fire. I have seen faces at all kinds of
political meetings, and in penitentiaries,
prisons, and workhouses, and these were as
unhappy-looking as any of them. They were
pinched, haggard, desponding—almost without
a ray of hope. They grinned, and
scowled, and jeered; and, without saying a
word, seemed to vow vengeance. But the
quiet look of despair which was deeply sunk
on the countenances of many, frightened
me the most. One plaintive face spoke of
the injustice of being subjected to a toll each
time she ventured into the fortified precincts
of the City. "The alderman's or nobleman's
carriage," she appeared to say, "is never
stopped and compelled to pay before it is
allowed to go beyond the City barriers; but
my little cart, with its weekly 'wash,' is sent
back if I refuse to drop the toll into the
hand of the City toll-keeper. The wealthy
tradesman, who can afford to keep his
Brougham, passes free; but the costermonger.
who can barely pay the day's hire of his
donkey-cart, must pull out so much every
time his donkey's hoofs touch the ground of
His Civic Majesty's dominions."

No sooner had this face finished, than
another began. It was a sorrowful, hard-worked,
half-starved countenance: from
which the bones protruded, as if they longed
to escape. Sighing, it spoke as follows: "I
am the face of a poor tradesman. Because
my shop happens to be situated inside the
limits of the City, I am expected to pay as
much for the permission of selling my goods
there, as if I made thousands a year in my
trade. This is called my Freedom; and,
because it is a Freedom I don't choose to
put up with, I am exposed to all sorts of
persecution from the Corporation."

Other faces crowded to the front bar of the
Kitchen Fire; each eager to speak and to tell
its little story of individual wrong. I was
leaning forward, the better to listen, when
a heavy rap on the shoulder, given as I judged
from its weight by no spirit-rapper, roused
me. Had I fallen asleep opposite to one of
the large fires in the kitchen of the Mansion
House? There was no time to ask questions;
for a majestic servant reminded me,
with another slap on the shoulder, "That
they was going to shut up, and they wished
I would go." I obeyed.

A LITERARY LADY'S MAID.

THE French have, at all times, been
famous for their talent for letter and memoir
writing; and the idle reader is not a little
indebted to their agreeable egotism for some
of the most entertaining works of that nature
in any language. Amongst numerous clever
lady-writers, esteemed in their day—that
of Le Grand Monarque—a favourite was
Mademoiselle de Launai, whose autobiography
is extremely characteristic of the
manners of the time. The scenes she describes
are not unlike some of those which
enliven the volumes of that gossipping and
self-satisfied young lady, Miss Burney;
especially those which display the mode of
encouragement afforded to young women of
talent by the ladies of Louis the Fourteenth's
Court. We read of the same selfish disregard
of every person or sentiment which did not
contribute to amusement and unintellectual
gratification; and of the same ignorance,
pride, and airs of patronage, intended to
impress the protégée with awe for their
dignity, and gratitude for their condescension.
Mademoiselle de Launai writes in a lively
flowing style, which has been, by French
critics, compared to that of Madame de
Sevigny; but, pleasant as it is, it scarcely
deserves so high an honour as that. Her
anecdotes, however, are so amusing, that we
leave off disappointed to find that, after her
marriage, she gives us no more scenes; the
drama terminating as most other dramas end,
with the wedding.

Her father, M. de Launai, was an artist;
who, having been obliged for some political
offence to quit France, established himself
in England: the climate disagreeing with the
health of his wife she returned; and her
daughter was born in Paris. The mother
soon became a widow. Poor and desolate,
she was admitted from charity into a convent
in Normandy; where, after her death, her
child in due time found a continued asylum
and received an excellent education.

"It happened to me," remarks Mademoiselle
de Launai, "quite otherwise than what occurs
in romances to the general run of heroines;
who, having been brought up as shepherdesses,
turn out illustrious princesses.
I was treated in my early years like a
person of distinction; and discovered afterwards
that I was nobody, and that I
possessed nothing in the world which I could
call my own. My mind, however, not having
in early life taken the bias that abject fortune
usually gives, has ever since resisted the
oppression and subjection which has been
my lot." Nothing could equal the attention,
kindness, and care which the little
stranger received from the good abbess and
nuns, under whose roof she was sheltered.
As long as the two superiors, who watched
over her education, lived, she was treated
with all the distinction and tenderness imaginable;
but at sixteen her position was altered
by the death of her benefactresses.

Finding that she was now entirely destitute,
she appiied to two friends, the Abbé
Vertot and M. Brunel, begging them to
assist her in obtaining some situation. They
sent her money, which she instantly returned;
being resolved, at first setting out in her
career, to accept nothing which she saw no
chance of being able to repay. "I resolved,"
she says, "to suffer the extremity of indigence
rather than derogate from the character I