e of Paris. Nothing but was provided for my education.
My parents were without doubt rich, for nothing was neglected that could
supply me with rich toilet, and my bills were regularly paid by an unknown
hand.

"One day I received a letter; it was signed, 'Your mother.' Then I was
happy!

" 'Your birth,' she wrote me, 'would destroy the repose of our entire
family; one day, however, you shall know me: honorable blood flows in your
veins, my daughter--do not doubt it. Your future is made sure. But for the
present, it is necessary that you accept a place provided for you in the
establishment of M----; and when once you have made yourself familiar with
the duties of the place, you shall be placed at the head of an even larger
establishment.'

"A few days after, I found myself in the new position. Years passed by.
Then came the Revolution of February. From that fatal time I have heard
nothing of my family. Alone in the world, believing myself deserted,
maddened by my situation, I yielded, in an evil hour, to the oaths of one
who professed to love me. He deceived me; there is nothing now to live
for; suicide is my only refuge. I only pray that those who find this poor
body, will tell my story to the world; and, please God, it may soften, the
heart of those who desert their children!"

The story may be true or not, in fact; it is certainly true to the life,
and the religion of Paris: and while such life, and such sense of duty
remains, it is not strange that a Napoleon can ride into rule, and that
the French Republic should be firmest under the prick of bayonets.

-------------------------------------

It appears that a Madame de la Ribossiere has deceased lately in Paris,
leaving a very large fortune--to the city of Paris--much to the ire, not
only of her family, but of sundry friends, literary and others, who had
contributed very greatly to her amusement.

A French writer comments on the matter in a strain which, considering our
duties as Editor, we shall not think it worth while to gainsay.

Madame de la Ribossiere was a lady of refined tastes, who derived a large
part of her enjoyment of life from the accomplishments of artistic and
literary gentlemen; how then, does it happen that she should not have
given proof of the pleasure she had received by a few princely legacies?

In the good old times (may they come again!) authors had different
treatment. Thus Pliny, the younger, in writing to Tacitus