ILLUSTRIOUS EXAMPLE OF GRATITUDE.

A YOUNG man was passing with his regiment through Lyons, in 17-, where he fell sick, and was obliged to remain at an hotel. He was

very ill supplied with money, and his purse was speedily exhausted by the expense his malady occasioned him: his hostess, untouched by his destitute situation, had him carried into a granary, where all the furniture she allowed him was a palliasse and a chair, and all the sustenance, a little barley-water; refusing to call in the aid of a physician, to avoid the responsibility in which she apprehended such an additional charge might involve her. It happened that the first floor of this furnished hotel was occupied by two Genevese ladies, Madame and Mademoiselle Agiée, who had visited Lyons for the benefit of change of air: they were both advanced in years, Mademoiselle Agiće being near fifty. These two ladies were clever and well informed; but, according to the Genevese habit, they did injustice to their real merit by a pretension to something beyond it, and a pedantry completely national. The fate of the young soldier interested all the domestics of the hotel, and the particulars of his friendless condition reached the ear of Mademoiselle Agiée through her maid, who acquainted her at the same time with the cruelty of the landlady, who threatened to send him to the hospital. The maid succeeded in awakening the sympathy of her mistress, who immediately sent for a physician, informing the hostess that she would answer all expenses, and that it was her pleasure the sick man should be removed without delay to a comfortable chamber. The humane Abigail, meanwhile, never quitted the chamber of the invalid whom she had taken so happily under her protection. Weakened by his illness, which had been so aggravated by neglect, the young soldier was in a frightful state of delirium when the physician visited him, and during the process of changing his apartment, so that, when he reco vered his senses, he was greatly astonished to find himself in a wellfurnished chamber, and believed himself dreaming. Near his bed was his faithful nurse, whom he began to question, but who contented herself with replying that a friend, who took an interest in him, had given orders that he should be properly attended. Days, and even weeks escaped thus, till at length the young soldier, recovering his strength, insisted on being informed to whom he was indebted for so many benefits. There was in the expression of his countenance something that commanded respect, which perhaps even excited fear; the good woman named her mistress, and, with all possible delicacy, related to him the miserable circumstances in which she had found him. He entreated to see Mademoiselle Agiée, that he might lighten his heart of some of its gratitude; he was not yet able to rise, nor was he permitted to read; but he was, nevertheless, sufficiently re-instated to feel the weight and weariness of an idle life. Mademoiselle Agiée consented to the demand of the young soldier, and paid him her first visit; she remained with him only a few moments, but promised to return and bring him books, desiring him to make his choice, and offering to read for him till he should be no longer forbidden to occupy himself. He accepted her proposal with joy, and selected the "Life of Turenne," and a book on geometry. Every day Mademoiselle Agiće passed some hours with the convalescent soldier, who listened eagerly

as she read, often interrupting her to make observations, which were always just, and sometimes very striking. He did not seem easily inclined to confidence, and it was not till some time had thus elapsed, that one day, as if led on by a military ardour beyond his power to restrain, he began to speak of his projects to Mademoiselle Agiée; she smiled as she listened to him, "In truth," said she, "I believe we shall one of these days see you a colonel." "Colonel!" replied he in a tone of indignation, "I shall be a general-and perhaps" but he interrupted himself, as if alarmed at what he was about to say, and perhaps even internally rebuking himself for what he had said. "Until now," said Mademoiselle Agiée, "I have never asked you a single question, either with regard to your country or family. By your accent, I conceive you to be a foreigner, although you belong to a French regiment." "I am a Corsican, and my name is Napoleon." The young man was Bonaparte.

Mademoiselle Agiée every day became more and more interested in Napoleon; and when he was entirely recovered, she equipped him, and supplied him with the money necessary to enable him to rejoin his regiment. On taking leave of his benefactress, the young man was much affected. "Believe me," said he, " I shall never forget what you have done for me! You will hear of me." He departed, and Mademoiselle Agiée with her mother returned to Geneva. Very soon the name of Napoleon became celebrated; and Mademoiselle Agiée, in reading the gazettes, exulted in the successes of her protege, who meanwhile, seemed to have entirely forgotten her. Years passed thus away, when sometime before the battle of Marengo, Bonaparte passed through Nyon, a little town of the Canton de Vaud, twelve miles from Geneva, on his way into Italy;-he could only stop a few hours;-he sent an aide-de-camp to Geneva, with orders to enquire for a lady; named Agiée, very ugly, and old, and to bring her to him; such were his directions. In Geneva, as in all small towns, every body is known, and the aide-de-camp succeeded in finding Mademoiselle Agiée; she was become nearly blind, and very seldom quitted her own house, but the name of her hero seemed to inspire her with new strength, and she hesitated not to follow his messenger. Bonaparte was impatient, and came to meet his friend on horseback, attended by his staff, as far as Versois; as soon as he perceived her carriage, he spurred on to receive her, and the feelings of Mademoiselle Agiée on this rencontre may better be imagined than expressed. "Gentlemen," said Bonaparte, turning towards his suite, you see my benefactress, she to whom I am indebted for life; I was destitute of every thing when she succoured me. I am happy and proud to be obliged to her, and I shall never forget it." Mademoiselle Agiée passed two hours at Nyon with Bonaparte, at the hotel of the Croix Blanche, where he detailed to her all his plans, and, on taking leave of her, repeated the same words he had uttered at Lyons, "You will hear of me." From that hour to the epoch of his coronation, she received from him no token of his existence; but fifteen days before the coronation, General Hullin was announced to Mademoiselle Agiée. He desired her to prepare to accompany him, as Bonaparte was resolved that she should witness his glory; he was furnished with the strictest and most minute orders. Mademoiselle Agiée was permitted to carry nothing with her, beyond what was merely indispensable during the journey; and in spite of her age

66

and her infirmities, the day after the general's arrival, she set out. On arriving at Paris, she alighted at a house in the Place du Carousel, opposite the palace of the Tuileries; there she found domestics in the livery of Bonaparte, and, in short, a completely furnished mansion; a well-stocked wardrobe had been prepared for her, Bonaparte had recollected even her favourite colours, and had omitted nothing he imagined would give her pleasure; she had a long audience of Napoleon; he assigned her, besides a house, carriage, and domestics, maintained at his expense, an annual income of six thousand francs. He continued to preserve towards Mademoiselle Agiée the most marked regard, often consulting her even on the most important affairs. On the fall of Bonaparte, Mademoiselle Agiée lost the house and the advantages he had conferred upon her; but I have reason to believe, that her pension was always regularly paid by the agents of Napoleon, till her death, which happened, I believe, in 1822. It is from herself that I received the details I have given ;-it is easy to imagine with what animation she descanted upon her hero; even without partaking her enthusiasm, it was impossible not to listen to her with interest; besides, noble and generous sentiments belong to our intellectual existence, no matter what country we belong to, or what are our opinions, the emotions of the heart wait not to consult our prejudices. Mademoiselle Agiée died in the Hotel de la Rochefoucauld, Faubourg du Roule, at Paris, of which she inhabited a small wing, after having quitted her house in the Place du Carousel.

A. D. T.

"

WRITTEN AFTER READING ANTOMMARCHI'S LAST
MOMENTS OF NAPOLEON*.'

'Tis not the end--he will live again
In the days and years to come;

His name shall stir the hearts of men

As 'twere a battle-drum.

And kings, whose sires he had uncrown'd,

Shall shrink and tremble at the sound,

'Tis not the end—although his life

So darkly pass'd away,

Not as it should pass, in the strife

Of some great battle-day;

Yet men shall turn from might and power

To think upon that lonely hour.

'Tis not the end-for many an age

The high-soul'd and the brave
Shall dare the ocean pilgrimage
To seek his silent grave;

There to forget his faults and pride,
While fancy shadows how he died.

H. M. P.

* "Napoleon was about to breathe his last! a slight froth covered his lips-he was no more!-such is the end of all human glory!" (Vol. II. p. 157.)

NOUVEL ALMANACH DES GOURMANDS.-NO. II.

Tout s'arrange en dinant dans le siècle où nous sommes,
Et c'est par les diners qu'on gouverne les hommes."

Les Comediens.

In our first notice of this most scientific and stimulating book, we merely whetted the appetites of our readers by certain extracts which, like oysters before dinner, were served up as provocatives before the appearance of the regular banquet. Our author is classical in his cookery, a staunch advocate for the unities, a stickler for culinary order in all his proceedings; and we are, therefore, immediately ushered into what he terms his Alimentary Calendar; under which head he is thus pleased to recommend an apotheosis of that animal which Moses most religiously denounced-so various are the palates and judgments of mankind upon the same squeaking and four-footed subject.

"The Pig is the true hero of February. In the time of the Carnival he disguises himself in a hundred different manners; but under all these amiable travesties his merit invariably betrays him. In vain does he wear by turns the sable cloak of the black-pudding, the white robe of the chitterling, the close coat of the polony, the speckled frock of the sausage; he neither escapes the tooth nor the memory of the epicure; and, if ever the calendar be reformed, we vote that this month be baptized with the name of the amiable companion of Saint Anthony."

The month of March, in which the good folks of Paris ought to be restricted to "lenten entertainment" and icthivorous meals, draws from our author the following pious and apposite remarks:

"Let us never cease repeating with Doctor Pangloss, that every thing is for the best in this best of all possible worlds. When March expiates, by its days of abstinence, the libertinism of its elder brother, let us remark, like that worthy Capuchin who blessed Providence for the care which it generally takes to send a navigable river through the middle of every great town, -let us remark that March is, of all the months in the year, the most abundant in fish."

In April we are informed that

"Ham and lamb achieve a simultaneous triumph. The latter, a somewhat tasteless visitant, has usurped rather than won a most distinguished place among our roast meats: the true epicure only eats it out of friendship; the whiteness of its complexion, its sweetness, and its timid tenderness, scarcely sufficing to obtain pardon for its insipidity. But Ham boldly presents himself with an assurance of victory. At Easter he is in all his glory; and his merit is so thoroughly appreciated, that he takes the post of honour at breakfast as well as at dinner. His flesh is nutritious, delicate, substantial, and of easy digestion, especially if, to prevent his being homesick, we give him, for a companion at table, a wine from his own country. Roussillon is the Pylades of the Bayonne ham, as much as Rhenish wine is the indispensable accompaniment of the ham from Mayence. It is more especially of the days in this month that we may say, the last are the best ; for then do we renew acquaintance with the dearest and most succulent of our friends: we already see, in perspective, green peas and gooseberries; and Heaven, to afford the epicure a glimpse of consolation, already pushes up the young asparagus from the earth. The lover of good cheer, who has suffered a long privation, anticipates with ardour the charms of this earliest vegetable, whose personal merit, as well as graceful and elegant form, are well calculated to reward his patience."

May is ushered into notice by the following animated exordium:"It comes! it comes! rich as well as poor listen to the glad tidings! Amiable, brilliant, accessible it is esteemed, beloved by all the world; and the simple housekeeper, as well as the professed cook, boasts its good qualities. Peas are never so sweet, so tender as in the month of May. Interesting vegetable! it occupies our attention, and merits all our esteem, by its complaisance in lending itself to all our caprices. For our pleasure this pearl of esculents marries itself to flesh and fowl, undergoes every kind of preparation, and plays every part with equal success. But it is with the young pigeon that the pea contracts the most amiable union; and the former is so aware of this fact, that it exactly awaits the appearance of the pea to attain its excellence, an innocent coquetry which we easily pardon in the heir presumptive to the bird of Venus."

"For the romantic and the amorous, the month of June is, in France, the finest of the year; but, alas! it is negative for the epicure. Nature, it is true, displays her odoriferous treasures; but the poultry-yard, but the plains, but the preserves!!! The founder of a feast must almost restrict his guests to vegetable diet, the only product that is then savory and abundant. A single friend appears in this moment of affliction to dry up the tears of the epicure; it is the turkey-pout. Amiable adolescent! He advances with candour to make an offer of his innocent head; he is young and stately; and at that happy age, when his flesh, without possessing the flatness of the fowl, has not yet acquired that mature savour which will hereafter fill us with delight. Epicurism must, indeed, be half famished before it can resolve thus to depopulate a poultry-yard, the depository of so many sweet hopes. But who calculates with the appetite? A new Ugolino, the epicure places this dear child upon the spit, and greases his chin with its remains."

"Summer is a punishment to the bon vivant. July supplies us vegetables and fruits, which are good things, but only as farces and melodrames after a substantial tragedy in which blood has been shed. As to the following month I am astonished that Augustus, who has the reputation of having been a glutton and a man of good sense, should have consented to stand godfather to such a villainous æra. What is there in common between the season of young rabbits, leverets, young partridges, and sucking pigs, and the protector of Virgil and Horace? In August every honourable kitchen-range is dismantled; a general sauve qui peut is heard, and every one flies to the country. Then commences a true massacre of the innocents. A whole generation, the hopes of our fields, of our woods, and ultimately of our tables, are sacrificed at once. Barbarians! stop your hands. That young rabbit, so insipid at present, in a month will be a rabbit; that leveret which you eat without pleasure, will shortly consolidate for your palate his generous flesh. They hear me not, or reply like Louis XV. It will last my time.' But your descendants, can they exist without game? To what enormities do we not push our barbarity! Even that graceful and timid animal, the sucking pig, is not spared. Inhuman! what reply will you make to its interesting mother when she accuses you by her cries? Blind as you are, does not even your interest appeal to you in favour of innocence? That sucking pig, which is served at your table sparkling in its golden crackling, would have yielded you two hams, a face, ears, feet, a salted hand, blackpudding, polonies, sausages, a tongue. Have you never pondered the fables of La Fontaine? Read once more, the Goose with the Golden Eggs."

"In October we may throw open both doors of the dining-room. Crammed fowls become as fat as monks: the Abelard of the poultry-yard presents his plump crupper to the fire; the hare and the turkey have attained virility. The cook sharpens his knives, and feels all his ardour revive. Butcher's meat also begins to be humanized. Beef acquires a respectable rotundity; mutton and veal no longer shrink from a conscientious examination. The fish-market slowly recovers from its horrors of the heat, and the