of the horse's head, which ever and anon snorted in at the window. The gentleman's want of nerve kept the passengers of both diligences in a roar of laughter. At last he made a bolt off his Italian master's lap, and hid his ugly face in the straw at the bottom. Then Columbine's mamma became alarmed, and lifted up her lower extremities into a position, which was exceedingly perplexing to the inmates of the interieur, particularly to the pale journalist, who tried to look all manner of ways. This little contre-temps (dictionary) was overcome by my taking the beast by the scruff of the neck, and flinging him again into his master's lap; in doing which Monsieur Singe's tail went flop into Seymour's eye, and made it water all the rest of the journey. Considerable more swearing, and the feelings of the young journalist shocked. About this time we were approaching Beauvais, and Monsieur le Directeur made his objections in strongly. urged French whispers to our Jew interpreter at the idea of the carpenters sitting down with us. Ha! ha! ha! Little did the Parisian manager know of the state of affairs in requesting the harlequin (for such I have before mentioned the Jew-Frenchman was,) to ask anything unpleasant of, or to do anything disagreeable to the persons upon whom his pantomimical existence depends. To explain this ignorance on the part of the French Director, I must tell you that when harlequin jumps through a hole, a picture, or a window, he is always caught safely in a carpet at the back of the scene by the carpenters. If these men were to be remiss in their duty, the public would see no more of harlequin for some time, for, from the velocity with which he takes his leap through the aperture-sans ses amis avec le tapis (dictionary,) he would go to immortal smash! 'So the harlequin was afraid to say anything disagreeable to the stage-carpenters; and he asked me to break the unpleasant business to them. Lord, I didn't care a brass farthing. I, pantaloon, never go through the hole. I always stick in the middle, with my face to the audience. I am not to be caught by the carpenters. So I went to them in the most delicate way I could, and told them that they must not take their meals with us again, but that I would take them to a café, where they would have what was necessary. 'Instead of being sulky about it, they told me they should be very glad to get a place to themselves, and Seymour abused the country where there was an inn without a tap, "that they did not admire restraint by any manner of means whatsomedever." So when we got to Beauvais, I found them out a café in the market-place, where they had plenty of hot coffee, eggs, boiled milk, and bread and butter, for one-third of the sum it would have cost at the hotel where the diligence stopped. Crossing the market-place, I saw a perruquier's shop, and crossing my hand on my chin, I said to myself, "James Barnes, you ought to be shaved." So I determined to go in. An old gentleman was being operated upon, and, as I was in a hurry, I was going out again, when the barber's lady took me by the arm, seated me in a chair, napkined me almost before I was aware of it, and lathered me well. "Good heavens!" thought I, "what is going to happen?" But I was obliged to sit still, and of all the queer sensations I ever felt in my queer life, I never experienced anything like that of being shaved by a female! It was not unpleasant; but it appeared to me unnatural. She touched me up with eau de cologne afterwards. When I returned to the inn to breakfast, Columbine and her mamma said, "Lauk! MrBarnes, what have you been doing to yourself? We never saw you look so handsome." And when I told them the fact, mamma would not believe me, and said, "She was sure that no woman would have been guilty of such a thing." I drily told her, but without severity, that many women had done worse things in England, such as "combing the heads of their husbands," and "snapping their noses off;" which, God knows, she had done often enough to her poor old husband. Well, down we sat to breakfast, and everything was excellent; fowls, eggs, cutlets, fruit, pigeons, tea, coffee, wine, and a little eau de veau to settle all, and then the manager settled the rest. On we went. Sometimes the road was lined with apple-trees, the blossoms of which were just going off. Seeing the trees in the open road made me think of the English boys, how they would be clambering when the fruit was ripe. But though the roads in some places are planted for miles, nobody steals the apples. In eating them, I am told, the stomach-ache exceeds the pleasure! 'Remarks on the road.-No hedges, no divided fields, no cattle grazing; women doing farm labour; horses talked to, and reasoned with, instead of being beaten. If a peasant wants to get on a little faster, he descends from his roulage, and runs on before the horse, who immediately sets off after him. No comfortable-looking houses, to which you may suppose Mr. Jenkins, Mr. Smith, or Mr. Higginbotham to have retired, after a life spent in business. No nice little gardens, with monthly-roses, bee-hives, cabbages, onion-beds, in front of the poor man's cottage; no wall-flowers near the door, nor tuft of house-leek over it; nor little patches of sweet-william, nasturtium, strawberry plants, currant and gooseberry bushes. Thinks I to myself, "You may grumble at home, my boys; but you would be sorry to change with your own class in France, that is, as far as I saw of it. Lord bless me!" thought I, "when you come to see a real French village, and compare it with a scene representing one at a London theatre, and then a STAGE RURAL BALLET crossed my imagination-scene, a beautiful wooded country in France, with a cottage on one side; lively music; Mr. Gilbert comes on as a peasant, in a blue satin jacket with white silk sleeves, tight white breeches, and silk stockings, which prove that he has not been to plough that morning, at any rate,-he taps at the cottage door, and Miss Ballin looks out at the window, and, although it is just sunrise, she is up and dressed, with flowers in her hair, with a close-fitting velvet bodice, and gauze petticoat made very full, and quite enough bustle to keep up the interest of the ballet. He lifts up his leg as high as he possibly can, and asks her to be so obliging as to come down and dance with him. She says she has no particular objection, and leaves the window to descend the stairs, or ladder, which leads to her cock-loft. The swain now gathers a nosegay, all ready tied up; twirls round several times, to see that he is all right; hears the door of the cottage opening, trips across to give his bouquet to his love, when it is snatched by Miss Ballin's mother (Madame Simon, or old Barnes), who reprehends the conduct of Mr. Gilbert for coming a-courting at that time of day, tells him to go and work for his bread, and not be idling about there. The rustic swain asks the old lady to feel how terribly his heart beats; the mother informs Mr. Gilbert that his head is more likely to feel the beating. Says he, "at my heart I've a beating;" Says I, " then take one at your back." "-KENNY. She drives him off, and then goes to market, -this market being, in all probability, further than that of Covent Garden, and, the cat away, the young folks intend (like the mice) to have some play. So Mr. Gilbert re-appears, and clapping his hands, eight of his young companions, Messieurs Heath, Sutton, Conway, Burdett, Jones, Northover, Hartland, and Simpson appear. All these are in such an independent state in happy France, that they are enabled to quit their village toil; and the most singular circumstance is, that all eight are accidentally attired exactly alike, with pink vests, straw hats, and light blue smalls, with a black stripe down the seam. (Of these youths the first named is about sixty years of age, and the latter approaching seventy-three, which renders it the more kind of them to come out and fatigue themselves at that time in the morning.) But there appears an excellent reason for this complaisance, because eight young female villagers also dressed alike, (excepting one unfortunate, who has mislaid her white silk shoes, and is obliged to venture out in black prunella, thereby disarranging the uniformity which is so pleasing in well-regulated hamlets,) come now to the rendezvous. Each youthful swain in a moment selects his partner, and sweet is the love that meets return! Then all the sixteen point simultaneously to the cottage, and then touch their hearts and wedding-ring fingers, and then point to Mr. Gilbert, who shrugs his shoulders, extends his arms widely, and nods. At this period Miss Ballin runs from the cottage-door; Mr. Gilbert is approaching her, when she pretends to be bashful before so many witnesses; so, to hide her blushes, she fetches a spinning-wheel from the cottage, which will not, and never would revolve. Mr. Gilbert, not liking this move, gently leads the spinster forward, and asks her to take a little dance with him. A pas de deux then is performed, the main point of which is to show that a villager may have very elegantly shaped legs. When this is over, the sixteen make a bungling sort of shuffling, forming a good contrast with the principals. Just at this very nick of time three more young ladies arrive, rather over-dressed for the inhabitants of a French village (the coryphées), Misses Froud, Lane, and Hall. They do not take the slightest notice of their assembled friends, but immediately begin to dance with their backs turned to. wards them, which is certainly anything but genteel behaviour. But what can you expect from rustics? At the conclusion of this, the old lady returns from market, and is naturally surprised and angry to find the young people kicking their heels about, instead of being at labour. After some threatening, and much entreaty, she forgives the enamoured pair; and Mr. Boulanger arrives most opportunely, as the baillie of the village, joins the hands of the youthful couple, who then dance a matrimonial pas de deux, without a single faux pas, and this sets the whole party off in a pas-generale." 'Now this is not holding the mirror up to nature; for nothing was ever seen in a French village that has a resemblance to this description. But I am rambling. Never mind-I am out on a ramble. 'Arrived in due time at the barriers of Paris. Diligence stopped, and examined by several gensdarmes. Thought of old England, and as to how I should feel if some of the dragoon guards were to poke their heads into a stage-coach at Mile-end turnpike. Comparison in favour of my own country. Frenchmen such tigers, they must have a military government. 'Drove to La Fitte and Company's bureau des diligences, surrounded by a host of chattering commissioners. The gensdarmes examining coats, luggage, parcels of all the passengers- very troublesome. The sandy-haired journalist whispered to me, " that the scene reminded him forcibly of the notable event recorded in Genesis, of the confusion, and consequent dispersion, which took place amongst the confederated builders of the Tower of Babel, in the plain of Shinar." 'What the deuce did they think I had about me?' THE MEETING OF THE DEAD. It is said that, after twenty years, when Heloïse was buried in the same grave as Abelard, he opened his arms to receive her corpse. Twenty years!-a hermit lone, Twenty years!-there came a voice If 'twould be immortal made, Twenty years! I've waited well! Thou liv'dst on-I knew the same That the same bright fount supplied Leaving thee to think alone,- Twenty years have lingered on, Thou could'st live!-then not despair; All we seek and toil to gain, That our wisdom is in vain; LOUISA STUART COSTELLO. Note. The man who, by his great qualities and his faults, by the boldness of his opinions, the brilliancy of his life, his innate passion for polemics, and the rarest talent of imparting instruction, contributed in the highest degree to cherish and disseminate a taste for study, and urge that intellectual movement from whence, in the thirteenth century, arose the university of Paris-that man was Pierre Abelard. • Wherever he appeared, an admiring crowd followed his footsteps: a desert, into which he withdrew, became the theatre of an immense auditory. He amazed the schools, he shook the church and the state; and, to add to the singular fame which he acquired, he was beautiful in person, a poet, and a musician. He was loved to adoration by one of the noblest and most exalted of her sex, who loved like St. Theresa, wrote like Seneca, and whose fascinations of mind were found irresistible even by St. Bernard himself, the adversary of Abelard.' Ouvrages Inédits d'Abelard, par M. Victor Cousin. |