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Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1855-07-24 00:00:00

that sort of strange and fatal hatred which she had
I conceived for repose of body and mind. She must
ever be refreshing the agitated atmosphere in which
she lived by new agitations; by changing her residence;
by quarrelling and reconciling herself with some per-
son or some thing ; by going to pass some hours in
the country; and then hurrying back into town to get
rid of the country; dining at one restaurant after
another ; destroying and replacing her toilette from
head to heel every week. She would buy, for instance,
a bonnet, because she thought it charming. The
evening of the day she bought it, she would find it
hideous ; take off the ribbons, and then the flowers
take out the lace, and change the arrangement with
readiness and taste. Her bonnet would please her all
the next day ; but, the day after, there must be another
radical reform ; and so on, for some eight days, until
the unlucky bonnet, always in a state of metamorpho-
sis, became totally indifferent to,lier. Then she would
wear it with the utmost disdain, professing that she
did not care what she put on, till the fancy should
seize her to buy another new bonnet !—Her black hair
was still very fine. She got tired of being a brunette,
and put on a blonde wig ; yet, by doing so, she could
not manage to disfigure herself. She took a fancy for
herself as a blonde for a while ; then she abused her-
self for being flaxen, and chose to be bright chestnut.
Presently she returned to asheyTale locks; then went
back to her own mellow black hair ; and this to such
purpose, that I saw her with different hair for every
day in the week. This childish frivolity did not
exclude laborious occupations and very minute domes-
tic cares. She had her own delights of imagination,
and would read the romances of M. d'Arlincourt with
positive frenzy,,far into the night ; but that did not
hinder her from being astir at six in the morning, to
begin anew her toilettes, her excursions, her needle-
work, her merriment, her despair, and her fits of
passion.— George Sand.
HAPPINESS.---I was reading to-day in the Notes to
Boswell's Life of Johnson, says Mrs. Jameson, that
" it is a theory which every one knows to be false in
fact, that virtue in real life is always productive of
happiness, and vice of misery." I should say that all
my experience teaches me that the position is not false,
but true ; that virtue does produce happiness, and vice
does produce misery. But let me settle the meaning
of the words. By happiness we do not necessarily
mean a state of worldly prosperity. By virtue we do
not mean a series of good actions which may or may
not be rewarded, and, if done for reward, lose the
essence of virtue. Virtue, according to my idea, is the
habitual sense of right, and -the habitual courage to
act up to that sense of right, combined with benevolent
sympathies, the charity which thinketh no evil. This
union of the highest conscience and the highest sym-
pathy fulfils my notion of virtue. Strength is essen-'
tial to it ; weakness incompatible with it. Where
virtue is, the noblest faculties and the softest feelings
are predominant ; the whole being is in that state of
harmony which I call happiness. Pain may reach it,
passion may disturb it ; but there is always a glimpse
of blue 'sky above our heads. As we ascend in dignity
of being, we ascend in happiness, which is, in my sense
of the word, the feeling which connects us with the
infinite and with God. And vice is necessarily misery ;
for that fluctuation of principle, that diseased craving
for excitement, the weakness out of which springs
falsehood, that suspicion of others, that discord with
ourselves, with the absence of the benevolent propen-
sities, these constitute misery as a state of being.
The most miserable person I ever met with in my life
had £12,000 a-year ; a cunning mind, dexterous to
compass its own ends ; very little conscience—not
enough, one would have thought, to vex with any
retributive pang, but it was the absence of goodness
that made the misery, obvious and hourly increasing.
The perpetual kicking against the pricks, the unrea-
sonable exigence with regard to things, without any
high standard with regard to persons, these made the
misery. I can speak of it as misery who had it daily
in my sight for five long years.
PRINCE TALLEYRAND'S PREDICTION OF AN ALLIANCE
BETWEEN FRANCE AND ENGLAND.—It is a curious
and interesting fact that Prince Talleyrand clearly
predicted, half a century ago, and heartily rejoiced in
the advent of, the time when there would be a close
and cordial alliance between France and England. In
a work published by Mr. Colburn, in 1848, entitled
" Reminiscences of Prince Talleyrand, by Madame
Colmache," we find the following passage :---" It has

ever been my dream," said Tallt
firm and stable alliance between
I cannot live to behold what I ha
life long : but you may yet be w'
which the events of Europe havt
three centuries. There are m.
climes in Europe ; there will soon
the English and the French.
tions have passed away, they wi
face alone upon the globe. Tit
only allies, but friends. Ahead
that their mutual hatred has b(
wars between these two great n;
taken of the chivalrous character
in which the combat was carrie4
thy or thirst of vengeance than
and love of glory. Believe m,
courage are equal, peace become
countries cannot make war upon
fall dead upon the field of battl
triumph. The good which has si
their mutual jealousies, has been
has been sown than has yet been g;
which has thus been buried will
its own good time, to benefit tl
You will find, by the study of h.
proceeded in the goodly work to;
a tacit agreement, working with 1
and the same success, to prom,
reason and the advancement of
the world. It was at the very
cry of horror at the tyranny an,
people arose from the heart of ea(
did their philosophers and men
first alarm at the encroachment:
are destined to regenerate the No
EAGLE FANCY FOR Clow)
(Appenzell) such a daring robb(,
before the very eyes of its paren
the Silver Alps (Schwyz) an ell
child seated on the rocks, beetno
to pieces, and dropped hie" ,d
herdsman could drive the
Oberland, Anne Zurbucliall4 a thrt
taken out by her parents Winn, g
placed by them on the ground
child soon fell asleep. The fathi
face with a straw-hat, and then
labour. As he soon after retu.
hay, he found the child no longer
for it for a time in vain. In the
sant Heinrich Michel passed b:
' direction of the mountain brook.
he heard a child crying. Procee,
of the sound, he speedily saw, frOl
an eagle rise, and for a consideral
above the precipiece. The peasan
and found the child lying on the
with no other injury than to the
which it had been seized, but wi
shoes and cap, dropped in her aeri
time the child went by the name e
In Muru (above the Lauterbach,
bitants show an inaccessible poin
exactly opposite to their elevates
Thither, across the deep Lutschin.
vulture carried a child which
Muru, and tore it to pieces on th.
For a long time after the little r'
less child could be discerned
. . . On the Bth June, 1838,
Josephine Doler and Mary Lom.
together on a smooth spot at tht
Majoni t'Alesk in Wallis, and aboi
from it. Suddenly Mary appeare('
of a neighbouring hut, where sh(
how her companion, a three-year•
child, had suddenly disappeared in
than thirty persons explored the
mg precipices, and at last rem
the former a shoe, and on the 4
abyss a sock. It was only on the
a herdsman named Franz Favolet
of the child in the upper part of
half a league from the spot where
peared. The body was dried up
torn, partly lost. As it was impe
could have crossed the abyss alone, sO; or l;
been carried off either by a lamb-vultg. fity./
rock-eagles whose nest was in the vein
Life in the Alps.

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