*

It was a very small room, lighted by only one window. There was no carpet on the floor; there was a clean but coarsely-covered bed in one corner; a cupboard, with a few dishes and plates, in the other; a chest of drawers; and before the window stood a small cherry stand, quite new, and indeed it was the only article in the room that seemed so.

A pale sickly-looking woman of about forty was leaning back in her rocking-chair, her eyes closed, and her lips compressed as if in pain. She rocked backward and forward a few minutes, pressed her hand hard upon her eyes, and then languidly resumed her fine stitching, on which she had been busy since morning. The door opened, and a slender little girl of about twelve years of age entered, her large blue eyes dilated and radiant with delight, as she bore in the vase with the rose-tree in it.

Oh! see, mother, see! Here is one in full bloom, and two more half out, and ever so many more pretty buds peeping out of the green leaves.'

The poor woman's face brightened as she looked, first on the rose, and then on her sickly child, on whose face she had not seen so bright a colour for months.

'God bless her!' she exclaimed unconsciously. 'Miss Florence-yes, I knew you would feel so, mother. Does it not make your head feel better to see such a beautiful flower? Now, you will not look so longingly at the flowers in the market, for we have a rose that is handsomer than any of them. Why, it seems to me it is worth as much to us as our whole little garden used to be. Only see how many buds there are! Just count them; and only smell the flower! Now, where shall we set it up?' And Mary skipped about, placing her flower first in one position and then in another, and walking off to see the effect, till her mother gently reminded her that the rose-tree could not preserve its beauty without sunlight.

'Oh yes, truly,' said Mary; well, then, it must be placed here on our new stand. How glad I am that we have such a handsome new stand for it; it will look so much better.' And Mrs Stephens laid down her work, and folded a piece of newspaper, on which the treasure was duly deposited.

go

There,' said Mary, watching the arrangement eagerly, that will do-no, for it does not show both the opening buds; a little farther around-a little more; there, that is right; and then Mary walked around to view the rose in various positions, after which she urged her mother to with her to the outside, and see how it looked there. 'How kind it was in Miss Florence to think of giving this to us," said Mary; though she had done so much for us, and given us so many things, yet this seems the best of all, because it seems as if she thought of us, and knew just how we felt; and so few do that, you know, mother.' What a bright afternoon that little gift made in that little room. How much faster Mary's fingers flew the livelong day as she sat sewing by her mother; and Mrs Stephens, in the happiness of her child, almost forgot that she had a headache, and thought, as she sipped her evening cup of tea, that she felt stronger than she had done for

some time.

That rose! its sweet influence died not with the first day. Through all the long cold winter, the watching, tending, cherishing that flower, awakened a thousand pleasant trains of thought, that beguiled the sameness and weari

ness of their life. Every day the fair growing thing put forth some fresh beauty-a leaf, a bud, a new shoot-and constantly awakened fresh enjoyment in its possessors. As it stood in the window, the passer-by would sometimes stop and gaze, attracted by its beauty, and then proud and happy was Mary; nor did even the serious and careworn widow notice with indifference this tribute to the beauty of their favourite.

But little did Florence think, when she bestowed the gift, that there twined about it an invisible thread that reached far and brightly into the web of her destiny.

One cold afternoon in early spring, a tall and graceful gentleman called at the lowly room to pay for the making of some linen by the inmates. He was a stranger and wayfarer, recommended through the charity of some of Mrs Stephens's patrons. As he turned to go, his eye rested admiringly on the rose-tree, and he stopped to gaze at it. 'How beautiful!' said he.

'Yes,' said little Mary, and it was given to us by a lady as sweet and beautiful as that is.'

Ah,' said the stranger, turning upon her a pair of bright dark eyes, pleased and rather struck by the communication; and how came she to give it to you, my little girl?' 'Oh, because we are poor, and mother is sick, and we never can have anything pretty. We used to have a garden once, and we loved flowers so much, and Miss Florence found it out, and so she gave us this.'

'Florence!' echoed the stranger.

'Yes-Miss Florence l'Estrange-a beautiful lady. They say she was from foreign parts; but she speaks English just like other ladies, only sweeter."

'Is she here now? is she in this city?' said the gentleman eagerly. No; she left some months ago,' said the widow, noticing the shade of disappointment on his face; but,' said she, you can find out all about her at her aunt's, Mrs Carlyle's, No. 10 — Street.'

A short time after, Florence received a letter in a handwriting that made her tremble. During the many early years of her life spent in France, she had well learned to know that writing. This letter told that he was living, that he had traced her, even as a hidden streamlet may be traced, by the freshness, the verdure of heart, which her deeds of kindness had left wherever she had passed. Thus much said, our readers need no help in finishing my story for themselves.

POPULAR FRENCH SONGS.

NO. I.-MALBROUGH.

AN enterprising Parisian publisher has, during the last year, been issuing a series of the most popular songs of France, with illustrations which surpass, in pictorial effect and in characteristic drawing, any publication we have to boast of in England, while the price is a mere bagatelle-sixpence or about the fifth of what such a thing would be offered at for sale in this country. Each number (of which one appears every week) contains sometimes a single piece, though, when they are short, there are three songs to a livraison. An interesting essay precedes, and the music, with piano-forte accompaniment, concludes every number. The first song is one of the most popular-not only in France, but over the rest of the continent and in this country-that ever was written. It is properly entitled, The death and burial of the invincible Malbrough' (Mort et Convoi de l'invincible Malbrough), the great Duke of Marlborough's name having been first corrupted by the French into Malbrough,' and imported back again to its native language altered into Malbrook; by which the song is universally known here.

As it relates to one of England's most celebrated ing French remarks which accompany the ditty in the generals, we prefer translating the curious and interest'Chansons Populaires,' to making any comments of our This amusing essay is by M. Lacroix, chief librarian to the king of the French, an accomplished historian, and author of several historical tales of great interest and popularity. He has invariably written under the name of the Bibliophile P. L. Jacob:

own.

"The celebrated song of Malbrough was certainly composed after the battle of Malplaquet, in 1709, and not after the death of John Churchill, Duke of Marlborough,

in 1722, as many grave commentators on the facetious ballad have supposed. Not a single circumstance narrated in the popular little poem accommodates itself to the veritable demise of his Grace. When the illustrious general died at his estate of Windsor Lodge, on the 17th June 1722, from the consequences of an attack of apoplexy, he had not appeared at the head of an army for more than six years; for more than ten he had played nothing more than an obscure and secondary part in European politics; and the French, more fickle at that epoch than they are even at present, had had quite time enough to forget him. George I., on mounting the throne, recalled the Duke of Marlborough to court, from which Queen Anne had estranged both him and his wife; but his majesty demanded nothing more than the duke's counsels-which he never followed. Marlborough, therefore, lived very soberly upon his domain, where his money failed him in completing his magnificent Blenheim, which Queen Anne and the English parliament agreed to finish in memory of his brilliant Dutch victory. He fell into a second childhood, and finally expired in presence of Lady Marlborough, whom he charged to bury him with pomp and grandeur.

The ditty is, then, anterior to his demise, which made but little noise even in England; yet in the ancient prose legend which originally accompanied the song, it is stated that "Marlborough was killed at the battle of Malplaquet, which took place between Mons and Baray on the 11th September 1709." In that battle, which was, even according to English historians, glorious for the French, the Marshal de Villars was wounded in the knee when he was about to surround the Duke of Marlborough, and to hem him in between the two wings of the French army. At this decisive juncture the English general ran the most critical hazards, and was supposed to have partaken of the fate of five of his generals who were killed in the melée.

The rumour of his death was rapidly spread, and, without doubt, some wanton versifier made the following funeral oration while bivouacking at Quesnoy on the evening of the fight, to console himself for having had neither food nor rest for three days: such being characteristic of a Frenchman's temperament. The Duke of Marlborough, a great captain and subtle politician, had been the bane of Louis XIV. during thirty years: he had pursued, attacked, and crippled him on every field of battle, and in every European cabinet. He had proved himself a worthy pupil of the great Condé and of Turenne at Hochstett, Oudenarde, and Ramillies; his name was the terror and admiration of the soldier. Not being able to conquer, the enemy lampooned him, and each of his victories was followed by a new satirical song; such verses being in France then-as in the good times of Cardinal Mazarin-the people's most ordinary means of taking their revenge.

The song was not much known to the heroes of Malplaquet; it was preserved only by tradition in some of the provinces, where it had been probably left by the soldiers of Villars and De Boufflers: it was not even received in the immense collections of anecdotic songs which formed part of the archives of the French noblesse. But in 1781 it resounded, all of a sudden, from one end of the kingdom to the other. It happened that when Maria Antoinette gave to the throne of France an heir, he was nursed by a peasant named [probably nicknamed] Madame Poitrine, who had been chosen, among other qualifications, for her healthy appearance and good humour. The nurse, while rocking the royal cradle, sung Malbrough, and the dauphin, it is said, opened its eyes at the name of the great general. The name, the simplicity of the words, the singularity of the burthen, and the touching melodiousness of the air, interested the queen, and she frequently sang it. Everybody repeated it after her, and even the king condescended to quaver out the words, Malbrough s'en va-t-en guerre. Malbrough was sung in the state apartments of Versailles; in the kitchens, in the stables-it became quite the rage; from the court it was adopted by the tradespeople of Paris,

and passed thence from town to town, and country to country: it was wafted across the sea to England, where it soon became as popular as in France. It is said that a French gentleman wishing, when in London, to be driven to Marlborough Street, had totally forgotten its name; but on singing the air of Malbrough, the coachman understood him immediately, and drove him to the proper address with no other direction.

Goethe, who travelled in France about the same time, was so teased with the universal concert of Malbrough, that he took a hatred to the duke, who was the innocent cause of the musical epidemic. Malbrough made itself heard, without ceasing, apropos of everything, and apropos of nothing; it gave its name to the fashions, to silks, head-dresses, carriages, and soups. The subject of the song was painted on fire-screens, on fans, and on china; it was embroidered on tapestries, engraven on toys and keepsakes-was reproduced, in short, in all manner of ways and forms. The rage for Malbrough endured for many years, and nothing short of the Revolution, the fall of the Bastile, and the Marselloise hymn, were sufficient to smother the sounds of that hitherto neverceasing song.

The warlike and melancholy air of the song did not, any more than its hero, originate in France, and we have sought in vain to trace its history back from the time when Napoleon-in spite of his general antipathy to music-roared it out whenever he got into his saddle to start on a fresh campaign. We are not unwilling to believe, with M. de Chateaubriand, that it was the same air which the crusaders of Godefroid de Bouillon sung under the walls of Jerusalem. The Arabs still sing it, and pretend that their ancestors learned it at the battle of Massoura, or else from the brothers-in-arms of De Joinville, who repeated it to the clashing of bucklers while pressing forward to the cry of "Mountjoy SaintDenis !"'

After so elaborate an essay, the reader will expect a first-rate song, but he will perhaps be disappointed to find that the mountain of preface brings forth nothing but a poetical mouse. The song of Malbrough is curious merely from its absurdity; but its very absurdity is quaintness. It is, in fact, not meant to be read in, as it were, cold blood; it is only intended to be sung, for much of the humour lies in the constant repetition of each line. Such repetitions would, however, be far from amusing to read, and we therefore only print the first and last stanzas entire. The couplets bereft of the refrain do not rhyme, for, as each line is sung over and over again before the tune is finished, the jingling of concordant syllables would render the whole tiresome.

THE DEATH AND BURIAL OF MALBROUGH.

Malbrough is gone to the wars,
Mironton, mironton, mirontaine ;*
Malbrough is gone to the wars,
None know when he'll return.
At Easter perhaps 'twill be,
Or else at Trinity.

But Trinity has passed,
And yet he comes not back.
His dame ascends her tower
So high, she can go no higher.
Her page she sees approach,
In vestments all of black.
'O sweet and comely page,
What is the news you bring?'
" The tidings I shall tell
Will cause your eyes to weep-
Your pink attire to doff,
Likewise your silk and gold.
Monsieur de Malbrough's dead-
What's more-he's buri-ed.

I saw him laid in the earth
By four brave officers.

in other ditties usually articulated mironton, ton, ton, mirontaine, * Mironton, mirontaine, is an old refrain, or burden, which was and corresponds to the fal, lal, lal with which English song-writers eked out their limping stanzas to the tune. The last line is sung three times, and the whole stanza repeated straight through.

so much was needed, he has already wrought wonders in the brightening up of this venerable city. Any ordinary mortal, three years ago, would have said 'Nothing could be done for St Andrews; her municipal revenue is completely crippled; nobody has any spirit to help her.' But on a retrospect, we can see that all such anticipations may prove fallacious when a really energetic man chooses to apply his whole faculties to the object. The greatest doing of the worthy major is the formation of a smooth slab pavement, of from six to twelve feet broad, on each side of the principal street, along with a double row of gas lamps, as handsome as anything of the kind in the metropolis. Obtaining one hundred pounds, as I understood, from the impoverished burghal funds, the major had been fortunate in collecting a few more hundreds by subscription among the inhabitants and neighbouring gentry, and with this sum he was enabled to carry forward the very beautiful improvement now before us. The effect upon the aspect of the street, which in breadth and straightness was already a fine one, could scarcely be imagined, while its convenience to the inhabitants-supplying a fine promenade, agreeable for the feet, and at all times dry is no doubt unspeakably great. Great, however, as is this improvement, it is rivalled by sundry other alterations. Everywhere, during last summer, workmen were to be seen engaged in removing old obstructions and eye-sores, propping up venerable ruins, and creating new beauties and conveniences. While other men would plan, ponder, and hesitate, the major acts. Was a railing required in front of Madras college, or a piece of playground to be put in order for its pupils? it was immediately done. Was there a street-projection, awkward and incommodious, which had been sighed over and lamented hopelessly, helplessly, for ages? it was one fine morning, before breakfast, gone. Was there a too acute angle at the turn of a narrow road, which had been a puzzle to coachmen for a century, and the cause of perhaps two accidents on an average per annum during all that time, but which had in like manner been only bewailed as yet? now it was cut off by the major. Was an unseemly gap to be closed by a neat wall? forthwith the wall was raised. Was there anywhere some particular house so badly placed as to break a straight line, or interrupt a view of some distant object of an interesting kind? the major would not scruple to lay out a little money, that he might have the pleasure of seeing it removed.

While inspecting some of the wonderful doings of this rare chief-magistrate, we had the good fortune to be introduced to his notice, and conducted by him to different points where alterations had been, or were shortly to be effected. Our first visit was to Madras college, which has been a special object of the provost's solicitude. Conducted from a central courtyard which he has had lately paved, we went through some of the class-rooms of this noble institution, where-hear this, ye Englishmen-a first-rate elementary education may be obtained for a shilling a quarter! In one of the large rooms we found about three hundred children, divided into classes, receiving instruction at this humble charge; and in another apartment a similar number, but of a higher grade, who pay two shillings a quarter. We had the curiosity to examine a class of the humbler pupils, by cross-questioning them on the subject of their lessons, according to what is called the intellectual method, and were much gratified with their expertness. Wonderful, sir,' said the major, who had kindly taken the chair on the occasion; what a world this will be in twenty years hence, when these youngsters grow up! They beat us, the old set, all to nothing.' Quite true, major; but let us again be stirring.' We now proceeded westward towards the principal entrance to the town, where various tokens of improvement met our eye in the form of widening, building, and paving; and turning to the right, we came upon the open links, where we were introduced to the club-house of the Golfers' society. Here are some pleasant accommodations for the gentlemen of

As we

the town, including a billiard and reading-room, rooms for depositing golf-playing apparatus, and a species of restaurant, from which refreshments may be obtained at a moderate rate-total annual payment for members ten shillings a-year! The doorway, as I observed to the major in passing out, was rather exposed, and would be improved by a portico. I know it; you see the foundations of a covered porch are about to be laid.' Leaving the club-house, we passed down a street to the eastward, where the major pointed out some conspicuous improvements; among others an infant-school of handsome architecture, not yet finished, on the pleasureground of which his own private gardener was busily at work. Near the school-house the major proposes various alterations, and some are in progress. passed a house which stood somewhat out from the ranks, the major drily observed, 'Take your last look of it-it will be down by to-morrow morning;' and a cloud of dust which issued from the doorway assured us that he did not speak without warrant. We now proceeded by a narrower pathway overlooking the sea-shore on the north, where several men were engaged in smoothing a most irregular piece of downs, on which a public monument had lately been erected. 'Wherever one goes,' I said, 'he sees people at work.' 'Certainly; there is not an idle man in the town.' Having exhausted this quarter, we went eastward by the united college of St Leonard's and St Salvador's, and even here we could see some results of the major's activity, though not of a direct nature. The doors of the college had been coeval with the buildings-a more shattered, battered, tattered-looking gate did not exist on this side of Somnauth. Within the last two months these doors have shrunk aside into the harmless character of curiosities, and been replaced by doors new and appropriate. The professors had for ages met in a long dreary hall forming a library, and incapable of being heated by an ordinary fire; now, stimulated by example, they have got a smaller room fitted up as a reading room, where they are perfectly comfortable.

Departing from the college, where some interesting objects of antiquity had detained us a few minutes, we went towards the eastern extremity of the town, near the ruin of the cathedral, where the habitations of the fisher population are situated. Here, the major informed us, he had great things in contemplation. He proposes that this useful community, whose dwellings are generally old and miserable, shall remove entirely to a spot of ground near the harbour, where he designs to build a terrace of neat and commodious tenements for the different families, on a uniform plan, having in the centre a reading and coffee-room, to which the fishers may resort when on shore, instead of lounging listlessly in the open streets. Means are alone wanting to carry this beneficial improvement into effect; but the work of melioration has already been begun by two improvements, the first of which was entirely the work of the major. It consists in the establishment of a general conveyance, in the form of a cart, to supply the fishermen with muscle-bait from a part of the coast several miles distant, instead of the old plan, which consisted in each man sending his wife or daughter for a backload of that material, thus, perhaps, depriving the household of its managing member for the half of every day. A change of this kind, while trifling in the means required for it, is virtually a substitution of civilisation for the grossest barbarism; and its moral are as great as its physical effects. Already, after the lapse of only a few months, a spirit has been raised in this humble community in favour of a more decent and regular course of life. The men are becoming steady and sober, and several female members of families, formerly required for the bait, are getting employment otherwise. The second improvement, the credit of which was mainly due to Professor Gillespie, consists in the establishment of a reading-room for the fishers. In this mind-improving place of resort we found three or four fishermen reading periodical publications, while a row of instructive and

Of debts and taxes, wife and children clear, This man possessed five hundred pounds a-year. Blush, grandeur, blush! proud courts, withdraw your blaze! Ye little stars, hide your diminished rays!'

We have now made pretty nearly the round of the town, and as the best of friends must part, so must we bid adieu to the major. Yet one word ere we say farewell. I should announce to the reader, that the major has been baffled in only one great undertaking; but then, even Napoleon himself was occasionally nonplussed. There is an old town-hall planted, as was the common custom of old, in the middle of a street near the market-place, interrupting the thoroughfare worse than any projection, and of such plain architecture, as to be no object of attraction in the town. On this ill-fated edifice the major has cast the eyes of his destructiveness, and would sweep it away to-morrow, if he only had the means of building another in what he thinks a better situation. Half in joke, half in desperate anxiety to accomplish this object, he has put up a notice in the Golfers' club-room, which we transcribe for the benefit of all persons who may possess more money than they know well what to do with::-

Notice Universal.-It is hereby intimated to all those who have or may have any funds at their disposal, and who are hesitating to what purpose they will apply them during life or at their demise, that the ancient city of St Andrews is a field where a bequest might be made for a purpose which would perpetuate the name of the donor to future ages; namely, to furnish the means, either by deed or gift, for removing the present town-hall from the centre of the street (where it is a great obstruction and deformity), and to build another which should contain a market-place, assembly-rooms, and other conveniences-thus securing to the donor the gratitude and blessings of generations to come. Any person feeling inclined to promote this great public work, will receive every information on the subject on application to Major Playfair, the provost of the city. St Andrews, 1st October, 1843.' Whether our friend the major be successful in this bold and happily conceived design of immortalising the builder of a Hotel de Ville for the city of St Andrews or not, we cannot but accord great praise to personal energy and public spirit directed in the manner we have described. Here, in little more than a twelvemonth, has one man gone far to accomplish something like the renovation of an ancient and somewhat neglected city. Could similar good be done elsewhere? Most assuredly, granting there exists elsewhere such men. It is true that the patriotic major has been obliged to open his own purse on several occasions; but this is rather in consequence of the peculiarly reduced state of the burgh funds than from any other cause. The grand requisite seems to us to lie in the qualities of the individual. Let any man of tolerable judgment and taste devote himself entirely for a given time to the effecting of such improvements, and we hold his success to be certain. It can scarcely be necessary to add, that there is classical authority for the inferior share which pecuniary means have in these local phenomena

"Who hung with woods yon mountain's sultry brow?
From the dry rock who bade the waters flow?
Not to the skies in useless columns tost,
Or in proud falls magnificently lost;
But clear and artless, pouring through the plain
Health to the sick and solace to the swain.
Whose causeway parts the vale with shady rows?
Whose seats the weary traveller repose?
Who taught the heaven-directed spire to rise?
The Man of Ross each lisping babe replies.' * *
Thrice happy man, enabled to pursue
What all so wish, but want the power to do!

O say what sums that generous hand supply?' **

can very easily imagine, that without a great degree of sagacity, and the most masterly financiering, nothing could have been done. Many are the jokes told of the major's dexterity in procuring the consent of parties to the excision of street encumbrances, and of his schemes of ways and means. A short time ago, for example, he raised £30 by a public exhibition of pictures lent at his request by families in the town and its vicinity. Nor, from the general tastefulness of his improvements, is there any disposition to ridicule what he has effected, unless perhaps as respects his giving a new nomenclature to some of the roads and alleys, whereby, as with the wand of an enchanter, he has transformed certain wynds into streets, thus breaking up, as it may be called, certain old local associations. But even for this he has a ready and tolerably satisfactory answer, which no one actually disputes. Perhaps, however, his greatest act of generalship has been that of stilling down opposition in the municipal body of which he is the head. By the reasonableness of his propositions, his impartial distribution of patronage, and treating the predilections of all men with liberality, being at the same time frank and affable in his demeanour, and ever ready to be consulted by every one, he has introduced the most perfect harmony into his little senate; and it is a fact equally new and gratifying, that no time is ever now consumed in wrangling on general abstractions. This change is not less grateful than it is beneficial to the people generally, and we may be assured that it is no small element in the list of means by which our friend the major has been able to carry on so many useful reforms. It is a lesson most devoutly to be commended to all municipal bodies throughout the empire.

MODERN INSTANCES OF SUPERSTITION. IN October last (1843), the Inverness Courier had the following paragraph: A woman was last month tried at Dingwall, before Sheriff Jardine and a jury, on a charge connected with the almost exploded belief in witchcraft. In 1836, Donald Matheson, a small farmer residing in Strathconan, having lost some of his sheep by death and other causes, applied for advice to a divining woman, or sorceress, named Catherine Beaton, the wife of a sawyer at Dingwall. He travelled thirty miles on this important mission, and Mrs Campbell having duly weighed the circumstances of the case, told him that there was great trouble coming to his house through a woman who lived in his neighbourhood, and who had consulted Miss Hay of Inverness, a once noted sorceress, for means to carry out her intentions. Fortunately, however, Mrs Campbell could avert the machinations of all wicked women, and the means were simple. "Bring me a pound note," she said; "I will tie it up in a parcel, which you must take home, and your wife must place it under her pillow while she sleeps. After this, return to me with the parcel, when you will get the pound note as good as before." Donald immediately borrowed the money from a meal-dealer, and delivering it to the skilful woman, had it charmed, and tied up. He trudged homewards, pluming himself on his sagacity and foresight; and his wife duly slept upon the packet as desired. In a day or two, however, female curiosity got the better of her superstitious dread, and she opened the mysterious packet. The pound note was gone, and in its place were found some sand, rags, and a piece of paper. Donald then returned to Dingwall to claim his money, but the sorceress was inexorable-nothing could be obtained from her. The charm was unavailing, and the money was gone. An