I have been more in this matter sinned against than sinning, I propose we should solemnly pardon one another now, and abstain from such enormities for the future. What, however, each has at present taken from the other, that let him retain, and he who is the worst off, on his own head be it.".

Picchini, who had been on a similar mission to that of Arlotto, but had only succeeded in abstracting from that gentleman's abode a small sausage, said he was well content, imagining the advantage to be on his side. Then, standing in the street, they solemnly pardoned one another, and, after having kissed each of them the other's mouth, in sign of full satisfaction and peace, and plenary discharge of all past claims, Arlotto produced the few trifles he had till now concealed under his cloak, and claimed for them the benefit of the just completed treaty.

The

A tragic circumstance happened to Arlotto, however, pæna pede claudo, at his friend's death. He was accused of having abstracted from his purse 150 crowns. accusation was unjust. It is true that Arlotto had made inquisition into Picchini's pockets, but had discovered therein nothing but a couple of florins, and was himself almost dead with vexation at having restored this booty as too trifling, with, by mistake, an additional florin of his own. It was a custom after this to say that, whereas at the death of a priest one usually received something, it cost Arlotto, on the contrary, an expenditure.

One day Arlotto was invited by another ecclesiastical friend to compose and preach the annual panegyric of a tutelar saint, concerning whom that friend himself had discoursed largely in the preceding year, enumerating his miracles, the particulars of his life, and other interesting circumstances connected with him.

Arlotto agreeing, his friend told him his panegyric must be short, as the hour of the service was late, and the Florentines, noted for their impatience of long discourses, had made that a subject of particular request. Arlotto accordingly, after the Elevation of the Mass, ascended the pulpit, and prefacing his remarks with what his friend had told him concerning their want of patience, their particular demand of conciseness, and his own desire to sacrifice himself for the good of others, went on to say that, inasmuch as the congregation had heard only the year before, the whole life and actions of the saint concerned, elaborately set forth by his holy brother in a learned discourse, with his passion, miracles, and martyrdom, and since then nothing of importance had occurred to add to his biography, and seeing the hour was late and the congregation in great haste to be gone, being wearied out with the necessary length of the Mass, there was not the slightest necessity to repeat to them what they had heard already a year ago, inasmuch as those who were not present at that time, and had not heard the discourse, might inquire as to its substance from those who were; and so having given the congregation his benediction, departed.

Some young men, less solicitous about their souls than their sweethearts, one day asked him, as he was about to perform Divine service, to give them a Hunting Mass, that is, one got through as quickly as possible; but Arlotto instead of complying, made them wait some time before he commenced, excusing himself by saying, as he turned over the leaves of the Missal, as if in search of something, "that he could not yet find the Hunting Mass." Our readers should understand that, before the reform of the Missal and rites and ceremonies therein contained, there was a certain Missa Venatoria, or Secca (Hunting or Dry Mass), which was wont to be said to sportsmen, who are generally in haste to be off. So Masses read at full speed

came to be called Hunting Masses.

On another occasion, a friend of the same order as Arlotto, wanted him to accompany him on board a galley. Arlotto made many excuses for not going, but at last, seeing his friend resolved, told him the following tale: Once upon a time, a large section of the people of thrushes, who had been brought up in the Romagna, conceived a desire of going abroad to seek its fortune; and at the time when the figs and grapes were ripe, set forth on a journey.

Their first halting-place was the Alps. The peasants who dwelt among those mountains spread nets and captured many. The rest journeyed onward to Mugello, where they found excellent pasturage; but, nevertheless, again many were captured. Then they passed into the plain of Florence, and found figs and grapes, soft and sunny to perfection; but very many again were captured. Then the survivors flew to Valdipesa, where they lodged comfortably in a land full of all kinds of fruit, and closelywoven woods. Here, after deliberation, they resolved to rest, but in a day or two almost all were taken by nets, brick-traps, fowling-lanterns, and bird-lime, and other devices, in such sort that the remainder took a speedy departure over the mountains, and to each one of them every hour that intervened between his exit from Valdipesa and his return to the Romagna appeared at least a thousand years. Now those who had remained behind, seeing those who returned fat and in excellent condition, congratulated them, and bewailed their own ineptitude, who had stayed in their fatherland to feed themselves with a few acorns, or die of famine. But those few experienced birds replied, "Ye fools and birds of weak understanding, see ye not how few of us are come back? Not one out of a thousand has returned of those who went; and if ye knew the dangers, the misfortune, the stonings, the stick-blows, and the surprises we have suffered, ye would rather pity us with tears and lamentations than desire to travel abroad as we have travelled. Nevertheless, if ye will go, and have the fortune to return, we know well ye will make a vow to do the like never more." And upon this Arlotto added, applying to the moral, "So I say to you, in this business of going to the galleys, don't go, if you will take my advice, for many there are who go thither for wool and come back shorn; and beware of taking me as an example to the contrary, for if you knew the inconveniences I have suffered, you would pity me, and be cured of a desire to go on board a galley forever."

One day, after Arlotto had returned from a voyage in one of these galleys to his parish church, he finds that, owing to his prolonged absence, the mice have gnawed their way through a couple of cupboards and a chest of drawers, partially devoured a counterpane, and done vast damage to a quantity of his linen and woollen vestments. Upon discovering this, Arlotto sets up a wail like the chorus in a Greek tragedy, and taking a remarkable resolution, thus apostrophizes the robbers: "I shall never be satisfied until some one of your cursed tribe be changed in nature and transformed into a cat." To effect this determination, he catches by traps a number of mice, and places them in a box, where he feeds them on the diet of the chameleon, and of Love as he is poetically conceived. From time to time he goes to look how these are getting on, and discovers at the end of a month that a considerable quantity have been eaten by their survivors. These survivors, too, gradually diminish, until in about a fortnight one only remains a monster, horrid and deformed, the moving grave of his many brothers. Him the parson takes, and binding a little bell about his neck, suffers him to roam at large through the house after his own sweet will. This mouse then, mice-fed for many weeks, went out hunting his accustomed prey, after the fashion of a cat, and so continued to do till his death, which did not happen till three years afterwards, and in all this time not a single mouse was anywhere to be seen or heard in the whole house, except the bell mouse, and the parson mourned for him when he died as a mother mourns for her child.

Some of Arlotto's observations have the terse sententiousness of ancient aphorisms. A vicious and ignorant canon, of good birth however, and estate, was reviling a worthy parson of a little village who was unable to tell the name of his grandsire, calling him "beggar," "scum," "plebeian," and by other titles of a like kind. Arlotto, . who happened to pass by, thus reproved him: "His family and poverty alone disgrace this priest; but you, Sir Canon, disgrace your family and your wealth."

Hearing a young man richly habited making use of im

proper and obscene expressions, he said, “Either wear clothes like your words, or use words like your clothes."

Once another parson came to him saying, "I have a great secret to trust to you, but you must first promise me not to mention it to any one." Arlotto replied, "How can you suppose me able to keep a secret which you are unable to keep yourself?"

66

On one occasion, having gone to a church of "Indulgences" or Perdono," which was situate at Casentino, called the Perdono of Holy Places, in order to reach l'Eremo in the next ensuing Holy Week, he was accompanied by a certain Piero, whose name or occupation was that of a broker, sensale.

The evening before starting, this sensale had eaten an indiscreetly large quantity of carrots or sharp-snouted rays the latter a kind of fish having a tail, say the Academicians of Bran, like a carrot-it is difficult to determine which, in the Italian of over four centuries ago. These fishes or carrots, therefore it does not matter whichsay carrots were from that time forward his detestation. When Arlotto had ascertained this peculiarity on the part of his friend, it is impossible to describe his delight.

They lodged the first night of their journey with a certain host, to whom Arlotto made none other request of any kind whatever, save only that he should provide a large basin of boiled carrots for their supper. Wherefore the host, when the hour came and the guests were seated at table, said "You know, Sir Priest, that this evening is a fast, and that it is fit to do penance; therefore hope for nothing else than these boiled carrots which I have brought before you, boiling them that they might be so much the more tender." After supper they went to bed, and the next morning breakfasted at a place called Borselli, in which Arlotto took good care to tell the innkeeper not to let them have anything but carrots.

The satisfaction of Sensale may be more easily imagined than described. Arlotto, of course, partook sparingly of these vegetables, and had his own private refection afterwards. On arriving at Borgo, the same fare awaited them. At l'Eremo again carrots. Then at a monastery in Vernia, in which the good friars unfortunately had, on the day of their arrival, nothing else in their refectory. For an old law was imposed on them by their founder to eat on a certain day of the month vegetables only, and on this day of the month Arlotto came. Then the patience of that long-suffering Sensale was finally exhausted, and as soon as he saw that familiar but detested food, he began to cry out with a loud voice words which, one would have imagined a priori, reverence for his company and Arlotto might have restrained. In fact, he blasphemed terribly, and expressed a fear that he should become possessed by carrots; much to the surprise of the good friars, who, witnessing such wild indignation, produced by what appeared to them a very common and trifling occurrence, immediately concluded that the poor man was mad.

Arlotto, owing to his easy disposition, was always more or less preyed upon by a legion of parasites. His indolent and careless extravagance led him on one occasion, when a companion had tapped a barrel of his best wine, and the ruby liquor was flowing over all the floor, to play at beggarmy-neighbor, the beggar to rise and recork the barrel; which, indeed, by the time the game was finished, was a work of supererogation.

At another time he was winnowed by a dozen huntsmen, who came with four horses, sixteen hounds, and five sparrowhawks, remaining with him so many days as they had birds, and then departing, left him in charge of the dogs till their return. Arlotto, with his usual recklessness, promised to take great care of these animals, but reflecting after upon his indiscretion in having entertained for five days thirty-seven famished mouths, and seeing, besides, that out of sixty brace of partridges, a bird of which he was particularly fond, there remained to him but a solitary pair, he went every day and showed food to the dogs, and when they drew near to devour it, drove them off with blows.

Once some friends came to dine with him, and having entered his house, shut him out and ate their dinners and his own. Arlotto hastened to a church where they were accustomed to perform their religious exercises, and when he had made them enter it under pretext of saying a psalm, embroidered their robes with a benediction of sprinkling from a font which he had previously filled with oil.

Such was the nature of the reprisals of this ecclesiastic. One night, coming, cold, wet, and wearied, to an inn, he found the fire hidden by a heap of countrymen, who were playing and drinking in its welcome warmth. Notwithstanding repeated solicitation and his necessities, the poor old man was unable to see, much less to feel, the fire. Suddenly, therefore, shaking an empty purse, he assumed the attitude of one deep in thought. Then the host and the rest asked him what ailed him? But Arlotto replied, "To tell you the truth" this he said telling a lie - "I have just discovered that I have lost fifty florins on my way hither. But I have a good hope of finding them again, for they were all safe in a purse attached to my saddle, when I last mounted, having dismounted for a certain purpose, which it is not necessary to particularize, about half a mile from this hostel. As the weather is so bad, I don't suppose any one has passed on the road since myself. But please call me early to-morrow, that I may set out with the first light to find them. Scarcely had he finished speaking before the countrymen began to go out one by one softly and in silence, till Arlotto was left alone. A low murmur was heard outside occasionally in the pauses of the wind and rain, and Arlotto, looking through the window, saw lanterns and torches, flitting like mad fires hither and thither in search of his lost treasure. Thereupon he went to the fire and warmed and dried himself very much at his ease, moralizing on the love of money in mankind.

On another occasion a certain Captain had sent to an ecclesiastical friend who lived next door to Arlotto, a dish of sweetbread. The porter left the delicacy by mistake with Arlotto, with this message: "My master wishes you to have this meat ready cooked; he will dine with you, bringing a friend with him, at noon." Arlotto saw the mistake, and replied: "Tell your master all is well." He immediately prepared the repast, and ate it with a circle of select friends before the Captain came. But the Captain and his friend

went to the house of that other priest, both very hungry. They deemed it beneath them to manifest any impatience, but at last the priest wondering at the length of their stay, and they in their turn at the dilatory preparations for dinner on the part of the priest, the Captain asked. " Well, are we ready?" The Priest: "To do what?" The Captain: "To eat the sweetbread." The Priest: "What sweetbread?" The Captain: "That I sent you this morning, bidding you wait for me to dinner." The Priest: "No sweetbread came, and I have already made my meal of a little mutton." The Captain, investigating the matter more fully, found that Arlotto had secured the sweetbread. Upon this he made complaint to the Archbishop, who severely rebuked Arlotto, who said, "Monsignore, I am the party to be pitied in this matter; for, expecting the Captain and his friend, I provided every kind of fish, flesh, and fowl, and after waiting for my guests in vain till noon, was obliged to go out into the highways and compel people to come in, in order that the collation might not become meeky."

Wherefore the Archbishop dismissed the complainant, but soon after, Arlotto, who was unable at times to control himself, called an adipose antagonist, with whom he had had words, "a pudding," and for this was again haled before Monsignore. "Once," then said Arlotto, "have I appeared in this sacred assembly on account of a sweetbread, and a second time on account of a pudding; the Lord knows for what reason I may appear here on a third occasion." "Do me the favor," said the Archbishop, amidst the laughter of the synod, "not to return at all, even though I myself should summon you."

"The

He divided one of his sermons into three heads. first head," he said, "I clearly understand myself, but it will not be plain to you. The second you will understand, but it will not be plain to me. The third neither of us will understand."

His first head treated of the merit of charity, and he introduced into this portion of his sermon a clause concerning the urgent need he had himself of a new cloak. His second, of a certain mercantile manoeuvre, then known as cambi secchi, and which seems to have been a sort of exchange without allowance, much affected by the people he addressed. His third, of the attributes of the Holy Trinity, of which that day was the festival. Carlo Dati mentions this sermon in his Cicalate on the bean symbol of Pythagoras, which he said was the twin sister of the third part of Arlotto's discourse, which was neither understood by the preacher nor his flock. Many more of the jests of Arlotto might be narrated, but " 'ohè! jam satis,' the reader will exclaim, to whom this specimen may suffice. He made the best of his time, and time in return made the best of him, preserving him in this life for over eighty

years.

Endowed with an inexhaustible fund of hilarity by the god Momus, who smiled upon his birth, not unmixed with a large share of common sense bestowed on him by Mercury, causing him never, except in a few cases like those already given, to neglect his own interests, he was loved and admired by all who knew him, and died after accumulating what was then considered a fair amount of wealth, and a long and happy life, in the odor of sanctity, and in the year of grace 1483. This inscription, of his own composition, remained as long as the jealousy of time allowed it on his tomb:

THE CHILD OF MIRACLE.

ON a February morning, some fifty-three years ago, an enormous crowd had collected round the Tuileries, spreading over the gardens and down the adjoining streets, when the King of France appeared on the balcony holding an infant in his arms. Hushing the roar of voices with a movement of his hand, he uttered the following words: My friends, your joy exceeds mine a hundredfold. A child has been born to us all! This child will one day be your father, and will love you as I love you.

66

The little infant thus held up, after the interval of fiftythree years, was lately near seeing that prophecy accomplished, and has grown up into the present Count of Chambord.

A claimant to a throne has a considerable advantage when a little romance is connected with his history; and, indeed, most modern pretenders have not wanted this important element. Charles Edward, Louis XVIII., Louis Philippe, Napoleon III., were all heroes of adventures more thrilling than the modern sensation novelist could invent or work up; and when they took their seat upon the throne, they only rested after a weary and exciting course of peril and hairbreadth escapes. But it was the privilege of the Count of Chambord to enjoy this halo of romance without the risks and probation almost inseparable from romance; although his coming into the world was shadowed by omens, and dreams, and mysterious warnings. A cruel assassination was to be the bloody presage that heralded his birth; while lurid images of revolution and hurried flight from danger must even now disturb the recollection of the elderly claimant to the throne of France. That child, too-who might reasonably have looked to the throne within a year or two was then to lose it as it seemed forever, and wait patiently for over forty years to go by before the chance of reascending it offered. The romance has not yet concluded; or may one day conclude in the old way, hurried flight in disguise barricades and firing in the streets.

--

The immediate heir to Louis XVIII. was the Count of Artois. The latter's eldest son, the Duke of Angoulême, who had been married for some time, had no children; while the second son, the Duke of Berry, was still unmarried. It seemed, therefore, that the succession of the family to the throne was insecure, and that it was in the power of a slight accident to destroy it altogether. In this state of things it was determined without further loss of time to provide the Duke of Berry with a wife; and in the year 1816, M. de Blacas was dispatched to arrange an alliance with one of the royal family of Naples.

The young prince was gay, popular, and of engaging manners. He was accomplished-had been a soldier, a sailor, an artist, and had undergone the rude but wholesome training of exile. He had much the advantage of his elder brother, who was serious and almost ascetic in his habits. The princess selected was his Bourbon cousin, Maria Caroline of Naples, granddaughter of the resolute Lady Hamilton's friend, and niece to Marie Amélie, who was later Queen of the French. On February 8th the young prince made his proposals in the following agreeable letter:

PARIS, February 8, 1816 MADAME MY SISTER AND COUSIN, I have long desired the King, your grandfather, and the prince, your father, to demand that to which I attach the happiness of my life; but before obtaining their consent, I would fain solicit your royal highness to deign to confide to me the happiness of your life in uniting it with mine. I dare to flatter myself that, by age, experience, and long adversity, I am not quite unworthy of being your husband, your friend, your guide. In quitting relatives worthy of your love, you will find here a family which will remind you of the time of the Patriarchs. What could I tell you of the King, of my brother, of Monsieur, and, above all, of that angel, Madame, Duchesse d'Angoulême, which you have not yet heard, except that their virtues, their goodness, are far above any possible praises that can be uttered concerning them.

My relatives all eagerly desire that your royal highness may

fulfil my wishes, and consent to augment the number of our family. Deign, madame, to yield a favorable answer to my prayers, and to hasten the moment which will enable me to lay at your feet the testimony of the respectful and tender sentiments with which I am, madame my sister and cousin, your royal highness's very affectionate brother and cousin, CHARLES FERDINAND.

No time was lost, and on April 25, 1816, the marriage was performed at Naples by proxy, after the old-fashioned style. A few days later the young princess embarked in state after the most festive manner, crowds strewing flowers before her, the Archbishop blessing, and all the Italian maidens believing that she was entering on the happiest and most enviable life conceivable. At Marseilles an enthusiastic reception awaited her. A gilded galley, rowed by rowers dressed in white satin, took her to the shore through a forest of shipping. The streets were lined with soldiers. The Hôtel de Ville, according to a somewhat absurd custom, was declared to be "neutral territory" for the occasion; and its principal room was divided into two portions, representing France and Italy. When the preliminaries had been settled, the princess was passed over from Naples to France by the French ambassador. After this ceremonial, it was assumed that she had become French. The journey was then resumed; and on her progress to Paris she was encouraged by ardent letters from the bridegroom.

In one of these letters, the expectant husband says:

I will not write you a long letter to day, having much to send you that will interest you more. I am occupied in seeking horses for you, and I hope to find some that will suit you. We have been to see the corbeille (wedding garments) which the King gives you, and I hope that you will be content with it; it contains, above all, a ball dress that I shall be enchanted to see you wear. My father superintends the arrangement of your library. My brother and his wife (Duchesse d'Angoulême) deck your chamber; each one of us finds a sweet pleasure in doing something that may be agreeable to you! And who more desires this than he already united to you by ties the most sacred? I am always afraid of my thirty-eight years of age. I know that at seventeen I thought those very old who were getting near to forty. I do not flatter myself that I shall inspire you with love, but rather with that tender sentiment stronger than friendship, that sweet confidence which ought to ensue from affection. I see that I shall never finish on this point. Adieu, still fifteen long days! I kiss the hand CHARLES FERDINAND.

of my wife as I love her,

June 12, 1816.

Your letter from Lyons, which I received from the hand of the King, has caused me a pleasure which I cannot express to you. I am charmed to be scolded by you about my writing; you have much reason to find fault with it; but in writing to you my heart carries me away, and you have no idea of the effort I am obliged to make to be legible. I experience also a great pleasure to-day- I possess your portrait. At least that does not do you injustice; and even were it a little flattering, one may be extremely agreeable without being so pretty as that portrait.

They took a fortnight to approach Paris, which they did in rather theatrical fashion the Duchess of Reggio, who was in the carriage, announcing to her that they were at the Forest of Fontainebleau. In an open space they came upon two tents, where the royal family was waiting to greet her, and a strict piece of etiquette was to be observed. A carpet was stretched on the grass, half of which she was to traverse and meet her new relations in the centre; when this was explained to her, she asked laughing, for she was full of spirits, "was the bit of carpet also neutral ground?” and then rushed across the prescribed limit to cast herself at the feet of the King.

This was considered "charming," a delightful piece of irregularity. The King raised her, and presented her to his nephew with the gracious speech that it was as a daughter that she was given, for he already felt that he was her father. This role of ingénue was kept up, and the Court was to be enchanted with stories of her naïveté and childish escapades - how she broke from the control

of stiff Court etiquette, jumped over chairs set in a row, and indulged in romps.

Lady Clementina Davies, who was presented to her about this time, describes her as a "child wife" with the fairest complexion and the largest blue eyes. There was about them what she called an "uncertainty "a piece of ingenious Court flattery - though it was not quite a squint. When her husband returned home, she would run downstairs to meet him at the door for the pleasure of being carried up stairs in his arms. All this suggested awkward recollections of the old Court, where there were traditions of another princess, Marie Antoinette, whose gayety and levities took precisely the same shape. Something may be conceived of the spirit which had been revived at the Bourbon Court from the fact that the old King was particular in insisting that none of the princesses should go outside Paris without special permission from him — a rule which the rather flighty little Italian lady took delight in violating. It was considered very remarkable, too, that the Angoulêmes, husband and wife, should have exhibited toleration rather than jealousy towards one who it was hoped would prove the mother of an heir to the throne; and it was noticed that the amiable and pious lady held the canopy over the pair while "the blessing of children" was invoked on them from the altar. But considering that the royal lady was almost a saint, there was nothing in such behavior that ought to have surprised the Court gossips.

Presently came results of this marriage, which, however, seemed to keep all parties interested in a flutter of uncertainty. Several children were born, but they died after a short time. As they were girls, it was of little importance so far as the dynasty was concerned whether they died or lived. Still it seemed to grow, on the whole, more probable that the hoped-for blessing would presently arrive. The lady was grievously disappointed, and on one occasion the Duke encouraged her good-humoredly: "Don't be cast down, for if it were a boy they would say that it was not ours, whereas no one will care to dispute with us for this little girl." It was scarcely wonderful that, under such circumstances, the Duke should have presentiments; or that his life, which had hitherto been of the Frenchman's usual gay character, should have assumed a gloomy cast. The troubles of his childhood, now little more than twenty years old, must have cast shadows, so that whether he looked forward or backward he could not find the prospect very cheering. When he was about sixteen, and the Revolution was beginning to rage, it was determined that he and his brother should be secretly sent away from Paris, and it was determined that they should be intrusted to the Duke of Sirent, who gave Miss Wynn, "the lady of quality," an account of the exciting adventure :

The Comte d'Artois (now Monsieur) having told the Duke that he wished him to escape with his sons, whose governor he was, everything was prepared for their departure that night. The father seems to have little troubled himself with any arrangements, saying to the Duke, "Je m'en repose sur vous, ce sont vos enfants," and refusing even to name the place or country to which he was to take them. At last, upon his representing that they were enfants de l'état, he promised to get from Louis an order empowering the Duke to remove them. Very late at night, not having received this order, Monsieur de Sirent determined to follow Monsieur to the Queen's supper, where he knew him to be. He says he never can forget the appearance of deep dejection and consternation which he saw in the faces of all the royal family, assembled after supper in the state bedchamber of the Queen. In a window stood the King and the Comte d'Artois, in earnest conversation. Monsieur de Sirent endeavored once more to obtain further orders; representing that from various political circumstances, of which he was ignorant, there must be reasons for preferring one country to another for the refuge of the royal children. After a pause, both brothers, nearly in the same words, assured him of their perfect confidence in him, and refused to give any further orders; thus shifting all the weight of responsibility from their own shoulders upon his. They gave, however, one much stronger proof of pusillanimity; when the Duke repeated his request for a written order from the King, his Majesty said, "A propos, il vous en faut un assurément," and put into his hands a folded

paper. His dismay must have been great when, on his return home, he found this to be only an order to furnish him with post-horses; in short, a sort of safe-conduct for himself, without any mention of the young princes. He had, therefore, to set out on his perilous enterprise with the additional horror of knowing that, if the princes were missed soon enough to be overtaken by the emissaries of the National Assembly, he had no permission to show; and, therefore, the whole blame would fall on his devoted head. Besides, it seemed but too probable that they might work on the mind of the weak monarch so far as to make him wish to recall the princes; in which case, he would never avow that he had permitted their departure. Neither of these fears were expressed by Monsieur de Sirent, but from the circumstances it was easy to imagine what he must feel.

At last, in the middle of the night they set out; the Duke, his two pupils, a surgeon, and a servant in one carriage, followed by one in which were the Duchess and her daughters. The children had no idea where they were going; they were told they were going to see the departure of a regiment of hussars which they had much admired. The hairbreadth escapes of this journey make one's blood run cold. Monsieur de Sirent describes the villages as ne finissant point, particularly one near Paris filled with laundresses, who poured upon them the most violent torrent of abuse. After some hours' travelling, it became necessary to give the children some breakfast, which he thought might be safely obtained at the seat of the Garde des Sceaux, Monsieur de Massieu (I think). He was absent; but from an old concierge, who knew Monsieur de Sirent to be an old friend of his master, they got breakfast. While the children were eating, the Duke was examining the old concierge. Finding that he had lived twenty years with Monsieur de M., he ventured to tell him that his visitors were the sons of the Comte d'Artois, asking him to procure them horses. In this he succeeded, and for some time they travelled prosperously, the innkeepers too much occupied by passing events to trouble their heads about "un simple particulier voyageant à Spa pour sa santé avec sa femme et ses enfans."

At the town of Buonavite, where they intended to sleep and expected to find a bon gîte, they found the streets full of the populace, who collected round the carriage, calling them aristocrats, and by every other abusive term which seemed to follow of course. They were actually beginning to pull off the papers which were stuck on to conceal the arms on the carriages, when the courier, to whom, fortunately, their intention of stopping had not been communicated, announced the horses to be put to, and they set off again, not very sorry to lose sight of the good people of Buonavite. At the next stop they found only a wretched post-house, but the master promised to get them some eggs for supper, and the cushions of the carriages were taken out to make a sort of bed for the princes and the ladies. While they were resting, the Duke sat himself down in a corner of the kitchen chimney, trying to warm himself; for, though worn out with anxiety, he found it impossible to sleep. The postmaster sat down by him, and began to talk of the news of the day, of the wretched condition of the country, of the disturbances hourly expected in the next town of Peronne, etc. On these subjects his sentiments were such as the Duke himself might have expressed, and more effectually warmed his heart than the kitchen fire. At last, having agreed with his host in everything, he asked him how he might prosecute his journey to the Spa with most safety and least disturbance. The man replied: "Monsieur, il faut, enfin, que les coquins dorment comme les honnêtes gens, je vous donnerai six bons chevaux à chaque voiture, et vous serez loin d'ici avant qu'ils ne soient éveillés."

They accordingly proceeded without obstacle through the deserted streets of Peronne, which by ten o'clock the next day was in a state of insurrection. During this day's journey they were overtaken by the Prince de Condé, and had the mortification of seeing the horses which had been put to their carriage taken off for his.

When the prince discovered who they were, he wished to give up his horses, but the Duke prudently thought that such a singular change would excite suspicion. After much suspense and many risks they at last reached Spa, but they were not considered to be in safety until they arrived at Turin, some two months later.

The recollections of such a probation must have haunted him for his life. No wonder that he was considered superstitious, or that, as it was remarked to Moore in Paris, he would have been troubled had his child been born on a Friday.

It was now the month of February in the year 1820, and

the Carnival was going on. The young Duchess enjoyed the humors of the bœuf gras, went out and mixed with the crowd, and, as Moore was told, was pelted with sausages in the Champs Elysées. Still it was remarked that the Duke could not shake off his presentiments, which now began to take the shape of forebodings of coming danger. It was later remembered that a rumor had actually been current in London that he had thus met his fate. The Duke of Guiche, who was attached to his household, told Mr. Raikes that the Duke had a fixed idea that he would meet this fate a fate, too, that he looked on as so unavoidable that he believed it useless to take any precautions. "The object of the revolutionary party," he said, one day in his carriage to his brother, "is to cut off our race. Your destruction would not answer their purpose, but I have a daughter and may have a son. I feel that the blow is inevitable, and am resigned to my fate." A few weeks before his death he told of a remarkable dream which he had, which was repeated in society a fact which was confirmed to Mr. Raikes by the Duke of Guiche. He dreamed that one night he was standing at the window of his apartment in the Tuileries, which overlooked the gardens, accompanied by two individuals, and while he was admiring the beauties of the prospect, his attention was suddenly attracted to the iron railing, by what seemed to be passing in the Rue de Rivoli. A dense mass of people was assembled in the street, and presently there appeared a grand funeral procession, followed by a train of carriages, evidently indicating the last tribute paid to some deceased man of fortune and consequence. He turned round to one of the bystanders, and inquired whose funeral was passing; the answer was made that it was that of M. Greffulhe. In a short time, after this procession had filed off down the street another and more splendid cavalcade made its appearance as coming from the château. This far surpassed in magnificence its predecessor; it had every attribute of royalty the carriages, the guards, the servants, were such as could only be marshalled in honor of one of his own family. On putting the same question, he was told that it was his own funeral! In a few nights after this vision the Duke of Berry went to a grand ball given by M. Greffulhe, at his hotel in the Rue d'Artois; it was a very cold night, and M. Greffulhe, who was not in a good state of health, attended his royal Highness to the carriage bareheaded, and was struck with a sudden chill, which brought on a violent fever, and terminated his life in a few days. Before a week had elapsed the remaining incident in the dream was consummated.

It would be a curious proof of the unwholesome weakness of indulging in such fancies, which the healthy mind ought to dismiss, if it should turn out that the circulation of these rumors actually suggested the immediate execution of the assassination, which up to that time might have taken no very distinct shape. Without entering on the question of the value of such warnings, it seems probable that such in this instance was the connection between the omens and what followed them. It should be mentioned, however, that the lively Alexandre Dumas records a warning of a more terrestrial sort given to the King, and which took the following shape. Three days before the assassination, the King received a mysterious letter asking for an interview, and intimating that the writer had to reveal important matters. The King hesitated, and consulted his minister, who made little of the matter. A second and more distinct warning was given, which made the King again hesitate; but he determined to think of it and see what he would do later.

This was on a Sunday night. The Carnival had been gay; the Duke and Duchess had dined with the King and amused him with an account of a brilliant ball which they had attended the night before. They themselves had given two magnificent entertainments, which had made a sort of sensation, and the courtesy of the host and hostess had been specially remarkable. For this evening there was no particular attraction, so they determined to fill it up with a visit to the Opera. The King retired to his apartments, and the royal party broke up.