breath. By all this, she understood that she was an invalid. But what were the causes of her illness she did not know, although, if we examine very closely into the matter, there may have been a half-consciousness-for she never inquired.

After what had taken place, Joseph perceived that it would be prudent to withdraw his pretensions altogether, and, returning to Paris, soon forgot the affianced of his youth, and resumed his old manner of life. The last time he has been seen, to our knowledge, was at the Château Rouge, his favourite place of resort, where he was executing a frenzied cavalier seul before Mademoiselle Papillon. He seemed to have lost the greater part of his rusticity, and to have become, in fact, quite an accomplished villain; at least, this was the term applied to him by his partner when, after executing a pirouette worthy of a Huron or an operadancer, he returned to claim her hand.

Having thus disposed of this gentleman, we shall turn to more interesting personages, and, in the first place, we must explain how it was that Lucien came up just at the nick of time, for all the world like a hero of romance. Victor was returning, feeling very sheepish, towards the château, when he met his friend coming hastily along, trying to make up for his excess of sleep by excess of speed. He was soon made acquainted with what had taken place, and Victor finished off by saying, quite in a virtuous mood of mind: I think it a pity to spoil the girl's reputation, and shall be off to Paris at once. Besides, it is now really time to prepare for the exploration '

'First let me explain to Clarisse's parents the whole truth of what has happened,' interrupted Lucien, turning his back very cavalierly on his friend, and walking rapidly towards Le Buisson. As he advanced, he cast a rapid glance over the past and into the future, examined and discarded with contempt certain doctrines and prejudices in which money and station are placed above beauty and goodness, and completely made up his mind as to the course of conduct it was proper to pursue. He came in sight of the bridge of planks just as Clarisse was crossing it, so that he saw exactly what occurred, and acted, as we have seen, with prudence and vigour.

When he arrived at the farm, helping to carry the unconscious Clarisse, he was received as the saviour of the family, for several boys had run ahead, and related how he had dived three times before he succeeded in fishing up the drowning girl.

Victor carried out his intention of returning to Paris; but Lucien wrote to his parents, relating what had happened, and hinting that he might very shortly put their love and indulgence to a severe test. They came down, without his knowledge, to reconnoitre; but he soon encountered his worthy mother bustling mysteriously about the village, making inquiries into the character and position of Clarisse and her family. She had set down the results of her investigations in a little ivory note-book, of which

Lucien took possession, and found written therein: 'Poor-possessed of three cows-pretty-not a drunkard-has only this child-decently educated-good character-respected by the neighbours.' The good lady had trusted to her memory to know to which parties these several notes applied. Luckily, she had not fallen in with Jacques Gogo, and when she was induced, with a manner in which curiosity and condescension were singularly mixed, to be introduced to the Claudets, she was rather disposed than otherwise to look upon them with favour. Clarisse seemed so pretty and gentle as she sat in the invalid-chair which her mother had procured for her, that she won Madame Artenay's heart at once. It is true that Lucien, in the way to the house, had torn a few hairs out of his head, and had declared that though he was the most obedient of sons, he must either marry Clarisse or set out immediately for the North Pole. Thus prepared and influenced somewhat by the tender glance which the sick girl furtively cast upon her son, Madame Artenay went right over into the enemy's camp; and when her husband, who, on his part, had been calling on the maire of the place, came in, she was quite prepared, in case any opposition was offered, to pronounce a splendid tirade on the absurdity of controlling the affections of young people. But as M. Artenay only looked benign and bewildered, she contented herself with whispering: Alfred, if anybody had attempted to keep us asunder, wouldn't we have shaken the world to pieces?'

6

The matter was not settled there and then, as in a melodrama, where there is always a notary behind the scenes, ready at a moment's notice to be called in with a small round table and a pen in his ear to draw up a contract of marriage. However, some little progress in the negotiation was made. Old Claudet and his wife shewed a proper degree of dignity and hesitation, because it was necessary to keep up the honour of the country as against the town, and M. Artenay was once so disgusted, that he said to his son: 'Don't you think you could find a prettier girl than that after all?' But, in truth, this must have been a mere joke, because he came every day from the country-house where he had taken up his abode, and was never happy until he had patted Clarisse upon the cheek, and given her a large box of bonbons, a packet of gloves, a brooch, or some other knickknack of that kind. At length the legal gentlemen were called in, and matters then went on very fast, for the Claudets did not stipulate many things; and whatever they did stipulate, was conceded by the impatient Lucien. By the time these formalities were concluded, Clarisse had bloomed again into a perfect marvel of beauty; and when in her plain white dress, with the crown of orange-blossom on her head, she stepped into the carriage that was to drive her to the little old church half-way up the slope of the hill, there was a loud burst of admiration amongst the crowd of spectators. We cannot find a comparison for her; peaches and rosebuds, and pearls and angels, all that has been

used up. She was like-if we must say what she was like-the maiden whom you, young reader of twenty, have imagined in your purest dreams. Having said so much, we suppose it is necessary to add, that Lucien was the very beau-idéal of a bridegroom. Even Jacques Gogo opened his eyes in wondering approbation when he saw this fine couple standing side by side under the consecrating scarf. Be sure that there were splendid rejoicings that evening at the country-house, to which Clarisse was carried home in triumph. All the lads and all the girls of the village danced in the courtyard, and their elders became gloriously merry over the good wine that was served out in abundance. Victor Moreau was not present at these rejoicings; but he and his young wife-for he has since married-have lately been called upon to stand as godfather and godmother to a tremendous little fellow, whom Clarisse declares to be, without exception, the handsomest babe ever born in this world. We ought to add that Victor, whenever he has a little tiff with his Marie, invariably talks of setting out on a voyage up the Amazon river.

HE northern skirting of the great African desert, hitherto, somewhat incorrectly, marked on our maps as the Beled-el-Jerid, or date-country, is a region of sandy plains, covered for the most part with coarse scanty grass, a few ligneous plants, and dry shrubs. Here and there are furrows, in which the water collects after the rains of winter, forming the temporary streams called wads, which give birth to numerous oases. These fertile spots are favourable to the cultivation of the date, which is their staple, though by no means their only production, and hence the whole country has derived its name. Two races, differing widely both in their origin and mode of life, inhabit this region of scanty pasture-lands and fruitful gardens. The older occupants are the Berbers, now formed, through a succession of generations, into a distinct and homogeneous

race, though descended from the mixed population that anciently arose in the Atlas region, through the settlement of Romans, Vandals, and others, among the primitive inhabitants. The dominant people are more recent immigrants of Arab descent, in character and manners very unlike the soft, apathetic, crafty, and servile Berbers. Various tribes of the former nation have poured themselves into Northern Africa since the Mohammedan conquest, and have settled in various parts of that fertile strip of country which is now again known as the Tell; while some of these hordes, more true to their vagabond instincts, despising the sedentary and agricultural life which naturally belongs to towns and arable-lands, have spread over the plains of Sahara, and made themselves masters not only of the open country, but of large portions of the lands of the oases. They have left the Berbers in peaceable possession of the ksars (villages of the oases), allowing them to cultivate the soil as their tenants or serfs, while they themselves range about with their numerous flocks and herds, never remaining more than ten or fifteen days in one spot, enjoying in perfection that wild, lawless, independent life, the taste for which seems to be the birthright of the Arab wherever he is found. Here there is full scope for the development of this singular character. Throughout the length and breadth of the Sahara, there is no regular government; blest of Allah, and far from sultans,' is their mode of proudly characterising their lot in this respect. The various tribes do not even form anything like a community among themselves; each has its own allies and enemies; but the alliances are voluntary and temporary, arising out of occasional circumstances, and forming the exception, while the rule is, that every tribe may be treated as an enemy by every other tribe. They have no written laws; their individual rights are maintained, and their wrongs redressed, by violences which no written code would sanction; yet there has grown up a collection of traditional usages which are generally submitted to, and which it would be unsafe to violate, from the danger of becoming an outlaw among outlaws. This code appears to us, indeed, little more than the organisation of brigandage; yet it suffices to prevent quarrels among brethren: it is sanctioned by their religion, and is openly invoked as of divine authority.

The manners arising out of this state of society must needs be very unlike our own, or those of the civilised nations with whom we maintain correspondence; perhaps quite as dissimilar are they to the usages of mere savage life on the one hand, or those of half-civilised sedentary populations on the other. It is no small part of the interest attaching to them, that they bear a striking analogy to those which prevailed in Europe during the feudal ages, and that almost every page of description with which our French neighbours furnish us, reminds us of the records of our chivalrous romances; of those days when, as we are led to believe, might was the surest right, when the sword and not the judge