fellows to rebellion, had been merely relating his own exploits.
This gentleman had, indeed, some two or three years before, been the
superintendent of the establishment, but grew crazy himself, and so
became a patient. This fact was unknown to the travelling companion
who introduced me. The keepers, ten in number, having been suddenly
overpowered, were first well tarred, then--carefully feathered, and then
shut up in underground cells. They had been so imprisoned for more than
a month, during which period Monsieur Maillard had generously allowed
them not only the tar and feathers (which constituted his "system"), but
some bread and abundance of water. The latter was pumped on them daily.
At length, one escaping through a sewer, gave freedom to all the rest.

The "soothing system," with important modifications, has been resumed at
the chateau; yet I cannot help agreeing with Monsieur Maillard, that
his own "treatment" was a very capital one of its kind. As he justly
observed, it was "simple--neat--and gave no trouble at all--not the
least."

I have only to add that, although I have searched every library in
Europe for the works of Doctor Tarr and Professor Fether, I have, up to
the present day, utterly failed in my endeavors at procuring an edition.

HOW TO WRITE A BLACKWOOD ARTICLE.

"In the name of the Prophet--figs!!"

Cry of the Turkish fig-peddler.

I PRESUME everybody has heard of me. My name is the Signora Psyche
Zenobia. This I know to be a fact. Nobody but my enemies ever calls me
Suky Snobbs. I have been assured that Suky is but a vulgar corruption
of Psyche, which is good Greek, and means "the soul" (that's me, I'm
all soul) and sometimes "a butterfly," which latter meaning undoubtedly
alludes to my appearance in my new crimson satin dress, with the
sky-blue Arabian mantelet, and the trimmings of green agraffas, and the
seven flounces of orange-colored auriculas. As for Snobbs--any person
who should look at me would be instantly aware that my name wasn't
Snobbs. Miss Tabitha Turnip propagated that report through sheer envy.
Tabitha Turnip indeed! Oh the little wretch! But what can we expect from
a turnip? Wonder if she remembers the old adage about "blood out of a
turnip," &c.? [Mem. put her in mind of it the first opportunity.] [Mem.
again--pull her nose.] Where was I? Ah! I have been assured that Snobbs
is a mere corruption of Zenobia, and that Zenobia was a queen--(So am
I. Dr. Mon