THE RASH OATH.

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TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH BY MRS. JANE TAYLOE WORTHINGTON.

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During my childhood my mother carried me every year, toward the close of autumn, to spend a month with one of my aunts. It has been a long while since then, but, nevertheless, the memory of my sojourn with her appears as vivid as the events of yesterday, and I fancy myself once more in her handsome château, which was situated on the right branch of the river Meuse, at the place where the stream, still far from its mouth, has not attained its greatest width, and where it is bordered with rugged rocks and precipitous steeps, which remind one of many portions of Switzerland, and of the delicious banks of the Rhine.

To linger near a beloved sister was a great pleasure to my mother; she had arrived, too, at that age when the glories of nature produce the deepest impression, and enjoyed with enthusiasm the exquisite landscape unrolled before our eyes. As to myself, I dwelt but little on the picturesque charms of the country. I was too young for the inhabitants of the château to interest themselves much concerning my amusements, and left to follow my own will, I discovered sources of happiness which I tested with all the eager vivacity of a child. First I found an orchard filled with young fruit, which, though still indifferent, I gladly availed myself of; then in the mountain I claimed a grotto, whose entrance I closed with boughs of trees, and pompously styled it my house; and lastly, I delighted in a gallery that was narrow and dimly lighted, and hung on both sides with old family portraits.

I saw there, warlike men, clothed in complete armor, the hand clenched, the head held high and proudly; others, habited in black, wearing immense ruffs, and having their hair braided, and their beards cut in a point; and others were handsome gentlemen, with coats of embroidered velvet, and coiffés, with enormous wigs, which covered even their shoulders.