the Tartars, however, come into China, and drink fine tea out of porcelain cups, they lose their distinctive character in a very short time, and behave as if to the manner born. So far from conquering China, as is commonly supposed, they yielded to its tea. They annexed their vast territory to the empire, and while nominally reigning, submitted to the government, laws, and customs of the country-in fact, became Chinese. they permit a farther supply of the manufactured bricks, and in this form sent into the desert. When article from China. The Japanese are therefore polite and refined recluses. Every individual among them is taught reading, writing, and the history of his own country; but all beyond the lowest classes go through a regular educational curriculum for many years. The girls, in addition to literary instruction, are taught needlework, useful and ornamental, and the discharge of household duties. Morning calls and dinners are as common as in Europe, but more especially grand teadrinkings, at which the matrons amuse themselves with ornamental work, and the others with singing and dancing. 'Chess and draughts,' says a recent work, are the sedentary games; but when forfeits are introduced, the polite, dignified, and gorgeously-dressed company throw ceremony out of the window, become rank philosophers on a sudden, and play with might and main like so many boys and girls.* There is no country in the world where tea leads more directly than in Japan to the study of the comforts and elegancies of society. The exhibition of porcelain and lacquered ware is magnificent; but in the ornaments or rather the ornament of the room, there are displayed a taste and refinement that are absolutely unique. There can hardly be said to be anything we would call furniture, the carpet serving for chair, table, sofa, and bed, in one. Neither are there jars, statuettes, or nicknacks suitable for an old curiosity-shop; but in a recess, at one end of the drawing-room, stands a single picture, with a vase of flowers before it; and this picture being always changed to suit the peculiar occasion, addresses itself in a direct manner to the hearts and imaginations of the guests. Rural parties and water excursions are another grand resource of the polite hermits. The rivers, the lakes, the innumerable bays of the coast, are thronged with gilded barges, which lie mute and motionless under some shady bank during the heat of the day, but when the bland evening comes, shoot like stars through the water, tracked by many-coloured lanterns, and the silvery laugh and buoyant songs of women.' In a state of society like this, it need hardly be mentioned that the theatre is a principal source of amusement; although there the ladies are themselves the principal performers, being accompanied to the boxes by their attendants loaded with dresses, the effect of which they pass their time in trying upon the audience. It is only necessary to add, that the Japanese are fond of poetry, and that tea-drinking gives rise there, as elsewhere, to abundance of love-making. The following verses, extracted from the book referred to, but coming to us through the medium of a Dutch translation, would pass very well in an English annual. They are supposed to proceed from a young lady who has set her heart upon an inferior in station-for there is nothing more dreaded, or more dreadful, in Japan, than a mésalliance : To hear thy deep but gentle voice, Tea has not as yet made much impression upon the *The British World in the East. The fine tea of China passes through the Mongolian desert, and is delivered to the Russians at the southern frontier of Siberia. Here a couple of posts mark the boundaries of the two great empires, with the little town of Kiahkta on the Russian side, and that of Maimai-tchin on the Chinese. The tea travels through the whole breadth of Siberia, and at length arriving in Europe, is distributed at the fair of Nishni. This lengthened land transit adds so heavily to the price, that only the wealthy in Russia can afford to drink it. The article is not to be seen on any respectable table at a less cost than half-a-guinea a pound, and I have myself partaken of tea in Moscow which cost twice that sum. The consequence is, that only the noble and mercantile class drink it, while the peasants, or great body of the people, flood themselves with the abominable small-beer called quass, or brutalise themselves with votki, the Russian gin. Tea civilises, so far as it goes, the mercantile class; but hemmed in as they are by the nobles on one side, and the serfs on the other (for all three are castes as inexorable as those of India), | they cannot be expected to receive its full benefit. Still, the merchants are an amiable, good-natured tribe, and their wives and daughters are decidedly ladylike, and dressed in magnificent silks and satins. They have a great value for tea, and pride themselves on its quality. I remember having the pleasure of falling in once with a Russian merchant-a princely-looking fellow, in his fine beard and flowing kaftan-who scorned the tea we met with at the roadside inns, and invariably made use of his own private store, sharing it liberally with his fellow-travellers. As for the nobles, they drink so copiously of other beverages, that it is hard to distinguish the effect of tea upon them. The quantity of French champagne they consume is almost incredible, although they have an excellent champagne of their own, made in the Caucasian provinces, at little more than a third of the price. In another direction the tea of China finds its way into the empire of Annam, Siam, and the adjacent countries. The Cochin - Chinese have already begun to shake off their Oriental apathy, and purchase steamvessels; but as yet the farther races have only received i the civilising beverage concentrated in the form of lozenges, which they melt into tea. Indeed, in some parts of the Burman empire, the animals use it as a kind of pickle preserved in oil; just as in the Highlands at home, it was at first looked upon as a culinary vegetable, and presented at table in the form of greens. Tea has hitherto done little or nothing for the neighbouring Archipelago; but in Australia beyond, its operation is distinctly visible. In a former paper, I described the dreadful state of intemperance in which our settlements in that valuable country grew up, and which was in a great degree attributable to the monstrous practice of government paying its labourers in spirits. Since this was discontinued, and tea introduced in greater quantities, a remarkable change has taken place. The cheap luxury (for it is not burdened with the duties it bears at home) carries comfort and refinement into places which before were distinguished only for the squalor and bru- Tea was hardly known at all in this country till after the middle of the seventeenth century. We at first received it in trifling quantities, through the medium of the Dutch East India Company; and it seems to have been classed commercially with intoxicating drinks, a duty of eightpence per gallon being imposed on the decoction. In 1689, this mode of rating was discontinued, and a duty of five shillings per pound charged on the leaves. In 1711, the quantity returned for home consumption in Great Britain was 142,000 pounds; in 1786, it was 14,000,000 pounds; and before the end of the century, it had reached 20,000,000. At present, we require an annual supply averaging 35,000,000 pounds. Russia consumes about 9,000,000 pounds; Holland 3,000,000 pounds; Germany 2,000,000; and the United States 16,000,000 pounds a-year. The consumption of France and Italy is not worth mentioning: so that Great Britain drinks considerably more tea than all the rest of the western hemisphere together. A story is told of our gigantic neighbour, the western metropolis of Scotland, which illustrates amusingly, and with but little exaggeration, the state of manners in that city within the recollection of us middle-aged men. An Edinburgh gentleman, then young, and not yet sixty, being at dinner with a merchant of Glasgow, and finding the company inclined to sit longer over their wine than he liked, rose from table without ceremony, and made his way up stairs to the drawing-room, to take a cup of tea with his hostess. The large and elegant room was almost dark, for only a single candle burned on the table, and Mrs was alone, and sat cowering over the fire. When the visitor entered, the lady started up in some alarm, and rang the bell. Presently recognising the intruder, she apologised, by telling him that he was the first person during her married life, now of some years' duration, who had entered her drawing-room after dinner! Glasgow, I need hardly say, is now in this respect like other places; and, in fact, the change in the manners of the country at large is quite as striking. The gentlemen never fail to take tea, and for that reason they never fail to enter the drawing-room in a state of gentlemanly sobriety. I may be told that it is not the tea that has effected this, but that other influences have driven them to tea. Be it so. But I must still be permitted to think it odd that such influences should always exist in connection with tea, and that tea throughout the world should be found to accompany civilisation. I have a strong notion that the atrocities of the French Revolution were owing to the want of tea; and likewise that the kennels of Paris, during the three famous days of July, ran wine as well as blood. The Italian states would at this moment be greatly the better of settling their new constitutions over a cup of tea; and by the aid of the same elixir, It would not be easy to trace, in a direct manner, the Austria would be sure to see at once the absurdity of her operation of this new agent in civilisation; for tea does pretensions. A few million pounds of tea thrown into its spiriting gently. It is no vulgar conjurer, whose aim Switzerland (and paid for by the sale of the arms and it is to make people stare. It insinuates itself into the ammunition of the belligerents), would greatly facilitate mind, stimulates the imagination, disarms the thoughts the work of mediation. In Germany, I would recomof their coarseness, and brings up dancing to the sur-mend the Protestants and Catholics to empty their face a thousand beautiful and enlivening ideas. It is a bond of family love; it is the ally of woman in the work of refinement; it throws down the conventional But if Great Britain is so large a consumer of tea, barrier between the two sexes, taming the rude strength why do crime and ignorance still prevail among the of the one, and ennobling the graceful weakness of the body of the people? Because the poorer classes still other. At the dinner-table, there is something repul- drink bad tea, imitation tea, or no tea at all. The tea sive in the idea that we are met for the purpose of that is sold in bond at tenpence pays a duty of two shilsatisfying the animal necessities of our nature; and our lings and a penny, while the tea which is sold in bond attempts to gild over this awkwardness by a gorgeous at several shillings pays no more. Thus the poor are display of plate, crystal, and porcelain, only serve to charged at least three times more, according to value, superinduce an air of stiffness and formality. At the than the rich. This fact would be almost incredible; tea-table, on the other hand, although one may likewise but the duty on paper presents quite as wild an anoeat, he does so without the gross sensation of hunger, maly. The publishers of an expensive book, with a while he who has no appetite at all, is spared the smell circulation of 500 or 750 copies, pay a few halfpence of of smoking viands. In drinking, his excitement is duty on the paper per copy, while the publishers of a seen, not in the flushed face, extravagant laugh, and cheap publication, which could only exist through a confused ratiocination, but in an unconscious buoyancy circulation of scores of thousands, are mulcted by goof spirits, a rapid but clear flow of ideas, and a kindli-vernment in the greater part of their entire profits! ness, amounting to warmth of regard, for all around him. Tea, however, philosophically considered, is merely a rival of alcohol. The desire for an agreeable and exhilarating drink is natural to man, for it exists in all states of society; and the new beverage, gratifying the taste, as it does, without injuring the health or maddening the brain, must be considered a blessing to the human race. We are apt to look with disgust at such statistics as I have ventured to introduce, though sparingly, into this article; but if we consider the moral consequences attending the consumption of a few additional million pounds of tea, the arithmetical figures will be invested with more than romantic interest. filthy beer casks into the Rhine, and hold a general tea-drinking for the settlement of their disputes. The consequence as regards tea is, that the consumption, though immense, is really restricted, as is proved by the great quantities of adulterated or imitative tea constantly in the market; that the horrible massacres perpetrated by the English in China, for the sake of trade, have been in vain, since tea is the only Chinese staple capable of unlimited extension; and that an almost insurmountable obstacle is opposed to the complete triumph of temperance at home, by the virtual denial of the genuine beverage to those classes which most require its civilising influence. With regard to paper, the duty has little or no effect upon expensive publications, but it closes in a great measure the door of legitimate speculation against those who, in pursuing business, would fain strive to enlighten the masses of their fel low-countrymen; while it induces persons of an opposite character to pander to vice and folly, in order to secure that enormous circulation without which a cheap publication could not exist. There is a connection between the two subjects which I would fain enter upon, if I had left myself room; but any one may see that tea and literature are the two great agents of civilisation, and that it is the duty of all good citizens to insist upon the free circulation of both. GENEVIÈVE GALLIOT. THE name of Louis Stanislaus de Bourbon, Prince de Lamballe, is familiar to our ears as a household word, in consequence of the untimely end of his beautiful and noble-minded widow, who was one of the earliest victims of revolutionary fury in France; but the personal history of the prince is comparatively unknown, although some of its details are so romantic, as to merit at least a share of our passing interest. He was the only son of the Duke de Penthièvre, a nobleman whose rare and distinguished virtues made him worthy of the illustrious name he bore, and whose blood now flows in the veins of the royal family of France, through the union of his only daughter with that Duke of Orleans who, at a later period, became so painfully conspicuous in the annals of his country. The Duke de Penthièvre, during the greater part of his life, was united in the closest bonds of friendship with a lady, who, by her kindred qualities, fully merited the esteem of so excellent a man; nor was the Marquise de Créquy (the lady alluded to) less beloved by the duke's children, both of whom were wont occasionally to address her by the name of mother. It is from her pen that we gather the following details of the Prince de Lamballe's early love and its unhappy results. She tells us in her memoirs, that the artist Greuze having brought her some of his paintings to look at, she observed amongst them the portrait of a young girl, whose beauty was so naïve, and yet of so elevated a cast, that she desired to purchase it for her oratory, as a type of ascetic loveliness. Greuze, however, declined selling it to her, and excused himself by saying that it belonged to an eminent individual, for whom it had been expressly done, so that it was no longer his property; but the Duke de Penthièvre happening to enter at the moment, intreated the artist with such persevering courtesy to make a copy of the painting for him, that before a fortnight had elapsed, this angelic image was placed in Madame de Créquy's apartment, as a cadeau from her friend. Before fixing it in her oratory, she resolved to leave it for a while in her saloon, that others might share in the admiration with which she viewed this beautiful portrait. 'Two or three days afterwards,' she writes, "I was reading in my oratory, when a visitor was announced, whom I understood to be the Marquis de Pombal. After a few minutes' delay, I entered my saloon, and found there, not the Portuguese ambassador, but the Prince de Lamballe, who was standing before my cherished picture, upon which he gazed with so strange an expression. "Dear mamma, who gave you this portrait? How does it happen to be here?" "It was given to me by the Duke de Penthièvre, monseigneur." 66 By my father! Is it my father?" and in another moment he fell senseless at my feet. 'His swoon terminated in a violent hæmorrhage, which left him in a state of utter exhaustion. As he wished to pass the remainder of the day with me, I refused admittance to all other visitors, and did my best to comfort and reassure him. Poor young man! I loved him as if he were my own son. In the course of the evening, he confided to me the following details : "You know that my childhood and early youth were chiefly spent at my father's château d'Armst, whose neighbourhood was full of charms for me, because of the boyish freedom I enjoyed there. Many a time I escaped from my tutor, and wandered alone through our wide Vexin forests. There I would sit dreaming away my midday hours on the banks of some shady rivulet, or go and eat brown bread and milk with the dwellers in some lonely cottage. Or perhaps I would follow to the grave a peasant's funeral cortège, or go and say my evening prayers with the hermit of Chesnaye. "One day I overheard my father saying to the Abbé de Florian, Let him alone, and do not torment him, or else he may perhaps go so far away that we shall not know where to find him. He seems impelled by a spirit of restlessness, which he does not know how to repress; but he never makes a bad use of his liberty-so watch him, my dear abbé, but do not, I pray you, punish him.' 66 I was about twelve or thirteen when these words of my father met my car, and they were uttered in that tender and affectionate tone with which you are so well acquainted. I was smitten with sorrow for having disquieted so good a father; my rambles became less frequent; and I never indulged my passion for freedom, without lamenting it afterwards as a sort of lesser crime towards him. 66 On my way home one summer's evening from an excursion of this kind, I paused a while on the summit of a craggy rock, just outside the bounds of our park, to gaze at the setting sun. At the same moment there passed close to me a charming little girl, who was leading along a goat. She was not strong enough to control its movements, and yet would not relinquish her hold of the rope, by which she was endeavouring to guide it; so that the animal dragged her among the rocks, where she fell down bruised and wounded. I ran to her assistance, and wiped her bleeding forehead with my handkerchief; but even in the midst of her tears, she smiled sweetly upon me, and assured me with the most silvery voice that it was nothing-nothing at all. I insisted on leading the stubborn goat home, and the rope breaking, I untied my scarf, fringed with gold, and fastening it around the creature's neck, was bearing off my prize in triumph, when I met my father on horseback with a numerous retinue. At first I felt confused at the rencontre, but told him simply all that had passed. My father desired one of his gentlemen to accompany me. I will not scold you to-day,' said he smiling. 'Monsieur de Fenelon was far your superior, and I have seen him, in his episcopal habit, driving home a cow which had escaped from the stable of a poor widow. Go! my son.' "The little girl had stood timidly at a distance all this while, so that she heard not a word of our conversation. The mother of Geneviève Galliot was suffering from a pulmonary complaint. Poor young woman!.. She was the widow of a carter on one of our farms, and her husband had been gored to death by a bull. He was spoken of among his neighbours as a worthy good fellow, and one of the finest young men in the principality. The widow of Remy Galliot had no earthly possessions save her cottage, a small garden stocked with fruit-trees, some hives, and an acre of land sown with barley and rye. She would have gained a livelihood for herself and her daughter with her distaff, but that her illness incapacitated her from working.... Pardon all these little details concerning Geneviève's family, and do not be surprised, dear madame, at my dwelling on them. The merest trifles, you know, become important when they concern those we love. "I told Baudesson, our gentleman, that I was weary, and that if he would go and order my carriage, I would meet him at the end of the lane leading to Fresnoy-so was the little hamlet called wherein stood the Widow Galliot's cottage. As soon as Baudesson was gone, I presented to Geneviève's mother the only louis-d'or I had about me, telling her (from an instinct of respectful love to her daughter) that my own mother had sent it to her, and that she would take care she should want for nothing during her illness. After invoking many blessings on our heads, she inquired who was my mother. This simple question filled me with perplexity. I felt that the answer to it might raise an insuperable barrier between these poor people and me; so I replied, with some embarrassment, that my mother's name was Madène, whereon the invalid rejoined languidly, There are so many gentlefolk in these parts whom we know nothing about!" The young girl thanked me with an expression of grateful friendliness that filled me with joy. "Geneviève Galliot came daily, as was her wont, to the Thymerale rocks in quest of pasturage for her goat; and a day rarely passed throughout the summer without my meeting her there. We used to make rustic bowers among the interwoven branches of the trees, and would weave garlands of wild flowers, or pluck nosegays of them for each other. One day, while giving Geneviève money for her mother, I told her that her present should be a gold cross. 'With a silver heart?' inquired she in a tone of innocent delight. 'With a gold heart like the cross!.... I love thee so much, my Geneviève, that I would gladly give thee all I have, or ever hope to have!' 'And so would I too, Monsieur Louis..... But I have nothing to offer you,' continued she, with an air of sadness, and yet of gentle, trustful resignation. "I remember one day her bringing me a bunch of pale-yellow primroses, which she had gathered in the hedges for me. I have always preserved this nosegay: it is in a casket where I keep all that is most precious to me a prayer written by St Louis; a letter of our ancestor's, Henry IV.; a relic of the true cross; a pearl bracelet of my mother's, with her picture; and the primroses of my poor little friend, my first friend, my sweet Geneviève! "One day towards the end of October she did not come to the rocks, where I waited in vain for her till evening. I returned home in a state of feverish excitement, undressed myself as usual, and let my two valets-de-garderobe retire, under the impression that I was going to bed. It was ten o'clock; my parents were absent at Rambouillet; my governor playing at trictrac in a distant apartment with the Abbé Florian; so that I resolved to open my window, and to escape out of it in quest of Geneviève. This was speedily accomplished, and in a few minutes I found myself beyond the limits of the park, and bounding over the Thymerale rocks like a young roe. I soon found myself close to the low hedge which separated the Widow Galliot's garden from the road. I stood there about half an hour, with my eyes fixed upon the door of the cottage. I did not dare to approach it; but I knew that she was there-that I was near her; and the painful, troubled feelings that had oppressed me, were stilled: and truly I had need of this inward repose, for the heart of a man had beat within my boyish breast, and its power was too mighty for my frame.... It seemed as if nothing more were wanting to my happiness than to watch there until the morning, when she assuredly would come forth and relieve my anxiety. "After a while, however, the door was opened, and an aged woman, holding in her hand a small lamp, came out. She approached the hedge, cut off the slender twig from a tree close to which I was standing, and returned to the house. Some strange indefinite fear took possession of my soul. I followed her into the cottage. Geneviève was kneeling by the bedside of her mother, to whom the old curate of Rouvres was administering extreme unction. I knelt down by her side, but she seemed scarcely sensible of my presence. Her eyes were mournfully fixed upon her dying mother. The good old priest began the prayers for the dying, and while he was pronouncing the last solemn absolution, the spirit fled from its earthly tenement. 'Depart Christian soul! return to thy Creator,' were the old man's closing words; to which I responded a hearty amen! The curate, who had not before observed me, turned his head and exclaimed, 'Is it you, monseigneur?' Yes, good sir, it is I;' and pressing his hand cordially, I begged of him not to leave Geneviève in this house of mourning, but to take her home with him, and that I Would pay all her expenses. "This charitable pastor at once accepted the charge, adding, however, that he would accept of no remuneration for his care of the orphan; thanking me the while for having suggested to him a duty, which otherwise he might not have thought of fulfilling. 66 Geneviève smiled gratefully upon me in the midst of her tears. She did not seem either surprised or pleased on hearing of my high rank: she had always known me to be a gentleman, and my title of prince did not appear a whit more exalted in her eyes. "She was so anxious to remain near her mother's body, that there was some difficulty in prevailing on her to leave the cottage; but I expressed my desire for her removal with so much gravity and decision, that she yielded the point at once; looking at me, however, with an air of astonishment, as if struck by the difference in my tone and manner from what she had previously been accustomed to. A revolution had, in fact, taken place in my existence: I had the charge of Geneviève, and although only fifteen years old, I was become a man; one who must exercise his own will, and form his own plans; and from that moment I have never had a single childish thought. "The curate being obliged to visit a sick person at the other end of his parish, Geneviève departed under the care of the old woman, and I was left alone with the pale and lifeless body of her mother. I attempted to pray, but another sacred duty seemed present to me. I knelt by the bedside, and addressing the remains of Susan Galliot, I swore to respect and to watch over her child. I will marry her. Yes! Geneviève Galliot shall be my wife. I swear it in the presence of Him who is your judge and mine.' So saying, I imprinted a filial kiss on the cold hand of the deceased.... And I have kept my word to thee, Susan Galliot; for thy daughter's husband is Louis de Bourbon, Prince de Lamballe and Corentin. Nor do I repent of my choice, for I love all things in my Geneviève, even the inferiority of her birth. All that concerns her family is become dear to me for her sake: you may imagine how dear, when I tell you that I have even removed the ashes of her parents from their humble burial-place, and interred them in the church of Dreux, between the mausoleum of the Duchess Diana and the cenotaph of Henry II. You may infer from thence, madame, how I love and honour my own inestimable Geneviève." 'M. de Lamballe had expected happiness, but he did not find it. It is almost needless to say that his marriage had been a private one. He knew that it would be impossible to gain his father's consent to so unequal an alliance, therefore he resolved to keep his union with Geneviève a profound secret, being painfully anxious not to wound the feelings of so beloved and revered a parent. The lovely Geneviève could not be established in Paris without attracting some degree of public attention, so it was decided that she should live in the country. Accordingly, her husband had purchased a charming little residence near Clamont sous Meudon, not far from his father's château at Suaux Penthièvre, where he contrived to spend as much of his time as possible. 'Madame de Saint Paër (this was the name bestowed on Geneviève, being derived from a fief of the principality of Lamballe)-Madame de Saint Paër began by believing herself happy; and if the fondest love could have secured happiness to her, then she would have been blest indeed. But however poets or romancers may extol the sweetness of stolen pleasures, yet, to a well-constituted mind, they involve more or less the consciousness of guilt, and consequently of fear and disappointment. The prince was obliged, by the duties of his station, to pass much of his time in Paris, and occasionally his visits to Madame de Saint Paër could not be prolonged beyond a few brief minutes. In those days the country posts were irregular and slow in their progress; and among the whole bevy of livery servants at the Hôtel de Penthièvre, there was but one to whom the prince could intrust a letter for his wife. By way of avoiding any unfavourable suspicions concerning his beloved Geneviève, he confided to this man the secret of their union, and also to his brother, who was valet-de-chambre to Madame de Saint Paer. If this confidence was imprudent, it at least indicated a generous and noble heart, willing rather to incur a risk than to injure an innocent and helpless being. 'The gentle Geneviève now found herself too often a solitary being, and many a tedious day passed without her seeing or hearing from her beloved. Disquietude soon succeeded to ennui. A noble and handsome young man! -an irritated father!-a powerful and perhaps vindictive family! What might she not anticipate?.... Tempting offers for him; severities for her; and then desertion -forgetfulness!.... Yes; these were the images which continually floated across her mind, until her life became a prey to tears and melancholy. The prince, during his visits, endeavoured to reassure and console her; but all in vain. Then he grew impatient at her suspicions; and his irritability added tenfold to the burden of her misery. He would occasionally come and pour out in my ear the tale of his sorrows and his difficulties. "Suffer, and be patient," was my advice; "for never are we allowed to despise the obligations and duties of our position with impunity; that is for you, my dear prince; and as for Geneviève, innocent creature, whom you have made me love without knowing her, she too, alas! must suffer, for it is impossible to occupy a false position without disquietude and trouble. But I beseech you to remember that it is you who have brought her into this state of perplexity; for if you had truly loved, you would have carefully avoided her, instead of making her the unfortunate offer of your hand and heart. The fact is, that you are a man, a true man; so you thought of yourself alone, my prince: you believed yourself a generous lover when you married a country girl, whereas you committed only an act of egotism. But do not add to your error by being unjust to her who is the victim of it. I pray you to bear with her fears and complaints, remembering that she is a tender, lonely woman, and has no other earthly stay or counsellor but yourself." About this time it happened, unfortunately, that the Prince de Lamballe, who had for a long while been estranged from his brother-in-law, the Duke of Orleans, was induced to become reconciled to him, and in an evil hour was prevailed upon to share in the Orleans revelries at Mousseux, from whence he was carried home in a state of insensibility, which was followed by so severe an illness, that the Duke de Penthièvre became alarmed for his safety, and came to communicate to me his fears and anxieties. He told me that his son seemed overwhelmed with melancholy, and was continually inquiring for his favourite valet, Champagne, who, like himself, was in a most deplorable state since his return from the banquet at Mousseux, whither he had attended his master, and where, it would appear, they had both partaken of drugged potations. The Duke of Penthièvre added, that his son had received several letters stamped with the post-mark of Suaux, and that the perusal of them seemed greatly to increase his feverish agitation. 'It was very painful to me not to respond to the confidence thus placed in me by my excellent friend; but my lips were sealed by the promise of secrecy imposed on me by his son; so I could only assure him of my truest sympathy, and promise that I would go and visit the young prince on the following day. 'On entering his apartment at the Hôtel de Penthièvre, I found him consumed by the most gloomy sadness. He was too ill to go to Clamont; and Madame de Saint Paër, not having seen him for a fortnight, had written to him in a delirium of jealous agony, saying that she could no longer endure the torments of suspense, and that she would, without delay, come and see him at the Hôtel de Penthièvre!.... He had replied with severity-" Madame, I command you not to come here. My honour is concerned in the matter!" "Ah! what have you done?" cried I. "You are wonderfully careful of your princely honour. But poor Madame de Saint Paër!-methinks you might consider her a little.... And what fearful surmises must your from brain fever, and he was then lying in a lethargic stupor, which alarmed his medical attendants. The duke ended by saying that his door was closed to every one but his daughter and myself. I had scarcely finished reading his note, when the trusty Dupont entered my saloon, telling me, with a disturbed look, that there was in the antechamber an elder brother of Champagne (the Prince de Lamballe's confidential valet), who earnestly desired to see me for a moment on a matter of life or death! 'It was the valet-de-chambre of Madame de Saint Paër, who, bursting into tears, told me that his mistress was poisoned-that he had vainly endeavoured to see the prince-and that, knowing I was his intimate friend, he thought it best to seek an interview with me. "You have done right,” said I to him; and sending off instantly for my surgeon Baudret, before another hour had elapsed, we were at Clamont, by the bedside of Geneviève. Her femme-de-chambre having almost lost her senses from fright, had called in the whole village to her mistress' aid, so that the apartment was filled with a crowd of idle lookers-on. They were a little abashed at my presence, but could not be induced to leave me alone with Madame de Saint Paër, until my servants imposed silence by telling them that I was the Marquise de Créquy, whereupon they submissively retired. "Ah, madame, is it you?.... What excessive goodness!.... Ah, madame!"—and these were the only words to which the lovely Geneviève could give utterance-she whose days I would gladly have prolonged at the expense of my own!.... Alas! it was too late; for the poison was doing its deadly work so effectually, that Baudret told me she could not live beyond seven or eight hours longer, and that her present convulsive state would speedily be followed by one of languid torpor. 'With earnest cries she called for her confessor, the Vicar of Suaux; but he could not be found.... "Your husband," said I to her, "has great confidence in one of the priests of this parish." ... "My husband!" she cried out with a bewildered look. "You know, then, that he is my husband! He told you. Ah, pardon me, merciful God! pardon my crime!... Ah, if I could only have known that he had acknowledged me.... And I have doubted thy goodness, gracious Lord! Oh, pardon my blindness-my want of trustfulness in Thee!" Then turning round to meAlas, madame, can you not get me cured? Or at least do not, I beseech you, let my poor body be buried on the highway! Every one knows I have taken poison. Alas! alas!" 66 My poor child," I replied, "do not let your thoughts dwell on such a painful idea. But rather repent of the great sin, the crime you have committed, and leave the rest in God's hand." "And monseigneur!.... my husband?" "He is as ill as you are." "Ah," said she with a faint gleam of joy upon her pallid countenance-" ah, then, we may soon meet one another again.... Look at these, madame," continued she, presenting to me two letters which had been concealed beneath her pillow; "read them, and judge of my misery." These infamous letters bore the Parisian post-mark, and their contents curdled my blood with horror and indignation. The writer, while addressing "the adorable Madame de Saint Paër" in the most adulatory strain, hinted that a certain young prince, in whom she was deeply interested, was pursuing a most unworthy career; and that she must prepare herself for a speedy rupture with him, as he was about to form an alliance with one of the princesses of the royal family. Too well I could guess the quarter from whence this tale of calumny had sprung; but Geneviève, ignorant of the world and its wicked devices, almost a child in years, passionately attached to her husband, and left alone without friend or counsellor, had been crushed by the weight of miserTwo days afterwards, the Duke de Penthièvre wrote to able thoughts which beset her; and on receiving the tell me that he could not call at my hotel, because the prince's severe letter (already alluded to), her reason gave state of his son's health required his unceasing watchful-way, and she swallowed the deadly draught which was The prince had, during the preceding day, suffered now consuming her vital powers. conduct excite in her mind!" 'At this moment we were interrupted by the entrance of the Duchess of Bourbon, and soon afterwards I returned home, oppressed by the forebodings of coming wo. ness. |