by the confusion of my reading and the romantic tinge of my whole education, 'I do not know, sir, whether I love any government. I have just left my college, and I can reply nothing to questions of theory or personal affection. This kind of interrogatory seems to me to exceed the duty which you perform so well. As to the verses written in a portfolio, they are fragments of a tragedy, which I intended to read before the committee of the Odeon; they have nothing to do with the police, and you will do me justice if you restore me to my family, from whom I have been torn on so puerile a pretext."

"Reasoner!" he replied, "do you know that I can, if I like, send you this instant into a dungeon?"

"I made no reply. In a paroxysm of fury he ordered me to sign a paper in which was written down the material part of my examination, and at a sign the gendarme led me away. I was placed in another chamber, where I found an officer about forty years of age, who bore on his breast the cross of the Legion of Honour. It was a Colonel accused of conspiracy. He regarded me sorrowfully, and extended his hand. 'Ah,' said he, ‘and you, too, accused of conspiracy! How old are you, young man ?' 'Fourteen years.' 'It is admirable,' said the Colonel, as he threw himself on a bed, and lay there a long time without speaking.

In the evening, two gendarmes came to take me away; they desired me to get into a coach, into which they followed The carriage stopped before the Palace of Justice. entered, preceded by a gendarme, followed by a gendarme." Our next notice will conclude this tale.

me.

I

THE ITALIAN BOY AND HIS MONKEY.

THERE are numbers of boys in England who have come over from the Continent to pick up a living here. They are chiefly from Italy, and are very poor. They manage, somehow or other, to find their way all through France, and then over the channel in one of the steamers to England. There are many hundreds of them in London, and hundreds travel on foot into the towns and

villages of the country. Some of them play barrel organs or other musical instruments; others carry a little monkey about with them, which they teach to play various antics; and others carry a tortoise under their jackets, or a few white mice in a little box, which they show for a halfpenny.

No doubt you have seen some of these poor lads. Let me say a word or two for them. Never make sport of them. Remember they are strangers in a strange land, and most of them cannot speak our language. All I ask you is to treat them kindly, just as you would wish to be treated if you

were a poor boy in a strange land, and amongst strangers, whose language you did not understand.

Poor lads! they have not had the advantages you have had or they never would have been here. And then it is very likely that they have never been taught to read, or if they have, yet have not had a bible, and hardly know what it is, as their parents are very likely ignorant papists. I always feel very sorry for these poor lads whenever I see them; and I very much wish that something could be done to instruct them, and that every one of them could have an Italian bible given to him, to take home with him whenever he returns back again to his own country.

VISIT TO MY MOTHER'S BIRTHPLACE.

THE OLD ABBEY FARM.

THE run down the river in the steamer-for we were on deck all the way—had "considerably" (as the Yankees say) sharpened our appetites by the time we arrived at our destination. After partaking of such refreshment as we could readily obtain, but which was in no respect either inviting or, satisfactory, we set out for the village on the hill before us the church and the old abbey farm house, and the windmill beyond them, being conspicuous objects, not only to us now, but to all passengers from London by the Ramsgate and Margate steamers.

We were advised to take the coast foot road. Outside the town, in an open space, we found the shabby remains of a fair which had lately been held, with unmistakeable indica

tions of the rude sports which had been indulged. A little further along the road we came upon an encampment of wretched and ferocious-looking gipsies. Ah! thought we, and so it is, such scenes as these may yet be seen lingering in various parts of our land. But we would fain hope that they are dying out before the advancing light of education and religion. What a dark contrast did the ragged remnants of the fair, and the wretched tents of the wild wanderers present, to the bright heavens, the smiling fields, and the rolling sea! Verily, man's ways are not as God's ways, nor man's works as God's works. His ways and works are glorious, and man mars them.

Passing along we came upon a more pleasing object—the remains of an old ship fitted up as a dwelling-house on the bank above the shore, and beyond the reach of the tide. We should have been glad to be permitted to enter it, and hear its history, and that of him who fitted it up. He was, no doubt, an ardent lover of salt water, for his dwelling must often be covered with the foam of its waves, whose continuous and monotonous roar might be regarded by him as discoursing sweet music, never ceasing, and always in tune. This singular dwelling, with its doors, and windows, and outbuildings, was in the neatest order. Its present occupiers must be tidy people.

After walking about three miles along the shore we turned up across the fields to the village. I had some indistinct recollection of the place, and soon found the house in which my mother's sister resided when I was there forty-six years ago. The present occupiers of the house were young people,

and strangers, and knew nothing of the former inhabitants but they directed us to the schoolmaster. We found him in a schoolroom adjoining the church, over which, with much civility, he conducted us, pointing out some remarkable monuments, and relating various old legendary tales of those whose dust had for ages slumbered beneath those antique tombs. In answer to our inquiries, he told us that in searching the parish records the name of my mother's family often occurred, and pointed out their burial place in the grave yard. I always love to look over a village grave yard, and felt a peculiar interest in doing so now. The situation, too, was delightful, commanding extensive prospects. One respectable-looking tombstone attracted my attention. It was in memory of a very worthy dissenting minister, of whom I had often heard my mother speak with respect. His name was Shrubsole; whom the naughty sailors, not liking his faithful warnings and fearful denunciations, nicknamed, she said, playing with his name, "Old Scrubsoul." I took pencil and paper and copied the inscription :

IN MEMORY OF WILLIAM SHRUBSOLE,

Late Master Mast-maker of his Majesty's yard of Sheerness, And an able, disinterested, and successful preacher of the Gospel of Christ; Which offices, by a singular excellence of oharacter, & an eminent degree of ability, He was enabled both to fill and adorn.

Around his tomb the inhabitants of Sheerness
Testified their high veneration and unfeigned sorrow;
And the widow and sons of the deceased

Have reared this monument to express their best affection
And their most poignant grief. But

Death shall be swallowed up in victory.

Mr. Shrubsole died 7th of February, 1797, aged 68 years.