So, too, in private families, upon the death of a member of the household the friends of the deceased immediately desert the apartment, sometimes even before life is extinct; seldom, if ever, attending the funeral, whilst the apartment is either thoroughly renovated, as indicated above, or, if possible, is exchanged for another. Besides these, there were sundry notes relating to matters of minor importance, to a stray Murray or Harper, that had gone sight-seeing on its own account; to a truant opera-glass, that was playing "hide and go to seek" among the palchi of the theatre, or had found another proprietor; to sundry trunks that were making excursions in one direction whilst their owners were travelling in another, or else to prime Havanas, that in a most provoking manner had found their way into the capacious pockets of custom-house officials, and were doubtless rapidly disappearing in volumes of smoke. "Sprechen sie deutch?" "No, Signore." "Parla l'italiano?" "Si, si."

These questions were hastily ejaculated by an extraordinary-looking individual, who, striding into the office like an English grenadier, announced himself as a Russian ex-captain from Montenegro, just returning from the Paris Exposition, and unfortunately out of funds. His singular appearance, no less than his manner, attracted my atten

tion, -a swarthy complexion, dark hair and eyes; an enormous mustache hanging down on either side of a sufficiently large mouth; dark blue Turkish trousers; an ex-white tunic, reaching down below the knees, and embroidered with gold lace; skull-cap, or fez; a silk sash with a leathern holster, minus the pistols; and a riding-whip of undressed chamois, minus the horse, which he had pawned, as he said, to pay his expenses to Paris.

He showed a scar upon his right wrist, and another upon his left thumb, that he had received, according to his own account, in the war of '57, with the VOL. XXII. - NO. 134.

45

Turks; spoke of the entente cordiale existing between Russia and the United States, and then came to the main point in hand, namely, money.

"Have you been to see the Russian Consul ?"

He slightly colored, and stammered, "Yes." His manner excited suspicion.

"Bring me a note from your consul, and, if it is satisfactory, I will do something for you."

"No! impossible! I ask you only for twenty francs, and that's not worth writing a note about."

The consul's suspicions were confirmed, and, having made up his mind to give nothing, to repeated solicitations he resolutely said "No." The ex-captain's countenance assumed a portentous longitude. Rising from his seat, he began to pace the floor, growing more and more excited all the while, until he resembled nothing so much as a polar bear in a menagerie. "Say ten francs, then." "No, not without the note." "Five francs."

"No."

"Per l'amore di Dio, solamente cinque franchi," and then, in the midst of a passionate invocation to the Holy Virgin and all the saints, he went down upon one knee, gold lace and all, grasped fervently one of the consul's hands in both of his, and carried it passionately in the direction of his lips. Now, of all things in this transitory world there is nothing more transitory than a kiss; and yet it is not altogether objectionable on that account, provided it is tendered by the lips of beauty or of love. But in this particular instance the consul very prudently declined the proffered favor, and, resolutely withdrawing his hand, executed a flank movement, which very naturally resulted in a change of base on the part of the suppliant captain. The two stood eying each other rather awkwardly for a moment, when the latter, gathering up his fez and riding-whip, started for the door, and, growling an adieu, disappeared like a thunder-cloud.

Footsteps were now heard in the hall,

with a regular Anglo-Saxon accent, the heels being brought down with an emphasis that denoted energy and a will. It proved to be the captain of an American brig.

"Consul, there's been a row on board."

"What now?"

"Two of my men have nearly killed the mate."

The captain then, with some minuteness of detail, gave an account of the bloody affray. He warmed up as he proceeded, until he so far forgot himself as to indulge in some "percussion English," as he apologetically styled it; and though he spoke of the uniform good treatment and moral influence exercised on board, it must have been patent to the most casual observer, that in the discipline of seamen he had very little faith in moral suasion, and was better versed in the "Fool's Litany" than the Apostles' Creed.

"Where are the seamen?" inquired the consul.

"In the other office."

The "men 29 were now brought in, accompanied by two policemen in uniform. They gazed doggedly upon the floor and 'said nothing, though their bloodshot eyes and blood-stained shirts spoke volumes. Then followed the examination and cross-examination, when it appeared that the motive for committing this deadly assault was, as one of the sailors characteristically expressed it, cruel treatment, hard work, and "poor grub." As the result of the examination, the seamen were remanded to prison.

The captain subsequently related a number of amusing passages in his own experience at sea, and, among others, how Captain Semmes, on his return from England to the United States, after the destruction of the Alabama, came on board his vessel at Havana under the assumed name of John Smith; and that, although his manner attracted considerable attention, he never suspected he was carrying contraband of war until his arrival at Mata

moras.

"Signor Console, I pray you tell me

what this is for!" exclaimed an Italian shop-keeper, as he entered the office, accompanied by a boy carrying a patent clothes-wringer. "I have had this in my establishment for nearly a year, and I should like to know certainly what it is."

Why, that's for drying clothes." "Per Bacco!"

"What did you think it was?"

A shrug of the shoulders was the only response, but it afterward appeared that he had been trying to sell it to the artists as a great improvement in photography.

The boy, we may add, by way of supplement, was a very necessary part of the transaction. A gentleman in Italy, going to market with a market-basket on his arm, would run great risk of being mistaken for a porter. Even the humblest artisan would lose caste if he could not afford to keep a servant to carry his tools. If a mason comes to adjust your bell-rope, or a glazier to repair a broken pane, he is accompanied by the inevitable boy. The consul related, in this connection, that on the previous day a poor woman, who had formerly been a signora, but was now reduced to extreme destitution, called at his residence to beg for broken victuals and cast-off clothing, but who at the same time, as a saving clause to her respectability, was accompanied by an old family servant to carry them home to her desolate garret.

There was a rustling of silks, and, a moment after, a lady who had evidently seen better, days was ushered into the office, and announced as Signora B

"A veritable countess," whispered the consul in a scarcely audible aside. It soon appeared from the conversation that she was one of that unfortunate class of our countrywomen who have bartered wealth for a title. Her personal appearance was by no means prepossessing, but in her youth she had been an heiress with a hundred thousand in her own right, in the shape of a Southern plantation, with its chattels real and personal, upon which she herself was the only encumbrance. During

a European tour she had met and married an Italian count, who proved, as is generally the case with such fortunehunters, a worthless adventurer, and who, after having squandered a large portion of her property, had abandoned her in the most heartless manner. Since then she had been married de facto, if not de jure, several times, and had led an altogether irregular life. In a state of society where so much latitude is allowed to the marriage relation, her character was not decidedly compromised; but it had reached that equivocal stage, when the more severe censors of social morality thought it prudent to subject it to a sort of informal quarantine.

After the usual tivilities her conversation turned upon her domestic infelicity, of which she made no secret, and which appeared to have become hopelessly chronic. From any other standpoint than that of her present disreputable life, her story of domestic wrongs

though related, as witches say their prayers, backwards — would have been sufficiently touching.

As it was, the consul, desirous of terminating an interview which had already become not a little embarrassing, intimated that he had no disposition to interfere in domestic controversies.

"It is your duty, as an officer of the government, to do so," she exclaimed, with much fervor.

"I will consult my consular instructions," he replied, in a vein of quiet humor; "and, in case I find this duty imposed upon me, I will not shrink from its performance."

"I'll have justice," she continued, not in the least disconcerted by the last remark, "I'll have justice, or I'llnon mangerà piu pane."

Under the surface of this mild but expressive form of denunciation so common among Italians," He shall eat no more bread," - there lurks a terrible significance, which contemplates nothing less than a forcible divorce of soul and body.

"That would be a most remarkable change of venue, certainly," rather solilo

quized than said the genius loci; “and yet I am not sure but that she would be more likely to procure justice in that court than any other."

"What court?" she inquired rather abruptly, and slightly coloring. "Heaven's Chancery."

The entrance of a party of American tourists interrupted this awkward interview, and changed the current of conversation. Presently there was heard the heavy discharge of cannon in the direction of the harbor, which fell upon the ear in slow and measured pulsations.

"An American man-of-war!" cried Antonio, who was ever on the qui vive for the old flag.

"Papa," chimed in a childish treble, between two successive discharges, "why do they make such a fuss over men-of-war? Is it because they kill people?" But as papa only sat in a fit of abstraction, beating the devil's tattoo upon a writing-desk, the poor child turned her eyes, full of interrogation - points, first upon one and then another of the company, but there was no response.

The silence was ominous. Let us consult Victor Hugo!

"That's a fine picture you have there, Consul," observed a rather titanic specimen of feminine humanity, pointing at the same time to an indifferent copy of Titian's Assumption of the Virgin. "As we are thinking some of investing in the fine arts, I would like to know the name of the artist."

Other considerations aside, you would naturally have taken the fair author of the preceding remark, whom we shall designate as Madame Malaprop, to be a lady of considerable importance, judging from the size of her chignon, and the profusion of jewelry and other gimcracks with which her person was adorned. You could not say that she was positively attractive, but then, like Miss Crawley, she had a balance at her banker's, which, with all her drawbacks, would have made her beloved and respected anywhere.

"I am unable to give you the name

of the artist," the consul replied, after some hesitation, "but the painting evidently belongs to the Venetian school." "Ah!" she exclaimed, applying her eye-glass, and observing it again with the air of a connoisseur. "O, I see! the schoolmarm is having prayers with the scholars," - doubtless led into this very innocent, though rather ludicrous, mistake, by the devout attitude of the Virgin, enveloped in an aureola of cherub faces in the act of adoration.

There was a very significant silence, which really began to grow embarrassing, when she again commenced and continued in a strain that could have reflected credit upon Don Eraclio in the Raggiatore, which, if the truth must be told, was much more amusing than edifying.

Madame Malaprop evidently belonged to that worthy, but nevertheless to be commiserated class, whose intelligence has not kept pace with their acquisition of wealth. Her former husband had the good or ill fortune to strike oil, which had rather served, however, for the enlightenment of others than of himself and family. When apparently just ready to enter upon the enjoyment of his suddenly acquired wealth, he fell ill and died. The buxom widow, who was by no means a proper person to grieve over what she termed "a merciful dispensation of Providence," resigned herself without a murmur. Shortly after she consoled herself with another husband, though we are bound to add, by way of extenuation, that he was an unusually small one, which she doubtless considered a very plausible excuse for marrying so soon.

He was a dapper little gentleman of apparently her own age. His hair and whiskers were of the most formal cut; his linen was unexceptionable, and even Beau Brummel could not have objected to the tie of his cravat. There was withal a certain stiffness in his manner decidedly suggestive of the tincture of ramrods, whilst his slender proportions reminded one constantly of Philetus and his leaden sandals. Either he was easily disconcerted or slightly absent

minded, for he had a most singular fashion of looking for his spectacles when they were upon his nose. There was one other striking feature in the appearance of this eccentric personage. His hair was quite gray for about one half of its natural length, whilst the remaining half appeared to be of no very decided color, whether from the effect of disappointed love, domestic infelicity, or from a failure in his supply of hairrestorative, we are unable to decide. If two persons would ride the same horse, as Dogberry would say, one of them must ride behind; and so with this amiable couple, though it was very evident that it was the husband who occupied this rather unenviable position. He rarely ventured to more than echo the oracular utterances of his titanic spouse, unless he occasionally presumed to modestly suggest a modification of their plans, when she would abruptly interpose her sic volo, and then there would be an energetic fumbling in waistcoat pockets for a pair of lost spectacles, and that was the end of the matter.

Madame Malaprop and her husband were evidently in quest of a social position. In such cases, a season at Saratoga or the grand tour of Europe is the Pons Asinorum on the other side of which many worthy but mistaken people expect to find respectability and position in society.

At this moment an American officer in full uniform entered the consulate, and announced the arrival in port of the C, a United States man-of-war, stating, at the same time, that the captain's gig was at the consul's disposal whenever it suited his pleasure or convenience to pay his official visit.

"I will go at once," the latter replied; and fifteen minutes later the consular salute of seven guns announced his arrival on board. And now follow the official calls, official dinners, official excursions, and official shopping, in which the consul, who is expected to officiate in a variety of capacities, will have a most excellent opportunity of exhibiting the versatility of his talent, no less