smoke at her chamber-window made the spectators redouble their shrieks. The bridegroom would have plunged again into the burning ruins, if his brother had not held him desperately in his arms: but the valet Mitand, who had lived with M. Deshoulieres from

The

his daughter's infancy, ran up the remains of the staircase and disappeared. In another instant the roof fell in, and Mitand was seen leaping from burnt beam alone. He was wrapped in a large blanket which had saved his person, but his neck, hands, and head, were hideously scorched. When sur rounded, and questioned whether he had seen his mistress, he wrung his hands, and shook his head in despair. They understood from his dumb anguish that he had seen her perish, and he remained obstinately sitting and gazing on the ruins till dragged away. despair of the President was beyond words, and his brother's utmost influence could hardly restrain him from acts of madness. When the unfortunate bride's father deplored the festival which had probably caused its own dismal end, the President declared, with a fearful oath, that he knew and would expose the Author. From that moment his lamentations changed into a sullen kind of fierceness, and he seemed to have found a clue which his whole soul was bent on. It was soon unfolded by the arrest of a young man named Arnaud, whose conveyance to prison was followed by his citation before the parliament of Dijon as an incendiary and a robber. M. Deshoulieres gave private evidence to support these charges; but a day or two preceding that appointed for a public examination, the President went to the intendant of the province and solemnly resigned his chair in the judicial court. "It is not fitting," said he, "that I should be a judge in my own cause, and I only entreat that I may not be summoned as a witness."

"No," added the President, as he returned with his brother, "it is not fit that I should be called upon to identify that man, lest his real name should be deemed enough to convict him of any

guilt. It is sufficient for me to know him: we will not prejudice his judges."

The Parliament of Dijon assembled with its usual formality, and the Intendant-general of the province was commissioned to act as President on this occasion. The Bishop and his brother sat in a curtained gallery where their persons might not fix or affect the attention of the court: the bereaved father was supported in a chair as prosecutor, and the prisoner stood with his arms coolly folded, and his eyes turned towards his judges.

The first question addressed to him was the customary one for his name. "You call me Arnaud," said the prisoner," and I answer to the name. "Is it your real name ?"

"Have I ever been known by any other?"

Your true appellation is Felix Lamotte," said the Procureur-general"and I crave permission of the court to remind it that you stood here ten years ago on an occasion not much more honourable."

The ci-devant President handed a paper to the Procureur, requesting that nothing irrelevant to the present charge might be revived against the prisoner.

66

Messieurs," said the Public Accuser, addressing himself to the judges, I humbly venture to assert, that what I shall detail is not irrelevant, as it may exhibit the character of the accused, and give a clue to his present conduct. Felix Lamotte is the nephew of a financier well remembered in Dijon, and his prodigality gave such offence that his uncle threatened to disinherit him, and leave his great wealth to his most intimate friend, the President of this court. But he, after repeated intercessions and excuses for this young man, prevailed on the elder Lamotte to forgive him. When the nephew heard his uncle's will read, he found the President distinguished by only a legacy of ten thousand livres, and himself residuary legatee. You expect, messieurs, to hear that Felix Lamotte was grateful to his mediating friend, and careful of his unexpected wealth. He appeared to be grateful until he became poor again

by his prodigality.

Then, finding a flaw in his uncle's will, he came before this tribunal to dispossess his friend of the small legacy he enjoyed, believing that, as heir at law, he might grasp the whole. The President, who had not then reached bis present station among our judges, appeared as a defendant at this bar with a will of later date, which he had generously concealed, because the testator therein gave him all, charged only with a weekly stipend to his prodigal nephew. These are the facts which the President desired to conceal, because the ungrateful are never pardoned by their fellow-creatures, nor judged without rigour. We shall see presently how the accused shewed his repent

ance.

ed if he had ever seen Lamotte. He was hardly recovered from the injuries he had received in the fire, but he took his oath, and answered in the affirmative distinctly. Being desired to say where, he said, "In a gardener's dress, at a house in the suburb of St. Madelaine, and on the night of the marriage."

The Accuser's Advocate now related all the circumstances of Mademoiselle Deshoulieres' visit to a house without inhabitants, where she had been robbed of a valuable diamond. A pawnbroker appeared to testify that he had received from Felix Lamotte the ring identified as Therese's, and seve ral witnesses proved the billet to be his hand-writing.

"You should also remember," added Lamotte, looking sternly at the pawnbroker," what account I gave you of that ring. I told you I had found it among the shrubs under the wall of an empty but adjoining Deshoulieres' garden. My necessity forced me to sell it for bread. Had you been honest, and able to resist a tempting bargain, you would have carried it back to the owner."

"Stop, sir!" said Felix Lamotte, haughtily waving his hand to command silence, "I never did repent. The President created my error by concealing the truth. If, instead of permitting me to rely on a will which had been superceded, he had shewn me the last effectual deed of gift, I should have known the narrowness of my rights, and the value of whatever bounty he had extended. He wished to try my wis- "Notwithstanding this undaunted dom by temptation, and I have mend- tone," said the Procureur," the prisoned his by shewing him that temptation er's motive and purpose are evident. is always dangerous." Vengeance was the incitement-plun"What you admit, is truth," rejoin-der was to have been the end. ed another Advocate-"though more modesty would have been graceful. But the bent of your thoughts must have been to meet the temptation."

The prisoner answered coldly, "It may be so; and as that accords with the President's metaphysics, let him thank me for the demonstration."

Το

unite both, he has fabricated letters, outraged an unprotected lady, and introduced devastation and death into the house of his benefactor, in hopes to seize some part of the rich paraphernalia prepared for his bride. He hated his benefactor, because undeserved favours are wounds; he injured him, because he could not endure to be forgiven and forgotten.'

"I have no defence to make," resumed Lamotte, "for the faults of my youth have risen against me. You would not believe me if I should swear that I did not rob Therese, that I wrote no billets to decoy her, that I came into the vestibule of her father's house only to be a spectator of her bridal fête, I lodged in the hut of the gardener's widow, and unhappily complied when she solicited me to write petitious for the aid

of the Bishop of Beauvais and M. Deshoulieres' daughter. This woman and her daughter removed suddenly, and I am the victim."

"Man," said M. Deshoulieres, stretching out his arms with the rage of agony," this is most false. The treacherous billet was written and brought by thy own hand, and here is another charging me to watch and witness my daughter's visit ?"

"Well!" returned the prisoner coldly, "and what was my crime? If I thought the marriage ill-suited, and without love on the lady's part, was I to blame if I gave her an interview with her first lover? The Bishop of Beauvais can tell us whether such interviews are dangerous."

"Let him be silenced!" interposed the Intendant-general; "this scandal is sacrilege both to the living and the dead. If we had any doubt of his guilt, his malignity has subdued it."

another bride, and prevailed on bis brother to emerge from his retirement and bless his marriage. Another fête was prepared almost equal to the last; but perhaps a kind of superstitious fear was felt by all who remembered the preceding. The Bishop retired to his chamber very early, and the bridal party were seated in whispering solemnity, when the door opened slowly, and a figure clothed in white walked into the centre. Its soundless steps, glazed eyes, and deadly paleness, suited a supernatural visitor; and when, approaching the bride, it drew the ring from her finger, her shriek was echoed by half the spectators. At that shriek the ghostly intruder started, dropped the ring, and would have fallen, if the President's arms had not opened to prevent it. He saw his brother's sleep bad been so powerfully agitated as to cause this unconscious entry among his guests; and conducting him back to his chamber, waited till his faculties were collected. "Brother," said the Bishop, "it seems as if Providence rebuked my secresy, and my vain attempt to believe that opportunity and temptation cannot prevail over long habits of good, and be dangerous to the firmest." Then, after a painful pause, he told the President his secret interview with Therese, his reso

The votes of the judges were collected without farther hearing, and their sentence was almost unanimous. Felix was pronounced guilty, and condemned to perpetual labour in the gallies a decree which the President heard without regret, but his brother with secret hor ror when he remembered that Therese might not have spoken truth to her fath er-Yet he respected her memory fondation to take back the ring, and the ly; and fear to wound it, more than his own honour, had induced him to give no public evidence. But he had satisfied his conscience by revealing all that concerned himself to the Intendantgeneral, who saw too much baseness in Lamotte's character, to consider it any extenuation of his guilt. Lamotte was led to the gallies, a victim to his revenge ful spirit; and the President was invited by his sovereign to resume that seat in the Parliament of Dijon which he had vacated so nobly.

Fifteen years passed after this tragical event, and its traces had begun to fade. The father of Therese was dead, and his faithful servant lived in the gardener's house on an ample annuity given to him for his zeal in attempting to save her life. The President, weary of considering himself a widower, chose

failure of his resolution. He explained
how long and deeply this scene had
dwelt on his imagination, how keenly
it had heightened his interest in the
trial of Lamotte; and finally, with bow
much force it had been revived by the
second marriage-day of his brother.
"And now," added the Bishop, "I
may tell you that its hold on my dream-
ing fancy may have been lately strength-
ened by an event which I wished to
suppress till after this day, lest it should
damp the present by renewing your re-
gret for the past. Only a few hours
since, I was summoned once more to
that fatal house in the suburb to see a
dying sinner.
I found old Mitand on
his death-bed.
He told me that he
could no longer endure the horrible
recollections which your wedding-day
brought. He reminded me of his at-

tempt to reach Therese's room when full of flames. At that moment no thought but her preservation had enter ed his mind; but he found her on the brink of the burning staircase with her casket of jewels in her hand. Misera ble Therese! she had thought too fondly of the baubles; and he, swayed by a sudden, an undistinguishing, and insane impulse, seized the casket, not the hand that held it, and she sank. In the same instant his better self returned -all his habits of fidelity to his master, of love to his young mistress-but they came too late. He had thrust his dreadful prize under his woollen wrapper-it remained there undiscovered, while shame, horror, and remorse, prevented him from confessing his guilt.

He buried it under the threshold of the garden house which his master gave him with a mistaken gratitude which heaped coals of fire on his head. There it has remained with the locks untouched fifteen years, and from thence he wishes you to remove it when you can resolve to speak peace to a penitent."

Mitand died before morning, and the President's first act was to place this awful evidence of human frailty on the records of the Parliament. Their decree against Felix Lamotte was not revoked, as its justice remained unquestionable in the chief points of his guilt; but the fatal influence of temptation over Mitand and the Bishop of Beauvais was a warning more tremendous than his punishment.

V.

LIVING NOVELISTS.-MR. GODWIN.

From the New Monthly Magazine.

MR. GODWIN is the most original deepest and richest soil. Our author

partook in the first enthusiasm of the spirit-stirring season-in "its pleasant exercise of hope and joy"-in much of its speculative extravagance, but in none of its practical excesses. He was roused not into action but into thought; and the high and undying energies of his soul, unwasted on vain

-not only of living novelistsbut of living writers in prose. There are, indeed, very few authors of any age who are so clearly entitled to the praise of having produced works, the first perusal of which is a signal event in man's internal history. His genius is by far the most extraordinary, which the great shaking of nations and offorts for the actual regeneration of principles-the French revolution impelled and directed in its progress. English literature, at the period of that marvellous change, had become sterile; the rich luxuriance which once over spread its surface, had gradually declined into thin and scattered productions of feeble growth and transient duration. The fearful convulsion which agitated the world of politics and of morals, tore up this shallow and exhausted surface-disclosed vast treasures which had been concealed for centuries-burst open the secret springs of imagination and of thought-and left, instead of the smooth and weary plain, a region of deep valleys and of shapeless bills, of new cataracts and of awful abysses, of spots blasted into everlasting barrenness, and regions of

man, gathered strength in those pure fields of meditation to which they were limited. The power which might have ruled the disturbed nations with the wildest, directed only the creation of high theories and of marvellous tales, imparted to its works a stern reality, and a moveless grandeur which never could spring from mere fantasy. His works are not like those which a man, who is endued with a deep sense of beauty, or a rare faculty of observation, or a sportive wit, or a breathing eloquence, may fabricate as the "idle business" of his life, as the means of profit or of fame. They have more in them of acts than of writings. They are the living and immortal deeds of a man who must have been a great political adventurer, had