more than once, his arm had been raised to
strike, and more than once his hand, twisted
in the meshes of her hair, had threatened her
with death—that Eveline was justified in
demanding a legal separation. She was
advised that the law could not grant it,
unless both parties consented; and Charles
vehemently refused. But what the law
denied, Nature gave. A thousand airy nothings
of speech and conduct, each innocent
apart, all maddening together, had
worked on the husband's weak brain until
they produced an unsettlement of intellect,
which a few days of wifely tenderness might
have prevented. The world only said that
Eveline was right in consenting that her
husband should be placed in restraint—poor,
young, beautiful thing, married to such a
terrible person! Charles was placed in
proper hands. The blow was struck beneath
the applaudings of Eveline's wide circle
of admiring acquaintances. She took refuge
among her crowd of simpering sympathisers,
and was received with all honour and pity,
like some martyred saint. There were some,
however, who made her feel the just meed of
her bad, selfish career, and would not notice
her.

After a time Charles gradually grew better,
and he and his mother wandered away to
Brussels; but there his " eccentricities of
temper" became more and more violent; so
that at last even his mother was forced to arm
herself with legal power to protect him from
himself. For at length he became mad—
mad for life; mad with a lingering madness,
that left no hope and that gave no rest; wan,
wild, raving—haunted ever by a false fair
face, that glided from his clasping hands, and
denied his fevered lips.

Eveline's pensive air, and eyes veiled
beneath their drooping lids (which she knew
to be extremely effective in society), gained
more sympathy than the madman's ravings
and the madman's sorrows. People only shook
their heads, and said, " What that young
creature must have suffered in her married
life!—and how heroically she concealed it
from the world!" and " Let us be kind to the
pretty little woman, for her lot has been a
sad one, and her anguish meekly borne!"

  A LAMENT FOR THE SUMMER.

    Moan, oh ye Autumn Winds!
       Summer has fled,
The flowers have closed their tender leaves and die;
       The Lily's gracious head
All low must lie,
       Because the gentle Summer now is dead.

   Grieve, oh ye Autumn Winds!
      Summer lies low,
The rose's trembling leaves will soon be shed;
      For she that loved her so,
Alas, is dead;
      And one by one her loving children go.

   Wail, oh ye Autumn Winds!
       She lives no more.
The gentle Summer, with her balmy breath,
       Still sweeter than before
When nearer death,
       And brighter every day the smile she wore!

   Mourn, mourn, oh Autumn Winds,
       Lament and mourn;
How many half-blown buds must close and die;
       Hopes with the summer born
All faded lie,
      And leave us desolate and earth forlorn I

MORE PLACES WANTED.

AS LADY'S-MAID, a young person who has lived
in the first families, and can have four years' good
character. Fully understands dressmaking, hair-dressing,
and getting up fine linen. Address Miss T., Bunty's Library,
Crest Terrace, Pimlico.

Miss Fanny Tarlatan, the young lady in
quest of a situation, does not reside at Bunty's
library. Mr. Bunty and Mr. Bunty's wife are
only friends of hers. Mr. Bunty is tall and
stout, with a white neckcloth, and is very like
a clergyman, with a dash of the schoolmaster
and a smack of the butler. Mrs. Bunty is an
acrid lady in ribbons, with a perpetual smile
for lady customers; which would be a little
more agreeable if it did not twist her neck,
and screw her mouth up, and tortuate her
body over the counter. At Bunty's library
are three-volume novels bound in dashing
cloth; and Bunty's library is carpeted; and
in the centre thereof is a great round table
groaning beneath the weight of ladies' albums,
and works of genteel piety, and treatises
written with a view to induce a state
of contentment among the rural population
(hot-pressed and with gilt edges,) together
with neatly stitched pamphlets upon
genteelly religious and political subjects,
and handsomely clasped church services,
with great red crosses on their backs and
sides.

No; Miss Tarlatan does not live at
Bunty's; but she is an old colleague of Mrs.
Bunty's (once Miss Thorneytwig, my Lady
Crocus's waiting woman,) and calls her Matilda,
and is by her called " Fanny, and a dear
girl;" and therefore she gives Bunty's library
as an address: it being considered more
aristocratic than Tidlers' Gardens; where, in the
house of Mrs. Silkey, that respectable milliner
and dressmaker, Miss Tarlatan is at present
staying.

She can dress hair, make dresses, and perfectly
understands getting up fine linen. The
French coiffeur is still a great personage;
but his services are now-a-days often supplied
by the lady's-maid; and there are many fair
and noble ladies who are not too superb to
employ Miss Tarlatan, and go resplendent
from her skill, into the presence of their
sovereign, or into the melodious vicinity of
the singers of the Italian opera. Also to