dual divergencies, people are led to imagine identities, which, on minute comparison, utterly disappear, and make the investigator feel as if the restless spirit that predominated over the work were laughing at his baffled efforts. Among the eccentric devices, the plurima mortis imago predominates-sometimes with scornfully ludicrous juxtaposition, at other times with gentler symbols, as when flowers are seen sprouting from the empty sockets of a skull. Within the mouldings of two of the arches, are strings of clustered figures in a slight relief, which, on investigation, are found to be ancient allegories of the seven deadly sins and the dance of death-Lessons for every heart, a Bible for all eyes.' But whether, in this late specimen, the artist was influenced by the spirit of symbolisation which imbued Vincent de Beauvais and his followers, may be doubted. The influence of these encylopædias in stone was dying out; and it is probable that the decorator of Rosslyn merely adopted the series because he had seen it conspicuous in the cathedral of Rheims, or other ancient works. We have in this building the common legend-the origin of which it would be curious to trace-of one of the finest pieces of the workmanship being completed by the apprentice in the absence of his master, who, in rage and mortification, puts him to death. Among the grotesque heads in the decorations, it was not difficult to find that of the master, the apprentice's mother, and the apprentice himself: the last, for the benefit of visiters from the neighbourhood of Bowbells, was made more telling by a streak of red chalk being drawn across the brow, to represent a hatchet-cut. The apprentice's work in Rosslyn is the wreathed pillar, so markedly distinct from all the others. It is observable, by the way, that Slezer calls it the Prince's Pillar; and the founder had the title of Prince of Orkney. Whether the Dutch draftsman mistook the word 'prentice for prince, or those who handed down the traditional story have converted prince into 'prentice, each one may judge for himself. The reader will readily remember those lines which so expressively convey what is, perhaps, the most striking and poetical of all family presages : naces. 'O'er Roslin, all that dreary night, A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam; 'Twas broader than the watchfire's light, And redder than the bright moonbeam.' These lines, and the equally descriptive ones which follow them, were suggested by the prosaic and brief statement of Slezer :-There goes a tradition that, before the death of any of the family of Rosslyn, this chapel appears to be all on fire.' It happened to the present writer, one clear evening, to be walking in the neighbourhood of Rosslyn, when he was startled from thinking of other things by the appearance, through the branches of the trees, of what seemed a row of bright red smokeless furIt was a fine setting sun shining straight through the double windows of the chapel; while otherwise, from the particular point of view, its influence on the horizon was scarcely perceptible. The phenomenon had a powerful effect on the vision; but it was more that of ignition than of sunlight, from the rich red which often attends Scottish sunsets. Though the setting sun doubtless pierces through many other double ranges of windows, yet perhaps there were few which, a couple of centuries ago in Scotland, could have rendered it with the same remarkable effect. It may be observed that the position of the building is the most appropriate that could be chosen, had its builder desired to produce this effect. It is on the summit, not properly of a hill, but of a ridge of elevated ground, parallel with a great portion of the country south of the ravine of the Esk, while northward and westward there are no near hills sufficiently high to intercept the level rays which pass through the double line of windows. The quality which the position of the building gives it of being seen far around, though it is not on very elevated ground, is evinced by its being now surmounted by the works of the ordnance surveyors. Though generally spoken of as if it were the chapel of the neighbouring castle, this costly edifice was erected for a foundation of a collegiate church, to be ministered to by a provost, six prebendaries, and two choristers. It was founded in the year 1446, by the representative of the semi-royal house of Sinclair-a man whose list of noble titles, beginning with Prince of Orkney and Duke of Oldenburg, has been noted for its almost Spanish tediousness. Only the chancel of the edifice was completed. Although the transept was begun, yet the idea of the cruciform completion seems to have been so definitely abandoned, that the partition-wall raised against the west end of the chancel was pretty richly decorated. If all the niches which honeycomb the buttresses and pillars had each its statue, the building must have been singularly profuse in sculpture. Some of them are, however, so small and short, that it seems questionable if they can have been filled. Slezer's engraving of Rosslyn (more elaborate than most of his representations) depicts a multitude of images; but he is so absolutely deficient in his representation of existing details, that there is no trusting him for the non-existing. In the manuscript volumes, in the Advocates' Library, of the zealous Father Hay, who was connected with the Sinclair family, there is a minutely finished pen-and-ink view of the edifice as it was, or was supposed to be, before the iconoclasism. It is more minute than Slezer's, and still more abundant in statues; but it is not so minute and accurate as to make one believe that it represents statues that really existed. This sketch, by the way, shows the west end topped by a series of crow-steps, a statue on each step. In the same view, a circular window is represented as covering a part of the space at the east end, now covered by a modern restoration. It is from the manuscript of Father Hay that Sir Walter Scott took his notice of the striking legend of the Sinclairs being buried in their armour. He wrote at the commencement of the eighteenth century, and was present at the opening of the vault where lay the body of Sir William, who, he says, was interred on the day when the battle of Dunbar was fought, in 1650. The father thus describes the body: 'He was lying in his armour, with a red velvet cap on his head, on a flat stone; nothing was spoiled, except a piece of the white furring that went round the cap, and answered to the hinder part of the head. All his predecessors were buried after the same manner in their armour. Late Rosline, my gude father, was the first that was buried in a coffin, against the sentiments of King James the Seventh, who was then in Scotland, and several other persons well versed in antiquity, to whom my mother would not hearken, thinking it beggarly to be buried after that manner. The great expenses she was at in burying her busband occasioned the sumptuary acts which were made in the following Parliament.' refers to an act of the Scottish Parliament, restraining the exorbitant expense of marriages, baptisms, and burials,' passed in the year 1681. The act limits the number of persons who may attend a funeral according to the rank of the deceased-a hundred to a nobleman; and it This prohibits and discharges the using or carrying of any pencils, banners, and other honours at burials, except only the eight branches to be upon the pale, or upon the coffin when there is no pale.' At the conclusion of the work, we have the introduction; which, we would say, was very satisfactory indeed, as respects the reader, but not so much so, by any means, in the hints it gives us of the success which has attended the writer. He says:-'It would, perhaps, have been well for the writer's personal position, had his labours for Scotland stopped long since;' concerning which announce ment, we can say only, that it awakens our deep regret, and that we hope-in process of time, as the public be comes gradually awake to the high merit and interest of the work-this state of affairs will be effectually remedied. We have said the introduction is satisfactory as respects the reader. It is so in a marked degree; throwing such general light upon the subject as is necessary or desirable, try, although the general assertion is to the contrary. She is rich in antiquities, rich in the energy of her popu lation, and rich in money too. Where is the land whose riches bring a higher rental ? where is the land whose sons realise larger fortunes? We therefore warn Scotland of the everlasting disgrace which the neglect of her stone records is bringing, whether they be of ancient date or modern-whether they consist of the dismembered remains of the old Trinity College Church at Edinburgh, or the Parthenonical ruins which frown upon them from the summit of the Calton Hill. .. Surely the mention of these matters should lead to a movement for results differing from the ruinous course still proceeding. Surely there should be patriotism enough in Scotland to effect something for preservation; and those Scotchmen who originate the movement may be sure they will raise monuments to themselves more enduring than the National one which graces their capital.' We hear of many a noble pile being destroyed piecemeal,' and their stones being ground down 'to sand the floors' of the peasantry; and, as to the condition of our architectural remains which still survive, 'the admirers of these corporate bodies' (the greedy and stupid burghers of whom we ruins in the ancient burghs. Do they present any masses of fallen or ivy-covered ruins? We answer, No. There they are-fresh-made, clean-picked, and naked skeletons standing rugged against the sky; having all the hideousness of destruction, instead of the picturesque beauty which invariably accompanies natural decay. They are, in fact, thus mostly sham ruins; and hence Scotland has more cockneyism in her old buildings than all the rest of the United Kingdom, even if we place modern antiquities in the opposite scale.' and written in the accustomed style of Mr Billings, which is distinguished by clearness, accuracy, and great common sense. This latter is perhaps its distinguishing excellence; and we regard it as one of the very highest. On a topic, concerning which a very great deal of twaddle has been uttered, he says:- John Knox and his followers have the credit of destroying or damaging the ancient churches of Scotland generally-a credit most unfairly and unjustly awarded. Doubtless, there is much truly laid to the charge of that great star of the Reformation, and to his satellites; but their wrath was not against the Church-it was against what they considered the idolatrous part of her doctrines. John Knox was not the destroyer he is represented. To the last hundred years Scotland can trace more destruction among her antiquities than ever occurred before; and her own children-from no religious or party prejudices, but from sheer motives of gain-have been the despoilers. Did the magnates of the burgh want a few good feasts ?-the funds were at hand, by an appropriation of dressed stone from the ready-made quarry presented by the old cathedral or abbey. Did the baronial leader, or the laird descended from him, want farm-steadings, stone walls, or cottars' houses built?-the old abbey or castle wall was imme-spoke) are specially invited to examine any of the great diately made use of. Those who wish proof of this assertion may see its evidences either at the village of New Abbey, near Dumfries, or in the dikes about Kildrummie, in Aberdeenshire. So strong, indeed, was the desire for appropriating such precious spoils in Scotland, that even in a report from a surveyor to the government, some few years back, upon the cost of some repairs to another building, the destruction of one of the most interesting baronial remains in the county was suggested, on account of the saving to be effected by using its materials.' Again: In our description of Dunkeld, the order for demolition is quoted; and now we ask attention to the preservative clause, which in all cases follows the order: And fail not, but ye tak' gude heed that neither the desks, winnocks, nor doors, be any way hurt or broken, either stane-wark, glassin-wark, or iron-wark.' It is assuredly right to lay the burden on the right back; and the contempt and derision which those greedy burgesses deserve, can hardly, in our opinion, be too unsparingly dealt out. As for Knox, his apology needs not to be written. When nations awake from a long slumberwhen some grand new scene in world-history is coming upon the stage-when mankind are wrestling in life-anddeath struggle with baneful errors and prejudices which have long lain upon their souls, they are not just in temper to observe the small punctilios of antiquarian veneration, or to reflect what the spectacled gentlemen, two hundred years afterwards, will think of their doings. Pleasant enough it may be, for the modern gentleman or lady to sit in the quiet library, or by the peaceful fireside, and rail against our fathers for not having dealt gently enough with the rooks' nests, when the rooks, which had long been an abomination on the face of the earth, had to be dismissed. The smoke arising from a martyr pyre must have a tendency to dim the eye to the perception of small architectural beauties; the tread of hostile foreign armies, coming, with spread banners and determined bigotry, to re-instal superstition, darkness, and despotism in their empire over the land, must have been suggestive of far other thoughts than those of the exquisite dilettante or antiquarian bluestocking! To our heroic fathers we owe, under God, our whole national prosperity, our whole national character; and would our antiquaries, for the sake of a few architectural ornaments or specimens, have had us in the present state of Ireland? In the circumstances in which Scotland was placed, in the mighty grasp which the body of the people took of Reformation principles, are to be found the causes which rendered the Reformation so thorough and penetrating among us. And who will weigh this incalculable blessing against what was the unavoidable consequence of the popular nature of the movement, a partial indifference to architectural preservation? Mr Billings again says:- Scotland is not a poor coun The state of matters here alluded to will probably have struck any one who has had opportunity of observing, even on a small scale, the architectural ruins of England and of Scotland: Berry Pomeroy Castle, in Devonshire, for instance, and Cambuskenneth Abbey, in Stirlingshire. The one-hung with the melancholy but beautiful drapery of ivy-stands upon its crag, in hoary but well-preserved grandeur, untouched by modern hand, and conveying to the mind of him who treads its silent and stately halls the strangest reflections on the bold cavaliers, and stalwart, irresistible roundheads, whose shots once re-echoed from rock and parapet; the other-gaunt, bare, and coldfrowns upon the passenger going up the Forth in grim and naked majesty. These two afford a good instance for comparison, but set the matter by no means in so strong a light as might be done by other instances; the bare and silent majesty of the old abbey can perhaps dispense with the graceful and pleasing effect of ivy; but, as one among multitudes in a similar and by no means so appropriate condition, it sufficiently represents the case. As to that clean picking and fresh making, it is really too bad; its stupidity is too staring and too ludicrous to merit or require comment. Any one, out of whose breast the railway whistle and 'the jingling of the guinea' have not expelled every tone of patriotic feeling, will sympathise with the remarks of Mr Billings. We thank Mr Billings for having given us a word upon that far-seen National Monument which graces' our city. We are strongly of opinion that here is one of those 'flesh-and-blood absurdities' which should be annihilated by a peal of concrete laughter.' As to our requiring a National Monument at all, we are more than doubtful. The colossal piles and the statue-thronged streets, the wide-stretching gardens and the crowning rock, of this our Edinburgh; the waving corn-field and the lowing cattle, where the bracken-bush grew and the heathcock unmolested strutted; the railway trains connecting our cities like a highway; the steam-ships plying in all our friths; our churches, our schools, our libraries-these, we imagine, form a sufficient National Monument, and Scotland can dispense with any other. But to commence a National Monument, to proceed with it for some space, and then to leave it half-finished-a group of naked pillars, like Brobdignagian wooden legs, staring stupidly at the skysurely this was an enterprise akin to that of the old Babel builders. Surely our very worshipful Town Council might take the lead in ridding us of it. By all means, let it either be completed or carted off. Let it not stand, a spectacle to all the nations of Scottish folly and want of perseverance. Tourists from the utmost bounds of the earth come to see, and may well come to see, our capital; let them not be led to natural but biting sarcasms on our national character, from a sight of our National Monu ment. Original Poetry. THE COUP D'ETAT. But falsely, for it was from hell. Your goddess reigns in harlots' smile; Your altar, cow'rdly barricade; Your off ring, blood of kindred shed. From branches torn from fancy's bower; To shield my France from selfish knaves; Beneath their gleam you safely rove, The happiest and the proudest slaves: The charter'd song that makes her free; I rise to give the saving blow- I strike the blow whose thunder-tone his thumbs. And the old lady having soon finished her work, threw a fresh log on the fire, which quickly gave out a famous blaze. She then blew out the candle, took her place, and smoothed down her apron. There!' said she, and she began to knit. Would monsieur like to hear me tell a story ?' asked her husband, putting his head on one side with an air that seemed to say, 'You do not probably know what a rare privilege you may now enjoy.' With the greatest pleasure,' said I. 'Well, do, Jean,' said his wife. 'I am very fond of telling a good story by the fireside, after supper on a Saturday night,' said the schoolmaster; 'and I think,' he continued, after a moment's reflection, 'that I will tell you about a strange thing that once took place at Vallerançon, a village not far from this.' 'O do, Jean!' cried the good lady. I always like to hear that story, I have heard it so often. Besides, of course, I know all about it.' 'Of course you do, Marie. You see, monsieur, my wife was housekeeper to one of the parties concerned in it, so it is natural enough Well, begin, Jean,' said the impatient little woman. 'I will at once, and do you put me right if I go wrong.' To be sure; but begin, begin!' 'At Vallerançon,' said my host, after clearing his throat, and assuming a solemn air, there is a Protestant temple. A few years back-about twenty years back— the cure of that parish' The pastor, you mean,' interrupted madame. The pastor, I mean,' resumed the narrator; 'though there was a cure too, and I might have been speaking of him, for all you knew. But no matter. His name was Martin, and an excellent man he was; for, though I am a Catholic, I trust, monsieur, that I can appreciate a good man of a different creed. One day he went to say mass as usual 'To say mass! To preach, you mean, Jean.' 'To be sure I do; to preach as usual. When he had got into the pulpit, he began to give out his text from a small Bible he held in his hand, and had read some verses, when suddenly he seemed agitated, stood for some moments silently looking on the book, and then, without any explanation, put it in his pocket, and made his way rapidly out of the church, crossing himself.' What are you about, Jean, with your masses, and cures, and crosses ?' cried madame, laying down her knitting, and looking full at her husband. 'Don't you know that Protestants never cross themselves? What do you mean ?' 'I really do not know,' replied the poor man, evidently much annoyed; I never told a story so ill before. I cannot tell what is the matter with me to-night; I am afraid I must really give it up—' 'O pray don't,' said I; 'I am very anxious to know what caused the pastor's emotion. Pray, go on.' 'Well, if monsieur will excuse me 'Proceed, Jean, and take more care,' said madame. I will. The pastor went straight from the church to the house of the mayor. Now this man kept an inn, and, as he was very busy from its being a fete day, he was much annoyed at the pastor's asking for a private interview with him; but, from his own position and the character of the clergyman, who told him he had something of great importance to communicate to him, he was obliged to grant it. He was, moreover, struck with the firmness and warmth of M. Martin on this occasion, as the pastor was in general the mildest of men. I may say also that he was one of the simplest; he was in fact not too well fitted to deal with the world-he was too unsuspecting.' Here madame nodded her head approvingly, and said, THE SCHOOLMASTER'S STORY. 'Now, monsieur,' said my host, as he folded up his napkin in a complicated way, 'draw your chair to that chimney-That's true, Jean.' For my part, I could scarcely supcorner, and I will establish myself in this one. When my wife has cleared away the things, she will come and sit between us.' I did as I was told to do, my friend seated himself with a comfortable look, crossed his legs, and began to twirl press a smile at the worthy man's innocence he had been, from the little I had seen of him, exactly describing himself. He resumed as follows::-- 'When they were alone, the pastor said, 'M. Mayor, here is my business with you in a single word. On open 234 ing my Bible to-day to give out my text, I found this in great deference by its proprietor, and they talked on other it;' and he handed the mayor a slip of paper. The mayor matters for some time, the magistrate gradually insisting took it and read it. He was a long time about it, but at last he finished, and when he did so he burst into a loud quarter, and on the possibility of their uniting with the on the increasing influence of the Protestants in that laugh. At this moment his son came into the room to ask him for the key of the cellar, on which his father, still certain times, especially on Sundays. On this the mayor more strict Catholics to make him shut up his house at laughing, cried out, What do you think, Pierre? here is got excited, the more so that he had already been drinkPastor Martin who has found a slip of paper in his Bible, ing; in short, and at last, he told the story of the passtating that a murder has been committed somewhere -'I wished to have spoken to you alone,' said the pastor,But the slip of paper,' said the commissary, what did tor's application to him, calling him a fool and a madman. with emphasis; but, since young M. Masson has heard so much, let him hear all. It is not because I found this slip in the way I told you that it has so much struck me; it is because it was not there when I looked at the very passage a few moments' before in the vestry, and that during that time the book never left my hands.'-'You must have put it in yourself then, that's clear,' said the innkeeper, laughing louder than ever.-'I am speaking very seriously, M. Masson, anddisappear as oddly as it came,' interrupted the mayor. --Perhaps it will "There, put it off, and let me go; I am very busy to-day, and must attend to my customers.' for some time longer, but the mayor said the thing was The pastor insisted too absurd, and that he would do nothing. had wished him to make some search at a place indicated M. Martin in the mysterious slip, but finding remonstrance useless, or worse, for the mayor was becoming very rude, the pastor took his leave, escorted to the door by the young man, who was civil enough, and apologised for his father's conduct. M. Martin then bent his way to the residence of the nearest commissary of police. This gentleman listened to him attentively, and, when he had heard the story, asked of course to see the slip. M. Martin pulled out his Bible, found the place of his text, and turned very pale. The slip was gone "Ah!' said I, 'that was strange enough.' 'Gone!' repeated madame, who had evidently been watching the effect the announcement would have on me, and was delighted at my surprise. 'Gone! commissary was my master, so I know all about it.' And the 66 This is very strange,' said the commissary, rather coldly. I had it when I left the mayor's,' replied M. Martin. 'My Bible has never left my pocket, and now the slip is gone. There is something supernatural in this.' It will be difficult to get a commissary to believe in supernatural appearances of the sort,' said the other, pointedly.-M. Commissary,' said the pastor, solemnly, so deeply were the words impressed on me, that, having read them twice, I can now repeat them. They were these: On the night of the 10th, a man was murdered by two others, on the highway, going from Vallerançon towards Bellevue, and his body was thrown into the old well, under the willow-tree, a little beyond the CroixRousse.'''Hum!' said the magistrate. you, M. Commissary, that I cannot be mistaken. At all -'I assure events, a search in the well could do no harm.' The commissary, though he did not say much, had been not a little impressed by the earnestness and evident sincerity of the pastor, so, after considering some time, he said, "Continue your walk a little farther, as far as Lourdigneux, then go back by another road than that you came, and don't speak of the matter till I see you again.' When the pastor was gone, the commissary considered a little, and then a sudden thought seized him. horse,' he said, and send Besnard here.' When Bes'Saddle me a nard 'Who was Besnard, may I ask?' said I. Why, the gendarme, of course. When Besnard came, he told him, after a short consideration, to go to the Croix-Rousse, and, concealing himself a little beyond it, to remark any one who should happen particularly to observe the old well under the willow-tree. Then he got on horseback, and went straight to the mayor's inn at Vallerançon, after, however, having made the pastor recount more particularly, and indeed very particularly, all that had passed between him and the two Massons. When the commissary reached the inn, he was received with it contain ?'-'Oh, I don't remember,' said the mayor, neither I nor my son.'-' Then you both saw it ?' asked the magistrate.-'Yes-that is to say-yes, we both saw it.' The commissary talked for some time on other subjects, and then left the inn, riding slowly and by a circuitous path towards the Croix-Rousse, saying to himself, found, for it was found; and was lost, and so must have This slip has been lost, for it existed; and so must be existed; and existed, for it was lost, and must betell that story so before. Found and lost! 'Jean! Jean!' cried my hostess, I never heard you Lost and found! Get on with the story. Monsieur, we found! Why, my old master never spoke in that way. Existed and of yourself, Jean. are coming to the best of it. You ought to be ashamed the worthy woman drew from her knitting one of the Wake up, or— needles)--I'll run this into the calf of your leg.' -(and here, in her zeal, crossing of his legs-a movement which disclosed the fact On this the schoolmaster mechanically changed the that there were calves on neither-and went on. Rousse, he found Besnard, and asked him what intelli'When the commissary got a little beyond the Croixgence he had. passed that way, but that none had gone near the old Besnard told him that several people had well except young Masson, the mayor's son, who had come well, had returned the way he came. at a quick pace to the spot, and, after looking down the vue,' said the commissary, 'buy a lantern, a cord, and a 'Ride on to Belletinder-box, and be back as soon as you can. Discretion, a moment; let us look down first.' (They had approached remember, Besnard! It is curious, very curious. Stay the well as they were talking, and now dismounted.) 'Do the side, Besnard?' continued the magistrate, after both you see anything particular about that bush growing out of had peered into the dark pit for a minute or two; 'there, about five feet down-to the left.' seem to have been broken, sir, said the gendarme, and I think I see something like a bit of cloth sticking to it.— -Some of the twigs 'Just so,' said the commissary. any doubts. Ride off, and, as there is no time to be lost, you will not only bring a lantern, but you will desire two I have no longer men that can be depended on to follow you hither, and to bring with them a long and stout rope.' Besnard soon well. It disclosedreturned. The lantern was lighted, and lowered into the while his wife stopped her knitting, and, bending forward, Here the schoolmaster paused, to give effect to his story, looked me in the face with widely-opened eyes. It disclosed-' said she. · ly, and in a hollow voice, 'something like a bundle of 'It disclosed,' continued her husband, speaking slowclothes.' 'I expected as much,' said I, at which remark the schoolmaster looked disappointed. But he resumed:'The two men sent for soon came up, and Besnard was let down into the well by the rope they brought. He found the way in which the schoolmaster pronounced these words, at the bottom a dead body!' It is impossible to describe nor the theatrical air with which he passed his hand over his forehead, as if a cold sweat had broken out upon it. the rope, fastened it to the dead body, and called to the 'A dead body, monsieur! He disengaged himself from men to hoist away. body came in sight, and they saw that it was not Besnard, This they did; but, when the dead as they expected, but a dead body, they were so frightened, that they almost let go their hold; and if the commissary, who was a very strong man, had not caught the rope him self, poor Besnard might have been killed by the fall of the dead body.' "In which case,' said I, 'there would have been two dead bodies.' At this somewhat unfeeling remark, my two companions seemed hurt, and madame, in a reproving tone, said, 'Yes, monsieur; and Besnard was an excellent man, and the father of a family, and a pretty figure he was when he came back. He was all covered with mud from the bottom of the old well, and with blood, from handling the dead body, and his uniform was much torn by the briars on the sides. I know that, for I mended it myself. And,' continued she, reproachfully, it is not every one that would venture down into an old well to bring up a dead body.' I said nothing, and the narrator went on to tell, in a somewhat prolix way, how the dead body' was conveyed to Bellevue; how it was recognised to be the corpse of a pedlar well known in that part of the country; how it appeared that he had received no fewer than thirteen wounds; how, on inquiry, it was found that he had passed through the village of Vallerançon on the evening of the 10th; how he had taken some refreshment at Masson's inn, and had disposed of some of his wares there; how he had incautiously exhibited a large sum of money in his possession; how, about dusk, he set off for Bellevue, which he never reached; and how the commissary immediately caused the mayor and all his family to be arrested on suspicion. My host also entered minutely into the details of the circumstantial evidence brought against the father and son; all of which, however, with one exception, I may pass over. At their final examination, the commissary observed to the elder Masson that his coat wanted a button, and asked him where he had lost it. The prisoner said he did not know. I know,' returned the magistrate, you lost it at the well near the CroixRousse. I found it in the bosom of the murdered man; and here, sir, it is,' said he, turning to the juge d'instruction; I place it among the pièces de conviction.' And truly enough the button corresponded with the others on Masson's coat. It had evidently been torn off, either in a struggle with the pedlar, or in the effort of throwing the corpse into the well. The Massons were tried, condemned, and executed,' said the schoolmaster. There's my story-that's all.' Not quite, I think,' returned I. You have not explained the mystery of the slip of paper-how it so strangely appeared and disappeared. How was it?' My two friends looked at each other triumphantly, as much as to say respectively, I knew he would ask that,' and then my host resumed: 'As to its disappearance, that was soon found out; the younger Masson, after his conviction, confessed that, when he followed Pastor Martin to the door, after his interview with the father, he had managed to pick the worthy man's pocket of his Bible, to abstract the slip, and to replace the book without being detected. But as to how it originally came into the pastor's Bible, the secret was not discovered till long after. It was thus: M. Martin had a servant called Antoine Pouzadoux, who acted also as beadle at the Temple. On the night in which the murder was committed, he had gone, without his master's knowledge or permission, to see a young woman at Bellevue whom he was courting. On the way home, he saw two men approaching, carrying between them what seemed a dead body. He concealed himself in a ditch, and saw them throw the dead body into the old well near the CroixRousse. He was very much terrified, and did not know what to do. Next day he thought of informing the authorities, but, like many of our peasants, he had a horror of having anything to do with the police in any way whatever; so he thought of writing what he had seen on a slip of paper, and putting it in the pastor's Bible; which he did. That was the way the thing happened.' 'But,' interrupted I, the pastor declared that when he looked at his text in the vestry the slip was not there, and that the book never left his hands till he found ithow was that accounted for?' 'I shall tell you presently; it was the commissary explained that. Antoine Pouzadoux married the girl of Bellevue, and told his wife the secret. She advised him to confess all to the pastor. He did so, much to M. Martin's relief, for the worthy man had been sorely puzzled on the subject. The pastor told the commissary, who sent for Antoine, and gave him a terrible scolding for not having declared openly what he had seen. He then came to the pastor's, and asked him to show him his Bible, and the text he had intended to preach from on the memorable Sunday. M. Martin complied; and, after a short examination of the book, he said, 'I think I understand the thing. You see, M. Martin, that the last verse of your text is over the page. When you looked at the passage in the vestry, either from hurry, or from knowing this last verse by heart, you did not turn the page, and so did not see the slip of paper, which was placed, not between the leaves where you began, but between those where you ended.' And the pastor said it was likely enough.' 'So it was,' said I; but how did Antoine know where the pastor was to preach from? ' "The pastor,' replied the schoolmaster, had always a few written notes placed at his text-that guided Antoine. There, that's my story.' And a very good one it is, and capitally well told. I am indeed much obliged to you,' said I. The schoolmaster seemed much gratified, crossed his legs the other way, and gave the fire a poke with his wooden shoe. 'And there,' cried his wife, who had risen and taken something out of a drawer-'there'—here she thrust the object close to my nose-'there's the button! Besnard got it for me after the trial, and I keep it as a souvenir of the commissary, who was such a good, clever W. P. S. P. man.' A CAPE BALL-ROOM. A WEALTHY old Indian officer, with excellent appointments in the company's service, is travelling in the colony for the benefit of his health. He goes to every doctor in every town, and takes all they prescribe, but finds himself no better. His malady is that produced by good living in a tropical climate. At length he falls in with a shrewd apothecary from the north countrie,' who sees at a glance that the old gentleman only wants air and exercise; but, not being an Abernethy, he is not blunt enough to say so. He prescribes, of course, the mildest and most innocent of pills and draughts, and sends his patient for a long canter every day. The patient gets well, and his gratitude is immense-his admiration of the apothecary's professional skill is unbounded. He forthwith writes him a check for £1000, and invites him with his wife and all his family to accompany him back to Bombay, when he shall return thither. Meanwhile, in an ecstasy of delight, he journeys about the country, and gives balls to everybody everywhere. To-night he gives us one at Graham's Town. We enter a large, long room in the hotel between eight and nine o'clock. The company are nearly all assembled; for, when they do get a ball at the Cape, and especially at Graham's Town, they take time by the forelock, being considerably in doubt when they may chance to see another. Let us turn to the ladies. Alas! they don't look so brilliant in complexion as in old England. The sun is a terrible destroyer of bloom on a maiden's cheek; still there are some pretty damsels among them, and not so badly 'got-up' for the land of the Desert. We ask one to dance, and she accepts. Now comes the puzzle. What the deuce is a man to talk about in a Cape ball-room? There is neither opera nor theatre, nor park, nor concerts, nor court, nor news; even the weather-that eternal refuge for the destitute of small-talk-wont do in a country where it is always fine. We wish we could think of something entertaining. We begin to quiz some of the company (dangerous, by the way, as you may chance to select your partner's brother, or husband, or papa for your shafts |