ÉDOUARD RENÉ LEFEBVRE DE LABOULAYE.

ÉDOUARD RENÉ LEFEBVRE DE LABOULAYE, a distinguished French publicist, historian, and story-writer, born in Paris, Jan. 18, 1811; died there, May 25, 1883. He began life as a type-founder, then studied law, and in 1839 published a "History of Landed Property in Europe." This was followed by an "Essay on the Life and Doctrines of De Savigny" (1840), "Researches into the Civil and Political Condition of Women" (1843), and an "Essay on the Criminal Laws of the Romans, Concerning the Responsibility.of Magistrates" (1845). In 1849 he was appointed to the Chair of Comparative Legislation in the College of France. During the Second Empire he took an active part in the efforts of the Liberal party. He was an admirer of American institutions, and both before and during the War of Secession threw his influence on the side of the Union, to which he rendered good service by his work, entitled "The United States and France" (1862). Among his works not already mentioned are: "Studies upon Literary Property in France and England" (1858); "Abdallah, an Arabian Romance" (1859); "Moral and Political Studies" (1862); "The State and Its Limits" (1863); "Paris in America" (1863); "Prince Caniche " (1868). But by far his best-known works of fiction are the three series of "Blue Stories," - tales of fairies, elves, enchanters, etc., original and retold. Some of his essays on contemporary, political, and social questions have been collected and published under the titles "Contemporary Studies of Germany and the Slavic States" (1856), "Religious Liberty" (1858).

THE TWELVE MONTHS.

A BOHEMIAN TALE.

(From the "Fairy Book." Translated by Mary L. Booth.) THERE was once a woman who was left a widow with two children. The elder, who was only her stepdaughter, was named Dobrunka; the younger, who was as wicked as her mother, was called Katinka. The mother worshiped her daughter, but she hated Dobrunka simply because she was as beautiful as her

1 Copyrighted, 1884, by Harper & Brothers.

sister was ugly. Dobrunka did not even know that she was pretty, and she could not understand why her stepmother flew into a rage at the mere sight of her. The poor child was obliged to do all the work of the house; she had to sweep, cook, wash, sew, spin, weave, cut the grass, and take care of the cow, while Katinka lived like a princess, that is to say, did nothing.

Dobrunka worked with a good will, and took reproaches and blows with the gentleness of a lamb; but nothing soothed her stepmother, for every day added to the beauty of the elder sister and the ugliness of the younger. "They are growing up," thought the mother, "and suitors will soon appear, who will refuse my daughter when they see this hateful Dobrunka, who grows beautiful on purpose to spite me. I must get rid of her, cost what it may.'

One day in the middle of January, Katinka took a fancy for some violets. She called Dobrunka, and said, "Go to the forest and bring me a bunch of violets, that I may put them in my bosom and enjoy their fragrance."

"Oh, sister, what an idea!" answered Dobrunka: "as if there were any violets under the snow!"

"Hold your tongue, stupid fool," returned her sister, "and do as I bid you. If you do not go to the forest and bring me back a bunch of violets, I will beat you to a jelly." Upon this the mother took Dobrunka by the arm, put her out of the door, and drew the bolt on her.

The poor girl went to the forest weeping bitterly. Everything was covered with snow; there was not even a footpath. She lost her way and wandered about, till, famishing with hunger and perishing with cold, she entreated God to take her from this wretched life.

All at once she saw a light in the distance. She went on, climbing higher and higher, until at last she reached the top of a huge rock, upon which a great fire was built. Around the fire were twelve stones; and on each stone sat a motionless figure, wrapped in a large mantle, his head covered with a hood which fell over his eyes. Three of these mantles were white like the snow, three were green like the grass of the meadows, three were golden like the sheaves of ripe wheat, and three were purple like the grapes of the vine. These twelve figures, gazing at the fire in silence, were the Twelve Months of the year.

Dobrunka knew January by his long white beard. He was

the only one that had a staff in his hand. The poor girl was terribly frightened. She drew near, saying in a timid voice, "My good sirs, please to let me warm myself by your fire: I am freezing with cold."

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January nodded his head. Why have you come here, my child?" he asked. "What are you looking for?"

"I am looking for violets," replied Dobrunka.

"This is not the season for them: there are no violets in the time of snow," said January in his gruff voice.

"I know it," replied Dobrunka sadly; "but my sister and mother will beat me to a jelly if I do not bring them some. My good sirs, please to tell me where I can find them."

Old January rose, and turning to a young man in a green mantle, put his staff in his hand, and said to him, "Brother March, this is your business."

March rose in turn, and stirred the fire with the staff, when behold! the flames rose, the snow melted, the buds put forth on the trees, the grass turned green under the bushes, the flowers peeped through the verdure, and the violets opened - it was spring.

"Make haste, my child, and gather your violets," said March. Dobrunka gathered a large bouquet, thanked the Twelve Months, and joyfully ran home. You can imagine the astonishment of Katinka and the stepmother. The fragrance of the violets filled the whole house.

"Where did you get these fine things?" asked Katinka in a disdainful voice.

"Up yonder, on the mountain," answered her sister. "It looked like a great blue carpet under the bushes."

Katinka put the bouquet in her bosom, and did not even thank the poor child.

The next morning the wicked sister, as she sat idling by the stove, took a fancy for some strawberries. "Go to the forest and bring me some strawberries," said she to Dobrunka. "O sister, what an idea! as if there were any strawberries under the snow!"

"Hold your tongue, stupid fool, and do as I bid you. If you don't go to the forest and bring me back a basket of strawberries, I will beat you to a jelly."

The mother took Dobrunka by the arm, put her out of the door, and drew the bolt on her.

The poor girl returned to the forest, looking with all her