hideous ruin, the abode of rats and toads, that crouched beneath the relics of the exotics and flower-pots of former days. Everything about the place spoke of neglect and utter desolation; and the cause which had transformed this Eden into a very desert was a ghost! The château, however, was to be let for a trifle; and, undaunted by reports of nocturnal visitants from another world, I took a lease of Mont-Fleuri from the propriétaire, M. du Val, who agreed to put it in somewhat better repair as speedily as possible. 'Many hands make light work; and M. du Val, glad to have let the place at any price, in an incredibly short space from the commencement of the renovating process, got everything set to rights; and calling at our lodgings, one morning acquainted us with the desirable fact, that the château was ready for our occupation whenever we chose to take possession of it, which we accordingly did in the course of the ensuing week.

Several months passed away at Mont-Fleuri (of which we had taken possession at the beginning of winter), and we found ourselves very comfortable. The château had been rendered wind and water proof, the garden set in thorough order, the farm laid under crop, the conservatory repaired and partly filled, our bassecour stocked, and our Pépée (our only bonne) inducted into the mysteries of rosbif and biftec, which she had learned to prepare, as she, at all events, considered, à l'Anglaise. Our pigs fattened comfortably; our hens laid dozens of eggs; our pigeons hatched numerous couples of callow young, delicious in a pie; our cow yielded abundance of milk, cream, and butter; and last, but not least, our baby throve as heartily as fond parents could desire; but, above all, no ghost, as we had indeed anticipated all along, had appeared upon the scene, to scare us from our propriety by unseemly gambols in the moonlight, or minuets upon the stairs or in the garret, to both of which amusements country gossip declared it to be addicted.

Some twenty years or so previous to the date of our occupation, Mont-Fleuri had been inhabited by a certain Comte du Lûc, an émigré, who had married, during his residence in England, a rich and vulgar widow of the name of Smith. Upon his return to his native land, after the accession of Napoleon, M. du Lac had purchased and taken up his abode at Mont-Fleuri, where he and his comtesse entertained the neighbouring gentry with considerable éclat. Among the guests thus admitted to the château was one Louvel, or, as he called himself, De Louvel, although the ennobling particle was not generally looked upon as genuine.

This Louvel was a young man of most engaging appearance, but, as subsequent events too clearly proved, of most fiendish disposition, who speedily contrived to ingratiate himself, in no common degree, with both his hosts, by ministering with assiduous attention to their foibles. Madame la Comtesse loved flattery, and Monsieur le Comte had no less a partiality for wine. Louvel contrived to satisfy them both; and, if report belies him not, M. du Luc received from the hand of his guest some draught more potent than the Burgundy he loved, for, without any previous illness, he was found one morning dead in bed, after a carouse overnight with his friend, who, exactly three months after the funeral of her husband, married the wealthy but by no means youthful widow. Not very long afterwards, this unhappy woman herself died broken-hearted, amidst the relics of her former grandeur, for her miscreant husband had soon succeeded in dissipating the greater portion of her wealth.

Louvel, shortly after these events, sold the château he had polluted by his crimes to a M. de Chèvremont, a scion of an old noble family, who held a high official appointment at St-Loam. This gentleman, though yet in the prime of life, had passed his première jeu

nesse; but madame was young, and extremely beautiful. In consequence of the appointment he held, M. de Chèvremont was frequently brought in contact with M. Gauron, the mayor of St-Nevars, a young man of agreeable appearance and fascinating address. Official acquaintance ripened, in time, into private intimacy, and M. le Maire became a frequent visitor at Mont-Fleuri, where he was always received with empressement by both monsieur and madame. Suddenly, the little world of St-Nevars was electrified by the intelligence that M. le Maire was dying. A violent attack of typhus fever, it was said, had rendered his recovery hopeless, and on the very day when this announcement was made to the sorrowing community, Monsieur and Madame de Chèvremont drove together, for the first time, through the streets of St-Nevars, every one remarking how charming madame looked-de si belles couleurs!—and yet, mournful to relate, that very same evening, after prematurely giving birth to a son, she expired, to the intense sorrow of her inconsolable husband.

M. Gauron and Madame de Chèvremont were both buried the same week, and the disconsolate widower immediately quitted the scene of his bereavement. Of course, there were not wanting those who insisted upon giving to these unfortunate but perfectly natural occurrences a widely different interpretation; but to the honour of the little community be it said, when, foremost among these mauvaises langues, la Veuve Outré dropped mysterious hints of a duel across a dining-table, in consequence, as she alleged, of an intercepted letter, very few of the inhabitants were found to give credit to a rumour, which has, nevertheless, remained uncontradicted to this day.

Mont-Fleuri continued uninhabited until taken, nearly three years after the above events, by Captain Talbot, a retired officer, formerly in the service of the East India Company, whom ill health had compelled to seek a more temperate climate than that in which he had spent his earlier years. A twelvemonth's residence, however, in the salubrious climate of StNevars had had the effect of so completely restoring the gallant officer's health, that, upon receiving unexpectedly the offer of a lucrative post in the country he had lately quitted, and had never expected to behold again, he closed with the offer at once, and straightway set out for his destination, leaving his wife and children to take care of Mont-Fleuri for the remainder of their lease of seven years.

Mrs

Mrs Talbot was a delicate person, and had been so for years; but her children-she had six, three sons and three daughters-were all remarkably strong, and continued in perfect health until about six months after the departure of their father, when the eldest was taken suddenly and violently ill. Talbot, who did not place much confidence in the abilities of French physicians, treated her daughter in accordance with some family receipts or prescriptions, in whose efficacy she reposed the most implicit trust. Nevertheless, when the young lady, instead of getting better, grew gradually worse, and one of the younger children began to exhibit symptoms of the same malady which had prostrated his sister, the anxious mother decided upon calling in le docteur Cormao, the principal medical man of StNevars, who pronounced the patients to be suffering from a malignant attack of small-pox, and held out but small hopes of their recovery. In the course of the next day, Mrs Talbot herself was struck down by the same terrible disorder, and, shortly afterwards, the whole family, servants and all, were laid on beds of sickness, and, as the sequel, with one exception, proved, of death.

Of all that household, Nanon Magat, the cook, alone survived. Mrs Talbot, her six children, and their other domestic, fell victims to the terrible visitation; so suddenly had the calamity overtaken them, that Mrs Talbot had been unable to communicate

proceeded to the door-'now for the solution of your mystery. The "ghost" cannot escape me.'

We followed her into the hall with lights. Nothing,

as usual.

'Have you a dark-lantern, John?'

'Will you get it for me, if you please?' I complied.

'Now,' said our cousin quietly, as soon as she had secured the lantern, we must wait for the disturbers here in the dark. They seem to have a very proper dread of letting themselves be seen. But you'll hold the lantern, and do not open it until I tell you.'

Having closed the parlour door, we waited, in a state of painful suspense, for several minutes, when pit-a-pat, pit, pit, down came the pease. Matilda almost fainted in my arms; but Miss Mortimer dashing forward, grappled for a moment with something on the stairs.

'I have it!' she cried triumphantly. light.'

John, the

I opened the lantern, and lo! the midnight disturber, the destroyer of domestic quiet, the long-dreaded 'ghost,' stood revealed, thanks to a woman's courage, in propria personû before us. Nay, Louisa Mortimer held it quite composedly in her hand, and it was— a cockroach, nothing more!

This discovery accounted for the fact of the 'spirits' having made their first appearance after the occupancy of the Talbots, who had probably brought them to Mont-Fleuri with their luggage from the East.

Our Pépée presently returned to us, and admitted, when pressed upon the subject by Miss Mortimer, that the 'spirit' she had seen might after all have been a sheet or tablecloth she had forgotten on the line; which would also account for the fluttering robe I fancied I had seen.

As for the 'ghosts,' we were troubled with them no more, for I caused their holes to be carefully stopped; and we afterwards spent many happy years at Mont-Fleuri, and never heard a pea either in the hall or on the stairs.

THE FAIR ISLE.

By any one traversing that part of the German Ocean lying under latitude 594 degrees north, and longitude 2 degrees west-or otherwise, about sixty miles north-east of Westray, in Orkney, and about an equal distance south-east from the south point of Shetland-may be seen rising into view like a speck in the sea a small dark spot of land, which rejoices in the bright name of the Fair Isle. Except, perhaps, St Kilda, the outermost of the Hebrides on the other side of Scotland, there is not a more lonely inhabited spot in the British dominions. A gentleman, lately passing that way, told the writer 'it is the most lonely spot I ever saw. There is not any communication whatever with it except in fine weather, as you can only land in boats. There is no harbour for a vessel to go into, and the steamer running from Shetland to Granton passes the island, but does not call there.' Now, as this fine or calm weather is comparatively rare in those latitudes, and stormy weather, at least in winter, more the rule than the exception, the isolation approaches very near completeness to the dwellers in that sea-girdled home.

ture of which is said to have been introduced by a shipwrecked crew of the Spanish Armada, the inhabitants chiefly eke out their scanty subsistence. Nor is, unfortunately, another less unobjectionable mode of living unknown to the Fair Islanders, in the trade of from Holland and the continental ports. In fact, a more convenient smuggling station there cannot be. In some instances, too, they seem to have improved upon the ordinary simplicity of that traffic, and not only elude payment of the government custom on the corn-brandy imported, but shew an equal dexterity in outwitting their own customers. The captains of fishing or other craft calling at the island, and taking off a few casks of that colourless liquid, would do well to taste as well as see the article before payment, otherwise, on future trial, but when too late, it may be found that the casks contain nothing more alcoholic than that distilled by nature herself from the bubbling fountains. The present tacksman of the island receives his rent from the tenants almost wholly in kind— that is, in fish caught round the coast the only money he got last year being, I believe, about five shillings, which he returned to the poor people. It is entirely upon the produce of their fishings they depend for the means of paying their land-rents, maintaining thus a sort of amphibious existence. This double mode of life, however, exerts an unhappy influence upon their habits of industry, in dividing their attention between two callings. Anything like a continued hard day's work in field-labour is a thing unknown. Their implements of husbandry, as may be expected, are of the most primitive kind; and the extent of their farm-operations is simply the raising of a little corn or potatoes sufficient to supply their own personal wants through the winter, leaving the bounty of the sea to supplement the deficiency of rent, and procure some articles of rough clothing. Until last spring, the population of the Isle exceeded three hundred; but at that time a band of about fifty of the inhabitants emigrated to Canada, thus reducing the number to about two hundred and sixty souls, the present population.

From the earliest times, until only about four centuries ago, all those northern isles have been more Norwegian than Scotch. Looking back to a period antecedent to the days of Kenneth Macalpine of Scotland and Alfred of England, in the middle of the ninth century, we find them in comparatively quiet possession of the Picts. But although that people had a prior residence in Scotland even to the Scoti from Ireland on the west, they themselves were but intruders into the east and north from Scandinavia. Soon after Kenneth II. had fused or welded the two people into one nation, new tribes of warlike Scandinavians, but still successive waves of the same sea, came over and dispossessed the Picts of the northern isles. These were the Danes, whose chiefs were the famous sea-kings of Norway.

Long was the struggle, however, between Norway and Scotland for supremacy. In 1098, Magnus Barefoot, king of Norway, had reduced Orkney, Shetland, and the Hebrides into complete subjection, and the first two were entirely peopled by Norwegians. Nor was it until 1468 that they were united to Scotland, when given to James III. as the dowry of his bride the princess of Denmark. Still the people would doubtless retain the Norwegian type, even when amalgamated with the Scotch, in the same way as the Saxons, though overlapped by the Normans, retained long their own striking peculiarities.

brave commanders, did their part of the work in scattering and destroying the ships. All round the west of Scotland, the Orkneys, and Shetland, fragmentary proofs of that disaster still remain; and that great numbers of the luckless crews which manned the ships were also drifted on shore, where they took root, like seedlings driven by the wind, and mixed with the indigenous population, is also certain. On this Fair Isle, then, it was that one of the largest and most magnificent of these vessels was driven, being neither more nor less than the admiral's own ship; and to where it lies sunk in the depths of the ocean, the people are still fond of pointing attention. Several of these sailors, probably galley-slaves, remained and took up their abode in the shelter of that friendly Isle, and, it is believed, taught the inhabitants the art to which we have already alluded; and of this Spanish origin of three hundred years ago, many of the present inhabitants still retain most conspicuous and unmistakable traces; so that to this admixture of Iberian and Scandinavian blood is, in all probability, to be traced the descent of the present dwellers of that secluded gem of the

ocean.

Like the occupiers of Pitcairn's Island, under similar circumstances, these people were thus forced by position to become their own legal and other guardians, and in this manner, down to the present day, have they ever continued to be so. Long and strong as the arm of the law proverbially is, neither its length nor strength seems ever to have reached so far across that wild sea as to plant any administering functionary there. Through all those three hundred years, each individual inhabitant has been a law unto himself, and doing only that which seemed right in his own eyes. Still, whatever in past times may have been the consequences of such a position on the habits of the people, their present character, as given to the writer last summer by one of themselves, the lately appointed schoolmaster of the Isle, is, on the whole, not derogatory to their good instincts. A more orthodox system of things has also just now been instituted; and besides the schoolmaster, who is a well-qualified and excellent man, a few weeks ago, the Home Mission of the Church of Scotland appointed a clergyman to settle permanently among them. Before this, about once in the year or so, a clergyman from Shetland visited the Isle, and interchanged a few friendly offices with the people, but on his departure again, they were left entirely to their own resources and their own guidance.

As for postal communication, the writer of this sketch a short time ago received a letter from the clergyman alluded to, notifying his arrival on the island, the letter being brought back by the vessel that conveyed him thither. In it, he mentions that if written to on receipt of it, in the ordinary course, he would receive such letter about the end of March! to which a reply might possibly be expected in London about the end of May! The schoolmaster, however, who has now been above a year in the place, gives a much longer interval than this, and considers six months about a fair average time for a letter to be sent to Edinburgh and its reply received. It is only an average of chances too, for there is no regular communication at all. It depends upon fishing and other vessels going and returning; and upon open boats, in which the adventurous Fair Islesmen occasionally sail to Kirkwall; which chances are again dependent upon the no less precarious vicissitudes of the weather; so that, except by a favourable opportunity, a letter might be sent not only to India but to Australia, and an answer received, as soon as an inhabitant of the Fair Isle, sixty miles from Orkney, could write to and hear from a friend in London. Think of this, ye dwellers in the metropolis, who grumble and write to the Times if your postman lags behind his accustomed five minutes past eight

with your country letters, to say nothing of the lightning speed of your telegraphs bringing news under sea and over land in a few seconds of time from the most distant places.

That noble ship, the Sovereign, as she passes on her way every week from Lerwick to Kirkwall, and on to Granton, sees and is seen by the Fair Isle-can she not deflect from her course for a few hours to hold a friendly chat with its lonely dwellers, take and bring their letters, and make them to feel something like a genial glow of brotherhood wafted from the warm centres of their common fatherland? Measuring distance by the plummet of time, many of the Orkney and Shetland Islands, indeed, are in winter as remote from Edinburgh and London as New York or Philadelphia. In other words, a letter takes a good fourteen days to come to either of the capitals from any place not close by Lerwick or Kirkwall, and in summer about a week-the same returning. What a boon, therefore, would it be to place, instead of the ordinary slow packets, one or two small steamers among the isles, to circulate among them as collectors of letters and goods, to feed the main postal line going south, and thus secure a more regular communication.

As to the powers vested in the clergyman of the Fair Isle, they will necessarily be of the most multifarious kind. He will apparently be something of a king as well as priest, the governor, magistrate, and doctor, as well as minister; for, except the schoolmaster and himself, there is no other functionary whatever, civil, military, or ecclesiastic, there resident, nor, as it appears, has there ever been.

AGAINST POSSESSING TWO TONGUES. UPON a certain great occasion of international amity, whereon many speeches were delivered by Englishmen in what they imagined to be the language of their alien auditors, Mr Bright, M.P., expressed himself in the vernacular, confessing and bewailing his inability to speak French. I admire this orator's modesty, but I do not sympathise with him in his regret. I prefer rather the sentiment of that national hero who publicly thanked the gods that he could compel his tongue to utter no language save that of his fatherland. Let there be a Universal Tongue, by all means, if the philologists will have it so. I have experienced great inconvenience when travelling abroad from the unfinished character of this great scheme of theirs myself, and I should vastly like to see it accomplished -only let them be particularly careful to select for their purpose the English.

6

My acquaintance is extensive, and I do not wish to increase it, but if there is a description of person that I am less desirous to know than another, it is one who is recommended to me as being an accomplished linguist.' I should have better hopes of social advantage from a first-rate pugilist;' or even from a gentleman whose introduction was once promised to me by an intoxicated market-gardener upon a Citizen 'bus, as the grower of the werry finest 'ollyocks in all Middlesex.' What a man gains in words-in the facility of expressing himself-he generally loses in ideas, as witness the Popular Preacher, the Demagogue, and the Cheap Jack;' and this is particularly the case when he acquires various tongues. Happy, indeed, is such a man if he possesses an idea apiece for them. The late Mr Douglas Jerrold was annoyed upon one occasion by an individual who was airing nine languages at once before a distinguished company. Nine, sir,' observed this social scourge, this cat-o'nine-tails, 'I can speak nine distinctly, but my revered father, when alive, he could speak no less than fifteen.' 'Ah!' remarked Jerrold, 'I knew a man who could

*

* He could imitate five cats, sir, five distinct cats in a wheelbarrow, upon my sacred honour: now one can't help liking a fellow with such traits as those.-Pickwick.

speak five-and-twenty, and who never said anything worth hearing in any one of them.'

But that heroic man, whom I am proud to call my friend, responded sternly: "Then it should be Toujours prate," madam.' Let Social-science Associations boast themselves as much as they will, it is men like these who are our real reformers. 'How agreeable,' remarked the late Sir Cornewall Lewis after the miseries of an evening-party, 'would this life be, were it not for its amusements; and especially if there was no such thing as "a little music" in the world.' And how charming, say I, might conversation be made, if all French phrases were rigorously excluded; and especially if there was no such thing as a Parisian accent. To be able to pronounce the ultimate syllable in a French word ending with in, such as Houdin, in a certain distressingly unnatural manner, appears to be the summit of earthly ambition with some persons; and when they fancy they have attained to it, they thenceforth look down upon the rest of their fellowcreatures, as from a moral and intellectual pedestal. The more contemptible an accomplishment is, the prouder folks generally are when they possess it; a little worthless knowledge puffing up beyond all measure, as is exemplified in the case of college dons, dealers in fancy-dogs, and turnpike-keepers; which last, when placed where two roads meet, can generally inform the wayfarer which to choose in the most disagreeable manner conceivable. And thus it is with your linguist. The moralist may remark disparagingly upon the Double-tongued, but give me a hypocrite for a companion, say I, rather than any fellow who piques himself on his French, and interlards his conversation with phrases which he pretends cannot be translated into English. This is indeed one of the most ludicrous affectations ever acquiesced in by the ignorant; were these columns open to the full expression of an honest indignation, I could, entre nous, reader-that is to say, between you and me and the wall-give my own opinion on it, in very apt and forcible Saxon. As, indeed, the fashionable novel, with its meaningless Gallicisms, affords the lowest type of literature, so does the man with his talk slashed with French phrases present the feeblest form of conversationalist.

Give me the mirth that scorns to trench On the bright shallows of the French, But fills the genial eye, and rolls Its broad deep current to our souls. Like the immortal Samuel, 'I love talk,' but I can't abide talking on tiptoe.

Of the man who makes jokes in a foreign language, in a company composed of his own fellow-countrymen, I say nothing, for even the English tongue, so admirably fitted for invective, affords no adjective strong enough to apply to such an offence. Most of us, however, have witnessed the enormity, and the degradation of our species that has followed upon it; the pretended appreciation of the males, who are for the most part utterly ignorant of what they are laughing at, and the pitiable irresolution of the females, who are afraid of compromising themselves

I was lately pursuing this subject, which is a favourite one with me, in a mixed company, among which there chanced to be an ancient Peninsular veteran, who, as I afterwards discovered, spoke every European language to perfection. Instead of obstructing the progress of my Crusade, however, he joined my standard, and assisted me in demolishing a hateful serjeant-at-law, who had just returned from a six months' sojourn in Italy, to talk as familiarly of Ben Trovato and Siesta as though they were his brother and sister.

But in foreign countries, at least,' contended the serjeant, you must allow that a knowledge of the language is indispensable.'

Quite the reverse, sir,' returned the bluff old general. It is better for your morality, your religion, and your good temper, never to understand what foreigners say.'

Nay, but in warfare, for instance,' urged the cunning lawyer: 'nobody can be more aware than so distinguished an officer as yourself that a mutual understanding between allies is to be desired above all things. When you were in Portugal'

Ay, when I was in Portugal,' interrupted the general, rubbing his hands; then, as you say, it made a great difference whether you knew Portuguese or not. I have known the life or death of more than one honest fellow turn upon that very circumstance.'

'Exactly,' replied the serjeant triumphantly: 'you have known a man's life saved by his understanding Portuguese.'

'Not quite that,' responded the soldier; but I have known a man's life saved by another man's not understanding it.'

'Good,' said I; I can easily believe it; but I should like to know how it happened.'

'Well,' said the veteran; you are probably aware that Lord Wellington's discipline in the Peninsula was excessively severe. If a man did but forage for his mess without respect to the market-value of the commodity he brought back to camp; or if he suffered his affections to be centred on a young person in a nunnery; or if he picked up anything in a church that he had a fancy to send home to his friends--and chanced to be discovered, the provost-marshal was sent for post-haste, and it was even betting whether the poor fellow in trouble was not hanged. Our chief was especially particular that the men conducted themselves with propriety when billeted upon the inhabitants of the country, and a portable gallows was even constructed, the effect of which was to make us the most courteous army that ever occupied a foreign land. Two men of my company, and excellent soldiers, happened to be lodging with an old Portuguese vine-dresser, who, in addition to feeding them with omelets swimming in rancid oil, allowed them insufficient firing. My unfortunate fellows, therefore, pulled up his vine-sticks, and made a good blaze for themselves, without saying By your leave, or With your leave. Whereupon, the old curmudgeon took the opportunity of the provost-marshal coming round to inquire whether there were any complaints, to set forth a piteous story of oppression and tyranny-more than three parts of which were doubtless lies. He held a bundle of the sticks in question with one hand,