long, and worn so ostentatiously.

FOOTNOTES:

{A} So in Don Quixote the friars are described "Estando en estas
razones, aslomaron por el camino dos Frayles de la Orden de san Benito,
Cavalleros _sobre dos Dromedarios, que no eran mas pequneas dos mulas en
que venian_."

{B} It occurs, however, in Madame de Sevigne's letters. But that most
charming of letter-writers understood Spanish, which Anne of Austria had
probably made a fashionable accomplishment at the court of France. The
intrigue for which Vardes was exiled, shows, that to write in Spanish
was an attainment common among the courtiers of Louis XIV.

{C} We call ourselves a _practical_ people! A man incurred, a _few
months_ ago, an expense of L70, for saying that he was "ready," instead
of saying that he was "ready and _willing_" to do a certain act. The
man's name was Granger. Another unfortunate creature incurred costs to
the amount of L3000, by one of the most ordinary proceedings in our
courts, called a motion, of course, and usually settled for a guinea. A
clergyman libelled two of his parishioners in a Bishop's Court. The
matter never came to be heard, and the expense of the _written_
proceedings was upwards of L800! Can any system be more abominable than
one which leads to such results?

MICHAEL KALLIPHOURNAS.

Few of the events of our life afford us greater pride than revisiting a
well-known and celebrated city after many years' absence. The pleasure
derived from the hope of enjoyment, the self-satisfaction flowing from
the presumption of our profound knowledge of the place, and the feeling
of mental superiority attached to our discernment in returning to the
spot, which, at the moment, appears to us the particular region of the
earth peculiarly worthy of a second visit--or a third, as the case may
be--all combine to stuff the lining of the diligence, the packsaddle of
the Turkish post-horse, or the encumbrance on the back of the camel
which may happen to convey us, with something softer than swandown. Time
soon brings the demon of discontent to our society. The city and its
inhabitants appear changed--rarely for the better, always less to our
taste. Ameliorations and improvements seem to us positive evils; we sigh
for the good old times, for the dirty streets of Paris, the villanous
odours of Rome, the banditti of Naples, the obsequiousness of Greece,
and the contempt, with the casual satisfaction of being spit upon, of
Turkey. In short,