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no longer meet her Maurice. But after-, suit me better; besides, as my wife is dead, wards, though the regret of our lovers did they may live with me. Maurice is clever not diminish, yet they both began to think and well informed; he will attend to my of employing this weary time to advantage. business while I amuse myself. He is likeThe wheel turned, the plane slid, and the wise a fine young man, and will, I hope, time passed, but not exactly in the same make Thérèse forget that great lazy fellow, manner with one as the other. The tender Frederic, whom I have discharged." Ernestine, faithful to her grief, persevered This Frederic was a workman whose in her plan of employment: she did not || thoughts and time were solely occupied by allow herself a moment's respite; and she Thérèse: Master Thomas was tired of enjoyed no other pleasure than getting on him; Maurice took his place, and soon with her counterpane and her knitting, gained the old man's good graces and the and saying to herself every night, "Thank || heart of his daughter. She obeyed with Heaven, there is one more day gone!" great pleasure the commands of her father to sit with him in the work-shop: she amused him with a thousand sprightly sallies; sang to him the vaudevilles of the day, and read to him romances, operas, and the newspaper. In the evening, when he had finished his work, she would take a walk with him, and sometimes they played together at shuttlecock. This game was admirably calculated to display all the graces of the little Lyonese, who had the prettiest foot and the roundest and whitest arm in the world. How captivating was her countenance when, in laughing at the fall of the shuttlecock, she displayed teeth whiter than ivory! even her little Cleopatra nose appeared to Maurice at these moments handsome. Sonnemberg, and the sad Ernestine, are they then forgotten? It must be owned, that Maurice does not think much about his Ernestine when he plays at shuttlecock with Thérèse; nor when, seated by him in the work-shop, she converses with him or sings to him: but we must do him the justice to say, that when he retires to his room he feels something like remorse. It is this sentiment that so often presents Ernestine to him in his dreams; but she is always tender and affectionate, as in the days of their infancy; her image is present to him: at his awaking, he rises, vowing that Ernestine shall never have any rival in his heart. He is || determined speedily to give her a proof of it: but Maurice is young, Ernestine is at a distance of four hundred miles from him, and Thérèse is with him.

Maurice also counted the hours which he passed away from his Ernestine; but he did not devote all his time to regrets for the past. In truth, the change of scene, and the variety of objects which he beheld for the first time, speedily consoled him : he contemplated with pleasure the different manners and customs of the countries through which he passed. During the first year he travelled from town to town, working at his business, he acquired a tolerable knowledge of the French language; and being at Lyons, he engaged himself for two years to a skilful cabinet-maker, who was called Master Thomas. This man was much celebrated for his cleverness; he received all his models of furniture from Paris; and Maurice thought that he could acquire both money and knowledge of his business from him. Master Thomas had the most fashionable business in the town, but he neglected it for the bottle and the gaming table: he was enchanted, therefore, to find what he had long been seeking for in vain-a clever, honest, and prudent workman, to whom he could intrust the care of his work-shop, while he himself was at the alehouse. Maurice was indeed a pattern of attention and diligence, and his master spared no pains to retain him in || his service. One of the most effectual means, he thought, would be to bring him acquainted with his only daughter, Thérèse, a pretty attractive little Lyonese, who had been well educated, and who was naturally amiable. "Go into the shop," would her father say to her when he went out; "carry your work there, and keep Maurice company." "They will soon take a fancy to one another," thought he; " and I could not have a son-in-law that would

The father continued to give them entire liberty; he even said to those who had any pretensions to the hand of his daughter, that she was engaged to his foreman, Maurice, and that he would have no other

to business, and make Thérèse happy. But, come, why don't you speak? Is not such a gift as this worth thank ye? And you, you little fool, come and kiss me, instead of twisting your apron-strings."

son-in-law. He declared this more posi- | nexion, and all that I am worth; and that tively to her old sweetheart, Frederic, I only ask in return that you should attend whom he met one night strolling about, and in a very melancholy mood from having seen Thérèse playing at shuttlecock with Maurice. To banish all his expectations, the father made him believe that they were really married. "I tell you, simpleton," cried he, "that you lose your time and labour: have not you seen how fond Thérèse and Maurice are of each other? I have given her to him; every thing is concluded; and Maurice is able to break your bones, if you only look at his little wife." Frederic believed this intelligence, which filled him with vexation. He had only remained at Lyons for the sake of Thérèse, and he quitted it the next day, convinced that she was married.

Maurice had now completed his engagement with his master. During that time he had received some very affectionate letters from Ernestine; and he had written to her, but not so often as he would have done had not Therèse occupied his leisure moments. Between the plane and the shuttlecock, there remained very little time for correspondence; and the consciousness that Ernestine had some cause to reproach him, often hindered him from writing, because he was embarrassed what to say to her. However, not having heard any thing from Sonnemberg for more than two months, he began to be uneasy, and at last resolved on asking leave of absence.

Notwithstanding the attractions of Thérèse, Maurice had been, strictly speaking, faithful to his Ernestine. He thought Thérèse very pretty and genteel; he liked to romp with her; but he never had the most distant idea of marrying her. What was his surprise then, when one night Master Thomas, returning home half drunk, interrupted their play, by asking them if they were not thinking of a more serious game? "I mean marriage, my children. This is the spring: it is the proper time to think of it, and I wish every thing to be settled. Your engagement is expired, Maurice; you must enter into another for life with Thérèse. Write home, my boy, and ask the consent of your father, who will, no doubt, be satisfied when he knows that I give you my daughter, my con

Thérèse threw herself into the arms of her father; and Maurice, pale as death, covered his face with his hands, and knew not how to articulate a refusal. The father was very near laughing at him, but pitying his confusion, “Come, my son," said he, "embrace your bride-exchange your rings."

These words, embrace your bride-exchange your rings, restored Maurice all his courage: he imagined he heard his father say to him, when he gave him his Ernestine, "Go, my son, embrace your bride;" he thought he saw that tender girl throw herself into his arms, and say, "Dear Maurice, what will become of me without you?" and the ring which he was required to place upon the finger of Thérèse was the same that he had received of Ernestine! In a moment he raised his head, and in a tone full of feeling and expression he thanked his employer, and told him that he should never forget his kindness and good intentions; that he should always love Thérèse as a sister, but that he could not marry her, as he was already engaged; and that the ring which he wore on his finger was given him by his betrothed wife. He begged his master would ask his daughter, whether he had ever spoken to her of marriage? He might have added, that he had spoken to her repeatedly of Ernestine, and had given her the history of his ring; but he did not wish to bring any reproaches upon her. The old man flew into a violent passion; but Maurice bore his reproaches with so much sweetness, that Thomas, who had a good heart, concluded by being softened towards him. then, marry this betrothed of yours," said he, in a tone half sorrowful, half friendly: "since it is not Thérèse, the sooner you go the better. I shall always regret you, and you will perhaps sometimes regret the shop and the daughter of old Thomas."

(To be concluded in our next.)

"Go,

ANECDOTES OF ILLUSTRIOUS FEMALES.

PRINCESS DOWAGER OF WALES.

ever, to permit her daughters to remain in the camp, she retired, accompanied by her son, and escorted by a party of horse, into Campania.

The fortitude and constancy of Joan on the loss of her eldest son have been celebrated by a famous French author, in a dialogue of one hundred and twenty-one

THIS Lady, the mother of our present gracious and much-loved Sovereign, could not, with her unsullied character, be safe against the malignity of faction and party, which dared to attack and calumniate her heretofore pure and unblemished reputation. In the midst of the loudest clamours of her opponents, while even manual out-pages, entitled, Statues of the Temple of rage was threatened upon the palace and the Lady Joanna of Arragon. person of this injured and excellent Princess, a celebrated manufacturer of Birmingham was shewing her, at Carlton House, some specimens of his ingenuity; and while the horrid yells and execrations in the court-yard nearly prevented her being heard, she preserved all the fortitude of a great and virtuous mind, and said, with the utmost coolness, "How I pity these poor deluded people! I hope they will know better by-and-by."

JOAN OF ARRAGON.

SHE was the daughter of the Duke of Montalto, the third natural son of Ferdihand, King of Naples, and was accounted one of the most illustrious females of the sixteenth century. A temple at Arragon was erected to her, under the title of the Divine Lady; and as a mirror of learning in

those times, she received the ceremonials

of a poetical kind of deification, equal to that of being canonized as a saint.

BLANCHE OF CASTILLE

WAS the grand-daughter of Henry I. of England, and mother to Louis IX. of France. An anecdote is related by historians, when speaking of the great respect and affection shewn by Louis for his inestimable mother, as follows:

Tenacious of performing those rites of a parent, from which her Majesty thought no woman ought to be exempt, she had insisted on suckling the young Prince herself. The example of the great, it is well known, has an influence over the multi

tude; and a lady belonging to the court had, in imitation of her royal mistress, nursed her child also herself: she had, therefore, during an indisposition of the Queen, thought proper to supply the wants of the young Prince. Blanche, on reviving, put her child to her breast, which being

satisfied, refused the then feverish sus-
tenance of nature. Blanche, suspecting
what had passed, requested to see the per-
son who had done this kind office. The

lady confessed the fact, alledging that she
had been moved by the cries of the young
Prince. The Queen made no reply than
child to throw back the milk he had swal-
by a look of scorn; then compelling the
lowed, declared "that no other woman
mother to her son."
should dare to dispute with her the title of

During the pontificate of Paul IV. she shared in the resolutions taken by the Colonnas against the interests of the Pope. Her sex and character relieved her from experiencing the horrors of a prison, but she was forbid to leave the city: she contrived, however, either to deceive or bribe her guards. Gratiani describes her as a woman of most masculine resolution, on this account; and adds, that she escaped with her daughters from Rome, who had assisted their mother in bribing and corrupting the guard. Though far advanced in life at that time, she walked at a very Was the grand-daughter of the famous quick rate, till she had entirely lost sight John of Gaunt, and was married, in 1423, of the centinels; then mounting on horse- in the church of St. Mary Overy, Southback, accompanied by her daughters, she wark, to James 1. King of Scotland, who fled to the camp, where the Duke of Alva || had been a prisoner in England since received her with joy. Unwilling, how-March, 1404.

No. 60.-Vol. X.

JOAN BEAUFORT, QUEEN OF SCOTLAND,

B

In 1437, Joan received information of a conspiracy against her husband. Walter, Earl of Athol, uncle to the King, was told by a necromancer that before his death he should be crowned amidst a great concourse of people: this prophecy roused his ambition, and he determined on poisoning the King, and seizing on the reins of government. The plot was discovered to James by his Queen; he quitted his castle of Roxburgh, and repaired, accompanied

by Joan, to Perth. Walter, who had watched their motions, bribed a domestic to admit him into the apartment where the King and Queen were lodged. Joan, as the ruffians rushed into the room, threw herself between their weapons and the body of her husband; but her interposition was vain, she was torn from the arms of the unfortunate monarch, who fell a victim to his assassins.

SELECT ANECDOTES.

SOME ACCOUNT OF THE FAMOUS JOHN

LUDWIG.

Ludwig had never been used to take any thing upon trust, and was therefore continually turning over the leaves of his Bible, to find the passages referred to in the cate. chism.. In March, 1736, he was employed to receive the excise of the little district in which he lived; and he found, that in order to discharge this office, it was requisite for him not only to read and write, but to be master of the two rules of arithmetic, addition and subtraction. His ambition had now an object, and he determined to apply himself to arithmetic, but he wanted an instructor. At last he recollected that one of his school-fellows had a book, from which rules were taken by the master for || the instruction of his pupils. Having borrowed this important volume, he pursued the study with such application that in about six months he was master of the rule of three, with fractions. The power of figures were now at an end, and he knew enough to make him anxiously desirous of knowing more. He met with a treatise on geometry, and finding that this science was in some measure founded on what he had learned, he applied to the new study with great avidity; but not being able to comprehend either its theory or utility, he laid it aside to attend to the culture of his fields and vines. A severe winter, in the year 1740, confined him a long time to his cottage, and he once more had recourse to his book of geometry; and comprehending, by dint of study, the leading principles, he procured a little box ruler and a pair of compasses, and got the figures formed in wood. But he was still in want of a new book; and having laid by a little money by the next fair, he pur

JOHN LUDWIG was born February || 24, 1715, in the village of Cosse-daude, in || Saxony, and was sent, among other poor children of the village, very young to school. The Bible gave him much pleasure, so that he conceived the most earnest desire of reading it to others, but he had no opportunity of getting one into his own posses sion. In about a year his master taught him to write: this was very irksome to him. At ten years old he was put to arithmetic; but this he found extremely embarrassing and difficult, and was so disgusted with it, that after much scolding and beating he went from school, having learned no more than reading, writing, and his catechism. He was then sent into the fields to keep cows, and in this employment he soon became clownish, and lost all he had been taught. Associating only with the sordid and the vicious, he soon became as insensible as they. As he grew up he kept company with women of bad character, and abandoned himself to all those low pleasures which were within his reach. But, at length, a desire of surpassing others, that principle which is ever productive of true greatness, was not yet extinguished in his bosom: he remembered how often his || master had praised him when he was learning to read and write; he was still eager after this praise, but he knew not how to come at it. In the autumn of 1735, when he was about twenty years old, he bought a small Bible, at the end of which was a catechism, with references to several texts on which the catechism was founded.

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