fan to hide the smile with which she left the room. "I trust Eudora after giving up hoops as she is sure to do cheerfully, will secure an honest and devoted husband." The words died away in silence, and I felt, O Bong, that my philosophy was changed! I had laughed at Miss Seraphina frequently and bestowed upon her the cognomen of old maid :-after her departure I revolved the propriety of strewing upon my head some ashes from the hearth in token of penitence and remorse. That I should ever have maligned that most perfect of friends-whose erudition was so profound, whose style was so brilliant, and whose heart so admirable and tender! I would have torn my hairbut I did better. I went to my apartment and carefully arranged it, intently criticised my boots, and with a cowardly and palpitating heart descended to Eudora. by one the guests had retired to their apartments. She said that she had long but that shall never be. Not even the page that goes to thy friendly eyes, O Garcong, shall be dowered with the golden words which told the honest Flur Depay his happiness, and proved to him that something more than the hoops had reigned in the beauteous thoughts of— my-Eudora! One thing only mars my perfect joy, O Bong-one thing alone has made me melancholy. Never more, O Bong Garcong, shall I be able to associate with you. I feel that I must cut you. With the wish that your moustache may assume the length of Colonel Newcome's had he been appointed General of the armies in the Crimea, and that you may never know a lesser happiness than falling in love with and marrying some second Eudora-I laugh while writing such fatuity, O Bong-I subscribe myself, O Bong Garcong, what I have always been, Your devoted friend, And what I soon expect to be, FLUR DEPAY. THE MOUNTAIN PROSPECTS NEAR JOCASSEE, SOUTH CAROLINA. 'Tis glorious all! Here nature weds Here, throned within her thunder peaks, Its wrath upon her sovereign towers ;- And all unmoved, through saddest hours! Here, lavish of her beauties still, Relieves, with swelling steeps, the plain, That now, like serpent crouch'd in coil, Anon, her murmur takes the ear. And, o'er it foaming, silver white, As if of Freedom,—as it goes, In meadows where each wild flower blows. Thus, from the embrace of Terror, glide Thus, hallowing all the gloom, they grow Wrapt on their heights, with living Bow, That, from the sun, through bluest skies, The foaming torrent leaps through groves As if, by spells of Love subdued, To drink in odours from the vale, O'er hostile crags, and stubborn bounds, Ah! wandering lone,-away from men, To feel the eager soul upspring, The mountain Eagle's mighty wing Track the great billowy range of height, That rolls in surge, with scalps of white, "Till vision stops itself in flight With none beside, the bliss to share, "How Beautiful!"-To feel no breast And watch with me the wondrous show, This robs from charm in earth and skies! Echoes from genial founts-a voice, The evening dews were falling when the two boats arrived at Meilleraie and anchored near each other-and when Andrew met Mem at the inn all clouds of displeasure had disappeared. The youth made no allusion to what had passed, and the old patroon, appreciating his discretion, payed in friendly words what he would have found hard to pay in gratitude. The boatmen of other barques, who were acquainted, now assembled for the evening meal. Master Jacques, alone, remained in his boat-supping, as his custom was, upon some crusts of black bread, dipped in brandy, which he had brought with him. Mem had found at the inn Good Man Soriel, the oldest of all the mariners whom, in a trifling affair which he had, an ambitious lawyer, wishing to prove his knowledge of the classics called the Nestor of the Loire. His companions had taken the Homeric reminiscence of the man of law, for a facial sobriquet and modified it, without thinking of it, by calling him simply, father "Nez Tort." The old patroon had left the river many years, and it was only by chance that he was at the inn as his nephew was confined at home by illness and he consent * Continued from Vol. 21, page 761, † Crooked Nose. ed to take his boat for him to Orleans. Mem and he had known each other in the Vendean war and they both now recollected that their last meeting had been in the very place where they now were. "Do you recollect it, my poor boy?" said Soriel, who in his quality as an octogenarian gave this youthful epithet to all who were under his age: "That was the day of the dispersion of the grand army!-Do you remember the miserable wretches huddled together on the shore, and praying to God and man to pass over to the other side? There were more than 40,000, and but 8 little boats for all." "Yes," said Mem, "and to see the poor women run when the boats approached. 'Let my poor wounded husband-my dear father-my poor son, sick son—a dying youth, go across;' dear creatures, they asked nothing for themselves." "It was a terrible day," cried Soriel, "and I never think of it without the very marrow in my bones trembling. I saw Mr. de Bonchamp, who was dying, he was almost speechless, still he signed for the priest to keep near him, and spoke to him, and when they asked the father what he said, he repeated, always, the same thing, 'Do not kill the prisoners.' "Notwithstanding the Blues were killing us," replied Mem, with bitterness. "Not more than we did them," replied the old man. "In those times no person valued the life of another, and it was a great miracle if they valued their own lives, for the Virgin knows how hard it was to keep it. When it was saved from the guillotine and the bullets, it had to be saved from famine, and that was no little thing. For us, the Loire had become a battlefield, here the Chouans sent their bullets upon us, under the pretence that we served the Whites; there the royalists cannonaded us, under the pretext that we carried provision to the Blues. So every boat was deserted and the mariners took the head seeker's bag, or entered the service of Carrier." "To become Noyeurs.!" "Yes. I know full well indeed that there are some in the Marine who have made the Loire a cemetery, but as true as I am a baptised christian-as true as there is a God in heaven, if ever I meet one, these hands will themselves avenge the innocents whom he murdered," said Mem. "You will never meet one," said Soriel, "for we drove them from us and forbid them ever coming back again, under pain of dwelling in the Chateau d' Au*, as the saying was in those times, but let us forget it all if we can." As the other mariners were but little interested in the recollections of the old men, they had left, one after the other, and at last Andrew, seeing that Etine had disappeared, concluded to return to his boat. When he went there, Master Jacques was already sound asleep in the cabin with the rest of the crew. Not wishing to sleep, the young patroon threw his cloak around him and began pacing the deck, occupied with his thoughts. The cold was not so severe, and the night darker, and a few stars faintly twinkled through the gloom. The fog was plashing from the willows in the Loire, which was mirrored, here and there, in the stellar light. It appeared to Andrew that the water had increased, and in some instants a slight cracking was heard; but he scarcely noticed it, so busy was he with his fancies. The last few days passed in sight of, or with Mem's niece, had revived a love which he had thought was overcome, and he longed to know if his hopes could be granted. As he loved devotedly, and the happiness or misery of his life depended upon the answer he would receive, it is not strange that he deferred the moment from time to time, hoping and fearing for the hour which would decide all. Whilst engaged * Name of a château built on the banks of the Loire. When the prisoners had embarked in the boats which were to be sunk in the waters-they asked where they were to be carried: the Noyeurs replied, by a horrible jeu de mot to the Chateau d' Au. |
