"Come, sire, dismiss these fancies, at least while you are with me,” replied I. "On the contrary, Gabrielle, it is the sight of you that recalls them. You are escaped from the tyranny of a father, while my chains press about me tighter than ever, and I cannot, dare not break them. You gain and I lose-voilà tout." cious counsel but too readily, as the sequel | me envy the happiness of the poorest shows. Unable to resist the continued peasant in my dominions, living on bread blandishments of the king, and silencing and garlic, who has his liberty, who is his her conscience by a pretended belief in his own master. I am no king, I am nothing promises of marriage, she sacrificed her but a miserable slave to the Calvinists and lover, Monsieur de Bellegarde, sincerely the Catholics." and honorably attached to her for so many years, and whom she had once really loved, for the sake of the gallant but licentious Henri. From this time the old walls of St. Germain could reveal but too well, how in loosing her lover she resigned her virtue. During the whole of his reign, and up to the very moment that Ravaillac cut short his earthly career, Henri continued warmly attached to her, but never redeemed his pledge of marrying the fair Gabrielle; political reasons-specious arguments with royalty in all ages for every sort of crime and want of faith-were his excuse and Gabrielle had fallen so low that she accepted it. Some excuse may be made for his conduct, irregular as it undoubtedly was, when we remember the loose code of morality of that age and country, the abandoned character of his first wife, Marguerite of Valois, and the highly problematical virtue of the second, Marie de Medicis, both ladies setting him an example of libertinism he was not slow to follow. Before leaving the subject, I must not omit another conversation with her lover, related by Gabrielle d'Estrées, which also took place within the old walls we are considering. It occurred some time after the former interview, and there is now little mention of Bellegarde: he had ceased to be a rival. In the autumn (says the lady) the court had removed to the chateau of St. Germain, where the king took great pleasure in hunting the stag in that immense forest. He had been absent all day, and when he returned, he entered my apartment, which looked towards the terrace, and commanded a magnificent prospect; and, dismissing my attendants, sank into a great fauteuil without saying a word. I looked up at him, wondering at his silence, when I perceived he was weeping. Surprised at his emotion, I asked him if the sight of me had caused those tears, for if such were the case, I would go back to my father if it so pleased his majesty. "Mignonne," replied he, taking my hand with much affection, "it is you who are partly the cause of my grief, but not because you are here. Seeing you makes VOL. XXXIX.-NO. I. "Sire," replied I, gravely, "woman, perhaps, are best in the chains you allude to. I shall see if I have gained, for I am not so certain of it; all I know is, whatever has been or is to be, that I love you. Succeed only in putting down that odious League, as Hercules destroyed the hydra, and, the siege of Rouen once over, you will march to Paris, and I shall be happy in seeing you crowned and anointed at Rheims." "Never fear, this will come about shortly, I am certain. There are, however, more difficulties in all this than you are aware of, mon amie. If I become a Catholic, as all my nobles wish me to do et la belle France vaut bien une messe— then Messieurs les Calvinistes will at once reorganise this cursed League; and if I persist in my religion-that religion my poor mother reared me up to love sincerely why then I shall be forsaken by all the Catholics-a fact they take care to remind me of every day of my life. Vrai Dieu! I only wish I were once again King of Navarre, without an acre of land, as I was formerly." "Sire, this despondency afflicts me; be more sanguine, I entreat you. If my poor words have any power over you, dismiss such gloomy thoughts. Believe me, the future has much in store for you." "Ah, dear Gabrielle, when I am far away over mountains and valleys, separated from those lovely eyes that beam now so brightly on me, I feel all the torments of absence-away from your presence all happiness is gone." 66 Well, sire," said I, "if it is only my presence you desire to make you happy, I will follow you to the end of the worldwill go to the antipodes, the Arctic circle, anywhere." I "Mon amie! it is this love that alone enables me to bear all the anxieties and 5 troubles that surround me on every side. | vance upon Rouen; I expect a vigorous I value it more than all the gold of Peru or the Indies; but this very love of yours, entire as I believe it to be, is one principal cause of my misery." "How can that be ?" said I; "I love you and will ever be constant, I swear it solemnly, Henri.” "Yes," replied he; "but do you not know that I have the honor of being the husband of a queen, the sister of three defunct monarchs-the most abominable, the most disgraceful, the most odious "Sire, you need not think about her; you are not obliged to be a witness of her conduct. Let her enjoy all her gallantries at the Castle of Usson, where her excesses have exiled her." resistance, and God only knows how it will end. I leave all under your care, and invest you, fair Gabrielle, with the same power as if you were really queen-(would to Heaven you were! Ah, confound that devil of a Margot!). I will return to you as often as I can, and write frequently. Now I must say that sad word, adieuadieu, ma mie bienaimée." 66 I consoled the king as best I could, and after much ado he took his departure, "always repeating, Adieu, ma mie!" After I had heard him pass down the great gallery, I rushed to one of the windows overlooking the court-yard, and saw my gallant lover vault on horseback, accompanied by that excellent creature, Chicot, his jester, who never left him, and whom he had the misfortune soon after to lose, as the poor fellow died. "Ventre saint gris! cursed be the demon who dishonors me by calling herself my wife! that wretch who defiles my name and my bed, and prevents entirely all chance of my marrying the angel, the friend, whom I love so entirely-your own dear self, mon cher cœur !" "Henri, my heart at least is yours." "Yes, dearest; but not more mine than I am yours eternally. However, are you sure, Gabrielle, that Bellegarde is entirely banished from your remembrance?" "As much," said I, “ as if I had never known him." 66 "I depend upon your promise of never seeing him again; because, good-natured as I am-and I am good-natured-I am somewhat choleric and hot-Heaven pardon me-and if by chance I ever surprised you together, why, vrai Dieu! if I had my sword, I might be sorry for the consequences." "Sire, there is no danger; you may wear your sword for me. If such a thing ever occurred, it is I who would deserve to die." "Well, ma mie, in my absence remain at Mantes," said he, rising; "I must ad Here I must also take leave for the present of the frail but agreeable Gabrielle, and see what other attractions remain to be noticed about St. Germain. The traditions of those old walls, scandalous as they be, ought to have been respected for the sake of the rank and greatness of the pleasureloving royal sinners who had dwelt within them. But behold the melancholy wreck, the skeleton of this once beauteous plaisaunce, without a creature left within to remember that it was ever anything but a dungeon, or to point out any of those interesting local particulars so interesting to a lover of the past-no one to tell where Anne of Austria slept, or which rooms were inhabited by the Grand Monarquewhere Madame Henriette received her court, or where the naughty maids of honor lay their fair heads to rest-or in which apartment Mary of Modena and her lugubrious spouse passed so many years in an exile only terminated by death: all, all is gone! From Dickens's Household Words. MY BLIND SISTER. I. THIS was how I found it out. Lettie and I were sitting in the window at our work-it was some mourning we were making for our rector's family-and it had to be sent home the next day early. She said, "Jane, it seems as if the sun had given up shining; how dull everything looks! don't you think so?" days." I did not notice it; there was still an | thinking that you are to be blind all your hour's daylight. She put up her hand to her forehead as if it pained her, so I bade She was a little cheered by this. her go out for a turn in the garden; we "To London, Janey! but where is the had sat close to our sewing all the day, money to come from ?" she asked. and the young thing was tired: even I "Leave that to me, I'll arrange somewas, and my eyes ached wearily. She how." It was very puzzling to me to setwent along by the flower-bed, and ga- tle how, just then, but I have a firm conthered a few roses-we were in the mid-viction that where there is a will to do dle of July then-and gave them to me anything, a way may generally be found, through the window, saying that she and I meant to find it. would go down into the town for some trimmings we wanted to finish the dresses. I would rather she had stayed at home, and replied that the shops would be shut; but she was not listening, and went away down the path as I spoke. It was dusk when she came back; I had just shut the window, and was lighting my candle; she said, "I could not get the fringe, Jane," and then laying her bonnet on the dresser, took up her work. After she had sewed perhaps five minutes she dropped her hands on her knees, and such a strange, hopeless expression came into her face, that I was quite shocked and frightened. "What ails you, Lettie? what can have happened?" I asked, suspecting, I scarcely knew what. She looked at me drearily in silence for some moments, and then said hastily, "I might as well tell you at once, Jane, I'm going blind." My work fell to the ground, and I uttered a startled cry. "Don't take on about it, Jane: it can't be helped," she added. "It is only a fancy of yours, Lettie; I shall have you to Doctor Nash in the morning. What has made you take such a notion into your head all at once ?" said I, for I thought this was another nervous whim. Lettie had been a good deal indulged by our mother before she died, and had shown herself not a little headstrong sometimes, as well as fanciful. "It is of no use, Jane; I have been to Doctor Nash myself, and he said plainly that I was going blind. I have been to him twice before: I knew what was coming. Oh, Janey! what shall we do? what shall we do?" and having borne up thus far she broke down, and sobbed aloud, with her face on her arms on the table. "We shall do very well. In the first place I don't believe Doctor Nash knows anything about it: and, in the next, I shall have you up to London to a great doctor, and hear what he says before I give in to She took up her work, but I bade her leave it. "You will not set another stitch, Lettie," I said; "you may just play on the old piano and sing your bits of songs, and get out into the fresh air—you have have been kept too close, and are pale to what you were. Go to bed now like a good little lassie; I'll do by myself." "But there is so much to finish, Janey." "Not a stitch that you'll touch, Lettie; so kiss me good-night, and get away." "And you don't think much of what Doctor Nash said ?" she asked very wistfully. "No! I've no opinion of him at all." And hearing me speak up in my natural way (though my heart was doubting all the time), she went away comforted, and in better hope. I had put it off before her, because she would have given way to fretting, if I had seemed to believe what the doctor said; but, as I drew my needle through and through my work till three hours past midnight, I had often to stop to wipe the tears from my eyes. There were only two of us-Lettie and myself-and we had neither father nor mother, nor indeed any relatives whom we knew. Lettie was seventeen, and I was four years older. We were both dressmakers, and either worked at home or went out by the day. We lived in a small, thatched, three-roomed cottage outside the town, which had a nice garden in front. Some people told us that if we moved into the town we should get better employ; but both Lettie and I liked the place where we had been born so much better than the closed-in streets, that we had never got changed, and we were not wishful to. Our rent was not much, but we were rather put to it sometimes to get it made up by the day, for our landlady was very sharp upon her tenants, and if they were ever so little behindhand, she gave them notice directly. I set my wits to work how to get the money to take Lettie to London; but all that night no idea came to me, and the next day it was the same. With two pair of hands we had maintained ourselves decently; but how was it going to be now that there was only one? Rich folks little think how hard it is for many of us poor day-workers to live on our little earnings, much more to spare for an evil day. II. SUNDAY found me still undecided, but that was our holiday, and I meant to see Doctor Nash myself while Lettie was gone to chapel. She made herself very nice, for she had a modest pride in her looks which becomes a girl. I thought her very pretty myself, and so did the neighbors; she had clear, small features, and a pale color in her cheeks, soft brown hair, and hazel eyes. It was not easy to see that anything ailed them, unless you looked into them very closely, and then there was a dimness to be seen about them, which might be disease. She had put off thinking about herself, and was as merry as a cricket when she went down the lane in her white bonnet and clean muslin gown. She nodded to me (I was watching her from the doorway), and smiled quite happily. I was as proud of Lettie as ever my mother had been. She was always such a clever, warm-hearted little thing; for all her high temper. When she was fairly gone, and the church bells ceased, I dressed myself in haste, and set off into the town to see Doctor Nash. He was at home, and his man showed me into the surgery, where I had to wait, may-be an hour. When the doctor came in, he asked sharply why I could not put off my business to Monday; was my business so pressing? He did did not consider how precious were the work-days to us, or may-be he would not have spoken so-for he was a benevolent man, as we had every reason to know; he having attended our mother through her last illness as carefully as if she had been a rich lady, though we could never hope to pay him. I explained what I had come about, and he softened then, but would not alter what he had told Lettie himself. "She has been with me three or four times," he said. "She is an interesting little girl; it is a great pity, but I do not think her sight can be saved-I don't indeed, Jane." He explained to me why he was of this opinion, and how the disease would advance, more lengthily than needs to be set down here. Then he said he could get her admitted into the Blind Institution if we liked; and that I must keep her well, and send her out of doors constantly. And so I went home again, with very little hope left, as you may well think, after what I had heard. I did not tell Lettie where I had been, aud she never suspected. There was no chapel that afternoon, and we were getting ready to take a walk along the river ban' as we generally did on fine Sundays (for all the town went there, and it freshened us up to see the holiday people far more than if we had stopped at home reading our books, as many say it is only right to do), when one of our neighbors came in with her son. Mrs. Crofts was a widow, and Harry was studying medicine with Dr. Nash. They were both kind friends of ours; and between Lettie and the young man, there had for ever so long a sort of boy and girl liking; but I do not think they had spoken to each other yet. Lettie colored up when Harry appeared, and went into the garden to show him, she said, the white moss-rose that was full of bloom by the kitchen window; but they stayed whispering over it so long, that I did not think it was only that they were talking about. Then Harry went out the gate looking downcast and vexed, and Lettie came back into the house with a queer, wild look in her face that I did not like. Mrs. Crofts said, "Is Harry gone ?" and my sister made her a short answer, and went into the bed-room. "Harry is going up to London very soon; I shall be glad to have the examination over and him settled. Doctor Nash thinks very well of him; he is a good young fellow, Jane." I replied that he had always been a favorite of mine, and I hoped he would do well; but, listening for Lettie's coming to us, perhaps I seemed rather cold and stiff; for Mrs. Crofts asked if I was not well, or if there was anything on my mind; so I told her about poor Lettie's sight. "I've seen no appearance of blindness; Harry never said a word. You don't think it can be true?" she asked. I did not know what to think. I was sure that, in that whispering over the rose-tree, my sister had told young Mr. Crofts; and I wished his mother would go away, that I might comfort her. At last she went. Then I called to Lettie, who came at III. DOCTOR PHILIPSON's opinion was the same as that of Doctor Nash. Lettie was not so down-stricken as I had dreaded she would be, and she bade good-bye to Harry Crofts almost cheerfully when he went up to London. "There, Jane, now I hope he'll forget me," she said to me; "I don't like to see him so dull." She had been fretting; but, as she tried to hide it, I made no remark, and we went down the lane to the river meadows in silence. The first person we met was Harry Crofts. Lettie seemed put out when he joined us, and turned back. She stayed behind, and was presently in company with our landlady, Mrs. Davis, who was taking the air in a little wheeled chair drawn by a footman. Mrs. Davis had always noticed Lettie. Harry Crofts looked back once or twice to see if she was following; but, when he found she was not, he proposed to wait for her, and we sat down by the water on a tree trunk" And why should I not be so too? what which lay there. "This is a sad thing about Lettie's eyes, Jane," he said suddenly. 66 Yes, it is. What do you think about them? Is there any chance for her?" "Doctor Nash says not; but, Jane, next week Phillipson, the best occulist in England, is coming to stay a couple days with Nash. Let him see her." "I meant to try to get her to London for advice." "There is nobody so clever as Phillipson. Oh! Jane, I wish I had passed-" "Do you fancy you know what would cure her ?" "I'd try. You know, Jane, I love Lettie. I meant to ask her to be my wife. I did ask her this afternoon, and she said, No; and then told me about her sight-it is only that. I know she likes me: indeed, she did not try to deny it." "Yes, Harry, you have been so much together; but there must be no talk of marrying." "That is what she says." me. "She is right-she must just stay with You could not do with a blind wife, Harry: you, a young man, with your way to make in the world." He tore up a handful of grass, and flung it upon the river, saying passionately, "Why, of all the girls in Dalston must this affliction fall on poor Lettie ?" and then he got up and walked away to meet her coming along the bank. They had a good deal of talk together, which I did not listen to; for their young hearts were speaking to each other-telling their secrets. Lettie loved him: yes, certainly she loved him. That day Mrs. Davis sent her a ticket for a concert at the Blind Institution, and she went. When she came home to tea she told me that the girls and boys who sang looked quite happy and contented. a number of beautiful sights I can remember which some of them never saw!" she added with a sigh. After this, imperceptibly, her sight went; until I noticed that, even in crossing the floor, she felt her way before her, with her hands out. Doctor Nash again offered to use his influence to get her admitted into the Institution, but she always pleaded "Let me stay with you, Janney!" and I had not the heart to refuse; though she would have had more advantages there, than I could afford her. Not far from her there lived an old German clockmaker, who was besides musical, and acted as organist at the Roman Catholic chapel in the town. We had known him all our lives. Lettie of ten carried him a posy from our garden, and his grand children came to me for patches to dress their dolls. Müller was a grim fantastic-looking figure, but he had a heart of pure gold. He was benevolent, simple, kindly; it was his talk that reconciled Lettie, more than anything else to her condition. He was so poor, yet so satisfied; so afflicted, yet unrepining. "Learn music-I will teach thee," he said to my sister. So, sometimes in our little parlor, and sometimes in his, he gave her lessons in fine sacred pieces from Handel and Haydn, and taught her to sing as they sing in churches-which was grander than our simple Methodist hymns. It was a great delight to listen to her. It seemed as if she felt everything deeper in her heart, and expressed it better than before and it was all her consolation to draw the sweet sounds up out of that well of feeling which love had sounded. I know that, to remember how Harry : |