from Besançon. Do you know Charles Fourrier?" "His Grandmother and one of my aunts were cousins," answered our hero with the most unspeakable candor, and Janin began to recite,

“Monsieur, Je suis bâtard de votre apothicaire !"

Francis was about taking the road in his hand, when he was stopped by these words of Ricourt. "Your machine is execrable, and we must lose a night's rest to put it straight on its limbs. No matter, it shall appear;" and two days after, the machine appeared, without the alteration of a single word."

For two years he led a life of privation, studying and writing in bed, to save firewood, and seldom venturing abroad for fear of "meeting his appetite in the street." At last, he procured a post in the department of the archives, for which he was eminently qualified. He paid his respects in due course to Nodier, at the library of the Arsenal. We refer to our paper on Les Memoires de Alex. Dumas, IRISH QUARTERLY REVIEW, No. 10, for a picture of an evening re-union with the author of La Fée aux Miettes.

Victor Hugo was a constant frequenter of these evening parties. He was at this time young, and blessed with a good appetite. The first time he dined there, he so distinguished himself at his knife and fork, that Madame Nodier could not help complimenting him on his prowess. "Oh! Madam," said he, "I was a little shy to-day, but when I come to feel more at ease, I will be found much worthier of your encom iums."

"At the Arsenal they chatted-they read original poems-they danced and sung to the piano But whether they were under the influence of music, or in the quadrille, or at play, or unreservedly talking scandal, as soon as Nodier approached a group and took the word, all was interrupted. Every one gathered round the story-teller and profound silence fell on the group. Every one held his breath, in order to lose nothing of the exquisite harmony of the discourse; and hours glided by without notice, 'till a warming pan, attached at one end to a servant maid, traversed the salon, and Madame Nodier, armed with a chamber candlestick, was heard pronouncing with domestic authority, Come, Titi; your bed is warmed; the conclusion on next Sunday.'

Sarcastic but docile, Titi arose, cast his eyes round on the circle of listeners, spoke some cordial words, gave his limp and lean hand to every one within reach, and disappeared."

This great pontiff of the Phalansterians, was a native of Franche Comte, as well as Nodier and Wey.

The school of Fourrier, to which we directed our readers in the article on Texier, having founded the Phalange under the direction of Victor Considerant, Wey and Raymond Brucker contributed articles; but our hero, being a Christian at heart, brought ridicule on the Phalansterians by some of his grave pleasantries.

Fourrier prophecied that when the system would be well established, five hundred persons should assemble in a large meadow, and try who could dress the finest omelette; the successful candidate being thenceforward to enjoy the style and privileges of Grand Omelettier.

"So, Francis being of a very compassionate disposition, affected great pity for the gastric labours of the poor examiner, who would be obliged, ex-professo, to swallow five hundred mouthfuls of omelette, to enable him to form an impartial judgment. He calculated how many hundred eggs he would be forced to eat, and made euquiries as to the distribution of the residue, and the number of hens put in requisition."

After composing feuilletons numberless, some critic insinuated that he did not understand French grammatical composition. The consequence was that he ceased to write, studied some years, rejected the authority of the established grammars, and finally brought out his Remarques sur la langue française, sur le style et la composition littéraire.

This is considered a wonderful work for research into the structure and genius of the language from the time of the earliest known works to the present, and for the soundness and justice of the writer's views.

Our author is presented as the reverse of Dumas and Janin, where quietness and modesty are in question; Gerard de Nerval once said that at his death his skin would furnish materials for three academicians.

Beside his Les Anglais chez Eux he wrote a descriptive story of English society and manners in the days of Hogarth. Allusion was made, in our former article on this subject, to the bad grace with which George Sand welcomed her biography at the hands of Mirecourt. Before taking up his brochure we will call on M. de Loménie (Un Homme de Rien) for a few illustrations relative to this too celebrated writer. They are taken from the Galerie des Contemporains Illustres, 1842. With less sparkle and movement, he exceeds our biographer in coolness and solidity of judgment, and freedom from preju

dice. We do not warrant the literal truth of his introduction. He says he was under the influence of nightmare, induced by solicitude concerning his coming article, when he was suddenly aroused from his uneasy condition by having a note to the following effect thrust into his hand :

"Madame Dudevant requests Mr. . . to call on her concerning a small command which she wishes to entrust to him.' (Then followed address and date).

I rubbed my eyes: it was certain that I was not sleeping. Still the contents of the note completely puzzled me. I knew, indeed, several eccentric celebrities who would very willingly give me a command for a biography; but besides my not consenting to undertake such a commission, the present did not seem to imply any order of this kind.

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I was lost in conjecture when it came into my head to cast my eye on the envelope; I must have been stupid or half asleep not to have thought of it before. The address was M. . . . Chimney Doctor, and the mystery was at once explained. Deceived by a resemblance in the names, George Sand's Mercury, a sharp boy from La Creuse, and my porter, a lively Auvergnat, to match, had adopted the same notion on the subject. They had probably read somewhere those charming verses of Voltaire on glory and smoke, and had come to the just conclusion that between a smoke doctor and an historian of illustrious cotemporaries the difference is rather less than the diameter of the earth. So, thanks to the similarity of the professions, I was now possessed of an autograph destined for my quasi colleague. Oh! happy sweep," I exclaimed, while I still retained so much honesty of purpose as to intend to restore the precious document to the rightful owner, you are about seeing genius in dishabille. No one thinks of making a pose before a professor of your rank, while there is always arrangement of drapery more or less before a biographer. Ah! why can I not be smoke curer and historian at the same time! But what is to prevent me from becoming a pro. fessor of the Black Art? I have known advocates develope into ministers of state between evening and morning. I have some knowledge of physics: I will commence this moment to study the Article 'Smoke' in the Cyclopedia, and I will soon know the truth or falsehood of all the reports current on the subject of Lelia. I am told of her fierce and fascinating looks, and of her deep and terrible accents. They say that like St. Simon Stylites she inhabits a perch accessible only by ladders, and I read in the Petersburgh Gazette, that she is five feet six in height; that she wears a frock made out of her own hair; that she sticks moustaches on her lip, and has spurs on her boots. These reports require confirmation; and all that can be depended on is, that she is a great poet, and her chimnies encumbered with soot. What better occasion can I find to verify the rest ?"

The contents of the note seeming to imply no personal knowledge of the professor, I arose, dressed myself in haste, and was glad on

looking into a mirror, to perceive in my appearance, just the requisite measure of distinction and elegance befitting a sweep. I perused the article on smoke, clapped a superb two-foot ruler in my pocket, and departed, determined to encounter any function whatever, rather than miss any of those little personal and private details, for which the good public has such a voracious appetite.

I found myself in a small ante-chamber very like all other ante-cham bers. They demanded my name: I hesitated, but summoning up all the zeal of a biographer, I boldly told the lie, and assumed the style and title of the honest tradesman, who I am sure, little dreamed of the fraud at that moment. I was told to wait a little, and I was not sorry for the suspense, which was barely necessary for conning over my part previous to representation.

Meanwhile the delay was long, and I had time to study the matter on its disagreeable side. A charming little girl with fine curling hair, passed and repassed, and her espiègle and inquisitive glances did not contribute to put me at my ease. It was, no doubt,the little Solange the beautiful child of the illustrious writer.

I began to think that if the theft came to be discovered I would cut a sorry figure in fine the prospect of a chimney to be swept caused me no little uneasiness, taking my want of skill into account. However there was no room for retreat.*

And now, trembling, I awaited the approach of the great, the terrible Lelia, recommending my scattering senses to some heathen goddess, and reciting by way of invocation, the flaming dithyrambus of an eloquent professor. "Lo! here comes the true priestess, the veritable victim of the god; the ground shakes under the impetuous tread of helia, &c. &c. I had some just cause for my awe, for a great clattering of chairs, and an energetic exclamation of the priestess on the awkwardness of the servants reached my ear, the door suddenly opened, and I shut my eyes in an access of fright.

When I opened them I found before me a lady of moderate height, of an embonpoint conformable, and not at all Dantesque. She wore a morning gown somewhat similar to those, we simple mortals of the male sex wear. Hair fine and perfectly black, whatever evil tongues may say, and separated over a forehead large and smooth as a mirror, fell on her cheeks as in the portraits of Raphael. A handkerchief was thrown neligently round her neck. Her look, which some painters persist in investing with force, had on the contrary a remarkable expression of mild melancholy. The sound of her voice was sweet and low; her mouth particularly expressed benevolence and kindness; and there was in her whole appearance and attitude, a striking character of simplicity, of nobleness, of calmness. Gall would have seen genius in the breadth of the temples, in the rich development of the forehead; and in the frank look, the oval visage, and the fine but fatigued looking features, Lavater would have read a sorrow ful past, a comfortless present, an extreme bias to enthusiasm, and conse. quently to discouragement. Lavater would have read many other things; but he certainly would not have discovered deceit, nor bitter

Lerminier, beyond the Rhine, vol. 2, page 271.

ness, nor hatred, for they have no place on this sorrowful and composed countenance. The Lelia of my imagination disappeared before the reality; and what I had before me was simply a kind, sweet, sad, intelligent, and beautiful face.

In continuing my examination, I remarked with pleasure that the great Unhappy had not altogether renounced female vanities; for under the flowing sleeves of her robe, and at the junction of the wrist with the fine white hand, I beheld the sparkle of a bracelet set in gold, and of exquisite finish.

This womanly ornament, which by the way had a very fine effect, relieved my mind from the anxiety caused by the sombre hue and the politico-philosophical exaltation of some of the recent productions of George Sand.

One of the hands which I admiringly examined, concealed a cigarito; badly concealed indeed, for the smoke ascended behind the prophetess in thin, tell-tale volumes.

You may suppose that during this mental inventory my tongue had no holiday. Being set at ease by Lelia's gracious reception, and moreover, desirious to finish off in the most elaborate manner my perfidious biography, I purposely involved the economy of smoke in paraphrases and parentheses, while she listened to me with a goodnatured and courteous indulgence.

At last when I judged that the portrait was accurately traced on the retina of my mind, I cut short my confused exposition, and retired, being delighted to have to inform you that the St. Petersburgh Gazette knows not what it says, that the three fourths of those who gossip about George Sand are only amusing themselves at your expense; that it is true that the prophetess occasionally smokes a cigarito; that she condescends to envelope herself at times in our absurd frock; and that among her intimate acquaintance she answers to the name of George.

This, however, is not forbidden by the code, and falls very far short of the monstrous puerilities posted to her account; and per sons well informed can cite many salons of Paris where the illus trious author is seen uniting to the prestige of the genius, the simplicity, the modest demeanor, and the becoming charms of the woman.

And now that you are as well informed on the subject of the lady's personality as myself, it remains to explain by what chain of circumstances the poet has been led to purchase glory at the price of

repose.

one

In the early years of the Restoration the aristocratic convent of the English Ladies in the Rue des Fosses Saint Victor, which then enjoyed the monopoly of patrician education, opened its little gate fine morning to a young and interesting pensionnaire. The new comer, who might be about fourteen years old, had just arrived from Berri. Her religious education seemed to have been sadly neglected, for the good sisters observed with pious terror, that she betrayed a very philosophic awkwardness in making the sign of the Cross, as if the exercise was not at all habitual. She was a handsome, black haired girl, her well defined features disclosing a wild untamed pride. She bore with unconcern the unfriendly looks