VII.

Freddy in France.

CORRECT THY SON, AND HE SHALL GIVE THEE REST; YEA, HE SHALL GIVE deLIGHT UNTO THY SOUL.

CHASTEN THY SON WHILE THERE IS HOPE, AND LET NOT THY SOUL SPARE FOR HIS CRYING.

CROSSING the palace court-yard at Fontainebleau, where we stopped on our way south, poor Freddy fell into one of his sad fits of obstinacy. We had spent the forenoon in the château. The sun was bright, but the frost was keen, and we had both been chilled by standing at the pond watching the carps which swarm in it, some of them of an age almost fabulous. Freddy had bought cakes for two sous to feed them with, and the occupation was so novel, that he could not be prevailed on to leave it. The rest of the party remained behind, which vexed him still more. Mr B was with us. He used to observe Freddy's tardiness to obey when in Scotland in spring, and now turning round, he said, in no unkind tone, "Why does your child not obey you?" The little boy stood

screaming, and blue with cold, at the further end of the square, immoveable.

Following us at length through the streets, so as not quite to lose sight of us, he attracted the people by his crying. Mr B said again, "He obeys you in the house, but if a child knows it will not be punished out of doors, it will disobey out of doors." It ended in his being punished, and walking quietly home. Many kind words were spoken to him by our friend afterwards, while he sat, with swollen eyes and face, at his dinner of riz au lait, looking the picture of penitence. "About twenty years ago,” said Mr B"Anthelme and I were dining with Dr C- of Paris. Other young men were present, and his children were at table. He had told us that urgent business would оссиру him in town after dinner; but that he would spend the evening with us in the Bois de Boulogne. During dinner, one of the boys refused to do as he was bid, and in presence of us all continued to disobey. His father told him that neither of them could leave the house till he had submitted. The important business was left undone, the afternoon's pleasure given up, and when we who made out the expedition, returned at night, Dr C- and his son were still

together; the boy had been subdued. That lesson has remained fresh in my memory till this hour; the result to myself has been that my children never refuse to obey me."

Merrily had Freddy gone through the long galleries of the château, intently examining a chicken in the corner of a farm-yard piece, while we were shewn a fine historical painting. Again, as we stood lost in admiration of the most richly decorated saloon, thinking how many pageants had passed under its ancient roof, he drew our attention to the claw of a gilded table, as being the most wonderful thing the hall contained. As we left Fontainebleau, a stag bounded from the forest across the station, and its apparition was retained more tenaciously by his memory, than the palace which had been the prison of Pope Pius VII., and witnessed Napoleon's farewell to empire.

The scenes of our pleasant journey south are now dwelt on more or less, according as they preserve a clear picture of Freddy in the foreground. Mothers who are deprived of health should not murmur. In some ways they are prevented from exerting themselves for their children: yet a greater measure of

strength brings duties and avocations which necessarily encroach on the domestic ones. We rested one night at Tonnerre, and next day stopped at Montbard, where the others visited Buffon's residence on the hill, and we remained together in the garden of the hotel. Sunset was near-frost sharpened the air. The railway labourers were hastening home. A lumbering cart, drawn by oxen, containing a huge vat filled with red grapes, was slowly passing along, followed by the vintage gatherers in gay costume. We sat by a wall, still warm with sunshine, commanding a view over the village and up to the château of the naturalist, Freddy not knowing whether to wonder most at the lizards which crept so fast, or the vine clusters across which they darted. His delighted observation made every object doubly interesting.

In the waiting-room of the station at Dijon, were several priests and sisters of charity; three of them came into the carriage where he was. He caught up his frock from the soutane, which trailed under it, and eyed the black-hooded sisters with mistrust. We did not intend to say anything to him of priests or their faith when we came to France, but he was too quick for us. Thinking he would pay no attention to the

service, a friend had taken him into the Madeleine at Paris, from which he returned with a confused look, saying, "I was in a church to-day that's not a church." His mind had unconsciously at once given the true rendering of the apostasy.

He made himself quite at home in the steamers, from the crowded decks of which he watched the "sleepy Saone;" and then the great Rhone, with its vine-banks, rocks, and ever varying scenery. The men with red jackets doing out our rooms in the hotel, and a picture by his friend Devéria in the cathedral, were the things by which he remembered Avignon. One of our party who was present at vespers, was struck by the officiating priest mounting the pulpit, not to preach a sermon, but to give notice that certain indulgences would be granted to the faithful who should every morning make prayer for the conversion of England.

The Roman remains, and the distinctly Italian colouring of the landscape most of the way along the coast to Cannes, constantly remind the traveller in what latitude he is, and tell him also that the soil did not always belong to France. The patois and habits of the people also tell this more or less. The Mediter