o
replace her by another in his favour, he committed the difficult task
of explanation on the subject, to his faithful friend and confessor,
Bossuet. The worthy Bishop undertook his delicate mission with
diffidence; but he executed it with tact. The gentle La Valliere wept
bitterly; she knew nothing of the misfortune that menaced her. She
believed that her star still stood in the ascendant, and fancied (like
Lord Ellenborough) that her blandishments were never more
acknowledged. "Whence, then, this change?" cried she, in the agony of
her grief. "How have I offended him?"

"You mistake me, my daughter," said Mons. de Meaux. "His Majesty is
most tenderly attached to you; but religious scruples--qualms of
conscience--have come upon him. 'C'est par la peur du diable,' that he
consents to this separation."

[Illustration: Honorable Members.]

Poor Louise dried her tears; the case was bad enough, but there was
one consolation--it was religion, and not a rival, had cost her a
lover; and so she began her preparations for departure with a heart
somewhat less heavy. On the day, however, of her leave-taking, a
carriage, splashed and travel-stained, arrived at the "petite porte"
of the Palace; and as instantaneously ran the rumour through the
household that his Majesty's new mistress had arrived: and true it
was, Madame de Maintenon had taken her place beside the fauteuil of
the King.

"So, Mons. de Bossuet," said La Valliere, as he handed her to her
carriage--"so, then, his Majesty has exiled me, 'par la peur du
diable.'"

The Bishop bowed in tacit submission and acquiescence.

"In that case," resumed she, "c'est par complaisance au diable, that
he accepts Madame de Maintenon."

A FILBERT FOR SIR ROBERT PEEL.

[Illustration]

Sir Robert Peel was never more triumphant than when, in the last
session of Parliament, he rebuked his followers for a casual defection
in the support of Government, by asking them what they had to complain
of. Are _we_ not on the Treasury benches? said the Right Honourable
Baronet. Do not my friend Graham and myself guide and direct you?--do
we not distribute the patronage and the honours of the government,--take
the pay--and rule the kingdom--what more would you have? Ungrateful
bucolics, you know not what you want! The apostrophe was bold, but not
original. I remember hearing of a West country farmer having ridden a
long day's journey on a poor, ill-fed hack, which, as evening drew
ne