"And he has been in the wrong, boy; one never prospers in abandoning one's interests. Everyone for himself, and to each man his due, is the only just, rational, and moral law, for it is the only one of which no one has a right to complain."

"You talk like a lawyer, father-in-law," said Durvest, laughing; "and I am happy to see that you have such ideas."

“Í have never had any others." "Then we shall understand each other, for I have come to speak to you on business." "Let us pass into my study; we can converse there while waiting for the postman."

CHAP. III.

Henri Fresneau and his daughter were on the road to Orleans. The latter, who had hastened his departure, was urging on the horse, which she constantly accused of slowness, and seemed to be earnestly seeking the city with her eyes; the professor observed her for some time with a smile.

last.

'You are very impatient, Emma," said he, at Emma blushed.

"I will engage you are hoping to find at home a letter from Oscar."

"Ah, you guess everything, father," said the young girl, confused.

Fresneau passed his hand over her hair. "Poor children!" murmured he. " Why can I not unite you immediately? But it was your wish, Emma. By espousing Oscar you might have accompanied him: you preferred to wait until he should be settled near us."

"That I might not leave you, father. Ah! is not my place at your side? Do you not need my care and my affection?"

"Oscar also needs them."

"When we are young we can postpone our happiness. Will not a whole life remain for its enjoyment?" Then, at the first opportunity, Oscar will be sent to Orleans, his employers have promised it, and then we shall be reunited. We will buy in the suburbs a house, with a garden; we will give you the pleasantest room. You know how ingenious Oscar is; he will arrange places for your minerals and your herbarium; he has told me so."

"Indeed!" said Fresneau, playing with his daughter's curls, and caressing her.

"And that is not all!" said Emma, in a tone of childish importance. "We will furnish your chamber entirely new, father."

"Then what mean you by rendering account? Do you think that arithmetic divides better than affection? We wish to be your children, father, not your partners. Oh, do not talk, I entreat you, of what belongs to you or to me! Oscar would be hurt; and I am grieved by it."

"Be it so," said Fresneau, softened'; "you are right. Of what use are several purses where there is but one heart? Where the affections rule, interests are effaced, or rather united. Let us continue to live as we have lived, without troubling ourselves as to what is given or received."

At these words he embraced his daughter, and took the reins; they had just reached the suburbs of Orleans.

CHAP. IV.

While Henri Fresneau was conversing thus with Emma, an explanation of quite another kind was taking place between the merchant and his son-in-law. As soon as they were alone, the latter announced to his father-in-law that he was about to extend his business, and was treating for the establishment of a house in India. He dwelt a long time on the advantages promised by the enterprise, and had no difficulty in proving that no other could compare with it.

"Pardieu! It will be a gold mine to you!" exclaimed Germain Fresneau, who had listened very attentively; and I wish I had a hundred thousand crowns to invest in it. Unfortunately all my capital is at present engaged in that foolish speculation of the wines of the Loire."

"I could have twenty associates," replied Durvest; "but, as the business is certain, I prefer to transact it alone."

"And shall you have funds enough?"

"I may way want some in addition to what I have; and that is the occasion of my coming." "You know I can dispose of nothing," objected the merchant.

"Be composed, father-in-law," said Durvest, laughing. "I do not want the ready; but I have a proposition to make to you."

"Let us see," replied Germain, his face in

stantly assuming the reserved expression of a man compelled to act on the defensive.

"You know that, in arranging the accounts of the property my wife holds in right of her mother," resumed Durvest, "we left out of the question her share in the Noisetière, giving up to you the full enjoyment of this domain."

66

By paying you a rent of a hundred louis!" interrupted the merchant.

"Representing a capital of about fifty thousand francs."

"And is not this your due for your quarter of the Noisetière, the total value of which is estimated at two hundred thousand francs?"

"Excuse me, father-in-law," interrupted Durvest: "in this estimate neither the outbuildings, the forests, nor the ponds have been included; and the chateau, with its dependencies, is worth at least six hundred thousand francs."

"Well!" asked Germain, who did not see at what his son-in-law was aiming.

"Well, six hundred thousand francs would give me, as the share of Madame Durvest, the fifty thousand crowns which I need."

"What say you? Sell my country-house! Do you forget that it is my work, my pridethat I am accustomed to it?"

"I do not say this," replied Durvest; "but this money is indispensable to me."

"Pardieu! You may find it elsewhere, then," exclaimed Germain, rising. "The Noisetière will not be sold, I can tell you."

"It must be!" replied Durvest, also rising. "And who will compel me to it, if you please?"

No one

"The law, which says (article 815) can prevent the division of property.' "That is to say, you will demand the sale?" "With regret."

"Woe be to you if you do it, sir !" exclaimed Germain, extending his hand menacingly. "I will see my daughter; she will not suffer it." "You are mistaken." "How ?"

"I have her authority." "It is false !"

"You are not polite, father-in-law," said the merchant; but, to prove the truth of my words, here is her act, signed, sealed, and registered, giving me a right to plead before all the tribunals of France and Navarre."

"Is it possible that my daughter could sign such a deed?" said Fresneau, turning pale.

"I have told you that I must have this hundred and fifty thousand francs."

"And would my daughter for that sum expose her father to a lawsuit ?" exclaimed Germain, with passionate sorrow. "Would she attempt to drive me from a home where I have seen the trees grow up, whose flowers I have planted, where all my affections are centred?" "What would you have, father-in-law? Your daughter cannot sacrifice her advantages to your fancies. After all, you can find a countryhouse elsewhere. Madame Durvest is rational; you have educated her to understand her in

"Have you anything more to say to me?" "Nothing."

"Then I wish you a pleasant journey," interrupted Germain, hastily.

Durvest looked at him with an air of astonishment.

"That is to say, you send me away," resumed he; "very well, I am a dutiful son. I am going to Orleans to regulate some business; I will return in a few days for your final decision. "It will be useless, sir.

"Pardon me," replied the speculator, seizing his hat. "You should not drive us to extremities. Good-bye, father-in-law."

He saluted Germain Fresneau, and went on; but hardly had he disappeared, when the latter fell back in his chair, almost suffocated with anger and grief,

CHAP. V.

The good fortune which had attended Germain in all his undertakings, the kind of influence which wealth had given him, had accustomed him to see his wishes obeyed; so the pretensions of his son-in-law excited in him an indignation with difficulty suppressed. It is a fact of daily observation that selfish people receive injuries with less patience than others. They are far from being cold; their isolation proceeds not from insensibility, but from self-love. They are so absorbed in themselves as to have no affec tion to bestow on mankind; but whenever the idol of their worship, self, is touched, their hearts revolt, and cry out against it.

The conversation which M. Fresneau had just held with his son-in-law had thrown him into an agitation which reflection was far from subduing. The idea that he must leave a dwelling built by himself, and where he had hoped to die, affected him greatly; but he was especially humbled as he thought that the Noisetière might belong to another, Attacked at once in

his affections, his habits, and his vanity, he gave way as before a severe and unexpected blow. George, to whom he had imparted the intentions of Durvest, received his indignation coldly. The son, too, had calculated that the sale of the estate might turn to his profit; so he hastened to cut short explanations by communicating to his father a letter, in which some very advan⚫ tageous business was proposed to him, but which required his immediate departure for Saumur. "Go," said the grieved merchant; "I can defend myself alone."

But this desertion completed his trials. He passed a part of the day in a state of increasing exaltation, forming a thousand plans to defeat those of Durvest; at last, towards evening, he became feverish. He was obliged to go to bed; and Cousin Maurice anxiously summoned a physician.

CHAP. VI.

The first gleams of day were penetrating the closed blinds, and a night lamp placed in a corner of the room, was almost extinct; while Henri and his daughter, reclining each in an arm-chair, were asleep before the dying fire.

Suddenly, a hand put aside the closed curtains of the alcove, and the face of Germain Fresneau looked out, pale and thin. Scarcely out of danger, this was the first time for a fortnight that he had permitted his nurses an instant of repose, and partially recovered the exercise of his faculties, He looked for an instant at the professor and the young girl, then called the latter in a faint tone; both heard and rose at the same time.

"My uncle is awake, said Emma, approaching him.

"Yes, little one," replied the merchant, with a smile.

"And how do you find yourself?" asked Henri.

"Very well, brother; very well now."

"I am glad of it!" murmured the young girl. "The physician said that this crisis would

save him."

"Save me!" repeated Germain. "Have I then been very sick, my friends?"

Enough so to make us very anxious." Indeed, it does seem as though I had been suffering; and I remember now to have seen you always beside my bed."

"With Cousin Maurice, who has never left you,"

And George?" asked the invalid; where is he?"

The father and daughter seemed embarrassed. "He was ignorant of your danger," said Henri, at last. "He went away on the morning of the day on which you were taken sick.” "Leaving me alone?"

"No; he had written to us to come," "Is it true?"

"I have his letter here,

"Show it to me." "Not yet."

"I must see it, Henri; give it to me," repeated the invalid.

The professor sought in his pocket-book, and handed his brother the following billet:

"MY DEAR UNCLE,-My father is sick, and I am forced to depart for Saumur, as the least delay would cause my failure in business of importance. Send Emma to the Noisetière if you cannot come hither yourself; for the physician seems anxious, tions. I must go without waiting for you, that I and has declared that my father needs careful attenmay overtake the first conveyance; but come to day, if possible. "GEORGE."

The merchant read the letter twice; then, turning his eyes towards his brother, said"And so you came with your daughter." "Immediately."

"Were you not afraid that your absence would perhaps injure your interests-be the occasion of your losing your professorship?"

"I did not think of it," replied the professor. "No," murmured Germain, pensively, "you thought only of my sufferings, while George was absorbed in his own interests; but this letter is not the only one you have to show me. Durvest must have written."

I do not know," said the professor, embar

rassed.

"What, nothing from him?"

"Pardon me," interrupted Emma, "this packet"

Her father made a sign to her, but too late; Germain seized the document, and glanced over it.

"An assignment of my property," said he. "Oh, I expected this! It should be placed beside George's letter, brother; it is a fruit from the same seed."

And, clasping his hands with a profound grief, he exclaimed

"This, then, is the reward of so much effort; Others, who leave to their children only poverty, obtain gratitude! and I, who have rendered them rich, happy, they forsake or treat as an enemy; but what have I done to them, Henri, that they

should not love me ?"

"Nothing, brother," said the professor, gently; "only you have taught them to disregard the impulses of the heart; and the culture of arithmetic has killed in them that of the sentiments. I have often told you that interest creates partners, but only affection the family."

"Then I have none," replied the merchant, despairingly.

You are quite mistaken, cousin," said Maurice, who had just entered, and overheard the last words pronounced by Henri; "you are mistaken, cousin. Look at your side, and you will see one who has always been attached to you for your own sake."

"Then let her never leave me!" exclained Germain, opening his arms to his brother and Emma, "for I feel now that there is no happiness in life but in loving,"

After such an extremely dry April we were quite prepared for more than an average allowance of wet in May; but we have had only a moderate share, accompanied, however, by several thunderstorms (one remarkably heavy) to clear the atmosphere. Rain, though of such immense benefit to the crops, is "most intolerable and not-to-be-endured" by those who go plodding along London streets; and we know that we are not singular in our animadversions on the weather, even when it is not more severe than might have been expected; whilst a stout heart, with a borrowed umbrella, have been certainly of service more than once to your Bohemian in this "merry month of May."

We have had a series of horrors, all crowded together in a remarkably short space of time. The assassin of President Lincoln has speedily met with a fate similar to that of his victim, being shot through the head during his attempted capture, the full particulars of which, with sundry embellishments, have been duly recorded in all the papers; indeed, in the illustrated penny journals, those who care for the engravings of the scene enacted in the private box, the last moments of the President, and the death of Booth, without pausing to consider the miraculous ubiquity of "our artist," may enjoy their pennyworth with unalloyed satisfaction. The accomplice of Booth (also an actor) having surrendered, is now in safe custody, and to him no mercy will be shown. Should he be hanged it will be unfortunate; for, if we remember rightly, Mr. Buckstone once boldly asserted, at one of the dinners of the General Theatrical Fund, that no actor had ever met with such a fate.

In the report of a meeting of Americans, held at St. James's Hall, to express condolence on the death of Lincoln, we read that, "amongst the gentlemen present" were Mrs. Tom Thumb and Miss Minnie Warren!

The confession of Constance Kent is attended with considerable mystery, and has given rise to much correspondence re the Road Murder. We think, and hope, that it will be proved at the trial that she is not responsible for such a statement, and that she cannot be handed over to the executioner, amid the howlings of the dregs of society, and the inevitable blaspheming and drunkenness.

We learn from a contemporary that the South Western Company are building first-class carriages, with windows for passengers in different compartments of the same carriage to communicate with one another; and that a South Western official, on being asked the object of the windows, said that it was to prevent passengers from being Müllerised!

Immediately following the disastrous American news, came the almost equally startling intelligence of the deaths (by their own hands) of Admiral Fitzroy, and Prescott the banker. At first there were all kinds of contradictory ru

MONTH.

mours in reference to the latter event, which turned out to have been similar to that of the lamented Admiral, though it was not until a couple of days had elapsed that the real facts transpired; for instance, we were informed the next morning, on apparently good authority, that the cause of Prescott's death was bronchitis. It must have been most painful, to the relations and intimate friends of Fitzroy, to see the conspicuous headings of the newspaper paragraphs which referred to the melancholy event, as well as to the inquest, and which we think good taste should have rendered less prominent.

Accounts of the Emperor's visit to Algeria, and that of the Prince of Wales to the Exhibition in Dublin, have been filling the newspapers; indeed, Mr. Sala, as special correspondent of the Daily Telegraph, gives us, in reference to the first-named event, three or four columns of gossip periodically, which would be entertaining enough in a volume; but his essay strikes us as being quite out of place in a newspaper to the exclusion of general news.

Her Majesty is at Balmoral, where she spent her 46th birthday; and Prince Arthur has just returned from the Holy Land; whilst the Prince of Wales, since his return from Ireland, has performed the good work of opening the new building, in extension of the Sailor's Home, at Wapping; and also laying the foundation-stone of a new wing for St. Mary's Hospital, Paddington.

It is with regret that we have to record the death of Sir Samuel Cunard, whose name was so well known in connection with the Cunard line of steamers.

We were present for a short time at Christies' rooms on the first day's sale of poor John Leech's sketches, which realized enormous prices. During our visit we saw there Mr. and Mrs. Shirley Brooks, Mr. Bellew, and many artists anxious to obtain some sketch, however slight, in remembrance of their departed friend, each lot being eagerly contested. We consider that we were particularly fortunate in procuring five slight scraps, framed together, for two guineas and-a-half, since the merest indication of a pretty girl or a horse was sufficient to command a high price; and a sketch of the road to the Derby (which, by the way, is run for this year on the last day of the month, so we cannot name the winner) fetched as much as twenty guineas. The specimens we obtained are equally interesting. One scrap is a figure of Punch, performing the ceremony of presenting the bâton to the "warrior" Haynau: another is the first sketch of "Now, marm, this goes to the Christial Palis." "Bless the man, I don't want no Christial Palises! I am a-going to the Boro'." Whilst a third is "A terrible domestic incident !" which, it may be remembered, represents an old gentleman coming downstairs, and the maid-servant says to the page,