wine, and pasturage and gardens are there; and all is glowing with richness and quiet beauty. But our drive on the 25th of January only indicated these things, and told us how lovely the scenery would be by and-by. En attendant the fine season, we were content with the goods the gods provided for the day, and hailed every gleam which showed us the sky brighter and brighter as we journeyed on. Less than two hours brought us to the desired spot, and there we found cavaliers and amazones, all busy already exploring every nook and corner of the place. Whatever might have been the Spartan simplicity in which Henri, then called Prince de Viane, was brought up, and however much we all admired the plan of his education, we were not able to profit by the opportunity we had of resting in a castle, where so excellent an example of frugality was given; for our provisions were too ample and too good to be resisted, and while we lauded the dry bread and insipid cheese with which the young hero was nourished, we mortified ourselves with very different fare. range, whose heads seemed peering into the long windows to watch our proceedings, we could not but enjoy the genial heat sent forth by the crackling logs, and fancy ourselves just such a party as might once have assembled around the hearth of the old castle, on whose site the present is built, and, like us, here they might have laughed and joked, and conversed and sung the hours away. A blazing fire, round which we closed The whole of the ancient castle is de- our merry circle, seated in capacious armstroyed, except one tower which remains chairs and on luxurious sofas, cast a ruddy entire, and to climb up the narrow stair of glow over the large saloon where we were this is the great object; for, from the plat- assembled; and though we now and then, form at the top, the view is wonderfully particularly the most poetical amongst us, fine. You seem as if on one side the pur-cast a glance towards the blue and snowy ple mountains, with their snowy sides, could be reached with the hand; and, on the other, the whole wide smiling country is spread out in a panorama. There is something awful and mysterious in looking down the dim gorges between the everlasting hills, and roaming in imagination into the deep valleys below, so well known to the adventurous Henri, and his young band of mountaineers, whose home was wherever the izard or the bear could leap or prowl. Many may have been, and as useless as many, "the lengthened sage advices" of the prudent Susanne de Bourbon to her charge, that he should be careful and not dare too much; but Henry had early impressed on his heart, as he afterwards did on his coins, the motto, "Invia virtuti nulla via est," and went laughing forth, hoping each new adventure would be more dangerous and exciting than the last. While some stood wrapt in wonder, leaning over the parapet of the donjon, and watching the mountains, which seemed as if making signals to each other, as the skudding mists now veiled and now revealed them, and took strange forms, as if spirits were hurrying to and fro, on messages to their brethren in the caverns and on the peaks; others of the pic-nic party set out for the village, and paused to sketch the antique door-way of the church, where two priest-like angels, holding scrolls, guard the entrance and support the empty niche sur mounted by a coronet, where Notre Dame once smiled upon the pious pilgrim, and welcomed him to her shrine before he continued his journey to say his orisons before her sister of Betharram. Here La Marguerite des Marguerites, the lovely and learned sister of Francis I., has, with her charming court, no doubt rested after a hunting day in the woods, and related stories and sung songs as we were doing: just so, might have arrived on a sudden the wily mother of kings, Catherine de Medici, with her grande or petite bande of beauties, whose accomplishments might have been called forth on such an occasion for some special purpose, such as was always working in the mind of the crafty Italian. On such a day might the weak Anthony of Bourbon have been beguiled by a fatal fair one with bright eyes, whose lute woke echoes in that hall, while Catherine looked on, and saw the fires of St. Bartholomew kindling in the distant future, and her ene mies' feet slipping into the snare. Here and there might the innocent and too sensible Catherine of Navarre have listened to the soft words and tender gallantries of him who was never destined to make her happiness, the designing and handsome Comte de Sois sons, for whose sake she refused her hand to so many princes, and pined away in solitary regret, the victim of state policy. Here the heroic Jeanne looked with maternal delight and pride on the gambols of her young mountaineer, who recounted to her all his adventurous wanderings since her last visit. Here, in after years, his beautiful Marguerite, from whom his usually tender heart stood back, laughed, danced, and conversed, and fascinated every hearer but her husband, in whose ears the midnight knell always sounded in her voice; and here, for less enchanting smiles, the volatile prince exerted the wit and gayety that won all hearts his way. Here, a century before, the great hero of Béarn, the magnificent Gaston Phoebus, perhaps sat by the hearth, conversing with the Lord of Coarraze, and hearing his wondrous story of the spirit Orton, who, in the very walls, visited him every night, and woke him from slumber to relate news from foreign lands, whence he had come, "Swifter than arrow from a Tartar's bow." And it might be, as the two knights gazed on the sparkling flames that roared up the huge chimney, that it was then the wily prince recommended his credulous friend to entreat the spirit to appear in a tangible form, and be no longer content with a mere voice. Perhaps from these windows the Lord of Coarraze looked into his court and beheld the spirit in the form of a huge swine of strange appearance, and from hence he might have cheered on his dogs to destroy the intruder, who, looking mournfully up in his face, vanished in a cloud, leaving him the conviction that he had seen his faithful messenger only to lose him and his information for ever: how and why, perhaps, the bribes of Gaston Phoebus could answer, who from that time obtained the spirit's assistance. Our conversation grew more and more animated as the shades drew in; and many were the anecdotes told of travels in the Pyrenees, first by one clever raconteur, then another. How a joyous party were stopped by stress of weather in the valley of Bedous, and forced to take up their quarters for the night in a suspicious-looking inn; five ladies sharing the same room with no protector but a faithful dog, separated from their gentlemen, who had left with them a whistle to use in case of danger. How the agitation of the dog induced one of them to look in the direction he was pointing, by which means she discovered, through an opening, a room beneath them, where, seated round a table in silence, she descried the forms of fourteen Spaniards, each with a large knife in his hand-their gestures and mysterious movements, and finally their extinction of the dim candle which had lighted their conclave. The consequent terrors and uncertainty of the fair captives, their fears of using their whistle, lest their friends should pay too dearly for it, and after a sleepless night, their discovery in the morning that their silent neighbors, silent for fear of disturbing the ladies, all left the inn noiselessly in order to be in good time at the fair hard by. Then came stories of spending the night in old castles, and hearing strange sounds which were never accounted for; not that, of course, any one is ever so weak as to credit the idle stories of places being haunted and yet, most respectable_persons have sworn they saw something. There was one of our guests who told with great gravity of having seen the ghosts of Sully and Henri Quatre, walking arm in arm on the ter race of the castle of Pau, and of having clearly beheld a line of mail-clad figures issuing out of the great reservoir where tradition says Jeanne d'Albert drowned her Catholic subjects who refused to conform to the new religion. The story of the unfortunate knight of Aragon, whose fatal sentence was engraved over the castle portal, occupied much attention, and the tale, new to some, was related. An early lord of Coarraze had a dear friend in Aragon, who was to him as a brother. They had not met for some time, when, one stormy night, the horn was blown at the gate, aud his friend was announced much to his delight. But the pleasure he felt was soon clouded when he found that he owed his welcome visit to misfortune. The knight of Aragon had fallen under royal displeasure, and was obliged to fly his country. He had dared to love a princess, and his affection was returned; but since at all times true love is doomed to sorrow, nothing but danger and difficulty surrounded the lovers, and it had only been at last by flight that he was able to save his life. Sad was the time that the friends passed together in the castle of Coarraze, talking of the past and the future; but the conclu sion of all their discourses was a fresh springing hope in the bosom of the knight of Aragon, that fate would be yet propitious to him, and his lady love be his own. The friends were once out hunting in the wild mountains of Ossau, and had been successful in their chase, having killed more than one bear; they were returning, bending beneath the weight of one of the finest of these animals, when they reached, late in the evening, a deep gorge, at the entrance of which they were surprised to see a group of females in white, seated on the ground, apparently in conversation. They paused to observe them, and as they did so, they rose, and forming a circle, began a measured dance, to which their voices made a low melancholy music, like the sighing of the wind amongst the rocks. The words they sung ran thus: "There is crimson in the skies, While they listened and gazed, the sound and the white forms died away together, and there was nothing before them but the evening mist. "Let us go forward," said the knight of Coarraze with a shudder, 66 we have seen the Blanquettes, and the meeting bodes no good." "The words they utter, nevertheless," said the night of Aragon, "shall in future be my device-Lo que ha de ser no puede faltar." That night, on their return home, a messenger awaited the knight of Aragon, from the lady of his love: she bade him return, and with tender protestations of affection, she related to him that her royal relative had listened kindly to her prayer, and had given his consent to their union. Her letter concluded with the word, "That which is to be-will be." "I will not delay an instant," exclaimed the lover:"adieu, my friend; our bridal over, I will return to Coarraze, and my bride shall thank you herself for my wel come." "Go not," said his friend, "this may be a snare-you may be deceived; wait yet a little, and let me go and ascertain its truth. No danger can reach me; and if all is as it should be, we will go back to Aragon together." "This is her hand-this is her summons," returned the knight, "and were it to certain death I would go at once-What is to be, shall be." Alas! he reached Saragossa; but not to meet his beloved: it was to hear of her death-to find her letter forged-to be dragged to a dungeon, and there to meet with a cruel doom. His blood stained the scaffold; and his friend found, to his grief, that his fears were but too well founded. He had his last words engraved above the portal of his castle; and taking the cross, he departed for the Holy Land, where he died fighting for the faith. The shades of the two friends, bearing between them the carcass of a grisly monster, may sometimes be met in a certain gorge, where it is known that the fatal Blanquettes love to assemble and dance their rounds. But it was not in telling such sad stories alone that our day passed; there were many merry anecdotes related, which caus ed the chamber to echo with laughter; and the sound of the Spanish guitar was heard, played by a skilful hand, in that peculiar manner which accompanies the charming Moorish ballad, with a hollow, murmuring stroke, as if pent up waters were beating against a hollow rock from which they could not escape. Several young clear voices joined in chorus, and amongst other songs, we heard the curious patois ballad of the Doves of Cauteretz, composed at the time when Marguerite and Henri II. d'Albert visited the springs. AUS THERMIS DE TOULOUSE. At Toulouse there are waters, "Oh, tell me who at Cauteretz Are bathing there with you? "The King and Queen are with us three, Amidst the waters blue. The king has got a perfumed bower The Loves themselves have made." In such a spot and amid such recollections the songs of the pastoral poet of the Valley d'Aspe, the Shenstone of the Pyrenees, Despourrins, were not forgotten; his famous song, known in every vale and on every mountain, La haut sus las Mountagnes,' was played and sung, and several others, among them the following MOUN DIU! QUINE SOUFFRANCE. 1. Of what contentment Thou since hast left me! Yet didst thou whisper, Thy heart was mineOh! they were traitors, Those eyes of thine! For 'tis thy pleasure, That I repine. It was now time that the carriages should be ordered, as the shades of evening had fallen, and we were all to re-assemble at Pau, in order to finish the revels with charades. By starlight, therefore, did we resume our journey, and large and lustrously did they shine to light us on the way. We quitted the solitary old tower of Coarraze, standing beside the modern chateau built beside it like old memories in a new age; and when we arrived at Pau, we were met by condolence, for it had rained there several times in the day, while we were enjoying the sunshine. The sensation was great which our expedition created, and all those who had declined joining us were now mortified exceedingly, and resolved in future never to be stopped by the sullen aspect of the sky. Half a dozen other pic-nics were immediately talked of, and if February does not frown upon the gay folks of Pau, spring will be anticipated by them, and parties as lively as the last will chase away all recollections of winter. Meantime we wander and moralize amongst the ruins and restorations of the old castle, where Henri, the beloved of all time, was born THE CASTLE OF PAU. 1. Stop! and look upon these towers, And these walls so dark with time, Where yon frowning donjon lowers, And yon mountains rise sublime, See those bow'rs and hills so green, And the foaming Gave below, Vines and foliage between. Henry's castle-home of Pau! 2. Here mem'ries of the gallant king, THE northern sun, in his noonday splendor, That Poland hath chosen her monarch there. Hark! to the voice of a nation, rending The cloudless calm of the noontide now; Hark! to the hymn, with the cannon blending, The best and the bravest bow before him, As they place the crown on their chosen's brow With dauntless hearts and with matchless brands, Aud the skies of his land bend brightly o'er him, But sad and silent the Monarch stands. Why is it thus? tho' his birth was lowly, Nor Fame nor Fortune had smiled on him, Yet the crown was won by no deeds that sully Its splendor, nor make its radiance dim. Whence spring the tears? for the great and glorious Have sought that sceptre with prayer and vow, And he without strife hath been victorious, But what doth the crown'd one weep for now? Ah! did some dream of the past awaken, Even as that sunrise of Fortune shone, Of one true heart that the grave had taken, Or found he the thorns beneath the glory, There have been tears when the bride was leaving To Heaven the flower of her maiden charms: There hath been weeping, aye blent with laughter, O'er sceptres shivered and thrones cast down; But never before, nor ever after, We saw it beneath a new-worn crown! FRANCES BROWN. THE AERIAL STEAM-CARRIAGE. From the New Monthly Magazine. Of late years we have become so accustomed to witness new achievements of science, and especially of mechanical science, that events of this kind, each of which would have furnished wonder enough for a common century, pass only as matters to make up the news of the day. It was but in the boyhood of our fathers that steam was harnessed to our universal drudgery, and the tamed giant made to drain our mines and whirl about our mills, and now we look on it as a thing of course, going on to devise new engines for him to propel, and new mountains for him to remove, just as though it were all a light and common matter. Next he was made to beat the vexed ocean into obedience; for a day or two it was a wonder, but now we step on board the Atlantic or the Indian steamer and dine, and chat, and sleep at pleasure, thinking of nothing about the leviathan which hurries us along, except perhaps the ceaseless monotony of his strokes. Then we set him to copy our thoughts, and straightway every morning teems with debates and tidings, and the countless solicitations of industry or need multiplied, like the Calmuc's prayers, by his restless revolutions. Next we yoke him to our cars, and the cashiered and wondering horse is left far behind. provement. Perhaps our sated faculties cannot afford an excitement like that which followed Montgolfier's noble and success. ful daring, but we shall at least be ready with the quiet and effective approbation which in prospect of good dividends will furnish "the sinews of war." For say what we will, the plain businesslike question will take precedence of the heroics, and "Can it be done?" is the first and universal question. To this essential interrogatory the following account of the machine must stand for a reply: and we entreat our readers to lay aside as much as possible of the repugnance often felt for mechanical descriptions, if it be only to recompense our endeavor to rid the subject of obscurity. Let us begin then by imagining first a thin, light, strong expanse of framework, not less than one hundred and fifty feet long, and thirty feet wide, and covered with silk or linen. This stands instead of wings, although it has none of their vibra. tory motion; it is jointless and rigid from end to end. In advancing through the air, one of its long sides goes foremost. Attached to the middle of the hinder side is a tail fifty feet long, on either side of which, and carried by the main frame or wings, is a set of six vanes or propellers, like the sails of a wind-mill, and twenty feet in diameter; beneath the tail is a small rudder, and across the wings, at their middle, Whirled thus about from miracle to is a small vertical web, which tends to premiracle, our curiosity decays. What in vent lateral rocking. Immediately beneath other days would be sanguine hope or the middle of the wings are suspended the straining curiosity, is now but a common-car and the steam-engine: for the conplace looking out for something new and struction of the latter ingenuity has been the month, or almost the day, which has highly taxed, but successfully employed, not its successful egression on nature's in producing the necessary power in comremaining powers, is perhaps the great- bination with most extraordinary lightness; est wonder of the times. its occupation is to actuate vanes or propellers. It is possible then that Mr. Henson and his aerial carriage may in one respect have To render the rest of our description in"fallen on evil days ;" and yet it must be ac- telligible, we must now advert to the precounted hereafter one of the strange charac- cise difficulty which has hitherto foiled all teristics of the age, and the surest measure of similar attempts. Men have tried often our satiety of marvels, if any hopeful attempt and again to raise themselves in the air to subdue an entire and almost untrodden with wings moved by their own muscular realm of nature meet not with the active force: always and of necessity they have sympathies and ardent aspirations of this failed. Whoever has tried to raise himself enterprising age. Encumbered as we are by grasping a rope with his hands, will with the spoils of science, we have yet, we readily believe that the muscles of the hope, unsatisfied ambition enough to anti- arms are by no means equal to the task; cipate with some exultation the conquest for there can be at best no gain in beating of the air, and to help with head and purse, the air instead of lifting by a rope. Again, if not with heart and hand, when it is pro- we have only to ascend the Monument, or posed to carry through the regions of un- St. Paul's, to be satisfied that the legs are obstructed space the intercourse which is quite incompetent to the necessary effort; the life-blood of human happiness and im-land even these trials lay out of the account |