they can't help putting a great deal of faith in the millionnaires of the old country."

"That is true. I have already observed that they worship the names of the leading London bankers, just as in general they adore the English aristocracy, and I have come to the conclusion that the more we stand for the more we are likely to get. Think over the matter, then. We will dine at the table d'hôte this afternoon, and you will there have an opportunity of judging for yourself what manner of men we have to encounter; for since I arrived here-short as the time is-I have noticed that the language if not the spirit of speculation accompanies them under every circumstance of their lives."

"When is the dinner-hour?" asked Mr. Barnard Jones. "I must dress myself for the occasion. That always did a great deal for me at the Cape!"

"You are quite right. There is an essential advantage in being well dressed, though the Americans very often overlook the fact in their own persons. Five is the time. Till then I shall take a walk in Broadway. You, I know," continued Mr. Miranda, glancing at his friend's feet," are not fond of promenading. Besides, you will have enough to do, I dare say, between this and dinner."

On this they separated, Mr. Barnard Jones to make his toilette, Mr. Miranda to meditate in motion.

There is, in Broadway, much to meditate upon, even if only its externals are considered. The most magnificent and the wealthiest street in the world must needs be curiously suggestive. What turn Mr. Miranda's thoughts might have taken, it is scarcely necessary to inquire; but whatever they were, they met with a sudden interruption. At the corner of Broome-street, where it intersects Broadway, he found himself suddenly face to face with Colonel Washington M. Snakes.

Their astonishment was mutual, each being under the impression that the other was drowned.

"Well, I swan !" said the colonel, stretching out his large brown hand, "this is an all-fired meeting! I thought you was amongst the missing." No," replied Mr. Miranda. "I escaped, as you see."

"Do tell!" exclaimed the colonel. "You realised the land, then. Whar ?"

"On Long Island, as I have since learnt. And you?"

"I fixed it just under Staten light. Dreadful difficult it was to fix, sailing on a biddy-coop; that was the critter carried me. Well, merchant, I am happified to see you!"

Thereupon they shook hands for the second time; but not to part: the colonel had no desire to lose sight of Mr. Miranda so speedily.

"I say, merchant," he resumed," whar shall we liquor up? To what ho-tel are you staying?"

Being informed that Astor House was the place, the colonel said he had thoughts of going there himself. He had business in New York before he could go down to Snakesville, and was waiting for money. "I lost every cent I brought back from Ca.," he said, "on board that thundering steamer. She ripped up, I'm told, like an old shoe. But, I say, merchant, you must have made an all-fired smash with that 'ere chest! I kinder look upon it, you know, as half my property. We ought to have reck'nings, I guess!"

"As much reckoning as you like," returned Mr. Miranda, "if you can recover the chest. But, in the mean time, I must ask you not to speak of it again."

"What! It riles, eh? No wonder! It hefted some, it did!"

"Its value was great, certainly," said Mr. Miranda, "but it is not altogether on that account."

The colonel looked steadily at the Portuguese, but his face was inscrutable.

"Well," said the former, after drawing a long breath, "I can disremember, when I'm wanted to, as well as any chap in the Union. we hifer?"

Shall

Mr. Miranda was obliged to confess that he did not understand the question.

The colonel explained that he had proposed a lounge till dinner-time. He had made up his mind to go to Astor's.

Remembering the remarks on the subject of dress, which he had lately made to Mr. Barnard Jones, Mr. Miranda would willingly have dispensed with the society of Colonel Washington M. Snakes until he had provided himself with a decent tailor, for the colonel's costume was anything but fashionable. He wore the very same pants that adorned his nether man when the Golden Eagle struck; waistcoat he had none, and the rest of his attire consisted only of a loose slop jacket of brown holland and a broad-brimmed straw hat, which flapped over his face at every movement. It is not for us to say how or where the colonel had procured the lastnamed articles: enough, that he was content to wear them, and so content, that he seemed to think, if there were any difference between his appearance and that of Mr. Miranda, it was rather in his own favour, as being, at all events, more light and airy.

What manner of man he had to deal with in Colonel Washington M. Snakes, Mr. Miranda had divined when first he met him on board the Golden Eagle: that impression was now confirmed, and although a hanger-on, for his own advantage, was no very desirable acquaintancethere were points about the New-Jersey man which might be turned to account. Still there were the objectionable pants and linen jacket, and Mr. Miranda hesitatingly observed that he believed the company always sat down in full evening dress at Astor House.

"Well," said Colonel Washington M. Snakes, "I approbate that view, only it's above my bend just now. I'll tell you what, though. Loan me a twenty-dollar note till they remit from Snakesville, and I'll dress full chisel. If you haven't a note, merchant, hard money will do as well. You needn't to feel streaky; I shan't slope."

Mr. Miranda was a good-natured as well as a politic man. He might want a reference. It was better to have a friend in the tall colonel than an enemy. He took two gold Eagles from his purse and placed them in the colonel's ready palm, saying, "Whenever it's convenient, not before." "I mean the clean thing," said the colonel, depositing the twenty dollars in the pocket of his pants. "Shall we liquor up now? I'll stand Sam. No! Well, then, I'll make tracks till five o'clock."

"Do so," said Mr. Miranda, guessing at his meaning. "And when we meet, I will introduce you to a particular friend of mine." "Vamos," said the colonel.

Mr. Miranda smiled, and they separated till dinner-time.

VOL. XLV.

I

472

ROUGE ET NOIR.*

THIS is the way he wrote down his name at the last census: "JeanPierre Bitterlin, of Lunéville, 60 years of age; 35 years' active service, 11 campaigns, 2 wounds; captain 1834, chevalier 1836, retired in 1847; medal of St. Helena." Such is the way he described himself; but M. About's portrait of the inner man, though not flattering, is far more photographic: "He possessed a most loyal, frank, and delicate character, which, at the same time, was the most bitter, jealous, and ill-tempered in the world." As for his external qualities, he wore a moustache which no cosmetic in the world would render lissom, and which, black as jet on Sunday morning, grew gradually grey by Thursday; while his hair, thanks to the perruquier's skill, ever maintained its raven gloss: all that betrayed his age were the small tufts of grey hair that peeped out of his

ears.

Yet Captain Bitterlin ought to have had no reason to be continually cross, for he did not, apparently, suffer from indigestion. As a boy, he had been the happiest drummer in the French army at the battle of Leipzig, and never slept without dreaming of the traditional marshal's bâton. He earned his first epaulette at Waterloo, though he did not get it till nine years later in Spain. During that interval he had often felt inclined to retire, and plant his native cabbages; but, though he was dissatisfied, and a sergeant to boot, he had never plotted. Gaining his captaincy by seniority, at the age of thirty-six, he proceeded to Africa, and came back with a dysentery: he was sent to patch himself up at Briançon, where he married a restaurateur's daughter, as a pleasant mode of passing the time. No sooner married than he was ordered to join the depôt at Strasburg, his wife following in the baggage train. In 1839 he became the father of a girl, born betwixt the three hundred and tenth and three hundred and eleventh milestones on the Strasburg road. Unfortunately, his wife was young and coquettish, and allowed herself to be made love to without meaning any harm. After passing through the agonies of jealousy, and killing a comrade who annoyed him with his jokes, the captain determined on retiring when he was forty-nine. He set up his Lares in the Marais, on an income of about 5000 fr. a year, and the solitude settled madame in four years; as M. About profoundly remarks, "the angels themselves would have grown weary of tending the captain in his desert."

The captain was inconsolable at the loss of the only domestic animal he had to bully; but the pangs wore off when the last war aroused his martial instincts. The greatest blow the gallant captain ever received was, that Sebastopol should be taken without him, for he had been anxiously expecting that the minister of war would send for him, as the only man capable of finishing the campaign properly. Hence, when the capture of the Malakoff took place, he was so agitated by it, that fat Agathe, his maid-of-all-work, compassionately asked him whether the government had deprived him of a portion of his property, and if it would not be advisable to put down one dish at breakfast in consequence. At times the captain would certainly remember he was a father; but it only

Trente et Quarante.-Sans Dot.-Les Parents de Bernard. Par E. About. Paris: Hachette et Cie. 1859.

ended by exasperating him, for he could not make up his mind whether his wife had been unfaithful to her vows. Besides, when he went to see the little Emma at St. Denis, he found her so ugly that he felt no interest in her. And yet, strange to say, when she suddenly burst forth into a lovely girl, this annoyed the captain the more, for so great was the trouble the care of her would entail upon him, that he declared her beauty was really indecent.

Such a treasure as this the suspicious captain must keep from mortal eye; hence, he broke off all Emma's school acquaintances, and only allowed her to go out with Agathe to church. Little did the poor man suspect this was the very way to lose his daughter. One morning, as she was returning from church, she was insulted by a parcel of schoolboys, when suddenly a very handsome young man came to her rescue, and bore her away to his lodgings in a fainting state.

He was a young Italian, of good family, Bartolomeo Narni, ex-Count de Miranda, who had fought bravely during the siege of Rome; and, after mortgaging his estate and title, he had retired to Paris, his whole fortune consisting of his family portrait-gallery, which he could not bear to part with. Up to the present he had earned his livelihood as reader to an Italian printer, but, now that love took full possession of his senses, like a true Italian, he could not do anything but think of his love. Of course, Emma, who never saw any young men, gave her heart to her champion, and for her part dreamed pleasantly about the future, though not a word was dropped to the captain, who would probably have gone mad at the thought. Their only chance of meeting was at church, where, as M. About remarks, "the mass they heard was not placed to their credit in the ledger of paradise." Still they were happy, and Meo invented a way of communication which, for its originality, deserves

extract:

There are theatre bills in the arcade connecting the Rue des Vosges with the Place Royale. Every morning, between eleven and twelve, the Italian went there, and underlined with a pencil the letters which formed a sentence addressed to Emma. It was a game of patience, but Meo had employed it before in corresponding with his friends at Bologna, by means of an old number of the Debats. Emma went out with her father, and stopped, like a child, before the play-bills. How could the captain refuse her such an innocent amusement? The first bill would run thus:

"Comédie Française.

tr

Jeudi, 25 Mai 1858. "Les comédiens ordinaires de l'Empereur donneront 'Gabrielle.'" Emma easily deciphered Ma Jolie, and carried on the same game till she reached the Théâtre Beaumarchais.

The captain had reasons for liking this stoppage: for he, too, would cast a glance on the bills, which enabled him to give Emma a fine moral lecture. He showed her that authors are obliged to invent scandalous titles to attract the public to the theatre, and preached to her utter contempt of plays. "You are very lucky," he would say, "at only knowing these extravagances by name. Look here: Le Fils Naturel' -why, that is scandalous! Le Fruit Défendu'-that is immoral; 'La Joie fait Peur'-that is ridiculous; 'Les Lionnes Pauvres'-what can that be but a history without head or tail, and probably indecent in the bargain? The scamps who write plays can't earn a living, and serve

'em right." Emma merely replied by marking the corner of the last bill with the dusty end of her parasol, as a sign to her lover that she had deciphered the billet, and thus was the poor captain tricked beneath his very nose.

At length, Emma's passion became so intense that she could no longer conceal it from her father, and so she confessed her great secret, and though the captain laid it down as a rule that children should only be managed by kindness, on this occasion his wrath was superior to his theory. The poor girl received a couple of tremendous boxes on the ear, and was locked up in her room, while Agathe was bundled out neck and crop, under the natural suspicion of being an accomplice. As for Emma, the captain swore she should remain under arrest till she made a full confession of her crimes, but she declared with equal firmness that, so long as she was kept a prisoner, she would remain dumb.

In such a scandal-loving quarter as the Marais, the most astounding reports soon spread about the captain's barbarity, and the family doctor thought it his duty to call and inquire. After seeing Emma, he candidly told her father he was killing her by inches, and that she required change offair and scene. Hence the captain, much to his regret, was forced to leave his household gods and travel with his perverse daughter. But not unaccompanied: Meo, who was constantly prowling round the house, saw him one evening copying a poster on the wall, and on reading it after him he found it was a pleasure trip through Switzerland and the Grand Duchy of Baden. Emma started for Switzerland "like cowards go into action, looking back every step." Unable to communicate with her lover, she still hoped he would be acquainted with their movements, and follow them: nor was she mistaken, for, to her ineffable delight, Meo took the eighth seat in the railway carriage. So soon as the captain slept, the young couple began their mutual confessions. Unfortunately for Meo, he had started on a wrong tack. He intended to be most courteous to the captain and win his good graces, but he ought to have treated him roughly, having to deal with a man who commenced his pleasure trip in this way at the Hôtel des Trois Rois, at Basle:

M. Bitterlin was not yet served. He went from the dining-room to the terrace, unable to choose a table or order breakfast. The head waiter and the landlord both pressed him, and were unable to satisfy him. "Listen to me," he said, "I wish to breakfast, not like a glutton, who makes a god of his belly, or like that gentleman, who looks like an ox in a stall. Still, I must restore myself after my night's travel. I am not afraid of expense, and I should blush to breakfast like that mean student, who is dipping a slice of bread in his coffee." "We have, sir," the landlord said, ""salmon, trout, crayfish," &c.

Is your fish fresh, though? I know your tricks of passing on travellers all the carps that came out of Noah's Ark. Besides, the sauce makes the fish, and you fellows never knew how to compose one. It is a French science, and so you can keep your fish to yourself."

The head waiter went on: "In game we have roebuck, chamois, hare, partridges. The shooting season began this morning."

"No, thank you-killed this morning. Perhaps you will like me to eat the

soles of boots."

"In butcher's meat we have roast mutton and beef, kidneys, cutlets," &c.

Yes, and I bet you put onion in everything."

Here he approached an inoffensive traveller, who was eating a duck and onions

with considerable appetite.

"Are you going to eat that stuff, sir ?”