their desire of quitting it. The stormy weather continuing, it was impossible, in the shattered state of the canoes, to re-embark. The hunters were sent forth; but the flatness of the ground prevented their killing deer, and all they acquired were a few unfledged geese, so that their allowance of provisions was now limited to a handful of pemmican and a small portion of portable soup to each man per day. Sound-the most convenient and best place for ships to anchor in, that they had seen along the coast. Deer were numerous, musk oxen were also seen, and the fine sandy bottoms of the bays promised favourably for fishing with the seine. A heavy gale of wind, however, overthrew their tents, and obliged them to remain here some valuable hours, and, indeed, for the next fortnight rough weather accompanied them, the effect of which was to greatly shatter the canoes, so as to render them unsafe in the strong winds and high seas which evidently heralded the breaking up of the season. At this juncture their stock of pemmican was reduced to a bare sufficiency for three days' consumption, and the prospect of increasing it was by no means promising; for though rein-agers being obliged to trace the deeply-indented deer were seen as usual, they were not easily approached on the level shores they were now coasting. A fortnight had elapsed since their departure from Arctic Sound, and the hope of reaching Repulse Bay, which at the outset of the voyage had been projected, was now obliged to be abandoned. During the entire voyage, though traces of the Esquimaux had been met with on several occasions, they had not encountered any of these people, from whom they had hoped to obtain provisions; independent of these circumstances, the men who had hitherto displayed great courage in following their leaders through dangers and difficulties no less novel than appalling to them, now felt serious apprehensions for their safety, and made no scruple of expressing them even in the presence of their officers. It was obvious, also, that their distance from any trading establishment would increase as they proceeded, and thus render their traverse across the barren grounds, in the event of their having to abandon the canoes, tenfold more hazardous. Under the pressure of these circumstances Capt. Franklin reluctantly determined on limiting the voyage; and with the advice of his officers announced his intention to return after four more days' examination of the coast, unless they should, in the mean time, meet the Esquimaux, and be able to make an arrangement for wintering with them. The men received this intimation very joyfully, and set forward with absolute cheerfulness, paddling along the coast for ten miles farther, when a dense fog obliged them to land on Slate-clay Point, where they found traces of the Esquimaux and the skull of a man placed between two rocks; thence they rounded Walker's Bay, ran under sail by the Porden Islands across Riley's Bay, and rounded what is now called Cape Flinders, where they had the pleasure to see the coast trending north-east, with the sea in the offing, unusually clear of islands, which afforded matter of wonderment to the Canadians, who had not previously had an uninterrupted view of the ocean; this wonder was farther enhanced to alarm when a violent gale of wind afforded them the opportunity of witnessing the effect of a storm upon the sea, and the sight increased Captain Franklin's original intention had been (whenever the weather should oblige him to relinquish his survey) to return by the Copper Mine River; but the length of the voyage to Cape Turnagain, which is only six degrees and a half east of the Copper Mine River, on the chart, had actually extended, from the voy shores of the coast, to five hundred and fifty-five geographical miles, and their scanty provisions rendered it necessary to make for some nearer place; and remembering that animals were more numerous at Arctic Sound than anywhere else, it was determined to return there, and then entering Hood's River, to advance up the stream as far as it was navigable, and there construct two portable canoes out of the materials of the large ones, for traversing the rivers on their line of route to Fort Enterprise. On the 20th of August, with the thermometer at freezing point at mid-day, the small pools of water frozen and the ground covered with snow, preparations were made for the return voyage; and, as it was essential to obtain additional provision, the hunters were sent out, but returned after a fatiguing day's march without having seen any animals; nor had they any better fortune in obtaining a supply the next day, though several deer were seen. By this time the privation of food under which the Canadians were suffering absorbed even their terror of the sea, and they voluntarily launched out to make a traverse of fifteen miles across Melville Sound before a strong wind, and waves so high that the mast-head of one canoe was often hidden from the other, though sailing within hail. It was with the utmost difficulty that the canoes were kept from turning their broadsides to the waves; but at length the traverse was made, the party debarked on the open beach, and encamped near a spot where, on their last visit, they had killed a deer; but though everyone went out to hunt, they returned without seeing any game. The Magpie berries (Arbutus alpina) were abundant; and these, with the addition of some Indian tea (Ledum palustre), which produced a beverage in smell very like rhubarb, but was, notwithstanding, very refreshing, furnished them with a supper. On the next day they were more fortunate, and succeeded in killing three deer, which enabled them to save their last remaining meal of pemmican. Thet day after enabled them to steer for Hood's River, which they ascended as far as the first rapid, and encamped; and here terminated their voyage on the Arctic Ocean, though the most painful and hazardous part of their journeywas yet before them. The sandy shoals and cascades, which obstruct Hood's River, soon obliged Captain Franklin and his party to set about constructing small canoes out of the materials of the old ones; and having completed them, they set forward, leaving, en cache at Wilberforce Falls, all but such luggage as was absolutely necessary to their safety and comfort, the officers, as well as men, carrying a portion of their personal baggage; but at the very outset of their dreary march a fall of snow took place, and the canoes, though light enough to be borne by one man each, became a source of delay from the difficulty of carrying them in a high wind. The ground barren and hilly, and plentifully covered with small stones, made walking painful to men carrying heavy loads and wearing soft moose-skin shoes, and afforded them, at the end of their first day's march, only moss to make a fire with; but the hope of reaching Point Lake before the winter set in, made them indifferent to fatigue and pain, and we follow them over a rough and barren country only varied by small lakes and marshes, which they cross in their canoes or ford through, and three days after starting find them eking out their last morsel of mouldy pemmican with a little portion of arrowroot, to each man for supper. The men, though suffering from fatigue, do not complain; heavy rain and snow and a north-west gale distress them, and through the night and the next day having nothing to eat, and being even destitute of the means of making a fire, they remain in bed all day, though the frost penetrated their blankets, and the snow drifted into their tents; but the temperature at 20° without fire was less painful to bear than the sensation of hunger. At the conclusion of this opening storm they again set forward, weak with fasting and with garments stiffened with frost, the moss, their only fuel (at all times difficult to kindle), being now covered with ice and snow. "Just as we were about to start," observes the writer of this touching narrative, "I was seized with a fainting fit in consequence of exhaustion and sudden exposure to the wind; but after eating a morsel of portable soup I recovered so far as to be able to move on. unwilling at first," he adds, " to take this morsel of soup which was diminishing the small and only remaining meal for the party; but several of the men urged me to it with much kindness." I was Through frozen swamps, over ground foot deep in snow, by the margins of ice-encrusted lakes, which sometimes let them in knee-deep in water, or made their footing on the slippery stones so insecure that those who carried the canoes were repeatedly thrown down, our travellers continued their journey. In consequence of this last misfortune the largest of the canoes was so broken as to be rendered un serviceable-a circumstance which put an end to the idea of dividing the party, which their leader had projected, in order to give the whole a better chance of finding subsistence, and of sending forward some of the best walkers to search for Indians and get them to meet the rest with supplies. As this plan was now im practicable, they turned the materials of the broken vessel to the best account by making a fire of it, and, after three days' fasting, cooking the remainder of their portable soup and arrowroot, which together made but a scanty meal, though it served to allay the pangs of hunger, and enabled them to proceed at a quicker pace. By this time the snow is so high as to oblige them to walk in each other's steps, the Canadian voyagers taking it in turn to lead the way. A distant object was pointed out to the pioneer in the direction they wished to take, and Mr. Hood followed immediately behind him to renew the bearings and prevent his deviating more than could be helped from the mark, and in this way they constantly proceeded across the barren grounds on their route. In the meantime their one meal daily consists sometimes of a partridge, at others of only half a one per man, with a quantity of lichen (of the genus gyrophora) called by the Canadians tripe de roche, which they boil with the aid of a fire of willow twigs dug from beneath the snow. The hunters are for some time sent out in vain : they see herds of musk oxen; but the first spoil is a small portion-about four pounds of the remains of a deer which the wolves had killed; then two small Alpine hares are obtained, but the tripe de roche fails them. At length, ten days after their starting, a musk ox is killed-" to skin and cut up the animal was the work of a few minutes; the contents of the stomach were devoured on the spot; and the raw intestines, which were next attacked, were pronounced by the most delicate amongst us to be excellent. A few willows, whose tops were seen peeping through the snow in the bottom of the valley, were quickly grubbed, the tents pitched, and supper cooked and devoured with avidity: no wonder, considering that it was the sixth day since they had had a sufficient meal. THE VINCA. BY MRS. ABDY. "The blue-eyed Vinca,' or Perriwinkle, if coldness came between man and wife, was supposed to have a charm in its leaves, which being eaten by their Superstitions, BY CAROLINE A. WHITE. them together, brought back love."-Simples and How gladly, sweet Vinca, I greet the tradition MADAME DE MIRAMION. (Adapted from the French.) BY MARIA NORRIS. However strange may appear the following story, we must beg our readers to notice that it is, in all its circumstances, strictly true. The Count de Bussy Rabutin, its hero, was cousin to the celebrated Madame de Sévigné, and himself details the adventure, which is also corroborated by Tallemant des Réaux, and by the Abbé de Choisy, in his "Life of Madame de Miramion." Madame de Miramion was born on the second of November, 1629; her mother was Marie d'Ivry, her father Jacques Bonneau, a rich citizen of Orleans, who had the misfortune to lose his wife when his daughter was scarcely nine years old. The little Marie, a child of passionate temperament, had been much attached to her mother, and grieved at her death with violence beyond her years. The duration of the child's sorrow seemed to denote unusual strength of character; and not all the efforts of her friends could dissipate her melancholy. The care of her education was confided to an aunt, who, considering that Marie was too exclusively governed by religious ideas, surrounded the young girl with the pleasures of the world. But her piety seems to have withstood the trial. The beauty and riches of Marie Bonneau attracted around her numerous suitors; and she was not sixteen years old when she married, in May, 1645, Jean-Jacques de Beauharnois, Seigneur de Miramion, counsellor of the parliament of Paris. Monsieur de Miramion was under twenty-seven years of age, a handsome man, and, still more important, a person of the most amiable disposition and character. The aunt of Mademoiselle Bonneau had sneered at her devotion, and used every effort to turn her aside; but Monsieur de Miramion allowed her to follow the dictates of her conscience, and the happy young wife enjoyed six months of the purest bliss earth can afford. In the seventh month of their marriage, Monsieur de Miramion had a hæmorrhage of the lungs, and died, leaving his widow enceinte. The posthumous child of Monsieur de Miramion was a daughter, who at her birth was so weak and ailing, that the most strenuous care scarcely preserved her alive. Between her maternal duties and her devotions, the beautiful young widow divided her time, and passed two years in the most perfect retirement. Religion and the care of her child preserved her from despair; but, as may be readily imagined, the pleasures of the world were more distasteful to her than ever. She was inclined to enter a convent, and spent much time in prayer, hoping that the will of heaven would be revealed to her, and her vocation made sure. Her friends, however, were exceedingly unwilling that she should thus sacrifice herself, and vehemently pressed her to contract a second marriage. There was no lack of suitors; but Madame de Miramion, who clung to the memory of her husband, resolutely resisted all entreaties to change her condition. She expressed sorrow that she awakened so many attachments; and on recovering from the small-pox, at that time the greatest scourge of beauty, declared herself disappointed because it had not deprived her of her charms. She desired to lead a life of piety and retirement, and to devote herself to the care of her daughter. We must remember, in considering the character of Madame de Miramion, what was the complexion of the times in which she lived. A too general licence pervaded the manners of that age; and a woman of delicate morals could scarcely find any appropriate refuge out of a religious house, and not even always in one. To the best of her knowledge, no doubt, this Catholic Frenchwoman endeavoured to fulfil her duty to God and man. Her confessor, a certain Father Clement, was a monk of defective morals, who tried to take advantage of the position of confidence he enjoyed. The Count de Bussy Rabutin, head of the younger branch of the Rabutins, was at this time a widower, having by his first marriage only daughters. His rank led him to desire a son, who might continue the honours of his house, and the Count was looking out for a second wife. Bussy was not more licentious than most men of his time, but would, in our days, be considered beyond the pale of respectable society; so much has the standard of morality risen in the interval between the seventeenth and nineteenth centuries. Bussy desired in his wife, youth, beauty, and wealth; the two first to gratify his taste, the third because his spendthrift habits had been powerful in dissipating his patrimony. He was a man of the world, and of worldly experience, and took time to look about him. Bussy held an appointment in the army under the great Condé, and was at that time high in the favour of that courageous prince; he was therefore, by family and position, justified in seeking a good match. Hugues de Rabutin was then Grand Prior of the Temple, where he had his residence; and during Bussy's visit to Paris, he was accustomed to stay in the Temple with the Abbé, who was his uncle. To this adviser Bussy detailed his affairs, and announced his wish to find a young, rich, and beautiful wife. The Grand Prior entered into the design, and promised to assist Bussy in looking out for a suitable lady. Bussy's uncle was in the habit of spending part of his summers at a country place near Sens, where he had for neighbour a certain wealthy proprietor named Le Bocage. Bussy, who visited his uncle in the country, made the acquaintance of Le Bocage; and to him also the widower confided his design of a second marriage. Le Bocage proposed Madame de Miramion, a young widow of great beauty and riches, who was reported to be exceedingly pious. Whether Bussy considered her piety any recommendation we are not informed; but the fame of her riches and beauty caused him to desire an acquaintance with her; and Le Bocage, who did not personally know Madame de Miramion, introduced Bussy to Father Clement, the lady's confessor, who might naturally be supposed to have great influence over her. Through the means of the priest, Bussy twice saw Madame de Miramion, but only at church; and though struck with her elegant figure and extreme beauty, the count had not been able to approach or accost her. Father Clement-(remember, dear readers, this is a picture of a Roman Catholic priest, drawn by disciples of his own church: we are only translating)-Father Clement assured Bussy that Madame de Miramion had been pleased with his appearance; but he also told him that the young lady would do nothing without the consent of her relatives, and that these relatives were bent on marrying her to a lawyer. The wily priest persuaded the count not to interfere, but to leave matters in his management. Father Clement engaged to ask the sanction of the principal relatives; and, in the event of their refusal, he also undertook to persuade the lady to assert her independence, and the undoubted right she had to dispose of herself. Bussy agreed to retain Father Clement as his agent, and gave the priest, at his request, two thousand crowns in order to bribe the domestics immediately about Madame de Miramion, who would, of course, have many means of hindering or serving the cause of the count. Bussy seems to have been completely the dupe of the monk. missal, Father Clement determined to use, for the annoyance of his victim, Bussy's credulity and boldness, and invented this tale concerning the abduction which he pretended Madame de Miramion desired Bussy to effect. The nobles, at that time, considered it one privilege of their caste to be above the laws; nor could the authority of the royal commissioners, whom Richelieu had appointed to repress the disorders of the nobility, succeed in putting an end to the extravagant deeds of which they were not ashamed to be guilty. The abduction, by a noble, of a woman in the lower class, or even of the bourgeoisie if she had few friends, was then no very uncommon event. Madame de Miramion had a brother, a young man of fiveand-twenty, who would no doubt avenge any affront on her behalf; but Bussy was a man of high personal courage, and believed moreover that the lady was willing to become his wife. The romantic character of the adventure no doubt sharpened the count's liking for the pretty widow, and he began to meditate as to the means of compassing his object. He told his design to the Prince of Condé, his patron and commander, who was amused with the story, and gave Bussy the means of going at once to Paris. The prince also offered him one of his places in Burgundy, in order that he might retire thither after the abduction. Bussy accepted the commission, but declined the use of the place in Burgundy, having previously deter inined to conduct his prisoner to Launay, where was an old castle, surrounded by high and thick walls, and only to be entered by passing several drawbridges. Bussy having performed the commission of Condé, and settled his affairs at court, went to the priest his agent, whom he believed to be still the confessor of Madame de Miramion. Father Clement strengthened, by word of mouth, all the statements he had made in writing, and assured the count that the widow, once removed from her family, would be delighted to marry him. As the priest had no apparent interest in deceiving him (for Bussy knew nothing of the design this vile monk had entertained towards In the midst of the pretended negociations, snare, and prepared to accomplish his lawless the young widow), he fell completely into the Bussy was summoned to rejoin his_regiment; adventure. and having obtained a promise that Father Cle-Cloud and the Château de Launay, a distance of He posted four relays between St. ment would correspond frequently with him, set about twenty-five leagues. out to meet the army in May, 1648. Three strong escort, composed of Rabutin, his brother, He assembled a weeks after his departure, Bussy received a letter with a gentleman who had fought under him from the priest, who informed him that the during two campaigns, and three other gentleyoung widow was well disposed towards the men, his vassals and dependants. These five match, but that her friends opposed it forcibly. horsemen were followed by three or four serFather Clement added, that Madame de Miramion vants; and all the party were well armed and wished Bussy to carry her off from her friends, mounted. in order that she might give her consent to a marriage that pleased her. The truth was, that Father Clement had himself been in love with the young lady, but had found her inaccessible to his persuasions, and had been dismissed from his post of confessor by Madame de Miramion, who was disgusted with the wickedness of her priest. In revenge for this dis Madame de Miramion was completely ignorant of Bussy, and of the passion he had conceived for her; she had not been informed of it, either directly or indirectly, by the agent whom the count had employed; and while Bussy believed that she had given her consent to the plan of the abduction, she was busy as usual with her devotions. She had retired to Issy with her mother-in-law, and was staying at the house of De Choisy, the grandfather of her late husband. Bussy learned from some of her people that on the seventh of August the beautiful widow intended going to Mont Valérien to perform her devotions, and he determined to take this occasion of seizing her. Madame de Miramion, engrossed by her pious design, left Issy at seven o'clock in the morning on the day mentioned to Bussy. She had with her her mother-in-law, and, as was customary with rich and noble ladies in that day, was followed by several servants; including an old gentleman - usher, a middle-aged governess, and a young waiting-maid, named Gabrielle. A fourth domestic rode behind her coach. Bussy posted his party on the road from Saint Cloud to Mont Valérien, opposite the bridge. No sooner had Madame de Miramion's coach passed Bussy's people, than her carriage was stopped, and two horsemen riding up to the windows, tried to lower the leathern curtains, which at that time supplied the place of glass. Madame de Miramion tried to deter the men by striking them, and cried for help with all her might. Her cries and her feeble blows were equally useless. The horsemen, not being able to lower the leathern blinds, drew their swords to cut the strings which fastened the curtains to the doors of the coach. Madame de Miramion, with a courage above her sex, attempted to snatch the swords from these men, and in the endeavour wounded her delicate hands. During this unequal combat, Bussy's agents had forced the coachman to recross the bridge, and to enter the Bois de Boulogne. There Bussy himself was in waiting, with a lighter coach, drawn by six horses; and this coach the count endeavoured to induce Madame de Miramion to enter. In this design he failed. She crouched in her own coach with such determination, that it was impossible to tear her from it without doing her some serious injury; beside, she was shouting for assistance; and it seemed advisable, for the sake of the success of the enterprise, to make an end to the confusion of such a struggle. Bussy, therefore, put his own six horses to Madame de Miramion's coach, and sent her coachman and pair of horses back to Paris, under the charge of two grooms, who were to keep them in custody until further orders. The squadron now divided into two parties, one of which placed itself at each door of the coach, and the whole party began to gallop rapidly over the plain of Saint Denis to the forest of Livry. Madame de Miramion cried out constantly to inform the passers by that she was being forcibly carried off; she told her name, and implored them, with tearful eyes, to inform her family at Paris of the misfortune which had overtaken her. But the cloud of dust produced by so many horses partly concealed her from the persons she addressed, while the rapidity of the pace at which she travelled, and the noise of the wheels, prevented her words reaching the ears of such as happened to go by. In the forest of Livry it was impossible for the squadron to keep at the doors of the coach: one party then went before, and one behind. This change of position induced Madame de Miramion to think that she might fling herself from the carriage among the thick brush-wood, in which she would be able to conceal herself. Upon this thought she acted, and precipitated herself among the brambles, without giving a thought to the fact that she covered her face with scratches and blood. Of course she was pursued; and seeing that she would be retaken, she ran of her own accord towards the carriage, and jumped in, that the men might not force her to do so. The party halted in the most solitary part of the forest of Livry, and the men took a hasty refreshment. The persons in the carriage followed this example, Madame de Miramion excepted. The unhappy young lady declared that she would take no nourishment until she was set at liberty. Bussy, astonished and vexed at the resolute resistance of Madame de Miramion, had nevertheless a lingering hope that she might be acting a double part, in order to deceive her motherin-law and the old gentleman-usher. The count had not yet compassed the idea that Father Clement had deceived him, and longing to put an end to the lady's struggle for liberty, he stopped the coach, turned out the mother-in-law, the old 'squire, and the governess, leaving Gabrielle to attend upon his captive lady. He also wished to get rid of the footman who rode behind the coach; but the man insisted on accompanying his mistress, swearing that he would be killed rather than abandon her. Bussy then closed the leathern curtains, in order that the cries of the lady, if she still proved obstinate, might no longer be heard. These arrangements made, they set out again with the rapidity of lightning. Madame de Miramion, gathering up her forces and presence of mind, took a little knife from her reticule, and cut a hole in the leathern blind, so as to regain a communication with the exterior world. She continued her exclamations and prayers, and flung money to every person who passed. These gratuities and her evident agony were troublesome to her ravishers when they stopped to change horses; but they surmounted the difficulty by asserting that she was a mad woman, whom they were taking by order of the court to a place of security. Madame de Miramion, with her hair unbound, her cap off, the handkerchief torn from her neck, her hands and face bleeding, presented an appearance that seemed to confirm such a statement. Bussy was now convinced that there was no simulation in her opposition, but having proceeded so far in his enterprise, was unwilling to give it up. At last the coach reached the Château de Launay, the place of its destination. The noise of the chains when the drawbridges were lowered, the hollow rumbling of the coach as it passed over the moats, and under the dismal arch which conducted to the interior court of the château; the immense number of armed G |