was formed with the ostensible view of paying honour to the return of the saintly relics from a foreign land, and the whole chapter, preceded by cross of gold and embroidered banner, set forth with solemn music, and its accompanying chaunts, to receive the fortunate relics arrived from beyond sea. The cases were landed, covered with palls of velvet and rich stuffs; and being placed upon biers, they were borne upon the shoulders of the most fervent of the members of the sacred congregation. The delivery being completed, the captain received an acknowledgment in due form, and the procession returned to the convent, escorted by the entire population of the city, after which, according to all appearance, the interment took place in consecrated ground. But as soon as this religious effervescence had subsided, and when the monks saw that the auspicious moment was arrived for the enjoyment of the long anticipated sight of the vast riches so fervently announced by their brethren of St. Domingo, great was their amazement and their grief, instead of inestimable treasures to find nothing but worthless bones, a heap of vile refuse of various animals, among which were so many heads with horns, so many feet with hoofs, that no doubt could be entertained that the captain had perpetrated a wicked and criminal exchange. They never for a moment supposed that their holy brethren of St. Domingo had any hand in the cheat, and their despair was in consequence more intense, since they could have no means whatever of establishing a claim; for how could they, without the utmost shame, confess the sacrilegious plunder, covered as it was by a pretended removal of saintly relics? Besides, it would be very easy to guess the answer to be made by the captain :-" What did I receive on board? Bones, relics; the bill of lading so states it. What then was I bound to deliver, and what have I delivered? Relics! Here they are; you have received them-buried them: hymn your vespers, ring your bells, and trouble me no more. The poor monks were obliged to resign themselves to their lot, and in so doing shewed their wisdom and their logic. Whether the chapter excommunicated the old sailor is not recorded. The remains of the oxen, the horses, the dogs, and the goats, were placed in a vault of the church in order 'to save appearances. We have only to add, that the captain became sole owner of the Faustina, and continued his voyages to St. Domingo, with which island he carried on an extensive business, and prospered accordingly. L. L. AN AWKWARD ANTIPATHY. I am not one of those who abominate the idea of a family dinner, nor will my name ever be down as a candidate for admission into that club, whose members offer a man their card, in return for his hospitality of shoulder of mutton and pudding; on the contrary, I always find plenty of gleanings from the fields of fun in such réunions, and surely in this long-faced, much-eating world, a mouthful of laughter is more valuable from its rarity than a surfeit of ragout. With such sentiments, therefore, I was not offended, when, on a short visit to London in the dead season of the year, to arrange some law affairs, my man of business asked me to honour his table with my company, "We shall make no stranger of you "-said he-" quite alone-only ourselves." I am not an illnatured person, and hate to put any one out of his way; so punctually at the hour of five I presented myself at the "Villa," one mile the other side of Brompton, where my friend's family luxuriated in the idea of country, and was ushered into the drawing-room. Now, why should I attempt to catalogue the furniture of this unique apartment, when it told its own tale of having been picked up piecemeal at auctions, alternately neat, old fashioned, or gaudy, as it happened? Or, why should I add to the nervousness and hurry of my hostess, by saying she looked as if she knew by ocular demonstration that the kitchen fire was in capital order for boiling? or bring a tinge upon the pale cheeks of the daughters, by hinting that the bear's grease had rather encroached upon the forehead, and the ringlets bore the impress of the curl papers on every turn?-these were mere trifles to a hungry man, and ought not every man to be hungry, when the cry of Ba-a-ker at the gate gives notice that the savoury dinner has been making mouths water all the way from Mr. Crusty's oven round the corner? Such a cry had evidently been for some time expected, for it was immediately responded to, by the whole family rising, and Mr. Parchment himself exclaiming,— Puddings are bad things when cold; suppose we go to the dining room, and prepare our opening claws." A general titter declared that all capacities were ready, in due deference, to receive and understand the accustomed pun; and in a few minutes we were seated before the table-cloth, looking into each others faces, and waiting the catastrophe. Our party was now increased by two-Eh--what shall I call them ?boys-or young-no little men, who were not introduced, but whom I at once suspected to be those anomalous animals, y'cleped, domestic clerks. An anxious silence was kept up, except by Parchment himself, who favoured me with a slight discussion upon the enormity of church rates, interrupted only by an audible whisper from the youngest, and, therefore, spoilt girl, who, poor child, could not help just touching her mother, with the question," Ma, is it a roly poly pudding?" The master now portentously took out his watch, and looking towards his wife, "My dear," said he, "it has struck five Her answer was prevented by a boy, (just entering upon an acquaintance with his page's dress, and not quite up to a ceremonious friendship with his coat,) bringing in a well grown dish, to which all eyes were in a moment turned, discovering a curious. composition, something like a boiled arm, well bruized, length about eighteen inches, diameter ten inches. Nothing could exceed the nicety with which Mrs. Parchment divided this among the party, leaving two pieces upon the dish; but it was some minutes before I could decide what were really the materials of the long roll, jacketed with the prints of the bag in which it had been boiled; however, I at length satisfied myself that it was a suet pudding, with a scattering of currants in it, and no uneatable thing either, if I might judge from the expedition with — AN AWKWARD ANTIPATHY. 227 which it disappeared, however curious as a first course. As I was putting the last subdivision into my mouth, Mis. Farchment, balancing one of the remaining pieces upon her fork, enquired if I would take more?-more! On my refusal, Mr. P. sent up his plate for that same, and the end was given to the little girl, a kind of perquisite, I suppose, which the two clerks, certainly by their looks, envied. The servant then put before his mistress a dish of potatoes; on the side near me some opae gravy in a boat, and opposite, a ditto to match, filled with sauce, while Mr. P. sharpened his carving knife in readiness for a-large sucking pig! - The dish is a good dish, and I have no peculiar Hebrew antipathies to the breed, but there are similies-mais n'importe. I begged for a piece of the leg, (as I confess the little ribs, scarcely assuming the form of bone, gave me a slight-a momentary squeamishness, such as Don Juan felt when he flung away the pinion of the learned Pedrillo,) and very contentedly began masticating a chip of "the Epidermis of this infant Mammalia of the swine species," (as the head quill-driver had just informed us the squeakers skin was properly denominated,) when-"Trackem," said Mr. P. to the junior clerk, who had never taken his eyes off the little snout, as it gaped towards him, "I think you are fond of the breast part, or shall I give you half the head, you will find some nice picking?" I looked at the poor man, wondering why he did not answer, and saw him desperately rub down his hair, as if vainly trying to efface the officious bump of " Philo-progenitiveness,' that stood (strange chance!) in the way of his mouth; then turning almost yellow with fear and disgust, he whined out, increasing the emphasis with every pause, "None for me, sir, thank you-I can't bear the sight of it, "and then roaring out, "And I never could!" he burst out of the room, as if ten thousand slaughtered babes were at his heels. I shall never forget the looks of the horrified family; but I didn't laughat least not then. S. L. H. "LE SAGE resided in a little cottage while he supplied the world with their most agreeable novels, and appears to have derived the sources of his existence in his old age from the filial exertions of an excellent son, who was an actor of some genius. I wish, however, that every man of letters could apply to himself the epitaph of this delightful writer : Sous ce tombeau git LE SAGE abattu Par le ciseau de la Parque importune; Il fut toujours ami de la vertu."-D'Israeli. DISINTERESTED GRIEF.-Benserade, the French poet, on the death of his patron, Cardinal Richelieu, gratefully made this epitaph : --: THE MENDICANT. A TALE OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. By the Author of " Passages in the Diary of a Surgeon." At the principal entrance to one of the most handsome of the churches which abound in the good city of Paris, an aged beggar was accustomed to take his stand at the hour for the celebration of mass, to solicit charity of the devotees. For years he had never failed to repair to the sacred edifice, and take his seat on the self-same spot; in fact, he was so accustomed to be seen there, that he was well nigh considered as one of the ornaments of the porch. His conversation, address, and bearing, plainly told that he had received a superior education; and wretched as he ever appeared, he possessed a certain dignity of manner which revealed to the observer that he had at other times been accustomed to move in a far higher sphere. Amongst the crowd of beggars, too, who daily thronged to solicit alms of those who attended the celebration of mass, he possessed great authority. The kindness with which he ever listened to their complaints, and the sympathy which he showed for their sufferings; the benevolence which induced him to share the alms which he had received with those who had been less fortunate than himself; the zeal with which he always endeavoured to settle their disputes, and appease the angry feelings, which were sometimes engendered amongst them; all contributed to raise him in their esteem and affection; nevertheless, to all of his companions, even to those who were most intimate with him, the history of his life, and the misfortunes which had reduced him to beggary, were unknown. One thing alone was certain; he never stepped within the threshold of the church, yet he was a Catholic; and at the moment when the sacred rites were being performed, when the pious chants of the priests echoed through the hallowed dome, when the deep and solemn tone of the organ pealed along the aisles, the aged mendicant would join with devotion in the holy rites, and raise his feeble voice in prayer and thanksgiving to the Almighty Ruler of the world. And often when listening to the discourse of some pious priest, tears would course down his furrowed cheek. It was evident to all who knew him that he had some great cause for sorrow, yet to none would he confess the grief which preyed upon his mind. The curate of the chureh, who was accustomed daily to celebrate mass therein, was descended from one of the most ancient families of France. Possessing an immense fortune, he delighted in giving from out his store help to the needy and oppressed. The old mendicant had been a particular object of his solicitude; and the Abbé C. never failed, as he entered the church, to place in his hand an alms, rendered doubly valuable by the kind and encouraging words with which he accompanied the gift. One day the old man was missing from his accustomed seat; a second and a third passed, yet he did not appear. The good Abbé, fearing that some misfortune had happened to the mendicant, determined to seek him. Accordingly, having finished his religious duties, he enquired out the abode of the old man, and without loss of time betook himself thither, and found him stretched upon a wretched mattrass in the last stage of existence. The priest on entering the miserable apartment was struck by the luxury and wretchedness which it at once displayed. A magnificent gold watch was suspended by a rusty nail over the chimney piece; two pictures, in handsome gilt frames, but covered with crape, hung from the damp-stained walls; a crucifix, beautifully carved in ivory, was placed at the foot of the bed, and by the bedside of the invalid stood an old table, on which was lying within reach of the old man's hand, a missal splendidly bound and secured by clasps of pure gold. With these exceptions, every thing plainly denoted the most abject misery. The entrance of the good priest re-animated the dying man, for instantly recovering himself he exclaimed, with joy beaming from his sunken eye"Father! you do then condescend to remember the wretched beggar, and to enter his miserable abode ?" "A priest never forgets the miseries of his fellow-creatures, my son," replied the Abbé. "I have come that I may know if you stand in need of assistance?" "Alas! no;" rejoined the mendicant. "I have no earthly wants to satisfy; death will soon release me from my miseries. 'Tis my conscience alone that torments me." "Your conscience! What mean you, my son? Have you then any fault to expiate?" The old man rose with a supernatural effort from his reclining posture, and exclaimed with fearful energy, "A crime! an enormous crime!crime for which my whole life has been one cruel but useless expiation! a crime to which, alas, no pardon can be extended." "Blaspheme not, my son," said the Abbé; "doubt not the promises of the Almighty; whatever be thy crime, still may'st thou hope for pardonthe Divine mercy is greater than all the sins of man.” "But for a wretch, whose crimes have been of the blackest dye, whose soul is stained with the blood of a fellow being-what is there to hope? Pardon! There can be no pardon for such a one!"-and the old man burst into a passionate flood of tears. "There is pardon, even for a sinner so great as this," exclaimed the priest, with enthusiasm. "I tell thee, my son, the doubt of the Divine mercy is a blasphemy greater than all thy crimes. Our holy religion opens wide its arms to the repentant sinner. Listen to the words of the Redeemer— • Come unto me all ye that are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest!' Old man, prostrate yourself in prayer before him and he will not forsake you. Come, my son, I will hear your confession!" The good priest took a seat by the side of the mendicant, who, after a short pause, thus began: 66 : I am the offspring of a poor farmer, who cultivated a small plot of ground under a family of the highest distinction. My father had a large family, and his circumstances being far from affluent, I was removed from my parental roof to the mansion of our master at an early age: through his kindness I received a superior education, and the progress that I made was such as to raise me to the rank of his secretary. In this situation I passed my days in the greatest happiness, and years rolled almost unheeded by. When, however, I had attained my thirtieth year the revolution broke out in all its fury, and scattered desolation over our native land. In an evil hour I listened to the seductive discourse of a person with whom I was slightly acquainted, who had himself embraced republican principles; he placed in my hands some of the republican journals of the day. I read them-my ambition was roused; I became weary of the monotonous life I had led, and conceived the idea of forsaking the roof which had so long sheltered me, for the toils and tumults of the camp. Would that I had done so; for although I should have been guilty of the sin of ingratitude, yet should I have been spared the committal of more atrocious crimes. Ere I could carry my project into execution, my master, fearing lest he might be arrested, dismissed all his domestics with the single exception of myself, and with his whole family fled to Paris, taking with them only a few things as a memorial of the joyous hours which they had passed, but which had now fled for ever. They took up their abode in the most obscure part of the town, trusting that the seclusion of their dwelling might preserve them secure from the fury of their enemies. I followed them; and it was I alone that possessed the secret of their retreat. Their |