Of the workhouse homeless hearth; From the darkness and the light, Weave the black thread, weave the white. A soul that sprang from the rose-strewn turf, Another, that left its pauper's grave, And two, who sought their Redeemer's feet, May He in His mercy guide us all, The riddle is hard to read. From the darkness and the light, THE BLUEBOTTLE FLY. IN FOUR CHAPTERS. CHAPTER III. ! thus far to seek their fulfilment, and began the self-discipline necessary to insure forgetfulness by compelling myself to give undivided attention to the beautiful study spread out by nature's hand before me. The breeze from the opposite hill brought freedom and freshness on its wings; and as I fixed my position and spread my tools all around me on the grass, inhaling the while the intoxication of the scene, I fondly hoped that all memory of the excitement I had undergone would soon be obliterated. I can safely declare that I tried to dissipate my thoughts by every means in my power. I whistled aloud; I sang the tunes most in vogue amongst us; I pulled up the long grass and nibbled it between my teeth, and then set to work at arranging my colours and crayons with that feverish and noisy ardour which never bodes good to the projects of the artist. The White Thorn had long ceased to in-blossom, but the dead flowers lay in thick | masses on the turf beneath, and every time I stamped my foot impatiently a faint perfume arose like a souvenir of the past. spring, balmy and aromatic as incense. It would have soothed me at any other time, but just now it served but to add to my irritation. Everything, in short, was at first inclined to assume a green and yellow tinge and flavour, and I was fain to make a desperate effort to clear my brain, and concentrate my attention on my labour. So great is the power of will, especially when aided by outward circumstances, that at last I could view, without any great disturbance of mind, the myriads of flies disporting themselves in their mazy dance over the pool beneath, and could even listen to the buzz of the humble-bee as he flew past, without that twitching of the mouth and quivering of the eyelids which the remembrance of the carrion fly in the coucou had at first occasioned. By degrees I grew more calm, and began at last to recover from the disagreeable impression I had experienced. FOR the first few minutes I ran swiftly down the hollow, anxious to escape as quickly as possible from the baleful fluence of the occupants of the coucou, amongst whom the bluebottle fly had assumed the greatest importance to my fancy. The descent was rapid, and the sound of the grating wheels was soon lost in the distance. I knew this part of the wood well enough. The narrow gorge, dividing the plateau on which stood the Three Acacias from that occupied by that of the White Thorn, was steep and difficult to pass, and visitors in general preferred the broad green alley to this rugged path. But I was too much delighted at finding myself once more at liberty to heed the danger presented either by the loose stones or the slippery moss, and laughed in mockery at my own awkwardness as I alternately stumbled and slid to the bottom. Here I trod the green sward merrily enough, rejoicing in the silence, and looking down each opening between the trees for new effects of light and sunshine. But what was my dismay on perceiving that my nerves had become so completely shattered by the emotions I had undergone, and my head so completely bewildered — perhaps still rather disturbed by the petit bleuthat I felt no longer the same eager interest in the beauties of nature that I had done on first starting in the morning. I began to find myself burdened, moreover, with my tools, and much worn by my previous walk, and once or twice wished my self quietly seated in my usual place at the studio. The hill gained, however, and the White Thorn reached, I felt a momentary return of the hope and faith which had led me I sketched out the valley and the hills of Sèvres which lay beyond. There were certain fleecy clouds gathered in strange groups upon the summit of those hills, and as I gazed intently on their airy and fantastic shapes, all my enthusiastic love of art returned. Nature was victorious. The enemy was conquered, and as I rubbed the clouds in on the coarse grey tinted paper, softening down the hard black chalk into the transparent tint which represented the forms so well, I felt that faith and hope were reviving fast within me, and that I on one side over the ravine beneath, which is so completely choked up in that direction with brushwood and briars that the view over the wood is completely hidden. Down this very side had been worn a rough uneven path through the covert which lies below; and the joyous laugh of the young artist in search of the picturesque even there is often heard issuing from amongst the seemingly impenetrable wood, startling almost into fits the good bourgeois who has been toiling up the hill on the other side, to enjoy the view from the White Thorn. But no joyous laughter greeted was myself again. I had just terminated my rough sketch of the view from the White Thorn, to which the clouds I had been rubbing in were destined to serve as horizon a little too hard perhaps, for my hand had scarcely recovered its wonted lightness and elasticity. But I left the softening to some future time, for I was eager to accomplish many other sketches before the strong glare of noon should drive me to seek shelter in the deep shade of the wood. Alas! the drawing of the White Thorn was never softened down, and a long and dreary time elapsed before I completed another My mother had it framed, how-my ear at this moment. The deadly shriek ever, rough and unfinished as it was, and it hangs over the little font of holy water by her bedside. Poor soul! for many months she thought it would be the last I should ever execute, and prized and treasured it accordingly. The sketch was concluded. The effect was satisfactory even to myself, and I stepped back with true artistic complacency to view the drawing from a distance, and compare it with the original clouds, now fast sailing away behind the hills, and growing tinged with the reflection of the foliage, while the line of wood was lighted in its turn by the strange blending of both objects into one undefined outline, leaving the gazer in doubt as to where the earth ended, and the sky began I had just determined on seizing this effect, said to be the most difficult to produce in the whole range of the landscape painter's art. I was in a rapture of delight. A sudden enlightenment had broken in upon me. I knew I should succeed; I felt that the hour had arrived. Nature herself was whispering in my ear the secret of which I had been so long in search, and in a kind of artistic frenzy I flung myself upon the ground, burying my face amid the grass to listen to her holy teaching. Just then, when my whole soul was detached from earth in communion with itself, and my very life had entered, as it were, into the new world thus suddenly opened to my sight, I was startled by a cry of anguish-a human cry, so full of pain and agony that, as it broke upon the stillness of the air, every fibre in my frame became convulsed. Strange to say, it seemed so close to my ear that I could hardly believe that it had not proceeded from some one standing by my side, and it was only on reflection I remembered that it must have been brought by the wind across the hollow. The sort of crag on which stands the White Thorn juts out which had caused me suddenly to abandon my work just when I was at the highest point of interest had been followed by a pause, during which the stillness seemed dread and awful as that of the grave. And terrible as the shock had been, the silence which ensued appeared more frightful still. While I stood pale and trembling, listening with intense eagerness to catch the slightest sound, the boughs of the ravine began to rustle furiously, and I became aware of the gasping effort and the panting breath of some individual striving with might and main to attain the height at which I stood. Presently a hoarse voice called aloud from half-way up the path. The accents were rude and rough: "Hallo there, you painter; just make haste here, will you, and lend us a hand. Curse the prickly brambles; they are tearing me to pieces! Here, come along quick, for God's sake! The devil seize me if I can get a step higher! We are in the greatest trouble down below, and want your help." The speaker had opened the branches wide. I looked down to where he was standing with extended arms and head thrown back. In a moment I recognised the military man who had sat on the swingboard of Tony Lanterneau's coucou. "Come quick!" exclaimed he, in a breathless tone. "You must lose no time." And as he let go the boughs on one side, and swung round to stretch his hand towards me, the action was so helpless, so like that of a drowning mariner endeavouring to seize the rope thrown to him amid the boiling surge, that I obeyed the summons almost mechanically, and scrambled down to where he was standing, in actual danger, upon a loose stone which threatened each moment to give way beneath his feet. "Come quick-come quick!" again exclaimed he in a hoarse whisper, at the same time seizing me by the arm with such strong grip that he almost threw me off my balance, and for a moment we both tottered, in doubt whether we should not roll together to the bottom of the hollow. But my youth and elastic step soon cleared the difficulties of the passage, and I followed the stranger in bewilderment, the only impression on my brain being that my evil destiny was about to begin once more, and that the hot burning pain on the top of my head, which had begun to subside during that momentary repose I had enjoyed up by the White Thorn, was returning with redoubled violence. The sudden glare of the strong sunlight as I emerged from the dark shade of the thicket almost blinded me. I felt the rush of blood to my head, and every object seemed to dance before my eyes, so that I could scarcely steady my pace sufficiently to draw near to the group towards which my companion was hurrying. At the bottom of the hollow runs a long narrow gorge -always moist and damp, always soft and green. In this space was gathered a knot of gentlemen busily engaged in some hot dispute, as I inferred from the murmur of their voices, which seemed sharp and angry, and from the exuberance of gesture with which the conversation was being carried on. No sooner had my conductor joined them than they all simultaneously turned to me, and as the group opened I beheld, with horror and amazement, a human form stretched out upon the grass, the head supported by a stone, and the blood pouring from a wound in the throat, so rapidly that its crimson stream had dyed the grass and flowers all around. As I approached I recognised at once in the young man who lay before me, and whose life-blood was ebbing away with such fearful speed, the youth who had been my companion on my ill-starred journey from Clamart. Not one of the individuals present appeared to remember for a moment the awful presence of the dead. All seemed under the influence of some personal fear; two of the party appeared to be engaged in discussion, pointing in various directions, as if in difference of opinion concerning the route they were to follow. One of the gentlemen, in his shirt-sleeves, was bending low to wash his hands in the little spring. I alone knelt down by the corpse, and laid my hand upon the heart to see if it were beating still; but no pulsation was perceptible. The youth lay there with his face turned upwards to the sky, his eyeballs glistening through the halfclosed lids, his lips wide apart, just as he had appeared before me reclining in the coucou I felt scarcely more than an hour ago. as if in a hideous dream, from which the questioning and peremptory suggestions of the party, all uttered at once, and all demanding a reply, had scarcely power to arouse me. The man in his shirt-sleeves, having finished his ablutions, turned towards me his pale, guilty countenance, and, perhaps in answer to my inquiring gaze, began to exculpate himself before he was accused. He said that he had intended to give his adversary but a slight wound, in order to teach him to be more guarded in his language for the future, and not to call a man "a cheat and sharper" because the run of luck happened to be in his favour; but the turf was slippery, and before he could recover himself, he had slipped forward, and the point of his sword being raised at that moment, it had entered his adversary's neck, and the blood had gushed out with such sudden violence that the youth, uttering but one shriek, had fallen lifeless on the grass. "Ay, but all that will never be listened to by the Procureur Imperial," said one of his companions, hurriedly. "Lose no time, I advise you, in talking, but get away at once." Then turning to me he added: "This duel, lawful and loyal as it in reality is, wears an ugly aspect, monsieur. By an unfortunate accident, the doctor who was to have accompanied the party was left behind, when the coach which bore the unfortunate victim in this affair broke down in the wood; then, the only second on his side happens to be Bras-de-Fer, the fencingmaster, with whom he has been in training, and who must have been aware how little he was fitted to cope with Monsieur de Marsiac, the most skilful swordsman in all Paris. Then again the quarrel took place at the gaming-table, where the victor in this combat was the winner of a tremendous sum from the young man he has killed-as he declares-by accident. In short, we must be off at once, ere people are abroad, or we shall have the gensdarmes about our ears, and we shall none of us escape easily under such circumstances." "Come along, De Ferville," exclaimed the individual in his shirt-sleeves, who had been the murderer, for as such I looked upon him, of the poor youth who lay dead at my feet. "We have scarcely time to catch the train, and we have then to get to the Gare du Nord for the Brussels railway. This young gentleman will best know what to do. He will only have to go at once to the commissaire and declare to the loyalty of the fight in which our adversary has fallen. The body must not be left alone, or it would look like—" He hesitated for a word, but finding none but the right one, spoke it out boldly -"murder!" He had been hurrying on his paletôt the while, and tying on his cravat, and when this was completed he walked with a quick pace down the gorge, and his form was lost amid the hanging wood of the opposite bank. His two companions followed quickly, and soon the fencing-master and myself were left standing alone beside the corpse. I, too, must go and hide," murmured Bras-de-Fer; "but whither? I have no means to fly to Brussels like these young sparks. Ah, that De Marsiac! who shall ever tell whether it was luck or intention which made his sword fly upwards at the first lunge? Had the boy but had time to give that thrust which I had been at so mach pains to teach him, it would have been, not himself, but De Marsiac who would be lying here!" All the while he had been speaking he had been gathering up the two long weapons which lay half-buried amongst the grass. And, after wiping them carefully upon the silk handkerchief in which they had been enveloped, and looking down the blades with a scrutiny that made me shudder, he replaced them in the greenbaize bag, which all this while hung suspended on his arm. Then, as if suddenly remembering my presence, he said, looking over his shoulder as he departed: "You cannot bear witness to much, my friend; but you can say with truth that I had chosen the open space beneath the Three Acacias for this encounter, but De Marsiac declared that the sun was already too powerful up there, and so we drew lots for the choice of this spot or the other. Of course, De Marsiac had the luck-he always has. He knew well enough he could not have slipped' so as to have thrust the point of his sword through his adversary's throat up at the Three Acacias: the ground is dry and gravelly there, not soft and slippery as it is in the gorge.' With this dark and terrible hint, he too disappeared, leaving me face to face with the dead. I could not turn away without giving one last look upon those poor, pale features and that stiffening form; and then I thought it would be cruel and unmanly to leave him thus exposed to the chance of injury from sun, from air-from insects-and summoning all my courage, I approached, and seizing the long silk neckerchief the youth had taken off before the combat, and which was hanging on a branch just above his head, I stooped down to cover his face from the glare of day. As I did so, a faint buzzing noise smote my ear with as great a shock as though a cannon-ball had been fired close beside me, and the next moment the sensation of some crawling object beneath my fingers renewed the terror and loathing I had felt before! The accursed blue-bottle fly was still hovering there, and, coward that I was, I durst not raise the kerchief to drive it away, but fled without turning to look again, and rushed with desperate haste towards Meudon. It was well for me that the hour was still so early, or I should have had the whole of Meudon at my heels, as I tore like a madman down the narrow, ill-paved street to the residence of the commissaire. I had anticipated some difficulty in obtaining an audience at that unusual time; but the clerk in waiting received me readily. He scented a crime, and hurried me into the commissaire's private room to await his honour's pleasure. The commissaire, in dressing-gown and slippers, listened to my explanation of the business which had brought me there with evident impatience, for my manner was so wild and incoherent that he could scarcely be expected to place confidence in my statement, and when the procès verbal had been made out according to my deposition, he merely nodded his head and said, "We shall see, mon garçon," and disappeared to his café au lait, the aromatic steam of which pervaded the whole place; but, as he retired, I saw him make a sign to the gendarme, and point to my shoulder. And the latter, with the instinct of his calling, must have understood, for, as he followed the commissaire out, I heard him turn the key in the lock in order to secure me safely. The tumult of my soul can hardly be conceived, as I was left alone in that large, dreary room. I paced to and fro in the restlessness of despair, and as I passed by the looking-glass which hung in front of his honour's bureau, I could scarcely believe that the wild and haggard countenance I beheld reflected there was the same as that which had greeted my sight in the little mirror opposite the window of my mansarde at early dawn on that very same morning. My hair was all on end, my cheeks of ashy paleness, and my lips parched and cracked. My blouse, all torn and ragged with my forced passage through the brambles, seemed to hang loosely, all out of shape, upon my sunken figure, and-great God! what was that stain upon my sleeve? membered that Bras-de-Fer had clutched Ah, yes, I re my arm as we slid together down the steep bank into the hollow. This was the precise spot where the fly had alighted, when I had sought to seize him in the coucou; the superstition had found its ample fulfilment there, and this was evidently the testimony which had risen against me to make the gendarme lock me in on a sign from the commissaire. The minutes seemed hours as I paced the floor. I tried to divert my thoughts by gazing through the iron grating of the window looking into the garden; but close beneath lay a bed of scarlet verbena, and my eyes blinked and my soul sickened at the colour; and over it the bees were hovering with unceasing hum, and my ears I could not bear the sound. It made me shudder as if with cold, while my brain seemed on fire. At length the sound of footsteps slowly approaching gave a turn to my thoughts; the peculiar tread which denotes the bearing of a heavy load, the low murmur of the crowd, and the scuffling of many feet, announced that the errand of death was completed, and the corpse brought into the office yard. I need not trouble you with the tale of the tedious process of the law, the endless questioning and examination. The legal persecution ended in my entire acquittal of all participation in the death of the young Count de Sorgerac, for such the letters and papers found on the deceased proved him to be, and as his watch and chain, and the rings upon his fingers, remained untouched, I was allowed to go free, with the sole obligation of appearing as witness against the criminals, for whose arrest a warrant was immediately made out. My portfolio and drawings, my colour-box and tin case, were all deposited at the greffe, so that I went forth from the office lightened of the burden which I had began to feel wearisome, but borne down by a strange and ponderous weight ten times more painful to bear, a load which seemed to be crushing me to the very earth. As I passed out from the commissaire's bureau I turned my anxious gaze towards the out-house where I knew that the dead body had been laid. A heavy padlock was on the door, and a gendarme was standing by to prevent the approach of idlers seeking to peep through the crannies of the ill-joined planks; but I knew well enough that neither bolt nor bar could exclude the deadly foe, now endowed by my diseased imagination with a superstitious terror, and I was weak and foolish enough to close my eyes and stop my ears as I hurried by, lest I should obtain physical evidence of the presence of what I dreaded more than any other living thing upon this earth-the bluebottle fly! AN HOUR OF AGONY. HAS the reader ever had a tussle with a Bengal tiger in full vigour and appetite? Has it chanced him to be in a balloon when perforated by Prussian bullets? Has it occurred to him to have been indulging a commendable curiosity in the remoter recesses of a coal-mine, when an explosion suddenly severed the connexion between himself and the world without? These are forms of uneasiness not to be lightly treated of. They shrink into nothing beside that supreme commingling of grief, astonishment, and horror it was my lot to experience on a certain never-to-be-forgotten evening of January, 'forty-nine. Time's soothing influence has wrought its accustomed effect. All bitterness, all self-reproach, have died gradually away. In place of that mental tumult which, for a long period, attended the remembrance of the incident in question, I now find myself able to narrate with indifference, nay, even with a smile, the circumstance to which, but recently, my most intimate friends durst hardly hazard an allusion. an The Guild of Lumpeters represents one of the most ancient and honoured of London's civic institutions. What they are, why they are, I have not the remotest idea. Enough that, on a certain day in November, they are seen in their glory, their banners brighter, their bands brassier, their knights more corpulent, themselves sleeker more redolent of wealth than any of their prosperous rivals. They have a hall solely, it would seem, for purposes of hospitality. They give dinners of inconceivable succulency and toothsomeness. They invite mayors, nay, kings, who don't always come, and princes, who generally do, and they also invite me. I go, for I like them. All the Lumpeters of my acquaintance are noble, large-hearted men, citizen gentlemen, on whom London, in need of arm or purse, might confidently rely. I think if I were other than what I am, I would be a Lumpeter. Pretexts were never wanting for a Lumpeter feed. The recovery of the chief city magistrate from a bilious attack, the breaking up of the frost, the birth of a son and heir to the Ban of Croatia, the arrival of a piebald elephant at the gardens of the |