hectic spot, quick flashed the glancing eye, and fell disease seemed to lend her new charms ere death claimed her as his bride. At last, her restless longing to return to her own home could no longer be disregarded; and, by the advice of the medical attendants, they retraced their steps to St. Cloud, where the court still remained. She was at home. Again she looked on the stately trees; again the perfume of her father's flowers filled her room with fragrance; again she listened to the merry song of her birds; again she hearkened to the splash of the fountain, and everywhere found something which reminded her of Victor. It was a gala night at the palace. Gabrielle knew not of it; but in the quiet calm of the summer evening she stole out to pay her visit to the fountain, and to moisten with her tears the rose which Victor had given her when they parted. From the gay and glittering ballroom, at the same hour, there stole away two persons to indulge in the communings of their hearts, away from the bustle of the splendid crowd, and they turned their steps down the avenue to the fountain. Julie, my life! how canst thou dream it. Thou art the only one I ever really loved. My manhood's devotion is thine-thine for ever; and a boyish fancy is not to be weighed in the balance." 66 They stood in the shadow of the fountain. "Thou art mine, then, Victor, always." "Always." not to be found. Through the palace, through the town, through the park they sought her-but found her not. Alone, down the fountain-walk, ran the half-maddened Dubois, and, with one deep groan, fell on the green sward. Gabrielle lay dead in the shadow of the Fountain. I suppose this sad story of the course of true love made me feel a little melancholy as I wandered on, and passed fountain after fountain, and terrace after terrace, until we arrived at the Palace. It was originally the private residence of a wealthy banker, M. Goudy, but was, in the year 1658, purchased by Louis the Fourteenth, and presented as a marriage-gift to the Duke of Orleans. Incalculable were the sums laid out in extending and decorating it. The park was planted by the celebrated Le Notre, and St. Cloud became one of the most favourite residences of royalty. Louis the Sixteenth purchased it from the Orleans family; and here the beautiful and unfortunate Marie Antoinette passed some of the happiest years of her eventful life, and many are the incidents related of her adventures here. Napoleon, I have already remarked, was equally delighted with the chateau. Its proximity to Paris, and its great seclusion, were doubtless the reasons of his constant residence; and in the Salle de l'Orangerie occurred the remarkable scenes of the 18th Brumaire, which made the Corsican adventurer the Emperor of France. With still more recent events, too, are its halls and gardens associated; the late King of the French occupied St. Cloud frequently, and his "And didst thou never love another?" Queen was much attached to it. "Never." "What was that Victor; I heard a deep sigh? 66 Impossible; there is no one here, dearest. No one leaves a gay ballroom but happy lovers like us." "My husband!" 66 My wife!" From the shadow of the fountain into the broad walk, from the broad walk to the illuminated terrace, from the terrace to the ball-room once more, and they saw nothing, heard nothing, felt no throb of grief that night. Morning rose-the ball was over-the carriages had rolled away. A frantic father sought his child; Gabrielle was All these varied recollections thronged through my mind, as we walked from one magnificent suite of apartments to another, admiring the splendid Gobelin tapestry which covered the walls, and the sea pictures of the elder Vernet.The ball-room is indeed superb; and the panorama of Paris, seen from its windows, the most enchanting reality one can conceive. "What a curious people the French are, to be sure," said one of my companions, "just look here." I turned, and found my friend looking out of a door in the wall of the ballroom, and quickly joined him in his ejaculations of surprise. Next the ball room, with entrances to it, was a chapel; so that from the gay dance, the fair penitents might at once go to confess their little sins below. The juxtaposition was curious and suggestive, and we wove a dozen romances on the spot connected with the incident. We were all much interested with the private apartments of the exiled royal family, and the varied evidences of their tastes and accomplishments we saw around us-particularly some of the drawings of the princesses; and, on passing through the library, the title of a book, which caught my eye, "The Art of Governing," furnished me with food for reflection until we had regained the open air, and felt again the refreshing breeze. Need I tell how we lost our way, how our English French was unintelligible to children whom we met, how we rested on stone-steps rather disconsolately, how we found a railway station and no one at it, how we learned it was only used on Sundays, how we rambled on until we came to the week-day one, how we waited for an hour for a train, intently studying time-bills and railway fares, how we were whisked back to Paris in time to dress for dinner-need I describe all this, or that merry laughing dinner in the Palais Royale, the ramble in search of a Jewish synagogue, ending in a walk on the Boulevards, and an ice al fresco. No, for these are not my subjects, and our summer-day at Sèvres and St. Cloud is over like a pleasant dream. R. Z THE POET BY THE SEA-SIDE. TELL me, thou vast and murmuring sea, Each time I visit thee seems to me Thy myriad waves, as they strike the shore, They come to tell me of long bright days They come to sing me sweet childish lays And whence is that Past? so shadowy now And thou seemest laden, O Summer air! Fleeting, as are your ethereal forms, To be followed, like you, by gloom and storms! Oh! why has that joy-brightened season fled, I would I might lay down my wearied head Sea! thou should'st sing me a dirge divine, Yes, yes, there is music; I know a voice Still lives to make my sad heart rejoice: From Despair it calleth my spirit back The Poet ceased. His dark and thoughtful eyes So all-embracing and so all-consoling, That but this transient glimpse was full of glory: To bless the purest longings of the soul. I. A. D. DUBLIN. mmmm SCENES ABOUT BELFAST. NO. I.-GREEN-ISLAND AND THE KNOCKAGH, AT an equal distance from the village of White-Abbey and the town of Carrickfergus, there is a bed of rocks, near to the shore, but surrounded by the water of Belfast Lough at full tide. The highest portion of the range is flat on the surface, enclosed by a circular wall, and covered with sward. It is therefore called "the Green-Island," and has given its name to the immediate district. Nor do I know of a sweeter spot, when the quiet morn is breaking into day, or hastening eve sinks on the arms of night-when the sun comes struggling through the cloud, or showers around its golden rays; Sea-Park and its fairy fort are close at hand, and the Castle of Carrickfergus still more to the left, proud in its years, and sombre as a pyramid; in front is Cultra, with the Lough between, and the Knockagh behind; while fair fields and many a villa, Carnmoney hill and Ben-Uaim, stretch to Belfast on the right. When seen from the neighbourhood of the Island, the Knockagh has a fine effect; though its elevation is not great, nor its length very considerable. But the eye is arrested by the grassy slopes that clothe its sides, the flitting shadows, and centre cliffs. You long to press the one, to mingle with the others, and gain the level summit. The best approach is by a lane which leads from the shore at Ballynascreen, and runs in a direct line through the meadows, until joined by a path (but little trodden and half overgrown with grass) that continues the ascent to the upper or Ballymena road, which has numerous points of interest. From this, a similar, yet steeper way branches to a lime-kiln that stands prominently out, and commands a good view of the Lough, the varied lands to the northeast, and part of the Carrickfergus plains, with the town and Castle. But its most striking prospect is that of the Knockagh itself; for here, the hill really dates, and assumes its distinctive form; twisting into dells, springing into slopes, or breaking into bold masses; while the whole is fringed by a belt of trees, that nestle about a farm house, which hangs above you-guarding it alike from winter's storm, and summer's heat. These passed, there succeeds a winding maze-now upon thick herbage, then on gray stones; here amongst the dwarfish thorn; there by the branches of the green hazel. Still, the track leads upwards, till you come to a reach of ferns, thick and waving; since, by this, the wind begins to freshen, wakes the ear to its sigh, and fans the cheek with its welcome breath; the down of the thistle floats around, and the grasshopper chirps at your feet. Yet the reach is so abrupt, that it may be likened (notwithstanding the ferns) to the side of a punch-bowl-that is, a devil's punch-bowl, which is no trifle. Certainly, you may digress to the right without losing cast, and every step reveals a nobler range; fields, houses, and plantations start into life; the shore extends itself, and the BlackHead looms afar. You can now follow the course of a dyke that breasts the hill, until it meets a natural terrace, which bounds the reach as it ascends to the left, and from which there is a corresponding vista of the valley of Belfast-the heights of Carnmoney are dwindling fast, and Ben-Uaim less formidable; the clouds are sailing from the summits; you stand on their shadows and would grasp them in your arms; the raven wheels about; and yonder speck is a grown man who has scaled the last slope, and hails you from the top. But the freshness of that slope will scarcely compensate for its steepness, and you should keep to the terrace whence it springs, and which stretches to a ravine formed by jutting rocks on either hand. At the end of this, there is a plateau that rises with a gradual sweep to the highest level of the hill; and thence the whole prospect is displayed-from the brows of Black-Head to the fort of M'Carth, from the glades of Woodburn to the domes of Belfast, from the Copelands to the Queen's Island, from Bangor to Ballymacarrett all are there; meadow and moun tain, cliff and corn-field, the fisherman's sail and the merchant's barque; villas, Castle, and towns lie stretched below; Earth and water, Nature and art, God NO. II. THE Among the many proofs of recent enterprise to which the people of Belfast may fairly point, there is hardly a more pleasing one than the place above mentioned. A few years ago, the space on which it partly stands was occupied by a bank of sleechy mud, in the centre of the Lagan mouth-more soft than beautiful, and pungent rather than fragrant. So that, when the tide was out, and the sun pretty strong, it was usually adorned by a charming curtain of malaria, which afterwards lent to the neighbouring weavers the most interesting of all complexions; or, with more justice, graced the streets, homes, and factories of Belfast itself: and when the river was full, and vessels tried to gain the Lough, by meandering south and east along the hidden quag, the chances were nearly even that they drove upon it; and then-" Back-'er, boys, back'er!" or, "Row, brothers, row!" was the order of the day. 66 But in a happy hour it was decreed by "The Corporation for Preserving and Improving the Port and Harbour," that, by way of a short cut, there should be a long cut on the western side of the sleech; and as same was gradually formed, the bank became high and dry as Dargan's Island"-that ruler of navvies, and "mighty contractor for Companies," until the name was changed to the above, in a spirit of undoubted loyalty, but very questionable taste. And now that the new channel has been extended for several miles, and the largest ships may ride in it, the worthy Corporation have, with great modesty, curtailed their own style, and lapsed into "The Belfast Harbour Commissioners". -a pleasant title still; and I never write it without thanking Heaven for the abbreviation. Yet I must not, on this account, forget the realm of the Queen's Island. and man, are ministering on every side! Then drink of the cup till the heart is full, and re-seek the shore a happier and a purer being. QUEEN'S ISLAND. I need not describe it, however, with much minuteness, for many of my readers are familiar with its appearance and locality-suffice it to say, it is about three quarters of a mile in length, and a stone's throw at the greatest width; commencing nearly opposite to the Albert Quay, attaining a point somewhat on a line with that of Thomson's embankment, and washed by the former channel at the rear, or Ballymacarrett side. But where the tide daily flowed, and the sole marks of life were the foot-prints of the sandlark, heron, and gull—broad walks and crystal mart, green sward, and rows of trees now greet the eye; the ship-wright rains his blows, the merry boy leaps along, and the pale-faced man sits him down, that he may breathe the grateful air, and dream of the days that are to be-when those trees shall tower aloft, and the sward, mart, and walks be crowded with happy thousands; when wealth shall have lost its deadening influence, the wants of the poor been sensibly lessened, and the comforts of life more equally shared; when ignorance, prejudice, and hate shall pale away, and men have learned to know and "love one another;" when the banners of "every nation, kindred, and tongue" will float in the bay, and the ends of the world be united indeed. Meanwhile, the lover of Nature may feast from our Isle on the massive mountain range that guards the town, and stretches to the Knockagh by many a graceful bend; or, passing in review the great throats of belching factories, smaller chimney tops, and sloping masts, he may skim the waters of the Lough, or traverse the whale-backed hills of Down, and watch the serpent wreaths that rise from either shore, as the snorting engines rush to their goals, and snuff the wind as they go. NO. III. THE BANKS OF THE LAGAN. It is but right I should speak of you here; for, is there one amongst the Northern Athenians who owes you not a kindly word and warm emembrance? C True it is, that the first introduction of many of us was in the time of "the Doctors"-and I am far from subscribing to the notion, that same was the |