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'My mammy's awa' wa'; this is my mammy noo.' She took him in her arms and cried, 'Yes, my sweet pet, I'll be your mammy;' and a mother she was to him, training him according to the best of her ability. She sent him to the village school in good time, and it was there he first met with Helen Gray. They learned the alphabet together, and were removed from class to class together, till James was taken from the school. James and Helen had a liking for each other, even in these early years, and they were often pulling and grinning at each other, and at the same time helping each other forward in their lessons. One day when James was knitting stockings beside Elizabeth, Farmer Aitken popped in upon them and engaged James to herd his cows. At this James was much delighted; and as he was to be at his post next day, Elizabeth that evening gave him many suitable advices, to which he promised to attend. He continued to herd for nine months to the entire satisfaction of his master, and he always employed himself knitting stockings when the cows were quietly grazing.

One day, a few months after he had commenced herding, a gentleman passed him, and asked if he knew where Mr Ross, the grocer, lived. James told what part of the village he would find his place of business, and where his house was.

'But, my boy,' said the gentleman, 'I never was in the village before, and I know nothing about the place; will you come and show me the house, and here is sixpence for you.'

James had been knitting all the time he spoke to the gentleman, but when he saw the sixpence, he stopped, and was about to put forth his hand to receive the gift, when all at once he drew back, and said, 'Na, na, sir, I canna gae wi' ye: the kye would maybe gang into the corn, an' if the maister kent I had left them, what would he say? Na, sir, I canna tak' it-I canna gang; but gae in to auld Mrs Tamson's at the toon end, and she'll gang wi' ye.'

Now, I think you might come yourself,' said the gentle'you will not be long, and the cows are far from the corn, and your master may never know.'

man;

'Ay, sir; but maister telt me I was never to leave the kye; and my mither says that though he doesna see, God aye sees, so I'll no gang.'

'Well, you are a good boy; there is the sixpence, and I hope to see you again.'

This gentleman was Mr Reid, a barley merchant. He inquired after James, and heard such good tidings of him that he sent for him soon after, employed him as errandboy, and in the course of time he was receiving a large salary. He commenced business for himself, and strove to repay Elizabeth Robertson for what she had done to him; and before she died she was amply rewarded for the sacrifices she had made in behalf of the orphan boy. James was a pushing, active lad, and bade fair to be a wealthy man. He had a well-filled purse when he thought to take unto himself a wife; and Helen Gray, whom alone he had ever loved, was chosen to share in his prosperity. They were married four years, when they became the happy parents of a little daughter, who was named Mary. There was one drawback to Mrs Halden's happiness, and it was occasioned by her husband's most intimate acquaintance. James and he had been long companions, and they had lodged together for nearly two years before his marriage. Mrs Halden never felt at home in his company, for she thought there was something about him that spoke of insincerity. She twice hinted her suspicions to her husband, and once expressed a wish that he would keep company with him as little as possible. He stared at her when she uttered this, and said some things to her unusually severe, and among the rest, told her he had never interfered with her and her acquaintances, neither was she to interfere with him and his; that John Simpson had been long a tried friend to him, and he felt assured that the one would submit to any sacrifice for the sake of the other, so he would be obliged to her never again to let such a wish escape her lips-saying which he lifted

his hat and went out. When Helen was left alone and reflected on what had passed, she felt keenly, for she had never seen her husband in the same state before, and the bitterness to her was, that she herself had been the cause of it. She thought thus, Well, I have certainly done something to merit my husband's displeasure, as I have seen his friend so seldom, and he has known him so long. The impressions he has made on my mind must certainly be false; I will therefore receive him and think of him in all time coming as a wife should do of her husband's intimate friend.'

She had resolved thus when the front door bell rang, and knowing James's step in the lobby, she laid down her seam, and held out her hand to him as he entered the parlour. He smiled and shook her hand heartily, and they sat down together. She asked him if he was willing to forgive her for what she had said.

Oh yes, Helen,' said he, 'I frankly forgive you; but I am astonished at your prejudices, and I cannot understand how you entertain such thoughts about John Simpson. For my own part, I must say that I never met with a kinder or better fellow.'

'I must confess, James,' said Helen, that I never experienced any other thing from him but kindness; still, forgive me for saying it, I cannot so easily shake off the impressions that I first received of him.'

I am confident, Helen, that the more you know him, the more you will admire and like him, that is, if you will allow yourself.'

'I promise you, James, to do all that lies in my power; and I hope it will turn out as you predict.'

Matters now went smoothly on, till Mary, who was a romping but an affectionate girl, had arrived at the age of six years. Mr Simpson was, if possible, a greater friend of Mr Halden's than ever he had been, and he was also a great favourite of little Mary's. She talked of no one so much as Uncle Simpson, as she called him. Helen had still her own ideas of him, but they were closely locked up in her bosom. It was about this time that Mr Simpson entered Mr Halden's office one day, and asked him if he would oblige him by putting his name to a bill.

'Four thousand five hundred pounds-what is this for?' 'I will be up to drink tea with you to-night, and I will then tell you all about it; but I am in great haste just now, as the gentleman who waits for the bill must be off with the first mail for London. I have made a large bargain, and I expect, nay, I am sure, that I will be able to advance the money by this day week.'

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Well, John. it is only for you that I would put my name to a bill for such an amount; and besides, you owe me a good deal of money already.'

Having got James Halden's name to the bill, he put it into his pocket-book, saying, 'Since you have kindly obliged me so far, I will make you to share handsomely in my profits. Adieu, till we meet again at the tea-table.' When James went home to dinner, he told Mary and her mamma that Uncle Simpson was to spend the evening with them, and that he would bring with him good news. Mary clapped her hands with joy, but Mrs Halden tried to smother a sigh. When he returned home at six o'clock, there was a card lying for him. He opened it, and read thus:- My dear James-When I returned from your office, there was a letter put into my hands from my sister-in-law, stating that my brother was not expected to live many hours, and urging me to come off immediately and see him. I hope to return on Monday, when I will see you. I would have called upon you, but I am just going off. Yours sincerely, John Simpson.'-He gave the card to Helen, and turning to Mary, he said, Just so, Mary, and uncle is not to be with us to-night.'

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There are some idle rumours going of his gambling and drinking, which, when I heard, I said that that should never be repeated again.'

You were right, Helen, for that is all nonsense. I have seen him almost every night for many weeks, and you know that he has refused to taste spirits in this house for months.'

afraid to make a will lest they should die the sooner, and where will her riches go?'

'Oh, Helen! I see what you mean, but don't depend upon that.'

'Well, time will work wonders. My advice would be, to sell our furniture and raise the two hundred pounds. What is over will set you afloat again to do business in a small way, and you will be no worse than you were fifteen years ago, although you should get some situation till we rallied a little. To be sure, you have got a wife and child now, but your wife will do something for herself.' 'Sell our furniture, Helen! how can you think of that? What would we do?'

'We would do well enough. We could keep as much as would furnish a parlour and kitchen; and there will be a good deal over and above two hundred pounds when we sell the rest; and then we shall owe no man anything. No doubt, it will be a great downcome to us to go from this house to a small one, but I will be far happier there than I would be to live in splendid poverty as many do.'

Time, which tarries for no man, rolled on, and the 26th of April arrived. About the middle of the day, a stout elderly gentleman entered the office, and, presenting the bill, said, 'You are Mr Halden, I suppose?' Yes, sir, I am.'

'You will know this signature then ?'

'I am sorry, sir, to say that I know it too well; it will bring me and mine to beggary.'

'I am sorry for your case, sir, but you might have known Simpson better.'

When the gentleman heard that the money was all ready for him but two hundred pounds, he said, 'What am I to do for it?'

Although James took his friend's part just now, he trembled lest there should be any truth in the report, and he would fain have told his wife of what he had that day done, but could not muster courage, and he thought it would perhaps be better to say nothing of it till he saw what Monday did. Strange reports were afloat concerning Mr Simpson, which might have made him afraid; still he could not allow himself to believe them. Monday came, and with it a letter from Mr Simpson, bearing the Glasgow post-mark, and stating that his brother died a few minutes after his arrival, and that he would not return till after the funeral, which was to take place on Friday, and he intended to bring his sister-in-law and her two children with him. James now began to be somewhat anxious about his friend's non-appearance, and especially as he had never before heard him say that he had a brother, and knew not where he was to be found. Creditors began to get alarmed about his absence, and at the reports that were abroad regarding him, and they came to Mr Halden to see whether or not he knew anything of him. He told them of the communications he had had from him, and their fears were in some measure quieted. Mr Halden would have followed him, but could gather nothing from his letters as to where he was, and he lived for several days in the utmost anxiety. He wished to say nothing of it just now, lest he should have cause to regret it afterwards, and all that his wife had ever said of him rose up vividly to his remembrance, and haunted him night and day. He strove to conceal from her what was working within, but she was too keen an observer for that, and guessed what was the cause of his inward sufferings, although she knew not how much he was The gentleman had no sooner left than Mr Jeffrey the involved. Friday, Saturday, Sabbath, Monday, Tuesday, banker came and offered Mr Halden the loan of the two came and went, still John Simpson had not returned, hundred pounds; but he refused to take it, and told him neither was there any letter from him. Mr Halden now what they thought of doing. Mr Jeffrey was much resolved at all hazards to communicate the tidings to his against this, and urged him to accept of the money. After wife, and it was with a heavy heart and trembling step consulting with Helen, James expressed his gratitude for he proceeded home. When he entered the house, Helen the generous offer, but still refused to accept of it, as he was singing a cheerful air, and Mary, who had seen her knew not if ever he would be able to pay it. Mr Jeffrey, papa from the window, ran to meet him with open arms, on his way home, met with a Mr Wilson, who he knew and clasped them round his legs. Oh, it was a terrible was about to furnish a house, and told him of Mr Halthought to him how he was to mar the joy of such a happy den's intention of selling his furniture. Mr Wilson went household; but it must be told. His arst words were, immediately to Mr Halden, purchased the best of his 'Helen, we are all ruined!' and he hid his face in his furniture at a good price, which he paid the day followhands and burst into tears. She took hold of him, say-ing, and thus Mr Halden was enabled to pay the bill. ing, What is wrong, James, let me know the worst? and in a short time all was told. Her feelings may be better imagined than described, for she was not prepared for this; but when she bethought herself, she urged him without delay to speak with others of the creditors, and make immediate search for him. This was done, and he was traced to Glasgow, but all other endeavours to trace him farther were unavailing.

Mr Halden not only lost money with Simpson, he lost also with several others whom he had been the means of bringing down; but he could have stood all this had it not been the bill, and he trembled for the 26th of April. After investigating his affairs, James found that he could advance all the money excepting two hundred pounds, and for the loan of that he resolved to go to his aunt, who had several times visited them in her carriage in the days of their prosperity. Helen thought he might spare his pains, but he said he would get no less than he had. He went, and was shown into the drawing-room, but the servant returned, saying that Miss Halden could not see him just now. He came home and wrote a letter to her, fairly stating his circumstances; and all that he received from her was a most abusive letter in return. Helen said when he received it, 'Well, well, James, never mind; your aunt, poor body, is one of those persons who are

'I can raise it in no other way than by selling my furniture, and that will drive me to the door." 'It is a hard case, but I cannot help it.'

It was agreed that the remainder would be paid that day week.

They took a house with two apartments at the outskirts of the town, and they were snugly settled in it by Whitsunday.

When James reflected on what had occurred during the last four months, he could not but admire the manner in which his wife had conducted herself in all the scenes through which she had to pass. She exhibited a strength of mind which was truly praiseworthy. Never did a murmuring word escape her lips, nor did she once refer to her own suspicions of his friend. In his presence, she always appeared cheerful, ay, more so than ever she had been. When they sat down together in their new dwelling, James was mourning over his misfortunes, when Helen interrupted him by saying, 'James, let us be thankful. We enjoy good health, and all that we have, little as it may be, we can call our own. No man can say to us you owe me a shilling.'

'Helen,' said he, 'my grief is that it was with my own hand I brought you to this, and——'

'Come now, James,' said Helen, 'don't repine; I shared with you in your prosperity, I am as willing to share with you in your adversity. Show me that you can be happy with your wife and child in any circumstances.'

They had still many valuable articles in their possession, of which they did not dispose, and James had now a

little money of his own, that he intended to re-commence business with in a quiet way. He intended to be present at the market on the first market-day, but before that time he was seized with typhus fever. None of their former friends appeared to sympathize with them but Mr and Mrs Jeffrey, and they took Mary home with them, saw that Helen was properly assisted in attending upon her husband, and were ready to supply all their wants. Helen was faithful to her charge, and there was always one woman and one or two men present in the house with her, for James got so outrageous at times that all of them were needed to hold him down. For many days his life was despaired of, but the fever took a turn on the twentysecond day. In the fever he lost the power of his left side, and eighteen months elapsed ere he felt anything like life in his arm and leg. Helen now saw that it would be necessary to exert herself to provide for her husband and child; and as she could dress linens well, she resolved to try if she could support herself in this manner. Accordingly, she made her intentions known to all her former acquaintances, and she never wanted employment. She kept her husband, her child, herself, and her house always tidy and clean, and her customers were satisfied with what she did for them.

When Mary, who had received her education with Mr Jeffrey's family, had attained the age of twelve years, she was a good sewer; and as her mother had been asked to make three dozen of shirts for two brothers, young men who were going abroad, Mary was kept at home to sew with her. The shirts were sent home washed and dressed, and the money was forthcoming immediately. By this time James was so far recovered that he could walk out into the garden with the assistance of his staff, and on the day the shirts were finished he had been out with Mr Jeffrey, getting a drive in his gig. Mr and Mrs Jeffrey had kept up the same intimacy with them that they had done in better days, and had all along been kind friends to them. On the evening of the day before mentioned, James and Helen had been conversing on God's goodness to them in all the scenes through which they had passed, and they were on their knees together offering up their united thanks to God for his many mercies, and resolving, by his grace, to trust Him more in time to come, when there was a loud knock heard at the door. On opening it, a funeral letter was put into Helen's hands, and this was the first intimation they received that James's aunt, Miss Halden, was dead; and it was just as Helen had said, there was no will, and James Halden was sole heir to all her property, which would bring him an income of from five to six hundred pounds annually. When these tidings reached them, their first act was to commit themselves to God in prayer.

Prospect Hill House was built on a lovely spot, and it was richly furnished. They took possession of it on that day six years from the time that they had entered into their humble yet happy dwelling. Many a poor family was cheered, and many a benevolent and religious institution aided by this worthy family. They had been about five years residing in Prospect Hill House, when one stormy evening the servants were alarmed at hearing some one moan loudly under the kitchen window, and when they went out they found a man insensible on the cold ground. He was carried into the house and laid upon a bed, and he was soon recovered so far as to be able to look about him and speak. He asked if he was in Mr Halden's house, and was answered 'Yes.'- Can I see him?' said he; and as he asked this, Mr Halden entered the room and went forward to his bedside. The apparently dying man groaned at the sight of him, and said, Are you James Halden ?'

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He answered, 'I am.'

'Do you know me ?' said the patient. 'No.'

'I am John Simpson-can you forgive me?' and again he was insensible. Mrs Halden and Mary were sent for immediately, and they could scarcely credit what they heard and saw. He again revived, and received from

them tokens that they forgave all. His story was teld by degrees as he was able. When he left them, he so completely changed his dress that no one, not his most intimate friend, could know him. He sailed for America, where he went from bad to worse, mingling in every scene of dissipation, and at last became a confirmed atheist. The first thing that caused him to reflect on home and early friends was a scene between a gentleman and a little girl, which brought distinctly to his recollection the memory of bygone days, when he used to sport with Mary. He took severely ill at that time with inflammation of the lungs, and it was then and there that he felt he had a soul, and that there was a God. When he recovered, he resolved to return to his native country, at whatever risk; and when he came to Scotland, and, inquiring about Mr Halden, heard all that had happened to him, he had travelled from the morning, without tasting food, to plead for forgiveness at his feet.

He was left to himself for the night, and next morning he was found so ill that the doctor was sent for, who pronounced him to be in a very dangerous state. He said || he felt himself that he could not live long, and cried out, 'Oh, if I had my days to live over again, how differently would I act! I have all my life long been a great sinner. What shall I do ?'

'Jesus,' said James, 'is a great Saviour.'

'I know it. But oh how vile I am! he will never receive me.'

James said, 'His blood cleanseth from all sin; and his own gracious words are, Him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out.''

He smiled, but spoke no more. He lingered for thirtyeight hours and died. Every attention was paid to him, and Mr Halden gave him a respectable funeral, and shed a tear upon his grave.

By the time that Mary attained to twenty years of age, many suitors sought her hand; but long before this she had given her heart to Charles Jeffrey. Mary was not what may be called beautiful, but there was a sweetness of expression in her countenance for which all loved her. She visited the sick-chamber and the poor man's dwelling, gladdening the hearts and homes of many. The blessing of those who were ready to perish came upon her. She was eyes to the blind, and caused the widow's heart to sing for joy. She was twenty-one years of age when she was united in marriage to Charles Jeffrey, and her married life was one of happiness. She was altogether freed from those cares and anxieties which had been the lot of her parents; but they were now settled down with every comfort and enjoyment, and their last days were those of peace.

SKETCHES OF PARIS AND THE PARISIANS.

PART II.

PARIS AND ITS HISTORICAL SCENES.

PARIS is situated in a large hollow or basin-anciently, there can be little doubt, the bed of an immense lake, of which the only remnants now are the Seine, and a small stream called the Bièvre, which flows into it from the south. On the north a nearly unbroken chain of hills surrounds the city; and another of less height, and more interrupted by valleys, encompasses the portion of it lying to the south of the river. The most remarkable feature in the general appearance of Paris is the great road or street called the Boulevards. On the north side of the Seine, the Boulevards follow a line nearly midway between the river and the circumference of the city, and are about three miles long; those on the south side are of much greater extent. On each side of the Boulevards are planted double rows of elms, which afford a pleasing shade in the heats of summer, and their verdant boughs, rising in the heart of a great city, give to it a peculiarly beautiful and imposing appearance. Shops, cafés, hotels, and theatres line both sides of the northern Boulevards;

and the crowds by which they are frequented impart to by the English, and was for some time in their possession. the scene a singular liveliness and brilliancy. The Rue In 1429, while thus in their hands, it was assaulted on St Honoré runs parallel with the river, and, under diffe- the morning of the 8th of September by the famous Joan rent names, passes right through Paris from east to west of Arc. The attack, which commenced at eleven o'clock, a distance of not less than five miles. It is intersected was directed against a portion of the wall between the nearly at right angles by the Rue St Denis and the Rue Portes St Denis and St Honoré, and lasted about four St Martin, which in like manner, under varying titles, hours. The assailants were met by discharges of arrows cross the city from north to south. The Rue St Honoré and cannon from the ramparts, which forced them to reand the Rue St Denis divide Paris into four nearly equal tire, but not before their heroic leader had been wounded portions. The north-west quarter is the finest and most by an arrow in the leg, and her standard-bearer killed by interesting part of Paris. Here are the Louvre, the her side. At last, on the 13th April, 1439, the English, Tuileries with its splendid garden, the celebrated Place attacked by the inhabitants within the walls, and by the Louis XV., and the Champs Elysées; and here, too, are royal troops without, evacuated the city with great loss. some of the finest modern streets which Paris can boast, The night of Saturday, the 23d of June, 1572, will be especially the Rue de Rivoli, facing the northern side of ever remembered as the scene of the atrocious massacre the garden of the Tuileries. The south-west quarter, of St Bartholomew. The utmost care had been used to however, is the fashionable part of the city: it contains prevent the Huguenots taking the alarm, and the most many superb public buildings, and the palace and exten- solemn assurances of their safety were repeatedly given sive garden of the Luxembourg-the rival of that of the both by the King Charles IX. and his mother Catherine Tuileries. On both sides of the Seine run noble quays, de Medicis. The leaders of the party were next enwhich form a favourite promenade of the citizens, and deavoured to be got rid of: the Queen of Navarre was where, though in the densest part of Paris, the inhabi- poisoned, and the brave Coligny was fired at and wounded tants can at all times enjoy open space and fresh air. by an assassin. At last the fearful night came. The The streets are for the most part narrow and dirty; few murderers were at their posts, and only waited the exeven now have any side pavement for foot passengers; pected signal, which was to be given before daybreak. It and the causeway, which is often most uneven, is made to was now midnight. At this juncture the king hesitated; incline from both sides towards the centre, there to form and to prevent his recoiling from the massacre, Catherine a sort of ditch, in which flows a black and fetid stream. ordered the bell of St Germain l'Auxerrois to be rung imThe lamps are suspended in the middle of the streets mediately. At its sound the people every where started by ropes swung across. These were the ropes which the from sleep: windows were lighted up with all haste, and mob, in the revolution of 1789, were wont to use as the town was speedily illuminated in every part. A short halters for their victims ;-hence the cry, à la lanterne! pause followed-spent in preparation on one side, and perOn one occasion they were about to string up Talleyrand, plexity, terror, and confusion on the other. Day broke who was then a priest, when the abbé with the greatest -the next instant death was in half the houses in Paris. naïveté remonstrated- But, good people, I fear I shall Coligny was the first victim. The Duke of Guise's men make but a bad light.' The fickle mob were taken with burst into his apartment. Are not you the Admiral?' the joke, and bade him go home for a mauvais garçon. cried Bême, a domestic of the duke's, extending his The gardens of the Tuileries and of Versailles were laid sword towards him. I am,' he replied, calmly; and out in the reign of Louis XIV., by Lenôtre, who has then fixing his eyes on the naked blade with which he been styled le jardinier des rois. An amusing anecdote was menaced; young man,' he added, you ought to is told of him. He was blunt and open-hearted, and have respected my age and infirmity; but you will only sometimes forgot the conventional forms which regulate the shorten my life by a few days or hours. Yet I could have approach to princes. Having gone, on one occasion, to wished,' he is said to have continued, with the feelings visit Rome, he was admitted by the Pope, Innocent XI., natural to a soldier, that I were to perish by the hand of to a private audience. When about to take leave, de- a man, and not of this menial.' Bême then, uttering an lighted with the reception he had met with, he exclaimed oath, first thrust his sword into his breast, and afterwards 'I care not now how soon I die; I have beheld the two struck him with it repeatedly on the head; at the same greatest men on earth-your holiness, and the king my time the rest attacked him with like ferocity, till he fell master.'-' Alas!' replied the Pope, there is a great down dead upon the floor. Guise ordered them to throw difference between us : the king is a great prince, renowned the body over the window; and so mangled was it, that for many victories-I am but a poor priest, the servant it was not till after he had wiped the face with a towel of the servants of God: he is young and I am old. On that the duke could recognise it. Yes,' said he, I know these words, the honest Lenôtre, slapping his holiness it now-it is himself. He then gave it a kick with heartily on the shoulder, rejoined-My reverend father, his foot; and, calling to his men, led them out of the you are in excellent health, and will see all the Sacred court. Even in the Louvre butchery, was rife. Henry's College under ground.' The Pope could not contain him- newly married queen, Margaret, was awakened by some self, but laughed aloud; on which Lenôtre, in his joy, one knocking violently at the door, and crying out Naactually threw his arms around the neck of his holiness, varre! Navarre!' My nurse,' she relates, thinking it and pressed him to his bosom. was the king, my husband, quickly ran to the door. On her opening it, a gentleman rushed into the room, bleeding from wounds in different parts of his person, and pursued by four soldiers. As they did not hesitate to follow him into the chamber, he, seeking a place of refuge, threw himself on the bed where I lay. I, feeling myself caught hold of by the man, threw myself out of the bed on the floor, where he fell with me, continuing to clasp me round the body. I knew not whether it was he or I that the soldiers wished to kill: we both cried out, and the one was as much frightened as the other.' This person's life was spared; but as Margaret was entering an antechamber, a gentleman named Bourse, running from the soldiers who pursued him, was pierced by a bullet three paces from her. Horrified by the sight, she herself fell swooning to the ground. On that fearful Sabbath neither age nor sex was spared; the curses of the murderer and the shriek of his victim entered together into the ears of the Lord of Sabaoth; and on the morning of his holy

6

In 978, the Emperor Otho II. advanced on Paris, and set fire to the suburb on the north side of the river. Notwithstanding the formidable numbers of the assailants, King Lothaire sallied out, defeated Otho, and forced him to retire upon the heights of Montmartre, where he endeavoured to blunt the sense of his defeat by making his troops sing a hallelujah in celebration of the honour he had that day won by having advanced so near the city as to have struck one of its gates with his lance. But Lothaire soon gave him some still more unpleasant recollections to drown, if he chose, in psalms of triumph. The last hallelujah had not long died away, when Lothaire, advancing swiftly up the heights of Montmartre, attacked him where he was encamped, and utterly routed his army-he himself only escaping by leaving all his baggage to the conqueror.

During the latter half of the fourteenth, and first half of the fifteenth centuries, Paris was several times besieged

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day, when he looked for judgment, behold oppression-penetrate into Paris, and after making a circuit round the -for righteousness, and behold a cry!'

Soon after this tragedy, Catherine, scared by the terrors of a name, deserted the Tuileries. And thus it happened :-An astrologer had told her that she would die near St Germain; and she forthwith avoided every church or place that bore that dreaded name. She likewise refrained from going any more to the royal palace of St Germainen-Laye; and, finally, bethinking herself that her palace of the Tuileries was in the parish of St Germain l'Auxerrois, she abandoned it also, and built for herself another, which she called the Hôtel de la Reine. Here she died in 1589. Did she then, after all, escape the astrologer's prediction? The ecclesiastic who attended her in her last hours was the Bishop of Nazareth, whose name was Laurence de St Germain. This anecdote will remind the English reader of a similar one told of the death of our own King Henry IV., and which Shakspeare alludes to in giving us the death scene of that monarch. Doth any name particular,' asks Henry, belong unto the room where I first did swoon?' to which the Earl of Warwick replies-Tis called Jerusalem, my noble lord.' On this the king exclaims

'Laud be to God!-e'en there my life must end:
It hath been prophesied to me many years,

I should not die but in Jerusalem;
Which vainly I supposed the Holy Land ;-
But bear me to that chamber; there I'll lie;
In that Jerusalem shall Harry die.'

Early in May, 1590, Henry of Navarre, afterwards Henry IV. of France, and then bearing that title, besieged Paris by blockade; and in order to do so more effectually he resolved to make himself master of all the faubourgs or suburbs. Accordingly, on the night of the 8th, which was very dark, his army, divided into ten columns, commenced, exactly at twelve o'clock, a simultaneous attack upon the ten faubourgs by which Paris was then surrounded, and, after a hot fire of two hours, carried every point. The inhabitants were soon reduced to the utmost straits; rats and mice were greedily devoured; and even the bones of the heads of dogs,' says Pierre Corneio, were bruised into a sort of meal.' Still the besieged were resolute; but Henry declared that he would rather Paris never were his, than come into his possession a desert, and repeatedly allowed provisions to pass in. Meanwhile spectacles of the gayest sort were exhibited for the amusement of the people; and one day even the priests appeared with muskets on their shoulders to be reviewed. As they all came in their canonical attire, and many of them brandishing crucifixes and singing psalms, the display was odd enough, and the crowd could not contain their laughter. A dash of tragedy, however, soon blended with the comic; for the Pope's legate having appeared on the ground in an open carriage, accompanied by several other distinguished ecclesiastics, one of the holy fathers in the ranks, forgetting that his gun was loaded with ball, fired it off by way of saluting the party, and killed the almoner of the legate as he sat by his master's side. Scarcely four months had now elapsed, and a hundred thousand persons had perished: the very graves were ransacked for food, and the bones of the dead were ground, baked, and eaten. A few even sustained themselves on human flesh-but these persons soon died. At last the Duke of Parma approached the city, and Henry, two hours before daybreak, on the 30th of August, set out with his whole forces to give him battle. So ended this famous blockade; and it was not till four years afterwards that Henry became master of

Paris.

In 1652 Paris was besieged by the great Condé; and on the 2d of July the battle of the Faubourg St Antoine was fought. On that occasion Condé, from a miscalculation of the movements of his adversary, was stationed with all his forces in the principal street of the faubourg, having the town with its gates shut against him in his rear, and the royal army under Marshal Turenne in front. The marshal, having received a reinforcement, at length drove him from his position. He then endeavoured to

town, was at last admitted at the Porte St Antoine, by the daughter of the Duke of Orleans, who was very popular with the Parisians; and at her solicitation the cannons of the Bastile were turned against the royal army to stop their pursuit. Nearly three thousand men, however, had already fallen in the action.

In 1789 the great Revolution broke out, during which Louis XVI. expiated with his life the follies and profligacy of his predecessors. The sufferings and constancy of the royal family during those days of terror will ever be remembered with admiration. The king-whose only fault, say politicians, was loving his people too well-was reviled, ill-treated, and even his life frequently endangered by those whose happiness was his last care. He fell at length a victim to revolutionary fury. His last testament is a most beautiful and affecting composition, breathing the warmest affection to those he left behind, and thoroughly imbued with that Christian spirit on which he constantly relied, and which bore him triumphantly through the terrors which darkened his parting hours. The 16th of October, 1793, witnessed the execution of the beautiful and unfortunate Marie Antoinette. At eleven o'clock, having dressed herself in white, she took her place in an open cart, and her hands were then tied behind her back. For more than an hour and a half she was paraded through the streets amid the pitiless scoffs of the populace; yet was her dignity of carriage unshaken. An immense multitude thronged the spacious steps in front of the church of St Roch; and when the vehicle came up to them, they insisted that it should be stopped that they might have a better view of their poor, bound, tortured victim. Overcome for a moment, she turned her back to them, and raising her shoulders, as if in intense agony, endeavoured to hide her head from the persecution of their fury and their mockery. Arrived at last in the Place Louis XV. she mounted the scaffold with a quick step, and was immediately led to the block. The next instant the executioner held up her streaming head to the gaze of the multitude, who re-echoed his cries of The Republic for ever!' But the avenging Nemesis did not sleep. On the 28th of July following, all Paris seemed in the streets, and execrations loud and deep rose every where from the multitudes, as the dense mass opened a lane for the passage of the cars of the guillotine. There sat Robespierre, Couthon, and St Just, wounded and disfigured, and with ferocity and affright painted on their countenances, like so many wild beasts taken in a snare, and whom it had been impossible to lay hold of without mutilating them. Robespierre's under jaw had been broken by a pistol bullet, and the bloody bandages which enveloped it rendered his aspect doubly hideous. The guillotine soon did its work. The executioner, however, after Robespierre, already half dead, was spread out on the block, tore the bandage from his neck before letting the fatal cleaver descend upon it. A yell of agony burst from the tortured wretch, and the next moment his head rolled on the scaffold.

Napoleon now rose, and, quelling intestine feuds, carried' his conquering arms like a scourge abroad among the nations, till the forces of banded Europe hurled him from his throne. To his taste and energy Paris owes many of its most magnificent embellishments; and no less than four of the bridges which span the Seine, the Rue de Rivoli, and some of the most splendid streets to the north of the Tuileries, date their origin from his reign. A more abundant supply of water was at the same period introduced into the city.

In the spring of 1814 the Allies approached Paris. Napoleon, by his cross-march to St Dizier, had left the road open-nothing intervening to oppose the allied army but the corps of Marmont and Mortier. The troops thus left were quite inadequate to defend Paris; but the resistance they made was most gallant. At daybreak on the 30th of March, two dark lines, visible from the heights of Montmartre, revealed the converging masses of the Grand Army and the army of Silesia; and moving

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