came off, and the sharp edge fell with considerable force on the poor creature's foot; he bled profusely and fainted, lime was unsparingly applied to the wound, the foot carefully wrapped up, and the man conveyed to his hut on a charpoy (bedstead,) where he was kept quiet without disturbing the wound; at the end of a fortnight he walked about, and in another week returned to his labour." The above mode of cure, we think, is quite novel in the practice of surgery. WAX FROM POPLAR FLOWERS.-A land-owner in Flanders, is said to have succeeded in obtaining a considerable quantity of wax, by putting the flowers of the poplar-tree into bags, and submitting them to preserve. The wax is of good quality, and has an agreeable perfume. Anecdotiana. A conclusive ARGUMENT.-An Italian priest, some years ago, preaching at Rome, spoke in strong terms against Voltaire and Rousseau. In the middle of his argument he threw his cap into the choir, and began abusing it as the representation of Rousseau. After some time, he said, "Well, philosopher of Geneva, what have you to object to my arguments?" There being no answer, he turned to his congregation, saying, "You see I have so dumbfounded this philosopher, that he has not a word to say for himself." J. M. B. TURNING THE TABLES.-A gentleman, dining at a friend's house, found himself placed between two young men, who amused themselves by turning him into ridicule. After some time, he said to them, "It seems, gentlemen, you take me either for a fool or an ass; but I can assure you, you are mistaken, for I am only betwixt the two." J. M. B. A FASHIONABLE ECLIPSE.-A lady of fashion was one day reading an almanack, to see at what time an eclipse was to take place; "Ah," said she, "when they say seven o'clock, of course it means half-past." J M.B. A LONG-EARED REFORMER. - A colonel of an Austrian regiment was one day boasting, that before he joined his regiment the band was detestable ; but he had made it the best in the service. "How was it done?" asked LOVE OF ADMIRATION.-A handsome woman once asked Frederick the Great, "Why, after so many victories, he was desirous of gaining more?" "For the same reason, Madame, that such a pretty woman as yourself puts on rouge." J. M. B. ELLISTONIANA.-Elliston and Fairbrother were one day sitting in a coffeeshop, when an acquaintance of the latter came in, muffled in a cloak, which so disguised his features, that at the first glimpse Fairbrother did not recognise him, while the other, extending his band, exclaimed, "Don't you know me?" "Excellent well," said Ben, seeing who it was, "Y'are a fishmonger." "I never knew that," said Elliston, who happened to be a little acquainted with the gentleman's liberality; but I knew him to be a d-d scaly fellow." S. B. ORIGIN OF THE PHRASE, AULD REEKIE. This highly appropriate popular sobriquet cannot be traced beyond the reign of Charles the Second. A curious and recondite tradition assigns the following as the origin of the phrase: An old patriarchal gentleman in Fife, designated Darham of Largo, was in the habit, at the period mentioned, of regulating the time of evening worship by the appearance of the smoke of Edinburgh, which he could easily see, through the clear summer twilight, from his own door. When he saw the smoke increase in density, in consequence of the good folks of the city preparing their supper, he would call all the family into the house, saying"It's time noo, bairns, to tak the beuks, and gang to our beds, for yonder's Auld Reekie, I see, putting on her nicht cap!" A PIOUS WISH.-Archbishop Laud was a man of very short stature. Charles the First and the Archbishop were one day sat down to dinner, when it was agreed that Archer, the King's jester, should say grace for them, which he did in this fashion :-" Great praise be given to God, but little Laud to the devil!" EPITAPH BY A HUSBAND ON HIS FIRST Diary and Chronology. Wednesday, Feb. 1. St. Kinnia, Virg. of Ireland. New Moon 16m. after 10 fter. The snow-drop often peeps out of the ground on Candlemas-Eve, or even earlier, and was hence called our Lady of February, and afterwards, Maid of February, or Purification Flower. The French call it La Pierce Niege, La Cloche Blanche, La Galantine Baguenardia d'Hyver. The Italians call it Galanto. In the "Florileguim," it is said, "Even as the snow drop is whiter and clearer than all other flowers, so is the spotless purity of Our Lady fairer than that of all other virgins." The following lines of Mrs. Barbauld are very expressive: Already now the snow-drop dares appear, Its name and hue the scentless plant retains, Thursday, Feb. 2. Purification of our Lady. High Water 31m. aft. 2 Mor.-49m. aft. 2 after. Herrick, among many other sweet pictures of old English practices, gives us one of the cere monies to be observed on Candlemas-day. His directions for this day are as follows: Down with rosemary and bayes, Let box now domineere, Grown old, surrender must his place When yew is out, then birch comes in, Both of a fresh and fragrant kilme, Green rushes then, and sweetest bents, To re-adorn the house. Thus times do shift; each thing his turne do's hold; New things succeed as former things grow old. Friday, Feb. 3. St. Margaret of England. Sun rises 25m aft 7-Sets 35m aft 4. Candles were lighted upon this day, as weli as on Candlemas-day, in former times, and their power over the coming weather was acknowledged by the superstitious, who co-founded a particular physical fact with an imagined miraculous influence. Great light, as great noise, is known to break super-impending clouds, and a great blaze of light may exercise an influence on impending storms. Saturday, Feb. 4. St. Modar of Scotland. High Water, 43m. aft. 3 Morn. 1m. aft. 4 Aftern. A few lines upon the month, that we have now fairly entered, cannot be out of place here: On the Month of February. Now shifting gales with milder influence blow, Sunday, Feb. 5. FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY. Lessons for the Day, 59 chap. Isaiah, Morn. 64 chap. Isaiah, Even. Feb. 5.-45 B. C. To day, Cato, the celebrated Roman patriot and stoic philosopher, who considered Freedom as that which alone "sustains the name and dignity of man," unable to survive the independency of his country, stabbed himself at Utica, near Tunis in Africa. By this rash act of suicide, independent of all moral or religious considerations, Cato carried his patriotism to the highest degree of political phrenzy; for Cato, dead, could be of no use to his country; but had he preserved his life, his counsels might have moderated Ceasar's ambition, and have given a different turn to public affairs. Feb. 6, 1831. Expired at Geneva Rodolphe Kreutzer, the celebrated violin player, ETAT 66. Until an accident which deprived Mr. Kreutzer in 1817, of the use of his arm, he was justly considered the most accomplished violinist in Europe. His method is the best that is known. Besides being for many years director of the Academie Royale in Paris, Mr. Kreutzer was also principal violin professor at the Conservatoire. Most of the young violin professors of eminence in France were, therefore, his pupils, and take great credit in calling themselves such. As a composer, Mr. Kreutzer has also greatly distinguished himself. Besides an immense number of violin concertos, quartets, duets, &c. he has written several operas, among which are the well known Lodoiska, Pau! et Virginie, La Mort d' Abel, and Aristippe. Mr. Kreutzer enjoyed the personal friendship of Napoleon, who often conversed with him in a familiar manner, appointed him his Maitre de Chappelle, and conferred on him the gold cross (officier) of the Legion of Honour. Napoleon used to say that time was too precious to be employed in listening to instrumental music, excepting when Kreutzer was playing a concerto on the Violin. Tuesday, Feb. 7. St. Angulus, Bishop in England, m. On antient oak or elm, whose topmast boughs But distant is their range; for oft at morn far superior engraTales of a Bureau,' Hans Swatzen is in the bands of We thank J. M. B. for his candour, and feel confident that he will see Ellustrated Article. TALES OF THE BUREAU DE POLICE-No. 6. WOMAN'S LOVE; OR, AFFECTION AND DEPRAVITY. For the Olio. It was a matter of surprise to every one, how so amiable and well-disposed a girl as Maria Dupin could ever become the wife of such a worthless man as Antoine Laurent. He had nothing to recommend him save his outward form; for his disposition and propensities were of the worst and lowest kind; and none of those persons in his native village, who stood fair with the world, were ever desirous of assoVOL. IX. See p. 99 ciating with him; and the small property his father left him, consisting only of a few acres of land, was fast dwindling away, to meet his frequent necessities. But the truth was, Marie loved him with sincere affection in early years; they had been much together, their parents having been neighbours; and long ere the vices of the man had shewn themselves, she had learnt to call him her own Antoine, whilst he, in return, called her his dearest Marie. So often had they dwelt on the future that was to see them united, that it became too firmly fixed in her imagination ever to be removed. She could not, indeed, remain ignorant of the character he acquired as he grew in years, or that when any act of violence 229 or daring was mentioned, he was sure to be named as the leader; but she thought the world was harsh-too quick in its condemnation, and wrong in attributing those acts as the offspring of a bad heart, which were but the outbreakings of an ardent youthful disposition. She had often heard that a reformed rake makes the best husband; but she did not look further to see what a confirmed reprobate would be likely to make. She was all confidence in the success of her plans for his reformation, and being an orphan and without control, she gave herself and her little property to the free possession of him who already had her heart. The few first weeks of their union no one could be more attentive than Antoine; and Marie became confirmed in her opinion, that his acts had been too harshly construed by the world, and his youthful errors would soon merge in the fond husband. Poor Marie! she saw not in the calm the forerunner of the storm which was impending over her. He soon gave way to the true bent of his disposition; joined his former lawless associates; made long and frequent absences from home, and returned, generally, in a savage and discontented humour, to find fault with every thing, and would sit for hours wrapped up in his meditations, scarce noticing the anxious attentions of his wife. In a few months time she found that poverty was fast gaining upon them. Antoine had sold all their property, and spent all the proceeds in riot and debauchery; and, to crown her unhappiness, her husband, joining some of his associates, left for ever the place of his birth, bearing with him the ill wishes of all who knew him, save one, his forsaken wife, who, 'midst all his unkindness and unrequited affection, still fondly loved him, and wished him well where'er his course might lead him. Marie was too much a favourite in the village, to have any doubts as to her being able to maintain herself by her industry, and gladly accepted the offer of a Madame Germain to become her own immediate attendant. Madame Germain was the wife of a private gentleman, of some considerable property, who had resided many years in the midst of his estates, passing his time in endeavouring to ameliorate the condition of his tenantry, and enhance the value of his property by his own superintendance. Marie was much esteemed by all, and would have lived truly happy had not her mind been clouded with evil forebodings of her husband's fate. Years passed on and found Marie still with Madame Germain, who had removed to Paris, for the benefit of her children's education. She still remained ignorant of what had befallen her husband, or even of his existence, and had gradually brought herself to the belief that they had parted for ever. She was one day witnessing a review in the Champ de Mars, and paying deep attention to the manœuvres of the troops, when suddenly she felt her reticule snatched from her hand; she turned round to see who had robbed her, but every body seemed attending to the scene before them. It was clear the bag was gone, but as there was little of consequence in it, she was too much of a Frenchwoman to be annoyed, and in admiration of a charge of cavalry, which was then taking place, quite forgot her loss. "Bless my soul!" cried some one; "well, I declare, it is the oddest thing in the world! What! Marie, my girl! you hav'nt forgot me, have you?" Hearing her name, she turned to see the speaker. There were three illdressed looking men standing together, one of whom she recognised as her husband. "Ah! Antoine! is that you?" "Yes, my dear, it is indeed me. I suppose you thought me dead?" "I had feared as much, Antoine." "Aye, so many thought; I got through it though; but bless my politeness; here Le Coq and Petit Singe, allow me to introduce you to my wife." His friends lifted up their red nightcaps, and professed themselves much honoured in being introduced to the wife of such a "brave enfant as Antoine Laurent." Much as Marie had wished to see her husband, she could not but feel that their meeting would be the source of much pain to her. His appearance, and that of his companions, was strongly indicative of their profession, and she had little doubt, in her own mind, that one of the gentlemen had taken her bag. It was with feelings of sadness she accompanied Antoine and the Sieurs Le Coq and Petit Singe to a cabaret in the neighbourhood. Antoine's story was short. Accord ing to his own account he had been in the army, and left it, because he found a military life too irksome for a man of spirit like himself; and Le Coq had been a brother in arms. Petit Singe, to be sure, had not been in the army, but then he had a wish to go there, and that was the same thing. After he had told Marie all he had to say concerning himself and friends, he was very desirous to hear how she had done since misfortune, as he called it, forced him from a wife he loved more than all the world; and drew such a picture of the anguish he had felt in leaving her, that it moved Petit Singe even to tears, or at least to the occasional pressing the tassel of his night-cap, first to one eye and then to the other, as if he were much moved at his friend's sufferings. When Marie had stated the truth, her husband became extremely anxious in his enquiries, as to whether Monsieur Germain was rich, kept many servants, and was regular in his hours. The answers, he said, were very satisfactory; because, though he had led a roving kind of life himself, yet he should have been extremely unhappy to think his wife was living in any other than a respectable family; and as Le Coq knew that he had often expressed himself most anxious that his dear wife might not be prejudiced in the good opinion of others, by his own follies. At the beginning of this speech Petit Singe had caught hold of his tassel, but not finding any thing sufficiently sad for a tear, contented himself with a long drawn ah, and declared that he had heard him say so at least a thou sand times; and Le Coq, who was a man of taciturn habits, bobbed his head in token of assent. The result of this interview was a promise, on the part of Antoine, to see his wife on the following day, who engaged to supply him with money to enable him to look more respectable; and if he would reform, she did not doubt being able, through Monsieur Germain's kindness, to procure him some situation, by which he might obtain an honest livelihood. He did not fail to see his wife on the following day, and became very assiduous in his attentions, vowed his affection was undiminished, and scarcely allowing a day to pass that he did not look in at Monsieur Germain's to see her. He repeatedly declared, too, he had suffered so much in his wild way of life, that his only wish now was to settle down quietly with his dear Marie, and support themselves by honest industry. One night, as I was going my rounds with some of my men, I perceived, loitering about at the corner of one of the streets, an old acquaintance of mine, the Sieur Petit Singe, and it was very evident that he could not be waiting about so late at night for any good purpose, and as he had not perceived me, I determined to watch him unobserved. In a few minutes he was joined by another acquaintance of mine, the Sieur Le Coq, when they walked together some way up the street, until they came to a large house, and Petit Singe, looking round to see if any persons were near, gave a gentle tap at the door, which, to my surprise, was instantly opened to him. This was strange! The house belonged to Monsieur Germain, and I could not believe that the two gentlemen, who had just gone in, were carrying on an intrigue with any of the servants, since nature had not moulded either of them in one of her most favourable moods. Le Coq was a most desperate character-and Petit Singe a most consummate villain, deficient only in one thing-courage, but which he generally contrived to make up for, by a quickness of invention, which rendered him a valuable ally to those who planned the commission of any desperate deeds. On entering they had left the door ajar, for the purpose of facilitating their escape, in case they should find it expedient to depart in a hurry. I availed myself, therefore, of the opportunity to follow after them, with my men, and perceived them ascending the stairs, in company with Antoine Laurent; this soon explained how they had so easily obtained their admission. They had no sooner reached the first landingplace than they heard some one coming down stairs: this seemed to perplex them extremely, and Petit Singe, after hiding the light he was carrying, began to descend the stairs, three steps at a time, perhaps judging that a general always fights best in the rear. person who had alarmed them was no other than Marie, who was coming down stairs with a light in her hand. She had no sooner reached the landingplace, than Le Coq and Laurent darted forwards and seized her, one by each hand, whilst Le Coq pressed his hand over her mouth to prevent her screaming. When she had in some degree recovered from her alarm, Le Coq allowed her to speak. Her eye fell The |