Chamberss Edinburgh Journal, No. 427 | Page 6

and Julia, handsome, intelligent, modest, and sweet-tempered, soon became the favourite of all who knew her.
The peasantry of France have, from ancient times, maintained the custom of publicly demonstrating their esteem of any young female member of a community, who, in her progress from childhood to adolescence, or rather to womanhood, may have given evidence of the possession of any unusual amount of amiability and cleverness. Young girls who are deemed worthy of public recognition as examples of virtue and industry, are waited upon by the villagers on a fête-day, led forth, seated on a throne of flowers, crowned with roses, blessed by the _curé_, and presented with the honourable title of _La Rosière_. The custom is graceful and poetical; and the world hardly presents a more charming spectacle--at once so simple and so touching--as the installation of a _rosière_ in some sequestered village of France. The associations connected with it are pure and bright enough for a Golden Age. All who take part in the little ceremony are humble people, living by their labour; the queen of the day is queen by reason of her industry and virtue; they who do her such becoming and encouraging homage, old and young, lead lowly and toilsome lives, and yet have the innate grace thus to evince their reverence for the best qualities of human nature. The pageantry of courts, and pompous crowning of kings and queens, grand and splendid as they are, have not such spiritual fragrance as these village queen-makings; soft glimmerings and shinings-through of the light of a better world--a world with which man, let conventionality disguise him as it may, always has some sympathies.
For three years, the exemplary Julia had continued to support her helpless parent and little sister, when, in accordance with this custom, the good folks of the hamlet determined to shew their appreciation of her estimable qualities at the next fête, by crowning her with roses, and enthroning her with the usual ceremony in the Grande Allée. In the meantime, Victor Colonne, son of the steward of the chateau, happened to pay a visit to the poor widow's cottage; and thereafter he came again, and again, and again, courting Julia Gostillon.
But Victor and Julia were not made for each other. He was thriftless, idle, dissolute--the small _roué_ of the neighbourhood: she was careful, industrious, virtuous. He was good-looking--of a dark, saturnine beauty, insidiously impressive, like the dangerous charms of a tempter; she was radiant and lustrous with the sweet graces of modesty, innocence, and intelligence. Julia, however, young and susceptible, was for a time pleased with his attentions. Persuasive powers of considerable potency, and personal attractions of no mean sort, were not exerted and prostrated at her feet entirely in vain. Ingenuous, trustful, and inexperienced, she listened to the charmer with a yielding and delighted ear, and was happy as long as she perceived nothing but sincerity and love. It was but for a time, however. The Widow Gostillon liked not her daughter's lover. Of more mature perception, of sharper skill in reading character than her child, she conceived a deep distrust of the airy smile and studied gallantry of Victor Colonne. She took counsel with matrons old and circumspect as herself; made herself acquainted with Victor's history; watched his looks, listened to his words narrowly and scrutinisingly; and, day by day, felt more and more strongly that she liked him not--that there was mischief in his restless eye and soft musical voice. She communicated her fears to Julia, told her the history of her suitor, and bade her be on her guard. Julia was startled and distressed. These suspicions checked the brightness and little glory of her life, and settled wanly and hazily on her soul, like damp breath on a mirror. But they served as points of departure for daily thoughts. Looks and words were watched, and weighed, and pondered over with wistful studiousness; and while Victor believed his conquest to be achieved, his increasing assurance and gradual abandonment of disguise were alienating him from the object of his pursuit. Julia had accompanied him on different occasions to the chateau; been presented to his father; and had been seen, admired, and kindly spoken to by the Comtesse Meurien and her daughters. Victor had lost no opportunity of strengthening his suit by stimulating her ambition and pride; but it was without avail. Though pleased for a time, she soon discovered that he was cold, heartless, and even dissolute. The intimacy betwixt them was fast relapsing into indifference, and, on her side, into dislike, when a certain _dénouement_ of Master Victor's notorious love-makings, accompanied by disgraceful circumstances, determined her to put an end to it, once and for all.
'So you are determined?' exclaimed he with ill-restrained anger, as she repeated her resolve to him for