among other things an arm-chair, a tea-caddy, a carved necklace, a picture frame, three spoons, a brooch, a potato bowl, and a washing tub.

"Ah, by the bye," she says, rather suddenly, after one of those dead pauses which occur even in the most animated conversations, "by the bye, my husband tells me that Hans Steimer will come this evening to ask what his present to me shall be. I must decide. What dost think, grandmother, of a little bracket for the wall that would just hold the best Dutch china teapot?

"I think that would be capital," responds the old lady. Meanwhile a look of intelligence passes between the other women. Louison, who is sitting close by Gretchen, works away very steadily, and pretends not to see it.

"I doubt if Margot's present is the only reason for Hans' coming up to-night," says Widow Gruhner, smiling at her niece.

"How should he know I was here?" asks poor Louison, betraying herself unconsciously, and then blushing crimson to the very tips of her ears.

There is a general laugh. At the same moment Louison drops the needle she is working with, and goes on her knees on the floor to find it. Suddenly her heart beats tumultuously. It seems to have flown to her head, and to be knocking a very tattoo on her brain; the sound of a footstep, of a well-known voice, has reached her listening ears long before the others are conscious of it. It is not a very musical voice; it does not belong to a very remarkable or specially charming person. Hans is, after all, but a commonplace, every-day sort of young man; but yet to the little girl groping about in the twilight after the missing needle the voice has a charm sweeter than any other on earth, the round commonplace face, under the round shabby hat, has a radiance and beauty no other face will ever equal in her eyes. After all, is it not every-day love which makes every-day happiness?

"Canst thou not find that needle?" asks Gretchen; and then, looking suddenly up, "Why, only think, Louison, here is Hans!" As if Louison had not known that an age ago! "Here he comes. I thought so. Get up- or, no, no," in a whisper, "stay there, and we will pretend thou hast not come; and we will hear what he says."

"Well, Hans, thou art a good example of the old proverb, for we were but just speaking of thee," says Grandfather Gruhner as the young man approaches, and leans against the open window, pipe in mouth.

Gretchen holds her work spread out so as to hide kneeling Louison. Hans bids them all good evening, but gazes round the small room somewhat disconsolately, seeking for that which he finds not. Oh for a glimpse of a small plump figure in a dark serge dress, a pair of bright dark eyes, and coral lips that part to show a row of pearly teeth! sighs the young man - sighs, and blindly curses fate, because like many another foolish mortal he cannot see a yard before his face.

"Ah, Hans, is it thou?" says laughing, mischievous Gretchen. "Poor Hans! I am sorry for thee if it is to pay thy respects to our fair cousin thou art come."

"What folly of Gretchen, to be sure!" grumbles Margot under her breath. "She will put my present quite out of his stupid head, and we all know that is what he has really come about." She moves quickly from her seat and whispers to her mother. An idea has struck her that after all two smaller brackets, one for each side of the chimneypiece, would be better than one. "Dost think it would be too much to ask for?" she inquires of her mother.

But the good widow is so much amused with the small domestic comedy going on before her, that she can scarcely pay due and proper attention to the weighty matter of the bracket.

As for Hans, if Margot and her wooden wedding had ever been very prominent matters of interest in his head, it is quite clear of them now. At the present moment one idea alone possesses the young lover.

"No, indeed, she is not, my poor Hans." The smile fades suddenly away from the young man's face. Gretchen puts on a very long face too, and shakes her head dismally.

"What is it, Gretchen? Don't keep me in suspense. Has anything happened to her? Is she ill? Is she What's the good of making mysteries? Everybody knows how I love her," cries Hans, gaining sudden courage.

Yes, everybody except Louison herself," says Gretchen. Another tug at the dress. an imploring tug this time. Louison feels her situation becoming extremely embarrassing. But Gretchen's tongue is not so easily stopped. The very spirit of mischief seems to have taken possession of her. "Everybody except Louison herself," she repeats. "Could you could you not help me a little when she comes?" asks Hans in an undertone, which is meant for Gretchen's ear alone, but which reaches several other pairs of ears besides.

Gretchen laughs. "Not I. Manage thine own business, Master Hans. Besides, did I not tell thee that she is not coming? that, in short, thou art a day after the fair?” — a vehement pull at the dress "that there are attractions at Königsberg"-a still more vehement pull, and something like a groan from Hans—“a farmer, you must know, young, handsome, and rich".

This is too much. Louison's patience and discretion alike give way. She scrambles up to her feet.

"Gretchen, Gretchen, how can you, how dare you!" she cries, her cheeks all aflame.

Of course there is a laugh from the whole circle. As for Hans, at the first sight of the unexpected apparition his new-found courage suddenly takes flight, and he with it. When they look round for him, to explain matters, he is nowhere to be seen. Possibly the remembrance of his late boldness has produced a reaction; possibly the last piece of intelligence about the handsome young farmer at Königsberg has proved too much for his nerves; or possibly he may be hurt and offended at the little trick which has been played upon him. This is the fear which troubles Lou

ison.

"Oh, Gretchen, Gretchen, how unkind, to be sure! Who would have dreamed to hear thee say such things?" she cries.

"What a goose art thou to turn a little innocent bit of fun into such a scene, Louison! Why didst thou not stay quiet?"

"I think thou wert carrying thy nonsense too far, Gretchen," says the widow. "See, thou hast vexed Hans, and made Louison cry."

"And he will think it is all true," sobs Louison.

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Nay, nay, child," puts in the old grandmother, consolingly, "never fear. It will all come right in time. Most things do, if we will only have patience."

"He will know that it was all Gretchen's nonsense,' suggests the old grandfather. "I will go and see if I can find him anywhere about, and bring him in to thee." "No, no, grandfather," cries the little maiden between her sobs. "It is all my own fault. Don't fetch him. Don't go after him. If he is angry, it is quite rightquite. He must think me so horrid, so bold. He must think I only wanted to hear him say ' "He loved you." It is Gretchen, half mischievous and half repentant, who fills up the blank.

"He will never say so again," sobs Louison.

"And wouldst thou care so very, very much if he did not? Eh?" asks Gretchen. Louison's face is hidden in her hands. She does not see a shadow that creeps stealthily every moment nearer and nearer to the open window. Gretchen stands before her. "Dost thou indeed care for him so much, little one?"

Louison does not look up. The words that she says are not many, and are broken with sobs. But, few or many, they are to the purpose. More to the purpose than listening Hans would have dared to hope for -more to the purpose than he would ever have heard had he not played eavesdropper in his turn.

Before they are fairly out of her mouth, there is a rustle

of the creeper outside the house, a leap through the window, and before Louison can turn to fly she is caught, caged, held fast, in a pair of strong young arms. What need of more love-making when the love was made already?

Louison protests. "Oh! it was mean, unfair of thee, Hans; I could not have believed it," she cries.

But she dries her tears, and Hans helps her.

"But at least thou wert as bad," Hans retorts. "I never could have believed it of thee either."

"Then I suppose we must forgive one another." "I suppose we must try."

And so they settle it.

And very soon after the wooden wedding comes another, where, we may be sure, laughing Gretchenfacts the part of bridesmaid.

"'T was all thy fault," Louison says to her, as they walk home.

"Entirely," echoes Hans. "I never should have thought of such a thing but for thee and thy tricks. But I forgive thee."

"And thou, Louison?" asks the girl. "Well, I will see how Hans behaves in the future. I will tell thee on on the day of my wooden wedding.” But as she looks up into her young husband's face she does not seem to have much fear.

"Ah! talking of wooden weddings, thou hast quite forgotten all about poor Margot and her bracket," says Louison.

"I will give her a pair instead of one," says Hans. And so they were all made happy.

A WITCH TRIAL IN THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY.

In this paper we intend to follow the course which the trial actually took. Perhaps it would be possible to improve the story it tells by throwing it into another shape. But it is also possible that such a process might effectually destroy its value as an illustration of manners and superstition five hundred years ago.

We will suppose that our readers have paid a visit to the Châtelet-the Old Bailey of Paris- on Saturday, the 30th of July, 1390. Originally erected as a tête de pont, to cover the entrance of the city by way of the Bridge au Change, it consisted of a square keep, with turrets at the angles. Through its centre, straight to the bridge, ran a narrow passage, with heavy gates at its extremities. The last crumbling remains of the Châtelet were removed in 1792. But four hundred years earlier, though it was then so ancient that the date of its foundation had passed out of memory, it was still formidable. Like many another old fortification, the course of time, in removing it from the outskirts of the city to the centre, had turned it into a prison. Having surveyed its massy walls and grim old battlements, we penetrate through a number of gloomy corridors to the Grièche, or woman's cell. It is a low, vaulted chamber of considerable extent — dim, damp, and unclean exceedingly. It has no furniture a stone bench which runs round it serves as a seat by day and a couch by night. And yet this miserable lodging must be paid for, at the rate of two deniers a night, by those who cannot or will not pay a great deal more for accommodation hardly superior elsewhere. The authorities do not provide the prisoners with food. Of this, however, there is seldom any scarcity. Commiseration for the captive is one of the foremost duties inculcated by mediæval religion, and the bags which hang from the gratings of the Châtelet are filled daily with the contributions of the charitable. Besides, it is so common for the conscientious to traverse the city, at stated times, in search of alms for those in durance, that contemporary satire has seized upon the practice as one of the many characteristics of hypocrisy.

The prisoners in the Grièche are variously occupied.

Some exchange blows, for here not only do they quarrel, but not unfrequently carry their contention to a fatal close. Some merely exchange coarse epithets. Some carouse, for here money will procure anything. And some-yokefellows in iniquity these - arrange their defence, and discuss the probabilities of conviction. The last is the occupation of the two committed on the charge of bewitching and poisoning Hainsellin Planete and his wife, Agnesot, of the Rue des Fosses St. Germain. One of the two, Margot de la Barre, alias du Coignet, is a hard-featured, determined-looking woman, between fifty and sixty, who, previous to her incarceration, kept a tavern of no good repute in the Rue Froidmantel, a street in the vicinity of the Louvre, as indeed are all the streets mentioned in this trial. The other, Marion la Droituriere, alias l'Estallée, is less than half the age of her companion, but of quite another exterior, being remarkably tall and thin. It is evident that she has been a gaudy bird at no distant date; but imprisonment has stripped off much of her gay plumage, and sorely bedraggled the rest. She is by profession what we would term "an unfortunate" one of the highest class, however, being a member of a singular body attached to the French court.

The jailers appear, and Margot is led up to the hall of judgment. On this occasion the court is composed of the Provost of the Châtelet, his lieutenant, his auditor, the King's advocate, and six other personages learned in the law, termed examiners. The preliminary formalities are gone through and the trial begins. Margot is questioned on oath respecting her former life. She replies that she was born in the town of Beaune, in the Gastenois; that for many a year she had led a vagabond and an immoral life," sometimes in one town, sometimes in another," settling eventually in the Rue Froidmantel. We may add what was elicited bit by bit in the course of the trial, that during the latter portion of her career, the professions of sorceress, quack, and not improbably poisoner, had been conjoined to that of keeper of a house of dubious repute. Concerning the bewitchment of Planete and his wife she explains that the man was an old acquaintance, in the habit of frequenting her tavern with l'Estallée, his amie, up almost to the day of his marriage — an event which had taken place but a few weeks previous to the trial. "Immediately after the wedding," she goes on to relate, "I was informed by mutual friends that Agnesot was afflicted with a disease which caused her brain to exude through her eyes, nose, and mouth, and I was requested to do something for the poor woman. Then I bethought me of a certain secret which my mother had taught me in my youth, and I told these people that, with God to aid, I would soon relieve her. Taking a garland, composed of herbs which I had purchased on the eve of St. John last past, I went to the Rue des Fosses St. Germain. On the way I paused to gather a bunch of shepherd's-purse,1 which I saw growing near the hostelry of Alençon, close by the Louvre, and which I twined in the garland as I went. Admitted to the bedside of Agnesot, I acquainted myself, as well as I could, with her malady. Then I said to her, Mon amie, I gave you no garland for your wedding-day, but I give you one now, and I assure you that you could not wear a better one. It is a garland to unbewitch yourself, or any other person upon whom a spell has been laid.' So saying, I twined the garland round her head, outside her cap. Then I repeated three paters, and as many aves, and crossed her in the name of the Trinity. Afterwards I said, 'Twice have I cast a blight upon you, and thrice do I remove it, in the name of the Trinity!'" The last sentence was a damning admission.

Concerning Hainsellin, she told that some days preceding her visit to his wife he had called at her tavern to request assistance for himself, who was then suffering from fevers," and that, for the sake of old acquaintance, she had furnished him with a charm composed of shepherd'spurse wrapped up in a white rag, which she directed him

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1 The weed named was a noted ingredient in witch preparations. Aware of this, Margot endeavored to give its appearance in her garland the seeming of accident.

to carry on his person, promising that it would secure his recovery within eleven days.

To further questions she replied that she was totally ignorant of the art of witchcraft. When reminded of an admission made by her during the examination preceding her committal for trial, she denied, in the strongest manner, having ever said that she knew Agnesot to be spellbound, or having made any remark at all concerning her, save that, within three or four days of putting on the wreath, a notable change would take place in her health.

Having heard all that Margot thought fit to state, the judges consulted thereupon. Then, " duly considering her former life, the contradictions between her various statements, the suspicious herbs found in her possession, the absurdity of a person pretending to reverse a spell who did not know how to impose it, and the extraordinary admission contained in her version of the formula which she had used when placing the garland on the head of Agnesot they decided that, in the interests of truth and justice, it was necessary to put her to the question."

The last paragraph, which we have borrowed pretty exactly from the record, seems very legal and logical. But we beg to assure our readers that it meant absolutely nothing. We have gone over nearly a hundred reports of trials which took place at the Châtelet about this period, without finding a single instance in which resort was not had to the question.

Margot was put to the question forthwith, "on the little bed and the great one," but not another word could be drawn from her. She was then released, chafed, as usual, in the kitchen, and then relegated to her cell. So far she had reason to consider herself safe. There was no decisive evidence against her. She thought she could trust her accomplice to keep silence, and the old sinner had not the smallest doubt concerning her own firmness.

On Monday, August the 1st, the court reassembled. There were present six members, two of whom had not appeared at the former sitting. This time l'Estallée was produced for examination, and with her several dumb but rather dangerous witnesses, consisting of one or two dried herbs, a piece of moss, and a lock of hair, which had been found in her box. She, too, was required to give an account of her former life in the first instance. The moss, she stated, had been given her as a souvenir by a former paramour, an English squire, who had gathered it with his own hands by the brink of a well where, according to tradition, a virgin had been beheaded. It was supposed to contain certain mystic virtues, and in return therefor she had given the squire a lock of her hair, for which scarcely as much could be said. One would have thought that such a token was hardly of the kind to pass between people like these; but such were the good old times.

Concerning Hainsellin, l'Estallée was sufficiently diffuse. She declared without the smallest reserve, or regard for womanly or legal decorum, and to the very beards of those "most potent, grave, and reverend signiors," that she had loved, still loved, and would continue to love him better than any man in the world, and, as she added with vehement passion, "better than any man that ever could be born into the world." The tuft of hair was his. Once on a time when he was leaving her, as she thought, far too soon, she tried to arrest him in a playful way. She seized his hood by one of the corners: he pulled against her, and thus the thing was torn off, and with it these hairs. He escaped for the time; but she wrapped up the hairs in the fragment of red cloth, and put the packet away among the things which she valued most.

She denied that she had ever gathered any herbs for magical purposes, or that she had ever uttered a threat concerning Hainsellin. She admitted that his marriage had grieved her exceedingly-more, far more, than anything that had ever before befallen her. And she admitted having said that he would have reason to rue the day not as a threat, but because she knew full well that never, never more would he find any woman in this world to sacrifice herself for him as she had done. This was all that she had to say, and she was sent back to her cell.

The court was by this time increased to eleven - the five fresh members probably having been all attracted to the Châtelet by the unusual interest which the trial began to assume. A good deal of discussion among the judges followed the departure of Marion. Its very length shows that it was not altogether unfavorable to her. In the end it was decided that she, too, should be put to the torture, but not until Margot had been subjected thereto a second time. The crone therefore was summoned, and stretched on the rack. But the stern persuasions of the small bed and the great one had not the smallest effect on her obstinacy. So ended the doings of the day.

There was no court on Tuesday; but on Wednesday, the 3d of August, its members assembled to the number of seven, and Marion was led before it. The proceedings opened with a little "scene." When the principal torturer, Oudin de Rochefort, seized the woman to prepare her for the iron couch, she burst from his grasp, and treated the worshipful magistrates to not a little of her mind. She warned them, with suitable gestures and interjections, to "mind what they were about in dealing thus with a woman of good fame." She declared, with deep earnestness, that she was entirely ignorant of the charges brought against her. And she closed as neat an oration as was ever delivered under such circumstances, with an appeal to the Court of Parliament.

Such an appeal, even from such lips, was not to be disregarded. The work of torture was suspended, and notice of the appeal was transmitted to the body concerned, which, as it happened, was sitting at that moment. The message received prompt attention, and the messengersthe honorable and learned Master Pierre Lesclot, and the merely learned Master Guillaume Porel, both members of the Court of Parliament, as well as of the Court of the Châtelet were sent back on the instant, with full powers to decide as to the validity of the appeal. So quickly was all this done, that the examination was resumed and carried through the remainder of the stage that same day. Clearly old French law had not yet put on those tedious forms of which Hamlet complains so bitterly.

Her appeal being disallowed, Marion was placed on the rack - but no further confession could be drawn from her. She was then removed, and Margot was brought up from the Grièche, and tortured for the third time. The old tavern-keeper, however, proved no more yielding than heretofore, and the court adjourned.

The next day l'Estallée was ordered to be questioned by water. This torture was much the same in 1390 as when it was witnessed by Evelyn, in the same place, in 1651. Here, according to the diarist of Say's Court, the wrists of the malefactor were bound with a strong rope, or small cable, to an iron ring in the wall, about four feet from the floor. Then his feet were fastened with another cable "about five foot farther than his utmost length, to another ring on the floor of the room. Thus suspended, yet lying but aslant, they slid an horse of wood under the rope that bound his feet, which so exceedingly stiffened it, as served the fellow's joints in miserable sort, drawing him out at length in an extraordinary manner, he having only a pair of linen drawers on his naked body. Then they questioned, which not confessing, they put a higher horse under the rope, to increase the torture and extension. In this agony, confessing nothing, the executioner with a horn-just such as they drench horses with — stuck the end of it into his mouth, and poured the quantity of two buckets of water down his throat and over him, which so prodigiously swelled him, as would have pitied and affrighted any one to see... It represented to me the intolerable sufferings which our Blessed Saviour must needs undergo when His body was hanging with all its weight upon the Cross." The torture thus faithfully described was so terrible that few ever endured it beyond the first stage, and so it happened in this instance. Before a single drop of water could be poured upon her Marion was vanquished by her sufferings, and entreated to be released, promising to tell all. Her desire was complied with. "Then," writes the greffier, with nauseous affecta

tion of mildness, "without the slightest constraint of the gehenne," the appropriate name by which judicial torture was known, "she confessed all that she had ever practised of philtre or witchcraft."

Four months, or thereabouts, before, she and Marion la Dayme, a Fleming, and a daughter of sin like herself, "being together drinking and discoursing of their lovers," she, l'Estallée, held forth in praise of Hainsellin as the dearest, tenderest, most lovable sweetheart in the world. La Dayme was equally warm in eulogizing one Jehan de Savoy, who held the honorable post of tailor to the Duchess of Touraine. As thus they conversed, the Fleming communicated a secret whereby a lover might be made more loving. The greffier has given it at full length, and like other such secrets it is perfectly vile and disgusting. But l'Estallée was a daughter of sin, and besides infatuated to insanity with Hainsellin. She therefore put it immediately in practice, though with the utmost fairness, since she applied it to herself also. Thus she gave good proof of the excess of passion that possessed her - by desiring to render it still more excessive. The utter worthlessness of the stuff was soon apparent. In a day or two it came to her knowledge that Hainsellin was affianced to another; and worse still, that the wedding-day was at hand. Then she hastened to la Barre-the prime confidante of this, the amour of her life in a state of frenzy. The hag attempted to soothe her with old saws, dwelling especially on one which said that no good ever came of a marriage between two ribalds, from which it would seem that Hainsellin had promised to wed his amie. As usual, wise saw failed to curb wild passion, and the tavern-keeper was compelled to resort to another device. Binding the furious woman by oath on oath never to breathe a syllable of the secret about to be disclosed, she whispered that she was well acquainted with an art greatly dreaded in those strange times. She went on to mutter that she was willing to exercise it in Marion's favor, somewhat in pity, but more in friendship, and, as it proved, a little for reward. Before, however, proceeding to such an extremity, Margot advised her client to try a mode of recalling truant lovers to their allegiance, which, as she asseverated, she had never known to fail. It consisted of a powder, absurdly composed, part of which was to be mixed with wine, and part wrapt up in a down pillow. Of the wine the lovers were to partake. As to the pillow, it was to be reserved for Hainsellin's use alone, for the touch of a female cheek would quite dispel its virtues. L'Estallée observed the directions very exactly. And Hainsellin gave her full opportunity for, with utterable meanness, this consummate sneak kept up his acquaintance with the ribald to the very last. "But," sighed the impassioned girl, "this philtre proved as useless as the other. I saw very clearly that Hainsellin loved just as ever, and not a particle more fondly."

Then l'Estallée went on to speak of the wreath - or rather wreaths, for there had been two. Visiting the market on the eve of St. John to purchase some roses d'oultre mer, and some other flowers, "wherewith to decorate her person, as was the custom of young women at that season," she bought, among the rest, a bunch of that weed of dark repute, shepherd's-purse. On her return from the market she called, as usual, at the tavern. Then Margot observed the shepherd's-purse, and said that, by its means, she could work in such form as should cause Hainsellin to abandon the wife he was about to wed, and return to Marion. The weed we need hardly say at once changed hands, and a bargain was struck. The beldame promised to weave the shepherd's-purse into two garlands, one for the bridegroom and the other for the bride, which would certainly effect the purpose which l'Estallée had so much at heart.

At last arrived the week preceding Hainsellin's wedding. It was fixed for the Sunday, and on the Thursday or Friday before, she could not well remember which, Marion called on her friend. Margot bade her hope on, repeated

1 "Peu de gents ont espousè des amies, qui ne s'en soyent repentis." Montaigne.

her promise respecting the garlands, renewed the oaths to secrecy of the unhappy ribald, and imposed another to the effect that she would bring as many customers as she could to the tavern. Then she whispered that the garlands would be ready on the Sunday, when Marion would receive them, along with ample directions for their use.

Here, as often in the course of this report, the dull, dry greffier becomes a most attractive story-teller. It is unintentionally indeed; he merely gives the more important items of the evidence in the usual matter-of-fact style of such people. But the details, like all those into which human feeling enters deeply, possess an interest of their own which needs no aid from the artifices of style.

The confession went on to relate how on the morning of the Sunday, when her amie was to wed, Marion rose early; how, sitting sadly by her lattice, she saw Hainsellin pass, and saluted him; how, when the marriage hour drew nigh, she felt constrained to go and witness the procession on its way to church; how she followed it thither, and remained, with what feeling we shall not attempt to guess, until the ceremony was over; how, when it was over, she stepped forward before the company, with that stoicism which intensest passion can so strangely assume, and saluted the pair, "bien et doucement"; how afterwards she accompanied the party back to the hostelry of Alençon, where it was to spend the day in revelry; and how, quitting it at the door of the hostelry, she returned to her lonely chamber.

To Marion that day was emphatically the day of darkness which, according to Old-World superstition, everybody is compelled to undergo at least once in life; a miserable day, a terrible day, a day of impotent fury, hopeless sorrow, and withering remorse, every one of whose incidents burns its impression deep into the memory.

In her chamber l'Estallée remained for hours, brooding over guilty woes, and writhing under the lashes of the Furies. There, in the very focus of human suffering, she sat, the realization of the picture so powerfully painted in the "Giaour" :—

Darkness above, despair beneath,

Around her flame, within her death.

"Two hours after midday " she bethought her of the promise of la Barre, and hurried to the Rue Froidmantel, where she conducted herself as one possessed, wringing her hands, gesturing wildly, rending her hair and her garments, and sending forth fierce complaints which were not altogether without foundation. From the evidence it appears that Hainsellin dealt with her as such scoundrels deal with such women. He had used her money as unscrupulously as her affections. He was even indebted to her for his life. In a dangerous illness, wherein he had no one else to look to and no other shelter for his head, she had conveyed him to her lodging and nursed him herself carefully and tenderly back to health. Poor l'Estallée! wicked she was, and immoral in the extreme, but still thoroughly devoted and self-sacrificing, excellent in that which makes the most excellent quality of woman; who does not pity her?

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Having subsided into something like composure, Marion was again sworn to secrecy by the beldame, and the garlands were produced. Holding them in her left hand," narrated the unfortunate, "she crossed them with her right, while she muttered over them some words too low for me to hear. Then she handed them to me with these directions: Go to the hostelry where the marriage feast is held, and when you see the married couple join in the dance, make some excuse- such as stooping to tie your shoe, or to pick up something you have dropped — which will enable you to place the garlands in their way without exciting attention. If you so manage that they shall tread upon them, I promise you that your wish shall be accomplished.''

Here, as Marion asserted, she was seized with a scruple. She, whose life was one round of mortal sin, actually shrank from imperilling her precious soul by following the instructions of the ogress. That the scruple was real we

do not doubt; over and over again have we witnessed the like. But when Margot answered her that the garlands were, and would remain, perfectly harmless to every one but the bridegroom and the bride, her scruples evaporated, and she consented to go through with the sorcery.

on condition that you plague Hainsellin and his wife in such a way that Marion shall have full reparation for the wrongs they have done her.' Then the enemy departed, bearing with him the little garland. I saw him fly out through a window that was open in the chamber, with a noise like a whirlwind, and I was much afraid."

Being questioned still further of the invocation of fiends, - a matter concerning which the judges displayed an ex

In the course of the evening, Marion managed to deposit her garlands. Having no further business there, she went home to supper; and after supper she hastened to the tavern to report progress, and be again assured of success.

The Monday and Tuesday following" the unfortunate" spent in an excursion to Monmartre. There some gossip respecting the newly married led her to think that the spell had failed. She returned, therefore, to Paris exceedingly downcast, to be reassured by a report - a true one, as it happened - that bride and bridegroom were ill, the latter alarmingly. This, with the addition of a conversation in which the ogress continued to laud her nostrums and to encourage the hopes of her dupe, was the end of this unparalleled confession.

Margot was confronted with Marion, whose depositions were read over to her. To everything contained therein the crone gave the most unqualified contradiction. "And saying and affirming upon her oath that the deponent had lied most maliciously and foully, she challenged the said Marion to single combat, and threw down her gage.”

Here it may be remarked that the peculiar form of trial termed by battle was then in full swing. Not quite four years before, all Paris had witnessed the celebrated duel between Carouge and Legris; and though it was usual for women who challenged, or accepted challenge, to appear in the lists by deputy, they were at full liberty, as many instances show, to refuse championship, and do battle in person.

In this instance the duel was at once refused. Then Margot attempted to prove an alibi with respect to the events which told most heavily against her, but managed merely to elicit further proof thereof. This, however, was not yet considered convincing; and, to procure what was needed, it was determined to torture both the prisoners once more. They began with Marion, who adhered to her last confession. She, therefore, was soon released from the rack, which closed the proceedings for that day.

On Saturday the prisoners were reexamined. Marion confirmed her confession, and attributed her early denials to the oaths which the ogress had induced her to take, and also to the persuasions of the latter during their confinement together. She added that her tortured and weakened limbs had given her good cause to regret her obstinacy.

Margot was now ordered to be questioned by water; and here, like her predecessor, she gave way before a single drop of the fluid could be employed. Her confession was as ample as could be desired; it was in great part a recapitulation of that of l'Estallée. What was new therein referred exclusively to matters of sorcery, and ran as follows: When about to deliver the garland to Marion, she described herself as calling up the demon in these words: "Enemy, I conjure thee, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, that thou come hither to me!" "Then," said she, "I made a third and smaller garland, which I threw on a bench behind me. Immediately afterwards, when I was about to cross the larger garland, I saw, at my elbow, an enemy of the form and fashion of the enemies who appear in the passion plays, with the exception that this one had no horns. He asked what I wanted with him. I replied, 'I give you yonder garland

cumstance which had occurred some twenty-four years before. "Being in the fields under Montmartre, with a daughter of sin like myself, we began to tell of our lovers. Then this girl, who was a Fleming, but whose name I have forgotten, taught me how to invoke the devil. And then and there did I invoke him as she instructed, crying out, Devil, guard and aid me and my lover (whom I named), so that he may never love any but myself!' When I had spoken, somebody, whom I could not see, replied, and in my terror I ran and hid myself in a little hut that we had constructed with turf and brambles."

Concerning the Satanic portion of the old tavern-keeper's confession, it is but right to remark that her judges had evidently made up their minds that something of the kind must have occurred, and that they were as evidently determined to tear that something from her lips, even though they should rack her asunder in the process. The victim of her own cunning and sordidness saw clearly that her fate was decided, and, to preserve her wretched limbs from unnecessary suffering, she concocted the stories whose outlines we have given.

On Sunday, Margot was reexamined alone; and on Monday, in company with Marion. She was found to adhere steadily to her confession; nor did her companion recall aught that she had said.

Finally, on Thursday, the 9th of August, the pair were brought up for judgment. The court was a full one, numbering full twenty members. They were unanimous in condemning la Barre to be exposed in the pillory, and then burned as a witch. With respect to l'Estallée, there was a difference of opinion. Five of her judges would fain have substituted banishment for the fatal penalty; but, as three fourths of the assembled sages voted for death, the merciful intentions of the minority were frustrated. The sentence was executed on the instant. Years had yet to elapse before the exertions of a great penitent, who in his day had been a mighty sinner, Pierre Craon, could succeed in procuring for criminals condemned to death the solace offered by religion. The two, therefore, were hurried from the judgment-hall to the pillory, and thence to the stake and their long account,

Unhouseled, unanointed, unaneled :
No reckoning made,

With all their imperfections on their head.

As to Hainsellin Planete, who repaid the sacrifices and rid himself of the importunities of a devoted mistress by doing her to death, no further mention is made of him.

HUXLEY'S ADDRESS BEFORE THE BRITISH ASSOCIATION AT BELFAST (TUESDAY, AUGUST 25, 1874).

I SHALL go no further back than the seventeenth century, and the observations which I shall have to offer you will be confined almost entirely to the biological science of the time between the middle of the seventeenth and middle of the eighteenth centuries. I propose to show what great ideas in biological science took their origin at that time, in what manner the speculations then originated have been developed, and in what relation they stand to what is now understood to be the body of scientific biological truth. The middle of the sixteenth century is one of the great epochs of biological science. It was at that time that an idea arose that vital phenomena, like all other phenomena of the physical world, are capable of mechanical explana