gering charms. In the days of our "juvenility" when it was "tender," like Armado's page-we used to rejoice in Pantomime exceedingly and revelled in the unrivalled exhibition of the "wondrous three" conjured upon the scene by Farley, the arch-necromancer of Covent Garden. Then saw we Grimaldi, the impersonation of a grin, the type of petty larceny, the Maximus Imperator of clowns; Bologna, the Proteus of Harlequins; and Norman, the symbol of that strange anomaly, agile decrepitude. To our thinking, there was then but one way of realising the gorgeous fables of the Arabian Nights, and that was by witnessing the pantomimic "blaze of triumph" called "Harlequin Padmanaba; or, the Golden Fish." Time robs us of all our treasures, and he begins with those that first had charms; the dream of the Arabian Nights has long vanished— even before the correct translation appeared-and the halo that used to gild a pantomime went out with the linkboys' torches. But the world is ever new, and if the mimes appear less merry than of yore, let us hope that it is because we look upon them with dimmer eyes; the burlesques of Bland, the extravaganzas of Paul Bedford, and the dainty caricatures of Priscilla Horton will, doubtless, be remembered in a later day with the zest with which older memories now recall the fun and frolic of their nimble predecessors.

Last scene of all, among the festivities peculiar to Christmas, remains the celebration of Twelfth Day. The star of the confectioner is now in the ascendant, and his treasures prove more attractive than the regalia of monarchs. His crowns of sugar and vermilion, his jewels of citron and candy, his blazoning of painted paste, possess more charms to the apprehension of youthful taste than the queen's diadem or the herald's tabard. To those who are hovering on the verge of actual life, the child's amusement is not without pleasure. In the lottery of "Characters" many a tender word is first hazarded, which proves hereafter a ripening "fruit of love." Twelfth Night is the "Festum Regum" in a figurative as well as in a literal sense, and all who still adhere to the good old custom, we trust may be as happy as kings are supposed to be.

Like Falstaff's apology for himself, we have still "much to say in behalf" of the usages that belong to the New Year; but others better qualified than ourselves have gone before us, and our version of them would perchance be no more welcome than twice-told tales usually are.

Let us, in turning from the things that we actually possess, to those that we anticipate, say a parting word about Literature. In that wide realm, what new star shall rise and which shall set? Is the master of modern romance to be still silent, or, as the word of promise has been kept to our ear, is he destined to acquire still greater fame, by keeping it to our hope? Is another sparkling comedy to shine, and take away from the Drama the reproach of barrenness? Are the voices of the Muses to be heard again singing of our island's royal hope, or breathing sweetest strains from the rose gardens of Persia. Are railroads or politics to absorb every other consideration. As the Spaniard always says in answer to a difficult question, "Quien sabe?"

Let us hope that all may have a chance, and, in this hope conclude, by expressing to the readers of the New Monthly, the immemorial wish of "A happy New Year."

For ourselves, the New Year has already begun, and, as Sir Toby Belch says: "We'll go burn some sack, 'tis too late to go to bed

now."

THE TRAVELS AND OPINIONS OF MR. JOLLY GREEN.

CHAP. IV.

M. AUGUSTE MOUSSEUX had fallen forwards, and it was not till we had turned him round that we could attempt to guess the extent of his injuries. As there were no outward signs of a wound, I began to fear that he had perished, like Haidee, from internal phlebotomy; his eyes were closed, his face pale as ashes, his hands tightly clenched, and his whole form rigid. Jawley and I took off his stock, loosened his collar-he wore no shirt-(the French, I have observed, seldom do)—and unbuttoned his waistcoat, while Mr. Miller felt his wrist and tried the pulsations of his heart. I was in breathless suspense till he spoke.

"Don't be uneasy," was his remark; "he's either in a fit or shamming very cleverly. We must take a little blood; that will soon bring him round."

I was inexpressibly relieved by these words, and my own observation confirmed their truth, for as Mr. Miller spoke, I perceived a kind of syncope contract the Frenchman's features. While Jawley, therefore, supported the sufferer's head, Mr. Miller took his case of instruments, and I knelt on the ground beside him to assist in the operation.

Owing to the rigidity of his limbs we did not attempt to take off his coat, but ripped up his sleeve, and his arm was speedily bare; I tied one of my best cambric handkerchiefs round it, and Mr. Miller applied the lancet. The effect was instantaneous: at the first puncture a convulsive movement shook his frame, —a grinding of teeth and the benedictional word "Sacre!" followed, he drew himself up suddenly, and then kicked out with such energy that both Mr. Miller and I were sent rolling on the grass. Before we had recovered our legs, the Frenchman had regained his, and this time he made good use of them, and was speedily out of sight. Mr. Miller could hardly stand for laughing, and Jawley and myself were equally astonished. On turning to look for the second of M. Mousseux, he was nowhere to be seen.

Thus ended my first passage of arms in La Belle France. We afterwards went down to the Teintelleries and breakfasted with Mr. Miller, and then passed the day pleasantly in examining the town.

Boulogne is a city of considerable pretensions. It contains a marketplace, a guard-house, a French opera, and two cathedrals, the high church party frequenting that in the upper town, and the dissenters assembling in the lower. The architecture of the latter is of the rustic order, and this cathedral is therefore held in much estimation by the badauds of the surrounding villages. It is dedicated to St. Nicholas, on account of his fondness for children; for this reason also his effigy is suspended above the confectioners' shops. The museum is well worth a visit. I found in it a gratifying confirmation of Shakspeare's familiarity. with the French language, for in the compartment devoted to natural history, I noticed a rare bird called the coq-de-bois (not unlike a pheasant) which, as Jawley remarked, must unquestionably be the "bawcock" of ancient Pistol. The public library is famous for its fine illuminations, but these of course are only visible at night, and, I suspect, only on particular occasions, for the expence of lighting up on a large scale is

always very great. In one of the side streets, not far from the Cathedral of St. Nicholas, I was shown the house in which Gil Blas was born, and where he wrote his famous memoirs. His "Diable Boiteux," I am told, still keeps possession of the French stage, and is one of those characters in which Carlotta Grisi has achieved so much fame. Surely it would be worth Mr. Bunn's while to translate the libretto, and bring it out amongst his other novelties!

The fortifications of Boulogne are imposing, and it may, therefore, well be called "an inland Calcutta," so completely do the bristling bastions of the upper town convey the idea; they are manned by a small, but vigilant, elderly garrison, who promenade the ramparts, accompanied by dogs, throughout the day, and keep a sharp look-out landward. Some of the shops in the lower town are handsomely fitted up; their greatest attraction, however, is inside, where the coquettes display not only very tempting wares, but charms of no mean order. Boulogne is famous for kid-gloves and eau-de-Cologne, and I gladly availed myself of the opportunity to lay in a considerable stock of both. Nothing could exceed the charming politeness of the young ladies from whom I bought them, who assured me, in their pretty broken English, that I spoke French as well as themselves. I certainly never paid five francs a pair for gloves with so much pleasure, but thus it is when mind encounters mind on equal terms; the rest is but as dust in the balance. I also bought a box of the best Havannah cigars from a merchant named Moïse; and from the assurance of their excellence which he made me, I have no doubt they will prove splendid. I shall not open the case till I travel.

It is not my intention minutely to dwell upon every circumstance that happened during the week I stayed at Boulogne. At the table-d'hôte at the Hôtel du Nord, I met some very agreeable fellows, countrymen of my own, with whom Jawley and I used to play at billiards occasionally, though, in consequence of being unaccustomed to the French tables, we were, generally speaking, unlucky. Our mornings were usually passed in lounging at the library-door in the corner of the Grande Place, where I picked up some knowledge of life on the continent, and made myselfI think I may say a general favourite, for I was never met without smiles and expressions of good fellowship; Jawley also met with a warm reception from these happy idlers, whose spirits were far too buoyant to allow them to breathe freely in England. We used then to adjourn to a café, and played pool till dinner-time; then came the établissement with the fascinating polka, and a quiet game of ecarté finished the evening at the private apartments of some light-hearted, contented Boulognese. I was beginning to acquire some skill as a player-though one must naturally expect to lose a little at first-when an event occurred which caused my sudden departure from this agreeable place.

I should have observed, that it was the custom with Jawley and I to go down to the sands every morning before breakfast to bathe. The shore at Boulogne is shelving, and the machines do not venture far out; the consequence is, that it is not until after wading some distance that the swimmer can boldly breast his native element, laying his hand upon the prostrate form of old Neptune, and smoothing down his dishevelled tresses. Accustomed to the watering-places of England, Jawley and I both bathed in the English manner, not being aware that fashion in France prescribes a peculiar costume to the worshippers of the briny

deities. As we were very early, we generally had the sea all to ourselves, and used to enjoy it exceedingly. One morning, however, it happened that the tide was going out when we bathed, and as we stayed in the water some time, sporting amid the foam like two regular Dryads, when we thought of returning, the sea had receded from the machine and left it high and dry on the beach. Indifferent to the fact, we waded into shallow water, and were then proceeding as speedily as we could towards the machine, when a terrible apparition suddenly met our view. It was the figure of a tall, gaunt, bony, elderly female, with her arms a-kimbo, standing between the machine and the margin of the sea, as if for the purpose of intercepting our passage. We were horrorstricken, and, of course, unable to stir; we believed that the woman was mad, and we knew not what course to adopt. At length Jawley mustered up courage to address her, and the following conversation ensued; I give it in the identical words used, as they were afterwards transcribed for me by an intelligent native to whom I told the story, for I gleaned quite enough of the lady's meaning, in addition to my acquaintance with the language, to comprehend her speech. Like "a Triton amongst the minnows" Jawley raised his voice.

"Nous voulons sortir, madame; nous voulons sortir.” "Eh bien, messieurs! sortez-donc !"

"Il n'est pas possible, madame, si vous restez là.”

"Mais, messieurs, j'ai resté ici exprès, pour vous attraper.” "What does she say, Jawley?" cried I, in an agony.

"She has come here on purpose to catch us," groaned Jawley, with the aspect of a lion couchant, shaking dewdrops from his mane.

“Je demande, madame,” shrieked my friend in fearful accents, “Je demande, pourquoi vous continuez là ? Allez-vous en, allez-vous en.”

I echoed these last words, for I knew their meaning well, having already freely used them to the beggars.

"Je ne sortirai pas d'ici, messieurs," returned the Amazon, “avant de vous expliquer pourquoi je suis venne vous confronter. Pendant quelques jours, j'ai remarqué que vous avez l'habitude d'aller dans la mer sans porter les habillemens qui sont de rigueur. Je ne pourrais pas souffrir qu'une pareille chose existât en face l'institution dont je suis la directrice, et je me suis determinée de venir me planter sur la plage pour bien me satisfaire de l'indiscretion dont vous avez été coupable."

"Indiscretion!" shouted Jawley, "qu'est-ce que vous appelez vôtre presente-what the devil's the French for 'behaviour?'-votre presente conduite."

"Ce qui j'appele cà, moi?-c'est la conduite d'une Française! d'une femme qui respecte les mœurs et les usages de son pays. Sortez-donc, messieurs, de suite. Je vous tancerai joliment."

"What is she at now, Jawley ?" I exclaimed, as I noticed her menacing gesticulations.

"She says she'll give it us, and means to stay there," he replied, in a tone of savage doggedness.

If we

"Well then," I returned, "there is but one thing to be done. stay here much longer there will be no water left,-and, besides, the people are beginning to gather on the pier there, so we must make the best of it. Here goes for the machine; come on!"

Accordingly, like the Roman warriors, described by Thucydides, when they contended in the Olympiads, we made a desperate charge. For an

she un

instant the amazon stood her ground, but, as we drew nearer, furled a large green parasol, under cover of which she poured forth a volley of invectives against our hapless persons. To gain the wished-for shelter, to dress ourselves in all haste, and then hurry towards the town was effected with unheard-of celerity; but our transit from the beach was not unmolested by the female conservator of public morals, or unobserved by certain "curious impertinents," whom the sound of her voice had drawn to the spot.

To be brief, we reached our hotel, and as I knew that a story like this would soon get wind, and as Jawley, moreover, was on the point of returning to England, I resolved at once to take my departure for Paris; and in about an hour after the above transaction had taken place. I once more found myself en route, exclaiming with the poet, "There is a world elsewhere."

I have already described the ordinary mode of travelling in France,-it will not, therefore, be necessary for me to repeat my description. These things are calculated to strike the young traveller, but when a practised eye has dwelt on them as mine had during my stay in Boulogne,-for I used every day to watch with interest the departure of the Paris diligenceit ceases to wonder. Amongst other things, I had learnt that the richlydressed individual whom I at first took for a general officer, was an official, called in French, the "conducteur," holding a place of trust though not a military appointment.

We left Boulogne at nine in the morning, and travelled with the usual celerity of the diligence, which, since the disappearance of the English mail-coach, may be considered the fastest vehicle of its kind in Europe. I can assert this from my own experience. There are few things that a wise man may not turn to account in this vale of tears and contretemps, no matter how ungenial their original character. Thus, if it had not been for my "slight affair" on the heights of Boulogne, in all probability I should not have provided myself with arms for my journey. But now, I travelled in security, for my pistols were at hand in my portmanteau, on the top of the diligence, and it was only necessary, therefore, when we fell in with banditti, to desire the conducteur to stop the carriage, unstrap the covering that protects the baggage, and hand me down my valise, and then, having taken out my weapons, and loaded them, we might bid defiance to the robbers, and, perhaps, take some of them prisoners, or proclaim martial law, and compel them to cast lots for their lives.

As it happened, these precautions were unnecessary, for we did not encounter a single bandit the whole way from Boulogne to Paris,—a circumstance, which I think must be ascribed to the fact, of their being all employed on the staff of Marshal Bugeaud, in Algeria.

The country through which we travelled was of an Alpine character, for we were several times called upon during the day, to descend from the diligence and climb the rugged sides of the mountains, so as to enable the carriage, partially relieved of its load, to scale the lofty summits, a feat which was in most cases achieved after about an hour's walking. This mode of travelling varied the journey, and if the weather had not been intensely hot, and the roads exceedingly dusty, would have been delightful. But it was something to traverse the plains of sunny France, beyond the ken of British eyes, though not beyond the influence of British glory, for the ground which I now trod was hal