street Dauphine. Ursula, who had put on a veil, said not a word. After the passing movement of gallantry, in which he had wafted from his fingers that kiss which committed on Ursula as great ravages as a whole book of love could have done, Savinien had entirely forgotten the doctor's pupil in the hell of his debts at Paris; and besides, his hopeless love for Emilie de Kergarouet had effaced the souvenir of a few glances exchanged with a little girl of Nemours. He remembered her then only when the old man made her get into the diligence first, and placed himself near her, to separate her from the young Vicount.

"I shall have accounts to render you," said the doctor to the young man. "I bring you all your papers!"

"I was near being left," said Savinien, "for I have had to order wearing apparel and linen; the Philistines have stripped me, and I arrive as a prodigal child."

However interesting may have been the subjects of conversation. between Savinien and the doctor, and witty as were certain an; swers of Savinien, the maiden remained mute until the twilight, her green veil let down, her hands crossed upon her shawl.

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'Mademoiselle does not seem to be enchanted with Paris?" said Savinien at last, piqued.

"I return to Nemours with pleasure," replied she, in a moved voice, raising her veil.

Notwithstanding the darkness, Savinien then recognized her by her large braids of hair and her brilliant blue eyes.

"And I! I leave Paris without regret, to come and bury myself at Nemours, since I find there my fair neighbor," said he. "I hope, Monsieur le Docteur, that you will receive me at your house; I love music, and I remember having heard Mademoiselle Ursula's piano."

"I do not know, sir," gravely said the doctor, "if your mother would like to see you at the house of an old man, who must have for this dear child all a mother's solicitude."

This measured answer made Savinien think much, and then he

even a glass of wine, question the conductor, he answers you with his nose in the wind, his eye on space. "La concurrence is ahead! and we do not see her!" said the postillion. "The scamp will not have let his passengers eat!"-" Has he any?" answers the conductor. "Tap then on Polignac !" All the bad horses are called Polignac. Such are the jokes and the substance of conversation between the postillions and the conductors on the top of stage-coaches. As many occupations as there are in France, so many argots.

remembered that kiss so lightly wafted. The night having come on, the heat was oppressive. Savinien and the doctor fell asleep first. Ursula, who sat long awake, laying plans, yielded towards midnight. She had taken off her little straw hat. Her head, covered with an embroidered cap, soon fell upon her god-father's shoulder.

About day-break, at Bourou, Savinien woke first. then perceived Ursula in the disorder of sleep, with her cap rumpled and pushed back, her hair falling about her face, which was flushed with the heat of the carriage; but in this situation, frightful for women to whom a toilet is necessary, youth and beauty triumph. Innocence has always a beautiful sleep. The half open lips disclosed pretty teeth; the shawl undone permitted to remark without offending Ursula, under the plaits of a figured muslin dress, all the graces of her waist. In fine, the purity of this virgin soul shone on this countenance, and could be seen so much the more easily, as no other expression disturbed it. Old Minoret, who awoke, replaced his child's head in the corner of the carriage, so that she might be more at her ease. She let it be done without waking, so deeply she slept, after all the nights employed in thinking of Savinien's misfortune.

"Poor little one," said he to his neighbor, "she sleeps like a child, that she is."

"You ought to be proud of her," replied Savinien, "for she seems to be as good as she is beautiful."

"Ah! she is the joy of the house. Were she my own daughter, I could not love her more. She will be sixteen on the fifth of next February. God grant that I live long enough to marry her to a man who shall render her happy! I wished to take her to a theatre in Paris, this being her first visit, but she would not; the curate of Nemours had disapproved it. But,' said I, 'suppose that, when you are married, your husband wants to take you there?' 'I will do all that my husband desires,' she answered.

If he asks me anything wrong, and I am weak enough to obey him, he will be charged with those faults before God; I shall draw, then, strength to resist from a true understanding of his interest.'"

As they entered Nemours, at five o'clock in the morning, Ursula awoke, all ashamed of her disorder, and of meeting Savinien's admiring look. During the hour that the diligence had taken to come from Bourou, where it stopped a few minutes, the young man

was smitten with Ursula: he had studied the candor of this soul, the beauty of this body, the fair complexion, the delicate features, the charm of the voice which had uttered that phrase so short and so expressive, in which the poor child said everything in meaning to say nothing. Finally, a secret presentiment revealed to him in Ursula the woman whom the doctor had painted in framing her portrait with these magic words: "Seven or eight hundred thousand francs!"

In three or four years, she will be twenty, I shall be twentyseven; the good man has spoken of trials, of works, of good conduct. However cunning he may seem, he will tell me his secret at last."

The three neighbors separated in front of their houses, and Savinien used coquetry in his adieux, raising to Ursula a look full of solicitations.

Notwith

Madame de Portenduère let her son sleep until noon. standing the fatigue of the journey, the doctor and Ursula attended grand mass.

The deliverance of Savinien and his return, in company with the doctor, had explained the object of his absence to the politicians of the town, and to the heirs assembled on the public square, in a council like that which they had held there fifteen days before. To the great astonishment of the groups, on coming out from mass, Madame de Portenduère stopped old Minoret, who offered her his arm and saw her home. The old lady wished to ask him to dinner, and his pupil also, that very day, mentioning that the curate would be their other guest.

"He will have wished to show Paris to Ursula," said MinoretLerault.

"Peste! the good man does not take a step without his little nurse," exclaimed Cremière.

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"For the good woman, Portenduère, to have taken his arm, very intimate things must have passed between them," said Massin. "And you have not guessed that your uncle has sold his income and taken the little Portenduère out of his trap? said Goupil. 'He had refused my master, but he has not refused his mistress. Ah! you are done. The Vicount will propose to make a contract instead of an obligation, and the doctor will make over to his god-daughter, by her husband, all that it may cost to conclude such an alliance."

"It would not be an awkward thing to marry Ursula with M. Savinien," said the butcher. "The old lady dines M. Minoret to-day; Trennette came at five o'clock to secure a tenderloin steak."

"Ah, well! Dionis, there is fine work going on!" said Massin, running to meet the notary, who came upon the square.

"What now? all is going well," replied the notary. "Your uncle has sold his income, and Madame de Portenduère has asked me to her house to sign an obligation of a hundred thousand francs, secured by her property, and lent by your uncle."

"Yes; but if the young people were to marry?"

"It is as if you said that Goupil is my successor," replied the notary.

"The two things are not impossible," said Goupil.

THE MIGHT OF WOMAN.

TRANSLATED FROM SCHILLER BY C. T. BROOKS.

MIGHTY are yeye are so by the still charm of the present;
What the still one does not, never the stormy can do.
Force I look for in man, of law the majesty wielding!

Woman can only by grace hold a legitimate sway.

Many have ruled, it is true, by the might of mind and of prowess;
But they have forfeited thee, highest and purest of crowns!
Womanly beauty alone makes a true queen of the woman:

Let her be seen, and she rules-rules by her presence alone.

DOCTOR BELLOWs denies that he made use of the expression that he "could not pronounce the soul of Theodore Parker to be lost, but he affirmed that he (Parker) had not accepted the means of salvation." His present version of the matter is — “not that I entertain any fear of the loss of Mr. Parker's soul, although I think that he did not accept the condition of salvation prescribed by the New Testament."

CRITICAL NOTICES.

The Eighth Commandment. By CHARLES READE. Boston: Ticknor & Fields. Cincinnati: G. S. Blanchard.

With good corkage, Charles Reade is about as delicious a brand of "the sparkling" as can now be imported. When any book of his appears, we await nobody's criticism, we notice nobody's neglect; we are indifferent as to whether he has written about a man or an elephant, a thief or a theatre, we go straightway and get the book, and never find in it one dull line. Nihil tetigit quod non ornavit. Here, now, is a book which is in no wise a fiction, but a plain, homely truth, all relating to acts of Parliament, statistics, and squabbles between the witty French dramatists and piratical London managers; yet it is one of the most delightful works Reade has ever written. He would scarcely pardon us for saying it, but we can scarcely regret the annoyances and loss he has personally undergone in his efforts to establish literary justice between England and France, since they have been the means of giving us this piquant, sketchy revelation of himself and kindred characters. In a modest, because inevitable and unconscious way, Mr. Reade gives us the story of himself, and that self is "every inch a king." We liked much the last story of our author, which he called "A Good Fight; " but here, too, is a story of a Good Fight, and one which must be in the end crowned with as fair a success. The sketches of Maquet and others, and of the scene in the Surrey Court, are as brilliant as anything by Edmund About, of whom our author frequently reminds us. Here's a health to thee, Charles Reade!

The Wild Sports of India: with Remarks on the Breeding and Rearing of Horses, and the Formation of light, irregular Cavalry. By Capt. HENRY SHAKSPEAR, Commandant Nagpore Irregular Force. Boston: Ticknor & Fields. 1860. Cincinnati: G. S. Blanchard.

A bright, agreeable book, full of truth to Nature and graphic sketching. The Indian who, when asked if he had known a certain hero in the war, replied, "I ate a piece of him," gave the idea of a great deal of our knowledge of Nature and Life; and though the method of the naturalist who goes to forest and stream without rod or gun may be higher, we could little do without the fact and insight furnished by the brave, unphilosophical, keen-sensed adventurer, who has touched and tasted the varieties of life and landscape. Of these Capt. Shakspear is a fine specimen, and we recommend his account to all the lovers of our many-breasted mother Earth, and of the manifold creatures she cherishes.

Unitarianism Defined; the Scripture Doctrine of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost: A course of lectures by FREDERICK A. FARLEY, D.D., Pastor of the Church of the Savior, Brooklyn, N. Y. Boston: Walker, Wise & Co. Cincinnati: G. S. Blanchard.

A better title would be, Unitarianism Confined, or perhaps Coffined. There must be, we suppose, a mission upon earth for all facts, even the dreariest, for Mr. Carlyle says there is; but wherefore, in the name of Sleepy Hollow, should any one come at this day to tell us, what all scholars know, that the Trinity is not a Scriptural doctrine? Neander and Bun