elegant splendour which reigned through the court, stood a most lovely woman of three or four and twenty. She was clad with regal magnificence, but it was eclipsed by the resplendent beauty of the wearer. An air of dignity rendered her more tall in appearance than reality; and her attitude was that of authority, not unmingled with anger. Several gentlemen, evidently of the most exalted rank, were gathered around, with deep submission and respect in their air and attitude. They looked at each other in consternation but ill concealed, while she, her figure lifted to its height, her beautiful brow elevated and overshadowed, her eyes sparkling with fire, and her hand extended with the gesture of one commanding and not to be disobeyed, appeared at once the queen and mistress of her trembling nobles. Her haughty bearing well became her station. The silence and fear of the circle around well became them-her inferiors and her slaves.

Madame," said one-it was the proud Duc de Choiseul-" let me entreat you to move his majesty in this affair. The Duchesse de Grammont is banished solely on your account, and with one word you can recall her."

"But that word, my lord duke, I will never pronounce. As long as the slights of that imperious woman were directed against me in private, I bore them, because, my lord, I despised her too much for hatred; but when she presumes to mate herself with me in the open day, it is time her audacity should be checked and punished. It is so. She is exiled from the court. Let her remain awhile in solitude, and cool her fiery temper."

The duke coloured deeply, and withdrew several paces.

sac,

Madame," began the Duc de Fron"might I, as your friend, remind you that the Duchesse de Grammont is one of the most illustrious and powerful women in the kingdom?"

"Do you threaten, sir? The Duc de Choiseul, so far from wasting his influence in behalf of others, had better reserve it for himself. He will need it, and that before he is aware.'

The Duc de Choiseul, except the king, was the first man in France; yet he turned pale at this direct intimation of his disgrace, which, in fact, took place a few weeks afterwards.

What Cleopatra is this, commanding

the destinies of nobles and nations, the brightest star in the horizon of Versailles, the reigning divinity that swayed the very thoughts of Louis the fifteenth? There were moments when she had all Europe at her feet. There were crises when she might, with her single hand, have changed the course of the most important events of history. And to whom did that hand belong? To Marie Jeanne. Ah, the coquette! One might have seen that face of hers was enough to burn Troy. Some minister to the taste of the king had presented before him the friendless modiste. Her beauty effected a conquest, which her wit and talent enlarged and confirmed, and the poor little Marie Jeanne was the nearest favourite of a throne, with all the power of a queen of France.

After the scene which we have transcribed above, Marie Jeanne, (now the Comtesse du Barré,) went into the chapel to attend mass. The company were collected, but she was the star on which every attention was fixed. Alas! there was little piety in her thoughts. On this day she had attained the summit of her wishes. She had humbled her enemies, and triumphed over them for ever. She had seen the greatest men of the court waiting an audience, and trembling beneath her frown. The king had publicly acknowledged her to be invested with authority almost equal with his own. She had now no rival. Her path was clear. Her beauty, instead of fading, had grown more lustrous than ever; and in her mind the sunshine of prosperity had awakened a thousand powers and graces, previously unsuspected even by herself. At this moment, (and while conscious that the homage of the assemblage was directed rather to her than to heaven,) leaning with his back against the wall behind the altar, his dark, beautiful eyes fixed stedfastly upon her countenance, she beheld the mysterious young prophet of the Tuileries, who, five years before, when she was only a simple milliner's girl in the Rue St. Honoré, had predicted her present remarkable destiny. was noble looking, and melancholy as ever, and on perceiving himself recognised, a sudden smile lit his expressive countenance, and he gracefully waved his finger round his brow, as if asking, "Are you not queen of France ?"

He

Astounded and alarmed, she felt her senses deserting her. She was agitated,

as if in the presence of a supernatural being, and only by a strong exertion, and after closing her eyes, avoided fainting. At length, she once more looked towards the altar. The stranger had disappeared.

Singular as it may seem, the comtesse had utterly forgotten the madman of the Tuileries. His reappearance now brought the whole scene forcibly to her mind. He had predicted her present elevation of rank, but he had predicted also an extraordinary end. She was lost in wonder and fear. In her emotion, she mentioned it to a confidential friend, with a declaration that she would give any money in the world for an interview with the object of her dread. To this friend it appeared sufficiently singular to be made the subject, unknown to the comtesse, of a report to the lieutenantgeneral of police. "Any money in the world," said the latter," is a very tempt ing reward. We will see if we cannot ferret out this Parisian Daniel !"

The French police, at that time, was by no means an undisciplined instrument of power, and all its blood-hounds were let loose to track out the mysterious prophet, Their efforts were utterly

fruitless.

The comtesse was sitting, a few weeks after, alone in her boudoir, when a footman brought in a letter, sealed with five black seals, and bearing the impress of a death's head. This gloomy document, upon being opened, was found to contain the following words:

"MADAME LA COMTESSE-I am perfectly aware that the strict pursuit made after me, in your name, is without your knowledge or sanction. Those sent in search of me have spared no pains or trouble to ascertain my name and abode. My abode ! Let all, as they value themselves, avoid meeting me there; for when they enter it, it will be never to quit it more. Who am I? That can only be known when this life has been exchanged for another. I charge you, madame, to command the lieutenant, M. de Sartines, to cease his researches after me; they would be fruitless, and might only compromise your safety. Remember, I predicted your good fortune; was I not correct? I have also foretold reverses; I am equally correct in them. You will see me once more; and should I unfortunately cross your path a fourth time,

prepare to bid adieu to the light of heaven and the pleasures of this world."

The comtesse was struck with undefinable terror. She ordered the instant cessation of the police proceedings. For a time, anxiety and wonder overshadowed her days and banished slumber from her creature under heaven, and Versailles pillow. But she was the lightest-hearted favourite of a magnificent monarchthe gayest spot on earth. The beloved young, beautiful, envied, and admired— pleasure soon again wove its enchantschemes of mirth and folly were adopted, ments around her steps; a thousand and the mysterious prophet was once more forgotten.

CHAPTER IV.

It is a very insecure tenure of power, either for a male or female politicianthe caprice of a voluptuary and a despot! and yet have there been favourites, of either sex, so successful in maintaining their dominion over royal minds, as to hold the reins of government with absolute security, uninterrupted for years. couturière of the Rue St. Honoré, was The little Marie Jeanne, the modest now one of those potent rulers, and in the character of the Comtesse du Barré, swayed, to her idlest caprice, the monarch of France. Years sped on, and her influence increased. She forgot the obscurity of her birth and early life, and trod the brilliant salons of Versailles with the accustomed confidence of one born to a throne. Louis the fifteenth was not only fascinated by that wonderful beauty which had attracted the commendation of the pedestrian connoisseurs about the Tuileries, but he was equally mastered by the charms of a sweet disposition, and a profound yet elegant mind. Idolized by the king, she was, of course, the worshipped sun of all. Courtiers, queens, emperors, dukes, sages, and heroes, poets, painters, and philosophers, either trembled beneath her frown, or rejoiced in her favour; for it was well known that those beautiful lips dispensed the offices of state and the stores of the treasury. The highest and most haughty in that magnificent chateau, of which she reigned the unrivalled mistress, were taught to bend and withdraw from her anger and her relatives and friends, nay, even the most casual among her acquaintance, were elevated to rank and riches by her slightest wish.

Not only did the private circles of the court feel the influence of this remarkable woman's genius, but its effects extended throughout France and Europe. The liberal ministry were, by her, dismissed from office. Under her secret enmity, the parliaments, which even before the reign of the fifteenth Louis began to raise their voices, were arbitrarily suppressed; a measure that left in the body of the nation an inflamed hatred of the court, which too soon broke into a blaze. It is said that the division of Poland, that act of national felony, which has left an eternal stigma upon modern Europe, might have been prevented, had she chosen to render the least support to the cause of that oppressed country. With many virtues, she possessed many faults. Most of the latter were those of education and accident, while the former were peculiarly her own. She was ambitieus, wasteful, and unthinking; but she was also generous, faithful, and sin. cere. Her affectionate nature delighted in acts of munificence; but they led her to make such demands upon the treasury as to exhaust the very wealth of the nation, and to expedite those gloomy and unutterable horrors which, in the revolution, burst like a furious hurricane upon devoted France, sweeping the good and bad together into a common ruin.

At the period to which this little story refers, the fatal cloud had commenced only to gather in the horizon, without casting its black shadow over the sunshine of the court. Louis the fifteenth was still monarch, and a spirit of Paphian luxury pervaded the royal abode.

The shrines of morality and religion were deserted for that of pleasure. Everything that could dazzle and delight was blended with every thing that could corrupt the heart. Vice, in all her most refined and alluring forms, roamed abroad unabashed; virtue alone was ridiculed and despised. If a profligate noble was ruined at cards, his exhausted purse was replenished from the treasury. Did a lascivious abbé awaken against him the indignation of his flock by new forms of debauchery, he was elevated to a higher and more lucrative place in the church. If a minister advised measures to control the licentiousness of the noblesse, and to secure the rights of the people, he was dismissed in disgrace; and if a father or a husband resented the insult offered by a duke or prince to his daughter or his wife, a lettre de cachet

dragged him from the bosom of his family, and immured him, perhaps for life, in the dungeons of the Bastile.

From the millions thus insulted, oppressed, and forgotten, at length arose murmurs no longer to be stifled. The fire of such minds as Voltaire and Mirabeau began to infuse itself into the mass. But the gay throng of Versailles, surrounded by groves, colonnades, streams, fountains, and statues, hedged in by the sacred divinity of rank, allied with the potent powers of Europe, little dreamed of other danger than some saucy riot, or of other consequences than the necessity of shedding some plebeian blood by the bayonets of their own countrymen. Still in that stately and superb chateau were heard the sounds of revelry and mirth. Still royalty spread all its pride, and beauty wove all its spells, and Louis the fifteenth was master of France, and Marie Jeanne was the very divinity of Louis the fifteenth.

One night, soothed and delighted by the uncommon beauty of the sky, the comtesse stole from a giddy revel to a marble balcony, which overlooked the loveliest of scenes. The long range of the palace was visible in the moonlight, a heavy, interminable pile of grandeur. The sound of the music and the dancers came softened from the distant rooms; the cool breath of nature blew in refreshingly, laden with the grateful perfume of grove and garden; and the moon, full orbed and lustrous, lay couched upon a fleecy cloud, with the soft radiance so peculiar to the pale face of Dian.

The comtesse sighed as she gazed, for there is something reproachful in the quiet of nature to one just forth from the glare of a revel; but yet her sigh was not one of grief.

"No," she cried; "I am blessed beyond my merits. I am the mistress of this lordly scene. To me is every wish referred, every knee bent. Ah! how little thought the poor Marie Jeanne, as she used to make her toilette before a piece of glass, in the seventh story of an old house in the Rue St. Honoré, that she would ever be the powerful and beloved mistress of such a magnificent abode !"

Again she sighed. Did imagination deceive her? or was that sigh echoed only by the breeze?

She looked around with a nameless apprehension. A few feet beneath, with

extrémity. Every one seemed her friend. She had known and loved Voltaire and Rousseau. She had at her soirées Marat, Robespierre, Danton, and Mirabeau. Safe in the shelter of a private station, and under the protection of such friends, she was happier than if she had been yet queen of France. Indeed, when Marie Antoinette was dragged by her door to death, she felt grateful for her own fall, and saw in it a pledge of safety.

One day a stranger presented himself.

"Madame la Comtesse, the times are full of danger. Do you wish to live in security?" "Of course, that must be the wish of

all."

"Well, then, hear me! The late king, I mean Louis the fifteenth, in a certain spot, in the chateau of Versailles, concealed a casket, of vast importance." A deadly paleness overspread the face of the comtesse.

“I see, madame, you are in possession of the secret. Louis the fifteenth confided this fact only to yourself. The last time this casket was opened, was when the king placed in it a large packet, you standing with a taper in your hand, to afford his majesty a light. That casket contains evidence which will bring the haughtiest nobles in France to the guillotine. You are the only being alive who knows where it is hidden. We must have it. Madame la Comtesse, will you oblige us with the desired secret?"

"I do not know who you are, sir," replied the comtesse, loftily; 66 but, whoever you may be, since your avowed object is to shed more blood, and add others to the already insupportable evils of unhappy France, I must expressly refuse to afford the required knowledge." "Madame, beware! I am not to be trifled with."

"Nor, sir, am I; and as this interview is not agreeable to me, I heartily wish it concluded."

"Madame la Comtesse," (these words were spoken with undisguised irony, as all titles of nobility were abolished,) "I wish you good-day."

He cast on her a significant look, and withdrew.

Delighted with the consciousness of having performed an heroic action, the comtesse, in the evening, met a circle of powerful friends at the opera. There

was an interval when she sat in her box alone, glad of a moment of solitary reflection. The privilege, however, was not long to be granted. There was another knock.

"Come in," she cried, and half rising, opened the door.

Tall, stern, pale, and noble, the mysterious being who had twice foretold her destiny stood silently before her. A shriek, that alarmed the whole house, burst from her quivering lips, and she fell back senseless.

CHAPTER VI.

That spot, the Place Louis Quinze, of so many happy travellers, was parttrodden to-day by the careless feet The ly covered with an idle crowd. populace at large, sated with horrors, had ceased to be attracted by the familiar scene of death. In the centre stood struggling and desperate, to the spot. the guillotine. A female was dragged, to drown her shrieks. Of all the countA long, loud roll of drums was beaten less victims, not one had yielded so shudderingly to the fatal stroke. By the hand of force she was thrust down

upon her knees

"Give me one moment·· but- 99

give me

It fell the drums beat: a few shouts arose, Vive la Republique !

Adieu, beautiful Marie Jeanne.

The reader need scarcely be told that this little sketch refers to an incident said to have actually occurred to one distinguished, unfortunately, not alone for her loveliness.

The letter is inserted verbatim.

T. S. F.

YANKEE WATER PRIVILEGES.

How much real comfort every one might enjoy, if he would be contented with the lot in which heaven has cast him, and how much trouble would be avoided if people would only "let well alone." A moderate independence, quietly and honestly procured, is certainly every way preferable even to immense possessions achieved by the wear and tear of mind and body so necessary to procure them. Yet there are very few individuals, let them be doing ever so well in the world, who are not always straining every nerve to do better; and this is one of the many causes why failures in business so frequently occur