical tale (commenced in the monthly number for July) will not be lengthy. It will be completed in about two months. THE QUEENS OF ENGLAND. These popular and romantic historical sketches (commenced in the number for August, 1853) will be continued in at least one or two of the weekly numbers of each month, until the completion of the LIFE OF QUEEN ELIZABETH, the publication of which will occupy several numbers. CONTINUOUS TALES will not constitute, in future, so large a portion of the contents of this periodical, the most of which will shortly consist of original CONTRIBUTIONS FROM POPULAR AMERICAN WRITERS. THE TETE-A-TETE, by the Editor will be regularly continued CHESS. The increasing interest manifested by the public at large in the beautiful and intellectual game of Chess, has, for some time, influenced the Publisher to the determination of devoting a portion of his columns, each week, to the special purposes of amateurs of that most rational and instructive of pastimes; and he has now the pleasure of informing his subscribers that, to such end, he has been fortunate enough to secure the co-operation of MR. CHARLES H. STANLEY, well known as an accomplished Chess author and as the most skilful player inthe Union under whose sole charge the Chess Department of THE ILLUS TRATED NEW YORK JOURNAL will be placed. The course intended to be pursued in this matter by MR. STANLEY, the Publisher thinks eminently calculated to meet the wants and wishes of the public; as, independently of General Chess Intelligence, Problems, Games, &c., he purposes to furnish, weekly, a regular course of instructions, commencing de novo, even with the names of the several pieces; and thus gradually induct the uninitiated into the subtleties and mysteries of the royal and ancient game. The first Chess Article will appear in the DOUBLE NUMBER for Saturday, August 26. Communications from amateurs are invited, and will receive prompt attention. They should be marked "Chess" on the outside. In the DOUBLE NUMBER, a great amount and variety of contents, will be given, making altogether A MOST ATTRACTIVE ISSUE. LOCAL ILLUSTRATIONS. of great interest, will shortly be introduced. HUMOROUS CUTS. A new and very amusing series will be given in the Double Number for Saturday, August 26. TERMS OF THE ILLUSTRATED NEW YORK JOURNAL. Weekly Numbers, 4 cents. Monthly parts, in covers, 184 cents. Two Dol.ars per year, (either the Weekly or Monthly edition.) Ten copies, one year, Fifteen Dollars. One Copy, with Chambers's Journal, one year, Three Dollars. P. D. ORVIS, PUBLISHER, 130 Fulton Street, "Sun Buildings," New York. THE ILLUSTRATED NEW YORK JOURNAL. NO. 58. VOL. III.] ST. FLORE. A NEW HISTORICAL ROMANCE. (FROM THE GERMAN OF HORN., (Continued.) "Viole de St. Flore," returned Gui, whose whole thoughts were running on Gabrielle, and on the remark which Maugiron had just made, that she was a pale maiden, and that he had seen her that day. "Can you be related, then, to that noble statesman De Viole, who sacrificed himself for his religion and freedom?" "He was my father," replied Gui, greatly moved. "Blessed be the hour in which I found you, then!" returned Maugiron joyfully; "for the father's devotion will be renewed in that of the son; and of such defenders our cause may well be proud." SATURDAY, AUGUST 12, 1854. [GRATIS. the army. You will have the conduct of at least a Guise, she had had sundry consultations with a man It was indeed hard to gain the confidence of the crafty Queen; and Acevedo himself would have They had by this time reached St. Marcelline. failed but for the imposing nature of the art he proAlready the stars were bright in the firmament, and fessed, to which universal belief was attached during the moon, now at its full, hung over the Auvergne that century, even by wise and cultivated men. mountains, and lighted the travellers' path. Gui Acevedo had moreover discovered an extraordinary proposed to remain at St. Marcelline that night, and acuteness in the affairs of France at this juncture; here receive Maugiron's orders, as well as directions and having once won the Queen's favor, she sought for the conduct of the detachment to Orleans. In to draw the astrologer entirely over to her own intethe morning, accordingly, the captain collected the rests. Accordingly she loaded him with gifts, but "Allow me to ask one more question," said Gui, recruits together, and formally installed Gui as their not a little astonished was the proud woman to see interrupting the flow of Maugiron's cloquence. leader, placing the command during the march en- that he accepted but a small portion of them, return"You said just now that you had seen my old neigh-tirely in his hands, and enjoining on the soldiers ing the others to the royal donor with contempt. He bor, D'Arbèque and his daughter. Where might strict obedience. He then took his leave, his mis- would not, indeed, have accepted aught at her hands, this meeting have taken place?" sion not being yet accomplished; and after intrust- had he dared to refuse; but for purposes of his own he had her confidence to gain, and for the sake of that greater reward, he was fain to accept the lesser. Gui spoke hurriedly, and with an earnestness which did not escape Maugiron's notice. "You live perhaps at the Castle D'Arbèque?" he inquired. "Not so," returned Gui; "but if you will explain yourself, you may save me a ride thither." "I saw them, then, not far from Grenoble, in the direction of Paris. The daughter-a lovely girlappeared ill, for she was extremely pale." Maugiron did not perceive the effects of his words on Gui. He only thought his companion somewhat pensive, and made efforts accordingly to divert his attention by a description of the strength of the Huguenot army, the bravery of its leaders, and the anxiety of every man for the coming contest; but Gui remained silent and absorbed, scarcely hearing Maugiron's remarks, and he was twice asked his place of abode before he aroused himself sufficiently to reply. At length, seeing that Maugiron expected his attention, he, with more patience than might have been expected from youth, listened to the details of his companion's journey, and became sufficiently interested to inquire the result of his recruiting expedition, and the probable time of the contest, which he earnestly hoped might occur soon after his arrival at Orleans. "For this we must await instructions, my young brother soldier," replied the captain. "Your name will secure you a place by no means insignificant in ing Gui with a letter to Coligny, he bade him a Gui did not lose a moment after his friend's de- The time allowed for regrets was, however, brief. The hour for parting came. With many blessings, the good old people saw the young soldier depart, and Gui, throwing himself on his horse, was soon beyond the tearful sight of the worthy men, whose sorrow was only alleviated by the belief that the the assurance that he would frequently send them career of the youth was one of honor and glory, and out his regrets. He looked back more than once tidings of his proceedings. And Gui was not withto bid a mournful adieu to the peaceful hamlet where he had passed his early days in innocence and comfort, and a deep sigh broke from his breast, as, spurring his beautiful horse, he was soon far on the way to St. Marcelline. Although Catherine of Medicis had interceded for Condé and his followers, and although she yet feigned to befriend the Protestant cause by tolerating their religious assemblies, a great deal of mystery still attached to her conduct. It should be remarked, that, before addressing the letter to Duke Francis of In the meantime he lived in strict retirement. No one had access to Acevedo, and as he was not suffered to go out of the Louvre, Catherine flattered herself that the astrologer was heart and soul devoted to her and her cause. She gave implicit credence to his statements, and trusted him completely. The place for the conferences with her adviser was secret enough to defy the most eager curiosity, inac cessible either to the eyes or ears of the most crafty inquisitor. Paler, more mysterious, and more solemn than usual, To this apartment she one day summoned Acevedo. the stern astrologer entered the cabinet. "How pale you are, master !" observed the Queen ; "are you ill?” He bent low, in acknowledgement of the interest and sympathy apparently expressed in the Queen's face, and said, after a pause— "Not so; but all night long I have been reading the stars, and no sleep hath visited my eyelids." "I should have thought the want of sleep too common an affair with you to have taken such an effect," was the reply. "I did not say it was want of sleep," returned the man, looking sharply into the Queen's face. |