vantage of this child: and though the stream of years has not rolled as yet far on, though the flowers are yet fresh upon the turfy tomb of Isabelle, and the sad tale is green in the memories of them that knew the history, it may be truly said that Lord Furstenroy has abided, and gives proof that he will abide, by his word. Alone, with the daughter of his dearest-beloved companion and of his bitterest foe, he inhabits his retreat in the country; and often at evening, as he paces up and down that old avenue, which we described in our first volume as one of the most beautiful features of the Northamptonshire estate, he is seen to stop, when the sun has set, and silence reigns, and the deer are sleeping round him; and some say that he holds commune there with a vision, some phantom invisible to all but to himself. He mixes not with the world-he reads much -and his talents and information might ensure him fame and power in that senate, whose applause and whose laurels he despises. He only smiles when Victoire brings to him the little Florence, and he asks, "Think you she grows liker to her mamma?" or else at night-fall, when his mysterious visitant— his spectral comforter-hath met him in his walk; then it is that his countenance beams happily, and

he appears solaced and glad, and he articulated once, on such an occasion, audibly, "She is then in heaven!"

"Celui qui n'a pas souffert, dit un prophète, que sait-il ?"

CHAPTER XXII.

WE have now conducted our readers to the end of this tragical history; and if we have been too tedious in describing its minutiæ, or too attentive to detail in analyzing the workings of the heart, we can only thank them for their patience, and request them to accept as our apology, that "difficile est proprié communia dicere." The remaining personages, whom we have introduced to their acquaintance, " to point "to our moral or adorn our tale," although numerous, are too unimportant to detain us long. We have certainly, as we have said, a good many of them; we have of young ladies alone as many on our list to be provided with husbands in our last chapter as even the honourable and disagreeable Mrs. Scraggs herself, or any other elderly chaperon. We will begin, however, by accounting, first of all, for the manner in which our heroine had first found a refuge in the madhouse of Charenton.

This was done through the instrumentality of no less a person than our old republican friend, Sansargent, who, after the death of Boivin, and his own acquittal, finding politics a bad trade, had renounced them altogether, and had obtained an appointment as one of the keepers of the lunatics in this Maison des Fous. He had been sent by the governor, to conduct back a patient to Meaux, and had been returning along the road late at night, when, finding Jeannette Isabelle wandering about in that distracted condition, in which we have described her as having fled from her husband, in the vicinity of Clayes, he took compassion upon her, placed her beside him in his carriage, and conducted her safe to the asylum. From this retreat she had artfully contrived to escape, but in a decided state of madness, just at the time when the fatal duel had ended. Our hero, having discovered this service to have been rendered by Sansargent, settled on him a pension for the rest of his life.

Poor old mother Boivin also, as having been connected more or less with the fortunes of his late brother, Lord Fletcher, was offered her choice of being brought to England, and being furnished with a cottage on Lord Furstenroy's estate, or of receiv

ing an annual pension in Paris. She preferred the latter; as having been born in the Rue St. Denis, she wished to die there also. She, however, accepted the pension, and continued cursing the sacrés chiens d'Anglais to the last, even while she was living on their bounty. St. Just's celebrated code of laws for the immortal republic, which her son used to quote, contains the following rule: "Un homme convaincu d'ingratitude est banni;" but Madame Boivin never approved of her son's line of politics.

Lord Carmansdale, shortly after this recognition of his wife, whom he had not previously seen for years, died. The cause of his death was the fact of his having gone out without his great coat one chilly day, to look at some watches at Brequet's, in consequence of Anton having not allowed him to wear it, on account of economy. He left his collection of snuffboxes and canes to Lord Furstenroy, with long written directions in his will for polishing them, and keeping them in order. His diplomatic appointment was considered a great windfall by ministers, and was filled up in the next gazette: after this he was entirely forgotten.

His widow continued to live on the continent until her death, only paying an occasional visit to