صور الصفحة
PDF
النشر الإلكتروني
[graphic][ocr errors][ocr errors][ocr errors][ocr errors][ocr errors]

The Balmoral Neck Tie, in Chinchilla Colours. By Mrs. Warren.

nately 7 rows, join on the next shade and work the same; then the white, then the lightest shade; then white, then the next darkest shade; then white, and lastly, the darkest shade, and cast off; dress up the beads and finish with tassels, and secure it at the neck with a scarf ring. The wrong or plain side of the coloured stripes is the right side of the tie.

ation of life, if it be not too often frustrated; but entertaineth the fancy with an expectation of good; therefore they which fix, and propound to themselves some end as the mark and scope of their life, and continually, and by degrees go forward in the same, are for the most part long-lived: insomuch, that when they are come to the top of their hope, and can go no higher therein, they commonly droop, and live not long fter. So that hope is a leaf-joy, HOPE is the most beneficial of all the which may be beaten out to a great extent, affections; and doth much to the prolong-like gold.-Lord Bacon.

THE OLD SHOES.

FOUNDED ON FACT,

TOWARDS the close of the last century, when the horrors of the first French Revolution had nearly reached their height, the French merchant ship, La Fidélité, sailed from Martinique, having on board, amongst other passengers, the wife of the Vicomte de Beauharnais-then president of the National Assembly of France-and her young daughter, Hortense. Separated from her husband, whose coldness and neglect had been a source of bitter suffering to her, and reduced, by the troubled state of the times, to the verge of destitution, Madame de Beauharnais was now determined on again visiting France, for the purpose of compelling her husband to make such a settlement on her and her children as should, at least, place them above want. Her son Eugene, was, at the time of which we write, pursuing his studies in Paris; and the only companion of her voyage was the little Hortense, a lovely and interesting creature of about eight or nine years of age. Being the only child on board, the little girl soon became the pet and plaything of the crew. Gifted with a quick ear, and a voice naturally sweet, Hortense had, during her stay amongst the negroes, picked up several of their simple melodies, which she now sang, to the delight and amusement of the sailors, accompanying them with the wild dances and agile movements peculiar to the natives of the West Indian Islands. Poor child! she little dreamed that the sweet voice then exercised beneath the blue sky of heaven, before no more distinguished audience than a few rough seamen, was destined, at no very distant period, to awake the echoes of the regal hall, amidst the plaudits of admiring courtiers. Her mother, believing that poverty and hardship lay before them, could not bring herself to intercept the one ray of sunshine which beamed on the path of her darling, and permitted her to remain on deck as long as she pleased, and to amuse herself in her own childish way, confiding her, however, to the especial care of the first mate, Baptiste Ferrand an honest, weather-beaten tar, who, from the beginning of the voyage, had taken her under his protection, and when his avocations

did not interfere, was constantly by her side.

When tired of dancing, Hortense would seat herself, with the old sailor, on a coil of rope; and while the scarcely perceptible breeze, laden with the thousand perfumes of tropical shores, wafted the vessel gently over the calm blue waters, would listen attentively to his account of the many wonderful things he had seen in his voyages, and of the perils he had encountered by land and sea. Sometimes, he would tell her of the little children he had left in Provence; and his eyes would fill with tears while speaking of his favourite and youngest born-the little Louise—who was, he told her, about her own age; and who, when he had last seen her, was just beginning to prattle.

So passed the long days and glorious nights of the early part of the voyage: but soon a morning of sorrow dawned on poor Hortense. She found that her shoes-the only pair she possessed in the world—were fast wearing out, and that a few more days of her joyous dancing were all to which she could look forward. She kept this, for some time, a secret from her mother, who would, she felt sure, forbid her going on deck, if she knew the truth. But, at length, Madame de Beauharnais, perceiving that the child's foot was bleeding, insisted on seeing it; and found the shoes literally falling off, and the poor little feet bruised in several places, and freshly torn by a nail. The grief of the mother almost equalled that of the child. She could not bear to think that the little creature should be, during the remainder of the voyage, confined to a close cabin, where her health and spirits must inevitably suffer from want of air and accustomed exercise. But what could she do? There was no remedy for it. While she sat, in a desponding attitude, with the little old shoes in her hand, and Hortense weeping by her side, a knock was heard at the cabin door. It was Baptiste, who had missed his little favourite, and had come to seek her. He inquired the cause of her tears, and on being told the truth, exclaimed -"Is that all? Cheer up, little woman! We'll have you all right again, soon. You'll be singing and dancing as well as ever tomorrow-if your mamma isn't too proud to take a present from an old sailor!"

He left the cabin, but soon returned with an old pair of shoes, which he had brought

to light from the depths of his capacious an old man who was standing near the edge sea-chest. "You see, madame," said he, of the pathway, leaning on the arm of a they are very old, but that can't be helped. young female. The speed of the horses People are never over particular at sea. I was quickly checked, and the Emperor and hope the leather won't be too stiff for her Empress reached their destination without little feet. Now, if you'll lend me a pair further accident; but the anxiety of Joseof scissors, I'll have them cut out for you phine was so great that, although repeatin less than no time." edly assured of the old man's safety, she insisted on seeing him herself, in order to ascertain that he had received no injury, Being quite blind, he was led into the saloon by his daughter, a very interesting looking young woman, apparently about twenty-five years of age. The Empress immediately recognised in her poor and infirm visitor the former mate of La Fidélité, and, addressing him by name, recalled to his recollection the voyage which, eighteen

"It was strange enough to see the roughlooking tar handling the delicate scissors of Madame de Beauharnais, and, with them, cutting the upper-leathers of his old shoes to the size of Hortense's little feet. This done, he gave them to the lady, desiring her to bind them with a piece of ribbon or tape, and took the soles away. In the evening he returned with soles and inner soles ready cut, and, with his assistance, the parts were soon put together, and Hor-years before, she and her daughter had made tense once more equipped for a race on deck. This little incident only made her value more highly the liberty she enjoyed during the remainder of the voyage, and the friendship between her and Baptiste became stronger than ever.

But at length they arrived in France, and, amidst the horrors of the Revolution -the pressure of pecuniary distress-the execution of her husband-and her own escape from death, Madame de Beauharnais ceased to think of her voyage in La Fidélité, and also of Baptiste Ferrand.

We must now pass over a period of eighteen years, the events of which must be familiar as "household words" to our readers, and, in the spring of 1808, we find Madame de Beauharnais, now the Empress Josephine, accompanying the mighty conqueror of Europe in his progress through France. And poor Hortense-where was she? Did she never regret the days of her poverty and obscurity, or wish to exchange her queenly state and regal robes for the ragged attire and the merry heart of the young passenger in La Fidélité?

Napoleon and the Empress arrived at Bordeaux, where they were received with all honours; the vessels in the harbour were decked with flags, and fired minute guns, which were answered from the fort. It happened that the horses of the imperial carriage, terrified at the noise of the guns, became restive, and the leaders, in their efforts to free themselves, knocked down

in his company. The astonishment of the old man may be better imagined than described. He had little thought that the mighty Empress, whose gorgeous equipage and prancing steeds had well nigh crushed him in the dust, was the same whom he had years before assisted in an hour of need; and for many minutes he stood like one in a dream, unable to convince himself of the truth of what he heard. At length, encou raged by the kindness of Josephine, he told her that his wife and all his children, except the one now with him, had fallen victirns to a malignant fever; that, in consequence of his sight gradually failing, he had been obliged to relinquish his calling, and that, being now quite blind, he was only saved from the, to him, fearful alternative of begging his bread, by the exertions of his daughter, who contrived, by taking in needlework, to earn a scanty pittance for their support.

While he was yet speaking, Napoleon entered the room, and the Empress herself, leading Baptiste towards him, presented him as the person to whom she was indebted for the most valuable gift she had ever received. The Emperor, whose temper was just then chafed by some evidence of disloyalty which he had perceived in passing through the town, replied sternly that he supposed she wished to jest with him.

66

No, sire," replied Josephine; "I repeat, that no gift I have ever received, even from your own imperial hand, has equalled in value a pair of old shoes once presented to me by this honest sailor."

She then, with the grace and amiability

peculiar to her, related what had occurred rather more viscid than milk, and of a on board of La Fidélité. The recital drew tears from the eyes of the ladies-in-waiting, and provoked from the Emperor an immoderate fit of laughter, which dispelled the clouds gathering on his brow.

With Napoleon's consent, Baptiste and his only remaining child-the little Louise of former days-were removed to Paris, where the old man was placed under the care of M. Horeau, physician to the Empress. His disease was found to be cataract, which, in proper time, was removed by an operation; and he lived for several years after as park-keeper at Malmaison. On his death, which took place a short time before that of his benefactress, Louise was taken into the service of Queen Hortense, who treated her with the greatest consideration and kindness. Exempt, like her illustrious mother, from every feeling of false pride, that amiable queen would frequently say to her protegée, that one of the happiest periods of her chequered life was that during which she had danced on the deck of La Fidélité, in Baptiste Ferrand's old shoes. M. M. R.

THE UPAS TREE (Antiaris Toxicaria).

yellowish colour. From the inner bark (liber) ropes are made; and also a kind of coarse linen, which is worn by the labourers in the fields; but it has this peculiarity, that, when wetted, it causes the skin of the wearer to itch most painfully.

Though this fact is generally known, yet the secret of preparing the poison rests with the inhabitants of the eastern extremity of the island.

The results of Dr. Horsfield's experiments on animals, with the poison prepared from the upas, are as follows:-Dogs are killed by it in one hour; buffaloes, in two hours and ten minutes; cats, in fifteen, monkeys, in seven, and mice in ten minutes.

M. Delille also made experiments of the same nature; he reports, that on introducing eight grains of the poison into the thigh of a dog, it shortly after vomited, and died in great agony.

According to Brodie, the poison acts upon the spinal marrow, and therefore on the heart, destroying its action before life is extinct. So much for modern accounts. I will now proceed to give a sketch of that given by Foersch, a Dutchman.

If we may believe his report, it grows alone in a valley, the solitary inhabitant of a desert polluted by poison.

He traversed the mountains surrounding it, keeping at the distance of eighteen miles from the centre, an operation which we can only account for by supposing him indued with mathematical instinct; for how was he to know where the centre was? He asserted that the Batavian government sends thither criminals condemned to death. On arriving at the edge of the valley, they received the sacrament, and were shriven by a priest, whose office it was. He gave them a mask for their faces, as a protection from the noxious vapour, and a small box to bring back some leaves, in case they returned.

IT is well known that in Java there is a species of tree possessing highly poisonous qualities. In early descriptions these have been greatly exaggerated, but later travellers have given us more truthful and succinct accounts. Amongst these, Dr. Horsfield is the first to give a botanical description of the tree. According to his account, it belongs to the 21st Linnæan class (Monoecia). The male and female flowers are produced on the same branch, and at no great distance from each other -the female above the 'male. The seedvessel is an oblong drupe, covered with the calyx. The seed is an ovate nut, with a cell. The stem is devoid of branches for the first seventy feet; it then sends forth a few stout boughs, which spread horizon-account of the vines that surrounded it, one tally, with several irregular curves, and form a hemispherical crown. The stem is cylindrical and perpendicular, covered with a whitish bark, furrowed longitudinally. In old trees it is often nearly half an inch thick near the ground. When this is wounded, a sap exudes, which is

So far, however, from occupying the valley alone, Dr. Horsfield stated that he could scarcely approach the parent tree on

of which threw its tendrils half way up. There were several trees of the same kind growing near, but much younger. A report was at one time rife, that the valley was dangerous, on account of streams of carbonic acid gas passing through it; but this seems now to be quite exploded. J. P. C.

A FABLE.

Seem as thou art-assume no false disguise;
A foreign garb not long deceives the wise;
Vain thy fond hope; vain thy most watchful guard,
Thou'rt sure to meet a hypocrite's reward.
The Ass, that once assumed the Lion's skin,
Struck terror for a while through all his kin;
But once discover'd, they return'd in wrath,
Rent his disguise, and cudgelled him to death.
WILLIAM ILOTT.

TRIFLES.

A CLOUD may intercept the sun;
A web, by insect-workers spun
Preserve the life within the frame,
Or vapours take away the same.
A grain of sand upon the sight
May rob a giant of his might!
Or needle point let out his breath,
And make a banquet-meal for Death.
How often, at a single word,
The heart with agony is stirr'd,
And ties that years could not have riven,
Are scattered to the winds of heaven!

A glance, that looks what lips would speak,
Will speed the pulse and blanch the cheek;
And thoughts, nor look'd, nor yet exprest,
Create a chaos in the breast.

A smile of hope from those we love
May be an angel from above;
A whisper'd welcome in our ears
Be as the music of the spheres ;
The pressure of a gentle hand
Worth all that glitters in the land.
Oh, trifles are not what they are,
But Fortune's ruling voice and star!

LOVE.

LINGERING clouds of eve that lie Wreath'd around the burning sky, Blooming flowers that blush to die,

Breathe of Nature's Love.

Purling rills that onwards flow, Tones of sweetness whispering low, Fragrant winds that gently blow,

Sing the joys of Love.

Liquid notes of fairy bird,
Like some far-off music heard,
Rippling waves by zephyr stirr'd,
Murmur Nature's Love.

Sparkling gems that star-like shine,
Budding in the palace-mine,
Soon to bloom on forms divine,
Beam in smiling Love.

Organ tones in hallow'd fane,
Dying faint to peal again,

Hymning sweet a seraph-strain, Sing our Maker's Love.

Maidenhood with form so fair,
Beaming eyes and clustering hair,
Cheeks the flush of health that wear,
Lives alone for Love.

Nature, all-above, below,
Chiming waters, skies that glow,
Murmuring zephyrs brooks that flow,
Sing Eternal Love!

PERCIE.

A FRAGMENT.

"And this love!

Can you then say that love is happiness?" I SAW two figures-one was of a girl Most beautiful and happy; a bright smile Play'd softly round her face, and her dark eyes Lighted her features like the stars the sky. Music dwelt on her tongue; and, as she stepp'd, Her light foot bounded on the bending sward. The other was a youth of manly vigour, But mild in feature, and his sweet speeches Brought blushes to his fair companion's cheeks. And then they walk'd, and for long time no word Would pass between them, but the deep earnest glance,

And the soft pressure of the snow-white hand, Told all they had to say. Each eye had found A thrilling tongue, and each warm heart became A ready listener.

And so for many days and many nights. But one night came the girl was there alone, And, as she paced along their wonted walk, Strange feelings and sad thoughts came over her, And fears which she had never known before Made her heart throb tumultuously. Then would her pale lips quiver, and her eye Grow dim with tear-drops. In her heart's deep core She felt he had forsaken her, yet her mind Refused to credit it-still she stay'd and watch'd; But he she watch'd for came not; and the shade Threw its dark mantle round and veil'd her From my sight.

And summer time roll'd by, and winter came, And still the path was trod by her alone; And many a time the moonbeams kiss'd her face, Making her tear-drops glisten in their ray. And many a time the midnight found her, Walking where she had walk'd in her first loveFirst, last, and only! Oh, that there should live Beings who joy in making others wretehed! Creatures who speak but to deceive, and lie With smiles around their lips, and truth Writ on their faces.

[blocks in formation]

And years have pass'd away, and no one now
Walks in the still eventide along that path.
The two that roused my fancy long ago
Have flitted by like visions, and no sound
Breaks on the listening ear, save the deep sigh
Of the autumnal breeze, or the wild moan
Of the cold weary blast.

But I have wander'd near there, and it seem'd
As if the wrongs of that young castaway
Found utterance in the winds and voices;
Slow and solemn sent a deep cry of sorrow
Round the accustom'd haunt of her who now
Sleeps 'neath the branches of the churchyard yew.
C. W. S.

« السابقةمتابعة »