Her lover had heard, in the hidden glade, Each word that his own true maiden had said. Oh, Love, how vain to barter for thee, When thyself the price of the purchase must be ! L. THE HOROLOGE. BY THOMAS DOUBLEDAY, ESQ. ONCE, by the dusk light of an ancient hall, One moved, and four were motionless. The one -The four were kings. Sceptres they bore and globes They stood, but not in joy. At sight of Time, A ROLAND FOR AN OLIVER. A French Story. Pourquoi rompre leur marriage mechans parens, is a question which will be asked as long as a difference of ranks exists in the world—as long as age is the time of prudence and youth the season of love. What have the pulsations of the heart to do with the roll of the herald, or the cash-book of the banker, is the natural inquiry of the young; and the old will answer, that talking about the pulsations of the heart, is nonsense good enough for novels, but that the other desiderata are matters of real life. I suppose that both are right. In France, before the Revolution, the nobility, as we all know, was a caste of itself, which would not bear the slightest invasion on the part of the canaille. It was not to be endured that the daughter of a noble house should so far forget herself as to marry beneath her. That she might intrigue with people of baser degree was admitted: it attached no stain to the family escutcheon (provided always that she was married); but to give her hand to one of the canaille—to bring a plebeian name into a patrician house—was a sin never to be forgiven. Poor girls! this false pride condemned you to nunneries in hundreds-tempted you to the paths of sin and disgrace in thousands. Near Perpignan there dwelt, before the Revolution, General de Valençay, a scion of one of the noblest houses in Navarre, a gentleman, as he himself said, of better blood than the old neighbours of his family, the Bourbons. High birth often brings with it kind manners-it ought to do so always. And the General was kind ;—a kind husband, kind father, kind master, kind landlord, and kind friend. Having, like most French gentlemen, spent much time at court, he had acquired that indescribable politeness, that air, that tournure, which the Parisians flatter themselves is (or was) only found in the circle to be seen from the heights of Montmartre. We need not subscribe altogether to this doctrine, but we must allow that the society of the vielle cour was delightful. It now appears to be altogether lost, and perhaps it is as well that it should be so. 66 His wife had been dead many years, and had left him one daughter. Of her, as of the daughter of Jephtha, the ballad-monger might most truly say, that she was 'fair," and that her father loved her " passing well." Well did she deserve the love, for she was, indeed, that beau ideal of the human creation-an innocent and virtuous mind enshrined in the lovely person of a beautiful girl. After this preface to my story, there are few of my fair readers who will not be able to give a shrewd guess at what is to come next. Nor will it signify if they succeed. Wherefore should I conceal that an accident which has happened a thousand times before, and has been as frequently recorded both in prose and in verse, should have befallen Jacqueline de Valençay. The General, having remarked some symptoms of talent in the son of one of his dependents, had, with his usual good nature, educated him at his own expense. The youth grew into a man, or rather was approaching to manhood, when the General made him his secretary-a post which, as Valençay kept up little correspondence, was almost a sinecure. He was about five years older than Jacqueline, and that difference made him, in her childhood, in some degree her instructor. Guided by him, and under his eye, she imbibed the beauties of Italian lore. The polished elegance of Petrarch-the dark sublimity of Dante-the chivalrous beauty of Tasso-the flood of poetry bursting from the heart-cheering stanzas of Ariosto-the glories and the graces of that satin tongue were imparted to her by the lips of Louis Regnault. Hours devoted to study; and such study, when the tutor is twenty and the ladypupil fifteen, speedily become hours devoted to something else. She soon was to him his Laura—much more than Laura, for he did not freeze his love in icy sonnets, clear and bright and sparkling, but cold and unsubstantial. It burst from his lips at last-it was after a long struggle-it burst from his lips at last with all the warmth of the South-and it was heard. Need I say more? There were glowing cheeks, and wet eyes, and quivering hands. There was mourning over obstacles that appeared insurmountable; but then there was hope—brilliant, buoyant, soul-exhilirating hope— which whispered that nothing was insurmountable. In short, he loved her, and she loved him. Could either anticipate unhappiness? The keen eye of the General soon discovered the existence of their passion; but he was too shrewd to attempt to thwart it abruptly. He contrived to keep the lovers as much asunder as possible, without appearing to have noticed their mutual affection. He had his measures already concerted in his own mind; and in the course of a fortnight, the Chateau Valençay was honoured by a visit from Monsieur le Marquis de Valriviere. Like most French Marquises of his time, Valriviere was a fine, good-humoured, gay, brave, dissipated, and infinitely vain fellow. He was already, though but eight-and-twenty, a decided leader of the fashions at Paris. His word or example regulated the exact angle of the bow-the precise tie of the embroidered neckcloth-the most authentic knee-buckle-the most infallible ruffle-the most praise-worthy jewel for a ring. This was no light fame. No man under thirty had accomplished any thing like it for the last century. His |