In the clear nights she has serenades, and garlands of flowers are hung upon her door. In the morning the girls come with loving eyes to give her little presents of sympathy and esteem. hail and the thunder. His eyes are always | drops of honey amid waves of perfume. Her open upon his flock. The sinner evades him: wheel whirls without ceasing, and hope is enhe knows it, and he goes in search of the twining as many cloudless days in the future, sinner. For offences he has pardon, for griefs as her bobbin spins out armfuls of wool, and a soothing balm. His name is on every lip, a | her needle makes points in the cloth. blessed name; the valleys resound with it. He You may be sure that all this is well known is called, in each heart, the great physician for in the meadow-lands. All the people are now trouble. And this is the reason that Martha | enlisted in her cause. went to him with hers, and found a balm. But from the obscure centre of his little parish, the man of God was far better able to detect sin and drive away malignant thoughts, than to find the nameless soldier, in the heart of an army, who had not written a word of inquiry or information for three years, especially when, to the sound of cymbal, trumpets, and cannon, six hundred thousand excited Frenchmen were proudly marching to conquer all the capitals of Europe. They shattered all obstructions, they put to flight all who stood against them, and only stopped to take breath upon the foreign soil, that they might go on to further and greater conquests. It is true that during the past spring Martha's uncle had written often, but the army had just then made a triple campaign; Jacques, they learned, had been transferred to another regiment. Some one had seen him in Prussia; another, elsewhere in Germany. Nothing definite was known about him. He had no relatives, for, let the truth be told, the fine fellow had no parents. He had come out of that asylum where a throng of infants live upon the public pity, which takes the place of a mother. As a boy he had been long searching for his mother, but never could find her. He had an ardent desire to be loved, and as he knew he was loved at Lafitte, had it not been for the war, he would have lived and died there. And now, leaving the good priest to his benevolent task, let us turn aside into a very humble cottage, where poor Martha is hard at work. What a change! Yesterday she had her trousseau; there was gold in her wardrobe. To-day she has nothing but her stool, a thimble, a needle-case, and a spinning-wheel. She spins and sews incessantly. We need not lament that she is tiring her fingers; when she was rich, she wept; now that she is poor, she smiles constantly. Jacques will be saved for a long and happy life; and life, liberty, everything he will owe to her, and her alone. How he will love her! and where one loves and is loved, poverty is powerless. How happy she is; the cup of her future is crowned with honey; already has her heart tasted its first, rich, overflowing drop. Everything is flowering around her. Thus she works on from week to week, sipping VOL. I. One Sunday morning, the dear old priest comes to her after mass, his face beaming with joy, and in his right hand an open letter. He is trembling, but more with joy than with age. "My daughter," he cries, "Heaven has blessed thee and answered my prayers; I have found him; he was in Paris. It is accomplished; Jacques is free. He will be here next Sunday, and he has not a suspicion of your part in this matter. He thinks that his mother has at last come to light; that she is rich, and has purchased his freedom. Let him come, and when he knows that he owes everything to you, how much you have done for him, he will love you more than ever, more than any one except God. My dear daughter, the day of your reward is about to dawn; prepare your heart for it. Jacques will surely come, and when that happy hour arrives, I want to be near you. I want to make him understand, in the presence of all the people, how happy he ought to be in being loved by such an angel as you." We are told that blessed spirits in paradise are bathed in bliss when they hear the harmonies of heaven. Such is the joy of Martha as these words sink into her heart. But the Sunday has arrived. All nature shines in green and gold under the beautiful sun of June. Crowds are singing everywhere. It is a double festival for all. The clock strikes noon; leaving the holy altar, the good old priest advances with the loving, pure-faced girl. Her eyelids drop over her azure eyes, she is timid and speechless; but an inner voice cries "happiness. The crowd gathers around her. All is grand; you would say that the whole countryside is awaiting the arrival of a great lord. Thus marshalled, they go forth from the village, and with laughing joy take their post at the entrance of the highway. There is nothing to be seen in it; nothing at the far end of that road-furrow; nothing but the shadows checkered by the sunlight. Suddenly a small black point appears; it increases in size, it moves, it is a man; two men, two soldiers; the latter, it is he! How well he looks; how he has grown in the army! Both continue to advance; the other, who is he? he looks like a woman. Ah! it is a woman; how pretty and graceful she is, dressed like a cantinière. A woman! my God! and with Jacques? where can she be going? Martha's eyes are upon her, sad as the eyes of the dead. Even the priest, who escorts her, is trembling all over. The crowd is dumb. They approach still nearer; now they are only twenty paces off, out of breath. But what now! suddenly a look of pain; he has smiling and Jacques has seen Martha! Trembling, ashamed, he stops. The priest can contain himself no longer. With the strong full voice with which he confounds the sinner, he cries: "Jacques, who is that woman?" and, like a criminal, lowering his head, Jacques replies, "Mine, M. le Curé, mine; I am married." A woman's scream is heard; the priest returning to himself, and frightened for Martha, "My daughter," he said, "Courage! here below we all must suffer." But Martha does not even sigh. Everybody looks at her; they think she is going to die. She does not die, she even seems to console herself. She curtsies graciously to Jacques, and then bursts out into a wild mad laugh. Alas! she was never to laugh again otherwise: the poor thing is mad. At the words which issued from the lips of her unfaithful lover, the poor sufferer had at once lost her reason, never to regain it. When Jacques learned all, he fled the country. They say that, mad with remorse, he reentered the army, and, like a lost spirit weary of his wretched existence, he flung it away at the cannon's mouth. Be that as it may, what is true, alas! too true! is that Martha escaped from friendly vigilance one night, and ever since, for thirty years past, the poor idiot has been periodically seen in our village stretching out her hands for our charity. In Agen, people said as she passed, "Martha has come out again; she must be hungry." They knew nothing about her, and yet every one loved her. Only the children, who have no pity for anything, who laugh at all that is sad, would cry out, " Martha, a soldier!" when she, with a mortal fear of soldiers, would fly at the sound. And now you all know why she shuddered at these words. I, who have screamed them after her more than a hundred times, when I heard the touching story of her life, would like to cover her tattered frock with kisses. I would like to ask her pardon on my knees. I find nothing but a tomb. . I cover it with flowers. THE COMPLAINT. A POEM ATTRIBUTED TO CHATTERTON. Love, lawless tyrant of my breast, That through the meadows play. No more beneath your boughs I hear, The distant Severne roar- Oft at the solitary hour Is gliding through the shade; THE IMPRISONED HUNTSMAN. My hawk is tired of perch and hood, I hate to learn the ebb of time The lark was wont my matins ring, No more at dawning morn I rise, SIR WALTER SCOTT. ENGLAND AND FRANCE. BY DOROTHEA JULIA RAMSBOTTOM. Having often heard travellers lament not having put down what they call the memorybillious of their journeys, I was determined, while I was on my tower, to keep a dairy (so called from containing the cream of one's information), and record everything which recurred to me-therefore I begin with my departure from London. Resolving to take time by the firelock, we left Mountague-place at seven o'clock, by Mr. Fulmer's pocket thermometer, and proceeded over Westminster-bridge, to explode the European continent. I never pass Whitehall without dropping a tear to the memory of Charles the Second, who was decimated after the rebellion of 1745, opposite the Horse Guards-his memorable speech to Archbishop Caxon rings in my ears whenever I pass the spot-I reverted my head, and affected to look to see what o'clock it was by the dial on the opposite side of the way. It is quite impossible not to notice the improvements in this part of the town; the beautiful view which one gets of Westminster Hall, and its curious roof, after which, as everybody knows, its builder was called William Roofus. Amongst the lighter specimens of modern architecture, is Ashley's Ampletheatre, on your right, as you cross the bridge (which was built, Mr Fulmer told me, by the Court of Arches and the House of Peers). In this ampletheatre there are equestrian performances, so called because they are exhibited nightly—during the season. It is quite impossible to quit this 'mighty maze,' as Lady Hopkins emphatically calls London, in her erudite Essay upon Granite, without feeling a thousand powerful sensations. -so much wealth, so much virtue, so much vice, such business as is carried on within its precincts, such influence as its inhabitants possess in every part of the civilized world-It really exalts the mind from meaner things, and casts all minor considerations far behind one. The toll at the Marsh-gate is ris since we last come through-it was here we were to have taken up Lavinia's friend, Mr. Smith, who had promised to go with us to Dover; but we found his servant instead of himself, with a billy, to say he was sorry he could not come, because his friend Sir John Somebody wished him to stay and go down to Poll at Lincoln. I have no doubt this Poll, whoever she may be, is a very respectable young woman; but mentioning her by her Christian name only, in so abrupt a manner, had a very unpleasant appearance at any rate. Nothing remarkable occurred till we reached the Obstacle in St. George's Fields, where our attention was arrested by those great institutions, the "School for the Indignant Blind," and the " Misanthropic Society" for making shoes, both of which claim the gratitude of the nation. At the corner of the lane leading to Peckham, I saw that they had removed the Dollygraph, which used to stand upon a declivity to the right of the road-the dollygraphs are all to be superseded by Serampores. When we came to the Green Man at Blackheath, we had an opportunity of noticing the errors of former travellers, for the heath is green, and the man is black: Mr. Fulmer endeavoured to account for this, by saying, that Mr. Colman has discovered that Moors being black, and Heaths being a kind of Moor, he looks | talked of Shakspeare, and said out of his own upon the confusion of words as the cause of the head these beautiful lines: mistake. As we went near Woolwich we saw at a distance the artillery officers on a common, a firing away with their bombs in mortars like anything. At Dartford they make gunpowder; here we changed horses; at the inn we saw a most beautiful Rhoderick Random in a pot, covered with flowers; it is the finest I ever saw, except those at Dropmore.-(Note, Rhododendron.) When we got to Rochester we went to the Crown Inn, and had a cold collection: the charge was absorbent-I had often heard my poor dear husband talk of the influence of the Crown, and a Bill of Wrights, but I had no idea what it really meant till we had to pay one. As we passed near Chatham I saw several Pitts, and Mr. Fulmer showed me a great many buildings-I believe he said they were fortyfications; but I think there must have been near fifty of them. He also showed us the Lines at Chatham, which I saw quite distinctly, with the clothes drying on them. Rochester was remarkable, in King Charles' time, for being a very witty and dissolute place, as I have read in books. At Canterbury we stopped ten minutes, to visit all the remarkable buildings and curiosities in it, and about its neighbourhood. The church is beautiful: when Oliver Cromwell conquered William the Third, he perverted it into a stable-the stalls are still standing. The old Virgin who showed us the church wore buckskin breeches and powder; he said it was an archypiscopal sea; but I saw no sea, nor do I think it possible he could see it either, for it is at least seventeen miles off. We saw Mr. Thomas a Beckett's tomb-my poor husband was extremely intimate with the old gentleman, and one of his nephews, a very nice man, who lives near Golden Square, dined with us twice, I think, in London;-in Trinity Chapel is the monument of Eau de Cologne, just as it is now exhibiting at the Diarrea in the Regent's Park. It was late when we got to Dover: we walked about while our dinner was preparing, looking forward to our snug tête-à-tête of three. We went to look at the sea; so called, perhaps, from the uninterrupted view one has, when upon it. It was very curious to see the locks, to keep in the water here, and the keys, which are on each side of them all ready, I suppose, to open them if they were wanted. "Half way down Hangs one that gathers camphire; dreadful trade.” This, I think it but right to say, I did not myself see. "Methinks he seems no bigger than his head, where we stood, they looked exactly like men, This, again, I cannot quite agree to; for only smaller; which I attribute to the effect of distance-and then Mr. Fulmer said this: -“And yon tall anchoring bark Diminished to her cock-her cock a boy!" This latter part I do not in the least understand, nor what Mr. Fulmer meant by cock a boy-however, Lavinia seemed to comprehend it all; for she turned up her eyes, and said something about the immortal bird of heaven; so I suppose they were alluding to the eagles, which doubtless build their aviaries in that white mountain.-(Immortal Bard of Avon, the lady means.) After dinner we read the Paris Guide, and looked over the list of all the people who had been incontinent during the season, whose names are all put down in a book at the inn, for the purpose—we went to rest much fatigued, knowing that we should be obliged to get up early, to be ready for embrocation in the packet in the morning. We were, however, awake with the owl, and a walking away before eight; we went to see the castle, which was built, the man told us, by Seizer, so called, I conclude, from seizing whatever he could lay his hands on; the man said, moreover, that he had invaded Britain and conquered it; upon which I told him, that if he repeated such a thing in my presence again, I should write to Mr. Peel about him. We saw the inn where Alexander, the autograph of all the Russias, lived when he was here; and as we were going along we met twenty or thirty dragons, mounted on horses, and the ensign who commanded them was a friend of Mr. Fulmer's; he looked at Lavinia, and seemed pleased with her Tooting assembly he was quite a sine qua non of a man, and wore tips on his lips, like Lady Hopkins' poodle. I heard Mr. Fulmer say he was a son of Marrs; he spoke it as if everybody knew his Mr. Fulmer looked at a high place, and father; so I suppose he must be the son of the poor gentleman who was so barbarously murdered some years ago near Ratcliffe Highway; if he is, he is uncommon genteel. At twelve o'clock we got into a boat and rowed to the packet; it was very fine and clear for the season, and Mr. Fulmer said he should not dislike pulling Lavinia about all the morning. This, I believe, was a naughtycal phrase, which I did not rightly comprehend; because Mr. F. never offered to talk in that way on shore to either of us. The packet is not a parcel, as I imagined, in which we were to be made up for exportation, but a boat of considerable size; it is called a cutter-why, I do not know, and did not like to ask. It was very curious to see how it rolled about; however, I fell quite mal-apropos; and, instead of exciting any of the soft sensibilities of the other sex, a great unruly man, who held the handle of the ship, bid me lay hold of a companion, and when I sought his arm for protection, he introduced me to a ladder, down which I ascended into the cabin, one of the most curious places I ever beheld, where ladies and gentlemen are put upon shelves, like books in a library, and where tall men are doubled up like boot-jacks before they can be put away at all. A gentleman in a hairy cap, without his coat, laid me perpendicularly on a mattress, with a basin by my side, and said that was my birth; I thought it would have been my death, for I never was so indisposed in all my life. I behaved extremely ill to a very amiable middle-aged gentleman, with a bald head, who had the misfortune to be attending upon his wife, in the little hole under me. There was no symphony to be found among the tars (so called from their smell), for just before we went off I heard them throw a painter overboard, and directly after, they called out to one another to hoist up an ensign. I was too ill to inquire what the poor young gentleman had done; but, after I came up stairs, I did not see his body hanging anywhere, so I conclude they had cut him down. I hope it was not young Mr. Marr, a venturing after my Lavy. I was quite shocked to find what democrats the sailors are: they seem to hate the nobility, and especially the law-lords. The way I discovered this apathy of theirs to the nobility was this: the very moment we lost sight of England and were close to France, they began, one and all, to swear first at the peer and then at the bar, in such gross terms, as made my very blood run cold. I was quite pleased to see Lavinia sitting with Mr. Fulmer in the travelling carriage on the outside of the packet. But Lavinia afforded great proofs of her good bringing-up, by commanding her feelings. It is curious what could have agitated the billiary ducks of my stomach, because I took every precaution which is recommended in different books to prevent ill-disposition. I had some muttonchops at breakfast, some Scotch marmalade on bread and butter, two eggs, two cups of coffee, and three of tea, besides toast, a little fried whiting, some potted charr, and a few shrimps; and after breakfast, I took a glass of warm white wine negus and a few oysters, which lasted me till we got into the boat, when I began eating gingerbread-nuts all the way to the packet, and then was persuaded to take a glass of bottled porter, to keep everything snug and comfortable. When we came near the French shore, a batto (which is much the same as a boat in England) came off to us, and to my agreeable surprise, an Englishman came into our ship; and I believe he was a man of great consequence, for I overheard him explaining some dreadful quarrel which had taken place in our Royal Family. He said to the master of our ship, that owing to the Prince Leopold's having run foul of the Duchess of Kent while she was in stays, the Duchess had missed Deal. By which I conclude it was a dispute at cards: however, I want to know nothing of state secrets, or I might have heard a great deal more, because it appeared that the Duchess' head was considerably injured in the scuffle. I was very much distressed to see that a fat gentleman who was in the ship, had fallen into a fit of perplexity by over-reaching himself— he lay prostituted upon the floor, and if it had not been that we had a doctor in the ship, who immediately opened his temporary artery and his jocular vein, with a lancelot, which he had in his pocket, I think we should have seen his end. It was altogether a most moving spectacle: he thought himself dying, and all his anxiety in the midst of his distress was to be able to add a crocodile to his will, in favour of his niece, about whom he appeared very sanguinary. It was quite curious to see the doctor fleabottomize the patient, which he did without any accident, although it blew a perfect harrico at the time. I noticed two little children, who came out of the boat with hardly any clothes on them, speaking French like anything; a proof of the superior education given to the |