V. and Napoleon III

III. The Advance of the Pretenders--Historical Review

IV. The Battle of Rheims

V. The Battle of Tours

VI. The English under Jenkins

VII. The Leaguer of Paris

VIII. The Battle of the Forts

IX. Louis XVII

COX'S DIARY.

The Announcement

First Rout

A Day with the Surrey Hounds

The Finishing Touch

A New Drop-Scene at the Opera

Striking a Balance

Down at Beulah

A Tournament

Over-Boarded and Under-Lodged

Notice to Quit

Law Life Assurance

Family Bustle

NOVELS BY EMINENT HANDS.

GEORGE DE BARNWELL

BY SIR E. L. B. L., BART.

VOL I.

In the Morning of Life the Truthful wooed the Beautiful, and their
offspring was Love. Like his Divine parents, He is eternal. He has his
Mother's ravishing smile; his Father's steadfast eyes. He rises every
day, fresh and glorious as the untired Sun-God. He is Eros, the ever
young. Dark, dark were this world of ours had either Divinity left
it--dark without the day-beams of the Latonian Charioteer, darker yet
without the daedal Smile of the God of the Other Bow! Dost know him,
reader?

Old is he, Eros, the ever young. He and Time were children together.
Chronos shall die, too; but Love is imperishable. Brightest of the
Divinities, where hast thou not been sung? Other worships pass away;
the idols for whom pyramids were raised lie in the desert crumbling
and almost nameless; the Olympians are fled, their fanes no longer rise
among the quivering olive-groves of Ilissus, or crown the emerald-islets
of the amethyst Aegean! These are gone, but thou remainest. There is
still a garland for thy temple, a heifer for thy stone. A heifer? Ah,
many a darker sacrifice. Other blood is shed at thy altars, Remorseless
One, and the Poet Priest who ministers at thy Shrine draws his auguries
from the bleeding hearts of men!

While Love hath no end, Can the Bard ever cease singing? In Kingly
and Heroic ages, 'twas of Kings and Heroes that the Poet spake. But in
these, our times, the Artisan hath his voice as well as the Monarch. The
people To-Day is King, and we chronicle his woes, as They of old did
the sacrifice of the princely Iphigenia, or the fate of the crowned
Agamemnon.

Is Odysseus less august in his rags than in his purple? Fate, Passion,
Mystery, the Victim, the Avenger, the Hate that harms, the Furies that
tear, the Love that bleeds, are not these with us Still? are not these
still the weapons of the A