this fearful and unequal combat, Eustache once more proved his master's guardian angel. By almost superhuman efforts and bravery, he succeeded in withdrawing him from the scene of carnage, and, through great danger, fled with him to Port-au-Prince, where they fortunately arrived in safety. In this town, Monsieur Belin at last found a home, which, if it had not the splendour of his former dwelling, was still, though humble, not entirely devoid of comfort. Some of his property he had succeeded in rescuing from the general wreck, and he lived on his income, in happy retirement, and in the society of his faithful slave, or-as, after so much devotedness, he might well be called-of his friend Eustache.

Monsieur Belin was now advanced in years; his sight had almost entirely failed him; and Eustache frequently heard him complain that he could no more, as formerly, beguile the tediousness of the evening by reading. Unfortunately, as we have already stated, Eustache could not read. He had long passed that time of life when study is an easy task; but, undeterred by difficulties, which another at his age would have found insuperable, he resolved to spare neither time nor trouble to restore to his master that enjoyment of which age was now depriving him. He secretly found a teacher who undertook to give him lessons; and, without mentioning his project to Monsieur Belin or to any other person, he assiduously devoted to the task every hour he could spare from his other labours. What seemed almost impossible, unwearied perseverance and devotedness achieved. Eustache, though not without many efforts, at length learned to read; and his heart beating with triumph and honest joy, he entered the apartment of Monsieur Belin, a book in his hand, to shew his astonished master all that he could accomplish for his sake.

Many a noble and heroic deed has marked the life of the negro slave, but none more touching in its simplicity than this.

Moved with gratitude for such devotedness, Monsieur Belin resolved that Eustache should be free. He liberated him. But this act, far from dissolving their friendship, seemed to render its ties more close and binding. Eustache still considered himself the slave of his former master, and continued to act as his servant until the period of his death. Monsieur Belin did not shew himself unmindful of his faithful friend. He left him several large legacies, amply sufficient to provide for his old age; and had not Eustache possessed a heart incapable of resisting the call of the wretched and distressed, he might have passed in comfort the remainder of his days. But, in the untutored goodness of his heart, he considered the small fortune of which he was now possessed as merely intrusted to him that it might contribute to the happiness of others. So well was his benevolence known, that all who were in distress appealed to himand none appealed in vain-until of Monsieur Belin's legacies no more was left for him to give. But though now thrown on his own

exertions for support, Eustache was not disheartened. He trusted in Providence with a holy and almost child-like simplicity. He left San Domingo, and came to Paris, where, by his industry, intelligence, and energetic endeavours, he contrived to earn a sufficient livelihood. But poverty with him could not breed selfishness. He was still the same noble, disinterested creature as ever; not only relieving the unfortunate whom chance sent in his way, but seeking them out with unwearied care. Of his scanty earnings, he kept for his own support but the smallest share; the rest he distributed amongst poor mothers of large families, men out of work, and sick neighbours. And these things he did, not like one who knows that he does some good action worthy of praise, but with the simple bearing of him who has merely fulfilled his duty. If any one extolled in his presence actions which, however they might strike others with astonishment, were but for him like the occurrences of everyday life, he would seem surprised, and, with that admirable simplicity which marked his character, merely say, as though by these words all were explained: 'It is not for men I do this, but for the Master who dwells above.'

Such an admirable instance of virtue and piety could not remain hidden. Eustache was brought under the notice of the Academy, and in the year 1832 a medal was publicly awarded to him. Of the further fate of Eustache we regret not to be able to say more.

MAXIMILIENNE DE BETHUNE was the daughter of the Duke of Sully, and the last descendant of the celebrated Sully, minister and friend of Henry IV. of France, and whose memory, like his master's, has remained deservedly endeared to the people for the many virtues which adorned his noble character. This lady, who owned an immense fortune, was early married to the Marquis de l'Aubespine, a nobleman of high rank and ancient family, and master of several fine estates. An only son, the Count de l'Aubespine, was the fruit of this union, which, if rank and wealth constituted happiness, must have rendered the marquis and his wife perfectly happy. Whilst the young count was still a child, a man named Martin lived as a servant in the household of his father. After several years had thus elapsed, Martin, whose good behaviour was proverbial in the whole parish, resolved to marry, and resume his original trade of carpenter, which he had left off in order to enter the service of the Marquis de l'Aubespine. His master, though sorry to lose him, raised no objection to so reasonable a plan; but dismissing him with a handsome present, and every assurance of esteem and protection, he facilitated his project, and enabled him to settle and marry according to his wish in the neighbouring village of Champrond-en-Gâtine, not far from the town of Chartres.

Martin was a good and sober workman. The woman he had

married proved an excellent and industrious wife; and though, in the space of a few years, he had three children besides himself and their mother to maintain, things went on pretty well, and Martin was perfectly satisfied with his humble lot. But a far different fate had in the meantime fallen to the share of his former master. The Marquis de l'Aubespine was a very extravagant man, and though possessor of immense wealth, he had contrived to spend it all. His wife's large fortune had long since been squandered; all his fine estates had disappeared one after the other; and not only did the spendthrift nobleman reduce himself and his wife to beggary, but he also utterly ruined his unfortunate son, the Count de l'Aubespine, who had married, but was now a widower, and father of three young children.

Martin had long heard with grief of the distress into which his former masters had fallen. He had at first refused to credit the report; but the sale of the family estates shewed him but too well that it was founded on truth. From this time forward he could learn but little of their fate. The marquis, it was said, had disappeared entirely; his wife had died of grief; and their son, the count, was residing with his children in a distant part of the country, doubtless in poverty and obscurity, but where, nobody could tell. Although he knew no more than this, Martin's thoughts were almost constantly engrossed with the distressed state of the son and grandchildren of his former master. On a fine evening of the month of June 1830, as he was seated on a wooden bench near the door of his cottage, and meditating as usual on this painful subject, his attention was attracted towards a haggard and wearied-looking man, who, with a child in his arms, and two little girls following him, was advancing towards him. Martin rose to meet him, but could hardly believe his eyes when he recognised in the stranger the son of his old master, the Count de l'Aubespine. The three children who accompanied him were his. Angélique, the eldest, was only five years of age; Josephine, four; and Louis, the youngest, was not more than eighteen months old. The count and his children, who were very tired, entered the carpenter's dwelling; and whilst they were resting from the fatigue they had experienced, their father opened to Martin the object of his visit. He was on the eve, he said, of a short journey, and knowing no one in that part of the country where he resided to whom he could confide his children, he had resolved on asking Martin to take charge of them during his absence. To this proposal the carpenter readily and joyfully assented; and the Count de l'Aubespine, embracing his children, and once more recommending them to the care of Martin, almost immediately departed. The same night he left France, whence his distressed state compelled him to flee, and to which he never returned. It was not long before Martin learned that the last and helpless descendants of the great Sully were now dependants on his charity.

Although already burdened with a family, and no longer young, he did not repine at the prospect, but cheerfully set about considering by what means he could best accomplish the task which had devolved upon him. Martin earned only thirty sous a day (Is. 3d.); but he received some help from his wife and eldest daughter, who made between them about twenty-four sous a day (1s.): two shillings and threepence a day was therefore the sum by which Martin was to support himself, his wife, and the six children. The carpenter's utmost ingenuity, energy, and perseverance failed to accomplish this mighty feat. It was in vain that he worked from morning till night with unwearied industry, submitting to the severest privations: he was, before long, compelled to borrow several sums of money from a few kind friends. For some time he endeavoured to go on thus; but this resource soon failing him, he found himself under the necessity of parting with the little furniture he possessed, piece by piece, until he at last became reduced to the greatest distress. But in the midst of his poverty the deep devotedness of that worthy man remained unchanged. When he and his family were obliged to eat coarse brown bread, he still found the means of giving white bread to the children of the Count de l'Aubespine; and, with a rare feeling of delicacy and refinement, he would never allow them to take their meals at the same table with himself and his family, but waited on them with the same deep respect he would have shewn had they still been in the enjoyment of all the privileges of rank and fortune in their ancestral castle of Villebon. Several years thus passed away, and Martin never once wearied in the accomplishment of the task he had undertaken; but whilst he thus provided, though not without difficulty, for the physical wants of the three children, he often grieved to think that he could do nothing towards giving them the education required by their name and rank in society. The curate of Champrond had kindly begun to instruct the young Louis; but this was of course wholly insufficient; and the worthy carpenter was no little perplexed as to how he ought to act, when aid came from the most unexpected quarter.

A conduct so noble and so touching in its disinterestedness as his could not for ever remain concealed. The report that the last three descendants of the great Sully, who had long inhabited that district, where his memory was still held in deep veneration, were now dependent on the charity of a poor carpenter, gradually spread throughout the whole country, and it was not long before Martin received from the nuns of the order of Saint-Paul, in the neighbouring town of Chartres, the offer of taking the three children under their care, and properly educating them. Though most reluctant to part from them, Martin consented, influenced by the evident advantages which would result to them from this exchange. They were immediately transferred to the convent, where the kindness and attention with which they were treated amply proved to Martin that

his precious charge could not have been intrusted to kinder hands. But however well qualified those respectable ladies might be to train up properly the two girls, the education of Louis, the boy, could not long remain with them. The hospital of Nogent-le-Rotron, founded and endowed by Sully, whose remains are interred within it, sent a sum of money for the purpose of procuring the young Louis de l'Aubespine that instruction which he so much needed. Of the riches left by Sully, a small share of what he had given to the poor was all that his descendant was destined to reap. This sum not being sufficient, however, for the purpose in view, some persons proposed to raise a subscription, and a pious prelate offered to have the boy educated in a religious seminary. But the king, Louis-Philippe, having heard of the case, resolved that, for the sake of his great ancestor Sully, and for that of the faithful Martin, the son of the Count de l'Aubespine should be brought up at the public expense in the College of Henry IV. in Paris.

In the month of August of the year 1838, the worthy carpenter, who still lived in obscure poverty, but happy to think that his master's grandchildren had now partly regained their proper station in society, was surprised by the announcement that the Academy had awarded to him a prize of 3000 francs (£120), not as the reward of his noble conduct, but as a testimonial of esteem and admiration.

MARIANNE FEILLET, OF LANFAINS, CÔTES-DU-NORD.

MADAME LÉCUYER, the widow of a respectable merchant, found herself, at the death of her husband, in consequence of unfortunate speculations, in utter destitution. She had one son, whose abilities had procured him admission into the Polytechnic School, and who gave promise of a brilliant future. She was anxious to join him in Paris, but how get funds to convey her there from the extremity of Bretagne, and to support her in the great city? The savings of a poor servant-girl solved that difficulty. Marianne Feillet placed eighteen hundred francs, her little all, at the disposal of her mistress, and accompanied her to the capital.

Madame Lécuyer, however, had not been long in Paris when she fell a prey to grief and to the change in her mode of life. She died in the arms of Marianne, begging her to take charge of her son-a charge which the heroic girl most nobly discharged. Under the double burden of study and grief, the mind of the young man suddenly gave way, and he was obliged to be sent to an asylum. Marianne, who had nursed him on her knees, could not bear the thoughts of abandoning him to the care of strangers, and was allowed to enter the asylum as nurse. Here she staid two years, watching at his bedside for months together; for it was only the magnetism of her look that could calm the paroxysms of the poor

maniac.