followed by other evils, which the principals ever tried to tone down with great unscrupulousness at the expense of their governess's reputation. It is indeed remarkable what harshness and coarseness prevail in families against teachers; it almost seems as if the children, entirely trusted to their care and virtue, are not especially respected. So soon, then, as a lady asked me for my references, I, for my part, inquired whether governesses stayed long with her, if she entrusted them with the punishment of the children, supported their authority, or encouraged the calumnies of the pupils. When I sent a lady the address of my references, I also asked for those of her former governesses, in order to make inquiries on my side; for I am of opinion that the rights on both sides were equal, and I was not disposed to imperil my reputation by an incautious choice.

The natural result was, that the young lady remained for a long time out of a situation, during which she formed a romantic attachment to a Portuguese exile, M. de T, who would not marry her, however, because he had expectations from two sisters, who would disinherit him if he chose a Lutheran. While waiting for dead women's shoes, then, the writer entered various families, with the usual result, but at last was engaged by the Marchioness of S(ligo), where she was very happy, until the marquis died, and the dowager retired to her estates in Ireland, whither she could not accompany her, owing to her approaching marriage. De T-, however, obtained leave to return to Portugal to settle his affairs, and the governess went into lodgings in Stutfield-place (wherever that may be), in the vicinity of Hyde Park. She had numerous pupils, but, unfortunately, did not know the character of the house where she lived, for she was robbed, ill-treated, and turned on the street by hired ruffians. The account of this is worth quoting, especially when we bear in mind that the writer must have lived nearly thirty years in England:

I tried to lock myself in my room, but the two colossal women pressed against the door, which gave way; on their outcry came three fellows from the kitchen, evidently their accomplices. I shrieked for help, but the daughter threw herself on me with the greatest fury, seized my long hair, and attacked me like a wild beast. In this position I succeeded in giving the raging woman such a violent blow on the nose, that she let loose, but the mother now threw a cloth over my head, the robbers seized my arms, eyes and mouth were immediately braced, and I awaited the death-blow, for, in London, murders daily take place for much slighter causes than the objects I had been robbed of. After a while, I was let loose on a promise that I would neither cry for help nor summon the police, and I left the murderer's den, of which there are so many in London, stripped of all means.

While in this state the governess heard that a lady desired a companion to Madeira, intending to put in at Gibraltar to see a daughter; and she was accepted, and was delighted at it, because she could then gain information about De T-, whose letters had been most unsatisfactory since his return home. On reaching Lisbon, after many romantic interludes, she discovered that De Twas attending on a dying wife, and gave him up on the spot, refusing to see him or receive his letters of explanation. To add to her wretchedness, her mistress died suddenly, and she was left in Lisbon penniless. In this situation, she waited on Lady H(oward) de W(alden), the ambassador's wife, who treated her most kindly, and procured her many pupils. Here she was very happy, and would have probably ended her days in Portugal, but so many attempts were made to convert her, that she was obliged to return to England,

where, however, she soon repented having "exchanged sunny Lusitania for foggy Britain, for I scarcely trod this land again ere I felt the influences of the English national qualities of pride, selfishness, and heartlessness." She accepted an engagement with a Mrs. R in the country, but her troubles began by the unmarried brother of the lady falling in love with her against her desire, which led her a most miserable life. Indeed, according to the writer's showing, her beauty was her misfortune, for all the men fell in love with her, and all the women hated her in consequence. Hardly a family in which some male member does not make her proposals of marriage or otherwise, and she must have been a marvel to resist them all. Of course she left the R- -S ere long, and set up in London again as private teacher, but lost her connexion, because her new patroness was an Irvingite, and insisted on her joining that faith. Her account of the "spiritual exercises" is worth a quotation:

At six o'clock P.M. I went to the church, in which a solemn gloom prevailed, and groups of fervent devotees sat around. Behind the altars were stationed the priests, near it sat the "Angel of the Church," as the Irvingites called Mrs. and the deepest silence lay on the whole scene.

"Weck waaa jum kerring yapp," a trembling old woman's voice suddenly yelled in a high alt; on which all turned to the spot whence the yell proceeded. Miss D- who fortunately sat by my side, whispered: "The gift of strange tongues." After a pause, a spectral bass voice, coming as it were from a tomb, cried, "Oh, woe, woe, woe to those who do not confess their sins; their light will expire, and their candlestick be overthrown!" "Mary, pray confess your sins, and you will shine like the silver wings of a dove!" a second female voice shrieked. "Fly, fly, fly into the sanctuary of the Apostolic Church, that the murderers may not catch you. Oh! the murderers, murderers, murderers -oh! they are close at your heels. But His holy apostles will build a wall round you, so that they may not reach you. Yea, they will afflict them with blindness, so that they shall not see you," a hollow voice behind the altar said. "The gift of prophecy," Miss D-remarked.

'Haaaoowouunack!" growled a voice. "O the throne, O the throne, O the throne of His holy apostles! how they glisten, how they shine! fall down and worship them!" bleated an old woman in a singing tone. On which the whole assembly piously folded their hands, and their features became glorified.

The

governess would not become an Irvingite, but, for the sake of peace and quietness, paid tithes of her earnings. Growing tired of this fun, she resolved to procure another engagement, and for that purpose entered a Governesses' Institution, as boarder. But this place did not suit her at all, as will be seen from the following far from flattering account:

In one room thirty-six ladies read, wrote, played, drew, painted, sewed, studied, and conversed! The noise was at times enough to take away the senses. A residence here does not at all serve to give you a favourable notion of the manners of women in whose hands the education of the growing youth of the highest classes is entrusted. If you were singing or playing, a dozen wanted the piano, while the rest scolded, because they could not work, or indulged in malicious scandal. The disputes, envy, hatred, gossip, calumny, and evil speaking, did not cease the whole day through; and they often had such violent squabbles that Mrs. H— was compelled to fetch the chaplain of the establishment to put an end to the dispute. Worst of all off were foreigners, for all the English women combined against them; they were the most oppressed by the directress, and put upon on every opportunity. Both these ladies were most

selfish, quarrelsome, and unjust, and constantly let it be understood that their kindness was purchasable, by displaying a quantity of valuable presents they had received from their protegées.

To remove from this establishment, the writer accepted an engagement in the house of a country clergyman. Though he was sixty years of age, he pursued her with his attentions, and when she rejected him, refused her a character. On this she had the courage to write to the Archbishop of Canterbury, who pulled the clergyman up, and wrote in her behalf to the committee of the Governess's Institution, so that she could enter it again at any moment, even without a character from her last place.

Her next engagement was the most extraordinary of all, with a lady in Scotland, and it wants a strong mind to believe all she says. The husband of the lady was a young man of very pleasant manners, and the governess was treated with the utmost distinction, having to take the head of the table at meals, as the lady of the house did not make her appearance. The first thing that attracted her attention was the nature of the pictures on the walls, and she was truly horrified on hearing from the children that they were portraits of former governesses. Very soon discovering the danger of her situation, she gave notice at once to leave. And yet the writer tells us in the same breath that she met at this pandemonium for governesses, Eliot Warburton, the author of "The Crescent and the Cross." Surely such scarce veiled statements as these demand contradiction, for the honour of England.

After one or two more engagements, which turned out unpleasantly, and as, moreover, our governess had saved a decent sum of money, she determined on returning to her own country, taking farewell of the land that sheltered her so long, in the following sentences:

I am convinced that there is no country in which the stranger feels the solitude of the heart so terribly as in England, for in every other land he is treated with a certain degree of interest, even with politeness, but the borné Englishman hates the foreigner, looks down on him with pride and contempt, because he always remains a brutal egotist, who, as a son of liberty, despises the continental peoples for their serfdom. On the other hand, English nobodies are treated with honour at the courts of Germany, about which they laugh heartily among themselves. I have often wished that German princes might overhear the coarse witticisms which these ox-flesh beings indulge in about the "petty

courts."

For some reason or other, the governess, however, accepted other engagements in Poland and Prussia, and we are happy to find that she complains just as much about them as she does about England. She had the misfortune to be misunderstood wherever she went, and apparently resolved at last to settle down on the interest of her savings, and write her life. We sincerely wish she had not, for even if her story should be contradicted, which we have no doubt it can be, still there is an old saying, that if you throw dirt enough, some of it is sure to stick ; and there is enough in this volume to build an Irish cabin. We have treated it with the utmost tenderness, for there are passages in it which shows the writer to be what M. About would call a "most enlightened virtue," and which read strangely from a person who is always boasting of her purity.

That the book will be extensively read, we have not the least doubt, for it is written with a degree of malice which will please many readers,

and the author has spitefully managed, while carefully initialising the names, to give them in full in various parts of her narrative, so that any one who takes the trouble can pin the offenders. The volume has certainly many suspicious signs about it—such as the total absence of dates, and the more than flattering character the writer draws of herself; more than all, the continuity of ill treatment she suffered, according to her own showing, displays a malice prepense against our country. As we said before, we should be glad to see some of the parties implicated give as public a contradiction as the statements are public.

While discussing this subject, however, we cannot refrain from noting a curious fact of the day in the propensity the Germans have for calumniating and running down England. General attacks have long been common enough, but writers now-a-days have fallen into the habit of furnishing details which give a great vraisemblance to their statements. More curious still, the majority of the books to which we allude emanate from Berlin, a city with which we are so closely connected. As it is quite certain that such books would not be published unless they were in demand, we may fairly assume that the Prussians have an aversion from the English alliance generally. The Times, it is true, did its best during the summer to blow up this aversion into a flame, but isolated instances would hardly account for the very general and wide-spread dislike the Prussians entertain for us as a nation.

If this be the case-and we are afraid it is so-a very awkward consideration arises as to our relations with the Continent. A liberal ministry threw away the Austrian alliance, and it was believed that the union of our princess with the heir-apparent of Prussia consolidated the friendship between the two countries. People rubbed their hands with delight at the thought that we had thrown overboard a worn-out friend, and had entered into partnership with a rising and powerful nation, which was destined to make Germany, ere long, "great, glorious, and free," and oppose an eternal barrier to the encroachments of France. Such, unfortunately, is not the case: the bonds connecting England and Prussia are anything but tight, and the regent is in a sad state of vacillation, not knowing in which direction to turn, but flattering himself with the idea that his country is strong enough to hold its own, independent of all alliances.

The worst feature, however, is the expression of public feeling against England to which we have already alluded. We attach so much importance to it, that we have given space to the "Trials of a Governess," not so much to indicate what we believe to be a libel on the English character, as to bring before our readers' notice the statements about us that find ready acceptance among the Prussians. Such a state of things should not exist: our honour as a nation demands an energetic protest, and in choosing this book as subject for our article, we have taken the worst example of this odium populare that has yet come before us. But we do not know what may remain behind; and unless some energetic measure be taken, the Prussian dislike already existing against us may prove of most serious injury should ever the moment arrive when we have to count our friends.

VOL. XLIX.

I

THE FATE OF FAURIEL.

BY DUDLEY COSTELLO.

I.

THE ROSE-PICKER OF PROVINS.

WHILE yet the traveller is slowly wending his way across one of the dreariest plains in France, in the full belief that his journey will never come to an end, there rises, in the far-off distance, a grey shadow which he may well be excused for mistaking for a cloud, so fantastic and irregular is the outline of the form that steals upon the horizon. He labours on, till, by degrees, the cloud-like appearance assumes a more definite shape; but still, for a time, he is uncertain whether what he dimly sees be vapour or substance. At length, as he approaches nearer, his doubts are dispelled, and in the grey mass which lifts itself above the plain he recognises the work of man's hands: those broken lines are the towers and spires and battlements of an ancient city.

A city, once populous and rich; in the middle ages a cynosure of art, and arms, and literature, and commerce; to the Crusaders who left its walls, an image of Holy Jerusalem; at the present day, the thinly-inhabited, ruined town of Provins.

That is to say, the upper town; for, below the steep hill crowned by the lofty tower, which was built, it is said, by Cæsar, and, at all events, bears his name and by the enormous dome of Saint-Quiriace, nearly as gigantic as its Roman neighbour-there lies another town, only less desolate than her sister, where the decaying trade of Provins is yet carried on. That trade depends now upon two rapid streams, the Durteint and the Voulzie, which turn the wheels of numerous corn-mills, and whose waters, favourable to dyers, spread fertility throughout the valley.

Formerly, however, Provins was celebrated for something more than finely-ground flour and well-stained textures. The large gardens that lie within the wide circuit of its walls were filled with that precious crimson rose, originally a native of Palestine, which was brought to France by Thibault of Champagne, the famous Trouvère, who made it the theme of so many of his lays; and the cultivation of the Provins rose, as an article of commerce, was in the highest degree remunerative.

A hundred years ago this was especially the case, and whoever, at that time, aimed at making a fortune in Provins, thought he could not do better than embark in the trade of rose-leaves. The opportunity for doing so, was, however, limited, the gardens being chiefly in the hands of a few large proprietors who could not readily be induced to part with any portion of their profitable lands. It must be a large sum, they said, to tempt them, and large sums were only made by themselves. As a consequence, the good people of Provins, who were neither millers nor dyers, cultivated only small patches of ground on their own account, and the poorer sort were chiefly rose-leaf pickers.

To the last-named class belonged a family named Fauriel. They lived