à perdre la vie ;" but he also tells us of de leur courage. Notre train de vie ne the 66 assez grande gaieté" which was change pas pour cela; c'est un mélange to be found in the prison. "On buvait d'horreur sur ce que nous voyons et d'une beaucoup plus de vin et de liqueurs que gaieté, en quelque sorte, féroce, car nous dans la course ordinaire de la vie ... plaisantons souvent sur les objets les plus effrayants, au point que nous démontrions l'autre jour, à un nouvel arrivé, de quelle manière cela se fait, par le moyen d'une chaise à qui nous faisions faire la bascule. Tiens, dans ce moment, en voici un qui chante :

rien n'intimidait." General Biron

Quand ils m'auront guillotiné,
Je n'aurai plus besoin de nez.

(Duc de Lauzun), "le plus aimable et le plus courtois des seigneurs français," died with the most cheerful and chivalrous courage. He received sentence with indifference. When he reached the guichet, he asked for a fowl and a bottle of wine. He ate the one and drank the other. Next morning, after having passed a tranquil night, he sent for oysters, and was enjoying them when the headsman summoned Biron to the fatal cart. The duke, without As he stands upon the Quai, the road any consolations of religion, died with singular intrepidity. Beaulieu also knew Gosnay, of whom it may be said:

He died

As one that had been studied in his death
To throw away the dearest thing he owed,

As 'twere a careless trifle.

On leaving the Conciergerie, the visitor crosses the Pout au Change, and turns to look back upon the sombre, sinister prison that he has just left.

to the right is that which the laden tumbrils passed on their way to the Place de la Révolution, or to the Barrière du Trône. Opposite, picturesque and massive, stand the towers and walls, the spires and gateway, of the ever-memorable prison towards which, during the Revolution, converged so many death-doomed victims. No building in Europe - if we except the dungeon-houses and torture-chambers of the Inquisition has witnessed such unmerited cruelties. Through the dark shadows that hang about the walls of the Conciergerie shine visions of hero

Beaulieu adds, "Je ne finirais plus si je voulais citer tous les traits de courage, d'intrépidité extraordinaire dont les Français ont donné le spectacle pendant les massacres révolutionnaires; " but Beaulieu knew also all the unspeakable miseries that occurred in the dismal prison: "Que de dou-ism, courage, endurance, and fortitude, leurs," he exclaims, "cette cruelle révolution a imprimées au fond des âmes sensibles!"

An inmate of the Conciergerie, a prisoner whose name has not been preserved, wrote a striking letter from the prison; a letter which so graphically

describes the mental attitude of the

prisoners, that we reproduce a passage

from it:

Si je vois, avec quelque sang-froid, le moment où je perdrai la vie, je le dois surtout au spectacle qui se renouvelle à chaque instant dans cette maison; elle est l'antichambre de la mort. Nous vivons avec elle. On soupe, on rit, avec des compagnons d'infortune; l'arrêt fatal est dans leur poche. On les appelle le lendemain au Tribunal; quelques heures après, nous apprenons leur condamnation; ils nous font faire des compliments en nous assurant

that, in some respects, compensate the

human mind for the brutalities of the Jacobin reign. What almost unbearable anguish, what heart-breaking partwhat misery, have been bravely underings, what tears, what anguish, and gone in this gloomy prison!

It may be that some Revolution in Carlyle saw its necessity; but he conFrance was necessary, even inevitable. founded the French people with the Jacobin minority, and accepted, too complacently, all the hideous crime committed by a foul and godless faction of demons. For a truer philosophy, and a more accurate account of the portentous event, we must turn to

Taine.

One thing is, however, clear. The most impressive scenes and the most expressive emblems of the bloody drama which we call the French Revo

lution, are to be sought and found | haunt such lonely rooms as these; but within the haunted precincts of the they are always silent, though they Conciergerie.

From The Argosy.

have this advantage over their flesh and blood counterparts, that they, at least, never forget us nor grow old.

And yet the subjects of this brief memoir, in their simple, homely vir

THE LITTLE OLD LADIES OF THE CREEK. tues, their old-fashioned piety, their

A SILHOUETTE.

BY CHRISTIAN BURKE.

selfless sacrifices, are not without a certain relationship to some of those who have become our dearest houseMOST of us can remember the mem- hold friends. And if the story suffers, orable occasion when we followed Cap- as suffer it must, in the telling, the tain Brown through the tranquil little fault must be ascribed to the unskilled High Street, and went, with our best hand of the biographer, and not to any company manners on, to play a game flaw in the character of those whom of preference, and drink a friendly the pen of a more ready writer might cup of tea with the ladies of Cranford. | almost have rendered immortal. And most of us can recall the scarcely less memorable moment when he first saw Mrs. Over-the-way coming down the white steps and out at the green gate, with her prayer-book and her handkerchief and her flower clasped tightly in her delicate old hands, while the bells were saying "Chim, Chime," and the child Ida was watching her from the nursery window. To some of us, surely, there comes also a tender reminiscence of old Mrs. Blake with The village of Trentholme is a quiet the sunny-haired little granddaughter sea-board parish which once conceived at her side, lingering in the tiny sub- the ambitious design of expanding urban garden to enjoy a few minutes' itself into what is nowadays called a furtive chat with excellent Miss Berry," health resort." But whether it was as she hurried along the dusty roads of that it lacked the necessary courage Oldbury.

Therefore it has fittingly come to pass that the writer who essays a faithful portraiture of women who have long since gone beyond what we may call the heroine-period of existence, is venturing on very perilous ground indeed, and can safely prepare for a considerable amount of sharp criticism. And rightly so; for where save among the master-painters shall we find colors delicate enough to depict that curious pathetic passage of growing old age, when the house has become strangely quiet because the children are married and gone away, or because the home is broken up, and the brothers and sisters scattered, never to be gathered together again. There are dream-children, like those that Charles Lamb knew of, that

At the time from which the links of the chain are taken up they were living in the little hamlet of Trentholme, and their names, according to the postman who took them their letters, and who counted as an authority on the subject, were the Misses Ravenshurst. To every one else, however, they were always known as Miss Hermione and Miss Priscilla, or else "the little old ladies."

and perseverance for such an undertaking, or whether it was the fault of the new railway which persistently passed by five miles on the other side, the results were the same in the end. The grand project was abandoned, and the tiny town rolled itself round, metaphorically speaking, and went comfortably to sleep again; probably much relieved in its own mind to be saved the trouble of any further exertion. If the railway were too proud to have anything to do with Trentholme, Trentholme, you may be sure, was not going to have anything to do with it. On the contrary, it set forward the fact that it was out of reach of the demon steam, and generally inaccessible, as one of its chief attractions. And assuredly in this restless nineteenth cen

66

was a very important consideration." Now Mr. Builder was not what one could call a student of nature. The sun might have set anywhere it happened to fancy, without his being disturbed thereby; and he would never have thought of demanding that it should go down exactly opposite to his parlor window. With the shrewdness of his class, however, he made a mental note of the advantage, and henceforth the corner villa would figure in all his catalogues as having "a fine westerly aspect ! "

The house being thus turned discreetly away from the giddy excitements of the Strand, looked sheer out over the sea and across a small natural inlet or bay. It was the last house moreover, and the horns of the tiny curve at high water seemed to come protectingly near the narrow strip of flower-garden, though in reality there was a good stretch of shingle beyond. It gave a charming sense of seclusion, the ladies said, and they christened their little domain "The Creek" forthwith.

tury of ours, there was certainly more | they told their astonished landlord, than a grain of truth in the boast. Any great revolution whether accomplished or only planned - is sure to leave some traces of itself behind, long after everything has sobered down again. So the high designs of the Trentholme people were constantly witnessed to by a certain row of ornate little villas, which grew up suddenly all in one night as it seemed, and could not be tumbled down as quickly again, although no one particularly wanted them. They stood facing the sea, and with a stretch of gravel in front raised some four feet from the shore, and about the width of a good-sized drive, and which was commonly called the Strand. Later on, no doubt, if the palmy days that were expected had come to pass, this would have changed into the Promenade, or the Esplanade, or the Marine Parade, or some other of the many "ades," without which no respectable health resort can hope to get on; but as things were, it remained simply and for all time, the Strand. The houses themselves with their pocket-handkerchief lawns, and bow windows, and pointed red-brick gables were a source of sore anxiety to the adventurous builder who had erected them. They had been meant for the élite, and were too small for ordinary family folk, they were far from the shops, and in winter exposed to every wind that blew. Therefore, any person benighted enough to wish to retire from "the madding crowd," and so lacking in the true spirit of enterprise as to consent to settle down on the Strand for the term of his natural life (or even less) was sure of being received by the builder with open arms.

They were evidently ladies; one or both of them of a decided and energetic turn of mind; and before another month was out, they and their quaint, old-fashioned furniture, and their old servant, Keziah, and a rosy-cheeked little lass whom they had already bespoken in the village, were all established in the corner villa, and had taken solemn possession of the Creek, sunsets and all.

With them came also Simonides, the cat. The cats of fiction have of late become so clever and distinguished, and have lived for such a surprising number of years, that any ordinary It was a red-letter day in that good member of the feline tribe must exman's calendar when the two Miss pect to be cast into the shade. Suffice Ravenshursts came over a-house-hunt-it to say that to his owners he was ing. As soon as they saw it they de-a cat of cats, of a tawny orange or cided to take the largest of the small red-tabby kind, as faithful and almost villas; not because they needed the extra room it gave, for their establishment they said would only consist of themselves and a couple of maids, but because it faced west, and secured them a sunset all the year round. This, as

as intelligent as a dog; and when it is added that his favorite post was the cushioned seat of the western window, it may be inferred that education or nature had gifted him with a true love of the beautiful.

1

Thus it was that the two Miss Ra- Under this régime the little house venshursts came to Trentholme, and was kept like a miniature palace for ere the first year of their stay was over, neatness, and with a certain cosy habit was difficult for the inhabitants to be- itableness which is an essentially femilieve that they had ever existed with- nine virtue, and which men but rarely out them, so completely did they fit into succeed in introducing into their surthe cosy niche which they had chosen.roundings. And if the owners had so Where they had originally come from far made concessions to the advancing no one seemed to know exactly, except tide of civilization as to do without wax that it was from the other end of En- flowers and berlin-wool cushions and gland, and in their speech there was fire-screens, and even to prefer comstill a trace of the northern burr which monplace gas to the more elegant lamp contrasted oddly with the slow, soft or candle, they made up for it by their sing-song of the natives. That they really old spindle-legged furniture, and were that genuine article "real ladies," their odds and ends of valuable old still carefully distinguished by the poor china. They had their own little from all spurious imitations, was a eccentricities also, which served them thing that speedily went without say- instead of making paper pathways ing. That they were good church- down their drawing-room carpet, or women also was soon an established fact. Unless it was raining cats and dogs, every day at five o'clock they might be seen hurrying along the Strand towards the old grey tower of St. Clement's, at the very first stroke of the bell. And the rector could always confidently count on Miss Hermione and Miss Priscilla whoever else obstinately refused to "hear the church !"

They were not rich, but they had
between them a comfortable compe-
tency, giving that ideal margin: -

Something to lend,
Something to spend,
Something to give away.

dressing their cows (always supposing they had had any) in grey flannel like the immortal Miss Betty Barker. They each had their own particular fads and hobbies. Miss Hermione's hobbies were porcelain - painting and fancywork, and very harmless pastimes they were. And if her flowers sometimes, to a coldly critical eye, rather transcended nature, no one could say a word against the delicate lace-work, the dainty cushions and cosies that made the fortunes of all the bazaars around. She was the elder and more feeble of the two, and the finely cut features, and still graceful though somewhat bent figure, the soft eyes, and small, aristocratic hands told that she had been a beauty in her day.

It would be difficult to say what Miss Priscilla's particular hobby was. She had so many, and seemed to pursue them all with equal enthusiasm. Whether it was gardening in the narrow border in front of the house, where the flowers seemed to grow just to oblige her as they would for no one else, or making clothes for the poor, or trotting in and out of the cottages on various kindly errands, or trimming at Sunday hat for Phoebe, or listening to Hubert, the rector's son, as he poured

It was rather an extravagance, they sometimes thought, to keep two maids to supply their simple wants. But on the other hand Keziah, though considerably their junior, was not so young as she once was; and undeniably in these slip-shod days, when a rule-of-three sum is supposed to teach you how to boil potatoes, it was a great advantage to any girl to get such a thorough training as she could gain under such a woman as Keziah. They confessed, too, to liking something young and bright about the house, and as Phoebe, the present importation, speedily became warmly attached to her kind mis-out his woes because of a certain hardtresses and absolutely adored Simonides, she was felt on all accounts to be a decided acquisition.

hearted damsel who shall be nameless -whether it was all or any one of these multifarious interests, Miss Pris

cilla was capable of carrying them been in the first anguish of her girlthrough with an energy and vigor hood. which took the breath away from her more lymphatic contemporaries. Her keen, kindly old eyes had not yet lost their fire, her step was as light and springy as a girl's, and because she would never see sixty-five, or maybe a year more, again, was no reason to her mind for subsiding into an armchair and living an inactive life.

Miss Priscilla, on the other hand, had no romance to forget. It is without doubt one of the most unaccountable things in this very unaccountable world why so many women who seem born to be helpmates in the true sense of the word, are passed over for the silly, or the frivolous, or at best halfhelpful people. And this, though the latter are a standing wonder to all sensible folk, as to what an averagely reasonable man could find in them to cause him to choose them out for any of the serious relations in life.

It would have been sheer waste of pity to bestow any of it on Miss Priscilla on that account. For she would have none of it. In a world teeming with beauty and interest, she held that no one with the ordinary complement of their wits about them had a right to be miserable or discontented, let alone dull. If she had come into it in the latter half of the century, instead of the former, she might have struck out a career for herself. As it was, her narrow, circumscribed life had been full at first of necessary duties that were laid upon her, and then of such as every leisurely and right-minded person must gradually accumulate round themselves. The confined area in which her part had to be played had not cramped either her intellect or her affections. Who need grow narrow with the whole wide world to live in and to love, to say nothing of that other world of books, by means of which a person can, if they will, travel to the uttermost parts of the earth, and knit warm stockings for sundry cold little feet at one and the same time ! Men she considered as equal to women

She was the working partner of the firm, and the other's more yielding nature rested on her strength as it had done through all the long years that they had passed together. It was at first supposed that they were sisters, but after a while it was discovered that they were only cousins. Hermione had been left an orphan when a very little child, so that her uncle's house was all that she could remember of home, that home which had long since faded into the mystery of the past, and of which there remained only herself and her cousin, slipping softly down the slope of years, until they too should join that great majority. A sensitive, clinging, yet deeply affectionate nature was Miss Hermione's. She had been, as has been said, a beauty in her youth, and she had had "her story." But the inevitable letter, or whatever else it was, had gone triumphantly wrong, and the hero with his accustomed haste and blunder-headedness had married the person not meant for him, and made shipwreck of his own and everyone's future immediately. Long ago now the chapter was closed; but the romance of it lingered with her still. The hero had passed away into that world where the riddles of this one are at last unravelled. Yet it was round his children that Miss Hermione's dreams and interests centred, and to-possibly even superior-but very whom, through a slender tie of kinsmanship, she had always, in a natural sequence, been able to act as a kindly and beneficent fate. Thus there was no harsh tearing aside of the veil of quiet reserve which she had drawn between herself and a curious world, and which was just as precious to her now after over fifty years, as it had

much in the way in a house, and not half so interesting to live with. And in her secret heart she thought that no matter how fine a fellow Jasper Goring had grown, it would have been just as well for Hermione that his father had never been born.

Still, ever practical Miss Priscilla had her dreams as well, and curiously,