and ladies, with their long dresses, go sweeping along the Throne Room through rows of statue-like halberdiers, and are received with dignity by a queen-like, diamond-decked woman; and the echoes of a whole suite of desolate royal apartments are disturbed with the feet of a thousand guests; and tapestries brighten beneath the unusual light; and fires blaze in the vast chimneys; and thoughts of Charles Edward in his short-lived glory, and Charles X. in his exile, accompany us wherever we turn; till, throwing open a window to escape from the heat of a crowd, that ruined chapel, with its east-end cross and tracery, outlined clear against the moonlight, rises before us, and from that moment the ghost of Mary Stuart seems alone to preside over the scene.

But if we cannot show our traveller this night picture, we must introduce him to another of more frequent occurrence. The reader must forgive us if we return once more, and for the last time, into the High street of our affections, and that between the hours of nine and eleven at night. The general effect of the scene is grander and more peculiar than ever. The houses have that ghostly appearance which a glare from below always imparts, for the chief light proceeds from the gas in the shop windows. Like grim giants are they arrayed on each side, their uncouth feet illuminated, and their lofty tops lost in the darkness; for no lights burn in those upper stories and garrets, or something so faint that it gives the idea of double the distance. The tower, too, of Victoria Hall looms above us like a huge, dim being, and the steeple elongates itself into immeasurable infinitude, while just where the tip should be a bright planet is gleaming, like the star over the tomb of the Three Kings at Cologne. The upper part of the Lawn Market is silent and dreary, like a deserted city; those deep dens look more unfathomable, and those open stairs more mysterious; no loiterers are upon them, and if a figure descends them it glides quickly past, as if it had an errand to fulfil. As for the wynds, it is rather a comfort that they are hidden from sight by that veil of night which can hardly increase their horror, though their black, cavern-like abysses yawn upon us as we pass, like the descent into

Avernus.

As we descend, however, into the High street, signs of that dense population which swarmed around us in the morning begin to appear, and thicken as we proceed, till, at length, we can hardly make our way for the press and numbers. But the noise and din are hushed,

and the chief sound that meets the ear is the scraping of those that have shoes along the pavement, or the dull stroke of the far greater number of feet that have none. The truth is, it is Saturday night. The men, such as have work, have brought home their wages; and the beldames and vixens of the morning are transformed into careful housekeepers, purchasing provisions for the Sabbath, which, even in this Old Town, is so far outwardly respected. But a spell seems to have come over the people; all quarrelling and gossipping seems forgotten; a quieter and more decorous crowd was never collected. They move about with a thoughtful, careful demeanor, as if they were thinking what they could contrive to do without, and weighing how far a shilling could be made to go; and if we catch sight of their Scotch physiognomies by that uncertain light, we find them looking more Scotch than ever.

Meanwhile, the shops they frequent are all in the open street. Stalls innumerable have sprung up along the sides of the causeway, laden with pears, and apples, and potatoes, and even flour and meal, with a paper lantern tied to a pole, or a flickering light of which you only see the upward glare, set deep among the vendibles. Or we stumble upon donkey-carts from the country, and cabbages and turnips are being examined by the light of a streaming tallow-candle stuck on to the bars of the vehicle; and a strong vegetable perfume is superadded to the other two-and-seventy, which, unlike the sounds, the night has not diminished in potency. And herrings, the staple commodity, of course. are there, in heaps and barrowfulls, glimmering with phosphoric light in the darkness around them; and squalid children are crouching over the barrow, rubbing off the scales with their little hands, and wearing that same expression of care and caution on their little faces which everybody seems to have assumed just now in the High street.

But it is not only provisions that the people are buying. The broad pavements are spread out like a counter with various articles, and passers-by pick their way between collections of crockery or tin ware. And sharp, anxious-looking women are examining teacups and tin pots, and turning and twisting them round with one hand, for the other is invariably imprisoned beneath the tattered shawl with the sleeping baby; or they are applying the same scrutiny to some broadfrilled muslin cap, for one of the most ingenious inventions here by way of a shop is the great cotton umbrella reversed, with

a cap stuck on the top of the handle by | way of a sign, and caps lying one over the other in each compartment, and a light flaring in the midst, which it is a wonder does not set fire to them all.

Altogether, the scene possesses the double attraction of a market and a fair, for pleasures and luxuries are not forgotten. Peep-shows are there, and fascinating transparencies of horrible murders; and a man raised on a tub selling old books: "Scott's Elocution, as good as new, for one shilling! The Geography of the World, Europe, Asia, Africa, and America, complete for elevenpence! Scott's Elocution for tenpence! Scott's Elocution, hardly soiled, for eight pence-for sixpence! not to be slighted because going so cheap! Scott's Elocution for fourpence-for threepence! an ornament to any gentleman's library!" And at last, with a desperate flap of the leaves, "Scott's Elocution for one penny-for one penny! Scott's Elocution for one penny! and, if I once pass it out of my hand, I won't take a pound for it." While the people stand in a dense, mute crowd, around, and the auctioneer trims his smoking torch, and lets a shower of sparks fall into a quantity of old paper at his feet, and sets to work with "Europe, Asia, Africa, and America, complete, for sixpence!"

These lights are the most wonderful things of all; a peculiar spell of forbearance seems to preside over them. They flicker, and flare, and tumble, among all sorts of combustible articles, but nothing takes fire. A candle falls directly against an old, dry wicker-basket, but does not seem to singe it; a great resinous torch is flaming close to bunches of dry straw, which if at sea, in a crowded emigrant ship, would soon have wrapped the vessel in flames, but here not a spark is communicated. Meanwhile, they are an endless source of the picturesque. The Wilkies, and Hogarths, and Mulreadys of the morning, have vanished; but, at every step, some other artist of strong light-and-shadow effect is presented to our view,-some Schalken-like picture of a broad, ruddy cheek, and yellow hair, illuminated by an unseen lamp,-some uncouth Teniers' figure and face, strengthened in all its lines of ugliness, as it stoops over tub or barrow, by the upward glare of the light deep within it, or some genuine Rembrandt arrangement, with intense shadows and transparent chiaro oscuros, and only one-eighth of light admitted, as Burnet has calculated, and that falling upon some trivial object.

But now these self-same lights burn low,

indeed; and the stalls are folding up; and the illuminated clock of the Tron Church, which has presided, like a great, low, yellow harvest moon, over the scene, points to an hour when travellers should be in bed; and we wend our way back to more civilized haunts with tired limbs, but with eyes before which the fitful pictures of that evening are for ever passing. And ruminations, moral, philanthropic, and artistic, occupy our minds as we go. But, to our shame be it spoken, the artistic prevail; and we confess to ourselves and to our companion, that though that Old Town may be the haunt of vice and the hot-bed of fever, we would not willingly have one stone of it removed from its place.

AUTHORSHIP OF TOM CRINGLE'S LOG.We can easily understand upon what principle Junius sought to conceal his identity, but for what reason, save personal vanity and private éclat, the author of a work not involving personal responsibility or danger remains incognito, we cannot discover. The following relates to the writer of that splendid rescript of the sea and sea-faring men, "Tom Cringle's Log:" "The author of this very successful work, (originally published in Blackwood's Magazine,') was a Mr. Mick Scott, born in Edinburgh in 1789, and educated at the High School. Several years of his life were spent in the West Indies. He ultimately married, returned to his native country, and there embarked in commercial speculations, in the leisure between which he wrote the Log.' Notwithstanding its popularity in Europe and America, the author preserved his incognito to the last. He survived his publisher for some years, and it was not till Mr. Scott's death that the sons of Mr. Blackwood were aware of his name."

SAFETY OF RAILWAY TRAVELLING.-The queen, in her late journey from Scotland, travelled over 500 miles by railway, and when it is known that over this distance her majesty was conveyed without any previous notice, at the rate of thirty-five miles an hour, including stoppages, at a rate amounting to, but not exceeding, at any time, 50 miles an hour, over a country rising twice to an elevation of 1,000 feet above the level of the sea, and descending at intermediate stations nearly to the level of the sea, so conveyed, without the slightest cause of alarm, we may be permitted to say that the railways of Britain have reached an amount of perfection, regularity, and security, unsurpassable and almost unhoped for.

THERE is no country in the world where the manufacture of talent is so necessary as in France, because there is none which flings aside its instruments with such facility, or is so continually craving for new ones. Every popular favorite is twice judged, and each time meets an unjust sentence. He is received, at first, with a favor which partakes of doting, and is perched on a pedestal too rapidly built, only to be cast down again, and every good quality denied him. The fault of this rests, to a certain extent, as well with the choosers as the chosen. The latter, however, is perhaps most to blame, because he promises, it may be in the sincerity of a sanguine heart, arrangements which cannot be accomplished; while the former, laying out of view the difficulties of his position, forthwith denounce him as a deceiver. The men who flung down all and erected nothing, did not all know that a few months, such as they provided for their country, may suffice to demoralize a people and ruin its resources. The one who followed found the wreck of finance and national character advancing to its accomplishment amid the horrors of civil war actually in the capital, and anticipated in the provinces. Whether or not General Cavaignac be the fit man to govern France in its present state, remains to be proved. But one thing is certain, that his ungovernable countrymen, who received him a few months ago as a god, are already turning towards him looks of suspicion which grow continually darker. It is not our business to say how far the change may be called for or justifiable. We have to deal only with the fact, and the fact itself appears to be established by the bearing of the man. Why are his recent speeches imbued with an affectation of Republicanism which is considerably beyond nature? His speech of the 3d of September, for example, seemed made with intent to brave rather than to conciliate opinion. Why else, having ascended the tribune to affirm that which many others believe as well as he, that there would be danger to the un

born constitution, and to the country, in ceasing the état de siège, did he add, gratuitously, that "he had not forgotten he was himself the son of a man who sat in the National Convention, and was proud of having such a father?"

Was it General Cavaignac's deliberate intention to adopt, by approving all the proceedings of his father? Is it possible that he who, after the bloody days of June, exclaimed, "Hitherto I have seen conquerors and conquered-may God punish me if I now consent to see a victim !"—is it possible that the man who could thus express himself was yet conversant with the career of Jean Baptiste Cavaignac, advocate at the parliament of Toulouse, deputy to the National Convention in 1792, and one of nine members who, on the king's trial, voted for death sans appel et sans sursis? We are by no means prepared to say that he was not, because the human mind is marvellously open to self-deception; and it is so much the fashion to excuse murder, provided the good man put to death were born a king, that General Cavaignac may have reasoned himself into a persuasion that his father's cruel vote deserved praise. But why, at such a moment, recall men's minds to past atrocities? Was he afraid of an attack from the Mountain, and desirous of strengthening himself in other quarters by a display of hostility to its sentiments? Surely not. The Mountain can accept only as an act of conciliation, any expression laudatory of the men and measures of 1793 and 1794. Or, having put an incendiary press under wise restraint, was it necessary, in order to guard against any mistake in regard to his motives, that he should celebrate the praises of times when freedom ran into licentiousness, and the grossest tyranny was exercised in the name of liberty? We really cannot tell; but there are rumors afloat which go far beyond even this, and seem, at least, to attribute to less worthy impulses an act of which all right-thinking Frenchmen are ashamed. It may not be

amiss if we notice the more prominent of these.

The two generals who shared with General Cavaignac the glory of restoring order in Paris have become, it is said, objects of suspicion to the provisional head of the Government, and to his party. They are both regarded as Royalists, or, at all events, as reactionists; and to one of them, Lamoricière, the command of the army of the Alps was refused, because it was feared that he might use it otherwise than in the deliverance of Italy. Indeed so strong is this feeling, that, unless we be entirely misinformed, the propriety of arresting both was seriously debated in the cabinet, and the project postponed only because it was feared that proof sufficient to convict them of treasonable purposes could not be got up. Again, it is well known that with the army Lamoricière is as popular as General Cavaignac is the reverse. Let the former find himself fairly at the head of the troops, and he will carry them whithersoever he pleases, and do with them what he likes. Meanwhile the National Guard is understood to be at least lukewarm in the cause of Republicanism. Suppose a revolt to occur among them, could Cavaignac employ the soldiers of the line to put it down? They would not fire a shot at his bidding. But this is not all. The Republic is in extreme disfavor with the great body of the people everywhere, except in Paris and in a few great manufacturing towns. The proprietors and peasantry of rural districts have determined not to pay one centime of the additional tax which the National Assembly has voted, and are becoming almost to a man partisans of Henry V. No wonder that GenNo wonder that General Cavaignac should be forced, under such circumstances, to adopt measures and give utterance to sentiments which seem to be alike alien to his natural temper and to his political position. The avowed enemy of Communism, he yet, in his zeal for the Republic, attacks the respectable classes, whom he threatens as if they were conspiring for its overthrow; and, parading his father to the National Assembly, he falls upon measures out of doors which give to his words a darker import than we, at least, believe that he intends them to bear. Think of his plan, founded on a belief in a blind reaction against the Republican principle having shown itself, for sending out emissaries who should inquire into the tendency of men's opinions, in certain departments, and use measures for correcting them whenever they appeared to need correction! Nay, read the confidential

We place in juxtaposition with this the earlier document, and we ask our reader to say how the one differs from the other:— Le Comité de Salut public de la Convention nationale, aux Sociétés populaires de la République une et indivisible.

Paris, 23d Brumaire, year 2. (13th November, 1793.) (Extract.)

Revolutionary Government cannot know all the The public functionaries at the head of the virtuous men, all the enlightened patriots, all the well-informed citizens, scattered over the territories of the Republic, &c. It is time that merit should be recognized, real talent discerned, pure and disinterested patriotism employed, &c.

We desire to have a list of the citizens fittest

to fill public offices of every kind. The following is the model of the form which may be used in order to arrive at this list of useful Republicans, and destined to justify the hopes of their country:

of

Tableau of the citizens who, in the district can worthily exercise public functions: Names, surnames, age, residence; profession before the Revolution, since the Revolution; civic actions; moral character; physical constitution; works written by; capable of what services; observations.

The Committee hopes you will concur in its own views by procuring, within the most brief delay, the list by name of such citizens in your arrondissement as appear most capable of usefully serving their country.

Signed by the members of the
Comité de Salut public,

BILLAUD, VARENNES, CARNOT, R. LIN-
DET, BARRERE, ROBESPIERRE, A.
PRIEUR.

Believing, as we do, that the old Revolu