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through those peculiar telescopes through which novelists look over the dim landscape of the past? He is in love with Fair Rosamond Clifford ; she is insensible to his suit, but he is determined that she shall be his mistress sooner or later, and takes this nefarious plan to succeed. He bringe her under the notice of the unprincipled young king, judging that when she has surrendered all right to female honor, his own vile object will be easily attained.

Now, if the authoress of the Lady and the Priest had taken ordinary care to prepare for her self-imposed and ungracious task, by consulting the authentic histories of that reign, she would have found that her narrative was as irreconcilable with fact, from the well-established purity of the Archbishop's life, as from the circumstances of time and place through which the characters of her story moved. Poisoned springs and poisoned weapons, and the stiletto of the paid murderer, are never thought of when Christian powers are at war with each other; and shall such false and po sonous arms as these be used by parties who merely differ in their modes of Christian worship, and are all loyal subjects of the same sovereign?

In the month of February of the present year Maquet had his unkind patron doing penance in the courts of law. lle lost the cause. It is probable that Auguste deserved to lose it; but quere did Alexander deserve to gain it ?

We proceed to touch on another duel of the great man, and have done with our critic's personalities, as his store are inexhaustible where his swarthy foeman is the subject.

He entered one evening the office of the Figaro, whence two bostile articles had been launched at him : “Who is the author of these infamous productions ? his name—be quicki'. I know not,' said Maurice Alboy, chief editor of the paper.. • You must know; I will not wait a minute; I must kill some one.' My good friend,' said Maurice, you have exhausted my patience. I will be responsible for the articles; name your seconds.'. Mutual friends interposed, and Dumas condescended to spare Alhoy's life; but he, as the offended, should keep his honor intact. They should repair to the Bois de Bou. logne next morning, but no blood was to be drawn. The seconds were, however, entirely ignorant of this implied arrangement.

“ Alexander looked sublime ; courage was visible in every feature ; he was insensible to fear; pallor sat not on his manly face. They produced the swords. ''What's here,' cried he, blue weapons ! I never used a blue-colored blade. Pierre,' continued he, turning with the gesture of a hero to his Negro, ' produce the dark-dyed swords.'

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They were brought, and the weapons crossed.

Maurice Alhoy being somewhat nervous, and a little overawed by the truly intrepid mien of his adversary, lost command of hand altogether, when Dumas began

• Defend yourself, corbleau ! wrist firmer : a victory over an opponent of your force would not be worth gaining-oh! cried he in affright, letting fall his sword.

In order to punish his vain boasting, Alhoy had slightly wounded him in the shoulder.

What's that for?' added he, forgetting himself for the moment, "it was not mentioned in the programme.'

Mirecourt, feeling a sort of remorse at last for his merciless treatment of his foe, relents, and tells something to his credit :

"Our hero, notwithstanding his faults, has sincere admirers and enthusiastic friends. M. Porcher, the illustrious director of the claque,. is of the number. One day he gave a splendid dinner to the great Mousquetaire. The wine sparkled, and the most delightful gaiety reigned from one end of the table to the other. Porcher alone kept looking at his glass without approaching it to his lips. It must be acknowledged, however, that he had already emptied it very often, and had now reached the maudlin stage.

"What is the matter with you, my dear friend ?' said Alexander. "Am I really among the number of your dear friends ?' sighed the renowned dispenser of venal applause. • How can you doubt it?'. • Well, I don't, but still there is one thing that gives me great trouble.' * Ah! what is it?" My heavy sorrow is this, you never say thou to me: just thou me once.' My poor Porcher! with the greatest pleasure! Shake hands, dear friend, and lend me a thousand crowns.'”

With some degree of inconsistency, Mirecourt seems disposed to enhance the merit of Dumas Fils in the proportion of the disparagement of Dumas Pere. Besides his qualities of a writer of genius and talents, he represents him as a sincere, honorable young man, living within bis income, keeping his father within some bounds, and helping him out of his difficulties. In the Cure for the Heartache, Hodge, after relating to his sister the misdeeds of their extravagant father, and mentioning how his own good example was entirely lost on hiin, gravely asks her, as a case of conscience, whether he would be justified in giving the immoral old boy a licking. Dumas Fils supports sister and mother, and gives what he can to charitable purposes,



. For closer acquaintance with this great practitioner see our review of the Memoirs of Dumas.


but never lets the idea of the licking cross his mind. It may be supposed, from the character of his works, especially the earlier one.:, that his life in one respect has been far from correct. Our lenient critic throws out hopes that there will be a decided improvement in his works to come, as he is Christion at heart and studies the Scriptures. Amen, say we.

However our author may relax in his dislike to Dumus, his feelings towards Emile de Girardin exhibit a most determined personal hatred; and, therefore, he is not so much tu be trusted in his statements concerning his character.

Ilis portrait, serving for frontispiece, exhibits a Napoleon when in good humour. So he is an anomaly, if his veins are filled with poison instead of blood, as insinuated by his critic. Circunstances connected with his birth, and the after neglect or dislike of his parents, have given a misanthropic tinge to his character. He considers every office beneath him but that of prime minister; and bis political creed has been re-modelled a dozen times. The facts adduced by Mirecourt, such as ordering his own immediate release from prison, when he might have kept him there at pleasure, do not bear out his theory to our satisfaction.

If he dispraises the husband to the utmost stretch of langrage, he makes up in his unqualified admiration of Madame, nie Delphine Gay, a lovely compound of personal beauty, grace, goodness, conversational powers, and poetical gifts. Any person who has read or scen acted her delightful dramas, or read her tales, too few in number, alas! or her lively and picturesque sketches of Parisian lite, social, political, literary and artistic, from about 18:36 to 1818, under the name of the Cheralier de Launay, will bear out the critic as far as evidence is before themselves. i recourt evidently grudged her to her selfish lord. Literature has had a great loss by her too early death.

One of Jirecourt's grievances against the editor of La Presse arose from his rejecting Marion D' Lorme unless signed Alex. Dumas.

He must find space for the unhappy dnel between Girardin and Armand Carril, judging that a simple recital of an incident so contrary to the spirit of Christianity is nearly as good as a sermon. The account is from Le National,

, Carrel's paper :--July 1st, 1836.

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** The direct explication which had place between M. Carrel and M de Girardin left nothing in the power of the seconds to bring about a reconciliation. Having reached the ground, the Bois de Vincennes, M. Carrel advanced towards M. de Girardin, and said,

Monsieur, you have threatened me with a biography: as the chance of the day may be against me you will probably fulfil your promise ; but if you write it in an honest spirit you will not find either in my private or public life anything unbecoming a man of honor. Is it not so, Monsieur ?' • It is, Monsieur' replied M. de Girardin.

It had been decided that the combatants should be placed at a distance of forty paces, and that each was then at liberty to walk forward ten steps.

M. Carrel advanced that distance with a firm and rapid pace; then, raising his pistol and taking aim he fired at his adversary, who had only advanced three paces. The two diy. charges were nearly simultaneous, but M. Carrel had tired first. M. de Girardin cried out. I am hit in the thigh ;' and I in the groin,' said M. Carrel.

He had still strength enough left to walk to a bank at the edge of the avenue, and sit down. His second, and Dr. Marx his friend, ran up to him. M. Persat (proprietor of Le Vational) burst into tears.

Do not weep, my good friend,' said Carrel; “this ball has given you quittance.' This was an allusion to a legal process to come off on the next day.”

They carried him to St. Mandé, to the house of M. Peyra, an old comrade of the Ecole Militaire. Passing near M. Girardin, M. Carrel addressed him: 'Are you suffering much, M. Girardin?' 'I would be rejoiced if your sufferings were no greater.' 'Adieu, Monsieur, I bear no ill will to you.'

Carrel was not deceived as to the dangerous character of his wound. He requested that they would bear him directly to the cemetery after his decease; no priest, no church. Such was his short and definite direction.

The next day Armand Carrel was dead. Had his last hours been consoled by religion, his posthumous reputation would surely have sustained no loss. It is a pity that republicanism and impiety are such near neighbours.”

Mirecourt handles George Sand with delicate touch, passes slightly over the unsound portions of her career, and gives all hoinage due to her great powers. She has not taken his biography, however, in good part at all; and he complains that she even adds a year or two to her age, in order to enjoy the pleasure of a contradiction. Still he will noto have the public to be too fastidious as to the self-restraint, &c. of those who write or act for their amusement. Let them be satisfied that his heroine for the moment is what Ninon de l'Enclos once boasted herself to be, viz. : an

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honest man.

lle quotes from the Lettres d'un Voyageur, a passage


which we repeat for its beanty. All the world knows that Aurora Dudevant is a native of Berri, and that she was bronght up in that rough province under the wing of an energetic grand-mother.

Oh! who amongst us does not fundly recollect the first volumes which he has tasted or devoured! Has not the very cover of an old book, found mantled over with dust, on the shelf of a neglected bookcase, retraced the sweet outlines of the picture of your youthful years! Have you not seen rise before you, the wide meadow bathing in the warm rays of the evening, where you perused it for the first time! Oh! how quickly fell the night over the enchanted leaves, and how cruelly the fading twilight made the characters dance in confu. sion on the darkening pages !

It is all over: the lambs are bleating ; the sheep have gathered to the fold; and the cricket has taken possession of the huts and the plains : you must depart.

The road is stony, the plank is narrow and slippery, the side path rough. You are covered with perspiration, but all is useless : you arrive too late, they have commenced supper. It is to no purpose that the old servant, who loves you so much, has delayed to ring the bell as long as she could. You must endure the mortification of sitting down last, and the grand-mother, relentless in etiquette even in the depth of her secluded farm, administers a tender reproach in a mild, sorrowful tone, which affects you more sensibly than a severe reproof.

But when at night, she asks you for an account of how the day was spent, and you acknowledge with a blush, that you forgot the time reading ; and being required to produce the book, you draw out, with a trembling hand, Esielle et Némorin, Oh, then the old lady cannot help smiling. Take courage ; your treasure will be restored, but mind, never be late for supper again.

(), happy days! (, my dark glen! O, Corinne! O, Ber. nardin de St. Pierre! Ye willows by the river, my vanished youth, and oh! my poor old hound, who never missed the supper hour, but answered to the ring of the distant bell by a hungry and sorrowful howl!"

Charles Nodier, with whom we spent some pleasant moments in Les Mémoires de Alexandre Dumus, Míry, the exaggerated type of our Theodore Hook, Victor Iluyo, Beranger, Alfred de Vigny, Arsène lloussaye, Francis Wey, Baron Taylor, Paul Ferul, and other estimable writers meet with warm though judicious welcome in the pages of Les Contemporains. The degree of blame administered to Paul de Kock and Balzac is very slight, compared to the kindness with which they are treated. How Balzac could have spent much time in collecting materials for his Comedy of tłuman Life, we are unable to under

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