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f her present state, anxiety for her child’s
happiness, a desire, a fear of her future well
being— -all rushed upon her with such confu
plonflhat she became too agitated to reply to
hi s entreaties; and he rushed from the cham
ber, to give her time to compose herself, and
to bring another whose entreaties would be
added to his own: he returned with Kate,
‘ale, but almost as dignified as ever. Mrs.
Cavendish clasped her to her bosom,
“ You would not leave me, child—would
not thrust your mother from your heart, and
place a stranger there
“No, no,” she replied; “Kate's heart is
large enough for both.’’
“ And do you love him ?”
The maiden hid her face upon her mother’s
bosom ; yet, though she blushed, she did not
equivocate, but replied in a low, firm voice,
“Mother, I do.”
“ Sir Edmund,” said the mother, still hold
ing her child to her heart. “ [ have suffered
too much, too much, to give her to a soldier.”
“Mother,” whispered Catharine, “yet, for
all that you have suffered, for all that you
mav yet endure, you would not have aught
but that soldier husband, were you to wed
again!”
No other word passed the lips cf the young
widow: again, again, and again, did she
press her child to her bosom; then placing
her fair hand within Sir Edmund’s palm,
rushed in an agony of tears to the solitude of
her own chamber.
“Hark! how the hells are ringing,” said
Anne Leafy to Jenny Fleming, as they were
placing white roses in their stomachers, and
snooding their hair with fair satin riband.
“And saw you ever a brighter morning?
Kate Cavendish will have a blithesome bri
dal; though I hear that Madam Seymour is
very angry, and says that no luck will at
tend this, no more than the last wedding!”
The words had hardly passed the young
maid's lips, when a bronzed countenance
pressed itself amid the roses of the little sum
mer-house, in which they sat arranging their
little finery, and a rough and travel-soiled
man inquired, “Os whom speak ye?”
“Save us!” exclaimed Jenny Fleming,
who was a trifle pert. “ Save us, master!—
why, of the wedding at the Hall, to be sure ;
Kate Cavendish's wedding, to be sure; she
was moped long enough, for certain, and now
is going to marry a brave gentleman, Sir Ed
mund Ilussel!”
The stranger turned from the village girls,
who, fearful of being late at the church, set
away across the garden of the little inn, leav
ing the wayfarer in quiet possession, but
with no one in the dwelling to attend the
guests, except a deaf water, who could not
hear “the strange gentleman’s” questions,
and a dumb ostler, who was incapable of re
plying to them.
********
The youthful bride and the young bride
groom stood together at the altar; and a
beautiful sight it was, to see them on the
threshold of anew existence. Mrs. Caven
dish might be pardoned for that she wept
abundantly—partly tears of memory, partly
of hope; and the ceremony proceeded to the
words, “ If either of you know any impedi
ment;” when there was a rush, a whirl, a
commotion outside the porch, and the stran
ger of the inn rushed forward, exclaiming—
“l know T an impediment; she is mine !”
A blessing upon hoping, trusting, enduring
woman! A thousand blessings upon those,
who draw consolation from the deepness of
despair—the wife was right—her husband
“as not dead; and as Colonel Cavendish
pressed his own Kate to his bosom, and gazed
‘•pon her face, he said—“l am bewildered!
1 hey told me false—they said Kate Caven
dish was to be married! and ”
“And so she is,” interrupted Sir Edmund
Kussel; “but from your hand only will 1 re
ceive her. Are there not two Kates, my old
friend ?”
hat the noble soldier’s feelings were,
Heaven knows: no human voice could ex
press them—no pen write them; they burst
and yet were treasured in his heart.
“My child! that my daughter! two Kates!
“ife and child!” he murmured. Time had
galloped with him, and it was long ere he
c.ieved that his daughter could be old enough
marry. The villagers from without crowd-
into the sweet village church; and, moved
the noise, Mrs. Seymour put on her new
green spectacles, and stepped forward to
. Pre ,^.°^ on pl Cavendish stood trembling be-
Cen wife and child; then looking him
earnestly in the face, she said, “ After all, it
I J ea y y° u • Lless me! how ill you look !
--could bear to make people uncomfor
nrJ aut y° u ( 1° not take care, you will
not live a month !”
1 said he was not dead!” repeated his
MUJIFEHIIEi?] &, aIfH&A IE 1! ®AS SIT ITIS*
gentle wife: “and I said ” but what does
it matter what was said? Kate the second
was married; and that evening, after Colonel
Cavendish had related his hair-breadth •capes,
and a sad story of imprisonment, again did
his wife repeat, “ I said he was not dead /”
(Glimpses of sJen) Books.
ADVENTURES OF THE DUCHESS
DE BERRI,
“The Duchess of Berri landed near Mar
seilles on the night of the 29th May, 1831,
her ardent Neapolitan having induced her to
believe that as the mother of Henry V., suc
cess would crown her movements if she but
showed herself in the kingdom. Some drunk
en sailors betraying the plot to the authorities
of Marseilles, the disappointed Duchess was
obliged to hasten to La Vendee, where her
adventures were of the most hazardous and
romantic nature. She assumed the dress of
a peasant boy, a dark wig concealing her
blond hair, and known as Petit Pierre, inhab
ited miserable hovels, where she ate the coarse
food of the shepherds. But the troops were
always upon her track, notwithstanding her
ingenious evasions and the fidelity of the
peasants; she never had an entire night of
sleep, and, when daylight came, danger and
fatigue woke with her.
“ To avoid this constant harassing, she was
induced to go to Nantes, where an asylum had
long been prepared for her. To enter the city
in safety was the next point deliberated upon
by her friends; but the Duchess closed all
discussion by saying that she should enter it
on foot in the disguise of a peasant girl, ac
companied only by Mademoiselle Eulalic de
Kersabiec and M. de Menars. In consequence
of this decision, they started at six o'clock in
the morning from the cottage in which they
had slept. The Duchess and Mademoiselle
de Kersabiec dressed alike as peasants, and
M. de Menars as a farmer. They had five
leagues to journey on foot. After travelling
half an hour, the thick-nailed shoes and
worsted stockings so hurt the feet of the
Duchess, that she seated herself upon the
bank, took them off, thrust them into her large
pockets, and continued the journey barefoot
ed. Having, however, remarked the peasant
girls who passed her on the road, she per
ceived that the whiteness of her ankles was
likely to betray her; she therefore went to
the roadside, took some dark-colored earth,
and, after rubbing her ankles with it, resum
ed her walk. Strange contrast this, from the
body-guards resplendent with gold and silver,
and the double carpet from Persia and Tur
key which covered her bedchamber, to have
for her escort an old man and a young girl,
and walking barefoot on the sand and pebbles
of the road ! Her companions had tears in
their eyes, but she had laughter and consola
tion on her lips. The country people had no
suspicion that the little peasant-woman who
tripped so lightly by them was any other than
her dress indicated.
“At length Nantes appeared in sight, and
the Duchess put on her shoes and stockings
to enter the town. While traversing the
streets, somebody tapped the Duchess on the
shoulder: she started and turned round. The
person who acted thus familiarly was an old
apple-woman, who bad placed her basket of
fruit on the ground, and was unable by her
self to replace it upon her head. ‘My good
girls,’ she said, addressing the Duchess and
Mile, de Kersabiec, ‘help me, pray, to take
up my basket, and I will give each of you
an apple.’ The Duchess of Berri, with her
companion, put the load upon the head of the
old woman, who was going away without
giving the promised reward, when the Duchess
seized her by the arm, and said, ‘ Stop, moth
er, where’s my apple V The old woman hav
ing given it to her, she was eating it with an
appetite sharpened by a walk of live leagues,
when, raising her eyes, they fell upon a pla
card headed by these three words, in very
large letters, ‘ State of Siege !’ This was the
decree which outlawed the four departments
of La Vendee, and set a price upon the
Duchess’ head. She approached the placard
and calmly read it through, while the alarm
of her companions may be easily imagined.
At length she resumed her walk, and in a few
minutes reached the house at which she was
expected, where she took ofT her clothes, cov
ered with dirt, which are now preserved there
as relics. She soon afterwards proceeded to
the residence of Miles. Deguigny, at No. 3
Rue Haute du Chateau, where an apartment
was prepared for her, and within this apart
ment a place of concealment. This was a
recess within an angle, closed by the chimney
of the innermost room. An iron plate formed
the entrance to the hiding place, and was
opened by a spring. For five months the
Duchess remained concealed, and, though the
authorities were positively assured she was
within the city, no clue to her discovery could
be procured.
“An apostate Jew, of the name of Deutz,
who had formerly been employed by the
Duchess at the recommendation of the Pope,
was her betrayer. This wretch, whom Gen
eral Dumoncourt says, he should never pass
in the street without bestowing a horsewhip
ping upon him, did he not think that his
horses would be degraded by being afterwards
Hogged with the same whip, succeeded in dis
covering her residence, and immediately ac
quainted the Governor of Nantes with it.
The whole neighborhood was invested with
military, and a detachment was observed to be
in full march towards the house. The
Duchess and her companions hastened to the
recess ; the entrance to this was by no means
easy, on account of its smallness. The
Duchess insisted upon being the last to enter,
and she was in the act of closing the aper
ture when the soldiers opened the door of the
room. The party consisted of four persons,
M. de Menars, M. Guibourg, Mile. Stylite
Kersabiec, and the Duchess. Sentries were
immediately posted in all the rooms. Draw
ers, cup-boards, and other pieces of furniture,
were unlocked or broken open. Sappers and
masons sounded the doors and walls with
hatchets and hammers. The Duchess and
companions heard workmen hammering with
all their might against the wall of the apart
ment contiguous to her recess, and some of
these blows were struck with such force, that
the fugitives feared the entire wall would fall
and crush them to death.
“ After a useless search, which lasted during
the greater part of the night, the police offi
cers, despairing of success, retired, hut left
sentries throughout the house, and two gen
d’annes were stationed in the very room con
taining the secret recess. The poor prisoners
were, therefore, obliged to remain very still,
though their situation must have been most
painful in a small closet, in which the men
could not stand upright even by placing their
heads between the rafters. Moreover, the
night was damp and cold, so that the party
was almost chilled to death. But no one
ventured to complain, as the Duchess did not.
The cold was so piercing that the gend’armes
stationed in the room could bear it no longer.
One of them therefore went down stairs, and
returned with some dry turf, with which he
kindled a fire. This at first was a great com
fort to the Duchess and her companions, who
were alqaost frozen ; hut after a short time
the wall became so hot that neither of them
could bear to touch it, and the cast-iron plate
was red hot. Almost at the same time, though
it was not dawn, the labors of the persons in
search of the Duchess recommenced. The
wall of the recess was struck so violently,
that the prisoners thought that they were
pulling down the house and those adjoining,
so that the Duchess thought, that, if she es
caped the flames, she would be crushed to
death by the falling ruins. During the whole
of these trying moments, neither her courage
nor her gaiety forsook her. In the meantime
the fire was not kept up, so that the wall
gradually cooled. M. de Menars also had
pushed aside several slates, so that a little
fresh air was admitted, and after awhile the
workmen abandoned their labors in that part
of the house.
“One of the gend’armes had been asleep
throughout all the noise, and was now awak
ened by his companion, who wished to have
a nap in his turn. The other had become
chilled during his sleep, and felt almost frozen
when he awoke. lie therefore relit the fire;
and, as the turf did not burn fast enough, he
threw in some newspapers which were in the
room. This produced a thicker smoke and a
greater heat, so that the prisoners were now
in danger of suffocation. The plate, too, be
came heated to a terrific degree; and the whole
place was so hot that they were obliged to
place their mouths against the slates in order
to exchange their burning breath for fresh
air.
“ The Duchess, who was nearest the plate,
suffered the most; she, however, refused to
change her place. The party was now in
danger of being burned alive. The p-ace had
become red hot, and the lower part of the
clothes of the four prisoners seemed likely to
catch fire. The dress of the Duchess had al
ready caught twice, and she had extinguished j
it with her naked hands at the expense of j
two burns, of which she long after bore the ■
marks. The heat had now become so great, 1
that their lungs became greatly oppressed;
and to remain ten minutes longer in such a
furnace would have endangered the life of her
Royal Highness. Her companions entreated
her to go out, but she positively refused.
Big tears of rage rolled from her eyes, which
the burning air immediately dried upon her
cheeks. Her dress again caught fire, and
again she extinguished it; but in so doing
she accidentally pushed back the spring which
closed the door of the recess, and the chim
ney opened a little. Mile, de Kersabiec im
mediately put forward her hand to close it,
and burned herself dreadfully. The motion
of the plate having made the turf roll back,
the gend’arme perceived it, and fancied the
heat had driven some rats from a hiding-place.
He woke his companion, and they placed
themselves, sword in hand, on each side of
the chimney, ready to cut in two the first that
should appear.
“At the same time, the Duchess declared
she could hold out no longer, and M. de Me
nars kicked open the plate. The gend’armes
started back in astonishment, and called out.
‘Who's there V ‘ I,’replied the Duchess; ‘I
am the Duchess de Berri ; do not hurt me.*
The gend’armes immediately rushed to the
fire-place and kicked the blazing fuel out of
the chimney. The Duchess came forth first,
and was obliged to place both hands and feet
upon the burning hearth ; her companion’s
followed. It was now half-past nine o’clock
in the morning, and the party had been shut
up in their recess for sixteen hours without
food. The Duchess was removed to the cas
tle, and thence, in November, 1832, to the
citadel of Blaye, which was the scene of her
dishonor.”—Jo. P. Poore's Louis Phillippe.
wannriiMMnrraawwmMaißHnnMnnMMHnMHMna
tfilcctic of lllit.
THE CHALLENGES.
At a meeting under a Commission of Bankruptcy’;
.at Andover. England, in July, 1826. between MY.
Fleet and. Mr. Mann, Solicitors of that place,
some disagreement arose, which ended in a chal
lenge ; to which the following poetic answer wae
returned. The lines are couched with piquancy
and force, and possess such a rich vein of poetic,
humor, that they deserve, we think, a reprint in
our columns.
To Kingston Fleet , Esq.:
T am honored this day, Sir, with challenges two,
Tne first from friend Langdon, the second from you;
As the one is to ftght, and the other to dine,
I accept his “engagement,” and your’s must decline.
ip
Now, in giving this preference, I trust you’ll admit
J have acted with prudence, and done what was fit,
Since encountering him, and my weapon a knife,
There is some little chance of preserving my life.
Whilst a bullet from you, Sir, might take It away;’
And the maxim, you know, is to live while you may.
y£
If, however, you still suppose I ill-treat you,
By sternly rejecting the challenge to meet you,
Bear with mo a moment, and I will adduce
These powerful reasons by way of excuse : • j
In the first place, unless lam gro-sly deceived, u
I myself am in conscience the party aggrieved;
And therefore, good Sir, if a challenge >r lust be,
Pray, wait till that challenge be tendered by me. ( J
*
Again, Sir, I think it by far the more sinful,
To stand and be shot, than to sit for a skinfull;
From whence you’ll conclude (as I’d have yon.
indeed,)
That fighting composes not part of my creed ;
And my courage (which though it was never dis
puted, 4
Is not, I imagine, too deeply rooted,)
Would prefer that its lruit, Sir, whate’6r it may
yield,
Should appear at (t the Table,” and not in “ the
Field”
And lastly, my life, be it never forgot, •*
Possesses a value which yom s, Sir, does not;
So I mean to preserve it as long as I can,
Being justly entitled “ a Family Man * ;”
With three or four children, (I scarce know hovr
many,)
Whilst you. Sir, have not, or ought not to have any.
Besides, that tho contest would be too nnoqual,
I doubt notwill plainly appear by tho sequel.
For e’en you must acknowledge it would not be meet
That one small “ Mann of War” should engage
“ a whole Fleet ”
*Mr. Fleet was a bachelor, or, at all events, a
single man.
THE WINE MERCHANT AND THE
COBBLER.
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH,
A poor cobbler lived next door to a retail
wine-seller, who, the better to draw the sous
out of the pockets of his neighbors, put up a
splendid gilt sign, with the names of the most
famous wines upon it at full length. Now,
tiiis was a terrible temptation! to the cobbler,
who, however, the better resisted it, as he did
not know how to read. But not content with
the gilt sign, the wine-seller had two bunch
es of ripe, tempting grapes, painted to the life,
and just beneath, two goblets running over
with wine.. This was readable , and the poor
cobbler’s mouth watered; but at first it only
watered. It was, however, in vain to resist,.,
tor he found himself every moment trying to
find somp excuse for turning his eyes towards ‘
his neighbor’s shop, and at last in he goes.
“Four sous can’t kill a body,” thought he, -
and two tumblers full of wine were soon un
der his jacket. So it was the next day, aiul
163