little bare-footed village children amused themselves by running along the road and passing us from time to time. Finally we arrived. At the first sight of the city, when my poor money jingled still in my pockets, the environs of the city appeared to me to be charming, and almost as beautiful as our Vosges country, that Frenchmen know so little about. There were hills covered with woods, stretches of green sward, and a little river that looked as if one could easily pour all the water out of it. The town itself, as well as I could judge of it, seemed to be made up of decent-looking inns, surrounded by little gardens.

As I was without luggage, I made my way along the streets with perfect ease, my hands in my pockets, and following the crowd. Everybody seemed to walk on one side of the street. I passed before a huge building, covered over with large and very bad paintings, and, for a moment, I took it for the palace of the sovereign; but the crowd did not stop at it, and no one entered it. Was it the wretchedness of the paintings which frightened people off? I cannot say. An obliging man told me that this building contained a mineral spring but no one knows yet whether the waters are good or bad, since no one has yet had the curiosity to taste them. I walked on, and arrived before a large hall, decorated with flags. The national colors are yellow and red, which, though by no means harmonious, are nevertheless bright and gay and remind one of a harlequin's dress.

Some workmen were hanging colored lanterns around the arch of a monument; others were preparing for fire works. A notice pasted on a wall announced for the evening a grand ball and theatrical performance, and horse races for the next day. These signs of munificence reminded me that I was in the capital of M. Benazet. The public square was dotted over with people, among them many of my acquaintances, poets, philosophers, journalists and artists, who promenaded there as if they were on the Boulevard des Italiens. A friend joined me and made the tour of the square, pointing out to me the distinguished personages. They were from all parts of Europe.

I saw five or six really beautiful women, whom nobody seemed to notice. On the other hand, there was a crowd surrounding two or three old women, with red, wrinkled faces, and a faded look about them, as if they had traveled in their trunks up to the age of fifty years. Upon a second inspection, I remarked that all the faces were dull, if not sad. I had not expected to find the public so serious in the midst of such an ocean of pleasures. Two members of the Jockey Club, arm in arm, passed by on my right, and one said to the other: "She has taken from me a thousand louis in two days." "I have been more fortunate,' said the other; "she has taken only five hundred from me." She? which she? This unknown woman interested me. I fell

in with a group of journalists and play-writers, who were talking of the same person, but without naming her. One complained of having given her six hundred francs; another, that she had taken from him the price of eighteen newspaper articles; a third, that she had despoiled him of all his author's rights for the season. She! always she! I did not dare to ask the name of so dangerous a creature; they would only have laughed at my ignorance. Six o'clock came at last, and I found myself very hungry, so I went to a restaurant-called in this country Restauration. I asked to be served in the German style, from which the waiter seemed to understand that I wished to be served with extreme slowness. I waited twenty minutes for a chair, and the dishes followed after about the same delay. * * Nevertheless, I dined, and I made the very worst meal of which I have any recollection. Ah! this certainly was not the table of M. Benazet, of which I had read so much in the papers. I wanted very much to make the acquaintance of this great man, to give him an opportunity of inviting me to dinner. It was he, at last, who regaled me at dessert, since, without quitting the table, I saw his fire works, and they greatly delighted me. I called to me a Paris correspondent, who entered the room, and I told him in glowing terms of my admiration for M. Benazet, and of my gratitude to him.

"You are right," said he; "he is the best, the most friendly and the most generous of men.' Having finished my dinner, I promenaded in front of the Grand Hall, under its brilliantly illuminated portico. I have the digestion of a philosopher, and especially after a very bad meal, as you, my dear cousin, know. I said to myself that the Manicheans must certainly be right when they say that the world is divided between and ruled over by two opposing influences. For here, on one side, is an evil creature, who spends her whole time in reducing men to poverty; and, on the other side, here is a benefactor of men, who marks each day by some new and unexpected liberality. But who is this evil creature? A passer-by, tumbling against me, gave me the answer. "Scoundrel," he cried, "she has shipwrecked me; I have not thirty francs to take back to the shop.'

"Who," I excitedly exclaimed, at the same time seizing him by the neck, "who is it that has robbed you of your money?"

The commercial traveler replied with a brusquerie which was very excusable: "What an idiot the man is! Why the bank. At the same time he pointed me, with his finger, through an open door, to a large table surrounded by people. I went in to see what was taking place, and I comprehended in a short time that the bank was a being endowed with reason; a pure abstraction, if you will; but an abstraction that carries off money from many an unhappy wretch. The honest shopkeeper of Kehl had spoken to me of it, in cautious words, but I hid forgotten what he had said. I

was an innocent spectator of the battle between the bank and the players. My neighbor was playing, and was so fortunate as to win in a few minutes a round sum. His example led me on. I saw plainly that with moderate good luck, it would be easy for me to make the bank pay all the expenses of my trip; and what a pleasure it would give me to tell my friends in Paris that I had seen M. Benazet face to face, and that the privilege had cost me nothing! I began, then, to play in a very small way; but the devil was probably on my side, for I lost at every throw. Or rather, no; I gained once ten francs which were dragged in at the next play by some man or other, and, on another occasion, a beautiful louis d'or fell to my share, which I saw a very respectable-looking lady carry away with her. I hoped still that fortune would come around to my side, and that my neighbors would allow me to profit by it; but my purse was exhausted sooner than my vein of bad luck, and I found myself without a sou. The removing of my financial resources from my pocket to the keeping of the bank was an affair of about half an hour. All my money had gone to increase the size of a huge pile, in which I no longer recognized even my own louis. I remained an instant utterly confused, and not having a clear idea where I should pass the night. A little timid German glided in front of me, and put down five francs on the table, which was immediately lost. But, at the same moment, an agent of police tapped the little wretch on his shoulder, and led him away into a corner. I followed them, and I heard the police agent say: "This is the second time that I have apprehended you here. On the first occasion, a chance of amendment was offered you; to-day your position is a different one; you go straight to prison." Nothing could be more unjust than these menaces; for, truly, the poor creature had played and bravely lost his money. I resolved to take up his defense, and to prove to myself that one could do a kindness to a neighbor even when one is not worth a copper. But at the first word of my pleading, the agent answered me sharply: "Mr. Stranger, this is none of your business; this man is an inhabitant of Baden; the inhabitants of the town have no right to play, and I am paid to prevent them." "Heavens," I cried, "you ought to have rendered me the same service. You must have a very poor opinion of the bank, since you prevent it from ruining your own citizens. You are sure, then, that the bank must win at every stroke, and that is the reason you hand over to its tender mercies innocent strangers, like myself, whilst you protect your own countrymen from it. I will write to my cousin, and tell her all about it, and that will modify her ideas of German loyalty."

That which afflicted me the most, my dear Madeline, was not the loss of my money, but that I was compelled to leave Baden without seeing this good M. Benazet. For, in truth, I had not a

moment to spare, if I would profit by my return ticket; so I took flight at once. Cursed bank! Villain of a bank; it has deprived me of the pleasure of knowing the Louis XIV. of our age—the most magnificent of the benefactors of humanity. If Providence would arrange admirably, it would place M. Bénazet at one end of Europe and the bank at the other; and I certainly should never wander into the country of the bank, but I would go each year to admire the charming fetes of M. Benazet.

QUEEN MARY AND HER SLAYERS.

N the great assize of history, there are cases which it would

crier, from session to session, the counsel on one side or the other is not ready; important witnesses are wanting, or, more frequently, the panel lacks completeness, and cannot be filled because every one who is summoned "has formed an opinion." Such is the case of Mary, Queen of Scotland. Every writer may be sure of a hearing on this subject of universal interest: it has been so for three hundred years, and will be so while Time shall last. The most skillful pens have touched, but not exhausted it her history is well known wherever civilization has spread it lives beyond the vernacular, in the German drama of Schiller, and the impassioned Italian of Ristori; and her name mentioned in a promiscuous party is a battle cry of great and instant potency.

It is not my intention, in this short paper, to do more than notice a few of the verdicts rendered by the historians; and the expression in which they are given, with particular reference to her latest and most persistent accuser.

But let me first state her case very briefly.

A Scottish queen,

the niece of the powerful Guises, she was educated in France, and was from the first designed as a passive political instrument in their hands. A French historian, not in her interests, calls her, une merveillede beauté, de grace, d' esprit et d' addresse, au service d'une nature violemment passioné." Married in 1558 for political reasons to Francis, the Dauphin, and afterward King of France, upon his death in the next year, she was again put forth as a puppet. It was proposed to Henry of Navarre that he should have his mar

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riage with Jean d' Albert annulled and espouse Mary; again she was offered to Phillip II. of Spain, or to his son, Don Carlos, and to one of the sons of the German Emperor. Martin says, speaking of the Guises: "C'Itait leur appât universel;" a phrase that is revolting to every sensitive woman. Poor queen-or rather, poor girl!

She left France for her hereditary kingdom of Scotland; which, in reality, she never governed a single day. In exchange for the light, airy, joyous, and to some extent, frivolous and immoral atmosphere of La Belle France, she found savage manners, religious gloom, political turbulance, conditions imposing a task beyond the powers, not simply of a woman, but of a man distinguished in war and in state-craft. She was the heir apparent to the English throne; and, only adopting the attainder upon Anne Boleyn's issue, which Henry VIII. had himself established, had written herself Queen of England. Thenceforth, although she had withdrawn the claim, she found herself the opponent of a woman cleverer than she was, but as false and tortuous in her policy as any woman that ever breathed. Elizabeth was afraid of Mary, and determined to render her harmless or to destroy her. Amid such conditions the queen-regnant of Scotland, and anointed Queen of France, was by no means to be envied. Her very charms were a snare; men fell in love with her whether she would or not; and she was by no means free to choose her mate. The question of her marriage was a state question, in which Elizabeth constituted herself the arbiter. Who should be the hero of the fated nuptials? Not Leicester, the wife-killer, the superseded favorite of Elizabeth? She must not marry a Catholic, for John Knox denounced that in thunder tones. She settled the matter by marrying her first cousin, Darnley, who had nothing to commend him but his lineage. His mother was half sister to James V., and first cousin also of Elizabeth. She married him from policy, and finding him to be an utterly hateful creature, hated him. No one had pretended that she could marry for love.

Mary was a Catholic of the Catholics, and who can blame her for being attached to her faith. She asked but little-that she and her attendants, and the Catholics of Scotland, might have their own worship; but she could not keep out of the fierce polemics of the day: it was natural that she should be considered