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WANDERING Willie's TALE. ANECDOTES.
213 minute after, Sir John flings the body of the said, it was his real opinion, that though my jack-an-ape down to them, and cries that gudesire had gaen very far in tampering with the siller is fund, and that they should come dangerous matters, yet, as he had refused up and help him. And there was the bag the devil's arles, (for such was the offer of of siller sure aneugh, and mony orra things meat and drink,) and had refused to do hobesides, that had been missing for mony a mage by piping at his bidding, he hoped, day, And Sir John, when he had riped the that if he held a circumspect walk hereaiter, turret weel, led my gudesire into the dining- Satau could take little advantage by what parlour, and took him by the hand, and was come and gane. And, indeed, my gudespoke kindly to him, and said he was sorry sire, of his ain accord, laug forswore baith he should have doubted his word, and that the pipes and the brandy—it was not even he would hereafter be a good master to him, till the year was out, and the fatal day pasto make amends.
sed, that he would so much as take the fid“And now Steenie,” said Sir John, “al- dle, or drink usquehaugh or tippenny. though this vision of yours tends, on the Sir John made up his story about the jackwhole, to my father's credit, as an honest an-ape as he liked himsell: and some beman, that he should, even after his death, lieve till this day there was no more in the desire to see justice done to a poor man like matter than the filching nature of the brute. you, yet you are sensible that ill-disposi- Indeed he'll no hinder some to threap, that tioned men might make bad constructions it was nane o' the Auld Enemy that Dougal upon it, concerning his soul's health. So, I and my gudesire saw in the Laird's room, think, we had better lay the hail dirdum on but only that wanchancy creature, the Major, that ill-deedie creature, Major Weir, and say capering on the coftin; and that, as to the naething about your dream in the wood of blawing on the Laird's whistle that was Pitmurkie. You had taken ower mickle heard after he was dead, the filthy brute brandy to be very certain about onything; could do that as weel as the Laird himsell, if and, Śteenie, this receipt, (liis hand shook no hetter. But Heaven kens the truth, whilk while he held it out)-it's but a queer kind of first came out by the minister's wife, after document, and we will do best, I think, to Sir John and her ain gudeman were baith put it quietly in the fire.”
in the moulds. And then my gudesire, wha “Od, but for as queer as it is, it's a' the was failed in his limbs, but not in his judgvoucher I have for my rent,” said my gude- ment or memory—at least næthing to speak sire, who was afraid, it may be, of losing of-was obliged to tell the real narrative to the benefit of Sir Robert's discharge. his friends, for the credit of his gude name,
“I will bear the contents to your credit in He might else have been charged for a warthe rental book, and give you a discharge lock.-Redgauntlet. under my own hand,” said 'Sir John, “and that on the spot. And, Steenie, if you can hold your tongue about this matter, you shall ANECDOTES OF CELEBRATED sit, from this term downward, at an easier
WOMEN.--No. II. reut.” “Mony thanks to your honour,” said
MADAME DE MAINTENON. Steepie, who saw easily in what corner the This celebrated woman, who, from a low wind sat; “ doubtless I will be conformable condition, and many misfortunes, was raised to all your houour's commands; only I would to be the wife of Louis XIV. was descended willingly speak wi' some powerful minister from an ancient family of the name of d’Auon the subject, for I do not like the sort of biguy. Her grandfather distinguished himsummons of appointment whilk your ho- self for his zeal for the Reformation ; he nour's father-"
served under Henry IV. with courage and “Do not call the phantom my father!” fidelity; and on his master's embracing the said Sir John, interrupting him.
Catholic religion, retired from court, and “Weel then, the thing that was so like spent the rest of his life in literary pursuits. him,”-said my gudesire;" he spoke of my His son does not seem to have inherited the coming back to him this time twelvemontli, virtues of his father: he was accused of and it's a weight on my conscience.”
some crime, and thrown into prison; his “Aweel, then," said Sir John, “if you wife, a prudent and amiable woman, remains be so much distressed in mind, you may ed faithful to her husband in all his disspeak to our minister of the parish; he is a tresses, and in the Marshalsea of Nivol, douce man, regards the honour of our family, gave birth to a daughter, Frances, the suband the mair that he may look for some ject of this memoir. Madame de Villette, patronage from me."
sister to M. d'Aubigny, visited him and his Wi' that, my father readily agreed that wife in this season of calamity, and taking the receipt should be burnt, and the Laird the infant from this abode of misery, placed threw it into the chimney with his aiu hand. her in the care of a nurse, to whom she had Burn it would not for them, though; but entrusted her own child. away it flew up the lumm, wi' a lang train After a few years, Madame d'Aubigny obof sparks at its tail, and a hissing noise like tained the liberty of her husband, with a squib.
whom, and his family, including the little My gndesire gaed down to the Manse, and Frances, she embarked for America. During the minister, when he had heard the story, the voyage, Frances was reduced by ay ill
ness to the verge of the grave; in the crisis Madame Scarron baving passed ten years, of the disorder, she lay without sense of probably the happiest of her life, with her motion, and was thought to be dead. In husband, became a widow in October, 1660, this situation, à sailor was going to throw in the bloom of youth and beauty, with her into the sea, the signal gun was loaded, very scanty means of support. She long when Madame 'd'Aubigny requested to bé petitioned in rain, for a continuance of the allowed once more to press her infant in her pension which her husband had received arms. Placing ber hand on her heart, she from the court. At length Madame de Monfelt it faintly palpitate : "she is not dead," tespan, the King's mistress, who had been she exclaimed with a mother's joy; and by an acquaintance and friend of Madame Scarher ca;es, the infant was restored to life and ron, undertook to present a petition to the health. At Martinico, M. d'Aubigny re- King, which beginning as usual with, The established his fortunes, and enriched his widow Scarron bumbly, prays your Majesty, family, when the settlement of some im- &c.” “ How," cried he, the widow portant affairs obliged his wife to return to Scarron again, shall I never hear of any Europe. During her absence, he fell into think else?” “Indeed Sire,” replied Madame dissipated habits, lost all his property at de Montespan youi ought to have ceased play, and on the return of his wife, was hearing of her long ago." This reproof found by her, ruined, and at the point of produced the desired effect, and the pension death.
was granted. Some time after, Madame de The unhappy widow, in the hope of ob- Montespan being in search of a person to taining assistance went back to France, whom she might confide the education of leaving Frances, then seven years old, in the her children, fixed upon Madame Scarron hands of her creditors as a pledge ; but they as a person qualified for the trust, and likely soon became weary of the charge, sent her to keep the secret; but she wished to deto Europe after her mother, where she was cline the charge, and it was not until the taken care of by Madame Villette, her aunt, King himself signified his will to her, that by whom she was instructed in the Protest- she could be induced to accept it. ant faith. In the mcantime, Madame Neuil Her objections had not been without lant, a relation by the maternal side, and a foundation ; she now led a laborious and Roman Catholic, obtained an order to take retired life, with only, a pension of 2,000 her from Madame Villette, and instruct ber livres, and had the mortification of knowing, in the Catholic religion ; this, however, was that notwithstanding her employment, she not effected, without many threats, artifices, was disagreeable to the King; he looked and hardships, which drove her at length upon her as a wit, and thoughi he possessed to a compliance to the wishes of Madame wit himself, he disliked those who made a Neuillant:
display of it. He never mentioned her to At the age of 16, she was married to the Madame de Montespan, but by the name of Abbé Scarron. Madame de Neuillant took “ your vel esprit.' When the children her with her to Paris, where she became grew older, they were sept for to court, acquainted with the Abbé, and preferred which occasioned the King to converse freó. marrying him to the dependent state she quently with Madame Scarron, in whom he was then in. Scarron was of good family, found so much sense, sweetness, and elebut deformed, infirm, and not in affluent cir- gance of manners, that he not only by decumstances, in the marriage contract, he grees lost his dislike of her, but gave her acknowledged the receipt of four louis d'ors, proofs of his esteem; he raised her pension as the whole fortune of his wife, adding to 2,000 crowns, and made her a present of pleasantly, “ two large murdering eyes, a a huvdred thousand francs. The King aftermost elegant figure, a pair of beautiful hands, wards bought her the lands of Maiutenon ; and a great deal of wit.”. These riches, and seeing her extremely pleased with the however, were but little calculated to malé acquisition of her estate, called her puhainends for the canonry which he lost by licly Madame de Maintenon; this change of his marriage, the yearly revenue of which name was of greater use to her than she had been two thousand livres. Scarron, could have foreseen. She could not have notwithstanding, still continued to draw been raised to the rank she afterwards held, round him the company which his habits with the name of Scarron, which must aland infirmities rendered almost indispens- ways have been accompanied with a mean able. Of these parties, his young wife was and burlesque idea. A woman, whose rery the delight and ornament: by the charms of vame was a jest, must have detracted froni her wit and conversation, she frequently the respect and veneration paid to the great made her visitors forget the deficiencies of and pompous Louis, nor could the reserve the table: a servant whispered to her one and diguity of the widow efface the rememday, another
story, Madam, for the roast brance of her buffoonish husband. It was is too small to-day.' She scarcely ever left necessary, therefore, that Madame de Main
poor paralytic," as she was accustom tenon should obliterate Madame de Scarron. ed to call her husband; when ill, she was As the passion of Louis for Madame de his nurse, when revived,' his friend and com- Montespan decreased, his esteem for Madame panion, and at all times his amanuensis and de Maintenon increased. The violence of reader.
the temper of Madame de Montespan occa
ANECDOTES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN-MADAME DE MAINTENON.
sioned frequent quarrels between her and The regulations of the house were framed by the King; who, on these occasions sought the foundress, and digested into order by refuge from the peevishuess of his mistress, capable persous. The education of the in the more agreeable society of Madame de pupils were superintended with the utmost Maintenon. This lady has been accused of care and attention, and their minds formed fomenting these quarrels, in the hope of on the strictest principles of morals. rising through the favourite's disgrace; About the end of 1685, Louis married though there is no actual proof of this, am Madame de Maintenon, and certainly acbition would in all probability prevent her quired an agreeable and submissive compaendeavouring to reinstate Madame de Mon- pion; he was then in his 48th year, she in tespan in the affections of the monarch, when her 50th. The only public distinction which she found herself attracting his admiration. made her sensible of her secret elevatiou,(for
Madame de Maintenon, though she had nothing could be more secretly conducted completed her fortieth year, had lost only than this marriage,) was, that at mass she the bloom of youth, a loss, which the graces sat in one of the two little galleries or gilt of her manner, and the elegance of her doors usually appropriated to the king and person, fully compensated; her behaviour, queen. She has given no intimation of her though occasionally gay and sportive, was in situation; on the contrary, manifested the general reserved. The king, when" jesting most scrupulous delicacy, in destroying every or playing with the ladies of the court, al- trace of the fact, and every memorial that ways passed the governess; he was accus might throw any light upon the subject. The tomed to
say: “ As for her, I know I must letters written to her confessor, the year of not venture." Her stature was command- her marriage, are not to be found; and were, ing, and her appearance dignified and grace- there is reason to believe, either destroyed ful; she possessed a kind of native, but simple by herself, or at her express desire. One elegance, that irresistibly attracted attention. indirect confession of her station alone es
Soon after the death of the queen, Louis caped her. She went to visit the convent of went to Fontainbleau, where he was fol- the Grand Carmilites, where queens only have lowed by the Dauphiness, and in her train the right to enter. “ You know our rules," Madame de Maintenon, to whom the king said the superior to her before admitting her ; had some time before given the place of first “ and can best decide, whether I ought to lady of the wardrobe : Her importance at open the gate." “Open, my good mother," court hourly increased; her society was
you may always admit me." courted, and her circle considered as honour. The King lived with her openly as his wife, able by ladies who had always shunned the and except making a declaration in form, mistresses of the king. But her elevation took no pains to conceal the relation in was to her only a retreat; shut up in her which she stood to him. apartment, which was on the same floor as Her life after her marriage appears to have the king's, she saw little company: the king been exceedingly. monotonous; her only came to her room every day after dinner, amusement was visiting St. Cyr, where obbefore and after supper,
and continued there jects of her benevolent exertions every where till late in the erening. She often complained surrounded her : it was here, that whole in her letters of the tedious uniformity of days which she spent with delight in inher life. She found a relief and amusement, Structing her pupils, happily glided away. however, in founding an asylum for the young “They employ much of my time,” said she, and indigent nobility: the sufferings of her « and that far more agreeably than in the inearly youth had inspired her with compas- trigues of those people, who are continually sion for those unfortunate females, to whom deceiving, or deceived, and who very frequentthe pride of birth is the only inheritance de- ly are in both situations.” In another letter to a rived from their ancestors, and she seems friend, she says, “Why cannot I give you my to have had a peculiar predilection for the experience? Why cannot I make you sensiinstruction of youth, for which, by her temper ble of that uneasiness which wears out the and talents, she was well qualified. She great, and of the difficulties they labour formed the design of founding the society of under, to employ their time? Do not you St. Cyr: Louis, to whom she communicated see me oppressed with ennui in a height it, liberally concurred in her purpose; she of fortune, which once my imagination could obtained a grant of a house within the scarcely have conceived. I have been young boundaries of the park at Versailles, which and beautiful, have had a relish for pleasures, was enlarged for her design, and in less than and have been an universal object of love. At a year, completed on a scale of extent and a more advanced age, I have spent my time in magnificence. It was rendered capable of literary, pursuits, and now I am arrived at receiving 230 pensioners, 36 matrons, with the highest summit of favour; but I protest the necessary attendants. Two qualifica- to you, that every one of these conditions tions were necessary, as conditions of ac leaves in the mind a dismal vanity, a wish ceptance at St. Cyr, nobility, and indigence. for something more; nothing in this world The pupils were maintained and educated
can ever give us entire satisfaction.” If any for thirteen years; and on their dismissal thing, said Voltaire, could show the vanity from the house, were to receive, either as a of ambition, it would be this letter. marriage portion, or as the means of their After the death of the King, in 1715, she future support, the sum of 1,000 crowns, retired to St. Cyr; as she entered the walls,
she exclaimed," I shall now have none. but
THE INDIAN BRIDE. God and my dear children.”
She never quitted her retreat; and in 1717, received a
She has lighted her lamp, and crowded it with flowers,
The sweetest that breathed of the summer hours : visit there from Peter the Great. It is Red and white roses linked in a band,
Like a maiden's blush or a maiden's hand; somewhat extraordinary that Louis XIV,
Jasmines,--some like silver spray, made no certain provision for her at his Some like gold in the morning ray ; death. The Regent desired her to name her
Fragrant stars, and favourites they,
When Indian girls, on a festival-day, own terms: she limited her demands to Braid their dark tresses: and over all weaves 80,000 livres, between 600 and 700 pounds Canopy suiting the lamp-lighted bark,
The rosy bower of lotus leayersterling, which were punctually paid, till bier
. death in 1718, at the advanced age of 83.
She watched the sky, the sunset grew dim;
She raised to Camdeo her evening hymn. The Duke de Noailles, who directed her The scent of the night-flowers came on the air ; funeral, would have no funeral oration.
And then like a bird escaped from the snare, “Because,”says La Beaurnelle," he thought But the stars and the fire-flies gave her their light ;)
She stood beneath the mangoes' shade, it better nothing should be said, than that
Half delighted and half afraid ; half only should be told.”
M. She trimmed the lamp, and breathed on each bloom,
(Oh, that breath was sweeter than all their perfume !)
Called thrice on her absent lover's name ;
And every pulse throbbed as she gave
Her little boat to the Ganges' wave.
There are a thousand fanciful things,
Linked round the young heart's imaginings,
In its first love-dream, a leaf or a flower On a trial with seeming pompiosity;
Is gifted then with a spell and a power :
A shade is an omen, a dream is a sign,
From which the maiden can well divine
Passion's whole history. Those only can tell
When they have some love augury tried.
Oh, it is not for those whose feelings are cold, (Both equally witty)
[out, Withered by care, or bluuted by gold;
Whose brows have darkened with many years, “ How he murders the langnage !" did cry To feel again youth's hopes and fears“ 'Tis not murder,” said Best
they now might blush to confess,, “ It must be confess’d,
Yet, what made their spring-days happiness!
Zaide watched her flower-built vessel glide,
Mirror'd beneath on the deep-blue tide ;
There's not one breath of wind on the air,
The Heavens are cloudless, the waters are fair,
No dew is falling; yet woe to that shade ; The late Duke of Argyle had a wager with
The maiden is weeping-her lamp has decayed.
Hark to the ring of the cymetar! his late Majesty, which would produce the It tells that the soldier returns from afar. finest light, in the most valuable candlestick.
Down from the mountains the warriors come.
Hark to the thunder roll of the drum! His Majesty produced a wax taper in a can To the startling voice of the trumpet's call! dlestick of gold. The Duke produced a
To the cymbals clash !--to the atabal!
The banners of crimson float in the sun, piece of mountain pine, and placed it in the The warfare is ended, the battle is won hand of his son, then a beautiful boy. They The mother hath taken the child from her breast, were both ignited, and the king confessed The pathway is lined, as the bands pass along, that both the light and the candiestick were
With maidens; who meet them with flowers and song.
And Zaide hath forgotten in Azim's arms superior to his own. The author of Waverley All her so false lamps falser alarms. has made use of this anecdote in the Legend
This looks not a bridal,- the singers are mute, of Montrose.
Still is the mandore, and breathless the lute;
Look under yon black pall--the bridegroom is there!
Yet the guests are all bidden, the feast is the same,
And the bride plights her troth amid smoke and 'mid ftame! A man who lived by fiddling
They have raised the death-pyre of sweet-scented wood, Was known in many a street,
And sprinkled it o'er with the sacred flood
Of the Ganges. The priests are assembled :-their song And tho' he play'd but midling,
Sinks deep on the ear as they bear ber along, He still made both ends mect.
That bride of the dead. Ay, is not this love?
That one pure wild feeling all others above : He prized his fiddle greatly,
Vowed to the living, and kept to the tomb!'Twas his in younger days :
The same in its blight as it was in its bloom.
With no tear in her eye, and no change in her smile, And the case his wife made lately
Young Zaide had come nigh to the faueral pile. Of half a yard of Baize.
The bells of the dancing-girls ceased from their sound;
Silent they stood by that holiest mgund. Returning, led by Rover,
From a crowd like the sea-waves
there came not a breath, A narrow bridge to pass ;
When the maiden stood by the place of death!
One moment was given- the last she might spare ! His fiddle tumbled over,
To the mother, who stood in her weeping there. Stick, case and all, alas!
She took the jewels that shone on her hand;.
She took from her dark hair its flowery band, He set up such a roaring,
And scattered them round. At once they raise
The hymn of rejoicing and love in her praise.
a blessing said, The people came before him,
Her torch is raised -she is by the dead, And pitied his sad case.
She has fired the pile! At once there came
A mingled rush of smoke and of flame : “ Now pray good people hold your clack;"
The wind swept it off. They saw the bride, Cried he with rueful face;
Laid by her Azim, side by side.
The breeze had spread the long curls of her hair: " If I could get my fiddle back,
Like a banner of fire they played on the air. " I would not mind my case.
The smoke and the flame gathered round as before,
The war that a few years since agitated their loveliest beings, drest in the fashion of all Europe, had just achieved Talavera a tender idyl, to render the delusion more amongst its exploits, when a young officer, effective. worn out by the fatigue of a military cam She indeed seemed to the romantic fancy of paign, determined to leave all the bustling our youthful traveller, no less than a beautipleasures and cloying dissipations of Paris, ful though frail vision. She appeared not to for the calm and secluded valleys of Switzer- have passed her 16th year,and, joined to a form land, till his military duties should again re the most exquisite, possessed the most beaucal his presence to the capital.
tiful countenance imagination can conceive. It was on a heavenly and delightful even Youth and health revelled in her dimpled ing when he reached the Alps. Here seating cheek, in her coral lips, and the plumpness himself on the flowery turf, he revelled in of her whole love inspiring figure. The the delightful contemplation of Nature's sub- silent mirrors of her soul were of an azure limest efforts. Below him smiled the lovely blue, and protected from your ad miring valley of Lauterbrunn, clothed with every gaze by long and silken lashes, which temvariety of rich and luxuriant scenery; and pered the fire of her own passion-fraught in the distance he could discern the mighty glances. She was drest in a simple though torrents pouring their never-failing tribute elegant dress ; she wore a corset of velvet, into the bosom of the grateful valleys. Not a with muslin sleeves; a habit-shirt of the breath disturbed the air, and in the contem- finest cambric, modestly, though to our traplation of these sublime scenes, lie had no veller's mind, enviously concealing her neck thing to remind him of life, save the tinkling and bosom, and yet not so much as to de. of the bells of the home-plodding cattle, in prive you of an idea of its beautiful whitetermingled with tlie bleating of a kid, or the uess, which sight was sufficient to remind echoes of the surrounding water-falls. you of the “ glance that some saint has of
His meditations were disturbed by the heaven in his dreams." Her petticoat would sound of footsteps; upon his looking up to be, to our English votions, rather too short, see from whence they proceeded, guess his and yet he would not have it half an iuch surprise, when instead of some homely shep- less for the world; inasınuch as it gave herd driving home his flock, as he antici- sufficient testimony of an exquisitely shaped pated, he beheld an elegant and beautiful leg, and a well turned ancle. girl. If you have not been in Switzerland, In this part of the Continent, where, if the the theatrical and engaging dress of the first inhabitants were to wait for regular introwoman you meet, would render you inclined duction before they spoke to strangers, it is to think that the ivhabitants wished to teu to one if they would ever have visitor's make you believe that you had found the of any description. The reader will, it is to be fabled 'Arcadia, and had sent forth one of hopeit, forgive Eugene, if he took advantage