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by not allowing any expression of jealousy to escape her, gave him no cause for separation. The reproaches she uttered were unanswerahle; they proceeded all from the lips of patient and suffering love.

At length, when the king almost trod in the very footsteps of Montespan, wherever she went and stood, La Vallière could no longer conceal the deep mortification she felt. She complained with bitterness of his treatment; and the king was exactly in one of those moods in which bitterness is insupportable.

"You know that I love you!" he exclaimed in an imperious tone, "but you shall not be suffered to dictate to me.'

As soon as the novitiate had expired, and the day of investment arrived, the whole court appeared amongst the spec

tators.

She was then in the 29th year

of her age. The latent fire of her heart,
without which she could not have ven-
tured upon such a step, suffused now for
the last time her otherwise pale cheek
Even the
with a dazzling colour.
courtiers could not refrain from tears at
the sight of the beautiful victim. In the
woolly garment of her order, she took
the solemn vow with a joyful voice; lived
with her slender frame in the severest
penance and solitude for thirty-five years;
and died, beloved and admired by all her
sisters of the convent, in the year 1710,
and in the 64th of her age.

J. J. B.

HISTORIC GLEANINGS.

This was certainly an intimation that might be considered as conclusive, and La Vallière determined to withdraw altogether from the court. The wily Montespan, however, deemed it to her advantage that she should remain, and History is philosophy, teaching by example.one friendly word of Louis persuaded her to all.

Day after day, passed in sorrow and weeping, soon destroyed the health of the poor sufferer, and she began to sink under the weight of a gloomy melancholy. Incapable of remaining any longer in the neighbourhood of the court, she again sought refuge in the convent. But even here the insatiable pride of her rival granted her no rest. The king, who had been persuaded that this sudden disappearance would create a bad impression abroad, sent some of the most influential of his courtiers to bring her back. But this time in vain! He at last wrote to her with his own hands, and La Vallière returned.

--

In the meantime, after many roundabout ways, Louis gained his object with Montespan. His example was soon followed by the whole court; every one spoke and dreamt of amours and intrigues. La Vallière, who had always been of a religious turn, considered that duty now required of her, what she had hitherto done solely from despair. After due deliberation she again escaped to the convent of Chaillot; and her resolution was taken, to atone for her supposed sins as a nun of the severest Carmelite order.

At the king's earnest request she returned once more to the court; but neither request nor entreaty could prevail on her stay. The laws of religion would not allow too lively representations to be made, to withhold from the holy order a treasure, which now seemed to belong to it from an inward call. La Valliere became novice.

Lord Bolingbroke

THE MOCK KING.

THE following interesting particulars are taken from Mr. Riddell's legal and historical tracts, the publication of which must prove a rare treat to the antiquary.

*

*

"One of the most atrocious actions in the reign of Richard II., was the murder of his uncle, the Duke of Gloucester, chiefly perpetrated by William Serle, a servant and yeoman of the robes to the king-one of those creatures, in whose society the monarch, who was fond of low company, occasionally demeaned himself. Serle, along with Fraunceys, yeoman of the chamber to the Earl of Rutland, suffocated the Prince, by throwing a feather-bed upon him, which they pressed with the full weight of their bodies, until he was bereaved of existence. He, Serle, was a man of the most depraved character, and, according to Walsingham, a cotemporary, an object of execration to the whole kingdom. With Richard's secrets, habits, and manners, no one could be better acquainted -a circumstance, as will be afterwards seen, of which he did not fail to avail himself. He had at one time or other contrived to steal Richard's signet, so that, with the addition of a little forgery and address, he was well able to impose upon people by means of suppositious letters from the Prince. When Richard's catastrophe happened, a total reverse, of course, followed in his fortunes-his previous dependence upon Richard, so far from benefiting him, made him unpopular, and an object of distrust; and

finally, the apprehension of Hall, a party in Gloucester's murder, but not so guilty as himself, with his full confession of all the particulars, rendered a stay in England no longer safe, and he, therefore, wisely lost no time in escaping to France.

"In this manner, a wretched outcast, without certain means of livelihood, it is not to be supposed that a man so unprincipled, and capable of any act, would allow his peculiar talents to remain unexercised. Not only his own interest, but a natural thirst of revenge, would tempt him to devise projects that might disturb the present order of things; and accordingly, we find him identified—and this, it is conceived, is a circumstance of great importance, with the very first notice that is preserved of the Scottish Richard. It is proved by two English documents, in June 1402, that there was then in Scotland, a person bearing a kind of resemblance to Richard, and that Serle was with him, who, it is further stated, was making due preparations for his hostile ingress into England. At the same time, it is instructed by other authorities, that Serle had dispatched letters to persons in that country intimating that Richard II. was alive, and about to proceed to England for the recovery of his crown. Of the means he possessed to do so, there can be no doubt, owing to the circumstances stated of his theft of Richard's signet, which Walsingham expressly informs us he used; and we thus discover the origin of the next imposture, attempted through the medium of an entirely new party, to personify Richard. * *

"From what has been detailed, there is much reason to believe that Serle, restless and discontented in his exile, was the exclusive author of the new design, so well adapted to his means and resources, and the most likely method by which he could restore his fallen fortunes. He therefore, it is conceived, proceeded from France to Scotland, in company with the puppet who has been mentioned, and by means of their joint agency, although principally by Serle's, the rumour that Richard was still alive, and had fled to the latter country, came first to be circulated.

"The Scottish nation would be the last either to check or deaden an attempt that might, in an emergency, be useful to them, and therefore it is not to be wondered at that letters from Serle, who had the best means of judging in such a case, with others forged by him in the name of Richard, containing the very

impression of his seal, had considerable success in England, and induced those to whom they were addressed, to believe in his survival. The juncture, too, was not unfavourable; the beginning of a usurpation, like Henry the Fourth's, is liable to plots and intrigues of all kinds—there were persons dissatisfied with the rewards by which their services were requited, and the natural fickleness of the English inclined them to innovation. Yet it is remarkable that the intelligence did not produce the great excitement that might have been expected; although generally discussed, it chiefly found favour among the vulgar, and the friends and partizans of Richard II., as might equally have happened in the case of any favourable rumour. Mr. Tytler lays much stress upon the Countess of Oxford having given it her countenance,—but was she not, it may be asked, the most likely person in the world to do so—t -the mother of the minion Oxford, a relative of Richard, whom that monarch had, in a manner, raised to the rank of a prince, under the titles of Duke of Ireland, Marquis of Dublin, &c.—whom he had loaded with rewards and benefits of all kinds, and for whose sake he had sacrificed his own popularity, and sunk himself in the esteem of the nation. She is a partial testimony in the strictest sense, and would evidently have grasped at any straw that might have favoured the delusion. * * *

"The year 1402 seems to have been the time when the rumour of Richard's survival, countenanced by the Scots, made the greatest sensation; in 1403 we hear but little of it; and, in 1404, the political atmosphere improving, Henry IV. was induced to grant a general pardon to all state offenders, but from this act of clemency he specially excepts

William Serle,' and 'THOMAS WARDE de Trumpington que se pretende et feigne d'estre Roy Richard.' The pardon, under the same exception, obtained the sanction of parliament, and, in consequence, the parties in question were notoriously attainted and outlawed.

"The person last mentioned was no other than the Scottish, or pseudoRichard, an Englishman by birth, and, as will be afterwards seen, the owner of a pendicle of land, with whose name, and identical connexion with the act of imposture, we are in this manner presented. His being conjoined with Serle upon the occasion, while equally excepted from the pardon, evidently shews that they were implicated in the same crime, and

this, with Warde being expressly said to have personified Richard, clearly identify him with the previous phantom of royalty in 1402-who, as has been proved, had then attempted the same thing, and was instigated and assisted by the former. The conclusion the more inevitable follows, from its appearing by no authority, and never having been maintained, that after Maudelaine's imposture there was more than one supposed Richard."

Serle was finally taken by Sir William Clifford, governor of Berwick, and sent to London, where he was "drawen and hanged."

A MODERN BRUTUS. (From the French.}

It was in the summer of 1819, that the incident occurred which I am about to relate, and which agitated all that part of France which was the scene of its enactment. I was studying the antiquities of Rouen, that beautiful city, on which the character of the middle ages is so deeply imprinted. I had already surveyed and admired its wonderful cathedral, its castles, its fountains, and its venerable crosses, when I found myself, one morning, before the hall of justice. Crowds were flocking to it from every quarter, the expression of whose eager faces seemed to announce the expectation of some deeply interesting judicial drama. The doors were not yet opened, and I awaited patiently the moment which should give entrance to the multitude, and leave me to the uninterrupted enjoyment of my antiquarian researches, and of the reflections on the past, which they should call up in my mind.

It came at length, and I was left in solitude. Hours were passed in wandering from one interesting relic to another -examining, verifying, and comparing -recalling the scenes and incidents of ancient days, and contrasting them with what now existed around me; when my attention was awakened by the animated looks and gestures of two advocates, who had halted at the foot of the great staircase, and from time to time directed their eyes toward the hall of justice, as if anxiously awaiting the result of some important trial. They approached me, and the loud tone of their conversation, made me involuntarily acquainted with its subject: it was the judgment of a father, the murderer of his only son. My curiosity was aroused, and, yielding to its impulse, I drew near the speakers, who saluted me with cour

tesy, and readily obliged me with the following narration.

"Arnaud Magnier, who is at this moment under trial, is a retired veteran, whose spirit is as loyal and true to honour, as his temper is quick and violent. He had an only son, a young man of about nineteen, who, inheriting the energetic character, without the rectitude of his father, early became the slave of corrupt and degrading passions. Frequent complaints had been laid before the old man, of his son's excesses, and more than once he had inflicted upon him severe punishment; which, so far from working a reformation, only seemed to harden the spirit of the incorrigible offender. One evening, Magnier received a visit from an old and valued friend, M. Duval, the proprietor of an extensive manufactory at some distance from the city, who had accepted the invitation of his ancient comrade, with the intention of returning home at night.

"Edward, the son, who had for some time apparently renounced his dissipated and licentious habits, was present, and cheerfully aided his father in fulfilling the duties of hospitality. The cheerful glass and merry jest went round, and the flight of time was unheeded, until at length the eyes of M. Duval chanced to fall upon the mantel-clock, which indicated the hour of eleven; he arose hastily, and, resisting the entreaties of his friend to pass the remainder of the night under his roof, fastened on his belt, from which the clink of gold was distinctly heard, mounted his horse, and set off for home.

"He had proceeded nearly half a mile, and was about entering a little wood, through which the road was carried, when suddenly, at the termination of a glade, conspicuously lighted by the moon-beams, he saw approaching him a man whose face was blackened, and whose movements indicated a hostile purpose. The merchant drew a pistol from his holster, and giving his steed the spur, quickly found himself confronted by the stranger.

"If you would save your life, give up your purse!' exclaimed the latter, in a hoarse and apparently assumed voice, presenting a pistol in each hand. M. Duval had his finger upon the trigger of his own, and was on the point of firing, when a sudden thought appeared to strike him, and he dropped his hand.

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My purse!' he replied; 'take it-there it is;' and he detached his belt, and placed it in the hand of the robber. The unknown turned, and was quickly out of

sight; while the merchant resumed his journey, buried in thought, and allowing the bridle to hang loose upon the neck of his horse, whose pace gradually dwindled to a walk, without appearing to attract the notice of the rider.

"Thus he continued to proceed for nearly half an hour, when raising his head, like one who has arrived at a conclusion, M. Duval suddenly checked his horse, and turning the rein, set off at a full gallop on his way back to the place from whence he had come. He drew up in the suburbs of the city, near the house of his friend, left the horse at an inn, and proceeded to the gate, which opened upon the garden at the back of Magnier's dwelling. He entered, and advancing with cautious steps to the window of the veteran's sleeping apartment, which was upon the ground floor, tapped gently against the glass. The signal was heard, and M. Duval speedily admitted. 'My friend,' said he to the old man, who was impatient to know the cause of his quick return, I have been way-laid, and robbed-the voice, the figure, and so far as I could distinguish them under their disguise, the features of the robber struck me they have given rise to a strange thought-I may be deceived, but my conviction is strong-the honour of your house

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"What do your words portend? For heaven's sake, explain.'

"Listen-heavy charges are brought against your son-I hope that my suspicions may be wrong-forgive me-it is my friendship for you'

"In mercy speak out at once-what would you say?'

"Alas, my poor friend; I am forced to suspect'

"Whom? What? That it was he?' "Calm yourself-let us examine quietly, and if possible convince ourselves that it was nothing more than a resemblance

"Come,' exclaimed the old soldier, taking up the lamp, and led the way to the chamber of his son. They entered cautiously, and found him buried in a profound slumber. The old man, whose hand trembled violently, passed the light before his eyes, to assure himself that the sleep was real, and then turned to his friend with a deep sigh, like that of one who is relieved from a terrible suspense. The merchant bent down over the sleeper, and doubt and fear again resumed their sway in the mind of the unhappy father, whose eyes roamed fearfully around the apartment--they rested

at length with horror upon a blackened cloth, a pair of pistols, and the leathern belt which the robber had imperfectly concealed beneath his pillow.

"Still this proves nothing,' exclaimed the merchant, who shuddered at beholding the ghastly workings of the old man's face; besides, I was on horseback, and how could he overtake me on foot?

"There is a foot-path that is much shorter,' answered the father, with a dreadful look; and if proof were wanting, it is here,' he continued, pointing to the shoes and gaiters of the young man, which were covered with damp mud. M. Duval cast down his eyes without a word.

"And he sleeps,' the old man muttered, while his eyes glowed with a fearful light; then with a desperate hand he grasped one of the pistols, and before the merchant could even move to interrupt his purpose, he lodged its contents in the brain of his guilty son.

"This is the crime upon which the court is now engaged in passing judgment, and it is the result of the trial, that we, and the crowds whom you have seen entering the hall, are so anxiously awaiting."

Just then a multitude of people hurried down the staircase, and amid the confusion of voices that broke upon my ear, I heard frequently repeated the words "banishment for life." J. G. W.

NOTICE OF NEW BOOKS.

TRAITS AND TRADITIONS OF PORTUGAL.

Miss Pardoe's "Traits and Traditions of Portugal" is rather an amusing book, though it does not deserve half the praise which has, with more gallantry than justice, been liberally bestowed on it. Ladies generally make good travellers; they notice a thousand little peculiarities which escape our duller optics, and are gossiping, graphic, and lively in description. In the work before us, the authoress is much more entertaining when she gives us her own observations and impressions, than when she dresses up old traditions, with the unfailing accompaniments of haughty marquezes, cowled monks, tender-hearted beauties, cloaks, guitars, serenades, and stilettos, though we must admit that some of these tales display considerable power of language. The work is disfigured, both to the eye and the taste, by one vile affectationthe continual use of Portuguese expres

sions. Why give such every-day words as cloak, jacket, broom, looking-glass, etc., in the original, with the translation officiously waiting for us, in the shape of a note, at the foot of the page? If done to shew the world her acquaintance with the language, it is bad policy, for such an unnecessary display is always, and justly, looked upon as the ostentation of a smatterer. He who is master of a foreign language, will fastidiously avoid such a barbarous medley. We will not, however, part with our authoress in a bad humour. Many of her sketches are light and pleasing; and she tells some curious anecdotes of Portuguese manners and customs. As a specimen of the manner in which they manage those interesting matters, courtship and marriage, the following extract will shew.

COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE.

"We arrived in town just in time to accompany the rector to the parishchurch, to witness the ceremonial of a Portuguese wedding. When we entered, the bride-elect was on her knees between her two bride-maids; all three were dressed in black silk, and wore large cloaks with the hoods drawn over their heads, and long black veils beneath them. The youngest lady of the party sported a pair of white cotton stockings, and pale blue satin shoes, which was the only attempt at finery amongst them. The bridegroom wore a cloak of brown cloth, with gilt buttons on the shoulders. I never saw a more anti-bridal costume.

"As we entered the church, each of the gentlemen was presented with a long wax candle, ornamented with painted flowers and gold leaf, which he held lighted during the whole of the ceremony. The matrimonial rites were very simple: the contracting parties followed the rector to the extreme end of the aisle, close to the door of entrance-a short prayer was read-the lady repeated a few Latin sentences after the priest and the gentleman followed her example -one hand of each, during this portion of the ceremony, being covered up, clasped together in the surplice of the priest; these, at the conclusion of what we supposed to be the mutual vow of acceptance, he sprinkled with holy water; the ladies then knelt down at the church door, while the bridegroom and his friends followed the rector to the altar, where they remained for about two minutes, when the bridegroom very deliberately walked out of the church, followed by his two companions, scatter

ing sweetmeats as they went, to a crowd of dirty children, who thronged the entrance and thus he made his exit in a manner as anti-bridal as his costume, leaving the ladies to follow as they might!-and these people, we were told, were highly respectable, and tolerably wealthy.

"It is not only possible, but extremely probable, that this couple had never exchanged a word in their lives; it being considered in Portugal, as the height of indecorum, even for an accepted lover to visit at the house of his mistress, save in the lower ranks, where convenience is the step-dame of custom.

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"As a proof of this fact, I will adduce the instance of a family on which (on return from Coimbra) we were quartered, at the town of Villa Franca. The head of the house was a widower, and the father of four daughters; the elder of whom was married to an attorney, the other three being still resident under the paternal roof. They were the least attractive specimens of "le sexe" that I ever remember to have seen, with the same advantages of station and respectability. Daniel Lambert, en jupon, would scarcely have exceeded the elder in weight and circumference; the second was like a leaf of dried tobacco, as long, as thin, and as uninteresting; and the other had a form like a feather pillow, and a face like a sheep!

"The centre grace was a bride-elect; and in a fit of extreme courtesy, she one day asked me if I should like to see her lover. Of course, I expressed a becoming anxiety on the subject, and I was desired to hold myself in readiness at six o'clock that evening. I confess that I was somewhat curious to see the suitor of such a mistress; and I accordingly promised to be punctual. Six o'clock came, and I was astonished, on walking into the apartment usually occupied by the family, to find the fair one alone; who, having embraced me, led me to a chair on the balcony, and established herself as my vis-a-vis. She then carefully drew the venetian blind over the balcony, leaving us visible only from the two extremities of the said screen. was perfectly enigmatical to me, and I began to apprehend that I was to have the honour and happiness of being number three, and, consequently, une de trop! in a thorough love-scene; with this before my eyes, I ventured to inquire whether we should not be more conveniently situated in the room than the balcony; but the lady looked astonished, as she

All this ceremony

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