doings of their most retired and convivial moments? If a suspicion of his being simply a retailer of things heard from others ever crossed our mind, it was speedily removed again by the discovery of his correctness in some point or other, that could scarcely have been known to any one but an eyesight observer. And yet, would a man of high rank live unattended in a paltry little countryinn, and the inn, too, of a watering-place, a public resort? Besides, if he were a man of note, surely somebody or other should have known him.

One remarkable point in the character of this strange personage puzzled me much. I never heard him utter a single remark on literature or books, although I often endeavoured to lead him into the subject. This induced me, after much cogitation, to set him down as an author: he did not wish to commit himself on the matter of other men's writings; like Sir Walter Scott, he wished to live at peace with all his brethren. Therefore, when this train of thought sprung up in my mind, I set him down as an author-only to set him down as something else within the next ten minutes. Neither did I ever hear him give utterance to a single remark on science, unless, indeed, ventriloquism be ranked as one. On this subject, I remember, he once told us a very curious incident, which had taken place, as usual, under his own eye. Mr Carmichael, a ventriloquist of some note, was invited to a hotel by some admiring patrons. A bottle of wine was ordered, when, just as the waiter was about to draw the cork and decant it, he and the company were astounded by a plaintive voice exclaiming: 'Oh! gentlemen, help me out of the lum'-that is, the chimney. The landlord was called, and on the voice repeating its plaintive petition, he exclaimed: How, in the name of wonder, did you get there?' 'I cam down the wrang lum this morning,' cried the prisoner, and I canna gang up again; and, O dear, as little can I get down!' The angry landlord declared the fellow must have intended thievery, sent for a policeman, and at the same time procured a couple of chimney-sweeps to examine the vent,

while every now and then the voice kept crying: 'I can't get down!' The sooty-men explored the chimney, and declared that the man was gone. A repetition of the 'I can't get down,' belied their words; and the landlord was on the point of sending for masons to break into the vent, when, to the astonishment of all, including the ventriloquist's patrons, who were completely taken by surprise as well as the others, the dexterous juggler revealed the deception. He had imitated the crying of a person from the chimney, and no one had noticed the deception.

After spending a week or two in daily listening to such anecdotes as those that have been related, my desireand I believe it was participated in by many others -to know who Mr S. really was, knew no bounds. From his stories, one sometimes would have imagined him to be a peer, sometimes a sporting squire, sometimes a lawyer, a merchant, a physician, or a daily associate, at least, of one or other of these classes of the community. Sometimes I imagined the mystic being might be a member of our senate, but, seeing that half-a-dozen at least of M. P.s bore the same initials, I was here as much at a loss as ever.

The appointed term of my stay in the little wateringplace approached, and I was wretched. Had it not been for the medicinal waters which I drank every morning, I must have fallen into a 'curious' consumption. The man with the whiskers-he of the initials-J. S.-had made me miserable. He was as courteous, as much admired, and as anecdotical as ever. One day, however, while half-a-dozen of us were sitting at the ordinary, and just as I was thinking of announcing my departure on an early day, one of the party who had taken up a newspaper, remarked that visitors had at last begun to return from the country to town, and read a long list of arrivals, including many of the nobility, at the National Hotel. For the first time, as this list was read, I saw emotion depicted on the usually unperturbed countenance of the mysterious S.; that countenance which I had so long

watched with absorbing interest. 'An attachment,' was my immediate thought, 'to some lady named in the list of arrivals.' As soon as I could, I got the paper into my hands, and instantly looked at the arrivals. The celebrated beauties, the Hon. Misses A-, were among the number. 'Poor J. S., or happy J. S., as it may be, has an attachment to one of them, it is quite clear,' was my cogitation; and it was confirmed by his announcement, shortly after, of his intention to return to town by next day's coach. Doubtless the ardour of his passion induced him to fly to his love without delay. More deeply interested in my friend of the initials than ever, I quickly formed and made known my resolve to depart by the same conveyance.

After I had taken my seat, at an early hour next morning, on the top of the coach, J. S. made his appearance, but, to my great surprise, his cheeks were as bare as my hand. His whiskers were completely gone. As I was ruminating on the cause of this, S. jumped up beside me on the coach, and everything was nearly ready for the start, when one of our companions of the ordinary, of whom we had taken leave on the preceding night, came to the door of the inn, and looking up to us, was about, as I thought, to say 'good-by,' but instead of that, he fixed his eyes on my companion's unwhiskered countenance with a look of amazement, gave a slap to his leg, and cried: 'I have him at last! it's the'- "Ya hip!' cried the coachman; off dashed the horses, rattle went the wheels, and what the gentleman was about to say was drowned in the commingled noise. But it was not altogether lost upon me. I saw that the speaker so untimeously interrupted, had at last discovered, by the denudation of his cheeks, who J. S. really was. What would I not have given for one moment's delay of that coach's career! as it was, I had learned something. The last word which I had heard the the-indicated that

J. S. was no common man. He had a title. People talk of the Viscount, the Lord Advocate, the Lord Provost, but no man in an ordinary situation of life, no lawyer or

merchant, can be distinctively pointed out by the prefixture of the definite article the. The gentleman with the initials must unquestionably be a man of no mean distinction.

With this impression on my mind, I confess I almost insensibly heightened the respectfulness of my tone in addressing my coach-companion as we bowled along the road, and it seemed to me that he also became more respectful, while there was a pensive reserve about him also, which I attributed to his meditations, poor fellow, upon one of the Hon. Misses A- As we were driving

along, dying with curiosity as I was, I did not like to offer an exchange of cards, which would be next to asking his name, a thing he seemed desirous to keep secret. The end of our journey approached, and I thought internally, with a bitter sigh, that it must be left to some future chance to unfold this mystery. The coach reached Edinburgh. Before it came to what is called its stand, the mysterious bearer of the initials jumped off. He touched his hat, and bade me good-by. My heart sunk within me with vexation and disappointment. As a last resource, having observed S. to speak in a familiar whisper to the coachman, it struck me to ask the latter if he knew the gentleman who had left us. Coachee was a sort of half Cockney. Vy,' says the handler of the whip, 'I knows him wery vell. It's Joe Swipes, as-is the vaiter at the National. A rum fellor he is too, and no mistake. I'll varrant now he's been a'-playing the gen❜leman somewere, wile the 'ouse is slack. And a right good gen'leman he makes. I never heard sich stories as Joe can pump out. But visker-time's over, as we says, wot knows him-the gentry's a'-coming in, and he must look sharp a'ter business now!'

Waiter or lord, Joe Swipes was a gentleman.

SONG OF THE CAPTIVE.

[This elegant poetical effusion is a translation from the German of Goethe, and is prized for the pleasing manner in which it connects the personification of natural objects with expressions of the purest affection. A captive knight is supposed to hold a dialogue in song with certain flowers growing near the walls of his prison.-We quote from an old volume of the North American Review.]

CAPTIVE.

A FLOWER, that 's wondrous fair I know,

My bosom holds it dear,

To seck that flower I long to go,

But am imprisoned here.

'Tis no light grief oppresses me;

For in the days my steps were free,
I had it always near.

Far round the tower I send mine eye,
The tower so steep and tall;

But nowhere can the flower descry

From this high castle wall;

And him who'll bring me my desire,

Or be he knight, or be he squire,
My dearest friend I'll call.

ROSE.

My blossoms near thee I disclose,
And hear thy wretched plight;
Thou meanest me, no doubt, the rosc,

Thou noble, hapless knight.
A lofty mind in thee is seen,
And in thy bosom reigns the queen
Of flowers, as is her right.