of the mouth to express their scorn and contempt; young girls shrugged their shoulders, aud flirted their petticoats in a kind of blind derision, for they had not a single idea in their little brains. There was a general uprising, which was little understood how or why by any of them. Malinka at length made her appearance, and her serene face quieted the women by a conscious harmony. "My sisters," she said, "the beautiful god, sent by the great one God, has directed us to go on, we women alone, further into the wilderness, and he will come to us and explain what it is his will that we should do. He has seen that we are mere creatures for toil, for luxury and delusion. He sees we act from no sense of what God designed in us when he made us to be companions to man in this world; and he has called us forth that we may learn to do his will. He has bidden us to separate ourselves from all of the other sex, and by being alone we shall learn what we are good for in the world. For this reason we return all the boy children to their fathers." "And I go with mine," cried young woman with a loud voice, "and I go with mine," "and I with mine; it is a sin for a mother to forsake her child," several women exclaimed, grasping their boys by the hand. It was observable that these women were those who had lived in great harmony with their husbands, and when the slaves went forth leading the young boys and carrying the babes in their arms back to Cholula, these mothers returned with their sons, more intent upon being good mothers than good followers of the divine Quetzelcoatl; for the love and duty of a mother is easy to be understood, but the will of the gods is learned only by the few. The women determined to remain upon the plain of the Cholula for a day or more, that they might learn the real strength of the movement and know who was for and who was against it. They were busy mounting spear-heads and practicing with the band, when a distant, continuous rumble attracted their attention. "It is an earthquake," cried some; "the volcano of Popocatepetl has burnt into flame again," cried others; all were aghast and ready to fly back to Cholula, or anywhere that might afford them a sense of protection. Malinka appeared in the midst of them and with a calm equal voice answered to their fears: "My sisters, it is neither an earthquake nor the uprising of Popocatepetl that you hear. It is the great drum of the temple, sounded only in periods of dismay; the great drum covered with human skin which once covered the bones of a thousand victims. Collect yourselves, my sisters. Choose this day whether ye will obey the voice of Quetzelcoatl, or whether ye will return to Cholula to be once more the bond-women of our oppressors, to breed children for the torture, to swell the tide of lasciviousness and sensuality prevailing in Cholula; be the catspaws of men, to be used as they direct, to aid in their triumphs, be a parcel of their glory, and with judgment, self-ownership or religion, be no better in the world than the slave in the market, or the chattels which men transfer or cast aside at their whim or pleasure. I declare to you in the face of the great God, that my mind is not clear; I see the misery, the cruelty, the horrors of the times, and the voice of my dead husband, and the voice of Quetzelcoul call to me to go out from the midst of all this disorder, and they promise to reveal to me the better way. Yonder come the men from the city. I retain no one; I council that you obey the voice of our beneficent deity, and go forth to learn his will; but those of you that are content to bear the miseries that mark the lot of women in her present state, return to the despots of Cholula." Malinka was here interrupted by the rush of the women to the side of the camp upon which approached the men of Cholula, with the beating of drums and cymbals, banners flying, and innumer able pendants as upon some festive occasion. Every man was in holiday trim, his garments sparkling with gems, and chaplets of flowers depending from head and shoulders. As they approached, the women, at a hint from Malinka, seated themselves upon the ground, and bowed their heads as is the custom of those who observe a vow, but the little girls ran forth to meet them with shouts of delight. The multitude certainly was handsome to the eye, but it is a question whether they gained much by this concession, for it is the nature of men, and women too, to increase their demands at every indication of weakness, and those who would have been content with one thousand dollars at the first, no sooner see a desire to settle, than they increase their demands to ten thousand. It is observable, likewise, that women yield to an obstinate man, who would bite out their tongues sooner than give way to a weak one. Twenty weak women will be glancing out of the toil of the eye after one true, brave, domineering man, while a good man, obedient to God and rational to women, will find them all with noses high in the air at her approach. [Here a modern hand had written: "This is true," and profanely added, "The men had better have brained all these she d-ls at once, and waited for a new stock somewhere else."] The men halted when they had reached speaking distance, and two elders of the city clad in white, and bearing white flags in their hands, came forth from the ranks, and approached the camp; at the same time Malinka, leaning upon the arm of the Lady Tula, clad in the silvery robes of the Priestess, and bearing upon her head the sacred symbol of a dove resting upon the crest of a serpent, went forth to meet them. The envoys questioned closely the reason of this strange hegira of the women; to which Malinka replied, as heretofore, that they went forth at the command of Quetzelcoatl; adding "it would be impious to disobey the behest of the god. It is thus you and the priests have taught us, and we believe and obey." "But" returned the envoys, "Quetzelcoatl is a gentle god, and careful of his worshippers; never before has he thus called our women to leave their homes and desert their children. What are we to do? Should sickness overtake us, who will smooth the pillow and soothe the aching head? Who will comfort our sorrows, and look to our well-being?" The eyes of the speaker were suffused with tears. "Ah!" he continued "without women our world is a blank: there will be no prayers to the great God, no court of justice, nothing to fill up our sorrowful lives." The Lady Tula smiled, and Malinka was about to reply, when several women rose from the ground and walked over to the ranks of the men. It was observed that the latter looked by no means pleased at this movement, and their husbands rather sneaked out of sight at their approach. This was not all. Several lovers rushed forward and seized their mistresses by main strength and bore them away in their arms. The latter did not resist in the least. A group of married men attempted the same thing, but with by no means pleasant countenances, and their wives screamed and kicked violently; some made their escape, others were abducted, a few wives smiled sweetly when seized, as if glad to be claimed and carried off. A troop of VOL. IX.-8 young girls scampered off over the plain with the young boys, and were seen no more. There were much noise and contention. The High Priest, also, separated himself from the men, and whispered to Malinka: "I do not understand you, I distrust you. Explain, or I will bring all the people down upon you." "There is nothing to explain," said Malinka. "The good Quetzelcoatl has directed us to go three days into the wilderness, and there set up an altar for worship, when he will come down and tell us what to do." The priest looked at her askance, and retired. There was now an appearance as if the camp would be entirely deserted and Malinka, the Lady Tula with a few others be left alone, but the women were many of them thoughtful, and willing to learn the will of God, for they believed in Him, and but for this belief, this faith in the unseen and eternal, nothing would have been done. So it turned out, that while many departed, a multitude was still left. "Will ye also, go away?" asked Malinka, sorrowfully, but they answered: "Never-we are miserable in Cholula, we will follow the voice of God." Then the men with the recreant women went their way. It was even thought the majority of them hurried their departure fearful that more of the women would return. The soldiers jeered and laughed, and cried out, "we can spare the old and the ugly-the fewer of them the better." It was even so; most of the young, the giddy, and the pretty, those that coveted ease and pleasure, and lived upon the flatteries of men, went away. As the night approached slaves appeared from the city bearing tents of snowy cotton fringed with silver, great quantities of food, and implements of war and the chase, besides gold and gems to a great amount. They brought also a parchment upon which was written by the hand of the High Priest, "Go your ways, all of you; when you return, Hintzilopatchli, the cruel god, will claim you for sacrifice." Thus were something more than three thousand women banished forever from the City of Cholula; thus went into perpetual exile, thus were thrown upon their own resources of wit and strength, more than three thousand women. MARIA ANTOINETTE OF AUSTRIA, QUEEN OF FRANCE. BY ELIZABETH G. HALSEY. THE life of my present heroine, Maria Antoinette | her infant son in her arms, she entrusted herself of Austria, presents many stirring contrasts. She to the courage and devotion of her Hungarian was by birth a princess, and yet died on a scaffold; subjects, who, drawing their swords, swore by all the daughter, sister, wife, and mother of kings, a they held sacred, "to die for their Empress, Maria crowned queen herself, yet traduced, imprisoned, Theresa." Deeply touched by this remembrance, condemned, and dragged like the vilest criminal the Princess approached these time-worn soldiers, to an ignominious death. With truth may it be inquired kindly what were their necessities, and said of her that she enjoyed the highest honors and undertook to present their petition to the Empress. endured the greatest sufferings that ever fell to the "Mother," said she, as she placed the papers in lot of humanity. Maria Antoinette was born in her hands, "your friends are inquiring about your Vienna, in the year 1755, on the same day which health, and are anxiously waiting for your answer." witnessed the destruction of the city of Lisbon by "And who are these friends ?" asked the Ema terrible earthquake, and in after years this was press, glancing over the papers. looked upon by the superstitious Frenchmen as an "Some old Hungarian soldiers, dear mother." omen of her tragical fate. From her earliest child"Well done, my daughter; they shall not have hood she displayed an intelligent mind, a warm long to wait." and generous heart, and a courteous dignity of manner well befitting her noble birth. To these rare gifts she added a lovely face and a princely and graceful bearing. She became the idol of the inhabitants of Vienna by her benevolence and liberality to the poor during a severe winter which caused much suffering among the lower classes of the capital. On one occasion she was present when some high dignitary of the court was representing to her mother, the Empress Maria Theresa, the sad condition of the working classes of Vienna, the inclemency of the weather, the enormous cost of fuel and provisions, and the utter impossibility of obtaining employment. While the Empress, much troubled by the recital, was meditating upon the best methods of relief, her little daughter, who had suddenly disappeared, returned, and placing a small box in her mother's hand, said eagerly, her eyes filling with tears as she spoke, "In this box are fifty ducats, mamma, all I own in the world; pray let the money be immediately distributed among those poor suffering families." Another time, Maria Antoinette was passing through the suite of apartments to the bed-room of the Empress, who was slightly indisposed, when her eye was attracted by some Hungarian soldiers, covered with wounds, waiting to petition their sovereign for a pension, as a reward of their services. Their appearance instantly recalled to the princess that crisis in her mother's life when, with The petitions were all granted, and the soldiers took leave, invoking many blessings on the head of the young archduchess. Many more instances might be cited of this impulsive benevolence and generosity which she afterwards displayed on a larger scale and in a more extended sphere of action, the memory of which, in spite of the calumnies of her enemies, has not yet passed away. The King of France, Louis XV., solicited the hand of Maria Antoinette for his grandson. His demand having received a favorable answer, the king sent the Count de Noailles to Vienna to marry her by proxy. The marriage ceremony was accordingly celebrated with much pomp and magnificence at Brussels, on the 25th of April, 1770, the fair young bride having just completed her fifteenth year. She was followed into her new kingdom by the prayers and blessings of her mother's subjects, and that stern mother herself gave way to a passionate burst of grief as she parted from her favorite child. Little did she dream in her pride at securing the crown of France for her daughter, that she was speeding her on her journey to the scaffold. The Dauphiness, as she was now called, made a triumphal entry into Paris, where she was received with shouts of welcome, and at once captivated all hearts by her beauty, affability, and winning gentleness. She was welcomed with the utmost affection by the royal family, and soon became the ornament and delight of the French, as she had been of the Austrian, Court. The mar- by hearing the most piercing shrieks in a female riage ceremonies were repeated with great splendor, voice. She instantly ordered her coachman to and on the 16th of May, 1770, Maria Antoinette stop, jumped hastily from her carriage and went bestowed her hand upon the Dauphin, to whom in search of the sufferer, whose piteous cries had the Empress Maria Theresa had written the follow- attracted her notice. Guided by the sobs of a ing touching letter: childish voice, she soon reached an opening in the wood, where she found a woman stretched senseless on the ground bleeding profusely, while a little child with bitter tears and lamentations was calling for help. The benevolent Dauphiness soon ascertained that a stag in its rapid flight had thrown the woman down and wounded her with its antlers. She called her attendants, had her placed in her carriage and carefully carried home, sent her own physician to attend her, and at her earnest request the king granted the poor woman a pension. Such was Maria Antoinette in the bloom of youth and beauty, at that time the idol the French nation. Alas! why must each bright picture have its reverse! "Your wife, my dear Dauphin, has just bidden me farewell. I trust that she will make you as happy as she has ever made me. I have endeavored to educate her for that purpose, for I have long foreseen that she would be your bride. I have taught her to do her duty, to love you, and to do all in her power to please you. I have also impressed upon her a deep, sincere devotion to the King of Kings, feeling assured that no nation can be well governed whose sovereigns fail in their duty to the Almighty Potentate who alone creates, and can destroy. Love, then, your Maker with all your heart, and next to that I tell you, my dear Dauphin, as I told my daughter, seek the good of the people over whom you may be called to reign. Be dutiful to your venerable grandfather, be accessible, as he has always been, to the poor and needy. Thus conducting yourself, you cannot fail to be happy. My daughter will love you dearly. I can venture to promise you this from my knowledge of her character, but my very conviction of her attachment to you, only makes me the more anxious to claim for her, my darling child, at your hands the same sincere, confiding affection in return. Farewell, my dear Dauphin, my paper is bathed with tears, but may you and my dear child be happy." The Dauphin and his bride made their public ehtry into Paris on the 8th of June, and were received with the wildest enthusiasm by the inhabitants, who seemed fully to participate in the happiness of the royal family. A magnificent display of fireworks took place on the evening of that day in the Place Louis Quinze. Owing to extreme carelessness and want of forethought, a terrible explosion took place by which many persons in the throng were wounded and many more were trodden under foot and smothered to death. Nothing could exceed the kindness and sympathy displayed on this sad occasion by the Dauphiness. She sought by every means in her power to relieve and comfort all the sufferers from this terrible accident. One lovely summer's day she was following the king's hunt in the forest of Fontainebleau, when her attention was suddenly arrested Louis XV. died on the 10th of May, 1774, and was succeeded by his grandson under the name of Louis XVI. Maria Antoinette, far from being elated by her new honors, showed the most sincere grief for the loss of the old king, who had always treated her with the greatest kindness and affection. She gave another instance of her magnanimity a few days after her coronation. The Marquis of Ponteculard, Major of the Gardes du corps, had been guilty of some want of respect towards Maria Antoinette when she was still Dauphiness. As soon as she ascended the throne, fearing the queen's resentment, with which in the excitement of the moment she had threatened him, he resigned his commission. sent it back to him, with the following gracious words: "The Queen neither remembers nor punishes any offences against the Dauphiness, and she hopes that Monsieur Pontecoulard will forget them himself." The queen The winter of 1784 and 1785 was a very severe one, and caused much suffering among the poorer classes on account of the high price of provisions and the difficulty of getting employment. The Queen hearing of this lamentable state of things, sent for the chief of police, gave him twelve thousand francs which she had been saving for some sudden emergency, and desired him to distribute it all among the populace. "Make haste," she said, "make haste and distribute every cent of the money; never have I given any away so cheerfully." On the 19th of December, 1778, the Princess Maria Theresa Charlotte, since better known as the Duchess of Angouleme, was born, and in the course of the next few years the Queen added two sons and another daughter to the royal house of France. Maria Antoinette was passionately fond of her children and took great pride and delight in the early promise of the young Dauphin, who with his mother's beauty and intelligence inherited also her rare charm of manners. But this gifted child was feeble from his birth, and after seven years of great suffering most patiently borne, with his dying eyes fixed on his mother's face, he closed them forever in this world; and little did his mother think in her agony of grief at the loss of this loved and loving child, that she would ever be thankful that he had not lived to share the fate of his mother. The little Princess Sophia died shortly after, and the Queen grieved for them both as only mothers can grieve. Two children were left to her, both destined to share the sorrows and imprisonment of their parents, and one of them to die a more cruel and lingering death than theirs. Already clouds had began to gather over the political horizon of France, and its kind-hearted but vacillating sovereign accelerated by his want of firmness and energy his own downfall. So much has been said and written about the dreadful Revolution which drenched the soil of France with the blood of its best and noblest, that repetition would only weary. Suffice it for my purpose to say that during the awful scenes of the 20th of June and 10th of August, the heroic courage of the Queen never forsook her. Heedless of her own danger, she thought only of her husband and children, and was ever at the King's side. When overtaken at Varennes and brought back to Paris, she displayed far more firmness than Louis, and when imprisoned in the Temple, she showed herself the most affectionate of wives, the most devoted of mothers. Suppressing all expression of her own grief and anxiety, she endeavored constantly to cheer and encourage her husband, to instruct and amuse her children, thus beguiling the weary hours of imprisonment by the strict performance of her moral and religious duties. When Louis was dragged from prison to his pretended examination, the Queen for the first time yielded to her tears; but her husband, press ing her tenderly to his heart, endeavored to reassure her by saying, "Fear not, dearest, we will meet again to-morrow." Alas! never again was the unhappy wife to gaze on that beloved face, never again were that ill-fated pair to meet on earth. He was removed from the so-called Hall of Justice to the scaffold. On the 6th of August, 1793, the poor little Dauphin was torn from his mother's arms, and she herself told to prepare for her removal to the prison of the Conciergerie. prison of the Conciergerie. In vain the Princess Elizabeth implored permission to follow her. They had to deal with demons, not men. Maria Antoinette was thrown into a dark damp dungeon, with a pardoned convict for her jailor and her spy, there to await her final interrogatory. Some few generous hearts were touched by the misfortunes of the Queen, and one or two unsuc cessful efforts were made to save her. Her first examination took place on the 12th of October, 1793. She was asked if she had not been engaged in a negotiation with the Emperor of Austria, prejudicial to the interests of France, to which she replied with gentle dignity, "The Emperor of Austria is my brother, the King of France was my husband; the intercourse with Austria was ever for the good of France." "You were the means of inducing the King to deceive his people," said one of her pitiless judges. "Never," was the Queen's calm reply; "the people have been cruelly deceived, but never by the King nor by myself.' "By whom, then ?" was the next question. "By those whose interest it was to blind and deceive the nation," replied the Queen, firmly. "It could be no object either to the King or myself to mislead public opinion." "Who are they, then, whose interest it is to deceive the people?" The Queen instantly detected the trap laid for her in this question, and answered, "I only know the facts, not the individuals. the facts, not the individuals. Our interest was to enlighten, not deceive the people." The Queen's calm and resolute answers all betokened innocence, but her judges were inexorable. When once more an inmate of her dungeon she asked for a needle and thread. At first they were refused to her, but on her persisting in the request it was granted, on condition that she should use her needle in the presence of her |