At the end of seven years, rumours of another tug of war reached us from the nursery domain. Mrs Shaw was to retire with a pension, and the Prince transferred to tutors and governors, as befitted his exalted prospects. But she absolutely refused to go and break her heart and the child’s too; and again gaining her point, was transformed into a sort of Madame la Gouvernante, and allowed to retain her apartments in the Tuileries; and a pleasant retreat they must have been for the poor Prince, when bored and wearied with lessons and precepts and all the miseries attendant upon high education, which seem to be inflicted in a more burdensome form upon royal pupils than on their subjects, perhaps because it is conducted on the solitary confinement fashion, without the competition and other natural excitements of a public school. The writer believes she afterwards married an officer in the Imperial Guard, so that her fortunes were still more closely bound up with those whom she loved and served so well; and we often wondered what became of her in the dark days of Sedan and the downfall of their race, and whether she lived to join them in exile, and share the last crushing sorrow with the beloved and bereaved Empress. A YEAR’S WOOING. ’Twas autumn when first they stood on the bridge; Ripe pears on the pear-tree, ripe corn on the ridge; The swallows flew swiftly far up in the blue, And speeding still southward, were lost to the view. Said he: ‘Can you love me, as I can love you?’ She said, quite demurely: ‘Already I do!’ ’Twas winter when next they met on the bridge; The pear-trees were brown, and white was the ridge; The swallows were feathering their nests in Algiers. She looked in his face, and she burst into tears! His nose it was pinched, and his lips they were blue. Said she: ‘I can’t love you!’ Said he: ‘Nor I you!’ ’Twas spring-time when next they stood on the bridge, And white was the pear-tree, and green was the ridge; The swallows had thoughts of a speedy return; And the midges were dancing a-down the brown burn. He said: ‘Pretty maiden, let by-gones go by— Can you love me again?’ She said: ‘I can try.’ ’Twas summer when next they stood on the bridge; There were pears on the pear-tree, tall corn on the ridge; The swallows wheeled round them, far up in the blue, Then swooped down and snapped up a midgelet or two. Said he: ‘Lest some trifle should come in the way, And part us again, will you mention the day?’ She stood, looking down on the fast-flowing rill, Then answered, demurely: ‘As soon as you will!’ H. L. R. * * * * * Printed and Published by W. & R. CHAMBERS, 47 Paternoster Row, LONDON, and 339 High Street, EDINBURGH. * * * * * _All Rights Reserved._