about them.' Goubaux returned the next day; he had read the two chapters, and he recommended his dejected friend to continue the work. "Write from your heart," he said; "the autopsy of one's own heart is the most curious of all. But, above all, leave Paris-isolate yourself from all interruption." Eugene Sue took his friend's advice-he went once more to Chatenay, and in three months "Arthur" was written. Out of the 20,000 fr. he got for it, he paid 6000 fr. or 7000 fr. of debts. One day Goubaux said to him, "There is one thing in the midst of which you live, and do not see, and you do not sympathise with, and that is the people. You have lived long enough with the upper classes, go down now among the people, and try your success. This advice gave birth to "Mathilde," and to the "Mystères de Paris," the latter of which was destined to exercise so great and so unexpected an influence on the which you fate of its author. Alexandre Dumas would have us believe that a lady of distinction and intelligence had also something to do in the matter of "Mathilde and the "Mystères de Paris." It is not for us to determine. More certain it is, that putting on an old turned-off blouse which had belonged to a painter and glazier, with strong shoes, and a cap on his head, and his hands carefully dirtied, he went all alone to dine in a house in the Rue aux Fèves. Chance seconded his objects. He was witness there of a ferocious quarrel, and the actors in the scene supplied him with the types of Fleur-de-Marie and of the Chourineur-"l'homme qui voit rouge," as Dumas says of him-a creation which may be placed side by side with the finest that have emanated from genius. Eugene Sue returned home and wrote three chapters, and then sent for his friend Goubaux. The third was condemned, it was not in keeping. He next went to his publisher, and agreed to terms for a romance in two volumes. The publisher sold the first copy to the Journal des Débats. Such was its success, that it was agreed that there should be four volumes instead of two, then six, then eight, and finally ten! Hence the weakening, the want of continuity, and even of keeping in the story. Fleur-de-Marie, a fallen woman in the first chapter, becomes a virgin and a martyr in the course of this long and devious story, and, finally, dies a canoness! As to Eugene Sue, he laughed at it; he thought he had made an admirable social paradox. But here is a great proof of the goodness that lay at the bottom of Eugene Sue's char acter. Such was the success of the "Mystères de Paris," which depicted the sufferings of the lower classes in the most picturesque and striking language, and was supposed to advocate the amelioration of their condition, that scarcely a day passed without his receiving sums of money varying from one to three hundred francs, for the poor. He added three hundred francs a month to this out of his own purse, and continued to distribute it till his death. From that time, indeed, to his end, he never ceased to love the people, who had been the instruments of his greatest triumph. In the midst of the surprise which he himself felt at his own success in a new and untried sphere, he was not a little amused by a series of articles which appeared in the phalansterian paper the Démocratie Pacifique, and which represented him to be a great socialist philosopher. The "Mystères de Paris," although so successful as to raise its author to the first rank as a romancer, did not do much for him in a pecuniary point of view; the publisher But Dr. benefitted mainly by the success. Véron, who had just purchased the expiring Constitutionnel, resolved to revive that paper by means of the new popular author, and he entered into an agreement with him for fifteen years, during which time he was to have 100,000 fr. a year, and in return he was to produce yearly ten volumes! Following out the new vein so successfully opened in the "Mystères de Paris," Eugene Sue produced, under this new arrangement, the "Juif Errant," "Martin," and "Les Sept Péchés Capitaux." Thanks to the agreement entered into with his old colleague, Dr. Véron, he was enabled to pay his debts, and even to | Dumas says he does not know exactly how) enjoy some of the luxuries of olden times: he had his house in the Rue de la Pepinière at Paris, and Château des Bordes. This château, for the possession of which he has been frequently reproached, was neither more nor less than an old barn at the extremity of the park belonging to the real Château des Bordes, and which appertained to his brother-in-law, M. Caillard. His relative's residence not being quiet enough for literary work, he had the barn divided into compartments, he added a conservatory, and lo! there was the celebrated Château des Bordes. A few vases, a little plate, and a few flowers converted the granary, with the wand of an enchanter, into a little fairy palace. “Là, son cœur, usé brisé, desséché par les amours parisiennes, retrouva une certaine fraîcheur; là, l'homme qui, depuis dix ans, n'aimait plus, aima de nouveau ! " Alas, for human frailty, the dried used-up Eugene Sue was not satisfied with rural tranquillity and literary labor. As he had descended in his romances to the people, so he also made a descent in his amours. He had now his Fleur-de-Marie. But this young person died soon from an accident, having struck her head against a shutter, and the romancer was in despair. Ten years before he would have drowned his grief in dissipation, now he wept; he was so far an altered man. He was, indeed, beloved by all who lived at or near the Bordes. Every day he used to put two horses to a wagon well stowed with straw litter, and with this he used to go and fetch the little children of the neighborhood, and take them to school, and then fetch them back again. What a strange admixture of practical benevolence and goodness of heart with immorality, the result of bad habits and evil example! The revolution of 1848 overtook Eugene Sue in his rural retirement. He continued his literary work amidst the shouts of insurrection and the firing of guns till 1850, when he was named representative of the people by the electors of the Seine, without any appeal or interference on his part. But if the revolution brought unsought-for honors and responsibilities, it did not aid the cause of literature. Eugene Sue's subvention was diminished to 7000 fr. instead of 10,000 fr., and the number of volumes to seven. Again, out of these 7000 fr. there was (Alexandre 3000 fr. to pay the publisher. So that, in reality, the new member of parliament had only some £200 a year in English money. And that when the same authority tells us that literary work was a very difficult thing with Eugene Sue. The Constitutionnel, however, only got four volumes of "Les Sept Péchés Capitaux " under the new agreement. In the mean time, the 2nd of December came. Eugene Sue's name was not in the list of the proscribed, but Count d'Orsay, Alexander Dumas tells us, our common friend, advised him to expatriate himself voluntarily.” Eugene Sue followed the advice tendered, and withdrew to Annecey, in Savoy, where he had a friend named Massey. At first he lived with this friend, but a little châlet being to let on the borders of the lake, he rented it for four hundred francs a year. When Eugene Sue left Paris, he also left behind him some 100,000 fr. of debt. At Annecy he made a new arrangement with Massey. The latter agreed to pay his debts and allow him 10,000 fr. (£400) a year till he was repaid; when that was done, a surplus of 10,000 fr. should be placed to his credit in the bank of Annecey. So hard did he work, that, in three years' time Massey was repaid and money began to be paid in to his account. He used to get up at seven, breakfast at ten, and at two he ended his work. He would then take a long walk, generally round the lake-a distance of from ten to twelve miles; on his return he dined largely, and spent the evening with a few friends. He was always a great walker, having a tendency to obesity, which he was anxious to keep down. The result of these seven hours' daily work were, "L'Institutrice," "La Famille Jouffroy" (one of the best romances of his exile), "Les Mystères du Peuple," "Gilberte," "La Bonne Aventure," and lastly, "Les Secrets de l'Oreiller," which he left unfinished. He had during his exile a lawsuit with the Constitutionnel, by which he obtained a verdict, to the effect that that journal should pay 40,000 fr. to disembarrass itself of all future connection with Eugene Sue! These 40,000 fr. went to pay the publisher, who insisted on his 3000 fr. for each volume he did not publish. Thus liberated from the clutches of the proposed his favorite walk up the mountain Constitutionnel and its publisher, an agree ment was entered into with the Presse and the Siècle. He was to write three volumes for each every year. They on their side were to pay eight sous (or 4d.) per line. Eugene Sue's châlet stood at the foot of a mountain, and when he did not walk round the lake, he would ascend the mountain, and, seating himself on a jutting crag (he had that from his nurse the goat), he would look long and thoughtfully in the same direction. Why he looked so pertinaciously in that one direction, the proscribed of all times and of all parties can tell. Thus he lived five years happy enough, till a woman came to trouble him in that humble châlet, and to cause a quarrel between him and his friend Massey. Luckily, the cause of unhappiness was got rid of, but Eugene Sue remained worn out-épuisé de corps, épuisé de cœur! One morning an old friend, Colonel Charras, arrived at the châlet. This was the occasion of a rare festival. But four or five days after that Eugene Sue was seized with violent neuralgic pains in the right templepains which he had experienced occasionally for now some years at intervals. On Monday, the 27th of July, his malady assumed the form of an intermittent fever. Wednesday he was so much better that he tried to work at his "Secrets de l'Oreiller," but ideas failed him. Friday he had so much improved that he to Colonel Charras. But they had not got above a third of the way up when his strength failed him, and he was obliged to return to his châlet, supported by his friend's arm. The neuralgic pains returned with great severity at night, and a despatch was sent to Geneva for additional medical assistance. Eugene Sue had been slightly delirious. He complained also of great pain in the right side. At ten o'clock the next evening Dr. Maunoir arrived, had a consultation with M. Lachanal, Eugene Sue's regular medical attendant, and then approached the patient's bed, a lamp being held over his face. "But this is not what you announced to me!" exclaimed the doctor. Alas! Eugene Sue had been struck with palsy: his left side was paralysed, his face cadaverous, his eyes glassy, his mouth awry. Dr. Maunoir shook his head, and said that nothing could be done. From that time, that is to say, Saturday, at ten P.M., till Monday morning at five minutes before seven, when he breathed his last, Eugene Sue never regained his senses. BEAUTIFUL INSCRIPTION.-A little girl, about five years old, died some time since in Cortlandville, New York, of malignant scarlet fever. After the disease had taken complete possession of her, so that it was difficult to determine whether she recognised those who were about her, her mother asked her if she knew who was taking care of her? The dying child looked up with a smile, the expressiveness of which cannot be described, and said, "God takes care of me." This expression was transferred to the slab that marks the resting-place of her perishable body; and no words could more simply express the sublime idea of immortality. A FAIR BARBARIAN.-The recent triumphs of modern mechanical art, of mind over matter, have thrown ancient ingenuity, even of the highest order, sadly into the shade; let us take one instance. "In Egypt I saw Cleopatra's Needle," a young lady returning from her school in England to her home in India, wrote lately to her friends, "but I thought very little of it, I assure you, after having seen the sewing machine in London."-The Life of Percy B. Shelley. No. 744.-28 August 1858.-Enlarged Series, No. 22. POETRY.-The Atlantic Telegraph, 642. Cuckoo, 642. The Lady's Dream, 704. The Path thro' the Corn, 704. SHORT ARTICLES.-Cromwell, Napoleon and the Waldenses, 664. Bells, 664. Old Men's Friendship, 667. A New Cyropædia 695. Young America, 695. Beroe Medusa, 700. The Way to make Poetry, 703. Jew Genius for Music, 703. Niagara Falls in Hellenic Ballad, 716. India Shawls, 716. A Stranger's Impression of the House of Commons, 719. PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY Littell, Son & Co., Boston; and STANFORD & DELISSER, 508 Broadway, New-York. For Six Dollars a year, free of postage. Complete sets of the First Series, in thirty-six volumes, and of the Second Series, in twenty volumes, handsomely bound, packed in neat boxes, and delivered in all the principal cities, free of expense of freight, are for sale at two dollars a volume. remitted directly to either of the Publishers, the Living Age will be punctually forwarded ANY VOLUME may be had separately, at two dollars, bound, or a dollar and a half in numbers. ANY NUMBER may be had for 12 cents; and it is well worth while for subscribers or purchasers to complete any broken volumes they may have, and thus greatly enhance their value. THE ATLANTIC TELEGRAPH. Lines written on the receipt of Cyrus W. Field's Dispatch, announcing the Success of the Atlantic Telegraph. BY D. BETHUNE DUFFIELD. LIFT up your heads, ye everlasting hills! And tuneful chorus of the river tides, The world's glad anthem on this happy day; Greets with a shout old Edinboro' town, That henceforth we, as rulers wise may hear CUCKOO. THE moon is but a crescent white, You may take a crimson cloud, To this o'er the meadow-land: Glory, might, and mystery,, Beauty, wonder, and unrest, In a rolling note exprest:. Gleby fields it overfloats, Like a tidal wave upbent, In the valley falling spent: It will touch the soul to tears, Things of beauty and delight You have dreamed of, overjoyed, It will touch from summer woods From the rapture floating on: Balmy airs of autumn nights, In its airy net are knit; -Chambers's Journal. T. A. THE stream ripples bright by my cottage; And dabbles her.little white feet. The linnet looks down from the tree; Wee Sandy sits smiling at me. -Lays of the Lost One. |