, could not see her. He tore the letter into two
pieces: he appeared agitated. One piece of the letter dropped to the
ground, the other he did something with which she could not perceive,
and replaced in the reticule. When he was gone, she picked up the
fragment which had fallen; and seeing it was part of a love-letter, full
of warm protests, &c. she put it into her pocket, intending, she said,
to joke him about it. A few minutes more, Julia came by, took up her
reticule, and went home, declining Victor's company, though he requested
permission to escort her.

Hereupon, Victor was immediately submitted to a severe re-examination.
Aghast at the disclosure just made; abashed at the many angry eyes
directed towards him; harassed by the searching questions of the
magistrate, and the sense of guilt, his assurance and hypocrisy
completely deserted him; and, after equivocating and protesting for some
time, he sullenly confessed all. Discarded by Julia: he had attempted to
effect her ruin!

The good little Julia was almost as much overcome by the overwhelming
emotions which now possessed her, as she was at the miserable position
in which malignity had so lately placed her. Whilst Victor was being
conveyed to the jail, where he was to suffer the punishment due to his
villainy, Julia was conducted home to her now rejoicing parent, amidst
the congratulations, caresses, and praises, of troops of friends. The
day after her acquittal, the throne was again set up in the Grande
Allee, and the ovation to her industry and virtues was completed in
triumphant fashion. The Meurien family, feeling deeply the injury she
had suffered, gave their presence at her inauguration, and afterwards
did many a friendly act for her. She is now as industrious and charming,
and as much respected as ever, though no more Julia Gostillon, but
Madame Vichel--being the wife of a thriving herbalist of that name. As
for Victor, he has not been seen at Maisons since.

RAMBLES IN SEARCH OF WILD-FLOWERS.

EARLY MONTHS OF THE YEAR.

A ramble in search of wild-flowers in January would be pretty much
'labour in vain;' at least so far as that one special object was
concerned. I do not mean to say that all nature is dead at that season,
for there are mosses, lichens, and fungi to be found in abundance; but
flowers, in the ordinary meaning of the word, are not to be found,
unless we consider those brilliant frostwork flowers which we sometimes
find as such.