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under the charge of a heartless conducteur, or a heavily-lan carrier's cart, are almost the only vehicles bound for long jouri y's which are met with, and from these she had nothing to expect.

As the poor girl drew her car up the last ascent towards Bouloj e, she became giddy with fatigue and mental emotion. In a minutes she was told she would see the wide open sea, with perh ps the white cliffs of Angleterre in the distance.

‘Oh, how delightful it will be, Maurice ; I will open the canopy of the car to let you have the first glimpse of the sea, which neither of us have ever seen before.'

And when she reached the brow of the eminence, there surely as the sea stretched out, a vast sheet of water, with the white cliffs of England faintly pictured on the horizon. Boulogne, also, with ts lofty church spire, was seen in a hollow bay on the coast-the g al of long-cherished' hopes. The sensations of the pair on beholding the scene mock description. Maurice, though little less delighted at an event which seemed to him scarce short of a miracle, would have urged on his sister a halt; but, then, to pause within reach of her object was impossible, and with quickened step she gained the gates of the town. Her first inquiry was how to reach the baths, and the way by which she was directed to them lay along the shore; when the grand and novel spectacle of the gently-undulating ocean recalled to the twins the wide-waving cornfields of their native country.

Beneath the shade of an overhanging rock they encountered a group of elegant ladies of different nations awaiting the proper time of tide for repairing to the baths. All gazed with interest on the cripple and his conductress; and when, in answer to their inquiries from what village in the neighbourhood the kind girl was bringing him, he took her by the hand, and, with the eloquence of gratitude, told whence they came, and what she had done for him, the farm-girl of Artenay appeared in their eyes as an angel come down from heaven, whom they felt half tempted to worship, and whom they carried in triumph, sounding her praises to all they met, to the bathing establishment.

Its worthy proprietor received the orphans with all his native goodness of heart, thanked Heaven that they were thrown upon his benevolence, and immediately entered on its active exercise, by consigning Maurice, with as many recommendations as if he had been a sovereign prince, to the skill and attention of two of his most experienced bathing-men.

The twins were established in commodious lodgings, and loaded by the awakened interest of the bathers with everything necessary for their comfort. After ten or twelve dips, a degree of irritability began to be felt in the feet of the patient, which quickly ascending to the knees, called forth the doctor's most favourable prognostics, And how did the heart of Genevieve leap responsive to the happy

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omen! how thankful did she feel for her own courage and perseverance! And how did her fond brother pour out to her his mingled joy and gratitude, when, by degrees, he could move this or that portion of his crippled limbs, and at length-happy day for both —was able to mount, like his friend the old soldier, a couple of crutches. His first use of them, it may be believed, was towards his sister; and never did mother more fondly hail the tottering efforts of her first-born, than Genevieve, receding playfully to lure him on, and crying, 'Courage, brother! a few steps more!' received him at length in her outstretched arms, mingling tears and caresses with fresh thanksgivings for so blissful a consummation.

Boulogne is pre-eminent among the seaports of France for its fine stretch of sands, which are the daily resort of bathers, many of whom come from Paris and other parts of the interior, as well as English from the opposite coast. These sands were a favourite resort of the twins. Carrying a seat almost to the edge of the waves, Genevieve led her brother to it, and here he inhaled every day the refreshing breezes which played along the surface of the ocean. At other times she would move with him to a sheltered spot inland, where he could have the benefit of milk procured from a farm dairy, and a change of atmosphere.

With these attentions, and an unremitting attendance at the baths, where the salt-water douche continued to prove of the greatest efficacy, Maurice gradually gained strength. At first he could walk on his crutches only a few steps, then a greater distance, and after awhile he accomplished a mile and sometimes two miles. He was now able to perambulate the streets, and to be amused with the shops; in these excursions leaning on his sister's arm, and occasionally resting when a seat presented itself. In their walks through the town, Maurice and Genevieve found themselves the objects of respectful interest. Their mutual affection had become generally known, and what Genevieve had done for her brother was a theme of universal praise. In their rambles through the town, therefore, they were frequently addressed by name, while many would point them out in passing, and say, 'There go the twins of Beauce.'

When September was past, and the sea-bathing season over, the cure of Maurice was so far completed that he talked of returning homeward, and for that purpose modestly asked the worthy bathkeeper to advance him a small sum, to be faithfully repaid out of his own and his sister's first earnings. This loan, however, was not necessary. The day before that fixed on for their departure, a deputation from the youth of every rank in Boulogne waited on Genevieve Asselin, inviting her to receive on the morrow, at a civic feast, the tribute so richly earned by her sisterly devotion. The poor girl thought it a dream when thus summoned to enjoy honours reserved in her simple ideas for persons of rank alone; and could scarce comprehend when assured that it was the very obscurity of her station which enhanced her merit, and made her worthy of being thus honoured.

Next day six young ladies came in two carriages to conduct the twins to the spot called Tivoli, in the upper town, where preparations had been made for a fête in commemoration of the purest and most persevering virtue. There the simple timid girl of Beauce, in the garb she had brought from her native village, was crowned with white roses, and at the end of the banquet presented by the spokeswoman of the young women of Boulogne with a purse containing fifty gold pieces, as a willing contribution from sisters of her own sex, justly proud of one who had reflected upon it such unfading lustre.

How the unconscious heroine blushed and resisted; how the sum --one she had never so much as dreamed of possessing—was forced upon her; how she honourably flew to discharge with it her debt at the baths; but, thanks to their owner's liberality, brought it undiminished away—may be left to the reader's fancy. He may be pleased, however, to learn, that by the physician's advice Maurice exchanged his intended walk home for an inside seat beside his sister in the diligence, on the top of which he insisted on fastening his beloved wagon; that a few days were spent in seeing Paris, which they had once so painfully passed, and in visiting the kind hostess of Mont Rouge, who had acted towards them the Samaritan's part; and that, availing themselves of a return-vehicle for Orleans, they reached it late on a Saturday night.

About the hour of ten next morning, just as its inhabitants were proceeding to church, Maurice appeared, now drawing, in his turn, up the street leading to the church, his blushing sister, half-smothered with the flowers showered upon her by the whole closely following population of her native village.

The good priest, apprised of their happy return, caused the brother to lead his sister to the foot of the altar, and founding on this living text a most affecting exhortation to Christian charity and fraternal love, and again blessing the maid he held out as a pattern to all around, alluded, in a voice faltering with emotion, to his former words of encouragement, asking, ‘Said I not truly, daughter, that the God who approved would protect you?'

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IT the beginning of the present century, and during the

consulate of Bonaparte, few young men of fortune made so brilliant an appearance amidst the learned and accomplished society of Paris

rles Veramont Count de Charney. This gentleman, a type of many of his class, possessed natural powers of mind of no mean order; he spoke and wrote various languages, and was acquainted with most of the ordinary branches of knowledge. So far, his talents might be called enviable ; while his fortune and station afforded him the most favourable opportunity of surrounding himself with all that could gratify his taste or desires. What, then, was wanting to render Charney happy in himself and with the world? His moral perceptions had been deadened. To a coarse mind, forgetful of everything but transitory indulgences, this would perhaps have been no source of immediate disquietude ; but Charney's was

* This simple narrative is an abridgment and adaptation from the French of X. B. Saintine. The original, in the compass of a volume, has been exceedingly popular in France, where it is considered by the well-disposed as a valuable auxiliary in the cause of religion and morals, and, from its style, likely to influence minds who would turn away from formal treatises of natural theology.

No. 2.


not a coarse mind. He was fond of reasoning with the subtlety of a scholar on subjects of an aspiring kind-on the meaning of the universe of which he formed an atom-on creation and providence; and, blinded by prejudice, all his reasonings ended in difficulty, doubt, scepticism. He saw not, because his heart was untouched, that, reason as we will, all things—all design, order, beauty, wisdom, goodness-must ultimately be traced to one great First Cause—that all moral attributes and excellences are dependent from the throne of God.

With a mind groping in the wrong direction for something whereon to repose, it is not wonderful that Charney was dissatisfied. There was nothing on which his affections could be satisfactorily placed. The world was to him a sort of wilderness, in which he discovered nothing to love, admire, or venerate. Wrapped up in his own selfsufficiency, he esteemed no one. Heaven spread her bounties around: they were enjoyed, but not with a thankful heart.

Incapable of making private friends, Charney affected to take an interest in the welfare of an entire people—so much easier is it for a man to be a patriot than a philanthropist. Under the impression that the system of government at the time was detrimental to public welfare, he enrolled himself as a member of a secret society, whose object was to subvert the existing order of things. The particulars of the conspiracy are of little consequence ; it is enough that the projects of the association occupied Charney during the greater part of the years 1803 and 1804, and were finally discovered by the police, who extinguished them with little difficulty. These were times when no great ceremony was employed in seizing and confining persons accused of political offences. Bonaparte was not a man to be trifled with. The leaders of the conspiracy were quietly removed from their homes, condemned almost without a trial, and separated from each other. In the eighty-six departments of France there were many prisons.

It was in the fortress of Fenestrelle that Charles Veramont Count de Charney was incarcerated, being accused of an attempt to overthrow the government, and substitute anarchy and disorder. Let us behold him the tenant of one rude chamber, with no attendant but his jailer, instead of the luxurious master of a princely mansion ! Yet he was supplied with all necessaries. It was the weight of his own thoughts which appeared insupportable. However, there was no escape from them, for all correspondence with the world was forbidden; and he was not allowed to retain books, pens, or paper. The chamber which he occupied was situated at the back of the citadel, in a little building raised upon the ruins of the old fortifications, now rendered useless by modern inventions. The four walls, newly whitewashed, left not even a trace of any former occupant; a table of just sufficient size for him to eat from; one chair, which, standing singly, seemed to warn him that he must not hope for a

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