Ensign Trippet in a very solemn and affecting way. At midnight, three figures were seen to issue from Widow Bluebeard's house, and pass through the churchyard turnstile, and so away among the graves. "To call up a ghost is bad enough," said the wizard; "to make him speak is awful. I recommend you, ma'am, to beware, for such curiosity has been fatal to many. There was one Arabian necromancer of my acquaintance who tried to make a ghost speak, and was torn in pieces on the spot. There was an other person who did hear a ghost speak certainly, but came away from the interview deaf and dumb. There was another" "Never mind," says Mrs. Bluebeard, all her old curiosity aroused, "see him and hear him I will. Haven't I seen him and heard him, too, already? When he's audible and visible, then's the time." "Let us go back, sister," said Anne. "I will go on," said Fatima. should die if I gave it up, I feel I should." "Here's the gate; kneel down," said the wizard. The women knelt down. "Will you see your first husband or your second husband?” "I will see Bluebeard first," said the widow; "I shall know then whether this be a mockery, or you have the power you pretend to." At this the wizard uttered an incantation, so frightful, and of such incomprehensible words, that it is impossible for any mortal man to re peat them. And at the end of what seemed to be a versicle of his chant he called Bluebeard. There was no noise but the moaning of the wind in the trees, and the toowhooing of the owl in the tower. At the end of the second verse he paused again, and called Bluebeard. 'The cock began to crow, the dog began to howl, a watchman in the town began to cry out the hour, and there came from the vault within a hollow groan, and a dreadful voice said, "But when you heard him," said the necromancer, "he was invisible, and when you saw him he was inaudible; so make up your mind what" Who wants me?" you will ask him, for ghosts will stand no shilly-shallying. I knew a stuttering man who was flung down by a ghost, and ". "I have made up my mind," said Fatima, interrupting him. "To ask him what husband you shall take," whispered Anne. Fatima only turned red, and sister Anne squeezed her hand; they passed into the graveyard in silence. There was no moon; the night was pitch dark. They threaded their way through the graves, stumbling over them here and there. An owl was toowhooing from the church tower, a dog was howling somewhere, a cock began to crow, as they will sometimes at twelve o'clock at night. "Make haste," said the wizard. "Decide whether you will go on or not." Kneeling in front of the tomb, the necromancer began the third verse. As he spoke, the former phenomena were still to be remarked. As he continued, a number of ghosts rose from their graves, and advanced round the kneeling figures in a circle. As he concluded, with a loud bang the door of the vault flew open, and there in blue light stood Bluebeard in his blue uniform, waving his blue sword, and flashing his blue eyes round about! "Speak now, or you are lost," said the necromancer to Fatima. But, for the first time in her life, she had not a word to say. Sister Anne, too, was dumb with terror. And, as the awful figure advanced towards them as they were kneeling, the sister thought all was over with them, and Fatima once more had occasion to repent her fatal curiosity. The figure advanced, saying, in dreadful accents, "Fatima! Fatima! Fatima! wherefore am I called from my grave?" when all of a sudden down dropped his sword, down the ghost of Bluebeard went on his knees, and, clasping his hands together, roared out, 'Murder, mercy!" as loud as man could roar. Six other ghosts stood round the kneeling group. Why do you call me from the tomb?" said the first; "Who dares disturb my grave? said the second; "Seize him and away with him!" cried the third. "Murder, mercy!" still roared the ghost of Bluebeard, as the whiterobed spirits advanced and caught hold of him. "It's only Tom Trippet," said a voice at Anne's ear. "And your very humble servant," said a voice well known to Mrs. Bluebeard; and they helped the ladies to rise, while the other ghosts seized Bluebeard. The necromancer took to his heels and got off; he was found to be no other than Mr. Claptrap, the manager of the thea tre. It was some time before the ghost of Bluebeard could recover from the fainting fit into which he had been plunged when seized by the opposition ghosts in white; and while they were ducking him at the pump his blue beard came off, and he was discovered to be-who do you think? Why Mr. Sly, to be sure; and it appears that John Thomas, the footman, had lent him the uniform, and had clapped the doors, and rung the bells, and spoken down the chimney; and it was Mr. Claptrap who gave Mr. Sly the blue tire and the theatre gong; and he went to London next morning by the coach; and, as it was discovered that the story concerning Miss Coddlins was a shameful calumny, why, of course, the widow married Captain Blackbeard. Sly married them, and has always declared that he knew nothing of his nephew's doings, and wondered that he has not tried to commit suicide since his last disappointment. Dr. Mr. and Mrs. Trippet are likewise living happily together, and this, I am given to understand, is the ultimate fate of a family in whom we were all very much interested in early life. You will say that the story is not probable. Psha! Isn't it written in a book? and is it a whit less probable than the first part of the tale? GRANT IN PARIS. TRAVELLERS' CLUB, Nov. 24, 1843. It is needless to state to any gent in the upper circles of society, that the eyes of Europe have long been directed towards Grant. All the diplomatic gents at this haunt of the aristocracy have been on the lookout for his book. The question which Don Manuel Godoy addresses to Field Marshal Blucher (before they sit down to whist) is, in the Spanish language of course, when " will it appear? Prxckpfsky Grantowitz bubbxwky," exclaims his Excellency Count Pezzo di Borgo, before taking his daily glass of caviare and water, "that terrible fellow Grant is going to publish a work about Paris, I see. "Quand serait il dehors! screams Prince Talleyrand, "when will it be out?" and on the day of publication, I know for a fact that a courier was in waiting at the French embassy to carry off the volumes to His M-t-y L-is Ph-l-ppe and Monsieur Gu-z-t. They have 'em by this time they have read every word of these remarkable tomes, and I have no doubt that they are trembling in their souliers at some of the discoveries therein made. Grant has always been notorious for possessing a masculine and vigorous understanding, a fine appreciation of the delicacies of good society, and a brilliant- almost too brilliant wit. The only things wanting to perfect him as a writer were, perhaps, English grammar and foreign travel. This latter difficulty he has now brilliantly overcome. He has travelled. Dangers and expense have not delayed him. He has visited foreign courts, and acquired the high-bred elegance and badinage which the young English gent can only attain by Continental excursions; and, though in the matter of grammar before alluded to, he is not perfectly blameless, yet who is? "Nil desperandum," as Molière observes, grammar may be learned even better at home in the solitude of the closet, than abroad amidst the dazzling enticements of the French (who, besides, don't speak the Engglish grammar), and I have no doubt that after he has published a few more works, Grant will be pronounced faultless. easy chair, or that in which the honorable baronet is represented with his arms folded, or that in which we have him without any arms, nay, almost without any clothes-I mean in the engraving after the bust - who, I say, does not feel more intimate with the accomplished author? And if with these, why not with Grant? I venture to say that though, perhaps, he does not know it himself, as a writer of fiction he surpasses any one of them; and that he can say of his works what they cannot say of theirs, that in every single page there is something amusing. We accordingly have him on steel, and from the likeness here given İ should take Grant to be a man of forty or two and forty. He is represented as sitting on a very handsome chair, probably of mahogany, and with a leather back, though what the color of the leather is, it is impossible, as the engraving is not colored, to say. He is dressed in a suit of black, probably his best suit of clothes. The elbow of his left hand reposes upon a work entitled "Random Recollections;" while the fingers are occupied in twiddling his shirt-collar, probably a clean one (or if not a shirtcollar at least a false collar, or by possibility a dicky), put on that very day. In his right hand he holds a pen, with which very likely he wrote those very "Random Recollections" under his left elbow. A chain hangs out of the pocket of his velvet waistcoat, by which we may conclude that he has a watch, though we have known many gents whose watches were at their uncle's (as the fashionable term for the pawnbroker goes),—I have known, I say, many gents who had no watch wear a bullet or a copperpiece in their fob, and when asked, It was a kind thought which induced Grant to have his portrait engraved, and to prefix it to this his last and most original work. This practice has of late been very common amongst our great men, who know that the affectionate public longs to be in possession of the form and features as well as of the thoughts of the poets and sages who delight and instruct it. We enter into society with them, as it were: we have personal converse with them. Who, What o'clock is it?" say, "Oh, my for instance, when he sees that fas- dear William!" or my dear John cinating portrait of Moore in Long- (varying the name, of course, as the man's late edition, does not feel doub- case may be), "I forgot to wind my ly interested in the bard? Who that watch up last evening or this mornhas seen Chalon's picture of Sir ing," and so they did forget to wind ử Edward Bulwer turned up in the un-up. But a truce to pleasantry. Under the print is written, "Yours very truly, James Grant." And in looking at that piece of writing, as at many other similar autographs at the bottom of portraits, I have not been able to refrain from asking myself, whose very truly? Does a gent sit down and write" yours very truly "to himself, which is absurd? Or does he send off a letter to a friend begging him to send back a former letter, in some terms like the following? - Grant's hair seems to be rather "In appearing once more before thin on the forehead, and I should the public," begins James in his prefsay, if closely pressed, that he was-ace," it is unnecessary for the author baldish. Over his ears it grows, how-to say that he has gone over entirely ever, pretty luxuriously, and if not new ground ground which, for the put into papers over night, or touched most part, has been untrodden by any up with the tongs, as many gents' previous English writer." And I hair is, especially when they are go- quote the sentence for the purpose of ing to have their portaits taken, has vindicating at the outset a remark a natural curl. Whether his nose which some people may have thought grows as it is represented in the pic- unnecessarily harsh, viz. that Grant ture, and his eyes have that peculiar sometimes neglects his grammar. I look, I cannot, of course, say, so much don't mean merely his grammar of depending upon the artist in these language, but his moral grammar, so cases; for it is manifest that if we to speak, his grammar of the mind. have never seen a gent, we cannot Thus, when our dear friend says, "It say whether that gent's picture is like is unnecessary to say that I have or no. The above description will gone over entirely new ground," I suffice to give the reader an idea of ask, first, if it is unnecessary to say Grant. so, dear friend, why do you say so? Second, I inquire, how can that ground, of which some part has been trodden, according to Grant's own admission, how can that very ground be entirely new? Such contradictions, coming in the very same sentence, do not, permit me to state, look well. There should be a few pages between them; they should not jostle each other, and eat each other up, as it were, in the narrow space of a couple of lines; but one or other assertion should be allowed to stand over to another chapter; and thus it would wear the air, not of a contradiction, but of a fresh and brilliant thought. Many of our well-known writers use this method with the greatest success. Thirdly, I would take the liberty to ask, Is Paris entirely new ground? It can't be, for James himself says, at the end of the second volume, that when he went thither, he expected to find 15,000 English there. However, I need not have occupied so much of your valuable time and the club paper in discussing the above sentence, for on turning to sentence 2, what do I perceive? Why, this; that as the last part of sentence 1 contradicts the first part, so sentence 2 contradicts the second part of sentence 1, by admitting that a great deal has been already written about Paris, "My dear friend (or sir, or madam, as the case may be), the public is very anxious to have my picture and autograph: as I cannot write yours very truly' to myself, will you have the goodness to send me any one of my former letters, and oblige yours very truly, "JAMES, or EDWARD LITTON SO-AND-SO." However this may have been managed, there the autograph is the handwriting is very like the Duke of Wellington's by the way-there is the writing, and there is the writer, and very truly he has been ours, and in no instance more truly than now. James Grant, I say to myself, when looking at that writing, I am very glad to take you by the hand. And so to business. Our opinion is that Master Fitz is attempting an imitation of the style of Grant.Ö. Y. – which, indeed, I believe to be the | the French capital" (the turn is again fact. delightfully happy), occurs in 'Cæsar's Commentaries,' written about fifty years before the Christian era. In six masterly pages, James narrates the early history of Paris; and though it must be owned that these pages are robbed, for the chief part, from an exceedingly rare and curious book, called "Galignani's Paris Guide," yet it must not be imagined that James has not placed his own peculiar mark upon the article which he has appropriated. For instance, Galignani begins his account thus: "The origin of Paris, and the character of its inhabitants, are necessarily involved in deep obscurity." Whereas James writes as follows: "The origin and early history of Paris, unlike the early history of the metropolis of England, are so completely enveloped in obscurity, that we rarely meet with any writer of note who even hazards a conjecture on the subject." How fine this is! Some people may presume that James has committed a theft, but surely it is an excusable theft. If I steal the child of a beggar, and make him a duke, with a hundred thousand a year, will not that child—will not the public (provided his grace has no collateral heirs) pardon me? So with James. He takes a handkerchief, let us say, he appropriates, or to speak professionally-prigs that handkerchief; but the instant it is in his possession, he puts a border of gold lace round it, so that the handkerchief will hardly know itself. And how happily chosen are all the ornaments which he adds to the appropriated article! Unlike the history of London, the origin of Paris is, and no writer even hazards a conjecture on the subject, by which words we see that James is perfectly aware of the origin of London (and in that knowledge, I fearlessly say, excels any man in England), and, likewise, that he has consulted every author of note who has written about Paris, for how else could he say that they never hazarded conjectures concerning its origin? The first mention," says he, " of That distinguished writer refers to it under the name of Lutetia. . . . The references which Cæsar makes to the Paris of his day are exceedingly slight and unsatisfactory. All that can be gleaned from them is, that it was an inconsiderable town built on La Citié, one of the then five islands in the Seine. This island was at that period much smaller than it now is." Indeed! if an island cannot grow in 1890 years, the deuce is in it? And so he continues, now narrating what "the Emperor Julian informs us," now stating that it was sacked under "the auspices of Clovis," again touching upon Hugh Capet, the founder of the Bourbon dynasty," always happy in his phrases, and profound, if not in research (for, indeed, I believe the guide-book contains most of the truths which Grant has arranged for publication), yet in that profound spirit of observation and manly justice of reasoning, which is so much better than mere musty book-learning, and which the mere scholar can sometimes never acquire. For instance, take the following passage: "Great diversity of opinion exists among the earlier historians of England as to the period at which Christianity was first introduced into our country. There seems ited historians of France, respecting the to be no such diversity among the accredtime when the Christian faith was first promulgated in that part of Europe. They all concur in the statement that St. Denis introduced Christianity among the Parisians about the year 250. Whether the majority of them renounced Paganism, and embraced the religion of Jesus, on the introduction of the latter, is a point on which the French historians are silent; but the presumption is, that at least a goodly number must have adopted the new faith, as a bishopric was established in Paris a few years after St. Denis promulgated the truths of Christianity among its people." How fine it is to see Grant sitting, as it were, in the judgment-seat, and calling up to the tribunal of his |