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Tenantless as the room looked, the maniac might be lurking in the shadow. I turned to hurry back to the gallery, and found myself face to face with Mrs. Peters, the nurse, with a small tea-tray in her hands.

"My word, miss," she said, "how you did startle me, to be sure! What are you doing here? and why have you unlocked this door?"'

"To let out Mr. Laurence."


than any common sisterhood. Lady Adela died two years after the murder of her son. The Fernwood property (forfeited by the idiot's crime, but afterwards restored by the clemency of the crown) has passed into the hands of the heir-at-law.

Lucy lives with me at the Isle of Wight. She is my protectress, my elder sister, without whom I should be lost, for I am but a poor helpless creature.

It was months after the quiet funeral in Fernwood Church "Mr. Laurence!" she exclaimed, in a terrified voice. before Lucy spoke to me of the wretched being who had been "Yes; he was inside this door. Some one locked him in, I the author of so much misery. suppose; and he told me to open it for him."

"Oh, miss, what have you done! what have you done! Today, above all things, when we've had such an awful time with him! What have you done !"

"The idiocy of my unhappy brother," she said, "was caused by a fall from his nurse's arms, which resulted in a fatal injury to the brain. The two children were infants at the time of the accident, and so much alike that we could only distinguish

What had I done? I thought the woman must be mad her- Laurence from Thomas by the different color of the ribbons with self by the agitation of her manner.

Oh, merciful heaven, the laugh!-the harsh, mocking, exulting, idiotic laugh! This time it rang in loud and discordant peals to the very rafters of the old house.

which the nurse tied the sleeves of the children's little white frocks. My poor father suffered bitterly from his son's affliction; sometimes cherishing hope even in the face of the verdict which medical science pronounced upon the poor child's

“Oh, for pity's sake,” I cried, clinging to the nurse, "what case, sometimes succumbing to utter despair. It was the inis it, what is it?"

She threw me off, and, rushing to the balustrades at the head of the staircase, called loudly, "Andrew-Henry! bring lights."

They came, the two men-servants-old men, who had served in that house for thirty or forty years-they came with candles, and followed the nurse to the billiard-room.

The door of communication between that and Laurence Wendale's study was wide open, and on the threshold, with the light shining upon him from within the room, stood the double of my lover; the living, breathing image of my Laurence, the creature I had seen at the half-glass door, and had mistaken for Laurence himself.

His face was distorted by a ghastly grin, and he was uttering some strange unintelligible sounds as we approached him-guttural and unearthly murmurs horrible to hear. Even in that moment of bewilderment and terror, I could see that the cambric about his right wrist was splashed with blood.

The nurse looked at him severely; he slank away like a frightened child, and crept into a corner of the billiard-room, where he stood grinning and mouthing at the blood-stains upon his wrist.

tense misery which he himself endured that made him resolve on the course which ultimately led to so fatal a catastrophe. He determined on concealing Thomas's affliction from his twinbrother. At a very early age the idiot child was removed to the apartments in which he lived until the day of his brother's murder. James Beck and the nurse, both experienced in the treatment of mental affliction, were engaged to attend him ; and indeed, the strictest precaution seemed necessary, as on the only occasion of the two children meeting, Thomas evinced a determined animosity to his brother, and inflicted a blow with a knife, the traces of which Laurence carried to his grave. The doctors attributed this violent hatred to some morbid feeling respecting the likeness between the two boys. Thomas flew at his brother as some wild animal springs upon its reflection in a glass. With me, in his most violent moments, he was comparatively tractable; but the strictest surveillance was always necessary, and the fatal deed which the wretched but irresponsible creature at last committed might never have been done but for the imprudent absence of James Beck and myself."



We rushed into the little study. Oh, horror of horrors! the writing-table was overturned-ink, papers, pens-all scattered and trampled on the floor; and in the midst of the confusion lay Laurence Wendale, the blood slowly ebbing away, Tuts beautiful plant is called Colchicum from Colchis, a prowith a dull gurgling sound, from a hideous gash in his throat. vince on the east side of the Euxine, or Black Sea, where it was A penknife, with which he had been, it is imagined, mend-aid to have grown in great abundance and splendor. It is a ing pens when disturbed by his horrible visitor, lay amongst the trampled papers, crimsoned to the hilt. Laurence Wendale had been murdered by his idiot twinbrother.

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There was an inquest. I can recall at any hour, or at any moment, the whole agony of the scene. The dreary room, adjoining that in which the body lay; the dull February sky; the monotonous voice of the coroner, and the medical men; and myself, or some wretched, shuddering white-lipped creature that I could scarcely believe to be myself, giving evidence. Lady Adela was reproved for having kept her idiot son at Fernwood without the knowledge of the murdered man; but every effort was made to hush up the terrible story.

Thomas Wendale was tried at York, and transferred to the county lunatic asylum, there to be detained during her majesty's pleasure. His unhappy brother was quietly buried in the Wendale vault, the chief mausoleum in a damp moss-grown church close to the gates of Fernwood.

It is upwards of ten years since all this happened; but the horror of that February twilight is as fresh in my mind to-day as it was when I lay stricken-not senseless, but stupefied with anguish-on a sofa in the drawing-room at Fernwood, listening to the wailing of the wretched mother and sister.

The misery of that time changed me at once from a young woman to an old one; not by any sudden blanching of my dark hair, but by the blotting out of every girlish feeling in the dull monotony of resignation. This change in my own nature has drawn Lucy Wendale and I together with a link far stronger

perennial, and found in meadows, pastures and woods-indeed wherever there is either moisture or shade. It flowers in September and October. The leaves are a dark green, and are from twelve to fourteen inches long, and about two broad. Each plant supplies several flowers in succession, which rise from the root. Their color is a pale purple. The flower tube varies from five to ten inches in length, and is white towards the inner end. It is a poisonous plant, and dangerous to cattle, who, however, by that rare instinct implanted in the lower order of animals generally avoid it. It is occasionally employed by chemists in their preparations, and is supposed to be the principal ingredient in the gout medicine called Eau Medicinale.


THIS common plant derives its name from the Greek words mene, a month, and anthus, a flower, signifying that it continues a month in blossom. It is sometimes called bogbean, on account of its flourishing best in marshy soil; it is a trefoil, and flowers in May and June. It is generally found near rivers and wet ditches. Its colors are pink and yellow. In the north of Europe, where hops are scarce, this plant has been and still is used instead in brewing ale.

By the Laplanders its roots are dried, and powdered, and/ mixed with meal form a kind of bread, which is very unplea sant to all except the natives, on account of its bitter and acrid taste. The Hamburgers sometimes call it the "Flower

of Liberty," and pretend that it grows nowhere else than in
their city. It is very prolific, as one root frequently produces
as many as one hundred and twenty flowers. An English poet
thus celebrates the buckbean:

Oft where the stream meandering glides
Our beauteous menyanthes hides

Her clustering, fringed flowers;
Nor mid the garden's sheltering care
Of famed exotics rich and rare,
Purple or roseate, brown or fair,
A plant more lovely towers.


THE thousand different ideas of beauty which nations and individuals entertair, and which differ so essentially one from the other, exist to some extent in the imagination. That which one race of men esteems, another hates. Ideas of general beauty are founded upon utility and convenience. A person, therefore, unacquainted with those purposes of utility and convenience would be unable to judge of the degrees of beauty; hence the idea of beauty is not innate.

age when she ran away with Alexander, or Paris; it must, therefore, have been the reputation of her beauty only that won the seducer's heart.

The beauty of Florinda la Cava ruined Spain, and was the
cause of the admission of the Moors. Agnes Sorel kept Charles
of France in the silken chain of love a long while ere his en-
ergies were aroused to combat for his country. The only being
who had power to soothe Alonzo the Third of Spain was the
once beautiful Isabella, daughter of the Duke of Savoy; and
two Ottoman sultans, emperors as they were, trembled beneath
the sway of Roxalana the Russian, and Baffa the Venetian.
How just are the following lines from the "Bride of

Who hath not proved how feebly words essay
To fix one spark of Beauty's heavenly ray?
Who doth not feel, until his fading sight
Faints into dimness with its own delight,
His changing cheek, his sinking heart confess
The might-the majesty of loveliness?

This is perfectly true. We are certain that the greatest misanthrope in the world would relax his stern determinations of unexceptional seclusion, when the entreaties, the voice, the What is reckoned a beauty in one thing is thought a blemish appeal of Beauty desired him. Let us see what Moore, our in another. A thin neck is reckoned a beauty in a horse, and a favorite poet, says in "Lalla Rookh." The tale entitled the blemish in a bull, because it denotes tractableness and docility."Light of the Harem" contains the passage to be quoted:

A thick neck is reckoned a beauty in a bull, and a blemish in a horse, because it denotes strength and stubbornness.

The commonest rules of architecture are founded upon convenience. Thus, when a person weakens the building by making a window below, it is necessary he should lighten the weight in that part by making a window over it, which adds as much to the beauty of the structure as to the convenience of it. If a child were shown a picture, the finest that could be painted, and a paper daubed over with different tinsel colors, he would immediately fix his eyes on the lustre of the colors, and possibly pronounce the daubing the more beautiful. All this shows that ideas of beauty are not innate.

With regard to beauty in women, the discrepancy in taste is remarkable. In some parts of the world long hair is considered an ornament. In other regions it is deemed disgusting and


There is a tribe on the eastern coast of Africa which totally reverses the fashion prevalent amongst us with regard to the hair. With the members of that tribe the men wear their hair long, and the females crop theirs close. The Moor points out a woman excessively fat and coarse, as a specimen of beauty; the Europeans give the preference to the sylph-like form, and reject that of the overgrown Hebe. The Cherokee Indian sees more loveliness in his squaw than in the finest of America's white daughters; and that squaw would not quit her grimlooking chieftain to become the bride of a fair-haired son of Albion. There are islands in the vast southern seas where the countenances of the women are disfigured with scars made by hot irons; and these are supposed, by the male sex, to enhance

the charms of the female.

There's a Beauty for ever uncbangingly bright,
Like the long sunny lapse of a summer's day's night,
Shiring on-shining on, by no shadow made tender,
Till love falls asleep in its sameness of splendor !
This was not the Beauty-oh! nothing like this,
That to young Nour mahal gave such magic of bliss
But the loveliness ever in motion which plays,
Like the light upon autumn's soft shadowy days,
Now here and now there, giving warmth as it flies
From the lips to the cheeks, from the cheeks to the eyes,
Now melting in mists, and now breaking in gleams,

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Like the glimpses a saint has of heav'n in his dreams.

This is a rich and delicious picture, and yet unsatisfactory at the end. It is a general description, and affords no correct notion by detail. We have before spoken of the power of beauty. Is it to be wondered at, then, if Rolando, the woman hater, in the play of the "Honeymoon," uttered these words?

How is her absence irksome?

There is such magic in her graceful form,
Such sweet persuasion on her gentle tongue,
As thaws my firm resolves, and brings me back
To that same soft and pliant thing I was

Ere yet I knew a haughty woman's scorn.

But, alas! the power of mere beauty is insignificant if it be not supported by the charms of wit and eloquence. Indeed, if beauty alone do make a conquest, it is after the manner of those generals who possess themselves of a province by a sudden attack, but who do not know how to retain it. The empire of lovely woman over the heart of man is as much preserved by the attractions of the mind as by the loveliness of The poet of Europe has also his standard of female beauty. form and feature. Beauty and wit are two graces requiring the He admires the regular features, eyes flashing fire, vermilion aid of each other, and capable of mutual good service. The lips, disclosing white teeth, hair clustering in a thousand ring- conversation of many would disgust, did not the charms of the lets-parted over a forehead fair as snow, and broad with in-speaker give a certain brilliancy to the insipid language of her telligence; and then falling down on ivory shoulders- the finely moulded form, the attitude of grace, the air of retiring modesty and virgin bashfulness, the amiability and the look of innocence-all this is attractive indeed; and yet this combination of charms is only the standard of beauty for a certain portion of the population of the world. And even this standard is varied in its details, to suit especial tastes. Some men prefer light hair and blue eyes-others dark hair and black eyes. Thus, one delights in a brunette; and a second in a fair complexion, composed of delicately blended white and red. This

amateur follows in the train of a tall woman; that amateur follows a beauty of short stature. So capricious are the effects of phantasy--so volatile the choice of imagination, that volumes might be filled in detailing the various matters wherein nations or individuals differ.


In like manner would the beauties of the exterior frequently fail to delight, unless wit first created an impression. Still, as brilliancy of wit is generally the chief means of retaining conquests, and even occasionally of making them, we may look upon it as the most essential assistant to the support of the throne of beauty. But, after all, if repetition be the best figure in rhetoric, as Napoleon observed at Saint Helena, that figure has never been better nor more frequently employed than in the praise of lovely woman!

PERIODS OF INCUBATION.-A swan sits forty-two days; parrots, forty days; geese, thirty days; ducks, thirty days; hens, twenty-one days; pigeons, ten days; canaries, fourteen days. The temperature of hatching is one hundred and four degrees

In one of the "Arabian Tales" there is a history of a country where age is considered beauty. With us youth is said to be so. It even appears that Helen of Troy was sixty years of | Fahrenheit.




kingdom, it is facetiously said by Cornelius Matthews, is not large enough for the whole.

The River St. John, New Brunswick, is also celebrated for its water scenery, the Lower Falls being especially admired. The Indian name for it is the Long River, or Loosh Tolks. It first flows from the north-east to the junction of the St. Francis, and its entire length is about 470 miles. To the Grand Falls, 225 miles; from the sea, its course is wholly within British territory. Above the Grand Falls the river is navigable for 187 miles, for vessels of 400 tons burthen.

In our last Magazine we gave an illustration of the celebrated Logan Stone in Scotland; we have now to present a still more remarkable instance of Nature's hand in the famous Cheesewring, situated near Liskeard in Cornwall, the westernmost county of England. It consists of five blocks, of which the topmost is far larger than the rest, resembling a strangely-shaped head on four small and distinct stones forming the neck. When the wind is high the whole mass rocks, just like a human head, first nodding, and then shaking from side to side. Those who have watched these stones for years have remarked, that the QUEEN HORTENSE, THE MOTHER OF LOUIS NAPOLEON. edges and square portions have, by the slow process of time, quickened by the operation of the seasons, become rounded, which will in the course of ages topple the heavy top stone to the earth. The total height of this mass is about twenty feet. Liskeard is a small town about eighteen miles from Plymouth. Cornwall has many druidical remains, but the most famous of all is Stonehenge, about eight miles from Salisbury, Wiltshire.

RECENTLY great sensation was excited among American readers by the publication of the life of that great and good woman, the Duchess of Orleans. In our present paper we propose to run through the life history of another very remarkable woman, the mother of the present Emperor of the French, whose memory has been strangely disregarded in this country. Hortense was the daughter of Viscount de Beauharnois, who had married, against the wish of his relatives, Mademoiselle

LOWER FALLS OF RIVER ST. JOHN, NEW BRUNSWICK. Tascher de la Pagerie, of Martinique. The marriage was an un

THE scenery and natural curiosities of America, especially the northern part, are on a scale which throws those of the Old World into the shade. Cataracts, mountains, lakes and rivers may be said to flourish best in the hemisphere discovered by Columbus. In waterfalls our Northern Continent is especially rich, Niagara, of course, receiving the crown. By a strange freak we share this wonder with Great Britain, which latter

happy one, and it was only the fact of two children being born to them that prevented their separation. At last the disputes became so violent that the wife determined to return to her island home, taking her little daughter with her. Ere long, however, the revolution reached Martinique, and Josephine had to fly with Hortense, and with great difficulty escaped on board a merchantman while the maternal house was burning. On her return to Paris, the viscount for a long time refused to see her,

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but by the intercession of friends they were brought together again, only to be parted and for ever by the revolution.

The viscount received a high command in the republican army, but being denounced as an aristocrat, was sent to prison and condemned to death. Josephine interceded on his behalf, and the result was that she in her turn was shut up in the prison of Sainte-Pélagie. The children would have starved had it not been for the kindness of a Madame Holstein, who, at at her own peril, gave them shelter. Josephine was herself condemned to the guillotine, and would doubtless have shared her husband's fate, had it not been for the downfall of Robespierre. She quitted the prison, but it was as a beggar.

Josephine found a kind friend, however, in Madame Tallien, who interceded with her husband to remove the sequestration from the Beauharnois estates, and in the meanwhile invited the family frequently to dinner, on the stipulation that they brought their own bread, which was an article of luxury in Paris, as it threatens to become again ere long. On many occasions, however, Josephine was too poor to buy bread, and had to depend for her supply on the charity of friends. When her estates were restored her, all this changed: Eugène

doffed his blouse and gave up the carpentery trade to begin his military education, while Hortense remained with her mother and enjoyed the advantage of the best masters Paris could produce.

It was at Madame Tallien's house that Josephine met Napoleon, and formed a strong attachment for the young general, in spite of the warnings of her friends, who saw in him a soldier and nothing more. Napoleon was anything but a lady's man, and paid them the quaintest compliments. Thus he said once to the Duchess of Chevreuil, "What splendid red hair you have!" To which the lady replied, "Very possibly, sire; but it is the first time a man has told me so." But, for all that, he had eyes for Josephine's beauty, and was ready to give up his

ambitious dreams to live happy with her.

A few weeks after the honeymoon was over the ambitious dreams returned, however, with full force, and Bonaparte started for Italy, taking Eugène with him, while Hortense was sent to Madame Campan's school, where she spent several happy years with her aunt, Caroline Bonaparte, and her cousin, Stephanie de Beauharnois. When the republican general left France again for Egypt, Hortense's education was completed, and she returned home to be a consolation to her mourning mother. Napoleon absence lasted six years, during which Hortense grew in grace and beauty, knowing no cares, and these were probably the happiest days of her eventful life.

With Napoleon's return the fate of the revolution was sealed: he moved to the Tuileries as first consul, and Josephine and Hortense became the leaders of society. Ere long she fell a victim to love's young dream; she became attached to Duroc, the consul's aide-de-camp, and her father did not object to the match. But Josephine had other views for her daughter; she knew the enmity Napoleon's brothers bore her, and resolved to seek an ally among them. This could be most easily effected by giving Hortense as a wife to Louis.

After repeated solicitations, Napoleon reluctantly assented to the marriage, but only on condition that Duroc's sincerity should be first tested. A message was sent the aide-de-camp through Bourriene that Napoleon consented to his marriage with Hortense, but he would be at once expected to leave Paris, as the first consul did not care to have a son-in-law in the house. Duroc refused the alliance, and Josephine triumphed. She worked on Hortense's pride until she consented to give her hand to Louis. The young couple hardly knew each other, but Napoleon's will was law, and they went to the altar with loathing in their hearts. In his own case Napoleon had been satis fied with a civil marriage, but the marriage of Hortense had to be blessed by the Church-perhaps to render it indissoluble, for Napoleon regarded Hortense's children as his future heirs. As Providence had not blessed, him with children, he was resolved to act as a father to the family his beloved step-daughter might have.

From the outset they were an unhappy couple. Hortense wept the live-long day, while her husband was gloomy and illtempered. She detested him for accepting her hand while knowing that she loved another; while he hated her, in his turn, for marrying him, although he had never spoken of love

to her. They had both obeyed the iron will that dictated laws not only to France, but to his own family, and the conscience of compulsion rose as an insurmountable barrier between them. They made no attempt to love each other, or to find that happiness together which they were forbidden seeking elsewhere. In their strange confidence the young people even went so far as to tell one another that they could never be lovers, but they pitied each other so sincerely, that this pity might have been converted with time into love. Louis would sit for hours by his wife's side trying to dispel the cloud on her brow, while Hortense was beginning to regard it as her most sacred duty to greet her husband kindly.

"If I give you a son," Hortense would say, with a smile, "and when he addresses you by the sweet name of father, you will forgive me for being his mother."

"And when you press your son to your heart and feel how madly you love him," Louis said, "then you will pardon me for being your husband, or, at any rate, no longer hate me, for I shall be the father of your beloved child."

Had they been left to themselves they might have learned to

respect, even love each other, but calumny interfered. A father of Hortense's child. rumor spread through Paris that Napoleon himself was the It was expected that Napoleon would be so horrified at this foul tale, that he would at once send Louis and Hortense away, and thus Josephine would once again be left defenceless. When Hortense heard this rumor, she fell insensible at her mother's feet, and not long after gave gave birth to a still-born child.

When Hortense again rose from her couch she sought relief France were wont to assemble. At length some degree of comin society, and in her salons the most distinguished men of fort was restored her, for at the period of the imperial coronation a son was born to her the future heir of France. Ere long, too, and Louis became a king, but this only increased the sorrow of the ill-assorted pair. In Paris they were enabled to forget, but in Holland they would be compelled to live together. Still Louis was compelled to obey, and resolved that, as destiny compelled him to be a king, he would perform his regal duties so that they should prove a blessing to his subjects.

While in Holland, Hortense gave birth to two more boys,

Napoleon Louis and Louis Napoleon, but her first-born, her darling, Napoleon Charles, died of the smallpox. This loss was too much for her; combined with her husband's irritable temper it crushed her to the earth, and she sought shelter and consolation in her mother's arms. But Josephine herself needed words of comfort to be addressed to her, for her husband had resolved on carrying his long-meditated design of a divorce, and, as Lord Castlereagh wittily remarked, "A virgin was about to be sacrificed to the Minotaur." When the dissolution of the marriage was effected, Josephine retired to Malmaison, and Hortense implored the Emperor that she might be allowed to But Napoleon follow her example, in which wish Louis joined. was inexorable, and Louis returned to Holland more gloomy than ever, while Hortense, by the Emperor's express orders, At the new remained in Paris for a season with her two sons. marriage festivities she held the train of Marie Louise, and was the only one of the family who did so without a murmur.

Fresh troubles were in store for Hortense; her husband, faithful to his duties as monarch, aroused the wrath of his brother, who eventually drove him from the throne because he studied the prosperity of his new country more than the interests of France. King Louis descended from his throne and retired to Gratz, in Styria, where he lived as the Count of St. Leu. But when misfortunes fell upon his brother he forgot all private feelings, and returned to Paris to cast in his lot with that of the other members of the family.

And Napoleon required assistance if he was to maintain his throne. On his return from Moscow he ordered Hortense to drown the memory of the past by brilliant balls, but the crippled, mutilated soldiers were not fitted for the joys of the revel. All Paris suffered from a foreboding of what was about to happen, and Hortense, perhaps, was the most wretched of all in that great city, for she felt that all was lost, even before the cry ran through the streets, "The Cossack are coming!" But she could not be induced to leave Paris even when the Emperor fled, and it was not till her husband threatened to tear


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