watched, and soon saw that, however violent the passions that were unloosed, they had only a political tendency, and that life and property were not endangered. He made haste to communicate this fact to Monsieur de Gournay, having previously urged him not to abandon his post, in case it should have proved necessary, in the first instance, to join him in England.

Monsieur de Gournay's natural impulse, on the news reaching him of the events of February, was immediately to leave London for Paris, but when he reflected that he had left Bianca, as he thought, in the safest hands, and that he was bound in honour to complete what he had begun, he decided on remaining where he was. He felt glad afterwards that he had done so, when he heard from his daughter that she had no fear-she would not vex him with her own cares at such a time--and from the Marquis that he was anxious he should stay. It was an unfortunate decision, but Monsieur de Gournay's sense of duty was so strong, that only the most dire necessity could have made him postpone it for anything else. Although not active in political life-his wealth rendering him indifferent to the emoluments of office, the trammels of which would, moreover, have interfered with his special pleasures-the Marquis de Saverne held a position that kept him before the world; and, while he always lent a moderate support to the government for the time being, he did not refrain from courting popularity. No one put down such sums as he to public subscriptions, no one contributed with greater munificence to general or local charities; he even endowed and gave his name to an hospital in a department where he had large estates, and thus his money brought him reputation with the people. He was keen enough to perceive that, though the Provisional Government might not endure, it was good policy to throw no discredit on its acts, and that by marking his confidence in it he at least secured friends for the time being-an epicurean consideration which had great weight with him.

He was, therefore, amongst the first to appear in the streets when the republican victory was fairly won, and equally forward to associate himself with the festivities of the hour; and it was looked upon by the Parisians quite as a favourable omen when the Marquis de Saverne resumed his state receptions at the Opera.

CHAPTER XXIII.

MONSIEUR SIMONET'S GATEWAY.

THE active part which Hubert Gurney had taken in assisting the evasion of one of the members of the late reigning family, and the uncertainty he felt as to the actual state of affairs in the capital, were motives with him for not making himself too conspicuous immediately on his return to Paris.

He therefore chose a very quiet hotel in the neighbourhood of the Palais Royal, and as it had often befallen him in France to be called by his christian instead of his surname, he dropped the latter, and styled himself plain Hubert.

His first thought was to find out Monsieur Simonet, the present proprietor of the Château de Gournay, whose address was in the Rue Louis le Grand; and thither Hubert proceeded on the morning after his arrival.

The house, which formed an angle with an intersecting street, was large, but not so lofty as those of later date, being of the time of the Grand

Monarque, from whom it received its name. An upholsterer's shop, of several rooms, filled with faded furniture which also seemed to belong to the same period, occupied the ground-floor on one side; on the other was a wide porte cochère, opening into a vast court-yard with ranges of buildings, of various heights, all round, dilapidation being their chief characteristic. It looked like a house that had been picked up a bargain, and this most likely was the fact; but, however cheaply acquired, its capabilities had not been turned to great account; there it stood, dingy and decayed, waiting for some new owner with courage enough to lay out money on its renovation.

From a very small lodge on the left hand there issued, when Hubert pulled the cordon, a very small concierge, his size being an indication, not of juvenility, but of arrested growth. He seemed quite of a piece with the establishment of which he was the guardian, even to his dress, which was neither new nor fashionable, a little cap made of coarse carpet, slippers of the same material, and a green baize apron that enveloped more than half his figure, constituting nearly the whole of his costume; for his coat, perhaps from motives of economy, as being too good to wear while at work, hung behind the door of his lodge. That he was at work, or about to begin, might fairly be presumed from the long broom and the frotteur's brushes with which he was armed. Besides being extremely short, this model concierge was excessively meagre, and suggested the idea-if to mention it be not injurious-that his commons corresponded with his stature; but though Nature and Man had been equally unkind to him, their niggardness failed to affect his spirits, which shone out bravely in the merry twinkle of his eye, the alacrity of his movements, and the cheerful voice with which he desired to learn what was Hubert's pleasure. To know if Monsieur Simonet lived there?

Certainly. Lived there? That he had,-this thirty years. Ever since he bought the hotel. The speaker could vouch for it in his own person, having been on the premises at the time, employed by the former proprietor. When Monsieur Simonet took possession, he removed himthe speaker-from the workshop in the court-yard to the lodge he now occupied; there he-the speaker, who had then the honour of addressing Monsieur-had installed his wife-Madame Mignerot, she was up-stairs at this moment—there he had seen his family grow up around him, and there he hoped to remain-himself, Madame Mignerot, and their little dog Azor, all the family he had now-till it pleased the bon Dieu to call them away. Yes, there had been a good many changes in the world during the last thirty years-particularly in Paris-but Monsieur Simonet was still the proprietor, and he-Jacques Mignerot-the concierge,—at Monsieur's service.

To this elaborate answer to a very simple question, Hubert replied by asking if Monsieur Simonet was at home?

No!

"To be sure," returned Jacques. "At home, and at breakfast. I am in error-he has already breakfasted-for if Monsieur will be good enough to turn his eyes in that direction"-the little concierge pointed to an enormously wide staircase which yawned opposite his lodge-"he will see Madame Mignerot descending at this very moment with the service-a fine woman, as Monsieur no doubt perceives-accompanied by Azor, the most capable dog in Paris. Hola, Madame Mignerot! Here is a gentleman who inquires for Monsieur Simonet!"

The lady in question merited the appellation bestowed upon her by her husband, if not by splendour of attire or feminine charm of manner, by that property with which little men invariably endow the sex when they triple their own size: she would have made three or even six of Jacques Mignerot, had she been fairly parcelled out, but having done that, what in her person might be termed fine, came to an end. The red handkerchief which was knotted round her head imparted no grace to features of the same ruby hue; neither did her ample robe of coffee-coloured bombazine add to the symmetry of a form which weighed a hundred kilos.

"It is utterly impossible," said Hubert to himself, while he threw a glance towards the porter's lodge-" it is utterly impossible for that woman to live there. In the first place, the doorway is not wide enough to admit her."

Ocular deceptions, however, are of every day's experience. Madame Mignerot not only got into the lodge, breakfast service and all, but when there, after having deposited her burden, was able to turn round-as one has seen the hippopotamus perform that feat-and return beneath the porte cochère, with her hands thrust into the pockets of her apron, to ask what she already knew.

Why she should take so much extra trouble might arise either from the fact that she held the information given her by her husband of no account, or from the tendency of her sex to ask questions.

"What does Monsieur desire?" she demanded.

"I have already told your husband, my good woman," said Hubert, "that I wish to see Monsieur Simonet."

"What

"My husband!" returned Madame Mignerot, with a shrug of the shoulders by no means complimentary to the person mentioned. signifies my husband ?”

"But he is the concierge of this hôtel-is he not ?" asked Hubert, smiling.

"In my absence-yes!" was the reply.

"And, therefore, Célestine," mildly interposed the submissive husband, "I permitted myself

"Silence, Jacques! You were not spoken to. What! you permitted yourself to answer questions when you saw me approaching! This is unheard of!"

"I am sure," said Hubert, willing to mollify the giantess, "your husband could not have known you were so near. What could he do but give me the information I sought ?"

"What could he do, Monsieur? He might have done this. He might have said-'Wait a few moments, Monsieur, till Madame Mignerot descends, and you will learn all you wish to know.' To speak in that manner was strictly his duty."

"Well, it comes to the same thing," said Hubert, "for I do not yet know if Monsieur Simonet is visible. You see your husband's indiscretion has not been great."

"In that case," said Madame Mignerot, with dignity, "I pardon him. Put down your slippers and broom"-this was addressed to the little concierge, who tried hard to look penitent, "and go into the lodge and clean up the breakfast-things; after that you will comb Azor, and then you may go to your work on the staircase. Ah, there is the postman with the journal!”

"I told you, Monsieur," said Jacques, forgetting his recent scolding, and looking as merry as when Hubert first accosted him-"I told you that Azor was the most capable dog in Paris. Do me the honour to observe him! Azor, the postman!"

The dog, waiting, with his eyes turning alternately from Madame Mignerot to her husband, no sooner heard the word of command than he darted to the street-door, received the newspaper in his mouth, and set off up-stairs as fast as his legs could carry him.

Jacques was in ecstasies, and even Madame Mignerot's severity unbent, though Azor exhibited this prodigious display of genius every morning of his life, except on certain fêtes when the paper was not published-for it was not yet the second Empire, and the journals were not often seized.

"He will carry that paper," said Jacques, "to the door of Monsieur Simonet's apartment, and wait till his master hears him and takes it in. It was Madame Mignerot's idea that he should learn that clever trick."

"I could wish," said Hubert, "if it suits Madame Mignerot's convenience, that I might have the benefit of similar tuition.”

A bon mot, or a turn of words bearing even a faint resemblance to one, will gain your cause more effectually in France than the most elaborate pleading. Hubert's appeal was aided also by Madame Mignerot's returning good-humour: the dog's performance, and the last remark of her husband, had propitiated her.

"Come hither, Jacques," she cried, "and embrace me!"

arms.

My Célestine!" exclaimed the little man, rushing into her outspread

We throw a veil over these conjugal endearments.

"Now, Monsieur," said Madame Mignerot, when she had wiped her husband's eyes with a corner of her apron-emotion or a sense of suffocation having raised the waters there-"I am entirely at your orders. You wish to see Monsieur Simonet?"

"That is the request," replied Hubert, "which I venture to prefer." "On some business, I presume?"

"Yes, on business."

"In that case, Monsieur, you will find no difficulty in obtaining admittance. Your name?"

"My name is Hubert. I come from Normandy, where Monsieur Simonet has, I understand, a château to let or dispose of."

"Pardon me, Monsieur, if my idle husband had only told me it was an affair of that nature! But he leaves me to discover everything by the force of my own ingenuity! If Monsieur will follow me he shall be conducted straight to Monsieur Simonet. Look to the door, Jacques; and remember! no more foolish gossiping, or you may not escape so easily." The ponderous lady led the way, and Hubert slowly followed: slowly, because the hundred kilos of his guide exacted from her a leisurely pace. It was not on the first floor, neither was it on the second, that Monsieur Simonet held out, though the master of the whole establishment: a narrow flight of stairs, at the top of the broader one, terminated in a narrow passage paved with red tiles, and in front of a door at the further extremity the incomparable Azor was planted, a sufficient indication to Hubert that there was Monsieur Simonet's own apartment.

Miscellanies by Monkshood.

ESSAYISTS AND REVIEWERS:

XV.-REV. JOHN EAGLES.

ONE could wish to have had from Blackwood, say a quarter of a century ago, what Fraser gave us about that date,- -a clever artist's sketch of its representative men, harmoniously collected together, in easy, characteristic, postprandial attitudes, at one round table, of evidently strong centripetal force. Several of Maga's contributors figure, it is true, in Regina's symposiac sketch, but it is simply as being on the staff of the (self-styled) queen of monthlies: what we desiderate is a pictorial conspectus of Ebony's merry men all, in the same completeness, and taken off with the same spirit, as give value to the Croquis pencillings done for Oliver Yorke.

In the latter-we refer to the double-page engraving, entitled "The Fraserians". '—a group of fine intellectual heads and faces, as well as common-place-looking, whimsical, and crotchety ones, is portrayed, almost to the life. Doctor Maginn is on his legs, making, or just about to make, a speech. Barry Cornwall sits on one side of him, with aspect serious and only not stern; and on the other side, Edward Irving,-for even he was once (literally once) a Fraserian. Theodore Hook is there, with a jovial, fun-loving, hoax-liking visage; and Lockhart, with a cold, handsome sneer curling his thin lips. Beside the venerable form, with locks in silvery slips, and "drooping gait and altered size," of the author of "Aids to Reflection," sits a vigorous contrast in the person of the author of "Rookwood." Father Prout is seated beside Mr. Gleig, of Chelsea Hospital and Army Chaplain renown. Crofton Croker, with eager cordial air, is hobnobbing with Mr. Jerdan, then (as for long years before and after) of the Literary Gazette. Dunlop, the historian of fiction, is there, in robust reality; Delta Moir (not many knew him by his baptismal names of David Macbeth) looks all benignity and placid interest, nor do the looks belie the gracious-natured man; Sir David Brewster shows the mild philosopher; and Sir Egerton Brydges, in days that marvelled at the enormity, wears a beard. Mr. Carlyle, too, is therethough his soul is like a star, and dwells apart; Galt sips his glass with a mien of complacent good-fellowship; and of other Scotchmen present, we see the Modern Pythagorean, as Dr. Macnish of Glasgow was "periodically" called, and the Ettrick Shepherd, whom all the world and his wife knew to be plain James Hogg.

Nearly, if not quite, all the North-country men here named, would have had their place in a correspondent sketch for Blackwood, had such a sketch of that magazine's contributory, all and sundry, been then provided for its subscribers. The Shepherd would have been there, more than as large as life-for never in any writings of his own is James Hogg so fancifully eloquent and broadly humorous as Wilson made him, when shepherding him for the Noctes. John Galt would be there, on the strength of many a "pawky" fiction of West-country men and manners