the fidelity of Rigand, I acknowledged that I owed my life to him, and gave him a note for one-thousand francs to replace the one which was promised him. I recommended him to take the utmost care of my favourite dish of Cardons, of which I should now partake with more than ordinary pleasure, leaving him free to go before a magistrate and make such deposition as he wished. When I was alone with my wife, she wept, she sobbed, she heaped upon me marks of attachment and of love, to the pleasure of which I have, for a long time, been a stranger. I merely told her, that, apparently, I had a mortal enemy; but that, surrounded with a woman who loved me, and faithful domestics, I had nothing to fear, and departed, wishing to leave her to her reflections. Another person in my situation might, perhaps, have been curious to witness the next visit which M. de Moins made to my wife. For myself, I knew Madame Aubertin so well, I had so clearly seen the manifested horrour which the attempt at the commission of the crime had inspired her, that I was certain this interview would never take place. In fact, Madame Aubertin, terrified at the violence of a passion, which did not recoil from the infamy of poison, so arranged matters as to give M. de Moins to understand that he could not be received at her house. He, on his part, piqued at his conduct, soon abandoned a love so coldly rewarded, and shortly after married." "Ah," cried M. de Murans, "you have related a most odious tale! This M. de Moins was a dangerous man. I no longer wonder that Madame Aubertin does not desire an alliance with a man who could meditate the perpetration of such a crime! That which surprises me is, that you do not partake of her aversion and dislike for M. de Moins." "For M. de Moins!" replied M. Aubertin. "What! you think, then, that he attempted to poison me?" "And why not?" "Eh! why-it was myself." "How, you?" with the same eyes, I blush at my conduct, I accuse myself as you do, but it is not long that I have thus thought. While I was jealous I approved of my conduct; to-day the veil has fallen. You understand now that I cannot overrule my wife, nor express any disapprobation of her conduct." "And your son will be miserable! Mademoiselle de Moins cannot marry the man she loves," said M. de Murans, "because, twenty years since, you calumniated M. da Moins." "But understand, my friend," replied M. Aubertin, "that this calumny, since it is one, is one of the most innocent; it is confined to the knowledge of a single person; besides, it has hindered me from becoming-” "Stop there: I know your wife: you would never have been placed in that position-" At this instant the door of the room opened, and Madame Aubertin entered. "You here, Madame ?" said her husband, looking at the clock, which indicated the hour; I believed you at the 'bal de l'opera ?' " "No, Monsieur," replied she, "I sent my son to accompany the ladies, who have passed the evening there, and I have been thinking over this proposed marriage more at my leisure. I have changed my mind, Monsieur; I give my consent to this union; I cease to oppose it." "Indeed, Madame." "Yes, Monsieur," continued Madame Aubertin, "apropos, here is a little key, which I accidentally found a few days past; is it yours?" M. Aubertin took the key, cast a furtive glance at it, blushed, and put it in his pocket. The husband bent his head; his secret was discovered. "Yes, it was I who wrote the anonymous letter to the He was taken, after twenty years, in the snare which he cook, and who sent the poison." "Without doubt. I was jealous, and was perfectly aware of all the facts. M. de Moins, looking upon me as the only obstacle to his happiness, and wishing my death, suggested to me an idea which I put in execution, and which delivered me from a dangerous rival. My wife's little dog died, and the whole affair cost me two thousand francs; but I did not deem this paying too dear to recover my lost tranquillity." "But, unhappy that you are! you have slandered an honourable man!" "I have I said a single word? Has my mouth ever accused him?" himself had set. Five days after, the young Aubertin was the husband of Mademoiselle de Moins. THE UNINHABITED HOUSE. "Alack, and what shall we there see, But empty lodgings and unfurnished walls, Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones!!! "And what cheer there for welcome ?" C. A. S. I AM never 'idle, but during many days silent watch in the twilight of a sick chamber I have made my observations on the passers by. It is a busy neighbourhood just now, the carting materials for building several edifices in the vicinity, has for the time banished our usual tranquillity. "You know very well that your wife has accused M. de Our trim court-yards form a kind of vestibule to our dwellMoins, and has ever regarded him as a poisoner!" "This is true, and that is the result I desired; but what more agreeable news than my death could have been announced to M. de Moins? Had he not eagerly wished for it? And my wife, had she not been compelled to interrupt|| his murderous desires?" "That is true," replied M. de Murans; “but do you, at|| the same time, think him capable of committing so infamous an act? Although a libertine, does it follow that he was a poisoner? Do you not thik that a man can be rather loose in tings pertaining to love, and yet be an honourable man?" "Without doubt." "Why, then, loa 1 his character with so odious a crime?" "Because I was jealous, and because this passion, like love, is at once fierce and i lind. To-day, now that twenty years have passed since the occurrence, and I no longer see ings, and the lofty forest-trees, linking their arms above our roofs, their umbrageous foliage, passing now into the "sere and yellow leaf," occasionally let fall a billet-doux, of nature's own stereotyping, to remind us, that they have fulfilled their destiny, and that now, gradually relinquishing the adornments that He has so lavishly bestowed on them, they will, ere long, impart a lesson to the skeptical and thoughtless. Divesting themselves of leaves, of tender twigs, of all things extraneous, soon the naked trunks, with their skeleton branches, will stand as beacons to the eye of faith of a resurrection to come. Sublime in their silent fulfilment of His decrees, these forest-trees are powerful monitors; as they change from the brightness and brilliancy of spring to their richer summer hue, and gradually as now to the more sombre shades of autumn, it behooves us to remember that our own winter approaches, and that, when this corruption shall have put on incorruption, this mortal will likewise assume an immortality of glory or of immeasurable love of a confiding heart. Was it the gliding misery. With a voice ye speak, old trees, murmuring and low as the south wind sways your branches, but threatening and violent when the elements war among ye, a lullaby ye sing to the wearied mind when anxiety or care drive "nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep," from our pillow. Nature's aviary are ye, for at the earliest dawn upspring from their hidden coverts, the feathered songsters pour forth their earliest hymn of praise. Beneath your shadows, frolic and fun are let loose at noon.day, when emerging from the crowded school-room boys and girls while away the hour of intermission. One enjoyment preferred above all others, I have noticed among these young republicans, and that is, ringing at the bell of an uninhabited house. One after another they ascend the steps, seat themselves on its broad door-sill and abutments, and there enact the play of "make believe,"-in other words, acting out their own conceptions of fashionable life and manners. When six or eight are seated, another approaches simpering and sideling along, with folded hands, and a mighty effort by leaning forward to catch the toutensemble of a Broadway belle; slowly she ascends, and with wonderful command of countenance appears insensible to the vicinity of her mates, who sit simpering and bridling around her, their bare feet carefully hidden under their spread outskirts. A vigorous pull is given to the bell-knob, up starts one of the assemblage-"Oh, how do you do!" hem-how do you do!-and a most exquisite aping of high life ensues-presently all burst forth into a glad laugh, and fly with one accord to the devoted bell, that most unwittingly echoes through the silent mansion. Who knows what echoes resound to this lonely bell? Watching the children in early twilight, as fearlessly they pursued their pastime, I have imagined dim forms moving through those deserted rooms, whether in joyful anticipation of a shadowy visitor, or dread of an unavoidable interview with some hated persecutor. Gertainly, the children feel a creeping of awe, for as one continuously pulls at the bell, others peep through the narrow side-lights into the gloom beyond; surely, with noiseless tread a porter approaches, for heels over head they roll down the steps and scamper off, regardless of the screams of a little one they have placed in the balcony for security, in order to facilitate their own more boisterous play. Timidly one returns, creeps up the steps, and snatching the terrified child in her arms, darts down the street after her companions. in among them of the spectral lover, that so suddenly dispersed the gay group of children! Did the chill of his cold, false heart, cast a pallor of fear over those joyous countenances? Behold the pantomime within that silent room-surely the shutters have been slowly folded back, and a fairy figure is seated beside the window, a hand is pressed to the heart to still its throbbings, a convulsive effort at equanimity, and the countenance assumes an expression of stoical indifference-the lover enters, approaches the window-stands immovable for a moment, that one moment has pressed conviction on the mind of the statue-like figure he loves her no longer, her suspicions have been just, a rival has supplanted her, and the faithful heart is crushed in the bitterness of disappointment. He takes her hand, it is yielded, a few words are spoken, that gentle head is bowed in assent, but without one outward vestige of feeling. Surprised, not disappointed, for his vanity is touched at this seeming indifference to the withdrawal of his vows, he gazes upon the lovely one-so lovely in the calmness of her despair, that he, the false hearted, is ready to forswear him. self again. There is no uplifting of the sad earnest eye to meet, for the last time, the light of its life-that light, has kindled a fire which is consuming its existence; and now, with downcast looks, and apparent serenity, she receives his adieus. It is another day, and the self-same throng of children occupy the door-step of the uninhabited house. "Pull the bell! pull! pull!" Do our ears deceive us, or have they broken the wire by their violence? No sound is heard-to our eye the door slowly opens. A mute, in funereal garments, holds it widespread. Why scatter the children again? Do they in their innocence fear the invisibles who surround them, and is it in their gambols that they, with one accord, flee again the house where "a murder has been done ?" Or is it the avoidance of the crowd in sable garments who noiselessly emerge from the open door-way? A phantom train are in the street-a hearse with nodding plumes, a long succession of carriages, robed priests, infallible practitioners, mourning friends, all unwitting that a "murder has been done," and that the stricken flower they are about consigning to its mother earth has been the victim. Why do children love to play about empty houses-I "Ma! do you know the reason nobody lives in that house have a horrour of them. over the way?" said little Willie. 'No, my dear, how should I." "I'll tell you, then," and lowering his voice to a solemn whisper, he slowly articulates, " Dan says a murder's been done there!" Poor Willie, his eyes are round as saucers with fright and confusion, for my eyes smile at him, although my lips do not. Children are very sensitive when they make a communication of this sort. Who knows, but a "murder has been done there!" not with uplifted hand or treacherous cup, but with the deadly smile of deceitfulness, and the honied poison of false vows and broken promises. Does not the sounding bell at the trysting hour, conjure up the form of a fair maiden? Flitting slyly to the window a glance is given to the door; there is no disappointment, else would not she glide opposite to where was once suspended the costly mirror-a single glance, lest the reflected blush and tremulous lip should betray too strongly the E. K. LITTLE TARTS OF PRINCE BEDREDDIN. IN TWO CHAPTERS.-CHAPTER SECOND. The consequences of an indigestion. "AFTER having shed some tears," pursued Careme, the old negress continued: "Notwithstanding my poverty, I had not the courage to abandon the child which a poor mother had left without any support in the world. I sold the few clothes and jewels of the deceased; I had her decently buried; with the rest I hired a small shop, and began making tarts after the rule left me by Marguerite's mother. This new business soon came into vogue, and enabled me to renounce my trade of nurse, and to bring up suitably my adopted daughter." "Twelve years passed, at the end of which I found myself rich enough to undertake a journey to Paris. It was my greatest wish to do so. Marguerite's mother was French, and a mysterious power incited me to bring back the child to her native country. I therefore left London, and came to Paris as soon as peace rendered it possible. "My tarts have met with as much success in Paris as at London, but they have not yet obtained the happy change in Marguerite's condition which her mother predicted with so much confidence." "May I not see Mademoiselle Marguerite ?" "She is asleep now, Monsieur; she goes to school at seven in the morning and retires at eight, so that she can commence her studies early the next day." I reflected some moments, and I ate a third tart. After this new proof, sure of not acting lightly, I said to the negress: "About noon, one of the Prince of Parma's valets came to inform me that his master wished to speak with me immediately. "It was the last blow. His highness, doubtless, would reproach me to my face for my fault and opprobium. I resigned myself to a chastisement I had merited, by my unaccountable blindness in serving, at a princely table, the miserable pastries found in the fabourg Saint Antoine. Like a soldier about to be degraded, I put on my grand costume of maitre d'hotel, and went to see the prince. I was no sooner announced than presented to his highness. He was pale, subdued, languishing, dejected. I fell on my knees, unable to repress tears and sobs." "Reassure yourself, Careme," said Monseigneur kindly; "To-morrow, at four precisely, you must come to make six of your tarts at the hotel of Prince Benevento; here is" reassure yourself; you are not to blame for my indigestion." the address." She looked at me with an air of suspicion. "Fear nothing," said I," I swear to you in honour I will not seek to divine your secret. The reason of my request is, that I may have them served warm as soon as they are made. You can bring with you all the necessary ingredients." She came the next day as I wished, and made the pastry. I sent in the tarts to Monseigneur's table, at which the arch-chancellor was present. I waited with anxiety the result of my experiment. It was not long before Monseigneur sent for me. I expected congratulations; but M. de Talleyrand reproached me: "Careme," said he, "what did these tarts which you just served contain? Hardly had Cambaceres tasted them before the blood rushed to his face and he felt sudden indigestion. It was the first indigestion the Prince of Parma ever had in his life." Monseigneur Cambaceres seized with indigestion the first time in his life at Prinee Talleyrand's, at a table served by Careme! "I was ready to die with shame and despair," continued Careme, turning pale at the fatal remembrance. With a slight shudder, he added: "Your clemency makes me more repentant, and adds still more to the gravity of my fault," I exclaimed. He motioned me to rise and pointed to a chair. Then passing his hand across his brow, on which was still visible the sufferings of the night, he asked: "Did you yourself compose the recipe of those saffron and pomegranate tarts?" "No, Monseigneur; they were not made by my hands.” He started up quickly, as if stung by a viper, and with a look ordered me to continue. "I will own my fault fully; this avowal shall be my chastisement. Yes, Monseigneur, struck with a vertigo, I did not blush to serve on my master's table, on the table at which your highness was seized, some tarts made by an old negress, who has a shop for their sale in the street Saint Antoine.” "Careme," said the prince, "I must know immediately who learned her to make them." I must own that I then thought there had been an attempt to poison the archchancellor, so extreme was his trouble. "She was not willing to tell me; in vain did I offer her gold to obtain the secret; she obstinately refused to sell it. All I know is, she came from England, accompanied by a young girl." "My God!" murmured his highness, "my God! have I at last got on the trace of the secret I have so long been seeking?" He rang; a valet-de-chambre appeared. "Pierre !" said he, "take my carriage, you will go immediately with M. Careme to an old negress, who sells pastries in Saint Antoine. You must bring this woman and a young girl who lives with her to me. Go, drive full speed, every minute I wait is to me slow as a century. Were it not for the pain which still retains me, I would go myself.” "Such a check could decide my fate for life, destroy my fame gained by so many glorious works, and fling me, with hands and feet bound, to the sarcasms of my enemies and rivals. The blow was so much the more cruel as it struck! me where I thought myself the most invulnerable. I had all my life professed that the grand merit of my cooking consisted in reconciling hygiene with gastronomy. The the most illustrious, the most robust, the most irreproachable, most invulnerable stomach in Europe overpowered by me! "I cannot tell you what a night of despair I passed. "From hour to hour, I sent to inquire the news from the Prince of Parma. He still suffered greatly; he appeared in extreme agitation, and a fever set in, to add to his indispo. sition. At last, towards five in the morning, a billet informed me he was sleeping profoundly. The physicians had left the hotel, saying he would be well the next day. "Reassured, at least, with regard to the health of my vic-state of excitement. tim, I tried to sleep. Is it necessary to add, I never shut my eyes? "I descended to my laboratory early, with the hope of diverting my thoughts in the art I passionately loved, but! which had served me a cruel deception. I could scarce fix my mind upon the most simple combinations. I put sugar into a cream twice, which I was amusing myself in preparing for M. de Talleyrand's breakfast; at last, I surprised myself holding the stew-pan, containing the cream, over a chafing-dish without fire. My ideas were in the greatest confusion, I could understand nothing of what was passing. The valet partook of my astonishment. On our way he told me, that during the twenty years he had had the honour of being attached to the person of his highness, he had never seen him in such a Thanks to the rapidity with which our horses took us, we were not long in going. The negress showed no anxiety, but joy in obeying the injunction to follow us. "You then know Monseigueur Cambaceres?" we asked. "No, but what matters it ?" she replied. "Have I not the talisman of my tarts to protect me? The predictions of the dying I am sure are going to be fulfilled." She then called a young girl, of rare beauty, between fourteen and fifteen years old. After saying a few words to her in English she presented her to us. The young girl took the hand of the old woman, lifted her eyes to heaven in pious thankfulness, and we proceeded together to the Prince's hotel. Hardly had the negress and her companion reached the threshold of his highness' cabinet, than the archchancellor || uttered a cry of surprise and joy. He ran to the young girl, took her in his arms, kissed her forehead and exclaimed: pose it had proceeded from a crazed imagination rather than from a skilful knowledge of the culinary art—you can judge for yourselves. Never was anything so delicious to the palate; and yet the cheese unites with the Madeira, as in the sambayon, the pepper and sugar form an unexampled union with the milk and the oil; in a word, the saffron, the cinnamon and the honey are astonished for the first time in mingling themseves with the gravy of the viands, the "My child, how many years I have been in search perfume of the orange, the pomegranate water and the of you!" Discretion bade me not to stay, I went into the antechamber and awaited his highness' orders until five. My duties then called me to Prince Talleyrand. I returned to his hotel, to give the necessary orders attached to my important functions. I expected to be sent for again by the Prince of Parma, but heard no more from him. His highness never again mentioned the adventure in which I had played a part. Once during a culinary conference with the eminent gastronomist, I hazarded an allusion to the mysterions tarts. A dissatisfied look from the Prince warned me of my indiscretion and stopped me short. I took good care never to fall into the same fault again. However, I must own that the secret of the romantic tarts was a frequent subject of meditation even in the midst of my most serious studies. My search to find the old negress was fruitless. A pastry-cook now occupied her counter. He had never seen her; she had not even returned to her shop. The footman of Monseigneur Cambaceres had carried off her clothing, and taken leave for her by paying the two terms in advance. I lost myself in the strangest conjectures. Had Monseig. neur found the tarts so deliciously that he wished, by a refinement worthy the fine days of gastronomy, to monopolize them. These tarts were never served on his table. He did not know the young girl before he sent for her-and yet he was overjoyed to find her!—and since that time no one ever knew, not even in the house of the Prince, what had become of her and her companion! They were never seen at his hotel! So, you see, never was curiosity more baffled than mine. Three years elapsed; I had nearly forgotten the details of this adventure when, one morning Prince Talleyran deigned to descend to my laboratory. He sometimes granted me the honour of so much kindness, and, permit me to add, of friendship. burning juices of the ginger. The following Thursday, when I entered the dining saloon to oversee the ordering of the repast, the first person I saw was the young girl brought by the negress three years before to the Prince. Covered with diamonds, she occupied the place of honour at the right of Prince Talleyrand. At her side sat the prince of Parma. I was so troubled I let my hat fall from my hand, in picking it up I nearly pushed over one of the servants. When the time came to serve the tarts I took them from the head waiter; with a movement full of audacity, I placed them myself opposite the young lady. At the sight of them, she could not repress a slight excla. mation; then she exchanged a significant glance with the archchancellor. At last she deigned to take them, and carried her goodness so far as to congratulate me, after she had tasted them, on the talent I had shown in preparing them. As soon as the dinner was over, and they rose to leave the table, I glided along by the side of the Marquis d'Aigrefeuille and asked him the name of the young lady. "She is," he replied, "the duchess of D-; she was mar ried last week to the young Duke of D-; so rich, brave and handsome, you know him! She brought him a large patrimony, five millions at the least." I was stupified. A seller of tarts to bring her husband five millons! And yet it was correct; the information I obtained of Monseig. neur's notary confirmed the truth of what the Marquis d'Aigrefeuille had told me. Since then, I have not been able to discover any trace of this mystery, nor any help by which I could untie a Gordian knot so complicated. "Well then!" said the prima donna, "I will take it upon myself to solve the mystery." "You, Madame ?" replied Careme in astonishment. "Myself." 46 By what miracle?" "Careme," said he, accompanying his words with his "Alas! without a miracle, without anything romantic, inexpressible smile, "I have a secret to confide you, I by the most common, the most simple, the most everyday know that you will scrupulously be faithful to every engage-means. I am a pensioner friend of Dorothée de V—, now ment you make. Then swear to me that no one shall ever know the secret I am going to reveal to you, and that this secret shall die with you. Swear it on your honour." The Prince demanded this oath with the tone, half serious, half jesting, which he ordinarily used with me. I promised him what he asked. "Hold," said he, "I can confide to you now without danger the recipe of an entremets, which I wish you to have made for the dinner I am to give on Thursday." I looked at the recipe-it was, without doubt, that of the mysterious tarts. The Prince could not forbear smiling at my surprise and trouble. He left me without the explanations I begged him to give me. After a few trials, I succeeded in making the tarts as delicious as those of the negress herself. It was a singular and unlooked for mixture of substances apparently the most opposite. To read the enumeration of the articles which composed this recipe, you would sup Duchess of D—" "What a singular affair?" murmured Careme. "An affair or chance, which unites with me two hundred young women, equally initiated in the secret which you have been pursuing with so much curiosity and uneasiness. Since you have spoken to us of this enigma, I will tell you the rest." It was now Careme's turn to listen. "In 1776," said she, "two families, united by the friendly offices of neighbours, inhabited two contiguous houses in Montpelier. Only one of these houses was the abode of a citizen, the other was a hotel; the first belonged to an advocate, M. Cambaceres; the second to the Count de P—, governour of Picardy. The counsellor's son had been brought up in the greatest intimacy with the governour's daughter. Of the same age, living side by side, they saw each other every day without restraint. The old aunt, charged in the absence of the count with Diana's education, had never thought of interrupting the intimacy which had lasted eighteen years. Regis, therefore, passed all his evenings with the two women, who had seldom any other relations or society, with the exception of an old uncle, archdeacon, and a great player of piquet, who came regularly, from five to nine, to occupy his seat at the card-table opposite the Countess dowager de V. Whilst the old people whiled away their leisure in the chances and combinations of cards, the young ones read and transported themselves into the ideal and poetical world of romance. The Thousand and one Nights was one of the books allowed them by the dowager; these fantastic tales, so naifs and wonderful, in which the oriental imagination layishes its singular and innumerable treasures, had the most attractive charms for them. They knew all the heroes by name; and the most trifling adventures; they read and re-read incessantly, the story of a poor, unknown young man, who suddenly turned out to be a grand Prince, and thus could marry the caliph's daughter whom he loved, and by whom he was beloved. With the title of Bedreddin Hassan, the mysterious spouse of the Lady of Beauty, they were most pleased, he was their favourite hero. "I have been obliged to emigrate," said she; "my husband died fighting at Quiberon; exile and poverty are henceforth my portion. I am a mother, and ask your protection for my child. Preserve, till better times, the heritage from her father which has been sequestered by the French government. Regis, I ask it in the name of the sweet and cruel evening of Prince Bedreddin's tarts. DIANA DE P-" "P. S. I depart for England. Once in London, I will write you again, to give you the means of replying." Cambaceres waited six months for the second letter to arrive. Then, notwithstanding the war, in spite of the diffi culties of such a search, he sent agents to England to dis, cover and bring back Diana to France, where, owing to his credit, he hoped to restore her wealth to her. But in vain the search. Diana arrived in London in the most frightful distress, and died the same day. Now you understand all, Chance, or rather, let us not blaspheme, Providence has made use of you to render to her daughter by the hands of her highness, the Prince of Parma, the sequestered wealth of the Marquis de P- Become guardian to the young orphan, Cambaceres placed her, to finish her education, in one of the best boarding-schools in Paris. Since then he has married her to the Duke de V-, Now the old negress, become the happiest of governesses, occupies a rich, apartment in the hotel of her adopted daughter, and no longer troubles herself with pastries except to make Prince Bedreddin's tarts sometimes for the children of the duchess. At the end of the signora's recital, Careme fell into a profound revery. "What a "Gastronomy has its romance also," said he. misfortune this wonderful story is not known. Perhaps it would help to show the indispensable necessity of placing the culinary art before everything in the education of women. One evening, while they were reading, for the hundreth time, the adventures of the poor Prince, reduced to sell tarts at the gates of Damascus, they took a fancy to make some tarts like those of the prince, the recipe of which was partly given in the book of Galand. The project was hailed with transports of joy; they both ran to the kitchen; Regis, who already felt the germs of a passion which at a later time was to render him the most celebrated gastronomist in Europe, was only a feeble assistant in the culinary attempts of the young girl. After many fruitless trials, after a thou-This art would develop the judgment as well, if not better, sand extravagant attempts, they succeeded in making exquisite tarts; they hastened to carry their chef-d'œuvre to the dowager and archdeacon. They at first tasted this culinary mish-mash with suspicion, but were not long in proclaiming its delicacy and excellence. While all four were participating in this childlike joy, the noise of a carriage was heard under the windows of the hotel. A postchaise entered the court, and a grave and severe man opened the door of the saloon. The dowager countess ran to embrace the traveller, and Diana respectfully presented her brow to kiss. It was the Duke de P He saluted the archdeacon coldly, threw a freezing glance at Regis, and retired to his apartments. The young man returned to his mother, with death in his heart, and a prey to the saddest presentiments. Alas! his presentiments did not deceive him; he never saw Diana but once afterwards, She departed the next day with her father, who had betrothed, without consulting her, to the Marquis de V—. Regis came near sinking under the chagrin of this separation. Time and study somewhat solaced his grief. He became an advocate, and received from his native city a pension of two hundred livres, and was not long in winning himself a name among the most distinguished members of the bar in Montpelier. I need not tell you the rest of his history, for you already know it well. The obscure Regis became the celebrated and powerful Cambaceres. Cambaceres became archchancellor of the empire and Prince of Parma. In 1793, in the midst of the terrour, Cambaceres, who had for a long time forgotten the Prince Bedridden and his tarts, received a letter, whose writing alone made his heart beat and filled his eyes with tears. It was from Diana. than mathematics, and would give them the means of fortune and success in the world, but of which they are deprived by a less wise and prudent direction." This strange paradox did not make us smile: it did not even appear to us absurd or ridiculous. Careme was one of those men who take their profession so seriously, that by the force of enthusiasm they make it a real art. "My dear Careme," said the romancer, "I will write this story some day. I promise you, it will not be long before you shall see it published." Alas! Careme has not read it, nor the prima donna, nor the Duchess de V~; all three lic beneath the sods of the cemetery, one in Paris, the second in Brussels, and the third in Germany. Cambaceres, Talleyrand, Ville vielle and d'Aigrefeuille have also disappeared from the scenes of the world. Of all the persons who figured in this story, there remains only the writer of the tale of Prince Bedreddin's Tarts. E. P. THE following bold and original lines, entitled " Iris Island," Where Freedom's barriers in rude grandeur pile! |