VAGARIES OF THE IMAGINATION.

"Such the ungentle sport that oft invitesThe Spanish maid and cheers the Spanish swain.Nurtured in blood, betimes, his heart delightsIn vengeance, gloating on another's pain."

The fourth picador broke his spear in meeting the rushing of this bull. The bull bled much from this, and at the fifth charge he ripped up another horse. I watched everyturn of the "hearty fight," and noted it in my tablet. Though not quite what I considered in my English ideas assport, yet it was altogether so novel that I question if I ever joined in a hunt which gave me greater interest. It would, however, be extremely unjust to make any comparison between our manly sport and this cruel spectacle, or even to mention them in the same breath.

The chulos now began at intervals to provoke the bull by advancing towards him with their colored cloaks spread, and urging him to follow them. Their activity was most remarkable. Whenever the bull approached them close, they left their cloaks, and vaulted up the partition. One of them, whom I saw pressed quite close, jumped clean over the bull's head, and many such feats of agility we saw, both at this time and during the whole of the exhibition. After several efforts made to provoke him, the bull jumped over the wooden partition which separated the amphitheatre from the arena, a height of about five feet, called by the Spaniards the barrero. Of course this caused much terror and sensation, as many were standing quite close, and the rush was quite awful: however, after running half round, he jumped into the circus again. He then struck a picador, leaped the inclosure, and stayed a shorter time than at first, when he again jumped out, after several attempts on the part of the chulos to provoke him, and when he appeared wearied and fainter from his exertions and from the loss of blood.

On this the Alcalde caused the trumpets to sound and the banderilleros came in, each carrying two stakes about a yard long and fringed with short flags. They ran close to the animal, and plunged these stakes, called banderillos, into the bull's shoulders. Four of these were let fly and plunged into his flesh, and the trumpets again sounded for the matadors to stick him with a sword. Montes undertook this bull, and drawing a long sword, he stood before him until the bull got near enough, when he stuck him between the shoulders. The chulos provoked him a second time, and Montes again wounded him. The attack of the chulos was repeated, when Montes planted his sword in the animal's shoulder, but instantly withdrew it. Twice more the chulos came to the attack, and on each occasion the bull's shoulder was laid open by Montes, but at the sixth onslaught, the matador plunged his sword up to the hilt in the mangled flesh, and the bull fell. Then entered a man dressed like a chulo, with a dagger called a puntilla, and which gave to its owner the designation of a puntillero, and struck it in the neck of the prostrate animal, which immediately expired. When this was ascertained, the mules who had formed part of the opening procession, and had then withdrawn, reappeared, and the carcase of the bull was tied to the swingle tree, and dragged out of the arena.

Seven other bulls were brought out in succession, and attacked in the same manner, with a little variation in the details. The second bull charged two picadors, and did them no damage, but in a third charge he lamed a picador's horse, and received himself a serious gash in the neck. At a fourth charge he ripped open a horse's bowels, and coming on for the fifth and sixth time, threw the horse of another picador prostrate, and when he was on the ground, dug his horns into the bowels of the horse in a most frightful manner. I was never more forcibly reminded of Homer's description of the wolves, who in their charge upon the flock, seize with such fiendish fierceness "και εγκατα παντα λαφυσσει."

The matador who undertook the third bull had but one eye, and, to render the combat equal, one of the bull's eyes was blinded, an expedient worthy of its cruel inventors. I remarked nothing extraordinary about the baiting or slaughter of this bull, except that one of the chulos, in flying from him, had his clothes torn off, and narrowly escaped being gored.

The sixth bull was a very strong one. In his charges he disabled two picadors, both of whom were obliged to be removed from the arena, and one was perfectly senseless. The infuriated animal then charged a horse, which he killed instantaneously. The mules which I spoke of before, came in, and bore away the horse's carcase. Meanwhile the third matador, Ximenes, struck the bull with a sword up to the hilt, and killed him. He got his ear as a trophy, which he held up in triumph, and was saluted with innumerable vivas from the boxes of the Spanish Senoritas, some of whom wore black, and some white lace mantillas. "Lesa lo dey," also was shouted loudly, meaning, let him have the bull for his courage. As one of the classic writers has it, it turned out "Vox populi vox Dei," for the hero was awarded the prize.

The seventh bull was considered a slow one by the audience, and they commenced shouting out "fuego, fuego." So when the banderilleros were directed to throw their arrows, they fastened squibs and crackers in various parts of the arrow or banderillo, and, on their exploding, the frantic animal went racing round the arena, goaded to madness by the crackers, which continued to go off at every step. This bull was given over to Montes to kill, as a very difficult subject, and the intrepid matador made one or two attempts before he succeeded in closing with him. The last time he plunged his sword between his shoulders, and the bull dropped dead.

The eighth bull was killed after two thrusts, and then the large concourse of people flocked into the circus, and shortly afterwards, it being 7 o'clock, almost every one proceeded on to the Alameda. Next morning, the bull fights were resumed, and the sport, if I maycall it by so mild a name, was considered superior. The matadors were differently dressed, and I remarked that all the picadors' horses were blindfolded. Montes, the first time of their contact, drove his sword into the neck of the first bull, a remarkably fine and very fierce animal, and it died in a few seconds afterwards. Four other bulls followed in order, and were all overcome. But the contest of the day was with the sixth bull. This savage animal killed a horse at his first charge. He then flew at another, and gored its sides in a frightful manner, completely lifting the rider off its back. The unfortunate picador was carried out, apparently dead. The bull then broke a horse's forearm, and charging another, ripped it open, though its rider escaped, and, being mounted afresh, behaved in the most heroic way, proving, himself, in fact, quite the lion of the day, whose feats excited the wonder and the applause of the multitude. He approached the box where we were seated, and threw his hat down. Showers of gold and dollars, amounting I should think to about 80, rewarded his compliments "a los Engless." He acknowledged this, by saying that our kindness should be always remembered. This bull was tormented a long time, and certainly the cruelty exhibited was most repulsive. The people quite exulted in the way they drew out the barbed darts from the creature's back, and thrust them in again, in every way that could torture him most. He was, however, at last killed by Montes, after a number of thrusts. After he had been struck the third time by Montes, the blood gushed out from his mouth in torrents, and in about seven seconds he died. In the baiting of the eighth bull, the same picador showed his dexterity. In the third charge which he made, he killed a horse. At first he brought the horse to the ground, and rolled him over as he would a cat; then, having dug his horns into his bowels for some time, at last left him for dead. Two other bulls followed, and with the death of the last, the spectacle terminated.

The third day was appropriated to the exhibition of the first rudiments of bull-fighting, and was a regular gala for the more youthful portion of the community. There is no parallel to this practice at present existing in any part of Europe. The prize-fighting which till lately prevailed in England, independent of the heartiness, and emulative courage of the combatants, was a barbarism of quite another kind, the excitement of which was enhanced by the scope it allowed for gambling. But in bull-fighting there is no chance of making money, nor are wagers ever laid upon the combatants. The spectacle, in fact, is more like the games that took place in imperial Rome, which argue a brutality of feeling worthy of those degraded and sensual times.

The third day there were no matadors, picadors, or chulos, but to the youthful part of the populace, it was one of the most pleasant. The bulls were allowed to enter, and were chased here and there by the populace with sticks. There was a good deal of childish folly and mountebank frivolity in these exhibitions. After the bull had been tormented for about twenty minutes, he was allowed to leave the circus, and they brought in a large tame one, with a bell round his neck, who was followed immediately by the young ones. One of the small bulls who was baited in this way, jumped over the barrier; but being much worried, soon jumped back.

The people moved about the circus, laughing and running, and seemed like schoolboys just allowed out to play, after the hours of study were finished. It seemed to me that the reputed gravity of the Spaniards did not at all extend to the lower orders, or to the women, whose mirth, animation, and playfulness of manner are very striking. The third bull was killed, and this one was the only sacrifice to the sanguinary tastes of the people.

Two large, high, basket-like gabions were afterwards brought in, when two men entered them up to the arms, and it was great diversion to the people to see the bulls, who were successively led into the arena, and whose horns were covered with leather, tossing these baskets about. The men who were inside had got banderillos, which they stuck in the bull's back when he came up to them. This lasted for some time, but at last the crowd grew weary of it, and dispersed.

On this day, Charpur (who certainly was the hero of the play), exhibited his dexterity as a chulos in the scene where the bull killing took place. One of the novices, who was being educated as a matador, drove his sword through the bull's neck, up to the hilt, transfixing a portion of the flesh, and leaving the blade dangling from it. Charpur went up to the bull, and, partly by his cloak and partly by his menaces, led him towards the barrera, when he seized hold of his tail, and holding on by his back, approached his neck, and coolly took the sword out, which he threw on the ground.

Such is the recreation, and such the feats, which are the theme of praise and topic of conversation amongst the Spanish people, who discourse of it as we do of the races at Ascot or Newmarket, or any other resort of the men on the turf. But I certainly did not see one English lady there, notwithstanding the numbers of Spanish mantillas which might have kept them in countenance.

"Yet are Spain's maids no race of Amazons,But formed for all the witching arts of love;In softness and in firmness far aboveRemoter females, famed for sickening prate."

This, by what I can learn, is the only remnant of the ancient fights which the Goths must have learned from the Romans; cruel and barbarous exhibitions, much "more honored in the breach than in the observance."

The next day we passed in walking aboutthe town. We entered a church, which was built of soft granite, and the internal structure of which reminded me of some that I had seen in Florence and Milan. The arches were Gothic; the columns that supported the cupolas inside, and the different domes into which the aisle was divided, were massive and grand. The paintings seemed not to be from the hands of masters; and the altars, which at a distance seemed so gorgeous, had rather a tinsel glittering sort of appearance on near approach, such as would be called familiarly "gingerbread shows"—but it was very lofty and extensive.

We went next to see the old Moorish palace. Here a staircase, very much dilapidated, led from the interior to the edge of the small river which runs through the whole of Ronda. The town being divided by a very deep ravine, at the bottom of which the river flows, and which is crossed by three bridges. Down this staircase, damp, gloomy, and intricate as it was, we descended, and a guide preceded us with a candle, which, however, scarcely gave us light enough to see our way down the dark and slippery descent. It was constructed, according to the instruction of our cicerone, in the year 800, by one of the Moorish kings, who had it built for the purpose of supplying his palace with water. At the foot of it we came to a sort of window, which going through, we stepped out by the river's side. I ought to mention that at intervals we passed the remains of large chambers and other vaulted apartments, which must evidently have been prisons as dark and loathsome as any which Mrs. Radcliffe, or any other horror-loving romancer, could draw from a morbid imagination. We had to return the same way.

Quitting the palace, we passed through the part of the town which leads by the Marquis of Salvatierras' house, and went on to the fountain, which springs from the solid rock in the midst of the ravine. We then returned homewards. In the evening our fair hostess amused us with singing, dancing, and conversation. One night we had a party of Gipsies, or, as they are called, Rectanos, to dance. They are a curious set of beings, and their habits are as strange as their appearance. They, to me, were very plain, and of a brown color; the men very dark, with long matted beards. They danced the fandangoe, in which a man and woman get up, and moving castanets with their hands, performed such evolutions as, to speak in the mildest way, would greatly astonish English spectators. I was much disappointed with it, as I saw nothing graceful in their movements. All the time they were figuring and lifting their limbs, the party seated kept time with their castanets. At intervals they sang when they were dancing, which reminded me of the nautch-girls in India. They would drink nothing except Rosaria, a sort of stuff distilled from limes, partaking, however, of sweetmeats which were handed round to them, and which they relished so much, that they had a scramble for them. The dress of the women was very gaudy, and of various colors.

I did not think much of these people, but I like what I have seen of the Spanish ladies very much. Their manners are lively, unaffected, and pleasing. The night after this, we went to a party which was given by some officers of another regiment. Here again I had an opportunity of seeing the manners of the Spanish ladies, which were certainly very pleasing.

The next day at 11, we once more mounted our horses, and bidding adieu to our fair hostess, we left the town, the beauties of which have been amply dilated upon by different writers. We pursued the same route as that by which we came, and arrived at Gibraltar a few minutes after the evening gun gave notice of the time to shut the gates of the fortress.

From Chamber's Edinburgh Journal.

"Fancy it burgundy," said Boniface of his ale—"only fancy it, and it is worth a guinea a quart!" Boniface was a philosopher: fancy can do much more than that. Those who fancy themselves laboring under an affection of the heart are not slow in verifying the apprehension: the uneasy and constant watching of its pulsations soon disturbs the circulation, and malady may ensue beyond the power of medicine. Some physicians believe that inflammation can be induced in any part of the body by a fearful attention being continually directed towards it; indeed it has been a question with some whether the stigmata (the marks of the wounds of our Saviour) may not have been produced on the devotee by the influences of an excited imagination. The hypochondriac has been known to expire when forced to pass through a door which he fancied too narrow to admit his person. The story of the criminal who, unconscious of the arrival of the reprieve, died under the stroke of a wet handkerchief, believing it to be the axe, is well known. Paracelsus held, "that there is in man an imagination which really affects and brings to pass the things that did not before exist; for a man by imagination willing to move his body moves it in fact, and by his imagination and the commerce of invisible powers he may also move another body." Paracelsus would not have been surprised at the feats of electro-biology. He exhorts his patients to have "a good faith, a strong imagination, and they shall find the effects." "All doubt," he says, "destroys work, and leaves it imperfect in the wise designs of nature: it is from faith that imagination draws its strength, it is by faith it becomes complete and realized; he who believeth in nature will obtain from nature to the extent of his faith, and let the object of this faith be realor imaginary, he nevertheless reaps similar results—and hence the cause of superstition."

So early as 1462 Pomponatus of Mantua came to the conclusion, in his work on incantation, that all the arts of sorcery and witchcraft were the result of natural operations. He conceived that it was not improbable that external means, called into action by the soul, might relieve our sufferings, and that there did, moreover, exist individuals endowed with salutary properties; so it might, therefore, be easily conceived that marvellous effects should be produced by the imagination and by confidence, more especially when these are reciprocal between the patient and the person who assists his recovery. Two years after, the same opinion was advanced by Agrippa in Cologne. "The soul," he said, "if inflamed by a fervent imagination, could dispense health and disease, not only in the individual himself, but in other bodies." However absurd these opinions may have been considered, or looked on as enthusiastic, the time has come when they will be gravely examined.

That medical professors have at all times believed the imagination to possess a strange and powerful influence over mind and body is proved by their writings, by some of their prescriptions, and by their oft-repeated direction in the sick-chamber to divert the patient's mind from dwelling on his own state and from attending to the symptoms of his complaint. They consider the reading of medical books which accurately describe the symptoms of various complaints as likely to have an injurious effect, not only on the delicate but on persons in full health; and they are conscious how many died during the time of the plague and the cholera, not only of these diseases but from the dread of them, which brought on all the fatal symptoms. So evident was the effect produced by the detailed accounts of the cholera in the public papers in the year 1849, that it was found absolutely necessary to restrain the publications on the subject. The illusions under which vast numbers acted and suffered have gone, indeed, to the most extravagant extent; individuals, not merely single but in communities, have actually believed in their own transformation. A nobleman of the court of Louis XIV. fancied himself a dog, and would pop his head out of the window to bark at the passengers; while the barking disease at the camp-meetings of the Methodists of North America has been described as "extravagant beyond belief." Rollin and Hecquet have recorded a malady by which the inmates of an extensive convent near Paris were attacked simultaneously every day at the same hour, when they believed themselves transformed into cats, and a universal mewing was kept up throughout the convent for some hours. But of all dreadful forms which this strange hallucination took, none was so terrible as that of the lycanthropy, which at one period spread through Europe; in which the unhappy sufferers, believing themselves wolves, went prowling round the forests uttering the most terrific howlings, carrying off lambs from the flocks, and gnawing dead bodies in their graves.

While every day's experience adds some new proof of the influence possessed by the imagination over the body, the supposed effect of contagion has become a question of doubt. Lately, at a meeting in Edinburgh, Professor Dick gave it as his opinion that there was no such thing as hydrophobia in the lower animals: "what went properly by that name was simply an inflammation of the brain; and the disease, in the case of human beings, was caused by an over-excited imagination, worked upon by the popular delusion on the effects of a bite by rabid animals." The following paragraph from the "Curiosities of Medicine" appears to justify this now common enough opinion:—"Several persons had been bitten by a rabid dog in the Faubourg St. Antoine, and three of them had died in our hospital. A report, however, was prevalent that we kept a mixture which would effectually prevent their fatal termination; and no less than six applicants who had been bitten were served with a draught of colored water, and in no one instance did hydrophobia ensue."

A remarkable cure through a similar aid of the imagination took place in a patient of Dr. Beddoes, who was at that time very sanguine about the effect of nitrous acid gas in paralytic cases. Anxious that it should be imbibed by one of his patients, he sent an invalid to Sir Humphry Davy, with a request that he would administer the gas. Sir Humphry put the bulb of the thermometer under the tongue of the paralytic, to ascertain the temperature of the body, that he might be sure whether it would be affected at all by the inhalation of the gas. The patient, full of faith from what the enthusiastic physician had assured him would be the result, and believing that the thermometer was what was to effect the cure, exclaimed at once that he felt better. Sir Humphry, anxious to see what imagination would do in such a case, did not attempt to undeceive the man, but saying that he had done enough for him that day, desired him to be with him the next morning. The thermometer was then applied as it had been the day before, and for every day during a fortnight—at the end of which time the patient was perfectly cured.

Perhaps there is nothing on record more curious of this kind than the cures unwittingly performed by Chief-Justice Holt. It seems that for a youthful frolic he and his companions had put up at a country inn; they, however, found themselves without the means of defraying their expenses, and were at a loss to know what they should do in such an emergency. Holt, however, perceivedthat the innkeeper's daughter looked very ill, and on inquiring what was the matter, learned that she had the ague; when, passing himself off for a medical student, he said that he had an infallible cure for the complaint. He then collected a number of plants, mixed them up with various ceremonies, and inclosed them in parchment, on which he scrawled divers cabalistic characters. When all was completed, he suspended the amulet round the neck of the young woman, and, strange to say, the ague left her and never returned. The landlord, grateful for the restoration of his daughter, not only declined receiving any payment from the youths, but pressed them to remain as long as they pleased. Many years after, when Holt was on the bench, a woman was brought before him, charged with witchcraft: she was accused of curing the ague by charms. All she said in defence was, that she did possess a ball which was a sovereign remedy in the complaint. The charm was produced and handed to the judge, who recognized the very ball which he had himself compounded in his boyish days, when out of mere fun he had assumed the character of a medical practitioner.

Many distinguished physicians have candidly confessed that they preferred confidence to art. Faith in the remedy is often not only half the cure, but the whole cure. Madame de Genlis tells of a girl who had lost the use of her leg for five years, and could only move with the help of crutches, while her back had to be supported: she was in such a pitiable state of weakness, the physicians had pronounced her case incurable. She, however, took it into her head that if she was taken to Notre Dame de Liesse she would certainly recover. It was fifteen leagues from Carlepont where she lived. She was placed in the cart which her father drove, while her sister sat by her supporting her back. The moment the steeple of Notre Dame de Liesse was in sight she uttered an exclamation, and said that her leg was getting well. She alighted from the car without assistance, and no longer requiring the help of crutches, she ran into the church. When she returned home the villagers gathered about her, scarcely believing that it was indeed the girl who had left them in such a wretched state, now they saw her running and bounding along, no longer a cripple, but as active as any among them.

Not less extraordinary are the cures which are effected by some sudden agitation. An alarm of fire has been known to restore a patient entirely, or for a time, from a tedious illness: it is no uncommon thing to hear of the victim of a severe fit of the gout, whose feet have been utterly powerless, running nimbly away from some approaching danger. Poor Grimaldi in his declining years had almost quite lost the use of his limbs owing to the most hopeless debility. As he sat one day by the bedside of his wife, who was ill, word was brought to him that a friend waited below to see him. He got down to the parlor with extreme difficulty. His friend was the bearer of heavy news which he dreaded to communicate: it was the death of Grimaldi's son, who, though reckless and worthless, was fondly loved by the poor father. The intelligence was broken as gently as such a sad event could be: but in an instant Grimaldi sprung from his chair—his lassitude and debility were gone, his breathing, which had for a long time been difficult, became perfectly easy—he was hardly a moment in bounding up the stairs which but a quarter of an hour before he had passed with extreme difficulty in ten minutes; he reached the bedside, and told his wife that their son was dead; and as she burst into an agony of grief he flung himself into a chair, and became instantaneously, as it has been touchingly described, "an enfeebled and crippled old man."

The imagination, which is remarkable for its ungovernable influence, comes into action on some occasions periodically with the most precise regularity. A friend once told us of a young relation who was subject to nervous attacks: she was spending some time at the seaside for change of air, but the evening-gun, fired from the vessel in the bay at eight o'clock, was always the signal for a nervous attack: the instant the report was heard she fell back insensible, as if she had been shot. Those about her endeavored if possible to withdraw her thoughts from the expected moment: at length one evening they succeeded, and while she was engaged in an interesting conversation the evening-gun was unnoticed. By and by she asked the hour, and appeared uneasy when she found the time had passed. The next evening it was evident that she would not let her attention be withdrawn: the gun fired, and she swooned away; and when revived, another fainting fit succeeded, as if it were to make up for the omission of the preceding evening! It is told of the great tragic actress Clairon, who had been the innocent cause of the suicide of a man who destroyed himself by a pistol-shot, that ever after, at the exact moment when the fatal deed had been perpetrated—one o'clock in the morning—she heard the shot. If asleep, it awakened her; if engaged in conversation, it interrupted her; in solitude or in company, at home or travelling, in the midst of revelry or at her devotions, she was sure to hear it to the very moment.

The same indelible impression has been made in hundreds of cases, and on persons of every variety of temperament and every pursuit, whether engaged in business, science or art, or rapt in holy contemplation. On one occasion Pascal had been thrown down on a bridge which had no parapet, and his imagination was so haunted for ever after by the danger, that he always fancied himselfon the brink of a steep precipice overhanging an abyss ready to ingulf him. This illusion had taken such possession of his mind that the friends who came to converse with him were obliged to place the chairs on which they seated themselves between him and the fancied danger. But the effects of terror are the best known of all the vagaries of the imagination.

A very remarkable case of the influence of imagination occurred between sixty and seventy years since in Dublin, connected with the celebrated frolics of Dalkey Island. It is said Curran and his gay companions delighted to spend a day there, and that with them originated the frolic of electing "a king of Dalkey and the adjacent islands," and appointing his chancellor and all the officers of state. A man in the middle rank of life, universally respected, and remarkable alike for kindly and generous feelings and a convivial spirit, was unanimously elected to fill the throne. He entered with his whole heart into all the humors of the pastime, in which the citizens of Dublin so long delighted. A journal was kept, called the "Dalkey Gazette," in which all public proceedings were inserted, and it afforded great amusement to its conductors. But the mock pageantry, the affected loyalty, and the pretended homage of his subjects, at length began to excite the imagination of "King John," as he was called. Fiction at length became with him reality, and he fancied himself "every inch a king." His family and friends perceived with dismay and deep sorrow the strange delusion which nothing could shake: he would speak on no subject save the kingdom of Dalkey and its government, and he loved to dwell on the various projects he had in contemplation for the benefit of his people, and boasted of his high prerogative: he never could conceive himself divested for one moment of his royal powers, and exacted the most profound deference to his kingly authority. The last year and a half of his life were spent in Swift's hospital for lunatics. He felt his last hours approaching, but no gleam of returning reason marked the parting scene: to the very last instant he believed himself a king, and all his cares and anxieties were for his people. He spoke in high terms of his chancellor, his attorney-general, and all his officers of state, and of the dignitaries of the church: he recommended them to his kingdom, and trusted they might all retain the high offices which they now held. He spoke on the subject with a dignified calmness well becoming the solemn leave-taking of a monarch; but when he came to speak of the crown he was about to relinquish for ever, his feelings were quite overcome, and the tears rolled down his cheeks: "I leave it," said he, "to my people, and to him whom they may elect as my successor!" This remarkable scene is recorded in some of the notices of deaths for the year 1788. The delusion, though most painful to his friends, was far from an unhappy one to its victim: his feelings were gratified to the last while thinking he was occupied with the good of his fellow-creatures—an occupation best suited to his benevolent disposition.

From Household Words.

I was lingering listlessly over a cup of coffee on the Boulevard des Italiens, in June. At that moment I had neither profound nor useful resources of thought. I sat simply conscious of the cool air, the blue sky, the white houses, the lights, and the lions, which combine to render that universally pleasant period known as "after dinner," so peculiarly agreeable in Paris.

In this mood my eyes fell upon a pair of orbs fixed intently upon me. Whether the process was effected by the eyes, or by some pretty little fingers, simply, I cannot say; but, at the same moment, a rose was insinuated into my button-hole, a gentle voice addressed me, and I beheld, in connection with the eyes, the fingers, and the voice, a girl. She carried on her arm a basket of flowers, and was, literally, nothing more nor less than one of theBouquetièreswho fly along the Boulevards like butterflies, with the difference that they turn their favorite flowers to a more practical account.

Following the example of some other distracteddécorés, who I found were sharing my honors, I placed a piece of money—I believe, in my case, it was silver—in the hand of the girl; and, receiving about five hundred times its value, in the shape of a smile and a "Merci bien Monsieur!" was again left alone—("desolate," a Frenchman would have said)—in the crowded and carousing Boulevard.

To meet a perambulating and persuasiveBouquetièrewho places a flower in your coat and waits for a pecuniary acknowledgment, is scarcely a rare adventure in Paris; but I was interested—unaccountably so—in this young girl: her whole manner and bearing was so different and distinct from all others of her calling. Without any of that appearance which, in England, we are accustomed to call "theatrical," she was such a being as we can scarcely believe in out of a ballet. Not, however, that her attire departed—except, perhaps, in a certain coquettish simplicity—from the conventional mode: its only decorations seemed to be ribbons, which also gave a character to the little cap that perched itself with such apparent insecurity upon her head. Living a life that seemed one long summer's day—one floralfête—with a means of existence that seemed so frail and immaterial—she conveyed an impression ofunreality. She might be likened to a Nymph, or a Naiad, but for the certain something that brought you back to the theatre, intoxicating the senses, at once, with the strange, indescribable fascinations of hotchandeliers—close and perfumed air—footlights, and fiddlers.

Evening after evening I saw the same girl—generally at the same place—and, it may be readily imagined, became one of the most constant of herclientelle. I learned, too, as many facts relating to her as could be learned where most was mystery. Her peculiar and persuasive mode of disposing of her flowers (a mode which has since become worse than vulgarized by bad imitators) was originally her own graceful instinct—or whim, if you will. It was something new and natural, and amused many, while it displeased none. The sternest of stockbrokers, even, could not choose but be decorated. Accordingly, this new Nydia of Thessaly went out with her basket one day, awoke next morning, and found herself famous.

Meantime there was much discussion, and more mystification, as to who this Queen of Flowers could be—where she lived—and so forth. Nothing was known of her except her name—Hermance. More than one adventurous student—you may guess I am stating the number within bounds—traced her steps for hour after hour, till night set in—in vain. Her flowers disposed of, she was generally joined by an old man, respectably clad, whose arm she took with a certain confidence, that sufficiently marked him as a parent or protector; and the two always contrived sooner or later, in some mysterious manner, to disappear.

After all stratagems have failed, it generally occurs to people to ask a direct question. But this in the present case was impossible. Hermance was never seen except in very public places—often in crowds—and to exchange twenty consecutive words with her, was considered a most fortunate feat. Notwithstanding, too, her strange, wild way of gaining her livelihood, there was a certain dignity in her manner which sufficed to cool the too curious.

As for the directors of the theatres, they exhibited a most appropriate amount of madness on her account; and I believe that at several of the theatres, Hermance might have commanded her own terms. But only one of these miserable men succeeded in making a tangible proposal, and he was treated with most glorious contempt. There was, indeed, something doubly dramatic in theBouquetière'sdisdain of the drama. She wholiveda romance could never descend to act one. She would rather be Rosalind than Rachel. She refused the part of Cerito, and chose to be an Alma on her own account.

It may be supposed that where there was so much mystery, imagination would not be idle. To have believed all the conflicting stories about Hermance, would be to come to the conclusion that she was the stolen child of noble parents, brought up by anouvrier; but that somehow her father was a tailor of dissolute habits, who lived a contented life of continual drunkenness, on the profits of his daughter's industry;—that her mother was a deceased duchess—but, on the other hand, as alive, and carried on the flourishing business of ablanchisseuse. As for the private life of the young lady herself, it was reflected in such a magic mirror of such contradictory impossibilities, in the delicate discussion held upon the subject, that one had no choice but disbelieve every thing.

One day a new impulse was given to this gossip by the appearance of theBouquetièrein a startling hat of some expensive straw, and of a make bordering on the ostentatious. It could not be doubted that the profits of her light labors were sufficient to enable her to multiply such finery to almost any extent, had she chosen; but in Paris the adoption of a bonnet or a hat, in contradistinction to the little cap of thegrisette, is considered an assumption of a superior grade, and unless warranted by the "position" of the wearer, is resented as an impertinence. In Paris, indeed, there are only two classes of women—those with bonnets and those without; and these stand in the same relation to one another, as the two great classes into which the world may be divided—the powers that be, and the powers that want to be. Under these circumstances, it may be supposed that the surmises were many and marvellous. The littleBouquetièrewas becoming proud—becoming a lady;—but how? why? and above all—where? Curiosity was never more rampant, and scandal never more inventive.

For my part, I saw nothing in any of these appearances worthy, in themselves, of a second thought; nothing could have destroyed the strong and strange interest which I had taken in the girl; and it would have required something more potent than a straw hat—however coquettish in crown, and audacious in brim—to have shaken my belief in her truth and goodness. Her presence, for the accustomed few minutes, in the afternoon or evening, became to me—I will not say a necessity, but certainly a habit; and a habit is sufficiently despotic when

"A fair face and a tender voice have made me"—

I will not say "mad and blind," as the remainder of the line would insinuate—but most deliciously in my senses, and most luxuriously wide awake! But to come to the catastrophe—

"One morn we missedherin the accustomed spot"—

Not only, indeed, from "accustomed" and probable spots, but from unaccustomed, improbable, and even impossible spots—all of which were duly searched—was she missed. In short, she was not to be found at all. All was amazement on the Boulevards. Hardened oldflaneursturned pale under their rouge, and some of the younger ones went about with drooping moustaches, which, for want of thecire, had fallen into the "yellow leaf."

A few days sufficed, however, for the cure of these sentimentalists. A clever little monkeyat the Hippodrome, and a gentleman who stood on his head while he ate his dinner, became the immediate objects of interest, and Hermance seemed to be forgotten. I was one of the few who retained any hope of finding her, and my wanderings for that purpose, without any guide, clue, information, or indication, seem to me now something absurd. In the course of my walks, I met an old man, who was pointed out to me as her father—met him frequently, alone. The expression of his face was quite sufficient to assure me that he was on the same mission—and with about as much chance of success as myself. Once I tried to speak to him; but he turned aside, and avoided me with a manner that there could be no mistaking. This surprised me, for I had no reason to suppose that he had ever seen my face before.

A paragraph in one of the newspapers at last threw some light on the matter. TheBouquetièrehad never been so friendless or unprotected as people had supposed. In all her wanderings she was accompanied, or rather followed, by her father; whenever she stopped, then he stopped also; and never was he distant more than a dozen yards. I wonder that he was not recognised by hundreds, but I conclude he made some change in his attire or appearance, from time to time. One morning this strange pair were proceeding on their ramble as usual, when passing through a rather secluded street, theBouquetièremade a sudden bound from the pavement, sprung into a post-chaise, the door of which stood open, and was immediately whirled away, as fast as four horses could tear—leaving the old man alone with his despair, and the basket of flowers.

Three months have passed away since the disappearance of theBouquetière; but only a few days since I found myself one evening very dull at one of those "brilliant receptions," for which Paris is so famous. I was making for the door, with a view to an early departure, when my hostess detained me, for the purpose of presenting to me a lady who was monopolizing all the admiration of the evening—she was the newly-married bride of a young German Baron of great wealth, and noted for a certain wild kind of genius, and utter scorn of conventionalities. The next instant I found myself introduced to a pair of eyes that could never be mistaken. I dropped into a vacant chair by their side, and entered into conversation. The Baronne observed that she had met me before, but could not remember where, and in the same breath asked me if I was a lover of flowers.

I muttered something about loving beauty in any shape, and admired a bouquet which she held in her hand.

The Baronne selected a flower, and asked me if it was not a peculiarly fine specimen. I assented; and the flower, not being redemanded, I did not return it. The conversation changed to other subjects, and shortly afterwards the Baronne took her leave with her husband. They left Paris next day for the Baron's family estate, and I have never seen them since.

I learned subsequently that some strange stories had obtained circulation respecting the previous life of the Baronne. Whatever they were, it is very certain that this or some other reason has made the profession ofBouquetièremost inconveniently popular in Paris. Young ladies of all ages that can, with any degree of courtesy, be included in that category, and of all degrees of beauty short of the hunch-back, may be seen in all directions intruding their flowers with fatal pertinacity upon inoffensive loungers, and making war upon button-holes that never did them any harm. The youngest of young girls, I find, are being trained to the calling, who are all destined, I suppose, to marry distinguished foreigners from some distant and facetious country.

I should have mentioned before, that a friend calling upon me the morning after my meeting with the Baronne, saw the flower which she had placed in my hand standing in a glass of water on the table. An idea struck me: "Do you know anything of the language of flowers?" I asked.

"Something," was the reply.

"What, then, is the meaning of this?"

"Secrecy."

From the Antheneum

So much has been said and written of late respecting the decline and decrepitude of the Ottoman Empire, that most persons believe that there is nothing to prevent a Russian army from marching up to the gates of Constantinople, and taking possession of the city, except the resistance which might be offered by the other powers of Europe to such an extension of the Russian dominions. Many of our readers will therefore be surprised to learn that the army of the Sultan is at present in a more efficient state than it has been for the last two centuries; and that in the event of a war breaking out between Russia and Turkey, the latter would probably be able to resist, single-handed, the attacks of her formidable and ambitions neighbor. This is the view which Mr. Skene endeavors to establish in the pamphlet before us; and from information which we have ourselves received from other quarters, we entirely agree with the conclusion to which Mr. Skene has come,—that "the power of conquest, possessed by the only state with which there appears the slightest possibility of a rupture taking place, is in general as notoriously exaggerated as that of defence on the part of Turkey is commonly undervalued." To enable the reader to obtain an accurateidea of the present condition of the Ottoman army, Mr. Skene gives a brief but able review of its history. He divides his narrative into three eras: the first contains an account of the military history of Turkey till the destruction of the Janissaries in 1825; the second comprises the period of transition, which followed the destruction of the Janissaries; and the third comprehends the formation of the Nizam, or the regular army of the present day. The annals of the first of these eras are, in fact, the history of the Turkish conquests, and of the decline of the empire.

[6]The Three Eras of Ottoman History; a Political Essay on the late Reforms of Turkey, considered principally as affecting her Position in the event of a War taking place.ByJ. H. Skene, Esq. Chapman & Hall.

"Through the Janissaries Turkey rose—by them she was about to fall; and without the Nizam, or regular army of Sultan Abdul Medjid, which exists as a consequence of the destruction of the Janissaries, she would never have had any chance of rising again, or even of saving her political independence."

The Janissaries were organized by Sultan Orkhan in the fourteenth century. They bore the title ofYenitsheri, or New Troops, in contradistinction to the previous armies, which had been raised by levies of irregular troops, as occasion required. They were a well-disciplined body of troops, and they constituted the principal force of the empire. It was to their valor and efficiency that the Turkish empire owed its existence; and they were almost uniformly successful in all the great battles which they fought till their defeat by Montecuculi at St. Gothard, in 1664. This defeat was the forerunner of a long series of disasters.

"Their career of conquest was over, and it was a career altogether without a parallel in history. Generation after generation had advanced without ever retrograding a single step. A vast empire had arisen out of the hereditary valor and systematic discipline of a portion of the army. It was not the creation of the military genius of an individual like that of Alexander the Great or Napoleon Buonaparte, but it was the result of a successful organization, assisted by the inherent bravery of the Turkish race, which enabled their sultans to follow up from father to son the ambitious scheme of the founder of the dynasty. But, at the close of that era of conquest, the organization of the Janissaries had become corrupt, the prestige of almost invariable good fortune had disappeared, and their internal discipline was declining fast, while their indomitable valor had degenerated into overweening pride, seditious turbulence towards the government, and cruel tyranny over the population."

Towards the end of last century the insubordination and tyranny of the Janissaries had reached their highest point. The dispersion of this formidable body had become absolutely necessary for the salvation of the Ottoman empire; and it was at length effected by Sultan Mahmoud II..

"The value of the Janissaries as a regular army had been sufficiently tested, and the time had now arrived when Sultan Mahmoud II. judged it expedient to cut the Gordian knot. He issued a proclamation, obliging all his troops to submit anew to the discipline which they had cast off for more than a century and a half. The Janissaries refused obedience. The Sultan unfolded the Sacred Standard of the Empire, and placing himself, with his only son and heir, beside it, he appealed to the patriotism of those around him. He drew his dagger, and said, in a loud voice,

"'Do my subjects wish to save the Empire from the humiliation of yielding to a band of seditious miscreants, or do they prefer that I should put an end to that Empire by here stabbing my son and myself in order to rescue it from the disgrace of being trampled upon by traitors?'

"He then ordered that the standard should be planted on the Atmeidan, or Hippodrome; crowds of people, from the highest to the lowest class of society, headed by theUllema, or magistrates, and theSofta, or students, assembled round the standard, and, having heard what the Sultan had said from those whom he had addressed, the mob, excited by enthusiasm, hurried away to carry the alarm through the town. All who possessed or could procure arms prepared them, and rushed to attack the barracks of the Janissaries. The corps of artillery, having torn off the badges, which were also worn by those abhorred regiments, that all appearance of fellowship with them might at once be destroyed, commenced the onslaught. Three hours, with 4000 artillerymen and students, incited by that resolute will, which had foreseen and provided for every possible casualty during eighteen years of apparent submission to the tyranny of acaste, sufficed to annihilate the military ascendancy which had once made the sovereigns of Europe tremble abroad, as it had the sultans at home. The attack, however, was directed against only one side of the square, and the other three, as well as the neighboring gate of the town, were purposely left open, with the view that those of the Janissaries who did not wish to resist the Sultan's order might escape unharmed; and quarter was given to all who chose to submit. Similar orders having been simultaneously sent to every part of the empire where Janissaries were stationed, the same conditions were offered to 150,000 individuals affiliated to the corps. Of these only 3600 refused them, and they were the most incorrigible of the chiefs. Having been made prisoners they were tried by a regular court of justice, and it was only necessary to prove their identity in order to condemn them, as the Sultan had carefully compiled the proofs of their respective crimes during many years. Eighteen hundred of them were executed, of whom 600 at Constantinople, 1200 being put to death in the provinces; and the remainder were exiled. Although it must have been an appalling sight to behold those 600 corpseslying on the Atmeidan, one cannot help admiring the patriotism elicited on that occasion; when the Janissaries perceived it, they were stupified by the unexpected excitement of the people; and many fled, fully convinced of the impossibility of resisting those over whom they had hitherto domineered with impunity."

The Sultan now set himself to replace the Janissaries by other regular troops; but Russian ambition did not give him time to organize a new army, and he was obliged to fight with his young and undisciplined recruits against the "veteran warrior-slaves of the Czar." The Ottoman army was accordingly defeated; and the war was brought to a close by the disastrous treaty of Adrianople. His successor, the present sultan, Abdul Medjid, has been more fortunate. He has enjoyed several years of peace, which have enabled him to form a powerful and well-disciplined army, of which Mr. Skene gives us a valuable and interesting account. It was established at the beginning of the year 1842:

"It is divided into six separate armies, calledOrduin Turkish. Each of these consists of two services, the Active, orNizamia, and the Reserve, orRédiff. The former contains two corps, under the command of their respective lieutenant-generals (Férik); and the latter, also two corps, commanded in time of peace by a brigadier (Liva); the wholeOrdubeing under the orders of a field-marshal (Mushir). The general staff of each army is composed of a commander-in-chief, two lieutenant-generals, three brigadiers of infantry, one of whom commands the reserve, two brigadiers of cavalry, and one brigadier of artillery. In each corps there are three regiments of infantry, two of cavalry, and one of artillery, with thirty-three guns. The total strength of these twelve regiments of the active force is 30,000 men, but it is diminished in time of peace by furlough to an effective strength of about 25,000 men in three of the six armies, and of 15,000 in the other three, in consequence of the recruiting system being as yet incomplete in its application all over the Turkish Empire. The whole establishment of this branch amounts, therefore, to 180,000 men, belonging to the active service, but its effective strength is at present 123,000. The reserve of four of the six armies consists in eleven regiments—six of infantry, four of cavalry, and one of artillery; composing a force of 212,000 effective soldiers, while the other two armies have not yet their reserve of soldiers who have served five years. In time of war, however, the reserve would form two corps of 25,000 men in each army; giving a total of 300,000 when this establishment shall have been completed. The two services, therefore, as they now stand, form an effective force of 335,000 men; and when their full strength shall have been filled up it will amount to 480,000. Besides these six armies there are four detached corps; one in the Island of Crete, consisting of three regiments of infantry and one of cavalry, in all 11,000 men; another in the pashalik of Tripoli in Africa, composed of one regiment of infantry and one of cavalry, about 5,000 strong; a third at Tunis of the same strength; and a fourth, which is the central artillery corps, formed of a brigade of sappers and miners with engineer officers, the veteran artillery brigade, and the permanent artillery garrisons of the fortresses on the Hellespont, the Bosphorus, the Danube, in Serbia, on the Adriatic, the coast of Asia Minor, in the islands of the Archipelago, and on the southern shores of the Black Sea; in all 9,000 men. These four corps raise the effective strength of the standing army to 365,000 men. Besides this addition, another augmentation of 32,000 men will be realized by the submission of Bosnia and Northern Albania to the new system; and a further increase of 40,000 men, whom Serbia has engaged to furnish, may be calculated, as well as 18,000 men serving in Egypt, who are destined to reinforce the reserve of the fifth army. The marines, sailors, and workmen, enrolled in brigades, amount to 34,000 men; and the police force, picketed all over the Empire, is nearly 30,000 strong. The grand total of armed men at the disposal of Turkey, in the event of her existing resources being called into play, may, therefore, be quoted at no less than 664,000 men, without having recourse to occasional levies, which are more easily and efficiently realized in Turkey than in any other country."

The service is popular; the troops are well paid, and their material comforts are well provided for:

"The rations consist of meat, bread, rice, and vegetables in abundance every day, besides butter or oil to cook them with.... The military hospitals might serve as a pattern of cleanliness to the first armies of the world, and the medical officers are now perfectly efficient, some of them having studied at European universities, others having become proficients in their art at the medical college of Constantinople, and a few being foreigners. The health of the troops is consequently excellent; so much so, that on one occasion when 50 men out of 3450 were in hospital, it appeared so alarming to the staff of the garrison that a general consultation was held to decide on what steps should be taken to oppose the progress of the sickness. One man in every seventy is no unusual occurrence in the hospitals of the British army; and as for the Russians, they thought little of 12,000 who died at Bucharest in 1829, 10,000 at Varna, and 6000 at Adrianople. The Turkish clothing is excellent; it is strong and warm."

Respecting their probable efficiency in the field, Mr. Skene remarks:

"In their evolutions the Turkish soldiers are rapid, especially the cavalry and artillery,whose horses are excellent; but there may perhaps be some room for improvement in their steadiness. It has been remarked of late at Bucharest, where the Turkish and Russian armies of occupations have their head-quarters, and are consequently often reviewed, that the latter were infinitely slower than the former, and that their light infantry drill was far inferior to that of the Turks, but when moving in line or open column, the Russians, stiff as planks and dreading the lash, kept their distances and dressing somewhat better than the Turks. It may be added in illustration of the respective solicitude of the two armies for the health of the men, that, after one of these field days, three hundred Russians went to the hospital in consequence of exposure to the sun, and one hundred and sixty of them died, while there has not been a single instance of the kind amongst the Turkish troops.

"With such an army as this, formed by a nation whose inherent bravery has never been impugned even by its most prejudiced detractors, it will readily be allowed that, were the campaign of 1829 against the Russians to be fought over again now, the result would be very different, considering how many years the regular troops of the Sultan have been in training, and also how undeniably the Russian army has been falling off, for it was not then to be compared with what it had been in 1815, and it is not now equal to what it was in 1829."

The reserve of the army is organized in the following manner:

"The reserve of the Turkish army is organized in a peculiar manner. It is composed of soldiers who have already served five years in the active force, and who are allowed to remain in their native provinces on furlough, and without pay, for seven years more, during which they assemble for one month of each year at the local head-quarters of their regiment, for the purpose of being drilled; and they then receive their pay, as well as when they are called into active service in time of war. This measure, which was dictated by a spirit of economy, has been eminently successful, inasmuch as a considerable additional force is thus placed at the Sultan's command, without its being a continual burden to the State; and the efficiency of that force has been fully demonstrated of late, when an army of 62,000 men was assembled by Turkey in the space of six weeks, on the occasion of the interruption of her amicable relations with Russia and Austria on account of the Hungarian refugees. In another month, 200,000 men of theRédiffmight have been collected at Constantinople had they been required; and it furnished matter for astonishment to the many foreigners in that capital to behold a thoroughly drilled and disciplined army thus extemporized in a camp, to which a number of mere peasants in appearance had been seen flocking from their villages.

"This system is rendered still more complete by the practice of recruiting regiments from the same districts, in order that, when their five years of active service shall have elapsed, the soldiers may remain together: and the confusion occasioned by embodying pensioners in other countries is avoided in Turkey, where the officers, non-commissioned officers, staff, and rank and file of a regiment continue united, whether on active service or as forming a part of the reserve. They are engaged in agricultural pursuits, or in trade, during their seven years of furlough, being periodically mustered for military exercise, and always ready to move in a body on any point where reinforcements may be necessary, while a salutary feeling ofesprit de corpsis maintained by making such regiment a separate and distinct body of men, raised in the same locality, and most of its members being personally known to each other."

Mr. Skene does not give us any information respecting the skill and ability of the superior officers. On this point we must confess we are not without apprehensions; for however excellent and efficient the troops of the line may be, their valor and discipline will be thrown away, if the higher officers—which we suspect to be the case—are inferior to those in the Russian service.

The threats of Austria give all this subject importance. Honest Christendom for the first time cries, God for the Turk!

From "The Adventures of a Soldier in Mexico," in the United Service Magazine.

A rather ludicrous circumstance, which occurred while we lay at Newport, helped to enliven the usual monotony of a ship's deck while in harbor. A comical sort of a fellow, of the name of Morris, belonging to one of the companies on board, who used to sing Nigger songs, and who, being a very good mimic, could act the Nigger admirably, resolved to turn his talents to account by assuming the character while in harbor, and passing himself off among his comrades, except a few who were in his confidence, as a black cook belonging to the ship—his twofold motive for thus "working the dodge," as he styled it, being partly the fun he expected from the mystification of the men and officers, and partly that he might be allowed to bring whisky into the ship, there being no hindrance to the ship's crew bringing goods on board, as our sentries could not interfere with them. Borrowing, therefore, an old pair of canvas trousers, a Guernsey shirt, and tarpaulin hat from a sailor, and thoroughly engraining his face and hands with the sooty composition requisite to give him the true Ethiopian complexion, he became quite invulnerable to detection by his coat of darkness. In this disguise, he rolled about the deck during the whole forenoon in a partialstate of intoxication, and came and went between the vessel and shore, carrying baskets and parcels of suspicious import with the most perfect impunity. Towards evening, he began to sing snatches of Nigger songs, varying the exhibition with a "flare-up" jawing match with some of the soldiers, in the sort of gibberish and broken English so peculiar to the woolly-headed sons of Ham. This comedy afforded considerable amusement, especially to those of his comrades in the secret of his disguise. As he was dexterous in the tongue fence of those encounters of rude wit, and knowing the chinks in the armor of his opponents, he was sometimes able, by a seemingly careless though cunning thrust, to administer a sickener to their vanity, which was the more galling as seeming to come from a dirty and half-drunken Nigger. "Ah, soger," he would say to some poor fellow whom he saw casting a longing eye towards the busy thoroughfares of the city; "captain not let you go ashore, eh? Too bad, eh? much sooner be black ship's cook than soger." "What's that you say, you Nigger?" would most probably be the reply of the soldier, not being in the best temper, and rather indignant at the idea of being an object of commiseration to a Nigger. "Who you call Nigger, eh? Nigger yourself, sar, more Nigger, a good sight, than ship's cook, sar; ship's cook go shore when he please, and get drunk like gentleman, sar; you a white soger Nigger, me black ship's cook Nigger—dat all de difference." Then, as if in soliloquy, in a deprecatory tone, "Eh! by Jorze, boff poor Niggers; soger mos' as 'specable as colored Nigger when he keep heself sober and behave 'screetly, like color gemman." Stung and irritated by the mock sympathy of the Nigger, the soldier would now be for taking a summary revenge out of his ignoble carcase, when some of the darkey's friends would interpose, declaring that he was a good fellow, and they would not see him ill-used. In the mean time, Morris was supposed by the orderly-sergeant of his company to be absent in town, and as such reported to the captain. Thus far, all had gone on swimmingly; but there was a bit of a rather unpleasant surprise preparing for him as thedenouementto this farce, which he had acted with so much success, which had probably not entered into his conception of the character, but mightily increased the dramatic effect of the representation as a whole.

The captain of his company, who was a bit of a humorist, either having detected the masquerader himself, or having been informed by some busy person of the strange metamorphosis which one of his men had undergone, it occurred to him that he had an opportunity of giving him a taste of Nigger discipline, that might make him feel more vividly the character he had been representing with so much applause. Sauntering, accordingly, along the deck, with his hands behind him, until he arrived opposite the circle where Morris was exhibiting his antics, he deliberately stepped forward and seized him by the collar, and, pulling out a raw cowhide from behind his back, he began to vigorously belabor poor darkey's shoulders. "O Lor, massa! O Golly! What you trike poor debil for? What hell dis?" shouted Morris, who had no idea that he was discovered, and was willing to submit to a moderate degree of chastisement rather than drop his disguise at that particular juncture. "You infernal grinning scoundrel," cries the captain, still vigorously applying the cowhide, "I have been watching you quarrelling with and aggravating my men all this afternoon; what do you mean, you black rascal, eh? Curse your ugly black countenance, I'll beat you to a jelly, you scoundrel." As he still continued his discipline with the cowhide, showing no symptoms of speedily leaving off, Morris, who was smarting with pain, at last began to think more of preserving his skin than his incognito, and called out lustily, "Captain! I say—stop! I am no Nigger—I am a soldier!" At this there was a general burst of laughter from the soldiers, who crowded round, and seemed to enjoy the scene amazingly; those who did not know that Morris was actually a soldier laughing still more obstreperously at the seeming absurdity of the Nigger's assertion. The captain, though evidently tickled, seemed in no hurry to let him go. "Do you hear the impudence of the black rascal? he says he is a soldier!" said the captain, addressing the men who were standing round. "There, does he look like a soldier!" he continued, as he turned him round for inspection. "Go along, you black rascal, and don't let me catch you among my men again, or I will certainly serve you out with a few more of the same sort." So saying, and administering a few parting salutations of the cowhide as he released him, the captain walked off, chuckling to himself at the joke, which I saw him relating afterwards to some of his brother officers, to their infinite mirth, if one might judge from the peals of laughter which his story elicited. In the mean time, Morris was fain to get rid of his Nigger character as quickly as possible: and having, with the aid of warm water and soap, effected this, he made his appearance on deck, and reported himself as having been asleep in the hold when the roll was called. This the sergeant reported to the captain, who, satisfied, it is probable, with the punishment he had administered with the cowhide, affected to believe his statement, and sent him word by the sergeant to take better care in future.

When Lord Holland was on his death-bed, his friend, George Selwyn, calling to inquire how his lordship was, left his card. This was taken to Lord Holland, who said, "If Mr. Selwyn calls again, show him into my room. If I am alive I shall be glad to see him: if I am dead, I am sure he will be delighted to see me."

From the New Monthly Magazine.

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