I jfartign at* Colonial.

Faitem.—The " affaire Praslin," as the Debats calls it, continues to engross a large share of public attention. The assumed connivance of this Government at the Duke's suicide serves still as a handle for the National and other Opposition journals to assail the Ministers and the aristocracy: but the chief features of interest that the affair has assumed are the dis- closures, contained in the private letters and in the published reports of

the proves verbaux, of the feelings which actuated the parties. With re- spect to the poisoning, it seems from the report of the scientific men ap- pointed to inquire into the matter, that the Duke de Praslin's death was caused by arsenic alone, and that it was taken on the 18th August, the day before he was conveyed to prison.

The Court of Peers, summoned for the trial of the Duke, met on Monday afternoon. After hearing the report of the Chancellor, as Presi- dent of the Commission intrusted with the preliminary proceedings, and the "conclusions" of the King's Procureur- General, the Court relinquished the affair, and left Mademoiselle de Luzy-Desportes to be prosecuted, if need were, before the ordinary tribunals. The report detailed the main facts of the murder, and expressed the Chancellor's conviction of the Duke's guilt. The Chancellor eulogized in glowing language the character of the Dutchess; described her as " an angel of goodness," and her diary and letters as " the emanations of one of the purest minds ever created by God for the honour of all times and all ages "-

" If this collection is to remain as an eternal monument of the perversity of one of the greatest criminals that ever lived, there will arise from it, at the same time, the consolatory reflection that by the side of the most furious passions of the most perverse men Providence has frequently placed in all ranks and all classes the most angelic virtues, wishing thus to grant to humanity a sort of right sometimes to tarn away the eye from the perversities which afflict it, and perhaps also to so- licit for them a little mercy. Who, in fact, can doubt, after having read the let- ters and writings of the Datchess de Praslin, that her soul is at this very time entirely engaged in appeasing, if it be possible, the anger of Heaven against the man who was her assassin, but who had also been the father of her children?"

Previous to the separation of the Court, copies of the proces verbaux and letters, from which we have made the following copious extracts, were submitted to the Peers. They occupied a couple of volumes of above three hundred quarto lithographed pages. The number of letters is thirty-three. Only one is written by Mademoiselle de Lnzy-Desportes and one by Mar- shal Sebastiani to the Duke; the others are all in the handwriting of the unfortunate Dutchess.

The proctor verbal of the Duke's examination before the President of the Court of Peers, on the 21st, exhibits the accused as utterly prostrated, and as almost confessing his crime, whilst he evaded a direct answer to the en- trapping questions which the.French system of criminal judicature sanc-

tions. For example— ' " Yon are aware of the frightful crime that is imputed to you. You know all the circumstances which have come under your own eyes, and which do not allow of a shadow of doubt. I recommend you to shorten the fatigue which seems to oppress you by making a confession; for it is impossible for you to deny; you can- not dare to deny ?"—" The question is very definite, but I have not sufficient strength to answer. It would require long explanations." " You say it would require long explanations; but, on the contrary, a' yes' or a 'no' is sufficient?"—" It requires great strength of mind to reply that 'yes' or 'no.' It requires immense strength, which I do not possess." " You must have experienced a most distressing moment, when you saw, upon entering your chamber, that you were covered with the blood which you had just shed, and which you were obliged to wash off? "—" Those marks of blood have been altogether misinterpreted. I did not wish to appear before my children with the blood of their mother upon me." " You are very wretched to have committed this crime?"—(The accused makes no answer, but appears absorbed.) "Have you not received bad advice, which impelled you to this crime ? "—"I have received no advice. People don't give advice on such a subject." " Are you not devoured with remorse, and would it not be a sort of solace tie you to have told the truth? "—" Strength completely fails me today."

The answers of Mademoiselle de Lnzy-Desportes to the searching ques- tions of the President show that she possesses a mind and attainments of a superior order. The whole tenour of her replies was to exalt the character and disposition of the Duke, and to attribute the domestic broils to the extreme jealousy and irritable temper of the Dutchess.

She stated that she had been recommended to the family by Lady Hislop, whose daughter she had educated; and that her engagement commenced in March 1841. Her salary at Lady Hislop's was 1,800 francs; at the Duke de Praslm's 2,000 francs. Subsequently the Dake promised ber a pension if she " had the courage to finish the education of his three eldest daughters, notwithstanding the degree of disgust which the circumstances attending this education might occasion her": she expected a pension of 500 francs for each of the daughters. The governess whom she replaced informed her that there were often quarrels between the Duke and his wife, and cautioned her to observe the utmost circumspection. The extreme jealousy of the Datthess, and her desire to engross the whole of her hu>band's affection, made her jealous even of the children; and they consequently became estranged from her. She never gave instructions concerning the education of her daughters; it was entirely under the control of the Duke. Questioned as to the grounds of dissension which existed between the Duke and Dutchess de Praslin, she replied—" it was the desire on the part of Madame la Duchesse de Praslin to domineer over her children, and above all, over her hus- band; and on the part of M. de Praslin a decided resistance, but accompanied by much moderation."

She alluded to a visit she paid two years ago with the Duke and one of his daughters to an estate of Marshal Sebastiani in Corsica, when an article was pub- lished in one of the journals stating that she had eloped with the Duke. She then wished to quit the house; but Marshal Sebastiani opposed it, as such a step would give strength to the rumour. She added to this part of her examination—" Ma- dame de Praslin then manifested towards me much coldness and repulsion on the subject of my determination to leave; but since, these feelings had been much weakened, for I found, above all for a year, that she was full of benevolence with regard to me. I was, then, perfectly thunderstruck when, about two months ago, the Abbe Gallant said to me that my presence was a cause of trouble in the house, and that I could not remain."

The subjoined extracts from the examination represent forcibly the un- happy state in which the Duke and Dutchess were living.

" Did you not perceive more than once that this situation of the Dutchess with respect to her children, this almost complete isolation from everything that con- cerned them, was very distressing to her, and was a subject of difference between herself and M. de Praslin ? "—" 1. believe, on the contrary, in my soul and con- science, that Madame de Praahin was much more preoccupied at this period with her feelings fur her husband than by those inspired for her roma children; whom she hardly saw, avoided their company when their father WS'S present, in order that she might be with him, and voluutasily kept apart from them when he-

was not there, in order to arm herself against him in the reproaches which she addressed to him upon the manner in which he managed their household. In the beginning, Madamede Praslin did not wish, when in the country, to join the family when they went out. Afterwards she changed. When M. de Praslin played with the children, and gave short answers to the questions which she in- cessantly addressed to him to attract his attention, she habitually left the room, evincing in a manner thus apparent her jealous irritation at the greater attention which the children gave to M. do Praslin than to her. The children quickly per- ceived this, and conceived a sort of irritation against their mother. They affected, with the innocent malice of children, to brave the feeling, by manifesting still more affection for their father, by being constantly about him; while I, who saw the real mischief which this sort of strife produced upon the children, had not the power of preventing the result. More recently the excessive tenderness with which my pupils inspired me prevented my being completely impartial in these questions, which arose every day; and I could not attempt to bring back to Madame de Praslin those whom she had voluntarily, or at least imprudently alienated."

In reply to further questions she said—

"I wish above all things, that no one should accuse me of want of respect for the memory of Madame do Praslin; but you demand the truth of me, and I wish to tell you the whole truth. I do not blame her heart or her sentiments, but her character, at times irritable and difficult, which rendered her incapable of bringing up so many children, differing so completely in age, intelligence, and character. She wanted altogether that abandonment in her tenderness for them—that ease

which gains the heart of youth. Irritable in little things, when there was neces- sity for indulgence, she showed herself, on the other hand, as if in compensation

for this fruitless rigour, too weak when circumstances would have required the severity of a mother. These were the reasons that induced M. de Praslin to in- sist on an education completely apart; but, unhappily, his apathetic habits, and the pleasure which he found in the society of his daughters, induced him to relax, little by little, so Far as he was concerned, in this system of separation. This irri- tated Madame de Praslin; for hitherto she submitted, without any apparent diffi- culty, to the established order of things. From the time of my entrance into the house, she told me that things would go on so, and that she should abstain from interference until her daughters came out." " As to that which is personal to myself, the conduct of Madame de Praslin has been towards me, as it has been towards those whom she knew, and even whom she loved best, very unequal, and often incomprehensible. I have often had much to endure in my amour propre, in all my feelings. At other times I have been treated by her with interest and affection. Frequently, an hour after she had bitterly reproached me with the influence which I exercised in her family, she would send for me to avail herself of that very influence, in forwarding some design or desire which she entertained. Often after some cruel injury, she would make me a rich present; and even in the last days of my sojourn in the house, when, having refused to meet me at table, I appeared in the eyes of the whole house to have been rather dismissed than honourably parted with. Madame de Praslin having met me by chance, suddenly manifested the greatest kindness, as in the most amiable time, and even sent me some books to distract my attention." "Have you over heard out of the month of M. de Praslin anything that would lead you to think that he mediated such desperate extremities?"—" By everything I hold most sacred in the world, never, never. I do not know if I am permitted to detail some facts which I alone know, and which prove that the violence was not on the side of M. de Praslin. I have frequently heard Madame Praslin theaters to put an end to her days. Once at Vaudenil she attempted to do so; and in disarming her, M. de Praslin received a wound in the hand. Another time at Dieppe, at the end of an explanation between herself and her husband, of which I was not witness, but which I and the children overheard in the chamber in which we were, she rushed into the street, theatening to throw herself into the sea; and by that strange inconsistency of character, which I have already noticed, M. de Praslin found her at midnight in a shop making purchases, and perfectly calm. Always upon these occasions, multiplied as they were, M. de Praslin was calm, impassible, and fall of sweetness." In answer to other interrogatories, Mademoiselle de Luzy said that at the last interview with the Duke, on the day before the murder, Madame Lemaire desired him to obtain from the Dutchess a letter contradicting the rumours which had been circulated to the prejudice of Mademoiselle, as a necessary preliminary to her engagement as governess; and it was ar- ranged that she would call on the Dutchess on the following Monday. The Duke seemed reluctant to undertake the commission; and the inference is that the last fatal quarrel was on this account.

An impassioned scene took place when the President told Mademoiselle that the evidence was vary strong that the Duke had murdered his wife-

" Oh, no, no, gentlemen, tell me that this is not so. It is impossible. lie- he—who could not bear to see one of his children suffer. No—tell me not that

they are serious. Tell me that it is a suspicion which will not justify itself. No, no. It is impossible. (Falling on her knees and joining her hands.) Oh, tell me this, Sir, I pray you! My God ! you say that to me which I cannot believe—

my conscience tells me that it is not the truth. But if it is a fact, great God ! it is I who would become culpable—I, who loved his children so much—I who adored them—I have been criminal—I have not known how to resign myself to my lot.

I have written letters to them—letters which you may see. I said that I could live no longer; that I found myself in the presence of misery, for I am a poor abandoned creature, without other resources than an old grandfather, who is severe, and who has threatened to deprive me of the little which he put by for me. I was frightened at the future lot which might herd me. Oh, how wrong I

have been ! I should have said to them that I could have adapted myself to my situation, that I could be happy in my little chamber, and that they should forget one and love their mother. When I quitted the house, I was driven to such despair that I wished to die. I had a phial of laudanum—they unhappily re- called me to life, and life is very sad for me. I had been during six years io that

house so happy in the midst of these children, who loved me, and whom I loved more than life—life was insupportable to me without them; and I have said it— it is my crime—it is I who sin culpable. State it, Sir—write it." She declared that if the Dutchess had been removed by a natural death, and the Duke were to have offered her his hand, she would never have consented to such a misalliance.

As to the Duke's motive—" What excited him, what carried him beyond himself, was the fear of a process of separation, with which the Dutchess was

without ceasing menacing him. He saw in that a great misfortune for his chil- dren—the ruin of their fortune; and he was disposed to do all that was possible to avoid it. He had been informed of this process by Id. giant, notary, who also informed me of it. The Abbe Gallard also mentioned it to me; and the Due de

Praslin prayed me to submit to everything from Madame; which I promised to him, and I would have made every sacrifice. When what has since taken place

occurred, I had not the courage to meet it, and I demanded that unhappy letter, which must have ruined all, because Madame Lemaire did not find the letter of the 19th sufficient, which you ought to have outing the papers seized at my re- sidence."

The letters of the Dutchess to her husband, found in his desk, and extracts from a diary found in her chamber, inscribed " Fcr my husband the Duke of Praslin (for him alone)," are extremely interesting. The earliest letter is the following, dated 21st May 1840; apparently written after a violent quarrel and estrangement, which continued to the last- " Do not be astonished, my dear Theobald, at my fear of being alone with you. We are separated—for always—you said so: a sad recollection will ever be at- tached to yesterday. You must have perceived yesterday that I felt its full weight, when, in the presence of persons who are the cause of this separation, no- thing betrayed that it had taken place. You will never have occasion to complain of me before the world—my conduct yesterday is proof sufficient. As long as I nourished hopes of a reconciliation, (and latterly 1 had many,) l was 'hovering be- tween joy and fear, and gave way to fits of temper; but now that the sacrifice is done, you need not fear. Before the children and the world, nothing will lead to the supposition that you have destroyed my peace. When I say you, it is not yotr. that my heart accuses; but to be alone with you would be too much for me. I must weep in solitude, and endeavour to gain sufficient strength to hide my mis- fortune from the world. My illusions are still too fresh, my love of too late a date, to assume at once towards you that cold reserve which my future position imposes upon me. My heart would overflow; it will need time to calm its move- ments. 1 hen, mon ma, instead of avoiding you, I shall seek your presence; but at the present moment I love you too well. My future life will be one of mourn- ing. My feelings will be always the same, but time will have softened down their form. Do not be angry with me then, mom arni, if I avoid your society; I do so not to embitter your life. In the presence of a third I shall feel more at my ease; for then I can appear affectionate towards you, and those will be my only happy moments, and I hope that the occasion will often present itself. Surely, after what passed between us in the morning, yesterday evening could only he a source of grief to me: andyet I appeared gay, and I almost was so, fur thought that if we were reconciled I should have to act in such and such a manner, and I acted accordingly; but it was only an illusion. Alone with you, I must always be on my guard in presence dale sad reality. We are separated; and although it is now nearly three years that we have lived as if we were so, there still was hopet but that vanished yesterday. " To act towards you for the future as I ought, I must endeavour to forget my past hopes. Time and habit can alone teach me to draw a line between Theobald and Id. de Praslin. If I could but think that you would be happy at the price of all my sufferings, present and to come, it would be a consolation to me. Fare- well I—what pain is in that word, pain that I never dreamed of before. Fare- well I And yet you loved me! We will meet in heaven; refuse not this last prayer, the only meeting-place I may now designate. May the thought some- times cross your mind, that I still love you I" The next letter was written in June 1841- " Wherefore, my beloved, do you refuse to let me share your afflictions? You deprive our life of all the charms of affection I Do you then believe, or rather do you wish to persuade yourself, that independence consists in solitudeP You say that I am exigeante, because I desire to share your sorrows. You do not like me to remark that you have any. Do you then wish to become quite a stranger to me; and for that, would it not be requisite for me to become entirely indiffe- rent to you ? And how could I become indifferent to the person I love best on earth ! Do you think it possible?—would not my heart break long before? You yourself are sorrowful to see me sad, and you ki..... he reason of mysadness; you know how it is in your power to console me, and yet you withhold those consola- tions. I, on the contrary, I see that you are sad; I feel within my heart a source of the deepest love, sufficient to calm and soothe all your sorrows, and you dis- card me! Am I not your wife, the partner of your life, she whose duty it is to share equally your pleasures and your sorrows? If you were ill, is it not my hand that would smooth thy pillow ? And are not sorrows diseases of the mind —of the spirit? Wherefore, then, reject me? . . . You have a heart to ap- pretiate the joys, the wants of a loving heart, in which to place full confi- dence and find relief for your sorrows. It is the violence of my manners that prevents you from placing that confidence in me. Believe me, Theobald, four months of sorrow and repentance have chastened me: it is to love and console you, and not to torment you that I seek your confidence. I give you my word never to try to gain the ascendancy over you: I am fully aware of your superior cha- racter and mind. I only wish to share your life, to embellish it, and pour balm upon your wounds. You left my room because you thought that I wished to gain the ascendancy over you. My friend, I swear unto you, in the name of my love, in the name of yours, by all that I hold most sacred and most dear, I only seek your love and your confidence as you have mine. I will blindly obey you; I will no longer torment you by jealousy; I shall never give you a word of reproach or of counsel. My repentance is too sincere; I have suffered too much to return to my past faults. We are both very young, Theobald! Do not condemn us both to solitude. How I We love each other, we are both of us pure, and shall We live apart from each other both in body and in mind ? Do not let your heart be a sufferer from a little feeling of amour propre; I swear unto you that I only seek your affection and your confidence; I shall be the loving and obedient partner of your life. My friend, confidence is the marriage of souls; their mutual confes- sions are their caresses; and union, happiness, and virtue are the fruits. Believe me, I shall never abuse your confidence; your confessions will be received in my bosom with the same mystery and affection as thy caresses. Take again your own Fanny. Try her but for a short time with love and affection, and you will find that you will be much happier than living in solitude. You seek a change; but are you really happy? Oh ! no, you are not, with a heart like yours, and the life we are leading. The only happiness of your wife consists in your love and support. Turn not then a deaf ear unto her entreaties—unto her vows—to her repentance; for she loves you, and her whole life will be past in love and gra- titude towards you. You have driven her from your bed and from your heart; could you do more if she was false? She spends her days and nights in tears; she waits outside your door, but dares not enter, for fear you should reproach her for it on the morrow. Mon ami, in the name of the many dear remembrances which you bid me invoke, should 1 ever have offended you, hearken to me; give me again your confidence, and your love, and open your heart to the woman whose life is devoted to you. 06, I will never abuse it. Oh, how have I offended ysiell my beloved, unless by my suspicions and my temper; and when did a kind fail to sooth me? Give not vent to your anger—be not inexorable. My Imp...res breaking. Theobald, pity I pity on her who loves you I Trust year happ. ess to my keeping, as I trust mine to yours. . . . Du not break the heart that is beating only for you. You who once loved me so much, forgive me. When you coufess to me your sorrows—your head upon my breast, your hands in mine, my lips upon your forehead—do you think that they will not be less than if pent up in your own breast? Do not sacrifice our mutual happiness to an empty fear that I will abuse your goodness: no, no, I will only share and console you in all your sorrows. But will you be the less a man to have a loving woman to share your pleasures and your sorrows? Let this union of our hearts be a sweet mystery of love between us. Oh ! we could be so happy if you would but try it. You would always be met with a happy and mulling countenance, ready to follow you wherever you liked. Perhaps, after all, you are the more jealous of the two. God knows what suspicion you may nourish in your breast; for I am at a loss how to interpret your secret sorrows. If you knew what I suffer, my beloved! It is stilt in our power to be so happy. I cannot think that you wish to abandon me thus for ever, to deprive us of mutual happiness—life is so short, my beloved, and we have been separated already so long! Soon, I shall not dare to make pmposals,, always refused like my caresses. It is not in your character to make the first advances, and from custom your wife will fear you too much to make further at- tempts; and life will then pass by, and you will be unhappy, and your wife will die of grief. Oh, return return unto her!" _(Tie above letter is addressed to " Monsieur Is Marquis de Praslin ;

Mehl; —.") The diary exhibits the same devoted attachment to her husband, and the wretchedness which their estrangement occasioned her, with the occa- sional fits of temper and waywardness of a woman who expects in return for her affection the entire attentions of her husband. We subjoin ex- tracts/ "January 13, 1842.—Twice have the pages of this book been covered with the outpourings of a broken spirit. I burnt them in a moment of despair, to efface all marks of my suffering', and only show you my happy thoughts at your return. Two years have passed, and my hopes are destroyed for ever; but I feel the want of expressing to you all the tenderness and love I have felt for you. "You have taken my children from me. My children ? Do you think me capable of corrupting them? I loved you too well not to love my children; and you have now taken them from me, to place them under the care of a giddy young person, without any religion, and whom you only know from an eight months' ac- quaintance. Theobald, Theobald, was it not sufficient to abandon me without de- priving me of the affection and the esteem of my children? " "April 23.—It is now some time since I have written, and my position is now far worse than it was. Mademoiselle D— is mistress of the house. What an example to the children! A young woman of twenty-eight to be allowed to enter at all hours the room of a man of thirty-seven, and to receive him at all hours in her own apartment. Had she not the impertinence to tell me that she could not interfere between me and M. de Praslio, as she thought he must have sufficient reasons to withdraw my children from my superintendence?

"Those reflections, which I wrote down yesterday upon a stray sheet, are now singular to copy, and prove the extent of my unskilfulness. The best weapon, if I take it in my hand, turns and wounds myself. Today, perceiving myself angry at seeing you come out from a tete-ii-tete with Mademoiselle D., I thought to act most judiciously in flying without saying a word, believing that I should thus avoid any scene of recrimination, and testify my disapprobation gently without risking anything. Good God ! how far was I from anticipating the frightful rage in which my unlucky gentleness put you. Certainly, no violence could have urged you farther than to follow me on the staircase with loud insults and mena- cing gestures; and afterwards to come to my room and break my vases, and take from me two presents which I valued so much, and which you gave me when I believed you loved me so much. Perhaps you have given them to another. You have made me barn the letters—proofs, and only relics of that love. You have torn from me my children, you have condemned me to grief for the present life, without leaving me a better hope for the future, and now you deprive me of the

Pd. ••• •

"All is finished. We have quarrelled beyond recall. Oh, he is more than harsh, he is cruel towards me. How could he acquire this excess of aversion for me whose love he knows to be so pure, so tender, so devoted ? What infamous influences have been at work upon his heart, once so good, so affectionate, so just? He excuses himself, doubtless, by telling himself that my character has become hateful and intractable. But whose is the fault? Has he not disordered all my sentiments, all my principles—does he not seize every occasion, to hurt and wound me? The chamber I live in kills me with its bitter recollections. The sight of the staircase which I mounted on the day of marriage so full of joy, of love, of hopes so trusting—all this part of the chateau which I inhabited when

Iyou loved me, when you never left me, all this makes me mad. I know not what do or say, so ill have you treated me since you have come into possession of your magnificent chateau."

The following letter is undated, but it appears to have been written shortly before Mademoiselle de Luzy-Desportes was dismissed- " You will not be surprised, Sir, that after such en insult I can never consent that the person to whose ill conduct I owe it should remain under the same roof with me. You are completely blinded towards me, and towards yourself. You are doubtless free to do what snits you; but you are not free to have my daugh- ters brought up by a person whom I despise as her shameful conduct deserves. For a long time I have sought an explanation with you; I have done what I could to obtain it, but you refuse it. 1 demand, then, that you authorize me to travel, to avoid greater scandals. During that time, you will reflect on the course it will be suitable for you to adopt. The day will come, Theobald, when you will return to yourself, and will perceive how unjust and cruel you have been to the mother of your children, in order to please a crackbrain who respects nothing."

A letter written by the Dutchess to Mademoiselle, on the 1st January 1846, accompanied by a bracelet, confirnle in gee degree the character for inconsistency ascribed to her by the governess— r a it is forbidden us to retire to rest without being reconciled with our neighbour; much more, it appears to me ought the new year to put an end to all dissensions I

and obliterate all disputes. It is then heartily that I offer you my hand, Made- Jaelielle, and ask you to forget, in order that we may live well together hence- forth, all the momenta of pain that I have caused you; and I promise you, also, to pass the sponge over all the circumstances which, in mortifying me, have ex- cited me to occasion them. Every one has his faults in this world, and I am in- duced to believe that it is too happy. This ought to render us mutually more indulgent, and to facilitate reconciliations. I am truly convinced of your sincere and tender attachment to my children; and believe me that no one is more dis- posed than I am to show gratitude and affection to those who have been devoted to them, if I am not wounded to the heart by the thought that they are estranging them from me. You know as well as I do, that it is custom which causes attach- ment; especially with children. Not seeing their mother, she loses her place in their hearts, as in their life they end by doubting her love, happy if at a late period their esteem and their confidence are not shaken. Certainly this was not your object; for you must have known that it would be as pernicious to the chil- dren as sorrowful to the mother to destroy bonds so sacred. From one trifle to was ''er one comes to do things which at first one was far from conceiving. If

...„4411L1 a of irritating oneself about faults which are mutually confessed, we re-

m overlook them, I believe that every one in this world would make a good It requires only to be a good driver and go round the stone heaps instead of over them: for my part, I confess that I often come into collision. I bad long intended to write to you to renew all our acquaintance with the year: it is therefore with double pleasure that I have received your charming work this evening, because it proves that you are also willing to put an end to a state of things which I am convinced cannot fail to be hurtful to the children, to place yourself often in a disagreeable and false position, and places me in one very cruel to me, who live isolated for so long a time from those dear affections in the midst of which I was so happy I I anticipate with great ardour the time when my daughters will be grown up; and I conte.ss I suffer much in seeing them what they are towards me. But I am taking a long time to say that we ought to try to abandon a wrong course, to take another, and to beg you to receive and take sip this gage of a new alliance, to which I hope you will consent." The following from the Dutchess to Mademoiselle, written at the time of the dismissal, is dated 19th June 1847-

" Mademoiselle-1 deeply regret to hear that you are unwell, and that in that state you took the trouble of writing to me on a subject which your care for my children makes so natural. If circumstances which materially concerned their interests precipitated an event which I looked upon but a few days since as still far distant, you may be certain that I shall only be the more eager to seize every op- portunity of being of service to you, and that I shall be thankful to you if you will point me out the means. I heard that you intended paying Lady Hislop a visit; in which case I will give you a letter to Lady Tankerville, who 1 am sure will do

all that is in her power to second Lady Hislop's endeavours for your welfare. If you would like to have letters to Madame de Flahault and Miss Elphinatone, I shall be most happy to write them. "I remember that on arriving at Praslin you asked me to lend you a book: I hope you will not refuse to accept this little souvenir, which I have great pleasure in sending you. "I can only repeat, Mademoiselle, that I shall seize every occasion to be of ser- vice to you."

The last document, dated 13th July 1847, was found in the Dutchess's secretaire, in a sealed envelope entitled " Impressions." At this time it appears that a great change had been produced in her feelings to her hus- band— " It is long since I have written anything, and nevertheless nothing has changed in the interval. She will leave, they say, when we go to Praslin ; and in the mean time the empire she holds is most absolute. Father and children, she re- tains them all as in a special bond. I understand her game well enough, if she have really swallowed all shame; but for him, I cannot explain his conduct. He complains of calumny; but he confesses that appearances are bad, and he makes these appearances every day worse, and gives more grounds for all the scandalous

interpretations. He pretends that relations are misinterpreted; and yet he publicly proclaims the rupture with my father on her account. He breaks with us, and does not leave her. No character can be more enigmatical. Is it excess of corruption ? or is it excess of weakness ? Were it excess of weakness, could that go to the length of making him so trample on the interests of his children? What ! could be have so much fear of this woman as not to dare, while she is in the house to leave his children with their mother, or show regard to his wife? What has given her this empire over him?—it is not natural. She must have some means by which she makes her threats powerful over him. Poor man, I sincerely grieve for him. What a life he leads! What a future he is preparing for himself ! If he allows himself to be thus domineered over and browbeaten by intriguantes at forty-two, what will he be when he grows old! And yet, how I loved him! He must have been sadly changed by all these bad habits: for on seeing what he is now, I cannot explain what inspired in me this love so impassion- ed. He is no longer the same man: how dull is his spirit—how narrowed his heart—how much has he grown suspicious, ennuied, and irritable. Nothing animates him. Nothing interests him, nothing exalts him. No generous, im- ioned, or enthusiastic sentiment, seems to vibrate in his heart or mind. He

rank, fortune—all that could render his existence useful, brilliant, happy, and honourable. All is galvanized: he interests himself in nothing either for his country or for his children. He keeps company with governesses: he is their cavalier servente till he becomes their slave. Truly, I believe that he only wishes to keep Mademoiselle D. (whom he has not loved for this eighteen months or two years) because he fears that if once removed hence she would make life too hard for him. My God! what an existence! What is curious is that I am sane. He firmly believes that it is on account of jealousy that I wish the departure of Made- moiselle D. He will not comprehend that my moving principle is, and will hence- forth ever be, my children. He believes that it is my jealous love for him; and this flatters him. It is singular, but I do not doubt that if he had not believed my love inextinguishable he would have treated me less unworthily. What an illusion, what excess of self-love ! Yet it would perhaps have been possible to preserve, at the bottom of one's heart, love for a man who has treated you as he has treated me, if, on the other hand, this man excites our admiration, and ele- vates himself in our eyes by grand actions and great works. But a grovelling,.

i

ordinary man, one loves only if he is just, if he is good, if he is conscientious, if he renders your life happy. It is not necessary that he should do great things; but he must know how to appretiate them, how to admire them, and in- terest himself in them. I cannot tell how far this contempt and ennui at all things, this total impossibility of taking lively interest in anything, has completely cooled my feeling towards him. I thought him so diffe- rent- Oh, he must have been so; I could never have loved him if he had bees always what he is! Certainly there was stuff in his heart, in his understand- ing; but the want of firm principles of morality and religion, and his idleness of mind, have caused him to succumb to sensual passions. And with all this he wishes to educate his daughters. How completely has he isolated himself ! He has not one real, serious friend. He has no connexions but those which have sprang from his pleasures, and which have become chains from his weakness when he wished to detach himself from them. How frightful it is ! He drags after him, like a dog, the exigencies of women with whom hehas been connected. And yet how bizarre are men! He has always sacrificed, oppressed, wounded, humil- iated, ill-treated, and abandoned me, for persons whom he did not love. For my part, I have loved only him, and with a passion inexpressible—an ardour which astonishes me: and now I know not but at the bottom of his heart he perhaps prefers me to those women, whom he despises and fears. And I, I am well dis- enchanted with him. He will be always unkind to me now; he is too well aware of the extent of his wrongs, and cannot comprehend that I can forgive and forget. My merit would not be so great as he thinks. I cannot be jealous except when I love and then I easily forgive; and since my sentiments are changed I have no

er feeling towards him but on account of the wrong he does my children. Our position is very strange and very sad. While he has run after pleasure, I have been secluded from it. He has had enjoyments and no love: love for me has been extinguished in tears, and I have not —. But what has been worn.

out by one has perhaps been preserved by the other, and reciprocally How will all this end ? I do not believe that this can ever be by a complete reconcilia- tion, as would be desirable for our children. He will always avoid me, because he is conscious of his wrong, and I shall never seek him but from duty to my chil- dren. A feeling of shame will always prevent my making advances to a man, even though my husband, when 1 doubt of my love for him, and when I feel that other ideas, repressed for so many years, have. rather than my affection, urged me- to his arms.

" My God! you alone know what privations of the affections and all other kinds I have suffered. If I have not yielded to temptation, the glory be thine, 0. Lord! 0 abandon me not now, for without thee I shall sink ! lily God, my God, support me, direct me! I fear the future, the threats he has made to me, the difficulties which arise daily. But thou wilt there, my God; and in that is my trust that thou wilt support the poor mother to whom thou has given strength to strive for her children. Lord, help me!" Within five days from the time this letter was written, the fears which. the ill-fated wife appears to have entertained were horribly realized. The medical officer who examined the body of the Dutchess has made a report of the wounds inflicted during the struggle with the assassin- " There were eleven wounds on her head, five of which were deep and large; the fractures of the skull indicating that the four first must have been inflicted with extreme violence by some sharp-edged weapon. There were five excoriation- of the nose, the left eye, the lower lip, and the chin, which were the effect of strong force used upon these parts; and the marks of the nails are to be observed. Four large wounds were in the neck made with a weapon which was both pointed and, sharp; but neither the carotid artery nor the inner jugular vein was divided, as several journals have announced. On the two hands, the abdomen, and the chest, there were ten wounds, more or less deep. The thumb of the left hand was nearly severed at the joint. Thus, more than thirty severe wounds are apparent on the person of the Dutchess. There were besides, many bruises and livid spots on the limbs. At the same time, it is certain that her death was the con- sequence of the hemorrhage from the wounds on the head and neck. It is be- lieved that the wounds in the front of the neck, and particularly that which ex-

tended across it under the jaw, were given while she was in bed, and tbat the murderer pressed hard with his hands on her month, imprinting his nails, in order to stifle her cries."

The last scene of the Praslin tragedy closed with the interment of the Duke's remains, on Thursday sennight. The body was removed from the Prison of the Luxembourg in the dead of the night, by the Ordonnateur of the Pompes Funbbres. It was placed in an oaken coffin, and, under the superintendence of the Police, was conveyed to the cemetery of Mount Parnasse; where it was deposited in a grave, without the performance of any religious service.

The King and the Royal Family returned to St. Cloud from Eu on Saturday evening.

The Journal des Debats of Monday contains an article on the affairs of Italy. that has attracted much attention. It expresses regret that Austria should have occupied Ferrara; yet at the same time blames the Pope for inflaming the population by his protests, instead of applying patiently to the Powers who signed the treaty of Vienna. The Ddbats is especially sore at the remarks of the English press, and at the insinuations of Eng- lish interference. France, the Debats says, " will not suffer the interven- tion of any power in Italy without at once adopting energetic measures." It retaliates the attacks of the English press, by sneers at the former con- duct of England towards struggling patriots who trusted her. In the war of the Revolution, England supported the King of Naples against the Revolutionists: " *hat value," the journalist inquires, "can British interference, therefore, now have in favour of Liberalism, which was for- merly exerted in the interest of crowned heads? "

Reports of suicides and murders among the nobility, most of which have little foundation, have kept alive the morbid appetite for the horri- ble in Paris.. On Sunday morning, Count Alfred de Montesquieu, Cheva- lier d'Honneur to the Queen, and formerly Aide-de-camp to Napo- leon, was found by one of his domestics stabbed through the heart with a ,poniard,in his bedroom. No well-ascertained motive for suicide is re- ported. On Tuesday, the excitement was kept alive by the rumour of a murder committed by the Prince of Eckmiihl, son of the late Marshal Davoust, on his mistress, and the escape of the criminal to England. This report proved to be much exaggerated. The version given by the Morning Chronicle's correspondent is, that the Prince's mind had for a length of time been deranged by excesses: on Monday evening, he contrived to escape from the hotel where his friends had placed him under surveillance; rushed through the streets in slippers, with his head bare; called on a young woman to whom he was attached; attempted to kill her, and ac- tually did wound her slightly with a knife; then leaving the house, he 'wandered about the streets, and was taken into custody by the police as a vagabond; next morning he was claimed by his friends, and has been sent into the country under the charge of a medical attendant.

On Wednesday there was another report of violent death closely con- tacted with the Praslin murder. The eldest son of the Duke de Praslin, overwhelmed by the late horrible events in his family, it was said, had committed suicide by shooting himself.

On Monday, a fatal duel with swords was fought near Enghien, between two pupils of the Military School of St. Cyr. One of them fell, and shortly afterwards expired. The deceased is said to be the son of a Colonel, and his adversary is only twenty years old.

The harvest was nearly housed throughout France, and is described as one of the most productive and the finest ever known. There will be so much wine and cider that one half of it cannot be preserved, from the impossibility to procure casks sufficient to contain it. The only drawback experienced in respect of the crops is the reappearance of the potato dis- ease in some districts; but even this calamity would leave in the harvest a vast superabundance of food for all France.

Iratr.—Letters from Turin, of the 27th August, confirm the announce- ment in our last week's Postscript, that King Charles Albert had protested against Austrian intervention in the affairs of the independent Italian states.

The latest dates from Rome are to the 21st August. Enthusiasm and activity continued to pervade all classes. A Tuscan journal states that -Cardinal Ferretti had forwarded a note to the Cabinet of Vienna, declaring, that, should the Austrians not evacuate the town of Ferrara within a fort- night, the Pope would recall his Nuncio from Vienna, and send passports to Count Lutzow, the Austrian Ambassador at Rome.

The Pope had established a camp of 15,000 regular troops at Forli; and Colonel Stuart of the artillery had been despatched to Ferrara with two bat- talions of fusileers and a battalion of chasseurs. The arming of the civic guard continued; and an officer named Lopez had been sent into France to purchase 10,000 muskets. The Governors of Ancona and Civita Vec- chia had been instructed to provide those fortresses with three months provisions.

Meanwhile, Ferrara continued in the military occupation of the Austrians. According to the Semaphore de Marseilles, Cardinal Ciacchi, whose health had been much impaired during the recent crisis, was about to be replaced by Cardinal Bufondi.

The Austrian Observer of the 25th August justifies the occupation of Ferrara, on the ground that " article 103 of the treaty of Vienna conferred on the Emperor the right of placing garrisons in the fortresses of Ferrara and Commacchio; that a reinforcement was called for by circumstances; that one of the officers had been insulted; that the public mind was in a

state of excitement; that, therefore, Count Auesperg found it necessary to organize a patrol in the city for the preservation of order; that no attention had been paid to the protest of the Cardinal Legate, as the right of the military commandant to send out patrols was limited by no convention. Since which time," concludes the Austrian Observer, " the patrols have continued without interruption."

The Journal des Mats publishes a letter from Leghorn, of the 23d Au- 'gist, stating that on the preceding day disturbances took place in that city in consequence of the late events at Ferrara. " The population," it says, "assembled on the principal square, and there loudly demanded the forma- tion of the National Guard. The crowd, harangued by the Governor, ap- peared disposed to disperse, when a movement effected by a small detach- ment of carabiniers occasioned a collision, in which those soldiers were disarmed and trodden under foot. The excitement than became very great; the alarm spread through the town; and violent proclamations were posted np, in which the rioters demanded a change in the Ministry, and the or- ganization of a corps of volunteers to march against the Austrians who occupied Ferrara." The Union Afonarchigue asserts as a matter of fact, has sent orders to the Ionian Islands to prepare for an

SPAIN.—The immediate interest of the news from in the

return of Narvaez to that city; which did not take place ti gust, although he was last week erroneously stated to have arainii(41fMasTe: 22d. He had a conference with the Ministers, and was to have an audience of the Queen the same afternoon. A variety of surmises were hazarded, but Nar- vaez's character baffles all previous calculation as to the course he will pursue.

Accounts from Bayonne to the 27th August mention the rapid increase of the Carlist insurrection in Catalonia. Antigen was much disturbed from the same cause. The Carlist bands already organized are estimated at up- wards of 3,000.

PRUSSIA.—The King of Prussia, who is making a tour through the Rhenish provinces, has intrusted the reins of government during his ab- sence to the Prince of Prussia. Herr von Boyen, the Minister of War, has been placed on the retired list at his own request, and is replaced by Lieu- tenant-General von Rohr.

GREECE.—Accounts from Athens, to the 20th August, mention that General Griziotti had escaped from his prison at Chalcis, and had raised the standard of revolt against the Government. He was said to be in Ne- gropont at the head of 1,000 men, a larger force than the Government could oppose to him. He demanded the resignation of Coletti, the formation of another Ministry, the dissolution of the Chambers, and new elections.

UNITED STATES AND Mr.xmo.—The arrival of the Hibernia, with ac- counts from Boston to the 16th August, was mentioned iu our second edi- tion last week. The news from the seat of the war in Mexico consists chiefly of rumour. To some extent the vagueness may be viewed as a sign that the guerillas bold the country, and are active in cutting off com- munication. The chief report was that General Scott had entered the city of Mexico on the 17th July, having first gained a signal victory over the Mexican army. Later accounts, however, represent the General as still at Puebla, awaiting the arrival of General Peirce's detachment; which had reached Perote, after experiencing much annoyance from guerilla parties. General Scott still tarried at Walnutt Springs, in the hope of being joined by fresh troops.

Of the Mexican movements little is known. Santa Anna was believed to be directing affairs as Dictator; he was said to have 25,000 men in the city. The rumoured appointment of commissioners by Mexico to negotiate a peace turns out to have no foundation in fact; and it was held to be cer- tain that Mr. Trist's peace-making mission had entirely failed.

The domestic news from the United States is not striking. The elec- tions for Congress were proceeding with every prospect of a considerable gain to the Whigs. In President Polk's own State, the Democratic party had been signally beaten.

BEITISII Noun]; AMERICA.—The accounts from Canada represent the mortality amongst the emigrants as still very great, although the propor- tion of deaths was somewhat less than at the beginning of the season. In Nii.va Scotia, the general election had just terminated. The result showed a majority in the House of Assembly of seven votes against the Government.

CAPE OF Goon HorE.—The South African of the 17th June publishes a general order for carrying out on the Cape frontier the system of military settlements recently established in New Zealand. The order notifies, that the soldiers of the Twenty-seventh Regiment and of the First Battalion of the Ninety-first Regiment are to be discharged in consideration of their accepting service in the Local Militia. They are to be placed on allot- ments of land along the frontier of the disturbed districts. The officers and non-commissioned officers of the regiment are also to be encouraged by grants of land to settle in the same locality; the former being allowed to retire upon half-pay, or to sell their commissions; and the latter to enjoy the pensions to which they may have become entitled.

INDIA.—An extraordinary express from Marseilles, in anticipation of the overland mail of the 19th July, has brought accounts from India later by some ten days than those which we gave last week.

The Nizam's difficulties had at length forced him to appeal to the British Resident for aid against his turbulent army; and it was believed that a force would be sent into the Deccan after the rains.

Affairs in the Punjaub were going on steadily under the administration of Colonel Lawrence. His health had suffered from his constant labours, and it was thought that he would have to visit the Hills to recruit.

The continued disagreements between the King of Oude and his Wuzeer were rapidly tending to a more active intervention on our part; Colonel Richmond's influence being insufficient to induce the King to abstain from his vicious courses.

With regard to Scinde, it was believed that Sir Charles Napier had made up his mind to quit India in the autumn; and it was expected that he would be succeeded in the Government by Mr. Pringle, of the Civil service, who would hold the rank of Commissioner.

At Cabul, the differences between Dost Mohammed and the Kuzzilbashes had been terminated by a peace.

The Governor-General and the Commander-in-chief of India remained at Simla, during the rainy months. They were busy in reducing the troops, so as to save nearly 1,000,0001. sterling per annum. Forty thou- sand Sepoys have been removed from the Native army, and six Royal regiments are to be sent out of India.

Trade in Calcutta and Bombay was suffering from depression: in the latter Presidency, some strange frauds had been discovered in the supply of coal to the Indian Navy. Two persons had been tried, and found guilty of obtaining the price of 100 tons, which they never delivered.

Nothing had been heard of the Cleopatra steamer.

Tug RIVER PLATE.—Advices from the River Plate, to the 15th July, state that the blockade on the river had been raised, in consequence of the refusal of the Monte Videan Government to accept the armistice proposed by Lord Howden. Oribe had accepted the terms proposed by the Pleni- potentiaries of France and England, on the condition that during the armis- tice the town of Monte Video should be supplied with 1,500 head of cattle per month, the price to be decided hereafter, and that all the ports under blockade should be raised. These terms, on being sent to the Monte Videan Government, were refused.

erstea

ition to Italy.