LE CHEVALIER ERRANT.

    Dans un vieux chateau de l’Andalousie,
    Au temps ou l’amour se montrait constant,
    Ou Beaute, Valeur, et Galanterie
    Guidait aux combats un fidele amant,
    Un beau chevalier un soir se presente,
    Visiere baissee, et la lance en main;
    Il vient demander si sa douce amante
    N’est pas (par hasard) chez le chatelain.

    “Noble chevalier! quelle est votre amie?”
    Demande a son tour le vieux chatelain. 
    “Ah! de fleurs d’amour c’est la plus jolie
    Elle a teint de rose, et peau de satin,
    Elle a de beaux yeux, dont le doux langage
    Porte en votre coeur vif enchantment,
    Elle a tout enfin—­elle est belle,—­et sage!”
    “Pauvre chevalier! chercherez longtemps!

    “Guidez de mes pas l’ardeur incertain,
    Ou dois-je chercher ce que j’ai perdu?”
    “Mon fils, votre soit, helas! s’en fait peine,
    Ce que vous cherchez ne se trouve plus.” 
    “Poursuivez, pourtant, votre long voyage,
    Et si vouz trouvez un pareil tresor—­
    Ne le perdez plus!  Adieu, bon voyage!”
    L’amant repartit—­mais, il cherche encore.

The air of the first of these songs was a very simple and charming little melody, which my sister, having learnt it from me, adapted to some English words.  The other was an extremely favorite vaudeville air, repeated constantly in the half-singing dialogue of some of those popular pieces.

Our Saturday sewing class was a capital institution, which made most of us expert needle-women, developed in some the peculiarly lady-like accomplishment of working exquisitely, and gave to all the useful knowledge of how to make and mend our own clothes.  When I left school I could make my own dresses, and was a proficient in marking and darning.

My school-fellows were almost all English, and, I suppose, with one exception, were young girls of average character and capacity.  Elizabeth P——­, a young person from the west of England, was the only remarkable one among them.  She was strikingly handsome, both in face and figure, and endowed with very uncommon abilities.  She was several years older than myself, and an object of my unbounded school-girl heroine worship.  A daughter of Kiallmark, the musical composer, was also eminent among us for her great beauty, and always seemed to my girlish fancy what Mary Queen of Scots must have looked like in her youth.

Besides pupils, Mrs. Rowden received a small number of parlor boarders, who joined only in some of the lessons; indeed, some of them appeared to fulfil no purpose of education whatever by their residence with her.  There were a Madame and Mademoiselle de ——­, the latter of whom was supposed, I believe, to imbibe English in our atmosphere.  She bore a well-known noble French name, and was once visited, to the immense excitement of all “ces demoiselles,” by a brother, in the uniform of