was gradually recovering from the fatigue fortune, chance, a happy turn of affairs, paand agitation of her journey, and creeping tience, good generalship, would enable them slowly into the pleasure-grounds with her to take advantage of the first break in the husband; the lost Duchess de Montpensier clouds, and regain somewhat of their lost was found; the Prince and Princess de Joinville, Duke and Duchess de Nemours, Duke and Duchess d'Aumale, with their children, gathered round the dethroned pair; and by the most admirable and amiable adaptation of their conduct to their altered circumstances, proved themselves far greater in adversity than they had ever done in prosperity

""Tis not in mortals to command success,

But we'll do more, Sempronius-we'll deserve it!"

position. Even the failure of one or two schemes of this kind was, perhaps, better to them than the intolerable monotony, the complete blank, the absolute want of occupation, motive, or hope. Ex-statesmen, fallen ministers, tried adherents, came and went. There must have been little family councils, closetings, embassies, voluminous correspondences-all coming to nothing, yet held better than nothing. I chanced to see them all, one evening, descend the dimly lighted grand staircase to dinner; the household being drawn up in the hall, almost in the dark, though gleams of bright light now and then streamed from the dining-room. As each prince noiselessly descended, leading his princess-one of them the infanta, whose hand, almost in her childhood, had been so sharply contested-they seemed like figures in a dream, or a silent pageant in a theatre.

The ladies plaited straw for their own bonnets, seated on the grass; while the princes read aloud to them, and the children sported around; the terrible Prince de Joinville, late admiral of the French fleet, breathing fire and slaughter whenever he spoke of Albion, now concentrated his energies on preventing the afore-named old punt from foundering, while he rowed his small children-the Another interesting figure was soon added little Prince Pierre, and the tiny Princess to the scene-Helen, the high-minded DuchFrançoise on the lake; the dukes, his ess of Orleans: not beautiful, but good, pious, brothers, no longer the admired of all ob- energetic, dignified, Protestant; differing in servers at Longchamps, might be seen side some of her opinions from her husband's by side on the box of the old yellow fly, family, but casting in her lot among them, driving about the park. In a little while, and beloved by them all for her unaltered some of their own horses and equipages en- sweetness. She soon took a large family abled them to make a better figure; for, house on the skirts of the park, where she when things had shaken down a little, there quietly superintended the education of her was a sufficient residue of property, from one Then came the death of that source and another, really and lawfully their busy-headed, clever, broken-hearted old king own, to enable them to live quite becomingly -once held as the subtlest monarch in on a par with the nobility and gentry of the Europe. The Duchess of Orleans and the land. Till this could be secured, however, Duchess de Nemours were not long followthey were in anxiety and straits; and they ing him. Claremont seemed to keep up its bore their trials with meritorious patience reputation, ever since the days of Lord Clive, and fortitude. It was impressive to see the of being fatal to those who became its occufallen king and dejected queen tottering pants; and now, a bereaved, despoiled, dialong together; the graceful princesses, minished circle gathers within its walls, with whose slightest notice had lately been so nothing to hope, nothing to fear-subdued prized, gliding through green shades, or to take meekly and with fortitude the blighted flitting under porticoes, accompanied by lot God apportions them; and, with true their little children; in the background, the French philosophy, affording noteworthy faithful Swiss, who continued to sleep at his examplesmaster's door, and declared that, if anybody forced an entrance there, it should be through his body.

Doubtless, hopes were long cherished that something would turn up-that Providence,

two sons.

"What liberty He gives when we do fall
Within the compass of an outward thrall!
And what contentments He bestows on them
Whom others do neglect, or else contemn!"*
* George Wither.

"There are very few persons now living com- convinced us that Sydney Owenson never per"The result of much inquiry on the subject has petent to furnish any personal information on formed at any of the Dublin theatres, but may this point. All we can do is to collect a few have appeared, when a mere child, in connection waifs and strays, and let the reader draw his own with some of her father's professional tours conclusion. An octogenarian player, Mr. W. A. Donaldson, in his recently published Fifty through the western counties of Ireland. OwenYears of an Actor's Life,' tells us, 'Lady Mor- son always flung himself into theatricals with gan is the oldest writer in Great Britain. This highly gifted woman began her career in the dramatic world. Her father was the manager of several theatres in Ireland, where she sustained characters suited to her juvenile years, with considerable ability; but when her father ceased

she at no period appeared on the stage-an | crisis, and it would also appear, from a note impression which they would be very likely to foster.

Sydney lost her mother in early life; but her father was extremely vigilant, and on one occasion threatened to pitch some young ensigns, who thought they might while away their heavy leisure moments in a flirtation or two, out of the window. We learn elsewhere that

appended at the conclusion of the work before us, that Sydney Owenson went out as governess at or about this period, when necessity-that great parent of exertion-induced by her father's misfortune, also first brought her into notice as the authoress of a little volume of poems, "juvenile and otherwise." Croker's assaults also first began at this, the very dawn of her literary career; and one benefit resulted from these attacks, that they aided her reception in high quar

"The Connaught gentry paid Owenson such attention that he came to Dublin for little Sydney, and brought her down to Sligo. The fam-ters, nor did they in any way dim the genius ily of Sir Malby Crofton of Colloony, the Everards, the Barclays, the Coopers, Phibbses, Booths, Ormsbys, and Norcots, showed the small girl much kindness and attention.

of her who was at the same time preparing her "Wild Irish Girl" for the press.

These youthful steps of progress were followed by her marriage with Surgeon Morgan; and the manner in which she got her intended knighted, and thus obtained for herself the title of Sydney Lady Morgan, is very characteristic :

"The legitimate drama having failed to take, poor Owenson endeavored to fill his theatre by personating some very loudly comic characters. I remember,' observes an old Sligo lady, enjoying his representation of the Killibegs Haymaker, with suggauns (or straw ropes) round his hat, waist, and legs, his coat in tatters, and riod in the domestic life of Miss Owenson. Mr. "We now approach the most important pestraws sticking out of his brougues. I laughed T. C. Morgan was a surgeon and general medheartily at him, as did his two daughters, who ical practitioner in an English provincial town. were in the pit with, I think, an uncle of the The late Marquis of Abercorn, in passing through present Sir Robert Gore Booth of Lisadile, and it, en route for Tyrone, from his Scottish seat indeed I thought I would be ashamed if my Dudingtone House, Edinburgh, met with an acfather were so dressed, but they enjoyed it cident which threatened dangerous results, and greatly. I knew Miss Sydney Owenson well: Surgeon Morgan was sent for. The doctor was she was a gay, vivacious, smart young woman; promptly in attendance, and for more than a I remember her dining and spending the even-week he remained night and day beside the ing at Mr. Feeney's, a merchant of Sligo; she noble patient's couch. Under the skilful treatcame in the full-dressed fashion of that day; she ment of Mr. Morgan, the marquis at length bedanced gracefully. Being called on for a song, came rapidly convalescent. Hs felt sincerely all our expectations were that we should hear grateful to the young physician for his assiduous some new French or Italian air, but, to our sur- and efficient attention, and invited him on a prise, she took her sweet small harp, and played visit to his Irish seat at Baron's Court, County up the air and sang the song, "Oh, whistle and I of Tyrone, where the marchioness was about to will be with you, my lad.' Mr. Owenson was a organize some splendid fêtes champêtres. The very good comic actor. I remember having invitation was accepted. Anne, Marchioness of seen the same play acted afterwards in Dublin, Abercorn, had a select circle of guests on a visit but not so well as Mr. Owenson did it at Sligo. at the house, and amongst the number Miss Miss Owenson spent a great deal of her time at Owenson. Mr. Morgan was a widower, but the seat of Sir Malby Crofton. She often passed me on the road, riding a nice pony. I the generality of widowers: a congeniality of more literary and romantic and juvenile than thought that she did not sit so straight in her taste brought him and the young authoress into saddle as the ladies who accompanied her.' Another octogenarian of Sligo writes: 'I fre- frequent conversation. Time passed swiftly and quently went to Owenson's theatre in Water- gayly; but in the midst of this festivity and lane, Knox's Street. I remember his daughters ous illness of Robert Owenson, and summoning frolic a letter arrived, announcing the dangerin the pit with Mr. Harloe Phibbs, who attracted his daughter Sydney to Dublin. With weeping general observation, as a report was at that time rife that he was courting Miss Sydney eyes and an aching heart-but not on Morgan's Owenson. There were no boxes in Sligo The- adieu. Owenson made a short rally, and suraccount-she bade the young widower a hurried atre then. Harloe Phibbs was the son of old vived until May, 1812. Surgeon Morgan, in Bloomer Phibbs, who went by the name of the mean time, with a smitten heart followed "Smooth Acres." The fashionable improvi- Miss Sydney Owenson to Dublin, and persedence of the day led to these acres being encum-cuted her with declarations of the love which bered and sold. I remember, on the particular night in question, that Owenson's part was Pan, dressed up in goat-skins, a very amusing character.'"

filled him to distraction. The popular Duke of Richmond invited the authoress and Mr. Morgan to one of the private balls at the Viceregal Court. His excellency, in the course of a loungThe invasion of the French and the cap-ing conversation with Miss Owenson, playfully ture of Castlebar appear to have brought alluded to the matrimonial report which had beOwenson's histrionic embarrassments to a gun to be bruited about, and expressed a hope

to have the pleasure, at no distant day, of con- subaltern scribes were ready to take it up, gratulating her on her marriage. The rumor and to make a point of attacking indiscrimrespecting Mr. Morgan's dévouement,' she re-inately whatever Lady Morgan did. Had plied, may or may not be true; but this I can she lived in our own time it would have been at least with all candor and sincerity assure your a different thing: she would have had her grace, that I shall remain to the last day of my opposition"-that, with her politics and life in single blessedness, unless some more tempting inducement than the mere change from idiosyncrasies, would have been unavoidable Miss Owenson to Mistress Morgan be offered but she would have had a clear stage and me.' The hint was taken, and Charles, Duke fair play. of Richmond, in virtue of the powers of his office, knighted Surgeon Morgan on the spot."

A visit to the continent followed upon her marriage. The object of this journey was to pick up materials for the work on France, which her biographer considers as her chefd'œuvre. The publication of this book aroused the bitter ire of the Quarterly, and caused her to be pursued by all the venom of "shoals of slanderers and snakes in the grass."

Lady Morgan was, however, quite capable of fighting her own battles, and she has a most efficient and zealous protector of her fair fame in Mr. Fitzpatrick. Irish by birth, sceptic by education, and democratic by inspiration, she lived half a century before her time. The literary organ of government could at that epoch give the signal, and fifty

It is gratifying to find this extraordinary woman's life told in so brief, agreeable, straightforward, and honest a manner. If we were to say that none but an Irishman could have done justice to such a subject, we should only say what we believe; the same amount of research, and even the same amount of sympathy, might have been found on this side of the channel, but the hearty Celtic raciness and local color, never. Indeed, if we were to say, with an Irish conservative paper, that there is but one man in the United Kingdom who could have produced this book, we should, perhaps, be still nearer the mark. The spirit of inquiry which exhausts every source of information, the perseverance and tact, and the genial warmth, are characteristics only of the author of the Life and Times of Lord Cloncurry," and of the "Note on the Cornwallis Papers."

66

ously resolved to carry out their original intention and get married. Hence the ceremony of Saturday last in the noble temple of St. Peters, at Vienna.-Berlin Correspondence of the Court News.

On Saturday the matrimonial union of Prince | old friends once more together, they couragePeter of Arenberg with the Countess Dowager Caroline of Stahremberg, née Countess Kaunitz, was celebrated with great pomp at the cathedral of St. Stephen's, Vienna, in the presence of the whole beau monde of the Austrian metropolis. The story of this marriage is a not uninteresting one. Prince Peter is no less than seventy years old, and his new consort, the celebrated Count Kaunitz's daughter, is sixty-one. In early youth both loved each other tenderly, and would have got married but for the opposing wish of their respective parents. It is an old, a very old story this kind of tale, and it is quite unnecessary, consequently, to dwell on details in this particular case, as all cases of the sort resemble each other, like leaves on the same tree. Suffice it to say that Prince Peter of Arenberg had to lead a daughter of Prince Charles de Talleyrand to the altar, and that the young Countess of Kaunitz was united to a graf, or earl, of Stahremberg. Years flowed on; both the former lovers came to have children of their own; both, probably, had cares of their own, and thus their lives rolled on as most human lives do-a mixture of joys and sorrows, pleasures and pains. But, singularly enough, both the husband of Caroline of Kaunitz and the wife of Peter of Arenberg died at the same time, and accident throwing the two

MAHOMEDAN FUNERALS.-The funerals are conducted with little or no ceremony. The body, placed upon a bier, and covered with a common cloth if that of a poor person, with white cashmere among the rich, and with a green cashmere if belonging to the family of a cheriff, is thus borne to the cemetery, the followers repeating all the way in a slow, measured tone the words, "Allah! Allah! Allah!" There are no undertakers here for the arrangement of funeral processions, that duty being performed by the relatives and servants of the deceased. It is customary for any person meeting a funeral procession to diverge from his course and take hold of a corner of the bier, walking with it until another passer-by takes his place-the Mussulman usage exacting that each person must lend his services in this way for at least ten paces. I have many a time dismounted on thus meeting a funeral cortege to take my place in it according to this custom.-Mysteries of the Desert.

From The Dublin University Magazine.

FOUND AT SEA.

SHORTLY after the loss of the steamer, Argus, on the Mull of Cantire, it became my duty to cross the channel which divides the island of Rathlin from the coast of Antrim. The storm, which had previously detained me, had scarcely subsided; the waves still rolled heavily in upon the wild iron shore, and the broken waters still leaped and flashed along the many perilous tideways. Had it been possible, I would gladly have deferred my return to the island; but there was no alternative, urgent reasons compelled me, at least to attempt the passage.

Suddenly, the morose look of the man when first we met upon the shore, and the recklessness of his manner when speaking of the probable risk of the voyage, occurred to me. He must be insane. The peril of our situation had called forth a paroxysm of his malady. In such a craft, and place, I was at his mercy. I could not doubt that. any attempt to control him by force would inevitably overset the boat. It occurred to me, however, that he might be soothed by kind words. So I cried out, "Oh, never mind Ghea, like a good fellow, I'll take you there to-morrow, if you'll be quiet till we get ashore."

gling over his convulsed features, and his hands tossed in horrible despair, as he cried"I ken it a'; I ken it a'. Strange man! ye came to drag me to the doom, for yon bloody work. But I'll never fa' into the hands o' man's justice. I'll dee noo, and ye shall sink alang wi' me. Dee a', a' tagither."

The spot I selected from which to sail, was If you have ever been confronted by a then, and is probably still, a remote fishing madman, you may perhaps fancy-what I place, surrounded with rugged cliffs, and never can remember without horror-the protected from the full strokes of the north-fearful sight of that wretch as he turned ern ocean by some scattered islets and rocks, upon me. His blood-shot eyes glared with perpetually streaming with white foam. savage rage. His gray, shaggy hair stragAnxious to avail myself of a temporay calm, I pressed a strange-looking fisherman to undertake the voyage. At my suggestion, he engaged a boy to assist in managing the sails, and, as the evening began to close, we stepped the mast and bore out to sea. At first there was considerable risk amongst the broken waves and currents rushing through and over the rocks surrounding the port; but, presently the open sea lay before us, and the full, steady swell of the canvas held fair and straight for the opposite bay of the island. Nevertheless, the sea continued laboring under us with deep, convulsive waves, even to my experienced eyes, strangely abrupt and dark, considering the light still in the skies, and the comparative tranquillity of the wind. As the boat flew on into the full current of the ebb tide, coming down the channel, this agitation became more singular and alarming, and I began to consider myself justified in desisting from the attempt, when each sluggish and almost perpendicular mass of water threatened to break upon us and overwhelm the boat.

But a few minutes, and my intentions and plans received a startling interruption.

I turned to consult the fisherman as to the weather, and our safest course. To my surprise, he had removed from the place he first occupied on the afterthwart, and was standing beside the mast to the leeward. I called him twice, as loudly as I was able, but he did not answer. He seemed to have fixed his eyes upon a distant island, seldom seen from the Irish coast, but which our position had made visible. The man seemed fascinated as by a spell. When the boat mounted or sank with the wave, he strained and struggled to keep the island in sight, and followed it till the last possible instant.

Another instant and he would have fulfilled his threat. Leaping upon the gunwale he seized the mast, and with fearful cries endeavored to capsize the boat. It was an awful moment; hanging over the dark hollows of the sea, or horribly tottering upon the verge of the white hissing wave. I recommended myself to God, and believed I should never rise a living man from out the depth of the enormous wave just past.

The madman repeated his wild efforts; our fate was certain. When suddenly there occurred one of those events which, however true, are scarcely credible.

Right before the boat, about half-way down the side of the approaching wave, there appeared the face and shoulders, as far as the bosom, of a beautiful woman; one arm clasped across her breast bore the form and drapery of an infant, the other was stretched forth white and beautiful as if to guard the infant from danger; while her large, humid eyes seemed pleading with whatever form of peril was about to destroy them. Her long, yellow hair lay half floating, half mingled with the crest of the wave, and her white garments partly clung closely to her person, partly drifted behind. The poor fisher boy, who had sat terrified during the struggles of the lunatic, now cast himself headlong into the bottom of the boat, praying and trembling. As for myself, I also felt utterly unable to speak or act under the strange and sudden shock, and immediately