mean to do,-about my money that is. I do not think that there will be much difference between me and Hermy in that respect."

"That is nonsense," said her sister, fretfully.

"There will be a difference in income certainly," said Mrs. Clavering, "but I do not see that that need create any uncomfortable feeling." "Only one doesn't like to be dependent," said Hermione.

"You shall not be asked to give up any of your independence," said Julia, with a smile,-a melancholy smile, that gave but little sign of pleasantness within. Then on a sudden her face became stern and hard. "The fact is," she said, "I do not intend to keep Lord Ongar's money." "Not to keep your income!" said Hermione.

-

"No;-I will give it back to them, or at least the greater part of it. Why should I keep it?"

"It is your own," said Mrs. Clavering.

'Yes; legally it is my own. I know that. And when there was some question whether it should not be disputed I would have fought for it to the last shilling. Somebody,-I suppose it was the lawyer,-wanted to keep from me the place in Surrey. I told them then that I would not abandon my right to an inch of it. But they yielded,—and now I have given them back the house."

"You have given it back!" said her sister.

"Yes;-I have said they may have it. It is of no use to me. I hate the place."

"You have been very generous," said Mrs. Clavering.

"But that will not affect your income," said Hermione.

"No;-that would not affect my income." Then she paused, not knowing how to go on with the story of her purpose.

"If I may say so, Lady Ongar," said Mrs. Clavering, "I would not if I were you, take any steps in so important a matter without advice." "Who is there that can advise me? Of course the lawyer tells me that I ought to keep it all. It is his business to give such advice as that. But what does he know of what I feel? How can he understand me? How, indeed, can I expect that any one shall understand me ?" "But it is possible that people should misunderstand you," said Mrs. Clavering.

"Exactly. That is just what he says. But, Mrs. Clavering, I care nothing for that. I care nothing for what anybody says cr thinks. What is it to me what they say?"

"I should have thought it was everything," said her sister.

"No, it is nothing;-nothing at all." Then she was again silent, and was unable to express herself. She could not bring herself to declare in words that self-condemnation of her own conduct which was now weighing so heavily upon her. It was not that she wished to keep back her own feelings, either from her sister or from Mrs. Clavering; but that the words in which to express them were wanting to her.

"And have they accepted the house?" Mrs. Clavering asked.

"They must accept it.

What else can they do?. They cannot make me call it mine if I do not choose. If I refuse to take the income which Mr. Courton's lawyer pays in to my bankers', they cannot compel me to have it."

"But you are not going to give that up too?" said her sister.

"I am. I will not have his money,-not more than enough to keep me from being a scandal to his family. I will not have it. It is a curse to me, and has been from the first. What right have I to all that money, because, because,-because-" She could not finish her sentence, but turned away from them, and walked by herself to the window.

Lady Clavering looked at Mrs. Clavering as though she thought that her sister was mad. "Do you understand her?" said Lady Clavering in

a whisper.

"I think I know what is passing in

"I think I do," said the other. her mind." Then she followed Lady Ongar across the room, and taking her gently by the arm tried to comfort her,―to comfort her, and to argue with her as to the rashness of that which she proposed to do. She endeavoured to explain to the poor woman how it was that she should at this moment be wretched, and anxious to do that which, if done, would put it out of her power afterwards to make herself useful in the world. It shocked the prudence of Mrs. Clavering,-this idea of abandoning money, the possession of which was questioned by no one. want it, Lady Ongar," she said.

"They do not

"That has nothing to do with it," answered the other. "And nobody has any suspicion but what it is honourably and fairly your own."

"But does anybody ever think how I got it?" said Lady Ongar, turning sharply round upon Mrs. Clavering. "You,-you,-you,-do you dare to tell me what you think of the way in which it became mine? Could you bear it, if it had become yours after such a fashion? I cannot bear it, and I will not." She was now speaking with so much violence that her sister was awed into silence, and Mrs. Clavering herself found a difficulty in answering her.

"Whatever may have been the past," said she, "the question now is how to do the best for the future."

"I had hoped," continued Lady Ongar without noticing what was said to her, "I had hoped to make everything straight by giving his money to another. You know to whom I mean, and so does Hermy. I thought, when I returned, that bad as I had been I might still do some good in the world. But it is as they tell us in the sermons. One cannot make good come out of evil. I have done evil, and nothing but evil has come from the evil which I have done. Nothing but evil will come from it. As for being useful in the world,-I know of what use I am! When women hear how wretched I have been they will be unwilling to sell themselves as I did." Then she made her way to the door, and left the room, going out with quiet steps, and closing the lock behind her without a sound.

"I did not know that she was such as that," said Mrs. Clavering. "Nor did I. She has never spoken in that way before.".

"Poor soul! Hermione, you see there are those in the world whose sufferings are worse than yours."

"I don't know," said Lady Clavering. "She never lost what I have lost, never."

"She has lost what I am sure you never will lose, her own self-esteem. But, Hermy, you should be good to her. We must all be good to her. Will it not be better that you should stay with us for a while, both of you ?"

"What, here at the park?"

"We will make room for you at the rectory, if you would like it." "Oh, no; I will go away. I shall be better away. I suppose she will not be like that often; will she?"

"She was much moved just now."

"And what does she mean about her income? She cannot be in earnest."

"She is in earnest now."

"And cannot it be prevented? Only think,-if after all she were to give up her jointure! Mrs. Clavering, you do not think she is mad; do you?"

Mrs. Clavering said what she could to comfort the elder and weaker sister on this subject, explaining to her that the Courtons would not be at all likely to take advantage of any wild generosity on the part of Lady Ongar, and then she walked home across the park, meditating on the character of the two sisters.

VOL. XV.-NO. 88.

20.

410

The Köningsmarks and Marshal Saxe.

EXTINCT families, like extinct kingdoms and republics, ought to find their special historians, and assuredly no departed race, not even that of the Montmorencies, styled by Henri IV. the greatest family in Europe after the Bourbons, can furnish so romantic a series of adventures as the Swedish Köningsmarks, who have left some trace in the records of almost every State of Europe.

This race, whose sons and daughters were all noted as much either for their beauty or strength of form as for the dauntless energy and impetuous passions which seethed in their wild blood from generation to generation, were a branch of an ancient family seated originally in the Mark of Brandenburg. In the dim dawn of modern history the Köningsmarks are to be seen on the banks of the Elbe, fighting under the banner of Henry the Fowler. One of them, in the thirteenth century, finds place in the chronicles of the time as the "Rosenritter"-the Knight of the Roses. He had delivered the Queen of Hungary from the captivity of the Ban of Croatia, and when asked by the Queen to name his own reward, claimed the three red roses which she held in her hand. The Queen thereupon not only gave her deliverer the three red roses, but three kisses besides with her own royal lips.

The Köningsmarks had their family seat at Kitzlar, in Brandenburg, but during the Thirty Years' War the family split up into two branches, one of which remained on the ancestral soil, while the other attached itself to the fortunes of Gustavus Adolphus, and subsequently passed over into Sweden. The founder of the Swedish line was Hans Christoph ven Köningsmark, who began life as a page at the court of Friedrich Ulrich of Brunswick, and became, on the Protestant side, one of the most notorious partisan chieftains of the Thirty Years' War. He was a grim-browed gigantic fighter, whose thick mane of hair bristled like a wild boar's when in wrath, and whose Teutonic fury in battle made the blood of Wallenstein's freebooters run cold in their veins. He fought by the side of Gustavus at Lützen, co-operated with Turenne in the invasion of the Palatinate, and served again under the Swedish flag in the times of Bannier and Torstenson. His chief exploit was the storming of the quarter of the Kleinseite at Prague, the last great event of thirty years of massacre and devastation, and one which determimed the Imperialists to accept the Peace of Westphalia. Of all the ruthless chieftains and bandits who had laid waste Germany, Hans Christoph practised the arts of plunder and extortion with as little remorse as any. In Lower Saxony he cut down whole forests and turned them into money. His booty in the Kleinseite was enormous.. In the house of Count Colleredo, the commander of the captured garrison, he

found, it is said, twelve tubs full of gold. One of his articles of plunder was the Maso-Gothic Gospel of Ulphilas, which is fortunately preserved in the library of Upsala at the present day; but no lover of art can ever forgive him for carrying off four pictures of Correggio, which perished at the hands of his Vandal mistress Queen Christiana, who cut the heads of the figures out of the canvas to insert in her own vile tapestry. After the Peace of Westphalia he became a count of Sweden, and governor of the provinces of Bremen and Verden, of which the Swedes had taken possession. Near their capital, Stade, he built himself a castle-residence, and named it Agathenburg. He died at Stockholm, as a field-marshal, in the year 1663, leaving large possessions, into which he had converted his immense heaps of "loot" got together in thirty years' campaigning. This terrible old brigand had two sons, of whom the younger, Otto Wilhelm, played the more prominent part in history. He was educated at Jena, went the tour of Europe, and, on return, was sent as ambassador of Sweden to the court of Louis XIV. At his reception he had to deliver a Swedish speech; in the middle of it his memory failed him, and he substituted for the remainder of his oration the Lord's Prayer in the same language. As no one at the court of Louis XIV. knew Swedish, he ran no danger of discovery, although his attendants had much difficulty in keeping a grave face. He subsequently entered the French service, and formed the regiment called the Royal Allemand. He assisted later in raising the siege of Vienna by the Turks; from Vienna he passed into the service of the Venetians, with whom he fought again against the Turks; in conjunction with Morosini he took the command of their expedition, and reconquered the Morea with great rapidity. From the Morea he went to Athens, and set siege to the city. He, too, like his father, became an art-ravager of the most deplorable atrocity, for the Turks having fortified themselves in the Acropolis and stored their powder in the Parthenon, he planted a battery upon the hill on which stands the monument of Philopappus, and directed his guns upon those marvellous edifices which man, and not time, has brought to ruin. It was, alas, from the battery of a Köningsmark that the fatal bomb was launched which blew the roof from off the Parthenon and splintered its marble columns. After having by this achievement done the world an injury, of whose magnitude he could have no possible conception, he died of the plague, before Negropont, in the year 1688. The Venetians thought much of his services, and erected a statue to him in the arsenal, which is still to be seen there, with the inscription, "Semper victori." His body was brought to Venice, and taken from thence by his nephew, Philip,-he who was destined to be a victim to his fatal amour with Sophia Dorothea, -to the family vault at Stade. The elder brother of the ravager of the Parthenon, Conrad, was killed in 1673, at the siege of Bonn, leaving four children, two sons and two daughters, and three of these had destinies more romantic than any of their ancestors. Their mother was a Wrangel, daughter of the Herman Wrangel against whom the great Elector of Bran