to all the world besides, it is
impossible to make a great, though it may be easy enough to make a
celebrated man--and such we take M. de Talleyrand, Prince de Benevento,
to have been.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 17: _Revelations of the Life of Prince Talleyrand_. Edited
from the Papers of the late M. Colmache, Private Secretary to the
Prince. Second Edition. One Volume. London, 1850. H. Colburn.]

[Footnote 18: Suetonius, in Vita, cap. 92.]

[Footnote 19: [Greek: Onar ek Dios estin].]

[Footnote 20: _Voice from St. Helena_.]

[Footnote 21: The reader will perceive that this was written before the
death of Louis Philippe, which took place at Claremont on the 26th day
of August last.]

[Footnote 22: The italics are not ours.]

[Footnote 23: See Caulincourt's _Recollections_, &c. vol. ii. Appendix.]

[Footnote 24: Caulincourt, vol. ii. p. 274, 5.]

[Footnote 25: The particulars have been gleaned from a few scanty
notices contained in an unpublished volume by the late George Macintosh,
Esq., the nephew of the Mr. Wm. Macintosh spoken of above, entitled,
_Biographical Memoir of the late Charles Macintosh, Esq., F.R.S. &c.
&c._ Glasgow, 1847.]

[Footnote 26: P. 210. The italics are in the original.]

THE DANGERS OF DOING WRONG. A TALE OF THE SEA-SIDE.

BY AGNES STRICKLAND.

"And so you will not join our party to Dunwich fair to-morrow,
Elizabeth?" said Margaret Blackbourne to the pretty daughter of the
Vicar of Southwold, with whom she was returning from a long ramble along
the broken cliffs toward Eastern Bavent, one lovely July evening in the
year 1616.

Southwold, be it known to such of my readers as may happen to be
unacquainted with its _locale_, is a pretty retired bathing town on the
coast of Suffolk, remarkable for its picturesque scenery and salubrious
air. At the time when the events on which my tale is founded took place,
Southwold, though it boasted none of the pretty marine villas which now
grace the Gunhill and centre cliffs, was a place of greater wealth and
importance than with all its modern improvements it is at present. It
was then one of the most flourishing sea-ports in Suffolk, and
occasionally sheltered in its ample bay the stateliest ships in the
British navy. And, in addition to the little corn-brigs and colliers,
whose light sails alone vary the blue expanse of waters, a mighty fleet
of vessels of war might not unfrequently be seen stretching in majestic
order along the undul