er at Madame de Chavoncourt's.

"Papa," said Rosalie, "a _Review_ is published in Besancon; you ought
to take it in; and keep it in your room, for mamma would not let me read
it, but you will lend it to me."

Monsieur de Watteville, eager to obey his dear Rosalie, who for the last
five months had given him so many proofs of filial affection,--Monsieur
de Watteville went in person to subscribe for a year to the _Eastern
Review_, and lent the four numbers already out to his daughter. In the
course of the night Rosalie devoured the tale--the first she had ever
read in her life--but she had only known life for two months past. Hence
the effect produced on her by this work must not be judged by ordinary
rules. Without prejudice of any kind as to the greater or less merit of
this composition from the pen of a Parisian who had thus imported
into the province the manner, the brilliancy, if you will, of the new
literary school, it could not fail to be a masterpiece to a young girl
abandoning all her intelligence and her innocent heart to her first
reading of this kind.

Also, from what she had heard said, Rosalie had by intuition conceived
a notion of it which strangely enhanced the interest of this novel. She
hoped to find in it the sentiments, and perhaps something of the life of
Albert. From the first pages this opinion took so strong a hold on her,
that after reading the fragment to the end she was certain that it was
no mistake. Here, then, is this confession, in which, according to the
critics of Madame de Chavoncourt's drawing-room, Albert had imitated
some modern writers who, for lack of inventiveness, relate their private
joys, their private griefs, or the mysterious events of their own life.

* * * * *

AMBITION FOR LOVE'S SAKE

In 1823 two young men, having agreed as a plan for a holiday to make a
tour through Switzerland, set out from Lucerne one fine morning in
the month of July in a boat pulled by three oarsmen. They started for
Fluelen, intending to stop at every notable spot on the lake of the Four
Cantons. The views which shut in the waters on the way from Lucerne to
Fluelen offer every combination that the most exacting fancy can demand
of mountains and rivers, lakes and rocks, brooks and pastures, trees and
torrents. Here are austere solitudes and charming headlands, smiling and
trimly kept meadows, forests crowning perpendicular granite cliffs,
like plumes, deserted but verdant reaches opening out, and