repose herself in a chair by his side, when the maid-servant announced the visit of a strange gentleman. "A strange gentleman!" exclaimed Annette, rising, “say my father is very ill, and I cannot leave him." The servant went out and returned instantly, with a card in her hand. She handed it to Annette, saying, "The gentleman says that it is on the subject of your father's illness he wishes to see you." Annette read on the card, JULES DE MERCŒUR, Docteur en Médecine. "Let him come in," replied Annette, who followed the servant into the parlour, where she found herself in one moment in presence of the unknown. "Mademoiselle," said he, politely and gravely, without appearing to notice her confusion, "I heard this morning in the village that your father was ill. I am twenty-seven. Since the age of sixteen I have studied medicine in London, Edinburgh, Paris, and Germany. I have compared every system from love of the art, and I believe I could do your father good. M. Dubois is a very good man, but is too tied to routine. Give him his fee, but let me see your father en ami.” Annette was so overcome that she could only point to her father's chamber, which the young man immediately entered, followed by the young girl. A hat instant the old doctor entered. At the sight of the other he s. rted. "You here, monsieur!" he exclaimed, with a profound bow "then I retire. The patient could no be in better hands." This was said without a single intonation in his voice that could suggest any professional jealousy. "No, my dear Dubois, come as usual, and give me your advice. I am going to use the following treatment." "Don't tell me anything," said the other; "I don't want to know any of your magic. I only know that when you come in at the door, death generally flies, so good morning. I have lots of patients waiting my visits. Good luck attend you, monsieur." And Dubois hurried away. The young doctor now installed himself in the sick man's room-made Annette take rest, after swallowing a potion which he gave her. She awoke the next morning to her profound astonishment. She then went slowly down stairs and entered the sick room. She found M. de Mercœur leaning over the old man. He was very pale, and looked fatigued with watching. "How is he?" she asked, anxiously. "The disease is over," replied Jules de Mercœur, in a low tone, "but he will not speak to me. He turns his face to the wall, and refuses to reply to any questions." "My dear papa," said Annette, coaxingly; "how are you now?" "Is that you, Annette,” replied Waen Baerle, in a low and lugubrious tone; 'why have you left me. Take away that man, he has turned me into butter." "He's mad," cried Annette, while Jules de Mercour clasped his hands in stupified astonishment. But can he be cured?" asked Annette. "Most decidedly," replied the young doctor; "but I must have him under my hand at all hours. I must be with him all day." "But your patients?" said the young girl. "I do not practise," was the only reply of the doctor, and they returned into the sick man's room. "Annette," cried Waen Baerle, in a doleful tone, "take off some of the clothes, I shall melt away. Put out the fire." "But the room is nice and fresh," replied Annette. "It is all very well for you to say so, who are made of flesh," continued Waen Baerle, in a weeping voice, "but I who am changed into butter, feel different. But it is a just punishment for my sins, so let me melt away." "Nonsense, sir; you shall do no such thing," put in the doctor. "Mademoiselle, I would take off one blanket, it may be too hot. And then give your father his usual breakfast. There is nothing left of his illness but a slight weakness.” "God forbid. Give me nothing hot. No coffee, but a bowl of milk, some bread "And butter," put in Annette, innocently. "Ah, Annette, don't mention that horrid word!" groaned Waen Baerle. The young girl did not reply, but hastened to follow her father's directions, while the doctor went forth into the village to secure, as it afterwards turned out, an apartment. He returned in about half an hour. He found a delicious breakfast ready for him in the parlour, near the sick man's room. "But I have ordered breakfast in the village," said Jules de Mercœur, hesitating. "Monsieur, my father, when he recovers, would be offended if, serving him as you do, you refuse to accept his hospitality," replied Annette, seating herself and bidding Anne bring the coffee. The young man seated himself, and then consented, at her request, to take his meals in the house, sleeping only in the village. It soon became evident that the presence of the young doctor was absolutely necessary. Waen Baerle re. covered his health with rapidity, but he retained his fixed idea with such intense perseverance, that it was at the same time painful and ridiculous to see him. When he got up, he could not venture near the kitchen for fear of the fire, nor out in the air without an umbrella, for fear of melting in the sun; he gave up smoking, as a horrible invention that threatened immediate combustion; and viewed the gradual advance of summer with extreme dread. Everything he ate and drank alarmed him, and it required all the art of the young doctor and his daughter to calm him at times. As summer advanced he grew worse, and Annette grew alarmed. She had much faith in Jules, whom she had got to treat as a dear friend, but the state of the ex-money-changer gave her no rest. It was in vain that de Mercur made her play, sing, read, ride, walk, talk, her constant idea was the unhappy hallucination which afflicted her dear parent. Waen Baerle himself at times was conscious of his infirmity, and shut himself up in his room until the fit was over. Then he would come forth and talk vehemently enough, thank the young doctor for his devotion, and bless his dear girl. But this did not last long. Meanwhile the suitors came occasionally, but finding Annette always attending to her father, or in the society of the doctor, they gradually fell off, and the house of the money-changer was left to itself. One day, Annette sat at her piano, with Jules by her side; he was whispering timidly words of affection and love, which were listened to with pleasure. Annette found him of so noble a character, so elevated in thought and feeling, so superior to the ordinary race of mortals she had known, she had so much to thank him for, that affection was really almost a matter of course. But still she in her low reply said but one thing: "I cannot leave my father." "You shall not leave your father," replied the young man warmly. "Ill or well he shall reside with us. Say then that on this condition you will be mine." "Jules, if my father is willing, I will not refuse," was the young girl's frank reply. Jules rose and led her to the window, there to talk as to the best means of opening the subject to the father; but as he leaned his arm on the railing, stifled groans caught his ear. "What is that?" cried Annette. "It is your father's voice," replied Jules, springing out of the window into the court. It was a very hot day, and Waer Baerle had shut himself up in his room with the curtains closed to keep himself cool. But Jules at once noticed that his window was open, while the groans came not thence. He listened a moment. "Pull me up!" cried a piteous voice: "I am cool enough now." Jules rushed to the well which was not ten feet deep, and there saw Waer Baerle in a dressing-gown, hanging by the well rope; his feet in a bucket. Jules spoke not a word, but at once hoisted the poor money-changer up, took him in his arms, and carried him to his bedroom, where, despite his cries, he was warmly wrapped up and made to swallow a bowl of hot soup. This soon sent him off into a deep sleep. "Mademoiselle," said Jules, earnestly, about an hour after this, " we must have recourse to a grand stroke. But I can do nothing here. You must let your father accompany me to my residence. My mother will be glad to see you, the more that I have seen her but twice for three months." After some further conversation, Annette agreed, and next day the old man, well wrapped up, was led out by his daughter and the young doctor into the street, where an open carriage and four horses awaited them. Another carriage stood behind for the servants and luggage, and around was collected the whole village, who took off their hats respectfully, and then cried as the carriages drove off, "Vive Monseigneur! Vive Monsieur le Duc !" "What mean they?" cried Annette, amazed. "They mean," said Jules, quietly, "that I hold before the world the rank of Duke. My name is now Duc de MercœurBlacas. Five years ago, I was a laborious and poor medical student. Death made me heir to a title and vast estates. I retained, however, my passion for science, and to this hour continue my studies. I live close by, and public rumour told me soon of the presence of a charming stranger. I asked your name. Judge my surprise when I found that you were the daughter of my old friend, Waen Baerle, who, when I was at college at Strasburg, always lent me a few francs, without interest, when I was short of cash. I saw you, and could not but be pleased; I studied your character in the views of others, and loved you. You have accepted the physician, you cannot refuse the Duke." "Ah! ah! ah!" said the old man, "what changes! Little Blacas a duke, and I a man of butter!" "My dear sir," continued the young duke, while Annette leaned back in the carriage, too suprised to answer, "then you approve my suit ?" 66 'I approve everything. But don't have too much noise. No cookery, no illuminations, no fireworks. Recollect that I am made of butter." "You shall have every care," said the duke gently; and then he turned to Annette, to win from her confirmation of her former promise. What could she say? She had said she would be his, and she could not now tell him she had changed her mind. They soon came in sight of the castle. It was a splendid old monument of architecture of the olden time, with moat, and ditch, and battlements, and a host of servants, who hailed the advent of their young lord with rapture. In they drove into the large court-yard, where they were received by the young man's mother, a venerable, but most agreeable person, who took the hand of Annette affectionatly, and by her manner made her quite at home at once. She that very day intimated her consent to her son's marriage, "for," said she, "we have been brought up under such circumstances, that no room has been left for false pride. I simply ask of my son to give me a good and charming daughter-in-law. He has done so. I am satisfied." "Oh, madam, how good you are;" said Annette with tears in her eyes. Madame de Blacas pressed the young girl to her heart, and led her down to dinner. The next morning Waen Baerle, who had taken over night a sleeping potion, woke in the complete darkness. Not a shadow of light penetrated near him. He stretched out his hand and felt a hard vault above him, a vault of stone. "In the name of God, where am I?" said he, in terror. stricken accents. Then he heard low voices, and istened. "Light the fire," exclaimed one, "the butter must be melted out of him, or he will die." "Save me!" shrieked Waen Baerle, feeling his face, which was all clammy with perspiration. "I am melting." "Melted!" cried the same voice; "saved! saved!" And the oven door opened, Waen Baerle was taken out, his head wrapped up in a cloth, so he could not see, and presently he found himself lying quietly in his bed-room. He shook himself, and asked if he were dreaming. When he saw his daughter and the duke he was quite rational. He said nothing of what had passed, and never alluded to his peculiar fancy for some days. At the end of a month, however, one day he showed signs of terror at a blazing fire, and declared there was a conspiracy to murder him. Next morning he awoke in the oven again, and the same scene was enacted once more. This effectually cured the man of butter. So horrible did he consider the punishment, that every energy of his mind was directed to conquer his hallucinations, which he did. The fact is, this fancy, like angry passions, bad habits, and even vices, may be overcome by a firm will. If we once make up our minds to anything solemnly, it is a thing accomplished. Deep grief and hopeless passion, two powerful feelings, have been overcome and vanquished in the same person, to my knowledge, after a strong battle, by firm devotion several hours a day to dry mathematical studies. Where there is a will there is a way. About a month after Waen Baerle's cure the young couple were married. Jean Baerle, who was not doing very well at Strasburg, came down to Blacas Castle as intendant steward, and private secretary, the old man riding out with him under the impression that he thus did a deal of business, but never showing even a remembrance of his strange hallucination. Annette proved fit for her new station. She had delicate feelings, a desire to improve, much tact; her husband's society and library did the rest. They live still, and so does Jean; but Waen Baerle is of late gathered to his fathers. But in Blacas Castle all still remember the kind old man, who all his after life was called the Butter-Man. Indolent! indolent !—yes, I am indolent : Nerve and sensation in quiet reposing, A. W. H. THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. THE WAR IN LA VENDEE. LA VENDEE is celebrated in the wars of the first great French Revolution, for its adhesion to royalty and stern opposition to every kind of innovation. The character of the country and its inhabitants is now fast changing under the system pursued by Napoleon and Louis Philippe; and intersected as it has been by them with a network of high roads, it has lost much of its primitive character. But the place is full of historic associations, and possesses peculiar interest for all who have any patriotic feeling, any admiration for courage and daring, any compassion for the oppressed, any regard for the crushed, the injured, and unfortunate. The country is now described as an inextricable complication of heaths, brooks, heights, hollows, and little plains, having no connexion with one another. It is covered with trees, yet has no forests; every field, every dwelling, is surrounded by quick-hedges abounding with close-set trees, and surrounded by ditches forming complete natural redoubts. It is divided into three parts: the Marais, comprising the sands, salt-marshes, and ponds bordering the sea-shore, intersected by dikes and canals, abounding in pastures destitute of drinking-water; the Bocage, covered with thickets and heaths much cut up and well cultivated; and the Plaine, very rich and highly cultivated, abounding in corn-fields and vineyards. At the time of the first French Revolution, the population of La Vendée consisted in a great measure of small farmers, a prosperous and contented race. There the aristocratic spirit had only exhibited itself in its most inviting aspect. Peasants and proprietors had mingled together in festivals and fieldsports. There was no jealousy on the one side nor distrust on the other. The gaiety, the pride, the sensuality, the oppression, which marked the aristocracy in other parts of France, was there unknown, and the Vendeans had substantially nothing to complain of; they were attached to their landlords, their religion, and their old form of government. But this old form of government was fast giving way. The huge wrong-doing of the higher classes, the unskilful management of politicians, had already aroused a tempest, which was roaring in the faubourgs of Paris. The court had made light of the approaching danger. They had disregarded the first curl of the wave, the first indication of the coming storm. The preludes of the revolutionary drama had been overlooked It was now seen that the danger was no idle ebullition of party feeling, but the strong voice of the nation. Rumours had spread through the country that the government was about to try violence instead of intrigue, that troops were thronging around the capital but all this excited no interest in La Vendée. When the voice of rumour grew louder, and the tale it had to tell was of fierce struggle, and fire, and blood-when in its thunder tones it told of the capture of the Bastile, and how a living flood of men had swept the streets of Paris, maddened with flushed and angry passions, how society was shaken to its centre, how old things were passing away beneath the onward march of Revolution-even then La Vendée viewed the outbreak with distrust, and shrank from taking any part in the movement. The Vendeans remained tranquil until 1791, when the Constituent Assembly decreed that the clergy, like other public functionaries, should take the civic oath. The penalty for refusing was the loss of their livings. Many thousands refused, and hence arose a distinction between constitutional and non-conforming clergy. Those who refused to conform were ordered to resign their churches in favour of other priests appointed by the constitution; this they refused to do -Vendée was in a state of violent ebullition; the local authorities endeavouring to carry out the decree, and the peasantry everywhere offering resistance. This went on for some time, the ejected ministers were regarded as martyrs to the cause of religious liberty-crowds flocked to hear them, and if they were surprised by the military, a skirmish took place. Rumour still spread its fearful stories of the Revolution, it told how Louis XVI. had suffered death, and how that the Convention VOL. I.-No. II. had decreed a levy of 30,000 men throughout France. The towns and villages of La Vendée were each to supply an allotted number of conscripts. The attempts to enforce this degree produced the civil war. At St. Florent, a young man named Réné Forêt headed a body of peasantry and dispersed the civil and military authorities; at Pin, Jacques Cathelineau scattered his burning words, and put himself at the head of those who were determined to resist, and support what he called the cause of God and religion. He proceeded through the district, recruiting as he went, and rousing the country by setting the church bells ringing; "with about a hundred men, armed mostly with pitchforks and clubs, he made a bold beginning by attacking the chateau of Tallais, garrisoned by a hundred and fifty republican soldiers, or Blues as they were contemptuously termed, commanded by a physician of the name of Bousseau, and possessed of one cannon. The attack was over in a moment. The cannon was fired; but the shot passed over their heads, and Cathelineau and his men dashed on to the hand grapple. The Blues fled - Bousseau was taken prisoner. The peasants also got fire-arms, horses, and ammunition, and they had now procured a cannon. Delighted with the prize, they almost hugged it for joy, and, with a mixture of pious faith and shrewdness, they christened it The Missionary.' Encouraged by the victory.they had gained so easily, the strangely accoutred army marched onward to Chemille. This place was defended by a larger number of the revolutionary troops and three cannons; but it soon fell beneath the determined courage of the Vendeans. Enriched by fresh spoil, they still pressed forward, and everywhere fresh recruits came pouring in. Like a mountain stream the tide of men flowed onward, increased upon its course by a score of tributary streams, until, widening and deepening, it swept forward with irresistible violence toward the dark ocean that lay before it. Never had La Vendée been in such a state before. An attempt had been made to arrest Forêt, the hot-spirited young man who had begun the fray at St. Florent. He had been warned of the intention respecting him, and prepared for defence. He saw them coming, fired, and killed the guide, and then fled. Upon the silent night-wind came the wild sound of the alarm bells. Lights gleamed in every direction, the peasants gathered around Forêt, and before the dawn he was leader of a powerful band. Not far from the scene of this incident, Nicholas Stofflet, a large powerful man, had aroused the people, in consequence of what he esteemed an insult from the revolutionary troops. He was gamekeeper on the estate of Maulevrier, and on the day when the gendarmes were sent to arrest Forêt, a detachment of the national guards came to this estate, and carried away twelve pieces of ordnance. Stofflet vowed vengeance. He roused the peasan try to the number of two hundred, and in three days the two bands, Stofflet's and Forêt's, with many others, joined themselves to that of Cathelineau. The attack on Chollet followed, and victory followed the attack. Intelligence having been received that the national guards of Saumur were on their march to Vihiers, they were attacked and beaten. At Vihiers they abandoned their arms, and among the rest a curious brass cannon, for which the peasantry conceived a great veneration, thinking they could discern upon it an engraving of the Virgin, and calling it Marie Jeanne. * In a single week, it is observed, not a little had been effected in the district which embraced the south of Anjou and the north of Poitou. But all through the south of Bretagne, and the lower part of Poitou, including the district called the Marais, the draughting of recruits had been attended with similar effects. At Challais and Machecoul, especially, there were vigorous demonstrations. At the former town one This cannon had been taken from the Chateau of Richelieu, and had been presented to the Cardinal by Louis XIII. H |