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Met lovingly at the close of day-
Met lovingly for many a week;
Till, at the last, she came alone,

With a sadden'd brow and a faded cheek: And many a sigh for the dear one gone!

And then for numerous days she came not, Till yester eve, when, as the sun Threw golden tints on ruins dun,

Making a glory (which men name not,
Because they cannot paint its power)
Of hill and dale, and bush and bower,
A shadowy shape-so woe-begone,
So worn, so wasted, and so wan,
Through the pale twilight palely gliding-
Approach'd, in sobbing pain! I guess'd
The truth at once: Death-love-deriding-
Was at her heart; within her breast

Life sank beneath its own sad weight;
And from her lips I learnt the tale
Which melancholy loves to pour
In solitude upon the gale :-
In secret wedded, cruel Fate

Had widow'd her; and ah! she knew
The unborn babe within her womb
Could claim no grandsire's pitying care.
She dared not own the past, nor brew

A draught, whose power might ope to view A suicidal tomb!

Fear of an earthly father's curse, Dread of a Heavenly Father's doom, Forbade both acts. No friend she hath

Of her own sex; no mother, nurse, Nor sister to direct her path:

So there, before the midnight hour, Below my weeping leaves, there lay (Swath'd in the moonshine's spectral ray)

Two lovely corses! Human power Can hurt them not: the pang that sent To earth the one, the other rent

From earth and all its cares away! And ere the morning's eye of grey Lit

up the leaves around them shed, The Mother and her Babe were dead!

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(Alas! that sin and sorrow's blight Should dim this vision to my sight!) When these things shall come to be, You my epitaph will see;

For surely History's crowded pages Are the epitaphs of ages!

Youth is delicate, you know;
If you wish me fair to grow,
Feed me on some kindly deeds,
Sow in early time these seeds;
Leave them to the wind and shower,
They will bear a pleasant flower;
And if such you freely scatter,
Fate your peace will fail to shatter ;
For round the heart they grow a fence
And startle sorrow's shadow thence.

Keep the grave of "Forty-Nine”
Open for a thought of mine
Yet a minute; ere it close,
With its crowd of joys and woes,
Selfish thoughts oh! throw in it,
And vanities for folly fit;
And the memory of feuds
Which arose in angry moods;

And a score of leprous things
That the taint of evil brings!
Then the season will be "merry,"
While the worn-out Year you bury.

If to this you would incline,
What a radiant path were mine!
What unheard-of joys would break
While my even course I take;
And when I at last am dead,
What an Epitaph be read!

THOU HAST SLIGHTED THY VOW.

BY W. G. J. BARKER, ESQ.

Thou hast slighted thy vow, Lady—
Thou hast slighted thy vow!
Can I look on the lovely,'

And trust in them now?

Thou didst vow to me, Lady,
Till death faith to keep :
Thou hast broken that promise,
And left me to weep!

Could I hear thy words, Lady,
And think thee untrue?
Or dream that my passion
So soon I should rue?

But it seems false ones, Lady,
Can look half divine!
Since thou art another's,
Though long plighted mine!

Then farewell! fickle Lady!
My thraldom is o'er :
From thy chains I have broken,
But ne'er can love more-
Never more, Lady!

Banks of the Yore.

THE KING OF

CHAP. I.

FIVE YEARS OLD.

Louis XIV., surrounded all his life by a crowd of courtiers, the only persons for whom he felt any concern, had been abandoned by every one, as soon as suffering had destroyed the strength of the King, without having extinguished the life of the man. The Dauphin, upon whom rested the future hopes of the nation, was a delicate and suffering child: it seemed that the poison which had been employed to carry off so many of his relations, had borne its contagion

to him.

The great King died, but the court still lived, for the court is immortal; and it assembled at

Versailles to salute the new monarch. Particu

larly distinguished among the number of these gentlemen was the Marquis de Dangeau, a curious specimen of courtiers, such as they had been made by Louis XIV.—that is to say, full of sycophancy and vanity. Dangeau had aged, but his countenance had gained no increase of majesty from the weight of years-courtiers, in fact, have no age: court dresses are always new, and time silvers not a peruke. It seemed absolutely impossible to believe that Dangeau was in his eighty-first year. People had been so accustomed to see him at all times, and in every event of his life making calculations as to how he could best please the late king, that they had persuaded themselves into the belief that he had only pretended to grow old to flatter his master, and almost expected, now a child was about to reign, to see him once more in the bloom of youth.

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The conversation among the various groups turned principally upon the dangers to which the country was exposed under so weak a sway, against which too the natural children of the deceased monarch were perpetually revolting. "And to defend a kingdom reduced to such extremities, and upon the very brink of ruin," cried the Duc de St. Simon, we have a King in jackets!" "A King in jackets!" interrupted Dangeau, almost angry (he would have been quite so, had not etiquette forbidden it in the palace). "And what can be more affecting than to behold the sovereign authority clothed in the insignia of innocence? His very weakness renders him more worthy of respect, and binds still more imperatively upon us the duty of sacrificing all for him."

But the old courtier, who, from habit, flattered, in the young monarch, a future which his eighty years would never permit him to see, bit his lips upon finishing this pompous phrase, for "the sovereign authority" entered, and alas! had quitted the "insignia of innocence." Dangeau could almost have hung himself: he had not been informed that that was the very day upon which the style of his Majesty's dress was to be changed,

The young King was clothed in a habit of breast. The child had all that grace and beauty brocade, his cordon-bleu passed across the peculiar to the race of Louis XIV. At the sight of his fair and gentle countenance, a murmur of admiration resounded from all parts.

"Poor little fellow!" sighed the Duc de St. Simon; "may the empoisoned breath which has destroyed so many of his illustrious relatives spare him!"

"He is more beautiful than ever, in his present garb!" observed M. de Dangeau timidly.

with the King's tailor, Marquis," replied the "You must have been upon very bad terms Duke; "since he had not forewarned you of this important transformation. But after all these faces, beaming with joy and admiration, the Young Monarch found one upon his passage, their aristocratic delight. It was that of the whose rustic sorrow contrasted strangely with young Marceline, the niece of the King's nurse: she lived there with her aunt: both of them were free of the palace: the same favour had also been accorded to the nurse of the deceased king during her lifetime.

"What is the matter, my little Marceline?" said the child, raising himself on tiptoe to embrace the young girl. "One would imagine you had been weeping!"

"It is nothing, Sire, worthy of attention," replied the aunt quickly: "she is very happy."

girl with precipitation, and fear for a moment "Yes, Sire, I am very happy, answered the seemed to efface the expression of grief.

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You are deceiving me: you have been naughty!" said the King, in a low tone. A moment after, when the aunt had turned away, he resumed-"Try to see me alone: I will give you a private audience, and will protect you too, be sure, my dear."

his cordon-bleu, beneath which (may we be parAs he spoke thus, be passed his hand under doned for saying so!) some very quick eyes had dared to remark a bag of sweetmeats!

CHAP. II.

When we say that Marceline appeared sorrowful, and that Marceline was a young girl, we believe it is quite enough to give our readers to understand that she had been crossed in love. She was brought up at Marly, her native place, with a labourer's son, named Thierry. She loved him, and had been accustomed to regard him as her future husband, without foreseeing the grandeur which would one day separate her from him. As fate would have it, the valet of the young Louis's father was charged with the commission of finding a nurse for the royal infant. He caused to be chosen, by a number of petty intrigues, Madame Ferrand, possessor of a large farm at Marly, and aunt of Marceline.

Duval (so was named this diplomatic valet) time which would elapse ere it could be repaid, was not by any means disinterested in his would have frightened those best disposed to choice. We have just said he was a diploma- lend even in more prosperous times. With a tist. While she was yet a child, he had re- full heart he returned to his own home, lamentmarked Marceline's beauty, and promised him-ing the fate which had led them to choose from self in a few years later he would make her pay Marly a nurse for the Prince, and filled with the debts of gratitude contracted by her aunt. disgust at the unaccommodating disposition of At the time our story commences, he was in the all his pretended friends. He was roused from service of the Regent, and having obtained leave his painful reflections by a knocking at the door: of absence from his master, he had come to he opened it, and found himself confronted by claim the price of the service he had rendered two military men, a sergeant and a soldier of the Madame Ferrand. She received him with the guards, who asked his hospitality. Thierry greater joy, because so inflated was she with looked with respect upon their scarred faces; while pride at her new position, that she had not they, in their turn, cast complaisant glances upon awaited the demand of the valet to discontinue the Herculean frame of the young labourer. the attentions of poor Thierry. Some days before, when the latter had presented himself in his Sunday dress to ask the hand of Marceline, Madame Ferrand, covered with lace and jewels, looked disdainfully upon the coarse grey cloth of which it was composed, and in which but four years since she had thought he looked so well, calling him the finest and handsomest young man in Marly. 'Madame Ferrand," said he, "I come to ask something of you." "What do you desire, my dear?" replied Madame Ferrand, with a patronizing air; "some work at the farm? We have already a greater number of hands than we want."

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"Madame Ferrand," said Thierry, in a trembling voice, "you doubtlessly remember that I love Marceline?"

"No, my dear; I have forgotten it; and, if I must speak frankly, it would have been better if you had done the same."

"Forget it!" repeated Thierry, overwhelmed with consternation.

"Certainly, my dear. Is it likely, think you, that I would give my niece to an indigent labourer ?"

"Indigent!" cried Thierry, whose indignation now burst forth: "those were not the words your father said to mine when he received from him a loan which saved him from ruin !"

"You are welcome, brave men," said Thierry. "You might have easily found a richer host, but not one better disposed to receive you."

He then brought out a few bottles of wine, which he placed before the new comers. The soldiers did due honour to Thierry's cheer, and having remarked his sad and melancholy air, they begged him to confide his troubles to them, and seek consolation in the wine.

"You seem to me

"You may confide in me, my young Endymion," said the sergeant. to exhibit the same symptoms as those who are moon-struck! I have seen some good service in Nerwinde, Stemkerque, and Dewain, and an old warrior like me can sometimes give good advice."

"Alas! if I needed only advice," replied Thierry, "I should have no difficulty in unburdening my grief: but if I do not get five hundred livres between this and to-morrow I am lost!"

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Five hundred livres! diable!" rejoined the officer. "Ah! you were right! If you want such advice as that, one need have a large purse to be able to supply it. But never mind; there is a remedy for everything, except a cannon-bali in the stomach; and perhaps we may be able to find some means of serving you in the end." "What! you think so!" cried Thierry.

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"It is well, very well!" rejoined Madame Drink on; that will furnish us with ideas." Ferrand. "I will wager, now, that this Thierry, Thierry, without being a drunkard, had no once so rich, could not, if I gave him Marceline, dislike to wine; and as soon as a hope was held find five hundred livres to commence house-out to him-vague as it was-which could aukeeping with!" thorize his giving way to dissipation, he drank abundantly to the health of Marceline.

If Marceline had not been in question, Thierry | would have answered these harsh words only by a disdainful silence; but as it was, he stifled his rising anger. "For Marceline I would find such a sum this very moment!" replied he.

Well, I will give you till to-morrow," answered Madame Ferrand, "and if you can then count out before me five hundred livres, lawfully belonging to you, then-I promise nothing, but we will see."

Thierry had said too much; he knew not where to find so large a sum; he was not rich, and it had been a bad year. In demanding Marceline, whom he fondly loved, he had not thought of the aunt's rapacity. Two strong arms were the only wealth at his disposal. It was useless to ask the money of the villagers : the enormity of the amount, and the length of

"Hold!" said the sub-officer at length: "you are an honest youth, as the people told us who directed us hither: I have with me the sum of which you are in want. I brought it with me for my pleasures; but, by my faith, as it is a question of your happiness, I will amuse myself less. Take this money, and sign me a little acknowledgment."

He displayed to the wondering eyes of Thierry five hundred livres, which he threw upon the table. The young man hastily signed the acknowledgment, and then threw himself upon his knees before his tutelary trooper. He would have set out that very moment to take the money to Marceline's aunt; but they told him it was so late, and as he had until the next day given him, he had better defer its accomplishment until

to his flatteries, prayers, and menaces; and more
than that-I have dared, without the knowledge
of my aunt, to speak to the King!"
To the King!"

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then besides, there still remained two bottles to finish, and it would be cowardice to leave them, when he had so many reasons for being of good courage. At length Thierry, overcome with joy and wine, finished by falling into a pro- Yes, to the King himself, who has vowed found sleep, dreaming happily away till the next that to-morrow, Thierry, you shall have your day. When he awoke, he found himself in the discharge, and a marriage gift too, and that my barracks: what he had signed was an engage-aunt shall give her consent!" ment, and the two virtuous conquerors of Nerwinde, Stemkerque, and Dewain were nothing but recruiting officers!

One may easily imagine the rage and despair of Thierry, who had slept, imagining himself soon to be a happy husband and peaceable farmer, upon awaking, to find he was a soldier, and as far as ever from obtaining the object of his wishes. But his prayers, his tears, his menaces had no effect. An epidemic had carried off nearly a whole regiment of the guards at Versailles, and they had received orders to take the promptest measures for filling up the vacancy which the terrible scourge had made in that fine corps, approving in advance every means of recruiting which they might find it advantageous to employ. Besides, at this epoch, they were very little scrupulous as to the manner in which they procured defenders for the state, especially when they were such fine young men as Thierry. The furious recriminations of our poor friend only served to make him commence his soldier's life by being placed under arrest; but a few days after, he ceased all resistance, and obeyed as well as any automaton among them, for he had learned that the hand of Marceline had been accorded by Madame Ferrand to Duval, whom he believed to have been an accomplice in his misfortune.

Time passed on: one night, when Thierry was posted at one of the most isolated extremities of Versailles, a woman, her head enveloped in a mantle, approached the immoveable sentinel; she seemed to turn towards the soldier as if she would have spoken, yet feared to do so. She might not perhaps have recognized him at first, for Thierry held his head cast down. "Thierry!" said she at length, in a timid

voice.

"The King is it possible? Ah! what an angel is that child. The only regret I have in quitting the service is, that I cannot die for him!"

"It is better to live for me! Be you tran quil, and full of hope: we shall be happy, doubtlessly; but be cautious and silent. I would not that my aunt should imagine I had dared to give my confidence to his Majesty without her knowledge."

"Marceline! dear Marceline!" cried the transported soldier, covering with kisses the hand he held.

Softly, sentinel!" said Marceline: "hold! they come to relieve you, and my aunt must be expecting my return.

"Oh! the tiresome sergeant!" said Thierry, perceiving in the distance his successor coming towards him. "When shall I see you again, Marceline-you, my life! my joy?"

"Try to be upon duty to-morrow at this spot, and who knows-chance may-"

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She did not finish her phrase, for the sergeant approached, and she disappeared in a moment. Comrade," said the soldier to Thierry, "I am very sorry that I cannot take your society as well as your post. You appear very happy, my friend!"

Thierry did not reply: he was in one of those moments of excitement when the joy of heaven itself seemed to enter into the heart.

CHAP. III.

The King had become a child again since the solemn reception at Versailles. To the triumphal pomp of a new reign had succeeded for him the duties of the school-room; and his Majesty, Louis XV., with a book in his hand,

lessons of the Abbé Fleury, his preceptor. After long dissertations upon ancient and modern history, the Abbé had passed to politics. The theme most particularly brought before his royal pupil was clemency.

"Monsieur de Dangeau does not come," said the King to himself. "I wish, while waiting for him, I might have a game at ball!"

"Marceline! oh, Marceline !" cried he: then looking at her haughtily, yet with sorrow, he re-listened with a tired and distracted air to the sumed-"What do you here, Madame Duval?" "Who-I?" replied Marceline-"I the wife of another! Could you think it, Thierry?" "Is it possible that I have been deceived! But then, why did you not inform me sooner?" "Because I dared not venture to seek you in the middle of a regiment," answered Marceline. You believe me false! You know what terror my aunt's violent and imperious temper causes me. Well, notwithstanding this, she has not been able to draw from me a single word of consent to this marriage, upon which she has set her heart. A few days since she brought me with her to Versailles, into the very house of the wretch for whom she destines me (it is the one you see from here); in order that by his unceasing assiduity he may at length succeed in pleasing me..., Well, I have been insensible

"Sire," continued the preceptor, wishing to give additional force to the gentle maxims he strove to inculcate into the mind of the young King by an example-" one of your glorious predecessors, Charlemagne, had delivered over to justice some conspirators who sought his life; at the moment that the axe was raised over the head of their chief, Charlemagne appeared.

Why do you come here, King?' said the condemned: to insult my last moments, and to

"What! his discharge was placed upon my table?"

"Doubtlessly," replied Dangeau, "in order that your Majesty, on waking, might have an agreeable surprise.'

triumph over a dead body? Go hence. Here | causing to be placed there by your valet de are met a criminal, an executioner, and a king! | chambre." The king should at least temper his vengeance with modesty, and retire !' You deceive yourself,' replied Charlemagne; "three men are here met together; one of them must indeed retire, but it is the executioner. You are free!' Sire, clemency is an attribute inherent in kings, and their appearance upon any spot of punishment or death, since that time, has always ensured a free pardon."

"It was promised that I should see a flight of birds to-day," interrupted the King; was it not, Monsieur Fleury?"

Fleury sighed, and bowing, left the King to enjoy the recreation he had so long desired. He began by bounding about the room, like a slave who had just been freed from bondage, tearing to pieces all the papers he could find, themes, versions, analyses, or moral treatises, and endeavoured to force them into the shapes of little boats or birds, which are the first lessons of children in the art of imitation.

A few moments after, some one knocked gently at the door, and a valet announced Monsieur de Dangeau. The old man was suffering from a severe cold, but he restrained as much as possible his cough, the liberal exercise of which would have been contrary to the articles of

ceremonial.

"Well, Sire," said he, with all the grace of his asthmatic zeal, are you

satisfied?"

وو

"Ah, my dear Monsieur Dangeau, you must go and fetch me another. I knew not of its being there-this discharge; I must have made a plaything with it; I must send it to-morrow to this poor Marceline, who will come uselessly to seek it to-day."

Monsieur de Dangeau, at the idea of having all his work to do over again (we repeat it with sorrow), commenced a grimace subversive of all respect; but the sentiment of his duty as a subject intervened to bring the muscles of his face into due decorum, and his revolutionary grimace (we hasten to proclaim it) terminated in an absolute smile.

CHAP. IV.

The day after that upon which Thierry had been so miraculously inspired with renewed hope, he had employed the whole morning all the resources of his inventive genius to procure for himself the same round of duty as upon the successively the sergeant and the soldier who evening preceding. He was obliged to bribe ceded to him in exchange this blessed spot. But at length he attained his aim; and never did a king of France, on entering the cathedral of Rheims on the day of coronation, feel more proud or more joyful (if indeed there is anything in that to be joyful about) than did Thierry on taking possession of his post. He was to remain there two hours: the first passed without any result. At every footstep which he heard approaching, along the deserted street, his heart beat with violence; yet nothing came-but night. His eyes were continually fixed upon the house which contained all the objects of his love and hatred. Time passed on; Thierry no longer hoped; when he saw in the distance a close carriage stop before this habitation, and at the same time he believed he could distinguish a woman, whom some one appeared to be dragging on, and forcing to enter the carriage: her cries of distress reached his ears; he recognized the voice of Marceline. The carriage approached rapidly, and passed before Thierry. He could no longer doubt; he was called by his name. His blood boiled; he was beside himself; he forgot discipline and the inflexible duties of a sentinel, that living rampart, which death should find upon the place confided to his care. threw down his gun-it impeded his steps-and hastened to follow the fatal carriage. Scarcely had he gone a few paces when an officer placed himself before him.

"Satisfied," replied the King; "with what?" "With the result of the efforts I have made in favour of the young soldier, for whom your Majesty has deigned to interest yourself; it is not for me to sound my own praise, but I have taken a great deal of trouble; I was obliged yesterday, notwithstanding the bad state of the weather, to go to the Minister of War; he was not at home; I had to await his return. From thence I proceeded to his highness the Regent, without whose consent the minister would do nothing; he at first refused my request, and spoke of the necessity there was not to weaken the corps of the soldiers of the guard, of the discipline which forbade that more favour should be accorded to one than another, and of the demands of this nature which had been refused to the solicitations of many powerful families. But at length, having had the honour of repeating to him many times that your Majesty yourself desired the liberation of this soldier, the Regent gave way, and, furnished with his consent, I returned to the minister, where the necessary formalities detained me last night, until the hour when your Majesty is pleased to retire to rest. I was very pleased to find myself at liberty to repose after all my fatigues; and the cold from which I am now suffering will, I fear, keep me imprisoned at home for at least eight days. I should not have been here now, but that I was anxious to know if your Majesty had deigned to be pleased when you discovered" this morning the discharge of the soldier upon your study table, which I had the honour of

He

"Where are you going, Thierry?" said he. Do you forget, unhappy man, that you are deserting your arms and your post?" "Captain! Captain!" cried Thierry, "let me,

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