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THE TWO MUNCHAUSENS.

instant seeming overcharged, like the and transitions, 50 classical and correct Italian faces, nor coarse and unfeminine her speech and deportment, and so inunder whatever impulse; on the con- tensely interesting her voice, form, and trary, it is so thoroughly harmonized features, that there is no conveying an when quiescent, and so expressive when idea of the pleasure she communicates impassioned, that most people think her by words. She must be seen to be more beautiful than she is ; so great, known. What is still more delightful, too, is the flexibility of her counte. she is an original : she copies no one nance, that the rapid transitions of pas- living or dead, but acts from nature and sion are given with a variety and effect herself. that never tire upon the eye. Her voice is naturally plaintive, and a tender me

SPIRIT OF THE lancholy in her level speaking denotes a being devoted to tragedy; yet this seem

Public Journals. ingly settled quality of voice becomes at will sonorous or piercing, overwhelms with rage, or in its wild shriek absolutely harrows up the soul. Her sor

By a veteran. row, too, is never childish-her lamenta- In the late Regiment of Light tion has a dignity which belongs, I Dragoons, were two worthy persons, think, to no other woman: it claims who were denominated the regimental your respect along with your tears. liars : a distinction to which, giving Her eye is brilliant and varying like the every man his due, they were eminently diamond; it is singularly well placed; entitled. The great and fundamental “it pries, in Shakspeare's language, requisites for accomplished lying, I con“ through the portal of the head,'' and ceive to be a good memory, a fertile has

every aid froin brows flexible beyond fancy, a ready wit, fluency of speech, all female parallel, contracting to dis- and a brazen countenance, so that you duin, or dilating with the emotions of shall tell a man a most bare-faced falsesympathy, or pity, or anguish. Her hood, and afterwards adduce such conmemory is tenacious and exact-her ar- nected proofs as especially characterize ticulation clear and distinct- her pro- ' actual facts. T'he following dialogue nunciation systematic and refined. is a specimen of the talents of the afore

Nor has Nature been partially bounti- mentioned mendacious personages. ful: she has endowed her with a quick

C.-" See a man walk after he was ness of conception, and a strength of shot dead ! so have I, a whole day's understanding equal to the proper use

march." of such extraordinary gifts. So entirely B.-" Come, come, that's stealing a is she mistress of herself, so collected, march on our senses. No, no, it wont and so determined in gestures, tone, and do: that's a naked one; do pray turn manner, that she seldom errs, like other them out with some kind of probability actors, because she doubts her powers covering over them.” or comprehension. She studies her au. C.-What, doubt my veracity;" thor attentively, conceives justly, and

B.--" Not for the world ; that would describes with a firm consciousness of be iliberal and unkind, and by the way, propriety. She is sparing in her action, now I think on it, I believe the possibibecause English nature does not act lity of a man travelling without his cramuch; but it is always proper, pic- nium, for at the battle of Laswaree, turesque, graceful, and dignified: it during that desperate contest for British arises immediately from the sentiments India, I saw a sergeant of the seventyand feeling, and is not seen to prepare sixth shot dead; yet the fellow pursued itself before it begins. No studied trick his antagonist some hundred yards or start can be predicted ;-no forced afterwards, threatening vengeance on tremulation of the figure, where the va- the miscreant for having robbed the sercáncy of the eye declares the absence vice of one of its best men. Finding of passion, can be seen ;-no laborious himself weak from loss of blood, he destrainings at false climax, in which the liberately unscrewed his head, threw it tired voice reiterates one high tone be- violently at the foe, and took him on the yond which it cannot reach, is ever spine ; down he tumbled ; the veteran heard ; - no artificial heaving of the jumped upon him ; fearful was the breasts, so disgusting when the affecta- struggle ; chest to chest, fist to fist; tion is perceptible ;- none of those arts at last they joined in the death grapple, by which the actress is seen, and not and dreadful indeed was their dying the character, can be found in Mrs. hug." Siddons. So natural are her gradations C.-"My dear friend, I was an eye

BY THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD.

witness of the whole transaction. You or that, is of no consequence. The have however forgotten the best part of most extraordinary thing was, that the the story. After the sergeant had well gallant colonel only sprained his right pummelled his enemy, he picked up his arm.” head again, and thrust into a neighbour- B.-“ By no means extraordinary. ing great gun : from the want of his You remember the great gun of Agra, peepers he made a random shot, and in which a regiment of cavalry used to killed the horse on which Lord Lake drill." was riding-his Lordship saluted the C.-" I do. The one that fired the sod."

stone ball to the wall of Futtipoore SikB.-" I recollect it perfectly; for the rah-twenty miles.” nose of the said sergeant (recognised by B.-" The saine. Well, when that sundry carbuncles) was so hard, that the gun was fired, a thing that never occurfollowing day it was extracted from the red but once, the head of the rash man abdomen of the unfortunate animal.” who fired it was afterwards found in the

C.-" You make a mistake about the Old Woman's Tank, eleven miles from nose; it was discovered lodged in a loaf the spot, without so much as a blemish, in a corporal's knapsack; the man except a slight singing of the right could swear to it, for it was perforated whisker." by three balls, and otherwise curiously C.-“Ah! I can never forget the marked. Report said that a shell had time; I had just landed in Calcutta when once blown it completely off, and that it we heard the report. Some of the wadwas stitched on again by a shoe-maker, ding went as far as Cawnpore.” who, ever after, went by the name of the

Here the trumpet, sounding for mornnosy cobbler."

ing drill, put a stop to the colloquy.B.—“Nothing impossible. It re- Englishman's Magazine. minds me of a story somewhat as strange: During the battle of Delhi there was a

THE MISER'S GRAVE. quarter-master in the regiment, a queer fellow, who was never at a loss ; (he is now in the corps, and can vouch for my HERE'S a lesson for the earth-bord worm,

So deep engraven on the meagre platen statement) he was charging at the head

Of human frailty, so debased in hue, of his squadron, when he caught a can- That he who dares peruse it needs but blush non shot in his hands : instantly dis- For his own nature. The poor shrivell'd wretch,

For whose lean carcass yawns this hideous pit, mounting, he chucked the ball into a

Had naught that be desired in earth or heaven field-piece, but, for want of a ramrod, No God, no Saviour, but that sordid pelf, he drove it home with his head. One O'er which he starved and gloated. I have seen

him of the enemy, seeing him thus zealously

On the exchange, or in the market-place occupied, fired off the gun; strange to When money was in plenteous circulation, tell he was not killed ! From constant Gaze after it with such Satanic looks exposure to the sun, in search of toddy, How

he from theft and murder could refrain.

eagerness, that I have wonder'd ort and from the free use of cocoa-nut oil, Twas cowardice alone withheld his hands, his head had become proof against shot. For they would grasp and grapple at the air,

When his grey eye bad fixed on heaps of gold, The distance from the place whence he While his clench'd teeth, and grinning, yearning was projected, to that where he was face,

Were dreadful to behold picked up, measured three miles, two

The merchants oft

Would mark his eye, then start and look again, lurlongs, three yards, and eleven inches.

As at the eye of basilisk or snake. A hard-headed fellow, Sir.-In his ca- His eye of greyish green ne'er shed one ray reer he upset his colonel and a brace of Of kind beniguity or holy light

On aught beneath the sun. Childhood, youth, captains.

beauty, C.-" He did; and where the colonel To it had all one bue. Its rays reverted was capsized, he made such a hole by Right

inward, back upon the greedy heart his enormous weight, that the sovereign Preyed without ceasing, straining every sense of Delhi ordered a large well to be dug To ihat excruciable and yearning

core.

Some thirteen days agone, he comes to me, on the spot, in memory of the event. B.--. I remember the well-twelve On men's rapacity and sordid greed,

And after many sore and mean remarks feet, three inches and a half, was the He says, “ Gabriel, thou art an honest man,

As the world goes. How much, then, will you exact depth of the excavation occasion

charge ed by the fall."

And make a grave fur me, fifteen feet deep?"c.-" There you are wrong ; only "We'll talk of that when you require it, sir." eleven feet, three inches

“No, no. I want it made, and paid for too;

I'll have it settled, else I know there will B.- No, believe me, I am right; Be some unconscionable overcharge twelve feet, and three inches to a bar. On my poor friends-a ruinous orercharge." -leycorn."

“ But, sir, were it made now, it would fill up

Each winter to the brim, and be to make C. - Never mind : a little, this way Twenty or thirty times, if you live long."

course,

2

a There! Ibere it is! Nothing but imposition ! And learn to sbun bis vices, one and all. Even Time must rear bis stern, unyielding front, Though richer than a Jew, he was more poor And holding out his shrivelled skeleton hand, Than is the meanest beggar. At the cost Demands my money. Naught but money! or other men a giutton. At his own, money!

A starveling. A mere scrub. And such a coward,
Were I coin'd into money I could not

A cozener and liar-but a coward,
Half satisfy that craving greed of money.

And would have been a thief-But was a coward.
Well, how much do you charge? I'll pay you

Blackwood's Magazine. :
now,
And take a bond from you that it be made

The Selector;
When it is needed. Come, calculate with
reason

AND
Work's very cheap; and two good men will LITERARY NOTICES OF
make

NEW WORKS.
That grave at two days' work: and I can havo
Men at a shilling each---without the meat-
That's a great matter! Let them but to meat, PARIS AND ITS HISTORICAL SCENES.
'Tis utter ruin. I'll give none their meat-
That I'll beware of. Men now-a-days are cheap, (Library of Entertaining Knowledge,
Cheap, dogcheap, and beggarly fond of work.

Part 18.)
One shilling each a-day, without the meat, We have little inclination to quote more
Mind that, and ask in reason; for I wish
To have that matter settled to my mind. than a few passages from the General

“Sir, there's no man alive will do't so cheap View of Paris in this Number ; the toAs I shall do it for the ready cash,”.

pographical portion of which, (as far as Says I, to put him from it with a joke. " I'll charge you, then, one-fourth part of a

à four months residence there will serve farthing

pur judgment) is eminently characterisFor every cubic foot of work I do,

tic.
Doubling the cbarge each foot that I descend."
“ Doubling as you descend! Why, that of

Ancient City.

The Archbishop of Narbonne, writing A quarter of a farthing cach square foot

in the reign of Francis I., (about 1520,) No meat, remember! Not an inch of meat, Nor drink, nor dram. You're not to trust to

calls Paris even then a world rather than these.

a city* ; yet at that period its population Wilt stand that bargain, Gabriel ?"_"I accept." Ho struck it, quite o'erjoy'd. We sought the

was probably not much more than the clerk,

fifth part of what it now is; nor did the Sign’d-seal'd. He drew his purse. The clerk quantity of ground it covered bear even

went on
Figuring and figuring. “What a fuss yon make!

the same proportion to the immense 'Tis plain," said be, “the sun is eighteen. space over which it has now extended.

but in both convenience and elegance, Tis somewhat more, sir," said the civil Paris has made still more extraordinary

clerkAnd bel out the account. “ Two hundred advances since the time of Francis than round,

even in population and extent. It was And gallant payment over.” The Miser's face Assumed the cast of death's worst lineaments,

then, compared to what it now is, but His skinny jaws fell down upon his breast ;

a gloomy and incommodious, fortress,
He tried to speak, but bis dried tongue refused without even the security which encom-
Iis utterance, and cluck'd upon the gum.
His heart-pipes whistled with a crannell'a sound; passing fortifications might be supposed
His knell-knees plaited, and his every bone to yield. Lighted only by candles placed
Seem'd out of joint. He raved—he cursed, he here and there by the inhabitants them-

selves in their windows, it was so infest-
Not yet a fortnight old, and shall be paid. ed by thieves and assassins that hardly
It broke the Miser's heart. He ate no miore,
Nor drank, nor spake, but groan'd mutil he died; the approach of night was the source of

weptBut payment he refused. I have my boud,

any person ventured out after dark, and This grave kill'd him, and now yearns for bis bones.

constant terror even to those who remainBut worse than all. Tis twenty years adi more ed in their houses. The streets thus Since he brought home his coffin. On that chest imperfectly lighted, were worse paved; His eye turn'd ever and anon. It minded bim, He said, of death. And as be sat by night

and most of them were as dirty and narBeside his beamless hearth, with blanket round row as those still to be seen in the more His shivering frame, if burst of winter wind Made the door jangle, or the chimney moan,

ancient part of the city. The supply of Or crannied window wbistle, he would start, water was so inadequate that the seveAnd turn his mcagre looks upon that chest; rest miseries were sometimes suffered Tben sit upon't, and watch till break of day.

from the absolute want of that necessary Old wives thonght him religious-a good mad ! A great repentant sinner, who would leave of life, and the greatest inconveniences His countless riches to sustain the poor. at all times from its scarcity. Finally, But mark the issue. Yesterday, at noon, Two men could scarcely move that pouderous the public edifices were without splenchest

dour, and even the best of the private To tbe bedside to lay the body in.

houses unprovided with many of what They broke it sundry, and they found it framed With double bottom! All his worshipp'd gold

are now accounted the most indispensaHoarded between the boards! O such a worm ble accommodations. Instead of all this, Sure never writhed beneath the dunghill's base! we behold Paris now one of the very cenFifteen feet under ground! and all bis store Snng in beneath him. Such a heaven was bis.

tral seats of civilization ; an l although Now, honest Teddy, think of such a wretch, * Felibien, Histoire de Paris, tome i.

pence"

still deficient in many of the accommoda- points it is not more than half that distions which supply to the necessities of tance from the one bank to the other. the many instead of the luxuries of the The bridges, therefore, by which the few, in possession of the greater portion Seine is traversed, are not to be comof the most important provisions which pared in point of magnitude with those ingenuity has found out, whether for the of the Thames at London. Even the comfort or the embellishment of exis- Pont Neuf, which connects the Ile du tence. What a contrast between the Palais with both the northern and the French capital of 1831, and that Lutetia southern divisions of the city, and com• of the ancient Parisii

, which Cæsar prehends in fact two bridges, with an found nearly nineteen hundred years ago intermediate street, is shorter taken occupying the little island, around which altogether, than Waterloo bridge by has since extended itself so wide a circle more than 200 feet; and the Pont Louis of wealth, industry, intelligence, and the XVI., which next to the Pont Neuf is works which these create !

the longest of the Parisian stone bridges,

measures only about 485 feet between Bridges.

the abutments, while Westminster Bridge Paris, stands, like London, on both measures 1223, and Waterloo Bridge banks of a river, and is thus cut into two 1242 feet. It is in the number of its great divisions, one to the north, and the bridges alone, therefore, that the Seine other to the south, of the water. The is superior to the Thames. Seine, however, is not nearly so broad as the Thames ; and the northern and

The Boulevards. southern halves of Paris are not, there- The most remarkable feature in the fore, by any means so much separated general appearance of Paris, is the inner from each other, either locally, politically, inclosure formed by the celebrated road or socially, as are the corresponding called the Boulevards. On the north portions of the English metropolis. side of the river, the Boulevards follow They form, in all respects one city. a line nearly midway, on an average,

The Seine flows in a direction nearly between the river and the wall. The opposite to that of the Thames, namely, space which they comprehend, therefore, from south-east to north-west. It pre- is but a small portion of that included serves almost a perfectly straight course within the outer boundary of the city. in passing through Paris, except that it The length of this part of the road is bends considerably to the south imme- about 5,200 English yards, or somewhat diately before leaving the town. The under three miles. That on the south river, as it flows through the heart of side of the river is of far greater extent, the city, is interrupted by three small approaching, as it does, throughout its islands lying in succession, the two most whole sweep, very much closer to the westerly of which, the Ile de la Cité wall, and

in some parts entirely coinciding (otherwise called the lle du Palais) and with it. It measures about 16,000 yards, the Ile St. Louis, or de Notre Dame, or above nine miles in-length. Each of are covered with streets and houses. these lines, although in reality forming The third, called the Ile Louvier, is used

an uninterrupted road from its commenceonly as a depôt for fire-wood. The parts ment to its termination, is divided into a of the town on the opposite sides of the succession of parts, each having its parriver are connected with each other, and ticular name. The northern Boulevards with these islands, by nineteen bridges, are twelve in number, the southern thirteen of which are constructed of stone,

We have nothing in England and two of stone and iron : of the others like the Parisian Boulevards. They may two are chain-bridges, one is built of be generally described as a road or wood, and two of wood and iron. Seve- street, of great breadth, along each side ral of these structures, especially the of which are planted double rows of elms. Pont des Arts, the Pont Louis XVI., But these shady avenues do not present and the Pont de Jena, or de l'Ecole merely a picture of rural beauty. Rising Militaire, all of which are to the west of as they do in the heart of a great city, the Ile du Palais, are distinguished by they partake also of its artificial elegance their majesty or elegance, and add much and splendour, and are associated with beauty and picturesque effect to the all the luxuries of architectural decoravista of the river. Excepting at one tion. Considered merely as a range of place where the two branches enclosing streets, the Boulevards are hardly rivalled the Ile du Palais unite, immediately to by any other part of Paris. Those to the west of that island, the breadth of the north of the river are lined on both athe Seine at Paris is no where greater sides throughout their whole extent, by than about 550 English feet, and at some buildings more uniformly handsome than

seven.

are those of almost any other street in Paris is anything but an agreeable exerthe city, and by many which may be cise. Still farther to abridge the level even described as magnificent. Some of space, the street is made to incline from these are private residences ; others are both sides towards the centre, in order shops, cafés, public hotels, and theatres. to form there a sort of ditch, in which The crowds by whom so many parts of flows a black and fetid stream. From these Boulevards are frequented chiefly the want of a proper system of drains, give to the scene its singular liveliness this receptacle of filth is generally sufand brilliancy. The southern Boule- ficiently replenished even in the driest vards, though equally beautiful, are far weather, to keep the whole street wet from being so much the habitual resort and dirty. Carriages, having usually of the citizens; but the walks on this one wheel in the midst of the kennel, very account, have a charm for some dash about the offensive puddle in all moods of mind which the others want. directions. But the principle of a clear Another road, planted in a similar man, middle way, such as our English streets ner, has more recently been carried possess, is neglected in all the arrangeround the outside of the present walls of ments connected with those of Paris. the city. It is distinguished from the Even the lights, instead of being fixed inner Boulevards by the name of the on posts, as ours are, at the sides, are Boulevards Extérieurs.

suspended in the middle on ropes swung

across, and having their opposite ends Streets.

fastened to the walls of the houses. It To a person accustomed to the appear was these ropes which the mob, in the ance of the streets of London, or indeed Revolution of 1789, were wont to make of any other English town, those of the use of as halters for their victims; whence interior of Paris will present considera- their famous cry of á la lanterne, as ble novelty of aspect. The extreme they dragged them along to execution. narrowness, in the first place, of those The aspect of Paris by night, except in the more ancient parts of the city, and in a few of the principal streets where the great height of the houses, with gas has been very partially introduced, their

windows in many cases fortified by is singularly gloomy. The darkness is bars of iron, would alone give them an occasionally relieved by the brilliancy of air of gloom and precaution, almost a café ; but in the more quiet parts of sufficient to impress the Englishman the town, particularly in the fashionable who walks through them with the feel- quarter of the Faubourg St. Germain, it ing that he has been transported, not is almost impossible for the pedestrian only into another country, but into to direct his steps aright. It is quite another age. Even where these indica evident that the arrangements of this tions of the more ancient evils of Paris capital have not been made for a walking are not visible, the general aspect of the people. This evil, however, is fast town shows that it has not grown with disappearing. Numerous passages have the growth of a free people, amongst been constructed, within the last ten whom the inequalities of rank have been years, which are paved with flat stones, softened down by respect to the comforts and brilliantly lighted; and the active of all classes. Under the ancient régime, and pleasure-seeking population of Paris which was in full activity half a century crowd to these attractive and convenient ago, there were only two classes in Paris, places, to the Boulevards, or to the Pathe noblesse, and the bourgeoisie ; and fais-Royal, and leave the narrow and the latter, being driven into the guitters dirty streets principally to the few who by the carriage-wheels of their arrogant keep their own carriages, or to the many masters, went by the general name of who hire public conveyances. These the canaille. Few of the streets even are of various kinds; and such was the now have any side pavement for foot growing importance of the middle classes, passengers-that invaluable accommo

that fiacres (so called after the sign of dation which gives such perfect security St Fiacre, at the house where they were to the pedestrian even in our most crowd- first established) were in use a century -ed and tumultuous thoroughfares. The and a half ago. Causeway itself, on which walkers and

The remainder of the Part is occupied drivers are thus mingled together in with a sketch of the Revolution of 1789. confusion, is often most uneven and rugged. The stones of which it is formed, about ten inches square, present each

REFORM OF EARLY PARLIAMENTS. a convex surface, usually wet and slip- Though no language can adequately pery, so that under the most favourable condemn the base subserviency of Henry's circumstances, walking in the streets of parliament, it may be reasonably doubt

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