sortment of them, I say, ghosts and ghostlings, sprites and spectres. Two or three nights after this, I was awakened by a slight noise. I listened; all dark, all still; presently the door opens, in steps a terrific figure, head blue as a pill: in short, a stick of locomotive starch. I had my snuff-box in my hand-can't do without a pinch of snuff in the night, aimed it at his blue pill of a head, knocked out his eye, egad-not particular to a shade; sprang out of bed, gave it a kick, over the bannisters it went, and was found on the mat at the foot of the stairs in ruins." "But, Captain, you alarm me; who was this creature?" "Oh! my dear Sir, all right. The people of the house picked it up, and it turned out to be the landlord. Three months before they got him into decent repair again. Fatal speculation in unprofitable schemes! The absurd fellow had been instigated by his wife to the experiment, and was nearly sent to the other world for his pains, to set up ghost on his own account-ha! ha! ha!" "But we military men," said the Captain, altering his tone to a mournful and deprecating cadence; "we are subject to a great many annoyances and vexations, of which the great mass of society is unconscious; and, indeed, I believe it to be pretty generally the case with us fellows of frolic and wit, who are formed for the delight of mankind; they won't let us do as we please by any means, and the consequence is, we please nobody. Now, your poets"-(I shuddered, for I, too, am of the tuneful throng!) "ill used creatures, those poets; they usually sing in cages, I fear-those muses, the three times three of poets without wine, are most economical ladies, and give very little away; and the bard who sits down in anticipation of a bay leaf, egad, has much more cause to expect a bailiff. Just so with me. Now, I am cooped up with a most insufficient stipend, a most iniquitous income-what's to be said? My half pay does not suffice to pay anything at all; I mean that a man on half-pay should only be expected to pay half: what do you say to that? I'll tell you, Sir, an expedient of mine-wonderful sagacity-the most perfect presence of mind perhaps ever exhibited. I had been long obtruded upon by duns; a kind of periodical pestilence with which I am afflicted-until, at length, the vehemence of the disorder settled itself down into a confirmed brace of bailiffs, who kept watch opposite my house all day long. What do I do, think you? The street door of my next neighbour is a bright yellow-I steal out in the night and paint it all over a dark green, the colour of my What is the use of that, you ask?-this, Sir, this. The next morning comes the bailiff-i' faith, Sir, keeps a sharp eye on my neighbour's door, and actually lays his electric paw upon the ownera bank-clerk proceeding into the city; and in spite of shrieks and asseverations bears him away from his domestic circle, of which he was so brilliant a segment; while I march off to my agent, receive my pay, and start into the country without beat of drum." own. "Excellent, indeed, Captain, a most excellent device; but, tell me why couldn't you have made your escape during the night, without the necessity of the painting process?" "Oh! my dear friend, it was not convenient, you know-not convenient. By the by, I met my friend the bank clerk a short time ago." "Indeed? what did he say to the trick you had practised upon him?" Nothing-nothing in the world; he merely told me never to darken his doors' again-ha! ha! ha!" "Your philosophy, I perceive, Sir," said I, "seems to be almost on a par with the fertility of your invention. You are evidently a man of vast mental resources; nothing appears to daunt or to depress you. You have dipped, come now, confess it, you have imbibed golden maxims of prudence and conduct from the ancient philosophers?" 66 66 Hang the ancient philosophers," quoth the captain, a fig for the ancient philosophy-everything I do is unpremeditated; everything I do is the result of 'A plain heroic magnitude of mind,' I as the poet says. I don't like those fellows who study philosophy. I remember a friend of mine once invited me to spend a few days with him in the country. Well, Sir, this person was a philosopher, 'a modern Pythagorean,' he called himself-believed in the transmigration of souls, and all that. It was the shooting season. walked out one morning with my gun-brought home a pheasant-fine bird as ever I saw in my days. A tremendous uproar took place when I entered the hall with the bird in my fingers. Would you believe it?—the fellow insisted upon it that I had brought down his grandmother! pshaw! don't tell me a word about philosophy after that. Ha! ha! ha! At this moment, to my great relief-for the wine he had drunk was evidently mounting into the Captain's head-the waiter entered, and gave him to understand that the coach was at the door. "Say you so," shouted the Captain, flinging the remaining wine down his throat, "then I'll go and besiege the roof of it forthwith. Good night, my dear "come and see me in fellow," seizing me by the hand, London; Captain Trigger-one of the best fellows in the world-Artichoke, Covent Garden; a glorious knot of us meet there o'nights-don't forget." And away went the Captain, leaving me to the vainly uttered wish, that my pen-and-ink powers of outline were, if only for this one occasion, comparable with the burin of Retsch-so should the reader be presented with the breathing portraiture of one whose full development might task the powers of a Jonson or a Fletcher. OMEGA. SONG. "THE EYES THAT LOOK SMILINGLY ON US." BY MRS. CRAWFORD. "Tis a strange world we live in, this same world of ours ;- Its holy affections and magical ties, Oh! they keep back the soul from its own native skies. But awaking again to each dear social face, The eyes that look smilingly on us impel Our hearts still to worship the world where they dwell. Oh! it is not in Nature to turn from the kind, Or to wish to leave Friendship and Love far behind; Though Heaven itself be our guerdon and goal, THE DUC DE RT. BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE HELIOTROPE." SON of a sire, whose natal star Rose, thy red torch of ruthless war : Kings from their thrones, and vassals from their earth. How sped the tidings !-west-east-south The watchword flew-till every mouth Had caught the word-" An heir is born, Let fête and revel crown the morn! Conquest for France for France's rival's scorn!" Like spark, left by volcanic fires, When, quenched, their fervid course expires; The life that yet survives in thee, Gleams like the star of victory Shining with solitary ray, Where once proud trophies lined the way. Son of the mighty! 'neath thy brow, |