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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