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BELLE ANASTASIE; OR, THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER.

Respectfully dedicated to my dear Friends, the Fashionable Novelists of England.

BY THE AUTHOR OF THE "COOKERY SCHOOLS'" PAPERS.

CHAP. I.

Jean Papillon, Comte Choufleur, was a very ugly man; his stature did not exceed five feet, his back was bent, his face dark and wrinkled; a long black grizzled beard hung down over linen whose appearance did not suggest the idea of a careful blanchisseuse. His dark blue eyes had a cat-like gleam belonging to them; his large aquiline nose and wide loose mouth added no charm to his ferocious countenance. His hands were large and bony, his toilette the reverse of soignée, his gait shambling and awkward. His temper was abominable; the servants of Chateau Papillon led a dreadful life; if any of them happened to displease his master, in a fit of ungovernable rage the wretched old man would personally chastise the offenders. He amused his leisure by making dreadful whips for this purpose, and he lost no opportunity of using them.

for a painter's model. Her long shining golden hair was crowned, on a certain June evening, by a little capote of blonde lace, elegantly trimmed at each side by a fashionable chou of blue ruban. Large hoop earrings, set with costly diamans, gleamed like thousands of rainbows in each pearly, white ear. Her features were very, very delicate, and perfectly beautiful. Her soft eyes were blue as the handsome turquoises with which her ivory fan was adorned. Elegant bracelets embraced her round, white arms; and her dress (of tulle illusion) flowed in bright full folds to the elegant tapis that covered the ground. Three deep volants of handsome black dentelle added grace to her slender form. Her petits pieds were enclosed in tiny pantoufles of white satin. Her gilded and painted harp was silent; her Italian greyhound, with step light as the rose-leaf's fall, was dejectedly caressed by the sorrowful lady.

"Alas, my Zaïre!" ejaculated Anastasie, with a deep sigh," thy mistress is utterly desolée."

The little dog, as if en réponse, lay down on an embroidered tabouret, and whined piteously. And la belle Anastasie gave way to a burst of tears, as she leaned her lily cheek on a beautiful velvet cushion. Finesse, her maid and confidante, entered.

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Immense as was his wealth, he was avaricious and penurious; he scarcely allowed himself sufficient food to sustain his life; he kept no horses, no dogs but a great mastiff as gaunt and revolting-looking as himself. He was the terror of all his neighbourhood; the simple paysans looked upon him as a supernatural monstrosity. Children hurried out of his path, like frightened "In tears, madam!" cried the faithful dohares in the heat of la chasse; and the mis-mestic; "have you lost your fan, or spilt eau creant was flattered by every mark of aversion, sucrée over those little slippers that fit so well, fear, and terror. He visited very little; only or has Zaïre got her foot écrasé under the door, people who borrowed money of him would tolerate his presence, and these trembled as they offered him their reluctant hospitality. He would ramble, accompanied only by his dog, for hours together in the dreary woods that surround Chateau Papillon, recreating himself by making hideous faces, and growling and shrieking like a madman. He was tremendously rich and covetous, and yearly made large sums by lending money at exorbitant interest to the noblesse around, who had become distressed during the awful days of the Revolution. It was by lending money that he became acquainted with the aged Comte de Concombre, who, with one lovely daughter, a secretary, and three or four faithful servants, resided at the noble and ancient Château Concombre, the nearest large house to Papillon's own domain.

CHAP. II.

The lovely, aimable, and accomplished Anastasie Irma Celestine Claudine Sophie Amelie Elizabeth Térèse de Concombre was indeed fit

Hélas, ma bonne Finesse; you have not surmised the cause of my inexpressible grief," sobbed the unhappy girl, with a fresh burst of sorrow. "Mon père vient de m'apprendre that Comte Choufleur, the terrible, méchant, covetous Comte Choufleur, loves your poor little mistress."

Finesse burst into tears as she vigorously rubbed with gomme élastique the half-soiled glove in her hand.

"Hélas! La pauvre Anastasie !”

CHAP. III.

M. le Secrétaire was a most handsome and gallant young man. Agé de vingtans, with a thick, silky moustache, soft rolling dark eyes, and a certain air de bon ton, so agreeable to le beau sexe; he was sure to be a friend of our belle Anastasie. Secluded in a great measure from the world by political changes which had thrown the Comte de Concombre into retirement and poverty, she had grown up like a lovely violet

"You are hired by Choufleur to assassinate me," he cried.

among its shadowy native green leaves. Sweet | Le Secrétaire felt he was a dead man; yet he Anastasie! "Twas in her sixteenth year the resolved to fight for his life. handsome Secrétaire came to Chateau Concombre. At the very first the horrid Choufleur had taken a dislike to the meek, yet courageous Secrétaire, whose cool politeness threw the ruffian Choufeur into passionate rage.

"Pardon, monsieur, je suis votre ami; Choufleur is by right your own title, and that yon renegade knows too well!"

"Am I dreaming?" shrieked the Secrétaire. "Non, Monsieur le Comte," replied the mask. shall regain your title, your riches, and your bride. Adieu!"

It was natural that Anastasie should take pleasure in the agreeable aud witty converse of le jeune Secrétaire. His sweet smile, his hand-"You some rolling dark eyes, the flossy down that shaded his well-cut lip, had taken by storm the little citadel du eœur de la belle Anastasie.

In return, he adored her tiny foot-prints; the musky handkerchief which had pressed her lips was dearer to him than all the riches of Araby the Blest! Oh! how softly rolled his dark eyes as, with her silk on his hands, she wound the glittering thread on ivory reels, delicately carven by a Chinese hand. Oh! those happy moments when his rich round voice, mingling with her bell-like soprano, the triste musique floated on

the summer air.

The Secrétaire looked round with his soft, rolling dark eyes-the figure had disappeared!

That night the pretended Comte de Choufleur lay in horrid torture; dreadful visions scared sleep from his eyes; his mastiff growled savagely at the foot of the bed. The cold sweat sat on his brow. His ferocious face glared fearfully. The frightened servants sent for a priest. In agony the wretch confessed and died.

Ere many weeks had passed, the true Comte de Choufleur, the handsome and witty Théodore Gantjaune, was reinstated in his ancestral chateau with great honour.

"Will he still think of Anastasie?" murmured the demoiselle pensively, yet cheerfully, for she had escaped a terrible fate.

But now, alas! where were those visions of bliss? Anastasie wept constantly; and M. le Secrétaire was frequently observed pressing to his soft rolling dark eyes a richly-embroidered cambric handkerchief. The agony of the lovers may be better imagined than described; the wretchedness of long years seemed crowded into the experience of a few short days. M. de Choufleur was anxious that the marriage should Fine furniture and horses were bought; the take place; he taunted Anastasie with her love cellars were stocked, the pictures cleaned; but for le Secrétaire, and le Secrétaire with his pas- M. le Comte kept himself as yet in close retiresion for Anastasie. He gloated over their sighs ment. The fearful mastiff was shot by the and tears; he took pleasure in the stormy sor-young man, and no trace remained in the chateau row of two riven hearts. of its late unrighteous possessor.

Anastasie and son père were completely in the wretch's hands; Concombre was too deeply indebted to him to object, and the fatal day was appointed.

The trousseau was ordered in Paris contrary to the advice of Choufleur, who wished la belle Anastasie to be married in a plain grey taffeta ! Her spirit, though depressed, was not quite extinguished, and she resolutely insisted on a toilette à la mode. A long voile of dentelle de Bruxelles was to flow to her feet; a guirlande of white roses and myrtle would bind her golden tresses; a robe of the most delicate brocade was to envelop her lovely form; the corsage à la Grecque would heighten her native elegance. But ah! the wretchedness, amid all this gilded pomp, of la belle Anastasie, as her fearful fiancé danced and yelled in frantic joy before her!

CHAP. IV.

Still, as her slender fingers strayed over the strings of her gilded and painted harp, gentle sighs raised the elegant chemisette of Anastasie, as she softly asked herself, "Will he still think of Anastasie ?”

CHAP. V.

He was

Yes, truly, he still thought of his belle Anastasie. Nothing but severe cold in the head kept him in his chateau those three weary weeks. He was better; his Spanish jennet was saddled and waiting; he flung his manly person on to the beautiful animal, whose silver adornments gleamed like little mirrors in the sun. truly dressed comme il faut. Not even the discerning Finesse saw a fault in his appointments as he put a guinea into her honest hand. He made his entrée into the beautiful boudoir; there reclined la belle Anastasie, on rose-covered velvet cushions. Her fair cheek was lily pale with pensive wonderings concerning her young Comte, the ci-devant Secrétaire.

M. le Secrétaire was walking alone in the forét; his soft, rolling dark eyes were overflow- The robe of the lady was of the richest point ing; and where his tears fell, the grass was ever d'Angleterre: her tiny feet were clasped in the after more green and beautiful! Ah! le pauvre embrace of dark green velvet slippers; the palest Secrétaire! Suddenly, a Dark Form met his of straw-coloured gants enveloped her little soft, rolling dark eye. Twas a man, wrapped hands; her swan-like neck was surrounded by in a long, full cloak, masked, and with a sword. | a velours, clasped by a valuable amethyst brooch.

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Her masses of sunshiny curls were carelessly knotted beneath a Valenciennes lace capote, adorned by a rose panache at each ear. A circassienne of green velvet, like her slippers, came a little below her fairy-like ceinture; from the breast-pocket of her circassienne she drew ever and anon a slight thing of lace and cambric, which she pressed to her beautiful blue orbs. She wore one more ornament; 'twas a locket with hair.

He entered with a shrill cry she rushed to his arms; all was right-the day was fixed; the trousseau, which by the lapse of a month had

become obsolete in fashion, was replaced by a newer and more splendid one from Paris. Her jewels were envied by duchesses, her dresses the best in France. Who now so happy as la belle Anastasie ?

Le jour des noces arrived: Anastasie and Théodore are united; the lovely girl, in her fresh, costly toilette, was indeed belle comme une ange; and Finesse, the faithful Finesse, she too looked pretty and saucy in her piquante toilette de femme de chambre.

Adieu! adieu! Heureuse Anastasie. Et tu! Comte de Choufleur, le brave et gentil.

DEBT.

"Let it be your first care not to be in any man's debt."-JOHNSON.

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The state of existence familiarly known as being over head and ears in debt, is not by any means exclusive;-on the contrary, it seems open to men of every rank and character, is enjoyed by communities as well as individuals, and in its most enlarged form takes the name of national. Debt indeed is a kind of social disease, wide-spreading in its ravages, but of no specific type; it springs from an endless variety of causes, and is marked by symptoms the most dissimilar. In the incipient stages it imperceptibly undermines the constitution, but it soon festers into a gnawing ulcer, or 'gangrenes to black mortification." It may be hidden from other eyes for a time, but it is a cancer "rankling in the riven breast," which often grows incurable from concealment. It is at once a consumption of the stamina of the body, and a paralysis of the powers of the mind. But though the patient becomes emaciated, the approved practice is to treat his disorder like a plethora; an abstemious regimen is prescribed, which, by subduing the quickened pulse and calming the fevered brain of dissolute excess, may reinvigorate the shattered frame of an impaired fortune.

The malady is contagious, and the benevolent often endanger themselves by their kindness to its victims. Honour and worth are not proof against it, and genius too frequently pines and sinks under its attacks; but the most malignant case is that of the spendthrift, in which the disease quickly runs to its crisis. Its progress may

be traced in the scion of an ancient house who upholds the dignity of his family by making over to the Jews the acres that are his only in expectancy, in exchange for the means of supporting a reckless extravagance; or in the upstart who establishes himself as a man of ton, by squandering the hoards he has lately inherited in the hells of St. James's or at Newmarket. He gets involved in debt, and is haunted by duns; writ follows writ, and he is hunted by bailiffs, till at length he is forced altogether off the stage, or at least has to change the scene;-his choice lies between Queen's Bench and "beyond Dover," unless indeed in a lucky hour St. Stephen's open its doors. In the end he becomes a man on town," a roué and a blackleg; or if he has been taught wisdom, it is too late, and it is better to be a fool than go to his school to learn it.

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Poverty and debt are nearly allied, but their influences are not alike baneful. The poor man may look his fellows boldly in the face, and "with virtue conquer extremities;" the man in debt feels lessened in his own eyes, and prefers living by his wits rather than his industry. Poverty may stimulate to exertion, and is sometimes the nurse of greatness; debt cramps the energies of the soul and saps the independence of character. The gay may affect to view the evil lightly, but the wise man will agree with the moralist, and "not accustom himself to consider debt merely as an inconvenience, knowing that he may find it a calamity."

LETTER SKETCHES.

No. III.

TRAVERS TEMPLETON TO HORACE SEY- think I hear you say; and you fancy that our old MOUR, ESQ.

friend Shakspere has been wrong for once, and that in Clarence Evelyn's case, at all events, 'the course of true love did indeed run smooth."

"I will drop in his way some obscure epistles of If you do say so, Horace, you are jumping to a

love."

TWELFTH NIGHT.

Woodlands, 23rd August, 183—

MY DEAR SEYMOUR, You tell me, and I rejoice to hear it, that Colonel Evelyn has become your neighbour; you also ask if I was acquainted with him before his marriage, and how long I have known his lady? Some eighteen years ago, my friend, I was introduced for the first time to Mrs. Evelyn; she was then Louisa Somerset, and as lovely as a girl of seventeen as she is handsome as a matron of five-and-thirty. Clarence Evelyn was my earliest friend; we were together both at Harrow and in Italy, and were in our boyhood what the boarding-school young ladies term "inseparables ;" and as Evelyn was all for love, and I (the more shame for me) was at that time a contented bachelor, -as he preferred "the sword and all the artillery of war," and my delight was in my library, our pursuits and pleasures never interfered. Clarence Evelyn was a soldier,

"He had not been to college, sir-for books,

He'd passed his time in reading ladies' eyes, Which he could construe marvellously well,"and while I was reading for a fellowship at Oxford, enamoured with the phantom of a double first, Clarence,

"A dashing captain of hussars,

Dressed in the livery of Mars,
Mustachio, lace and sabre,"

fell in love with Louisa Somerset at the Goodwood races,-danced with her, dangled with her, flirted with her, fought for her, quarelled with her (bad that, Horace), was ordered abroad with his regiment, and called upon her guardian to bid his love farewell;-went in snivelling like a sentenced criminal, and came out smirking, an accepted lover;-flew to the horseguards for a three weeks' furlough, sent me to Doctors' Commons for a special licence, sailed with his bride in the Endymion for Flanders, saved his colonel at Le Quatre Bras, fought at Waterloo, brought despatches home to Brighton, was presented at St. James's, and succeeded to Castle-Evelyn and seven thousand a year within eighteen months after he had first become enamoured of the bright blue eyes of Miss Louisa Somerset. "Quick work was that, friend Templeton," I

conclusion and are quite mistaken-there never was a vessel more nearly wrecked within sight of harbour, than was the Colonel's wooing within a week before his marriage. Evelyn was an ardent and impassioned lover-" never man sighed truer breath." Louisa Somerset was both rich and beautiful, and Clarence had many rivals; and before his marriage, though never afterwards, he was now and then a wee bit jealous. There was his turn-out with Captain Sinclair, in which he received a bullet in the arm, and then discovered that his rival had never seen Louisa, and had been engaged for upwards of a twelvemonth to the daughter of Sir Arthur Egerton;-of course Miss Somerset was excessively displeased, but Clarence pleaded hard for pardon, and his wounded arm, although a speechless orator, did more than all his eloquence-his mistress forgave him on his promise to offend no more. Things went on prosperously, and the wedding day was fixed; but one unlucky morning, the week before his nuptials, while Clarence was as usual at my apartments endeavouring to while away the time by expatiating on the beauty and accomplishments of his bride, a note from Louisa's guardian was delivered, requesting me to accompany Evelyn to dinner in Berkeley Square; my worthy correspondent concluded his invitation thus: “I enclose a letter of Louisa's, which I picked up in my library this morning-show it to Major Evelyn, for I think he ought to see it." As the hour of appointment was approaching, I tossed the note and its enclosure to my companion, and retired to my apartment, which I had, however, scarcely entered when he rushed into the room, and almost choking with passion, threw the letter I had given him upon my dressing-table.

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Templeton," he exclaimed, "read thataye, read it over, and then tell me truly if in all the annals of female perfidy you ever met with treachery like hers!"

"For heaven's sake, dear Evelyn, what has happened? You are surely raving; I implore you be composed and listen to me; think what you have been saying, and of whom-of Louisa Somerset, your own affianced bride, the faithful, generous, open-hearted—”

"Faithful, generous, open-hearted—aye, generous and open-hearted truly! Read that letter," he continued furiously," and say if ever doating lover was betrayed as I have been! You think me mad, my friend-and I almost wish I were 80. Louisa! cruel and deceitful woman! may

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all-no, no!" he muttered as he sank upon, was violently agitated; and regardless of my a couch and hid his face in his hands, ungrateful as she is, I cannot curse her." Evelyn was in agony. I hastity perused the letter, and in truth, when I had completed it, my indignation was well nigh equal to his own. It ran as follows:

Berkeley Square, Tuesday Evening.

MY DEAREST HARRY,

"Your prophecy is fulfilled-my hand is pledged

to Evelyn, and another week will see me wedded to
your rival. Do not, however, be uneasy, dearest
marry whom I may, I can never cease to love you.
Evelyn is very amiable, and I believe he adores me
he is generous, noble-spirited, affectionate and
confiding; if he has a fault it is a little, very little
jealousy, though of that I think he is completely
cured since his duel with Fitzherbert Sinclair.
Come to me very early, Harry, for I have much to
say to you. Lucy will conduct you to my dressing-
room at once, and you will meet with Clarence and
Mr. Templeton at dinner-meanwhile farewell!
"Unalterably yours,

"LOUISA"
"The chain I send you was the gift of Evelyn.
I told him that I never wore such ornaments, and

he begged me to present it to some valued friend-I promised, and I keep my word.”

presence she clung to him in terror, and implored that she might hear the worst. "I have," she said, "no relatives to weep for; but you, dear Clarence, are more fortunate-you are not an orphan; has any sudden stroke of Providence bereft you of a parent or a friend? The loss of fortune only could never thus have moved you. Still silent! then can I, dear Evelyn, have done anything unconsciously to offend you?" She laid her hand affectionately on his shoulder as she spoke, and looked so innocently on her lover that I could restrain myself no longer. "Evelyn, let appearances be what they may, Louisa Somerset is blameless-I will pledge my life and honour for her truth."

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Evelyn! Clarence Evelyn!" cried Miss Somerset, "what can this mean? you cannot, dare not yet again suspect me. Dear Clarence," she continued in a milder tone, "you cannot doubt of the attachment of your own Louisa ?"

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'I do not, by Heaven!" answered Evelyn; 'you are right, Templeton, there must be some mistake. No, no, Louisa! I can never look upon of thy purity and faith." that countenance, and doubt one instant

He took her hand beseechingly, but she shrank from his caresses. "I had thought that I read the letter again in silence, for I durst Major Evelyn had been above this groundless not trust myself to speak. The address was jealousy, I grieve to find I was mistaken. How wanting-it had apparently been sent under a I have offended him, I cannot even guess; but cover, but I was well acquainted with the hand- this I know," she added, with an air of dignity writing of Louisa, and felt confident that the that gave fresh lustre to her beauty, “my feelcharacters were her own. I knew, moreover, ings, my affections may be trifled with, but my that she was an orphan, and had no male character and my conduct shall be above suspirelative surviving. Oh, how that letter had cion; farewell! there can be no hope of happiruined her in my esteem! I turned to Evelyn-ness in our union without mutual confidence." he was deadly pale; his furious anger had subsided into a more frightful calmness; he pressed my hand, motioned me to take up the paper, and spoke with an affected firmness and an effort to appear composed.

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My friend, this is very hard to bear, but it is better to be undeceived in time. I shall join my company this evening, but I will see her before I go, and I ask it of your friendship to accompany me. I will not upbraid her, for I could not endure her tears; and for her guardian's sake, and the love that I must ever bear her, I will not expose her perfidy. But this morning -but an hour ago, I thanked Heaven for my happiness, and had not another wish; and now I have but one-it is for a soldier's grave."

His carriage was in waiting, and we drove hastily to Berkeley Square. We arrived, and were shown into the library, where in a few moments Louisa Somerset joined us, beautiful as an angel, and her countenance flushed with pleasure on beholding Evelyn. "My dear Clarence! Mr. Templeton Evelyn, how kind of you to come so early-I so wished to see you that I might introduce- Good heavens! Clarence, how you look at me! your hand is burning, and you tremble, Clarence! dearest Clarence! Mr. Templeton, in mercy tell me what misfortune I must now encounter !"

Evelyn turned away from her; she saw that he

She burst into tears, and turned to leave the room as Sir Richard Meadows entered with a bright-eyed laughing Hebe of some eighteen years of age, whom he introduced as Miss Harriet Howard.

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Welcome, gentlemen," cried the Baronet"hey, tears, Louisa! what, a lover's quarrel three days before the bridal! Evelyn-Mr. Templeton, can you explain?"

As my companion would not break the silence the task devolved upon me, and presenting to Sir Richard the letters I had received from him that morning, I recounted as briefly as possible the unfortunate misapprehensions they had occasioned.

"Major Evelyn," exclaimed the Baronet warmly, "your conduct, I must tell you, is both cruel and ungentlemanly, and evinces neither the feelings nor affections of a man of honour; you have insulted Miss Louisa Somerset, and have disgraced yourself."

Evelyn was aroused: "Sir Richard, I should be indeed a scoundrel if I deserved your accusations; I do not, sir. Your note to Mr. Templeton contained a letter

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"Which the owner dropped by accident in my library, and I enclosed to Mr. Templeton, because I thought you would be pleased to

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