"My worst, Sir," said I solemnly, twenty."

66

True, true, I did not think of that. Come, you must not be downhearted, nor must the mother of our little salamander' be so either; who knows, he may perhaps get through it. I forgot to calculate the influence of a certain wandering comet that cannot be many millions of miles off now, though we cannot see him yet. The comet may get him through."

"This is a comfort to me, indeed," murmured the lady in white dimity,' "then my precious child may still be spared to me.'

"I have got hold of such a curious old book, Varley," said the amateur astrologer, poet, painter, and all the rest of it; "I picked it up this morning at a book stall, and I would not sell it for a hundred pounds! Perhaps it may amuse you, Sarah (his wife), if I read you a page or two from it ?"

Sarah looked as if nothing in the world would amuse her; but Mr. Morton Moncton felt disposed himself to read, therefore he cared but little for the wishes of any one else.

"What is the book about, Moncton ?" ventured to ask Mr. Varley, who saw the vinegar aspect of the lady, "I came here to chat, and not to hear reading; I can read at home.'

"Not such a book as this;" grinned Mr. Moncton, "I got it for a couple of shillings, and find it invaluable."

"It looks very dirty and shabby," languidly observed the lady, "but I know you are fond of such queer-looking things."

"And so must you have been, Madam," I thought, "or you never would have made choice of such an odd-looking animal for a husband, resembling an alligator stuffed.'"

6

"Well," said the animated Mr. Varley, "if we needs must have a page or two of that old tome inflicted on us, let it be done at once. I want my coffee, and then be off. Moncton, you have to thank the presence of mind displayed by Mrs. Griffiths, or you might have been a wife and child out of pocket by that carelessness of yours, up in that glass lantern. Why, it must have happened soon after I took my leave of you ?"

Mr. Morton Moncton looked as if he had not the slightest gratitude to me in the world for the favor his friend assured him I had done him; but his wife perceived it not. She only fretted because she had lost her fine ornamented album, which, she said, no money could repair, for it contained the verses and handwriting of all her friends and schoolfellows; some of them dead, some gone to India, some no one knew where.

"Never mind all that stuff," considerately said her husband, "there, I will write you down in a bran new album this story respecting the great sorcerer Michael Scott, whom you must have heard about."

66

No," said the erudite Mrs. Moncton, with a certain hesitation of manner; "I think his name was Walter Scott. I have heard he was a great magician too; and in his Guy Manning-no, Mannering-he does talk about the planets, and horoscopes, and all that. Could it be the same?"

"Pshaw!" said the husband most emphatically, as much as to say, "what a confounded fool the woman is!" Still he kept his word; he

always did so; a very handsome album, with gold lock and key, was the next day purchased for Mrs. Moncton, when her husband, with a hard new pen, wrote the following, which I copied, by permission, from it :

MICHAEL SCOTTE.

He was a mighty mann that Scotte,

He work'd with tules uncommonn !
The Prince of Darknesse lyk'd him not,
He lykes not mann nor womann !
He things invysible could see,

He erthquakes made, and thunders;
He dyv'd into futuritie,

And pull'd up many wonders!
Heare what he dyd to certaine deane,
(And be convinc'd, ye scoffers!)
A priest he was both leude and mean,
Who thought to fylle his coffers.
Then cautious bee, for mysterie,
Thy beeing is surrounding!
Another Michael Scotte may bee,

With wonders more astounding !*

The Abbé Blanchet, a very erudite man, tells the following story of the celebrated Michael Scott; it has its moral, and shall be handed down to posterity as far as I can throw the ball. It is called "The Deane of Badogos," but of what bishopric he was does not appear. Time wears

off, as it does in statuary and other things, many of the prominent parts from legends such as this; we must make out the whole, from what remaineth.

This reverend divine, the Dean of Badogos, being much enamoured of the reputation of Michael Scott, came to him one day, and, after sundry compliments and pleasant phrases, requested of him a specimen of his mighty power.

"I have left off," quoth Scott, "entertaining others with proofs of my unbounded skill. I have enriched hundreds, made scores happy, but have never yet met with gratitude."

"Hor

"Horrible!" ejaculated the Dean of Badogos, the word 'enriched' ringing in his ears, and giving a slight palpitation to his heart. rible," repeated he, casting up his eyes, till nothing but the whites' of them were visible. "Of all deadly sins, surely, ingratitude is the worst! I would as soon wear the mark of the beast stamped upon my forehead, as have the brand of ingratitude affixed to my name.'

"Of course, you know your own nature well, Mr. Dean?" said Michael Scott somewhat pointedly, but without offence. "You have proved it? subjected it to tests ?"

"Yes," answered the Dean solemnly; "like double refined gold, there is no alloy, in this part of my character at least; with regard to outward forms, indeed, I may be rather faulty, but"

"They are immaterial," interrupted the great Magus. "I am glad to hear that I have found one grateful being.' But there was a tone of

sarcasm in his voice, as he said this, which the Dean perceived not.

• This little tale is rendered into modern English, that it may the better be understood.-Ed.

"Can you refuse me any longer a specimen of your art?" demanded the Dean eagerly.

"I can refuse you nothing," was the courteous reply, "but you must consent to sup with me; I require some time for my preparations." "I am entirely at your service, great Michael Scott," said the Dean most joyously. "So I will send my equipage away; what time shall it return ?"

"Your men shall take a cup of wine with my housekeeper, before they go," said Michael Scott, rising, and going to the head of the stairs. "Theresa!" called he, "show hospitality to the servants of the Dean of Badogos; and, Theresa, put two partridges down to roast, for the Dean of Badogos stays to supper with me."

After this Michael Scott returns to his room, his visitor was placed in an enchanted chair, and the incantations begin-in imagination, to him a reality-the Dean becomes by gradual, but rather slow progress, first a bishop, then he assumes the cardinal's hat, enters into all kinds of intrigues, has a large family of nephews and nieces who have all lost their fathers, and finally is made a pope. Then comes Michael Scott before him, old and infirm to all appearance, humbly claiming his reward for having helped him to all this greatness. "Reward!" exclaims the new pope, inflated with pride at his elevation and vast riches, and entirely forgetting his benefactor's services to him. "Reward, indeed! it is with grief and indignation that I have heard of thy vile practices, old man, in my dominions under pretence of acquiring science. I am informed, thou hast secret intercourse with the powers of darkness. I command thee, instantly to depart from my territories, for thou art a disgrace to the holy see. If, after three days, thou art found in my dominions, thou shalt be given up to the secular arm, and be consigned to the flames.” Michael Scott smiled, as the Pope thus addressed him, which enraged his holiness so much that he stamped with fury, and was going to order in the officers of the Inquisition, when the Magus walked coolly to the head of the stairs once more, and called out to his housekeeper over the banisters, "Theresa! put down only one partridge to roast, for the Dean of Badagos does not stay to sup with me."

The charm was dissolved; the Dean had nothing left of his supposed dignities, only the memory of his own baseness and ingratitude. Mortified and humbled he departed, and found that his servants had not yet half finished the cup of wine that Theresa had drawn for them. Michael Scott uttered no reproaches to his visitor, but contented himself with calmly saying, "Good Dean of Badogos, suffer your men to finish their wine, since it has been drawn, as it is a pity any thing should be wasted." "What a very queer story," said Mrs. Morton Moncton, when her husband had finished reading it aloud to her-" Dear me! it is not at all fit for an album."

"It is fit for a Homily then," said the gentleman, "and I will venture to say, that you will not have a better thing written in this gay book of yours, Madam."

"Homily?" enquired the lady; "what is a homily ?"

"Pshaw!" ejaculated Mr. Moncton, "I wonder what girls go to school for !"

"La, Moncton! what an odd question! why not certainly to study

the stars, and set fire to the house," she added spitefully, taught at universities, I suppose."

"that is

"You grow personal, Madam." And I think I heard him mutter between his teeth, "I have not profited much by the teaching then, or my wife would have been included in that fire."

In due time I left this strange family, and returned to my own house at Kensington and now for the sequel of this wild rambling narrative. I was looking out of my drawing room window some months after this, when I saw a gentleman walking up and down before my house, looking at the numbers on the doors, and evidently seeking for some acquaintance he looked up, bowed, and marched up my little garden, then redolent with every kind of hardy flower. It was Mr. Varley.

My heart beat as I extended my hand to him, and bid him welcome, especially as he had a most solemn and melancholy look.

"You have a very pretty house here, Mrs. Griffiths," glancing his eye round, a good deal of very handsome furniture here: excuse me, Madam, but are you insured ?"

"Yes, Sir, I am," I answered, much agitated, "but why do you ask?" "Because," answered he, "there is much danger for you just at this particular time, from your inveterate, but unconscious foe, fire; if you can, by proper precaution, prevent severe accident now, I think I may pronounce that your dangerous ordeal is over: I walked here on purpose to apprise you of this."

"You are most kind and good," said I, much fluttered, what would you advise me to do ?”

"Only be cautious of your chimneys, and your candles at night: and I think you had better send any valuable property, that can be easily removed, out of your house for a few days, for instance, this handsome gold watch, (and he pointed to one lying on the table) and your plate, books, jewellery, &c. &c."

"Surely it would be ridiculous to do so, would it not?" I argued, recovering a little, and thinking what a fool I was making of myself to tremble so.

"Just as you please," coldly replied Mr. Varley, "I have done my duty, and shall wish you now good morning."

"Stay, Sir," I entreat you," said I, not knowing what to think: "pray do not leave me in this state of agitation; you must perceive that I am much alarmed-that your words have-"

"So much the better," argued my benevolent, but most extraordinary guest, "then profit by my words, and let your valuables be removed."

How very active is thought in one moment my mind had made a catalogue of my moveable property, that I set the most store by; the presents I had received; the diamond ring of him-now no more; my India shawls, my note-book, my curious old MSS., my superb writing desks, my gold repeater, all passed in rapid review, swifter than lightning.

"Shall I take them with me in a coach ?" demanded Mr. Varley, reading my thoughts.

"If you would take the trouble," I hastily answered, beginning to put some of the things together, and ringing the bell for Bridget to fetch a coach, at the same time smiling at my own credulity, yet resolved to

entrust my property to Mr. Varley, who I knew would restore it all to me, when the supposed danger was over.

When my valuables were packed up, and the coach at the door, just as Mr. Varley was eating a sandwich, and drinking a glass of sherry, I told him that I was going that evening to a concert at the ArgyleRooms, Regent Street; for one of my young friends had procured me a ticket, and was to call on me, and take me with her."

"That is most extraordinary indeed!" said Mr. Varley, clasping his hands in unfeigned astonishment.

"And why so, Sir?" said I, getting more mystified every minute. "I have just seen the proprietor of those rooms, Mr. T. Welsh," said he, "and have advised him, in the same manner as I have youHe is in more imminent peril of fire, at this présent moment, than even yourself, you must not go thither to night."

"This seems too absurd," I thought, endeavouring to free myself from the spell of Mr. Varley's manner.

"Mr. Welsh, Madam," said my guest most impressively, "has all his life been persecuted like yourself by his implacable enemy fire; ask himself, and he will tell you how repeatedly I have warned him-he has still to undergo another attempt from that element to destroy him; like yourself, he bears about with him the scars it has already inflicted on him. He has one more trial to undergo, and that immediately. Go not to the Argyle-Rooms to night." And Mr. Varley followed all my packages into the coach; and there I sat after his departure, thinking of what an idiot I had been; yet still, such is the inconsistency of us all, glad that I had at any rate entrusted my valuables to such safe custody. "Shall I go to the concert at the Argyle-Rooms or not this evening?" was my next enquiry. What could I allege as an excuse to my sweet Ada Lascelles? (that was; now Mrs. Algernon Meredith.) Was I not so fond of music? Was not she so delightful to me? Yes, certainly; I would therefore dress and go-and so I did. I will make no remarks upon the facts that followed; I will offer no reasonings upon them. Coincidences are very ticklish things; people have often been hanged upon them, that have not deserved it-all sorts of confusion made. Fortune-tellers owe much to them. I leave them as I find them.

I went to the Argyle-Rooms; entranced was I by the singing; my own sweet Ada and her mother were most kind to me; Algernon looked at me as if he were my son; we drove off in perfect safety. When we arrived at Kensington, my heart died away within me, at seeing the rapid, noisy fire-engines dashing by us. I felt sick even to fainting. The house next to mine was pouring out flames like a volcano, and the engines were in full play upon it. Happily they got the fire under, but all the glass in my own house was broken, and some injury done to the window-frames. It was well it was no worse. Mr. Varley had been very near the mark.

On taking up the Morning Post the next day, judge of my surprise and dismay, at learning that the Argyle-Rooms had been burnt down the night previous, and that poor Mr. T. Welsh, its proprietor, was nearly ruined.

Let the learned make what observations they please upon this story; let the ill-natured sneer at it; let the sceptic say, "This is all moon