BASQUE BLOOD.

These last words he uttered with a certain mysterious air, which roused my curiosity.

said, "Keep your eyes about you, and notice the people of the house we shall enter."

THE HE sun was far too hot to permit me to continue my journey toward the Eaux Bonnes Our road lying the same way, we agreed to (one of the most celebrated of the Pyrenean baths), proceed in company, and trudged along, laughing for at least another hour; so, not being pressed and chatting merrily, and exchanging adichats for time, I decided on a halt. On casting my (good days) with the passing peasantry. After eyes about to find a shady and convenient spot we had walked some distance, my companion for my purpose, I discovered, about a hundred proposed our having some milk, and, on my asyards up one of the slopes, the very place I de-senting, he again assumed his mysterious air, and sired. This perch was soon gained, and from it I commanded a full view of the road and passers by. It was one of those patches of bright emerald-colored grass, which abound among the wild rocks of the Pyrenees. Two or three trees afforded a comfortable shelter; and a clear rill ran through it. "Just the place for a snack," thought I. So, unslinging my knapsack for comfort's sake, and my little pouch for eating's sake, I soon saw my dinner before me. This was quickly dispatched; and a cigarette or two, by way of dessert, left nothing to be desired.

I had not long enjoyed this dolce far niente, when, from my elevated position, I saw a little fat jolly looking man coming up the road. The sun was too much for him; he was fanning himself with what at first appeared a piece of flexible slate; but which subsequently turned out to be a wide-awake hat. Seeing that he was seeking some comfortable nook, in which he might rest, I hailed him. He soon spied me out; and in about half the time it had taken me to ascend the slope, was standing puffing and laughing at my side. He was about fifty or sixty years of age, under the middle height, with a complexion clear and fresh. For surer footing he wore the spartille, or hempen-soled shoe. A good-natured, merry look shone all over his countenance; he was covered with dust, of which his mouth and clothes seemed equally full.

I thought I could do no better than offer such a man a few drops of brandy mixed with water in my leather drinking-cup. He drained off this mixture with the best will in the world, returned the cup, wiped his forehead, and sat down beside

me.

Not until he had finished these operations, and the remainder of my dinner, did he once stop to talk. He then made up for lost time. I have seldom met with so talkative an acquaintance. He told me he was a doctor, and forthwith launched out into an invective against smoking; after which, he smoked five cigarettes, incessantly talking all the time.

I asked him about the traditions of the neighbhood. There were none, he said; or if there were, he was unacquainted with them. He then, at my request, gave me an account of the Basques. They are, he informed me, brave, with a high sense of honor: hospitable and courteous, especially to strangers, but, like their Spanish brethren, extremely passionate, tenacious of their dignity, and vindictive, particularly when women are concerned. He told me he liked the English for their generosity and intelligence; and added, that he thought them not so phlegmatic as generally imagined, but often extremely thoughtless and precipitate when carried away by their passions.

We had arrived at a part of the mountains where the gorge opened out into a green valley about half a mile wide, watered by a brawling Gave (as the mountain torrents are called), wellcultivated, and dotted with cottages. At one of these my friend knocked; the door was opened by a young woman of about twenty-two or twenty-three years of age. She was excessively handsome, and would have been still more so, but for her perfectly bloodless complexion; her figure was well-made and tall, and she seemed superior to the peasant women I had before seen. saluted my friend with great cordiality, who forthwith presented me to her as a petitioner for some milk. She seemed averse to conversation, so that I had plenty of time to make my silent remarks.

She

There were two other women in the room: one evidently her mother: the other might, from the likeness, have been a younger sister. The three women were all dressed in mourning. The house was, like the generality of the more decent houses in these mountains, two stories high. In the room where we were seated, was a large hearth, on which some small wood was burning; and before which a child of two or three years old was playing. The young woman refused to take any thing for the milk she had given us, and returned, with a slight tinge of pride as I thought, the few sous I put into her child's hand-I call the child hers, because it evidently was so.

"And

We thanked her and left the house. pray tell me the story that I see belongs to these people," said I to the doctor. "Very well," said the doctor to me; and thus began:

The overthrow of Louis Philippe's government in forty-eight, gave rise, as you must be aware, to many plots, real or imaginary, against the dignity and safety of the infant republic. In one of these, Jacques Lacoste (the father of the young woman you have just seen) was mixed up. He was apprehended, tried, and transported to Cayenne for six years.

The execution of this sentence reduced his family, which had been one of the most prosperous of the small proprietors of the valley, almost to indigence, and awakened them from their former life of ease and well-rewarded industry to one of unremitting labor. The family consisted of the mother, son, and two daughters: the eldest of whom, Julie, was about eighteen when this crucl event befell them. From a child, Julie had attracted attention, not only on account of her great beauty, but for a natural quickness of intellect, and the kindness and sensibility of her disposi

tion. Her abilities had not escaped the notice of | was his eyes which gave expression to his counthe village priest, who took some slight pains in tenance; their frank and fearless glance, tempercultivating them. From him she learned to speak ed with great good nature, enlisted all whom he French (the Basque or Bearnais, as you well addressed in his favor. He had originally been know, being the jargon of this district), to write, intended for a collegian, but in consequence of a and to read, of which latter acquirement she made serious reverse, his father's fortune became ingood use. Humble as such advantages were, they sufficient to bear this expense. He had accomraised her far above her companions; of whom panied his parents to Pau to economize, and to she soon became the admiration and oracle. The perfect himself in speaking French, prior to enexercise of the intellectual powers has always antering a merchant's office. effect on the countenance; on Julie's naturally kind face, kindness and sensibility became more strongly stamped: while the merriness of her eye was tamed by a look of thoughtfulness, destroyed, at times, by a demure coquettish glance which would be fixed on you from under her eyelids. Kind and useful in her sphere, of the world she knew nothing; she had never wandered beyond the valley, or the gorge in which the valley terminates. If she had heard of places larger than her own village, it was from some traveled son of the mountains, who had been to Bayonne, or even as far as Toulouse, and who astonished her by his account of the extent and luxury of the cities.

Julie soon began to perceive that, although she might assist her family by remaining at home, she could assist them much more by seeking employment in one of these great towns of which she had heard. It was no selfish feeling which prompted her to this course; too good to be selfish, her every thought was for those she would leave behind her.

Although she had made known her wish on this point to those most able to assist her in it, an accident solved all difficulties, and brought about her desire.

Of course, a mountain-girl so beautiful as Julie attracted no slight notice from the various young men who frequented Madame Laville's; but to all little flatteries she turned a deaf ear. She was not influenced, as most young and unsophisticated girls in like circumstances would have been, by the love of dress and finery. What she could spare from her wages was religiously laid aside for those at home. This seemed to be the sole object of her existence, and engrossed her every though It would have been well for her if this good motive had continued to occupy her mind. By the death of an unmarried uncle, however, her family became the heirs of his little property, and suddenly recovered their former position.

With this change of fortune, Julie's great object was annihilated; thoughts, which were before strangers to her heart, crowded upon her. The little store she had destined for home, was mostly expended in charity; but some little also in ornaments. She became less reserved, and more lively. The countenance, which had been so unmoved at any casual or impertinent compliment, now sometimes deigned a smile, which was, however, often followed by a contemptuous curl of the lip whether in derision of herself or of the compliment was doubtful.

with him. She had many opportunities of seeing that he was the admiration of those with whom he associated, and often noticed the blush of

A lady, traveling with a mountain party, had the misfortune to fall from her horse, by the turn- Charles Downham was one of the few who ing of the saddle. She sustained no injury be- had obtruded no attention on this girl, beyond yond a slight cut on the lips, and a severe shock the passing glance which a pretty woman claims. of the nerves. Her companions led her into the Julie respected his forbearance at first, and endfirst cottage which presented itself, which hap-ed at last by falling deeply and desperately in love pened to be that of Julie's mother. The assiduous and kind attentions of Julie won the sufferer's favor, and she proposed to the delighted girl to become her maid. The offer was joyously ac-pleasure which the sight of him would raise in cepted; and Julie was instructed to present herself at the lady's house at Pau in a week's time. The lady into whose family Julie was about to enter, was fond of company, and her house was frequented by her own countrymen, as well as by the numerous English residents, who for health or pleasure invaded the town every winter. She had been long married, but had no family. Lively and witty herself, she chose her company for their being so too; and as long as they contributed to her amusement and the adornment of her rooms, she was not otherwise very particular regarding their characters.

some fair cheek. Hers were not the only eyes which followed him as if there were a fascination in his presence. For a long time he was ignorant of her feelings toward him; until one evening the truth flashed upon him, as he raised his head from some pictures at which he had been looking, and accidentally caught her eyes fixed upon him. She, of whom he had seldom thought before, now seemed to be clothed with double beauty. In a word, before the evening was over, he was as desperately in love as Julie herself.

His books grew distasteful, and his mind seemed perfectly incapable of entertaining any other image. At length he gave up the contest. He sought and found several opportunities of speak

Among the many visitors of Madame Laville, Julie's mistress, was Charles Downham, a young Englishman of good education and polished manners; twenty-two years of age, not very hand-ing with her; nor was it long before he obtained some; of the middle height, well made. His from her the confession of her love for him. voice was remarkably soft and winning, but it The Basque, like the Spanish women, know

no bounds in their attachments; their love, like | Shortly after this, she returned with her mo

their hate, is always in the extreme. Julie's ther, and again beheld her native valley. What heart and soul, from this hour, were given to her a change in herself since she had last seen its lover; she braved the wrath and scorn of her unaltered face! She had left it in her beauty family for him; dishonor for her seemed to have and innocence, with a noble object; she returned no terrors weighed against a moment's discon- to it guilty, miserable, broken-hearted-no longtent or sorrow for him. She could not restrainer a support to those she loved, but a dishonor her joy at the sight of him, nor conceal her im- and a burden. prudent attachment from other eyes. It was not long before she was ordered, with every mark of contempt and scorn, to quit the house.

Such thoughts as these brought on a serious illness, and she gave birth to a boy, almost as beautiful as herself. Her whole existence was now centred in the child. She would watch it for hours and hours without stirring. She shunned the society of her former companions, and seldom, if ever, showed herself out of doors. No one knew her history since her departure from the village but the priest, her family, and myself, the doctor. Unlike what most women would

Her lover, in no position to assist her, now felt the selfishness and thoughtlessness of his conduct. To see her suffer was more than he could bear. To counsel her to return home to her family, and trust to her mother's affection, was his first impulse; but Julie dreaded as much to quit him, as to face their upbraidings. At this crisis he received a letter, offering him an advantage- | have done, I think, under similar circumstances, ous appointment in London.

she would talk both to the priest and myself of her lover; often expressing surprise that she had not heard from him, but always firmly holding to the belief that he still loved her, and that he would not be happy as long as they were separated.

Time passed on in this way for a year and a half, without any news of him; still she clung to her immovable conviction that she would see him again.

The weather had been sultry, without rain; and every one was looking forward to some passing thunder-storm to mitigate the overpowering At last, one of the most terrible storms that had passed over the valley for some time burst forth. The rain came down in torrents; the narrow mountain paths were washed away;

ordinary volume, and much cattle and several granges were swept away. The thunder leapt down the rocks, waking the echoes with a frightful noise, and to this was added a terrific gale, which long left traces of its fury.

Here was a release from all their difficulties. He explained to her that he had now an opportunity of extrication; but that he would be obliged to quit her. She implored him to permit her to accompany him to England; she would follow him in any capacity; she would be no expense to him, if she might only be always near to watch and comfort him. He was overcome by her passionate appeal; he really loved her deeply; he assured her that his grief was equal to her own in having to leave her; he explained that it would be ruin to his prospects in England if it were known that she had accompanied him; he point-heat. ed out that her present love ought to yield to their future fortune; he assured her that her unborn child and herself, as long as he lived, should share his means and affections; and, finally, see-the gaves were swollen to nearly twice their ing her still unconvinced and overwhelmed with grief, promised to return on the first opportunity. But what was she to do in the mean time? The lovers were relieved from this difficulty, too, by her mother coming to see her at Pau. Ignorant of the disgrace that had befallen her, she went to Madame Laville's; hoping to see her as beautiful and as innocent as when she had quitted her home twelve months before. Here she learned the tidings of her dishonor; she flew to the house where Julie was staying, and found them all too true. The sudden presence of her mother before the guilty girl, was too much for her weak condition; she fainted; and then a revulsion of feeling took place in the mother's heart. She raised the girl from the ground, called her every endearing name, assured her of her forgiveness and love, and besought her to return home immediately. Julie at first refused, in her dread of seeing home again; but when Charles Downham joined his persuasions to those of her mother, and convinced her how impossible it was for her to accompany him to England, she acquiesced. He insisted on her receiving a part of the money which had been forwarded to him for his journey; as she refused, he placed it in her name at a banker's, and told her that it was destined for his and her child, and she had now no right to decline it.

In the midst of this hurricane, a traveler arrived in the village in which Julie's mother dwelt. Their cottage, as you have seen, is the first, as you enter the village. The traveler, without hesitation, walked in drenched to the skin; but, before a good fire, soon dried his clothes and regained his cheerfulness. Julie and her mother happened to have gone to see a sick neighbor that day, and were not in the house when he entered. Before the fire the child was tumbling and playing about; it soon left its own sports to make friends with him. It was quickly seated on his knee, and began caressing him. It bore a strong resemblance to him; and he seemed no less struck by it himself, than Julie's brother and sister were. The storm gave place to one of those drizzling showers of these mountains, which seem endless. Julie's brother proposed to the traveler to stay the night, offering to show him a short cut over the mountains to the Baths, in the morning. The proposition was gladly accepted, and he amused himself by playing with the child, who seemed to have taken a strange liking to him.

Toward evening Julie returned without her | courage. With a blow of his stick, he struck mother; who had stopped to tend her suffering the knife, which went flying over the precipices friend during the night. Her first look was for bordering the road, out of his assailant's hand. her child, who was still on the stranger's knee. With a loud shout, the Basque rushed to close She stepped forward to take it from him, when, quarters; but was met by a heavy blow of the by the blaze of the fire, she at once recognized fist between his eyes, which sent him staggering its father. A slight scream, which she instantly against the rocks; it was only for a moment; repressed, startled him; he turned and exclaimed, regardless of a second blow, he succeeded in "Julie!" He did not restrain himself from clasp-closing with his adversary, and, by the suddening her in his arms; but there was a warning in her face, and he made no other sign.

Her brother had heard the scream, and seen the emotion which she ineffectually endeavored to suppress. He had heard her name in the strangers's mouth; and now the extraordinary likeness between the stranger and the child was explained to him.

ness of his attack, brought him to the ground. In natural strength they were equally matched; but the blow between the eyes had given your countryman somewhat the advantage; and, as they struggled, Julie's brother felt himself the weaker. They rolled to the side of the road, overhanging the gave. With a firm clutch of his antagonist, the Basque, by a strong kick, brought them both to the brink. In vain Charles tried to free himself from the grasp which held him. They crashed together down the rocks, breaking through the slight trees which grew from the clefts, and fell heavily into the gave which flowed beneath. They fell a height of nearly one hun

choked up with rocks and stones, was half a foot deep.

To Julie he had always been the kindest of brothers; when she fell, she had heard no reproaches from him; to her child he had uniformly | been affectionate and good. He pretended not to have noticed the meeting between his sister and the stranger. But Julie, who knew her brother to be quick-sighted, watched him steadily, with-dred and fifty feet, in a place where the stream, out letting him perceive it, during the evening. She saw the sparkle of some gratified wish in his eye, the flush on his cheek, his close-set teeth, and his clenched hands; and she knew that his Basque blood was up-that he had penetrated her secret, and was determined on revenge. After they had all retired for the night, she stole up to Charles's room, and implored him to dress immediately, and pursue his route to Pau, or any place but that where he had told her brother he was going. He at once arose, and was let out by Julie without noise; after having embraced and entreated her to follow him with her child to Pau. To this she assented. She pointed out the road, and then gave herself up to violent grief.

The hope of speedy vengeance had rendered her brother sleepless; he heard her rouse the stranger; he at once got up, and watched, and, shortly after, saw the man who had ruined his sister leave the house. He sprang into a tree which grew close to his window, and let himself down. The rain had ceased and was succeeded by a fine bright night. The rays of the moon penetrated into the gorge, in spite of the height of the mountains.

Charles walked on quickly, and it was some time before his pursuer came up to him. The Basque hailed him in French, and Charles, who did not recognize him in the distance, stopped.

"You have forgotten something," said Julie's brother, as Charles now perceived him to be; "you have forgotten something, in your flight,

sir."

"You mistake, my friend," said Charles, "I have forgotten nothing."

"Yes, you have forgotten the poor girl whom you seduced; you have forgotten that her honor

Julie's brother was killed on the spot; Charles, strange to say, still lived. His fall had been somewhat broken by his enemy falling undermost. They were discovered by a fisherman, who was out early to supply the hotels at the baths with trout. He hurried off for assistance, and they were conveyed to the cottage of Julie's mother. I was immediately sent for, and saw that there was not the least hope for the mangled survivor. He told me before he died, that he had unhappily lost the address Julie had given him; but that, in hopes she might have gone to inquire at the post-office in Pau, he had addressed letter after letter to her at the Poste Restante, where, he doubted not, they still remained. It was in her arms, with his head on her bosom, and his child holding one of his hands, that he died.

I never shall forget that girl's curses against her brother. I never shall forget how she refused to be separated from his body, how she clung to it, how she raved and swooned, or the terrible brain-fever that supervened; from the time of her recovery to this hour, her face has retained the bloodless hue you must have noticed. She and her boy are provided for by Charles's parents, to whom I wrote, by his desire. He is buried in the Protestant burying-ground at Pau; and four times a year a fresh crown of bright immortelles is found on the railings which surround his grave.

I thanked my companion for his story; and we parted.

THE REPRIEVE; OR, THE WILD JUS

TICE OF REVENGE.

N the year 18-, the body of a beautiful boy,

is my honor, and her vengeance my vengeance, of about eight or nine years old, was found

said the infuriated young man, drawing his knife. Without saying another word, he made a violent drowned in a quarry hole in the county of, thrust at the object of his hatred. The English-in which I was then stationed. Some marks, man, whatever his defects might be, did not want which might have been of violence, or received

O'Connor was the very reverse of all this; he was a cheerful, gay, industrious, well-principled young man, the pride of his father's cottage, and the delight of all who knew him. He was an only son, and well to do in the world; and although not so tall or so handsome as Delany, it was no great wonder that upon a fair comparison of their respective merits, backed as he was by the good word of every body, he should have carried the heart of Mary M⭑Kenzie-who was a good, sensible girl-in opposition to his handsomer, but less worthy rival.

Delany had early perceived that his game was lost if left to honorable competition between him and O'Connor; and pretending not to have taken his failure to heart in any way, or indeed to have entertained any further aspirations or intentions toward the object of their common addresses, did all in his power to conciliate O'Connor, and, if possible, to create at least a fair understanding between them, in hopes of being able to induce him to join him and his companions in their amusements, representing them as innocent and manly, fitted for young men of their class and time of life, but with the deep and secret hope of leading him, step by step, into disgrace, or perhaps into committing some transportable crime, so as to get the stage clear for himself altogether. O'Connor was, however, proof against all his temptations, and, ere long, became the husband of Mary M Kenzie.

while struggling for life among the sharp rocks | dog-fight, or other disreputable meeting took place which formed the sides of the hole, but which in the parish which was not got up and conductlooked more like the former, made it desirable ed by Terence Delany; and it was soon plainly that the inquest should be conducted with the foretold, that if he did not change his ways, they strictest and most searching minuteness. would bring him to disgrace and shame. Having heard of the occurrence at an early hour in the morning, I at once proceeded to the spot, and was fortunate enough to arrive before any crowd had collected which might have altered the appearance of the place, so as to frustrate me in making such observations as might be of use in tracing the melancholy event to its source. It was generally supposed to have been purely accidental; and as it was known that the bey had been in the habit of resorting to the place for the amusement of fishing, I was not prepared to think otherwise; besides, Edward O'Connor -such was his name-was very justly a prime favorite with the whole parish, and it would be difficult to suppose any motive for violence toward him. I, however, made the police form a cordon for the purpose of keeping off the people, who had by this time begun to assemble in considerable numbers; and by this means, with the assistance of an intelligent member of the force, I was enabled to make such observations as the place admitted of, and the nature of the facts required. We found evident marks of footsteps upon one part of the bank which could not have been the boy's-they were those of a man's shoe, with the usual description of nails worn by the country people; there were also the marks of a foot without any shoe, but which appeared to have had a stocking on; and what struck me as most remarkable was, that in every instance the mark of this foot proved to be that of the left, nor could we, upon the most minute search, find one of those latter marks made by the right foot, while those which were marked by the shoes were right and left indiscriminately. There was also a small fishing-rod found upon the bank, broken. On examining the body, there were found one or two cuts, as if inflicted by sharp stones, upon the face and forehead, and the tops of the fingers were much torn, apparently in the effort to lay hold upon the sides of the rocks, in the struggle between life and death; but there was one cut upon the back of the head which it was more difficult to account for. A surgeon was examined, who stated that none of the wounds were sufficient to have caused death, and, in the absence of any further evidence, a verdict of Found drowned" was recorded. Although I could not quarrel with the verdict, my mind was by no means satisfied upon the subject.

This boy was the son of a very respectable man, named Thomas O'Connor, who had, some years before, proved successful as a rival in courtship with a man named Terence Delany. Delany was a tall, handsome, active young man, and a great favorite among a certain class of young women in the neighborhood. He was, however, wild, thoughtless, and unprincipled, and his habits and occupations were such as to cause the general remark, that he would never turn out well. Certain it is, that no cock-fight,

Delany now, stung by vexation, disappointment, and wounded pride, plunged more recklessly than ever into excesses; though toward O'Connor he became, perhaps, even more than usually civil, although a vow of revenge, which was limited neither as to extent nor time, was registered in his heart against him. Annoyed, too, by the jests and bantering of his companions at his want of success, he became irritated and morose, and more abandoned in his character every day, giving way to the worst passions of his nature; so that it was not without justice he became suspected of being concerned in most of the daring outrages which took place not only in that immediate neighborhood, but within a range of some miles. It was evident that this, with a police force in the district, which, even at the early period of which I speak, had become well-organized and efficient, could not go on very long without being detected; and, accordingly, one night Delany was apprehended in the act of carrying away a portion of the carcass of a sheep which he had just slaughtered, and divided with his guilty associates. This was a crime which had just then become of frequent occurrence in that district, and very little doubt was now entertained that the ringleader had been caught, and that a remedy for the evil was at hand.

About two hours previous to Delany's having been detected in the above act, a turf-stack in