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their hangings of tapestry and velvet-the gorgeous movables handed down by generation to generation-yet we are tempted to refer again to the subject, to mention cradles and truckle-beds.

The former are of high antiquity. One of the oldest of which we have any representation is one belonging to the time of Henry V. It is of wood; square in shape, and hung low, swinging by links of iron between two posts, surmounted by birds for ornaments. Another cradle, equally well known to antiquaries, and far more elegant in design, is one formerly used by King James himself.

The truckle-bed was a small bed placed by the side of the large, or, as it was called, the "standing bed;" the latter being used by the master; and the former,

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which, during the day, could run under it, being occupied by his servant. There are references to these beds both in "Romeo and Juliet," and "The Merry Wives of Windsor." We suppose that from this custom of the favourite dependant sleeping in his master's room grew the office of "Gentlemen of the Bedchamber." Chamberlayne says that, in 1726, they numbered eleven, and that each of these gentlemen in his turn waits one week in the king's bedchamber, there to lie by the king, on a pallet-bed, all night; and, in the absence of the groom of the stole, to supply his place. Little wonder that crowned heads lie so uneasily when neither day nor night brings seclusion! It might have been very impolitic of James, as a king, sending his courtiers back from his court to the country; but, as a man, surely he was more than justified; one of the crowning curses of civilisation being that unrest of spirit which seizes upon to disturb, if not destroy, the unhappy victim of over-refinement. M. S. R.

THE MARCHIONESS OF AUREBONNE.

V.

THE concise and positive declaration of Dr. Assandri would, at any other time, have overwhelmed the marchioness with delight; but there was now something in the doctor's voice which induced her to think that he had not asked to speak to her merely to give her this consolation. She remained silent, and he continued

"Besides this young man-who imagines himself to be condemned, but who will live-is another person, unsuspicious of the danger she runs, and the sorrow by which she is menaced-one whom I see daily declining beneath my eyes. Does your ladyship know to whom I allude?"

"Susan," murmured the marchioness.

"Yes, Susan-my only child, as Raoul is your only child !--my sole treasure and affection, just as Raoul is all in all to you! Six months ago, Susan was tranquil and happy. You had only to look at her countenance to be assured of the innocence and serenity of her heart. But now all this has vanished-her happiness and calm are both destroyed, and for ever. Her pure heart struggles with this new feeling, and the contest is killing her. Perhaps your ladyship can explain why she thus suffers ?" "Because she loves Raoul," replied Madame d'Aurebonne, without a moment's hesitation.

"Ah, you know that, do you?" resumed the doctor, gathering emotion as he went on. "Perhaps you also foresaw-desired-hoped that she would do so? Insane fool that I was not to have thought of it earlier! For a short time the physician absorbed the father, and I only saw before me an unhappy woman imploring me to save her son. I told her what was true-that her son's imagination was more diseased than his body; that it was necessary he should get rid of his sinister forebodings by some all-engrossing amusement; and that if she succeeded in enabling him to pass his four-and-twentieth year, she need no longer tremble on his account, for he was safe. An amusement, did I say? Could there be one more pleasing, more delightful, than a flirtation with the daughter of this same doctor?-both residing beneath the same roof, and, consequently, forced frequently into each other's society? What signified this child's peace and happiness?-her misery might be the young nobleman's salvation! There needed no further pretext nor excuse. I am but a poor country practitioner; but, believe me, to acquire the splendour of your ladyship's rank, or to obtain all your ladyship's colossal fortune, I could not have been guilty of such a proceeding."

"But who has ever said," replied Madame d'Aurebonne, "that this fortune and rank need be any obstacle between Susan and Raoul ?"

The marchioness, in uttering these words, looked so truthful, that the doctor felt abashed, and remained silent. Madame d'Aurebonne continued—

"You must have but a poor opinion of me, if you, the kindest and the best of men, could have supposed me capable of such infamy. Your heart ought to have understood the feelings of mine. Did I not tell you, on the first day of our acquaintance, that for three-and-twenty years, ever since Raoul's birth, I have been a prey to the same thought, the same dread? I never cease seeing, between

Raoul and myself, as a dark shadow, his father, his grandfather, all his fated ancestry, and who appear to my imagination to be beckoning him to the tomb. The remembrance of their death is the torture of each day, the spectre of each night. This perpetual terror is so interwoven with my love for my son, that, do what I will, I cannot divest myself of it. Could you suppose that, with a heart so overflowing with anguish, I should either have time or inclination for such trivial thoughts as either birth or fortune? Did you think that I, a mother, who ask

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myself, every morning and evening, if my son will be spared to me-did you

think that I should care whether he married a rich and noble heiress, or the daughter of a medical man, wealthy in every good work, and noble by his many virtues? When you informed me that, to save my child, I needed for him but some engrossi ng pursuit, some absorbing feeling, that would aid me in triumphing over his funereal fears, and enable him to pass over the fatal period, I listened to your counsel, and I hoped that your daughter, by her great beauty and grace, was predestined for this work of salvation; whilst you imagined that I, an honourable woman, who bave never harmed any one, was planning, calculating, manoeuvring

-what?—a sentimental flirtation, just to amuse and distract my son! Oh, doctor! you have been unkind, very unkind! I fancied you more just and discerning."

"I have wronged you very much," replied the doctor; "but your ladyship will forgive me."

"The rank and fortune of which you speak," resumed the marchioness, “I hate and detest. This heritage of wealth is also a heritage of woe! What am I? A mother-nothing else! To preserve my son is everything to me. That Raoul may be tranquil and happy-that a reciprocated affection will induce him to hope, and, consequently, to live-is all I desire. I want nothing more. Did you suppose, doctor, that I did not deem Susan worthy to marry my son? Ah! were Raoul to love a peasant's daughter, and did he wish to marry her, and requested my consent, so that she were good, and able to make him happy, I should love her, take her to my heart, and bless her from the depths of my soul."

At this warm and decided language, a very natural idea a tose in Dr. Assandri's mind, and he replied—

"I believe you; but then why

"Ah!" continued Madame d'Aurebonne, eagerly interrup ting him; "I know what you mean. If it is, as I say, that I find no obstacle between Susan and Raoul, why not come to the point at once-why not for mally request your daughter's hand for my son? That is what you would say."

"Yes," answered the doctor, timidly,

"You are right. I ought sooner to have told you the fresh sorrow that has come upon me."

"Raoul does not love Susan!"

"He loves her devotedly-with an ardour that terrifies me. He loves her as scarcely man ever loved woman before-with a depth of affection all the more strong on account of his feelings having hitherto been kept und er such severe restraint. His very efforts to struggle against this love make it more profound; like the arrows in a poor wounded lion's breast, which only pierce deeper in its endeavours to shake them off. The idea of making himself beloved by Susan-of obtaining from her a promise of marriage-causes him to recoil as before some great misfortune, or the commission of some dreadful crime. I have frequently tried to make him speak on the subject to request my consent-but of which he must already be certain, both from my looks, conduct, and words; and as frequently I have refrained, from the knowledge of the terrible feeling, the inexorable thought, which induces Raoul to relinquish all love, all hope, all happiness. He would resist my prayers, and even reject Susan, beautiful as she is.” '

"And what is the idea?" anxiously inquired the doctor, who only too well understood it.

"Cannot you guess, doctor? Raoul believes that in a year he will die! Between this and then he drags on existence as a felon does his fette: %, in counting the minutes and the hours. He would bitterly accuse himself if he attempted to link to his own joyless heart another heart that was overflowing w ith youth and hope, and to fling the dark shadows of his approaching death on a life that is now fresh and lovely as spring."

"You do not deceive me?" said the doctor, at the same time fixing on the marchioness his scrutinising eye.

"I never deceive," she replied.

"Alas!" said the doctor, in a voice scarcely articulate from emotion, “I, who came to accuse, can only pity. Give me your hand-you are even more unfortunate than myself."

"Why so?” said Madame d'Aurebonne.

"If," continued he, "your son, who cares still less than yourself for rank and fortune, is so passionately in love with Susan, and who cannot but feel almost certain of her affection, and of gaining your consent and mine-if he thus repulses his love, and drives away happiness, it can only be because he is the slave to his morbid imagination. By it he is persuaded that his end is close at hand, and, therefore, he imposes silence on his feelings, preferring rather any suffering than giving vent to them. The evil is greater than I imagined-it is, I fear, irreparable."

"And he will die!" almost shrieked the marchioness.

Yes; but not of the malady by which he fancies himself attacked, but of that strange, mysterious, fatal disease which is the result of a morbid imagination -marasmus, madness, whatever name you like to give it-both his reason and life must succumb to this incessant haunting of one idea."

"I recollect you told me the same thing when first I spoke to you of Raoul," murmured the marchioness, whose countenance betrayed her mental agony.

"Yes, I did do so. But then I had hope-now I have none. For this illness I know of no remedy."

"But I know of one," quite screamed the marchioness.

"You know of one?" exclaimed the doctor, amazed.

"Yes, I do," answered the marchioness, with increasing excitement; "but neither you nor Susan can be told what it is. I must speak to Raoul, and alone. Will you and Susan wait for us in the garden?"

Dr. Assandri looked anxiously at Madame d'Aurebonne, as if he feared that sorrow upon sorrow had affected her intellect. He left her, and heard her ascend the stairs.

Madame d'Aurebonne, in her room, threw herself on her knees, and, with clasped hands, and her eyes raised towards Heaven, said

"Great God! forgive me. Thou who punishest falsehood, have pity on me. If chastisement must come, let it fall on me alone. Take my life, but spare my child's."

Then, hastening to the door, she called "Raoul! Raoul!" in a voice that resounded through the house.

Raoul was still in his own room. He quickly obeyed the summons, and

mother and son stood face to face.

แ Raoul," said his mother, in a calm tone-but which calmness the trembling of her lips belied-"I rejoice with you on the happy result of our stay at Hyères. Unless you willingly torment yourself, it is impossible to deny that your present state of health is such as to remove all anxiety. The nearer you advance to the fatal and dreaded time the stronger you seem to become. God, perhaps, has granted my ceaseless prayers for your safety, and you will be spared to me." "You think so?" replied Raoul, gloomily and ironically.

"It is the doctor's opinion equally with mine. To live, Raoul, you have only the wish to do so! What is wanting to your happiness? Only a little stronger

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