There was now a lall in Lucien's life, but his happiness, such as it was, had a short duration. A young Swedish nobleman feeling the instinct of song unconquerable, offends his father, gives up the privileges of birthright, and comes to Paris where the most flattering reception awaits him.

"Everything combined to render him as happy as applause and admiration could make him. He was descended of a great race; he was from the land of fog and ice which Ossian has peopled with his terrible divinities; he united in his own person the perfections of the northern race, the beautiful fair hair, the transparent pearly skin, and the limpid blue eyes, it was the union of grace and vigour, the grace of the bard, the vigour of the hero. You may judge of the enthusiasm caused by his visit to Paris: this city does nothing by halves, where it stands godfather it does not spare the sweetmeats. From salon to salon, the aspirant found his renown expanding, till at last his empire was established over all minds and hearts : happy but transitory epoch, occurring but once, and bitterly regretted when the season is past."

At first he only appeared in the reunions of the old nobility, his last protest of high birth.

The Countess of Mauleon, we may be sure, did not lose much time till he became a willing guest in her select parties. He felt himself there entirely at ease, for the mistress of the mansion knew how to preserve the discipline of the best society in her reunions, while there was much liberty of speech and opinion in many minor matters. Her reception of Count Rosario excited no particular scandal; she merely went out with all Paris to hail the new sovereign, reserving to herself the right to turn her allegiance elsewhere when she felt disposed.

Some time after Rosario's arrival, the Countess got up a charitable concert, in order to present to the public her new favourite, who could not possibly refuse on account of the laudable motive.

"We all know what ingenious stratagems raise recruits to assist at these pious and heavy entertainments. Wherever you go, snares are laid, and if you escape one you surely fall into another. At these seasons suspect the entire world and everything in it, the ladies particularly, they are patronesses; their smiles,-concert tickets are hid behind them. I have reserved two for you,' says one of these syrens, shewing two rows of the finest teeth in the world: expense, forty francs;' three for every tooth shewn. Perhaps you keep the chimney corner during the epidemic: alas! the penny-post is in existence for the secure dispatch of this afflicting commerce; your loss will be the same, and you will be a

smile or two the less! No use in too much precaution against the plague; meet it with your face uncovered.

I was one of the early comers, and yet the Countess was beforehand with me: Lucien was not far away, he seemed weary and sad. I had not seen him for some time, and was disagreeably affected by the change in his countenance. The appearance of ruddy health had quitted it, and the fresh color he had brought from his mountains had vanished: the expression was sorrowful, and the cheek pale; he seemed another being altogether.

The house was now filling fast, and in a short time every seat was occupied, and the Countess highly delighted with the success of her charitable speculation, looked back over the assemblage with a radiant expression on her face, greeted her friends, and sent her attendants from time to time to put different parties more at their ease she had made it a point that the whole thing should be a wonder and a success. I will not dwell on the pieces performed before Rosario appeared on the platform. At the long wished for sight, the hall was filled with such thundering acclamations, that I trembled for the stability of the building; it required the silence that immediately ensued, to reassure me. He sung, and the eyes and ears of the vast assemblage were fixed on him as by magic. It was said that his voice possessed the powers of every known instrument of music. Whoever has not heard this man cannot form a conception of the resources or power of the human voice, its all-pervading influence, and the mysterious ways by which it penetrates to the heart. Of all instruments yet invented, none can approach the expression of that which nature has conferred on man: on this evening no one entertained a doubt on the subject.

The first piece which was chaunted by Rosario was taken from an Italian opera; he did wonders with it, but it was in the second that he surpassed even himself. It was a national hymn of Sweden which he had got arranged for his voice, and in which the local spirit prevailed, and hid the technicalities of art. Nothing could exceed the vigour which he infused into this melody, the national traits which he wove into its composition, and the color with which he invested it, a color martial and tender at the same time. In the rhythm, at once warlike and pastoral, might be recognised the child of the North, cradled by the Valkyriar, those tutelary spirits of the Icy pole who with one hand put the dying warriors out of pain, and with the other pour out for them in the halls of Odin, celestial draughts of beer and mead. The song scarcely occupied a quarter of an hour, but it was a period thoroughly filled; perhaps the audience could not have endured their excited feelings for a longer space. While Rosario sung, the Countess's eyes were riveted on him, and her existence seemed as if suspended from his lips. On her countenance you might distinctly trace the expression of the passions or feelings he sought to rouse. Was the theme warlike? the stern sentiment took possession of her face. Did his voice express sweet or calm images? the glad smile dwelt on her lips. No shade of sentiment or feeling in the strain, but was reflected in the mirror of her fine countenance; she seemed to exist and to breathe only as the artist wished.

While she surrendered herself to her emotions with the most complete abandon, it was pitiable to look at poor Lucien. If I had to represent the deepest grief, I need only copy the woe stamped on his countenance. His eyes wandered from the singer to the Countess, and from the Countess to the singer, as if to catch hidden treason in its transit from one to the other. When he saw how complete was her absorption in Rosario, and her forgetfulness of himself, his features were convulsed with rage, and my heart bled at the picture of his wretchedness.

At last the torture was stayed, the entertainment was over, and I supposed that the Countess would have left the concert room at. tended by Lucien.

I was deceived: she passed into the adjoining room to compliment Rosario, and relieve her pent-up emotions. Lucien did not know how to keep his countenance at such a flagrant desertion. He took my arm, saying, You must see me home, dear friend; O heavens ! how I suffer.'

Thus, what Eulalie and myself had foreseen was accomplished. Scarcely had the myrtle wreath been placed on his brow, when the leaves began to decay under the blighting breath of an odious rival. Had he been given up to researches in antiquity like myself, I could have laid my finger among the leaves of history on two or three examples from which he ought to derive comfort; witness Elizabeth of England, and Catherine of Russia. These Queens of Nature proceeded just on the same system as the Queens of Art: they indulged their little caprices and changed their favorites. Thus he would have found himself kept in countenance by noble and distinguished men, without the inconvenience of being sent to Siberia or getting his head chopped off. But Lucien would not take comfort from looking on the matter in this light: he considered such meditations as incapable of bringing balm to his wounded heart: you and I would have acted differently. We have lived in contact with ancient sages, and know the value of the fair ones of the present day, and we would have used the maxims of one to counteract the evil influence of the other. The recipe is simple and effective. If the inconstant fair one says, 'Good day to you,' you have only to say ‘Good day' in return, and all is over. Ah! how coolly and uncon. cernedly you and I would have pronounced Good evening' or 'morning, as it might be. But poor Lucien had not cast his baggage of illusions into the trench: his heart, his imagination, his whole life was set on obtaining and securing the affections of the being who now threw him from her like a withered flower, and the defeat was more than his imaginative and sensitive nature could survive."

Roused by despair at last to make an effort, he entered the Hotel Mauleon, and had a scene with its mistress. Whether through caprice or a slight return to the former feelings, she would not hear of a rupture; and a truce was signed; but soon after our sensitive and much to be pitied hero (The reader is not to waste any portion of his valuable sympathy on

the invisible and inaudible Count of Mauleon on any account), finding a relapse in process, flies from the Hotel, has his place taken for his native hills, and is on the point of starting when the entrance of a servant with a note in hand, and wearing the Mauleon livery, sends the diligence to the South without being encumbered by the weight of the prodigal son. The Countess feeling the privilege of desertion to be her own peculiar property, will not share it with Lucien or any man of woman born:-she of course might discard him, he should not desert her.

Rosario quits Paris for Italy, and now happiness is so secure that fate may do her worst. However, some ominous-looking little vapours are not wanting to chequer the otherwise unclouded sky.

"In the sketches published at this time by Madame 'Mauleon, the theme was Italy, and nothing but Italy, that darling of the sun.

Farewell our Quercy, with its goats suspended from the rocks; the Countess's fancy had flown elsewhere.

Our sombre groups of chestnut trees no longer gave her pleasure; she yielded the choice to orange and citron trees, with their delicious perfumes. I blame her not: the Apennines are as fine mountains as those of Auvergne, and the Tiber is somewhat more spoken of in history than the Lot; still. the sudden change in taste was suspicious.

He

Another symptom more alarming now exhibited itself. She began to lay down the world and its treasures at the feet of artists, particularly singers. She made them a race apart, endowed with all perfections and all virtues; they were the flower of the human race, the essence of animated nature. Providence had exhausted itself in producing them, and then reposed from its labours. Outside this class, all humanity served but as back ground and foil. This was the theme; I will not dwell on the developments, as they might not suit the prejudices of readers of the ordinary notions in moral opinions. Among this privileged race she selected her hero. was a proud youth you may suppose, and one who treated princes and kings with little ceremony. He did not hesitate to speak his mind to any son of Adam, and no one attempted a reply. Moreover he was a bon-vivant, no woman-hater, the ADORED of a whole bead-roll of Marchionesses, and not knowing what to do with such an embarras de richesses. How could it be otherwise, where there was such grace, talent, wit, command of voice, dignity, force, all centered in the same subject? In pagan times, there was here stuff enough for a demi-god, perhaps of a fully qualified denizen of Olympus. Nowadays, people look on such a paragon as scarcely a complete man.'

We hasten to the only close such a tissue of folly and illregulated feeling could have. Lucien is pathetically informed

one fine morning, that so much of the lady's time is to be taken up that day with necessary family business, visits of lawyers, &c., that she cannot see him till next day.-Next day arrives, and with it a note to our swain.

"I leave Paris, Lucien: seek not to rejoin me, enquire not why I quit you, nor whither I go, it will be a useless trouble. To every thing there are natural bounds which ought not to be passed: I feel convinced that we have attained these limits. I bear with me a kind recollection of you; it is the only essential thing. You are young; as you advance in life you will judge me as I wish to be judged, and not on the same footing as other women. Leave me the hope that on my return to Paris I will find a friend the more.'

'ANGELE.'

We will not inflict on our readers, the sorrow, rage, and despair of Lucien on receiving his congé. It would have been in the ordinary economy of a feuilleton to have his body exposed at the Morgue a day or two afterwards: however it did not so happen. He pursued the false one, but a fever arrested his progress, and though he did not die, 'he, at least, was exceedingly sick' for a long time. By removal to his native air, and by the care of his mother, Nepomucene and Eulalie, he was restored to society at last, fell into an inheritance, married a virtuous and beautiful country girl whom we are sure he did not deserve, and Eulalie was welcomed to an abiding home in his chateau, a consummation which she really deserved.

The Countess did not reap the full amount of felicity she expected. A short time after her arrival in Italy, Rosario deserted her society for that of one who was neither a genius nor a beauty.

It is only justice to refer to the improved tone of the latter writings of the Lady, whose features appear plainly enough through the thin disguise thrown over them by our Author. Whoever reads Francois le Champi-Le Mare au Diable, Mont Reveche, or Les Maitres Sonneurs, will enjoy the beauty of style and truth of feeling, the sound judgment in everything connected with art, and the management of the story such as distinguished her early writings, without any of the detestable offences against the true interests of society, by which they were sullied.

As our present Author's design may be so well gathered from the extracts, and as his peculiar powers and qualities, as a writer, have been displayed at such length in former articles, further observations on these heads seem unnecessary.