and gloomy dreams of
revenge, in some suburb _cafe_. Where were the deadly tribunals, with
their drunken judges, their half-naked assassins, and the eternal clank
of the guillotines?--all vanished; the whole sullen furniture of the
Republican drama flung behind the scenes, and the stage filled with the
song and the dance--the pageant and the feast--with all France gazing
and delighted at the spectacle. But, my still stronger curiosity was
fixed on the one man who had been the soul of the transformation. I have
before my eye at this moment his slender and _spirituel_ figure; his
calm, but most subtle glance; and the incomparable expression of his
smile. His face was classic--the _ideal_ of thought; and, when Canova
afterwards transferred it to marble, he could not have made it less like
flesh and blood. It was intensely pale--pure, profound, Italian.

A LETTER FROM LONDON.

BY A RAILWAY WITNESS.

MY DEAR BOGLE,--It is ten thousand pities that you are not here. Why the
deuce can't you make yourself useful to the commonwealth, by calculating
a gradient, laying down a curve, or preparing a table of traffic, in
order to obtain the proper qualification for a railway witness? Nothing
in this world is easier. You have only to sit at your window for a given
amount of hours once a-week, and note down the number of the cabs and
carts which jolt and jingle to the Broomielaw; or, if you like that
better, to ascertain the quality of the soil three feet beneath your own
wine-cellar; and you are booked for a month's residence in London, free
quarters in a first-rate hotel, five guineas a-day, and all expenses
paid. I confess that this regimen seems to me both profitable and
pleasant. I have been here for six weeks feeding on the fat of the land,
drinking claret which even a Leith man would scarcely venture to
anathematize, white-baiting at Blackwall, and varying these sensual
qualifications with an occasional trip to Richmond and Ascot races. I
have, moreover, mark you, a bunch of as pretty bank paper in my pocket
as ever was paid into the Exchequer; and the whole equivalent I have
given for this kind and liberal treatment was certain evidence touching
the iron-trade of Ayrshire, which I poured into the drowsy ears of five
worthy gentlemen, about as familiar with that subject as you are with
the mythology of the Chinese. Long life to the railway mania, say I! It
has been treasure-trove to some of us. The only thing I regret i