but for his ill-regulated passions-the usual concomitants of great organisations.

President-That has nothing to do with the question. What do you specially charge him with?

Grocer-He has been a defaulter to the extent of fourteen francs. (Great laughter in the court.)

President-Silence! Under what circumstances did he commit this

crime?

Grocer-I said to him one day, Aristides-that is his name-I take an interest in you, as does also my wife, who has urged me to push you on in the world. I give you a proof of my confidence. Here are some bills overdue; go and collect the moneys. The same evening he returned with the amount of all the bills, save one, due by a Madame Morisseau, whom he said he had not succeeded in finding. A fortnight afterwards I called myself at Madame Morisseau's. She said she had paid the amount to Aristides, and showed me a receipt in his name.

President-Sit down. And now, young man, what have you to say ?
Aristides It is true, sir, I did keep back the fourteen francs.
President-And why did you commit such a bad action?
Aristides-Sir, it was to pay a sacred debt.

President-There is nothing so sacred as a trust that is confided to

you.

Grocer-Bravo! a beautiful remark.

President-Will you hold your tongue? What was this sacred debt? Aristides-That I cannot divulge.

President-Are there any witnesses?

Suffice it, it was a sacred debt.

Grocer-Yes, another apprentice of mine, Juteau.

President to Juteau-The facts are not denied. Was the conduct of Aristides so very irregular?

Juteau-I am sorry that my master has brought me here as a witness. I am here to tell the truth, and I will tell it. I have nothing to say against Aristides, and as to the fourteen francs, I know that they went to pay for a dinner for mistress when the master was on a journey.

Grocer-Oh! what a falsehood! what a monstrous statement!
The court condemned Aristides to four months' imprisonment.

The exceeding increase in the number of cheap papers in Paris has apparently been the source at once of excessive competition, and of very wild speculation. A contributor writes as follows:

Yesterday one of my friends was stopped on the Boulevards by an acquaintance. I am very busy just now, he said to him. What are you doing, then? I am launching an enterprise of the greatest importance. Of what nature? No more nor less than a new paper. What! another? This will not have a rival; it will only cost three centimes a number. Well, that is cheap, certainly. Is it not so? But how will you do to meet all your expenses at three centimes a number? I have my idea. The contributions will cost something? That is just where I shall effect the greatest saving. I do not understand you. There are in Paris a multitude of persons who will be delighted to write in newspapers. That is true. I will receive all the articles that shall be sent to me. In that way the copy will cost you nothing. But as to the composing and printing. I suspect that the printers will not work for the love of art?"

Allow me to expose my system to you. Not only I shall not pay for copy, but I shall exact five centimes per line for every article that is inserted. With that money I shall pay the printing. And do you think that you will get writers under such circumstances? Certainly; are there not thousands who would pay to see their names in a newspaper? Before two years have expired, I shall have made my fortune.

Another proposed to found a newspaper, in combination with a restaurant. The two, he argued, could not be separated. The newspaper was to be given for nothing, but those who received it would be expected to subscribe for a year, for eighty dinner tickets, for six months fifty, for three thirty. Each ticket to cost four francs, as at the Diner de Paris. By this means the newspaper would be paid for by the profits derived from the dinners. The contributors were to be fed in payment for their contributions, and subscribers for a long period were to have the privilege of dining with the contributors. This speculator satisfied himself (but nobody else) that he would have fifty thousand subscribers, and should soon realise an immense fortune.

Among the prophecies for the ensuing year are the following:

An eminent statistician will ascertain the number of articles that have been written in different papers and publications advocating the abolition of New Year's presents. Seven thousand eight hundred and sixty-three persons will send in reports to the Academy of Sciences upon the means of directing the course of balloons, which they will declare they have satisfactorily determined. A new suburb will be founded, which will meet with great success. Squares" will be constructed on the roofs of the houses. By that means the nurserymaids will be enabled to take airings with their charges, without being accosted by some of the thousands of idle soldiers who lounge about the Tuileries and other public walks. Hackney-coachmen and cabmen will have a grand entertainment to celebrate the suppression of tariffs and the inauguration of an epoch of free licenses to charge just what they like. To save the expense of lighting, a theatre will be opened, the performances of which will take place in the daytime. A friend of old Gaulish amusements will give twenty francs to such persons as shall go forth in the garb of masquerade on Shrove Tuesday. An enterprising shoemaker will take advantage of his studies in "spiritism" to make St. Crispin do his work for him. Alexander Dumas will remember certain important events that he had forgotten to relate in the memoirs of his life, and he will devote a supplement of forty volumes to their narration. A cautious concierge will refuse admission to an application for lodging made at midnight, although the applicant declares that he has just arrived from his travels. All the boulevards will be suppressed, and replaced by narrow streets. A lady of a certain age will take too potent a dose of a marvellous elixir for restoring youth, and will find herself as she was when eight years of age. A gentleman and his wife, going to see the rifle practice at Vincennes, will be favoured (knowing one of the committee) with seats at each side of the target. The Arabs of Algeria will propose to themselves to give up their own country to the French, since they seem to have such a predilection for it, and they themselves will come and colonise France. Three thousand persons will be sent to Charenton from over-indulgence in absinthe. Out

of five thousand works of art sent to the "Exposition," there will only be four thousand nine hundred and seventy battles, the remaining thirty will be Venuses. An Auvergnat will seek to be naturalised as a Frenchman. The "Bourse" will be removed six leagues from Paris. Projectors will provide ready-made houses, with the apartments all let, for the suburbs. The Parisians, seduced by the cheap fares of excursion trains, will travel with their wives, but the annoyances experienced at the stations and custom-houses in getting possession of the baggage of the latter, will soon put an end to so laudable a practice. A "spiritist" will publish a newspaper which will announce events twenty-four hours before they have occurred. The Garden of Plants being no longer fashionable, the old bear, Martin, will ask to be removed to the Garden of Acclimatisation, in the Bois de Boulogne. A gentleman will regret having asked a Zouave to relate his campaigns, the narration being accompanied by inconvenient gestures. A new implement of destruction will be invented, which will slay three hundred men in a minute. The Academy having become a monastery, the Forty will leave off editing the French Dictionary, in order to manufacture a liqueur that shall surpass that of the Grande Chartreuse.

THE JUTLAND MOTHER'S NURSERY SONG.

BY MRS. BUSHBY.

HUSH, hush! my darling! Do not cry-
The German demons still are nigh.
And if they hear a wailing sound
On this, our ruined Danish ground,
Their cruel hearts with rage may thrill,
And thee, dear baby, they may kill.

A stiffened corpse thy father lies-
In prison-walls thy grandsire sighs;
Our country's battles well they fought,
Alas! in vain our heroes sought
To drive back the invading host,
Who make of savage deeds their boast.

They came to rob and to destroy-
To murder was their fiendish joy;

Our ravaged fields-our homesteads burned-
The prayers of age and childhood spurned-
These are the deeds for which they claim
A place upon the scroll of fame!

Yet, crushed and powerless, we must wait
The strange, the stern decrees of Fate.
God may, at length, His mercy show,
And freedom from our foes bestow!
But hush, my darling! Do not cry-
The German demons still are nigh!

588

THE SUMMER TOUR OF SIGNOR TOMKINS.

BY DUDLEY COSTELLO.

XII.

THE LOCHINVAR OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.

WHILE Signor Tomkins was interrogating Destiny (and smoking) as he paced to and fro in front of the Albergo della Posta of Tirano, Count Adolphe de Manque d'argent, similarly occupied at his side, felt strongly tempted to impersonate that destiny, by making as much of his victim as he could before he quite got out of reach. The Count was, however, withheld from an immediate repetition of his previous proceedings by more than one consideration. If, under the pretence of giving Signor Tomkins his revenge at écarté, he fleeced him again that evening, he might prevent the enlèvement, which at that moment promised so well for future operations, from being carried out for want of current coin,-unless, which was not likely, the Signor borrowed the money from the lady he was going to run away with. Then there was the advice of Clotilde, to leave him alone till she had him completely in her power, when a much better occasion would arise for the Count to feather his nest to his satisfaction. It was hard to forego so good an opportunity, but this was better than killing the goose, which was likely to go on laying, for the sake of a few golden eggs, dear as everything golden was to the Count de Manqued'argent. He practised, therefore, a compelled abstinence, and instead of suggesting a game at cards, to while away the evening till bedtime, simply asked Signor Tomkins for another cigar.

It was an opportune request, and enabled the Signor to carry out an already half-formed idea which-let us say-conscience had suggested. Amongst the seething thoughts that bubbled in the brain of Signor Tomkins came the ever-recurring one that he was about to deceive his friend by robbing him of his sister. To gratify that friend at the last moment by showing him some delicate attention, would take something from the sharpness of the blow he meditated. He had turned over in his mind what the gratification should be, and could not quite hit upon the thing he wanted. A portrait of himself? No! He had unluckily brought only one carte de visite abroad, and that was intended for the Countess de Crèvecœur, his first gift when once he was able to call her "his own." The Count's cloak was rather seedy, while his was nearly But there might be offence in offering an exchange. Besides, Signor Tomkins reflected that he should require his cloak that very night to enwrap the limbs of the lovely Clotilde, a lover, as he well knew, being always bound to do this when he ran away with his misThe demand for a cigar removed the difficulty. He would present him with his own case-which had cost him five guineas at Hudson's and was at that moment in his pocket, filled with the very best Havannahs-that is to say, only wanting the two taken out by himself and Manqued'argent a little before, when the Countess left them.

new.

tress.

"Most happy!" replied Tomkins-" and, by-the-by," added the dissimulator, "if it is not too great a liberty, I would ask you, as good cigars are not to be had in Switzerland, nor, I suppose, in Italy, if you would do me the favour to put these, case and all, into

your pocket." "My good fellow," exclaimed the Count, "this is perfect robbery! But your cigars are certainly the best I ever smoked. I cannot, however, think of depriving you of your beautiful case,"—which, nevertheless, he eyed admiringly.

"Oh, do!" said Tomkins. "I assure you it is not depriving me; I can easily get another in London, and you can't, for they're only to be had at Hudson's. I should so like, too, to give you a-a-as it were, a little soovaneer of me-that is to say-my-pleasant-happy-atpleasure of making your acquaintance. Now please! I shall be offended if you don't."

"If you really insist upon it," returned the Count, selecting a noble regalia, and retaining the case with evident satisfaction. "I would not hurt your feelings for the world. Believe me, I esteem this little act of kindness beyond expression, and shall never look at your costly present without remembering the man whom I am proud to call my friend."

These words sped like barbed arrows to the heart of Signor Tomkins. Tears rose in his eyes,- he felt half-choked with emotion,-he could not trust himself to speak, and with a convulsive effort thrust forth his hand, which Manque d'argent-who was moved also, in his way-eagerly seized.

As Signor Tomkins had been a little "fast" in his time, in other words, had trifled with more than one female bosom, this was not, of course, his first deception. But those things the world only lightly censures. Here, however, was matter for deeper consideration, for it was not merely worldly censure he had to dread. Fraternal vengeance was altogether a different thing from unsubstantial opinion-from that which was the business of no one in particular save the persons immediately concerned. Still, a saving clause remained. Clotilde had told him that the door of repentance was open. Who could resist her pleadings? She had, in a measure, assured him that Adolphe would forgive. Yes! he, Signor Tomkins, would chance it,' and like another Thane of Cawdor-whose precise language he did not quite remember-he resolved to button up his resolution and go the whole-animal! The Count was the first to recover himself.

Observing that Signor Tomkins had thrown away his bout de cigare -a boon, it might have been, to his interlocutor in earlier life-he asked if he did not mean to smoke again?

"Not to-night," replied Signor Tomkins, hurriedly. "The fact is, I have just remembered that I have some letters to write, and must do so before I go to bed-so I will bid you good night."

"Good night, then," returned the Count, offering his forefinger, on which-as on that of his sister-blazed a jewel of inestimable price. "Remember, we shall be early to-morrow morning, for I must get on to Milan. I shall be glad of an early roost myself."

This last was a cheering intimation. While the Count de Manqued'argent slept! "Ha! ha!" and Signor Tomkins inwardly laughed wildly. "So laughs the hyena," thought he, "as, with stealthy step, it