The babe Isabella was the prominent object in this scene of enchantment. As she gazed in childish wonder upon the display, and was almost stunned with the oaths of allegiance which rent the air when she was presented as the Queen of Spain, little could she imagine the woes which in consequence were to lacerate her heart, and the rivulets of blood of which she was to be the occasion. Foreign nations did not interfere, for they were divided in their sympathies. England and France gave their moral support to the regent Christina, as being the representative of the more liberal party of the two, while Austria and the Pope were in sympathy with the ecclesiastical intolerance which Don Carlos represented. Christina, anxious to secure the military support of France, made formal proposals to Louis Philippe for the double marriage of her two daughters, Isabella and Louisa, the first to the Duke d'Aumale, the third son of the King of the French, and the other to the Duke of Montpensier, his fourth son. Neither of the young princesses were then of marriageable age. But this proposition brought into prominence the question of the "Spanish Marriages," which soon agitated all the courts of Europe, and which for a time threatened to bring on a gen Not long after this the dying hour of Ferdinand came. It was one of the saddest and most humiliating scenes of earth. It has been described by an eye-witness. The pitiable old man, arriving at the close of a joyless life of infamy and of oppression, trembled in view of death, which he well knew was to plunge his country into all the horrors of civil war, and was to introduce him to the presence of that Judge from whose verdict there could be no appeal. Angry disputants were in the death-eral war. chamber, and their clamor blended with the groans of the dying. The crown was falling from the brow of Ferdinand, and enraged relatives were watching to grasp it. From words they proceeded to blows, knives gleamed in the chamber of death; they seized each other by the hair, and in the fierce struggle reeled to and fro against the couch and almost upon the body of the dying king. The poor old man, his eye already dimmed by the film of death, was bewildered by the clamor, and groaned in irrepressible agony. The noise of the brutal fight filled the palace, and others gathered to mingle in the fray. At length the combatants were separated, and most of them withdrew from the apartment. The king seemingly had fallen asleep. Some one approaches the bed. Ferdinand was dead! Louis Philippe, well aware that the other courts, and particularly the Cabinet of London, would not consent to so intimate an alliance between France and Spain as Christina had proposed, which would virtually make the two kingdoms one, courteously declined the hand of Isabella for the Duke d'Aumale, but accepted the hand of Louisa for the Duke of Montpensier. The English Cabinet was at this time understood to be intriguing for the marriage of Isabella with Prince Coburg, a cousin of Prince Albert. It ought, however, to be stated that this was denied by the British Government. Sir Robert Peel stated in Parliament on the 19th of January, 1847: "I shall content myself with making one observation: that the last Cabinet, as long as they were in power, never made any attempt to obtain for a His life of sin and shame was ended. He prince of the house of Saxe-Coburg the hand of had gone to the Judgment. But he had sown the Queen of Spain." This denial was regardthe seeds of crime and woe, which would deso-ed by France as a diplomatic falsehood. Durlate the nation many long years after his body should have mouldered to the dust. The death of Ferdinand was immediately followed by civil war, which burst forth with the utmost violence throughout the whole kingdom. By the decree of Ferdinand Isabella was proclaimed queen, under the regency of Christina. We have not here space to describe the scenes of violence and misery which ensued. Year after year billows of flame and woe surged over the land. Cities were sacked, villages burned, harvests trampled beneath the conflict of armies, and the cry of the unprotected maiden, of the widow and the orphan, ascended unceasingly to the throne of God.. Sometimes the troops of Carlos were victorious, and wreaked barbaric vengeance upon all the advocates of Christina. Again the troops of the regent Christina triumphed, and retaliated with direful reprisals upon their opponents. Thus for months and years the cruel war raged, and the peninsula was shrouded in woe. Spain seemed lapsing into barbarism. Education was neglected, industry perished, and blood-hound ferocity seemed to take possession of all hearts. ing the vicissitudes of the war Christina was at one time driven out of Spain and took refuge in Paris. Louis Philippe then embraced the opportunity to recommend to the Queen Regent the marriage of Isabella with one of her cousins, a son of Ferdinand's younger brother Francisco. "The object of this proposal," says Sir Archibald Alison, "was to exclude the pretensions of Prince Coburg, and at the same time to avoid exciting the jealousy of the British Government by openly courting the alliance for a French prince." Francisco had two sons, both of them very worthless young men. Enrique, the elder, was coarse, brutal, an avowed atheist, but endowed with much energy of character. Francisco is represented as imbecile, besotted, and very repulsive in person. It is not probable that Louis Philippe was acquainted with the character of either of the young men. He was regarding only the political aspects of the question. Such was the state of affairs when, in the autumn of 1842, Queen Victoria paid a friendly visit to the King of the French at the Château d'Eu in Normandy, which visit Louis Philippe, a few months after, returned, being received by the queen with royal magnificence in the halls of Windsor. In these interviews between the two courts the question of the Spanish Marriages was earnestly canvassed. It was evident that the French monarch was anxious to secure as close an alliance as possible with Spain. It was also clear that the English Cabinet would not assent to any arrangement which would place the resources of the Spanish monarchy at the disposal of the King of France. A compromise was finally effected through the agency of Lord Aberdeen and M. Guizot. It was agreed that Louis Philippe should renounce all pretensions on the part of any of his sons to the hand of Isabella; and that the Duke of Montpensier should not marry Louisa until after the queen, Isabella, was married and had had children. This was to prevent the Spanish | crown from passing to the heirs of Louis Philippe. England agreed not to advance or to support the claims of the Prince of Saxe-Coburg. And both parties pledged themselves to urge that Isabella should choose her husband from among the descendants of Philip V., which, under the then existing circumstances, meant one of the two sons of Francisco. Christina decided to attempt to secure the support of England by offering Isabella, and of course with her the crown, to the Prince of Saxe-Coburg. England was pledged to Louis Philippe not to favor this union. The French annalists say--and there is but little doubt that they say truly—that Christina made this proposal at the suggestion of Sir Henry Bulwer, the British embassador then at Madrid. A very angry controversy arose between the Courts of France and England. The Cabinet of St. James denied that it had exerted any agency in the matter. Louis Philippe, apprehensive that England might succeed in securing Isabella for the Prince of Saxe-Coburg, urged Christina to press forward immediately the marriage of the young queen with the youngest son of her uncle, Francisco. The young man was then called the Duke of Cadiz. Louis Philippe also resolved, without waiting, according to his agreement, for the marriage, etc., of Isabella, to have the nuptials of the Duke of Montpensier with Louisa celebrated at the same time with those of the young queen. This plan was carried into effect. The feeling which was aroused in England by this measure may be inferred from the following remarks of Sir Archibald Alison: Such an arrangement seems extraordinarily loose for national diplomacy. But the testimony of both parties is decisive upon this "Thus was the entente cordiale between the governpoint. M. Guizot, the Minister of Louis Phi-ments of France and England, so essential to the lippe, writes: "As to the marriage of the Queen of Spain in particular the king had acted, from the opening of that question, with frankness and disinterestedness. He declared that he would neither seek nor accept that union for any of the princes, his sons; and that as to Princess Louisa he would not seek her for his son, the Duke of Montpensier, until the queen should be married and should have children. (Que lorsque la reine serait mariée et aurait des enfans.)" peace and independence of Europe, broken up-and broken up in such a way, and on such a question, that reconciliation between the parties was rendered impossible. Not only were national interests of the most important kind brought into collision, and national rivalries of the keenest sort awakened, but with these were mingled the indignation at broken faith, the soreness at overreached diplomacy. One chorus of indignation burst from the whole English press at this alleged breach of faith on the part of Louis Philippe, and the violation of the royal word, pledged to Queen Victoria, amidst the festivities of the Château d'Eu and Windsor Castle." In accordance with these stipulations Christina endeavored to induce her daughter Isabella to accept one of her cousins, Enrique or Fran- We have alluded to the repugnance of Isacisco. It appears, however, that Isabella, who bella to accept either of her cousins for a hushad grown up to be any thing but a gentle and band. Francisco was peculiarly obnoxious to pliant maiden, had a will of her own. She dis- her. His feeble mind, squeaking voice, and liked both of her cousins, and strenuously refused repulsive person excited her contempt. But to take either of them for her husband. Chris-it was decided that Francisco was the one she tina was much annoyed by the stubbornness of must have; probably because Christina, with Isabella. She hoped, by promoting this mar- her Ministers, could more easily mould him to riage, to secure for herself and her child the mor- their will. al if not the material support of both France and England. Civil war was still desolating Spain. The parties were too equally divided to hope for any speedy termination of the conflict. The Cortes urged Christina to press forward the marriage of Isabella. Louisa was betrothed to the Duke of Montpensier. But, as we have stated, her marriage could not take place until very considerable time after the marriage of Isa-Hour after hour passed away as the resolute bella. The Cortes placed the child-queen upon the throne in November, 1843. She was then thirteen years of age. Narvaez was military dictator, and in conjunction with Christina administered whatever there was of government in a realm ravaged by civil war. It is said that one night the unnatural mother, aided by one of her crafty Ministers, took the child of sixteen into an inner chamber of the palace to constrain her consent. The task was a hard one. Isabella was masculine and rugged in her person, and very inflexible in her determinations. Tears, bribes, flattery, menaces, were all for a time tried in vain. maiden resisted the expostulations and solicitations of her mother and the Minister until the day dawned. Then, overpowered, exhausted, despairing, she yielded, sullenly submitting to the outrage. Her mother, fearing lest she might change her mind, made arrangements to have the marriage consummated as soon as possible. The death of Isabella without issue would transfer the crown to Louisa. And it is even reported loudly that Francisco was known to be physically imbecile, and that this consideration led the friends of the French alliance to urge the marriage. The friends of Don Carlos were bitterly opposed to the marriage of Louisa with the Duke of Montpensier. The national pride of the Spaniards revolted at the thought of having a French prince come so near to the throne. There was great danger that the Duke of Montpensier would be waylaid and assassinated on his way to Madrid. It was, therefore, not deemed safe for him to cross the frontier unless accompanied by a strong armed retiTwo thousand steel-clad dragoons composed his escort. Like the rush of the whirlwind they swept over the hills and vales. Both the princesses were married at the same time in October, 1846. After a hurried wedding, and a still more hurried marriage-feast, the maiden Louisa, fourteen years of age, was borne in triumph, as the Duchess of Montpensier, to Paris, where she was received with the warmest congratulations by the family of Louis Philippe. nue. A writer in Blackwood's Magazine alludes to these two marriages in terms which very clearly reveal the excitement they at that time created: "With Louisa less trouble was requisite. It needed no great persuasive art to induce a child of fourteen to accept a husband as willingly as she would have done a doll. Availing himself of the moment when the legislative chambers of England, France, and Spain had suspended their sittings-although, as regards those of the latter country, this mattered little, composed as they are of venal hirelings-the French king achieved his grand stroke of policy, the project on which there can be little doubt his eyes had for years been fixed. His load of promises and pledges, whether contracted at Eu or elsewhere, encumbered him little. They were a fragile commodity, a brittle merchandise, more for show than use, easily hurled down and broken. per "Striding over their shivered fragments, the Napoleon of Peace bore his last unmarried son to the goal long marked out by the paternal ambition. The consequences of the successful race troubled him little. What cared he for offending a powerful ally and sonal friend? The arch-schemer made light of the fury of Spain, of the discontent of England, of the opinion of Europe. He paused not to reflect how far his Machiavelian policy would degrade him in the eyes of many with whom he had previously passed for wise and good, as well as shrewd and far-sighted. Paramount to these considerations was the gratification of dynastic ambition. For that he broke his plighted word, and sacrificed the good understanding between the Governments of the two great countries." The same writer, speaking of Francisco, the husband of Isabella, says: "We have already intimated that as a Spanish Bourbon he may pass muster. 'Tis saying very little. A more pitiful race than these same Bourbons of Spain surely the sun never shone npon. In vain does one seek among them a name worthy of respect. What a list to cull from! The feeble and imbecile Charles IV.: Ferdinand the cruel, treacherous, tyrannical, and profligate; Carlos the bigot and the hypocrite; Francisco the incapable. Certainly Don Francisco is no favorable specimen either morally or physically of the young Bourbon blood. For the sake of the country whose queen is his wife, we would gladly think well of him; gladly recognize in him qualities worthy of the descendant of a line of kings. It is impossible to accepted the hand reluctantly placed in his, became a do so. The evidence is too strong the other way. He king by title, but remained, what he ever must be in reality, a zero." Of course such a wedding, with such characters, could lead to nothing but crime and misery. Isabella, the reputed child of ignominy, reared in the midst of the corruptions of the most corrupt court in Europe, has developed the character which would naturally be created by such influences. In figure she was coarse and fat, with a gait which has been described as an "ungainly waddle." At the court ball, just before her marriage, it is said that "she astonished the spectators with something like elephantine gambolings." She was endowed with masculine strength of mind, and a prodigious memory. Louisa was far the more beautiful of the two daughters. Introduced at so early an age into the family and court of Louis Philippe, where the purest morals prevailed, she has developed into a very worthy and attractive woman. Not a year elapsed after this ill-assorted match between Isabella and Francisco ere all Europe was filled with rumors of their quarrels. A divorce was openly talked of on the ground of Francisco's alleged physical incompetency, which, according to the civil but not the canon law, rendered the marriage null from the beginning. It is not strange that Isabella, reared under such influences, should have developed a character repulsive in the extreme Despising her husband, having been forced to marry him, she seems to have paid no regard to her compulsory nuptial vows, and imitating the example of her mother and her grandmother, has rendered the court of Spain, according to general repute, the most corrupt in Europe. Isabella has several children. In 1850 she gave birth to a son, who almost immediately died. About a year after she gave birth to a daughter, Maria Isabella, who subsequently married Count Girgenti, a Neapolitan noble. She has also now a son, Alfonso, eleven years of age. The insurrection which recently dethroned the queen and cast the crown of Spain into the dust, has caused numerous claimants to spring up eager to grasp it. The probability is that Spain is not sufficiently enlightened even to wish for a republic. We are in danger of being deceived as to the voice of the people, from the fact that the republican or democratic party, residing in the cities, has greatly the control of the press. It is said, and probably truthfully, that the peasantry, who are generally under the dominion of the priests, are, almost to a man, opposed to a republic. Should the liberal party, in the cities, without consulting the voice of the nation, establish a republic, civil war would probably be the result. On the other hand, should the question be fairly submitted to universal suffrage, the vote would probably be in favor of a monarchy. Then comes the difficult question, upon whose brow | use talking, which meant that there was no use shall the crown be placed? Will some one of the generals of the democratic party obtain it? Will the sceptre be placed in the hands of one of the children of Isabella? Will a son of Don Carlos, who is an eager claimant, obtain the prize? Or will the Duke of Montpensier take his seat upon the throne? The last is spoken of as a man of ability, of worth, of liberal tendencies, and perhaps is as likely as any other candidate to win the crown. "IT'S FATE AND DAISIES. T'S the very poorest medder on the hull place," my uncle Levi had said, wiping his hard hands on the brown towel, and looking from the kitchen window across the rye-fields to a meadow white with daisies. "It don't turn nothin' to nobody, fur it's full of that plaguy dutch cuss from one end to the other. I'll have it mowed before another of them cussed flowers has time to blow. Jake," he added, turning to a young man wiping another pair of hard hands on another brown towel, “you jest take that medder in hand to-morrow, and see ef you can't make them cussed flowers a little scarcer." for any one to talk who held opinions contrary to mine, and was a certain indication that I would talk a great deal. I said that farms were very nice in story-books and poets' imaginations. A farm, in fancy, was a tract of land modeled after the garden of Eden. Figuratively it flowed with milk and honey, and literally it grew grain spontaneously, and yielded strawberries promiscuously. A farm, in fact, was a tract of land prone to thistles and ill weeds. The figurative flowing with milk necessitated a literal and exceedingly nasty cow-yard; and the honey was scarce, and apt to be sold at the nearest market at the rate of thirty cents per pound. As for spontaneous grains and promiscuous strawberries, the poet's brain was more fertile in their production than the sterile fields. In fancy, farm-houses were romantic cottages embowered in vines, cool as a refrigerator in summer, and warm as a toast in winter. In fact, farm-houses were apt to be ugly-looking establishments, in sad need of paint outside, and very low-ceiled and uncomfortable within. The vines were most likely growing on hoppoles in the garden, and the paper curtains at the window let floods of summer sunshine in, and the fire in the chimney-corner failed to keep the winter's cold out. In this meadow, knee-deep among the dai-1 sies, Jane Spear and I stood when the sun was going down. Jane was plucking the petals Farm-house kitchens, according to romanfrom the corolla of one of the "cussed flow-cists, were enchanting places, large as all outers," telling my fortune, as she had gravely in- doors, with a floor white as the drifts, rows of timated a minute before she would. "Nonsense!" I had said to her proposition to tell me the profession of my future lord and master; but as the dark-eyed, gipsy-faced girl bent gravely over the little flower, and repeated in solemn tones the prescribed formula, I was conscious of watching her intently, as if indeed there were some connection between my fate and the flowers of the field. "Lawyer, doctor, farmer; lawyer, doctor, farmer; lawyer, doctor, farmer"-Jane Spear paused over the half-plucked corolla and glanced into my face. I tried to put the eagerness out of my eyes, and the earnestness away from my mouth, but the quick-sighted girl smiled and resumed the formula: shining tins on the wall, a cat purring on the hearth, and a table always set fit for a king. Farm-house kitchens, out of romance, were liable to be wretchedly hot and cluttered up, and not at all desirable as steady places of abode. It was a lamentable fact that tins had a propensity for getting dull and at sixes and sevens; that floors large as all outdoors needed an immense amount of scrubbing; that cats had a bad way of dabbling in victuals unless carefully watched; and the table bore a burden of unwashed dishes and unscoured cutlery three times per day. In fancy, a farm-house larder was filled with the fat of the land, with pans upon pans of delicious cream, with pounds upon pounds of golden butter, with cakes, and pies, and puddings, and no end of jellies and preserves. “Lawyer, doctor, farmer; lawyer, doctor, farmer; lawyer, doctor, farmer; lawyer!" In fact, the fat of the land had not a delightJane Spear's voice dropped with the last pet-ful odor; the pans upon pans of delicious cream al. "It is a lawyer," she said. "I'm so glad it wasn't a farmer," I exclaimed, with a sigh of relief. Jane Spear's eyes sought mine searchingly. What wonderful eyes they were! I had said to myself a score of times that if Jane Spear's brother Jake had eyes like Jane's I would have liked him better. You see, Jane's eyes told tales and asked and answered questions plainer than any words. I read the question in Jane Spear's eyes that night, "Then you won't marry brother Jake ?" My answer was wordy. I said there was no suggested a back-breaking, arm-aching churning; the pounds upon pounds of golden butter bore witness of many days' toil; the cake was probably limited to gingerbread; the pies were flavored with fennel seed; in nine cases out of ten the puddings were all out, and the jellies and preserves were only used on company days. In imagination, the farmer's wife was a buxom dame with a heart full of goodness and a face full of smiles, who always had her work done up, and was dressed to death in a ruffled jaded-looking woman, who grew red in the face from standing over a heated stove, and large in the hand from much toil. Her mood was ruffled more than her apron, and her words were often sharp and severe. The ideal farmer was a large-hearted, openhanded man, with broad acres in the highest state of cultivation, deep pockets full of jingling coin, and any number of government bonds stowed away in convenient hiding-places. He did his work by machinery, and was the embodiment of fun and good-nature. The real farmer was always at work at five o'clock in the morning, and abed soon after the chickens. He was apt to have a mortgage on his acres, a note due in the bank, and ten chances to one if the jingling in his pockets was not produced by the collision of old nails. Said farmer was liable to stinginess, induced by devising ways and means to make both ends meet, and crossness likewise from overwork and lack of recreation. His hair was generally rough, and he wore no collar. "You mean Jake," exclaimed Jane Spear. Her eyes were looking across the meadow to the rye-field, where walked the tall, sun-burnt man to whom my uncle had spoken that noon. "You are mistaken. I have not given your brother a thought," I replied, quietly. Jane Spear colored violently. "I wish I could make Jake see with my eyes," she muttered, in a vexed way. She stooped down and plucked another daisy, with the remark, "I haven't told you all yet." "Rich man, poor man, rogue," she repeated, solemnly. One by one the spotless fragments dropped to the earth, and I, watching with the old eager eyes and earnest mouth the single bit of white set in the yellow bed, shivered, for Jane Spear had named it-"Rogue." She looked up with a smile that was full of sarcasm. "A farmer might have been honest," she said. "Jake was certain to be." My eyes followed hers beyond the daisies to the field where the farmer lad stood, and then away to the little school-house under the hill and the old brown farm-house. I shook my head. I had known better days. I hated the paper curtains-signs of small capital; I trod the rag carpet with disgust; I read the limited supply of books in rebellious moods; I snubbed the cheap prints on the wall; I grew tired and out of sorts in the little school-house where I taught, and heated and impatient in the kitchen where I drudged, and wished wickedly sometimes that my father had lived or Aunt Larkin had died. I turned to Jane Spear now with the words on my lips: "I wish you could tell me if Aunt Larkin will ever come." in" on her lips as the last petal fell. “It will become the occasion," she commented-"a lawyer, a rogue, and your aunt Larkin." For myself, I looked down on my calico dress with doubt in my eyes. It was a long way off from that cheap calico to satin. I should never wear it but with Aunt Larkin's help. Across the fields there came a sharp, shrill cry—“Ruth! Ruth! Ruth Macy!" It was my uncle Levi's voice. "Come," I said, "uncle wants me to spell a word or write his accounts, and there is the yeast to mix and clothes to fold." I turned toward the rye-field, but Jane Spear laid her hand on my arm: "Listen!" she said, gravely. It was her brother Jake singing: I turned my back on the rye-field and went home another way. It was the best way to avoid "a body," and there need be neither kissing nor crying, I said to myself. "I shall try to make Jake see with my eyes," Jane Spear said as we reached the door-yard gate, and she held out her hand to bid me good-night. "I am sorry," I began; "but there's no use talking." "Yes, you are right," Jane interrupted, quickly. "There is no use talking to you. I had better talk to Jake. Good-night!" I turned from the retreating figure and went toward the house. "Jest like her father for all the world!" were the words that arrested my footsteps on the threshold. I knew it was I of whom my aunt Ann spoke. Whenever she talked of a woman "like her father for all the world," it was I. It was an oft-told tale. There was no harm in hearing it again. My aunt continued: "As full of uppish notions and hifalutin ways as if she was a born lady! And that way is like her mother's too. Dear me! She comes honestly enough by her pride. She ain't got so much to be proud of in her looks neither, for you can't make her hansom any way you can fix it. Jake Spear thinks she's oncommon; but laws! Jake worships the ground she walks on. It's like the girl to give him the cold shoulder, though the Spears is as good as she is any day. I used to think mebbe her aunt Larkin would do somethin by her, bein her own brother's child, and they do say she's got a power of money; but then rich relations ain't much to count on. Howsomever, there's no tellin. That letter is from furrin parts, and there's no knowin but her aunt Larkin is comin home and will do the hansom thing by Ruth. Laws! how that girl will make the money fly if her ship ever Jane shook her head. "I have nothing to do with your aunt Larkin," she said. "I will tell you instead the material for your wedding-comes in! I do really believe somethin is goin gown." Again she plucked the daisy petals, repeating "Silk, satin, lawn." She paused with "sat to happen. I've felt it in my bones all day, and you know I seen a letter in the candle last night as plain as my two eyes could see it. |