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"Hè Marguerite, escoute la souffrance

Du noble cœur de Renée de France,
Puis, comme sœur plus forte que d'ésperance.
Console là

Tu sais comment hors son pays alla,
Et que parens et amis laissa là,
Mais tu ne sçais quel traitement elle a
En terre estrange.

Elle ne voit ceux à qui se veult plaindre
Son œil rayant si loing ne peult atteindre,
Et puis les monts pour se bien lui estaindre
Sont entre deux."

There is scarcely a more delightful character in the records of woman than that of Renée. She would protect the defenceless and the persecuted at all hazards to herself. She would advocate the cause she had espoused, and would not abandon it, even when Hercules deprived her, at the instigation of the bigot, Oritz, of her children, sequestered her from society, accused her servants as heretics, and, finally, imprisoned herself. She displayed the same firm and uncompromising spirit in her husband's court, as animated her in an after day, when her castle of Montargis, wherein she had sheltered a band of Hugonots, being besieged by the Duke of Guise, her son-in-law, she replied to the heralds, whom he had sent to threaten her with battering her walls with his can"Tell your master I will mount the battlements myself, and let us see if he dare kill a king's daughter!" Renée was a noble spirited creature, worthy to live, while the world lasts, on canvass and in song; but, doubtless, her name is inscribed elsewhere in more enduring characters than canvass or song can furnish.


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LIFE, dearest Minna, is a strange theatre, and we ourselves far more changeful than those hired actors who play a new part every evening. We are far less creatures of habit than a mere idler would be willing to allow, and can accommodate our tastes and pur

suits with marvellous ease, to the scenes among which we are thrown, if we can but succeed in persuading ourselves, that what we do is done at our own good pleasure. As I write, I look up occasionally at a group, who are, for them, strangely employed, but who yet seem wonderfully happy. We arrived here at Ancona, the last continental city at which we shall sojourn, last week, and it would be difficult for you to imagine an abode more destitute of amusement or comfort than the one in which we shall probably remain another fortnight. This morning we were all obliged to run away in the middle of breakfast, because, just as we were meditating an attack on a plate of fresh rolls, a worse than Egyptian torment, in the shape of a volley of smoke, came rushing down the chimney, filled the room in a second, gave us head-ache, tooth-ache, cough; and when, yielding to Angelo's suggestion, we opened the door-window a wee wee space, the cold wind and rain came driving in, and upset every thing. Like poor Lord Ulla, we have been, by turns, smoke-dried and drenched until noon to-day, when the weather, with a caprice in strict accordance with the character it bears in England, cleared up, the sun came dazzlingly forth, and invited us all into the little rough wooden balcony which overlooks the sea. We have engaged a merchant vessel to carry us down the gulf of Venice, and as she is not fitted up for passengers, we have every preparation to make; and the young ladies, whose pretty fingers have never performed work harder than penning a quadrille, or tracing a flower, are busily engaged in hemming coarse towels. Even Emma can thread needles, and turn down; and

Agnes, dear child, finds employment enough in feeding the chickens we have bought for the voyage, and which, tied together in pairs, cannot cater for themselves. It is a pleasure to look up and see them all so busy and happy. May, bending far more assiduously over her plain useful work than she would do, were she manufacturing some endless piece of finery for herself; and Violet, laughing and talking as merrily as though she were not in a most out-of-theway corner of Europe, with a three weeks' voyage before her. Harry too, has found something to do, although there is not a book in the house, nor a picture-gallery in the town,-nobody to tease, and nobody to caricature. He has taken down an old painting from the passage, which Violet persuades him is a Raphael, and pencils and tints as assiduously as a second Aldovrandus Magnus, handed down to immortality by the pen of Mr. Beckford. Mùsica, is the only idle one, and she leans over the balustrade welcoming the sun, and admiring the bright landscape, and enjoying the "dolce far niente," which is dearer to a native of the south than aught besides.

It is a bright landscape that our little rude inn balcony commands:-The noble harbour of Ancona, enclosed to the right by the mole erected by those kings of the olden time, the Romans, somewhat impaired by time; and a little below, but close to it, is the new mole, terminated by a light-house; to the left, the view is bounded by a long line of buildings, houses, &c.; among which, we distinctly perceive the shaded promenade, and the arch of Parian marble, erected in the reign of Trajan, and dedicated to him. The last storm quite cleared the air; the

pretty latteen sails are gliding about hither and thither, bending with every breath; the lesser fishingboats are clearing away out of the harbour; the larger vessels still rock heavily from side to side, as though old Ocean had not quite recovered from his storm of passion; and far away the sun-light gilds the distant mountains.

The tiny quay, immediately under us, is a scene of perpetual bustle and noise. There are some of the fishermen, in their gay dresses, returned from their morning's work, examining their nets; then come the peasants, with their large flat baskets to buy, and to chaffer; a few steps farther on, a group of washerwomen are at work, battering with their wooden spaddles, and scolding;-verily, it would be a puzzle to know, whether their tongues or their arms move with the most energy; then half a dozen idlers looking on, and laughing at them. There is a large vessel, too, discharging its cargo of barcalà, cod-fish dried, till it looks like leather; and girls coming down to fill their pitchers with water, and carrying them away gracefully poised on their heads. Lady Julian, who has been in India, says, that as we come southerly, she is continually reminded of the manners of the East.

St. Roy, who has been rambling about even in the rain, has just returned with a variety of miscellaneous scraps of information. He says, that

every street in Ancona is a hill, and many of them reached by flights of steps cut in the rock. The town is surmounted by a fortress, also built partly of the rock. The churches are stuck with papers, on which death's heads and cross-bones are painted, and inscribed with "Pregar per l'anima

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