possibility of any preternatural intercourse with the souls of the dead, that he still entertained a doubt of the report of his senses, supported as their testimony was, by the coincidence of vision and event. Some years after, on his return to England, he was walking with two gentlemen in Picadilly, when on the opposite side of the way, he saw a person bearing the most striking resemblance to the figure which had been disclosed to Wynyard and himself. His companions were acquainted with the story; and he instantly directed their attention to the gentleman opposite, as the individual, who had contrived to enter and depart from Wynward's apartment without their being conscious of the means. Full of this impression, he immediately went over, and at once addressed the gentleman: he now fully expected to elucidate the mystery. He apologized for the interruption, but excused it by relating the occurrence, which had induced him to the commission of this solecism in manners. The gentleman received him as a friend. He had never been out of the country; but he was the twin brother of the youth, whose spirit had been seen.

This story is related with several variations. It is sometimes told as having happened at Gibraltar, at others in England, at others in America. There are also differences with respect to the conclusion. Some say that the gentleman whom Sir John Sherbroke afterwards met in London, and addressed as the person whom he had previously seen in so mysterious a manner, was not another brother of General Wynyard, but a gentleman who bore a strong resemblance to the family. But, however, the leading facts, in every account are the same. Sir John Sherbroke and General Wynyard, two gentlemen of veracity, were together present at the spiritual appearance of the brother of General Wynyard ;

the appearance took place at the moment of dissolution; and the countenance, and form of the ghost's figure, were so distinctly impressed upon the memory of Sir John Sherbroke,-to whom the living man had been unknown, that on accidentally meeting with his likeness, he perceived and acknowledged the resemblance.

If this story be true, it silences the common objection that ghosts always appear at night, and are never visible to two persons at the same time.

My next narrative is not of a ghost, but of a dream. It is currently told as having happened to Mr. Thornton, of Fulham :

Mr. Thornton was one night extremely agitated by a dream. It appeared to him that he saw the gardener of his family in the act of murdering his cook-maid. He awoke, but endeavoured to dismiss the vision from his remembrance, and attempted to compose himself to sleep. His eyes were scarcely closed, when again the same dreadful picture presented itself to his imagination. Alarmed by the extraordinary, the distinct, and the repeated, intimation, he rapidly arose, and taking his night lamp in his hand, departed from his room, and descended the stairs, with an intention of proceeding to the spot in which the circumstances of the dream had appeared to him as occurring. The hour was about four o'clock. The morning was clear, moonlight, and frosty. The reader will conceive what his surprise must have been, when, on entering the kitchen, on his way to the garden, by the nearest avenue, he perceived the cook dressed in white, putting on her bonnet and cloak, as if preparing for a journey. To his inquiries respecting her presence at such an unaccustomed hour, and in such

extraordinary attire, she replied, that she was on the point of being married to the gardener,-that they were going to a neighbouring village for that purpose,and that Mark was waiting for her, at the end of the garden, with a horse and tax-cart to convey her to church. Mr. Thornton told her, that he of course could have no objection to their marriage, though he remonstrated against the secrecy of the proceeding; and desired her to wait a few moments till his return, as he was desirous of speaking to Mark previously to their setting off. Her master did not delay a moment in hastening to the garden: his mind much misdoubted the good intentions of the paramour, and he was not a little struck with the coincidence of his dream, and the preparations that he witnessed. He first went to the bottom of the gardento the spot mentioned by the maid-servant, as the place in which Mark was waiting for her coming.-All was still. There was no Mark; no horse; no chaise. He then proceeded to the place marked out to him by the vision. Here he was destined to behold an object of a very doubtful character. Working with an indefatigable and hurried hand, and with his back turned towards him, Mr. Thornton perceived a man digging in a pit. As he stood at his labour in the pit, it appeared to be about three feet and a half deep-it was about as many in width, and about six feet in length; it had all the character of a grave. Mr. Thornton approached silently, and laid. his hand with a sudden and violent grasp on the man's shoulder. Mark turned his eyes upon his master, shuddered and fainted.-Were the indications of that dream the suggestions of a lying spirit?

W. M.

54

SKETCHES IN PARIS.

"AND this is Paris!"-as Sterne says, or does not say this is the "ville de bruit, de fumée et de boue," as Rousseau does say " the head-quarters of prog," according to Moore-the "demoralized metropolis" of my Lord Castlereagh. It is each and all of these and I doubt not one might ring the changes ad infinitum on what Paris is for what is it not? It is "all things to all men ;”—that is, every man may make it to himself whatever he chooses it to be. I do not pretend to have discovered all this during the two days I have been within the barriers; but who is there to whom the name of Paris is not " familiar as household words?" Who is there who has not read, heard, and talked of Paris all his life, till the Rue St. Honoré is as familiar to his ear as Bond-street-the Tuileries as Carlton House, and the Place de Louis XV. as but no, we have nothing in London which we can put in parallel with that. It is, I think, the finest thing of the kind I ever saw. pearance of extent in particular struck me; for it has the advantage of seeming to be even larger than it really is. In entering it from the Rue de Rivoli, the river is unseen, and you look over it to the Palace of the Chamber of Deputies, the beautiful façade of which terminates the view most strikingly on that side. It wants much, however, a monument of some kind in the centre. The statue of Louis XV., which was destroyed in the revolution, has not been replaced. The pillar in the Place Vendôme would show, I think, to much greater advantage here than in the more confined situation where it now stands. It is, certainly, a noble column; but I think it must derive more of its interest with the French

Its ap

from moral association than from external beauty. There is a print of it, with some militaires contemplating it, and exclaiming "Qu'on est fier d'être Français quand on regarde la colonne !" It is, indeed, great food for pride to see so fine a monument in the middle of one's capital, formed out of the cannon of a conquered enemy.

But if Paris has points and buildings of a beauty and magnificence unknown to London-London, as a whole, has measureless superiority. The general appearance of our streets is infinitely above that of the streets of Paris. Here, with scarcely any exception, they are dark, dingy, and unclean; they have none of that airy, cheerful aspect, so common, I may say so general, in London; and the universal absence of trottoirs is very disagreeable not only to English eyes, but to English feet also.

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I have been to-day to the Louvre : it is indeed a thing for the French to be proud of, and for us to envy. Their throwing it open, too, to the public-their permitting and encouraging artists to come to make copies-the style of magnificence which pervades the whole management-how different from the way in which we conduct our few comparatively insignificant institutions in England! What must the Louvre have been in the days of its glory!-when still, did we not know that "such things were," and now are not, we should consider it to be complete and perfect.

The statue galleries are extensive and noble; but statues, unless they be very fine indeed, do not very much interest me they have the beauty of form alone, and that does not content me-there is no colouring, which is one of the highest beauties in every thing, and above all in the human figure. It may be objected, that if a statue were to be coloured, it would be tawdry and ab