race, of which she was only the more jealous as their poverty rendered it the more difficult to uphold. All else had been denied to her: a home of loving affection, the charm of social intercourse, the pleasures of her sex and of her rank-she had grasped nothing but the overweening pride of ancestry, and a deep scorn for all who were less nobly born.

The last bolt had now fallen! Months passed on; months of dissension, reproach, and bitterness, For awhile she hoped that what she deemed the wild and unworthy fancy of her brother would not stand the test of time nay, in her cold-hearted pride, she perhaps had other and more guilty hopes, but they were equally in vain. Mina was daily more dear to the young count, for she had opened up to him an existence of affection and of trust to which he had been hitherto a stranger: his time was no longer a burden upon his strength. The days were too short for the bright thoughts which crowded upon him, the nights for his dreams of happiness. Mina had already become his pupil, and they studied beside the running streams and under the leafy boughs: and when the page was too difficult to read, the young girl lifted her sun-bright eyes to those of her tutor, and found its solution there.

The lovers cared not for time, for they were happy; and the seasons had once revolved, and when the winter snows had forbidden them to pursue their daily task in the valley or upon the hill-side, the last descendant of the counts of Königstein had taken his place beside the fisher's hearth, without bestowing one thought upon its poverty. But the father's heart was full of care. Already had idle tongues breathed foul suspicions of his pure and innocent child. She was becoming the subject of a new legend for the gossips of the neighbourhood; and he was powerless to avenge her. Humble himself as he might to their level, the fisherman could not forget that it was the young Graf von Königstein who was thus domesticated beneath his roof; and as time wore on he trembled to think how all this might end. Should he even preserve the honour of his beloved Mina, her peace of mind would be gone for ever, and she would be totally unfitted for the existence of toil and poverty which was her birthright. He could not endure this cruel thought for ever in silence, and on the evening in which we have introduced the orphans to our readers, he had profited by the temporary absence of Mina to pour out before the young count all the treasure of wretchedness which he had so long concealed. Elric started as the frightful fact burst upon him. He had already spurned the world's sneer, but he could not brook that its scorn should rest upon his innocent young bride.

Enough, old man!" he said, hoarsely; "enough. These busy tongues shall be stayed. These wondermongers shall be silenced. And when once Mina has become my wife, woe be to him who shall dare to couple her pure image with suspicion!"

He left the hut with a hasty step, and was soon lost among the dense shadows of the neighbouring forest. A bitter task was before him, but it was too late to shrink from its completion; yet still he lingered, for he dared not picture to himself what might be the result of his explanation with his sister.

We have already described their meeting; and now having acquainted the reader with the excited state of mind and feeling in which the young count entered his dreary home, we will rejoin the noble orphans in the apartment to which they had returned from the supperroom. The countess at once resumed her seat beside the stove, and drawing her frame towards her, affected to be intently occupied on the elaborate piece of embroidery which it contained; but Elric had less self-government. He paced the floor with hurried and unequal steps: and the moisture started from his brow as he strove to control

the emotion which shook his frame. At length he spoke, and his voice was so hoarse, so deep, and so unnatural, that the young gräfine involuntarily started.

Stephanie!" he said; "the moment is at last come in which we must understand each other without disguise. We are alone in the world--we are strangers in heartas utterly strangers as on the day when we buried our last parent. I sought in vain, long years ago, to draw the bond of relationship closer, but such was not your will. You had decided that my youth and my manhood alike should be one long season of weariness and isolation. I utter no reproach; it was idle in me to believe that without feeling for yourself you could feel for me. You knew that I had no escape; that I had no resource: but you cared not for this, and you have lived on among the puerilities of which you have made duties, and the prejudices of which you have made chains of iron, without remembering their effect on me. I have endured this long, too long; I have endured it uncomplainingly, but the limits of that endurance are now overpast. Henceforth we must be more, far more, or nothing, to each other."

"I understand your meaning, Gräf von Königstein," said the lady, rising coldly and haughtily from her seat; there is to be a bridal beneath the roof of your noble ancestors; the daughter of a serf is to take our mother's place, and to sit in our mother's chair. Is it not so? Then hear me in my turn; and I am calm, you see, for this is an hour for which I have been long prepared. Hear me swear that, while I have life, this shall never be!"

There was rage as well as scorn in the laughter by which the count replied.

Beneath the roof of my father was I born," pursued the countess; "and beneath his roof will I die. I, at least, have never sullied it by one thought of dishonour. I can look around me boldly, upon these portraits of our honoured race, for the spirits of the dead will not blush over my degeneracy. Mistake me not. My days shall end here where they began; and no churl's daughter shall sit with me at my ancestral hearth.”

"Stephanie, Stephanie, forbear!" exclaimed the count, writhing like one in physical agony. "You know not the spirit that you brave. Hitherto I have been supine, for hitherto my existence has not been worth a struggle; to-day it is otherwise; I will submit no longer to a code of narrow-hearted bigotry. You say truly. There will ere long be a bridal in my father's house, and purer or fairer bride never pledged her faith to one of his ancient

race.

"None fairer, perchance," said the lady, with a withering gesture of contempt; 'but profane not the glorious blood that fills your veins, and that ought now to leap in hot reproach to your false heart, by slandering the blameless dead! Purer, said you? The breath of slander has already fastened upon the purity you seek to vaunt. Your miracle of virtue has long been the proverb of the chaste."

The young man struck his brow heavily with his clenched hand, and sank into a chair.

"Once more," he gasped out, "I warn you to beware. You are awakening a demon within me! Do you not see, weak woman, that you are yourself arming me with weapons against your pride? If slander has indeed rested upon the young and innocent head of her whom you affect to despise, by whom did that slander come ?"

Herein we are at least agreed," answered the countess, in the same cold and unimpassioned tone in which she had all along spoken; "had you, Herr Graf, never forgotten what was due to yourself and to your race, the fisher's daughter might have mated with one of her own class, and so have escaped; but you saw fit to drag her forth from the slough which was her natural patrimony into the

had, upon her marriage, followed her from her home, and ultimately become his nurse. A shuddering thrill passed through his veins, for he was awaiting her. She was accustomed each night, after his sister had retired, to prepare for both a draught of lemonade as their night beverage, and first leaving one with her young master, to carry the other to the chamber of the countess. Her appearance was therefore anticipated; and she remained for an instant, as usual, in order to receive the praise which her beloved nurseling never failed to lavish upon her skill; but, for the first time, Elric objected to the flavour of the draught, and requested her to bring him a lemon that he might augment its acidity. The discomfited old woman obeyed, and, having deposited her salver upon the table, left the room. Elric started up, grasped a mass of his dishevelled hair in his hand with a violence which threatened to rend it from the roots, uttered one groan which seemed to tear asunder all the fibres of his heart, and then glared about him, rapidly but searchingly, ere he drew the fatal phial from his breast, and slowly, gloatingly poured out the whole of the liquid into the porcelain cup which had been prepared for his sister. As he did so, a slight acrid scent diffused itself over the apartment, but almost instantly evaporated, and the death-draught remained as clear and limpid as before.

"To-morrow!" murmured the wretched young man, as he watched the retiring form of the grey-haired attendant when she finally left the room; and then he oncemore buried his face in his hands, and fell into a state of torpor.

To-morrow!" he repeated, as he at length rose, staggeringly, to seek his chamber. "Mina, beloved Mina, I have bought you at a fearful price! "

M. GUIZOT.

THIS industrious and able writer does not permit us to forget or overlook him, amid the press of other notorieties for a hearing. The ex-minister of Louis Philippe is still a plodding, literary man, as he was when he became minister. It was his pen that first helped him to office, and it may be that his pen may yet replace him there. Indeed, he seems to write, not so much for literary as for political purposes. His histories are for the most part large political pamphlets. He writes them for the purpose of demonstrating certain foregone political conclusions, rather than to body forth "the form and pressure of times past." Take his History of Charles I. and the English Revolution; and you find there is a good deal of the almanac in it as to dates-there is still more of the political pleader. If you want to know how the people lived in Charles I.'s time-what they said and felt, and thought, you will find little said in Guizot's book. His Discourse on the same subject, intended as an introduction, is equally meagre, although a very able party disquisition. It is but a doctrinaire lecture, in which a strongly Whiggish view is taken of English history. And the main purpose of the writer seems to be, to speak under this guise about French political parties and movements. This is not the way in which history is to be written.

The life and career of M. Guizot may help the reader to form an opinion as to his character, qualities, and opinions, and how these have been formed. He was born at Nimes, of Protestant parents, in 1787. His father was an advocate practising at the bar, descended from an old family of the burgher class. Although favourable to the principles of the French revolution in its earlier stages, he soon fell behind in the march; was considered lukewarm, or hostile, by the more daring revolutionists, and was guillotined by the Republicans. The young Guizot was at the time of this sad event, some seven

years old, and the horrors of the period cast a shadow over his entire future life. Madame Guizot fled to Geneva, with her two sons, and there had them carefully educated by a minister of the Reformed Church. He made rapid progress in his studies; by the age of twelve, he knew German, English, and Italian, besides his own tongue; and when he left Geneva for Paris, at the age of nineteen, the hightest expectations were formed as to his future eminence.

He went to Paris for the purpose of studying law-the profession of his father; but, being very poor, he was under the necessity of seeking employment. He obtained a tutorship in the family of M. Stopfer. The irksomeness of the occupation, and perhaps the small indignities which he had to submit to, soon disgusted Guizot, and he threw up his situation. But, while engaged in teaching his pupils, he had applied himself to finding out an easy method by which to fix synonymes in their minds. There was no work on the subject, and he set himself to compose one for their use. He afterwards enlarged it; and sold the copyright to a bookseller: it was his first work, called the Dictionary of Synonymes, and it proved very successful.

He next obtained employment under Suard, the secretary to the French Institute. While engaged with him, Guizot occupied his spare hours in writing and compiling books of many kinds, on many subjects. He wrote lives of the French poets; he translated Gibbon from the English, and Rehfas from the German. He was indefatigably industrious, for he must live; and not only so, but he was determined also to prosper. He wrote in many of the literary reviews of the day. His connection with one of these journals, The Publiciste, was 80 curious, and led to such eventful consequences, that it is worthy of particular notice.

The editress of the Publiciste, was Mademoiselle Pauline de Meulan-a lady of great talent, somewhat older than Guizot; and she lived entirely by her pen. The Publiciste was established by M. Suard, and Mlle. Meulan frequently visited at his house. There she first saw M. Guizot, In March, 1807, a severe domestic calamity befell Mlle. Meulan; her health became deranged; and she could no longer prosecute the heavy literary work connected with her journal. At this juncture, a letter, without any signature, reached her, offering a supply of articles which the writer hoped would be worthy of the reputation of the Publiciste. The articles came, were accepted, and inserted. They were upon a large variety of subjects-art, literature, theatricals, and general criticism. Doubtless Mlle. Meulan would guess as to the writer, and possibly she might have no difficulty in setting them down to the credit of M. Guizot. When she recovered, the writer disclosed himself. An intimacy sprang up; ripened into a mutual affection; and their marriage took place in 1812-that is, after the lapse of about five years. This shows a degree of coolness and sober calculation of consequences, which is quite in keeping with the character of M. Guizot throughout. Madame Guizot continued to write, and to write well, after her marriage; and her works for children are still among the best things of the kind in French literature.

In the meantime Guizot himself was a rising man. He had solicited a chair in the University, and M. de Fontanes recommended him as his successor in the chair of Modern History. This office he obtained in 1812, the year of his marriage to Mlle. Meulan. It was the beginning of his political fortune. His lectures were spoken highly of: crowds went to hear him. Many friends spoke highly in his praise, and his popularity extended.” At this time (1812), the empire was about to set, and Guizot began to look out for the rising sun. He watched for the restoration. He was taken into the confidence of the Royalist party; and, at the restoration, Montesquieu,

the Minister of the Interior, named Guizot his SecretaryGeneral. From thence dates his active political life. He was afterwards made Director of the Press, and while in this office, framed the articles of the famous law which sixteen years later formed the basis of the Ordonnances of Charles X. Napoleon, however, suddenly returned from Elba; Guizot was forthwith on his knees before Carnot, the new Minister, who temporarily retained him in his office. In six weeks, however, he was dismissed, though ready with his adhesion to the acts of the new administration. Indeed, during this interregnum, Guizot seems to have played the part of a waiter on Providence. But his time came. He posted to Ghent, where Louis XVIII. waited the turn of events, and there endeavoured to set himself right with the old Bourbons. He edited the Moniteur of Ghent, and safely attacked Napoleon at a distance, eagerly cheering on the march of the Cossacks to Paris. This his enemies were not slow to point out in future years, somewhat to M. Guizot's damage. The sobriquet by which he used to be known, for the above reason, was the Man of Ghent; and when Napoleon fell, the journalists said that a Cossack brought Guizot back to Paris on his crupper.

The Bourbons rewarded their supporter, making him a Councillor of State, and Master of Requests. He then belonged to what was regarded as the liberal Bourbon party-holding sentiments which, in this country, we would call Whiggish. Between 1815 and 1819, he wrote numerous pamphlets in support of his views,-on the subjects of the Press, Representative Government, Public Instruction, and such like. The assassination of the Duc de Berri had the effect of giving a sudden check to liberal and reforming principles; and the counterrevolutionary party for a time were in the ascendant. The Liberal-Conservative school fell, and with it M. Guizot and the Doctrinaires. He was suspended from his lectureship, and fired pamphlets at the Ministry. Some of these had a great run. But he retired from open political movements, and betook himself with greater assiduity to literature, always keeping in mind the propagation of his peculiar political views. He now wrote history,-A History of Representative Government,-published collections of Memoirs of the History of England and of France,-a Historical Essay on Calvin,-never allowing the public to forget him long. He also edited the Revue Française, in which he published many historical political essays. His popularity amongst the middle classes decidedly advanced. He was permitted to recommence his historical lectures, and was restored to his office of Councillor of State in 1829. The crisis of Charles X.'s government was fast approaching; and Guizot was again watching for the rising sun. own ordonnances cleared the way for him; and in 1830, behold him the minister of Louis Philippe. Guizot was rather open to the charge of jobbing, having got one of his domestics-a valet, promoted to the office of SubPrefect. The thing made a great noise at the time, and Guizot was dismissed to appease the popular clamour, but still retained the confidence of Louis Philippe, and shortly after received back his Portfolio. Thiers, at first his cominister, afterwards fell out with him, and became his political opponent; and during the reign of Louis Philippe, these two literary-political characters carried on a sort of Fox and Pitt war for power. When Thiers was down, Guizot was up. When the little minister was "in," the pale philosopher was "out." When Louis Philippe fell, Guizot fell with him-perhaps helped to drag him down. He fled from Paris in February, 1848, concealed by a workman's blouse and cap; and he reached London as a fugitive, when but a few years before he had acted as ambassador.

His

M. Guizot is, however, a distinguished writer, only he has made a bad political "book." In a worldly sense,

he has succeeded, for he is rich: office seems to have agreed with him; and his literary productions have no doubt paid him well. The Revue Française was a good property, made so mainly through his industry. Some of his works will stand: his History of Civilization in Europe is his best book, though it is somewhat heavy. But it contains the gist of his doctrines.

M. Cormenin has given a rather severe estimate of Guizot's qualities as an orator and a political leader. He characterises him as somewhat of a pedagogue, though careful, dignified, energetic, and argumentative. But he is too dogmatic and axiomatic. He wants in variety, grace, imagination. His speech is a lecture. The French say he is not a Frenchman, but a foreigner-most resembling an Englishman, or perhaps a Scotchman. However that may be, certainly the genius of Guizot is not French genius. He has many admirers amongst the middle classes-the bourgeoise, to whom he belongs,but the mass of the French people have no sympathy with him-it may be, because they do not understand him.

CAPTAIN OBSTINATE.
(From the French.)

ONE fine evening in the month of July, an old soldier of the "grand army," who had left one of his arms on the field of battle, was seated at the door of his pretty cottage. He was surrounded by a group of young villagers, who were clamorously reminding him of his promise to tell them some of his military adventures. After a moment of pretended resistance to their wishes, the old man took his pipe from his mouth, passed the back of his remaining hand across his lips, and thus commenced his tale :

"In my time, my friends, the French would have disdained to fight against Frenchmen in the streets, as they do in these days. No, no, when we fought it was for the honour of France, and against her foreign enemies. But my story commences on the 6th of November, 1812, a short time after the battle of Wiazma. We beat a retreat, not before the Russians, for they were at a respectful distance from our camp, but before the sharp and bitter cold of their detestable country, a cold more terrible to us than the Russians, Austrians, and Bavarians all put together. 'During the preceding days our officers had told us that we were approaching Smolensko, where we should get food, fire, brandy, and shoes; but in the meantime we were perishing in the glaciers, and continually harassed by the Cossacks. We had marched for six hours without stopping to take breath, for we knew that repose was certain death. An icy wind blew the drifting snow in our faces, and from time to time we stumbled over the frozen corpse of a comrade. We neither spoke nor sang, even complaints were no longer heard, and that was a bad sign. I marched by the side of my captain; short, strongly built, rough, and severe, but brave and true as the blade of his sword; we called him 'Captain Obstinate;' for when once he said a thing, it was fixed; he never changed his opinions. He had been wounded at Wiazma, and his usually crimson face was then ghastly pale, while a ragged white handkerchief, all stained with blood, was bound round his head, and added to the pallor of his countenance. All at once I saw him stagger on his legs like a drunken man, then fall like a block to the ground.

Morbleu! captain,' said I, bending over him, 'you cannot remain here.'

"You see that I can, since I do it,' replied he, showing his legs.

"Captain,' said I, you must not give way; lifting him in my arms, I tried to put him on his feet. He leaned on me, and attempted to walk, but in vain; he fell again, dragging me with him.'

"You may put me under arrest then if you like, but at present you must let me do as I please.'

"You are an insolent fellow.'

"Very good, captain, but you must come with me.' He bit his lips with rage, but said no more. I lifted him, and carried him on my shoulders like a sack. You can easily imagine that with such a burden, I could not keep pace with my comrades. In effect, I soon lost sight of their columns, and could discern nothing around me, but the white and silent plain. I still walked on, when presently appeared a troop of Cossacks galloping towards me, with furious gesticulations and wild cries.

"The captain was by this time completely insensible, and I resolved, whatever it might cost me, not to abandon him. I laid him down on the ground, and covered him with snow; then I crept beneath a heap of dead bodies, leaving, however, my eyes at liberty. Presently the Cossacks came up, and began to strike with their lances right and left, while their horses trampled us under their feet. One of these heavy beasts set his foot upon my right arm, and crushed it. My friends, I did not speak, I did not stir; I put my right hand into my mouth to stifle the cry of torture which nearly escaped from me, and in a few minutes the Cossacks had dispersed.

"When the last of them had disappeared, I quitted my refuge, and proceeded to disinter the captain. To my joy he gave some signs of life; I contrived to carry him with my one arm towards a rock which offered a sort of shelter, and then I laid myself by his side, wrapping my cloak round us both.

fall.

The night had closed in, and the snow continued to

"The rear-guard had long since disappeared, and the only sound that broke the stillness of the night was the whistle of a bullet, or the howling of the wolves feasting on the corpses that lay stretched around. God knows what thoughts passed through my soul during that dreadful night, which, I felt sure, would be my last upon earth. But I remembered the prayer which my mother had taught me long before, when I was a child at her knee, and, bending low, I repeated it with fervour.

'My children, that did me good, and remember always that a sincere and fervent prayer is sure to comfort you. I felt astonishingly calmed when I returned to my place by the captain. But the time passed, and I had fallen into a state of half stupor, when I saw a group of French officers approach. Before I had time to speak to them, their chief, a little man, dressed in a furred pelisse, stepped forward towards me, and said,

"What are you doing here? Why are you away from your regiment ?"

"For two good reasons,' said I, pointing first to the captain, and then to my bleeding arm.

"The man says true, sire,' said one of those who followed him; I saw him marching in the rear of his regiment, and carrying this officer on his back.'

"The emperor-for, my friends, it was he gave me one of those glances that only he, or the eagle of the Alps, could give, and said: 'It is well. You have done very

well.' Then opening his pelisse, he took the cross which decorated his green coat, and gave it to me. At that instant I was no longer hungry, no longer cold; I felt no more pain from my arm than if that awkward beast had never touched it.

"Davonst,' added the emperor, addressing the officer who had spoken to him, see this man and his captain placed in one of the baggage-waggons. Adieu!' And making me a motion of the hand, he went away. Here the veteran ceased, and resumed his pipe. "But tell us what became of Captain Obstinate," " cried many impatient voices.

"The captain recovered, and is now a general on the retired list. But the best of the joke was, that as soon as he got well, he put me under arrest for fifteen days, as a punishment for my infraction of discipline.

"This circumstance came to the ears of Napoleon, and after laughing heartily, he not only caused me to be set free, but promoted me to the rank of sergeant. As to the decoration, my children, here is the ribbon at my button-hole, but the cross I wear next my heart."

And opening his vest, he showed his eager audience the precious relic, suspended from his neck in a little satin bag.

BEAUTY.

LET any one look around at the numerous fond couples of his acquaintance, who are peacefully smiling in each other's faces, in defiance of realities and the common verdict of mankind, and he must acknowledge, that beauty is but a name, and ugliness a chimera. In effect there are no such things. Poetry, and novels and romances, have made a certain combination of auburn hair, blue eyes, Greek noses, and pearl teeth, an indispensable part of the matériel of true love; but, in the commerce of the living world, this is all sheer nonsense. Depend upon it that, in spite of arbitrary standards, there is no one so ugly who has not his oglings, his amorous looks, and languishing smiles---and that somebody or other has the heart to relish and return them. Nay, beauty itself chooses ugliness for its mate, without thinking it ugly. Look at Mr. and Mrs. P. How balsamic is such a union to us that are ugly. I mean not to utter a word in disparagement of beauty, but I see no harm in extending its empire by multiplying its attributes. A man may have a just sense of all that is essentially, and by universal assent, most lovely-and yet, under some inexplicable illusion, fix his own final choice upon features that no one thinks agreeable but himself. He may make his quotations from twenty established belles, drink to the tyranny of all the reigning toasts-and then go and surrender up his soul for ever, to a mouth charmingly awry, and teeth divinely not in rows. This is as it should be. By such bye-laws as these Nature elicits harmony from the jarring elements of the world; thus, amidst all her seeming inequalities and inconsistencies, by a series of kindly compensations, she assimilates all conditions. and provides means for making every one contented and happy.