"Yes, my children," replied Napoleon, kindly holding each by an arm, in order to prevent them from kneeling, "although much younger than you, I am your father, and the father of every soldier who has fought for the honor of France!"

At that moment, Rapp, the governor, and their attendants, came up and saluted Napoleon. With a stern look, he said to his aid-de-camp, in an under tone, "You should have had patience to wait." Then, turning to the others in an affable manner, he said:

Approach, marshal and gentlemen; help me to recompense three generations of heroes. These brave men," pointing to Maurice, Jerome, and Cyprien, "have fought in three glorious battles-Freidlingen, Racours and Fleurus. Marshal," to Serrurrier, "lend me your cross; you shall have one in its stead to-morrow," he added, smiling. "Give me yours, also, Rapp."

Having received the two crosses, Napoleon gave one to Jerome, the other to Cyprien; and then, taking off his own, he fastened it on the breast of the venerable Maurice, saying, as he did so, "My old comrade, I regret that I did not sooner discharge this debt which France owes you." "Long live the emperor! long live the emperor !" cried all present.

"Sire," said old Maurice, in a voice trembling with rapture, "you have made the remainder of life happy to me and my children."

by a crowd of eager veterans, each trying who could enough to pass the remainder of my days in the
get nearest to his beloved general.
Hôtel des Invalides."

"My emperor!" cried one, "I was with you at Toulon !" "And I at the passage of St. Bernard!" "And I at Trebia!" "You spoke to me at Aboukir!" "I shared my bread with you at Roveredo!" "I picked up your hat at Marengo !" "I was at Austerlitz!" &c., &c.

Napoleon smiled at the reminiscences of these extempore Xenophons, and tried to answer each indi

"Then I," replied the aide-de-camp, with his usual frankness, "should like to be assured of dying and being buried there."

"Who knows?" said Napoleon; "that may happen; and I myself who knows." He did not finish the sentence, but fell into a profound reverie, which continued during the remainder of their drive.

"My brave fellow," replied Napoleon, giving his hand, which the old man seized and pressed respectfully with his lips; "I repeat that I am only discharging a debt which our country has long own you."

ΟΝ

III.

the 15th of December, 1840, a funeral car, covered with crowns of laurel, preceded by the banner of France, and followed by the surviving relics of her forty armies, passed slowly beneath the Triumphal Arch de

l'Etoile. The sarcophagus it bore contained the mortal spoils of him who, in the space of fifteen years, had well-nigh conquered the world. The dead Napoleon was thus tardily borne to his place beneath that dome raised for the shelter of heroes.

Late in the evening when the crowd had slowly dispersed, when the murmur of its thousand mournful voices was hushed, when the solitude was complete and the silence unbroken, an invalid, a centegenarian, almost blind, and walking on two wooden legs, entered the chapel where reposed the body of Napoleon. Supported by two of his

vidually, inquiring whether they were content with | comrades, he reached with difficulty the foot of the
their position, or wished for anything with which
he could supply them.

At length Napoleon took leave of the governor;
and the crowd opening, respectfully made way for
him to pass to the gate. Rapp had sent back the
horses, and ordered a carriage with an escort of
dragoons to be in attendance. The emperor got in
with his aide-de-camp, while the echoes of the Seine
resounded with shouts of Vive Empereur !"
"This has been one of the happiest evenings in
In a moment Napoleon found himself surrounded my life!" he said to Rapp. "I should like well

Meantime the news had spread throughout the Hôtel that the emperor was there. All the inmates, disregarding rules and discipline came out of their rooms, and rushed into the court, crying out, "Long live the emperor ?"

imperial catafalque. Taking off his wooden legs in order to kneel down, he bent his venerable head on the steps; and presently, mingled with sobs, he uttered in broken accents the words, "Emperor! father!"

At length his companions succeeded in drawing him away; and as he passed out, the superior officers of the Hôtel respectfully saluted the old man. He who thus came to render his last homage to his master was Cyprien, the grandson of father Maurice.

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resent.

Giulietta Grisi is eight-and-thirty. She was born Milan, in the year 1816, of a family, several mbers of which have been distinguished in sic. Grassini, the greatest lyrical tragedian of er day, was her aunt; and her elder sister, Giuditta Grisi a singer of considerable eminence, was prima donna at the Italian Opera, London, the year precedg her more celebrated sister. Carlotta Grisi, who carried dancing, as a beautiful art—as the "poetry of motion"-to a higher pitch than has been done by any one else in our time, was of the same family. Giulietta Grisi, like most musical artists, showed her talents at an early age, and attracted the notice of Marliani, a composer of reputation, and the author of some successful, but now forgotten, operas. By him her powers were cultivated by a careful education; and when Bellini brought out his "Norma," at La Scala, in her native city, she was selected to be the original Adalgisa, with Pasta, the original Norma. Her subsequent career in Italy, though successful was short.

She was brought by her instructor, Marliani, to Paris, in 1834, at the age of eighteen, where she appeared at the Théatre Italien; and in the same year she made her debut at the King's Theatre (now her Majesty's Theatre) in London. This debut created a sensation unequalled by anything of the kind since the first appearance of Catalani. She performed the part of Elvira in the "Puritani ;" and her youthful beauty, her lovely voice, and her pure Italien style, her innocent and graceful gaiety, so strongly contrasted with almost tragic intensity of feeling, threw the public into a state of enchantment, the greater from being unlooked for, as the name of Giulietta Grisi had scarcely been heard till she actually appeared. She has lately relinquished the part of Elvira to younger performers; but it will always be commemorated as perhaps the most captivating and affecting of all her personations.

Since then, Grisi's artistic life has been quite uneventful. Her subsequent career of twenty years' duration, and unchequered by reverse or vicissitude, has been brilliant beyond parallel. London principally, and Paris next, have been the scenes of her success; but while she has absented herself for whole seasons from Paris, she has not, during all these twenty years been absent a whole season from London.

She has never reappeared on the stage in her own country; and her only change of scene, from London and Paris, has been an occasional visit to St. Petersburg. In 1847, she was the most important member of the magnificent company who left her Majesty's Theatre, London, on the establishment of the Royal Italian Opera at Covent-garden, and has ever since been the chief pillar of that house.

The principal characters in which she has appeared have been Norma, Lucrezia Borgia, Valen tina (in the "Huguenots") and Norina (in "Don Pasquale"). Among the operas in which she is yet to appear are "La Favorita," ‚""Anna Bolena," and "La Gazza Ladra." This series displays the

NATURE AND THE DREAMER.

BY MARIE J. EWEN.

WITH proud and lofty brow uplift, and earnest kindling

eye,

A poet-dreamer stood beneath the great o'erarching sky;
The setting sun was on the sea. whose mighty waters rolled

wide range as well as the greatness of her powers.
To her the sock has always been as becoming as the
buskin: she has always been a Thalia as well as a
Melpomene—an impersonation of the comic as well
as of the tragic muse.
It is to be regretted, per-
haps, that at present she is giving tragedy so
much the predominance, especially when we think With love-gifts from the Lord of Light, with purple and with
of the effect she produced by the sparkling gaiety
of her Norina; but we can easily understand her
reason to be that the grand and lofty vein is the
most suitable to one who is past the bloom and
lightness of youth. It is needless to repeat what is
said by everybody who has seen her, that her Norma
and her Lucrezia Borgia are powerful and terrible
in the extreme.

gold.

unfurled.

In high majestic beauty crowned with banners bright
Nature before the poet stood, a fair and wondrous world;
And steeped his soul in bounding life, in rapture deep and

wild,

So that he felt once more indeed a simple joyous child.

"O life so free and beautiful! O world so strangely fair!
O trees and flowers, and gorgeous skies! O glad pure
It is a rapture high to breathe, a joy to feel the sun,

summer air!

To dream of life immortal still when human life is done!”

thine;

Ah, is it thus? Then surely truth must reach that soul of
O minstrel, decmest thou thyself than Nature more divine?
Believe it still for crowning joys, and sufferings, and

The poet loved old Nature well: the busy haunts of men, In Grisi's acting, as well as singing, a great charm He in despair had madly fled, nor thought to seek again; has always been found in her unaffected straightfor-Amid the far blue solitudes he poured a reverent love ward simplicity. She seizes the plain, broad features Upon the mountain altars, with the watching heaven above. of every character; enters into it earnestly and paints it truly, without the slightest parade of art. Such, also, is the case with her singing. No one has ever been more successful in making melody what it ought to be on the stage, not an exhibition, but a language for the expression of thought and feeling. And this very excellence has been supposed a defect her avoidance of the display of art has been deemed a want of art. Many singers have excelled her in the florid or ornate style; they have wrapped up their airs in bright and delicate tissues, which indicate consummate skill, and delight the connoisseur. 'Tis thine to search and comprehend, the world-deep This Grisi has not done, and perhaps could not do; her full and mellow voice is not fitted for such feats of agility. She sings as she acts, simply and earnestly; but never betrays any deficiency of power, either in executing the notes of the composer, or in giving them such embellishments as are requisite for beauty and expression.

A. TRAVELLING HOTEL.-A Pans correspondent of the "Cincinnati Gazette," in a letter lately written, gives the following account of a novel mode of travelling in France. He remarks as follows:-"If we are in advance of the world in sea yachts, the French have beaten us in the article of railroad yachts. A rich capitalist, Monsieur the Count de L—, has invented and superintended the construction of a railroad hotel for his own private use, with which he intends to travel with his family over all the railroads of France. It is a complete house, with all its dependencies, principal and accessory. There is a parlour, bed-rooms with beds, billiardroom, kitchen, office, a cellar, ice-house, &c.; in one word, all the elegance and the comfort, the useful and the agreeable of a dwelling the most complete and the most rich. It is very long, and, like all French cars, very wide. It is made so that it can be transferred from one set of wheels to another, though that seems of no importance, since the roads of France are all, I believe, of the same wide gauge. This travelling hotel has cost its proprietor about fifty thousand francs, and at this moment attracts great attention at the dépôt of the Orleans railway."

A STORY WITHOUT A FOUNDATION.--The Garret story is the uppermost story; but if we add to Garret another T, we must regard the story as a base story-as base as any story can be that has no basis.

death,

mysteries, Nobler in this than stars and suns, and fair insensate skies. The soul may pierce through earth and heaven, the beautiful, sublime,

And reign in regal majesty beyond the shores of Time.

Then was it well to shun thy kind, to whom one God hath given

The same fair dreams, the same high powers, the same
sweet hopes of heaven?

One Father and one brotherhood in sympathy and love
Oh, rather work together still-God smiling from above,

The dreamer felt the stern rebuke-a thousand harmonies
Rose from the depths of Nature's heart, and filled the air and
skies;

The perfume of a peace divine o'er all the land was borne,
And in that calm his soul laid down the burden of its scorn
His spirit woke to bright new life, to lofty counsels then,
High hopes and olden memories came o'er him once again;
His eye with inspiration glowed, his soul was flushed with
light,

He fell amid the ranks of men to combat for the right.

SAW a brighter eye last night

I Than I have seen for many a day,

And even now its gentle light

Around my spirit's path doth play;
It seem'd to breathe some magic theme
Whose gentle truth the heart might move,
As it had watch'd an angel dream,

And ta'en that dream for carthly love.
'Twas not th' expression of that eye,
Nor yet its soft reflective hue-
My memory had pass'd these by

If this my heart would pass them, too-
But oh a charm beyond the power
Of human language e'er to tell,
And every moment seems an hour
Unless I in its presence dwell.

A PROFESSIONAL SCAR.

BY AN OLD LAWYER.

YOUR kind letter, Harry, came duly to hand; and

you will be surprised to learn that a careless question of yours will draw forth enough in answer to cover a sheet: "What caused that scar on my temple ?"

I accordingly assured her that I could draw a will quered. The will was finished, and I read it over
which, though I could not warrant it to pass the or- aloud, the old man groaning, and the old woman
deal she mentioned, would, I was sure, be proof looking an occasional assent; but when I read the
against the efforts of all the lawyers in Christen- terrible curse, a new actor appeared on the scene:
dom.
"Oh! tear it: tear it! Oh, God! you know not

And now her manner changed from the fierce and what you do!"
bold to the anxious and hurried.

“Come, then, quick! quick! young man, and you shall pocket two hundred and fifty pounds for your night's work!" she exclaimed.

The plaintive tones of the voice touched my heart, even before my eyes beheld its owner; but when I saw her, heavens and earth! what an angel she was! The language is yet undiscovered, Harry, And amazed and bewildered as I was, I found my- that is competent to give you a description of that self at the neighboring corner, stepping into a hack, face. The eyes dancing with excitement, yet liquid before the startling but comfortable words, "Two with tears; the mouth proud as Juno's, yet comhundred and fifty pounds for your night's work!" pressed with anquish. But why do I attempt deshad ceased ringing in my cars. My conductress fol-cription? The most majestic, yet the sweetest lowed me in, and without orders we were rattled countenance I ever beheld, appealed to me, and not furiously along the streets to House, then the in vain; for while the old man, weak as he was, largest hotel in the city. My visions of two hun-jumped from his bed, screaming, "Kill her! kill dred and fifty bright sovereigns kept my tongue her!" I tore the will into fragments, and we both bridled, and I was led in silence up two flights of fell to the floor, he dead, and I stunned by a blow stairs into a suit of rooms comprising parlor and two from the heavy candlestick, wielded by the old hag, bed-rooms. The parlor, however, was occupied by Angeline. a bed, in which lay an old and evidently dying man. A servant was with him, but he left upon a motion from the hand of my companion, who approached the bed and said:

It is a professional scar, Harry; one that I have carried ever since my earliest practice; and although I have now arrived at a tolerable old age, and have many, many intimate friends, it is a most singular fact that you are the first and only person that ever inquired into its origin. I can tell you all about it, but must avoid names and places, for the parties most interested in the incident are still living. In the year after passing my examination, I was pronounced a properly-qualified person to appear before juries and courts for others as well as myself, and at once proceeded to a large southern city, where, by a modest little sign over the door of When my consciousness returned, I found mya modest little office, I announced my readiness to self in my own bed at my boarding-house, my host commence the practice of the law. For three and hostess my sole attendants. My mind was months I waited, but, alas! no business came, and clear the moment I looked about me, and I knew I I sat in my office on a dreary night, at about eleven "I have an attorney here, sir. Shall he pro- had been brought home, and was now confined from ceed?" the effects of that blow. I resolved to keep my own o'clock, in this very comfortable position: my money was gone entirely; my board-bill was to be The old man's eyes brightened up, and, after glar- counsel, and to ascertain what I could of the subsepaid in the morning, and my rent the day following;ing on me for a moment, he spoke : quent proceedings of the night. Upon inquiry, I and I absolutely feared to go to my boarding-house, "If you draw my will, do it; quick now! for I found that I had been brought home by a young gentleman in a carriage, who had left funds for the and waited in what seemed the forlorn hope that must save my breath." something in the way of a fee might appear, either I will not trouble you with the details, nor, in employment of a physician, and had also left a letter dropping from the skies, or suddenly appearing on fact do I remember them; but it is enough to say, for me. I opened the letter as soon as I was alone, my desk. Outside, no step was heard; and as I that a large amount of property, real and personal, and found a twenty-pound bank note with these occasionally glanced through my window, the flame bonds, mortgages, &c., were left, in the words of the words: of the street-light, moved by the wind, would seem-will I had proceeded to draw up, to "my good and ingly move me homeward; but I would not go. A faithful housekeeper, Angeline ―, as a token of foot-step sounded in my entry; a second, and a third, and more, but so light that my heart-beating prevented my counting them; and then a little delicate knock. I compelled myself to say "Come in," with a calm voice, although I expected to be instantly vis-a-vis with a young woman: the door opened, and I saw-an old one. I had only time to move toward a chair before she was in the centre of the room, and speaking:

gratitude for her long, faithful, and meritorious ser-
vice." But the concluding words of the will I shall
never forget; they were written from his own mouth,
and made me shudder as I wrote them. There is
something fearful, dreadful—yes, develish-in this
deliberately recording, in what purports to be your
last written wish-a curse upon your own offspring.
And I felt, as I wrote it, an involuntary desire to
tear the paper into fragments, and to rush from the

"I have no time to sit. Young man, you are a room, but the two hundred and fifty sovereigns were lawyer; are you good for anything?"

My insulted dignity was controlled by an effort, and I answered "that I flattered myself that I possessed some talent for my profession."

like so many anchors, and I stayed and wrote: "I leave to my daughter Dora all the satisfaction she can obtain from my hearty curse. whip about her in her only home, the streets and "Well, well, no flummery. Can you draw up a dogs share with her the refuse of the gutter, she paper?"

Here again I ventured to remark that it depended somewhat on its nature; but I saw from her impatient manner that she wanted no trifling. Before I finished the sentence, she interrupted me with a fierceness of manner exceeding her former rough one, saying:

"I want a will drawn; quick! hurriedly! but so strong that the most cunning fox in the law can't undo! Can you do it?" and she fairly glared at me with impatience for the answer.

Now you know, Harry, that my legal education was obtained entirely in a surrogate's office, and you may presume that on the law and forms of last wills and testaments I felt myself sufficiently posted up.

may regret that she disobeyed him who once loved
her, but who, dying, cursed her!"

"You did last night a deed worthy of more grati tude than our present means enables us to express. The property which so nearly belonged to the infamous hag who struck you, will soon be ours, and you shall then hear from us. May the same kindness which prompted you to tear the paper, seal your lips hereafter as to the painful scenes last evening. Gratefully yours,

DORA AMD HER HUSBAND."

My first act was to conceal the letter beneath my pillow; my second, to call my host, and tender him the amount of my board-bill; to my astonishment he told me that my companion paid it when he left the When rags letter. It seems I raved a little about my inability to pay my host, while I was unconscious, aud thus the husband of Dora (for I had no doubt it was he who brought me home) had ascertained the fact, and paid my bill. Added to this, my wound was not severe enough to need any surgery, more than was offered by my kind landlady; so when I had recovered (which was soon), I had only my office-rent to pay, and then resumed business with the larger part of the twenty sovereigns in my treasury. I made cautious inquiries about the sequent movements of my mysterious clients, but could only ascertain that the old couple arrived on that eventful night, the old man ordering a pleasant room in which he could die; that the young couple came by another conveyance, and had taken other rooms; that the old man's body was immediately boxed up and shipped for the north, under charge of

There was something like a chuckle in the direction of old Angeline, as the dying wretch dictated these fearful words; but as I looked and saw the stern face as rigid as marble, I concluded I must have been mistaken. I could not, however, divest myself of a certain feeling that all was wrong. A rich old man, accompanied by an old housekeeper, and dying in a strange city; her anxiety to have the will so strong; the curse on his daughter, and the large fee, all conspired to make me feel that I was being instrumental in the accomplishment of some villanous object. Again I meditated the destruction of the paper, and again my fee and my wants con

House as to the sub

his man-servant; that the old woman went off alone; and that finally the young man paid the bill, and left also with his wife. To do my worthy host and his kind lady full justice, I must say that they never hinted at the matter, and I never had a question to answer they probably took it for granted that I had been the victim of some broil, and avoided annoying me by any reference to it.

Thirty years of hard work rolled by, Harry, during which I acquired a family, fortune, fame, and gray hairs; but I never, in all that time, saw or heard of my clients, with the exception of one letter, which was received some years after the occurrences which I have related, and which contained two more twenty-pound bills, with the words:

"We are very happy; may God bless you!

"DORA."

But in all that time, I have never forgotten that beautiful angelic face, nor the mute appeal which it made to my heart; the answer to which cost me the deep scar which is the object of your present curiosity, and a two hundred and fifty pound note fee, less the amount received from the young folks. Neither did I, in all that time, regret the course I

took.

"That news is for thy lord, sir. To the Chamberlain, away!"

away at school, acquired, as is generally the case,
complete influence over him. Dora was wooed and
won by a poor clerk; the father would not listen to The old soldier passing reluctantly along the
it; an elopement was the consequence, and the old corridor, entered an apartment at the further end,
man in his rage broke up. housekeeping, and, taking and speedily returned, accompanied by the official,
old Angeline with him, had started for the south. for whom the stranger had sought. The cavalier
Dora had followed him with her husband, although approached the Chamberlain, and, speaking a few
she knew he would not see her, and although he words, they both moved to the audience room. The
had always been harsh and unkind to her, yet she stranger doffed his plumed casque as he crossed the
knew he was in the last stages of consumption, and threshold of the apartment of state, and, lifting his
she determined, if possible, to be with him, when he sabre in his hand from the floor, upon which it lay
died. At the time of his death, they had been follow-in its sling, he drew a letter from his gauntlet, and
ing him about a month, from place to place, keeping presented the document to a tall dark countenanced
concealed from him, and eluding the keen eyes of man, in military dress, who paced across the room
Angeline. When Dora appeared in the room, it was with hurried strides.
only because the man-servant, who had been with
her father, and who, as you remember, left the
room when I entered, had observed their arrival, and
had kindly gone to her and informed her that her fa-
ther could not live an hour: she was entering the
room to make one last effort at reconciliation, when
my voice reading the fearful words of her father's
curse caused the outery and the denouement. Her
husband, who followed her in, found the old man
dead, Dora in a swoon, me senseless, and old Ange-
line in vain trying to put the many pieces of the
will together, raving and cursing like a bedlamite.
He and the man-servant put the old man's body on
the bed, took Dora to her room, and while the ser-
vant kept guard over Angeline, he took me home in
a carriage. The rest you know.

Some ten years ago, as you probably remember, I spent a winter in Havana. I boarded with a Spanish landlord, whose house was generally filled with American visitors. But, strange to say, I passed one week with him without a single American arrival; and I was mentally resolving one day to leave for New Orleans, where I could find troops of friends, I have only to add, that, whenever I wander and rid myself of the ennui consequent upon my north, either alone or with my wife and family, we solitary position, when I heard my host calling me: always stop at the house of our kind friends. They "Señor, Señor, los Americanos-Americanos !" have spent one winter with us at the south, and we Looking from my window, I saw a fine portly gen- expect them again the coming season. And the tleman attending to his luggage, and answering the young gentleman who studied law under my instrucdemands of the thousand-and-one leeches of porters tion, and who now practises law with my name on who each claimed to have brought something for the sign with his (as senior partner, although he him. Thinking I might be of some service to him, I does all the business), is Dora's son, and from cerwent out, and with two or three dimes dispersed the tain conscious looks and bright blushes on my villains, who, knowing me to be an old stager, sub-pretty daughter's cheek when he calls, I amagine mitted to my orders. The gentleman turned to thank he may possibly be mine, too. But of this, Harry, me, but suddenly started back, then glanced at my rest assured-I shall not curse her if she marries temple, and, seeing the end of my candlestick-mark him. peering out beneath my sombrero, he caught me by the hand, exclaiming :

"We have met before, sir! how glad I am to see you!"

FAIR GERALDINE AT THE BOYNE.

And then, without explanation, he drew me to the THE

HE grey, sombre twilight, in the summer of doorway, in which stood a matronly but still beauti- 1690, was falling fast around the old weather ful woman. worn turrets of Dublin Castle, and lights were "Scc, Dora," said he, "is not this our old flitting about amongst the chambers of those who friend!"

At the word "Dora," I started, and there before me, sure enough, stood the Dora of thirty years previous, still retaining many of her charms, but with the marks of time, notwithstanding, impressed upon

her features.

You may well believe our reunion was most pleassant; and after our dinner was over, and we were out enjoying the sea-breeze, the whole story was told me. I will not give you the details of it; it was long, but the main features of it were about what I had surmised. Dora was only child of a wealthy father; her mother died when she was a mere child; old Angeline had remained with her father in the capacity of a housekeeper, and had, while Dora was

composed King James's temporary Court-now,
flashing from a long, pointed, gothic window, and
now from a round diminutive loop-hole, whence the
musketry of the old castle's garrison had often
reverberated; when a cavalier, in the costume of the
followers of St. Ruth, rode into the court-yard, and,
dismounting quickly, gave his horse's rein to a
soldier, and entered the castle. The jingle of his
sabre was scarce heard upon the stairs, when a
sentinel demanded,—

"Who comes there?"

"Where is the Lord Deputy?" was the answer. "Go tell the Chamberlain that a messenger from St. Ruth must instantly see his master."

"How speeds the war, Captain?"

"From Mareschal St. Ruth, my Lord," said the cavalier, bowing to the floor.

The other broke the seal, and undoing the multitude of enclosing cords, opened the letter, and read attentively. In a large chair of state, hung with crimson velvet, and bearing the Royal arms on a tablet above it, sat a figure who watched, apparently with the deepest interest, the proceedings which were going forward. He was a man of middle size, and of a heavy cast of features, wearing the dress of a civilian of the period, and having his wig brought down upon his forehead, more than was usual with those around him; and playing, ever and anon, with its curls as he studied intently the features of the Lord Deputy. An armed officer stood at each side of his chair, and a sceptre lay upon a table before him. When the Lord Deputy had finished the perusal of the epistle, this person rose from his seat, and demanded,

"Is the news from St. Ruth good news or bad, my Lord of Tirconnell ?"

"May it please your majesty," replied the Deputy "the news is good, but I shall read the letter when a season suits. Meanwhile this cavalier, Sir Reginald St. Aure, an excellent soldier, as I am advised, shall attend your Majesty to meet the Stadtholder. I shall see that St. Ruth be answered. Take care that this officer be lodged, Sir Chamberlain; and let us be undisturbed till thou art called."

The Chamberlain signified his obedience to the commands of Tirconnell, and retired, followed by the cavalier and the two officers of the staff, leaving James and the Lord Deputy alone.

The conference betwixt the King and Tirconnell continued for some hours; nor was it ended when St. Aure passed the door of the audience room, from the apartment which had been allotted to him, and folding his mantle around him, walked out into the court-yard. When he had emerged into the open air, he stepped silently towards that part of the building occupied by the ladies of the court, and which was situated at a distance from the scene of military preparation that was momentarily going forward; arrived beneath the shadow of a tower, he threw back his cloak, and striking a guitar, he

sung

"Oh! bridled is my battle steed
That bears rae to the fight;

And my gallant fellows, soldiers all,
Have donned their falchions bright
"And long-long shall our parting be—
Mine, only love, I ween
Then say to me a last farewell,
My ladye-Geraldine."