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journey, turning her head away-it was so hard | River Spirit ; " yet your fate is happier than his to leave Eisenheim for the last time. Her old who passed you by.” neighbours met her in the familiar path, and “It cannot be," said Liuchen, passionately; bowed low as they made way for the stately “nor is it love of life, nor fear of death, that lady; but none recognized Liuchen, or guessed makes mine so hard. It is because he will the sorrow that was gnawing at her heart as she never know how closely we once stood together, walked among her friends friendless and for- nor how bright the rose was, which should have saken.

blossomed beside his own." Morning came and found her sitting on the "He knows already,” replied the River Spirit. little bridge, over which she had passed the “From the hour when the bride's jewels first time on her way to the woods, with a faint crumbled to ashes under its beam, he knew that hope that some one from the old town would the promised bride (for whose coming he should give ber a word of kind greeting before she have waited) had come and departed. Oh, passed out of their reach for ever.

Liuchen! all your sorrows are light compared Suddenly there was a clatter of horse's hoofs with the burden of his life, who, wearing the and sounds of merry voices, that announced a royal rose, has linked himself to one who is bridal procession. Liuchen started up-it seemed blind to its peerless beauty!" as if her wish would be realized. She had often “Yet my life has been wasted," said Liuchen, played with the bride on that little bridge. more calmly. Surely she would recognize her, even through “Look back upon it," said the River Spirit, the cruel veil.

taking some water from the crystal vase, and But the bride's blue eyes expressed only sprinkling it on the pavement at her feet. It wonder and admiration as they met those of formed a clear bright mirror, whose polished Liuchen; she almost envied the stranger's surface reflected the enchanted forest. And dazzling veil and sparkling roses, and while the Liuchen saw that her path through its mazes deceitful veil hid Liuchen's falling tears and was marked now by fragrant flowers, whose paling cheek, the bridal party passed on, leaving pure white blossoms would henceforth guide her alone.

the traveller on his way through its dangers. Forsaken by all, it seems the darkest shadow Over the wide marshes, too, the path of safety that ever darkens a life, the grief that is so ut. led, bordered by snow-white water-lilies; so terly unbearable for those who have to bear it, that no other need ever wander, as she had and it gave Liuchen the courage of despair. done, in danger of sinking in the treacherous She had thought it hard to leave the well-known swamp. bridge for the last time; but it was easy now, “I am content,” murmured Liuchen: “I have with the bitter loneliness lying on her heart far not borne the rose in vain." more heavily than the rose, and when her fit of The scene changed, as she spoke, from the sobbing was over, she walked silently into the solitude of the marshes to a crowded highroad, forest and was gone.

among whose throng a solitary traveller, unShe was at home now, in the strange, unreal noticed and unpitied by any, was wearily thread. world that she had chosen ; and where she had ing his way. Worn and travel-stained as he once come a trembling stranger she now walked was, Liuchen marked his noble bearing, and as a queen, wearing the royal rose, before wondered, as she looked, what was the sorrow whose light every creature of the woods bowed that had drawn such deep lines on that young in obedience or shrank in terror.

face, and why the leaves of the rose that glittered And Liuchen did rejoice in the consciousness on his breast were specked with blood. of her power. She had left regret behind. An “Do you know him, Linchen?” asked the impassable barrier now divided her from her Lady of the Cave. old home, and it was not strange that she should The girl started from her reverie, as a sudden turn, with a sigh of relief, to the welcome com- recollection flashed across her mind —"Is it the panionship of the inhabitants of the forest for Prince?” the remainder of her brief reign.

“It is,” replied the Spirit, mournfully: "do A few days more, and it was ended; she stood you envy nis lot?". at the foot of the mountain, looking her last on "No," replied Liuchen, eagerly; "mine is the bright river. Once again she knelt, to let happier far. the water ripple through her fingers ; but it The weight was gone from her heart, and, struck no chill to her now. The mute warning taking her rose from its resting-place, she laid had been realized, and Liuchen's sufferings it on the glittering heap without a sigh. were over. She paused at the top of the stone The branches of the great tree began to wave steps, and looked towards the recess; but the and rustle as she stood beneath its shadow; River Spirit stood by the pyramid of roses, and the great hall of statues, into which she was waiting her coming, and, with raised hand, gazing, grew gradually misty, and seemed to beckoped her visitor to approach.

vanish away. Instead of its cold splendour, Liuchen obeyed, folding her hands on her she saw the dear old spires of Eisenheim in the bosom with a heavy sigh as she spoke: “I have golden light of the setting sun, and Aunt Anna lost all, and am come back to die."

sitting in the doorway of her home with the "You have risked life and lost it,” said the open bible on her knees. Once again Liuchen

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stretched out her arms with a cry of joy, and, felt his presence, and left her kneeling still with then, as the vesper-bell pealed from the cathe- a smile on her lips, beautiful in her marble stilldral tower with its voice of solemn peace, she ness as she had been in life. fell on her knees, repeating the evening-prayer Not even with the honoured multitude who that she had learned when a child.

thronged the vast hall of Genius was to be her The sunlight died off the spires of the sleep- resting-place; but in the quenchless light of her ing city, and the vesper-bell ceased ringing; but virgin rose, and beneath the marvellous tree in Liuchen did not rise- e angel of death had whose shadow she had dreamed her last dream laid his hand on her so gently, that she never I of home!

OUR PARIS CORRESPONDENT.

My Dear C

new little theatre The Athénée," and Alphonse The gardeners have announced that we shall Karr pretends that the “Horreurs de la guerre" have a soft, clement winter. This year's belongs to him, because he has written a tale on onions have a very thin skin ; when a hard the same subject-another subject of discord. winter is coming that vegetable has a thick peel, Talking of the Athénée reminds me of its origin: according to their observations. If the present A rich jew, Monsieur Bischoffsheim, was, about weather continues, the gardeners' prognostica- two years ago, seized with a fit of generosity, tions will certainly be realized, for the cold, and conceived the idea of building a superb gloomy month of December this year has been concert-room, to be used, on any occasion, for more like a wet month of May, and our trees lectures, concerts, or any other casual amuseand bushes are budding forth as if spring had ment. It was to cost him a million of francs, breathed on them again. I have a honeysuckle and all the profits were to go to benevolent sociein my garden in flower! But, oh, the paddling ties, &c. What a good man! Subsequently the through the muddy streets of Paris! it is worse concert room was turned into a theatre, and pays than the roads in the country, and makes one the million francs I cannot tell how much per long for a little frost and ice. The Court has cent.; but Monsieur Bischoffsheim's fit is over, left Compiegne, and soon the festivities in the and he keeps the profits. Capital will commence, and Paris will re-assume The great success of a drama, with the title its wonted gaiety. The theatres are overflowing of “Miss Malton,” by Nus and Belot, caused with successes, but La Patti has left us, and we their Majesties to invite the actors of the are sad; she is going, or is gone, to St. Peters-“ Vaudeville” to go and perform it at Comburg, to enchant the Russians with the melody piègne. As usual, the authors were also reof her voice, and the seductive charms of her quested to accompany the actors, which Mon. person. There was not a place to be had at the sieur Belot did, and was highly complimented İtalian Theatre all the last month of her adieux, by the Court for the moving scenes in the piece, all were engaged long before hand. At the which made the most stoical take out their hundredth representation of “ Premier jour de pocket-handkerchiefs—such a chorus of nosebonheur,” at the Opera Comique, the orchestra wiping was never before heard at the theatre of went and serenaded Auber (the author) under Compiègne. Monsieur Belot, having received his windows, until late in the night; the passers- the croix de la Legion d'Honneur last August, by soon formed a considerable group round the our Court etiquette permitted him to be invited musicians, and raised a tumult of applause at to dine at the imperial table; but Monsieur every interval. The old gentleman descended Nus, who has an equal right to share the laurels into the street and thanked them; he is more of this drama, could not be admitted to the than eighty years of age. Rossini's death had same honour, not being a Chevalier, so he a great effect on him, it is said, Apropos of abstained from going to Compiègne. Before Rossini, they say that his famous air in Moïse- we leave this imperial abode, to which so many “La prière de Moïse”-is not the production of are ambitious for an invitation, listen to an his brain, but an air that had echoed from time odd condition to this honour for ladies: Every immemorial amongst the mountains of the lady must prove that she possesses a certain Pyrenees, a Basque national air.

trousseau, that is, a certain quantity of linen, Monsieur Alphonse Karr deigns every now dresses, and other accessories. Is her Majesty and then to forget his flowers at Nice and ap- afraid that a lady might want to borrow a pear in Paris. He is just now tormented by chemise or petticoat? She must also buy her another's laurels. Mr. P. Gilles, a young com- hair of the Court hairdresser; she finds a sma!l poser, has made a “ hit” in an operette, at the parcel of that commodity of different colours

for which the price is fixed at 150 francs (£6); waat they had said in the private examination she must also be accompanied by a maid to wait they had undergone before, but denied it. on her, and a gentleman must have his Have you heard of the Marseille empoipalet.

soners ?

Six women and a man, who bought, Amongst other games this scason, there was sold, and administered poison to superfluous one that was a great source of amusement: husbands, with just about as much ceremony a pavilion was chosen in the forest, and servants as one employs iu the destruction of rats, withwere ordered to drop small pieces of paper all out seeming to have the slightest idea that it along the different paths that led to this pavilion, was of much more consequence to humanity. the Court then separated, each taking a dif- The man prepared the poison, and the women ferent road, and the game was to follow the bits mixed it with their husbands' food. One woman of paper, and thus try to arrive at the pavilion encouraged her daughter, twenty years of age, first; the fun of it was the laugh that the last to give the poison to her husband, by promising comers excited, particularly if chance had so to burn a candle to the Holy Virgin that she ordered that a lady and gentleman met on the might be propitious to the design and ensure its road and the two came in together.

success. The jury, however, found extenuating The Queen of Spain has bought a most ex- circumstances, and, to the great rage of the quisite botel on the Champs Elysées. She seems populace, none have been condeinned to death. to deem her restoration to the throne of Spain At the Alcazar, at Marseille, the affair has been very improbable. They say that she is ex- made a pantomime of, and the director is reaptremely grieved at the things the papers here ing a splendid harvest. lay to her charge, as well as Marfori, whom The death of Berryer has called forth from some say is greatly calumniated, and that he is every party sincere and heartfelt regrets, and far from having the immense riches the public I know no man whose memory is so truly voice has given him. The Queen visited the respected. He would not die in Paris, but inCourt of Assize the other day when a trial was sisted on being conveyed to his château d' going on. The president suspended the pro- Augerville, his true home, where he breathed ceedings to go and receive her Majesty, which his last, surrounded by all he loved. He revery much surprised and annoyed a certain ceived a letter from the Count de Chambord, party of the Parisians. We are curious to whom he always regarded as his lawful king, a know how the Emperor and Empress intend day or two before his death, which was a sweet behaving towards the fallen monarch, now solace to him. Hundreds flocked from Paris they are in Paris. The new Spanish ambassa- and other towns to his funeral; a deputation dor has not yet met with much sympathy. of English barristers went and paid their last

Several of our State ministers have again been homage to this greatest of French barristers, changed. M. Pinard, Minister of the Intérieur, and the bar in Paris has voted that a subscripovershot the mark in his zeal for the Empire tion shall be opened to raise a monument to his and order. He wanted to make us believe that memory. a formidable émeute was in the air for the 2nd We have another death to lament, though of of December, that thirty thousand soldiers were a less eminent man than Berryer, yet of one ready to quell the rebellion, and a regiment of known and appreciated in the literary worldsergents de ville remained on guard all-day long, Carmouche, a writer of distinction. Several in different quarters. All this display of force anecdotes are related of him. He was director ended in arresting some rebels assembled in the of the theatre at Strasbourg when the Prince cemetery, on the grave of Baudin a most Louis Napoleon tried to raise an émeute in his ridiculous affair. If Government had taken no (the Prince's) favour. At that time the directors notice of the manifestation it would have fallen of theatres in the provinces had a right to tax to the ground, and no one would have known the strolling actors, dancers, and riders; but anything about it. The liberals are on the alert many had escaped Carmouche without paying; for the elections next year, and Government also. so much so, that he vowed that no others The bisbops add their mite to the struggle, and should get off without opening their purses. preach to the people in their pastoral letters to Very early one morning he was awakened out vote for the deputy that best supports the tem- of his sleep by bis old servant : "Monsieur poral power at Rome. Their patriotism goes no Carmiche! Monsieur Carmiche! quick! quick! farther. The Jesuits have just been condemned get up!” “Why, what is the matter?” “A at Bordeaux for baving beat several of the boys whole host of Franconis that arrive. Do you committed to their care in their college. It not hear the noise ?" Yes, yes, I hear them, seems that boys of fifteen and sixteen have been and they shall pay me before they begin. They severely hurt, and the father of one of them shall, and no mistake,” answered Carmouche, went and complained to the magistrates. One tumbling out of bed, and dressing in all baste; of the priests, the executioner of punishment in which was soon done, and into the street he the college, beat one with a whip in a most un- went. The troop of Franconis was no other merciful manner, until he was tired of striking; than the Prince Louis Napoleon and his band, and so afraid were several of the boys whose whose performance turned out not to be worth evidence was asked, that when before the tri-paying for then. bunal and their masters, they dared not repeat Did you know that the lovely Ophelia, Mdlle,

Nilsson, is not only a great singer, but also a , to entice passers-by. One fancied hanging out very clever sculptor? She has just finished a a dead monkey among his hares and partridges. little statue that is to be exposed at the next “A monkey!" said a lounger, looking out for Exhibition of Fine Arts.

a tit-bit, “is that good to eat?” “I should Prince Napoleon went to Nohant, the resi- think so," answered the seller ; " delicious in dence of Madame George Sand, the other day, a pie !" “What does its flesh resemble?” to stand sponsor for one of that celebrated Why, whatever you like--mutton, pork, or lady's grandchildren. The Prince must be venison; a monkey that imitates everything.” doing something, and seems to be happier any. The inquirer went away only half convinced. where than at home. Our game-merchants The compliments of the season. make game of everything, and one sees animals

Au revoir, of every denomination hanging at their windows

S. A.

OUR LIBRARY TABLE.

OWEN MEREDITH.-Among the many able , vourable to them than a first impression. Yet critical papers that have been elicited by Owen they are free from that obscurity of thought and Meredith's recent poems, the thoughtful paper expression which is the bane of much modern in the August number of the Edinburgh Review poetry. They are essentially objective and real, is deservedly prominent. Sixty years ago such for they present, with great distinctness, a vast a critique in the Edinburgh would have made variety of scenes and pictures wbich reflect the an obscure man famous; it would have made a very life of human history. And he who seeks poet of Owen Meredith's genius and standing might well find in them a purpose and a meanone of the lions of the day. But the old ing that deserves to be studied. With a lively quarterly no longer setties the fortunes of men sympathy for the two great elements of all and books; yet its praise, rare and dis- poetry, beauty and grief, Mr. Lytton combines criminating, carries with it a certain weight, a power of expression which reminds us of the not always attached to the critical judgments of later Elizabethan poets more than of any more more modern authorities. The Edinburgh Re- recent author. The heroic verse, which he view, while not glossing over what it conceives handles with a skilful predilection, is not the to be the defects of Owen Meredith's art, is couplet of Pope or the resounding line of alive to the extraordinary beauties of thought Dryden, but it is the verse of Marlow; and and diction which stamp every page that he has there are passages in these volumes which we written. “Mr. Lytton," says the writer, “has should venture to rank not far beneath the not only inherited one of the most illustrious undying beauty and force of The Hero and names in contemporary English literature (for Leander.' Of the charge of imitation which the author of ‘Eugene Aram' and . The Caxtons' has frequently been brought against Mr. Lytton has no superior amongst living novelists), but the reviewer remarks: “To a greater extent he has also made good his claim, in these than is commonly remembered, this manifest volumes, to no inconsiderable share of the participation in the manner as well as the spirit talents which have rendered that name illus- of his neighbours belongs, as we have said, at trious. He has not indeed trodden in his all times to the poet's character. Chaucer gave father's footsteps, and he has not attempted to currency to the seven-lined stanza, which rival the dramatic power, the fine insight into he used in place of the Italian octave character, or the witty wisdom of the Bulwer rhyme; and it became the standard measure novels. But as a poet he has taken a higher of his successors, Lydgate, Occleve, James flight. We have never been able to reckon 1., and others. Surrey in his sonnets echoed Lord Lytton's poems amongst the highest Petrarch ; Wyat, although in his efforts of his genius; and if the wand of fiction more individual than Surrey, and, upon the belongs more exclusively to himself, he must be whole, more English, echoed not only Petrarch, content to divide the bays with his son. The but all the French poets in his day. From merits of Mr. Lytton as a poet are somewhat Chaucer's time to Spenser's, Chaucer himself peculiar. His works are, if we are not mistaken, included, there was hardly a poet of mark who The result of patient thought and persevering did not in some work, usually a large one, imi. exercise, rather than the product of a fiery and tate closely the allegorical machinery made spontaneous genius. They do not take the popular in France by the “Roman de la Rose" reader by storm, but they win their way by re- and other pieces. The best poets were in their flection. A second or third verusal is more fa- own pages continually going to sleep over a book, or waking in bed on a May or April | has been slow. All poets learn their art by an morning, and going into a park by a river, admiring imitation of their predecessors. Milton where they had an allegorical dream, if it did himself told Dryden 'that Spenser was his originot happen to be in dream that they went thither. nal.' In all cases the question of the influence Even the Scottish poets : Dunbar, in his of poets on a poet can only be one of degree. *Thistle and the Rose,' and 'Golden Targe;' There is the rhythm of our own time in Mr. Gavin Douglas, in his 'Palace of Honour;' Lytton's verse, manifest sympathy with the Lindsay, in his ‘Monarchy'—which, though genius of foremost men, tone of voice, trick of a work of very practical design, sets out with expression caught from communion with kindred the poet on a summer morning entering a de- singers, just as in life men reflect unconsciously lightful park, where he is accosted by an old familiar tones and turns of phrases from their man named Experience, wrote in close imitation near friends and household companions. But of established forms. In Elizabeth's time, as we turn the pages picture after picture forms Shakespeare himself was called an upstart itself before the mind, always harmonious in crow, beautified with the feathers of his neigh- colouring, grouped with artistic skill, and never bours. The charming song-writers who lived without a trace of genius in the design. Mr. in the time of Charles I. abounded in close re- Lytton sings of his melancholy Spirit Queen, semblances of fashion. How many of them whom he call the mightiest Maker underneath sent metrical messages to a lady with a rose ? the sun :"Go, lovely Rose,' says Waller; Go, happy Rose,' says Herrick. The more the works of Yet never shall be satisfied the need Pope are critically examined the more will it be Of her deep heart, nor her long tasks be done.” perceived to what an extent he borrowed and appropriated expressions from his predecessors, He, too, is among the Makers—as we used to his contemporaries, and from classical antiquity; call our poets-who feel that they still have and we take as inevitable these resemblances of heights to climh. And he follows his art with topic and of treatment among men of the same a rare freedom from pretension, arrogating to time.' The Edinburgh Review finds great himself no praise for great designs, and giving originality, as well as power and learning in the himself no airs of the prophet, while in his un" Chronicles and Characters.” The lofty pur- affected strains there is the strength of true depose of the work, and the skill with which the votion to his art." poet has wrought out a complicated plan, are warmly acknowledged. “In these Chronicles THE ART OF DRESSING WELL: THE LAWS and Characters' the poet deals with the essen- AND BYE-LAWS of Good SOCIETY. (London : tials of life. Lucian compared his works to Lockwood and Co., 7, Stationers' Hall Court.) plaster statues, which, in some great festival, This is the season (looking at a publisher's list are made to please the people and not to endure before us) of Handy Books of all descriptions, eternally. Yet they are still read because, in a and we may surely class the tiny volumes before way of his own, which gave the liveliest and best us under this denomination. “The Art of expression to his humour, he, by the free Dressing Well” is one too little understood by handling of the philosophers and gods of the the majority of the sex to whom it is specially Old World, spoke for many, in the struggle of addressed. Otherwise we should not see harwhich, however its outward action may change mony of colour so rudely outraged as we often with the generations, the cause, as Mr. Lytton do, or short women wearing the same style of here sings, is eternal. Lucian's plaster statues, dress as tall ones, or persons of dark commade for a holiday use, represent the large part plexions affecting hues only becoming to blonds, of all writings which adds to the pleasures of its or vice versa. We think the chapters on colour hour by moulding surface thought into forms exceedingly useful, and calculated, with other known to be acceptable. But they work in valuable hints scattered through the pages, to marble who, with shaping power of the artist, materially assist the judgment of ladies of every spend their power upon the most vital questions age in the choice and combination of colours. of the time. Through all changes of outward "The Laws and Bye-laws of Good Society" fashion these endure, and the best thought they offers a code of "modern etiquette” to those yield retains its worth for the successive gene- who, from any cause whatever, have suffered rations whose relations to each other it is in their knowledge of it to become impaired. these · Chronicles and Characters' a part of Mr. Like other polished things it is apt to rust with Lytton's purpose to suggest. The view of the disuse, but not, we should imagine, to the delife that runs through all is the gradual educa- gree suggested by the writer when he reminds tion of the human race by struggle against evil us that a large party should never make a to the strength for good Mr. Lytton's call, two from a family being quite enough;' or volumes, by the variety of their contents, invite when he admonishes his readers, under the head to digression ; but we must abide by our first of “ Conversation,” to avoid ungrammatical ex, purpose, and be content if we have said enough pressions, like “ You was,” and “I says," and to suggest a fair general estimate of their cha- * She says to me, she says;" and to abstain racter. Faultless they are not, but the genius from accompanying the words “she” or “he” of the writer is unquestionable as its recognition with a jerk of the thumb in the direction of the

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