would give of her singing. Many persons will doubtless be unable to understand this description of sound, as others, who are entirely without pictorial faculties, may fail to appreciate the descriptions of scenery in the exquisite novel from which we have extracted the above. M. Henry Mürger, who follows in the same school as Balzac, and who is a faithful observer of the society around him, has understood this description of Madame de Mortsauf's voice, as he proves by a passage in one of his "Scènes de la vie de Jeunesse." In another tale in the same collection, (Madame Olympe,) he has imitated the forms of Balzac with more fidelity than was necessary, the consequence being a stiffness, which is entirely absent from the volume generally.

M. Champfleury, to whom we are indebted for the interesting conversations with M. de Balzac appended to M. Baschet's memoir, is the author of several volumes of tales, and is an acknowledged disciple of Balzac's. "That which I see, says M. Champfleury,

"enters into my head, descends into my pen, and becomes that which I have seen." This, however, only describes a portion of the method of Balzac, who, after observing one fact and one character, arrived at the truth with regard to a thousand others by means of an analogical process, which will always remain a mystery to those who are unable to exercise it. Balzac must frequently have perceived a whole character from a few words or a single incident, as a clairvoyante possessing a letter, or a lock of hair, is supposed to be instantly acquainted with everything relating to the person to whom they belong; or as Shakspeare, with only the Italian novelli and Plutarch's Lives, imagined the manners and customs of Italy and Greece. M. Champfleury's last work, "Les Aventures de Mdlle. Mariette," is advertised as belonging to "l'école réaliste la plus avancée;" and a classical critic has threatened the author of that interesting book with the vengeance of the government, in case he should realize any further projects of realism. Let us hope that the re-establishment of the guillotine, connection with the terrible threat of the which was talked of some time ago, had no classical critic.

THE CHILDREN OF GREAT POETS.-It is impossible to contemplate the early death of Byron's only child without reflecting sadly on the fates of other families of our greatest poets. Shakspere and Milton each died without a son, but both left daughters, and both names are now extinct. Shakspere's was soon so. Addison had an only child, a daughter, a girl of some five or six years at her father's death. She died unmarried, at the age of eighty or more. Farquhar left two girls dependent on the friendship of his friend Wilkes, the actor, who stood nobly by them while he lived. They had a small pension from the Government; and having long outlived their father, and seen his reputation unalterably established, both died unmarried. The son and daughter of Coleridge both died childless. The two sons of Sir Walter Scott died without children, one of two daughters died unmarried, and the Scotts of Abbotsford and Waverley are now represented by the children of a daughter. How little could Scott foresee the sudden failure of male issue! The poet of the "Faerie Queene" lost a child

when very young, by fire, when the rebels burned his house in Ireland. Some of the poets had sons and no daughters. Thus we read of Chaucer's son, of Dryden's sons, of the sons of Burns, of Allan Ramsay's son, of Dr. Young's son, of Campbell's son, of Moore's son, and of Shelley's son. Ben Jonson survived all his children. Some-and those among the greatest-died unmarried; Butler, Cowley, Congreve, Otway, Prior, Pope, Gay, Thomson, Cowper, Akenside, Shenstone, Collins, Gray, Goldsmith. Mr. Rogers still lives-single. Some were unfortunate in their sons in a sadder way than death could make them. Lady Lovelace has left three children-two sons and a daughter. Her mother is still alive, to see perhaps with a softened spirit the shade of the father beside the early grave of his only child. Ada's looks in her later years—— years of suffering, borne with gentle and womanly fortitude-have been happily caught by Mr. Henry Phillips-whose father's pencil has preserved to us the best likeness of Ada's father.-Athenæum.

THE awful interest created, between two and three years ago, in England, France, and Belgium, by the trial of the Comte and Comtesse Bocarmé for the murder of the Comteese's ill-starred brother Gustave Fougnies, -cannot be forgotten.

Within the last few weeks, Madame Bocarmé has again been brought before the public, by an appeal of Monsieur Baugnies to the Civil Tribune of Tournay, on behalf of this woman's children, who, from the reckless extravagance of their mother, must, in default of such legal help, eventually be left penniless. "Ill-gotten, ill-spent," says the old proverb, and, according to Monsieur Baugnies' showing, and some experience which I have to offer of my own, touching Madame Bocarmé, the reader may judge how aptly she has illustrated the maxim.

Monsieur Baugnies declared that the "Comtesse had, by her habits of extravagance and luxury, ruined the estate of her husband; and that since she had inherited the property of her murdered brother, she had frequented the most fashionable places, putting herself prominently forward, having carriages and valuable horses, extensive apartments, &c., and dissipating the property she had inherited so rapidly that she had raised by mortgage and otherwise, between October, 1851 and 1852, 84,000 francs on the property which came to her by her brother's death. With a view to preserve her children from ruin, Monsieur Baugnies had determined to apply for a civil interdiction," &c., &c., &c.

This suit was now instituted on account of the rumored marriage of the Comtesse with some one bold enough to mate with such a companion. It will be remembered, that by her evidence her husband was guillotined for the murder of his brother-in-law, of which murder she had been the aider and abettor, and, by her own showing, stimulator.

It was during the month of October, 1851, that I happened to be an inhabitant of the

same house at Brussels with Madame Bocarmé, and, although such propinquity was not of my own choosing, I could not help taking a certain interest in observing, as opportunities offered, the various points in the character of such a person. As notoriety, no matter how glaring, was evidently her passion, I felt no compunction in taking notes," and since it is not improbable that she may again appear as the heroine of a dark romance, I do not hesitate to "prent them."

One morning, then, my landlady professed herself to be somewhat mystified by the visit of a femme de chambre, who came to hire the spare apartments of her house for a widow, whose name she hesitated to impart. Next day, a hired carriage drove to the door, and there descended from it the "widow' and her female attendant. The "widow's" bonnet was of transparent material, placed far back on the head; bands of brown hair were widely parted off a bold forehead, and a pair of wild eyes flashed from under heavy lids; the nose was nondescript, the wide nostrils indicated scorn, the large mouth was sensual, the chin elevated with an air of vulgar pride, and there was a sneer upon the lips; the throat was bare,-and the arms were scarcely covered by the loose ruffled sleeves; in a word, the chief characteristic of this woman's abord was audacity. She swept into the passage, scanned its lofty altitude with affected disdain, and mounted the stairs in silence. The door of the sittingroom at her disposal was thrown open; the apartments were more luxuriously, and even more comfortably, furnished than those in Brussels lodging-houses generally are-but the "draperies did not please her:" "the sofa was not so soft as she desired;" "the street, though comme il faut, was triste;" in short, "all was very inferior to what she had been accustomed to in her château,—” and "Who were the other inhabitants of the house?"

"An English officer and his wife," was the landlady's reply.

Madame Bocarmé turned down her lip. She descended below: observed that she must send to her château for her batterie de cuisine; owned to a fancy for taking her lunch and breakfast in her kitchen-but as this is a Belgian fashion, it went for nothing, -and proposed adding sundry elegancies to the apartments. She perambulated the whole house, and would have taken her choice of rooms, without reference to our convenience, had she been permitted; and I confess that when, subsequently, we learned who had stalked through our dwelling, I felt very much as if a dark angel had swooped down and over-shadowed the place with its awful presence.

In a week her bargain concluded, and her trunks arrived with no name on the address. "Liege" and "Cologne" indicated their

Madame Bocarmé you mean, I suppose," said the Belgian landlady, with a mischievous smile, for she had discovered the name of her new lodger.

The trial of the Comtesse and her husband, filling a thick volume, is one of the most extraordinary in the annals of the Causes Celebres. It took place at Mons, in Belgium, in 1851, and thousands assembled to judge of the "judicial drama."

For a drama, a tragic one it was. There was a dead silence in the court on the opening of the first scene, as the President desired that "Lydie Fougnies "* should come forward.

"Lydie appeared alone and unsupported in the doorway: her step was assured, her toilette carefully arranged-black satin (Maria Manning's favorite material), forming her robe-and on her head rested a small crape bonnet, adorned with a wreath of white roses; her face was veiled.

Then was summoned Hippolite Visart de Bocarmé. Husband and wife were desired to seat themselves; a gendarme placed himself between them.

Nothing but the lowered voice and fidgetty movement of the well-gloved hands with the folds of her embroidered handkerchief betrayed emotion on the part of the Comtesse; the Comte seemed stupefied.

The charge against them was read; the

*It is customary in Belgium for the wife to retain her maiden name.

names of the hundred and one witnesses! were next proclaimed. The examination of Lydie opened the trial.

One or two interrogatories between the president and the prisoner will afford a specimen of the manner in which she was permitted to prejudice the court against her unfortunate husband:

Question." What have been Visart de Bocarmé's occupations since his marriage ?" Answer." He has spent eighteen or twenty thousand francs in experiments in agriculture, in bees, and," the end of the sentence is better omitted.

Question.-"He was then a roué ?”

Answer." Yes, he has squandered much money, &c."

Then came questions about poisonous plants; and the wife told how she had been made, by dint of blows and threats," to open a correspondence with a chemist at Ghent, under a false name. Next, she dropped insinuations of quarrels between the old Comte Bocarmé and his son, of sorrowful interpositions by the mother, and finally admitted the share she herself had had-involuntarily she protested--in preparing the nicotine to "settle Gustave," her lame brother.

For months before the murder, were the wretched pair engaged in concocting the fatal draught, taking it in turns to rise at night and visit the cauldron in which the potion was transmuting from tobacco to nicotine. The woman had to pass her sleeping children on her fiendish errand, which she accomplished with inconceivable coolness and deliberation, watching the temperature of the contents of the brazen vessel by means of a thermometer.

Now and then a laugh disturbed the evidence-laughter elicited by allusions to poisoned cats and ducks on which Comte Bocarmé had experimentalized for the edification of his wife, before " settling Gustave."

The unfortunate Gustave's heritage of a few thousand francs had long excited the greedy cupidity of the Bocarmés. The comtesse had received her fortune under the will of her father, a retired grocer, but, like all unprincipled and selfish people, the false pride of her husband and herself had led them to expenses beyond their means.

The patrimony of this poor cripple being the thing they coveted, husband and wife went hand-in-hand in bringing their dark design to an issue. As the details were unfolded at the trial, it must have become clear to the audience, that Madame Bocarmé was

not a person to be swayed by any will but her own; Lady Macbeth might as well attempt to make her audience believe that she was the victim of her husband's ambition, as this Comtesse persuade common sense to accept her excuses on this plea. It was shown that she had entered with zest into the experiments on poisoned animals; had listened with horrid interest to the report made by the medical man, whom the comte had questioned respecting Gustave's health; and that, ere she received her brother at the table, where he was invited to be poisoned, she had made the necessary arrangements for getting her governess and servants out of the house; then the coachman was sent one way, the children and their nurses another, and the train being laid, madame made her toilette for dinner!

Business had been made the excuse for the invitation. The brother and sister had been at issue for months on the subject of Gustave's intended marriage with a Mademoiselle Dudzèle, for his chance of an early death would avail the Bocarmés nothing if once married; and, although Madame Bocarmé had essayed to defame Mademoiselle Dudzèle, Gustave was resolved to espouse her, and by his declaration sealed his doom. On the 20th of November, the victim came to breakfast and pass the day at the Château Betrimont. He sat part of the morning with his sister, wandered into the garden, and watched the children at play, and "seemed gay and happy." One of his little nieces wove him a garland of autumnal flowers!it was found after the murder "crushed and faded!" And thus the day wore on till dinner time.

"Infirm of purpose," the wretched Comte had been up before dawn, wandering about the old chateau, while madame was sleeping. She rose at her usual hour, nine o'clock.

After dinner, the three relatives drew round the stoves, and "sat chatting amicably together!" When the gloom of an autumn twilight settled on the room, Emerance, the maid, proposed to bring in the lamp, as usual, but was forbidden. It seems the exact moment for the deed had never been fixed on, but the Comtesse had set every wheel in motion, and now the sword of fate hung by a slender hair over the victim's head.

Gustave rose to go; the Comte went out to order the young man's cabriolet; the coachman was absent, but, contrary to calculation, soon returned. While the Comte was in the stables, Madame Bocarmé gave

her brother a document to read, and he hobbled across the room to the stove, having in vain asked for lights. At this moment the Comte entered.

Alas!

In this part of the evidence, the comtesse committed herself by a series of contradictions; the facts at length elicited were, that "as the Comte returned from the stables, she went to order lights, and that, as she was leaving the room, she heard a fall, and the snapping of a stick-a crutch breakingand heard Gustave say almost the last word that passed the wretched victim's lip was an oath! She heard the cry for mercy, too, "Pardon, Hippolite, pardon!" But she hurried out of the room as soon as she saw her brother down, with her husband's grasp upon him! There was one more cry of "Oh, save me!"

It rang through the house in its death agony; the servants rushed from the kitchen and upper rooms, and saw their mistress stealing along the passage, like an evil spirit. Madame Bocarmé tried to evade them, but one of them swore to recognizing "the rustle of the satin robe," and exclaimed, “Ah, there is madame!"

By this time the cries in the dining-room had become but stifled moans, and, ere long, all was nearly over with Gustave.

Justine, one of the servants, rushed up to the nursery, and told her fears to Emerance: "You are young and fearful," said Emerance, and left the room to fetch the children's supper, which Justine had fogotten in her alarm.

A frightful vision waylaid Emerance. At the door of his chamber stood the Comte, pale as death, with great drops of perspiration and gouts of blood pouring down his face, and a wound upon his brow; his trembling hands refused to do their office, he could not open the door, and his knees trembled under him.

Emerance passed on, and met her mistress with a bowl of water in her hand; Madame Bocarmé ordered the maid back to the nursery, and began speaking to her husband in a low voice. In five minutes, Madame Bocarmé followed her servant to the nursery, and sitting calmly down, took one of her innocent children in her lap; her presence of mind never deserted her for a moment. On hearing her husband's agitated voice, she put the child down, and hurried to him.

How different was it with the miserable Comte! He had given Gilles, the coachman, the most incoherent orders about the cabriolet, had sluiced the face of the corpse with

The Comte was wiping away the vinegar from the dead man's face. The idea of Gustave being in a fit was kept up by the Comte; the humane waiting-woman chafed the cold palms; a muscular movement led her to fancy life was returning:

"Yes! yes!" cried Comte Bocarmé, "go on, Emerance: see, he comes to himself;" so saying, he, as well as the Comtesse, quitted the room.

Emerance must have had good courage: left alone with the body, she held the candle over it, and saw the stamp of death at once upon the distorted features. Comte Bocarmé, restless and wavering, returned just as she had finished her examination.

"He is quite dead," said Emerance. "What shall we do with his body?" cried the Comte. They sent for Gilles, the coachman, who testified to having found his master pale, and wan, and trembling. He could only stammer out, "Ta-a-ke this corpse to Emerance's room."

The guilty pair, leaving the murdered man to the care of the servants, retired to their apartment, and Madame Bocarmé, who had never been on happy terms with her hus band, now addressed him by the most endearing epithets.

"The Comte," said the witness, "was deadly sick during the night, and Madame had a cup of cocoa made, which she took at midnight!"

The bold, bad woman's presence of mind remained unshaken; between her husband's fits of retching she sipped her cocoa, and issued her orders "to have the corpse washed with vinegar," and "to put on it a coarse shirt. Be sure," said she to Emerance, "not to take a fine one!"

She burned some of the victim's clothes, too, and his crutches, saying she could not bear to see them; and, so soon as Monsieur Bocarmé revived, took him into the library, and burned such letters as she thought might commit them. The books of chemistry, too, she destroyed; hid the crucible and remnants of tobacco, and, in the course of the morning, "desired her maid to go and tell

those coquines (rogues), Madame and Mademoiselle Dudzèle, that Gustave was dead!”

She next tried to school the servants as to the testimony they would be called upon to give: then the doctor was sent for, who at once pronounced the case to be one of poison; and no sooner were the wretched pair accused of the murder, than the Comtesse turned upon her miserable partner. Her brother despatched, she resolved on acquiring his property by offering her evidence, and thus condemning her weak-minded husband to death.

The evidence on the trial proved the guilt of both, and the spectators breathlessly awaited the decision of the jury.

The scene will never be forgotten by those who witnessed it. The day had closed in, the court blazed with gas, and ranged along the white and lofty walls were the officers of the court, the gendarmes, and the judge in his scarlet robe, the most conspicuous figure of all; but the eyes of the crowd were fixed on the two beings, who were to inscribe, in bloody characters, on the list of criminals, an ancient name.

A bell rang; silence fell upon the court. "Visart Bocarmé," said the president. Hope shone on the Comte's face; many women burst into tears.

Lydie Fougnies," was next called.

Not the least emotion was visible on her face. "This stoicism," says the record, "surprised and afflicted the audience."

The fatal "yes," of the jury failed to shake the calm of the Comte's features; but at the "no," which decided the safety of his wife, an expression of happiness gleamed across them, and he cast a glance of unutterable tenderness towards the author of his ruin."

Meanwhile she had sat motionless, not a gesture betrayed anxiety.

"I declare," said the president," that the accused, Lydie Fougnies, is acquitted of the charge brought against her. Lydie Fougnies," a dead pause, " you may descend."

And Madame Bocarme did descend, and left the court, attended by the director of the prison.

As she passed out, her husband cast another look of tenderness upon her, "his eyes sought hers," but there was no responsive glance; she never even turned towards him.

He had been humanely placed so that she should not pass him by!

Then he was condemned to die!

Comte Bocarme appealed, but King Leopold refused to listen; the unhappy man's position was aggravated by suspense, caused