arrivals ; each moment brought a new rider and horse upon the scene. I know not how they came, for they arrived without my being in the least degree cognizant of the mode. At length I observed that the individual whom I had seen on the two preceding nights had arrived. He was mounted upon the grey horse which I had seen on these occasions. The party was exceedingly merry, and the greatest spirit and animation pervaded the assemblage. The dogs ran about smelling the earth and howling and barking as though anxious for the chase; the horses pawed the ground with their feet, and neighed as if they were also eager for a commencement of the sport. The gentlemen saluted each other with the greatest cordiality and friendship, shaking each other heartily by the hand, and evidently anticipating some excellent sport by moonlight. There seemed to be something so hilarious, so fascinating about the meeting, that I involuntarily wished myself to be of the party. It was strange that I should have been actuated by so singular a desire, for I had always been averse to sports of the kind. I longed to be a participator in the chase. All at once there appeared to me to be something so inspiriting in the pursuit. The circumstances, too, added to the interest I felt in the matter. The wild character of the country-the jovial bearing of the horsemen the rich light shed upon the scene by the trembling moonbeams;-yes, there was something bold and adventurous-something calculated to drive gloom and spleen from the mind, in the dashing, headlong chase-in the rapid transition from place to place in the fearless leaps, the hairbreadth escapes, the wild haloo, the animation that characterises both man and animal. Away with solitude-away with fruitless grief-away with care that was for ever gnaw, gnawing at the heart. I was resolved to join the sportsmen and participate in their dangers and enjoyments. I was too long in forming this decision, for before I had time to put it into execution, they had gone. I heard the tramping of the horses' feet, and the howling of the dogs for several minutes after they had disappeared.

On the following night I was at my old place, fully determined that nothing should this time mar my designs. The night was beautiful, and the party assembled again and went through the same ceremony as on the former occasion. There was a matter which caused me considerable perplexity, and seemed to forbid the execution of my purpose. I had no steed wherewith to accompany the fearless huntsmen on their expedition. I thought it nevertheless possible that some gentleman of the party might not be disposed to join the chase on the night in question, and whose horse might thus be at liberty. Filled with this idea, I descended from the tree, and advanced towards them. I was somewhat nervous and timid, but as I approached, the gentlemen came towards me, and saluted me with such kindness and cordiality, that I soon lost all reserve, and became as bold and confident as they. A horse was quickly provided me, and when I had mounted, the signal was given, and away we started. An avenue in the forest, which I had not previously observed, disclosed itself, and down it we galloped with the greatest fury. The horses snorted, and, like those which the famous Phaeton undertook to guide when he drove the chariot of the Sun,

Sponte sûa properant: labor est inhibere volentes.

Away we went. Men and animals were all actuated by the same spirit. May-VOL. XCV. NO. CCCLXXVII.

F

We had not proceeded far before a wolf was started, and the excitement at once became immense. The dogs set up the most terrific yells; the horses were almost unmanageable, and flames of fire shot from their nostrils, and were emitted by their hoofs coming in contact with the earth. The men shouted with a wildness and boisterousness that took me completely by surprise, but yet infused into my spirit a kindred degree of enthusiasm. I never felt so joyous before. The blood danced in my veins with all the fervour of youth-my pulse beat quickly-my mind felt at length entrammelled by the dark thoughts with which it had so long been distracted. Oh! this was glorious-soul-inspiriting!-dashing furiously over the country as though we were borne upon the wings of the wind-leaving objects in a moment at an immense distance behind us, and cleaving the air with irresistible force. There was a daring, a freedom in the act which compensated for a century of mere idleness, and imparted to the spirit a sense of liberty and adventure with which it is not commonly acquainted. No obstacle seemed to impede our way; we leaped fences and passed over large streams of water as though they had never stood in our road. The horses appeared to be mad with excitement, and tore up the earth with their feet, and snuffed the air with the greatest frenzy. A spirit of emulation prevailed equally amongst horses and men, and to be foremost in the chase was the object of all. Oh! never before had my spirit been so elated. I was drunk with enjoyment-I was almost beside myself with excitement. The wild haloo passed from mouth to mouth; boisterous laughter and merriment everywhere prevailed, and the strange yells of the dogs, and the tramping of the horses' feet, composed a combination of sounds difficult to describe. On we went. There was no pause, no rest in our daring and rapid flight. The level plains-the deep valleys-the mountain heights-were passed with equal rapidity. If a broad river lay in our way, there was not a moment lost in devising means whereby it might be passed. We plunged headlong in, horseman and steed, and the dogs were not backward in following the example, and we swam across it as swiftly as if we had been galloping over a piece of fine level ground.

The moon still shone in the placid blue heaven above us, and imparted to our flight a tinge of romance, of which the light of day would in a great measure have divested it. Thus we traversed a wide district of country. I know not the distance we accomplished, but it seemed to be immense-several hundreds of miles. As we continued this glorious chase, the heavens became overcast, and evidently portended a storm. The moon hid herself behind some dark clouds, and a thick darkness fell over the earth. We heeded it not-we dashed on-led on by an involuntary impulse to secure the object of our pursuit. The rain began to descend: at first it fell gently, but afterwards in torrents. The thunder pealed above our heads, and rent the atmosphere with terrific noises. The lightning at intervals darted through the opaque heavens, and immense trees, struck by the electric fluid, fell to the earth. Onward we went: we heeded not the elements-the horses appeared only to be stimulated to greater exertion by the fearful storm that had overtaken us. It harmonised with the feelings with which we were inspired. There was a wildness in it which accorded with our adventure, and which only tended

to heighten our enthusiasm. The earth trembled as the thunder rolled over it, and drank in greedily the rain that descended in such copious quantities. As we continued the pursuit, the horse I rode suddenly stumbled and fell. I was thrown from my seat to the ground with great violence. At the same instant, my companions of the chase melted into the air.

When consciousness returned to me, it was a beautiful starlight evening; and what was my surprise when I beheld my brother at a short distance from me. He was gazing upon the magnificent scenery surrounding him. I ran towards him; my sudden approach surprised and alarmed him. He was standing upon a steep precipice-he lost his balance, and fell over, and was dashed to pieces amongst the crumbling stones beneath. I was distracted. I raved like one beside himself. I had fulfilled my destiny. I was the instrument of my dear brother's death.

It was some time before I could convince myself that my adventure in the forest with the phantom huntsman had been merely a dream.

AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF ALEXANDRE DUMAS.*

THE name of the most distinguished romance-writer of the age is Alexandre-Dumas-Davy de la Pailleterie; and how so dignified an appellation became robbed of its fair proportions, remains to be told. The novelist's grandfather, the Marquis Antoine-Alexandre-Davy de la Pailleterie, for some reason or other unknown to his descendants, sold his patrimony and emigrated to St. Domingo or Hayti, where he wedded Louise Cessette Dumas, who must have been a half-cast. By her he had a son, Thomas, and this son, not agreeing with his father, who married in second nuptials his housekeeper at the advanced age of seventy-four, entered the French service as a private, and in doing so, in order not to disgrace his family, enlisted under the name of Alexandre Dumas-a designation which has been preserved by the Novelist, and by Alexandre Dumas fils, another name already well known to literature by the "Dame aux Camellias". '—a piece which is creating at this moment a perfect fureur in Paris.

The death of the old marquis, which took place thirteen days after his son's enlistment in the year 1786, severed the last tie that bound the future general to the aristocracy. Such was the progress achieved at that time in the armies of the young and turbulent Republic, that A. Dumas, a private in 1786, and who wedded, in 1792, Marie Labouret, daughter of the worthy host of the "Crown" at Villers-Côterèts, and mother of the Novelist, being then a lieutenant-colonel of hussars, in less than a year from that time was a general of brigade.

"the

Nothing, indeed, according to the son, could exceed the prowess of General Dumas. The Austrians called him Schwartz teufel, black devil," and Bonaparte gave him the designation of Horatius Cocles, because he defended a bridge single-handed against an army. The rapid fortunes of the Corsican were, however, by no means gratifying to the ardent but jealous Creole. Contemporary with Marceau, Hoche, Desaix, and Kleber, he was like them a true republican, and like them he never lived to be humbled by imperial ascendancy. But General Dumas's devotion to the republic, or antagonism to Napoleon, cost him dear. It led, during the campaign in Egypt, to an open quarrel with the general-in-chief, who only remarked, "The blind man does not believe in my fortune!" and to his quitting the army. Worse than that, on his way home he was taken prisoner by the Neapolitans, who administered to him poisons, which, although failing in immediate effect, hurried the swarthy hero to a premature grave at the age of forty, leaving a wife, a daughter, and the future writer (who came into the world after General Dumas's return from Egypt), almost without a resource in the world; nor would Napoleon ever do anything for them.

Alexandre Dumas was little more than four years old when he lost his father, yet he relates a strange incident connected with the event, to which he attached so much importance as to have it accompanied by a plan of the house wherein it occurred. This was the abode of a lock

Mémoires d'Alexandre Dumas. Tomes i, à v.

smith, whither young Dumas had been removed the day before his father's demise.

I remained (he says) till a late hour in the smithy; the forge gave out at night effects of light and shade-fantastic reflections, which greatly pleased me. About eight o'clock, my cousin Marianne came to fetch me and put me to bed in a little impromptu couch near a larger one, and I went to sleep with that good sleep that Heaven vouchsafes to children like the dews of spring.

At midnight I woke up-or rather were roused, my cousin and I-by a loud knock at the door. A night-lamp was burning in the room, and by the light of that lamp I saw my cousin rise up in her bed much alarmed, but not saying a word.

No one could knock at the door without getting through an outer one.

But I, who even at the present day shudder in writing these lines-I felt no fear; I got out of bed and went towards the door.

"Where are you going, Alexandre?" my cousin cried out; "where are you going?"

"You see where I am going," I answered quietly; "I am going to open the door for papa, who has come to bid us good-bye."

The poor girl jumped out of bed terrified, caught me just as I was opening the door, and brought me back by force to my bed. I struggled in her arms, shouting with all my strength, "Good-bye, papa! good-bye, papa!"

Something like a dying breath passed over my face and calmed me.

Nevertheless I went to sleep again with tears in my eyes, sobbing vehemently.

The next morning we were awoke at break of day.

My father had died at the very moment I had heard that lond knock at the door!

Then I heard these words, without being able thoroughly to understand all they meant :

66

'My poor child, your papa, who loved you so dearly, is dead!"

The Dumas family took refuge, after the death of the general, at the Hôtel de l'Epée. Among the friends of the family at that time was M. Collard, the head of a family to which the terrible Laffarge affair has since given so much celebrity. His real name was Montjorey, but he had exchanged that for Collard, out of respect for republican antipathies. This M. Collard had married a young girl named Hermine, whom he had met at the house of Madame de Valence, and of whom Dumas relates the following history:

One day the Duke of Orleans, going to see Madame de Montesson, at that time his wife, very unexpectedly found M. de Valence at her feet, with his head resting on her knees. The position was serious; but Madame de Montesson was a great lady, who was not easily dismayed; she turned round, smiling, to her husband, who had remained thunderstruck at the door.

"Come to my aid, Monsieur le Duc !" said she, "and help me to rid myself of this Valence. He adores Pulchérie, and insists upon marrying her." Pulchérie was the second daughter of Madame de Genlis; the first was named Caroline, and married M. de. Lawoestine.

The duke was delighted, especially after the fright he had experienced, to wed Pulchérie to M. de Valence. He gave six hundred thousand francs to the bride, and the marriage took place.

How was it that little Hermine lived with Madame de Valence, and who was this little Hermine? We will explain.

Madame de Montesson was aunt to Madame de Genlis. Madame de Genlis had been placed by Madame de Montesson as maid of honour to the Duchess of Orleans (Mademoiselle de Penthièvre). There Philippe-Joseph, afterwards