venerable old Turk, with a long white beard and a turban of the shape and dimensions of a pumpkin. Surely I have seen you before,' remarked this ancient Osmanli, pausing between the puffs at his chibouk. 'It may be,' the other replied, unconsciously paraphrasing Mr. Macready in 'Werner'; 'I was a soldier, and am a beggar. I am Marshal Bourmont.' 'Allah is great!' remarked the venerable old gentleman, taking another pull at his pipe; 'I was the Dey of Algiers. He made rather a jovial end of it, this savage old Dey; for he took away plenty of diamonds sewn up in his baggy inexpressibles. He was rather too fond, however, of inflicting the bastinado on his numerous wives, and one of them ran away and became a dame de comptoir at a coffee-house in Naples.

152. FASHION-THE TYRANNY OF TAILORS.

Tailors must live; at least they think so, and we have no objection. Yet they are great tyrants, and have ingenious ways of torturing their victims. One way is this: they invent a fashion which is strikingly peculiar, and get it into vogue by various arts best known to themselves for example, very short overcoats, with long waists, which look well on men whose figure is faultless. The next movement, after everybody is overcoated for the winter, is to bring out a garment which differs as much as possible from the one in fashion; that is, an overcoat with skirts to the heels, and waist under the armpits. They get half a dozen men of high fashion, who look well in anything, to parade this new invention, and make the shortcoated majority appear out of date. The manœuvre succeeds; all the dandies are driven to the extravagance of ordering a superfluous coat; the tailors smile, and the dandies bleed, or their fathers do.

153. MOREAU'S TRIAL.

Many of the guards had served under Moreau, and they could not forget how much he was beloved by the soldiers. There was in Paris a general conviction that if Moreau had ventured to say one word to the soldiers in whose charge he was, that that jailer-guard would have immediately formed itself into a guard of honour, ready to execute all that might be

necessary for the safety of the conqueror of Hohenlinden. Napoleon had been declared emperor about ten days when, on May 28, the trial commenced. The indignation caused by the arrest of Moreau was openly manifested, and could not be restrained by the police. I am satisfied that a movement would have taken place if the judges had capitally condemned him. A circumstance occurred at one of the sittings which almost produced an electrical effect. I think I still see General Lecourbe, the worthy friend of Moreau, entering unexpectedly into the court with a young child; taking it up in his arms, he exclaimed with a strong voice, and with considerable emotion: 'Soldiers, behold the son of your general.' At this unexpected movement all the military present rose and spontaneously presented arms, and at the same time a murmur of applause spread through the court. It is certain that had Moreau at that moment said a word, such was the enthusiasm in his favour, that the tribunal would have been broken up and the prisoner liberated. But he remained silent.-Bourrienne.

154. MACPHERSON'S FAREWELL.

Oh, what is death but parting breath :
On many a bloody plain

I've dared his face, and in this place

I scorn him yet again.

Untie these bands from off my hands,
And bring to me my sword;

And there's no man in all Scotland,
But I'll brave him at a word.

I've lived a life of sturt and strife;

I die by treacherie ;

It burns my heart I must depart

And not avenged be.

Now farewell light-thou sunshine bright,

And all beneath the sky!

May coward shame distain his name,

The wretch that dares not die!

Robert Burns.

155. ESTIMATES OF HAPPINESS.

Some persons, I know, estimate happiness by fine houses, gardens, and parks-others by pictures, horses, money, and various things wholly remote from their own species; but when I wish to ascertain the real felicity of any rational man, I always inquire whom he has to love. If I find he has nobody, or does not love those he has even in the midst of all his profusion of finery and grandeur, I pronounce him a being deep in adversity.—Mrs. Inchbald.

156. HOWARD THE PHILANTHROPIST.

I cannot name this gentleman without remarking, that his labours and writings have done much to open the eyes and hearts of all mankind. He has visited all Europe-not to survey the sumptuousness of palaces, or the stateliness of temples; not to make accurate measurements of the remains of ancient grandeur, nor to form a scale of the curiosities of modern art, nor to collect medals, or collate manuscripts, but to dive into the depths of dungeons, to plunge into the infection of hospitals, to survey the mansions of sorrow and pain; to take the gauge and dimensions of misery, depression, and contempt; to remember the forgotten, to attend to the neglected, to visit the forsaken, and compare the distresses of all men in all countries. His plan is original; it is as full of genius as of humanity. It was a voyage of discovery; a circumnavigation of charity. Already, the benefit of his labour is felt more or less in every country: I hope he will anticipate his final reward by seeing all its effects fully realised in his own. -Edmund Burke.

157. THE DERVISE.

A Dervise, travelling through Tartary, being arrived at the town of Balk, went into the king's palace by mistake, thinking it to be a public inn or caravansary.

Having looked about him for some time, he entered into a long gallery, where he laid down his wallet, and spread his carpet, in order to repose himself upon it, after the manner of the Eastern nations.

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He had not been long in this posture before he was discovered by some of the guards, who asked him what was his business in that place? The Dervise told them he intended to take up his night's lodging in that caravansary. The guards let him know, in a very angry manner, that the house he was in was not a caravansary, but the king's palace. It happened that the king himself passed through the gallery during this debate, and smiling at the mistake of the Dervise, asked him how he could be so dull as not to distinguish a palace from a caravansary? Sire,' says the Dervise, 'give me leave to ask your majesty a question or two. Who were the persons that lodged in this house when it was first built?' The king replied, his ancestors. 'And who,' says the Dervise, 'was the last person that lodged here?' The king replied, his father. 'And who is it,' says the Dervise, 'that lodges here at present?? The king told him that it was he himself. 'And who,' says the Dervise, 'will be here after you?' The king answered, the young prince, his son. 'Ah! sire,' said the Dervise, 'a house that changes its inhabitants so often, and receives such a perpetual succession of guests, is not a palace, but a caravansary.'-7. Addison.

158. PRINCESS FAIRY-TALE.

Far, far away there is a fine country full of rocky mountains and crystal caves, rich in silvery streams and flowery gardens, where the sun is said never to set. There Fancy has been queen for a long, long time; and she is clothed in youth and beauty. For hundreds of years she has been showering blessings on her people with a free hand; and she is beloved by all.

But the queen has too great and good a heart to rest content with doing good in her own kingdom. Once she came to earth, for she had heard that there were men living there who passed their lives in sadness and toil. She brought them the fairest flowers and fruits her country produced; and ever since, men have been happy in their labour and mild in their gaiety. Her children, too, not less beautiful and lovely than their royal mother, she sent forth to gladden the heart of mankind.

Now, it came to pass one day that Fairy-tale, the queen's elder daughter, returned from the earth. Her mother noticed that she was sad; yes, she had heard her sighing, and seen the tears trickle down her cheek, in secret.

'What is the matter with you, Fairy-tale?' said the queen; 'you have been so sorrowful and downcast since your journey. Come, tell your mother what ails you?' 'Ah ! dear mother,' replied Fairy-tale, 'I should certainly not have been silent so long, only I knew that our troubles were one.' 'Tell me all, child,' said the beautiful queen; 'grief is a heavy burden, you know, which is too much for one, but which two can easily bear between them.' Then I will tell you, dear mother, as you wish it,' answered Fairy-tale. 'You know how I love the people of the earth; how glad I am to sit down with the poorest peasant at his cottage-door, to while away an hour with him, when work is over. Well, in former times, they used to greet me kindly, and shake hands with me when I came; and they followed me with smiles of delight when I went away; but now, alas, it is so no more!'

'Poor little Fairy-tale !' said the queen, stroking her cheek, which was moist with a tear; 'but perhaps this is only a whim of yours?'

'Oh, no; I feel too sure of it,' answered Fairy-tale; 'they do not love me any more. I am met with cold looks wherever I go; they are not glad to see me anywhere now.'

The queen leant her forehead on her hand, and remained awhile in silent thought. And at last she remarked, 'How comes it, Fairy-tale, that the people below are so changed?'

'Men have grown matter-of-fact, as they call it,' answered Fairy-tale; 'they are just like tailors, always taking the measure of everything that comes from your kingdom. So if anyone comes who is not quite to their taste, they begin to make a great noise, and beat him, and drive him away in disgrace, Ah! mother, there is not a spark more of love or hearty simplicity to be found. How well off my little brothers, the Dreams, are; they skip so lightly and merrily down to the earth. They go to the people when asleep, and weave and paint them all sorts of pretty things that gladden the heart and please the eye!'

"Your brothers are light of foot,' said the queen; ‘and, after all, my dear, you have no reason to envy them; because they are not to blame for their good fortune.

'But I see very well how all this is—your spiteful aunt has been telling stories of us.'