Tonbridge, or Tunbridge Wells is a general appellation given to a num. ber of scattered villages and dwellings within five or six miles from the town of Tunbridge, Kent, immediately bordering upon Sussex. They are situated in the three parishes of Tunbridge, Frant, and Speldhurst'; and consist principally of Mount Ephraim, Mount Pleasant, Mount Sion, and the Wells properly so called. This attractive place and neighbourhood, and fashionable watering spot, owe their importance to the medicinal springs here found, which are said to have been discovered in 1606 by Dudley, Lord North, then sojourning at Eridge House for the benefit of his health. The springs soon acquired celebrity as Henrietta Maria, Queen of Charles the First retired hither to enjoy the benefit of the waters after the birth of her eldest son, Prince Charles; and there being no suitable residence, she and her suite were lodged in tents upon Bishop's down. Soon after the restoratian the place was visited by the queen of Charles the Second, who with the gay court of that monarch gave it additional attraction. Other royal personages also shewed a predilection for the Wells and their vicinity. The detached eminences; Mount Ephraim, &c., being at short distances from the Wells, and interspersed with shrubberies and pleasure grounds connected with the springs, by beautiful walks regularly disposed, present a combination of interesting scenery. 1

THE PHILOSOPHER AND HIS PUPIL.

A TALE.

(Continued.)

CHAPTER XVII.

It was not long before the enemies of Adrienne made her feel that they knew their power. The baroness in a few days requested her interest with her husband for the promotion of Jacques; such a request was equivalent to a command, and, in this instance, Adrienne saw no refuge but in sincerity. Happy would it have been for her had she always thought its paths the safest!

"It would be useless for me to speak to the duke," said she, "for he would do nothing for Jacques; but I will myself give you the sum necessary to procure his promotion; need I tell you upon what terms I make the gift.'

The baroness embraced her, assured her that she might depend upon the diseretion of the de Clugny's father and son, and took charge of the money for Jacques, who in receiving it, swore with horrid imprecations that she must do more, much more, if she hoped to silence him.

The marquis finding that his stay near the monarch led to nothing, took the resolution to return home, a resolution which on the baroness' account was very feebly combatted by his son-in-law and his daughter; and it was easy to see, by his manner of parting with them, that he felt and resented their not shewing more eagerness for him to remain.

However, though he had lost all confidence in his son-in-law, his darling chimera did not abandon him. He had seen some of his old friends, who, either to amuse themselves, or to flatter his folly, assured him that the Duke d'Aiguillon was become so extremely unpopular, that he could not remain at the helm much longer; and that there was no doubt that in the event of his fall the king would confide the port-folio to the marquis, whom so many voices had pronounced the only man in France worthy of it. We easily believe what we wish; above all, when it flatters our self-love; thus the marquis returned home fly por suaded that he should soon be recalled triumphantly by the voice of his sove cigr.

Taree years passed, and thrice within that time had the money which the duchess laid aside as the portion of Celine, been given to satisfy the rapacious Jacques. He had even dared to solicit to be received at the Hotel d'Ormisson, and it was perhaps his rage for the duchess's indignant refusal that drove him to demand from her such large sums.

Dec. 1845.

M M

At the end of the second year of his marriage she became the mother of a boy. This even added, if possible, to the adoration which the duke felt for her. She made not only his happiness, but that of all those who surrounded her; adored by her family, universally beloved and respected, who could have imagined that her heart was continually torn by the presentiment that a frightful destiny awaited her; that she started in terror whenever a stranger approached before her, and never saw her husband open a letter without thinking that the fatal moment was come, in which she could escape from disgrace only by depriving herself of an existence which shame would render too heavy to be borne.

Meantime, the innocent cause of her sufferings increased every day in beauty. She formed the charm of Louise's life, and appeared to have softened, by her infantine graces, even the cold and selfish hearts by which she was surrounded. Her appearance in the house of the captain gave rise to various scandalous reports, some said that she was the natural daughter of the captain; others, of his son; and many, from her astonishing resemblance to Adrienne, gave the marquis the credit of being her father; but in the midst of these conjectures, not one was ever pointed to the real authors of her birth.

The baroness had, or rather we should say, affected to have the most extravagant fondness for her. Louise knew her too well, to see without terror the caresses that she lavished upon her. She resolved every day with more and more anxiety the means by which she could substract her for ever from the reach of that woman whom she was convinced had no other interest in her than what arose from her hatred of her mother. A circumstance happened which the pious Louise hailed with gratitude to heaven, as she believed it an interposition of Providence to save the child of her love from the malice of those demons in human form, who sought her destruction.

This was the deep and increasing interest with which the little innocent inspired the marquis. He beheld in her the living image of his Adrienne, such as she was at the most endearing period of her existence, and he felt for her a fondness stronger than he had ever known for his daughter. He was then in that situation in which the feelings of nature speak most forcibly; he was old, childless, and solitary, and he could not disguise from himself that it was to his ambition and cold-hearted despotism he owed the desertion of his daughter; who from the time that he had forced her into a marriage, that he well knew was abhorrent to her heart, had alienated herself wholly from him. He had at first hoped to console himself for the loss of his daughter's affections, in the attentions of her who had been a principal cause of the sacrifice he had made of his child; but when were the ties which vice cements found binding? The baroness had long been weary of her connection with him, and when she found that all hopes of appearing at court through his means, were over, she no longer took the