THE FRIENDLY ARREST.

NE morning in the month of November, the Count Stanilaus de Lemberg, who had been lying awake half the night, began to observe the outline of his window faintly glimmering with the new day. His bedstead being unencumbered with curtains, he was enabled to watch the progress of the dawn, as it gradually revealed to him the objects in his room. It reminded him once more that his sleeping-apartment was not furnished in that sumptuous style which a nobleman's bed-chamber is expected to display. His eye passed slowly round the walls, meeting nothing in the circuit of its wanderings but a guitar with

one string broken and hanging down, a row of wooden pipes, fantastically carved, and a slouched felt-hat. His floor was paved with octagon-shaped tiles, and was without an inch of carpet his sole furniture, besides the bed, consisted of a round table, a chair, a washing-stand, a trunk, and a board upon tressels serving for a work-bench, near the window. Finding nothing very cheerful in the contemplation of these things, Count Stanilaus de Lemberg leaped out of bed, and began to dress himself.

It was very cold, and the morning was slightly misty. The water in his jug was frozen, and his breath had congealed in feathery lines upon the window-pane. His teeth chattered, and his clothes were still damp with walking in the rain on the night before. He opened the door of the German stove, which stood out in the room with a long tin pipe, communicating with the chimney by a hole in the wind-board. The porter's wife has omitted to lay my fire ready for lighting, thought he; but going to the closet to fetch some fagots, he discovered that the woman was not to blame. His stock of wood was exhausted, and no doubt she had refrained, from motives of delicacy, from reminding him of that fact. Yes, yes-of course,' he muttered to himself, she knows I must be aware of it, and expects me to speak first.'

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Of course Count Stanilaus de Lemberg rang for her immediately, and handed her a purse, with instructions to replenish his store of fuel, as a nobleman might be expected to do. No: he merely closed the door of his stove again, and sat himself down upon the edge of his bed to reflect.

He had a great mind to go out for awhile. From his lodging in that abode of decayed gentility, the Quartier St Germains, to the Luxembourg, was but five minutes' walk; thence to the Pont des Arts, ten minutes; and then he might cross the river, and make a long circuit by the quays; and so home again. He decided upon every street that he would pass through, settling the route beforehand, as in the programme of a royal journey. 'The exercise,' he argued, 'will warm me, and I can work here for an hour or two afterwards without feeling cold again." The excellence of the idea was obvious: but he did not go.

Underneath his window, in the square courtyard of the old dilapidated mansion in which he occupied a single room on the fourth floor, he could hear the porter's son singing some ditty in an unintelligible provincial dialect, and chopping wood for some of the lodgers. The Polish nobleman was tempted to forget his high birth of which, indeed, there was very little to remind himand to go down stairs, and offer to help him in his work. He thought of Peter the Great, and the anecdotes of his humility; and though he had little reverence for the memory of that monarch, he felt that his example would serve as a warrant for the act he contemplated. What could warm one better than half an hour's hard manual labour? How lustily the

TEAяяA YOZALI FI

lad sang! He did not trouble himself with these sickly scruples. His health was good, and he could earn a living; what more did he want? The young count resolved to go down, and converse with him, in the manner of the Russian monarch. 'Something may be learned, thought he, from every man who has respected his own individuality, and is really an independent being Nothing could be more sensible than such a determination: but he did not go

Upon reflection, it seemed to him more advisable to go on with the work he had been meditating for a fortnight. This was a little model, in red wax, of a design for a silver chalice for the count had a taste for art and upon an acquaintance with the works of artists in Paris, which were said to have brought their designers large sums of money, he felt convinced that he might earn an independent living by his talents as an artist. And so he might: but other men of far inferior skill grew rich, while he became poorer and poorer every day. Now he resolved to make an effort at last. But the porter's son had finished chopping the wood, and the city of Paris had got through a considerable portion of its labour for that day, and still Count Stanilaus de Lemberg was idling about his room. He had long ago settled in his mind, that independent labour was honourable to all conditions of men; that a penniless nobleman must starve, beg, or work; that of these three resources, the last was the most creditable. But his tools remained untouched; and his idea was still floating impalpable in the air. He was thinking of Benvenuto Cellini, Donatello, Brunelleschi, Ghiberti, Jean of Bologna-of the glories of their works, and the stories of their lives. In this alone he had found more employment than he could exhaust that morning.

Unhappy count! He knew very well what a misfortune was this wavering disposition, and yet it seemed to him impossible to help it. A week's hard application would have given him strength to go on; but he was incorrigible. The sense of having wasted much time compelled him to waste more. For how, with these regrets and self-reproaches on his mind, could he hope to catch that cheerful tone which is the life of an artist at his work-the parent of beautiful images in the mind? The cheerless aspect of his room, the necessities of daily life, the hardships that he had already suffered, all weighed upon him when he took up his tools to work. He knew nothing beautiful could come of a dull, despondent mood; and he threw his tools down again. Then he would take down one of his enormous pipes, and smoke, and dream, and lay out plans for future action, never to be realised nursing himself with a fanciful prosperity, which only left him more despondent when the humour was past, and his miserable situation began to dawn upon him again.

'Not to-day,' said he to himself; 'it is of no use. The sailor must wait for the wind; and so must I wait for the spirit that is to waft me onwards till there comes another calm.'

ТРЯЯЯА УЛЛИНІЯЧ ЯНТ

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Having put

He took his breakfast of bread, with a small glass of cheap wine, and reached his slouched hat from on his greatcoat, and buttoned it closely over the breast, he lingered a little while longer examining his tools, and finally he went out, shutting the door of his room.49 9 9 of 9TH 26W Before he crossed the yard, he stepped into the lodge of the porter's wife, to deposit his key, as the lodgers to as were accustomed

to do.

well.

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the lodge, she looked at him with such an air of pity and solici tude that he dreaded meeting her. It was very embarrassing He was afraid that she suspected his poverty; though he hoped not. Poor count! Everybody knew it very 'Good-morning, sir,' said she. Good-morning, replied Stanilaus, dropping his eyes, and shrinking towards the door. He was afraid she was boing was going to speak about the wood. Is there anything you want to-day?" she asked. My boy has very little to do now, and will go anywhere you please.' No-thank you: nothing.' silt Let me see," said she, there was something I was going to mention. What was it?" The young nobleman blushed deeply. He felt sure she was going to speak about the wood. He was in agony. Ah, well! I shall think of it another day,' said she. "A load was taken off his heart. He did not wait another moment. "Poor child!' exclaimed Madame Benoit, as soon as his back was turned, he knew I meant the wood. He must be suffering more than he lets the world see.'

The misery of Stanilaus had indeed that day reached a point to which it had never yet arrived. So long as he had felt no actual want, he had sustained himself with hopes of better days; that very morning, as we have seen, he had been thinking of the great artists of old times instead of his own troubles. But when the sharp air of a wintry-day had begun to give him an appetitė, and he found himself for the first time to be hungry and penniless, all the gravity of his situation became painfully mam fest. The sun came out feebly in the middle of the day, as he was approaching the gardens of the Tuileries. He saw fushionably dressed loungers through the railing walking to and fro there, chatting, exchanging bows of recognition all looking cheerful. He had not a friend in the whole city. A refugee, he had at first resided in England, whence he had come to Paris with the idea of exercising his talents there, in order to support himself. He felt as if the people who passed him by without a glance h were purposely shunning him. As he arrived at the entrance to the gardens, he saw the gate-keeper stop a man in a blouse, and

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THE FRIENDLY ARREST.

9niw qeedo to earl lema & tiw brord to testdroid id foot refuse him admission, on the ground of his workman's' dress. Stanilaus involuntarily glanced at the breast of his greatcoat, and saw that it was minus a in a spot so conspicuous that it

was sure to strike the ethe gate-keeper at once.

greatcoat. The oozed through the thin soles of his boots: he was wretched. The sight of the people waiting in a long line at the doors of the theatres, all intent upon pleasure, irritated him. He passed the house of a celebrated general of the French army, who had evinced much sympathy for the misfortunes of his country. Stanilaus knew that many of his countrymen had stooped to receive alms of him; and, dreading lest his poverty should at last drive him to such a resource, he made a vow that he would never humiliate himself as they had done. He crossed a bridge over the Seine, and lingered awhile looking into its dark current. By its side he traced the dusky outline of a low building. It was the Morgue, where the bodies persons found dead are exhibited, that their friends may identify them. Stanilaus shuddered for a moment, and then thought with bitterness of how long he might lie there before any one came who knew him. Very weary and faint, he

found, to his great relief, that the porter's wife was not in the

lodge. He took his key down from its hook, and stole up up stairs. That night he ate a stale loaf he had left on his table, drained his wine-bottle, and smoked the small remainder of his stock of tobacco. he could not forget his troubles even in sleep. The but day passed pretty much in the same way. He had raked out from his trunk a design for a time-piece, which he had modelled some time b before. It was not exactly equal to his present taste; but he resolved to call upon a jeweller with it, and solicit employment. The jeweller looked at the model, del, said it was very pretty, and offered to intrust him with some silverwork to be chased, if he could give him a guarantee for its return. Stanilaus could give no guarantee that was satisfactory. The jeweller inquired if he was known to any one in Paris, to whom he could refer. Stanilaus knew no one; but he gave his name and address, Count Stanilaus de Lemberg, Impasse des Rats, No. 2. The jeweller looked suspiciously at him. He had only lately been cheated by an impostor, who had represented