THE changes which take place in the face of nature during this month are little more than so many advances in the progress toward universal gloom and desolation. The days now rapidly decrease, the weather becomes foul and cold, and, as Shakspeare expresses it, “the rain and wind beat dark December."

In our climate, however, no great and continued severity of cold takes place before the close of the month. The last month in our year was the tenth in the early Roman calendar, as its name-which comes from the Latin word decem, ten-indicates. The position which it now occupies has been held by it since the time of Numa. Formerly, the Ro. mans celebrated their festivals in honor of Vesta in December, and their oblations were paid to her as the patron of purity. Among the ancient Britons, the Druids, at this period, held the feast of Thor.

The Saxons named December Winter Monat, this cloud upon your brow, ma cher pere?"

which they change, after their conversion to Christianity, to Halig Monat, or Holy Month, as having been the birth-month of the Saviour. The twenty-first is St. Thomas's Day, and is the shortest day in the year. Capricorn, or the Goat, is the zodiacal sign. The twenty-first is called also the winter solstice. Ever since the summer solstice the sun has appeared to keep descending, or going away, and now it seems to have reached its furthest point, and to begin to return, or ascend towards us. Probably the goat was made the symbol of the month because the wild animals of that species live in hilly districts, and browse on the hillside, and continually mount upwards as they feed.

December has ever been a sacred month. From the very remotest time the twenty-fifth has been observed as the principal feast of the Christian Church. As early as the fourth century, some persons began to date events from the Nativity, or the Incarnation; but the custom was not fully established until the sixth. This day then became the epoch, or era, from which the Christian world universally reckoned their year, instead of dating from the foundation or building of Rome, as was the custom among the Pagan nations.

It is in December that the winter appears to be fairly set in. This is a cold, comfortless month. It is almost always wet, and amid the gloom the miserable old woodman pursues his reluctant craft, an operation which is thus pleasingly depicted by the rural poet, John Clare:

The scene is clothed in snow from morn till night,
The woodman's loth his chilly tool to size;
The crows, unroosting as he comes in sight,
Shake down the feathery burden from the trees,
To look at things around he's fit to freeze;
Beared from her perch, the fluttering pheasant flies.
His hat and doublet whiten by degrees,

He quakes, looks round, and pats his hand and sighs,
And wishes to himself that the warm sun rise.

The robin, tamest of the feather'd race,
Soon as he hears the woodman's sounding chops,
With ruddy bosom and a simple face,
Around his old companion fearless hops;
And there for hours in pleas d attention stops.
The woodman's heart is tender and humane,
And a. his meals he many a crumble drops.

asked Louise De Challer affectionately, and with solicitous tone, as she wound her arms around the neck of her father, the venerable Count Robin De Challer, a noble of the ancient regime of France. "Scarce have you spoken this eve to Henri or myself; and we are wondering much at the cause of thy unwonted sadness."

The old noble looked up from his deep reverie, and essayed to banish the cloud which, in good truth, rested on the high forehea! beneath his silvery hair. And a sigh escaped his lips as he met the questioning glances of his child and her companion-young Henri Grammont, his ward and nephew.

"Helas! mon enfans! 'tis thoughts of the affairs of our beloved land that are filling my mind. Youth may deem age despondent; but my eyes fail to see any golden edge to the dark cloud these Jacobins are spreading over the politics of our day; and, while I would not sadden you, I cannot help fearing that troublesome times are surely in store for la belle France!" and again he sighed heavily. Why, dear uncle, thou surely dost not dream that this party can do harm beyond stirring up a few citizens and agitating the hot-headed students ?” asked young Grammont. "What possible injury can our royal cause suffer at their hands ?" and the tone in which the young scion of nobility spoke betrayed that, to his young head, the tears of his venerable relative were strangers.

"Henri, thy questions are the natural results of thy youth and position. And they show that thou hast been busier in pursuing thy country pleasures at thy Chatean at Sens than in studying the political affairs of the day. Would that such blissful ignorance might continue to be thy fate and mine; but much I dread that this cannot be. For matters have changeu greatly within the few last weeks; and each day brings new revelations. 'Dieu grant that this day may not bring a revolution!" said the count, earnestly.

Nay, sire, thou dost not believe that?" asked Louise carnestly, her fine face, which had hitherto borne no shadow of care or thought, shielded as she had always been from both, taking an expression of alarm. "Thou dost not really think these horrid Jacobins would proceed to extremities? Why, Henri and I have laughed at their threats

in that sheet, La Presse,' they publish surrepti- cobins ? for I have been brooding over the state of tiously."

"Laugh no more, then, my children, till France is quiet and the agitators are at rest. It is these very appeals to the people I dread-and their harangues about liberte and egalite are working like poison in the minds of the masses. I tell you, children, that if these red-handed Jacobins are not quenched, our royal Lewis Capet is not sure of his throne for a month at farthest!" and the old noble rose and walked the floor in great agitation at the picture his own words and fears had conjured. "Then, if affairs be as you say, Uncle Robin, al! France-all noble France, I mean-must prepare to resist and defend her king!" said the young aristocrat firmly, the spirit of his race showing itself in his tone and leaping to his eyes. "Too long have I loitered over my vacations at Sens, as well as idled here. Tell me what to do, uncle, that I may show myself a defender of the royal cause!" "Par Dieu, Henri thou art a true Grammont!" | replied the old Count with an approving smile. I knew thou wouldst prove thy blood when the fitting time came. But, just now, we can do nothing, save to watch the times and put ourselves in secret readiness to resist an attempted overthrow of the monarchy."

"Mon pere, would our lives be endangered if these dreadful Jacobins should get power?" asked Louise. "Yours and Henri's, I mean; for I have heard that they hate the nobility, at least all who stand by his majesty the king."

"Helas! my child, we know not what dangers a revolution would bring to us all! Let us hope only for the best, though; and put our faith in the God of nations that no such terrible event may come to our beloved France. May He avert it who has the power! What now, Pierre ?" asked the count, as a servant entered.

"The Marquis Rochefauld desires audience in the grand salon."

"Tell him I will be with him speedily!" was the reply, as the old count rose and passed out.

CHAPTER II.

THE MARQUIS.

"Ah! bon soir, mon cher Count!" was the salutation of the visitor, as his venerable host entered the apartment.

The count returned kindly greeting; for his guest, though none too warmly esteemed in private life by the upright and high-minded old noble, was too prominent a member of the times not to be met with courtly phrase and welcome.

An observer would have pronounced the Marquis Rochefauld, who had numbered some thirty summers, an eminently handsome and winning gentleman; but a keen physiognomist would have detected traces of the world in his mien and air, and voted him crafty and unprincipled, and if need be, cruel.

But the old count had no suspicion of his visitor's true character, and welcomed him as a noble of the ancient regime would the son of his old friend, the marquis's deceased father.

"What tidings, mon ami?" he asked, when they were seated, "Any news of these hot-headed Ja

affairs this morning until my old head is halfcrazed. And even my children have caught my fears, and Louise is fretting about the possible dangers that may assail her father and cousin, should the threatened trouble come. Ah! these are unsettled times, marquis," he sighed.

"Yes, politics do look agitated now, mon cher Count!" replied the visitor. "And I regret, as well as yourself, the state of matters which prevail. But I bring no special tidings. These cursed Jacobins still threaten, and ferment the minds of the people; but, from all I learn, they have taken no open step against the government-and mayhap they will find the truth of the adage that 'discretion is the better part of valor,' and give over their boasts to overthrow the monarchy. 1 have no great fear of the rabble, my dear count!" he said, with a smile of security.

66 Well, l'Dieu grant that you may be in the right, marquis! But my old head has got full of fancies that are different; and so, perhaps I forbore evil. Yet it seems to me that a populace, inflamed by such leaders as some of these leaders, might prove a dangerous foe to the interests of old France. Heaven avert such a dire calamity as an uprising of the masses!" again said the old noble fervently.

"Have no fears of such an extremity, dear count!" replied the marquis with assurance. "Embrolios and emeutes may arise; but no movement of a more serious nature, I predict. Calm yourself, my venerable friend, and let us talk of pleasanter matters than these. You mentioned your daughter, the lovely Louise, just now, dear count. I came here, at this time, to speak of her. I solicit the honor and pleasure of her hand in marriage." "Louise! ma fille! and in marriage! This is sudden, marquis, and I must think!" replied the old man in surprise.

"Sudden, I grant, to you, dear count, but not to my own heart, which has long been secretly devoted to your charming child. And I trust that my solicitation will not be against your desire," gravely answered the confident wooer.

"I am indeed surprised, marquis. I never dreamed of this,-and I had destined her for another!" said the old count, speaking honestly, though in a slow, bewildered way.

"For another! And may I ask whom?" inquired the marquis, with jealousy in his tone.

"It has been no secret among many of my friends, though it has never been mentioned to the young people themselves, that I always designed my stepnephew, Henri Grammont, for my child's husband."

"That beardless boy, whom I have met so often here, and seen in the suburbs as your daughter's escort!" said the marquis with a half sneer.

"True, Henri is young, but three years my child's senior; and I had not thought of their marriage for a long time yet. Louise is but a childscarce seventeen, marquis," said the count. "I know that the Lady Louise is young-young and beautiful!" replied the noble, in a toue which showed that she was, to him, a coveted prize. "And since thou sayest that no troth-plight bath passed between her and her cousin, is it too gre a

The old count sat a minute, with knitted brows; the nation were shaping themselves to a disastrous then arose and said—

urged the retirement of his betrothed and her sire during the agitated state of affairs, and it would probably be some days before his return; so upon her revival to the misery of her condition, the unhappy girl knew not where to turn.

With the nightfall, however, a messenger rode up to the chateau, bringing a message from Henri Grammont, directing Mademoiselle De Challer to disguise herself as a page, and set ont immediately, under care of the provi ed escort, for Sens.

My lord feared to come in person, lest he should add to thy peril," said the messenger. And, never doubting this statement, the maiden disguised herself and departed with him as directed.

Dawn had nearly come, when the pair drew near . a large pile of buildings in the country, but dimly discernible in the gray twilight; and, worn out with the fatigue of the ride, Louise followed a servant over the threshold, up a winding staircase, and into a sleeping chamber, where she immediately flung herself down on the couch in a heavy slumber.

"To what am I indebted for your presence, where am I, Marquis Rochefauld?"

and

"You are my guest, at my chatean, lovely Lady Louise; and my ardent and unquenchable love must be my sole excuse for the strategy which brought you hither," replied the nobleman in a soft, spec ous tone.

"The treachery, rather," retorted the maiden severely. "To kidnap a lonely girl, under pretense of protection, is, indeed a brave, cominendable deed, my lord. But, learn that Louise De Challer is not afraid to demand her instant release. Talk not to me of love; but give me liberty, and a suitable escort to the chateau of my betrothed husband at Sens, or this matter shall be brought before the king for redressal!" she said with dignified mien. Ask me anything but your liberty, while you entertain such sentiments toward me, dea.est Louise!" replied the noble. "Here you are mistress of my heart, my chateau, its grounds, and all my peasantry. Remain as my marchioness, my bride!" For an instant the poor captive's strength forher.

It was high noon when she awoke; and, spring-sook ing up, she hastily bathed, and robed herself in a suit of female attire she found provided and lying across a sofa-and then rang a small silver bell upon the toilet, to summon the woman who had always been her attendant at her previons visit to Henri's patrimonial country-scat.

The summons was answered; but by a stranger. Refraining from asking questions concerning this change of servants, as she supposed it to be, Louise said

"I have slept late, for I was quite worn out with my journey. But now I will go down. Tell Monsieur Grammont that I am ready to see him."

"Pardon, my lady, but my lord has ordered breakfast in your apartment," and, as the fille de chambre spoke, she led the way to a small saloon, luxuriously furnished, adjoining the sleeping room. And mechanically Louise followed, not.cing her surroundings as being strange and new; and smiling to herself at this proof of Henri's love in having this suite of apartments fitted up so elegantly for her, although, in an instant, came the direful thought of her dear father in his lonely prison-cell. A tray, covered with delicacies, stood on a table at the farther corner of the saloon; but Louise sat down on a sofa near the door and said

"I do not care to breakfast alone. Send your master hither!"

"Yes, my lady," answered the woman, and she left the parlor.

"This must be the suite I occupied when last here; but the draperies and new furnishing change its appearance. It is very kind in Henri to wish to gratify me. But he has been too lavish, I fear,' observing the costliness of the surroundings.

Presently a footfall sounded in the corridor outside; a hand turned the latch of the door, and Louise sprang up to meet-not Henri Grammont, but Monsieur Rochetauld!

To detail the surprise of that encounter, on the part of Louise, were impossible. At first, she al most swooned with disappointment; but as the nobleman advanced to take her hand, resentment and aversion gave her strength, and she asked, haughtily

"O, Marquis Rochefauld, I implore you release me!" she cried with outstretched arms; and then, her outraged pride returning, she exclaimed sarcastically; "a noble gentleman it is, who wins by force what he cannot by fair wooing. I will never become yours, base Rochefauld! Hear my answer!"

Involuntarily the marquis' hand clutched at the small hunting-sword hanging loosely in its scabbard at his belt; and, with a deep frown on his face he said angrily—

"Goad me not too far, Louise De Challer! You are in my power, and cannot escape. From La Conciergerie your father will never come forth more, unless you write your name my bride. Nay, look not so surprised! Aristocrat though I am by birth and sentiment, I am no such dotard as to thrust my neck under the guillotine by mad resistance of the powers that rule to-day in Paris. The Jacobins will not molest me. I shall pass through the revolution unharmed, though some of my wealth will fall into their hands; and those whom I declare my friends are safe with me. And I have influence with the new party too. Be mine, and your aged sire and your young cousin-lover shall suffer nothing beyond proscription; refuse, and the vengeance of the people will take its course. I leave you now to reflect on what you have heard; but to-night, at midnight, a priest will await us below, to make you Marchioness Rochefauld, if such will be your answer. Now adieu petite!"" and, touching his lips to her forehead, the base man turned and left the saloon, slipping the bolt in the door as he went out.

And poor Louise De Challer sank down upon the floor, burying her aching temples in her hands, to ponder on the cruel alternative set before her.

CHAPTER IV.

FOILED.

PROVIDENCE sometimes frustrates the schemes of villains just where they seem on the eve of fulfil

ment.

When the Marquis Rochefauld left the presence