But the orphan of the Temple—the filia dolorosa of France—had had bitter experience of the fickle, easily-swayed French people. Was it matter for wonder if she withdrew more than ever into herself, and appeared more than ever cold and austere? Taking as little part as possible in Court festivities, she led a simple, retired life. Rising early in the morning, she lit her fire and made her early breakfast with her own hands. At seven o’clock she went to mass in the chapel of the palace. The day passed in simple routine; no sumptuous dinners or late hours were known in her household. But her charity flowed forth freely to all who were in need, although it was wisely administered so as to reach only the really deserving. The anniversaries of her parents’ deaths were always kept by her in strictest seclusion, and it was noticed that in her daily drives her carriage always made a wide detour, rather than pass the fatal spot where they had perished on the scaffold.
(To be concluded.)
VARIETIES.
A Broad Hint.
A prudent and parsimonious old lady, who lived in one of the Western Isles of Scotland, took the following method to get rid of the visitors and strangers who came to her house. Having set before her guests an ample Highland breakfast, she said, towards the conclusion of the meal:—
“Pray, take a good breakfast; there is no saying where you may get your dinner.”
A Faithful Dog.—The following instance of canine fidelity has seldom if ever been surpassed. When nearing Montreal the engine-driver of a train quite recently saw a dog standing on the track and barking furiously. The driver blew his whistle; yet the hound did not budge, but crouching low was struck by the locomotive and killed. Some pieces of white muslin on the engine attracted the driver’s notice; he stopped the train and went back. Beside the dead dog was a dead child, which it is supposed had wandered on the track and gone to sleep. The poor watchful guardian had given its signal for the train to stop; but unheeded had died at its post, a victim to duty.
Avarice.—Extreme avarice almost always makes mistakes. There is no passion that oftener misses its aim; nor on which the present has so much influence, in prejudice of the future.—Rochefoucauld.
A Good Beginning.
When children first leave their mother’s room they must, according to an old superstition, “go upstairs before they go downstairs, otherwise they will never rise in the world.”