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 Madagascar. The parks and streets, but lately so thronged with carriages, were now comparatively lonely and deserted. Like the swallows at the appointed hour, the gay tribe of fashionable idlers had vanished; and a new set of people appeared in their place:—whence, or why, nobody could guess.

One day Zerbellini, Calantha's little page, had just returned with a note from Buchanan; a french hair dresser was cutting her hair; milliners and jewellers were displaying upon every table new dresses—caps—chains—rings—for the ensuing winter; and Calantha's eye was dazzled—her ear was charmed—when her aunt Margaret entered.—"God bless your Ladyship, God preserve you," said a woman half starved, who was waiting for an answer to her petition.—"Mi Lady; ne prendra-t-elle pas ce petit bonnet?" said Madame la Roche. "Yes, every thing, any thing," she answered impatiently, as she got up to receive her aunt.—She