His hasty temper sometimes led him into of consideration the thousands who are delighted ludicrous extremes. One of the female singers each year with his various compositions, there once declined to sing the part given her. Han- is no great public funeral at which his "Dead del flew at the rebel, saying: "I always knew March in Saul" is not used. you were a very devil; but I shall now let you know that I am Beelzebub, the prince of devils ;" then seizing her, he ran to the window, and

LOVE AFTER MARRIAGE.

I.

swore that if she did not sing the air he wouldWHETHER what the French call mariages immediately throw her into the street. She

de convenance, or what we call love-match

was subdued, and sang without further objec-es, are most productive of happiness is, like altion. most all other questions, moral, political, or philosophical, yet to be decided. Much can be said on either side. Climate, character, taste, with other considerations, affect the solution. There are precedents enough to decide the question either way.

It was well known that he could not bear to hear the tuning of instruments-for which reason this was always done before his arrival at the theatre. A musical wag stole into the orchestra one night, when the Prince of Wales was to be present, and untuned all the instruments. As soon as the Prince arrived, Handel gave the signal to begin, con spirito. The horrible din and discord may be imagined. The enraged maestro started up, overturned a double bass in his way, seized a kettle-drum, and threw it at the leader with such violence. that he lost his full-bottomed wig in the effort. Then advancing bareheaded to the front of the orchestra, he stood there, literally speechless with rage, staring and stamping, till the Prince came and led him away.

If we can conciliate the duties we owe ourselves-which include obligations to parents, society, and position, and the promptings of our hearts, or what we take to be such-we certainly duplicate the chances of happiness. But this seldom happens in life, and when it does, rather from good luck than any sound conduct of our own-an instance of which is illustrated by the following narrative:

The Count de la Mothe, of the old nobility of France, had lost his father by the guillotine, and had only escaped the same fate himself by a precipitate flight. When Napoleon had restored order, and established his power as First Consul, he gave most of the emigrants permission to return to France, with every assurance of safety. Of this privilege the Count de la Mothe was eager to avail himself, and was for

In composition he was exceedingly rapid, and always greatly affected himself at what he wrote. When his servant used to bring him up his chocolate in the morning, he often stood in silent astonishment to see his master's tears mixing with the ink with which he penned his notes. When asked what were his feelings when com-tunate enough besides to obtain the removal of posing the Hallelujah Chorus, Handel said, "I did tink I did see all heaven before me and the great God himself." A friend calling upon him when in the act of setting to music the pathetic words, "He was despised and rejected of men," found him actually sobbing.

In his habits he was simple. To visit exhibitions of paintings seems to have been his favorite amusement. He was never married. Once in Germany, before he achieved greatness, he was ready to be married, but was disgusted by a remark of his intended mother-in-law, that she "would never consent to see her child married to a fiddler." He broke off the match. Like most men of genius he worked incessantly. He had a Rucker harpsichord, every key of which, from constant use, was hollowed like the bowl of a spoon.

Such was the most illustrious composer the world has known. If he was not fully appreciated by his own age, it must have been a source of satisfaction to him to recollect that his music had a part in every leading event of the century in which he worked. His compositions were required to celebrate successively the birthday of Queen Anne, the marriage of the Prince of Wales (afterward George II.), and that of the Princess Royal, the coronation of George II., the burial of Queen Caroline, the peace of Utrecht and that of Aix la Chapelle, and the victories of Dettingen and Culloden. And leaving out

the sequestration on a greater portion of his large estates. On the proclamation of the Empire, believing that the throne of Napoleon was secured both from foreign attack and domestic insurrection, and alone promised order and safety to France, he took service under him, and was present at Eylau, Wagram, and the capture of Vienna; on which latter occasion he was promoted for his gallantry and efficient military conduct to a Generalship of Division. He, however, gave in his adhesion to the Bourbons on their first return from exile, remained faithful to his oath during the Hundred Days, and, on their second accession to power, was strong in the favor of the Court. The sickness of his wife compelled him, however, to relinquish his residence in Paris, and take up his abode at a chateau upon the shore of the Mediterranean, between Toulon and Marseilles, where we find him, with his wife and two sons, at the opening of our story.

It was a magnificent day toward the end of April. A warm sun had coaxed the buds of the orange to open, and fill the air with perfume. The gardeners had all hastened to take off from the trees the thatch-covering with which, in Provence, they are protected during the cold season, and every where Spring was celebrating his conclusive victory over Winter.

The family had met at the breakfast-tablethe Count, his wife, and two sons, Louis and

Henri. Louis was tall, well-formed, and of ele- | she still preserved its uniform dress, and the gant manners: Henri, though twenty years old or more, did not seem more than seventeen, so delicate was he in appearance. His features, though regular and handsome, were so deadly pale as to seem cut out of marble. His whole existence might have been said to centre in his eyes, which were dark, lustrous, and, at the same time, filled with an expression of soft reverie. His, indeed, was one of those countenances that attract like an enigma-the longer you gaze the greater your desire to pierce its mystery.

The Count read the Parisian newspapers; Henri, sitting near the window, ate with a very good appetite, with his eyes always fixed upon the brilliant carpet of the lawn. The Countess exchanged from time to time a few words with Louis, who sat near her, about the contemplated improvements on the estate. As they were on the point of leaving the table, the Countess, look-young girl fresh from a provincial convent is ing down the avenue of orange-trees, perceived allowed to carry on with a gentleman. three persons approaching the chateau. "Here is somebody coming," she says; "look, Louis, and see if you know them. I don't recollect ever having seen them before."

though still, in her opinion, more of the land ought to be turned to more useful purposes.

"Your father proposes to cultivate all this land, does he not?" she inquired, addressing

Louis.

"I sincerely hope not," Henri suddenly exclaimed. "Let them have a kitchen-garden, and leave the rest as it is."

Rose looked at him for the first time with her great limpid eyes-as if she had hardly understood him.

Her recollections, one by one, came out from the hazy mist of the past, and defiled before her as pale and tender phantoms. This saloon called up all she had lost; sadly, but gratefully, visions of olden times fell upon her soul; her heart opened to the fullness of her sensations, and tears, silent and unconscious, glided softly down her beautiful cheeks.

Totally absorbed in her emotions, she had not perceived Henri, who, immovable on the threshold, was contemplating her with deep and unafLouis, to make amends for the seeming in- fected admiration. But the Count and Madame civility of Henri's remark, interposed by say-de la Mothe entering at this moment drew him ing: "We will at least, Mademoiselle Rose, out of his ecstasy, and Clementine from her plant many rose-bushes here; so that, when you reverie. favor us with calls, you will think yourself among your sisters." This compliment, neither very new nor striking, seemed to please the young girl; she blushed, and thanked Louis with a smile, which showed the dazzling enamel of her teeth.

As the visitors were walking through the avenue homeward, they passed a carriage in which the inquisitive eye of Madame Lasere noticed the black vail of a lady in mourning. The carriage was covered with dust, and, according to appearances, had come from a great distance.

Clementine had such an enchanting voice, and expressed herself so felicitously always, that it was impossible not to be carried away by her tones and manner.

During the conversation that followed Henri did not utter a word. Leaning over the back of the sofa behind his mother, he seemed to absorb every thing that was said, looking all the time at Clementine with an eager and admiring expression which would have embarrassed almost any one but herself. She, however, had been too accustomed to admiration to be sur

The carriage stopped in front of the terrace of the chateau, and a young girl in deep mourn-prised at the impression she had produced upon ing got out.

a bashful young man, unaccustomed to society, and so much overcome by her charms as to be incapable of speech.

Louis, as well as his brother, had been much

Clementine de la Soubise still wore black for her father, who had been dead for more than a year. He had sold, on the eve of his death, this chateau to the present proprietor, and Clem-struck with the beauty of their visitor; but his entine, after sixteen years of absence, had come to see once more the scenes of her infancy. Her traveling-dress, of dark wool, was cut after the fashion of a riding habit, and displayed the contours of her lovely shape; a white cambric collar surrounded her whiter and delicate neck, and a broad hat, such as the peasants wear, crowned her flowing hair, protecting her head much more effectually from the rays of a vernal sun than her hood of dark silk. Her regular features, her large lustrous eyes, her skin so smooth and white, the wavy folds of her black hair, which hung over and encircled her wellshaped brow, formed, with her subdued countenance and severe costume, a harmonious and touching union. She recalled to the mind's eye the heroines of twenty years.

While waiting the arrival of Madame de la Mothe she remained standing, and surveyed the furniture and decorations of the room with deep emotion. She found herself, after so long an absence, in the room where she had played on a mother's knee, and close by the sofa upon which her father was wont to rest on his return from the hunt. Nothing was changed; each article of furniture was as she had left it; the same mantle-clock marked the hour; the old flower-vases were there, and, indeed, all seemed unchanged. But herself and position how changed! Father and mother both dead, the estate sold, herself a woman grown, entering as a stranger the house where she was born, and where her purest souvenirs clustered-these indeed were changes!

way of expressing his admiration, though as de-
cided as Henri's, was more discreet. Clementine
seemed to relish much better his homage, and
while the rest conversed on various topics she lent
a very complaisant ear to Louis's flattering and
lively conversation. He, unapprised of the some-
what melancholy object of her visit, exerted him-
self to provoke her to smiles, and succeeded many
times without too great effort.
well that gayety was an excellent conductor for
those little delicacies of expression, half persi-
flage half passion, which our sex is ready to of
fer, and the other happy to receive. Some men,
it is true, on the very first début commence in
a grave tone. But this method demands supe-

He knew very

rior talent; mere cleverness will not suffice to
victory; more is required-an incontestible su-
periority is absolutely essential.
Of the many
who make their debut this way, not one in ten
succeeds. The man is laughed at, and ridicule
is fatal in love!

Louis was clever; whenever a woman pleased him, he laid it down as an invariable principle that to please her he must amuse her. He said, in order to draw a prize, it was necessary to buy a ticket in the lottery, and that the more tickets you had the greater your chance of success. The quickest way, he said, to make a woman pleased with you is to make her pleased with herself. He acted as he theorized, and pretended he had no reason to complain of his method.

At the time he essayed to make his system of action avail with Clementine he had for aux

with associations of painful feeling. In the first moments of her sorrow she thought it impossible she could ever be consoled; and perhaps there was mingled with this feeling a sentiment of remorse. She gave a character of austerity to her habits of mourning that gained her great credit in the world. She shut herself up, and

iliaries some decided natural advantages. He | ety, so that thought of him was not unconnected had not reached his thirtieth year, and had but just perhaps attained to the full development of his muscular beauty. Strong, tall, and lightcomplexioned, with superb hair and teeth, he had all the distinctive marks of his Norman origin. He resembled his father as Henri did his mother, who was a Creole of Cuba, and from whom the latter derived his Spanish complex-persistently refused to receive any one. ion. The two races uniting in marriage, instead of being confounded in their children, were both reproduced in maintaining their original characters.

In a strict sense, Louis was handsomer than his brother, and as he never neglected any art to display his good looks to the greatest advantage-an art which Henri seemed completely to ignore there resulted a striking contrast between the two, from which Louis derived all the benefit.

II.

Time, however, which conquers every thing, worked decided modifications of this despairing mood; and when she visited the chateau, as we have narrated, her dark vestments, it is true, covered her still, but more than one ray of joyous anticipation had penetrated to her heart. Grief preserved its first vivacity only at intervals, and these intervals became each day less frequent and of shorter duration.

At nineteen years of age Clementine could pass for a perfect being, in the opinion of the world. To an incontestible beauty she joined a lively understanding, gracious and refined manners, and an acquaintance with the requirements of society most unusual in a girl so young. A marvelous discernment of opportunity in every circumstance and thing served her better per

After the visit Clementine often came to the chateau from Toulon, where she was living with an aunt. The gracious manners of Madame de la Mothe pleased, while the significant attentions of the two brothers did not displease her. She was one of these charming types of wo-haps than all her other advantages, and with men, rare as they are dangerous, which spring from the combined influence of certain chances by which nature and education are made to concur to the same end.

While still a child she had been placed by her father in one of the first boarding-schools of Paris. Rich, beautiful, intelligent, she gratified the self-love of the mistress of the establishment, who endeavored by every means in her power to call out, no matter how precociously, her hidden talents, and exploit them for the benefit of the school. She excited her emulation by flattering her vanity and self-love, till she had made her superior, in superficial attainments at least, to the rest, but self-confident and excessively eager for applause.

all these seducing qualities she only had faults which are palliated or pardoned. Struck with what was brilliant and unique, she had taken good care to avoid all hardihood of opinion or taste which could in the slightest degree provoke censure. Her heart, both good and fickle -a combination not unfrequent in the sexseemed to think it wrong to venture within the dangerous precincts of enthusiasm and passion.

Incessantly stimulated by culture, Clementine, like a plant of the green-house, wasted all her sap in flowers; Rose, like a plant growing up in the shade, wanting air, attention, and warmth, had vegetated without development.

Such as she was, with her charms of person and mind, Clementine was seducing to a greater Her father, borne down by an incurable chron- or less degree all the inhabitants of the chateau. ic affection, saw but little of her at home, as he Madame de la Mothe assiduously cultivated the was unwilling to take her from her lively com- gay and varied companion whose graces so happanions to the solitude of a sick man's abode.pily dissipated the calm, so monotonous, of famWhen she was in her seventeenth year she was invited to the house of a particular friend of her father's in Paris, who was wealthy, entertained much, and had two daughters who had been at school with her, and with whom she had been on terms of the strictest intimacy. Clementine | found at this house opportunities for new triumphs of her self-love. The gay world received, admired, boasted of her-and, thanks to her admirable talent of music, she was, the very first winter, the lioness of the salons. She was in the midst of the excitement of her triumph when her father died.

ily-life in the country. The old Count, flattered with the attentions by which she surrounded him, always greeted her with pleasure. Louis, finding her so ravishingly delightful, felt his heart sufficiently interested, and devoted himself earnestly to paying his addresses, after his usual fashion. One alone was seriously troubled in his peace of mind, and that was Henri.

Whenever Clementine happened to call on the Countess, Henri came forward without having been informed of her arrival, as if he had been apprised of it by some mysterious revelation. He came into the room with the eager expresThe death of her father affected her with sin- sion of one who expected some great good forcere grief. And yet-a melancholy though true tune; sometimes he addressed to Clementine a confession to make-she mourned him more sin- few embarrassed words, but, generally, he put cerely in his death than she had loved him liv- himself in a corner of the room where he could ing, notwithstanding his devotion to her. His stare at her at his ease-a contemplation which sad presence had often been a rebuke to her gay-sometimes lasted whole hours without her seem

'Go, then, and be fortunate."

The next morning, quite early, he was seen coming up the avenue of olive-trees, all covered with dust like a king's messenger. "What has happened, Louis?” inquired his mother, going

"What we did not foresce, my dear mother." "What is it, my son ?"

She accorded more attention to Louis; she had seen too much of the world not to comprehend the end to which his thoughts were tend-out to meet him. ing; and without positively encouraging his hopes, she continued to keep them alive. There are certain women who love infinitely to breathe the incense which escapes from a young and burning heart. Clementine found this reminiscence of Parisian life most agreeable in a provincial town, where she so much expected to be bored.

In the mean time Louis began to indulge positive hopes, and, in consequence, to look at the matter seriously. In the few weeks of his acquaintance with her, he had found his repugnance to matrimony gradually disappear, and he now began to sketch dreams of happiness in the frame-work of conjugal life.

One day Clementine had appeared more seductive than ever; she had carried away the hearts of all while executing, with wonderful force and expression of features, the romance of Saul.

The Count perceived the state of Louis's mind, and availed himself of an opportunity for an éclaircissement. Father and son had remained alone upon the terrace after Clementine had left for home. Louis was following with his eye the clouds of dust that the rapid wheels of the carriage had raised, and perhaps for the first time in his life his eye was thoughtful.

"Louis," said the Count, placing his hand upon his son's shoulder, "what are you thinking of?"

"She refuses me."

"Is it possible? Refuse you!" exclaimed the Countess, in a tone which revealed the wound to a mother's pride.

"She refuses me positively, and forever." "And what can be her motive ?"

"She is betrothed to a cousin, the Baron de Mallorme."

"And loves him ?"

66

Desperately. He is worth a million!" replied Louis, bitterly.

"She was engaged, and concealed it from us!" exclaimed the Countess.

"No matter, my mother," said Louis, recovering his self-possession, "let us talk of her no more, she is a coquette! I shall go to Paris in a fortnight."

It is almost invariably the lover's fault not to know that his love is not reciprocated. We are the dupes more of our own vanity than woman's art-still, there is no harm in calling them coquettes.

III.

If Louis's fancy had been caught by the charms of Clementine, the heart of poor Henri had been wholly overcome. After the interruption of her visits, in consequence of the rejected proposals of Louis, he changed daily in appearance. He did not eat, and from being

bre.

"I, father!" exclaimed Louis, suddenly start- quiet and mild, he became irritable and soming; "I-I do not know-" Many times, Louis, who, from a sympaShall I tell you?thetic feeling, could make out the diagnosis of You were thinking of the beautiful girl who has his complaint, found him in such a profound just left us."

"But I know, my son.

"It is true," said Louis.

"And you love her-"

"That is also true, my father."

and absorbing reverie as not to be conscious of his presence.

His father, when Louis reported to him the result of his observations upon this change so

Very well-and what do you propose do- apparent to all, and what he considered its

ing ?"

cause, was at first incredulous; and when convinced, not seemingly apprehensive of future consequences. "You take the matter too seriously, my son," he said. "Your brother, you think, is in love. Be it so. Perhaps with Clementine; if so, because she is the only girl he has hardly ever seen. He would be in love with any other girl under the same circumstances. Matrimony would be the best thing for him, for that would settle him at once and "Where are you going?" asked the Count. forever. You do not know any girl in this part "To Toulon, my father." "What-to-day ?"

"To ask her to be my wife, unless you object."

"She is a good match, and a lovely girl withal. You are twenty-nine years of age; so marry Clementine as soon as you please."

Louis thanked his father with many expressions of gratitude. Then hastily entering the house, ordered his horse to be saddled forthwith.

"Immediately," replied Louis. "Why put off my happiness? Besides, this is a very opportune occasion, for to-morrow Clementine lays aside her nourning. She will see that I have

of the country that would serve the purpose?" "I am hardly acquainted with any body in the province; but I was thinking of something. Don't you expect Monsieur Lasere this morning?"

"Yes, I have some papers for him."