through the ceremony of reclaiming his father's sword, and have the blot on the scutcheon formally removed; after which he was to entertain the town authorities, and the neighbouring nobility, at dinner; the evening to conclude with a ball, in the preparation for which the ladies were to be left at home. Mr Hope accompanied him to the door of the townhall, but there he professed to find his feelings overpowered, and declined to witness the ceremony that, he said, broke the connexion which had existed so long between the names of Hope and Bullion; but, ere he could return to the hotel, several things had occurred that had a material influence on his prospects, and these we must now proceed to relate. Miss Lucretia Smith continued her oratory in the ears of her devoted niece after the gentlemen had gone, the burden thereof consisting, principally, in a comparison between the nobles of France and the shopocracy of London, till that young lady betook herself to the bedroom window already mentioned, to watch for Cecil's return. She had not been long at her watchpost, when a carriage, with the blinds drawn up, and escorted by seven or eight armed men, with masks on their faces, pulled up at the door. Of this she took no particular notice, but kept looking attentively down the street. But, a minute or two after the closed carriage drove under the porte cochère, a young gentleman was ushered into the presence of Miss Smith, and was, by that young lady, received with the highest empressement possible. She had only had time to improve her toilette by putting on Louise's shawl and bonnet, which happened to be lying on a chair; and, in spite of the shortness of the view she had had of him the day before, she immediately recognised him as one of her brother's visiters, the Baron Beauvilliers.

"Permit me, madam," he said, in very good English, "to apologise for my intrusion, but I have the authority of my friend De Bouillon to consider myself here at home."

"Oh, sir, you are certainly the politest nation on the face of the earth, you French-that I must say; but I may trust, I hope, to the honour of a

gent like you? You won't be rude to an unoffended female? for there ain't a soul in the 'ouse that could give me the least assistance."

The baron bowed in a very assuring manner, and, taking a seat beside her, "May I make bold, madam, to ask who the tawdry silly-looking young person is who resides under De Bouillon's protection ?"

"Sir-under Mr Bull-I mean, under the marquee's protection? I don't understand you."

"Exactly as I suspected. I guessed, from the dignity of your appearance, that such an infamous proceeding was entirely unknown to you. Command my services, madam, in any way you can make them available. Let me deliver you from the scandal of being in the same house with a person of that description."

"Oh, sir!" replied Miss Smith, you are certainly most obliging. When we are a little better acquainted perhaps in a few days, or even in one-I shall be happy to accept your offer; but, la! what will my brotherin-law say if I accept a gentleman's offer at minute's notice?"

Miss Smith accompanied this speech with various blushes and pauses, betokening the extent of her modest reluctance; but the baron either did not perceive the mistake she had made, or did not think it worth while to notice it.

"I will convey the destroyer of your peace away from your sight. Show me only the room she is in. And consider, madam, that you will make me the proudest of men by allowing me to be your knight and champion on this occasion."

Really, sir, I can't say at present where the gipsy can be. Brotherin-law has been very sly; but if I can possibly ferret her out, won't I send her on her travels? Wait but a minute, sir: I'll come to you the moment she can be found."

But the baron determined to accompany her in her search, and together they left the room, two active members of the Society for the Suppression of Vice. Louise had heard the noise of voices, without distinguishing or attending to what was said, but a low and hurried tap at the door now attracted her notice.

"Miss Louise-ma'am-for heaven's sake, come out !" said the voice of Mr Cocker through the key-hole; "for here's a whole regiment of them French, and they wants to run away with you."

"With me, Cocker!" exclaimed Louise, coming into the parlour. "What is it you mean?"

"What I say, miss-and your aunt is as bad as any on 'em. She's searching the house, at this moment, to give you up into their hands. She can't refuse nothing_to them noblesse, as she calls 'em. The gentleman has gone down to the courtyard to see that nobody escapes, and here we are, like mice in a trap."

66

"Go for Cecil, Cocker; leave me to myself," said Louise-her features dilating into tiger-like beauty, with rage and self-confidence. Go, I tell you-you'll find him returning from the town-hall—and bid him lose not a moment in coming to my help." She waved Mr Cocker impatiently from her, and returned for a moment into the bed-room.

"Madam, hist! I beg you will be quick!" exclaimed the baron, entering the parlour; "I can't wait much longer. What a detestable old fool it is!" he went on, in a lower voice; "she might have found the girl long ere this. Well, well, have you found her?" he continued, addressing Louise, who issued from the bed-room in some of the apparel of her aunt, and assuming as nearly as she could the airs and graces of that individual. "Tell me, madam, where she is."

"La! sir, how is one to find out these things in a moment-besides, they ain't quite proper subjects for a young lady to be concerned with," replied Louise, keeping her bashful cheek from the sight of the baron with her enormous fan.

"Then, madam, point with that lovely finger of yours, and I shall make the discovery myself."

Louise pointed, as required, to the gallery, along which, at that moment, her quick eye caught the step of Miss Lucretia; and the baron, going to the door, gave directions to his attendants to seize the lady, and carry her without loss of time to the Parc d'Amour, a hotel on the outskirts of Tours. He then closed the door, and listened-no

less than did Louise-to the execution of his commands.

There, madam," he said, as the scuffle of seizure and a very faint scream were heard, "they've got her! Your pure presence shall never more be polluted by her society. A naughty man old De Bouillon, and unaccustomed to the strict morality of France. Adieu!"

"Adieu, sir!" said Louise; but there was a tone in her voice, or something in her manner, that called the attention of her visitor. He went up to her, laid his hand upon the fan, and revealed before him, beautiful from alarm and indignation, was the face of Louise de Bouillon!" So, madam ! this was an excellent device, but I have more assistance at hand. Ho! Pierre! François !" he began to call. "I have another carriage in the yard you sha'nt escape me so."

Stop, sir! exclaimed Louise, and placed herself between him and the door. "These are not the arts of wooing we are used to in England. I expected more softness and persuasion."

"Alas, madam, 'tis only the shortness of the opportunity that prevents me from making a thousand protestations. But, after all, what is the use of them? Ho! François !"

As he said this, he approached nearer to Louise, and even laid his hand upon her arm. But with the quickness of lightning, she made a dart at the diamond-covered hilt of her assailant's sword, and pulling it from the sheath, stood with the glittering point within an inch of the Frenchman's eyes.

"Back, back!" she cried, or you are a dead man-or frog-or monkey or whatever you are!"

Each of these names was accompanied with a step in advance; and there was too savage a lustre in her look to allow the unfortunate baron to doubt for a moment that his life was in the highest peril.

"Madam," he expostulated, "do be careful-'tis sharp as a needle."

"Back, back!" she continued, advancing with each word upon his retreating steps-"you thread-paperyou doll-at-a-fair-you stuffed cockatoo-back, back!" And on arriving at the bed-room door, she gave a prodigiously powerful lunge in

advance, and drove her victim fairly into the room, and, with an exclamation of pride and triumph, locked him in. But, exhausted with the excitement, she had only time to lay

the sword on the table, wave the key three times round her head in sign of victory, and fall fainting into the arms of Cecil Hope, who at that moment rushed into the room.

The ceremony in the town-hall passed off with the greatest éclât; and the dinner was probably thought the finest part of the day's entertainment by all but the newly re-established noble himself. Flushed with the glories of the proceeding, and also with the wine he had swallowed to his own health and happiness, he sallied forth with his friends of the preceding day-except, of course, the Baron Beauvilliers-and, as he himself expressed it, was awake for anything, up to any lark.

"A lark, says my lord?" inquired the Duke de Vieuxchateau.

"Ay," replied the marquis, "if it's as big as a turkey, all the better. That champaign is excellent tipple, and would be cheap at eighty-four shillings per dozen."

The French nobles did not quite understand their companion's phraseology, but were quite willing to join him in any extravagance.

"What shall we do?" cried one; "shall we break open the jail?"

66

No," said De Bouillon: "hang it! that's a serious matter. But I'll tell you what, I've no objection to knock down a charley."

"No, no! let's go to Rouge et Noir." "Boys, boys!" at last exclaimed the Vicomte de Lanoy, "I'll tell you what we shall do,-Beauvilliers told me that, while we were all engaged at the dinner, he was going to seize a beautiful creature, and carry her off to the Parc d' Amour."

"Wrong, decidedly wrong!" said De Bouillon at this proposition. "Who is she?"

"Why, sir, we shall play as good a trick on Beauvilliers as he designed for the ancient gentleman. Let's get there before him, and carry her from him!"

66 Agreed, agreed !"

"No, no, I must declare off," said the marquis. 66 'Tis a bad business altogether, and this would make it worse."

"But who is to carry the lady?" inquired the duke, without attending to the scruples of his friend.

"Toss for it," suggested the vicomte. A louis was thrown into the air. "Heads! heads! eried the nobleman. "Tails!" said De Bouillon.

""Tis tails!" exclaimed the vicomte. "Marquis, the chance is yours-you've won.'

"Oh! have I?" replied the unwilling favourite of fortune; "I've won, have I ?"

"You don't seem overpleased with your good luck," said the duke; "give me your chance, and I shall know how to make better use of it."

"No, gentlemen, I'll manage this affair myself."

"Come on, then!-vive la joie!"— and with great joviality they pursued their way to the Parc d'Amour.

But they had been preceded in their journey to that hostelry by Louise, attended by Cecil Hope and Mr Cocker. By the administration of a douceur to the waiter, they obtained an entrée to the apartment designed for the baron and his prey, and had scarcely time to ensconce themselves behind the window-curtain, when Miss Lucretia was escorted into the room. There were no symptoms of any violent resistance to her captors having been offered, and she took her seat on the sofa without any perceptible alarm.

"Well, them's curious people, them French! she soliloquised when the men had left her. "If that 'ere baron fell in love with a body, couldn't he say so without all that rigmarole

about Mr Bullion's behaviour, and pulling a body nearly to pieces? I'm sure if he had axed me in a civil way, I wouldn't have said no. But, lawkins here he comes."

So saying, she enveloped herself in Louise's shawl, and pulled Louise's bonnet farther on her face, and prepared to enact the part of an offended, yet not altogether unforgiving beauty. But the door, on being slowly opened, presented, not the countenance of the baron, but the anxious face of Mr Bullion himself. The three French nobles pushed him forward. "Go on," they said; "make the best use of your eloquence. We will watch here, and guard the door against Beauvilliers himself."

The marquis, now thoroughly sobered, slowly advanced" If I can save this poor creature from the insolence of those roués, it will be well worth the suffering it has cost. Trust to me, madam," he said, in a very gentle voice, to the lady: "I will not suffer you to be insulted while I live. Come with me, madam, and you shall not be interrupted by ever a French profligate alive." On looking closely at the still silent lady on the sofa, he was startled at recognising a dress with which he was well acquainted.

"In the name of heaven!" he said, "I adjure you to tell me who you are. Are you-is it possible-can you be my Louise!"

"No, Mr Bullion," replied Miss Lucretia, lifting up the veil, and turning round to the trembling old man. "And I must say I'm considerably surprised to find you in a situation like this."

"And you, madam-yourself-how came you here?"

"A young gentleman-nobleman, I should say ran off with me here, and I expected him every minute when you came in."

"And safe?

Ah! but I need not ask. I see two honest Englishmen by your side."

"And one of them, sir, says he'll never leave it," said Louise.

"Stop a moment," replied the marquis. "Ho! gentlemen, come in."

At his request his companions entered the room.

"Gentlemen," said the marquis, "when I determined to reclaim my father's sword, I expected to find it bright as Bayard's, and unstained with infamy or dishonour. When I wished to resume my title, I hoped to find it a sign of the heroic virtues of my ancestors, but not a cloak for falsehood and vice. I warn you, sirs, your proceedings will be fatal to your order, and to your country. For myself, I care not for this sword,"-he threw it on the ground—“this filagree I despise,”—he_took off his star and ribbon-" and I advise you to leave this chamber as fast as you can find it convenient."

The French nobles obeyed.

"Here, Cocker! off with all this silk and satin; get me my gaiters and flaxen wig; and, please Heaven, one week will see us in the little room above the warehouse."

"Preparing, sir, to move into Hertfordshire?" inquired Louise, leaning on Cecil's arm.

"Ay, my child; and, in remembrance of this adventure, we shall hang up among the pictures in the hall,

THE SWORD OF HONOUR."

Ir must be allowed that a perusal of Scottish history betrays more anomalies than are to be found in the character of almost any other people. It is not without reason that our southern neighbours complain of the difficulty of thoroughly understanding our national idiosyncrasy. At one time we appear to be the most peaceable race upon the surface of the earth-quiet, patient, and enduring; stubborn, perhaps, if interfered with, but, if let alone, in no way anxious to pick a quarrel. Take us in another mood, and gunpowder is not more inflammable. We are ready to go to the death, for a cause about which an Englishman would not trouble himself; and amongst ourselves, we divide into factions, debate, squabble, and fight with an inveteracy far more than commensurate with the importance of the quarrel. Sometimes we seem to have no romance; at other times we are perfect Quixotes. The amalgamated blood of the Saxon and the Celt seems, even in its union, to display the characteristics of either race. We rush into extremes: one day we appear over-cautious, and on the next, the perfervidum ingenium Scotorum prevails.

If these remarks be true as applied to the present times, they become still more conspicuous when we regard the troublous days of our ancestors. At one era, as in the reign of David I., we find the Scottish nation engaged, heart and soul, in one peculiar phase of religious excitement. Cathedrals and abbeys are starting up in every town. All that infant art can do-and yet, why call it infant, since, in architecture at least, it has never reached a higher maturity?—is lavished upon the structure of our fanes. Melrose, and Jedburgh, and Holyrood, and a hundred more magnificent edifices, rise up like exhalations throughout a poor and barren country; the people are proud in their faith, and perhaps even prouder in the actual splendour of their altars. A few centuries roll by,

and we find the same nation deliberately undoing and demolishing the works of their forefathers. Hewn stone and carved cornices, tracery, mullions, and buttresses, have now become abominations in their sight. Not only must the relics of the saints be scattered to the winds of heaven, and their images ground into dust, but every church in which these were deposited or displayed, must be dismantled as the receptacle of pollution. The hammer swings again, but not with the same pious purpose as of yore. Once it was used to build; now it is heaved to destroy. Aisle and archway echo to the thunder of its strokes, and, amidst a roar of iconoclastic wrath, the venerable edifice goes down. Another short lapse of time, and we are lamenting the violence of the past, and striving to prop, patch up, and rebuild what little remnant has been spared of the older works of devotion.

The same anomalies will be found if we turn from the ecclesiastical to the political picture. Sometimes there is a spirit of loyalty manifested, for which it would be difficult to find a parallel. The whole nation gathers round the person of James IV. ; and earl and yeoman, lord and peasant, chief and vassal, lay down their lives at Flodden for their king. His successor James V., in no respect unworthy of his crown, dies of a broken heart, deserted by his peers and their. retainers. The unfortunate Mary, welcomed to her country with acclamation, is made the victim of the basest intrigues, and forced to seek shelter, and find death in the dominions of her treacherous enemy. The divine right, in its widest meaning and acceptation, is formally recognised by the Scottish estates as the attribute of James VII.; three years afterwards, a new convention is prompt to recognise an alien. a century further on, we are found offering the gage of battle to England in support of the exiled family.

Half

This singular variety of mood, of