and the day was exceedingly cold and damp. From the frame-work of a building, on her way, there emerged a little girl of eight years, with a sweet, pleasant face, but who trembled with cold, and was wet to the skin. She clasped her hands in entreaty, and said, "Oh, Mademoiselle, have you a bit of bread in your basket? I am very, very hungry."

"Oh dear, yes,” replied Eugénie, "I have some, and will gladly give it to you; see, here it is; but how wet you are, poor child!"

"Yes, Mademoiselle," replied the little girl, "I have been out, wandering about this great, strange city a long time. My father brought me to Paris from the country; he told me to wait for him awhile at the door of a wine-shop; but he went out by another door, without coming for me. I am afraid he wanted to lose me, in this great, crowded, lonely place."

"Have you a mother?" asked Eugénie, with tears in her sweet brown eyes.

"No; she is dead."

"Have you little brothers or sisters?"

"Yes, there are seven of us; and we ate a great deal of bread; and our father says he must have his wine: so, I suppose he thought it best to lose me, just as people sometimes lose kittens, when there are too many of them."

"Well, poor dear," said Eugénie, as the forlorn child's tears were rolling fast down her pale

I have a good cheeks, "come home with me. mother; she will feed you and give you a nice bed, and you shall be my little sister, always." Then, taking the forsaken child by the hand, she led her home.

See, mamma," she said-"here is a poor little girl whose father has abandoned her, and she cannot find him. You will take care of her, will you not, dear mamma? You know that the blessed Jesus says that whoever does good to his poor little ones does good to Him; and he will bless you, mamma."

The good woman could not resist this solemn entreaty, and from that hour the motherless little girl was dressed and treated as one of the family.

The father of Eugénie kindly assented to the adoption of the stranger, and cheerfully took upon himself the burden of her support. Yet

he was no rich merchant or nobleman, but an honest and simple working man, a type-founder.

Somehow, the story of little Eugénie's generous kindness-the little romance of the artisan's humble home-reached the ears of a young Princess, in the great palace of the Tuileries; and she sent to the interesting child a beautiful present, as a mark of her esteem. But Eugénie had better, sweeter rewards, in the gratitude and tender affection of her adopted sister, and in the love of Him who has said, "It is more blessed to give than to receive."

It was in the year of our Lord 1122 that a man, in a clerical garb and apparently about thirty years of age, was plodding his weary way through a beautiful valley in the south of France. It was October, and the shades of evening were gathering around, warning the traveller, that, as the next town was more than four leagues distant, it was high time that he sought a lodging for the night. A peasant's cottage was visible on his left hand, a little way from the road, and he was on the point of making towards it, for the purpose of begging from its owners the shelter of his humble roof, when he heard the clatter of a horse's hoofs behind him, and, turning round, he saw a cavalier on a grey palfrey trotting up the road. On approaching the traveller the horseman

slackened his pace, and when abreast of the ecclesiastic, courteously saluted him. The Friar (for such he was) returned the compliment, with a low bow, saying, in rather a foreign accent:

"The blessing of God and our Holy Church be on you, stranger! May I beg to know where I can find shelter for the night, for I am sore tired with my day's walk. I see a cottage yonder, but I would lodge for the night at some little hostelrie, which you may know perhaps at hand, peradventure that you are acquainted with these parts."

"I do know these parts full well, holy sir. Come with me, and I will take you where free welcome, with good cheer and a bed after it will be thine. I am esquire to the good knight,

Sir Raymond de Breteuil, whose gates are ever open to the wayworn stranger, be he church or lay-man. Come with me."

The Friar, in a grateful tone of voice, thanked the esquire for his hearty kindness, and they walked on a little way together, then turned off to the right, up an avenue, which led, in a wind-, ing direction and by gentle acclivity, to Breteuil Castle. In about fifteen minutes they arrived there; when, having crossed a moat which surrounded the huge building, the squire dismounted, and, walking up to a side portal, he rang a bell, which, being soon opened, he entered a large court-yard, followed by the Friar. The former called a serving-man, bade him conduct the stranger to the servants'-hall for the present, until he had notified his arrival to Sir Raymond.

Being conducted to the interior, and aware too of his speedy introduction to the knight, the Friar felt that, independently of its comfort, a good wash was necessary to make himself presentable, and he solicited the same -a boon that was readily granted him in the extensive laundry near at hand.

But a short time had elapsed, on his return to the hall, before a page entered and beckoned him to follow. Leading through a corridor of some fifty yards in length, the page turned to the right, and, walking up to a large oak door, opened it, and motioned to the Friar to enter the room.

It was a spacious apartment, and was that generally used by Sir Raymond when he entertained strangers. A table was set out for the evening meal (usually, in those times, a very substantial one). At the board sat Sir Raymond and his lady. The knight might have been about eight-and-twenty, a young man of commanding presence and grave aspect; while his lady, who was some three or four years his junior, was remarkable for her vivacity of look and demeanour. Both rose from their seats, and inclined their heads with reverence to the Friar when he entered the room. Such was the respect shown to the church in the middle-ages, especially in this and the following century, that the most slavish homage would be sometimes accorded by the proudest baron to the

meanest ecclesiastic.

The Friar returned a low bow to the salute of Sir Raymond and his lady, when the former in a kind manner, said to him, "Welcome, holy father, welcome to our castle and to our evening meal. Sit down, I pray you-but first, the blessing."

The Friar, having said a becoming grace, sat down with his kind host and hostess to supper. A right pleasant night was spent in that room by those three persons. The isolated condition of the nobility in those dark ages, shut up as they were in their castles, away from society, ignorant and illiterate, too, in the extreme, there was no relief to the tedium of life but in the jousting-yard or tennis-court, in the hawking or hunting-field. The company, therefore, of an intelligent churchman (usually the only educated

men of the period), was highly acceptable-and such, truly, was the man who sat at the hospitable board of Sir Raymond de Breteuil. To a thorough proficiency in the learning of the time, there was joined much depth of thought and natural sagacity in the Friar; and he was blessed, too, with a duent and impressive mode of speech which produced a strong effect at all times on his hearers.

The Lady Constance (such was her name) spoke of tournaments and feasts, and, in the gaiety of her heart, reverted to Sir Raymond's courtliness, her wedding, and her happiness since-of the sports of the field, her favourite hawks, and the celebrity they had displayed on various occasions. Sir Raymond discoursed of state affairs, of the greatness of France, and her deeds of chivalry-of the growing pride of her neighbour England, that already dared to treat her as an equal. A flush of crimson mounted to the brow and cheeks of the Friar at this remark of the young French knight, for he was himself from England, and he loved his native land full well. Dreams of greatness, and that foreknowledge which sometimes fixes itself in the human mind, had made him exchange for the church his scrivener's desk at St. Albans, and he spoke with warmth as he mingled his own aspirations with the lofty pretensions of his countrymen.

"Gently, gently, good father!" interrupted Sir Raymond, half in jest, half in earnest : "thou runnest too fast both for England and thyself."

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Nay," said the Friar, "with God's blessing they often become great who resolve to be so." "Well, well," replied the young knight, "far be it from me to offend your feelings; but when I see you Pope I will then, and not till then think that England will ever become great-at present I believe the one is quite as likely to happen as the other."

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His will be done," impressively rejoined the ecclesiastic—“His will, that can raise the poor man from the earth and place him amongst the princes, even amongst the princes of the people."

The next day, though urgently pressed to prolong his stay, the Friar was reluctantly obliged to depart. When taking leave of his kind host and hostess, he said, in his most impressive manner, "May the blessing of God ever rest upon these walls! Adversity may come, perhaps, for a season, but the cloud of sorrow will pass away and brightness be restored; and oh! may you and yours end their days in prosperity and peace!"

A look of peculiar sadness came over the face of the lovely Constance at the last words of the Friar, for she was childless. With ready thought he divined her feelings, for, in a brief conversation with Damien, the esquire, that morning, he had learnt that no offspring as yet had blessed the union of the baron and his bride. Turning to the lady of Breteuil, he said to her, with a gentle and soothing intonation of voice" And may God, whose dispensations to

*

Years passed away, and the visit of the kindspeaking and intelligent churchman had been quite forgotten in the Castle of Breteuil. Its fair mistress, however, forgot him not, for his prayer had been replied to, in the substantial evidence of two fine youths-whether they were the direct results of the kind friar's wish or not-the tender mother seldom looked at them without thinking of him.

The knight, her husband, had fought with honour in many a battle-field; and an interval of peace occurring he came home to share its blessing with his wife and family. One morning as he was walking upon the battlements of his castle, he saw a cavalcade proceeding up the avenue; shortly a turn in the road brought them more into view; and, on a nearer approach he perceived among the body of horsemen, a priest of importance, and a Knight of the Temple; Sir Raymond immediately summoned his family and household.

"It is a prince of the church," said he; "I recognize the banner. Hoist the state flag upon its tower, and get me a steed, quickly, I must forward at once to pay due reverence, and offer becoming hospitality to such travellers."

Before he could leave the gates, however, the Templer had quitted his party, and, with two followers, ridden rapidly up to the castle. He obtained instant admittance.

"Whom may it be my good fortune to receive?" inquired Sir Raymond.

"I am only a poor Knight of the Temple," replied the soldier of the Cross; "but I have the honour to accompany the Pope's new minister, the Cardinal Bishop of Albano, who, passing from Provence to Rome, craves permission to spend another night within your hospitable walls."

"May he and his suite be welcome," exclaimed Sir Raymond," and proud indeed I am of the visit of his Eminence; but why the Cardinal says another night, I know not, for he has not thus honoured my poor dwelling before."

"Yet he states that he has," rejoined the Templer.

As he spoke the cavalcade drew near, and a splendid procession it proved to be, with its gaudy trappings, and the gay banners floating in the summer breeze; the burnished armour, too, of the men-at-arms reflecting brilliantly in the summer's sun.

Wide-open flew the principal gate, and the troop, having entered the court-yard and taken their position, the whole household came forth; the knight in front with his lady, she held a son in each hand. All knelt; the Cardinal dismounted and gave his blessing.

"Have you, indeed, forgotten me?" said he, as he extended his hands to Sir Raymond and

With amazement they then recognized in the prince of the church, the poor wandering Friar they had entertained some years before. The prelate could not suppress a smile, at the astonishment he observed upon the faces of those whom he addressed; and his feeling too, was one of pride, when he thought of the success which had waited on his path. The present interview brought it forcibly to his mind-yes, such had been the course of Nicholas Breakspeare, the hero of this narrative—the son of an obscure clerk in Hertfordshire, he was early in life a mere scrivener, but induced partly by a religious motive, and partly by an inherent sense of his own talents, he had become a monk of St. Albans. There, singularly enough, his abilities were totally unappreciated; and he was actually expelled the monastery on the plea of incapacity. Stung with this disgrace, and resolved on his purpose, he went to France, and there studied with applause in the University. Thence he wandered to the south, and at the period of his first introduction to the reader, was on his way into the interior of Provence, where he subsequently became canon-prior and abbot of St. Rufus. His profound clerical ability, high scholastic acquirements, apt knowledge of the world and amiability of manners, brought him to the notice of Pope Eugenius the Third, who just previous to this second visit to the castle of Breteuil had made him Cardinal Bishop of Albano, and he was now on his road to Rome, the appointed legate to the kingdom of Denmark.

That evening at the castle, though the pomp was much greater, passed with the same familiarity and with equal cheerfulness as when the churchman visited it on the former occasion.

"Honours indeed have rushed upon me; but I know not how it is, as my elevation increases, my relish for worldly rank and state decreases; religion alone seems as new and as bright in its splendour as in the days of my youth. In my ascent I have been harassed at every step with additional cares, my rest must be elsewhere and hereafter. But I see, lady, that Heaven has shed far more precious earthly gifts upon you. It has never been my chance to see two finer youths.

"What do you intend to be, thou darkhaired stripling? continued he, turning to the elder of Sir Raymond's sons.

“A soldier and a knight, like my father," the boy answered, proudly.

"Even be it so," responded the priest, "for we live, alas! in an age of war and bloodshed. -And you with the fair and light eyes, are you for battle too ?"

"No, Sir Cardinal," replied the lad; "I like learning far better."

"A churchman, by the Mass, in mind and son of yours adopt my holy calling, that he and look! So I pray you, Sir Knight, if this gentle you remember to seek in Rome the poor priest

ODD FELLOWS' QUARTERLY. No. 34. Manchester. The editor leads off a very capital number with a clearly-written, clever article on the subject of "Insolvent Sick-clubs, and Sham Insurance Societies;" a subject of important interest to the working man, who too often, led away by glib promises and the seeming security offered by the appearance of well-known aristocratic names (used without the sanction of their owners at the head of a flowery prospectus) trusts his small savings, without knowing anything of the management of the concern, to a sham insurance society or bubble sick-club. The imposters who get up these heartless speculations know well the materials with which they have to deal; the credulity, greed of large returns for small outlays, and general ignorance of financial calculations which characterize the majority of their dupes. The members know nothing of the managment; and, dazzled by the "tempting low rates of contribution in proportion to benefits," continue to believe in the illogical system, till some day the secretary is missing, or the whole thing breaks up. We cannot forbear quoting an amusing, but very pertinent anecdote with which Mr. Hardwick illustrates the working of such schemes.

An old woman in some line of business -the toffy, stocking-needle, or tin-tack trade, it matters not which-was in the habit of recomiending her wares to her customers by an emphatic assertion, that she sold every article in her stock at something less than prime cost to her! She was reminded of the fact, that as she contrived, on the whole, to make a rather respectable living, there existed an arithmetical paradox in the matter, and which paradox it was politely intimated she would doubtless be good enough to explain. "Oh!" said the old lady, with dignified condescension, "I don't mind telling you, though it is a secret of the trade. The fact is we may lose some trifle on each separate transaction, but then you see it is the large number of the articles we sell that makes up the profit!" The practice of many of these Friendly Societies [continues the writer] would almost induce one to think that the members thoroughly believed in the old lady's logic, notwithstanding its palpable absurdity.

The whole of the article deserves to be attentively considered. A prose paper, "Good Manners," by Eliza Cook, is full of perceptiveness and good sense, and contains many practieal hints not to be found in Lord Chesterfield's letters, but of infinitely more importance in the social circle. Miss Meteyard (Silverpen) concludes her pretty theoretical paper, "The Lancashire Labour Club," in the present number. Some valuable suggestions are worked out in the course of the tale, and there are bits of word

painting here and there, that reminds us of her special faculty of scenic description. "Clothing and its Materials," by W. Aitken; a second instalment of an excellent subject, is agreeably treated and calculated to impress readers with the importance of common things, which from their familiarity are too often slighted or unthought of except in the most limited and per sonal way. The rest of the number is occupied with matters chiefly interesting to members of the order of Odd Fellows. We are glad from month to month to observe the practical tone of this magazine, which inculcates valuable lessons, and teaches important truths, without becoming either didactic or unamusing.

THE OCEAN WAIFS: A STORY OF ADVENTURE ON LAND AND SEA. By Captain Mayne Reid, author of "The Desert Home," "The Boy Hunters," &c. With illustrations.-One of Captain Mayne Reid's characteristic stories for boys, in which the natural history of the ocean is interwoven with an exciting though somewhat improbable narrative of accidents, incidents, perils, and escapes. The originator, we believe, of this attractive mode of conveying information to the young, Captain Reid, still maintains his position as probably the most captivating and reliable of teachers in this particular style of instruction. QUEENS OF SONG. By Ellen Creathorne Clayton. This volume gives brief sketches of the lives of the prominent prima donnas which have astonished and delighted the world during the past two centuries. Portraits of Mesdames Pasta, Sontag, Malibran, Grisi, Goldschmidt, Piccolomini, and others of equal celebrity, embellish the pages of the book. These sketches give an insight into the private life of those whose public life is so familiar; revealing many noble traits of character, and recording many beautiful incidents, which will make their heroines seem all the more worthy of the crowns which the all but worshipping public have bestowed upon them, and entitling them, in some instances, to be called Queens of Goodness as well as Queens of Song." A chronological list is also given of all the operas that have been per formed in Europe.

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THE LIFE-BOAT; OR, JOURNAL OF THE NATIONAL LIFE-BOAT INSTITUTION. Vol. v, No. 56, April 1st, 1865. -This quarter's number of the Journal is chiefly occupied with the annual report of the committee, lists of donations, annual subscriptions and other matters relative to the working of this grand scheme of active benevolence. Amongst many signs of appreciation and encouragement, we notice with pleasure the magnificent gifts and bequests with which its funds have been enriched during