in mystery. There is no ground for denying the possibility of an heir of the Stuarts being still alive. Prince Charles Edward had a thousand reasons for concealing the existence of a son, particularly that of wishing to secure his life from those who would have had an interest in his death. "We have been permitted to glance at a correspondence of the most important and remarkable nature, by which it is proved that Cardinal York was by no means the last descendant of the Stuarts. Direct heirs of Charles Edward still exist.' "Napoleon, previous to the late disasters of the empire, heard the brothers Stuart spoken of; he wished to see them and attach them to his person; the young Scots fought beneath his colours. One day on the field of battle, Napoleon detached his cross from his button-hole, and gave it himself to John Sobieski. Afterwards, it is said, the titles of which they hold possession were laid before the eyes of King Charles X., who was much struck by them. A report spread that he had thoughts of re-establishing the Order of Malta, and that one of them would have been made Grand Master. The brothers Stuart, surnamed the handsome Scots, were received everywhere with great distinction. A number of orders covers the breast of the elder, and in his Scottish costume, adorned with his numerous decorations, and enveloped in mystery, he appears surrounded with a magic charm. "What conclusion is to be drawn from all this? I am not called on to decide. I may be asked, 'What is your opinion on the subject?' I shall give no other answer to this question than the sentence which is inscribed on the title-page of my book, I do not judge, I relate.' "I had promised myself the pleasure of visiting the Isle of Aigais a noble lady residing in that part of the country, the mother of Lord Lovat (Mrs. Fraser), came one morning to Red Castle; she was commissioned by Lady Lovat, her daughter-in-law, to invite me to pass some days at Beaufort Castle. She promised to conduct me to the abode of Charles Edward's grandchildren; I accepted her offer eagerly, and we set out. "There, beneath trees a hundred years old, in a solitude, where one seems transported a thousand leagues from civilization, stands a building, the architecture of which is in the style of the middle ages, with ancient windows and painted glass. This strange hermitage, shaded by firs and oaks, has the pediment of a noble mansion, on which are displayed the arms of the Scottish monarchy. Underneath the escutcheon of Charles Edward is this affecting inscription- The Lord gave, the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.' "The two Stuarts were absent. The wife of the youngest came alone to meet us, and welcome us to her abode. The principal part of the ground-floor of this interesting dwelling was occupied by a long hall, hung round with flags. The walls were covered with trophies; several statues were placed there; and the rays of daylight which could only penetrate through windows gloomy as those of a cathedral, gleamed in the most fantastic manner amid the banners, ogives, and effigies of this warlike sanctuary. There were collected together all the memorials of Charles Edward; his arms, his banner, his garments, his portrait, I admired his fine and noble countenance, which I then beheld for the first time. A picture painted by John Sobieski struck me much; its subject was 'the battle of Culloden.' Charles Edward is represented on a bay horse, bounding across a wide precipice in the midst of a storm cloud. The wind blowing in violent gusts, agitates the white plume of his Highland cap, the symbol of which is a white rose. His plaid is floating around him, his drawn sword is in his hand. His features and eyes wear an expression of rosolute despair. His Highlanders, half concealed beneath the clouds of dust and smoke, from whence the shades of the sons of Fingal seem to be rising in tears, stretch out their swords towards him, forming with them a broad shield above his head. A ray of immortal brightness is gleaming o'er his forehead, from the midst of the standards, the swords and the tempest-he appears radiant amid misfortune. The "The execution of this picture is as fine as the conception. Opposite to it hangs one no less remarkable- Napoleon at Waterloo." Emperor is mounted on a white horse, which is bearing him through the midst of the wind and the storm. Here are blood and rain; there laurels and corpses. Two meteors illume his path; one in glory-the other a thunderbolt. "No imagination, however cold it might be, could remain calm and without emotion under the roof of the brothers Stuart. Charles Edward is married; his brother is still single; they never leave each other. Both of them wear habitually the Highland costume; their tartan, like that of their grandfather, is red, with green squares, and the white rose is their symbol. Learned, and endowed with rare talents, they cultivate the arts and literature. Their personal beauty and their distinguished manners are such that they could not travel through Scotland a few years ago, without awakening the enthusiasm of the Highlanders; indeed there were some who only waited for a word from their mouths to rise in their favour, and claim the crown for them once more. But the Stuarts, simple in their tastes, quiet in their habits, and rejecting every ambitious thought, have adopted the sublime sentiment of peace and resignation which they have engraved upon their dwelling-The Lord gave, the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord!'" THE DUCAL HOUSE OF PRASLIN. How grievous it is that the bright annals of the noble house of Praslin should be indelibly stained by the iniquity of its late representative. The fair stem of the Praslins was of a growth of hundreds of years, and now how is it blighted by this murder most foul. An old historian of France extols in pompous phraseology the deeds of the great "Marechal de Praslin," who lived in the beginning of the 16th century. thus recounts his fortitude and loyalty : He "Having become Masters of the Cantons that are at the foot of the Pyrenees, the Catalonians, in 1546, menaced the southern provinces of France. In order to stop them it was necessary to take possession of Rosas, a little town of Roussillon, which had been sold to them: the expedition was consigned to the brave and discreet Praslin. Never had a general more obstacles to overcome-nature, man, and all the elements seemed to conspire against him. A terrific storm inundated his camp 'n one moment, destroyed the works, carried away the tents; all fled, all were dispersed, the soldiers sought an asylum on the mountains; he inflexible Praslin, steady to his post, saw with an undisturbed eye the heavens pour forth its torrents. This deluge carried off the baggage in its course, and destroyed the trench and machinery, the fruit of his genius. The fleet which ought to have assisted him was dispersed far from the coasts or shattered against the rocks. At last the waters reached his tent, and formed around him a kind of island, in which he was nearly drowned. In the midst of this disaster he thought of nothing but how to repair it, resembling that wise man who is described by a poet and philosopher Si fractus illabatur orbis, At last the heavens became calm, the army returned to their camp, the entrenchments came out of their ruins, the siege was carried on with the same ardour, and the town surrendered. The siege lasted thirty-five days. After so memorable a conquest, Praslin could without pride aspire to the highest dignities: notwithstanding the Court forgot him. One of his friends advised him to appear to favour the discontented party, "I would reject," replied he with indignation, "the largest fortune, if I thought that my fidelity at that price would be suspected." The Marshal's staff was the recompense of so much service and heroic impartiality. The Spaniards had, in 1552, become possessed of Sainto Menehould, and had fortified it. At a council it was proposed to carry off this conquest from them. The enterprise appeared beyond human power, and Marshal Praslin was intrusted to conduct the siege; his enemies applauded the choice they had dictated, and regarded that office as the rock on which his prosperity in arms would fall; his friends already lamented his death, and foresaw that he was losing his glory, but that he would not survive it. This great man deceived at the same time the fears of some and the hope of others. The place was taken. His triumphant return overwhelmed with reproaches the minister who wished to sacrifice him on this occasion. "I know all the dangers of this expedition," said Praslin to him. "I sacrificed my reputation to the state, but if I had lost it, I would have lost my life at the same time." NECROLOGICAL REMINISCENCES OF THE YEAR 1847. MELANCHOLY, indeed, is it to take a review of the year "that's awa," and recall the numerous names of rank, genius, and celebrity, that death has snatched from us. The peerage adds to the mournful list two Dukes, Northumberland and Argyle; three Earls, Besborough, Harrowby, and Lanesborough; two Viscounts, Ashbrook and Kenmure; and seven Barons, Kingsale, Lurgan, Saye and Sele, Cowley, Dunsandle, Reay, and Rokeby. No less than thirty-two Baronets are to be placed on the list. Sir T. Crawley Boevey. Sir E. Hyde East. Sir Henry Caraen. Sir W. T. Pole. Sir Walter Scott. Sir Edward Vavasour. Sir Charles Price. Sir George Philips. Sir Thomas Pigott. Sir J. S. Menteath. Sir J. L. Rogers. Sir Fitzroy Maclean. Sir John Halkett. Many eminent members of the untitled aristocracy have also fallen off: Mr. Townely, of Towneley; Mr. Fountayne Wilson, of Melton; Mr, Cartwright, of Aynho; Mr. Byng, of Wotham Park; Col. Gore Langton, of Newton; Mr. Colston, of Roundway Park; Col. Fulford, of Fulford; Mr. Walter, of Bearwood; Mr. Smith, of Methven Castle; Major Mahony, of Strokestown; Col, Lewis, of St. Pierre, &c. &c. Among men, illustrious by their own personal distinction, great has been the mortality: In 1847, died Daniel O'Connell, Dr. Chalmers, Marshals Oudinot and Grouchy, Louis Bonaparte, ex-King of Holland, Palafox, Duke of Saragossa, Mendelssohn, Dr. Harcourt Archbishop of York, Chief Justice Pennefather, Judge Burton, Dr. Frognall Dibdin, Robert Liston the surgeon, Admiral Sir Robert Stopford, Sir J. C. Dalbrac, Captain Glascock, the Hon. Dean Herbert, the Rev. J. T. Hewlett, the Right Hon. Joseph Planta, Prince Polignac, the Archduke Charles of Austria, The O'Conor Don, Sir David Pollock, Admiral Sir George Martin, G.C.B., General Sir George Cockburn, Collins the painter, George Robins, Sharon Turner, &c. &c. THE night wore on apace, the fearful storm was o'er, When, lo! a Spanish monk knocked loudly at my door. 66 Oh, let me rest within, till waked by matin bell, For in that holy church my beads I'd early tell. And what your house affords prepare, good father, straight, II. THE OLD MAN. He saw the trees shoot forth their buds, He saw the sparkling fountains flow, He saw the arch of heav'n so blue, He gazed on his deep-furrowed brow— "As bounteous spring upon the earth "Oh! had it then but kept its faith, |