to be met with in these places of polite resort, and somewhat dreamy withal, ejaculated, "A hundred thousand pounds! Ah! I know what I'd

do if I had 'em."

"What would you do?" we inquired.

"Why," exclaimed he, a rush-light gleam of imagination flickering in his dull eye, "I'd be cad to an omnibus, or else I'd keep a lot of cabs!" This slave of the lamp, whose ideas of the natural world were all absorbed in the vast thoroughfare at his master's door, had quickly devised his scheme of happiness, and allowing for diversity of taste, adopted only the general plan. Captain Harkaway would establish an illimitable number of hunters, and hounds, and drags, and sporting boxes; Fitzblaze would "do the complete thing about town ;" Lady Dora Mowbray would build "such a love of a palace on the shores of Lake Como ;" Mr. Exeter Hall would send out stores of knowledge to all the benighted; Messrs. Kidd, Napp, and Compy. would extend their relations from the Gold Coast to the shores of Brazil: and the meat of Sir Epicure Mammon should "all come in in Indian shells." In short, every body, if they had a hundred thousand pounds, would do precisely the same as the billiardtable marker: follow the bent of their inclinations. We should then very soon discover what the theorists mean by their declamations; the "blunts," the "flimsies," and the "stiffs" would cease their long-winded harangues (for when a man has got money he becomes practical), the world might be allured to rest in peace; and that is where we leave the question.

The next remarkable guest of the season is the Influenza. It has not presented itself merely in that snivelling form which creates a sudden demand for cambric handkerchiefs, warming-pans, diluents, and Dover's powder, but has broken out violently in an eruption of Christmas books, almost all the writers of the day-save the founder of the system and one or two others having got a babe at nurse. Pleasant little animals many of them, no doubt, will prove; cheerful little creatures, wearing shining crowns of holly and misletoe, and adding zest to other Christmas fare. Let us enumerate a few of the principal

is

:

Mr. James introduces "The Last of the Fairies." The sprite will be welcome, not only for the sake of the enchanter whose potent wand has brought it within the charmed ring, but-if there were no other reason— because it is the last. Bishop Corbet bade farewell to the goblin crew more than two hundred years ago, but they are a race whom, after all, it very difficult to quell; for were they not wondrously tenacious of life, they had long since been smothered by the clumsy attempts of the Athenæum to revivify them. The experiment resorted to in that journal is any thing but an improved substitute for ether, but then the Athenæum understands no process save vivisection. Hans Christian Andersen, on the other hand, who knows so well how to weave garlands for the elfin band, may probably have something to say to induce us to retract our wish. Like poor Hood, he may have another "Plea for the Fairies" in the "Christmas Greeting" which he sends to his English friends. us assure him, before the volume reaches us, that there are none in England so cold of heart as not to respond with fervour to his honest Danish greeting. Mr. Rowcroft's "Triumph of Woman" will have added to his own triumphs. A name, long honoured alike in literature and wheresoever studies shed dignity on the earnest labours of his life, comes next-hight Samuel Warren. Without bearing the special designation of a Christmas

Let

book, "Now and Then" is essentially one of that class-the best of its kind, and deep in its pages will many of our readers be before this intimation meets them. Mrs. S. C. Hall reverses the seasons for our pleasure, and, in the midst of "dark December," leads us forth beneath the glowing skies of June, to listen to a fairy tale of love called "Midsummer's Eve," the promise of which sweet time is kept to the eye by Maclise, Stanfield, Creswick, and a large array of goodly artistical names. Who will not readily dip into the "Jar of Honey," freshly imported from "Mount Hybla" by Leigh Hunt? Certes, all who have a love for what is poetical, and beautiful, and true! Leigh Hunt is the type of Samson's riddle: "Out of the strong comes forth sweetness." This charming work was originally published in Ainsworth's Magazine. Last on the file, but foremost in the anticipations to which it gives birth, we read the name of Michael Angelo Titmarsh, the biographer of "Our Street." What thoroughfare has our modern Panurge chosen wherewith to identify himself? Unhappy Baker-street already lies withered beneath his sneer, and half its gentility has fled; flaunting, utilitarian shops usurping the place of the dull dining-rooms which he so much abhorred. Is the region Belgravia; does the binoscular gaze of our friend stray among the terraces of Hyde Park, or, haply, does it wander where Hebrew matrons, "capped and jewelled," like their husband's watches, give marvellous dinners to admiring Christians in streets dependent for their fame on fashionable squares ? Let it be where it may, depend upon it, we shall recognise the inhabitants, and vouch for their sayings and doings.

Another subject in season just now is, the "bright look out" we are advised to keep on our coasts, lest we should awake some fine morning and find the whiskered Gaul warming his coat-tails on our hearth stones, and helping himself to an uninvited chine, or sirloin. With what sensations should we read in the Times the following announcement, of what -thank God-never happened before, but once :

All Kent hath yielded; nothing there holds out
But Dover Castle: London hath received
Like a kind host, Duke d'Isly and his powers!

And yet our own duke,-than whom no man ever better knew what he was
saying,-tells us to prepare, or such a state of things may readily come
to pass.
A great many who knew nothing of the military abilities of
our lively neighbours, and who think "Waterloo" a choke-pear that
must mar all subsequent appetite, are apt to entertain the belief that if
the French were to land in England, they would do no more than that
celebrated army of theirs immortalised in song, which, led on by their
gallant king,

March'd up the hill, and then marched down again!

These gentlemen are slightly in the wrong. Having once ascended to the top of Pisgah-the Sussex downs for example-and seen the land of promise which would then lie stretched before them, the Zouaves of France would be in no hurry to turn their backs upon it; and if such were to be the case, we should earnestly recommend the bold spirits of Brixton at once to man their mill-crowned height,--the proud warriors of Peckham to muster their array on the green of Camberwell and the Causeway of Newington; while, on the stern suburbans to whom the defences of Clapham and Kennington are confided, we should urge the

advice, so sadly neglected in their neighbourhood on Vauxhall nights, to "keep their powder dry."

The general excuse for the defenceless condition of our shores, is twofold. In the first place, we are said to be such intense lovers of peace, that we cannot bring ourselves to believe in the possibility of war; and in the next, that the hereditary endowment of every Englishman being, the capability of thrashing three Frenchmen, there is no occasion to give ourselves any trouble about the matter, until we actually find our foes at arm's length.

The proof of our fondness for peace is to be found in the stainless annals of our commercial intercourse with the different quarters of the globe, and in that mildness of spirit which has

Butchered half the world and bullied t'other,

as if it were possible for a small island like ours to have obtained her vast amount of territory solely by dint of persuasion. And with respect to the facility for "doubling up" "those Mounseers in brass," as the poet calls them, it must be observed that whenever the "mill" takes place, John Bull must expect any thing but a fair stand-up fight; he will be taken at every disadvantage, and find that something more than mere "pluck" is necessary to enable him to "serve out" his adversary. To be fore-warned, the proverb says, is to be fore-armed, and—provided ministers accept the warning and act upon it-we may be "quittes pour la peur," and experience no worse visitation from our neighbours than the longo-bardic irruptions which people the Quadrant while Mr. Mitchell keeps his theatre open. Soit dit, en passant, that the worthy lessee has begun early and well with Messrs. Montaland, and Fechter, and Mademoiselle Baptiste; the first having made an excellent début in "Le Jeune Mari," and the two last sustaining their parts admirably in Emile Augier's new drama of "La Cigue."

It is to be hoped that the mania for dwarfs has passed away with the disappearance from our shores of that dreadful little humbug, Tom Thumb, but monstrosities are still the order of the day. While we write we perceive several strange announcements in the daily papers. Amongst them the proximate arrival of a "renowned giant" from Spain-a lineal descendant, no doubt, of one of the windmills on the plains of Montiel, or possibly a far-off cousin of the warlike Brandabarbaran of Boliche, who also fell beneath the conquering lance of the Knight of La Mancha, or, as he is said to be a native of Guipuscoa (by name "Joachim Eleizegui") he may, perchance, claim kindred with the stalwart but stupid Ferragus whom Roland cheated out of the secret of his invulnerability, and then took his life. Be he of what family he may, he comes under the auspices of Louis Philippe, and is described in the advertisement as "a perfect giant." A faultless monster, which the world ne'er saw.

Another intimation of the similar kind is meant for the benefit, we presume, of "the country gentlemen." It is an exhibition of African "mammals, birds, and reptiles," at the cattle show at the Baker-street Bazaar. Fate forbade us from being present at the show, but we confess our curiosity was rather excited by this announcement on the part of Mr. Louis Toser, "THE African Traveller." Has he fattened up his lions on oilcake, taught his ostriches to prefer rapeseed to horse's shoes, and increased

the bulk of his boa-constrictors with barley-meal and milk, instead of the flesh of kids and sable piccanninies? A caravan of fat wild beasts is at any rate a rarity. By-the-bye, we should be glad to know what affinity there is between Mr. Toser's reptiles and "Marsh's newlyinvented dibbling machine," the sight of which is included in the shilling charged for seeing the mammals, &c.!

While on the subject of fattening animals, and before we bring this article to a close, we must advert to a singular idea which appears to have lodged itself in the brain of one of our lively police magistrates; the functionary who distributes justice at per head at Hammersmith. Here is the case which has attracted our notice:

EATING A CAT.-At the Hammersmith police-office, yesterday, ten men applied for the advice and assistance of the magistrate. On Thursday evening they were in the Black Boy public-house, in the Potteries, Notting-hill, when a man named Hams came in with what appeared to be a trussed rabbit, which he offered for sale for 9d. They mustered their money together and bought it, and sent it in a dish with potatoes to the baker's, and made a hearty supper of it. They had, however, not long eaten it before they all felt very sick, and they were obliged to apply to a surgeon for emetics. They had since ascertained that what they had eaten was a cat, which Hams had skinned and dressed up as a rabbit for fun. They wished to know how he could be punished. Mr. Paynter said he knew of no law under which the offending party could be punished. If it could be proved that he had cruelly killed the cat, he might be punished under the act for preventing cruelty to animals. Cats were not considered to be unwholesome food, and they were frequently eaten in France and other countries. The applicants left the court apparently much disappointed.

We pity the unfortunate men, but what we want to know is, where did Mr. Paynter acquire the knowledge which he imparted with such consoling assurance to the miserable ten, still suffering from the effects of the cat. "Cats," he said, ". were not considered to be unwholesome food." Where is the authority to be found for this dictum ? Who amongst the ancients or moderns recommends feline cookery? We have searched in vain through Carême, Ude, Beauvilliers, Francatelli, and Soyer. Mrs. Glasse is as silent on the subject as Meg Dods; and even at the Reform Club, where strange dishes are ordered by Irish members, we never heard of cats being a favourite article of food. We have tried back through many bills of fare, but an openly declared "civet de chat" never yet made its appearance. Mr. Paynter, however, takes refuge in his continental experience. Cats, he gravely declares, are "frequently eaten in France and-other countries." Unhappy France! For centuries she laboured under the imputation of breakfasting on frogs, and now nothing will satisfy Mr. Paynter unless she dine on cats. It is true there is a story told of a certain Frenchman who told an acquaintance he had discovered an extremely cheap mode of living in England, which turned out to be by dining on cats'-meat, but this evinced nothing of a national predilection, nor had it, in point of fact, any thing to do with the domestic animal in question. We apprehend Mr. Paynter must have been fresh from the pages of Le Sage or Quevedo when he delivered this judgment. There was some ingenuity, however, in his saving clause, " France-and other countries." Other countries! Yes! there are countries where Mr. Paynter himself might be eaten, unsauced; but we imagine he would not offer this possible case as an inducement to the labourers of Notting-hill to become Anthropophagi!

LEGENDS OF SALZBURG.

BY JOHN OXENFORD, Esq.

In the legends of Salzburg we must not so much look to the city itself, as to the Untersberg, or, as it is sometimes called, the Wunderberg, which stands at about a league's distance. This mountain is 6798 feet high; its surface abounds in wood, game, and all sorts of medicinal herbs, while marble and precious ores may be found beneath. The legends respecting this mountain, are abundant indeed, and marvellous to an uncommon degree.

In the first place, there is a whole cluster of stories relative to a subterranean emperor, and resembling in principle that of "Peter the Goatherd" (the hero of one of Grimm's well known tales), who found the Emperor Frederic Barbarossa holding court among the mountains, and amusing himself with nine-pins. The adventures of Peter were afterwards transferred, by Mr. Washington Irving, to "Rip van Winkle," and Hudson, the navigator, was made the substitute for the old Swabian emperor. The notion of a sovereign, or hero, who goes on living long after the cessation of his visible existence, is to be found in various countries, and much information on this subject may be gathered from Croker's " Legends of Ireland." In Wales, there is a castle, "Owen Lawgoch," the ancient lord of which was recently found by a peasant slumbering amid his followers. In the Isle of Man, under Castle Rushin, a similar discovery was made. The hero of old French romance, "Ogier le Danios," yet slumbers beneath Cronenburgh Castle, and can be awakened on occasion, and the three founders of the Helvetic Confederacy, called by the herdsmen the "Three Tells," are in a cavern near the Lake of Lucerne, taking a nap, from which they will wake in some case of great emergency. Need we mention Dom Sebastian of Portugal, and the British Arthur!

One of the most remarkable stories about the Emperor in the Untersberg, is contained in a little book, which is current in the district, and which relates to one Lazarus Aizner.

In the year 1529, this man, with the priest, his master, and two others, going up the Untersberg, came to a chasm in the rocks, called the "High Throne.' Beneath the rock stood a chapel, on which they read an inscription in silver letters. When they had returned home, they talked over this inscription, and the priest requested Aizner to return to the spot and copy it. Aizner accordingly set out for the mountain, one fine Wednesday in September, and found the following inscription hewn in the rock:

S. O. R. C. E. T. S. A. T. O. M.

If the reader expects we are going to tell him what these letters mean, he will be much disappointed. It will be sufficient to say, that friend Lazarus, who does not seem to have been a very fast hand at copying, was so long in taking down the inscription, that he could not think of returning the same evening. He, therefore, very wisely laid himself down to sleep on some soft moss.