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derived from the Italian, as the Florentines called it "cora alla quintana," quintana being in Italian sometimes used to signify a ring. This seems to have been much the same game as the quintain, only that a ring was suspended in the place of a shield, and the postman was to ride at full speed and thrust the point of the lance through the ring which was

supported in a case or sheath by springs, but might easily be drawn out by the force of the stroke, and remains on the lance. The riding at the popinjay which Sir Walter Scott so graphically describes in "Old Mortality," seems to have been the Scottish mode of running the quintain or ring.

OUR PARIS CORRESPONDENT.

MY DEAR C—,

The world may turn or stand still, the horizon be black or clear, we Parisians must enjoy ourselves, particularly at this season, when the dark, dull days are only supportable by the thoughts of the brilliantly-lighted-up rooms, the gay dresses, and the magic dance that is in store for us as soon as night closes in. Amusement we must have, and this winter seems to answer all our hopes, for there are dinners and fétes every where, their Majesties and King Hausmann setting the example. The first ball at the Hotel de Ville was splendid, as it always is; many prefer it to those given at the Tuileries, and pretend that it is more select and the costumes more costly, which is very probable, because there is more room to show oneself in the magnificent saloons of the Hotel de Ville than in those of the Palace, where it is generally a regular cram. But what, for the moment, most occupies us is the late opening of the Chambers, and the Emperor's speech. Was it to be peace, or war? Numerous and various were the rumours abroad as to the good or bad tidings therein contained. Some insisted on his Majesty's liberal intentions for the interior of his Empire, others shook their heads in doubt. And, after all, what has the speech told us? That we are ready for war if our enemies provoke us, and that Napoleon III. has the firm intention to rule as he thinks fit. We can at least see that through the ambiguity of the language, in spite of the skill of the commentators to turn and explain it as their desires incite them. Those who wish for war exult. The Emperor wishes for peace, but he lets us see that peace is far from being sure. Those who desire peace find in the imperial speech substantial hopes that peace we shall have. It is amusing to see what different and opposite conjectures may be drawn from one piece of oratorical eloquence. Their Majesties and the little Prince looked in remarkably good health and spirits at the ceremony. The Empress in particular was all beauty and smiles; she was dressed in sky-blue, trimmed with white lace, with a very long train,

and a blue bonnet, of a very high shape, on a profusion of fair hair; two splendid diamondssolitaires-for ear-rings. It was remarked by all that she shook hands very cordially with the Prince Napoleon, who is only just recovered from a fever that has rendered him very pale and thin. His wife (the Princess Clotilde) was also present, very simply dressed in grey. All the time of the ceremony no carriages were allowed to circulate in the rue de Rivoli. Two velocipedes (the new-fashioned two-wheeled carriages for one person, and that person his own horse) arrived in lull gallop. The sergent de ville was puzzled to know whether he must stop them or not. His orders had not foreseen the case. What should I do? asked he of a garde de Paris. The garde twirled his moustache at the gravity of the case: "One velocipede has only two wheels, so is no carriage; but two have four wheels, which certainly makes a carriage, so stop them and send them.back," which was accordingly done, to the great annoyance of those who were on them, and who protested that there was no fear of their horses taking fright, or doing any harm to anyone! The garde de Paris's opinion did not coincide with theirs, so there was no alternative but to turn back.

Our guest the Queen of Spain receives frequent visits from the Tuileries. It is an odd occurrence, that so many of the last of the Bourbons should have now taken refuge in France! Some men seem to hope that the little "Prince des Astruries"-as they call Isabella's eldest son here-will be chosen by the Spanish nation, and it is said that the Emperor favours, with all his power, this solution of the Spanish question. The royal boy accompanied the Prince Imperial to the theatre on the 1st of January, and I believe is frequently with him. He is sent every morning to the College Stanislos-an institution half clerical, half belonging to the University-for his studies. They say that the Empress is bigoted; but really I can scarcely believe it, for the Prince Imperial's German master professes the Jewish faith, and an English clergyman has just been appointed

to teach him English-that does not appear very intolerant. It is true that the child's governor, the General Froissart, is complete master in his Imperial pupil's education, and they say half rules the palace.

There has been a great deal said lately on the way our national riches are protected in point of the pictures belonging to our museums. A fire at Madame Trolong's (the wife of the President of the Senate) destroyed, a little while ago, two pictures belonging to the gallery of the Luxembourg. The public was not pleased, and our papers took it up, and asked why those chefd'œuvres, that are purchased with the public money for our public galleries, are thus exposed to be burnt through the negligence of a servant? They also affirmed that no one has the right to lend those pictures to adorn the apartments of those in office. A very just remark, methinks. However, no answer was given. A semi-official paper stated that all public property belongs to the Emperor, that he has the right to dispose of the pictures as he thinks fit. The question became warmer and warmer, and it was discovered that about thirty other pictures had been lent by the Director des Beaux Arts to the Imperial Cerclea kind of club-house. Nothing governmental that! The indignation became greater and greater, and at last the Director des Beaux Arts has vouchsafed an answer. The pictures lent to the Imperial Cercle are of minor value, and were stowed away in the lumber-rooms of the Museum. They were lent during the Exhibition when the Cercle was daily crowded with strangers of distinction, who could thus admire them, &c., &c. However, it is his Excellency's intention to call them in immediately, and so here the question rests. After all, it appears a strange thing that a man placed to protect the national collection of paintings should have a right to dispose of them according to his fancy! I remember hearing a lady say, a little while ago, that through the medium of her cousin, then a Minister of State, she had obtained from Monsieur Nieuwerkerke two splendid pictures for her parish church. How differently Napoleon I. considered the works of Art in the public museums! He says, somewhere in his memoirs, that when Josephine, profiting by his position, 1 had adorned their apartments with pictures from the public galieries, that though he had them daily before his eyes, it appeared to him that they were stolen from him, because they were no longer in his public galleries!

Mr. Jefferson Davis is now in Paris; he intends settling here, for the education of his children. The Parisians who know him are delighted with his manners and conversation. He is indefatigable in visiting our public monuments, which he very much admires; but what astonishes us the most is that a man who bas been a president of a republic-a monarch we may say can dine on two dishes and desire nothing more. It is the height of philosophy. But the real "lion" of the day is Monsieur le

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President Seguier, late president or chief judge of the court of justice at Toulouse, who has had the courage to resign office to protest against the judgment rendered in the condemnation of the press in the affair for the Baudin subscription. Some throne him as a hero, and deputation after deputation have been to congratulate him on his heroism; others only see in his conduct revenge for the way his father-inlaw, the General Goyon, has been treated by Government. The General was for some time at the head of the troops in Rome, and gave frequent proofs of his attachment to the Pope while there. He has lately been put on pension, much to his annoyance. At the age of sixty all officers are pensioned off, except those who have gained the right to remain on full pay by having, before that age, commanded the troops in face of the enemy, which honour the General Goyon had never had; and as Government was not sorry to get rid of him, I suppose his expostulations were not listened to. A wit says Government was certainly wrong: for when the General commanded the troops in face of the Romans, he was most assuredly in face of the enemy. The revolt in the Réunion Island has also occupied public attention, and we expect a change will be made in accordance with the rights of this colony, though I do not suppose that the Corps Legislatif will be opened to them as they demand.

The

M. de Frias inhabits the entresol (a kind of first-floor in the Hotel Bel-Respiro). Chinese embassy, just arrived, have hired the two storeys above M. de Frias. The other night the Chinese gentlemen made a mistake and entered their neighbour's apartment, their key fitting perfectly well the other lock, and without further ado they went to bed. In the middle of the night M. de Frias returned home, entered, and was about putting on his nightcap, when, to his horror, he found his bed occupied. "Au voleur! au voleur!" he cried, thinking that the thief, in wishing to try his bed, had found it so comfortable that he had fallen asleep in it. Immediately, one-two-three Chinese arrived, alarmed by the cries issuing from their companions' room. I wonder whether they had all their nightcaps on, and whether they have adopted the European male head-dress à la Mr. Caudle! M. de Frias rubbed his eyes to see if he had not a hallucination; and what rendered the scene more comical is that not one could speak French, or understand a word. Gesticulations, Chinese on one hand and French on the other, followed, but finding it impossible to make anything out on either side, both parties finished by bursting out laughing. Others in the hotel came to the rescue, and the affair was cleared up, the Chinamen leaving the apartment, and M. de Frias at length retiring to rest.

We are soon to have a new novel from Victor Hugo. An indiscreet person of the Paris press tells us that he has seen the manuscript at the printer's: "L'homme qui rit," is the title. We are impatient to have it; particularly as the in

discreet person assures us that it is superior, the visitors there answered the Russian's invi

to anything Hugo has written for the last ten years.

Gardon's new drama, "Seraphine," is the great success of the month. It is an antiCatholic piece, but full of wit and movement, and will certainly have a long run. Only those who take their places some time beforehand can get into the theatre. At the first representation a shrill whistle (our way of hissing) expressed the discontent of some one; but, happily for the piece, none of the actors were speaking at the time, so the signal had no effect but that of the spectators asking for the interrupter to be turned out.

The opera-balls are now in full play, as mad and tumultuous as ever. At the first one, some mauvais plaisants contrived, among other tricks, to empty, in every corner of the foyer, paperfuls of pepper at a moment when it was crammed. Such coughing, sneezing, and crying ensued as mortal never heard, without anyone being capable of accounting for it. Some drew their cloaks over them, imagining that they had caught severe colds, others accused their neighbours of taking snuff, and of throwing it on to them, &c.

The annual masses at the Tuileries Chapel have commenced. Letters of invitation are issued by the Grand Chamberlain, by order of the Emperor to assist at these masses to which the ladies go in grand array. It is a kind of State affair, in which great ceremony is observed. | Their Majesties are announced when they arrive, and they bow to those who are on either side of them as they pass to their seats. Apropos-the Prince de la Mos Mowa, Edgar Ney, the only surviving son of the famous Marshal Ney, was married at this chapel the other day to one of her Majesty's ladies, the Countess de Labadolierè. The bridegroom is only about fifty-seven, and is the Emperor's most intimate friend. I suppose that is the reason the carbeille of the bride was so rich with lace and diamonds; for the Ney family sort des paniers percés, and never had anything, in spite of all they have received from their country through the munificence of the sovereigns. Talking of the Empress, a mot spirituel of the Princess Clotilde is now running through Paris. Her Majesty Eugenie the other day was complaining before the Princess of the great fatigue Court ceremony caused her; "and you, dear cousin," said she to the Princess, who are proud ofbelonging to one of the oldest royal families in Europe, "does it not fatigue you also?" "Oh, no!" answered her imperial Highness; "but then I have been used to it from my infancy."

It appears that the provincial towns are as gay as the capital. Nice in particular is vying with Paris in dinners, balls, and musical soirees. A wealthy Russian gave a fete there the other day that will long be remembered by the fair sex in that town. All the most aristocratic of

tation, except the Préfet and his wife, which caused great astonishment, so much so, that the papers spoke of this apparent haughtiness of the chief magistrate of the country. The Préfet in answer, says, that a short time since two Englishmen, visiting Nice, gave a splendid breakfast; at the dessert a quarrel arose between them about who should pay it. The Préfet justly adds, "Had I been there my position would have obliged me to do it—that is why I have determined never to accept an invitation from those I do not know." No one can blame him, I think. A lady at this same place gave a ball during the evening two ladies (mother and daughter) entered the room; the hostess remained stationary in her chair, and never offered to welcome them, but, turning to a lady near her, she said, loud enough for the newcomers to hear, "I did not invite these ladies: really they take my drawing-room for a public room!" Fancy the confusion of the two intruders! After a few minutes they withdrew, deeply wounded by the insult. The next day the husband enclosed the letter of invitation his wife and daughter had received to the ungracious woman, assuring her that they would not have thought of intruding had they not received that letter. She tried to get out of it as well as she could by apology, but the insult remains. At another of these balls Madame Rattazzi, although a talented woman, and the wife of an eminent man, was shunned by the ladies as if she had been the pest. The gentlemen, in revenge, were at her feet. On the whole, I think Paris festivities are preferable to those of Nice, though even here we are not always the most amiable or gallant, not more than other countries, in spite of our reputation.

Madame Someone-remarkable for her want of beauty-was one day in her carriage in a narrow street where it was difficult to pass, she heard her coachman in altercation with another who wanted to pass with his carriage, containing the witty Duke of S. The Duke, impatient, ordered his coachman to proceed. The lady arose from her reclining position, and showing her face at the door, expostulated on the want of politeness on the Duke's part. "Oh, Madame," he answered, "why did you not show yourself before? My horse, my coachman, and myself would have quickly drawn back if

you had!"

Adieu, with kind compliments.

S. A.

PS. The conference on the Greek and Turkish question is ended; but we are not yet let into the secret of the gods-much to our vexation.

LEAVES FOR THE LITTLE ONE S.

THE MULETEER.

BY NETTIE CARLYLE.

It was early morning in the ancient city of Granada. The snowy tops of the Sierra Nevada, which encircle it on every side, were glittering like silver in the first rays of the rising sun, but the city, with its domes and spires, was still wrapped in shadow.

Early as it was, however, the inhabitants were all astir. Water carriers, driving before them funny little donkeys laden with great earthen jars, were hastening along to the deepest, coolest wells, so as to supply their customers in time for breakfast; shopmen in the bazaars were laying out their gayest silks to tempt the pretty senoras, who, wrapped in their lace mantillas, tripped demurely along the broad streets and squares, to attend morning prayers at the cathedral.

In one of the narrower streets of Granada, on this bright June morning, a patient mule was standing in front of an old tumble-down house, awaiting the appearance of his master. It was a long journey honest Pedro was about to undertake-nothing less than a trip to the seaport town of Malaga, to dispose of the goods with which the mule was laden.

At length the half-closed door was thrown open, and the muleteer sallied forth, followed by his wife and three shouting children. Each little one carried something for father's use; black-eyed Pedro came lugging a great water-bottle, almost as large as himself; sturdy little Philippe carried the alforjas, or bag of provisions; while little Lotta, the youngest, not to be outdone, scampered forward with a cigar in her tiny fingers.

At length all was ready. The poor mule was so well laden that scarcely anything more than his head and tail could be seen, and Pedro, with an air of satisfaction, remarked-" Those goods will bring a large price in Malaga."

“Now Pedro,” said his wife, anxiously, "be sure to have thy weapon always loaded, and keep a sharp lookout, for there are many robbers

on the road."

"My good trabucho will take care of them," answered Pedro, with a smile, as he slung the heavy weapon to his saddle.

"I should like to see the rascally bandolero who would dare to come within its range."

One more embrace from each of the children, and he set off. Slowly wending his way through the crooked uneven streets, he came at length to the gate of the city.

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Before him stretched the beautiful Vega, perfect fairy-land of gardens, orchards, and sunny fields. Merrily be trudged along by the

side of his patient companion, now puffing at his cigar, now singing a snatch of some old Spanish song, till at length the burning noontide arrived, and the mule declared, as plainly as mule ever spoke, that he would go no farther.

"Poor Sancho!" said his master, patting the rough, shaggy head, "I believe thou art right; we will stop just here, under the shade of the trees, and eat our dinner."

So saying, he fastened the mule's bridle to a low branch, and seating himself on the short green grass, took out of his provision-bag some pieces of bread and an onion. These, washed down with some fresh water from the brook, formed his frugal dinner.

The mule, meanwhile, was cropping the grass with much satisfaction, and Pedro, after glancing round to assure himself that no one was in sight, lay down to rest till the heat of noon should be over.

Below him was the city, its red-tiled roofs glowing in the sun's scorching rays, while far above, on the other side, rose the snowy peaks of the Sierra Nevada, towering up into the clear blue sky.

"We

At length the muleteer roused himself. must gain the mountain-pass ere night. Dost hear, Sancho ?"

Sancho pricked up his ears, announcing his willingness to go on, and in a few moments they were again on their way.

The path now began to grow more barren and rocky as it slowly wound along towards the mountains. Soon it entered a wild, dark valley, where rough walls of rock towered above them on each side, almost shutting out the sunlight. This was the mountain pass. The mule picked his way cautiously along, amid rocks and stones, till at length the gorge was passed, and they entered the open country once more.

Dreary and desolate was the scene before them. A vast barren plain, without a single tree or bush, and covered only by a few scanty blades of grass. It was now nightfall, and not a single house was in sight.

Little did honest Pedro care for this, however. He spread his cloak on the ground, and placing the bridle of the mule beneath his saddle-bags, which did duty for a pillow, stretched himself on the ground, and was soon fast asleep.

The stars kept quiet watch over his slumbers, and he did not wake next morning till the long slanting rays of the sun, as it slowly rose above the level plain, shone full into his face.

Springing up, he made a hasty breakfast, and was soon on his way. He had not travelled far before somothing in the distance attracted his notice. He clambered to the back of the mule to obtain a better view, and soon exclaimed, in

great excitement-"It is a rascally bandolero plundering some poor traveller."

The next moment the mule was trotting across the plain as fast as his short legs would carry him, and rapidly nearing the robber.

The latter, startled at this unexpected interruption, raised his head, and seizing the bridle of his horse, which stood near, sprang into the saddle just as a bullet from Pedro's trabucho whistled close past his ears.

He was soon scouring across the plain at a rate which rendered pursuit impossible, and Pedro turned his attention towards the traveller, who was lying prostrate on the ground.

He was a young and handsome man, but now deathly pale from the loss of blood, which was flowing freely from a terrible wound in his arm. Pedro bound up the wound as well as he was able, and then, with the help of a flask of brandy, proceeded to revive the half-fainting stranger. His efforts were successful; in a few moments the young man was able to sit up and tell his story.

He was a merchant, a stranger in Granada, and bound for the sea-coast. His goods had been sent thither a few days before, in charge of a strong, well-armed travelling party; but he himself had foolishly lingered behind, and attempted to cross the plains alone.

"I had more money with me than I cared to lose," he proceeded; " and when yon rascally bandolero attacked me just now I resisted; but he proved too strong for me, as you see. He has emptied my pockets, but the greater part of my money is concealed in my clothing, and, thanks to your kind help, it is safe."

While the stranger was speaking, Pedro stood with his eyes fixed upon the ground, in deep thought. He knew that the young man's wound needed to be attended to by a physician as soon as possible; but, on the other hand, to turn back to Granada would cost him more time and money than he could well afford to lose.

His generous heart soon prompted him how to act. "Hark thee, friend," he said, turning to the stranger, "let me help thee to thy horse, if thou art able to stand. We will go back to Granada, and find a skilful leech to attend to that arm of thine. My poor house, with all that it contains, is at thy service, till thou art able to start on thy journey once more."

The merchant thanked him warmly, and, staggering to his feet with some difficulty, was at length placed on his horse. On account of the roughness of the road, it was necessary to travel very slowly, and consequently two days and nights elapsed before, with honest Pedro, he entered the gates of Granada.

By that time the exposure and pain had brought on a fever, so that it was with great difficulty that he was able to keep his horse. Great was the wonder of the children at beholding their father returned so soon, and their astonishment was increased when, gently lifting the sick stranger, he bore the almost insensible form through the doorway, and laid it on the best couch the house afforded.

The good wife was rather disposed to murmur at this additional charge. "Dost thou think," she said to her husband, “that we can afford to turn the house into a hospital for any sick wayfarer thou may'st pick up on the road?"

But when she heard the sad story of the stranger, and perceived that he was seriously ill, her heart was touched, and she at once set about making him as comfortable as her limited means allowed.

Pedro, in the meantime, sallied forth, and soon returned with a skilful surgeon.

With the utmost care, it was nearly three weeks before the merchant was able to proceed again on his journey. In the meantime his frank, winning manners had made him a general favourite in the household. Little Pedro and Philippe liked nothing better than to sit at his feet, listening to his wonderful stories of foreign lands, for young as he was, he had been a great traveller; while little Lotta, the youngest, was perfectly contented if she could only nestle in his arms, her curly head laid close against his breast, and her dark, lustrous eyes upturned to his face.

It was a beautiful morning in July, when, accompanied by honest Pedro, he again set off. Before mounting his horse, however, he laid two broad pieces of gold in the muleteer's rough hand, and calling little Lotta to his side, threw over her head a dainty golden chain.

"Let the little one wear this to remember me by till I come back again," he said; "I shall never forget your care and kindness, and some day I hope to be able to repay them better."

Thus speaking, he waved a last adieu, and slowly followed the muleteer through the crooked streets of the city. No further accident befell either of the travellers, and in due time they reached their destination.

Two years passed away, and the stranger was almost forgotten. Little Lotta, indeed, fondly cherished her golden chain, and never took it off her neck at night without praying the Virgin and all the blessed saints to take care of her handsome, merry friend, and send him back to her again.

At length a great misfortune befell honest Pedro. While returning from one of his journeys to Malaga, he was set upon by three robbers, and after a desperate resistance was obliged to give up, not only his money, but what was even dearer, the poor mule which had borne him over so many a weary mile.

Returning to Granada, penniless, footsore, and weary, he was met at the door of his own house by his wife, who, with tears in her eyes, informed him that little Lotta was dangerously sick.

"It was only this morning that the blessed little lamb was taken ill, but already she knows no one, and her fever increases every hour."

Without a word Pedro entered, and followed his wife into the next room. The little girl lay upon a low couch, her curly hair pushed back from her throbbing temples, and her dark eyes glowing with the wild light of fever.

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