you at his death. The reason he assigned for these harsh measures-as you will call them-was, that his name had come down unstained for many generations, and that he would never admit or acknowledge any connection with a family, which had the taint of treason upon it." "At first," said my mother, taking up the tale again, "I rejected the proposal with horror, and declared that nothing would induce me to part with my child; but the good gentleman who had been sent to me, urged strongly, that by my presence and persuasions, I might induce my father to mitigate somewhat of his severity. He did not know his inflexible nature; and before I yielded, I attempted by letter to move my father. I represented humbly that, although condemned by a corrupt court, my poor husband was certainly innocent-that I knew every thing that had passed between him and the British officers-that the letters produced were forgeries-and that the time would come, when De Lacy's name would stand out pure and clear. All I could obtain was contained in the following words of his reply: If the time should ever come which you anticipate, and when your late husband's character shall be fully justified, I will acknowledge you as his wife with pride, and receive your son as one of my own race. But till that time, I will never see him. You must never meet him voluntarily; and I beg it to be remembered, that if by a want of good faith, or even an indiscretion upon your part, he is made acquainted with his connection with myself, or is brought to England, under any false expectations from me, I will immediately stop the allowance that I propose to make him, and strike his name out of my will.' "At first this seemed to me but little gained, but both the English gentleman, who had remained with me, and Father Bonneville, thought that it was much. They represented to me that opinion was already changing in France with regard to my husband's case, that multitudes asserted his innocence and deplored his fate; and that the time must soon come, when he would be fully justified. My own hopes and convictions seconded their arguments, and I resolved, at length, to submit. Beggary and starvation were before me, Louis, not only for myself, but for you. I was bribed, in short, by the hope of your happiness, to sacrifice all a mother's affections and enjoy ments. Father Bonneville undertook the task of educating you; my maid Jeanette agreed to go with him to his little cure, and watch over you as a mother; and with a bitterness worse than that of death, I parted from you, and returned to England. Father Bonneville and Jeanette both solemnly bound themselves to the secrecy required—and well did they keep their word. God's will brought you to England, no act of mine; and by a blessed chance you became acquainted with your dear Cousin Charles, who has been to me in my long widowhood and privation, the greatest comfort and consolation. "But how did you know Charles," I inquired, "so much of my fate and history, if the subject was forbidden in your grandfather's house." all events," replied Westover; "my father told me the whole story long ago. My Aunt Maude, whom you have seen, talked of it frequently. My grandfather himself, even, of late years-when he found out that I knew it-mentioned the matter once or twice himself. I am a great favorite of his, and when I discovered that you were in England, and perceived what sort of a person you were, I used to dash at the subject with him often; for with these stern old gentlemen, Louis, there is nothing like a little careless, rattling independence. Never do any thing that is wrong toward them-never be insolent or impertinent, but go gayly on your own way, and they learn very soon to take it as a matter of course. Every one helped me, too, I must say; for we would have done any thing in the world to comfort dear Aunt Kate. It was with this purpose that I persuaded her to go down to Blackheath on the day of the review, not intending that she should know who you were till afterward, but just that she might see you, and learn that she had seen her son; but I even persuaded the earl himself to come meet you at dinner; and he was very much pleased with you there, especially when he found that you were perfectly ignorant of your own history. The fact of your having become a Protestant, increased his good feeling toward you, and he began to take a good deal of interest in you, so that I doubt not in the least, we should have got round his lordship in the end, even if we had not obtained this important proof of your father's innocence. As soon as he heard the facts, however, and I assured him that there could be no possible doubt, he consented at once to my bringing you here, said that his objections were at an end, that the conditions were fulfilled, and he was quite ready to acknowledge you as his grandson. In fact, Louis, he only wished for a good excuse to abandon his stern determination-and he caught at it eagerly enough.” "Shall I not see him?" I asked. "Not to-night, I think," replied Westover. "He was obliged to go to the House, he said, and was gone before you arrived. The fact is, he hates what he calls scenes, and fearing there might be one here, he went away. Take my advice, therefore, and when you see him to-morrow, just shake him by the hand, as quietly as if you had been his grandson all your life, and had just come back from Buxton. He will then take the initiative himself, and make all-the arrangements that are necessary." "But your father, Westover," I said. "Alas! we have lost him," replied my mother, "but we have no second title in our family, Louis, and therefore Charles is merely Captain Westover; but you have some explanations to give, I think he told me." "They will be better given to-morrow, dear aunt," said Westover. "Let us finish one volume of the book first. Jeanette has just been telling me, Louis, that you have got the precious document signed by the Marquis de Carcassonne's own hand-show it to her, show it to her-it will do her good to see it." "The prohibition was not well kept toward me at | My mother read it with eyes blinded by tears, and then pressed it to her lips. "Thank God, thank God!" | fotrable. Don't let fortune stand in the way a moshe said. "I cannot help sometimes thinking, Louis, ment. He shall be put at ease." that the dead can see us, and if so, it must give even greater joy to the spirit of your father in glory, to see his name thus justified by the efforts of his son." I disclaimed much of the credit she attributed to me, and acknowledged that the principal honor was due to good Jeanette. Jeanette was then called in and embraced us all round, kissed Charles Westover on each side of the face, and me twice on each side, called him an excellent garçon, and me her chèr Louis, and then danced for a minute for very joy, and then ran out of the room to weep, from the same cause. We protracted our sitting till nearly midnight, and I retired with a heart lightened of its heaviest load. The next morning, I went, as had been arranged by Westover, to call upon my grandfather at his breakfast hour. I found him alone-for my mother had not come down to breakfast for years—but he received me very kindly, gave me his whole hand, and made me sit down to breakfast with him. For the first five minutes he called me Monsieur de Lacy, but it very soon got to Louis, and he talked of the news of the day, and of Charles Westover, and of the state of his health, and of his own anxiety to prevent him from joining his regiment again, while that ball was in his chest. I followed his lead, and replied,""I dare say, sir, you might find a means, if you wished it." I had a great inclination to say a good word for myself; but I forbore, and as I rose to go, the earl asked, in an ordinary tone, "Have you seen your mother this morning?" I replied as nearly as I could in the same manner, that I had not yet; and he rejoined, "Well, go and see her before you go to Charles. You will find her in her dressing-room-you know where it is." I had not the most distant idea; but I did not tell him so, and merely bade him good morning. Thus ended my first interview with the Earl of Nas his acknowledged grandson. Very few words more will suffice to close my little history. Charles Westover was delighted with the news I brought him, and readily agreed to retire upon half pay, and to remain in England. He insisted upon knowing how it had been brought about that I was sent with this message to him, and I gave him, half jestingly, half seriously, an account of my interview with the earl. "I understand you, Louis, I understand you," he said, wringing my hand hard, "and I thank you from my very heart. Nothing on earth would have induced me to ask the earl for a penny. My mother's jointure, of course, diminishes greatly the income that descended to me from my father, and perhaps some youthful imprudences may have diminished it still more; but the earl, I dare say, did not think of He shook his head, saying, "I don't think it. either. Now all will go well; for there is not a Boys and girls are all obstinate-what means?" "If you were to persuade some fair lady to ask him, sir," I said, "he would never refuse her." "Ha-what do you mean, Miss -??? "I really do not know who the lady is," I answered; "but I dare say your lordship is well aware." "Oh yes, I know quite well. He has been engaged to Miss two years; I wonder why they have not married before now." "I really cannot tell," I answered; "but perhaps they do not know that you would approve-or Westover may think that he has not sufficient to keep his position as your grandson." "Ay, that old uncle of his, Westover," he said, left his fortune charged with such a jointure that nothing will come in from that till the old lady dies-" He thought for a moment, and then added, "But all that will be speedily arranged. Why did he not speak to me about it himself?" "I only speak myself by guess, my lord," I answered, "and am conscious I am taking an unwarrantable liberty in mentioning the subject to you at all." to "Not at all, not at all,” said the earl, “I'm obliged you; but I cannot be expected to think of all these things for everybody. He only told me that he intended to marry Miss -; and I said, very well, I had no objection; for she is a very good girl, and of a very old family, though poor, desperate poor. Go and tell him, Louis, that if he likes to stay here and marry, I will make every arrangement to render him com more generous man living, when he acts spontaneously. And so you really did not speak one word about your own engagement? Well, that must be managed for you." "No, no," I replied, "I will do it myself. I begin to understand his character, I think, and trust I can manage it." However, when I came to talk with my mother on the subject, she was terrified at the very idea- a Frenchwoman-a Roman Catholic-the daughter of a poor emigrant-she thought it would drive the earl mad. I went down to see Mariette, nevertheless, that same day, rejoiced the heart of the Count de Salins with the news of my father's complete exculpation, and returned the next morning to London, taking Father Bonneville with me; but I took especial care not to say one word to any one, of there being even a chance that the earl would disapprove of my choice. Some five or six days after, the earl wrote me a note to come with Westover and breakfast with him. We found him in the best humor; for some changes had taken place in the ministry which satisfied him, and toward the close of breakfast, a servant announced that Mr. Holland was in the library. "I will be with him directly," said the earl; and when he had finished his cup of coffee, and read a paragraph in the newspaper, to show that he was in no hurry, he rose, saying, "Now, young men, come with me." We followed him to the library, where we found a tall, thin lawyer, with a shaggy head of hair, and two parchments spread out upon the table. A few words passed between the earl and his man of business, and then the former took up a pen, and signed the parchment at a spot pointed out. "This, Charles," he said, turning to my cousin, "is a deed settling the sum of five thousand per annum upon you, till my death puts you in possession of the family estates." "This, Louis," he continued, turning to me with the pen still in his hand, "is a deed, settling two thousand per annum upon you for life, and you will find yourself further remembered in my will." He stooped to sign the parchment, but I laid my hand upon it saying, boldly, but in a commonplace tone, "Stop, my lord, if you please." "Why?" he exclaimed, looking up. "First," I answered, "because it is quite honor, and pleasure enough for me to be your acknowledged grandson; and secondly, because I think it right to inform you, before you do what I could in no degree expect, that I am about to be married. The engagement was formed before I had the slightest idea that I was in any way related to you, otherwise I should certainly have consulted you before I entered into it." I could see by Westover's face that he thought I was going wrong, but I was not. The old man laughed, and said, "Well, boy, I have no objection | to your marrying." "And any one I like?" I asked. "And any one you like," he answered. "I do not carry my superintendence beyond one generation. That is more than enough for any one." "Then, my dear and noble lord," I replied, "let me add, that the one I like, is I am sure, one you will like, too, for she is as generous and as nobleminded as yourself—noble, by birth and by character -a lady in every respect-and well fitted to be admitted into your family." every one to marry one of his own country-she is the daughter of the Comte de Salins, and a nobler or a purer name is not to be found for five hundred years-is not to be found in the pages of French history." "Well, well," said the old earl, "I shall be very happy to see her; "and he signed the parchment, adding, "Bring her here, my good boy, bring her here. You will soon know if I like her. If I do I shall kiss her, and do n't you be jealous; if I do not I shall give her three fingers, and call her Mademoiselle;" and he laughed gayly. Two days afterward, my mother and I brought up Mariette to visit the old earl. She was looking exquisitely lovely, her eyes full of the light of hope and happiness, her face glowing with sweet emotions, and her frame tremulous with feelings which added grace to all her graces. She leaned upon my mother's arm, as we entered the room where the old earl received us, and I could perceive as he gazed at her, that he was surprised and struck with her extraordinary beauty. It was impossible to look upon that face and form and not be captivated. He rose from his chair at once, advanced and took her in his arms, and kissing her with more tenderness than I ever saw him display, he said, "Welcome, welcome, my dear child. If Louis does not make you a good husband, I will strike him out of my will, so see that you keep him in order." Westover and I were married on the same day. I have no reason to doubt that he was happy, and of my own fate I am very sure. By a decree of the Cour de Cassation in the first year of the reign of Louis XVIII., by the grace of God King of France, the sentence passed upon Louis, Comte de Lacy, was, after a great many vus, and interrogés broken, and annulled, the memory of the said count rehabilitee, and his family, restored to all "A French-woman!" he said-"a French-wo- their estates and honors. Nevertheless, we find a man ?" I think it was a sort of instinct dictated my reply, “One of my own countrywomen, my lord,” I answered, "the companion of my childhood, the friend of my youth. I know that you judge it best for Count and Countess De Lacy still living in England in 1830, and there are strong and cogent reasons to believe that the very numerous family bearing that name, had by some means or another, sprung up around them. MY FOREFATHERS. BY J. HUNT, JR. WHEN Soft falls the moonlight, and tranquil the hour, Which holds by a spell the dear scenes of the Past, How touchingly tender that mystical power Which throws o'er existence its love to the last. On the wings of Remembrance, forgetting, forgot Are the dreams of the Present, as onward we fly, To place our affections on that hallowed spot Where the bones of our forefathers mouldering lie. Deep, pure, in the bosom's bright innermost shrine, CLEOPATRA. BY HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT, TRANSLATOR OF THE PROMETHEUS AND AGAMEMNON OF ÆSCHYLUS, ETC ETC. AWAY! away! I would not live, Deliberatâ morte ferveior Lævis liburnis scilicet invideus Non humilis mulier, triumpho. HORACE, Lib. I. Ode 37. Proud arbiter of life and death, Though all, that poets love to dream, I would not bear the wretched strife, The hopes bud-blighted ere they bloom, The race that rests but in the tomb, These, these, not death, are misery. Nay! tell not me of pomp or pleasure, Of empire, or renown, or treasure, Of friendship's faith or love's devotionThings treacherous as the wind-rocked oceanFor I have proved them all. Away! If there be aught to bless In rapture's goblet, I have drained That draught misnamed of happiness, Till not a lurking drop remained Of honey-mantled gall. Oh! who would live, that once hath seen Like lava in their scorching flood- More sad than pain, more still than wo- And thinkest thou I would stoop to live A crownless queen, a shameless slave, Plebeian pity-Roman ruth- "To make a Roman Holyday?" I feel it coursing through my veins, Hades shall rise my steps to greet, Till thou shouldst mount thine own. Ascend thy fated throne." To look upon a woman's death. I have outlived my love, my power, I tell thee, when no trophies shine Ages shall sing my fall. Proud Roman, thou hast won. But 1, I lived not-never lived till now. REMINISCENCE. Not every man, I believe, takes the trouble to look | where I sometimes stood for long together, looking back occasionally to his very earliest recollections, at the great, spangling roots and dead fibres twisted recalling what he may, with a view to learn how much of his character was formed by the trivial incidents of his spring-time, how much, and what, is of later origin. It would surprise one to see accurately the proportion of his habit of thought, his sensibility, his ideas of right and wrong, his reverence and his affections, how much of the underlying sympathies and poetry of his nature is associated with this early period. Some book I was reading, or some friend I was talking with the other day, suggested the matter and left me in a revery of reminiscence. in fantastic shapes, to conjure up dragons, hydras, and all grotesque and horrible creations. And the old swamp of rank, slim hemlocks, that I used to shudder at passing, with their gnarled, naked trunks, dry limbs and mossy beards. And the tangled, dark thickets and unpathed woods with cawing rooks; these all filled my mind with shapeless shadows of strange myths. How I remember the first time I clambered up the hill and looked out upon the miles of forest, like a great, green, waving ocean, while the winds strode over it, as then my heart knew its first unutterable grasping, and swelled with vague emotions that I could not fit with words. My reverence was sincere for "big boys twelve There came back to me the memory of pleasant dreams which I was perplexed to divorce from dream-like reality, of presents and promises, of nur-years old," of intrepid courage, who talked slightsery tales and melodies, of first disappointments, punishments, and altercations, of all the scenery between babyhood and boyhood, and of the constant wonder amid which my mind wrought its first essays. ingly of the maternal authority, owned jack-knives, and emulated the "mouth-filling oaths" of larger men. I considered it great condescension in them to let me go with them after their cows, or when they made journeys to the pine groves after "sliver," or the alder swamps for whistles. These were the delightful music of this period, and from such ex of travel, my torn shoes and clayey garments telling how dear I paid for the instrument in whose possession I exulted as those whom Jubal taught erewhile. Particularly I remember my paragon of chivalry, and the Mr. Great Heart of my erudition-Bill Thayer. How I hung upon his words of daring; how I admired the gasconade with which he threatened the "Shad-Laners," between whom and the urchins at our end of the town fierce feud existed; and how he fell from the pinnacle of my veneration when I saw him return vanquished and limping from a foray upon the Shad-Lane district. The quiet village street between my father's house and place of business, was the only one I was in the custom of seeing, and at such times generally incursions I returned inflated with the consciousness charge of an attendant, unless, with soiled face and apron full of toys, 1 adventured alone to run the hazard of the occasional carriages, and finally to be found asleep beside the fence and carried home to my anxious mother. When taken to another street, I seemed to pass to another realm. I roamed admiringly through the terra incognita; "the Bank," with its brick walls and slated roof, I believed the castle of Giant Despair; the huge, white, fast-closed meeting-house seemed like a desolate prison; the drivers shouted to their teams in unknown tongues; the confectioners' windows recognized me with smiles of dazzling invitation, and sometimes a benign old man would pat my head and ask me how old I was. The bustle and business, the shops and sign-boards, all I saw and met were wondrous discoveries, identified with histories of men and things which I had spelled out from my story-books, or had heard my father read at morning-prayer. Once or twice I wandered off there alone. But to turn the corner of Mill street was like rounding the Cape of Storms. Men in a hurry tumbled over me, rude boys threatened to swallow me, dirty-faced and ragged children of my own age eyed me in mute surprise, that almost equaled mine, or with precocious malignity and a jealousy that, I trust, did not ripen in them, plucked my clothes or my hair, or threw mud on me. And one boy-and a twinge of my sometime indignation now comes across me-I remember took away the ten-cent piece which hung on a red ribbon around my neck, and spent it for India crackers. There was a stump fence opposite our house, There were two or three places about the premises which I used to love to steal into and ransack. One of these was the garret of the house. We went up through a trap-door into a space just under the roof, its bare rafters within my touch at the sides, and through which the chimneys passed. Here were white hats and faded or unfashionable garments. Here were boxes with bedding in them; barrels of feathers, both boxes and barrels of old pamphlets and newspapers-behind a chimney leaned an old "king's arms" musket, which at length familiarity encouraged me to lay hands upon, and near it hung a cartridge-box, a knapsack, and a bayonet in its sheath. These told me all sorts of tales. I shuddered and dropped the steel when I thought of its purpose and what might have been its deeds, and of all the Bible stories of Goliah with his sword and spear, and Samson slaying Philistines. I inquired strangely of myself what war was, and the mystery of conflict and enmity enveloped my young thought, as it has many an older. To tumble those old books |