have a strong capillary attraction for moisture; whereas a cotton handkerchief, having neither of these advantages, produces rather a sensation of heat. Accurate experiments appear to justify the conclusion, that the annual evaporation of water averages thirty inches; meaning that the vapour, if reconverted into water, would cover the surface from which it ascended to a depth of thirty inches; then the surface of all the waters of the globe being assumed at one hundred and twenty-eight millions of geographical miles, nearly sixty thousand cubic miles of water would be annually changed into vapour.' The winds, which are so important to our comfort in summer, are caused by the incessant disturbance of the equilibrium of the atmosphere by heat. The phenomena of land and sea-breezes are thus explained by the chemist. The solar beams are incapable of elevating the temperature of the transparent water of the ocean, or the transparent volume of the atmosphere, but they heat the surface of the opaque earth with great facility; therefore an island exposed to the tropical sun has its soil greatly elevated in temperature, and communicating heat to the air, a strong ascending current is produced, whilst other portions of air from the cooler surface of the ocean immediately glide inland to restore the equilibrium, and this constitutes the sea-breeze. During the night, the surface of the island, no longer subject to the direct influence of the sun, becomes much cooler than the superincumbent air, and causes it to contract in volume, to become heavier, therefore it sinks down, and spreads on all sides, producing the land-breeze; this is frequently loaded with unhealthy exhalations from decomposing vegetation, whilst the sea-breeze is salubrious and fresh.' Such are only a few of the inquiries prompted by the beautiful season on which we are entering; but they are sufficient to show that the laborious chemist is introduced by his ceaseless experiments into at least some acquaintance with the sublime laboratory of nature; and that he is led, by this examination, on a minor scale, of the properties of bodies, to reason upon the phenomena of the seasons, and to act in some degree as an expounder to mankind of the physical plan and government of the earth. There is no department of science better adapted than chemistry to plant in the mind a firm belief in the power, wisdom, and goodness of the Creator. SUMMER EXCURSION IN GERMANY. LINZ TO VIENNA, Ox opening the jalousies of our windows on the morning after our arrival at Linz, we observed that in the long and handsome street below all business was suspended; and although still early, long processions of little girls, dressed in white frocks, and with ribbons and wreaths of flowers in their hair, were seen pouring to the churches. Occasionally, also, a school of boys, in their best attire, was seen parading along the street, too happy in the prospect of a holiday, to be kept perfectly in order by the preceptor. Countrymen in red waistcoats were also coming pretty thickly into town; and in the crowds which passed might be noticed gaily-attired females, with head-dresses of cloth of gold, and rosaries of less or more value in their hands. It was evident they were going to make a day of it; and so we hurried over breakfast, and got down to the streets just as matters were waxing to a crisis. The day was the 3d of June-this year, Corpus Christi, but better known on the continent as the féte Dieu. Fortunately, the weather was beautiful, and when that is the case, a holiday is acceptable on any pretence. I was delighted to see the people enjoying themselves, albeit the affair which called them together was somewhat unintelligible. Hurrying to the great central Platz, we found it crammed, a part in the middle, however, being kept clear by soldiers; and we had scarcely procured a good point of sight, when a grand procession of clergy of all orders, nobility, gentry, and others, commenced, every one carrying an unlighted candle in his hand about six feet in length. At the head of the long line of dignitaries walked an aged priest with long white hair, and by this venerable personage mass was performed at several places in the open street-the altars for the occasion, gorgeously overhung with crimson velvet and gold, and embellished with the richest plate, being erected against the face of a house. Each mass occupied about a quarter of an hour, and at its conclusion, the whole troops fired a volley in the air, which was replied to by the firing of cannon from one of the forts in the neighbourhood. The last mass was performed at a high altar erected in the centre of the Platz; and when all was over, the procession was dissolved in an adjoining church. The devotion manifested by the vast crowds of persons of all ranks was apparently sincere; and one thing seemed to me praiseworthy beyond controversy, that when the religious duties of the day were finished, there was no disorderliness, no drunkenness, nor any of the other abominations which usually shock propriety in the streets of Scottish cities on holiday evenings. At Vienna, the fête Dieu is conducted with great magnificence, the emperor in his robes not disdaining to carry a candle; yet I was not sorry to have seen the spectacle on a smaller scale, for I was afterwards told that we could not possibly have obtained accommodation in the capital. In the after-part of the day I walked through the town in all directions, and then ascended to the higher ground in the environs, whence a good view is to be obtained of the valley of the Danube and surrounding country. Linz is large and well built, and occupies a pleasant situation on the left bank of the Danube, which is here a stream of a very different size from what I had seen at Ulm. Augmented by the Iser, the Inn, the Salza, and other considerable rivers, it rolls past Linz a mighty flood, the volume of water being apparently equal in bulk to that of the Rhine. By going round by Salzburg, I had unfortunately lost some of the best bits of scenery on the Danube-the very best being near Passau; but there was consolation in thinking that we had enjoyed an equivalent, and that a day's steaming, which still awaited us, was better than nothing. Neither in Linz nor its neighbourhood is there a single thing to detain travellers, unless, indeed, they have a fancy for around the town, on both sides of the Danube, are At different salient points inspecting fortifications. erected thirty-two detached forts, each looking like a low martello tower, and mounted with guns; they have been planted in this quarter with the design of retarding and vexing the progress of any future Napoleon who may think of visiting Vienna via the vale of the Danube. These forts, which are new, and untried in strategy, and therefore not militarily orthodox, are the invention of Prince Maximilian of Este. I did deem them worthy of a visit. Before a traveller can leave any town in Austria, he must not only have his passport visé, but procure a bit of badly-printed paper from the police, called a Passer Shien, and this he is called on to give up to a sentinel when he departs. Not till going to bed did I remember I had not got my shien; and it was only after a good night. When this giant was slain, another appeared. deal of trouble that it could be negotiated so late at The hotel was full of guests, and, as usual, our room was separated only by a thin door from the adjoining apartment in the suite. Our neighbours were Germans, and their noisy talking was intolerable. They spoke as loudly as if they had been hailing each other across the siderable size. Within these walls, now shattered, street. Repose was out of the question. It was no use and open to the gaze of the passing tourist, Richard our talking in a moderate key, in the hope of shaming Coeur-de-Lion was confined for upwards of twelve them into silence. A severe malady requires a severe months (1192-3) by Leopold, Duke of Austria, the remedy. Lighting a candle, I took up Mrs C.'s crotchet unfortunate king having been treacherously seized at book, and gave them an example of reading in English Vienna, in returning homewards as a pilgrim from the which astonished them. The effect was magical. My Holy Land. Immediately on passing the ridge on which harangue on crotchet working in an instant drowned Durrenstein is placed, the scenery altogether changes: their horrible jargon, and their voices sunk to a whisper, the river, emerging from its lofty banks, rolls through a They listened, and whispered again. The phenomenon great plain, dotted over with woods; here and there a of English was dumfoundering-perhaps I was an Eng-large and elegant building is observed; and beyond all, lish maniac? Whatever were their conjectures, the the hills far distant bounding the horizon. We have, in reading settled them; for we were no more troubled short, left the mountainous region, and entered on the with their screeching, and gladly went to sleep, prepa- plains of the lower Danube. From the midst of the ratory to an early start for Vienna. As daylight came green plain which first meets the eye rise the spires in, our loquacious neighbours broke out, as if from a of Vienna; and landing at Nussdorf, a village on the moment's forgetfulness; but a few sentences from the right, where a number of carriages are in attendance, crotchet book, as we made our toilet, brought them to we reach in a quarter of an hour the capital of the their senses, and we heard them no more. Our own Austrian empire. aristocracy-the real as well as the vulgar counterfeitaffect loud talking, to the annoyance of all who are near them: might not some plan, such as I happily thought of, be tried in order to teach them good manners? The morning was beautiful, and at seven o'clock we were on board the steamer, which lay hissing at the quay. The vessel was large and commodious, seemingly under careful management, and on the deck there mustered nearly a hundred passengers of various nationsartists in mustaches and gray fancy hats from Munich; Hungarians returning from a distant excursion; no English but ourselves; one or two French; and a good many Germans of miscellaneous ages and appearance -a vastly respectable company, as the steward most likely thought, in making his calculations as to how many were likely to figure at the table-d'hôte. Off we went down the broad bosom of the Danube, all looking forward to a pleasant run of nine or ten hours. At first there was little to excite interest. The banks were generally level, and here and there muddy islands, covered with willows, divided the channel, and closed up the scene. By and by the hills approached the stream, and villages nestling at their base, and castles or monasteries crowning their summits, reminded us somewhat of the Rhine; but with a few exceptions, the main features of the landscape were totally different. On the Rhine all is ancient; the universal ruin of the castles, which are perched on the tops of the crags, speaks of a bypast age-a period of rapine and insecurity. On the Danube, almost every building is comparatively modern and inhabited. The grandest edifices are the monasteries. Half way between Linz and Vienna, on our right, we came to a short pause below the loftily-perched and palace-like convent of Molk. Good times, it may be said, for the monks; but the monks are Benedictines, which is equivalent to saying they are scholars and gentlemen; and their spacious mansion is as much an educational as a religious establishment; in this respect, the social condition of Austria being analogous to what it was in our own country previous to the convulsions of the sixteenth century. About and below Molk, the banks of the Danube increase in picturesque beauty; and on the left side the vine makes its appearance, though on a scale not to be compared with what is seen on the Rhine. Austria is not a wine-producing country to an extent worth mentioning; yet some of the Hungarian wines are good. In descending the river from Molk, we soon came in sight of a spot of more than ordinary interest. The banks, which here rise to a considerable height, and are covered with wood, press close upon the stream, which seems to have cut its way through the ridges that strive to intercept its passage. On the summit of the lofty crags on the right bank stand the remains of Aggstein, a feudal fortress long since dismantled; and on the face of the arid cliffs on the left is seen the ruined castle of Durrenstein, which had been of con In approaching Vienna, we lose sight of the Danube, which disappears from view between willow-clad banks and islands, the city proper being built on a small tributary-the Wien-which, from anything I saw, is little better than a foul and stagnant drain. Advancing towards the town, we pass through extensive suburbs, and finally emerge into an open space, grassy, and ornamented with trees, of the third of a mile in width; and on the opposite side of which stands Vienna, seemingly squeezed so hard within a high wall, that the houses look as if they were engaged in a desperate elbowing of each other, and about to burst their too tightly-drawn boundary. By a cavernous tunnel, which perforates the lofty wall and rampart, we reach the interior, and then find ourselves in streets narrow and winding, and lined with stone houses as high and spacious as those of Paris. We procured accommodation at the Archduke Charles'-a first-class hotel, according to the guidebooks, but deficient in various accommodations. However, we had no great reason to complain, and remained in the town about a week; not time enough to do the sights justice, but as much as I could spare. I have never been so fairly baffled by any city as I was by Vienna: such is its extraordinary jumble of streets, and so like are they to each other, that, till the last, I had considerable difficulty in finding my way. And yet there is a sort of plan by which the main thoroughfares are arranged. At the centre of the town stands the cathedral of St Stephens, an ancient and imposing edifice, with a lofty spire; and from this point the principal streets radiate to different portals in the bastions, whence they stretch far into the suburbs. There are, however, many cross and circuitous streets, a number of open places, and many closely-packed lanes and passages, forming short cuts from one great thoroughfare to another. The houses in the best streets are of enormous dimensions, all with inner courtyards, and of handsome and solid architecture. Excepting first-class mansions, the houses are occupied in floors by different families, the access being usually by common-stairs from the courtyards. A nobleman and man of literary distinction on whom I called lived on a second floor in a building of this kind; and a banking company with whom I did some business had their office on a floor higher up. The number of separate dwellings in some of these huge edifices astonishes those who are unacquainted with the common-stair system. From four to five hundred inhabitants, occupying floors, or parts of floors, in one building, is not unusual a number, however, which can be matched in the more ancient parts of Edinburgh. Like all ancient cities, Vienna is ill provided with sewerage; and yet, strange to say, it is a remarkably cleanly town in external appearance-the generally light colour of the houses, and the absence of smoke, imparting a lively effect. That which is most seriously defective is the general want of side pavement for foot-passengers. The streets are well paved with square stones from side to side, the part near the houses and shops being very slightly in clined upwards, so that there is nothing to prevent carriages from crushing you up to the wall, or running you down-a misfortune the more likely to occur from the excessive narrowness of the thoroughfares. All this of course suggests that Vienna was built for that portion of mankind who ride in carriages, not for those whose inclination or means lead them to walk on foot. Nevertheless, much seems to be done to render the streets comfortable to poor as well as rich. Great expense is incurred for the stones with which they are laid. These stones are brought from the rocky banks of the Danube, below Linz, and I was informed that each costs a zwanziger, or twenty pence. Whatever be the general incommodiousness of the streets, neither that nor anything else prevents them from being a scene of bustle and gaiety from morning till night. Well-dressed people are seen pouring along to enjoy themselves in the restaurants, or in the public gardens; equipages of the most splendid set-out dash past on airing excursions; and to add to the liveliness of the thoroughfares, many of the shops are distinguished by paintings outside representing some eminent personage -as the Queen of England, Prince Metternich, or the Archduke Charles. These portraits, which are full length, and well executed, are painted on shutters, which are open only during the day. No city is better provided with gardens, pleasure-grounds, and walks open to the people. Around the glacis, or rampart, there is a delightful promenade with seats, commanding fine views of the Vorstädte, or suburban new town, which rivals in elegance of architecture the best houses in Paris. The Volksgarten, situated close upon the city, is a spacious piece of ground, decorated with trees, shrubs, and flowers, laid out in agreeable walks, and furnished with coffee-houses, and arenas for bands of music. This garden was given to the people by the late emperor; and here, in the fine summer evenings, Strauss's band performs for hours. Nothing is paid for admittance. For lengthened promenading and driving there are the roads environing the suburbs; but besides these, and the cross paths leading to them, the Viennese have the Prater, a park on the north-east, which is several square miles in extent, richly wooded, and partly tenanted with deer. Parties of pleasure who desire a still wider range proceed to Shönbrunn, the seat of the emperor, at two or three miles distance. We spent a day in rambling through the grounds, and seeing the gaieties and curiosities of Shönbrunn, every place, the palace excepted, being open for the inspection and recreation of all comers. From a lofty ornamental structure on an eminence within the grounds, we had an excellent view of Vienna and its environs, and had the satisfaction of having pointed out by our guide the spots rendered historically interesting in the last siege of Vienna by the Turks (1683), when not alone Austria, but Christendom, was saved by the gallant John Sobieski. The spot occupied by the tent of Kara Mustapha, the Turkish general, is now marked by a church. Next day, in a large collection of antiquities in Vienna, we were shown the horse-tail standard and tent apparatus of Mustapha, who, it will be remembered, was strangled, by orders of the sultan, for not winning the battle. In the course of our stay we visited a number of collections of pictures, museums, and other public showplaces; but any notice of these would only tire the patience of the reader; and in truth the sight of them was tiring to myself, for one may be surfeited with pictures as with anything else. On Sunday we went to the chapel connected with the imperial palace, not to hear the music, finely as that was performed by a vocal and instrumental band, but to have a glimpse of the great nominal ruler of the nation: nor were we disappointed. The emperor entered about the middle of the service, and took his place in a small gallery without any fuss. He is a little man, with an unnaturally large forehead, diffident and mild in demeanour, and with the reputation of being one of the kindliest-disposed creatures in the world. He is generally in bad health, and takes little or no part in public affairs. The actual government, as is well known, has for many years been in the hands of Prince Metternich, a man of consummate abilities, though, like many statesmen, ignorant of the true foundations on which power can alone safely repose. The next place we visited was that to which the imperial family, after the splendours of the giddy and false world have passed away, are pompously carried to rot in state.' It is a spacious vault, situated beneath the church of a convent of capuchin friars; and under the guidance of one of the brotherhood, clothed in a brown tunic, with a rope round his waist, and a lamp in his hand, we descended a long flight of steps to this remarkable mausoleum. The apartment, which receives a little light and air from gratings, consists of several vaulted chambers, dry, and not unpleasant to the senses. What a melancholy spectacle! Rows of large sarcophagi of lead or zinc are ranged along the paved floor, and by the lamp of the monk we are enabled to read the inscriptions, which tell us that within repose the bodies of kings, queens, archdukes, emperors, and empresses. The largest and handsomest of these metal boxes is that which contains the remains of Maria Theresa, the greatest of all the Austrian rulers; but it is surpassed in value by the sarcophagus of Joseph I., which is of pure silver. We noticed also some small sarcophagi containing the remains of baby archdukes; and for a few moments, the lamp of the capuchin was held over the plain and unnoticeable sarcophagus in which reposes the body of the youthful and unfortunate Duke of Reichstadt, son of Napoleon. What an end to the hopes of a dynasty which was to rule half the world! The being ushered into existence with the firing of a hundred cannons successively at the Invalids, at the sound of which all Paris was frantic with joy-or pretended to be so-lies decomposing in a metal chest at Vienna, the groom of his chamber a nameless capuchin monk! We had better not ask what France now thinks of the Bonaparte family! I did not quit Vienna without making some inquiries into the state of elementary instruction. In this matter it is but justice to say that Austria, with all its religious and political intolerance, is much in advance of nations possessing greater freedom. Education in its primary branches is universally established, and as far as I saw, is conducted on a liberal footing. I visited an academy which serves as a model for provincial seminaries. It is accommodated in a building of considerable size, each floor being divided into several spacious halls, opening on corridors. The resident director, an aged gentleman, to whom I introduced myself, politely conducted me through the establishment, explaining everything as it occurred. The method of teaching is explanatory, with the use of the black board. The number of children attending this school was fifteen hundred, all boys, divided into juvenile and advanced classes, each class under one master, and occupying a separate apartment. The routine of instruction embraced reading, writing, arithmetic, drawing, and mathematics. It was pleasing to observe the decorum and quietness which prevailed throughout the establishment. On our entering and retiring from each class-room, all the pupils rose and bowed: and this was no sham reverence. the dismissal of one of the classes, the pupils crowded around my venerable conductor, and with terms of endearment covered his hand with kisses. On It is absurd and presumptuous for a traveller who rushes through a country to philosophise very deeply on its social condition; yet a man is entitled to at least use his eyes and ears wherever his destiny carries him, and to form his impressions accordingly. My notion, then, from all I saw in Vienna and elsewhere, is, that Austria, though under a pure despotism, is not uncared for morally, physically, or intellectually. I saw, however, only the best part of the empire-that in which the land is owned in portions of reasonable extent, and below which portions it is not allowed to be divided. In Hungary, the form of society and territorial possession is very different. Admitting much that was presented to our view to be far from unpleasing, I felt that the entire system was hollow and unnatural, and could not last. Mankind are not destined to be for ever managed as if they were children. Passing circumstances prove that Austria has been under a gross mistake in imagining that it is either safe or just to keep its people in tutelage an instant beyond the time they can think and act for themselves. For the military and police oppressions in the conquered provinces-for the heartless proscriptions and imprisonments at Venice and Spielberg-the day of reckoning has already to all appearance arrived.* L'HOMME CHARMANT. W. C. So accessible were the ancient Greeks to visual impressions, and so enthusiastic in their admiration of beauty, as well as of gracefulness of form and novement, that even the sage Areopagites were obliged to listen in obscurity to the pleadings of their celebrated orators, lest, unwittingly, their judgments might receive a favourable bias towards some handsome speaker; or, on the other hand, lest they might prejudge the cause of one less happily endowed with personal attractions. The love of the beautiful is not less instinctive in humanity than the appreciation of goodness, or the reverence for truth; and when found in harmonious combination with these-its kindred faculties-we can scarcely estimate too highly the blessing of having an eye and a heart open to delight in all that is graceful and lovely, whether in animate or inanimate creation. Even where this admiration of Beauty seems to exist a little out of its due proportion, we would gladly excuse the error, knowing how mighty and how magic is its sway; and also how vain it is to expect a perfect development of every good and noble faculty in the same human soul. Among no modern people is the homage rendered to beauty more enthusiastic than among the Parisians, who have often been compared in this and other respects to the Athenians of old; and truly in many points the resemblance seems complete, though we stay not here to trace it out: we have at present to do only with their admiration of beauty, which they are wont to express by a single word—charmant—a dissyllable significant not only of beauty, but of a thousand nameless attractions, which, clustering around personal grace of form, make it tenfold more lovely and beloved. It is a word not altogether unknown to our own language, although in its insular rendering it is perhaps less refined in its shade of popular meaning than in the French language. It is somewhat singular, too, that among us the word is more frequently applied to man than to the gentler sex. Which of us have not known among the circle of our acquaintance a 'charming man?' Whether it be the literary coterie, the fashionable world, or the professedly-religious circle, each society can boast of its charming man-one who is handsome, clever, and agreeable; who is usually more plausible than profound; more commonly the admired acquaintance of all, than the tried and trusted friend of any. The career of the charming man is not always a satisfactory one, inasmuch as popularity has its appointed limits; and the idol of to-day is too often the outcast of tomorrow. Nor is dame Fortune less capricious in her favours than the giddy multitude; for occasionally she delights to snap asunder the golden threads of some brilliant destiny, and show how frail at best are the bonds by which happiness and humanity are linked together in this our lower world. Such was the case with a personage whom we are about to introduce to our readers as a most perfect spe *This article was written some weeks previous to the late overthrow of affairs in Vienna. cimen-not of a charming man,' but of ' un homme charmant;' one who, about seventy years ago, was idolised in that character by the fastidious people of the French capital. Although Monsieur de Létorières (the person of whom we speak) was simply a French gentleman of Xaintonge, whose only wealth on setting out in life was his trusty sword, yet in the eyes of an English reader his history may derive additional interest from the circumstance of his relationship with the House of Hanover, through the marriage of his aunt, Mademoiselle D'Olbreuse, with George William, Duke of Brunswick, whose only daughter became the unhappy wife of George, Elector of Hanover, and was thus the ancestress of our present royal family. The early youth of Lancelot-Joseph de Létorières was passed at the college of Plessis, where he had been placed by his uncle, the Abbé du Vighan; but finding his vacations too short, and his studies too long, the impatient youth escaped from college, and hastened to the capital, where he found himself as free as air, but dwelling in an empty garret. Whenever he suffered from cold or hunger, he left his solitary apartment, and descending into the gay and crowded streets of Paris, forgot his wants, and thought himself, for a while, the happiest being in existence. One of his early friends used to relate that M. de Létorières having left his lodging one cold winter's day, to recreate himself among the busy haunts of men, he was overtaken by a pelting shower of rain, and took refuge from the storm beneath an archway. Meanwhile a hackney-coach passes slowly along, and the driver looking earnestly at him, inquires Shall I drive you, sir, across this stream of water?' 'No, thank you,' replies the handsome youth, looking somewhat sad. If you want to go farther, sir, I can take you to any part of the city you please.' 'I was only going to walk in the Galleries of the Palais de Justice, but I mean to wait here until the rain is over.' 'What! under that cold archway?' 'I have no money to throw away in coach-hire, so go away, and leave me in peace.' 'Sir,' replied the coachman, jumping off his box, and opening the carriage door, it shall never be said that I allowed so handsome a young gentleman as you are to ennuyer yourself here, and to catch cold into the bargain, for the sake of twenty-four sous. It is all on my way to pass by the Palais Marchand, so, if you please, I will set you down there, close to the image of St Pierre.' The gracious offer was accepted. On opening the carriage door at the entrance to this celebrated traiteur's, the coachman respectfully took off his felt hat, and begging of the youth to accept a louisd'or from him, said, 'You may have occasion for it in there, sir, and you can find me out any time you please, and repay me at your convenience. The number of my coach is 144.' The name of this good-natured man was Sicard. He was an honest, worthy fellow, and through the recommendation of M. de Létorières, ended by being coachman to the Princess Sophia of France. Whenever any one alluded to his liberal conduct towards M. de Létorières, he was wont to answer, that any one else in his place would have done just the same; for,' added he, he was so charming a young gentleman, that one might almost have mistaken him for an angel.' Another time his tailor's wife, growing impatient about a debt of four hundred francs, which he had owed for a considerable time, rated her husband soundly for not insisting on his rights. What a chicken-hearted being thou art!' exclaimed she, aud all, forsooth, out of complaisance to Monsieur le Charmant!' (for so was he nicknamed in the family). As for thee, thou hast not courage to show him thy teeth; but I will soon settle the matter with him. I am going forthwith to his lodging, and you shall see if I come away empty handed. Charming as he is, I will manage him properly. Let me alone for that.' No sooner had this resolute woman returned home, than her husband, perceiving that she looked rather crestfallen, inquired where was the money which had been paid to her by M. de Létorières. Come, come, you must not worry me; but the truth of the matter is, that on going into his room, I found him playing the guitar, and he looked so sweet and gentle, that I could not find it in my heart to annoy him in any way.' 'And the four hundred francs?' resumed the tailor, looking at her rather sarcastically. 'My good friend,' replied his imperious spouse in the meekest tone imaginable, you must only enter them on your books; and you may as well at the same time add three hundred more to the account, for there was something so melancholy, so-I don't know what to call it about him, that I could not help taking one hundred crowns out of my pocket, and in spite of his refusal, I left them on his chimney-piece.' As soon as M. de Létorières had completed his twenty-first year, he brought his family papers to M. Chérin,* from whom he speedily obtained the certificate necessary for his presentation at court. When walking one day in the gardens at Versailles, the king took notice of him, and having learned from his courtiers who the handsome gentleman was, he inquired of his counsellor Chérin, Of what family, pray, is the Poitou gentleman, named Létorières, whom I see about here?' Chérin replied that the young man's pedigree, although noble, was not such as to entitle him to ride in the king's carriages, for his proofs were not altogether' * But,' interrupted the king, 'he is charmant; vraiment charmant; and I desire that he may be presented to me with the title of vicomte.' So Chérin inscribed him on his register as having a certificate by command; and the Vicomte de Létorières shared at once all the honours of the court. Whenever he was concerned in any appeals to the tribunal of the point of honour,† his adversaries were sure to be obliged to offer their apology to him, and to make exorbitant reparations, which was attributed to the gracious and fascinating manner in which he had solicited Noseigneurs les Maréchaux. He gained every lawsuit in which he was interested, among others an important one against the Dukes of Brunswick-Oëls, on the subject of some property which had belonged to his grandaunt and their grandmother D'Olbreuse, to whom we have already made allusion. 'He is like the serpent of Paradise,' observed Monsieur de Beaumont, the archbishop of Paris; and if ever he has an affair with the officiality of Paris, I will take care to have him masked with a monk's cowl and frock, lest he should beguile his judges.' The feeling of admiration and interest excited by M. de Létorières became at length so universal, that sometimes on his appearing in public he was greeted with acclamations by the multitude. An eye-witness thus describes his reception at a sacred concert which was given in the theatre on Shrove Tuesday 1772:- M. de Létorières was only just recovering from a swordwound received in a duel with the Comte de Melun. When he heard the popular acclamations, he rose in his box, and looked around him on the house with an air of perplexity and surprise, as if it were impossible for him to suppose that he could be the object of applause, which is usually reserved for favourite actors or for royal personages. This inquiring gaze was full of the easy and simple gracefulness which characterised his every movement, and it drew forth still livelier demonstrations of pleasure from the multitude. He wore on that evening a suit of rich moiré straw-coloured silk, with facings of golden tissue, shot with emerald green. The knotted band on his shoulder was green and gold, and his Steinkerque belt was clasped with emeralds. The buttons of his coat were formed of opals set in brilliants, and the handle of his sword was similarly ornamented. Moreover, his coiffure consisted of two tufts of waving curls, sprinkled with light-coloured powder, and falling gracefully upon the collar of his dress. A soft and humid brilliancy sparkled in his eyes, which were a thousand times brighter than the costly jewels which he wore. In short, I was obliged to confess that I had never before seen a being who was so truly charmant.' It is almost needless to say that M. de Létorières, so popular among all classes and conditions of people, was a favourite with the beau sexe. Among the court beauties was one, however, who more especially won his attentions, and who returned his love with all the ardour of youthful enthusiasm. Victoire-Julie de SavoieCarignan was a naïve and lovely young creature, whose princely family being suspicious of her attachment to the charming vicomte, and conceiving that an alliance with him would be unsuitable to her rank, obliged her to become an inmate of the Abbaye de Montmartre, where she was virtually a prisoner; for although treated with the utmost deference and respect, all her movements were under the surveillance of a guard of the provost-marshal's office. In spite of these precautions, she attempted to maintain a correspondence with her lover; but their communications were discovered, and the result was a challenge to the vicomte from one of her relations, the Baron d'Ugeon. Just at this time Louis XV. was attacked by the smallpox in its most virulent form, and our Galaor of Xaintonge had obtained leave to shut himself up with his royal master, and tend him during his illness. The permission thus granted gave great offence to the courtiers, who carried their absurd passion for etiquette even to the very gates of the grave, and were displeased at this close attendance upon royalty by one who had not previously enjoyed the entrée into the king's chamber. Louis XV. died, and M. de Létorières came out of the infected palace only to meet his challenger in single combat. The Baron d'Ugeon inflicted on him two severe wounds in the right side, and he was carried home in a precarious state. He was, however, carefully tended by a friendly surgeon, who gave out that his patient was suffering from smallpox, and could not therefore receive any visits. After a while, there seemed to be every prospect of M. de Létorières's recovery, when through his impatience to seek an interview with Mademoiselle de Soissons, he left his house before his wounds were thoroughly healed; and having, by means of liberal bribes, obtained admittance within the walls of Montmartre, he met his betrothed under the arched arcade which led from the cloister to the cemetery. Their interview was brief. She hastened back to her honourable prison, little dreaming that she had for the last time beheld her charming friend, who was found a few hours afterwards, stiff and cold, upon the pavement of the cloister. It seems that the emotion excited by meeting Mademoiselle de Soissons after so long a separation had opened his wounds afresh, and he died alone on this gloomy spot, unsuccoured and unseen by any human being. Thus perished, in the prime of life, he who was confessedly the most exquisite model of un homme charmant that had ever been beheld in the Parisian world. Already had he not only won the good graces of a fastidious public, and subdued the heart of a high-born |