66 this apparently the Cardinal and his colleagues Corisande appears to us the least interesting of were fully aware-Lothair must be left no time the three heroines, severally typifying Liberty, to think. And here we are naturally led to Catholicism, and Protestantism. But at any glance at Clara Arundel, the fair enthusiast | rate we congratulate ourselves that Mr. whose charms are intended to lure Lothair into Disraeli has not presented us with even the very the arms of the church longing to receive him. faintest approach to a girl of the period," Has Mr. Disraeli remembered that Arundel is or a single word, thought, or idea that can a name historically connected with the Jesuit offend the modesty of a gentlewoman-and fraternity? We read, in the history of the this is a eulogium that can be passed upon so Tower of London, that one Father Weston, a few of the novels of the present day, that, from fanatical brother of the "order of Jesus," was its rarity, a purely written story becomes as thrust into the Clink Prison within the Tower, precious as one of Theodora's pearls. and put to death, "in spite of the tears and " METEOR." gold of Lady Arundel." We may therefore "The Animal World," &c., notice in our conclude Clara Arundel to be the worthy de- next. scendant of an illustrious ancestress. Lady LEAVES FOR THE LITTLE ONE S. THE LITTLE PRINCESS AND THE of her life-a circumstance which would have FAIRY QUEEN. BY ELIZABETH TOWNBRIDGE. [IN TWO PARTS.] - PART I. Once upon a time-a long while ago there lived in a beautiful green island a very good King, who had but one child, a little girl, who was beyond compare the most beautiful and amiable young Princess that ever was seen. She had lovely deep blue eyes, and long curls like threads of bright gold, which fell far below her waist, and such exquisite little teeth that her fresh rosy mouth seemed quite a little casket of pearls. Her mother, the Queen, who had also been very good and very handsome, had died when Erinna (which was the Princess's name) was born, so that she had never known her, or had had the advantage of the loving care that all fond mothers bestow on their dear little children. But her father, the King, tried to love and care for her enough for both, and had her education carefully attended to, never even thinking of giving her a stepmother, as so many other kings did of whom we read in fairy lore. He always, however, wisely required the most implicit obedience from the little Princess towards her instructors, yet at the same time he was otherwise very indulgent to her, supplying her with all kinds of playthings and the most sumptuous dresses of velvet, satin, cloth of gold and silver, adorned with precious stones and even diamonds; but notwithstanding all these attractions her chief delight was to sit at her kind father's feet, when her lessons and his State-business were over, and listen while he told her of her dear lost mother, or sometimes of the beautiful fairy who had appeared most unexpectedly at her cristening, and, offering to become her godmother, promised at the same time to take care of her through all the dangers been the more remarkable but that she happened to have been born on Midsummer-eve, a night which, as everyone knows, is the very greatest festival of the gay little people. Very happy, then, was the childhood of the good young Princess until she reached her tenth year, when, unfortunately, a horrible and vicious king much addicted to the evil practice of magic who reigned over another part of the same island proposed to form an alliance between her and his son, who had already shown symptoms of becoming in time even more wicked than himself. Her father at once civilly but firmy delclined to sanction this arrangement, which slight so enraged the bad monarch that by his vile arts he soon raised a revolt in the kingdom of Erinna's father, and caused him to be deprived of his throne and banished. Sorrowfully, then, the poor King took his departure from his palace, and took refuge in a cave in the depths of a great forest in which he had often hunted with a grand retinue before this abominable magician had so malignantly injured him; taking with him, to be sure, the little Princess, now stripped of all her rich dresses, and clothed in mere common stuff like any poor peasant-child; but, after all, the power of the bad king could go no further, and the loss of all her glittering finery mattered little, as long as he could not snatch from her her good temper, her gentle obedience, and thoughtful affection for her dear father, whom she did all in her power to win from his grief by her pretty loving ways. It was fortunately summer-time when they first went to live in the forest, and the good little girl everyday made it her pleasant duty to search every "bosky bourne and leafy dell" for the pretty shy little wild-flowers, that she might wreathe them into garlands to adorn, as much as possible, the bare rocky walls of the cave which was now their lonely home. One day, which the King told her was the eve of Midsummer, and consequently her birthday, she left him with even more than her usual cheerfulness, laughingly declaring she should gather whole heaps of flowers before evening, in honour of herself, as she had now no other courtier to wait on her, and so, carrying a basket in her hand she tripped gaily off to commence her perfumed reaping. Singing many a merry little song, the young Princess wandered through the wood-paths until, feeling very tired, just before sunset she sat down on the mossy trunk of a great tree which lay on the ground, where it had fallen in some winter-storm, or perhaps through age, and watched the sun sink slowly and grandly through a vista of the forest behind the trees. "Oh," she thought to herself," how beautiful this place is! Grander, far grander than the palace we were forced to leave. For myself I should never care to return to it; but for my dear father's sake, whom I know grieves silently at his loss, I wish I could discover the way to my good Fairy-godmother's country, when I would ask her for a large army, and so restore him to his throne." She had scarcely uttered these last words (which she had unconsciously spoken aloud) when-O wonderful to tell!-a light far brighter than the sun's rays shed itself all around, gilding the green open glade where she sat with a soft radiance, and in its very midst, looking kindly on her, stood a lovely tiny lady-O so very tiny!-whose exquite gold-sandalled little feet did not even press down the light spray of wood-fern on which she stood. She was dressed in long lightly-flowing robes of pure white, and carried an exquisite lily-shaped wand; while to show that she was the queen who ruled over the pretty playful fairies who inhabited the leafy woods of her own green island, the glittering diadem which encircled her pure fair brow was intertwined with shamrocks, and, in a clear sweet voice, this beautiful little being addressed the astonished young Princess and said: "Do not fear, my child, wandering through this wood, which is a favourite resort of mine. In search of a stray fay I heard your affectionate wish for your father's happiness; I am the godmother whose home you wish to find, and I now give you this flower," holding towards her, as she spoke, her tall lily wand, "and whenever you wish to visit me in my own land, breathe upon it three times, and your desire shall be granted." Vanishing as she ceased speaking, Erinna would have supposed that she had merely dreamed it all, but that she held in her hand the spotless lily; and, urged probably by some fairy spell, she instantly raised it to her lips, and, breathing upon it three times, wished to be in Fairy-land, when in a moment there stood beside her a snow-white pony, in housings of sky-blue velvet, all embroidered with silver and seed pearls, and with a whole peal of little silver bells ringing their blithe music from his silver bridle. The little girl (who had been early accustomed to manage a pony) sprang lightly to the saddle, and was no sooner seated in it than awayaway flew the pony though a dark vista of the forest, nothing staying his fleet course until he came to a great rock, which opened before him, and closed again as he entered; shutting out, as he did so, the last faint lingering twilight of the closing summer day. OUR PARIS CORRESPONDENT. MY DEAR C The bomb has at last burst, and war is declared. It is long since the Parisians have been regaled with such a year after their own hearts as this the elections, the riots, the high courts of justice, the change in the form of Government (that is, in name)-the plebiscite riots, again, and now war with the Prussians! Napoleon III. has taken a new lease of the Tuileries, and has brought out his Government as good as new-that is, if he comes off victorious in the bloody and atrocious struggle he is now engaged in. How well the crafty monarch understands the French character, and knows how to lead us by the nose! Talk to us of glory, honour, and revenge, and we ask no more. Give our youths leave to shout in the streets, and you may get up all the manifestations you like. And we have had permission to What sing the "Marseillaise "-another permission that proves how his Majesty knows us. pleasure can outdo shouting the "Marseillaise ?" A month ago we hazarded the prison for its sake. However, his Majesty finds that we have had enough excitement, and is afraid it might go further than he wishes; so our Prefet de Police has issued an order to desist: no more will be tolerated. We must bridle our enthusiasm, now the effect is made. But woe betide the Prussians! Not a head will be left on the shoulders of one of them. According to present feeling they are the most atrocious of savages, and the report is spread abroad that all their weapons are empoisoned, and every limb pierced by them is to be amputated, after the orders of the French generals-a report which is certainly false, but which proves the hatred aroused amongst the people, who thus give vent struggle, and, although the young heads fancy that one Frenchman can and will vanquish ten Prussians, yet the older heads view both sides of the possibilities, and our journalists ask for a re-organization of the National Guards, that four or five millions of men may be ready to take up arms, if required; but Napoleon III. is too wise to leave such an army as that behind him, in spite of the immense majority of "ayes" in the late call on his subjects. In the late discussion on the liberty of association M. Ollivier, who changes his way of thinking with the wind, considers liberty of association dangerous for the present momentand that before war was expected!-as also the entry of the Princes d'Orleans. After six millions of voices in favour of the reigning dynasty, it was not safe to admit a fallen family, because they are "pretenders." The fact is, they are awfully afraid of that family. to their imagination and ire. Who is the most to be blamed in this breaking of the peace in Europe it is difficult to decide. Both Governments have long been watching each other for a pretext, and it must have occurred sooner or later. Nothing but bloodshed could quell the animosity that has long been heaping of fence on offence, until it has arrived at a pitch of perfect frenzy on both sides the Rhine. The Prussians are accused of every possible brutality, and all the old tales of the Conqueror's insolence, when the Allied Armies were in possession of France, are again revived, and all attributed to the Prussians. The first two or three days after the declaration of war it was to me heartrending to walk in the streets of Paris. Scarcely a young man to be met with sober; and their enthusiasm appeared to me to be as much the effects of wine as patriotism. Their songs grated on the nerves to hear, they so resembled those of the young conscripts who But enough of war and politics this time, drink and shout to keep up their hearts. The though, as may be expected, nothing else is Emperor is said to be in great glee: he has thought of in Paris; and sad, sad indeed, are quite forgotten his gout, and other ailments, the hearts of those whose sons have left them, that had retained him in so much longer than or are on the eve of leaving them-perhaps for usual in Paris this summer. The doctors could ever. When the first troops left Paris, the ennot agree as to what place would be most effica-thusiastic multitude, the women who had no cious for his Majesty's ills, Vichy or Blombière. sons to lose showered flowers over the soldiers; Napoleon III. and his ministers have decided but the mothers and sisters could do nothing the question. While M. Thiers and a few others but weep: it made the heart ache to see them. raised their voices in the Corps Législatif God grant that we may soon welcome them back against the war, Monsieur Ollivier declared that again! he went to war with a light heart. It is a pity that he and his colleagues, with the Emperor at their head, are not forced to fight it out with M. Bismark and colleagues and the King of Prussia. Perhaps their hearts would not be so light then! To see with a light heart the flower of our youth exposed to be massacred! The hope of France and Prussia met to butcher each other, only because one man has proved himself more crafty than the other-for the pretended cause of the war, the acceptance of the Prussian Prince of the crown of Spain, is quite forgotten. M. de Bismark is the cause. The Prince Imperial is, they say, to try his skill at commanding in this war. He is just 14, therefore must be very apt for such work. They ought to invite his friend Alphonse of Spain, whose mother has just abdicated for him, to accompany him. They might take their velocipedes with them for play-hours. Our newspapers have got up a public subscription for the expenses of sending extras to our soldiers, and they incite ladies to follow Miss Florence Nightingale's example, left until now entirely to nuns, sisters of charity. The customs of France will scarcely admit young ladies as nurses in the camp; and yet, methinks, amongst the dying and wounded, young faces beaming with kindness and sympathy, can only excite respect and gratitude as they perform their sisterly duties. It was noticed that the first troops ordered to the Rhine were those from the Prince Eugéne Barracks-those who had voted "no" in the late phebiscite. All seem to expect a long The heat continues, although we have at last had a few showers of rain. Disease still prevails, and all who can, hasten to leave the Capital to get a little fresh air. This war has recalled many from the seaside, so many interests being in jeopardy; and the dearth of visitors is severely felt in most of the towns on the coast whose chief riches consist in their summer visitors. De Lamartine's furniture was sold the other day, at his old family mansion, the Château de Monceaux. The peasantry around vied with each other in getting a relic of their beloved landlord or neighbour, and paid fabulous sums (for their purses) to get an old chair or an old table that had belonged to him whose memory is so dear to them. Our artist-realist, Courbet, has raised a hubbub in our artistic world by his refusal of the Croix de la Legion d'Honneur, sent to him by our Minister of the Beaux Arts. Some clap their hands in applause, admiring his pride in refuging all honours, others shug their shoulders and regret that it was not offered to them, who would have been so glad to have it: both, no doubt, are right at their point of view, as those who prefer green to red, and others red to green. A man ought never to be quarrelled with for his taste. Now there is M. Ollivier, our honourable Premier-everyone says that he prefers his own person and talent to all those he has yet seen. Many, it seems, are almost of his opinion: a fair lady deplored, the other day, that, with so much talent, our Minister-in 66 Que Chief was obliged to wear spectacles. voulez-vous, ma chére," answered another lady, "it is the better to see himself with." An odd thing happened the other day to a poor young seminarist, retired from all the vanities of this world. It was half-past five in the morning, and the sun had just begun to peep through the old-fashioned windows of the chapel belonging to the religious house for young priests, the Seminary St. Esprit, Lhomond-street, Paris. A young seminarist is at the altar, arranging the different objects necessary for the celebrating of the Mass. He has plenty of time before him; for soon all is ready, and Mass is only at six o'clock. He is there before the altar, dreaming of-how can I tell what?-when, all at once, he hears a noise in a confessional at the other end of the chapel. He raises his head, and, lo! something black issues from the box and approaches him. As it slowly advances, a female form clothed in deep mourning gradually discloses itself to his wondering gaze, and soon the most beautiful of faces fixes its eyes on the young man. History does not say whether, like St. Antoine, he shut his eyes or turned his face away from the tempting vision, my belief is that he continued to gaze, and let him who would not have done the same throw the first stone. A voice like the melodious sounds of the æolian harp (just to be poetical) struck his ear. "I am St. Philomène," said she; "I come from Heaven, sent by the Holy Virgin to tell you to leave immediately this house and to come with me. The dance awaits us, do you not hear the sounds of the music that calls us? come, come with me; all is ready." History says that the young man remained petrified with fear for a moment, and then, as soon as he found his voice, his cries brought the other seminarists, their masters with them, to the rescue. The vision was seized, and found to be flesh and blood that continued its incoherent language, therefore was sent to the hospital Val-de-Grace, where it was soon seen that the young lady was mad, though it was impossible to find out who she was or how she got into the Seminary of the St. Esprit. The incident is a strange one: Lhomond-street is in the Latin quarter; but then "Honi soit qui mal y pense.' 1 wash my hands of it altogether, and far be from me a wicked thought. Do you know what "Haricot de mouton" is? It is a kind of stew of mutton, potatoes and carrots; very good when one is hungry, but too coarse and vulgar to put on a refined table. It so happens that his Majesty, Napoleon III., is very fond of this dish, which he never had had the pleasure to see on his own table; so one day the Emperor requested General Rollin to order him a "haricot de mouton" for his dinner. "A what? your Majesty," asked the astonished General. "A haricot de mouton,' General; that is simple enough, I think." The General obeyed, and at dinner the requested dish was set before him. The Emperor tasted it. "It is very good, 66 very, but it is not a real haricot; too many good things in it, General." A short time after the Emperor went to visit the Mews at the Louvre, and passing before the door of the apartment occupied by his coachman Cerf, he saw Madame Cerf busy in her kitchen; hence issued a most agreeable smell of a savoury dish. "How nice your dinner smells, Madame Cerf," said his Majesty, putting his head into the kitchen. "What are you preparing there ?" "A haricot de mouton, your Majesty," answered the lady, greatly confused. "How long will it be before it is ready?" "In three quarters of an hour." The Emperor walked on, and went and examined his stables and horses, an examination which lasted three quarters of an hour. He arrived before Madame Cerf's kitchen just as that lady was going to serve her "haricot de mouton" on her own table. "Stop," said his Majesty, quickly, "give me your haricot. Here, Cerf, go and dine with all your family at the Palais Royal, and let me have a treat to-day,' And he put a hundred francs in Cerf's hand. "I will take it into the Palais kitchens, your Majesty," said Madame Cerf, blushing and beaming with pleasure at having prepared a dish that the Emperor would eat. "No, no," said Napoleon: "if you do, Dupuis will find means to spoil it by popping something good into it. Take it into the dining-room, when I am at table, and do not trust it to anyone before you get there." A man who died with the small-pox was carried to the cemetery the other day to be buried: while the ceremony was going on arrived a widow, who appeared in a great rage, and going to the men employed to put the coffin in the grave, she said, "How is it you put a man dead with the small-pox beside my poor dear husband, who was never affected by it in his life?" It is no use trying to write a page without talking of Prussia. Do all one can, the war and Prussia is uppermost in one's thoughts, and all our bon-mots are on Prussia and the Prussians. The following has very much the appearance of being made in Paris : When our actresses were on the eve of leaving Berlin, before the thoughts of immediate war, the Prussian officers offered them, in adieu, a grand supper, where champagne flowed freely. "Hey! what do you think of our champagne?" asked one of the Frenchwomen. "It is the king of wines," answered the Prussian to whom the question was addressed, "and this is exquisite; but it will be still better drunk where it is made, when we go and drink it in Paris.” “Oh, oh," answered the lady, "you are mistaken if you think us rich enough in France to give our prisoners champagne." News is just arrived that the Sultan has sent to offer his alliance with France; and a newspaper publishes that, as soon as the first shot is heard on the Rhine, England will take possession of the Isthmus and Canal of Suez; but let us hope that all this is false, though it makes us very anxious; for, if all Europe should be 66 in flames when and where would this war end? | to make cables for their husband's vessels. They say that several Prussian spies have been Well, really," cried out a very pretty lady of seized in Paris. the company, as to giving my hair, I am sure I would do it readily if it were wanted, but I must avow that, if I were obliged to cut it off, I think I should hesitate!" A journalist relates somewhere that in a salon the other evening, the company were talking of the patriotism of ladies in antiquity, and, amongst other things, spoke of those ladies who did not hesitate to cut off their long tresses THE THEATRES, &c. A VISIT ΤΟ THE NEW VAUDEVILLE situations would be cramped, hard benches, which we might not dare to quit without the fear not only of losing any article we left behind, but also the seat itself. We now proceed to "interview" the stage of the Vaudeville. Here, then, we may say at once that the genius of good taste (whatever be her classical name), perpetually presides. We saw for the second time an extremely neat comedy of manners performed, quite a new piece, and refreshingly original in authorship. The play is called "The Two Roses." The mise en scène conveys some idea of upper-class society. There are only eight persons in the damatis-personæ, most of them being types of character drawn from no very striking originals, but they contrive to interest us as they are thrown into situations to awaken the liveliest curiosity. The principal part and the one around which the others involve is Digby Grant, Esq., M.P., a sort of Pecksniff, who has come into possession of an estate, has got into parliament, and is regarded for his religious and moral character (although as regards his morality it is somewhat of the veneered sort), associating with Mr. Digby Grant and family, consisting of his two daughters. We find a couple of lounging young gentlemen who seem to have little more to do than to make love to the two young ladies, Lottie and Ida. We regretted to find so little real earnestness in the proceedings of the lovers, but suppose it is the " 'proper thing" now-adays to avoid impulsiveness, as being unrefined and indecorous, judging by the tenets of the school of modern manners. In the piece of "The Two Roses" we noticed that whenever the eventualities led up to anything like emotion or sentiment the actors seemed bent on suppressing all such manifestations of feeling as being vulgar; thus, the piece misses fire occasionally, entirely through the insouciance of the performers, a thing perhaps never intended by the dramatist. The jeune première of the comedy is one Mr. Jack Wyatt, a young fellow of respectable connexions, who takes care of the incipient heir to the very estate Mr. Digby Grant has come into (wrongful) possession of. The rightful heir's name is Caleb Deecie. He is blind, but nevertheless has succeeded in apprehending so much to admire in Ida, the The new theatre opened in the Strand, called after its Parisian prototype the VAUDEVILLE, is conducted on principles so different to those which guide ordinary English theatres, that we believe it will be interesting our readers to distinguish its claims to notice from its more thoroughly metropolitan compeers. There has been latterly, as, London playgoers are well aware, several new theatres built in the Strand, more or less imitating in their architectural forms and vie intérieures the pretty little theatres of Paris. But the Gaiety and Vaudeville are most directly emulative of the style of the elegant French theatres whose names they have borrowed. The Vaudeville being a smaller house than the Gaiety, looks the more bijou-like in its general aspects; its characteristics and surroundings are altogether more pronounced than the Gaiety's. We observe that what old playgoers once revered as the "pit" goes at the Vaudeville by the Parisian name of the parterre. It is a wide and open area furnished with ranges of sumptuous crimson damask-covered fauteuils. The" dress-circle" is also very elegantly fitted up and decorated, and designated by the new fashioned name of the "balcony." The private boxes are not like the stuffy mouldy oubliettes of neighbouring theatres, but tastefully furnished boudoir-looking compartments, roomy and comfortable, whose privacy is secured by rich curtains of the most ornamental kind. The auditorium is generally of that distingué kind imparting the style of the opera to the precincts of the ordinary theatre. We are seated in a pitstall among a class of society which, by its stamp of luxurious refinement, altogether casts into the shade the audiences of the old-fashioned minor theatres. All through the evening we observe that well-dressed people are passing to and fro about us with ease and comfort, perfectly unconfined in their movements, and enjoying the openness and airyness of the accommodations and arrangements. Opera-glasses, burnous, paletots, and handkerchiefs are left lying about on the seats, with the certainty that their articles are in safe keeping; whereas, in our old playgoing days, the seats in the same |