dying suddenly so near the place where she had once lived, and which she so seldom visited, was certainly very singular. To my surprise, I learned that the younger lady was the daughter of old Marie, having been adopted and educated by the person she had always supposed to be her aunt; she having no children of her own. What made it more singular was, that the younger lady had herself been in possession of this family secret only a few years. It reminded me somewhat of Tennyson's Lady Clare, though in this case no one had been kept out of an estate by the fiction. It was merely to give the young lady the advantage of the supposed relationship. This, then, accounted for the strong affection existing between them, and lest any reader might think this conduct strange, I must again bear witness to the kindness and true affection always displayed toward the real mother. I would not narrate this true story, did I not feel how little chance there is of my humble pen writing any thing that would reach the ears of this family, living so obscurely in the great world of Paris. Just opposite us, in the court, lived another lady, who has played many fictitious parts, as well as a somewhat prominent one, on the stage of real life. This was Madame George, the once celebrated actress; in her younger days, a famous beauty, and at one time mistress of the great Napoleon. Though long retired from regular connection with the stage, she still makes an occasional appearance upon it, almost always drawing a full audience, collected principally from curiosity to see so noted a personage, or to remark what portion of her once great dramatic power time has still left her. One of these appearances was made at the Odéon, while we were in Paris. Marie informed us of the coming event before it was announced on the bills, and seemed to take as much interest in it as if it had been the _débût_ of a near relative. We had sometimes caught a glimpse of the great actress, tending her geraniums and roses at the window, or going out to drive. On the evening in question, a very large audience greeted the tragedienne, and she was received, with much enthusiasm. She appeared in a tragedy of Racine, in which she had once been preëminently distinguished. Magnificently dressed, and adorned with splendid jewels, trophies of her younger days, when her favors were sought by those who could afford to bestow such gifts, she did not look over thirty-five, though now more than twice that age. I am no admirer of French tragedy, but I certainly thought Madame George still showed the remains of a great actress, and in some passages produced a decided impression. Her tall, commanding figure, expressive eyes, and features of perfect regularity, must have given her every natural requisite for the higher walks of her profession. As I watched her moving with majestic grace across the stage, irrepressible though trite reflections upon her early career passed through my mind. What audiences she has