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in the dark, until the Parisian public is converted to spiritism.


The Sandon affair, which I mentioned in my last letter, is causing great emotion; the medical students having declared that after the present vacations they will summon Dr. Tardien, who is their " doyen," to answer Mr. Sandon's accusation, and will refuse to listen to his lessons until he does. A young doctor with whom I was talking about the case, answered "Oh yes, it is an abominable thing altogether, and Tardien is a villain; but then he is such a clever fellow, he will answer the young students, and bring them over to his side without any trouble; besides, after all, Sandon annoyed Billault, and it is no wonder that he should try to get rid of him!" So if a powerful minister has an enemy, it is quite legitimate that he should send him to a mad-house for life, and that in a country of egality!

General Lamoricière is gone to his last home. He was one of the conquerors of Abd-elKader; and it is remarkable, that at the moment that the vanquished left Marseilles in state, Lamoricière died in an obscure corner in France, almost unnoticed. He was, however, buried at Nantes, with military honours. Waleswski is named president "du Corps Legislatif," and now occupies the former residence of Mr. de Morny. Their Majesties are at Biarritz, and have received the visit of the King and Queen of Spain. It was hinted that they wanted to conclude a match between the Queen's eldest daughter and Prince Amedée of Italy; but that the marriage is not to come off. During the Emperor's visit in Switzerland, he was charged, they say, 30,000 francs for one night and one day, by the landlord of the hotel. Imperial visitors are rare I should think in those parts, so hotel keepers make much of them when they get the chance. The Empress stayed several days longer than the Emperor on this trip, on account of the accident which occurred to three ladies of her suite, when their horses ran away. It was a wonder it was not more serious: the Princess Auna Murat had a rib broken, the Duchess de Montebello her shoulder-bone, and the beautiful Mdlle. Bouvet, reader to the Empress, a few bruises only. Her Majesty telegraphed regularly twice a day to Madame Bouvet, on her daughter's health, which, of course very much flattered the latter lady. They already begin to talk of a wife for the little Prince Imperial. It is time he is rather more than nine years old!

The intensity of the heat does not prevent our theatres filling every night; and in spite of all that has been said on the "Africaine," it still remains the event in the musical world: the first fifty representations produced 550,000 francs, and the opera-house is still as full as ever. Mr. Carvalho, at the "Théâtre Lyrique" has announced a new opera in three acts, “Deborah”—words by E. Plouvier; music by Devinc-Duvivier, pupil of Halévy--for after the holidays. Charles Mathews is adding to his laurels by nightly success at the "Vaudeville," in "L'Homme blasé" and that much against

the expectations of those who had been present at the rehearsals of the piece before-hand. The director and all who had been instrumental in bringing Mathews over here, trembled as they witnessed the bad way in which your celebrated comic mumbled over his part the day before the débût; and great indeed was their surprise when Mathews, putting forth all his powers at the first representation before the public, called forth the most enthusiastic applause, which increases nightly. Talking of theatres, that at Lyons has almost been the cause of an insurrection. This old town was for several days in a great state of uproar, because the director would not let a débutant, protected by the young heads of Lyons, appear on his stage. The police got roughly handled in the fray: they were thrown down and rolled on the stones, amidst the hisses and screaming of the youths, always foremost on such occasions. "Hiss as much as you like," said one of the sergeants de ville, as he managed to extricate himself, covered with mud, from his assailants, "but don't roll us on the ground; it dirties one's trousers!" "Bravo! bravo! tire le sergeant de ville!" vociferated the mob, and they carried the policeman home in triumph! The director was obliged to give in, and peace was restored.

A very curious affair occupied the police the other day. Some time ago a young lady-very pretty, very accomplished, but very poor, al though belonging to a good family-had been under the necessity of giving lessons on the piano for a living. During that time she had been rather flirty; and, although nothing could be sail against her virtue, yet she had written several letters on the tender passion that might render a husband jealous. A German baron, smitten by Malle. Edith, of fered her his hand and fortune, which were accepted. When married, the young Baroness, remembering the letters written to another, became very much alarmed, and used every stratagem to get them again, and succeeded; but whether she had wished to read them before burning, or whatever other motive, instead of destroying them she locked them up in a secre tary for a short time. One morning, about two months ago, she perceived that the letters had been stolen; she had discharged her maid the day before, so concluded that the woman, for some bad purpose, had taken them, and was in a great state of anxiety; when a few days ago a man desired to speak to her in private. He announced himself as a homme d'affaires, and declared to the lady that he had bought her let ters of her former maid for a very large sum, and that if she did not pay him the price he required for them, he should give them to the Baron. The fellow was so insolent, and put such a price on them, that the Baroness, in indignation, ordered her servants to put him out of doors. Scarce had the man arrived home, when a friend called in, and he related the cir cumstance to him, and the vengeance he intended to take. A young clerk overheard the conver sation, and, burning with indignation, deter

mined to baffle the rogue's designs; so, in his turn, stole the letters, and immediately carried them to the Baroness, without asking any reward. But the grateful lady, knowing that he would lose his place, rewarded him handsomely. She then revealed to her husband what had happened, and gave him the letters which had rendered her so unhappy; but the Baron, confident in his wife's virtue, refused to read them, and threw them in the fire before her. The man, in the mean time, discovered that his prey had escaped him; and without think ing of what he was doing, went to the police, and had his clerk arrested for theft. The whole affair, after investigation, came out, and the biter has got bit; the homme d'affaires is in prison himself, accused of swindling.

At Montfermeil, a village near Paris, was born, about twenty-five years ago, on the same day, a boy and girl, one with its head leaning to the right, the other leaning to the left. As they grew up, a kind of sympathy drew them to seek each other's society, although of no relation to each other. A little while ago, some one undertook to cure them by electricity, and, after twenty trials, their heads now are straight on their shoulders, like the rest of their fellowcreatures; which happy event was crowned last week by a marriage between them, and was a public fete in the village.

With kind compliments, yours truly,

S. A.




One morning in June the bright sun, as he proceeded on his daily journey, took the liberty of peeping into the room where little Lena Graham lay asleep, and was actually bold enough to send one of his beams full across her pillow. A moment it rested there, lighting up the pale face and clustering brown curls with a golden glory, such as we see in the pictures of the saints; the next minute two blue eyes opened, and took a sleepy survey of the room, then all at once became wide awake, and Lena sprang up, exclaiming, with a happy smile, "How could I forget? I'm going into the country to-day!"

Quickly the little busy fingers adjusted the morning dress, and then Lena ran down-stairs and jumped into her father's arms, saying, "I am so glad, I don't know what to do," then stopped suddenly and added, "But you'll miss me, wont you, papa?"

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Very much, my darling," he answered, and the manly voice trembled; but you must put some roses into these pale cheeks, and then you'll come back to be papa's pet again. But here comes mamma, to say that breakfast is ready; and unless you hurry, the train will be off without you."

Half an hour afterwards, Lena was seated by her mother in one of the railway carriages, waiting in the station, for the train to start. Papa lingered by their side as long as he could, till the locomotive gave what Lena called " an awful squeal," warning him that he must be off, and with one last kiss on the little pale face, he was gone,

"Hurrah! we're agoing at last," sung out a small boy on the other side of the carriage, at which his mother looked daggers at him, but young hopeful did not appear to care in the least.

Yes, going they were, slowly at first, through the dusty city suburbs, till at last they swept out grandly into the free air and sunshine of the open country. Lena almost held her breath with delight as she gazed on the beautiful scene, lighted up by the gorgeous June sunshine; the green fields covered with daisies and buttercups, where happy little lambs frisked around their mothers; the groves where the little birds were twittering; and the stately mansions, that looked down on the sunny slopes.

Then they passed grand old woods, where the sunlight seemed to sleep on the waving treetops, while all beneath was so dark and still that you could scarcely catch the faintest quiver of sunshine through the interlacing branches.

But all things must come to an end, and so When the travellers did the pleasant ride. alighted at the little country station, they found cousin Joe waiting for them, a great awkward boy, very sunburnt, and with rough hair which utterly refused to be brushed down, but goodnatured and obliging, and now quite lost in admiration of the little fairy, in her straw hat and blue ribbons.

They stepped into the old family chaise, a vehicle apparently as ancient and nearly as roomy as Noah's Ark, which was drawn by an old brown horse, rejoicing in the name of Zachariah, or Zach for shortness, as Joe said. Joe touched the lazy old fellow lightly with the whip, and away he jogged, rather a slow mode

his head to write history? A historian-king | and orders three luxuriously-bound copies, for the should begin by abdicating. He has not done three public libraries which he has just organized; so; it is a bad sign! I have read passages of Fenestella will add a volume to his literary hisit. He justifies outlawry and apologizes for tory; Metullus, who writes the prince's speeches usurpation. It must be so. And you, Galli- so beautifully, will enumerate the oratorical onus, wish me to criticize this work of false- beauties of his book; and Verruis, the grammahood and ignorance, clad in the approbation of rian, will name over its grainmatical beauties; two thousand centurions, and recommended to Marathus, the historiographer, will give an the reader, by veterans. Criticism! It is siege analysis ir. the court-journal, and Athenadorus, you would have. You do not see, my good | the protégé of Octavius, will draw up a paraGallionus, that this is one of the best tricks phrase for the use of ladies, and little explanathat the son of the banker (26) has played the tory notes suited to princesses. I have mensons of the she-wolf, who, alas! unlike their tioned ten men, but I know a thousand; all ancestress, do not know how to bite. Ah! these people will defile before the Emperor, Gallionus, we are degenerate, we are Romans of shouting aloud, like knights at parade: he, the decline, fallen from Cæsar to Augustus, however, will assume an attitude full of modesty thrown from Charybdis against Scylla; from and majesty; his gesture will say: Enough! strength to trickery, from the uncle to the his smile will say: Once more! and the crowd nephew! Pah! No, I will not fall in this will split its throat anew. As he had the populiterary trap, nor be caught in the hole; nor lace of the Seven Hills to applaud his acts, will I cause others to fall into it; no, I will so he will have to praise his book, the populace not write on the Memoirs of Augustus. The of authors; applause is certain, but it can only silence of the people is the lesson of kings. come from one side; it is even rather a funny Labienus will teach it to Augustus. consequence of his unique literary situation. The unfortunate man did not perhaps forsee it, but what do I care? he will succeed by order; that is hard, but I cannot help it. All-powerfulness is inconvenient to an author; the wreath of the crowned writer is not all roses. The situa tion is hard to bear, and Virgil would have lost his Latin in such a quandary. But a man must bear the laws he makes, and when shame is poured out, it must be quaffed down. Pay at tention, my dear Gallionus; the holiday is about to commence, it will be noisy and crowded; the musicians are already in their places, tuning their instruments and playing the prelude to the concert; listen and look, if it suits your taste; I confess that the spectacle will be very enter taining to those who are still able to laugh.

"Be at ease, too; if you want criticism on this little morsel of imperial literature, if you want cunning appreciation, you will have it if you want learned dissertation, it will rain down; if you want ingenious and frequent observations, reviews full of novelty, elegant and courteous discussion sustained in an exquisite strain by men belonging to the best society, you will have it; if you want controversy on its knees and rhetoric flat on its stomach, and epigrams thrown off, the point of which tickles instead of wounding, and bites which are caresses, and bitter reproaches which are pleasing, and adorably-graceful little lines slipped in under the guise of severe judgment, and pretty little words of the most charming description, delicately enveloped in the garb of a ferocious and warlike sentence, and bouquets of flowers of rhetoric, and waves of mellifluous eloquence, and arguments offered up on cushions, and objections presented on a silver waiter, like a letter brought by a servant; nothing of all this will be want ing, my gay Gallionus. We shall see the muses of the state go through a dance, and Mæcenus will lead the ballet. The chaste sisters have quitted Pindus for Mount Palatine, and Apollo belongs to the police. So Augustus is certain of his public, readers, judges, critics, imitators and commentators; he will find people for this work. Those who have made Virgil great, can make Aristarchus so; he needs them, he will have them!

(27) "All literature is merry-making ready. Varius is weeping with joy, Flavius is happy, Rabirius is preparing his tablets; Haterius will lecture, and Tarpar will declaim. Pompeius Macer declares that it is a glad day for morality,


(28). "I know that the work will comprise the last civil war, and even the last year of the reign of Julius Cæsar. In good faith, my dear Gallionus, can you look at such a thing as serious? Augustus publishing (29) a book upon the revolution he caused! What ought to be said, think you, of a criminal who would publish an apology for his crime? To my mind, he commits a second outrage, more difficult, it is true, than the first (for it is easier to commit a crime than to justify it); but this second crime, if more difficult to accomplish, is as guilty and more hurtful, for the victims are more numerous, and the consequences more enduring. The first attacks the life of men, the other their conscience; the one kills the body, the other the mind; the one oppresses the present, the other the future. It is the coup d'état of morality, the creation of disorder, systematized injustice, the organization

(28). An allusion to the later days of the Empire, and the revolution of forty-eight.

(29). It is known that the aim of Napoleon, in

(26). This may be an allusion to the real father of writing the life of Cæsar, was to personify his uncle Napoleon III.

(27). An allusion to men of letters only known in Paris.

in Cæsar, and himself in Augustus, and to prove that both have been the personification of the interests of their epoch.

of evil, the promulgation of no rights, the outlawry of truth, the definitive defeat of public reason, the general rout of ideas, an intellectual battle of Actium. It is the true capping of an edifice of rascality and infamy, and the only one possible. The book of Augustus is his life raised up as an example, his ambition made innocent, his will made into formula as law; it is the code of malefactors, the bible of reprobates; and it is this book that you would attempt to criticise publicly, under the régime of his good pleasure! youwould make literary opposition to Augustus? What folly! Criticism of Octavius? What a sorry joke! He made no criticism of Cato; he killed him! What! the miserable wretch who assassinates you, preaches a sermon to you upon assassination! and, before despatching you, asks your opinion as to his little composition, your sincere opinion, as to its matter and form; your political and literary opinion; for he is an artist and a good fellow, and he wishes your opinion of his works; and you give it him, and, with a knife across your throat, you will confabulate with the executioner! Gallionus, my friend, you cannot mean it!

"What could you say of Verras (30) writing a book upon property? Would you discuss with him? Are the Memoirs of Octavius anything better? Are they not the theory of usurpation, written by an usurper? They are a school for conspiracy, opened by an unpunished conspirator.

(31) "The author can, after all, only tell what he knows! he knows how to pillage a city, how to cut the throats of the senate, how to break open a treasure in a temple and rob Jupiter; he knows how to make false keys, false oaths, and false wills; he knows how to lie in the Forum and at the Curia, how to corrupt the electors, or do without them; how to kill his wounded colleagues, as at Modena; how to outlaw a mass of men at once, and how to play other princely games; he knows how, according to the method of the first Cæsar, to borrow from some to lend to others, and make himself friends on both sides; he knows how, with a vigorous bound, to cross all barriers and all Rubicons; then, with a last leap, raising himself above divine and human laws, make the supreme effort, and, cutting a caper, come down a king. He knows how to do all this, but he does not know a word of history, nor of politics, nor morals, unless it is great morality, that is to say, the morals of the great, such as were taught in his family. There is nothing then in his book that one needs to know, and a profusion of what it is dangerous to learn. He is fond of old

(30). A celebrated Roman extortioner.

(31). An allusion to the excesses committed by the soldiers, on the 2nd December, in Paris, and to the arrest and expatriation of the deputies, as well as to the stealing the funds in the bank of France, of those of the Caisse d'Epargne, and of the Hospices, to electoral corruption, to the assassination of General Cornemuse in the Emperor's Cabinet, &c.

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sayings, old coins and old armour, but not the olden morals. Would you discuss with him on points of grammar, archæology or numismatics? Fool! would you do him that honour? You see that would be falling into his trap, and playing his game. People like him feel themselves to be, do what they may, under the ban of society; they have left it violently through a crime, they wish to regain it stealthily by trickery (32). They have but one ambition, to insinuate themselves among decent people. To do this, they assume every disguise; they go about everywhere, seeking for their poor lost honour; they are seen crowned beggars, asking for esteem from door to door; it is the only alms that cannot be given them. Augustus is at this pass; this quaffer of blood has but one thirst, that for praise; this thief of the empire of the world can steal but one thing more: his rehabilitation. But he attempts what is impossible. The powerless and desperate effort which he makes to save the payments of his wrecked reputation, the supreme effort to hang his honour to a last bough about to break -these last struggles of Cæsar against opinions which crush him-have I know not what about them, that is lugubrious yet comical, like the smile of the gladiator who would die gracefully. The book of Cæsar is like the toilet of the condemned, like the bow which the man about to be hanged makes to the crowd, as he goes to punishment. It is the coquettish display of his last day. Cæsar was so filthy, that the executioner would not have touched him; he has washed himself off a little, to embrace death. And he asks for readers! Readers of Cæsar! to what end? He dares, in a preface, to put questions to his reader; it is the lictor who will reply (33)."

"While awaiting that reply, I will read the Memoirs of Augustus."

And I," replied Labienus, "will read over again the Libels of Cassius."

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boats of larger size, and of improved construction have replaced the boats hitherto in use at these stations. The expenses of these latter alteratious have in each instance, save that of the Tramore boat (collected amongst the members of the Cambridge University Boat Club, (all honour to them for their humane generosity! and of the Sunderland life-boat from a fund collected for the purpose) been borne by benevolent individuals. Besides an article on the necessity of life-belts for merchantseamen, and a short but comprehensive memoir of the late Admiral Fitzroy, F.R.S.; the usual special notices of the services of life-boats, and a summary of the meeting of the Committee appear. The first is replete as ever with tragic interest, and heroic deeds. It is all very well in the glorious open of a summer's night, or by the ale-house fire at midwinter, when the winds blow high, for roystering landsmen to sing "Rule Britannia, Britannia rules the waves," but national egotism never inspired a falser notion. Far from ruling the waves, more British heads have succumbed to their power, more bones of British seamen strew the bottom of the "briny deep," than those of any other nation; and neither improved charts, better ships, a more extensive acquaintance of navigation on the part of their commanders, nor our growing knowledge of the law of storms, appear to have reduced the numbers of shipwrecks in British waters, nor the dreadful loss of life entailed by them, Year after year the awful catalogue of disasters at sea rather increase than fall off, and the cry for more help, to aid in saving the perishing crews of storm-struck vessels driven on the dangerous rocks, and treacherous sands of the channel and seaboard, grows more importunate from the experienced benefit of such aid. Let us thank God that the benevolent and the wealthy are yearly becoming better acquainted with the great merits of this grand National Institution, and eager in assisting its means of help. Every report of the committee proves the growing interest taken by all classes of the community in the work the Institution is charged with. Quite a long list of Life-boats, the individual gifts of living men and women, to whom heaven has returned their charity a thousand fold, in the knowledge that their gifts have been the human means of saving many lives, and of preventing the sufferings of many households. Many others have remembered in their Wills the constant outgoings of the society's funds, and have left large sums of money, or special bequests of boats to be built for the Institution; but the hold, this grandly conducted and noble scheme of relief has taken on the people's hearts, is best seen from the fact that the Societies of Odd Fellows and Foresters have each subscribed amongst themselves, the cost of a Life-boat-and that the men employed at more than one factory have collected large sums for the same purpose. The time is at hand when dark winter nights, and

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CREATION, A TRADITION OF THE INDIANS IN BRITISH COLUMBIA.-Captain C. E. Barrett Lennard, in his "Travels in British Columbia," gives the following account of the opinion of the Indians in Columbia on creation: "The belief among the Northern Indians is first, that Yale (crow) made everything; that men possess a never-dying soul. The brave, who fall in battle, and those who are murdered, enjoy everlasting happiness in heaven; while those that die a natural death are condemned to dwell for ages among the branches of tall trees. The world was originally dark, shapeless, chaotic; the only living thing being Yale. For a long time he flew round and round the watery waste, until at length, growing weary of the intolerable solitude, he recede, and the sun shine forth and dry the earth. The determined to people the universe. He bade the waters effect of this was to cause a dense mist to arise: out of this mist he created salmon, and put them into the lakes and rivers. Birds and beasts were afterwards created on land. After Yale had finished his work of creation, he made a survey of it, and found all creatures were satisfied with the universe in which they had been placed, with the exception of the lizard, who, having a stock of provisions laid up for winter use, and being moreover a great sleeper, preferred a request to be allowed five months' winter. 'Not so,' replied Yale, 'for the sake of the other animals there shall be but four snowy months.' The lizard insisted on five, stretching forth at the same time his five digits; for in those days he had a hand like The crow seized his hand, and, cutting off one finger, gave him to understand that the remaining number should indicate the months of the seasons, four rainy, four snowy, and four summer. The crow finding, as winter came on, that he had no house to shelter him, or to store the salmon he had prepared for winter use, made two men build houses. He then taught them how to make ropes out of the bark of trees, and to dry salmon. After a time, feeling the want of a helpmate, the crow began to look out for a wife. His first choice fell upon a salmon."

a man.

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