with its four azure wings of enormous size, studded with flame-coloured eyes, and its long black proboscis, supplied the only deficiency in the temple, and completed the duchess's immense collection. It was instantly decided that Aline had won the promised prize; she soon afterwards received it from the hands of Madame de Choiseul, and Boufflers added a golden cross, which Aline promised to wear as long as she lived. It was now the middle of autumn, and as the pleasures of Paris became daily more brilliant and inviting, the Chevalier de Boufflers could not resist their attractions, though he left the delightful abode of Chanteloup with regret. Before he went away he saw the maiden who had so deeply interested him, and obtained from the father of her lover the promise that he would consent to their marriage as soon as Aline had a sufficient portion. He recommended her warmly to the duchess's kindness, and departed for the capital. Among the villagers who came to offer the fruits of their chase, he had frequently remarked a girl of about fifteen, whose large deep blue eyes, jet black eyebrows, and laughing mouth, graceful and easy carriage, and sweet, soft voice realized the most poetical descriptions of rural beauty. To crown her attractions, he found that she was the daughter of a forester of Amboise, and that her name was Aline. This pretty name was the title of a tale of his which had been greatly admired. It may be imagined that he felt a peculiar interest in this young girl, and with what pleasure he rewarded her, in the duchess's name, and how he took advantage of the pretext afforded by the beauty of any of her butterflies to double the gift. Boufflers soon drew from her the secret of her heart; he learned how she loved Charles Verner, son of the keeper of the castle, but that his father opposed their union on account of the disparity of their fortunes. Boufflers, who thought love levelled all distinctions, secretly resolved to serve the young A short time after, the Duke de Choiseul Aline. He sent for Charles Verner, found quitted a world in which he had exercised such him worthy to be the possessor of so lovely vast power, and so courageously withstood his a creature, and spoke in his behalf to the numerous enemies. His widow was compelled duchess, who, wishing to have some fair pre- to sacrifice nearly the whole of her own fortune text for contributing towards the marriage to pay the debts contracted by her husband, portion of the chevalier's protege, made it who had outshone all the nobles of the court known in the neighbourhood that at the end in magnificence. She sold the estate of Chanof the season she would give a prize of twenty-teloup to the Duke de Penthievre, and went to five louis d'ors to the girl who brought her the greatest number of rare and beautiful butterflies. The emulation excited among the young villagers may easily be imagined; and whether it was that the fresh verdure of Aline's native forest of Amboise was propitious to her, or whether she was more agile and dexterous than the others, it fell out that she often presented Madame de Choiseul, through her kind protector, with the butterflies upon which Reaumur had fixed the highest value. One day when the duke and duchess, accompanied by the train of nobles who formed the usual society of Chanteloup, were walking in that part of the park bordering on the forest, Aline, with a gauze net in her hand, and panting for breath, came running joyously up to Boufflers, and said to him, with that innocent familiarity he had encouraged in her, "Look, Monsieur le Chevalier, what do you think of my butterflies? you are such a fine judge of them." This speech was susceptible of an application so curiously fitted to the known character of Boufflers, that everybody laughed. He took the butterflies from Aline's hands, and told her they were really of a rare and most valuable kind; one, especially, which, live at Paris. Aline, thus deprived of her patroness, lost all hope of being united to her lover, whose father remained inflexible; and the young man, in a fit of desperation, enlisted in a regiment of dragoons. Boufflers heard of this. By a fortunate chance the colonel of the regiment was his near relative and friend, and Charles did so much credit to his recommendation, that he soon rose to the rank of Marechal des Logis. On his first leave of absence he hastened to Chanteloup, where he found his fair one provided with a sufficient portion by the chevalier's generosity; the old keeper no longer withheld his consent, and the lovers were speedily united. Twenty years passed away, and France fell into the confusion of political dissensions, and at length into all the horrors of the first Revolution. Boufflers, though friendly to the opinions which were then propagated by the true lovers of liberty, was compelled, after the deplorable 10th of August, 1792, to quit France and take refuge in Berlin. Prince Henry and the King of Prussia, after keeping him for some time with them, gave him an estate in Poland, where, like a true French knight, he founded a colony for all the emigrants who were driven from their unhappy country. all the advantages and all the consolations he received in foreign lands, he never ceased to sigh after Paris. Thither his family, his friends, his most cherished habits, all called him. The compliments paid him on his poems only served to remind him of the lovely and captivating women who had inspired them; those on his novel, of the delights of Chanteloup, of the amiable Duchess de Choiseul (who had survived her husband only a few years), and of the Temple of Butterflies. But in spite of | phitheatre traced by the Alps on the horizon. Boufflers arrived; he crossed an outer court, passed through a handsome hall, and entered a vast saloon, in which everything announced opulence and taste. On one side of the room hung a full-length portrait of the late Duchess de Choiseul, seated near the Temple of Butterflies, with a volume of Bouffler's works in her hand. The chevalier could not control the emotions which agitated him and forced tears from his eyes. "What recollections!" exclaimed he involuntarily: "this Countess de Lauterbach must certainly be of the Choiseul family. I shall like her the better." Whilst he gave himself up to these reflections, a chamberlain came to tell him that his lady would be occupied for a short time, that she begged M. Foubers to excuse her, and desired him to ask whether he would be pleased to walk into her plantation a la Française. Boufflers followed his conductor through a long suite of apartments, where he entered an avenue of limes, and at the first turning he saw, under the shade of some large trees, a temple of gauze precisely like the Duchess de Choiseul's. The temple was filled with butterflies of every species, and over the door was an inscription in verse which Boufflers had formerly written. over the entrance to the temple at Chanteloup, and he stood before it agitated, yet motionless: with astonishment, and thought himself transported by magic to the banks of the Loire. But his surprise was increased, and his emotion heightened, when he saw advancing towards him a young girl of fourteen or fifteen, in the dress of the villagers of Lorraine, whose features, shape, and gait were so precisely those of the girl he remembered with so affectionate an interest, that he thought it was she herself that stood before him, and whose deep rich voice met his ear. The storm of the Revolution having subsided, many proscribed persons obtained leave to return to France; among these was Boufflers, who left Poland, travelling homewards through Bohemia, Bavaria, and Switzerland. He wished to revisit the beautiful shores of the Lake of Geneva, where, thirty years before, he had passed a time which he never recurred to without delight. He therefore stopped at Lausanne, and fearing lest his name might expose him to some disagreeable curiosity or supervision, he had furnished himself with a passport under the name of Foubers, a French painter. In this character, which he had more than once assumed before, he presented himself in the first houses of Lausanne, where he was received with all the attentions due to genuine talent. The rage for M. Foubers, and for his fine miniature portraits, was universal. As he was anxious to obtain beautiful subjects, he was constantly told that he ought to paint the Countess de Lauterbach; she was described to him as a lady of French origin, and the widow of a Bavarian general, who at his death had left her considerable property, including a magnificent estate, situated on the banks of the lake, at a few miles distance from Lausanne. At a fete given by one of the principal inhabitants of Lausanne the beautiful Countess of Lauterbach was present, and more than justified all his expectations. He was introduced to the countess, who appeared struck by the sound of his voice, and agitated by some emotion which she strove to dissemble. They entered into conversation, and Boufflers expressed the most earnest desire to paint from so fine a model. After a moment's reflection the Countess accepted his offer; and, as if struck by some sudden thought, fixed a day for Foubers to go to her house, at the same time expressing her pleasure at being painted by a French artist. On the day appointed a caleche stopped at the door of his lodging, and conveyed him to the Chateau de St. Sulpice, situated on the banks of the lake, opposite to the superb am "Your servant, Monsieur de Boufflers," said she, with a curtsy, and presenting to him a little gauze net: "What do you think of my butterflies? you are such a fine judge of them." "What are you—angel—sylph-enchantress?" "What! do you not remember Aline, the daughter of the forester of Amboise, who used so often to bring you butterflies?" "Do I dream!" said Boufflers, rubbing his eyes, and, taking the child's hand, he pressed it to his lips: "Aline, lovely Aline!—it cannot be you?" "How! it cannot be me?-Who then won the prize for the finest butterflies?—Who received from the hands of the duchess a prize of twenty-five louis, and from yours this golden | I instantly determined to prove to you, in cross, which I promised to wear as long as I live, and which I have never parted with for an instant?" "I do indeed remember that cross-it is the very one! Never was illusion so perfectnever was man so bewildered. Your elegance betrays you. No, you are not a mere country girl. Tell me, then, to whom am I indebted for the most delicious emotion I ever felt in my life?-Whence do you come? Who are you?" "She is my daughter," cried the Countess de Lauterbach, suddenly stepping from the concealment of a thicket, and throwing herself into the arms of Boufflers. "My dear protector-kind author of my happiness and of my good fortune-behold the true Aline, the wife and widow of Charles Verner, whose only daughter stands before you. Your emotion, however strong, cannot equal mine." "How, madame! are you that simple village girl? Good and beautiful as you were, you had a right to become what you now are. But tell me, how happened it that for once fortune was not blind?-have the kindness at once to satisfy my curiosity.' "Listen then," replied the countess with confiding delight, "and you shall hear all." "Charles, in whom you took so generous an interest, having distinguished himself by repeated acts of bravery, obtained a commission shortly after our marriage. The war which broke out between France and Germany called him to the field, and I followed him. He afterwards rose to the rank of colonel of cavalry, when he saved the life of the Count de Lauterbach, commander of a Bavarian division on the field of battle; but in this act he received a mortal wound, and with his last breath recommended his wife and child, then an infant, to the general's care. Count Lauterbach thought that in no way could he so effectually prove his gratitude to his preserver, as by becoming the husband of his widow and the father of his child. After a few years of a happy union he died, leaving me a large fortune, and a revered and cherished memory. At that time," added the countess, "I knew that you had been compelled to quit France, and to take refuge in Prussia; I left no means untried to discover the place of your residence; but your change of name, your travelling as a French painter, as you have so often done, always prevented my accomplishing the most ardent wishes of my heart. Judge then what was my emotion on meeting you the other day at Lausanne. some degree at least, my joy and gratitude; and taking advantage of my daughter's age, and of her perfect resemblance to that Aline who owed to you the hand of Charles Verner, and all that she has subsequently possessed or enjoyed, I made use of your own colours; I copied the most beautiful scene of your elegant story which I have read so often-in short, I tried to bewitch you with your own enchantments; have I succeeded?" "Ah!" exclaimed Boufflers, pressing the mother and daughter to his heart, "never shall I forget this ingenious fraud; it is true that the memory of the heart is indestructible in women; and I see that the little good one may be able to do to the simplest village girl may become a capital which gratitude will repay with interest.' LUCY H. HOOPER QUADRILLE À LA MODE. Oh give me new figures!-I can't go on dancing Then why is the Master of Dancing so slow? Oh give me new figures!-La Pantalon's merit— Terpsichore! what a mere dawdle you're turned ! Oh! think of the time when you tript down twelve couple, To tunes it was really exciting to hear; I fear you're grown old, and your joints are less supple: I want a new figure to dance with my Dear! Next L'Eté commences; and into the middle A lady and gentleman slowly advance, And practise their steps, while the harp and the fiddle Play something much more like a song than a dance. En avant is composed of a walk and a hobble; A shuffle half-sideways achieves en arrière; They chassez as if they all thought it a trouble: I want a new figure to dance with my Dear! Oh give me new figures!-La Poule my aversionFour ladies and gentlemen all of a row! And so very odd to see Major Macpherson And little Miss Thistlewig dance dos-à-dos! And oh ! what a very strange figure Trenise is ! In what a confusion the daneers appear! Now this way, now that way! I marvel it pleases: I want a new figure to dance with my Dear! La Pastorale next-see young Smith how he lingers, Finale has merit-for 'tis the conclusion, And that's the sole merit I think it can claim; And (save a commencement of greater confusion) Finale and L'Eté are one and the same. And then, in the pauses they talk of the weather, I want a new figure!-the Waltzers, I note 'em, And wonder they're all perpendicular still: Were I to attempt to perform a Tetotum, A fall would soon prove me deficient in skill. I think Lady Waltzers are all spinning Jennies; The Gentlemen must be as mad as King Lear! With heads full of sense-as the head of a pin is! I want a new figure to dance with my Dear! I want a new figure!-the figure of France is I want a new figure!-the old country dances I want a new figure !-ah, yes! I confess it! I want one in every sense of the phrase; My waist will increase, though I strive to compress it By wearing the newest Parisian stays! I want a new figure!-it fills me with terror To think of my weight-(I am weighed once a year) And, oh! I can't bear to look into a mirror !I want a new figure to dance with my Dear! THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY. THE CLOWN'S REPLY. John Trott was desired by two witty peers To tell them the reason why asses had ears? THE JUBILEE. 1 Some years have elapsed (I am sometimes tempted to forget how many) since I endeavoured to compensate the deficiencies of a neglected education on my own side the Tweed by voluntary studies at the university of Edinburgh. As a relaxation from severer pursuits, and an excuse for rambles in a country whose. novelty alone was attraction enough to an untravelled Englishman, I occasionally accompanied a young artist of liberal education and pleasing manners, with whom I was acquainted, in his sketching expeditions in the romantic neighbourhood of his native city, the very contiguity of which to a great town rendered it more piquant and striking. In one of these excursions, when, by the uncommon fineness of the weather and greater distance of the style of scenery requisite for his purpose, we were tempted to proceed beyond the brief limits of an autumnal day, instead of returning by the light of a rather waning moon to Edinburgh, G-proposed that we should take up our quarters for the night at a neat little mountain inn, much frequented at various seasons by fishers and grouse-shooters, and affording, in consequence, accommodations of a description its unpretending aspect would scarcely have led one to expect. On nearing this rustic hostelry, kept by an antique of the true Meg Dods character, we were a good deal surprised to hear, issuing from its usually quiet haven, sounds of the most exuberant and unrestrained mirth, blending with, and nearly overpowering, the discordant strains of a brace of evidently belligerent fiddles.. A penny-wedding, by all that's lucky!" exclaimed my companion. "At least you, sir, as a stranger, will no doubt think one night's rest well sacrificed for a peep at these fast-waning saturnalia.” "Pray explain," said I, delighted to witness, under any circumstances, so lively a scene of national festivity: "what do you mean by a 'penny-wedding?' Why, sir, in pastoral and primitive districts which, strange to say, though within a "An't please you," quoth John, "I'm not given to dozen miles of a capital, these hills seem likely letters, Nor dare I pretend to know more than my betters; Howe'er, from this time I shall ne'er see your graces, As I hope to be saved! without thinking on asses." OLIVER GOLDSMITH. Edinburgh, 1753. long to remain-when a couple, of the lowest order, of course, are too poor to muster the sum requisite for marrying, their neighbours and acquaintance good-humouredly set on foot a subscription, out of which is first defrayed 1 From The Literary Souvenir, 1832. such a merry-making as you see going on yonder, while the surplus generally suffices to place the improvident pair beyond immediate want. It is not, you will say, a very eligible mode of settling in the world, nor is it so considered in these days, even among themselves. It is generally, indeed, more a frolic of the neighbouring young people at the expense of some pair of elderly paupers, determined to marry for worse instead of better, than, as it once was, a creditable scheme of establishment for a deserving young couple." As he spoke we descended the green shoulder of one of the pastoral hills, whose recesses of unsuspected beauty we had been all day exploring, and came full upon the little inn, its front beaming with unwonted illumination, and steam- - savoury as the cauldron of Meg Merrilees, amidst which my English organs readily detected the national perfume of "mountain-dew"-issuing from every open door and window. The fiddles, whose dismal scraping accorded ill with the accompaniments, might almost have been dispensed with, so completely were they drowned by yells and shrieks of frantic merriment, and so well was the time of the tune marked by the snapping of fingers and thumping of heels on the sanded floor of the kitchen. I scarcely know which expressed most surprise, my face, as I caught, over the shoulder of a tall, white-headed old Bluegown (the fac-simile of Edie Ochiltree), a glimpse of the scene within, or that of Luckie Cairns, the usually staid and somewhat aristocratical hostess, when the nakedness of her, for once, disorderly house was discovered to a couple of stranger gentlemen. She soon, however, recognized the old acquaintance, G- and addressed to him-though with the tail of her eye all the time on the " Englisher"-her characteristic apology. It began, more Scotico, with a question, and with what G- called "the first word o' flytin." "Lord guide's! Mr. G, what's brought you here the day, wi' your pents and your nick-nacks, and a stranger comrade wi' ye, that's used to things wiselike, nae doubt, and the house a' disjeskit this gait wi' the first and last ploy the callants e'er got me to countenance within my door? And they hadna hae gotten it now, but the silly body, Sanders, took it aye up and down wi' the gentle's fish to the carrier's, and their letters frae the post, and they persuaded me he was a kind o' serving body o' my ain; and traiking Tibbie had sell't my butter and eggs may-be thretty years and mair; so what could I do but let my house be made a public ae night in the thretty? and gentles to light on't for a clean bed and hot supper! It's a judgment on me for being sae simple!" "Keep yourself easy, Luckie!" answered G in her own style. "My friend here can get clean beds and hot suppers in England, but penny-weddings are scarce enough, even in Scotland." "The scarcer the better," said the hostess, drawing herself up with the demure look of one scandalized with unwonted revelry. "And now, sirs, what can I do for ye? There's no a bed in the house up but my ain; and tho' I wad gie ye't, I couldna promise ye peace to lie in't, for the fiddles 'll be scraiching, and the folk skirling, and the reels daddin, till far i' the night; and the smell o' the punch 'll be just poison to the gentleman frae England. Ye'll no be that ill for supper, for I've a curn mutton pies by ordinar' that I seasoned mysel, and there's a creel fu' o' trout walloping down bye at the burn that wad pleasure a provost. Come slipping ben to my ain wee room, and ye's get a' the comfort I can gie ye, afore the folk's supper comes on; and for beds, I'll send the lass to the minister's, and get ye gude quarters for a word." see "I know the clergyman," said Ging me hesitate. "His sons and I were at school together, and my first sunshiny holidays were spent among the hills we traversed to-day. I should like to see the manse once more, and a welcome will not be wanting, unless Mr. Maxwell should be strangely altered." "He is altered, honest man!" said the landlady, heeding only my comrade's last words. "Grief's a great alterer, o' auld folk especially! and it's fifty year come Monday since the minister was placed in the parish, and thirty come the time since he married me and puir John Cairns doucely and Christian-like in that very spence whar thae daft deevils are making a mock o' marriage atween twa auld randy ne'erdo-weels! But it's dinn now, and what's the use o' reflections? Come your ways, gentlemen, to your supper." It was with reluctance that I postponed, even to so important an affair to a hungry prospect-hunter, the gratification of my curiosity. But reconciled to the landlady's fiat by the trout and mutton-pies, and the comfort and cleanliness which reigned in her sanctum sanctorum, G— and I did ample justice to the savoury repast, and its crowning tumbler, whose whisky even I, a novice, could discern to be mountain-born, and guiltless of the exchequer. |