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du Roi, or Royal Library, which is of great antiquity, dating as far back as the reign of King John. It contains about 100,000 volumes in Greek, Latin, and Oriental languages. Among these are the MS. of Galileo; the M.S.of Telemachus, in Fenelon's own hand ; M.S. of Josephine ; and original M.S. of a great many French and Italian authors. The collection of engravings comprises a million and a half of impressions divided into 8,000 portfolios. There are 55,000 portraits, including every celebrated character for the last 600 years. On the ground floor is a room containing the celebrated Zodiac of Denderch and other Egyptian Antiquities, and a great number of matters which it would very much interest my young friends to see and examine.

Another interesting spot in Paris is the Père la Chaise, or great burial ground of Paris. It is situated on the slope of a hill, and was set apart by Père la Chaise, confessor to Louis XIV., for the burial of the dead. Here I saw the tombs of Abelard and Heloise, and those of several other eminent persons. To inspect the spot would be the work of many days. Many of the tombs have the form of a little chapel, within which is a small alter trimmed up with votive offerings and flowers. Many are the inscriptions commencing-to my dear child—to my dear father-to my dear mother.—Many of the crosses and tombs are decorated with flowers, which are frequently restored by those who survive, and the whole scene recalls tender but sorrowful feelings. There are many other things to be seen in Paris, which I will relate to my young friends in a succeeding article.

The Parish Girl.

A dew-drop in the sunny beam ;

A withered leaf in Autumn's blast ;
A flow'ret on its broken stem,-

The little dream of life is past.

Yon linden alley spreads along,

With leafy shadows broad and fair ;
Oh! take me from the worldly throng,

And lay the child of sorrow there.
And lay me where the brooklet flows

Thro' violet banks of purple bloom ;
And weep not when the wintery snows

Are whitening o'er my early tomb.
For I am sick of ling'ring here,

These scenes of want and woe to see;
The earth is broad, the earth is fair,

But in it is no room for me.
That little stream that warbles by,

Will find a home in ocean's breast;
Those clouds within the western sky,

Will fold their wearied wings to rest.
But I a houseless wanderer roam,

By day in want, by night in fears :
A stranger's hearth—my only home,

My only couch-a bed of tears.
Mysterious law! whose stern decree

My life to shame and sorrow gave,
Your wings of darkness close o'er me,

And give-'tis all I ask—the Grave.
Benhall, Sept. 1, 1853.

J. M.

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The Creole and his Daughter

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T the time, when the contagious example of the

French Revolution had spread as far as the New World, the horrible practice was adopted of assembling

in groups the unfortunate victims who were ordered to be executed, and then firing indiscriminately upon them with cannons, loaded with grape shot. Jaques Fancoiur was a Creole of St. Domingo, and was guilty of no other crime than that of being rich and preserving the inheritance of his forefathers. He was, therefore, hunted out for murder by the wicked revolutionists, and brought into the public marketplace for the purpose of slaughter.

The eyes of the poor old man had been blindfolded as he stood among a crowd of other unfortunate beings, expecting every instant the signal of death. When, however, the order to discharge the artillery was about to be given, a little girl rushed forward with a loud cry of “My father ! oh, my father!” and making her way through the victims, threw her

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