weeping, and even tearing their hair. Whilst we were
there, my friend of yesterday came towards the spot; but when he saw our
large, and, I fear me, rather unimpressed party, he turned upwards, and
disappeared. After inscribing our names in a book--into which also
appropriate poetry, as well as ribald nonsense finds its way--we drank
to Napoleon's immortal memory in his own favourite spring, and mounting
our steeds spurred towards Plantation House.

On the road, we passed within view of "the Briars," where the chief
resided during the building of Longwood; and where he,

"Whose game was kingdoms, and whose stakes were thrones!
His table earth, his dice were human bones!"

played at whist with the owner, Mr. Balcombe, for _sugar-plums!_

* * * * *

ANECDOTE GALLERY.

* * * * *

OUR ANECDOTAGE.

(_From the New Monthly Magazine._)

Daniel De Foe said there was only this difference between the fates of
Charles the First, and his son James the Second; that the former's was a
wet martyrdom and the other's a dry one. When Sir Richard Steele was
made a Member of the Commons it was expected from his ingenious writings
that he would have been an admirable orator, but it not proving so, De
Foe said "He had better have continued the _Spectator_ than the
_Tatler_."

The local designation of the following anecdote confirms its
authenticity, which however required no other indication than the
characteristic humour of Addison in his odd conception of old Montaigne.

When Mr. Addison lodged in Kensington Square, he read over some of
"Montaigne's Essays," and finding little or no information in the
chapters of what their titles promised, he closed the book more confused
than satisfied.

"What think you of this famous French author?" said a gentleman present.

"Think!" said he, smiling. "Why that a pair of manacles, or a stone
doublet would probably have been of some service to that author's
infirmity."

"Would you imprison a man for singularity in writing?"

"Why let me tell you," replied Addison, "if he had been a horse he would
have been pounded for straying, and why he ought to be more favoured
because he is a man, I cannot understand."

A medical confession, frankly delivered by that eminent physician and
wit, Sir Samuel Garth, has been fortunately preserved; perhaps the truth
it reveals is as conspicuous as its humour.

Dr. Garth (so he