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her cakes to sell, and customers increased fast.
'There was a great sale of trees in a forest
From the carriage window we looked after the dazzling cavalcade, and watched it disappearing into the darkness. Suddenly a thundering sound was heard approaching; and then came a violent crash. Our carriage was dashed forwards against the posthouse-the pole and forepart shattered by the concussion. There was a noise behind of furious struggling and plunging of horses-a feelIing as if the rumble and roof of the vehicle were coming crashing in over our heads-a confusion of
Joy, joy!" he exclaimed ; "you have a charm- shrieks, oaths, and exclamations outside; while ing little daughter!"
"And Marie?" I cried...
"She sent me off to tell you the news and to beg you would not delay your return."
ན - ནྡྲ་
Delay indeed! The leagues seemed to lengthen before me on my road back, so great was my impatience to get home. At last I reached my own door. I pushed it open; I pressed on towards Marie's room, when a woman came out against
"Stop!" she said; "I have brought you the infant. Won't you look at your child?" "Ah, it is a nice little thing," I said, kissing it; "but I want to see Marie. Let me pass."
"No, no-not yet. Wait a minute, there's a good man. She can't see you just now; she can't indeed."
"Not see her own Jeannot?"
"No, I tell you.-Don't push by me; you will disturb her. She is not so well-she is asleep she"
'I freed myself, and rushed in. O mon Dieu! Marie-that marble face-the flowers-those white draperies-the crucifix on her breast-the crowds in the room-my old blind mother sobbing at the bedside, her apron thrown over her face what did it all mean? Marie, Marie! won't you speak to me? Cold-silent-still! My head turned round, my sight swam; I ran out of the house'
"Father!' cried a young girl from the crowd, running up to the little cakeman and pulling him by the sleeve, 'the king is coming! See, every one is preparing. They are getting out the horses. Come away, come away!'
There was indeed a great stir. The people, chattering, clamouring, and jostling, separated to the right and left to leave a free passage. The postillions pulled off their blouses, and gave a hasty glance over their finery. But no one came; it was a false alarm.
Another tedious hour passed away. It grew very cold, and so dark that the poor little cakeman's white garments could no longer be distinguished from the dusky mass as he flitted restlessly about. At length a distant sound was heard. It grew louder. 'Le roi! le roi!' passed in hoarse, awed murmurs from mouth to mouth. A sudden silence fell upon the crowd. The king's courier galloped up, and in an instant all was ready, the horses out, the postillions at their posts.
Another moment, and the long train of carriages came dashing in at full gallop-royalty always travels fast. The halt was of short duration, In less time than I have taken to describe it, the horses were changed, the lamps lit all along the line of carriages, flashing up one after another into sudden brilliancy; and the glittering cortège continued its rapid progress.
high over all the din, the piercing screams of our luckless abigail sounded in our ears.
Stunned and utterly bewildered, it was some minutes before we could make out what had happened. The first object that met our eyes on recovering from the shock was our poor maid being carried into the posthouse.
'Be calm, Mesdames, exclaimed the voice of little Jeannot, who was foremost of a sympathising crowd gathered round us; 'she is not hurt, heaven be praised! only very much frightened. One of the horses is dead. Look at him, poor beast, lying stretched behind your carriage. Ciel how he plunged. If Mademoiselle had not climbed up on the roof, it would have been all over with her. The driver is terribly injured. They have taken him into the house, only just alive.'
It now appeared that at the moment the royal cavalcade left Penthièvre, the carriage of the Duc de Beauvon was proceeding from his château in the neighbourhood, along the road to the town, with the lamps unlit. The mania for English horses was just then at its height among the young French nobility; and the week before, the Duc de Beauvon had purchased a pair of magnificent English thoroughbreds for I know not how many thousand francs. These spirited animals were now drawing the carriage, which was luckily empty. The king's courier, who was galloping considerably in front, came in the darkness into collision with the horses. They took fright; and when the train of carriages, glittering with lights and going full speed, passed them, became unman ageable, and set off at a furious pace. They fol lowed madly along until they dashed up against our devoted carriage. The shock may be ima gined! The rumble was flattened in; one of the Duke's horses, a splendid gray, striking his head with violence against the iron and fracturing his skull. The poor animal in his dying struggles leaped so high that had not the maid, with great presence of mind, scrambled up on the roof, as Jeannot described, his forefeet would have surely struck her. As it was, her escape was almost miraculous.
The Duc de Beauvon was soon on the spot. He came attended by three or four English grooms, and their lamentations over the gallant gray were grievous. As for us, we were soon surrounded by all the blacksmiths of Penthièvre. After a noisy consultation, they decided that by their
united efforts it would be possible to patch up our dilapidated equipage so as to enable us to proceed on our journey.
Before leaving Penthièvre, we learned that the Duke's coachman, though seriously hurt, was likely to recover. The courier who had been the innocent cause of the night's disaster was the man immortalised by the pencil of Horace Vernet. It was he who, having met with a mischance while on duty with the king, was bled by the hands of his royal master. The incident is the subject of a painting in the gallery at Versailles. On this occasion, fortunately, his horse was the only sufferer.
How different was the scene of our next rencontre with Louis-Philippe ! In his own palace, the lordly Tuileries, radiant with lights, and brilliant with gorgeous uniforms and sparkling diamonds, it took place. It was the 'reception' night; and here, attended by his family and courtiers, His Majesty made the round of the salons, receiving the homage of the company, ranged along for the purpose of being presented; for, unlike the ceremonial at our own court, where the sovereign stands to receive || the obeisance of those defiling before the presence,' here at the Tuileries it was royalty that moved, the subjects that remained stationary. Our party was at a short distance from the doors, and thus some little time elapsed before the royal personages reached us in their progress down the room. First came the king, his shrewd clever face beaming with frank good-nature; and after him the queen, tall and fragile, with silver hair and careworn looks. Then followed the handsome, graceful Due d'Orleans, with his Duchess, full of German bonhomie and the sensible expression that atoned for lack of beauty. How serene she looked, that happy young wife, all unconscious of what was before her of the day, so near, when Paris was convulsed to its centre by the tidings of the carriage accident in the Bois de Boulogne that made her a widow! Well it is for us all that the future is shrouded from our eyes; and how especially well for the family of Louis-Philippe that they could not foresee the trials and reverses that were in after years to come. The Duchesse de Nemours, Princesse Clementine, and the three brothers De Nemours, D'Aumale, and Montpensier, came next. They were each attended by their households, and the same ceremony observed as in the case of the king and queen. Our names were asked by the lady or gentleman in waiting, who repeating it, presented us. All the royal family, except the Duc d'Orleans, spoke a few gracious words to each in succession as we were introduced. The Duke's aim just then was to gain popularity and to ingratiate himself with his countrymen, and with that view, his courtesies towards the English were scant. Louis-Philippe, on the contrary, treated them with marked attention.
Three days after the reception came our invitations to the court ball. A magnificent fête it was, and most conspicuous was the talent for producing effect, so peculiar to the French, in all its arrangements and decorations. The Countess of G, one of the ladies of the bedchamber to our own Queen, was the chaperon of our party. She was at once recognised, and led up to the benches occupied by the foreign
ambassadors and the ladies-in-waiting of the French court, and thus we had the good fortune of being seated quite close to the royal family.
The supper-room that night looked like fairyland. It was the theatre of the palace fitted up for the purpose the stage and pit being laid out with tables, and each box forming a little separate refreshment-room. Flowers, mirrors, statues, draperies, lights, ornaments-all were combined with exquisite effect; and what made the scene strange in our eyes was, that none but ladies were present. When the signal for supper was given, our cavaliers separated from their partners and drew back, forming a lane through which the many-coloured procession-a kaleidoscope of silks and satins and velvets, flowers and feathers and gleaming jewels-moved towards the theatre.
There the effect was curious; such an assemblage of womankind, the footmen, in their gorgeous state liveries, who waited upon the fair company, being the only individuals of the opposite sex to be seen. It was a new experience to find one's self on a festive occasion making one of such a congregation of ladies. We are used to the idea of bodies of men gathered together at public dinners and the like; but an exclusively feminine assembly was certainly a novelty. Before leaving the fairy-like theatre, we turned to take a long look at it. The departing procession-those moving wreaths of figures of every hue and tint all branching off in different ways to gain the outlets to the doors-looked like the intricate mazes of some fantastic ballet.
When the tables were re-decked, the signal for the gentlemen's supper was given. Shortly after this, the royal party retired. Departures followed each other in due succession; and soon the brilliant Tuileries were left to silence and repose.
THE MARRIED WOMEN'S PROPERTY ACT (1882).
WHILE the attention of the public was taken up with the disturbances in Ireland and in Egypt, there was passed very quietly through both our legislative assemblies, in the ordinary session of 1882, an Act of Parliament which is destined to exert a considerable influence on the social and domestic life of this country. The short title of this Act is given above; its provisions will apply to all parts of the United Kingdom except Scotland, and it will come into force on the first of January 1883. Twenty or thirty years ago, such an Act would have been considered revolutionary; a man who had dared to advocate the views that will thus shortly be come law would have been represented as a social firebrand, as an enemy to marriage, as throwing an apple of discord between husband and wife, as a disturber of the peace and the harmony of family life. Nothing of the kind, however, has occurred; Lord Selborne's Act has been accepted without any angry debate, and has been passed in a comparatively tranquil spirit.
The Married Women's Property Act (1882) is not a long or an unusually technical document; and seeing that it will affect half the families in the kingdom, we recommend the public
to buy the Act and study it for themselves Excepting a few legal phrases here and there in the Act, the ordinary reader will be able to arrive at the meaning of this new law, which is a measure very much in favour of married women who have separate property. It does not give them power over the property of their husbands; but it does give them-what they have not had in this country before-absolute power over their own property. Under the new Act, a married woman with money (south of the Border) will be able to keep it, invest it, spend it, save it, and dispose of it by will, exactly the same as if she had remained single. Her husband will have no power to touch it or to interfere with it in any way; nor will his consent or signature in any case be necessary for its management or disposal. A wife who had consols standing in her own name before her of public opinion, it invariably affects public marriage, will continue to hold them as her opinion in this country. Now, a married woman separate property, without settlements, and with- separated from her husband is never safe without the approval of her husband, just the same out a divorce, which poor people have not the uns to obtain. The husband can claim the
Furthermore, we have an impression that the new Act will have a very salutary effect on those husbands who, too indolent to work themselves, pillage the savings of their wives and abuse them into the bargain. To such men, more especially in large towns, the law, is their only standard of right and wrong; when higher motives fail, their conduct is always influenced by the enactments on the statute-book. Indeed, speaking generally, we may say that if the law be not a reflection
as if she were a man. If a husband and wife or wages of his wife as his own property,
live apart, and the husband appropriates any of his wife's property-as is frequently the case now he knows that legally his wife's money belongs for under such circumstances many a husband to him. But this will not be so under the new thinks he has a perfect right to take what belongs Act. He may coax money from his wife in the to his wife-it will be considered stealing, and future, of course; but he cannot take it as a right; she will be able to prosecute him as she would he must be content to accept it as a loan or as any other criminal who stole her property. The a gift. This, to drunken, cruel, or slothful the Act also apply, not only to husbands, will be quite a new experience, an its
they, in order
all property to which they may become entitled resort to violence, the mas of their wives,
Dee. 2, 1892 HETTICO are nonentities; they know that their individuality is merged and lost in the individuality of their husbands. But when the law is altered, we believe that, as a general rule, married women will avail themselves of its provisions, and that they will not now, as in the past, so tamely acquiesce in being plundered of their earnings and property.
provis who marry after the first of January experience which
1883, but to all women, who were married before the said date, as it has regard also to
subsequent to the first of January 1883.
It is an Act that perhaps will affect the lower and middle classes more than it will affect the Upper Ten Thousand. For working-men and for the general trading community, it has a special interest and importance. In thousands of English homes at present, for example, the hard-working wife earns the living, sometimes bringing up a large family of children, while the husband spends his time in idleness, and in addition, not unfrequently demands money from his wife to waste on strong drink. This is a grievous wrong to a married woman, for which, as the law now stands, she can obtain no redress. In the future, all this will be altered, or at anyrate if a wife submits to s such treatment it will be her own fault, not the fault of the law. Her remedy, will be her If he annoy his wife or take any money from her when they are living apart, she can protect herself by taking criminal proceedings against him.
Is en of smo, dem
It has been said that married women themselves, by Various ways and means, will defeat the object of the new Act. In some cases, doubt less, they may do so; but we do not think that Women, it seem, are often stone-blind, the frailties or vices of the men whom they love; for they sometimes allow their husbands to coax or coerce e them out of their property without protest or complaint. But will this be so in the future We think not. Is not this spaniel-like submission in some measure owing to the fact that English wives know that the law of the land, affords them little or no protection as regards
elect on their conduct.
the law will grasp with a vigorous hand. For wives with bad husbands, we regard the new Act as an unmixed blessing and on the whole, we think it is favours able to society generally, in well-ordered homes, its probable effect will not be great; it will simply modify the marriage relationship, giving wives a more pronounced individuality of character and position.
say to his wife
The great principle which this Act seems to embody and enforce is, that husbands and wives may have separate as well as joint interests. Not until 1870 was this principle recognised by the English law. In that year, and again in 1874) measures were passed adopting; what we may call this new social truth; and the Act of 1882 goes much further, in the same direction, con solidating, amending, indeed to a great extent repealing of 1870 forth, no husband will be able to sa "What is yours, is mine.loor bun shot 100 TOWE Doubtless there are persons who will regard the present Act as too sweeping in its character One of its provisions is that married weinam may enter into contracts that is, become a trustee, executrix, or, administratrix, without the consent of husband; a almost cient to make. Sir William his grave. In some parts of America, there is in operation, the Cup, and Saucer Act, so called because it was said by the opponents of the measure, when it was first, agitated, that if it became law, a husband, would not be allowed, to use his wife's teacups That Act, howeven appears to work well and we see pog reasons why the Married Women's Property
married women it brings responses as well
A wife with
In the cool of the evening, we strolled up property to the old man's dwelling. It was an ancient cottage, situated a little way back from the road. The light played with a thousand tints among the mosses of the thickly thatched roof, and over it a thin curl of blue smoke hung lazily in the evening air. A few gnarled hawthorn trees sheltered the cottage from the blasts which swept down the mountain-sides; a patch of ground sloping down towards the river was devoted to the cultivation of cabbages, potatoes, &c.; while in front, the little garden was one blaze of flowers. High up, on the brow of the hill which formed the background, two or three goats in a semi-wild state were feeding, and stood out in bold relief against the evening sky. A little way down the road, the river Isla was arched over by an old bridge. Altogether, the spot breathed of quiet, peace, and content; and one could hardly fancy that the cruel sounds of war had ever been heard near so tranquil a spot.
will have to support her husband, children, and grandchildren, should they become chargeable to any umon or parish; and if she carries on a trade apart from her husband, she will be subject to the bankruptcy laws. A wife who lends money to her husband for business purposes, will only have a poor chance of getting a dividend in case of his bankruptcy; for the claims of all the other creditors must be satisfied before hers. To the extent of her separate property, a married woman will be liable for all the debts she may have contracted prior to her marriage. For debts contracted after marriage by a wife having money of her own the husband will 1 not be liable unless she has acted as his agent. The Act provides that a married woman can sue or be sued for money independently of her husband; and as a wife can n take criminal proceedings against her husband, so in like manner, when the circumAs we approached the cottage, we were constances are reversed, the husband can take proceedings against his wife. The fronted by a boy of about ten years of age-such precise effect of the law as regards both married a little man! with neck, arms, and legs bare, and and unmarried people, remains yet to be seen; as brown as a nut; his dark hair innocent of but in n any case, the Act will have and and and his like those out o will certainly remove some of the grievances eagle-keen, piercing, determined, and intelligent. under which married women have undoubtedly As he recognised the minister, his expression suffered in the 3 of the 10919 relaxed into a half-bashful smile, but quickly past. 30 1801 221 11 3q50s of Justman of jenom od reverted into a somewhat distrustful look as he Midier 1920 DJ T fixed his eye upon r 20 D 198ja T me, the stranger." THE OLD CLAYMORE emf Well, Alick, my man, is your grandfather in ?? Ir is a matter of story how, after the battle of asked my friend. Culloden, the victorious soldiers ravaged the Ay, sir; he's ben the house,' he answered. Highlands and, ill-treated, the inhabitants. For a long time afterwards, under the pretence of
the minister fra to step in ?- Grandfather, here's
disarming them, the Highlanders, were: hunted from his seat to welcome un He pulledieulty and shot down like wild beasts, their habitations bonnet to the minister, who kindly shook hands off his were burned, and their cattle and gear carried with him. His figure was thin and bent, but off. The record of these crimes forms such a wiry even now. In hiyounger days, he must tale of ruin and brutality, that one can scarcely have stood at least feet; and his strong bony believe such events have occurred in our own frame showed that at one time he had been a country within the last hundred and fifty years. man great strength. His was furrowed Nevertheless, it was soon has had a crop of snow-white hair. His eyes were gray with wrinkles, and his head as covered with Not long ago, an incident occurred to me, when and the glance he directed at me was keen and on a visit to a minister in Glen Isla, which told proud. In a shaky voice, he asked us to sit
¿ DOPTIO 1,
forcibly how deep the memories of that troubled
H 210W J. Di 2.1.
Well, Alister,' said the minister, you? You're looking well. This weather agrees with you." Thank ye, sir. I'm doing fine; but I'm getting auld, and I'm thinking my time must at hand.' near must come to us all some day or other; and you You're quite right, Alister, to think of what the setting sun, while the know we must all grow old in o hearty once,
796OM VAS VARI
turn, if God
and how are fine warm
spares us. You, too, were young
This, Alister, is an old friend of mine,' said the minister, again turning to me, whom I have brought to shake hands with you.
A kindlier look than I had yet seen filled his eyes as the old man bade me welcome."
"It's a long time, Alister,' said my friend, 'since your father was laid to rest beside your mother and his two brothers in the old kirkyard; but you remember you have often told me that
his life was a more troubled one than yours has ever been; and indeed I have often wondered that he lived to such a good old age, for his stone says he was ninety-five when he fell asleep.'
The mention of his father's troubled life evidently affected him, and I could see light gathering in the old man's eyes..
Father had a bad time o't, minister. maunna say too much before strangers.'
"You need not be afraid, Alister; my friend can keep what he hears to himself, when necessary.'
Much need, sir-much need. An idle word has cost many a man his life before now.'
My friend motioned me to keep quiet, for the old man was evidently beginning to waken up, and the cleverly directed questions were drawing him out gradually.
And so your father was ninety-five. Well, Alister, that is a good bit more than the allotted
time of most men.
"Deed, sir, it is that; and I whiles think it was fear that kept him living so long.' "Fear, Alister! How do you make that out? I thought your father knew nothing about fear!'
Fear, sir!' said the old man with a flash of fire kindling in his eyes-fear, sir! My father never knew fear; nor his father before him, nor any of his bairns. It was no the ordinary fear-it was fear that the dragoons should come again, and him not there to kill them -that was the fear that kept father livin'!'
The fire was ablaze now; the old man's blood was running warm, and his pulse beating quicker. It was a conflict between his undaunted Highland spirit and his years-a conflict in which old age for the time being was vanquished. The fountains of his memory were opened, and the old man's tongue was loosened.
sword, and said: 'You shall not cross the bridge, I tell you. Come down from your horses one by one, and I will fight with you. Or come down, if you dare, two at a time, and I will fight with you. But you shall not cross the bridge!! My father stood there with his drawn claymore; and the dragoons were feared; hey laughed a laugh of fear, and then they rode away again down the road; and my father stood there waitin'; but they never came back. Then my father came back and put away his claymore.'
Here the old man paused. Rising from his seat, he crept slowly to the door of the cottage, which he opened, and looked cautiously up and down the road. He then bolted the door of the room, and making a sign inculcating silence, he stood erect, and stretched his withered arm up to the rafters beneath the roof. From this hiding-place he pulled forth an old claymore, hacked and stained. This,' he said, holding out the weapon with trembling hand at arm's-length-this is my father's claymore. With this he fought at Culloden; and this he has plunged into the heart of many of the bloodthirsty loons who desolated our land; and this is the claymore which frightened away the dragoons from the bridge, and would have killed every one of them, if they had dared to cross. !'
The old man ceased speaking. He still stood tall and erect, with his snow-white locks falling on his shoulders, and the claymore trembling in his hand. His fiery spirit, which had sustained him during the time he was recalling the scenes of his youth, was yielding to his age; one more effort he made, and managed to put back the old claymore under the rafters; but his tough old frame was exhausted, and he sank back in his arm-chair by the fireside.
THE ART OF GOOD LIVING. IT is not in the newest work that one always finds the greatest interest, and a small octavo picked up at a bookstall has afforded us more entertainment than we should probably have found in the latest addition to Mudie's wellstocked shelves. The stall-keeper had evidently formed a hasty judgment of the book, based on the two most prominent words of the title page, since he had carelessly thrown it into a basket with a miscellaneous array of others, attaching a label, Theological Works, one shil ling each! Taking up the book, curiosity was excited by noting that the volume was dedi
He told us how his father had been out in the '45'-how he had fought at Culloden in the 'good cause' how he had been defeated-and how, as a fugitive, his father, with his own hand, had slain his pursuers; and at length, wounded and weary, he had reached the cottage where we now were. He told us how the vengeancedealing soldiers and dragoons had followed him up, and how two of his brothers had been murdered in cold blood on the 'gowan brae' at the back of the house; and how his father had to hide in a cave away among the hills a cave into which he could only crawl backwards, and where his only sustenance for months was a skinful of cold porridge, which his little daughter managed to convey from time to time to the neighbour-cated to the Right Worshipful the Court of hood of his hiding-place, choosing a different path Aldermen,' and that the author was described each time she went, so as to avoid detection. At as Fellow of the Beef-steak Club, and an length, he told us, the search was given up the Honorary Member of several Foreign Picnics! soldiers were withdrawn; and more dead than Curious to see what such a writer could find alive, his father struggled back, to find his home to say on theology, especially to such patrons, made desolate, his kinsfolk slain, and starvation we purchased the volume and bore it home staring him in the face! Years passed away; for careful perusal. Further examination but the poor people lived in constant dread of showed that the author offered his book to a return of the cruel soldiers; and one day many the aforesaid Worshipful Court as a slight years afterwards, a detachment of dragoons was testimony of admiration for the capaciousness seen coming along the road towards the bridge. of their stomachs as well as of their under'My father saw them comin'; and single-handed standings, and for the solidity of their heads he went forth to meet them. He had put on as well as of their principles. After this, we his kilt, the wearing of which had been forbidden, were not unprepared for the racy morsels that and took his claymore with him. When the awaited us in the volume itself, of which the dragoons came to the bridge, my father drew his full title is,Essays Moral, Philosophical, and