lark should not be found in the valley is not surprising, since it is little more than a ravine with a marsh between the two lakes, a sort of soil little frequented by larks; but the legend is that St. Kevin caused his followers to rise with the lark, in order to complete his designed buildings; they murmured and even declined obedience, so that the work stood still. In this strait he banished the larks from Glendalough rather than rescind his order. There is a grain of sense to the pound of chaff of even a legend. The upper end of the lake seems gradually filling up by the disintegrated granite washed down from the mountains, and now forming a bar at some distance from the shore.

Our pleasant day had closed with a glorious sunset and promise for the morrow, which found us early setting out on our return to Dublin by the same road as far as Annamoe; then turning eastward and leaving the car to go round by the road, we walked through fields and over moor

MY DEAR C

GOSSIP

and soppy brooks, in happy conviction that all noxious reptiles had been long since expelled, to the waterfall in the Devil's Glen: the stream rushes over huge masses of rock shaded by oak and ash and the feathery birch, beneath banks rising loftily like walls on either side, leaving only a narrow strip of sky for the hot sun to look in, and call forth myriads of insects both rare and beautiful. At the outlet of the glen we found our car, which took us by Newtown Mount Kennedy to the Glen of the Downs, a richly wooded valley, on the Eastern flank of the Sugar Loaf, to Bray and Kingston, through a well cultivated, rich-looking, and picturesque country; thence to Dublin by railway on the third day since our departure, having had glorious weather, good roads, no difficulties, and above all-without which no weather is fine, no road good, no circumstance easy-pleasant companions, and the determination to enjoy.

FROM PARIS.

(BY OUR OWN CORRESPONDENT.) PARIS, May 20.

shewed themselves so indefatigable, night after night, at the balls, soirées, and concerts, should all of a sudden-and when balls and parties are The spring has set in, with its usual severity, becoming fewer and further between-lose the until within the last day or two. Although the strength which till now never failed them, no almanac said " May," the temperature said matter how frail and delicate their forms (in fact, February," at latest; but the sunshine has the delicate, interesting ones often supported come at last, and with it a little warmth. I hear, these fatigues best), and be absolutely obliged to however, that the weather has been as bad, and try the effect of the waters to renovate their worse, everywhere; and I am selfish enough to health, and economise. The way this is effected find consolation in the knowledge of this fact. is not by retiring quietly to some out-of-the-way I believe such is human nature. Do not people, place in the country, as the uninitiated might when trying to comfort you in misfortune, relate perhaps suppose: this would never do; for do to you the afflictions of your neighbours, with you not perceive that the winter-gaieties never the hope of cheering you?-though I confess I injured their health-never wearied them? It is never entered into that idea; but felt inclined only when there is a cessation of these gaieties to say that I wished that both they and I had that these delicate creatures sink. A quiet been spared. In the case of the weather, how-country-life would then be death to them; and ever, it is different: then I am more hard it is quite a mistake to imagine that allant aux hearted. eaux is an expensive affair-quite the contrary, in fact. So the unlucky husbands, or fathers, set out with their suffering wives, or daughters, for les eaux. The journey there cannot be much more than it would have been to go to the country; and once arrived, the beneficial effect of the waters may be perceived immediately, by the energy and delight with which they at once enter into a constant succession of gaieties. There, of course, they must make toilettes for the morning, and afternoon, and evening réunions; they must appear like other people (appearing like other people means every one trying to outshine his, or her, neighbour). In addition to these facilities for economising, may be added the gambling which generally goes on at these places. If they gain, their gains will cover any expense they may have gone to. "And if they lose?" you will say. Well, then either they can stop there, or try their luck again, and win back what they lost-and more in addition, perhaps.

For those who wish to see Paris in its beauty, this is the moment. I do not mean for those who come to enter into its gaieties-they should come earlier; but, for Paris itself, now is the time. The trees, which in a great city one prizes doubly, are here more numerous than in any other, I believe; and they are now in their beauty-the foliage so fresh, bright, delicate, and varied. In a little while, the sun and the dust will have done their work of destruction; and, just as Paris is putting on its summer toilette, and coming forth in all its pride and beauty, the ungrateful, insensible Parisians think only of hurrying away as quickly as possible; some to their country-places, some to the country-places of their friends; but the centre of attraction in a short time will be the watering-places. Happy are those who can announce their intention of going there. It is a subject of wonder how the fair dames who have during all the winter

So that it is a rather dangerous thing to meddle with-especially for nervous, excitable persons; and it is precisely those who succeed the best.

So now you may perceive that a trip to a fashiona-seized with an epileptic fit, on a similar occasion. ble watering-place is a most prudent as well as a most indispensable step to take in the season. I hear that it is decided that the Empress will go to the Pyrenees. The disappointment of her giving an heir has been a severe one to the Emperor and to her; but in general it seems to have been received with indifference, both by those hostile and favourable to Louis Napoleon. It is difficult in these days, when one reflects on the fate of the Duc de Reichstadt, the Duc de Bordeaux, and the Comte de Paris, to attach much importance to the idea of the claims of another representative of the hopes of a party-I do not say the hopes of a nation; but on this subject I must be careful as to what I express: unless it be enthusiastic admiration of Sa Majestie l'Empereur, and of his liberal, humane, generous, and most disinterested views and conduct. Then, I must admit, the expression of such sentiments is received most indulgently.

I told you, some time ago, of the expense people went to, in articles of dress, furniture, &c.; this extravagance appears rather to increase than to diminish. I heard of a gentleman from the province, who, expressing his wonder and admiration at the richness and elegance of the hotel of a friend whom he had been to visit, finished his panegyric in the following terms:"Everything at the hotel of M. K.-porcelaine, crystal, and plate—all is in mahogany."

It appears that mahogany was his idea of all that was most luxurious and beautiful. But mahogany at once brings us to the tables-the moving tables. Nothing else is talked of here. Everyone relates what she or he has done, or at least seen. I heard a person remark that it had, at any rate, produced one very desirable result that of uniting, round the table, evening after evening, husbands and wives, who had hitherto spent as much of their time as possible apart; on the other hand, as the degree of sympathy existing between those round the table influence materially the length of time required to set it in motion, most interesting discoveries may be made in these experiments on the sentiments entertained for each other by the experimentalisers. A young lady, a fervent believer in sympathy, magnetism, moving tables, &c., &c., after hesitating for some time between two aspirants for her favour, discovering that when one of her admirers joined her in the experiment, the table was moved ten minutes sooner than with theother, decided on accepting the hand of the former; this proving to her, satisfactorily, that there was more sympathy between them than between her and his less fortunate rival. But, plaisanterie apart, it is a most extraordinary and inexplicable discovery. I have seen the hat moved: in fact, I formed one of the number of the circle of persons round it; but as yet I have not seen the table set in motion, though I know persons who have. One gentleman, after succeeding in this attempt, was seized with a vertigo, which obliged him to leave the table and sit down; and during the rest of the evening, he experienced a sense of great fatigue, and general mal aise. Another was

I have a large stock of theatrical news for you this month. To begin with the Opera: "La Fronde," from which so much was expected, is an opera in five acts, by MM. Maquet and La Croix; the music by M. Niedermazer; and a very long and tiresome affair. The scene is laid in the time of the regency of Anne of Austria, in the beginning of the wars of the Fronde. In the first act, we see a party of the jeunes seigneurs, laughing, singing, and drinking at the cabaret of Renand, en attendant the arrival of the Marquis de Jarzé. While they are thus engaged arrives a soubrette (Mdlle. Nau), with a letter, which is destined for M. Richard Sauveterre; but notwithstanding some twenty petits maitres extend their hands for the letter, each proclaiming himself to be the Richard Sauveterre in question, the soubrette declines to deliver the billet, and retires to seek him elsewhere. After this the party dine, and retire to the garden; and arrives the Duchesse Hélène de Themises, who interrogates Renard on the subject of Richard Sauveterre, who has been under his roof for some ten days. M. Renard answers her questions concisely, saying his lodger pays, and says nothing; that being all he knows of him. The Duchesse wishes to see him, and at this moment Richard enters (a letter in his hand-the one which the soubrette had to deliver to him). You may guess that Hélène loves Richard; but in order to complicate matters, Richard loves some one else, of course; and the some one else is Loïse de Champvilliers. This is excusable; for, really, Hélène is not what certain persons would call "a nice person." Hélène conceals herself behind a tree, which procures her the pleasure of hearing Richard singing his happiness at the prospect of soon seeing the object of his love-the writer of the letter-in which it appears Loïse gives him a rendezvous. Madame de Themises, unable to control herself any longer, comes forth, and they have a rather stormy duet; in which Hélène is decidedly violent. The young men returning at this juncture, Richard implores the Duchesse, to avoid compromising herself, to retire; which good advice she scorns, and remains where she is. Richard is at a little table by himself, when he overhears the Duchesse congratulate Jarzé on his marriage with Loïse. Richard starts; and the Duchesse guesses who her rival is. Richard contains himself with difficulty, till Jarzé sings a satirical couplet against the Duc de Beaufort; upon which Richard seizes that occasion to challenge him, and they are about to fight, when the Duc de Beaufort himself arrives; and, with his jovial good-nature, turns off the quarrel. When the rest have retired, the Duc informs Richard that the Court have the intention to retire to St. Germain, and to starve out the people of Paris; that therefore now is the time to have recourse to vigorous measures. A truce of some hours must be demanded, in order to allow the

Fête aux Loges; and profiting by the disorder, they will carry off Mazarin and the King. Croisilles, one of the friends of the Duc, will open the gates to them. Richard offers himself to carry the Duc's message to Croisilles, and, folding up the billet, places it in the hilt of his sword. Unfortunately, the Duchesse has been all this while a witness to what was going on; and though she does not know exactly what it is about, she suspects the importance of the letter, which the Duc has confided to Richard.

The second act is in the garden of the chateau of St. German. The Duchesse is there, and Loïse also. The former congratulates Loïse on her marriage with the Marquis de Jarzée; but Loïse answers that this marriage will never take place, thanks to the kindness of the Queen, who allows ber to dispose of her hand as she pleases. This power does not at all suit the Duchesse, who tries to render Loïse jealous, by telling her Richard deceives her; that he loves another, and if she wishes to learn the name of her rival, it is signed in a letter which Richard carries in the hilt of his sword. Richard arrives from Paris, demanding a truce of four hours for the Parisians. His demand is granted. Richard and Loïse meet in the evening. The latter reproaches Richard with the letter; and at length, to reassure her, and establish his innocence, he shews it her; and Loïse, touched by this devotion, and by the dangers he is incurring, tells him that now she will bestow her hand on him; and that a Priest, in the chapel of the Loges, will, then and there, unite them. But, alas! the Duchesse (who it seems has not given up the bad habit of listening) has been close to them, and has heard all. The next scene is in the chapel. A storm rages without; the Priest is waiting to unite the affanced pair.

people to repair to St. Ge rmain to celebrate thenoir and Dennery. No one but Frederick Lemaitre could act this piece so; I hope he may perform in it next year in London; here is the story:-General Roquebert, during the war with Germany, has fallen in love with a young and high-born lady, Mina de Ransberg. The General is suddenly called away by his military duties, before he has had time to repair his error and that of Mina; he confides her to the care of M. Tavernay, his friend, the commissary of the provisions; and her child, Emmeline, to Antoine Simon, the caporal. Emmeline is to pass for the child of Antoine; and his wife, a vivandière; besides, Roquebert adds to the despatches which the estafette bears, a packet, sealed, and addressed to M. Germont, the notaire. This paper bequeaths all the General's property to the person who claims them pronouncing the name of Mina Ransberg. An encounter with the enemy now takes place. Antoine places the little Emmeline on his knapsack; the balls are flying in all directions. General Roquebert arrives half dead, supported by his soldiers, to where Antoine is; he has only time to whisper to him the name of Mina Ransberg, which he is to pronounce to M. Gormont, when he falls dead. Simon, after the war, bears Emmeline to France, where he leaves her in his native village, to be brought up with his own child, Lucien, under the watchful care of Catherine, the vivandière. He has, however, to return again to his duties, without having seen M. Germont, who was absent. Catherine dies; and as they have heard nothing of Antoine Simon for eleven years, Lucien and Emmeline, or Geneviève as she is called, that being the name of the child the caporal had lost, conclude that he is no more; and when he returns and enters his little cottage, they are absent at the village church, assisting at the mass which is being performed for the repose of his soul. The fortune of General Roquebert is in the possession of a distant relation, named Frochard, a man whose heart is as hard as the stones which he used to break before he came into his present fortune. Simon gets into conversation with Frochard; without knowing who he is, confides to him the change of position which awaits Geneviève, in consequence of the communication he is about to make to M. Gormont, the lawyer. But this does not suit by any means the views of Frochard, who therefore determines to defeat him: he (Frochard) has just been robbed of a sum of money, which has, however, been restored to him by the father of the delinquent. Frochard makes this circumstance suit his purpose; he secretly places the sum of money in Simon's knapsack, and at the same time robs the poor old soldier of his passport, and the papers establishing his identity. This done, he accuses him of theft; the money is discovered in his knapsack; and as he has no papers or passport, he has no chance of proving his innocence. In this dreadful position, grief, shame, and indignation so overwhelm le vieux caporal, that he is literally struck dumb; he tries to speak, but hard guttural cries alone issue from his mouth.

"Where are your witnesses?" asks he. "Behold them," answered the Duc de Beaufort, who appears as a prisoner, with his friends captives also. Their conspiracy had been discovered. A traitor had warned the enemy--and that traitor must be Richard; who, in his turn, can only suspect Loïse; from whom he turns away with horror, asking to die with his friends. Hélène has bribed the jailor, and comes to effect Richard's escape; but Richard rejects her aid. Loise brings him a phial of poison, which Hélène throws over the ramparts; the Duc de Beaufort has escaped, but his companions are condemned to death. A melancholy dirge is heard; it is the conspirators on their way to the place of execution, and each one utters as he passes a malediction on the unfortunate Richard, who, driven to madness by despair, throws himself from the balustrade, exclaiming, "Vous m'appelez compagnons, me voici." Loise faints, and the Duchesse falling on her knees, the cur

tain drops.

The Porte St. Martin is the scene of the great success of Frederick Lemaitre at the present moment. This great artiste surpasses himself, if I may be allowed to use the term, in Le Vieux Caporal, a drame by MM. Dume

this part. The lawyer who has prepared the contract is precisely M. Germont. And now that Simon can speak, Emmeline recovers her father's fortune, and Frederick returns to his fornier occupation of breaking stones. Madame Clarisse Miroy performed the part of Mina Ransberg with the beautiful feeling she puts into all she does. Madame Lia Felix is a charming Geneviève.

Henceforth Frochard has nothing to fear from him; Simon is driven from the village as a vagabond, whom Frochard treats with great mercy, in thus letting him off so easily. But Simon returns by stealth to Lucien and Geneviève, to whom he relates, by signs and gestures, all his adventures and sufferings. And here Frederick Lemaitre displays such acting as he alone can represent, and which will render this piece impossible for any other actor. Simon has disThe Opera and the Vieux Caporal have made covered M. Gormont; and he forms the resolu- my letter somewhat of the longest, so I must tion of going to him, accompanied by one of his leave the theatrical news for the present, only old fellow-soldiers, who accidentally overheard adding, that Lady Tartuffe's success continues the name the general uttered when dying; but to be as great as at first. Mdlle. Plassy is to as ill fortune will have it, it was this old soldier's give it almost immediately at St. Petersburg. son who robbed Frochard, and the idea of his The Vaudeville is giving a parody of it, which is name being dishonoured has driven him to com- quite a failure, however. M. Dargaud, the mit suicide. To shorten the tale, Geneviève author of "Marie Stuart," one of the best and discovers her mother, whom M.Tavernay, believ-most impartial histories of that unfortunate ing her child was dead, married soon after the queen, nas just published a work' called La death of Roquebert. In order to avoid exFamille; parts of it are charming, from their posing Madame Tavernay, and to compromise purity and simple interest, but on the other the matter, Geneviève is on the point of con- hand there is a great deal that is exaggerated. senting to marry Frochard, when Lucien, who The author aims at imitating Lamartine, with loves her, in despair takes a pistol, when she is out possessing Lamartine's genius and power. about to sign the contract, and is going to shoot But I must positively weary you no longer, so himself. Antoine, who is present, seizes the adieu, my dear C., pistol, and the violent agitation loosens his tongue, he has recovered his speech. Nothing can give an idea of Frederick Lemaitre's expression in

Yours, ever faithfully,

P*.

HAPPINESS. In all ages-amongst every people-by each class-do we find different notions of it entertained. To the wandering gipsy a home is tiresome; whilst a Swiss is miserable without one. Progress is necessary to the well-being of the Anglo-Saxons; on the other hand the Esquimaux are content in their squalid poverty, have no latent wants, and are still what they were in the days of Tacitus. An Irishman delights in a row; a Chinese in pageantry and ceremonies; and the usually apathetic Javan gets vociferously enthusiastic over a cock-fight. The heaven of the Hebrew is "a city of gold and precious stones, with a supernatural abundance of corn and wine;" that of the Turk-a harem peopled by houris; that of the American Indian-a "happy huntingground;" in the Norse paradise there were to be daily battles with magical healing of wounds; whilst the Australian hopes that he shall "jump up a white fellow, and have plenty of sixpences.' Descending to individual instances, we find Louis XVI. interpreting "greatest happiness" to mean-making locks; instead of which his successor read-making empires. It was seemingly the opinion of Lycurgus that perfect physical development was the chief essential to human felicity; Plotinus, on the contrary, was so purely ideal in his aspirations as to be ashamed of his body. Indeed the many contradictory answers given by Grecian thinkers to the question-What constitutes happiness? have given

occasion to comparisons that have now become trite. Nor has greater unanimity been shown amongst ourselves. To a miserly Elwes the hoarding of money was the only enjoyment of life; but Day, the philanthropic author of

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Sandford and Merton," could find no pleasurable employment save in its distribution. Rural quietude, books, and a friend, are the wants of the poet; a tuft-hunter longs rather for a large circle of titled acquaintance, a box at the Opera, and the freedom of Almack's. The ambitions of the tradesman and the artist are anything but alike; and could we compare the air-castles of the ploughman and the philosopher, we should find them of widely different orders of architec ture. Generalizing such facts, we see that the standard of "greatest happiness" possesses as little fixity as the other exponents of human nature. Between nations the differences of opinion are conspicuous enough. On contrasting the Hebrew patriarchs with their existing descendants, we observe that even in the same race the beau ideal of existence changes. The members of each community disagree upon question. Neither, if we compare the wishes of the gluttonous school-boy with those of the earth-scorning transcendentalist into whom he may afterwards grow, do we find any constancy in the individual. So we may say, not only that every epoch and every people has its peculiar conceptions of happiness, but that no two men have like conceptions; and further, that in each

the

man the conception is not the same at any two, celebration at the time, and burned (she stated, periods of life.-Herbert Spencer.

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without her knowledge) the Emperor Francis in effigy! She was at once seized, and, at the command of the Austrian officer, made "to run the gauntlet," or the "Gassenlauf," as they called it. I gained some acquaintance with this Austrian punishment while in the Gros Wardein prison, as it was applied to all the thieves and deserters of the regiment every Saturday afternoon. The custom is, usually, to call out three hundred men, who form two rows, one hundred and fifty on a side. Each man is to be provided with a tough, limber stick. The criminal, a hardy, strong man, commonly, is stripped to the waist, and made to walk leisurely through at the beat of the drum. If any one in the line neglects to lay on as hard as he can, he gets five-and-twenty" himself. It is generally calculated that a strong man, sent through this lane four times, if he has strength enough to get to the end, will die within a few hours. This was Madame Maderspach's punishment, though with generous consideration for her sex, the "run" was probably limited to once through! The effect upon the proud, high-born lady was to drive her into insanity. The news of such a public, brutal indignity on his wife, so affected the husband that he shot himself through the brain. And, to entirely hush up the matter, the only survivor, a young son, was drafted into the Austrian army in Italy as a common soldier, where he is still. The whole deed seems to have come, if not directly from Haynau, at least from his general orders. The poor lady lives still in Pesth, in a half-crazed condition. It is said, after Haynau's tremendous flagellation by the London brewers, some one sent her a paper, containing an account of it; and that she kept it for days in her bosom, wet with her tears! Somehow or other, she obtained, too, a piece of one of the brooms with which he was beaten, and maniac-like, she has made a bracelet of it, which she now wears. The Hungarians assert that this instance of Madame Maderspach is only one of several similar.-Hungary in 1851. By C. L. Brace.

A BEAUTIFUL TRIBUTE TO A WIFE.-Sir James Mackintosh, the historian, was married in early life, before he attained fame or fortune, to Miss Catherine Stuart, a young Scotch lady, distinguished more for the excellence of her character than for her personal charms. After eight years of happy wedded life, during which she became the mother of three children, she died. A few days after her death, the bereaved husband wrote to a friend, depicting the character of his wife, in the following terms:-"I was guided in my choice only by the blind affection of youth. I found an intelligent companion and a tender friend-a prudent monitress, the most faithful of wives, and a mother as tender as ever children had the misfortune to lose. I met a woman who, by the tender management of my weaknesses, gradually corrected the most pernicious of them. She became prudent from affection; and, though of the most generous disposition, she was taught frugality and economy by her love for me. During the most critical period of my life she preserved order in my affairs, from the care of which she relieved me. She gently reclaimed me from dissipation she urged my indolence to all the exertions that have been useful and ereditable to me; and she was perpetually at hand to adnonish my heedless improvidence. To her I owe whatever I am; to her whatever I shall be. In her solicitude for my interests she never for a moment forgot my feelings or my character. Even in her occasional resentment, for which I but too often gave her cause (would to God I could recall those moments!) she had no sulleaness or acrimony. Her feelings were warm and impetuous; but she was placable, tender, and constant. Such was she whom I lost, and I have lost her when her excellent natural sense was rapidly improving, after eight years of struggle and distress had bound us fast together, and moulded our tempers to each other; when a knowledge of her worth had refined my youthful love into a friendship, and before age had deprived it of much of its original ardour. I lost her, alas! the choice of my youth, the a horse is attached to any vehicle, the harness partner of my misfortunes, at a moment when I should be allowed to remain on him in the stable had a prospect of her sharing my better days." several hours during two or three consecutive MADAME MADERSPACH.-Among the vic- days; he should be led out, so that he may tims of the Austrian Government, there still become thoroughly accustomed to the trappings, lives in Pesth the lady who was scourged by and a cord six or seven feet in length should be Austrian soldiers Madame Maderspach. I fastened to each trace. With this the horse is have met several who have seen her, and the quietly led about, one man performing that account they give of the affair is as follows:- duty whilst another follows holding the aforeShe was a lady of fortune and rank, residing said cords, which as the animal moves forward in Siebenbürgen, in the south-eastern part of are to be strained, so that he feels a slight Hungary. Her husband was an officer in the pressure of the collar on his shoulders. The Hungarian army, and she herself naturally sym- intention of this treatment must be obvious; if pathized with his party, and, it is said, fre- the horse is alarmed by the effect of the collar, quently entertained Bem and the officers under the man holding the cords which are affixed to him in a very hospitable manner. This had the traces can instantly relax them; and again, exasperated the Austrians; and when, at length, when he finds his pupil is reconciled he may they occupied that part of Hungary, they were renew a moderate strain, and finally as much quite ready for any severities against her. Un-resistance as he has power to create. By this fortunately for her, her tenantry inade some means the most timid horses will gain con

HUMANITY AND COMMON SENSE.-Before