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sion as Louis XIV. did with respect to his will: "It is my will, but will find there are some "other persons whose it is not. It behoves you "to be upon your guard before the appointment "takes place." In fact, both the Dauphin and Dauphiness opposed it. The former publicly declared, that he would act as rigid justice demanded of him, the very first time this person entered his presence to perform the duties of his office. The favourite complained to the King of the Dauphin's threat; she appeared before him bathed in tears; but all the answer she received was, "Be assured he will be as good as his word." She had therefore nothing left for her to do, after this assurance, than to wipe away her tears, and give up all thoughts of her relation's preferment. There is every reason to think, that the monarch applauded in his heart the nice sense of honour which his grandson displayed in this instance; and that he was no less pleased with the deportment of her whom he had chosen for his consort; who, by evincing so much elevated firmness and prudent reserve, showed how well she knew what belonged to the dignity of her sex, to her elevated rank, her high birth, and the great character to whom she was united.

Louis XV. was soon after attacked by that illness which at length carried him off. At this fearful crisis one and the same sentiment shook the breasts of the Dauphin and Dauphiness: grief took possession of their souls when they saw they must be deprived of a parent, who, amid his greatest foibles, never lost sight of the comfort and welfare of his family; their minds too looked forward with virtuous apprehension to that weight of care which their early years would soon be summoned to support. Those who were eye-witnesses of all that passed, have frequently described to me the scene which Versailles presented on the day in which the King, drawing near the point of death, fulfilled the last duties of a Christian. It was evening; the Royal Family and the whole Court were prostrated before their God in the palace-chapel, the sublime grandeur of which filled the minds of all with sacred awe. The holy sacrament was exposed, and the three-days' prayers were continued; every one imploring Heaven to restore their expiring Monarch. On a sudden, black heavy clouds obscured the sky, and night seemed all at once to have wrapped the whole edifice in thickest darkness; immediately a clap of thunder was heard, and the next instant the storm began; the winds whistled around the structure-tor

rents of rain drove against the windowsflashes of lightning incessantly darting through, giving a dim paleness to the lights on the altar, while they cast a terrific glare over the mournful shade in which all around were involvedat one moment the thunder rolled with a sullen suppressed sound, at another it burst in loud explosions, as if it would rend the veil of the temple-at intervals the sacred chant was heard through the breaks of the tempest-and the voices and features of all present betrayed the terror with which their minds were impressed-the heavens answering in thunders to the invocations by which the mercy of God was called upon. The dreadful conflict of the elements, with which it was impossible to forbear associating the idea of the dissolution of the most powerful among men-the sight of the young heir apparent, and the beauteous partner of his life, both plunged in an agony of grief, both dissolved in tears at the foot of the altar, which they besought in vain-now meditating with affright upon the grave that opened to receive their parent, now looking forward with dread to that throne which they shuddered at the thoughts of ascending; and, finally, when the service was closed, and the assembly was departing from chapel, all absorbed in deep reflection, the profoundest

silence was preserved; not a voice was to be heard; no other sound reached the ear but the quick footsteps of those who were hastening to their respective families, there to unburthen themselves of that afflictive load with which the heart of every one felt itself oppressed. Such was the interesting concourse of circumstances that made up this scene of general discomfiture; and of which so striking have been the descriptions given to me on the very spot, that I feel as if I had myself witnessed an occurrence which was at the time classed among the inauspicious forebodings that ushered in the new reign.

It was begun. While Lewis XVI. was engaged in summoning to the aid of his youth the experience of age and the information of men of business, by a letter written in the most affecting style: while he was manifesting his new power by conferring his first favour as King upon his people, the Queen fully displayed the generosity of her nature, in an answer which she made to one of her Court, and which reminds us of a reply made by that Monarch, whom the French surnamed The Father of his People, and whose name was associated afterwards with those of

* The remission of the impost called the joyeux avénement.

Henry IV. and Louis XVI*. The Marquis of Pontécoulant, Major of the Life-guards, had been so unfortunate in the lifetime of Louis XV. as to incur the displeasure of the Dauphiness. The cause was not a very serious one; but the Princess, resenting it with the hasty vivacity of youth, declared she would never forget it. The Marquis, who had not himself forgotten this declaration, no sooner beheld MARIA-ANTOINETTA seated on the throne, than he conceived himself likely to meet with some disgrace, and resolved to prevent it; for which purpose, he directly gave in his resignation to the Prince of Beauveau, Captain of the Guards, at the same time frankly giving him his reasons for so painful a procedure on his part, adding, that he would greatly regret being under the necessity of quit ting the King's service; but if His Majesty would be pleased to employ him in some other way, he should be very happy. The Captain of the Guards perceiving the distress of the Major's mind, and well acquainted with his merits, took upon himself to present his resignation to the King; but, previously waiting upon the Queen, he represented to her the affliction with which the Marquis of

When Louis XII. ascended the Throne, he told a Courtier who had merited his resentment when he was Dauphin: "Now you are safe."