It

maternal affection of Madame Fischer, number The day came at last, when there was no two; and the bridegroom's love of his profession, longer any time for discussing the matter. number three. But Coralie was a girl in a thou- had been supposed that the regiment, only lately sand, without any selfishness in her love, at least, returned from foreign service, would remain at -if there were a slight dash of it, it was a self- home for some months. Now, however, it was ishness deux. suddenly ordered to Algiers. Passionately as Eugene desired military distinction, as he now saw all Coralie's unselfish devotion, he felt almost inclined to relinquish every ambitious hope for her dear sake.

The case was this: Eugene Peroud, though of a good bourgeois family, was, at the time we are writing of, only a sergeant in one of the regiments of the line. It is a common practice in France for young men, very respectably con- "You must go. Eugene," she said, when he nected, to enter the army as privates, and to expressed some feeling of this kind; "you must work their way up to a commission. Now Eu-go-we have delayed too long for any other degene, besides having every reason to expect his cision, now. My brave Eugene, as brave as promotion within a reasonable time, had a life- Bayard himself, must be like him, not only sans rent of a thousand francs a-year-about forty peur, but sans reproche. I could not love Eupounds of English money-and so Coralie con- gene as I do, mother," turning to Madame sidered she was making so rich a marriage, for a Fischer, who was murmuring some opposition, girl without a sou of dowry, that she might be "if I said otherwise." suspected of interested motives. Like many "Wounded! maimed! did you say? Ah! other mammas, Madame Fischer was of a pre- well, so that he comes back, I will be his cisely opposite opinion to her daughter. She crutch, bâton de sa viellesse," and she pressed thought that Coralie was throwing herself away. her lover's strong arm on hers, flushing over "I have yielded to my child's feelings," said brow and bosom with the effort to subdue naMadame Fischer, with dignified emphasis, "and tural yearnings, natural fears. Catching up a the least I think I have a right to expect in re-terrible word, whispered by the mother, she flung turn is that the man, for whom that child sacri- her arms around his neck, crying: "No, no, he fices so much, should willingly give up his am- will not die-he cannot die!-but even so, it is a bitious views, to devote himself to domestic soldier's duty to die for his country; and Eugene felicity." will do his duty, and Coralie will do hers." Poor heart, how it quivered, and how the tongue faltered, as it spoke these brave words. No one knew the hard victory, over self, Coralie had won. She, herself, only realized it when the fight was over, and she was left to long days of alternate anxiety and hope.

"And how are we to live?" asked Eugene, in a half-penitent, humble tone.

"As we have hitherto done," said the lady, in the same tone of injured worth. "I have duly reflected on the plan I now propose, and to carry it out, I shall make application to have my licence transferred to my daughter." Eugene looked aghast. "As for me," here Madame Fischer paused, and raised her handkerchief to her eyes -"I shall not long be a trouble or a burden to any one." Eugene laughed out at this assertion, while Coralie exclaimed:

"Oh, mamma! how can you say such unkind words to your poor little Coralie. Trouble! burden! Oh, mamma! and when you have done so much for me; for us." Then forcing back the tears filling her eyes, she smiled, and lifting off her mother's pretty little cap, gave to view Madame Fischer's profusion of glorious black hair. Tenderly smoothing, and kissing the black braids, she said: "No, not one tiny, silvery line to be seen; look, Eugene, is there? and mamma talking as if she were eighty!"

"Foolish child," replied Madame Fischer, replacing the cap, and its coquelicot ribbons. "What can my hair have to do with Eugene's giving up the army?" Coralie shook her head, and looked as if it had, but only said: "No, no, we will have no giving up of anything. Time enough, when Eugene is bald and gray-headed, for him to sell tobacco and snuff; and who knows, mamma," continued the brave girl, "but Eugene may live to be a general! Wouldn't you like to see me a general's wife, mamma, a grande dame, and going to Court?"-and Coralie held up her head, and courtesied gracefully, coaxing the mamma not to say, again, that Eugene's love for his profession no great proof of his love for his be

was

trothed.

Madame Fischer had prophesied more truly of herself than she had intended. After what seemed a mere cold, she almost suddenly died. The reversion of her license had only been talked about, and not secured; so Coralie, at eighteen, found herself alone in Paris; her whole dependence a few, very few, pounds the poor mother had pinched herself for years to lay by, for her child's dôt.

The brave-hearted Coralie went at once to those ladies who had befriended her mother. She told them of her engagement; she was very proud of being the promised wife of Eugene Peroud. She knew how willingly he would have given her his thousand francs a-year, but she would rather try and support herself, until she actually became his wife. Her mother's savings Coralie wished laid aside to be used as that dear, lost one had meant.

The ladies applied to their nieces or daughters, at Madame Sévère's; and, through their exertions, Coralie was received as sous-maîtresse. For four years had Coralie brushed hair, picked out misshapen stitches, heard unlearned lessons stammered through, and corrected incorrigible exercises. A letter from Eugene sufficed to cover all her head and heart weariness. What a delight the first letter had been; she peered at every word, till she learned the trick of every letter; how he crossed his t's, and dotted his i's; the handwriting, indeed, seemed, to her, different from all other had writings. Countless were the times the thin paper was unfolded, to make sure

he had really put that fond word where she of one or other article. One chair, quite a largo thought, and carefully was it refolded, and not reading-chair, Coralie would have. Should it parted with, night nor day, until another and be covered? O, no-she would rather work a another, no less dear, followed, each in turn cover for it! "A piece of extravagance," said usurping its predecessor's throne. At last, she she to Madame Ferey, "but it will last all our received the long looked for news; Eugene had lives, and Eugene ought to have one. Don't you won his epaulettes in open fight, and been noticed think so?" And all sorts of fairy visions were by the Prince himself. How Coralie cried, for dancing before Coralie's eyes as she spoke. joy and how Madame Sévèré scolded her, for having flushed cheeks.

Time went steadily on, hurrying himself for no one, and now Eugene writes of his return in another year as certain. A year! Who, after thirty, says, with heartfelt confidence: Only another year-and then? This certainty of soon having a husband's protection softened, to Coralie, the annoyance of leaving Madame Sévère. Not that Coralie had any affection for that prim, uncensurable lady; but she would have borne almost anything to be permitted the shelter of a respectable roof, till Eugene came to claim her. Why Madame Sévèré had such an antipathy to the handsome, healthy, smiling girl, courageous and independent in her nearly menial situation, - let moralists explain. Too independent, perhaps, was the under-teacher, with not a scrap of that twining and clinging of parasite plants, which, whether he will or no, embrace and hold fast the rugged, knotty oak, until they make him subservient to their support. Coralie had proved her courage, by remaining so many years a drudge for Madame Sévère; but the proud spirit could not brook the chance of being discharged as an ill-behaved servant; and, Madame Sévèré had not been sparing in hints, that she must either resign or be dismissed.

Madame Ferey, had taken up Coralie's interests in real earnest, and had, by dint of severe canvassing, procured several little scholars. It was agreed that the usual monthly charge of five francs should always be paid in advance. This considerate arrangement saved Coralie from running into debt at the beginning, and before the end of the first three months she was enjoying a great gale of prosperity. The mothers of her first pupils so boasted of her skill in teaching reading and writing, but, above all, of the wonderful stitches she taught their daughters, that her little school prospered beyond all her expectations. Coralie even thought she should soon need a larger room, and an assistant; but she would wait now, for Eugene's advice. Perhaps he might not like her to keep a school after they were married. In his last letter he had bid her write no more, for the regiment was under orders to return to France. He was sure to be with her shortly after his own letter.

Every thing was ready for him; and it was wonderful what her industry and ingenuity had done for her humble apartment. She had worked a large rug, made the neatest and freshest of covers for the little sofa, while the famous great chair was a specimen of beautiful, elaborate worsted work-a paragon in its way. There So Mademoiselle Fischer left the pensionat for were helmets, and swords, and banners, flaming young ladies, and, by the advice of Madame in charming confusion on the seat and broad Ferey-o -one of those who had shown most in- back, in the centre of which last was a medallion terest in her at the time of her mother's death, with the interlaced initials, E. and C. The pride she resolved to try what she could make of a day- of Coralie's heart, however, was the pretty penschool for children, rather than run the risk of dule, on the mantel piece. The only drawback encountering another Madame Sévèré. There to her pleasure, as she looked round her, was the was no time for much pondering. The poor absence of the two vases, with their bouquets, cannot afford the luxury of hesitation. So which ought to have flanked the pendule. They Coralie at once hired a couple of rooms in one had yet to be earned, and during the probation of the small streets running into the Rue St. of this last month even Coralie's energy and Honoré; a neighborhood abounding in small spirit gave way. She could scarcely bear the shops, and populous with small children. To sound of the little voices round her; she was furnish these rooms, sorely against her wishes, hardly able to command patience enough to our young schoolmistress had to expend her allot the work-to answer the never-ending quesmother's savings. Coralie had no morbid sen- tions about cotton, and muslin, and leaves, and sibility; but she sorrowed over this infringement holes, and worsteds, and silks. She was nearly of her dear mother's wishes, as if that mother wild with impatience for the hour of release; could have been pained by the deed. She listened but when it came, solitude appeared more inthankfully to Madame Ferey, who said the supportable to her than the hum and buzz and furniture would be as good a dôt as the money,-movement of the day. She could not command and tried to look satisfied; her judgment was convinced, but not her heart.

even one of those hopeful anticipations, she had longed for the hour of quietness to enjoy; not Madame Ferey went with her to the upholster- one of her former bright visions of the future er's, to choose the walnut-wood furniture-that would come at her call. She grew fearful, and object of ambition to young housekeepers. Ma- superstitious, and, waking or sleeping, was purdame Ferey says she shall never forget Coralie's sued with phantom-dread,- a dread she would face on that day, with its variations of sunshine not have clothed in words for empires, a shapeand cloud; while the firm, well-poised figure, the less dread, that was withering her life, only to be impersonation of youthful vigor, contrasted so guessed at by the sudden alteration in her looks. charmingly with the blushing, fluttered manner She grew pale and thin, and there came a stare which betrayed to her friend how constantly the in her sweet eyes, and an impatient, hard sound thought of the absent one entered into the choice in her voice.

"He has often written to me, of you," returned she;" "but you have expected to find him too soon-he is not yet come-but he will soon be here."

The young man leaned his hand on the back of a chair, turned a strange look at the excited speaker, and then cast his eyes on the ground.

The French are a kindly race; and the sym-"I have come by his wish. You, perhaps, know pathies of all, who knew Coralie, were soon in my name-Jean Rivarol-I was Eugene's comfull play. Heaven knows, how every one was so rade for many years." well informed; but the milk-woman, who brought the morning sous of milk, let fall a drop or two over the measure, with a smiling-"Courage, mademoiselle, le bon temps viendra." The concierge and his wife were ready to lay violent hands on the postman's giberne; the shoe-black, at the corner of the street, made daily inquiries; and, as for the épicier and his spouse, M. and Madame Bonnenuit, they could talk of nothing in their conjugal tête-à-têtes, but Madlle. Coralie, and her officier fiancé. They perseveringly studied a mutilated weathercock, which had long given up service, and by which they always predicted a fair wind from Algiers.

When Eugene's return might be expected any day, or even any hour, Coralie begged for a holiday; all occupation had, indeed, become impossible to her. The parents of her little flock were enthusiastically unanimous in their consent: * Mais oui, mais oui, ma pauvre demoiselle ; allons donc, ma cherè bonne demoiselle; du courage, ça va finir bientôt, le bon temps viendra."

"Le bon temps viendra !" repeated Coralie and this strong, lively girl would sit whole hours motionless, or move, only to look at the hands of the pendule.

At last, one Sunday morning, Coralie awoke with an unusual feeling of cheerfulness. It was early spring; and a bright sun was shining merrily into the room, in defiance of her snow-white curtains; some caged lark, near, was singing his pretty matins, and, as Coralie opened her window, a soft air wooed her heated cheek. A few warm tears gathered in her eyes; her heart throbbed tempestuously, and then, she felt a presentiment she would scarcely own it to herself-that he would come that day. First, Coralie prayed, as she had not prayed for weeks-poor soul-was she trying to bribe heaven? Then she dressed herself in her pretty new blue muslin, -her hand shaking so she could scarcely fix the buckle of her band; she smoothed and smoothed her hair till it shone like satin, laced on her new brodequins, and finally drew forth a pair of cuffs and a collar she had embroidered and laid by in sweet anticipation of Eugene's return. "They will grow quite yellow," soliloquized she, dissembling her own motive, "if I let them lie longer

;

"In truth," continued Coralie, "I thought it was him, when you entered; and so," she added, after a moment's pause, with a sweet smile, "to speak truly, the sight of you was a disappointment, and I was, perhaps, ungracious to Eugene's best friend-forgive me! Think, I have been waiting for this day five years five weary years!"

--

These last words broke forth with a burst of long pent-up feeling. Then, with more composure, she asked :

"Where did you leave him?"

To this direct question Rivarol, who was still standing in the middle of the room, murmured something like: "On the road."

"He will be here to-day, then?"

"Not to-day, I think-I suppose that is-as he is not here yet."

"To-morrow?" persisted Coralie; "morning or evening, do you think?"

"I cannot tell," said Jean, evidently embarrassed, and looking very pale. "Pardon, mademoiselle, my intrusion, I will take my leave."

Coralie thought he was hurt by the ungraciousness of her first reception.

"Nay," said she, gracefully, you must look on this as Eugene's home. It will be his-ours, in a few days-and his friends will always be welcome. See," she went on, "there stands his armchair; I worked the cover, myself, and, to tell you a secret, those slippers, and that smokingcap are for him. While he, poor fellow, has been going through toil and danger, it would have been too bad if I had been idle. I think Eugene will be pleased with our modest home."

Rivarol threw a hasty glance round the room, which seemed to take in all and everything it contained.

"Séjourfait pour le bonheur,"
(A home made for happiness),

in the drawer," and with sudden resolution she he exclaimed. He was strongly moved, his put them on. And then-why, then she knew not what to do with the long day, and sat down on her sofa in restless, yet happy listlessness.

voice was husky, and his color went and came. Fixing a look on Coralie's flushed, hopeful, expectant face, he rapidly uttered some words about pressing business, and with one hasty bow darted away.

66

About noon, there was a man's step on the stair; Coralic was not startled, not astonished; she had known it would be so; only she panted Monsieur, Monsieur!" screamed Coralie afhard as it came nearer and, at last, stopped at ter him, on the stairs. She had some new quesher door. She rose, but had no power to walk-tion to put to him, as to in what exact place he a low tap-" Entrez," she said, in a soft voice, had left Eugene, but Monsieur was already out with her hand outstretched as if she would have of hearing.

lifted the latch herself. A uniform appeared- "What a hurry he is in; I shall tell Eugene.” Coralie sprang forward, and met a stranger-And with this determination, the stranger vanEugene! where is he?" cried the bewildered ished from her thoughts, which returned to their girl, retreating, and her eyes, turning from the former train. Nevertheless, she had gathered intruder, strained, as if seeking some one follow-one certainty, that her betrothed could not be ing in his rear. with her before next day.

"Pardon, mademoiselle," answered the visitor;

To morrow!-how long! And yet it felt like

It was a most touching letter from Jean Rivarol, asking forgiveness for his courage having failed before the purpose of his visit to her on the preceding day. At sight of her, he had not had the heart to speak; his tongue had refused to tell her the fatal tidings. Eugene had fallen in a skirmish for which he had volunteered only That evening the wretched girl left Madame two days before the regiment embarked for France, Ferey more calm than she had been since the faJean Rivarol had been by his side, and received tal news. The discussing her project with a his last instructions. He had carried his friend's friend had given it reality. She had none to body within the French lines, and giving it Chris- help her in her inquiries or preparations. She tian burial near Oran, putting up a rude cross felt that she must be up and doing, and instead bearing the name of Coralie's affianced husband, of indulging in natural grief, she roused herself to mark the place where he lay, with a wreath to action. Many days passed in the arrangeof immortelles, to show that a friend had mourn-ments necessary for her plan; then it was rued over that distant grave.

One morning an old negro, himself a toiling servent to Arabs, awaited her coming, and presented her a nosegay with these words :

made her way through difficulties and disagreea- | passes, noticed this young French woman's diur bles of all kinds; but she was used to struggles, nal pilgrimage, watched her steps, and discoverhardships, and self-reliance. She was now set- ed its object. It raised her high in their veneratled at Oran, and supporting herself as a day- tion. governess among the families of the French officers. She was very kindly treated. Before leaving Paris, she had seen Rivarol again, and received all the information requisite to find out the spot sacred to her affections. Each morning, before the heat of an African day, and before the toil of her avocation begins, she walks beyond the walls of the town to kneel and pray by the side of a retired grave.

The native population by whose dwellings she

Moi donner ces fleurs à vous car vous bonne" (Me give you these flowers because you good). Any traveller visiting Oran may easily find out our heroine. She was still toiling on in hope a few months ago.

NOTES ON SOME VERSES BY THOMAS CAMP-] There are two or three poems in the Life BELL.-Your correspondent has certainly given which ought to be in his collected works. I a curious illustration of the verbal nicety (al-shall only instance the spirited "British Grenamost equal to Gray's!) of my late friend, the diers,” and the noble lines entitled “Launch of a illustrious Bard of Hope. But though he refers First Rate." Had the "Launch" been composed to the copy of the verses in question, printed in before the last collection of his poems passed the New Monthly Magazine, some months after through Campbell's hands, I fancy even his fasthe incident he describes, he does not appear to tidiousness would have permitted its addition to have seen it, else he would have observed that the "Naval Songs." Campbell discarded his "second thoughts," and reverted to the word "severed." Perhaps he thought "parted" and " 'depart" looked somewhat like a conceit, to which he was always opposed. In this copy, and in one which now lies before me, in the author's autograph, and which I saw him write, after the death of the lovely, accomplished, and unfortunate subject of the verses, there are two lines altered from Mr. T.'s version:

"Could I bring lost youth back again," is substituted for

"Could I recall lost youth again;"
"Affection's tender glow"

becomes

"Devoted rapture's glow,"

In curiosa felicitas of expression, Campbell's small volume is a mine of wealth; yet he sometimes uses epithets so faulty that they could not have escaped a far less critical eye. I think it has never been remarked that the obvious and unmistakable pleonasm in the burden of "Ye Mariners of England,"

"While the stormy tempests blow"

(one might, with as much propriety, speak of a tranquil calm!), was first rejected by the poet after it had been reprinted hundreds of times, in his most elaborate edition of 1837, with Turner's illustrations; and that he substituted the exact words of the old song ("Ye Gentlemen of Eng land"), the music of which elicited this noble lyric:

"While the stormy winds do blow,"

which is more impassioned and poetical, I think. in which, by-the-bye, the full, open sound of Your correspondent does not seem to have con-j do seems to me preferable to the hissing of Bulted Beattie's Life of the poet, where this little "-pests." Yet it was some time before the tempoem is reprinted, with a note by the biogra- pests were driven from the field by the winds, for pher. There also he would have found the strik-I find them arrayed in exquisite type in the ing sketch of the "Battle of the Baltic," which I Book of Gems (culied, I presume, by Mrs. S. C. transcribed from an early letter of Campbell to Hall), published the year after Campbell's pet his brother bard, Sir Walter Scott, and from edition. which the author's over-delicate taste rejected eight whole stanzas, two or three of them almost as fine, even in this rough draft, as several of those which so much contributed to his immortality.

It is remarkable that we do not find in this sketch the expression “to anticipate the scene," interpolated for the sake of the rhyme, and which falls on the mind so stale, flat, and unprofitable," amid so many "words that burn" and stir one's blood like the sound of a trumpet!

GEO. HUNTLY GORDON. H. M. Stationery Office, Aug. 4, 1854. P. S.-Since writing the above I have observed "The Launch" in an edition published since Campbell's death; yet surely it must be little known, else our daily papers would have quoted, when they gave such copious illustra tions of the sublime, heart-stirring launch of the Royal Albert. Printed as a broadside, it would have been most welcome, if dispersed among the visitors to Woolwich on that magnificent day!