and on their return from sea spend at the same tavern the money they have earned during the voyage. Then credit again succeeds to ready money; and this goes on until a wave off Cape Horn, or a tropical squall, puts an end to these alternate days of dearth and abundance. It is in these taverns that the masters of vessels recruit their crews; and to the landlord of one of them was Jean Guichard recommended by the conducteur of the diligence in which he had travelled to Havre.

'As a measure of precaution, Matthew was provisionally locked up in a room, with grated windows and door of massive oak, which was not opened till the next morning at nine o'clock.

"There is the lad," said Jean Guichard, as he entered, to a short, squat, muscular, red-nosed man, who accompanied him.

"Is that he?" said the stranger; "why he is not fit to light the pipe of my cabin boy."

"But you promised me, Captain

"Yes, and I will keep my promise. The wind is fair; we sail at eleven, and it is now nine. Come, my lad, get under weigh, and follow in my wake. Thou hast a rare character from thy father, and thy back shall soon become acquainted with a good rope's end."

'Matthew readily understood what was in reserve for him. He calculated with marvellous rapidity the chances of escaping, or of successfully opposing his father's will; but, finding the odds against him, he quietly resigned himself to his fate. "Come, Matthew," said Jean Guichard," embrace thy old father. Behave thyself well, correct thy errors, and we shall meet again, boy."

"Never!" replied Matthew, drawing back from the parental embrace, and whistling a tune with the utmost nonchalance, as he followed the captain. "But if he were never to return!" thought Jean Guichard. "Bah! a stray pigeon always returns to the dove-cot."

Nevertheless, Jean Guichard was very sad for a long time after his son's de

parture.

'Meantime, five days had elasped since the Charming Louisa, a brig of 180 tons burthen, bound to Pernambuco, had left Havre, bearing off the only son and heir of the Guichard family.

'This individual, the type and prototype of the Parisian populace, so astonished at everything, was astonished at nothing, because he found analogies every where. When a sailor, pointing to the main top, said to him, "Parisian, could you get up there?"-Matthew replied, with a look of contempt," That's nothing new! I have climbed a thousand times a mat de cocgane, rubbed with soap, which is more difficult than to climb with the aid of those ropes." So saying, he mounted to the main top with the agility of a squirrel, and without passing through lubber's hole : he then descended by the mainstay, as proud as a merry-andrew.

"What lies his father has been telling me," said the captain, seeing Matthew's address; “why the lad is not so bad, after all.”

The breeze was stiff, and the swell rather strong. The sailors expected to see Matthew's stomach turned inside out. No such thing. The Parisian was not at all sick; he nibbled his biscuit, tore his salt junk with his teeth, drank two rations of wine, because he stole one from a sailor belonging to his mess, then went upon the forecastle to smoke his pipe.

""Has the motion of the vessel no effect upon you?" said an old sailor, who expected not only to laugh at the contortions of the Parisian during his sickness, but to drink his wine for him when he should be too ill to notice it.

"That's nothing new!" boldly replied Matthew. "I have played too often at balancing in the Champs-Elysees, and rode too often upon the Russian swing, for that to have any effect upon me.'

"This answer was accompanied with clouds of smoke, which, for an instant, concealed everything around from the Parisian. When the smoke disappeared, the smiling face of the captain met his eye. The latter had heard what had passed. "Positively," said he," the father is an old fool;" then addressing Matthew, "From this day, lad, thou art no longer a cabin-boy, but a foremast man.' "As you please," replied Matthew, with indifference.

The next day the captain, who had an eye to everything, perceived that the

sailors of the watch went together below; and listening at the hatchway, he heard a violent dispute.

"The rascal," exclaimed several voices, " has been put before the mast. It is unjust to favor him in this way. He shall be keel-hauled."

"I shall, if you are bent upon it," replied the Parisian with the most determined coolness, "but I will be revenged. I am alone, it is true: but no matterwoe to him that presumes to touch me."

"But, you rascal," said the orator of the crew," why did you presume not to be seasick, and to go aloft as fast as we could? You know it was only to flatter the officers."

"Yes," roared the others, in chorus, "he did it on purpose."

"Listen to me," said the Parisian: "if any of you will fight me alone, let us each take one of those pointed irons (looking at two marline spikes,) and we will see which is the best man."

"Done," replied the orator.

"The father decidedly deserves to be keel-hauled," thought the captain: "the son is an excellent fellow."

The captain having interposed his authority, the dispute ended, but the fight took place in the evening, and the Parisian was the conqueror.

'From that day, nobody on board presumed to molest our hero, who enjoyed the esteem of his officers and the friendship of his comrades.

Had the captain been endowed with the faculty of analysis, he certainly would have called it into action with regard to the character of Matthew Guichard. But the worthy man never analysed; he contented himself with beating the Parisian or overwhelming him with favors, according to his opinion of Matthew's deserts. Without amusing himself by tracing effects to causes, he appreciated only results; he made up his accounts, as he called it, and then paid the balance-kicks or halfpence, a buffet or a glass of grog, as might be.

'Meantime two years had expired, during which it is difficult to say whether the sum total was in favor of buffets or glasses of grog; for, in point of fact, our hero, was neither better nor worse than at first-a young soul used to the parching atmosphere of Paris, becomes hardened, and preserves forever the first impression.

Thus Matthew had brought with him, and maintained that careless idleness, and that nervous and instantaneous activity which characterise his race. If there was anything laborious to do in fine weather, the Parisian was sluggish, lazy, and taciturn; but when the wind whistled and the thunder roared, it seemed as if the storm produced a reaction upon his irritable temperament, and centupled his strength and energy. In such times he was seen at the yard-arm in the post of danger, as cool and steady as an old sailor: but when the fine weather returned, he sunk into his former apathy, and became what he was before-what a Parisian. always is and always will be-lazy, insolent, fond of bantering, because he possessed the vivacious and picturesque spirit of the Parisian populace, and cunning because he was not strong, although by his gab (let us be pardoned this vulgarity, for it alone can convey the meaning) he had gained a wonderful ascendency over the crew, and even the captain himself.

No matter whether the Parisian was put in irons, sent up the shrouds, or started with a rope's end, he lost not a single joke, nor a single mouthful, nor was his sleep a wink less sound. He would take off every body; the captain first, with his hoarse voice, his half-closed eye, and his favorite oath. The grey great coat and the oilskin hat were alone wanting to make the portrait perfect. Then the head cook had his turn; his twisted leg and stupid stuttering were hit off with exquisite facility.

Then came the bacchanalian songs, and the romances, and fragments of comedies, melodrames, and comic operas, which Matthew gave out in broad and characteristic declamation, imitating the gestures and voices of the favorite Parisian actors.

'Nobody could resist Matthew's fun. Everything was forgotten in listening to him;-the helmsman steered wrong, nobody slept on board, the hammocks were deserted, and the open and simple countenances of the sailors might be seen, crouched in a circle around him, listening with imperturbable gravity to his readilycoined and most monstrous lies.

'As for Matthew, he continued to be astonished at nothing. The sailors had anticipated much from the effect which the sight of negroes, and palm trees and sugar-canes, and many things beside, would produce upon him. All this, however, had no effect. The eternal" that's nothing new," disconcerted all the sailors. Matthew had seen negroes at Robinson, palm trees at the Jardin des Plantes, had bought sugar cane on the Pont Neuf, and had actually made a small basket from a nut-shell for his mistress. What was to be done with so knowing and peculiar an organization? Be silent and admire; and that is what the astonished sailors did.

It was on a Sunday. The Charming Louisa, generally freighted only to the West Indies, had, on this occasion, been freighted with a return cargo to Cadiz, for which port they sailed, on that day, in fine spirits.

The Parisian, surfeited with the West Indies negro wenches and women of color, was not sorry for the change; and no sooner was the brig safely moored along-side the quay than Matthew, at a single bound, found himself on shore, with thirty francs in his pocket, a small-crowned and wide-brimmed straw hat upon his head, decked out in a pair of white trowsers and a blue jacket with anchor buttons. His shirt collar was fastened by a clasp of American berries, a love present from a lady of Martinique.

The Parisian was endowed with a prodigious philological faculty. His process was simple, and it enabled him to solve every difficulty, without exception of language or idiom.

6

His method was, simply-whenever he asked an Englishman to direct him on his way, he would imitate, as nearly as he could, the ridiculous patois given to the English in the French plays. In addressing a German, his language underwent a slight modification, as it also did when he spoke to an Italian or an American. It is true that this method was not always successful; indeed, sometimes foreigners who would very probably have understood him, had he addressed them in proper French, could not comprehend his jargon. This he attributed to obstinacy, ill-breeding, or national jealousy; and it must be confessed, that Matthew Guichard never experienced that embarrassment and timidity generally felt by a foreigner in a country whose language he does not understand.

Thus the Parisian walked on with as firm a step, and as little concern as if he had studied for seven years the grammar of Rodriguezy Berna at Badajos or Toledo.

As Matthew advanced, the coup-d'ail pleased him. That animated multitude, those picturesque costumes, the men with small hats and long brown cloaks, the women with satin or silk shoes, those small feet, short petticoats, dresses fitting closely to the shape, and natural flowers scattered with so much taste among their dark and luxuriant hair-their gait, in short their walk, their salero,-all this excited the ardent attention of our hero, who mentally compared these beauties to the women of color in the West Indies.

'As he passed by a flight of steps leading to the ramparts, he lifted up his eyes and perceived a female near the top, ascending the remaining steps with great rapidity. This rapid ascent enabled him to perceive a beautifully moulded leg, and Andalusian foot, which induced him to run up the steps himself, and overtake the fair lady who displayed such charms. As he possessed much more assurance than timidity, he, with great familiarity, approached the young girl-for she was a young girl, and a very pretty one too-and looking in her face, said, in a kind of French patois, which he made to resemble Spanish in sound as much as possible, Spanish girl, you are very beautiful!' The young girl, blushed, smiled, and doubled her pace.

"Where the devil did I learn Spanish?" ejaculated the Parisian, certain of having been understood, and following with eager steps his new conquest.

Just opposite to the Custom-house the lady descended, turned her head, looked at the Parisian, crossed the little square de la Torre, and entered an adjoining

street.

The Parisian, animated, exalted to enthusiasm, and delighted with his conquest, eagerly followed. He was just about to cross the street, when he heard a religious chant, and saw a long file of penitents issue from a neighboring street. the head of the procession were borne lanterns, next banners, relics, shrines, and

At

flowers, followed by the Host. Next came the governor. In short, this was a solemn procession to ask Heaven for a little rain; for the drought was frightful in the year of grace 1729.

The Parisian, instead of joining the multitude, uttered a dreadful oath, for the procession stopped the way, and he trembled lest he should lose sight of the black eyed Andalusian girl. The populace bared their heads at the first sound of the rattle carried by a white monk, who led the way. But our friend Matthew kept his hat upon his head, raised himself on tiptoe, stretched out his neck, shaded his eyes with his hand, and saw nothing-neither the black mantle, nor the blue and white violets at the side of a head adorned with shining ebon hair. A grey monk approached, bearing a lantern, on the glass of which were painted figures of men in the midst of flames. He pointed to these figures with one hand, and with the other presented a money-box for the souls in purgatory.

'Everybody knelt; some gave money, others in whispers, pointed to the Parisian, who was leaning upon the back of the lanterned monk, and endeavoring thereby to raise himself, so that he might try to discover his fair Andalusian.

At this moment a splendid shrine of gold, set with jewels, which contained the arm of St. Sereno, excited the general attention and respect of the multitude. Our hero alone, who had remained standing, interrupted the general silence by one of those cries peculiar to the populace of Paris, which are sometimes heard at the theatres of the Boulevards. The fact is, he thought he distinguished the black mantle and the blue and white violets, and he uttered a cry of recognition after his own fashion.

This savage, guttural, and sacrilegious cry, made every one look up; and when it was seen that the Parisian had remained standing, with his hat on, before the arm of St. Sereno, there arose a murmur of indignation,-it was at first a low murmur, but it increased by degrees, like a storm getting to its climax, and when an air of imprudent and stern defiance was assumed by the Parisian, it burst forth with frightful energy. In the mean time the Host was advancing, with its fringes of gold reflecting the ardent beams of the sun, its waving plumes, and the voices of the monks of La Merced vigorously accentuating the beautiful poetry of the Bible. Time pressed;--the rash Parisian was determined in his resistance. He held his hat upon his head with both hands, and swore, with hideous blasphemies, that no one had a right to make him kneel against his will.

The Host was close by; and a struggle having commenced between an athletic Andalusian and our friend Matthew, the latter sprung back to avoid a blow, and fell at the feet of the Archbishop, who was behind him, and accidentally received a rude shock. On seeing this, the multitude cried out, Sacrilege! Impiety! Down with the Frenchman! The tumult become dreadful, and, in spite of the intervention of the prelate, knives were drawn, and- -but we draw a veil over the horrible end of the Parisian.

The French Consul took up the matter, but as it was proved that the Parisian was the aggressor, the captain could obtain no redress.

'In bad weather the Parisian was not much regretted. But when the sea was calm, and the Charming Louisa performing quietly her six knots with a steady breeze, something was found wanting to the comforts of the crew; and the sailors used to point with regret to a hencoop upon which the Parisian always seated himself to tell his wonderful stories.

Ever since his death this hencoop has been held sacred; and an artist among the crew has carved upon it two anchors, surmounted by a tobacco-pouch, and bearing the following motto, "Parisian, how thou didst make us laugh!"

When Jean Guichard heard of his son's death, he wept a great deal, but at length consoled himself with the idea that Matthew had died neither a maccaroni priest nor a Jesuit.'

We shall continue our translations with a historical sketch of the Catacombs at Paris, from the pen of Nestor de Lamarque :—

THE CATACOMBS AT PARIS.

'These excavations, which were nothing more than quarries situated under faubourgs St. Germain and St. Jacques, have in our own times been put to religious uses. Numberless heaps of bones dug up from the churchyards in the interior of this immense metropolis, have been collected there; and walls built with these time-bleached remains of human organization, form a subterranean city. A black line drawn along the middle of the vaulted roof, serves to guide the living through its dreary and mysterious avenues. If you observed it not, you would be lost among the numberless and intricate roads which extend far beyond the living city. 'Three staircases lead to the catacombs. That at the Barriere de l' Enfer, offers in its name a remarkable coincidence with the place itself. To the right and left of the first gallery of the catacombs, are several other galleries which run under the Plain of Montrouge. Natural rocks are found at various distances from each other. The attention is sometimes arrested by picturesque and frightful ruins. Stalactites, or incrustations of alabaster, are produced by the infiltration of water. By following the gallery of the boulevard St. Jacques, you see the immense works of the Aqueduct of Arcueil, constructed in the reign of Louis XIII., and the buildings intended for the prevention of smuggling. To the south-west, the road through the double quarries corresponds with the old road to Orleans, termed the Hollow Road, and passes under the aqueduct of the Emperor Julian. The traces of a great people are every where to be seen.

A fountain for the use of the workmen has been dug in the catacombs. The water which exudates from their dark recesses, and flows noiselessly into this fountain, disappears drop by drop in the surrounding gloom, like succeeding generations from the face of the earth.

A fire in a vase of antique form burns ever, to purify the air. It is the watchlamp of the dead, but it imparts no warmth to their ashes. A mineralogical collection offers to the curious, specimens of the strata of earth and stone which form the soil of these subterranean vaults. Before you come to the ossuaries, you have an opportunity of examining a pathological museum. Vain and idle study! it teaches only the vanity of human science!

'The vestibule of the Catacombs is octagonal. The gate is formed by two pillars surmounted with a poetical inscription. Further on, as you advance into this mute city in which thick walls of human bones represent streets and squares, and in which altars and obelisks alone speak the language of man, you find other inscriptions in different languages.

În this place, at least, pride does not hover over annihilation, as in the cemetery of Pere La Chaise. The oblivion of names distinguishes the Catacombs from every other receptacle for the dead. There is a universal equality.

'In 1777, buttresses and pillars were built to support the vaults, which had been long neglected, and houses had sunk into them, involving human life in their destruction. At the present day, each subterranean street corresponds with a street above, and both are marked with the same series of numbers; so that the point of danger may always be known below as well as above.

The care of the catacombs was entrusted to special officers, and a company of engineers appointed to carry on the works necessary for security. Walls and counter-walls now give safety to the streets, which the increase of the metropolis made it necessary to build over these excavations, and which display all the gorgeousness of human grandeur suspended over an abyss.

'On the other hand, the immense deposits of the dead in the heart of the city, became the source of disease and corruption; and the alarmed inhabitants called loudly for a remedy. In the cemetery of the Innocents, which, during several centuries had been the only one in Paris, and had caused uneasiness even in 1554, the soil was raised to a height of more than eight feet above the neighboring streets and houses. At length, in 1785, a decree of the Council of State ordered the suppression of this cemetery, and the conversion of its area into a public square. On the 7th of April, 1786, the catacombs were consecrated with all the pomps and ceremonies of the Catholic religion. Thus, the same quarries which had supplied