THEOPHILE GAUTIER.

THEOPHILE GAUTIER, a French poet, novelist, and critic, born at Tarbes, Gascony, Aug. 31, 1811; died at Neuilly, Oct. 22, 1872. He was educated at the Lycée Charlemagne, Paris, and on completing his college course entered the studio of Rioult. After two years' study he turned from art to literature. His first volume of "Poésies" (1830) was followed in 1832 by "Albertus," a "theological legend." In 1833 he published a volume of tales, "Les JeunesFrance," and in 1835 "Mademoiselle de Maupin," a novel which was pronounced, even in France, immoral. To this time belongs a series of critical papers on the poets of the time of Louis XIII., which were afterward published in 1843, under the title of Les Grotesques. In 1836 he became literary and dramatic editor of La Presse, in 1854 of Le Moniteur Universel, and in 1869 of Le Journal Officiel. His journalistic labors alone were enormous. It is said that a complete collection of his articles would fill three hundred volumes. He continued to write novels and poems. "La Comédie de la Morte" (1838), “Poésies" (1840), and “Émaux et Camées" (1852). Gautier traveled in most of the countries of Europe, and wrote several books embodying his observations; among them "Italia" (1853) and "Constantinople" (1854). He wrote also for the stage, "La Tricorne Enchanté" (1845) being perhaps his best play. The best of his novels are "Militona" (1847); "Le Roman de la Momie" (1856); "Le Capitaine Fracasse" (1863), and "Spirite" (1866). Besides the works of travel already mentioned are "Caprices et Zigzags," "Voyage en Russie," and "Voyage en Espagne." "L'Histoire de l'Art Dramatique en France depuis vingt-cinq Ans" contains some of his best critical papers. His last work, "Tableaux du Siège," gives a vivid picture of Paris at the time of its investment by the German troops.

A MIDNIGHT ADVENTURE.

(From "Captain Fracasse."1)

WHEN Isabelle regained her own room she found a very rich and elegant casket awaiting her there, which had been placed 1 By permission of L. C. Page & Co.

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conspicuously on the dressing-table, where it could not fail to meet her eye the moment she entered the chamber. A folded paper was lying under one corner of the casket, which must have contained some very precious gems, for it was a real marvel of beauty itself. The paper was not sealed, and bore only these two words, evidently written by a weak and trembling hand, “ For Isabelle." A bright flush of indignation overspread her sweet face when she perceived it, and without even yielding to her feminine curiosity so far as to open the richly carved and inlaid casket for a peep at its contents, she called for Maître Bilot, and ordered him peremptorily to take it immediately out of her room, and give it back to whomsoever owned it, for she would not suffer it to remain where it was another minute. The landlord affected astonishment, and swore by all he held sacred that he did not know who had put the casket there, nor whose it was; though it must be confessed that he had his suspicions, and felt very sure that they were correct. In truth, the obnoxious jewel-case had been secretly placed upon Isabelle's table by old Madame Léonarde, to whom the Duke of Vallombreuse had had recourse, in the hope that she might be able to aid him, and in the full belief, shared by her, that the superb diamonds which the beautiful casket contained would accomplish all that he desired with Isabelle. But his offering only served to rouse her indignation, and she spoke very severely to Maître Bilot, commanding him to remove it instantly from her sight, and to be careful not to mention this fresh affront to Captain Fracasse. The worthy landlord could not help feeling enthusiastic admiration for the conduct of the young actress, who rejected jewels that would have made a duchess envious, and as he retired bowed to her as respectfully and profoundly as he would have done to a queen. After he had withdrawn and she was left alone, Isabelle, feeling agitated and feverish, opened her window for a breath of fresh air, and to cool her burning cheeks and brow. She saw a bright light issuing from a couple of windows in the mansion of the Duke of Vallombreuse-doubtless in the room where the wounded young nobleman lay-but the garden and the little alley beneath her seemed absolutely deserted. In a moment, however, she caught a low whisper from the latter, not intended for her ears, which said, "She has not gone to bed yet." She softly leaned out of her window - the room within was not lighted, so she could not be seen and peering anxiously into

the darkness thought she could distinguish two cloaked figures lurking in the alley, and further away, near one end of it, a third one, apparently on the watch. They seemed to feel that they were observed, and all three presently slunk away and vanished, leaving Isabelle half in doubt as to whether they were the creatures of her excited imagination, or had been real men prowling there. Tired at last of watching, without hearing or seeing anything more, she withdrew from the window, closed and secured it softly, procured a light, saw that the great, clumsy bolt on her door was properly adjusted, and made her preparations for bed; lying down at last and trying to sleep, for she was very tired, but haunted by vague fears and doubts that made her anxious and uneasy. She did not extinguish her light, but placed it near the bed, and strove to reassure herself and reason away her nameless terror; but all in vain. At every little noise - the cracking of the furniture or the falling of a cinder in the fireplace, she started up in fresh alarm, and could not close her eyes. High up in the wall of one side of her room was a small round window-a bull's eye-evidently intended to give light and air to some dark inner chamber or closet, which looked like a great black eye in the gray wall, keeping an unwinking watch upon her, and Isabelle found herself again and again glancing up at it with a shudder. It was crossed by two strong iron bars, leaving four small apertures, so that there could not possibly be any danger of intrusion from that quarter, yet she could not avoid feeling nervous about it, and at times fancied that she could see two gleaming eyeballs in its black depths. She lay for a long time perfectly motionless gazing at it, like one under a spell, and at last was paralyzed with horror when a head actually appeared at one of the four openings a small, dark head, with wild, tangled elf-locks hanging about it; next came a long, thin arm with a claw-like hand, then the shoulder followed, and finally the whole body of a slender, emaciated little girl wriggled dexterously, though with much difficulty, through the narrow aperture, and the child dropped down upon the floor as lightly and noiselessly as a feather, a snowflake, or a waft of thistle-down. She had been deceived by Isabelle's remaining so long perfectly quiet, and believed her asleep; but when she softly approached the bed, to make sure that her victim's slumber had not been disturbed by her own advent, an expression of extreme surprise was depicted on her face, as she got a full view of the head lying