from their unhappy country. But in spite of all the advantages and all the consolations he received in foreign lands, he never ceased to sigh after Paris. Thither his family, his friends, his most cherished habits, all called him. The compliments paid him on his poems only served to remind him of the lovely and captivating women who had inspired them; those on his novel, of the delights of Chanteloup, of the amiable Duchess de Choiseul (who had survived her husband only a few years), and of the Temple of Butterflies. The storm of the Revolution having subsided, many proscribed persons obtained leave to return to France; among these was Boufflers, who left Poland, travelling homewards through Bohemia, Bavaria, and Switzerland. He wished to revisit the beautiful shores of the Lake of Geneva, where, thirty years before, he had passed a time which he never recurred to without delight. He therefore stopped at Lauanne, and fearing lest his name might expose him to some disagreeable curiosity or supervision, he had furnished himself with a passport under the name of Foubers, a French painter. In this character, which he had more than once assumed before, he presented himself in the first houses of Lausanne, where he was received with all the attentions due to genuine talent. The rage for M. Foubers, and for his fine miniature portraits, was universal. As he was anxious to obtain beautiful subjects, he was constantly told that he ought to paint the Countess de Lauterbach; she was described to him as a lady of French origin, and the widow of a Bavarian general, who at his death had left her considerable property, inclading a magnificent estate, situated on the banks of the lake, at a few miles distance from Lausanne. At a fete given by one of the principal inhabitants of Lausanne the beautiful Countess of Lauterbach was present, and more than justified all his expectations. He was introduced to the countess, who appeared struck by the sound of his voice, and agitated by some emotion which she strove to dissemble. They entered into conversation, and Boufflers expressed the most earnest desire to paint from so fine a model. After a moment's reflection the Countess accepted his offer; and, as if struck by some sudden thought, fixed a day for Foubers to go to her house, at the same time expressing her pleasure at being painted by a French artist. On the day appointed a caleche stopped at the door of his lodging, and conveyed him to the Chateau de St. Sulpice, situated on the banks of the lake, opposite to the superb am phitheatre traced by the Alps on the horizon. Boufflers arrived; he crossed an outer court, passed through a handsome hall, and entered a vast saloon, in which everything announced opulence and taste. On one side of the room hung a full-length portrait of the late Duchess de Choiseul, seated near the Temple of Butterflies, with a volume of Bouffler's works in her hand. The chevalier could not control the emotions which agitated him and forced tears from his eyes. "What recollections!" exclaimed he involuntarily: "this Countess de Lauterbach must certainly be of the Choiseul family. I shall like her the better." Whilst he gave himself up to these reflections, a chamberlain came to tell him that his lady would be occupied for a short time, that she begged M. Foubers to excuse her, and desired him to ask whether he would be pleased to walk into her plantation a la Française. Boufflers followed his conductor through a long suite of apartments, where he entered an avenue of limes, and at the first turning he saw, under the shade of some large trees, a temple of gauze precisely like the Duchess de Choiseul's. The temple was filled with butterflies of every species, and over the door was an inscription in verse which Boufflers had formerly written over the entrance to the temple at Chanteloup, and he stood before it agitated, yet motionless with astonishment, and thought himself transported by magic to the banks of the Loire. But his surprise was increased, and his emotion heightened, when he saw advancing towards him a young girl of fourteen or fifteen, in the dress of the villagers of Lorraine, whose features, shape, and gait were so precisely those of the girl he remembered with so affectionate an interest, that he thought it was she herself that stood before him, and whose deep rich voice met his ear. "Your servant, Monsieur de Boufflers," said she, with a curtsy, and presenting to him a little gauze net: "What do you think of my butterflies? you are such a fine judge of them." "What are you-angel-sylph-enchan. tress?” "What! do you not remember Aline, the daughter of the forester of Amboise, who used so often to bring you butterflies?" "Do I dream!" said Boufflers, rubbing his eyes, and, taking the child's hand, he pressed it to his lips: "Aline, lovely Aline!-it cannot be you?" "How! it cannot be me?-Who then won the prize for the finest butterflies?-Who received from the hands of the duchess a prize of twenty-five louis, and from yours this golden' I instantly determined to prove to you, in cross, which I promised to wear as long as I live, and which I have never parted with for an instant?" "I do indeed remember that cross-it is the very one! Never was illusion so perfectnever was man so bewildered. Your elegance betrays you. No, you are not a mere country girl. Tell me, then, to whom am I indebted for the most delicious emotion I ever felt in my life?-Whence do you come? Who are you?" "She is my daughter," cried the Countess de Lauterbach, suddenly stepping from the concealment of a thicket, and throwing herself into the arms of Boufflers. "My dear protector-kind author of my happiness and of my good fortune-behold the true Aline, the wife and widow of Charles Verner, whose only daughter stands before you. Your emotion, however strong, cannot equal mine." How, madame! are you that simple village girl? Good and beautiful as you were, you But had a right to become what you now are. tell me, how happened it that for once fortune was not blind?-have the kindness at once to satisfy my curiosity." "Listen then," replied the countess with confiding delight, "and you shall hear all." "Charles, in whom you took so generous an interest, having distinguished himself by repeated acts of bravery, obtained a commission shortly after our marriage. The war which broke out between France and Germany called him to the field, and I followed him. He afterwards rose to the rank of colonel of cavalry, when he saved the life of the Count de Lauterbach, commander of a Bavarian division on the field some degree at least, my joy and gratitude; and taking advantage of my daughter's age, and of her perfect resemblance to that Aline who owed to you the hand of Charles Verner, and all that she has subsequently possessed or enjoyed, I made use of your own colours: I copied the most beautiful scene of your elegant story which I have read so often-in short, I tried to bewitch you with your own enchantments; have I succeeded?” "Ah!" exclaimed Boufflers, pressing the mother and daughter to his heart, "never shall I forget this ingenious fraud; it is true that the memory of the heart is indestructible in women; and I see that the little good one may be able to do to the simplest village girl may become a capital which gratitude will repay with interest." QUADRILLE À LA MODE. Oh give me new figures!-I can't go on dancing Then why is the Master of Dancing so slow? Oh give me new figures!-La Pantalon's merit— Terpsichore! what a mere dawdle you're turned! To tunes it was really exciting to hear; I want a new figure to dance with my Dear! Next L'Elé commences; and into the middle A shuffle half-sideways achieves en arrière; of battle; but in this act he received a mortal I fear you're grown old, and your joints are less supple wound, and with his last breath recommended his wife and child, then an infant, to the general's care. Count Lauterbach thought that in no way could he so effectually prove his Pratitude to his preserver, as by becoming the husband of his widow and the father of his child. After a few years of a happy union he | died, leaving me a large fortune, and a revered and cherished memory. At that time," added the countess, "I knew that you had been compelled to quit France, and to take refuge in Prussia, I left no means untried to discover the place of your residence; but your change of name, your travelling as a French painter, s you have an often done, always prevented my accomplishing the most ardent wishes of *** heart Judge then what was my emotion on meeting you the other day at Lausanne. Oh give me new figures!—La Poule my aversion— And oh! what a very strange figure Trenise is! La Pas'orale next-see young Smith how he lingers, Fanie has merit-for 'tis the conclusion, And that's the sole merit I think it can claim; And (save a commencement of greater confusion) Finale and L'Eté are one and the same. And then, in the pauses they talk of the weather, I want a new figure!-the Waltzers, I note 'em, And wonder they're all perpendicular still: Were I to attempt to perform a Tetotum, A fall would soon prove me deficient in skill. I think Lady Waltzers are all spinning Jennies; The Gentlemen must be as mad as King Lear! With heads full of sense-as the head of a pin is! I want a new figure to dance with my Dear! I want a new figure!-the figure of France is I want a new figure!-ah, yes! I confess it! I want one in every sense of the phrase; My waist will increase, though I strive to compress it By wearing the newest Parisian stays! I want a new figure! - it fills me with terror To think of my weight-(I am weighed once a year) And, oh! I can't bear to look into a mirror! I want a new figure to dance with my Dear! THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY. THE CLOWN'S REPLY. John Trott was desired by two witty peers To tell them the reason why asses had ears? THE JUBILEE.1 Some years have elapsed (I am sometimes tempted to forget how many) since I endeavoured to compensate the deficiencies of a neglected education on my own side the Tweed by voluntary studies at the university of Edinburgh. As a relaxation from severer pursuits, and an excuse for rambles in a country whose novelty alone was attraction enough to an untravelled Englishman, I occasionally accompanied a young artist of liberal education and pleasing manners, with whom I was acquainted, in his sketching expeditions in the romantic neighbourhood of his native city, the very contiguity of which to a great town rendered it more piquant and striking. In one of these excursions, when, by the uncommon fineness of the weather and greater distance of the style of scenery requisite for his purpose, we were tempted to proceed beyond the brief limits of an autumnal day, instead of returning by the light of a rather waning moon to Edinburgh, G- proposed that we should take up our quarters for the night at a neat little mountain inn, much frequented at various seasons by fishers and grouse-shooters, and affording, in consequence, accommodations of a description its unpretending aspect would scarcely have led one to expect. On nearing this rustic hostelry, kept by an antique of the true Meg Dods character, we were a good deal surprised to hear, issuing from its usually quiet haven, sounds of the most exuberant and unrestrained mirth, blending with, and nearly overpowering, the discordant strains of a brace of evidently belligerent fiddles. "A penny-wedding, by all that's lucky!" exclaimed my companion. "At least you, sir, as a stranger, will no doubt think one night's rest well sacrificed for a peep at these fast-waning saturnalia." 66 Pray explain," said I, delighted to witness, under any circumstances, so lively a scene of national festivity: "what do you mean by a 'penny-wedding?'" "Why, sir, in pastoral and primitive districts-which, strange to say, though within a "An't please you," quoth John, "I'm not given to dozen miles of a capital, these hills seem likely letters, Nor dare I pretend to know more than my betters; Howe'er, from this time I shall ne'er see your graces, As I hope to be saved! without thinking on asses.” OLIVER GOLDSMITH. Edinburgh, 1753. long to remain-when a couple, of the lowest order, of course, are too poor to muster the sum requisite for marrying, their neighbours and acquaintance good-humouredly set on foot a subscription, out of which is first defrayed 1 From The Literary Souvenir, 1832. such a merry-making as you see going on yonder, while the surplus generally suffices to place the improvident pair beyond immediate want. It is not, you will say, a very eligible mode of settling in the world, nor is it so considered in these days, even among themselves. It is generally, indeed, more a frolic of the neighbouring young people at the expense of some pair of elderly paupers, determined to marry for worse instead of better, than, as it once was, a creditable scheme of establishment for a deserving young couple." so what could I do but let my house be made a public ae night in the thretty? and gentles to light on't for a clean bed and hot supper! It's a judgment on me for being sae simple!" "Keep yourself easy, Luckie!" answered G, in her own style. "My friend here can get clean beds and hot suppers in England, but penny-weddings are scarce enough, even in Scotland." "The scarcer the better," said the hostess, drawing herself up with the demure look of one scandalized with unwonted revelry. "And As he spoke we descended the green shoulder now, sirs, what can I do for ye? There's no a of one of the pastoral hills, whose recesses of bed in the house up but my ain; and tho' I unsuspected beauty we had been all day ex- wad gie yet, I couldna promise ye peace to lie ploring, and came full upon the little inn, its in't, for the fiddles 'll be scraiching, and the front beaming with unwonted illumination, folk skirling, and the reels daddin, till far i̇' and steam-savoury as the cauldron of Meg the night; and the smell o' the punch 'll be Merrilees, amidst which my English organs just poison to the gentleman frae England. readily detected the national perfume of "moun- | Ye'll no be that ill for supper, for I've a curn tain-dew"-issuing from every open door and mutton pies by ordinar' that I seasoned mysel, and there's a creel fu' o' trout walloping down bye at the burn that wad pleasure a provost. Come slipping ben to my ain wee room, and ye's get a' the comfort I can gie ye, afore the folk's supper comes on; and for beds, I'll send the lass to the minister's, and get ye gude quarters for a word." window. The fiddles, whose dismal scraping accorded ill with the accompaniments, might almost have been dispensed with, so completely were they drowned by yells and shrieks of frantic merriment, and so well was the time of the tune marked by the snapping of fingers and thumping of heels on the sanded floor of the kitchen. I scarcely know which expressed most surprise, my face, as I caught, over the shoulder of a tall, white-headed old Bluegown (the fac-simile of Edie Ochiltree), a glimpse of the scene within, or that of Luckie Cairns, the usually staid and somewhat aristocratical hostess, when the nakedness of her, for once. disorderly house was discovered to a couple of stranger gentlemen. She soon, however, recognized the old acquaintance, G, and addressed to him-though with the tail of her eye all the time on the "Englisher"-her characteristic apology. It began, more Scotico, with a question. and with what G— called "the first word o' flytin." "Lord guide's! Mr. G——, what's brought you here the day, wi' your pents and your nick-nacks, and a stranger comrade wi' ye. that's used to things wiselike, nae doubt, and the house a' disjeskit this gait wi' the first and last ploy the callants e'er got me to countenance within my door? And they hadna hae gotten it now, but the silly body, Sanders, took it aye up and down wi" the gentle's fish to the carrier's, and their letters free the post, and they persuaded me he was a kind o serving body o' my ain: and traiking Tibbie had sell't my better and eggs may be thretty years and mair; "I know the clergyman," said G———, seeing me hesitate. "His sons and I were at school together, and my first sunshiny holidays were spent among the hills we traversed to-day. I should like to see the manse once more, and a welcome will not be wanting, unless Mr. Maxwell should be strangely altered." "He is altered, honest man!" said the landlady, heeding only my comrade's last words. "Grief's a great alterer, o' auld folk especially! and it's fifty year come Monday since the minister was placed in the parish, and thirty come the time since he married me and puir John Cairns doucely and Christian-like in that very spence whar thae daft deevils are making a mock o' marriage atween twa auld randy ne'erdo-weels! But it's dinn now, and what's the use o' reflections? Come your ways, gentlemen, to your supper." It was with reluctance that I postponed, even to so important an affair to a hungry prospect-hunter, the gratification of my euriosity. But reconciled to the landlady's fiat by the treat and mutton-pies, and the comfort and cleanliness which reigned in her sanctum sanctorum, G—— and I did ample justice to the savoury repast, and its crowning tumbler, whose whisky even I. a novice, could discern to be mountain-born, and guiltless of the exchequer. "I see ye're nae great hand at the whisky, sir," said the hostess, in answer to an equivocal shake of the head with which an Englishman generally salutes the indigenous flavour of genuine peat-reek; "but tak my word for't, ae devil dings out anither, and if ye're to be dancin and daffin yonder, and the room reeking o' punch like a killogie, ye'll ken a' the less for being a thought primed yoursel; and ye'll dance a' the better for't, I'se warrant" turning with a smile to G- 'a spur in the head's worth twa in the heel." 66 So saying, the good lady, desirous to profit in her domestic affairs by the interval between the claims of her very opposite customers, snatched up the candle, and marshalled us to | the scene of a festivity to which, at the distance of a mile at least, our ears might have proved sufficient guides. The hoarse squeak of the wary and muggy fiddlers was now well-nigh drowned by the far more efficicat "lilt" of some stentorian voices, on whose cigans the "barley bree" had produced an exactly opposite effect; and the figure of one round rosy shepherd, who, with bonnet "ajee" and picturesquely disposed plaid, sung, danced, and snapped his fingers, surrounded by a ring of admiring rivals, would have been worthy the pencil of a Teniers or a Wilkie. His partner in the reel was no less a personage than the blushing bride- a weatherbeaten crone of some sixty winters' bronzing; and as, exhilarated by the unwonted stimulant of applause, she strove to keep pace with the agile movements and giddy whirlings of her vis-a-vis, peals of unbridled laughter shook the quiet hostelry to its very base. The bridegroom again, an old Chelsea pensioner, whose once steady, soldier-like frame retained some shadow of military bearing, spite of the joint inroads of palsy and potations, was doing his best to keep his equilibrium, as, like "Panting Time," he toiled after the winged heels of a mountain fairy of sixteen, whose shy but earnest gaze at the strangers, and bounding rapidity of motion, reminded me at once of the roe on her native hills. Moved by compassion for this ill-matched couple, and well aware of the popular course on such occasions, G dashed at once into the old man's place in the dance, and began threading its mazes with the blushing, but evidently flattered damsel, making me a sign to follow his example-a hint which neither my proficiency in the national dance, nor the charms of the bride, were sufficient to warrant my taking. I slid down unobserved beside some of the few elders present, whose shrewd remarks and good-natured participations in the "daffin" of the youngsters were not the least pleasing part of the motley scene. I had never before seen a body of Lowland peasantry collected in holiday attire, and certainly their general good looks, neat shoes and stockings, and above all, the prevalence of decidedly dark hair and complexion (among the men especially), gave the lie to many a Southern quip, at the expense of the bare-footed daughters and carroty-headed sons of Scotia. The dance by this time-thanks to the punch, which had been freely circulating-was getting, as Burns says, "fast and furious." Gleams of broad national humour flashed through the habitual gravity of the demurest blue-bonneted peasant of the group; and for a while there was abundance to excite both the Scottish feelings and constitutional gaiety of the young painter, and the natural curiosity of an English stranger. But giddy at length with the endless reels, deafened with the mirthful accompanying shrieks, half-stifled with heat and the fumes of the national beverage, we both felt it high time to breathe a purer air, and were in the act of quietly withdrawing (after laying on the pewter plate appropriated for the offering our mite towards the hopeful infant menage), when we ran against our hostess, arriving for the special purpose-a very unwonted one in her vocation-of turning us out of doors. "I was just coming, sirs, to gie ye a bit word o' counsel. I'm sure ye'll no take it ill at my hand; but it's time the like o' you were flitting, for the maut's getting abune the meal yonder, and they tine respect whiles, and it's no wiselike to be late in a minister's house on Saturday night at e'en. Mr. G kens that." "No, indeed-you're quite right," answered the painter, "and indeed we were going away fully satisfied when we met you.' "Aweel, gang your ways like gude gentlemen, and I'll gie yon daft chiels their supper, and hae them a' out o' my house by the clap o' eleven. There sall naebody say they saw a Sabbath morning within't, tho' I wadna wonder if some o' the ill-doers were aff to the hill or some gait out o' hearing to make a night o't. There's some folk canna hae their sairing either o' daffin or drink, the mair's the pity! Hech! but ye'll be weel aff that's quiet down by!" "I'll call and settle the reckoning another time, Mrs. Cairns," said my friend. "Ay, ay," answered she, more chary of her time than her money, "ony day when ye're daunering out amang the hills. Ye're awin me a day in hairst, ye ken, for this!" |