maman,' je le vis faire encore son ravissant sourire en disant, Oh, bien, c'est bien ;' comme il pleut à verse! Ce ne sera pas pour aujourd'hui. Allons, je puis rire.' Le lendemain comme le soleil brillait je le vis venir se poser bien raisonnablement en s'écriant, 'Oh! comme il faut que je fasse attention aujourd'hui, petite mamouselle, car c'est un beau jour!' Pendant ses leçons tout en faisant beaucoup de progrès je l'ai toujours vu gai et riant, mais il était si bon, il s'arrangeait si bien qu'il m'était impossible de le gronder sérieusement. D'ailleurs quand j'avais l'air de me fâcher il me regardait avec sa charmante petite mine gracieuse et me disait, 'Oh! oui, bonne mamouselle, vous voulez faire la méchante, mais je sens que votre cœur n'est pas fâché; comme j'en suis content!' Pendant sa leçon de géographie il lui arriva souvent, quand il en était à me citer les principaux détroits, au lieu de me nommer le petit Belt, d'aller chercher sa ceinture, et de la poser juste à la place du détroit sur l'atlas; ou bien au lieu de me donner la description d'un cap, d'aller me chercher son petit chapeau, et de rire aux éclats en me disant, 'Petite mamouselle, voilà, voilà un gentil petit cap.' Toutes ces choses si simples en apparence, dites par lui avaient pour moi un charme infini. Il était heureux de se dire plus fort que moi. Aussi cherchait-il à le prouver à chaque instant du jour; je lui laissais bien volontiers cette satisfaction, car il m'etait impossible de lui résister. Un je ne sais quoi me faisait un doux plaisir de n'opposer à ce cher ange aucune résistance. Un matin nous étions au thé, il vint tout en me caressant me prendre par le bras, puis me poussant en riant jusqu'à la porte, et voulant prouver qu'il avait le pouvoir de me faire sortir, il me fit passer devant lui, et après m'avoir souhaité bonne promenade il rentra avec ses sœurs: il se croyait heureux et fier d'avoir été le plus fort, mais quand il vit que je ne revenais plus, et que ses sœurs lui dirent que j'étais bien fâchée, son bon petit cœur commença à s'attrister, et il vint de suite me trouver dans ma chambre. Je voulus d'abord faire la méchante, mais devant son ravissant petit visage je me sentais toujours devenir meilleure. Mon petit ami me connaissait bien; aussi malgré son trouble, au lieu de venir en suppliant, il prit son petit air gracieux, et en me prenant bien gentilment, il me dit, Commencez, commencez, petite mamouselle, à passer devant moi et à descendre beaucoup plus

vîte que vous n'êtes monté, car sans cela c'est votre petit Jean qui se fâchera;' et il accompagnait ses paroles de si gracieux petits gestes qu'il m'en fallait pas tant de sa part pour me remettre la gaieté dans l'âme et même me rendre heureuse. Si à ́ ces leçons pour le faire tenir je me plaignais d'un petit mal de tête, ou d'une fatigue, comme il voyait que ce n'était pas bien sérieux, il faisait d'abord semblant de me plaindre, mais ensuite fermant un peu les yeux et prenant un sérieux comique il me disait tout en hochant gracieusement sa petite tête, Voyons ce pouls. Ah! bonne mamouselle, ah! vous n'en mourrez pas encore cette fois . . . Allons, allons, nous pourrons encore rire.' Ayant apris que j'allais aller prendre mes vacances à Paris, ce cher enfant me dit un matin, Comment, voyons, arranger cela —j'ai bien, bien, oui bien de la peine que vous, vous en alliez pour un mois, mais cependant j'en suis content d'abord, parceque vous verrez votre bonne mère, et puis . . . (et il ajoutait cela avec un délicieux accent) et puis Vacance, vacance-Pas de leçons, merci, merci!' et en me caressant il me disait encore, vous ne savez pas, petite mamouselle, vous m'écrirez souvent, très souvent, sur du beau papier de couleur, mais vous aurez le soin de laisser une page vide, afin que moi aussi j'aie le plaisir de vous répondre avec la même couleur.' Un jour que ce cher enfant cherchait les contrées sur l'atlas, arrivé à la capitale de la Hollande, il s'arreta et se refusa la nommer, et quand je lui en demandai la raison, il fut étonné, et pinçant un peu ses lèvres il me dit en joignant les mains, 'Ma petite mamouselle, c'est si affreusement affreux pour l'Angleterre de dire ce mot Dam que je n'ose dire qu'Amster.' Quelquefois en levant les beaux yeux vers le ciel ce bon petit ange me disait, 'Oh! je ris tant au souvenir de tous nos jeux, ma mamouselle-et puis encore de toutes nos belles chasses que même là j'y penserai. Oh! quelle fête pour moi quand je vous verrai arriver Comme nous

...

aurons du plaisir à nous rappeler nos fameuses courses de la terre; oui, comme nous rirons en pensant à toutes les petites taquenneries que j'aimais tant à vous faire-bonne mamouselle. Oh! comme je serai content; n'est ce pas le Bon Dieu ne nous empéchera pas de rire quel bonheur de rire même au ciel, petite mamouselle.'

But we must hasten on. Such was the endearing manner of

VOL. I.

little John, of whom some one might well say, "odor filii mei sicut odor agri pleni." Yes, sweet and beautiful as a fruitful field; for why speak only of promises and hopes, when so much had been already realized? 'Twas a good boy, 'twas a good boy; we may pick a thousand salads ere we light on such another herb. As Wordsworth might say

"He lived unknown, and few could know

When Johnny ceased to be,

But he is in the grave, and oh,

The difference to me!"

And the bower! and the garden! Ay, the difference to them too! For him now the laurels, for him the myrtles weep,

"Illum etiam lauri, illum etiam flevere myricæ."

But why hold I discourse on this sad subject, since the memory of it is a burthen we are marked to bear, and not to be shook off but with our human frailty? He for his part did all he could in leaving us, as it were, in his little testament, the beautiful picture of his own life, the best of treasures. We might add, that corresponding attractions belonged to his eldest brother. It is not alone that he was polished, modest, and respectful,—that he had that air of liberty which belongs to one who would neither constrain himself nor constrain others,—that ease, that freedom of manner which never lost sight of modesty, there was something winning in his looks, and in every thing he did and said, which made him of all sorts enchantingly beloved.

πᾶσιν γὰρ ἐπίστατο μείλιχος εἶναι,

ζωὸς ἐών· νῦν αὖ θάνατος καὶ μοῖρα κιχάνει.

As was written of another of his race, like him cut off in youth, we might truly say—

"Of softest manners, unaffected mind,

Lover of peace, and friend of human kind *."

Such is the spirit that breathes in the Children's Bower, as beautiful in form as it is, for all its apparent naturalness, mysterious and divine in its source; and this last remark will prepare us for the subject of the next chapter.

CHAPTER VIII.

ELL, here is a place for a bower! I have heard of stylites who had their dwelling on top of a pillar; but to think of these children resolving to perch up there, not on natural rocks, but on huge stones artificially placed, as if the Druids had arranged them, though they are only vestiges of an architectural plan unfinished, and waiting there to be hewn and used for construction, if they should be able to complete the cloisters of the church adjacent! However, though void of all archæological or ethnological interest, these great stones have an attraction irresistible for juveniles, as you may see yourself; for no boy ever passes without climbing upon them, and many a little girl too, let me tell you, will be resolved to follow him in his aerial leaps from one summit to another. However, at present, our two have the place all to themselves; so having begged the others to draw near, and sit upon the rails, we may hold our academy near them, and even, if they will have it so, on the very tops where they sit at present.

So far we seem to have invited to take a lesson in the Children's Bower only persons who may be very ordinary mortals like ourselves; but here all of a sudden we are confronted with facts of such a nature as to make it difficult to escape from a conviction that our betters-yes, even the holiest of men and women-should come to this poor little unpretending circle of young people, provided, of course, the children would only choose some place more accessible to gravity, and that these wise persons should condescend to take from them examples and maxims of that spiritual perfection, and of that fulfilment of the beatitudes, on which the most serious authors treat, and which we all know to be the tests and ornaments of the best and highest life attainable by man. Perhaps it would not be over bold to affirm that without the influence of such examples and ways of thinking, furnished by childhood and youth, there may be danger in the very attempt to arrive at such perfection;

for there are other places where youth is little known, and less thought of,-where all things "change from their ordinance, their natures, and pre-formed faculties to monstrous quality;" where there will be faith and no natural affection, religion and no humanity; where, as the Père de Neuville says, "what is of perfection will be practised rather than what is of command; where there will be much praying and little charity, much zeal and little kindness; where persons who scarce confess that their blood flows, or that their appetite is more to bread than stone, will do more than God requires, and will not do what He desires; where men will give Him what He counsels, and refuse Him what He commands." The treatise "on the little virtues," by the Père Roberti, was drawn up for the use of a nun, and the French translation of the work is approved of by Afre, the Archbishop of Paris, as being especially destined for religious persons; yet, when you come to read about these virtues, you find that these are actually the virtues of children and juveniles, and that each of these qualities is considered as having been brought to the highest perfection when it is exercised spontaneously without art, which is, in fact, precisely the characteristic of all such virtues when performed by the young.

"The primal duties shine aloft like stars.

The charities that soothe, and heal, and bless,

Are scattered at the feet of men like flowers."

But if the latter are gathered by no hands more plentifully than by those of our little stragglers, it is no less true that they have the secret of drawing down from their orbs the former, and causing them to shine in their own hearts, and to enlighten others, reflected from what they think, and utter, and perform. In the world, moreover, you may be assured that

"Extraordinary virtues, when they soar

Too high a pitch for common sights to judge of,
Losing their proper splendour, are condemn'd

For most remarkable vices."

In the bower they will be not alone spontaneously practised, but they will pass, when seen in others, for what they are; they will be understood, appreciated, and adored.

Later we shall be able to observe in detail how divinely many