moral catalogue strain of " B. 1725, D. 1780,"
with other such meagre information, but a little
characteristic sketch, on the model of what Mr.
Cunningham furnished to the Manchester
Exhibition. Further, a little hint of criticism as to
the special merit of the picture—for nothing is
so precious to " the vulgar mind " as a little
criticism of this sort, judiciously done. Again,
Sir Joshua is very delightful, and will be always
welcome; but it is easy to foresee that there will
be a tendency to swamp the whole with works
of that engaging master. Of late we have seen
almost too much of him, and the " pocket-books"
discovered by Mr. Tom Taylor.

A TRUE BILL.

EARLY on the morning of the fifteenth of
April, information reached the French police
that the Baroness de C. was lying dead in her
bed, strangled with a piece of ribbon. She had
been married as a widow to Baron de C., and
was about twenty-eight years old, very pretty,
of engaging manners; and both she and her
husband were known far and wide for lavish
hospitality.

Three weeks before the murder the baron set
out for Russia, where it was said that he
inherited some property from a relative. During
the absence of her husband the baroness kept
very much at home, with Ernestine Lamont, a
beautiful girl of the most innocent and simple
manners, who had been educated and protected
by her. On the night before the murder, the
baroness went to the Opera. Ernestine, who
was not very well, did not accompany her;
neither did she sit up for her, as the baroness
had a private key, and did not wish the young
lady to be disturbed. It was the custom that
when, the baroness, on awaking in the morning,
rang her bell, Ernestine went first to her bedroom.
"When, on the morning after the murder, no bell
was heard to ring, the servants wondered, and
at last one of them went up to Ernestine's
room to ask the cause. It was empty. Thinking
that she was gone, as usual, to the
baroness's bedroom, the servant went thither.
There the shutters were still closed, and the
night-lamp burning on a little table by the
bedside. On the floor lay the lifeless body of
Ernestine. The girl now screamed for help;
the other servants hurried up-stairs, and on
opening the shutters it was seen that the
baroness lay dead, evidently strangled with a
piece of ribbon, which was at once recognised
as belonging to Ernestine, who was lying in a
swoon on the floor.

On coming to herself, it was naturally
supposed that she would be able to throw some
light on the matter, but, to the surprise of all,
she showed a nervous hesitation hardly to be
reconciled with innocence. On further
examination, it was found that the secretaire stood
wide open, and that a quantity of papers and
other articles were lying about in confusion, as
if the contents of each drawer had been hastily
turned inside out. By this time the police had
arrived. With scarcely a moment's hesitation
they pronounced that one of the inmates of the
house must either have committed the crime, or
at least been an accomplice in it. Evidently,
also, there had been robbery added to murder;
and, therefore, it was thought right to search
the boxes of each member of the household.
The servants were all willing; but when it came
to Ernestine's turn to deliver up her keys, the
young lady showed a strange unwillingness to
do so. Of course the police persisted, and in a
very little time discovered a large sum of money
and several jewels belonging to the murdered
lady carefully secreted at the bottom of her
box.

"How does mademoiselle account for this
money?" was the first question put to her.

"I do not know—I—cannot tell—pray—do
not ask me," was the hesitating reply.

The suspicions already attached to her were
now considerably strengthened, and the police
only discharged their duty in arresting her.
The case was tried, and Ernestine Lamont found
guilty.

A young lawyer named Bernard, whose
knowledge of Ernestine's previous character made it
very hard for him to believe her guilty, resolved
to see her. After some little difficulty, permission
was granted him to visit the condemned in
prison. But if he went thither with any faith
in her innocence, he left the prison without doubt
of her guilt. Her answers to his questions
were evasive and unsatisfactory.

On reaching home late that evening, he found a
note lying on his table. It was from Ernestine,
and ran as follows:

My dear Friend,—I feel that I owe you at
least some explanation for my strange conduct,
and will therefore put you in possession of the
facts of the case. It is only forestalling my
intention. This letter would have been
delivered to you after my death....

You are aware of the circumstances which
made me regard the baroness as a mother.
You are aware, too, of her husband's fatal
propensity to the gaming-table, a passion which in
course of time led to an estrangement between
them. The baroness was very beautiful; and
still young, and failing to find that love and
affection which she had hoped her husband
would show her, formed an unfortunate intrigue.
I was horror-struck when she informed me of
this; but it was not for me to blame her. As
might be expected, no good could possibly result
from this attachment. Her lover proved
unworthy of her confidence, and succeeded, whether
by threats or by menaces, I know not, in
obtaining from her large sums of money. It was
but a few days before her death that she
confided this to me, and at the same time begged
me to take care of her jewels and money for her
in my box, as she dreaded lest her sordid lover
should obtain possession of them. The last
time I saw her alive was on the night she went
to the Opera. At what hour she returned I