"A botch," said Christophe, "who has not | Even, at this moment, it is not your fondness that even the first notions of his profession, whom the trembles to lose me: 't is your self-love that reBritish Admiralty ought to order to be whipped like a cabin boy." "What matters it if I love him?" haughtily demanded Jeanne. volts at the idea of my destiny being no more limited to beguile your idle days, and it is I who accuse you of cruelty and ingratitude. If I could open my heart to you, there, heartless men, would "A young man," said Joseph," whose life and you see that I associated you joyfully in all my family are perfectly unknown to us.” dreams of happiness. And even were I ungrate "I love him, and will be his wife," replied the ful," cried she, with despair, "is it my fault if, inflexible girl. in your Coat D'Or, I die of weariness and ennui? "But, Jeanne, you're not thinking of it," ex- Is it my fault if you three alone be not the whole claimed Christophe; "you forget that M. Whit-world to me, and your affection suffice not to my worth is an Englishman; and it was an English-life? What care I for your dresses, your diaman who killed your father, and made you an monds, your jewels, if I am to be young and beauorphan." tiful but for the seagulls of yonder shore? Beware, "Consider, my dear Jeanne; probably he is a uncles! Your blood flows in my veins. You Protestant," said Joseph. have called me Vaillance; and I am a girl to prove "I care about nothing in the world; I love myself, sooner or later, worthy of my name." him, and will have him for my husband." Thus were seen struggling, on one side, the egotism of love-on the other, the egotism of family they were both inexorable. The brothers proceeded at first by tears and prayers; at last they came to recrimination and anger. Christophe, Jean, and Joseph himself, thought that Jeanne's love for George was a mere childish passion; but even had they well appreciated all its importance, they would never have consented to give their niece to George, so well convinced were they that thus married, she would be lost to them. Vainly did she then beseech them-they showed themselves without pity; and vainly did they endeavor to win her over to their side-they found her unshakeable. "But, unfortunate and misled child !" exclaimed Jean, fatally inspired, "do you see nothing, understand nothing? The mystery hanging over Mr. Wentworth, his melancholy, his reluctance to converse about his life and family-did all this reveal nothing to you? Did you never think that he was not free, that, perhaps, he was married?" This supposition flashed upon her with horrible truth. She rose, made a few steps, uttered a cry, like a bird mortally wounded, and fell lifeless into the arms of Joseph. "Ah! the cure is worse than the evil: you have killed our child. And, moreover, Jean, 't is a lie; God never permits a lie." Jeanne was carried to her chamber. Fainting "Dear and cruel child!" said Joseph, trying a last effort, "are you not happy? What insane desire makes you wish to change your young lib-was succeeded by a violent fever, followed by deerty for the cares of marriage? Scarcely have you begun life, and already you would bind yourself by eternal links! What is wanting to your happiness?" "George," replied Jeanne, with imperturbable two others with horror. Nothing could express sang froid. Poor Joseph had not courage to prolong a discourse, the exordium of which obtained such brilliant success. lirium; and every fear was entertained for her life. 'Twas Joseph who watched over her. for he was the only one the young patient would allow to approach her bedside; she repulsed the the despair of Christophe and Jean; nothing could tell the remorse of poor Joseph. "Miserable that I am!" would he exclaim, at night, kneeling by his niece's bed, and holding "Oh! how ungrateful, Jeanne," said Jean, her burning hands in his own; "'t is I who have bitterly. done all the evil! Oh, Lord, forgive me! Dear and unhappy child!" "Oh!” cried Christophe, with vehemence, "I don't think there ever was a heart more ungrateful than yours. Forget, then, all that your uncles have been to you. Hasten to lose the memory of the past, lest your conscience should rise up against you." But Jeanne heard him not. She called George, tenderly; then, at once, uttering a heartrending cry, would bury her head beneath the bedclothes, as it were, not to see the menacing phantoms that came constantly between her and her lover. Be "I understand you," said Jeanne, weeping; Vainly did Joseph whisper to her that George "at last, I read your souls. You never loved was free, that she had been deceived: the poor me!—no, never; you never did love me, hard-girl heard but the cries of her own heart. hearted uncles! Now do I know the secret of holding so deep a grief, Joseph had drowned his your selfish affection. I was, at first, for you but jealousy in tears of repentance. He would wila plaything, an amusement, a pastime. Later, it lingly have given his life to secure the happiness was your pride, not your love, that decked me. of Jeanne, and thus redeem a moment of error and To your vanity alone do I owe your gifts and selfishness. More than once he besought his caresses. If you adorned my youth, it was simply brothers to recall George; but Christophe and to animate your home, to distract your leisure. Jean answered—the one, that they must consider -the other, that they must wait. It was, indeed, with one hand thou strikest us, with the other a terrible and violent struggle between egotism and affection. Undoubtedly, love would finally have prevailed. The danger lasted but a day that danger over, egotism triumphed. thou dost lift us up. Thy mercy is still greater than thy wrath is terrible. Thy name be blessed, oh, Lord! and grant that this young man may not yet have quitted our shores." Having said this, he rushed out of the room, got a horse saddled, and without acquainting his brothers of his departure, started at full gallop towards St. Brieuc. 66 The delirium had subsided, the height of the fever was abated, Jeanne seemed to be resigned; but seeing her pale and sorrowful face, it could be easily perceived that she was dead to every joy and hope. Whilst she slept, Christophe and Jean Oh, that he may still be there!" repeated he, would glide softly into her chamber, for she per-spurring his horse. On approaching the town, he sisted in refusing to admit them. They would stopped to speak to some laborers going to work. approach her bed, look upon her with a kindly He asked whether any ship had recently sailed for gaze, and retire, like true children, as they were. England. Brother," said Jean to Christophe, one day, "it breaks my heart to see her in so sad a condition; I think we 'd do well to recall that infernal George. I don't like him, mille canons; but, in truth, Christophe, let it be he or another, we, sooner or later, must submit." 66 66 "No, sir," said one of them, "unless the captain of the Waverley weighed anchor last night, as he intended." "It can't be," said another, " for the wind was against him." "At midnight the wind changed," added a "I can't conceive," said Christophe, "the ma- third, who pretended he had seen at sunrise, from nia young girls have for marriage.' the cliffs, a ship sailing towards the open sea. "How the devil can you help it, my poor Christophe?" replied Jean, sighing. "It appears to be the case everywhere-fine ladies, country girls, and vivandières wish to try their luck." "We must see there is no hurry," said Christophe; "besides that Whitworth must be gone." "How do we know?" said Jean. "I am sure he is gone," said Christophe, itively. 66 "If such be the case,” added Jean, with secret satisfaction, we've done our duty, and have nothing to reproach ourselves with." 66 "Oh!" said the first," then it was the Waverley." "Is it really from you, sir, that my niece has received this relic and this hair chain?" "Yes, sir, it is from me," replied the officer, gravely. Whilst they were discussing, Jean, burning with anxiety, gallopped away and stopped only at the residence of the English consul. When Jean heard that the Waverley had not yet sailed for England, and, being under repairs, would not depos-part for some days, he blessed Heaven, and re quested to be shown to the chamber of George. When Jean entered, George was leaning on the table, his head resting on his hands. At the noise of the door opening, he turned round and An unforeseen incident suddenly changed the recognized Jean. George's first inquiry was for state of things. One night, overpowered by emo- Jeanne; but Jean, instead of answering, stood betion and fatigue, Joseph was obliged to give up fore him, and gazed upon him with silent and deep his sweet watch over Jeanne. It was Jean who curiosity. At length, he drew from his breast the took his place, happy to pass a few hours beside chain and relic which he had detached from the the beloved child. He found, by chance, the let-neck of his niece, and, presenting them to George, ter of George, which Jeanne, in the excitement it asked in an anxious voicehad caused her, had neglected to put away. Jean read this letter by the pale light of the lamp; the last lines disturbed him. He rose, ran at once to the bedside of Jeanne: the young girl reposed calm and serene. He bent gently over her, perceived round her neck the hair chain by which hung the relic of George. At this sight his limbs failed him; he was compelled to sit on the foot of the bed. At last, with a trembling hand, he unknotted the chain, came close to the lamp, and the breaking day found him in the same place, pale, motionless; his eyes fixed on the chain and on the relic. It was the freshness of the morning that awoke him from the kind of stupor into which he had fallen. He raised his hands to his face, to assure himself that he was awake, that it was not a dream. By one of those sudden revolutions of the human heart, his assumed irreligion gave way before the tide of strong feeling swelling within his breast: moved by a supernatural impulse, he fell on his knees and exclaimed-" Oh, my God! thy ways are impenetrable. Whilst "Can you tell me, also," rejoined Jean, "from whom you got them? It is not mere curiosity; on it depends the happiness of us all. Who gave you this chain and this relic? Where did you find them? How long did you possess them before you gave them to Jeanne?" "Sir," replied George, who had caught the emotion of Jean, " many a time have I questioned my fate; but I can answer nothing. Fate has remained silent." "But, at least, do you know from whom you hold this relic and chain?" asked Jean, in an impressive tone. He could hardly hold up; he was compelled to lean on the back of an armchair. "I know it not, sir," replied George, who himself felt greatly moved, and became more agitated. "All I can say is, that until I detached it to send it to Mademoiselle Jeanne, as a token of my re- | ferent languages, that I do not remember that spectful affection, this relic had ever lain on my which I first uttered. Yet I never spoke yours heart." "Ever!" exclaimed Jean. "Ever," repeated the young man. "But, sir, can you not tell me in your turn to what tend all these questions?" "Then you say," exclaimed Jean, pursuing the course of his ideas-" you say that this relic has at all times been placed upon your heart; you are ignorant, say you, of the hand which suspended it round your neck? But then, sir," added he, with some hesitation, “ 'you never knew your family?" "Sir," coldly replied George, "you should have guessed it by my silence and my sadness, every time you questioned me on the subject, during my sojourn at the Coat D'Or. but my heart vibrated at the sound of my own voice. I ever thought it the language of my mother." "Then," said Jean, gazing upon him with a loving eye, when you went to England you were but a child?" "Yes; hardly six years old." "And you had round you neck Jean, who had dropt into an arm-chair, suddenly rose, tore open the shirt which covered the breast of George, and finding on it the cannon which he, You should, himself, had tattooed there a short time before los above all, have understood it from my prompt resig-ing him, threw his arms round his neck, and nation, when it was decided that I should quit the pressing him on his heart— place where I had left all my soul." 66 Speak, speak!" exclaimed Jean; "t is a friend who entreats you. Interrogate your memory, and relate to me all you know of your life." "Indeed, sir," replied George, surprised and affected, "I really know not if I ought.” "Is it you?" exclaimed he, in a broken voice "is it you, my own Louis?-the only son of my dear Fanchette. Heaven be blessed! can it be you?" CHAPTER V. "If you ought!" exclaimed Jean, astounded- THE same day, a few hours after the scene "if you ought," repeated he several times. "The which had taken place that morning at St. Brieuc, chain is made of my wife's hair; this relic-it Jeanne awoke from a long trance. On opening was I who attached it, the day of her death, to the her eyes she beheld seated by the bedside Jean, neck of my boy, my only child. I could not mis-Joseph, Christophe, and George. Joy and gladtake; it bears the date; I engraved it myself withness shone in every face. the point of a knife." At these words George grew pale, and both for some moments looked at each other silently. George thoughtfully carried his hand to his brow, as a man seeking to remember; then he replied each held a hand of Jeanne. George and Joseph "Sweet dream! do not wake me," murmured she; and gently closing her eyelids, she fell into that half sleep which is like a twilight to the soul; 't is no longer dark, 'tis not yet day. At length, actuated by a vague sentiment of reality, she again opened her eyes, and comprehending this time that it was not a dream, fell into the arms of Joseph, and a moment after called her other uncles to embrace them. George, not a word, not a sign, and scarcely a look; for the three others the most coaxing caresses and affectionate looks. Yet a vague inquietude Wait, wait," interrupted Jean. "Can you dwelt at the bottom of her heart. All on a sudtell me how old you were at that time?" den her countenance became gloomy. She turned "As far as these good people could judge, I to Jean, and said in a trembling voicemust have been between five and six." "I know nothing of my childhood; all I could learn from the fisherman living at Hull, and by whom I was partly reared, was, that in February, 1817, I was entrusted to his care by a Russian merchant, who left him a sum sufficient to provide for my future wants." 66 As to Uncle, you told me he was not free?" "I have told you the truth," returned Jean, with a knowing smile. "Uncle, you told me he was married?" "To be sure, and here is his wife," exclaimed Jean, covering with kisses the head of the fair child. The three brothers had secretly agreed that their niece should learn the truth at the hour of her marriage only; as to George, he took pleasure in prolonging a mystery which allowed him to feel himself loved for his own sake. On the other hand, the three uncles were not sorry to appear to have yielded solely to the wishes of their niece, and to let her, for a time, believe in their disinterestedness. "I have no country of my own," would George say. "You have France," would answer Jeanne; 66 did you then dream of a sweeter fatherland?" "I have no fortune." 66 ing. thanked Providence for giving to Jeanne the only husband who could satisfy all their exigencies. Joseph, faithful to his laudable practices, continued Ungrateful heart!" would reply Jeanne, smil- to sing the praises of God, and called down all "I have no family." "You forget my uncles." "Consider, I have no name." his blessings on these two young and fair heads. Happiness and love are great doctors; at the end of a week Jeanne was completely restored. It was decided that all the family should accompany 'George!" said Jeanne, closing his lips with George, or rather Louis Legoff, who, though he her hand. had recovered his father, his name, and his fanr ily, remained for a time the humble subject of Eng "You were so obstinate about him," exclaimed Jean, "that we were obliged to give him to you; land. that George!" At length they all embarked on board the "Did we ever refuse you anything?" said Chris-" Waverley," and it was really an enchanted voy age, except for Christophe and Jean, who resigned tophe. "Oh, you are very good!" exclaimed Jeanne, themselves with difficulty to set foot on the soil of with real fondness. It seemed as though Heaven had taken pity on the tenderness and selfishness of these men, and even of Joseph, by so combining the event that Jeanne could marry without changing dwelling, name, or family. However, our veracity, as historians, compels us to state, that Christophe and Joseph did not at first bow with a lively enthusiasm to the decree of Providence; especially Christophe, who, little religious as he was, cared but slightly about the resurrection of this new Moses. "But tell me, brother Jean," said Christophe, one evening that he took him aside, "are you quite sure he is your own Louis? All this appears to me rather romantic and tolerably fabulous." La perfide Albion. They declared London to be a horrible place, far inferior, as to monuments, to Bignic, and, above all, to St. Brieuc. In the streets, they had a certain way of looking at the passengers, which many a time was near getting them into trouble; Jean, who had hitherto imagined that St. Helena was the gaol of London, had asked to visit the dungeon where his emperor had died. After a few days, George had concluded his affairs with the board of admiralty. Jean and Christophe accompanied him to assist as witnesses; Jean found means of introducing the great name of Napoleon, and expressed himself in so unbecoming a manner, that he was silenced, and politely shown to the door. The young officer, nevertheless, obtained his end; he offered his resignation "There can be no doubt about it," replied Jean,-it was accepted; and, ere they had been absent nodding his head, with a smile of the deepest con- a month from France, they returned to her happy tentment. "I recognized on his chest the cannon which I tattooed myself. I still see my poor Fanchette holding the dear child. Moreover, it was the eve of our last battle. Methinks "No matter," interrupted Christophe, "your son is a happy devil; we have reared him his wife like a pet bird. I must say, too, brother Jean, that both your Fanchette and you behaved elegantly. After all, sooner or later, we should have seen the dear girl get married. Far better is it that George be the happy man, than that such a fortune had blessed any other. Our little angel won't quit the family. Jeanne will still bear our name, and perpetuate the race of the Legoffs." "True!" answered Jean," and Joseph was right enough in saying that Providence some day or another might turn a benevolent eye upon us.' shores. Joseph, as most competent in such matters, had taken upon himself to obtain the necessary dispensation from Rome; and, thanks to the kind intervention of the bishop of the diocese, they found on their return to the Coat D'Or, the papers which set aside all obstacles to the union of Jeanne with her cousin, George Louis Legoff. It was only on the day of her marriage that Jeanne knew that she was going to marry her cousin. You may easily imagine her transports of joy on hearing that she should continue to bear the name which Joseph, Christophe, and Jean, had taught her to love. As we conclude this tale, seven years have passed over the marriage of our young couple. Their hearts always beat with the same fond affec"tion; Jeanne had lost nothing of her grace and beauty. Grave and smiling, as becomes a young mother, she is, more than ever, the pride and joy of the Coat D'Or. Two handsome children are playing at her feet, and her old uncles redouble their love and respect. "And a nice compensation you find, Jean, in the fate of your offspring; a cousin, a wife, and a princely fortune-a pleasant family-a name glorious in the annals of the army and navy; all that for the loss of a frigate; it was well for him he was wrecked. Nevertheless, after the first movement of jealousy and egotism, both Christophe and Joseph submitted sincerely to their destiny, and "For it was you, sweet Jeanne," say they often-" it was you who opened to us the pathe of virtue and family duties." The first chapter gives a short account of the most remarkable incidents of the voyage to Valparaiso; whence the author returns to Madeira and Rio. The description of the midshipmen's berth is not only a graphic little sketch, but is an apt sequence to our last week's paper on the case of the Naval Assistant-Surgeons. This is the scene to which the orders of the Admiralty persist in inducting the members of a learned profession. From the Spectator. have been omitted or contracted. But the comWALPOLE'S FOUR YEARS IN THE PACIFIC.* parative novelty of many of the places, people "SEVERAL months of light study and heavy and occurrences-the associations with which indiscretions" having reduced the Honorable some of the spots are connected-and the freshFrederick Walpole's purse, paled his cheek, and ness, vivacity and unaffected good-nature of the weakened his constitution, he rejoined her maj-writer-make up a very pleasant companion-book. esty's service, and was appointed midshipman, or master's mate, to the Collingwood of eighty guns, then (in 1844) about to sail for the Pacific. With her he continued till she was relieved in 1848; having in the interim risen to the grade of lieutenant, and visited Valparaiso the chief port and Santiago the capital of Chili; Juan Fernandez, of romantic memory; Lima, and several towns on the coast of Peru, Ecuador, Mexico and California; as well as the Society and Sandwich Islands, and one or two less known groups. At some of It was a little after noon, when, having perthese places the visits were little beyond calls, and formed the ceremony of reporting myself on deck, Mr. Walpole saw no more than could be seen in a I descended to see my mess, and make acquaintance few days' "leave" made the most of. At the with my new messmates. The gun-room door was Sandwich and Society Islands his sojourn was open; and even a landsman might have known from longer; his means of observation were more ex- tables, very old, very shaky, though originally built tensive; and, though the temporary interest is by men who knew midshipmen well, and cut with past and the subject regards history or the future, devices that would puzzle an antiquary, were placed he was at Otaheite while the French were trying on either side. The space left clear was occupied to establish their dominion, and again when they by two pugilists, who, under the instruction of a had succeeded. Chili, however, was his head- famous fancy man, were milling like mad. Beer abounded in large jugs; admiring gazers on the quarters after the Collingwood's cruises: he seems to have resided there for considerable periods on fight sat round, drinking the same; in the ports men of milder mood were solacing themselves with leave of absence; and certainly his account of pipes and cigars. One or two, fresh from quieter the pleasures of the Pacific appears to bear out scenes, were perseveringly trying to read or write. Mr. Cobden's views of the easy berths enjoyed by Desks, books, the gifts of tender mothers, perhaps, the officers of a man-of-war on a foreign station. or of fathers who hoped for clever sons, were piled At the same time, as Lieutenant Walpole has con- in the corners, together with boat-gear, swordsidered it his "duty to forbear all mention of ship From such a beginning you may judge what our sticks, and heaps of other things past mentioning. or officers, and of all public transactions," it is life was to be. None liked it then more than your probable that we have only the fair weather side-humble servant; and I actually underwent a course the summer season of the service. The book before us is the general result of the author's experience, not a continuous narrative; Mr. Walpole presenting his subjects in a chapter or series of chapters treating of political matters. By this means, he avoids the tedium and commonplace that attend a full relation of travels when there is nothing remarkable to relate; one section contains general description, another the account of any striking incident-as the author's sporting adventures in the Andes. Mr. Walpole also possesses the qualifications to make a readable if not a valuable book. He has a fund of animal spirits, and the good nature of the sailor, with his disposition to look on the bright side of things, and to push on through the gloomiest. His style is smart and lively-the results of a turn of mind not of a studied mode of composition; nor is he devoid of vigor. Some sketches of South American history were perhaps scarcely needed; but they are brief, rapid, and may be useful to a person not very well read in the subject, as they are obviously suggested by the scenes. The passing notice of Madeira and some other passages might the noise that there dwelt the "mids." Two deal of lessons in boxing-which seems to consist in standing up and paying a man to lick you most completely; rather a work of supererogation, as in our nightly rambles at Portsmouth we found people who did it as well for nothing. Such are the scenes by day. The following pictures the sleeping accommodation. The lieutenants, lucky fellows! have their own cabins, (cupboards seven feet long by eight or nine wide,) with a hole three inches round, to admit light and air. This lets in a gleam big enough to shave by, if properly used. The mids sleep in two large low places called the fore and after cockpits, in large bags hung up at either end. Sounder, however, is their sleep there than that of many a prince beneath a silken quilt. These hammocks are lashed up, and taken on deck every morning at half-past six; so there is no compulsion to turn out, only you must. Here, in action, is the surgeon's paradise: legs and arms are taken off, men sewed together, and men cut to pieces. In such a place as this Lord Nelson and thousands of others have breathed their last. All the mids wash and dress in public; and a noisy, skylarking scene it is, till time has cooled the love of practical jokes: then it tires. This sketch of the albatross, also from the voy*Four years in the Pacific, in her Majesty's ship" Collingwood." By Lieutenant the Honorable Frederick Wal-age out, is as picturesque as any we have met pole, R. N. In two volumes. Published by Bentley. with. |