two separate glasses of water that she foretold what was to happen. I shall spare you all the details of this mystic operation, which certainly resembled in nothing the accounts that you and I have so often read in our girlish days, with trembling, of spells and charms. Suffice it to say that Clara was to have a husband, for the sorceress saw very clearly in the mixture both the gates of a church, and those of the municipality. As to the time when this happy event was to happen, that was to be determined by the number thirteen; but whether thirteen days, weeks, or months, the fortuneteller could not declare. She only knew that the happy man would present himself at the end of one of those terms, and that he would be a man of fortune.

It happened that precisely thirteen days after, Miss F. who was getting out of her carriage to make some purchases at her milliner's, caught the eye of a gentleman who was coming out of a house close to it, and that house was pumber thirteen. Here was a combination of circumstances ! and, besides, thirteen is a number that has been famous in the annals of magic ever since the world began. Clara blushed deeply, the gentleman gazed more ardently. He followed her into the Atelier of Mademoiselle -; spoke to the milliner, ordering some millinery to be sent to his sister, one of the ladies of honour of the Empress of Russia. He handed Clara into her carriage, and she drove home a bride already in imagination. In a few days the Russian baron, who was nothing more in reality than a French sharper, contrived to persuade the credulous Clara to elope with him, lest his relations should, out of family pride, interfere to prevent his marriage with an untitled Englishwoman. Previous to her taking this wise step, she revealed to a confidential friend the prediction of the forfune-teller, and its accomplishment, little suspecting what the denouement would be, and indeed that is not generally known, but I am well assured that the pretended baron is a mere swindler, equally devoid of character and fortune, and as Clara's is very small, she will soon, in all probability, if her sister-in-law does not receive her back, be exposed to the horrors of want. The singular part of the story is, that this affair has literally made the fortune of the sorceress, whom, I understand, it has become quite the fashion to consult.

TAR TWO OLD LADIES.-I lately attended an evening party, where my risible muscles were terribly tried. Among the company were two ladies, one of whom, Madame D., though nearly sixty, has the mania of fancying herself in the prime of life. The other, nearly of the same age, is one of those people who pique themselves upon telling disagreeable truths. I have frequently heard her, when in company with Madame D., descant largely on the folly of old women who fancy themselves still young. Although Madame D. must have been conscious that these attacks were meant for her, she never appeared to perceive it. This evening she was recounting a droll adventure which she said had happened a few years ago to a lady who had been her friend from childhood, when her indefatigable tormentor cried out, "Ah, yes, I recollect that story perfectly, I was upon the spot at the very time it happened. Ah! it is many long years ago. Let me see I was about thirty then, and

"Eh, Madame," interrupted Madame D., impatiently, no one wishes you to tell your age."

"Pardon me, pardon me, that is my way of verifying dates. But let me see-it is a few years ago you sayA few years!!! Well, I recollect it perfectly. The hero of the adventure was a Prussian officer, a prisoner of war; and the French campaign began and ended in 1806, and we are now in 1835. Let me see that is just twentynine years.

"But, Madame

Oh, let me see there was a song made on that occasion, and I believe it was a very clever one. Don't you recollect it?" And before Madame D. could reply, "Oh, stop! I shall remember it in a minute or two. What an odd thing it was that the author was never discovered, and I recollect that there was a great deal of pains taken to find him out, for it certainly was very severe upon the friend of your infancy, but yet it was a clever thing too, and every body said the satire was deserved; for you know, though she was turned of thirty, she affected to be quite a girl; and women in those days had more sense in general. Let me see-let me see-very odd I can't remember the words, and I have such a good memory in general; but it is so long

ago, twenty-nine years; it is a great while to look back. Oh, let me I do just remember the first lineWho is that ancient Amazon.'

"You know she was fond of appearing on horseback—. Who is that ancient Amazon,'

"Dear me, how odd that I can't remember another line. I wish you would try to recollect. Let me see; was not there some allusion to the probable marriage of the Colonel with your eldest daughter?"

At these last words Madame D. fairly ran out of the room, and hardly had she quitted it when the laughter, which every one had been trying to suppress, broke out in loud peals. As to Madame R, the author of the poor woman's confusion, she was absolutely convulsed. "Well," said our amiable hostess, when order was a little restored, "it must be confessed that our poor friend has a foible that renders her ridiculous; but let us not forget that she is charitable and kind-hearted, and that if she had not been spoiled by her parents, and over-indulged by a husband, who mar ried her while she was yet a child, she might have been a very different character." I wish I could paint to you the effect which this speech, charitable in the truly apostolic sense of the word, produced on the hearers. I assure you it was a lesson which I hope I shall not easily forget.

LEITER FROM PARIS.

A YOUNG MAIDEN'S LOGIC.

A preacher was one day struck with surprise at beholding a beautiful set of curls on the head of a lovely maiden, a member of his class, whose hair had been usually very plain. "Ah! Eliza," said he, "you should not waste your precious time in curling your hair; if God intended it to be curled, he would have curled it for you. "Indeed," said the witty maid, "I must differ from you when I was an infant he curled it for me, but now I am grown up, he thinks I am able to do it myself."

On St. Benedict's Quay, at Amsterdam, dwelt a merchant named Nicholas Flunk, who was one of the most rapacious old misers that Fortune ever took a pleasure in heaping her favours upon. All his speculations turned out prosperously; he made cent. per cent. by his loans, and much more by his bargains so that, after a time, the care of keeping his wealth became as great to him as earning it is to other people. At the same time, his love of money suffered no diminution; but, " as if increase of appetite had grown by what it fed on," his desire to add to his hoard was the sole passion of his

heart.

He had a daughter who was extremely beautiful, and as amiable and gentle as she was fair. She had none of her father's love of money, for, happily for the human race, vices and follies are not hereditary. A young Dutchman, who had studied painting in Italy, and who had returned to Amsterdam to practise his art, lodged in the attic of a house next to that of the rich merchant; for Flunk had never chosen to remove, notwithstanding his princely wealth, from the humble house in which he had begun the world. Clement Branz was as poor as Nicholas was rich, and it was as easy for him to fall in love with the pretty Barbara Flunk, as it was to her

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father to get money. Clement soon found an opportunity of telling Barbara of the impression she had made upon his heart, and had the good fortune to inspire her with similar feelings. He ventured (for love will make a man venture upon any thing) to tell her father of his passion, and to ask his consent to their union. Nicholas asked of what his proposed son-in-law's means consisted; and when he learnt that a few portfolios, filled with drawings from the works of the masters of Italy, some sketches-which nobody but the painter himself could understand-a palette, some pencils, and some colours, constituted his whole worldly possessions, he laughed in his face, and bade him think no more of his daughter, whom he intended for an eminent pork-butcher, who lived on the side of the Quay; for Flunk was not desir ous of marrying his daughter to a person of condition, because he knew that he should then be obliged to part with some of his beloved gold as her dowry.

Clement went away in despair, and mounted with a heavy heart to his garret, wondering, as he went, whether it was better to drown himself in the canal, or to finish a picture he had begun, with the intention of offering it for sale at a con. vent of Carmelite nuns, who had just built a new chapel. On arriving at his solitary painting-room-which was also his bed-room and drawing-room, study, parlour, and kitchen -he found a fellow student, Olivier Villeneuf, a Frenchman, who had been with him in Italy, and who had now found him out in Amsterdam. Olivier was one of those light-hearted, sanguine people, whose spirits always flow in the same full tide. He saw his friend was melancholy, soon learnt why, scolded him for yielding to his disappointment, and bade him think rather of some means of outwitting the old fellow, and of at once gaining his mistress's hand, and some of her father's wealth. Clement was soon cheered by Olivier's counsel, contrived to see his mistress as she went to morning inass, and, with the help of Olivier, they laid a plan for cozening Nicholas.

Flunk kept the most valuable part of his treasures in an immense chest in the top room of his house, because he thought that was the least accessible to thieves. The windows were boarded and barred up, the doors locked and bolted, and the heavy chest as firmly fastened as padlocks and