THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. had been brought up from a child. Her mother professed the same faith as the Marions, and the Sabeaus, and the Picards of the place. She had used the same words and outward signs as her husband until his death- as old Pierre Chrétien, the grandfather- but their sense was not the same. The old grandfather in his blouse rather avoided contemplating the future. He had a pretty clear idea of a place not unlike the chapel of the Delivrande, only larger, with statuettes at intervals, and Monsieur le Curé triumphant. It was more comfortable, on the whole, to retire to the kitchen of the Golden Sun, where Pélottier dispensed cider and good wine at two pence a bottle, and from whence Pierre's granddaughter, with angry, dogged eyes, had fetched him away on more than one occasion: a terrible apparition in her beauty and her indignation. The children themselves would fly before her on such occasions, and they were generally her best friends. Reine was one of those people whose inner life works upon their outer life, and battles with it. She had inherited her mother's emotional nature, and her father's strong and vigorous constitution. She was strong where her mother had been weak. She had thoughts and intuitions undreamt of But by those among whom she lived. things went crossways with her, and she She was hard and rough suffered from it. at times, and had not that gentleness and openness which belong to education and culture. Beyond the horizon dawned for her the kingdom of saints and martyrs, for which her mother before her had longed as each weary day went by: the kingdom where, for the poor woman, the star-crowned Queen of Heaven reigned with pitiful eyes. Reine did not want pity or compassion as yet. She was a woman with love in her heart, but she was not tender, as some are, nor long-suffering; she was not unselfish, as others who abnegate and submit until nothing remains but a soulless body, a cataleptic subject mesmerized by a stronger will. She was not humble, easily entreated, unsuspicious of evil. The devil and his angels had sown tares enough in her heart to spring up in the good soil, thick and rank and abundant; only it was good soil in which they were growing, and in which the grain of mustard-seed would spring up too, and become a great tree in time, with widespreading branches, although the thick weeds and poisonous grasses were tangling in a wilderness at its root. Reine on her knees, under the great arch of Bayeux Cathedral, with the triumphant Reine's voice was a peculiar one, and must have struck any one hearing it for the first time. It rung odd, sudden, harmonious, with a sort of jar in it, or chord. Voices of this quality are capable of infinite modulation. Sometimes they soften into gay, yet melancholy music, like Mozart's, of which they always remind me; sometimes they harden into the roughest and iciest of discordant accents. She liked going back by herself, after the service was over, quietly across the plain. She was strong, and the three miles to Tracy, skirting the road and the corn-fields, were no fatigue to her, especially in the summer when the corn was waving gold, and the blue bright flowers and the poppies blazed among the tall yellow stalks. Sometimes Reine would ride back on her donkey. This was when she stopped at a low long house with windows opening on the street at the entrance of the town, at the door of which she would find poor Annette waiting patiently, tied to a ring in the wall. On these occasions Reine would go to the window and call out in her kindest voice: Eh bien, Madame Marteau, am I to have Josette to-day to come and play with the little chickens? Josette was Reine's goddaughter, who had marraine." She was a been christened Josephine Marie Reine des Cieux, after her tiny little girl, with two round eyes and a little tight black cap tied under her chin, and a little black stuff pinafore and trowsers to match. Reine was fond of the child, and charming with her. She was one of those people who are like angels when they pro tect and take care of others, and who are hard, ungrateful, suspicious, unjust, to those to whom they are obliged to look up. On this particular Sunday, while the luncheon trays were steaming into the dining-room in Eaton Square, with Dick driving up to the door in a hansom, and Mr. Butler still rustling the Observer in his study, while Beamish and Catherine were slowly walking home from church, and little Catherine, who had preceded them, was standing all by herself in the schoolroom, vacantly plaiting and unplaiting the tassel of the blind, and pulling the ragged ends, and thinking of the future looming darkly, it was her last day in the dismal little bastille; and now that the end was come, she looked back with a child's passion of persistence and longing to the threads and straws with which she had beguiled her time; - while all this was going on in one small corner of the world, in another, Reine was pulling out her strong arms, and lifting little Josette on to the donkey's back. Josette's mother- a careworn woman in shabby clothes was standing in the sun, shading her dimmed eyes, - the light dazzled poor Madame Marteau. Her life was spent in a sort of twilight gloom, nursing the bed-ridden husband whose voice even now might be heard muttering and calling from an inner room. The poor woman looked on with a glimpse of pleasure in her sad face, grateful to Reine for carrying off the little maiden into a wholesome bright atmosphere, where there were flowers growing, and little chickens running about, and a little boy to play with sometimes, to a place where Josette expanded with delight in all the glory of childhood, instead of being dwarfed into a precocious little woman by Père Marteau's railings and scoldings. "Well, Josette, what does one say?" said Madame Marteau. in, disappearing into the gloom, while Reine and little Josette rode on together through the sunlit fields. Josette had her wish, and Toto was al lowed to come and spend the day with her. Toto's grandmother savoured Mademoiselle Chrétien, and never denied her requests. The two children dined with Reine and her father in the great dark farm-kitchen. They had soup with bread in it, and cider and stewed beef and cabbage, and as much galette as they could eat. Reine took care of them and old Chrétien; she poured out the cider, and went away herself to fetch a particular dish of eggs which her grandfather liked. Dominique dined with them too. The great dog came marching in through the open door; the cocks and hens came and peeped at them. Outside it was all sunny and still; inside there was galette and two pretty little plates and tumblers for the children to use, and all Reine's treasures, brooches and rosaries and reliquaries, for them to play with after dinner, and Reine herself bustling about with her gold earrings bobbing as she bent over the table. But she was silent, although she attended to them all, and she looked at the door once and sighed. Old Chrétien joked her, and asked Dominique what was the matter. Reine answered short and quick. For one thing the thought of that poor woman's wretchedness oppressed her. "I name no names be cause of the children," she said, "but it seems to me it must be like a hell upon earth to be chained to wild beasts, as some women are." "And that is why she don't marry," said old Chrétien to Dominique, filling his glass. "Well, we all please ourselves! I have seen more than one ill-assorted couple in my time.... Here in this very room." Reine flushed up. "Now, children, make "Bo zour, marraine," lisped Josette, haste," she said in her harsh quick_voice. hanging her head, and pretending to be" Dominique! you will be here. I shall shy. come back in an hour. Petitpère, here is Josette is coming home with me," said your pipe already lighted." And then takReine, " to see Belette and Miné, and to asking one child by each hand, she dragged Petitpère to give her some Brioche," to all of which propositions Josette nodded her head. And then she said something which sounded like J'allonsvoïrletitoto. them away across the great deserted-looking court, and out at the arched gateway into the road, and into a tall hayfield which skirted it. Paris, the great dog, came too, and Reine pulled a book out of her pocket and sank down in the hay, while the two little things, hand in hand, swam and struggled through the tall grasses. Their heads only overtopped the hay by a very little. Toto made way and valiantly knocked down a marguerite which stood in Josette's way, and chased away a bluebottle which fright "How ened her with its noises. Josette laughed | Reine was not a bad girl, but the sight of and capered and danced on her little stout all this prosperity turned her sour. boots. do you do? Take care of your hay'Madame Jean's maddening little nod as she trips in her Paris toilette, and Mademoiselle Marthe's great blue eyes-it all offends me," said Reine, cutting the matter short. "Oh, the waves, the waves," cried Toto, as a soft wind came blowing from afar, bending the tall grass and the flower-heads, and shaking a few apples off the branches of the tree where Reine was sitting. "Come and fish for the apples," said she, smiling, as the two little creatures came tumbling and pushing through the deep sea of hay. Monsieur de Tracy from the château happened to be passing along the high-road at that instant, and he, too, smiled good-naturedly and took off his hat. This was the class to which her mother belonged. These were the men and the women who had cast her off, never forgiven her forgotten her utterly. These were the people who would do the same to-morrow again; who would insult her and scorn her, as they had scorned her mother before her, for all her beauty, and good blood, and wealth, if—if she were not firm to a certain resolve she had made. No, she would Not if he came never marry, never, never. "Bon jour, Mademoiselle Chrétien," he said. “Are you not afraid of spoiling your hay ?” Reine scarcely acknowledged his greet-back again and again to ask her. Reine ing; she looked fierce and defiant, and had an instinct about the person of whom gave a little stiff nod, and went on reading she was thinking. She believed that no one a book. whom she loved could help loving her; but she was proud at the same time. She knew her own worth, and a poor struggling painter, with all his education, did not seem to her any very brilliant match for an heiress like herself with the blood of the D'Argouges in her veins, and the farms at Tracy, at Petitport, the oyster-parks at Courseulles, the houses at Bayeux, for her dower. "Venez, mes enfants," said Reine, shutting up her prayer-book when the hour was over, and leading them back by the way she had come under the archway across the great court, where Paris was lying stretched out like a lion in the sun, and where Reine looked to find her grandfather on the bench where he was accustomed to smoke his afternoon pipe. There was only Dominique on the bench stretched out on his back`at full length. "Is not that M. Fontaine's little boy?" said Jean, stopping and looking at the trio among the sweet dry grasses and flowers. The children were peeping at him brighteyed and interested from a safe distance. Reine never lifted her eyes off her book: "Marie, qui avez mené une vie simple et laborieuse, priez pour moi afin que j'apprenne à me contenter de peu de chose et à travailler selon les devoirs de ma condition," she was murmuring to herself, and she did not cease her pious exercise until M. de Tracy had walked on. "I wonder why that girl always behaves so strangely?" thought Jean, as he walked away. "Can my mother have vexed her in any way? I must ask my wife.” Madame Jean held up her pretty little hands at the question. "Mon ami, it is not I who would like to answer for what your mother may or may not have said," laughed she. But Madame de Tracy had said nothing, and indeed she was a favourite with the people all about. They laughed at her flightiness and expansiveness, mistrusted her promise, but they could not help liking her. Reine took to her more kindly than to the rest of the family; all her worst self would come up when she was brought in contact with these people, who came stepping down from their superior grandeur to be intrusively civil to those who did not want them. "What does he mean by his Mademoiselle Chrétiens, and eyeglasses, and politeness?" thought the foolish girl. "I know well enough at what rate he holds us, and I try to tell him so in my way." Reine went up and shook him angrily. Dominique, are you not ashamed to sleep like a sluggard? Where is Petitpère?" Dominique sat up and rubbed his eyes. "He is asleep in the kitchen," said he, hazarding the statement. "Ah," cried Reine, taking one step forward and looking through the barred window," he is not in the kitchen. You know as well as I do where he is gone." While Dominique and the children were having a game in front of the farm-gates, which made the old place echo with Toto's screams of laughter, Reine was marching down the little village street, tall, erect, with her terrible face on. Poor Reine! poor Petitpère! He was discoursing very happily and incoherently in one of the little bowers at the back of the Golden Sun. A very little of M. Pélottier's cider bow. Reine thought she saw them smile. was enough to change the aspect of things She gave one fierce glance and walked on: for poor old Chrétien. He was treating her heart was beating with indignation, everybody, and offering his granddaughter with pride and passionate shame. They in marriage to another old gentleman in a blouse, sitting at the same little table. "Je te l'accorde," said père Chrétien, avec ses cent cinquante mille livres de rente. Mon ami Barbeau, elle est à toi." "Merci bien, mon ami," said Barbeau, thumping the little wooden table. 66 "Et Madame Barbeau, what will she think of the arrangement?" said a countrywoman, who was sitting at the next table, looking round grinning. Barbeau looked puzzled. "Ma femme?" said he. "Le père Chrétien se charge de tout. Buvons à sa santé !" It was at this instant that the bottle was suddenly wrenched out of poor old Chrétien's trembling hand, and that Reine, pale and with black eyes gleaming, took him by the arm in her unflinching gripe. scorned her and her grandfather. Their "Come," she said, with a glance of indignation at the people who were grinning all round about under Pélottier's little vine "Comme elle est en colère, cette Reine," bower, and she walked away back towards whispered Marion Lefebvre, who saw them Tracy with her prisoner. Old Chrétien pass.' "Le pauvre père Chrétien, she leads shambled beside her in silence; he knew him a rude life.' her too well to attempt to make conversa- Poor Reine, she was wrong to be angry, tion under the circumstances. Only once to be impatient, to wish for the things which a sort of groan escaped her. As they were only time and silent progress can bring turning the corner by the church, again she about. Like many another before her, she came upon the whole community of Tracys, was a little in advance of her days, and of Jean and his wife, and his wife's brother the people among whom she lived. And and sister, and the three children running the price people are condemned to pay for on ahead. being somewhat ahead of their neighbours, Old Chrétien attempted a low, uncertain is a heavy one. STUART MILL AGAIN; OR, THE EXAMIN- His System by some very shallow is reckoned; STUART MILL AGAIN; OR, THE EXAMINER EXAMINED. In some different world two and two may make five, Though appearances here seem to say they make four. Our mental formation Has small operation; The mind, if we have one, is passive and still: We are ruled by our Senses, Through all our three tenses, Past, present, and future, says great Stuart Mill. 25 The Great Conflgaration, or General Chill, Now, let all men have freedom to speak and to write, And let others who differ stand up for the Truth; But I think we should pause as to those we invite To make laws for the land, or to train up our To the helpless and young, sir, And I won't, by your leave, sir, Blackwood's Magazine. *See Mr. Mill's works passim; his Logic,' a common text-book at Oxford; his Utilitarianism;' his Auguste Comte;' his 'Liberty,' with the note on Tyrannicide; his Examination of Hamilton; and his recent speeches in Parliament. Other Phi. losophies- Hamilton's, Ferrier's, &c.—are essentially Theistic. Mill's system, in our opinion, is, we will not say Atheistic but Untheistic; it may not deny, but it does not assert, or presuppose, the existence of a Deity; it ignores the idea of a Providence; and as we think it false as well as dangerous, we have taken the liberty to say so. |