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•hance, a sum destined to purposes of benevolence, because l see your own reflections are a su fficient punishment. But Claudine must have her fur iture, and you shall mot lose the pleasure of bestowing it upon her ; when you visit her to-morrow, give her this," said he, putting his purse into my hand. You may believe I was nearly wild with joy. 1 thanked the Baron a thousand times over, and besought him to accompany me to the cottage of Claudine ; he wantcd to stipulate that I should not inform her from whom tbe money came, but this I would not promise to do, and at length he consented to go with mae the next day. Never shall I forget the happiness I received from witnessing that of poor Claudine, vv ho overwhelmed us with thanks aud blessings. She was soon comfortably established as the village school-mistress, and I had the delight of seeing her and her children respectably settled through the bounty of the Baron. From that day his attentions to me were particular. He no longer treated me as a child, but while he laboured to improve my understanding, and to cultivate those virtues of which he thought I was possessed, he imperceptibly gained my whole heart. Twelve months from the day in which I

had ventured my last stake, the Baron desired !

to speak with me alone. * I am about, my dear Mademoiselle," said

he, when I entered, o to acknowledge my sins of commission against you ; may I hope that you will absolve them ?" " If in my power, my Lord," cried I, « 1 will." " Yes, dearest Adrieune," said he, * it is in your power ; I will honestly own that for the last twelve months, I have played the part of a severe inquisitor. I wished to marry, and my heart pointed out you of all women I had ever seen, as the most likely to render me happy ; but I was determined that the choice of my heart should be ratified by that of my reason. I scrutinized your temper and disposition minutely, and you have more than answered my most sanguine expectations. Say, sweetest Adrienne, that you will pardon my presumption, and accept my hand." The Baron ceased. I cannot tell you what vas my reply, but I suppose it was not a very discouraging one ; he had previously gaiued my aunt's app obation, and in a short time we were united. The good curate of the village gave us the nuptial benediction, and you may be sure that Claudine was semething the richer for our marriage. The Baron told me in a few days after the ceremony was performed, that he had formed a preposs ssion in my favour from the moment that I told him the reason | which had induced me to venture my last ' stake.

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somethiug of the fullness of youth but it still remains, and age in changing 1t has given au expression which becomes it, and mark d it with sweetness and gravity The mearer the picture is examined, the handsomer the head becomes, as the smallest wrinkles are tben seen without in any measure destroying the effect of the whole.

The head dress is majestic, and assimilates well with the head from the pr priety of its ornaments ; possessing a wise richness, but without luxury. The hands may be said to belong to the head; for in examining them any person might guess what sort of a head they ought to accompany. The muscular form and outlines have yielded a little to the action of time ; but the shape of the bones The gown is extremely natural, and the folds are well arranged; it appears to be of a changeable velvet.

has still preserved its native exactness.

In short, we may examine this precious bijou with a microscope ; its details would serve to fill the largest picture frame ; a copyist might increase its proportions tenfold, and yet its distances would assume their proper places without leaving any unoccupied space in the intervals, so accurate have the smallest trifles been attended to.

·- POETR P. •ORIGINAL AND SELECT -`EXTRACTS

From " The Battle of H'agram ;" by the Author qf" The Battles ofthe Danube and Barrcsa." XII. Now midnight o'er the troubled world, Silent and sad, her veils unfurl'd, And o'er the fields, with slaughter warm, No longer peal'd the battle storm, Quench'd were the fires of either host, And round the Danube's warded coast, A heavier darkness grew ; And the dull breeze, as by it swept, Mutter'd the groans of those who kept Their vigil in the dew : But hopeless was the watch they heldNo friendly forms their fears dispell'd, No hand was near their wounds to heal, To soothe the throbbing pangs they feel,

| Or close their dying eyes ; | Scenes of the past rush'd on their sight, | But of the future all was night, And terror and surprize. XII I.

| And darker now the concave grew,
And fled was every streak of blue,

And every golden ray,
Silent, amidst the general woe
That cover'd half the plain below,
Full many a friend and stranger foe,

In mingled ruin lay ;
And all was still throughout the vale,
Save when the scouts their comrades hail,

Or pledge oftruth repay ;
Or save when to the ear the gale
Usher'd the deep and hollow wail,

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And which we have selected as a finishing specimen, as it is a chef-d'œuvre of this admirable master. Indeed this precious miniature, for such it is, may deservedly have a place amidst the historical school, as it contains all that is grand and noble. It is, in short, the Beau ideal of old age ; and us the French critic observes, * no Qucen-Dowager need be ashamed of her resemblance to such a por. trait.'' The action is sanctified and sedate, the atvitude simple and full of grace. The clasped hands, on which the book rests, mark not in thc slightest degree any other or common attitude ; she prays with fervour and with hope. All her air and dress answer to the awfulness of her occupation ; all ber features are full of dignity and majesty. It is indeed an elegant antique bust ; and time has merely softened the fresh colouv of youth without injuring the form. The eyes are regular, the nose is elegantly protuberant, and grace yet plays around the mouth ; the oval contour has indeed lost

somethiug of the fullness of youth but it still remains, and age in changing 1t bas given an expression which becomes it, and mark d it with sweetness and gravity Tl e nearer the picture is examined, the handsomer the head becomes, as the smallest wrink les are t ben seen without in any measure des troying the effect of the whole.

The head dress is majestic, and assimilates well with the head from the pr priety of its ornaments : possessing a wise rich ness, but without luxury. The hands may be said to belong to the head; for in examining them any person might guess what sort of a head they ought to accompany. The muscular form and outlines have yielded a little to the action of time ; but the shape of the bones has still preserved its native exact ness. The gown is extremely natural, and the folds are well arranged ; it appears to be of a changeable velvet.

In short, we may examine this precious bijou with a microscope ; its details would serve to fill the largest picture frame ; a copyist might increase its proportions tenfold, and yet its distances would assume their proper places without leaving any unoccupied space in the intervals, so accurate have the smallest trifles been attended to.

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TEXTRACTS

From " The Battle of H'agram ;" by the Author

qf" The Battles ofthe Danube and Barrcsa."

XI I.

Now midnight o'er the troubled world,
Silent and sad, her veils unfurl'd,
And o'er the fields, with slaughter warm,
No longer peal'd the battle storm,
Quench'd were the fires of either host,
And round the Danube's warded coast,

A heavier darkness grew ;
And the dull breeze, as by it swept,
Mutter'd the groans of those who kept

Their vigil in the dew :
But hopeless was the watch they held-
No friendly forms their fears dispell'd,
No hand was near their wounds to heal,
To soothe the throbbing pangs they feel,

| Or close their dying eyes ; ' Scenes of the past rush'd on their sight, | But of the future all was night, And terror and surprize. XI I I. | And darker now the concave grew, | And fled was every streak of blue, And every golden ray, Silent, amidst the general woe That cover'd half the plain below, Full many a friend and stranger foe, In mingled ruin lay ; And all was still throughout the vale, | Save when the scouts their comrades hail, Or pledge oftruth repay ; Or save when to the ear the gale | Usher'd the deep and hollow wail,

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