which is the content of those who live with Damocles' sword suspended over their heads, and are glad when the vista of the day discloses no disaster.

Time wore on. Two or three hours in the galleries of the Louvre, and a visit to the Madeleine, brought me to five o'clock, and to dinner. That being a solitary meal, and the wine being a decoction of logwood, occupied only an hour, so to get rid of the rest of the evening I took the omnibus to Passy, and then walked into the Bois de Boulogne.

It may excite surprise that on a winter's night I should prefer the Bois to the theatre, but the Bois was at this time of the year, and at this hour, the more fashionable place of resort. The lakes were frozen, and to one of them all the fashionable people of Paris who could skate resorted in the evening-not unfrequently the emperor and empress were present.

The scene was brilliant. The trees were hung with variegated lamps, which were reflected on the clear ice, and the skaters carried torches, which gleamed before them, or, where their light was intercepted, cast fleeting shadows of gigantic men or women right across the lake. Except where illuminated by the torches or the pendent lamps, the scene was framed in by the impenetrable darkness of a starless and moonless winter night, which effectually concealed the figures of some three or four hundred of the secret police who watched over the safety of the emperor, who was understood to be among the skaters.

There were several ladies present, whose elegant figures, clad in rich furs, enhanced the effect of the scene. All seemed in the greatest spirits, and as the frost had not been of long endurance, the flexure and crackling of the ice under the flying feet of the skaters increased the enjoyment, by adding the excitement of some degree of danger. Being a tolerable skater, I was soon among them, and, as I am a light weight, I was not the least adventurous of the company. There was a lady, however, who ventured on more dangerous parts of the ice than I cared to try, and who, by her recklessness, at first attracted my attention, soon changed into admiration of her exquisite figure and perfect skating. Her semi-transparent veil, which covered half the face, and the fitful light, did not allow a full view of her features, but I caught glimpses of a well-formed cheek and dimpled chin, glowing with the sweet bloom of sixteen or seventeen heightened by exercise; and a pair of dark eyes flashing through the veil lent a gem-like lustre to her full red lips. I was not alone in my admiration; as she passed, ladies and gentlemen turned to look at her, and the more adventurous of the skaters seemed impelled to cross and recross her path. But she spoke to no one; all unaware of the attention she excited, she seemed to give herself up to the enjoyment of the poetry of motion, and the intoxication of the frosty air. I had just turned to avoid a part of the ice which, owing to some freshet, seemed insecure, when she passed me at the top of her speed. On she went in the torchlight, casting a shadow long and weird-like, the unstable ice bending and recovering itself like the long swell of the sea. But the ice was too thin, and when about fifty yards past me it broke, and she suddenly disappeared. I mechanically turned to attempt to rescue her, and, as might have been expected, just as I approached the place where she had fallen in, the ice gave way, and in a moment I was head over ears in the cold water. I am no swimmer, but I have presence

of mind, and now, as the water closed over me, I clutched hold of her dress. Down we went together to the bottom, but a vigorous kick on the ground sent us both again to the surface, and, with an effort, I managed to get her pushed on the unbroken ice, and then I slid back myself. Down to the bottom I sank again. I regained the surface, saw that the young girl had been dragged ashore, missed hold of a rope which was thrown to me, and then. I became unconscious.

It was next morning, about eight o'clock, ere I came to myself. I was lying on a bed in the park-keeper's lodge, and the keeper, his wife, and a doctor were with me. They seemed delighted when I opened my eyes, as they had despaired of my recovery. A glass of brandy restored me to consciousness, and to a homily by the keeper's wife, who was a dévote, and ascribed my recovery to Saint Eustache, to whom, she said, I ought to be particularly grateful. I did not betray my ignorance of the faith by any inquiries as to the saint, and after a manner I felt at first grateful for the escape I had made, but I recollect that, on after reflection, it struck me then that if the care of those present, and the intercession of Saint Eustache had been to no purpose, it would have pleased me as well. I had been near the gates of death. I would have preferred at this period of my history to have entered and had them closed against me. I thanked my friends not the less, and having nearly regained my strength, I offered to leave; but this for some time they obstinately opposed, giving as their reason that the emperor had left word that he was to be told when I recovered.

This did not suit me. I wished to remain unknown, and I therefore insisted on leaving; and as an Englishman in Paris is generally humoured, as I suppose in virtue of his national obstinacy, he is elsewhere, I had my own way. So after putting on my clothes, which had been carefully dried and cleaned, I left without giving name or address. I did more. Aware of the care the French police kindly take over strangers, I adopted a very circuitous route on my way homewards.

On the following Sunday I went to Versailles, in conformity with a practice I have uniformly adopted in my frequent visits to Paris. I always go the first Sunday to Versailles, for, in my opinion, it is the glory of France. Great have been the doings of Napoleon I. in stone and lime, and those of Napoleon III. have been greater; but, in tasteful magnificence in architecture, nothing they have built can for a moment compare with the doings of Louis Quatorze in this temple to his honour. In these marvellous suites of rooms splendour has reached its acme.

There were a great many visitors that day at the palace, and for a time I forgot my isolation where all seemed isolated. I allowed imagination to have its way, and it carried me into the court circle of the Grand Monarque-these brave marquises and accommodating marchionesses, the most brilliant society the world ever saw-and then I, in reverie, followed the cortége, and saw them gradually getting old and satiated, and I tried to imagine how the courtiers of Louis's brilliant youth, those of them who survived, looked, when he, their master, had become pious à la Maintenon; when his pride had been humbled by Marlborough, and the deaths of his children and grandchildren had reached the little heart he had, and I came to the conclusion that a more weary crew never existed on earth. Then I thought of the king

dying in his state, acting out his rôle grandly to the last, and I knew that a hundred years were gone since all this had happened, and that the whole had melted away as a dream, leaving not a wrack behind.

I felt comforted. I was alone. A living ass it might be, but these, after all, were at any time poor lions.

Such were my reflections as I stood in the Eil de Bœuf, the centre of the intrigues of Europe a hundred years ago. I was not attending to anything about me, and had passively followed the crowd, when suddenly my reverie was disturbed by a very ordinary incident. I trod on the skirts of a lady's gown and tore it. I turned to apologise, and raised my hat, and before me stood the lady I had rescued from the ice. She seemed to have a vague perception she had seen me, and, anticipating my apology, said, with a frank smile, that the fashion was to blame, and that for her part she admired the dexterity of the gentlemen in not destroying ladies' dresses every day. I said something in reply, I forget what, and she, seeing I was an Englishman, answered me in English with a musical foreign accent, and a contempt of grammar which was enchanting. Her face was indeed beautiful. A fine oval with a southern complexion, a well-developed nose, perhaps too prononcé, a small delicate mouth with pearly teeth, and eyes! Ah, Adèle! those eyes, so large, so lustrous, so dark. Never from that moment did I forget their glance.

We parted like ships meeting on the sea. She joined a lady and gentleman of distinguished appearance, and I had lost sight of her before it occurred to me that I had one reminiscence, though rather a cold one in common, to which I might have appealed.

I returned to Paris by the railway, and reached my hotel late at night.

I awoke next morning in better spirits. The adventure had done me good. I had saved a life, and I had seen a lady. To save a life was the first really useful thing I had done; and the lady! Already I felt awakening feelings long forgotten-feelings of my youth when all was well. I submitted passively to the sweet impulse of the hour, and it was with a vigorous step and a joyous heart I took my morning walk. Up and down the streets sauntering carelessly, looking into the shops, looking at the people, building castles in the air, and completely forgetting that I had abandoned all the friends I had in the world, and that I had only twenty-five sovereigns, two napoleons, and four francs in my pocket.

Down the Rue de Rivoli, and along the quays looking across to Old France and to Notre-Dame. Along by the Pont Neuf, and at last I found myself close to the Morgue.

Whoever passed the Morgue without entering that gloomiest of all gloomy places on earth? There is an attraction about it no one can resist. The building is common-place, exceedingly ugly, and the small crowd, always seen, about it is not attractive. But inside are the bodies fished out of the Seine, the victims of despair and of ruffianism. That is to say, within this squalid building may be seen every day the net result of the greatest misery and the greatest crime in Paris-consequently of the greatest misery and crime in the world; for Paris is the capital of civilisation, and despair and murder, if they become rarer, Feb.-VOL. CXXX. NO. DXVIII.

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acquire, with other things, the finish and the concentration of civilisation.

I entered; there were three bodies exposed. One a woman, evidently a poor unfortunate weary of life, from whom age and misery had reft all personal attraction. There was nothing striking in the expression of her face it was simply apathetic. Next her was the corpse of a man who had apparently been some time dead, for his swollen face had a livid hue. He looked a ruffian, and had evidently died a hard death. His was not the death of a suicide; he had been murdered, and had fought hard for his life. He was well away, for his countenance was simply and purely ferocious. On the other side was the corpse of a man about sixty. The face was emaciated, and bore signs of mental distress. The expression was that of a man who had not been happy, and who even now, though all was over, seemed to suffer, and mutely to complain of destiny. There was, withal, an air of refinement and intellect. His forehead was lofty, and the lines about his mouth were those of an educated man. Contrasted with the two pariahs beside him, no one could hesitate in affirming that this was the corpse of a man who at one time had been a gentleman.

I did not remain long at the Morgue. After a minute or two nearly all visitors are glad to leave it and get into the open air.

It is a melancholy thought, calculated to impress the most volatile, that bodies exposed in the Morgue are those of men and women absolutely unknown. The police, who are supposed to know everything, and who can tell you where you were yesterday, where and at what hour you dined, and who were of the company, have failed in their attempts to identify the body before it is sent to the Morgue. No doubt the gentleman whose body I had seen had at one time relations, probably wife and children. may have had "troops of friends," have been a welcome guest at feasts, and concerned in important business, but, here he is at the Morgue, and that is as much as to say that the link between him and life had been severed long before his death, and that utterly friendless, utterly unknown, he had gone to the land of mystery and silence.

He

A few days after I visited Père la Chaise. I had never seen this cemetery, which is one of the sights of Paris, and the most disappointing to an Englishman. But there is one quarter of this burying-ground which is interesting. Here there is no attempt at ornament, sentiment, or posthumous gentility. A simple name and the date of death is all you are told; sometimes there is a wooden cross. It is the burial-place of the poor; and in one corner of this resting-place of the poor the sepulture is absolutely anonymous; there are some wooden crosses, but there are no names, and no initials. I asked the sexton who buried here.

66

This," said he, "is for bodies from the Morgue. No one knows them. Monsieur sees there are no names.'

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True," said I; "but look at this grave. Here is an immortelle which must have cost a good deal."

"It is very remarkable," replied the sexton, stooping down to examine the immortelle. "You are quite right; that immortelle must have cost at least two napoleons, and I never observed it till to-day."

We took it up and examined it together. The chaplet was composed of three rings. The outer was the ordinary "everlasting flower."

Next

a braid of slightly grizzled hair, which in youth would have been jet black, evidently a woman's hair. The inner ring was a fillet of silver. "When was this person buried?" I inquired.

"I can tell monsieur that," said the sexton. "I helped to dig the grave. It was on Tuesday last. There were three bodies sent from the Morgue. One was a poor wretch of a woman who had drowned herself; the othera circumstance which hardly ever happens-was identified as the corpse of a forçat he had been murdered; and as to the third body, at whose grave we now stand, it was that of an old man who looked as if he had seen better days."

I was struck by the coincidence. I would have described the three bodies I saw at the Morgue nearly in the same way; and taking into account the day of their arrival at Père la Chaise, I had little doubt they were the same.

Here was a condensed romance at once. The poor wasted life-tired man was still an object of female regard, and had been recognised even in that chamber of oblivion, the Morgue. But why was the body not claimed? Why stop for this most posthumous mark of respect?

Here was a mystery with which I had nothing to do, but that in my present mood was the inducement to meddle with it, joined to the prospect that its investigation might lead to danger, and, therefore, to excitement. The man might not have fallen unawares into the Seine. It might have been the interest of some one that he should fall in. There was evidently a woman of wealth, if not of rank, who loved his memory, and who had recognised him in the Morgue, and probably attended his burial, but yet dared not avow herself nor tell who he was. The inquiry had the fasci

nation of difficulty.

But what of the clothes? I was told they might still be at the Morgue, and I determined to go and see.

Before arriving there, I had concocted my story. I told the keeper I had recently missed a near relation, and fearing something had befallen him, I had, after making every inquiry, come at last to the Morgue. I described the appearance of my lost friend, and, as I expected, was told that a corpse answering the description had been recently found in the Seine, and brought to the Morgue, and not having been claimed, had been buried last Tuesday at Père la Chaise. I asked for his clothes, and was shown them as they hung on the wall, along with several other suits, which, according to the custom of the place, still remained for some time after the burial of the bodies on which they had been found. I was told that since I was a relation of the deceased I might take them away with me, but that it was necessary, in the first place, to get the authority of the sergeant of gendarmes specially attached to the Morgue. As he was at hand the keeper went to fetch him. Fearing this functionary might be more particular, I availed myself of the absence of the keeper to make a closer inspection of the clothes of the dead man. They had originally been good, and obviously had belonged to a gentleman. But I looked in vain for any distinctive mark, and was just about abandoning the attempt, when I found on the corner of a cambric handkerchief, which was suspended with the rest, an heraldic crest representing a hand holding a flag. Hardly had I made this discovery when the keeper returned with the gendarme.