Louise, you can't expect me to live much longer in this manner. I have done all I can to cheer you, and to relieve you from any burdens your position might entail upon you, but mortal man can do no more. To live with you, day after day, and be no more than I am to you now, is torture. I love you madly, passionately, you must know that I do,-and therefore I say that you are cruel when you say you can give me all I require. Give me this hand,--give me yourself, and I will gladly live and die at Eisenach!"

Startled and surprised, Louise hid her face and remained silent. Alfred had always been so essential to her that life without him was impossible to contemplate; and yet this was so new, so sudden! But she felt existence without him was impossible; he must not leave her,-that, at least, was certain.

.6

Well, Louise," he said bitterly, "am I not even to have a reply? I am ready to free you from any annoyance my presence may be; only speak the word."

"Alfred, you are cruel!" she exclaimed, bursting into tears. "You know I cannot live without you!"

66 Then you will be mine,-mine now and forever! There has never been a time that I did not love you beyond all earthly things. Be mine at once, my Louise! I shall only feel happy when I know that nothing on earth can ever separate us."

Louise looked up in surprise. "You may think me unreasonable, perhaps, but I have a presentiment that something will yet part us unless you

will consent to marry me at once. No one need be told of our intentions. My aunt is going away next week,—we cau be married here privately, for I cannot bear to leave you till I have the right to claim you as my own."

"It shall be as you please," murmured Louise, to whom escape from publicity of any kind was a relief. She was surprised at the sudden feeling of relief this gave her, as if the burden of existence had passed on to some one else, and she could once more enjoy life.

Alfred sat down by her, and in the summer sunshine they rejoiced in their love, and in the anticipation of a bright future. He told her that he was going to ask a friend of his, whom he could trust, to marry them, and that they would visit Italy, and travel for some months, and the marriage need not be declared till their return.

All took place as Count Reiner wished, and Louise was happier every day. Nothing could exceed his devotion to her. Every one approved of the marriage, and though Alfred's extreme popularity prevented their leading as secluded a life as Louise would have preferred, still she had nothing to complain of.

Four beautiful children blessed their union. Their life was divided between Eisenach and Vienna, for the place that had belonged to her former husband was left uninhabited, and Louise's life, after so many vicissitudes, seemed to be one long summer day. But this prosperity was not destined to last; it was broken up by a calamity so appalling that it is difficult to imagine any one, and that one a weak and delicate woman, not being crushed to the earth by so fearful and unexpected a shock; and this was the sudden and mysterious disappearance of her husband. They were living in Vienna, and had been to an evening party. Louise was getting into her carriage, when a hand was laid on Count Reiner's shoulder, and a few words were whispered in his ear. He turned deadly pale and said to the servant, "Beg the Countess to return without me, as I am detained."

Louise thought but little of it. She went home and retired to rest, and as her husband did not return, she imagined that he had come in so late that he was unwilling to disturb her; but when she

found next morning that he had been absent all night, her dismay and alarm could not be exceeded. No one had seen him, no one knew anything of him. She sent to Eisenach, but he was not there. It was as if he had disappeared from the face of the earth.

By and by the mystery was unravelled. A few days before, a respectable-looking man, apparently in bad health, had presented himself at the palace, and begged for an audience with the Emperor. He He refused to declare his errand to any one else, and as the Emperor is accessible, when there is occasion, to the very meanest of his subjects, his request was granted.

Admitted to the royal presence, the man bowed humbly, and said, "Sire, you see before you a dying man. It has been announced to me this day that the disease from which I have been suffering for some time has suddenly assumed a most deadly and malignant form. No human aid can avail me, and the end cannot be far off. Under these circumstances, and as it is now my duty to make the best preparation I can for a death which is fast approaching, I think it incumbent upon me to reveal a most dire and dreadful secret. Your Majesty is acquainted with Count Reiner?

The Emperor replied that he knew him well, and was not likely to believe anything to his discredit.

But there is nothing too bad for your Majesty to believe," said the man, in an excited tone. "There is no such coldhearted villain in your dominions. Does your Majesty remember the murder of Baron Steinhuber ?"

"Yes; he was Count Reiner's greatest friend."

"He believed himself to be so; but Count Reiner was his murderer. I saw him do it, and I even assisted at the dreadful deed. Your Majesty does not believe me; but is it likely that a dying man should come before you to increase the load of a guilty life by lying and perjury? I swear it is all true: I can prove it. And there is yet more dark villany to disclose. The young and lovely Baroness Steinhuber, his cousin, whom he persuaded to be his wife, was never married to him. I enacted the part of a clergyman, so she is not his wife."

Greatly shocked and astonished, the

Emperor merely said the matter should be inquired into. Within a week the man was a corpse, but during that time his statements had been strictly inquired into and verified.

With the same dread secrecy with which Count Reiner had committed his awful crime was his punishment inflicted on him. Those few whispered words, the well-known official who had stopped him at Prince C's palace, showed him at once that neither resistance nor denial could be of any avail. There was but one person who could have betrayed him; and that was Martin, the Baron's porter. Through his assistance the murder was committed; by his connivance did Count Reiner contrive his stealthy and secret visit to his friend's sleepingroom. It was he who both advised the pretended marriage, and enacted the part of a clergyman on the occasion.

Count Reiner himself had worked upon the old man's jealous temper, and raised suspicions in his mind against his pure and gentle wife; and the strange command he had given her was at Alfred's suggestion, as the only certain means of insuring sufficient uninterrupted time to commit the dreadful crime.

Before many hours elapsed the terrible story began to be whispered throughout Vienna. It found its way into every circle, with all the horrible de tails dwelt upon and enlarged. Throughout society there was but one feeling,horror at the cold-blooded murderer, and entire compassion for his lovely and guiltless wife. The sympathies of all were firmly enlisted on her behalf, who had been doubly the victim of his heartless cruelty. The Emperor showed great consideration for her, and took every pains to secure that the terrible announcement should be made to her in the least painful manner, and before any idle rumors could have brought it to her ears.

While the awful tidings were being gradually broken to Louise, secretly and silently was Count Reiner being carried off to his doom. As soon as he was arrested at he was hurried into a carriage. None replied to his often-repeated question as to where he was being carried, and all through that long and weary night he was left a prey to

remorse, and the reflections of his guilty conscience. The early dawn found him swiftly passing through the dark alleys by the side of the Danube, only to emerge from them when he alighted at the gloomy fortress of Spielberg. He knew the dread unfailing justice of the law, and from that hour all hope forsook the unhappy man.

The effect of the awful intelligence upon Louise was rather different than had been expected. Instead of being utterly crushed and overwhelmed by such a fearful blow, her whole mind, true to the instincts of nature, clung to the hope of yet doing the only justice she could to her children, by insisting upon a legal marriage, and securing her fair name. With this single object in view, she sought an audience of the Emperor, and besought him to grant her this boon. Pale and weeping, she threw herself at his feet, and demanded access to the prison, and an interview with him whom she had so long loved and considered as her husband.

The revulsion of feeling was so great that she could not realize the whole tremendous tragedy. The deceit practised upon herself and her children engrossed her mind, and she determined, as far as reparation could be made, to insure it. Her request was granted, and orders were sent to the Governor of Spielberg to make preparations for the extraordinary event, which was to take place within the prison walls.

Louise went alone. She would have no eye-witness of her shame and grief, no spectator of the brokenhearted agony she knew she must undergo at the sight of him who was the father of her children, the sharer of her past happy life; of him who, with all his black and damning guilt, she felt was yet, and must be while life should last, still dear to her. Alone, though shrinking and trembling, she passed those dark portals, and, outwardly calm and collected, passed into the prison. She was received with the deepest sympathy and respect, and was asked to name anything she might especially wish to be

done.

"Only to return as soon as possible," she said, in a voice which betrayed the deep mental suffering she was undergoing. "My carriage will wait."

"All is arranged, madam, by the Emperor's orders. There need be no delay;" and the Governor led the way into a dark and gloomy corridor, which was dimly lighted by men who were stationed at intervals with torches.

At one end a grille was erected, and in front of it an altar covered with black, on which were lights, which only served to show the deep darkness that surrounded her.

Enveloped in a large cloak, her head enshrouded in a thick veil, no one saw the quivering agony of the poor wife's features, and, happily for her, in that dim light she could not distinguish the abject, craven, and guilty look of him who now presented himself before her to be united to her for the short space of time that must elapse before death should part them forever. The cere mony over, the Governor approached Louise to conduct her back, when a convulsive movement of the prisoner, manacled as he was, caused him to stop. "Louise, my wife," he almost shrieked, "speak to me! You must say you fergive me! O God! cannot you induce the Emperor to spare my life! If he will send me to the galleys, to the mines,only not death!

"There is no hope of a respite, Count Reiner," said the Governor, sternly. "If you have any request or communication to make to the Countess, it must be made at this moment. You cannot be allowed to remain here."

He was silent, and shrank back, cowering. But Louise approached him with a firm step, though still keeping her face closely concealed from view, and speaking in a voice hoarse and unnatural from the evident constraint she was putting upon herself.

"Alfred, from my heart I forgive all you have done to me and mine! May God forgive you as I do!"

The effort she had made was too much for her strength, and she sank to the ground in a fainting-fit, and in this condition she was removed from the prison and placed in her carriage. The Governor judged rightly that the sooner she was removed from the scene that could recall such a terrible trial to her mind the better.

Before many days Count Reiner met his just doom, and died on the scaffold;

his craven nature clinging to the last to the hope of life. Popular, admired, and feted as he had been, still there were none but his unhappy wife to mourn his loss, for he was a man who had never made a friend.

The second dreadful shock had proved too much for Louise's tender heart and fragile frame. She remained insensible for hours after her fainting-fit in the prison at Spielberg. Her attendants removed her to the nearest village, and then by short journeys to Eisenach; but a long and serious attack of brain fever was the result of such unnatural tension of mind and fatigue of body; and for weeks both life and reason hung on a thread. She recovered, but only to a state of broken health and spirits which precluded any society beyond that of her children. She never again crossed the threshold of Eisenach,-of that home which had once been so bright to her. She gradually faded, and sank into an early grave, as truly lamented by her dependants as she had been truly loved all through her short and grief-stricken life. Her name is still cherished in her country, and many a kindly act is recorded by some who still remember the broken-hearted lady of Eisenach.

Bentley's Miscellany.

THE ISTHMUS OF SUEZ CANAL.

BY WILLIAM KNIGHTON, ESQ.

THE distance between the Mediterranean and the Red Sea, to be united by the great Suez Canal, is about one hundred miles, and more than half of that distance has already been excavated, whilst the works to be completed on the southern half of the canal are much less formidable than those already finished on the northern half.

The canal, in fact, unites four natural lakes, which have always existed in the Isthmus, and the largest and deepest of these, called the Bitter Lakes, extends to within less than ten miles from Suez. The channel of the canal, through the Bitter Lakes, only requires to be deepened at the northern entrance and at the southern exit. In the body of the lakes there is water sufficient for the largest vessels.

The other lakes, through which the canal passes, are Lake Timsah, Lake

Beelah, and Lake Menzaleh. Lake Timsah is the smallest of these, and has long been drying up. It is situated near the centre of the canal, south of the town of Ismailyeh-a town which is situated in the heart of what was once a desert, and which has been called into existence by the canal and its consequent works only. Lake Beelah is five miles north of Lake Timsah; and Lake Menzaleh is several miles north of Lake Beelah-a ridge of sand only separating its northern shore from the Mediterranean.

The canal is intended to be, when completed, one hundred feet wide and thirty deep, and the works to ensure its completion are on the most gigantic scale. On the Mediterranean side, a harbor had to be constructed, Port Sayd, under the most unfavorable circumstances. The workshops at the port are on a very large scale, and well repay a visit. One of the most interesting sights to be witnessed there, which M. La Roche, the company's engineer, was kind enough to show us himself, was the preparation of large blocks of artificial stone which are being thrown into the sea to form the breakwater at the entrance of the harbor. These blocks are made of sand from the harbor bed, and of hydraulic lime from France, well mixed together with wa ter, and then put into wooden cases and rammed with sand. The wooden casing is removed after two days, and the blocks are left to dry in the sun. This operation it requires two months or more to complete. They are said to weigh about five tons each, and, when ready for use, they are lifted, by a trayelling crane worked by steam, on to trucks, passed on to a tramway, and pushed by a locomotive down to where the lighters are ready to receive them. They are transferred to the lighter by another travelling crane, and when the lighter has taken them out to sea, a crane, worked by steam, deposits them in the position they are to occupy.

The breakwater, which is being constructed by means of these blocks, will be nearly three miles long when completed. It forms the western side of the harbor. More than ten thousand of these blocks are said to have been already constructed, and it will take five or six thousand more before this breakwater is complete.

Dredges are constantly at work deepening the harbor, and the superfluous earth and sand, that which is not required either for block-making or for embankments, is carried out to sea, and deposited several miles away, in a northeasterly direction.

Two side basins have been constructed within the port, upon the western side, for shipping; and, although a great deal has been done to render Port Sayd a harbor fit to contain large vessels, there is no doubt that a great deal remains to be done, and that the difficulties to be surmounted are of the most formidable description.

On how large a scale operations have been conducted in the formation of this canal, it is almost impossible to give an idea by simple description; but, when the reader reflects that two large towns, each containing several thousands of inhabitants, have been absolutely called into existence by the canal works, he will be better able to appreciate the gigantic nature of the enterprise, and the energy called into activity to overcome the difficulties encountered. These two towns are Port Sayd, on the shore of the Mediterranean, and Ismailyeh, about half way between Port Sayd and Suez.

Where Port Sayd now stands, all was sand and desolation seven years ago, when the canal operations commenced. Every necessary of life had to be conveyed by boat from Damietta, thirty miles off; and now every comfort, and most of the luxuries of life, are attainable in Port Sayd, in greater abundance, and with more facility, than in that ancient city-the city of Damietta.

A good deal of the foundation of the town consists of earth and sand dredged up from the bed of the harbor. The streets are regularly laid out, and they are kept as clean as it is possible to keep them, considering that Egyptians and Arabs inhabit most of them. There is a very comfortable hotel, with a long line of wooded apartments facing the sea. The hospital is presided over by the British vice-consul, a physician. A convent, in which sisters of charity live, who do much good in visiting the poor, adjoins the hospital. The sisters of charity, likewise, keep a school for girls, both for boarders and day-scholars. There are places of worship, both

Christian and Mohammedan. But the great wonder of Port Sayd is, in truth, the extent and variety of the company's workshops, the machinery, the activity, bustle, and regularity of the works, the variety of races Egyptian, Arab, French, English, Armenian, Levantine, Italian, and Greek-all working harmoniously together.

The town of Ismailyeh, called after the present viceroy, is totally different from Port Sayd, but is not less wonderful. It is situated, as I have said, about half way between the Mediterranean and the Red Sea, and, like Port Sayd, owes its origin entirely to the canal. The fresh-water canal, from the Damietta branch of the Nile, originally extended as far as a town called Zagazig, more than fifty miles west of Ismailyeh, which was then looked upon as the limit of civilization and habitable vil lages toward the east. All beyond was sand, desert, and desolation, with wandering tribes of Bedouins to make the desolation dangerous. One of the first operations of the canal company was to continue that fresh-water canal to the east, and from a spot near the present Ismailyeh, then all desert, it stretches away toward the south to Suez.

The fresh-water canal has, doubtless, had much to do with the foundation of Ismailyeh in its present position. The town is on the north side of the canal, with the Lake Timsah not far off on the south. It is regularly laid out, with good, straight, broad streets, and cannot contain less than three or four thousand inhabitants. It has its French quarter, its Greek, Arab, and mixed quarters, with a Roman Catholic church, a Greek church, and a Mussulman mosque. The hotel is a large upperstoried building, about two hundred and fifty yards from the canal, and it is really extraordinary how comfortable the proprietor contrives to make the European traveller in that out-of-theway place in the desert.

The fresh water, conducted by the canal from Zagazig to Ismailyeh, has been the cause of the cultivation of a good deal of land in the neighborhood of the latter town. Wandering Bedouins have given over their wandering habits, and settled to agriculture; and the fresh water, which has caused all this, is not