wreaths. I danced, when I would fain have knelt to heaven in frantic supplication for that precious life. I laughed with my lips, when the natural language of my heart would have been moans, sorrowful and many. Every day I, like any other slight acquaintance, sent a servant to make complimentary inquiries concerning Trevor's health. One day, in answer to my message, my servant brought me intelligence that the crisis of the fever had arrived, and that his fate would that night be decided. It was added, too, that the physicians feared the worst. That evening I found it impossible to continue the struggle between the careless seeming and the breaking heart. I shut myself into my own apartment, and gave free course to sorrow. I fled to prayer, and, with incoberent and passionate beseechings, implored that the just man might live, even though I were never more to see him. 1 read over the church service; as I read, recalling every intonation of that venerated voice, now spent in the ravings of delirium, perhaps soon to be hushed in death! I searched out the text of scripture on which he used to dwell, and, while I pondered on the awful event which the night might bring forth, a sudden impulse of superstition seized me.

(To be continued.)

10—

A SISTER'S OFFERING.

I PLUCK'D these flowerets from their stem in beauty wild and free,
O take them, 'tis a sister's heart that offers them to thee.
They grew amid the fairest flowers, the richest and the best,
And their tender buds were wooingly by the summer winds caress'd
They were so passing beautiful, they seemed so lone to be,
I pluck'd them, sister, and have brought the offering to thee.

Their modest heads were gracefully on their mother's bosom bent,
The hue upon their velvet leaves with the golden sunbeams blent;
And many a one, less lovely, in envious pride stood by,
Gazing upon these timid flowers with cold and scornful eye;
They were so passing beautiful, and seemed so lone to be,
I pluck'd them, sister, and have brought the offering to thee.

O, take them, dear! they have a voice as gentle as thine own;
They'll whisper soft, in after years, of bliss that thou hast known,
Telling thee of a love more rich than the treasures of the mine-
And when all other things shall fade that love shall still be thine.
They were so passing beautiful, they seemed so lone to be,
I pluck'd them, sister, and have brought the offering to thee.

J. N. M.

MARIE DE MEDICIS.

AN HISTORICAL TALE.

In the year of our Lord one thousand six hundred and ten, the beautiful kingdom of France, long lacerated and torn by the religious wars of the League, was like a valitudinarian under skilful treatment, rapidly recovering its former power and tranquility. The rigid administration of Sully was setting in order the finances of the crown; the Hugonots and Catholics shook hands, and even formed alliances, and the people, long lost sight of, came forth upon the ruins of party, and formed in the rear of the military chivalry of Henry IV. The house of Austria, were masters of Spain, and beset the French territory on every side. To humble the pride of that haughty power, and to recover the provinces of Flanders and Franche Comte which it had held from the time Charles V. was the anxious desire of the French Monarch, but his indolence, or his aversion to interrupt the blissful serenity of the kingdom, added to the spells of his Spanish and French mistresses, triumphed over his resolutions. The queen, ill brooking the neglect of her consort, gave way to the violence of her character, and frequent matrimonial storms, troubled the royal household. The Spanish party, whose creatures crowded the court, were indefatigable in blowing these little sparks of passion into a blaze as well as in trying to rekindle the old dissensions between the protestants and catholics, and their efforts were powerfully supported by a portion of the clergy.

Alarmed at the licentiousness of Henry, and urged on by the counsels of Concinno-Concini, Marquis of Aucre and Eleonora Saligai his wife, who exercised the greatest influence over her mind, Marie De Medicis, succeeded in procuring the consent of her husband, to her being crowned queen of France; on the thirteenth of May the ceremony of her coronation was celebrated at St. Denis, in a style of the utmost magnificence; and on the following day she entered the gate of Paris, crowned with the diadem, and escorted by the collected chivalry of France. On that same evening, Henry IV. fell a victim to the poignard of Ravilliac, and Marie de Medicis was proclaimed regent of the kingdom during the minority of his son Louis XIII. With a swelling heart, the haughty Italian as she was called, grasped the reins of power, and held them with a firm and unflinching hand. Her government was wise and success

ful; to check the factious intrigues of the haughty nobility at home, and the progress of the Spaniards abroad, was a task of no ordinary difficulty. The honours and wealth she lavished on her Italian favourites, the Concinni, roused the jealousy of the nobles. The Prince de Condé, the most powerful subject of the crown, took up arms to free it from the control of a woman, and a handful of contemptible foreigners. The regent had him lodged in the Bastile. A popular commotion ensued, but was crushed as quickly as it had broken forth. From that moment, as if a new genius had presided at her destinies, France assumed an aspect of power and majesty, which recalled the two first years of Henry IV. Marie governed like Elizabeth. In the main, she was good and generous, but when her enemies wounded her to the quick she leant upon them with an iron hand. But soon tiring of severity, she withdrew from observation and committed the administration of affairs to Marechal d'Aucre and his wife. The former abandoned himself without restraint to the career of ambition, opened before him; but his want of confidence in himself proved his ruin. As he grew up, Louis XIII. showed his impatience of the control, in which he was held, by his mother, and her favourites. The Count de Luynes, who had acquired a complete ascendency over his mind and the Bishop of Luçon, the famous Richelieu conspired to free him from his trammels. d'Aucre possessed the firmness of his wife, the supremacy of the regent would have been easily assured, but the cunning of Richelieu, and the audacity of Luynes prevailed over his irresolution. D'Aucre was assassinated, his wife shut up in the Bastile, and at the period when our narrative commences Marie de Medicis shorn of all the pomp and circumstance of that power which she so ably wielded, and which she still burned to recover, was an exile, by the order of her son in the town of Blois.

Had

Such was the political condition of France, when on a raw day in the beginning of November, three well mounted travellers reached the summit of a little eminence commanding one of the finest views in the fair province of Normandy. A valley, about a quarter of a league in breadth, lay as it were in the embrace of two lofty hills whose summits were crowned with thick forests. On the declivity of that which stretched along to the east, several strong castles displayed their stalwart towers; while in the centre of the plain, cut into numerous compartments by the windings of the Orbiquette, the magnificent castle of the seigneurs of Mailloc Yvow, rose proudly from

the immense platform of white stonework, on which it rested, and seemed to glory in the strength of its solid battlements. Beyond that, in the distance, another ridge advanced towards the last, and divided the prairie, which separated at its base, and stretched away into two valleys, that of Dorbec and that of Fervaques. The scene was one of surpassing magnificence, and well worthy of the pencil of Claude, or the brilliant pallet of Roqueplan. The vegetation still retained its freshness, and the autumnal tints which coloured the leaves of the trees, harmonized with the melancholy day which marks the season. "What a glorious spectacle," said one of the travellers. “I would willingly spend the remainder of my life in yonder castle, which looks down from the slope of the hill over this enchanting country."

Aye countess, 'tis a fine view no doubt," observed the second horseman in a strong foreign accent, "but we have little time for landscape gazing now, better to put spurs to our horses, than keep staring at woods, which the west wind is turning to a blood colour."

"A bad omen, Sir Philip, for those who are flying from the vengeance of the cardinal," replied the first speaker.

"Never mind omens,' ," said the knight, "but give the whip to your genet, and we shall still distance our pursuers."

"By saint Hubert," exclaimed the third horseman, who appeared to be a squire, "I hear the tramp of horses—as I am a living man they are upon us."

'Impossible Hugh, we had a three hours start."

"Fear not, most noble lady," said the knight" once over this confounded prairie, we can ford the river at Fordovet and the woods on the other side will screen us until we reach the castle of the old Marquis de Rouvray," and seizing the rein of his companion's palfrey, he moved forward at as rapid a pace as the speed of the latter animal would allow.

The shades of evening were closing over the valley. The wind, which seemed to gather strength as the night advanced, shook the oaks and poplars of the forest. The creaking of boughs and the plaintive sighs of the blast sweeping through the branches, were at intervals lost in the menacing growl of the distant thunder.

Presently the tramp of horses which had alarmed the knight and his companions, was more distinctly heard, and a flash of lightning darting from a cloud showed the forms of two horsemen, closely muffled in the long riding cloaks of the period. On arriving at the summit of the little eminence first mentioned JANUARY, 1842.

с

they also turned from the high road and descended into the prairie.

"By the battle of Coutras," said the hindmost, a weatherbeaten veteran of some three score years; "by the battle of Coutras, you must slacken this break-neck pace a little, or we shall be beforehand with this storm after all, though it threatens as lustily as the royalists at Montoncourt."

His companion, apparently a youth in all the exultation of high spirits, replied not, but putting spurs to his already distressed horse, dashed forward at his former pace.

"Harkee, my cracked brained master," said the veteran, coming up with him and seizing his bridle; "by the battle of Coutras, you mean to break your neck, and the small remnant of sound limbs I have saved from the blows of the enemies of France. Why, neutre de St. Gris, man, think you that a man with but one arm and one eye, can ride across a moor in the dusk as if he was at a tournay; would you have me be stifled in a bog-hole, I, whom the great and immortal battle of Coutras

"Oh curse that battle of Coutras," said the youth impatiently, "is this a time to indulge in such foolery?"

"Foolery, the great battle of Coutras, my twenty wounds, which caused the chevalier de Friardel to compare me to the trunk of a blasted oak-call you that foolery-a pretty return for all my care and attention-go, young man, and when your hair and beard are as white as mine, you will have leisure to reflect on the injury you have inflicted on an old man.'

The youth was touched with the rebuke "forgive me, good Rouvray," said he "I knew you fought gallantly at Coutras, by the side of Henry IV. and Friardel was right in what he said of you. Thank God you have still an eye, and an arm left. Mayhap you will come with me to Italy, and teach the Duke of Tuscany that the sword of a Norman is better tempered than the Andrew Ferara."

"Ha!" said the veteran, completely surprised into good humour, "there spake the noble blood, by the battle of "

"Louis," said the youth hastily as if fearful of the threatened battle; to tell you the honest truth, I have been half frantic all day. This morning when I left you in the episcopal palace at Lisieux, I repaired to the convent-come no scolding, for my blood is hot, and exceedingly excitable just now. Well listen, I sent for sister Martha as usual, expecting she would come down accompanied by Nysmi. In vain I waited and waited-no Martha, no Nysmi: at length the door opened, I