pay Madame de Farcy a visit, and then we will return to dinner: afterwards he will be glad to go to bed." I felt really happy at this arrangement. Anything which reminded me of my family in the midst of this new world in which I suddenly found myself thrown, was a balm to my heart. We set out, leaving my cousin Moreau to storm about the indifferent room which had been given me, and to insist that I should be accommodated a story lower at least. My brother and I took a carriage and proceeded to the convent, where Madame de Farcy had taken up her abode. Julie had been staying in Paris for some time for the purpose of consulting some physicians. Her expressive and beautiful countenance, her elegant manners and her wit, and her poetical talents captivated all who knew her, and her society was much sought; she who was one of the most agreeable and brilliant women of her time, became afterwards a perfect saint: the Abbé Carron has written her life. When I saw Julie again in Paris I found her revelling in every kind of worldly pleasure. beheld her covered with flowers, adorned with those necklaces and perfumed and delicate draperies which Saint Clement forbade to the early Christians. Saint Basil declares that the middle of the night should be sacred to meditation on account of the deep stillness of nature, but this was precisely the time when Julie went forth to fêtes -to which her beautiful verses pronounced by herself in the most melodious voice gave the principal charm. Julie was very much prettier than Lucile; she had winning blue eyes and chestnut hair richly waved; her hands and arms were models of form and whiteness, and the manner in which she moved them added fresh grace to her elegant figure. She was brilliant and animated, she laughed much without affectation, and when she laughed she shewed two beautiful rows of pearls. Many women's portraits in the time of Louis XIV. resemble Julie, and among the number those of the three Mortemarts; but she possessed more elegance than Madame de Montespan. Julie received me with a tenderness which belongs only to a sister. I felt a kind of protection in being pressed to her bosom; there is no attachment so delicate and devoted as a woman's; we may be forgotten by our brothers, by our friends, and misunderstood by our companions, but never by our mother, or sister, or wife. When Harold was killed at the battle of Hastings, nobody could point out the spot where his body lay, and at length the only person who discovered the corpse of the unfortunate prince was Edith his beloved one.

"My brother returned with me to my hotel; he ordered my dinner, and left me. I dined alone, went to bed in a melancholy mood, and passed the whole of my first night in Paris in sighing for the woods and heaths to which I had bid adieu, and in trembling as I thought upon the gloomy uncertainty of my future prospects.

"At eight o'clock the following morning my huge cousin arrived; he had already made five or six rounds, "Well, chevalier," said he, "we will have breakfast; we shall dine with Pommereul, and to-night I will introduce you to Madame de Chastenay." I perceived that this was to be my fate, and I accordingly resigned myself; all went on, therefore, as my cousin had arranged. After breakfast he undertook to shew me Paris, but he dragged me through all the dirtiest streets of the Palais Royal, describing to me the whole time the dangers to which a young man was exposed. We were punctual at the dinner rendezvous at the restaurateur's. Everything which was placed on table appeared to me

indifferently prepared. The conversation, and the persons who joined in it, opened quite a new world to me; the court, the state of the finances, the meetings of the Academy, women, the intrigues of the day, the last new piece, the successes of actors and actresses and authors, were alternately discussed. Several Bretons were of the party, and among the number the Chevalier de Guer and Pommereul; the latter was a good spokesman, and wrote an account of some of Buonaparte's campaigns. During the empire Pommereul became rather prominent from his utter detestation of the nobility.

"After dinner was over my brother was anxious to take me to theatre, but my cousin secured me to accompany him to Madame de Chastenay, and accordingly I went with him, feeling that it was my fate: I was introduced to a beautiful woman, who certainly could not be considered any longer young, but of whom it was still possible to become enamoured. She received me with great affability, and endeavoured to put me at ease; she questioned me about my province and my regiment, I felt myself awkward and embarrassed; I made signs to my cousin to shorten our visit; but he took no notice of my discomfiture, and seemed to be perfectly inexhaustible upon the subject of the various talents which he declared that I possessed. He told Madame de Chastenay that I had actually written poetry before I left my mother's side, and he finished by asking me to compose some verses in her honour. She relieved me from my perplexing situation by apologising to me for being obliged to go out; she begged me to come and see her the next day in such a fascinating manner that I really could not resist her invitation. The next day, therefore, I went to pay my respects to her; I found her in bed, in a chamber which was most tastefully and elegantly arranged. She informed me that she was slightly indisposed, and that she had the bad habit of rising very late. She had observed my embarrassment the day before, but she completely succeeded in overcoming it, so that I expressed myself naturally to her. I forget exactly what I said to her, but I remember that she looked rather astonished; she extended her beautiful hand and arm to me, and said to me with a smile, "Ah! we shall soon civilize you." I did not even dare to kiss that beautiful hand, and I left the room quite confused. The next day I started for Cambrai. Who could this Madame de Chastenay be? I have not the slightest idea, yet she crossed my path like a beautiful shadow.

The same year in which I made my first campaign at Cambrai, Frederick II. died; to this important public event succeeded one of a very unfortunate nature for me: Lucile wrote to me to tell me of my father's death. He was seized with an attack of apoplexy the day after the fête de l'Angevine, one of the merry festivals which delighted me in my childhood. I deeply lamented the loss of M. de Chateaubriand; after his death I fully appreciated his worth; I no longer remembered the rigour with which he treated me or any of his weaknesses. I still seemed to see him pacing up and down in the great hall at Combourg every evening, and I felt much emotion when I dwelt upon some of the familiar items in our little family circle. Though my father's manner towards me was coloured by the natural sternness of his disposition, I believe in reality that his affection was for me very great. The severe and dauntless Maréchal de Montluc, who became unfit for service in consequence of some dreadful wounds, and was obliged to conceal, by a patch, the horror of his glory, thus reproaches

himself for his harshness towards his son whom he had just lost :"That poor boy," remarked he, " has only seen me with knitted brows and wearing an air full of disdain; he must have imagined that I knew neither how to love him, nor to appreciate him according to his deserts. To whom shall I discover all the love which I felt for him? Ought he not to have received that which was due to him, and to have been permitted to enjoy it? I have suffered considerable restraint and annoyance in wearing this mask, and I lost the pleasure of intercourse with him; he could not have been much attached to me, because he was always treated by me roughly and tyrannically."

“I, however, was sincerely attached to my father, and I did not doubt for one moment, though he was reserved and cold to me, that he loved me very tenderly. I am quite sure if it had pleased Providence to remove me before him that he would have bitterly mourned for me. I obtained leave of absence. M. d'Andrézel, who was appointed lieutenant of the regiment in Picardy, was about to quit Cambrai, and I served him as a courier. I passed through Paris where I would not stay even a quarter of an hour. I beheld the moors of my beloved Brittany with as much joy as a Neapolitan banished to our land beholds again the shores of Portici, and the Campagna of Sorrento. My family were all assembled at Combourg, we each received our portion, and then we all dispersed. My brother returned to Paris, my mother took up her abode at St. Malo, Lucile accompanied Julie; and I divided my time between Mesdames de Marigny, De Chateaubourg, and De Farcy. Marigny, the château of my eldest sister, which was three miles from Fougères, was pleasantly situated between two streams, in the midst of rocks, woods, and meadows. I spent a few calm happy months here, when I received a letter which completely disturbed my repose. My eldest brother was sufficiently ambitious to desire that I should enjoy some of the honours at court in order that I might carve out fresh channels for his future elevation. The Maréchal Duras was to be my patron. My brother informed me that I should now be quite in the way of making my fortune; he remarked that I had already risen to the rank of captain in the cavalry, an honorary rank, so that I should find no difficulty in becoming one of the knights of Malta, in right of which distinction I might enjoy some very good sinecures.

This letter appeared to come upon me like a thunderbolt. Was I actually to return to Paris! to be presented at court, I who felt disturbed and embarrassed even when I met three or four persons with whom I was unacquainted in a room: how could I be expected to understand ambition when I dreamt only of living in obscurity? My first idea was to say to my brother, that he, being the eldest, was the proper person to maintain the honour of our family name, and not I, the youngest son. I went immediately to read this romantic reply to Madame de Marigny, who loudly remonstrated with me about it. Madame de Farcy was called, and she laughed heartily at my absurdity. Lucile was very anxious to take my part, but she did not dare to differ from her sisters. They seized my letter, and with my natural weakness when anything concerned myself, I wrote to my brother to tell him I should set out at once. Accordingly I started to be presented at one of the first courts in Europe, and to make my début in life in the most brilliant manner, and yet I wore the air of a man who was being dragged to the galleys, or upon whom the sentence of death was about to be pronounced.

BOULOGNE EN ROUTE TO PARIS:

BY W. H. MAXWELL, ESQ.

Boulogne,-its History, Ancient and Modern.—English and French Wateringplaces.- Reflections upon Cooking.-Great Experience of the Author, de omnibus rebus et quibusdam aliis.—Voyage. Outward-bound.- The Company.Romantic Memoir of Miss Montagu.-My Kinsman and Cicerone.-Sketches of Society-much Information, and very excellent Advice.-Hints to pugnacious Gentlemen.-Interesting Account of an Affair of Honour.

BOULOGNE is a city of great antiquity, and from the creation-we mean, not of the world, but the place-has stood preeminently high in foreign estimation. Some years B.C., the Romans took a fancy to it; in English sight, and even in the times of the Edwards and the Henrys, the ancient town found great favour; and so tenaciously did they hold to it, that, notwithstanding numerous notices to quit, they maintained forcible possession, until ejection vi et armis was resorted to," ut mos est" with refractory tenants. Centuries elapsed -and still the hereditary yearning after this pleasant place seemed unconquerable in the descendants of the bold knights and hardy yeomen, who did good service at Agincourt and Cressy. The schoolmaster was abroad-and, in slow march, at last he reached Britain. He found John, like his name-sake, a sort of "bull in body-clothes:" in the covering of his outer man, as obsolete as in the comforting of his inner, he was antediluvian; anything collopped and heated in a saucepan, he considered edible, and called "a hash,” and an expanded chicken, roasted on a gridiron (were this enormity committed in the north), would be termed "a brandered chuckie." Did a countryman come to London to attend a cattle-show, drop into that fashionable invention, called "a restaurant," and then and there be requested to say whether he would indulge in a salmi or fricandeau, he assumed hat and umbrella instanter—as if in either dish, prussic acid were a component ingredient, and no exertions of the genus garçon could induce him to listen to explanation, or remain another minute. But rapid has been national improvement-and all, save those who have reached the obstinacy that servility inflicts at sixty, will scarce refuse a blush, which the improved order of things across the Channel should properly evoke, and incarnadine the cheek of anybody but a coalheaver.

Let us, in contradistinction, place Ramsgate versus Boulogne. In the latter, delicacy is scrupulously attended to,-in the former, it is too frequently altogether overlooked. To the species of the human family, called chambermaid, moralists have objected-and in France the hint has been taken, and things are more correctly managed. A stout gentleman, rich in hirsute honours, and as I once had the pleasure of such attendance-decorated, not with the "star of the brave," but the ribbon of the legion of honour, looks to your dormitory. No sneaking beadle flits

"With noiseless step through cloister'd aisle ;"

across the Channel that functionary is a picked man from the compagnie élite, of a regiment of Prussian proportions-one at whose

dictum you must meekly succumb to the seat assigned, or, if contumacious, perish, as you might expect, by his partisan. There too, be the chaunter's organ weak or strong, and charm he never so wisely, the litany, as sung or said, is all the same—a brass-horn at his elbow smothering the unhappy precentor even when "in excelsis," as Lablache would obliterate a school-girl in a duet.

As to French cookery, we do not object to it in toto, but we uplift our voice against its general false pretences. A French dish, fabricated in an English kitchen, is super-excellent. In that case you may boldly dash into a fricandeau, and not stumble on a pig's foot; cutlets are veal if they so propound themselves; a fondu is actually made of cheese; and the Pythagorean principle of constructing soup without flesh, is as obsolete as brick-making without straw. In England, to animal fat there is no positive antipathy, and men use and reject the same as fancy prompts. As obesity is tolerated in a common-council-man, it is also held pardonable in a Smithfield ox-and even to minor animals a permission to grow fat has been graciously extended. To a weder, in transitu to the market, a rheumatic colley can spare a fourth leg, and turn him on the other three, as his master indicates, the poor wretch-we mean the sheep-being so overladen with wool and tallow as to render a lame trot on his part quite a desperate exertion. You cannot, conveniently, in a London tavern confuse beef with mutton. In France the thing is different, you may discriminate possibly between fish and fowl-but touching anything that is furnished with four legs, the ablest zoologist can only indulge in conjecture as to what it might have been before it passed the ordeal to which it had been subjected by the Gallic artiste. Chinese cookery is not more puzzling to a European barbarian, who believes, credulous mortal! that he is engaged with a sucking pig, when alas! some canine mother is secretly mourning over the fattest and fondest-loved of a whole progeny of nine.

We know not what grave offence we had committed in the sight of heaven, that exposed us to retribution so speedy and severe; but, deceived by the report of a loving kinsman, as he avouched himself, who, finding his native air rather keen for his constitution, had migrated to Bologne-suadente diabolo! we mean thereby at the instigation of our cousin,-in an evil hour we determined to cross the Channel. We are rapid in our operations-and scarcely was the resolution taken, than we found ourselves on the soil of France.

I have had a fair assortment of the roughs and smooths of life,— and, at times, have felt half-persuaded, that of the former, my share was rather too liberally doled out. But though misfortune overtook me now and then, even when it did its worst, thank God! it never afflicted upon me a strange bed-fellow, though I have rubbed skirts, in my time, with as queer companions as any private gentleman who has never visited the colonies" upon compulsion."

We do assert, and, as far as our purse will warrant a bet, we will back our opinion, that in our day we have been in as villanous company as any person at present on the half-pay list. We have olim repaired at daylight on a hanging-Monday to the Old Baileypatronized the murder of a hundred rats by a brindled bull-bitch in a slaughter-house in Smithfield-sported our spotted fogle at Noman's-land-passed through Petticoat-lane after dark-been frequently at the Judge and Jury-subscribed to Baron Nathan's