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sopher, that they have found a species of , With bended knee she prints the humid sands, Conferva, which is of the class under con Upturns her glistening eye, and spreads her
hands.” sideration, sometimes on stones, walls, and old wood, and often in fresh water, where After such a description, a reference to it generally forms a thick texture like felt, the classic story of Hero and Leander might and which may be seen constantly to move naturally be expected ; and in conformity in all directions when exposed to the influ with such expectation, Darwin actually ence of light and heat.
makes the allusion, describing the vegeThis extraordinary affinity of the vege
table Hero as exclaimingtable and animal kingdoms of nature shall « 'Tis he, 'tis he! my lord, my life, my lore ! form the ground-work of our succeeding Slumber, ye winds; ye billows, cease to move! lecture: in the mean time, we shall con Beneath his arms your buoyant plumage spread, clude the present one with some curious
Ye swans; ye Halcyons, hover round his head!" references of the learned and poetic Dar After so warm a reception we are not win, with respect to the aquatic mosses surprised to find, that above alluded to,
“ With eager step the boiling surf she braves, Speaking of a species of the ga, which And meets her refluent lover in the waves : is found loose in many lakes in a globular Loose o'er the flood her azure mantle swims, form, floating from shore to shore to unite And the clear stream betrays her snowy limbs.” with other fixed species, he observes :
And all this in exact botanical confor. Night's tinsel beams on smooth Loch Lomond mity with her classic counterpart, the fair dance,
Hero, whom the poet describes as holding Impatient Æga views the bright expanse :
her lamp, sheltered by her robe from the Jo vain her eyes the passing floods explore,
winds, as a beacon for her lover, when Wave after wave rolls freightless to the shore. Now dim amidst the distant foam she spies
She guides A rising speck,-''Tis he, 'ris he,' she cries; Her bold Leander o'er the dusky tides; As with firm arms he beats the streams aside, Wrings his wet hair, his briny bosom warms, And cleaves with rising chest the tossing tide, And clasps her panting lover in her arms.
THERE was little fear of Cecile over she felt certain that she was not deceived sleeping herself the next morning; sleep in this conjecture, by the woman eyeing was a stranger to her eyes till the hour of her, with that kind of look, which, though five, when she rose and dressed herself in | devoid of impertinent scrutiny, served to haste, and making up a small parcel, while shew she has seen her before, but sought she placed the little casket given her by De in her memory for the time. Cecile well Tourville carefully about her person, she recollected the court before the house, and descended into the garden, and resolved, felt now convinced she was in the same rashly, as she then thought, to follow the road she had travelled through before, with Palmer.
the steward of Madame de Lambert : she He did not keep her waiting, but hasten- made the remark to the Palmer, who only ing to a gate which led into a private road,|| replied, that the roads in France were very they both entered a covered litter, which | similar to each other; and after they had stood in waiting, and had proceeded in it taken an hasty meal, they ascended a more before noon, over a considerable tract of || light voiture, and travelled on at a much country. They then halted at an inn, to quicker rate. take that refreshment of which both stood After sleeping one night on the road, greatly in need.
the astonishment of Cecile was truly great, The little inn and the hostess seemed | when she beheld the next morning, after a neither of them unknown to Cecile ; and | journey of about three hours, the venerable
ruins of St. Benedict's Chapel, and the sorrows now took possession of her mind, lofty turrets of the proud Castle of St. || yet flew to the succour of the old confessor; Valerie. Trembling now with dread of her | her presence seemed to revive him; she atbenefactor's anger, she severely blamed tended him with the most assiduous and herself for the rash step she had taken; bit soothing care, and the next eventful mornthe Palmer, who seemed to discover what || ing, the physician who attended him, prowas passing in her mind, said, “ Fear not, || nounced him out of danger. daughter; De Tourville will not blame you The Palmer came about ten o'clock to for what you have done: he will rather conduct the pale and weeping Cecile to the praise that fortitude, which will enable you | Chapel of St. Benedict. “ This day,” said to behold to-morrow the marriage which is | he, solemnly, “ marks the future colour of to be privately celebrated in the Chapel of
your be courageous,—be heroic,you St. Benedict. It is there that the Mar- | will soon see your parents,—you will be chioness de Lambert is to receive the nup- happy as your heart can wish." Oh! how tial benediction, as she hopes to upite her impossible, thought Cecile, as she retired hand with that of St. Albert, who will on with her conductor, behind the ruined no account be married elsewhere.” Cecile | shrine of St. Benedict, and awaited the apclasped her hands together in silent agony ; || proach of these ill-paired votaries of Hyshe could not speak, she was not prepared | men. Six
young women, arrayed in white, for so sudden a shock: it was there, thought entered, strewing the broken pavement of she, he first breathed his vows of attach the chapel with flowers. The Palmer ment to me; and it is, there he becomes smiled, and said, “ Fit emblem of the union doubly perjured! “Be assured,” resumed of spring with decayed age!" At another the Palmer, " that De Tourville respects the time Cecile would have smiled too, but she strong parental tie too much to withhold a now fancied she should smile no more. daughter from embracing her mother: fear Next came the agonising sight of St. nought from him, but hasten now the Albert, richly dressed, his face lighted up good Pauline, the nurse and careful protec- || with smiles of joy, leading by the hand his tress of your infant years.” Cecile waited future bride, habited in white and silver, not for a second com mmand, but leaped and her own dark hair adorned with pearls. from the voiture, and with breathless haste, | Already she had placed her foot on the ran towards the castle.
lower step of the altar, and Cecile, on the Pauline was seated in melancholy mood, || verge of fainting, sunk her head on the at the great hall door, spinning : after the shoulder of the Palmer. “ Fear nothing," first congratulations, she informed Cecile said he,“ now is the decisive moment; rethat the Count had quitted home soon after | vive : this wedding will not take place." her departure, and had not yet returned, | This last sentence acted like electricity on and poor father Anselm lay at the point of Cecile; but she looked anxiously on the death. “ Alas!" said Cecile, bursting into | Palmer, whose cheek now glowed with a tears of grateful tenderness, as she recalled | faint but beautiful flush. The priest opento her mind the old man's energetic blessing | ed the book! The Palmer darted from his on her, “ how many are the vicissitudes of concealment, threw off his disguise, and a few months!"_" Ah! indeed, Mademoi- || from beneath the large pilgrim's hat, fell a selle," said Pauline. “ First we have never | profusion of auburn tresses, and under the seen the light in the chapel that used to humble habit was a rich robe of blue and terrify us so, since you've been gone; then || silver, which floated down a spare, but elemy good master's gone, nobody knows | gant female form, and Cecile beheld the where, and the poor old father is dying; | original of the picture she possessed, with and then there's that old witch, the Mar- || the casket given her by De Tourville. chioness de Lambert, going to be married | Though somewhat faded by years and sickin the old chapel to-morrow to a young || ness, it was still the same sweet counteboy; I don't know who he is, he is not yet || nance, which neither seemed capable of dearrived, but he will be here to-morrow, || stroying. early.":
As this form stood before the Marchioness The amiable Cecile, however her own de Lambert, that lady gave a piercing
shriek, and fell senseless on the steps of the ;, him that his wife carried on a criminal coraltar. Consternation sat on every face—the respondence with the Baron St. Albert. wedding was at an end!
Forbade the house of De Tourville, St. AlSuddenly the door of the chapel opened, bert found means one day to bear a letter and the Count de Tourville, attended by a
from his wife to the Countess, during the numerous train of lords and vassals, enter absence of her husband : he returned uned: approaching the altar, he said to his expectedly, and St. Albert was taking a servants, “ Take up that wretched woman;
last tender farewell, as Adelaide urged his and you, ladies, who were her attendants, instant departure, when the Count entered see that nothing is wanted to her recovery. her apartment. Full of rage, the Count And now, holy father, proceed in your sa
drew his sword, and was about to plunge cred office.” Then taking the hand of Ce- || it in the bosom of the Baron, when his wife cile and that of St. Albert, he led the threw herself between them and awarded astonished orphan to the altar: she, how
the blow. St. Albert escaped, but was ever, drew back, and said, “O, Sir, pardon murdered by a banditti in his way home. my disobedience: I cannot wed the man,
The wicked Marchioness soon after bewho preferred riches, though accompanied came a widow, and she incessantly defamwith age, to me."_“No, Cecile,” said St. ed the unhappy Adelaide, while she preAlbert; “ from my first visit to Paris, till tended the firmest friendship and pity for this moment, my heart has been solely the Count. Thinking Adelaide the only obyours ; and all my endeavours were only || stacle in her way to a marriage with him, employed to obtain you, with your father's || she sent a female, whom she thought she consent. Allow me then to receive you could trust, to administer poison to the infrom a father's hand.”—“ Ab! where is my
nocent Countess. The messenger, however, father?” said Cecile. “ Behold him here,” || abhorring the horrid act, pretended to said De Tourville, tenderly embracing her; || comply, but acquainted the Countess with “ behold, also, your much injured mo her perfidy, promising her every assistance ther.” The lady, then, heretofore disguised in her power. Madame de Tourville was as a Palmer, sprang forward, and received || then in a distant province, living on a the embraces of the astonished Cecile. I very moderate pension allowed her by her “Give your hand now to St. Albert,” said | husband, who had taken from her her the Count;“ and we will then repair to my child, the little Cecile, and whom be resolve castle, where all shall be explained.” ed to bring up ignorant of her parents. The wedding of Cecile with St. Albert
The Countess was soon persuaded to was then celebrated in that chapel, where
confide in the female who was sent to be her mothier, the Countess de Tourville, had
her murderer. Her beauty, her sweetness, endured much sorrow, but who now saw
and virtue, wrought a real reformation in her daughter united to her godson, the first
this woman, who continued the faithful atand sole object of that daughter's choice.
tendant, and assisting friend of Madame de An elucidation immediately took place on
Tourville till her innocence was proved. their return to the castle, and which we
The first care of the Countess was to give will now give our readers as briefly as pos out that she was actually dead; and the sible.
care of the confidante was to furnish herself Madame de Lambert had ardently loved with every attestation of the innocence of De Tourville, even after her marriage; and
her mistress. Years past on, and remorse a prey to every passion, she resolved, when had not yet assailed the mind of the Mar. she found him married to the beautiful chioness, though her love for De Tourville Adelaide of Morençy, to effect her destruc was at an end. He thought her a steady tion.
friend; and, through her, Cecile was introAdelaide had a friend to whom she was duced to the Princess Marguerite. tenderly attached, and who married, at the By the help of her confidante, Adelaide same time, the Baron St. Albert. Madame found means to gain admittance to the subde Lambert observed that the Count de terraneous vaults of the deserted Chapel of Tourville's grand foible was an invincible
St. Benedict. She was shocked to see a jealousy. She soon found means to inform | tomb erected to the murdered St. Albert
and for some time she thought, like Cecile, with sorrow, her task a most difficult one, that her husband had been his murderer. | The Count, a prey to the bitterest remorse, The tomb was raised near that of his mother, and his love for his lost Adelaide knowing and remorse alone had caused the unhappy nu diminution, was frequently absent on De Tourville to erect a monument to him, long and rigorous pilgrimages of penance. of whose death he was entirely innocent. | At length, this indefatigable woman found The Countess longed for an opportunity to him at Loretto : she produced her testimoshew herself to her daughter, to discover nials ; she informed him his wife yet lived ; herself to her, and urge her to fly from the and De Tourville, on the wings of love and protection of a murderer. She knew the penitence, hastened to throw himself at the females of those times were not slow in in- feet of his injured Adelaide. All was now vestigating any thing which bore the ap ripe for execution: he met the pretended pearance of mystery, and she furnished her- | Palmer on the road, where Cecile had self with a light, which she made to glide stopped to repose, embraced, and was forfrom window to window, in that manner, || given by his wife; and he promised her on so that her form was not seen, except once. a signal, agreed on between them, to be in When St. Albert and Cecile entered the the Chapel of St. Benedict the next day. chapel on the night of the storm, she sta The wretched Marchioness, on coming to tioned herself behind the ruined shrine, || herself, after her preposterous marriage holding the light above her head. In an had been prevented, sent for a priest, and guish at her daughter's departure for Paris, l in presence of the Count and Countess, she soon after quitted St. Benedict, and with the young Baroness of St. Albert, took the habit of a pilgrim, while St. Al | confessed the whole of her guilt, and retired bert, whose first journey to Paris had been to end her days in a convent. While St. at the instigation of his dying mother, was Albert and his lovely bride, blest in each introduced to Madame de Lainbert, who | other, were made still more happy by the no sooner saw the elegant youth but she union of the amiable Gertrude with Mont loved.
Aubin, which union had been prevented As usual, her passions were unswayed by | for a time, by the insidious artifice of Maany consideration : she offered herself and || dame de Lambert, who had implanted the her fortune to the needy St. Albert; and he thorn of jealousy in the bosom of Gertrude, now, in concurrence with his godmother, against the interesting Cecile, whom the saw the opportunity of attesting her inno- Baroness Mont Aubin again pressed to her cence, and of exposing and confounding the bosom with the cordial embrace of friendguilty: he delayed from time to time the ship, and gladly hailed the alliance of the projected marriage, till he had rendered the house of De Tourville with that of St. Allady so dependent on his will, that she at bert. length consented, though with much re The delighted parents, now happier luctance, to have the wedding solemnized | than before, in this their second union, in the Chapel of St. Benedict.
passed the remainder of their days in har. In the mean time, the confidante of the mony, and in the exercise of every virtue ; Countess was employed in finding out the and the first improvement made by De Count de Tourville: provided with letters | Tourville on his estate, was the repairing from the Marchioness, and the most certain and beautifying the scene of his many proofs of her lady's innocence, she found, 'l anxious, but now happy moments.
ON THE ABOLITION OF THE SLAVE TRADE.
TO THE EDITOR OF LA BELLE ASSEMBLEE.
your correspondents, adorn the impressions SIR,-) hope a better motive than the of sense with the glowing tints of imaginasinister pleasure of egotism induces me to tion, I shall lay before you facts, interesting send you some account of a recent adven- | to the commercial interests of all Europe, ture, and to intreat you may, without de- and most intimately and inseparably conlay, allow my paragraphs a place in La nected with all that can render life desirBelle Assemblée. If I cannot, like many of || able to thousands who have braved every
danger for their country, and have enriched excited our tenderest feelings, our most more, her treasuries by their labours-labours | anxious exertions. We left our inn just as DWI! that have terminated fatally for themselves. the sun began to shed a rosy light over the int on A lively writer has observed, that the ro eastern horizon ; and guided by a youth,
mauce of real life goes beyond the most who climbed the steepest acclivities with found
soaring or devious flights of fiction : and, the elastic movements of a chamois, we stin alas! if the mothers and wives of mariners surmounted a stupendous pile of rocks, and lived
were able to bring forward their records of rested half an hour beneath the shade of e a domestic calamity, my diminished narrative | majestic trees in the middle region. Pro
would appear to furnish only common in- ceeding to the highest peaks, the hoarse -3.052cidents. But those incidents operate in- | moaning of the winds, that perpetually agicende
cessantly upon the general weal or woe of ftated the wood, sunk into profound silence nations, and they ought to be made known by the great space that intervened. Every to their rulers, who must remain in igno sense was absorbed in the faculty of vision,
rance, if no humble agent will take upon which comprehended the circuit of ten o be it himself to convey the information.
counties. I shall not attempt to delineate Hay
1 lately accompanied a brother, whose the diversified, blended and contrasted ing a health had been impaired by multifarious beauties, which, in her most munificent rre and harassing cares, and had been advised and sportive mood, nature had lavished on , 4 to divert his mind in travelling through dis- the irregular scenery formed by rocks of uintes tricts where the novel wild graces of natu every shape and dimension, gradually slop1847 ral sublimity might excite the most poig- ing to verdant mounts, glens, and wide reture nant delights of taste and sensibility. We vales, intermingled by forests, lakes, rush. ile y frequently left our horses in trust to our ing cataracts, winding rivers, and more i en attendants, and struck through pedestrian | rapid streams glittering as they purled by the paths in quest of the poor and the afflicted. | along the pebbled channel. We also Mor A traveller possessing means and inclina- caught a distant view of the expanded
tion for dispensing benefits in his progress, ocean, where the frequent passing sail will seldom pass one day without exquisite | might almost have been mistaken for the satisfaction. For the sum of two hundred course of a bird in the sky. Dilapidated, pounds my brother has accumulated a castellated remains of baronial grandeur fund of blissful retrospections not to be were interspersed by lofty plantations of exhausted though his valuable life should | trees introduced by the industry of latter be prolonged to patriarchal years. He has ages; with cultivated fields, flowery meads, a wife and large family, so I took the liber- | luxuriant gardens, and velvet lawns, surty of reminding him he was not master of | rounding edifices of modern architecture. Fortunatus's purse. He gaily replied: "I These are objects that have been described
am master of a purse still replenishing for or imitated, until novelty is worn to fritters. Inich charitable purposes, by the economy and But the claims of humanity can never lose hala self-denial of my chere moitié, and her well their power over British hearts, or meet rtui instructed boys and girls. They saved last disregard from the r– personage who, as
winter several hundreds of their stated al- || their guardian, has been crowned by Proviiriaz! lowance for dress and amusements. dence with unparalleled prosperity. His aim many deputed Almoner of that sacred deposit, | would be to wipe all tears from all faces.
and in discharging the duties of my office, Oh! that I could represent the sorrows I my constitution of body and spirit has de- have witnessed! The briny showers that rived more salutary influence than by all bathed the cheeks of age and infancy the tonics, balsamics, or cordials in the || would not have fallen in vain. whole materia medica. The finest and In, the vicinity of the mountain we remost extensive prospects we expect to be marked a cottage scarcely rising above the
hold to-morrow, in ascending the peak, || low copse that defended the thatched roof ting
can yield no charm so heart-cheering as the || from northern gusts of air. Our guide inopes smile glisteving through tears on the cheek | formed us that lonely dwelling had been
of consoled misfortune." The words were rented by a lady, who came there two prophetic. We have met beings who have years ago for goat whey, as her daughter
trade in the
to he riend