sent to Nina from Ardleigh. A hurried letter from Mrs. Eldon one day told of Mrs. Barrington's having given birth prematurely to a son. The following morning's post brought the news of the unfortunate woman's death, from some untoward neglect in the attendance that was being gives to her.

"It's all very distressing," Mrs. Eldon wrote; "still, dear Nina, I must remind you, in case you should be tempted or driven into thinking of doing anything rash, that Mr. Barrington is free." Nina did remember it, and did think about it very much, as she crossed from Folkestone to Boulogne one rough morning and felt herself at the point of death very often through much tossing. But it faded away from her memory a good deal when they got to their new home. and she was subjected to the combined influences of the change of air, scene, food, and society.

The house Sir Arthur Delany had taken was a grim mansion, in the midst of once beautiful but now grassgrown and dilapidated grounds, in which terraces and avenues, and weird pools and balconies, and steps that led to nowhere, and giant tazzas that held nothing now, were scattered in ghastly profusion. Ages ago, when Louis the Fourteenth was reigning, together with powder and puff, and patch, and hoop, and fantasy generally, this old place must have been in high meretricious esteem. It was devised and made for the use and abuse of pretty creatures in blue and pink silks and satins, with unnaturally whitene 1 hair and blackened faces. Modern ideas and the times and the drapery of four years ago, were all out of place there. But somehow the very incongruity grew pleasing to Nina, who fashioned out many a tale to fit the silent black pool, over which elms and willows drooped, as, day after day, she wandered long its border alone, and laughed to herself over the means Lady Delany had taken to force her (Nina) into marriage.

Pont de Brigne was so pretty in its seclusion, its stagnation almost in this late autumn weather! Not a breath ever reached it, save on Sundays, from the busy town, Boulogne, only three miles away. As the life in it went on now, so, to all appearance, it must have gone on for many generations. A lovely lazy river wound its shining course through meadows and gardens where, on old timeembrowned walls, big pears ripened and grew fat, and fell down upon beds of flowers and onions-for the useful and beautiful were in close communion. The only noisy things in the village were the plashing mill-wheel and one screaming swan, that floated by day on the bosom of the silent pool, and dozed by night upon its banks. This swan was Nina's sole companion down in the solitude by the black water-her sole companion for a week or two.

At the expiration of that time Mr. Manners came to join their quiet party; came without knowing that Nina was one of them again, and stayed with a fresh, fond pleasure when he found that she was there.

His was rather an awkward position, too, when all the circumstances of his case are considered. Six months ago he had asked her to be his wife, and she had refused his request. Then he had asked her to take time to re-consider her determination, to withdraw her definite refusal, and to nullify it by saying "yes," or repeat it by saying "no," at the expiration of a certain time. That time had expired now, and still she had sent him no word as to her sentiment. And now, while he was half hopeful, half fearful, while he thought her far away in English Ardleigh, he came upon her suddenly and unexpectedly in French Pont de Brigne.

It was all owing to Lady Delany's diplomatic talents that the meeting was managed. Nina was very much in her young ladyship's way; not that Nina interfered with one of Lady Delany's pursuits, or curtailed one of Lady Delany's pleasures. Still Lady Delany wanted to get rid of her, "in case," as she phrased it, "we should ever get so tired of one another that we should take to quarrelling; being younger than Nina, you know she may get jealous of me, if years roll on and she finds herself still single and slighted." So, in order to avoid this unpleasant contingency, she favoured Mr. Manner's suit, and furthered his wooing both with zeal and discretion.

He walked in upon them early one morning, having crossed the night before; and as soon as he saw her, he read in Nina's face that she had not been prepared for his appearance. Still he gathered hope as he looked; there was no displeasure mixed with the surprise she could not quite conceal.

Indeed, it would have been hard for Nina, who was beginning to find it dull in this meagrely furnished house, where she had neither society nor books, to look or feel displeased at the advent of a man who came fresh from the world of both. This latter-day lover of hers was different in all respects from the idol of her youth. He was about thirty-six or seven at this time, and he had lived an active, thoughtful life in a city where activity and thoughtfulness leave their traces on heart and brainaye, and on air too. He was a little bald just above his forehead, and he was more than a little grey. Still his face was unfurrowed, and his his eyes were clear and bright, and his figure was only well-filled out; he was not "stout" yet. He spoke cleverly and curtly about all the topics of the day, rarely, if ever, using an unnecessary word, and never by any chance allowing feeling or preju dice to influence judgment. Altogether, he offered as marked a contrast to unstable Gerald Barrington mentally as he did physically-and physically Gerald Barrington had the best of it.

About twelve o'clock Lady Delany suggested that they should all walk out and show him the place. Nina acquiesced in the plan readily enough. She knew it was part of it that she should be left alone with Mr. Manners, and she was willing that it should be so; willing to get the explanation over as soon as possible. So, when Lady Delany made some transparent excuse for leaving them, Nina felt glad that her hour had come.

"I saw by your face that you had no share in the 'general wish for my presence which Lady Delany expressed when she invited me here," he said, as Nina took him down some terrace steps, and proposed that they should plant on a broken wall by the dark pool, under a weeping willow.

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No, I knew nothing of the invitation; I dare say if I had known that it was to be expressed, I should have shared in the general wish."

"Even though you would have felt sure that the expres sion would justify me in reminding you that you are my debtor-you owe me an answer."

She could not doubt as she had heard the touching, deepening. quiet tone, and saw the wistful eagerness in his face, that the man, composed as he was, had staked much of his happiness on her possible answer. She could have made it without any hesitation, she felt sure, if only she had not just heard that Gerald Barrington was free. For after that concession of hers-that indiscreet concession which she had made to his wish that she should meet him, and hear what he had to say for himself-what might not Gerald Barrington expect? I owe him something too," she thought, sorely, as she reflected on how she had incurred the debt. "It would seem heartless to grasp now at what would prevent my ever paying the debt; besides, this wish to marry Mr. Manners is not " born of love." Still, if it was not "born of love, it was very hard to kill it, and to say "no," as she believed herself in honour bound to say, and did say.

"I ought to have given it long ago," she said, in reply to his statement that she owed him an answer. "It is only because I have been feeling all the importance to my own happiness of giving great thought to my answer that I have been so slow and so full of hesitation. Mr. Manners, I must say as I said before-it can't be as you do me the honour to wish it to be. I must stay as I am—I must indeed; don't cease to be my friend; don't leave us now, and leave us disliking me."

(To be continued.)

PURSE AN ALL.

'Tis sweet on summer's eve to sit

And watch the golden sun go down, But not to know that in your purse

There's not as much as half-a-crown!

HILDREN'S

SWEET BRIAR, OR THE
FAIRY PLANT.

Thus she lived happily amidst the forest glades, though her thoughts often turned towards her home, and she wondered sadly if her parents mourned and grieved for her: she did not know that the fairy Queen had caused one of her band to personate her bright little self, and that her presence still seemed to be with her parents, though in reality, she was far away. One bright moon-light night she lay down as usual to sleep beneath an old oak tree, when suddenly she heard strains of music similar to those she had listened to in her own little garden; she raised herself on her elbow and looked eagerly around; she saw rising from every woodland flower and moss around her, bands of fairies who danced in fairy rings, singing and revelling in the moonlight; she rose and went towards one whom she judged from her brilliant crown to be their Queen, and as she advanced, the fairies stopped their song and dance, looking at first with terror on her, while many bright sword-blades like fine needles glittered in the moon-lit rays, but when they more closely observed the child, and heard her gentle voice beseeching the fairy nearest her to lead her to their queen, their fear gave place to surprise, and they listened eagerly for what would follow. On reaching the Queen she touchingly related her mission in the forest, and besought the Queen to aid her in finding the " Glassy Sea."

ringed eddies to the open sea, then suddenly a thought entered her mind, which struck dismay to the inmost cores of her heart; how was she among all those miles and miles of blue waves, to find the spirit's home? Throwing herself down on the sand, she buried her head in her hands and wept bitterly. In the midst of her grief she was roused by a murmuring voice close to her, and looking up, she saw before her a little figure clothed in garments of brilliant sea-weed, with a crown of coral on its shining locks, while on its breast a tiny jewel, like a diamond, flashed in the sun-light; the voice sounded at first like the little brooks she had met with on her way through the forest, but soon she heard through its rippling murmurs distinct utterances, which begged to know her grief, with promises of help. Sweet-briar again repeated her story, and the little figure said smilingly: "I am one of the band of spirits you seek, and I will lead you to our Queen, but I am afraid she will not grant your prayer; but you need not fear, she is very kind and gentle: give me your hand, and trust yourself to me." Then, taking Sweet-briar's hand, she pronounced some mystic word over her, and plunged into the sea. They rushed rapidly through the water, and Sweet-briar felt as though life had forsaken her, when she suddenly found herself standing unharmed at the bottom of the sea in a strangely beautiful palace, with walls and roof formed from coral and lovely shells, with dazzling pearls intermixed; while everywhere flitted little spirits in shining garments, each with the glittering jewel on their breasts. The spirit led her on to the Queen, who sat on a throne formed of mother-of-pearl, with a crown of pearls on her head, and a sceptre of coral in her hand: then Sweet-briar made known her request, but the Queen gently shook her head, and said, "Dear child you know not what you ask, those glittering stones you see on the breasts of my subjects are phials containing the requisite number of drops of the water of life, which causes them to live for ever; it takes a whole year to distil one drop from the sea-water, one would be enough for your purpose, and you are welcome to work with those who are still toiling for their freedom, but we cannot give you what you ask." Sweet-briar listened in despair, and exclaimed passionately: "Oh, do give heed to my petition, gentle Queen. I cannot work down here, the roar of the waves deafen me, the sound of the winds in a storm would terrify me, pray give me what I ask, and let me go back to my much-loved home;" but the Queen shook her head, saying "no, it is impossible. You will soon become used to the sound of the wind and waves, nothing here will harm you. be still resolute, and bravely finish a task courageously entered upon." So Sweet-briar allowed the spirits to lead her away to the younger spirits still toiling for their immunity from death, and there she stayed working with them, winning their love with many gentle deeds, too busy to heed the rush of the winds and the roar of the waves, rising and swelling in tumultuous billows over her head. At last the long year drew to an end, and saw Sweet-briar in possession of one, tiny, glittering drop in a minute phial, like the spirits; and, saying farewell to them all, she rose with her former guide through the blue sea, and stood once more on the beach, and speaking a tender adieu to her little spirit friend, who sadly watched her till she passed out of sight, she soon reached the willow-wall, and gaining entrance down its paths to her own home. Once more at early sunrise she stood beside her own little garden, where the strange plant still remained, as she had left it; drawing from its place the tiny stopper. she dropped on the summit of the plant the Water of Life," it suddenly expanded, budded, and blossomed, and, as the blossoms fully developed, the form changed and a lovely fairy stood in its place. Instantly the whole air was alive with sweet music, fairies rose from every leaf and flower, embracing and welcoming their newly-recovered sister; the Queen came forward, thanking, Sweet-briar most gratefully for what she had done, told her how she had solaced her parents during her absence, by one of her band assuming her form; and saying that her reward should be that during her whole life they would so watch and guard her, that prosperity should ever attend her path, and that once every year, on that day, at early sunrise, she should always see them. With kind words and caresses they left her to enter her home and relate to her

The Queen answered in gentle words: "Little girl, your task is a hard one, and most gladly will I aid you as far as I can, but it is little I can do. The "Glassy Sea" lies at the base of "Mirror Mountain," you must take that path you see there to your left, which you must unweariedly continue, turning neither to the right or left till you reach the end, you will then see stretching before you a curious wall, composed of thick willow branches interlaced closely like basket-work; through which none mortal can penetrate without thrice touching the branches, each time pronouncing the magic word "Triopenarbrium," which means, "tree three times touched, do thou open;" a passage will then be made for, you, which, on your entrance will immediately close, and you will have to repeat the same ceremony when you wish to gain re-admittance to the forest; you will then see standing before you the "Mirror Mountain." and stretching all around, as far as the eye can see, the shining water of the Glassy Sea;" that is all I can tell you little Sweet-briar, but do not forget the magic word, or all your endeavours will be in vain; so fare you well, you brave little girl, "goodbye;" and, as she ceased speaking, she waved her bright wand on high, and she and her band disappeared. Then Sweet-briar, repeating "triopenarbrium" to herself, took from her pocket her little note-book, and carefully tracing the word, laid peacefully down to sleep, rising in the morning with renewed hope and determination. After breakfasting, she walked quickly down the path indicated by the fairy Queen, and before sun set, reached the curious willow-wall, she touched it, saying in clear, soft utterance: triopenarbrium." After doing this three times, a passage appeared through which she passed, and saw before her the "Mirror Mountain," towering high towards the sky with a surface glittering like polished steel: she drew near it, and saw before her the wonderful "Glassy Sea," with blue waves dancing in the brilliant sunlight, crested with flakes of white sparkling foam, with bright plumaged sea birds glancing in and around them; she wandered on the sandy beach, watching the waves as they broke on the shore with their wild, sweet, plaintive music, and surged out again in

parents her wonderful journey, and the plan of the Queen's, so that they should not perceive and grieve over her absence. They listened with incredulous astonishment, insisting she must have dreamed it, until she showed them the little glittering flask, and took them out to her garden for them to see that the strange plant had indeed disappeared. At length they believed, more particularly when good fortune seemed to follow every undertaking of their loved daughter, who, as each year passed, saw her fairy friends and became loved and honoured by all who knew her, not so much for the golden riches with which she was dowered beyond her greatest expectations, but for the untold treasures of a kind heart, and gentle, loving demeanour.

Church of Applepeel per Perry Pontem, and particularly prided himself upon the point.

Peter peacefully reposing, pursuant to periodical practice, pending punctual performance of public prayer and praise by the parish priest, and the period of the pastor preaching from the pulpit, was perhaps partially napping, when a person in poor plight, unprovided with a proper place, presumed to perturb his repose by popping his unpomaded poll within the portal.

66

l'eter, proud as a peacock of his plumage, profoundly perplexed by this unexpected apparition's unpleasant propinquity, and the perfectly unprecedented and peculiarly provoking intrusion on his privacy, perforce spoke-perhaps petulantly: Plodding peasant, pass; this pew is the proper permanent possession of Popplepips, of Popplepip Park, appropriated by Episcopal prerogative and prescription from a particularly long past period in the perennial pedigree of the Popplepips' progenitor. Plenty of places are apportioned to the pauper population by parochial apparitors-promiscuous places, perfectly planned and adapted by discomfort for posture proper to pagan poverty.'

The poor person paused, with a pensive, pitiful, plaintive expression of trepidation, supremely pathetic, and placing the palm of his paw on the panel of the portal, appearing precisely as in a pillory or photographic portrait position, perhaps possessed with a presentiment, or possibly perceiving approaching symptoms, prognosticating a paroxysm of incipient pugnacity, pleaded: "Please pause and permit a poor penniless penitent pilgrim to pray in peace."

Powerful pneumatic draft, and possibly pungent perfume poured through the aperture of the pew preventing the plentiful perspiration from pouring from the pores of plump and portly Peter-(pray pardon unpremeditated pun)-who, suppressing expression of passionate temper by supreme physical power, peremptorily replied: "Peasant, at your peril, presume not to persist in pertinacious perversity or pay the penalty of such perseverance, entailing a protracted prosecution, popularly misnamed persecution, but by Proctors, properly, a proceeding for perturbation, the penalty pertaining to the pernicious practice, piracy or poaching on rights of private property. My pew must be purged and purified from this unpleasant propinquity. I, Peter Popplepip, must, at the expense of personal pain, perforce pummel, punch, push, pull, pitch, or put you out, or proceed to pulverisation; or simply, in point of fact, perform the particularly unpleasant process of practical protrusion, or pedo-posterior propulsion from this precinct without pausing to parley, though the prompt proceeding be painful to a person of position."

"Please," responded the pauper, perhaps provoked at his rebuke, perhaps impervious to Peter's ponderous, polysyllabic peroration, or possibly possessed by superior peripatetic philosophy, (but positively more politely than his appearance portended,) or puzzled by the proposed plan, so precisely like the practice of a performer in a play or pantomime, "Parson preaches that pews be proved to be public property, by Peter and Paul, or Pistol of 'Phesians, or t'other chap, and not sleeping places for privileged parties of prosperous persition nor pharesayicle

hyppercrits (not applying the eppytaph to present persons), and be likewiz an onprimmertiv practiss, and neither a protestant proclivity nor a pewseyite party of progress peculiarity or popish polemical opinion as opponents previously persisted-[Please note spelling on Phonetic principles, the substance apparently obtained from a plausible paragraph in the Church of the people Anti-Pew Paper or Pamphlet],-but are upheld by parties of proud port preferring perfect seclusion for performance of perfunctory prayers, or perchance penuriously preferring to preserve their pelf in pocket and purse and pay pew rent at fixed periods (as in proprietory chapels) to perennial offertory plate, disbelieving the power of pence or coppers [paragraph palpably pilfered from a popular preacher on open pews]. Pray forget preconceived prejudices."

Peter posed, or perhaps partially petrified, during this prolonged peroration, equivalent in length to the speaker's speech on prorogation of Parliament, or possibly by the poor person's appropriate but presumptuous plea, appeared perfectly placed as a picture of print-like patience on a pedestal, peacefully reposing (in the phrase of the poet positively improved); a pleasing expression pervaded no part of his physiognomy-his pouting lips protruded, his prominent proboscis turned up at so preposterous a proposition, and his peruke or periwig petulantly peaked on the apex of his poll.

Pompously, Peter Popplepip replied: "Prythee perpend; postpone to procrastination of posterity problems previously unsolved. Suspend pragmatic prattle upon unparallelled perfidious principles pertaining to pestiferous or pestilent postulates, propounded by a praucine public preponderating in politics at the present period, poisoning with plague spots the purity of primitive precedent."

Promptly, plainly, and pointedly replied the Pauper, in appearance a paragon of patient temper, and permanently impervious to passion, but possibly not attempting to propitiate his prejudices: "Peter Popplepip, pause in your prate-listen to Parson's perspicuous preamble proclaiming the purport and precept of the parable of the Pharisee and Publican:

SALLY SALTER.

Sally Salter she was a young teacher who taught,

And her friend, Charlie Church, a young preacher who praught
(Whom his enemies said “was a screecher who scraught,")
His heart, when he say her, kept sinking and sunk;
And his eye, meeting hers, kept winking and wunk,
While she, in her turn, fell to thinking and thunk!
He hastened to woo her, and sweetly he wooed,
For his love grew and grew, till a mountain it grewed,
And what he was longing to do, why he doed.

The secret he wanted to speak then he spoke
To seek with his lips what his heart had long soke;
So he managed to let the truth leak, and it loke.
He asked her to ride to the church, so they rode;
And so sweetly they glided, they both thought they glode,
Till they came to the place to be tied, and were toed.
Then "homeward," he said, " let us drive," and they drove;
And as soon as they wished to arrive they arrove;
For whatever she could not contrive, he controve.
The sweet kiss he was dying to steal, then he stole,
At the feet he was longing to kneel, and he kuole;
And he said, "I feel better than ever I fole."
So they to each other kept clinging and clung.
While time in swift circuit kept winging and wung;
But sad was the thing he was bringing and brung.
The man Sally wanted to catch and had caught.--
That she wanted from others to snatch and had snaught.-
Was the one she now wanted to scratch, and she scraught.
So Charlie's warm love began freezing and froze,
And he now took to teasing and cruelly tose
The girl he had loved to be squeezing and squoze.
"Wretch!" cried he, she threatened to leave him and left;
"How could you deceive me as you have deceft?"
She answered," I promised to cleave, and I've cleft."

HE life and letters of the daughter of the Baltimore merchant, married at eighteen and deserted at twenty; the sister-in

law of the First Napoleon, and of half a dozen kings and queens; a beauty and wit herself, the associate

of beauties and wits; the admired and feared of the celebrities of Europe, require no comment at our hands, they speak for themselves. William Patterson, an Irishman of modest estate, made his fortune as a Boston merchant when Boston was a place of but small account. He seems to have been a prudent and somewhat hard man; he seems only to have felt vexation at his daughter's troubles. Elizabeth, his daughter, was born on the 6th of February, 1785; at eighteen she was the acknowledged belle of Baltimore. In 1803 Jerome Bonaparte fell in love with the fascinating girl, and determined to marry her. The young lady, dazzled by so brilliant an alliance, was eager for the match. Mr. Patterson, foreseeing the risk his daughter would run by marrying a Frenchman under the legal age, without the consent of his legal guardians, endeavoured in vain to break off the engagement. The marriage was solemnised with all religious rites and official formalities. The marriage was displeasing to Napoleon, who in the language and with the thoughts of a corporal, denounced it as a "camp marriage." He wrote to the Pope, demanding a divorce, in a letter full of misstatements and garbled facts. The Pope turned the

The

Emperor's arguments against him, and refused the divorce. The marriage was, however, decreed invalid by the French civil courts. Jerome at first declared that he would be constant to his beautiful wife at all costs; but his constancy was not proof against the temptation of being made a Prince of the Empire and Admiral of France. Afterwards he married the daughter of the King of Wurtemburg, as is well known; but the marriage did not turn out a very fortunate one for him : we hear of him afterwards always in difficulties. Mme. Bonaparte, who all this time had been hoping against hope, when she found herself abandoned her love and admiration for her husband turned to contempt. bright and joyous girl, whose loveliness had captivated Jerome Bonaparte, became a brilliant, cynical woman, with wit like lightning, which soon made itself feared. In her fiftieth year, one who was no friend declared her to be the most lovely creature he had ever beheld, and, though careful of money, she was fond of sumptuous dress. Mr. Dundas had the bad taste to call Mme. Bonaparte's attention to a book in which all Americans were pronounced vulgarians. "Yes," she answered," and I am not surprised at that; were the Americans the descendants of the Indians or the Esquimaux, I should be astonished, but, being the direct descendants of the English, it is very natural that they should all be vulgarians." Mme. Bonaparte was not so bad as her word. She corresponded freely, among others, with Lady Morgan (the wild Irish girl). The Prince of Wurtemburg said that Jerome had made a great mistake in deserting so beautiful a woman. Gortschakoff remarked, "Had she been near the throne, the Allies would have had more difficulty in overthrowing Napoleon." Talleyrand said, "If she were a queen, how gracefully she would reign!" Baron Bousletten said of her, "Si elle n'est pas reine de Wesphalie, elle est au moins

reine des cœurs." The letters of this brilliant ambitious woman show that she was careful in business and a fond and prudent mother, while rushing into gaiety to kill ennui. Some particulars of the eccentricities of the Princess Borghese and the peculiarities of the Bonapartes, rich in promise and poor in performance, will be found interesting. Mme. Bonaparte closed her romantic career on the 4th of April, 1879, at the age of 94.-The Life and Letters of Madame Bonaparte.

STRAY LOCAL NOTES.

(Continued from page 53.)

THE Rev. S. Secretan, of St. John's Wood, has been elected chaplain of the new Holborn Union Infirmary, Archway-road, Upper Holloway.

Local politics run high at Tottenham. In a recent action tried at the Edmonton County Court, before Dr. Abdy and a jury, the plaintiff, named Darnell, a portrait artist, claimed £500 damages against a party named Norris for a violent assault. Both parties lived as neighbours in or near St. Ann's-road, and attended a meeting respecting the future election of members to the Tottenham Local Board of Health. They quarrelled as to "men," and in the end, what appeared very much like a murderous assault with a two-quart iron saucepan, was made upon plaintiff by the defendant. In the end the case was compromised for fifty guineas, to include costs.

In a case recently decided at the Hertford Assizes, in which Mr. Littler, Q.C., sued the Edmonton Local Board for damages. for fouling his pond at his residence, Southgate, with sewage, damages amounting to £350 were given. The plaintiff's costs have now been taxed at £400, and it appears that over £600 has been paid by the Board to counsel and witnesses. When the grand "tottle" of this unnecessary litigation comes to be summed up, it is said that it will reach £1,500, an amount equal to a rate upon the already over-burdened tax-payers of five-pence in the £! So much for Local Board obstinacy. How about surcharges?

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