details have been furnished of her last moments, and, though death came upon her so suddenly, she retained her presence of mind; she recollected all things essential; God, her soul; then Monsieur, the King, her family, and friends, and addressed to everybody words of truth and gentleness in the sweetest manner, and with becoming seriousness. When she was first taken ill, Docteur Fenillet was sent for; he was Chanoine of St. Cloud, and a man of the greatest austerity; he did not attempt to soothe the Princess, nay, he spoke almost harshly to her. But let us hear his own account.

"I was sent for in great haste about eleven o'clock at night. When I reached her bedside she requested everybody to retire, and then said

"You see, monsieur, to what state I am reduced!'

"To a very fortunate state, madame,' replied I. You will now be ready to confess that there is a God whom you have very little known or served during your life?'"

He then told her that all her past confessions were as nothing; that her whole life had been one great sin. He assisted her as far as time would permit, in making a general confession; this she made with every symptom of piety.

Her ordinary confessor was by her bedside as well as M. Feuillet. This good man was anxious to address her also, but he was so lengthy that the Princess turned, with a look of suffering resignation, to Madame La Fayette, who was present, and then turning to her old confessor, she said, very gently, as if afraid to hurt him"My father, permit M. Feuillet to speak now. You shall talk to me afterwards."

M. Feuillet still continued to address her very severely, and aloud

"Humble yourself, madame! Behold, by God's hand, all this empty pomp is fading from you! You are nothing but a miserable sinner, but an earthen vessel, which will shortly break to pieces! Of all your greatness, not a trace will be left.'

"It is true, oh God!' exclaimed she, agreeing humbly to all that the good, though austere, priest told her, and saying, as was her nature, something amiable and kind in return."

M. Comdon, Bossuet, was also summoned from Paris. The first messenger did not find him at home, and a second, and a third were hurried off, for madame was now in extremity, and had received the viaticum.

Here the severe Docteur Feuillet's manner in describing the scene evidently softens, and in mentioning Bossuet's arrival, he says: :

"She was as much pleased to see him as he was afflicted to find her in the last struggle. He threw himself upon the ground and uttered a fervent prayer, which touched me exceedingly. He spoke encouragingly of faith, love, and of great mercy."

When Bossuet had finished speaking, or even before he had finished, Madame's first lady-in-waiting approached her bedside to give her something which she required, and Madame took the opportunity to whisper to her, in English, in order that M. Bossuet

might not hear, thus preserving, even to the last, that sense of delicacy and politeness, to which she was always so alive :

"When I die, give M. Comdon the emerald which I have had set for him."

Bossuet, in his "Funeral Oration," alludes to this circumstance: "That art of bestowing anything in the way which was most agreeable to the person to whom it was offered, which could not fail to be remarked during her life, she retained even when at the point of death, for of this I can myself bear testimony."

It is the fashion of the present day to say that Madame Henriette was not poisoned, and it is now considered an established fact, that she died of the cholera-morbus. The official examination of the body, which was thought desirable for political reasons, seemed to prove that this was the case. The first idea, however, was, that Madame had been poisoned-she said so, indeed, before Monsieur, begging at the same time that the cup from which she had drunk might be examined. "I was standing by Monsieur in the ruelle," says Madame La Fayette," and though I felt it quite impossible that he could have committed such a crime, a natural sensation of astonishment at the malignity of human nature caused me to observe him attentively. He was neither moved nor embarrassed at what Madame had said; he only ordered that the remainder of the liquid should be given to a dog. He agreed with Madame, that it would be better to send immediately for some antidote to remove so disagreeable an impression from Madame's

mind."

In this temperate and cautious manner does Madame La Fayette clear Monsieur. The letter which was addressed to Cosnac on the 26th of June, describes him, however, as being more bitter than ever against Madame, and as threatening her with regard to the future. In another letter, which was written the evening before her journey to England, Madame expresses her fears and her sad forebodings:

"Monsieur is still highly irritated with me, and I may expect much sorrow and vexation on my return from this journey. Monsieur insists upon my getting the chevalier recalled, or else, he declares, he will treat me as the worst of women."

Reflect well concerning the manner of her death, and note, too, that almost immediately after it, the chevalier reappears at court. It does not appear, however, from Cosnac's letters that he entertained any suspicions of foul play; they only express bitter grief.

Madame died at the age of twenty-six, after having been for nine years the very centre of attraction at the Court of Louis the Fourteenth, and of its brightest ornament at the most brilliant portion of his reign. Though his Court was afterwards distinguished by more pomp and splendour, it lacked perhaps much of that distinction and refinement which then characterized it.

VOL. XXXIV.

E

50

ADVENTURES OF A FIRST SEASON.

COMING TO TOWN.-LOVERS.

Six months had elapsed, and I had left the dear old home with the acacias that waved before the door. I had taken a pathetic leave of the great Newfoundland-dog-I had bid a long farewell to the copse and its verdant walks-overshadowed with shady boughs-to the desolate park and the wild gravel-pit, and I had sighed when I remembered that spring was approaching, and that the flowers would blossom in all their glorious tints, but that I should be far away, unable to admire them, or to watch the multitude of bees and gaudy butterflies as they chased each other from sweet to sweet.

I was now in London, and, truth to tell, had somewhat forgotten my quiet life at home. Books and flowers, and the charms of spring, were temporarily obliterated by the novelty and pleasures of a first season in town, and all the delightful excitement thereunto belonging. We were established in a small house in a fashionable neighbourhood; our means being limited, as I did not come into possession of my fortune until after one-and-twenty, and my mother's was not large.

Of course all my wardrobe had undergone a thorough revision, and being delivered over into the merciless hands of a fashionable dressmaker, my garments were reformed in the most complete manner. Commencing with those necessary but unmentionable "supports," that as often destroy as improve the female figure, I was placed in the midst of whalebones, and laced until I absolutely believed myself in a prison of iron; but my loud lamentations were only met with assurances of the great improvement to my figure, and exhortations to draw in my waist rather more-advice, I need not add, I cared not to comply with. Then I was consoled by the arrival of baskets-full of new dresses-white, spotless, elegant ball-dresses-light as a zephyr. Elegant dinner costumes of silk or fancy materials, and morning toilettes, quite à ravir. My vanity was tickled, and so I patiently bore the infliction of the internal stocks, until I suppose I grew to them, for I felt them no

more.

All this display of dress was duly admired and commented on by a good-hearted little country maiden that had accompanied me in the capacity of maid; but who, poor innocent soul, knew as little about adorning a young débutante as I did myself. She could only stand by and wonder, and clap her hands at the notion of " Missy" being so smart. But she was otherwise of infinite use to me, for, being the only person as ignorant as I was myself, I could freely wonder and converse with her of the strangeness of all we saw. Then, when tired of doing company in the drawing-room, or of driving in the carriage round that wearisome Hyde Park, what romps we used to have! Good heavens! if I lived to the age of Methuselah can I forget how, retiring to the uppermost story of the house, and shutting all the doors, we fought and struggled with each other like schoolboys, by way of proving which was the strongest, or, spreading the feather beds on the floor, we made believe it was a haycock, and rolled in them until, what with the previous fight and the heat, we were so exhausted and tired that neither of us could move, but lay there

Oh !

laughing at each other like a couple of happy fools as we were. what merry jovial days of fun! One half-hour of such genuine mirth out weighs centuries of stiff-stilted amusement, where Nature has long been forgotten in favour of her rival Art, and where, like the dolls in a theatre of Fantocini, people all move on certain established and approved springs (of action).

But with all this indulgence of a certain innate hoydenism, I really was become somewhat versed in society, and should no longer have led an admiring lord into a gravel-pit by way of a pastime, or cried because he would not admire it as much as I did. No one would have recognised the débutante, whose fortune was positively stated to be 10,000l. a year (the usual figure of all heiresses before marriage), in the romp who retired to the attics in order to let off the steam of superabundant good spirits in violent romps with a little rustic. But so it was.

Then I was so molested with lovers or admirers (always remember of my fortune, for I was not such a fool as to be deceived in what was the object of their love), that I was at times driven quite beside myself, and used fairly to cut and run, leaving mamma to entertain these interesting young gentlemen; I hated them all save one-but of him more hereafter. He shall not be mixed up with the common herd.

There was always the little aristocrat grown prouder and more affected than ever. Of course all that noble family were in town, and my little gentleman was of the party, having left Eton and entered on his town career. We met occasionally-never when we could help it. But sometimes, by the united efforts of papa and the two mammas, were forced to be civil and walk arm-in-arm; a real infliction to us both; for, since the gravel-pit walk, mutual indifference had given birth to a kind of hatred, at least, I can answer for my own cordial antipathy.

The most troublesome of my swains, nearly as numerous as those of the witty Venetian, the heiress of Belmont, was a certain young clergyman of good family and high connexions, but who positively had not a penny to bless himself withal. Without any depth of character, he was agreeable and good-natured. Perfectly self-satisfied, and never dreaming that his attentions might be disagreeable, his audacity was quite curious; nothing put him down. He laughed and talked, and called and offered his arm for a walk, or as an escort at the play, with a happy assurance, that neither utter silence, cool looks, or short rejoinders, in any way affected. My mother, considered, when necessary, a kind of domestic governor, and nick-named Queen Boadicea, as being of a stern and warlike complexion, in vain brought all her artillery, and dignified reserve, and black looks against this shred of the garment of Aaron. He was invulnerable, and came in next day rubbing his hands, smiling, and offering his services, as if he were well-assured that he, and he only, was the welcome beau whom I expected. At last I really began to admire his never-failing good-nature, it was like an inexhaustible spring, that flows and flows until it becomes so troublesome that people are obliged to attend to it.

The worst of the matter was, that this hero had a mamma, a venerable lady whom I really loved. But she loved her son, her youngest, her penniless; the eldest was a baronet, and well-married to a rich widow; as she loved him with all the doting fondness of age, she fancied all the world must love and admire him as much as she did; the consequence of which was, that all my affection and all my attentions

shown to her were construed by them both as a plain, though covert encouragement of" dear Charles."

If I pressed her to visit me often (which I did, as I delighted in her calm gentle conversation, anecdotes, and reflections about by-gone years, like a chapter out of an amusing memoir; for she was a woman of considerable acquirement, and had mixed a great deal with the wits of her day, and had been on terms of intimacy with many a celebrated character, whose name is canonized in the world's breviary)—well, if I pressed her to visit me, straightway was this construed into a decided, though delicately expressed, desire on my part to see her " dear Charles." So, accordingly, to my great annoyance, no sooner had I greeted my agreeable old friend, than I perceived the tall figure of the darling boy advancing behind her, and saw the happy gratified look with which the kind old soul turned towards him, saying-" Dear Charles could not think of letting me come here alone (with an emphasis), and has accompanied me. I know he will be welcome."

Who could have the heart to undeceive her, or sadden by one look her maternal pride? Not I, at any rate. So I smiled a false smile of false welcome to the tall parson, and impressed a true kiss of real affection on the sunken cheek of his aged parent.

She used on these occasions to look so happy! Already by those very false optics (more deceptive than the most partially coloured spectacles), "the mind's eye," all very well for the guidance of such a genius as Hamlet, but quite delusive to poor old Lady C- she saw her son already possessed of 10,000l. a year, my positively stated fortune (not a groat less, my dear fellow, I assure you, Miss has a round

10,000l., said Captain to his friend Jack Spanker at the club). She saw him emancipated from the humiliating trammels of a poor country curacy of 100l. a year, where he was forced to catechize dirty children who won't learn, scold their mammas, and exhort their papas, who delighted in cursing rather than in blessing, and loved the beer-shop far better than the church. Where he had to christen young children in cold and frosty seasons at inconvenient hours; which, as they always roared, and he hated babies, was a sad infliction. To marry dirty clod-hoppers to rustic Nancys, perhaps the very day, the very hour at which he was invited to join in a battue at a great duke's some four miles off. Which was a grievous bore, for who knew what such a man as dear Charles might do? what impression he might make on some magnificent peer possessed perhaps of first-rate patronage, to say nothing of my lord duke himself, who, after seeing him a few times, could not fail to be struck with his superior attainments, and determine on making the fortune of so talented a young man. All this was vexing in the highest degree, but nothing to being called away from the county ball, where he might be dancing with the belle of the room, and flirting as well as dancing; for dear Charles, according to his mother, was such a sad flirt that, as she told me, she really was wretched when she thought of all the hearts he had broken. To be called away, I say, in the very hour of glory to pray beside the bed of some wretched pauper, long an inmate of the parish poorhouse, whose soul, fluttering between time and eternity, desired consolation, yet lay so steeped in ignorance, as scarcely to comprehend the gracious message that was conveyed to it. For even the frivolity of Charles could not impair the grandeur, the sublimity of that beautiful service appointed by our church to soothe the dying hours of the peasant who