derbolt. You may fancy my astonishment at this miracle; but it will perhaps surprise you more to learn, that such was the effect of what I had swallowed from the phial, I felt not the least fear, but only a kind of stupid amazement. I did not even exclaim, but silently took my way and sat down beside the magician on the highest rock of the summit, where we both waited for the morning to appear. While I sat in this amazement, surmising by what means this wretched old trader could have attained such a mastery of magic, he suddenly arose, and going to a little distance, I saw him beckon me with singular gestures. His form dilated, and underwent a terrible transformation. A pair of vast wings seemed to shoot out from his loins and shoulders, and his countenance took the face of a griffon. In a voice like thunder, but still not harsh or displeasing, he bade me arise and come to him; which I did, though with prodigious difficulty, for my limbs, with the effect of wonder, seemed fastened to the earth.

As I approached the phantasm, continued Zadec, it receded, beckoning, and fled before me, towards the east; but, though I fear to make so great a trial of your confidence to tell you this, I followed, treading upon air and swimming like a bird among the mists of the morning, over the earth and over the sea. I saw the sun rise swiftly, and the mountains and green vales, with their silvery rivulets, whirled away westward, and lessening as we rose. The skirts of my mantle slipped from my girdle, and unfolded into wings like the film of a bat; and soaring with ease, I soon left the world beneath me, half dark and half lighted by the coursing dawn. Dimmer and dimmer grew the mountains, smaller and smaller the regions. The shores of the seas shone like the edges of a fish's scale; and by-and-by I saw the earth hanging in mid air, a pendulous ball, bright on one side, and on the other scarce distinguishable from the blackness of the firmament. Then saw I the three orbs of earth, moon, and sun, equal in size, like as many silver balls, tossed into a black air, and there hanging.

The magician, continued Zadec, did not cease to beckon me, and I followed him, by I know not what power drawn upward; when, on a sudden he disappeared, the ball of the earth began moving towards me, and swelled and rose to my feet, until I could alight upon the

"What voyage?" said he, smiling; "surely you dream; we have not stirred from here these five minutes past. But for you, I never saw any person beh ve in so antic a manner. You spread out your arms, stared absurdly into the air, thrashed my face with the skirt of your robe, and made a seeming effort to leap from the rock."

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Seeing the magician chose to deceive in this manner, under pretence of a dream, I said no more, but only thanked him for the pains he had been at, to show me so divine a sight. This," said 1, "is the view you proposed to entertain me with, ascending into the heavens, and beholding the earth dwindled to a silver ball. I thank you heartily; I am made happy indeed; my soul has grown wiser, and now the splendors of yon sun, pouring his yellow glory over the snowy steeps of the Caucasus, and adorning those far-stretching green vales and rocky hills with the beauty of his beams, shows only a faint picture, compared with what we but now saw, when we flew under the moon."

This rhapsody of mine moved nothing but laughter in my companion.

"Come," said he, taking me by the hand, "let us fly; we shall be bewitched in this dangerous mountain. It is some hill sacred to Hecate, and the sprites that haunt it are making sport of us."

So saying he arose, and taking our staves we hurried down the slopes, and found the caravan on the point of moving

The next night, continued Zadec, I questioned my companion touching his art, and besought him to impart to me some of his secrets.

I see," said he, "friend Zadec, you are still of opinion that what you saw upon the mountain was a work of magic. I will not deny, indeed, that there was a magic in it; nay, I confess it was partly my work, aided by a powerful demon, who shall be nameless, but who is able to work much greater marvels. I have often been abused by his delusions, though I am more powerful than he; I have control over the demons of the earth; I can summon to my aid the genii of fire. I can divide rocks, shoot arrows over mountains, destroy at a blow whole

armies, throw down the walls of cities by the power of my demons, whom I am able to confine in phials and copper vessels, sealed with the seal of Hermes."

"I believe you, Manu," said I, answering him by his name," and there is, I think, nothing too hard for you to accomplish. Doubtless you are invulnerable; and what a fool was I to offer you a horse-you who can flit through the air like a griffon or an eagle, bearing thunder in your hand!"

The magician did nothing but laugh while I addressed him in this strain; and when I said his jocularity suited ill with his wisdom and his years, he did but laugh the more. But when I regretted having given him my horse, he assumed an instant gravity.

"Friend Zadec," said he, "I should be a wretch indeed if the opinion you have of my power should prevent your aiding me in case of danger; I told you the conditions of my art, that it would not prolong my own life, or do me any proper service. There is a measure of justice in all men's lives, and if they seek happiness in one path, they find it not in another. I have the happiness of know. ledge, but not that of security. If you see me in peril, defend me as you would your friend."

I could not be persuaded, continued the Phoenician, that the magician meant more than to banter me by such a request; nor would any protestation of his have moved my belief in his invulnerability. But, says the proverb," Occasion brings out the secret" we were set upon soon after by a band of Hyrcanians, from the Caspian. They came upon us in a narrow pass, and soon putting the guard to flight, fell upon the body of the caravan. We defended ourselves well, and drove back the robbers, but with the loss

of half our company, among whom was Manu the magician, who fell by an arrow in the first attack. In his precious wallet, which he had intrusted to my care, I found nothing but a few pieces of gold, a change of linen, and a copper cylinder wrapped with a scroll of old papyrus, marked over with hieroglyphics. În the fold of his robe was a phial of white powder, which I threw away, fearing it might be a devil.

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Here Zadec made an end of his story. Pray," said I, "have you Manu's scroll in your possession ?"

I wear it," he replied, "as a talisman, and I am persuaded of its efficacy; but the figures are illegible." Then taking a small copper cylinder from his bosom, he unrolled the scroll and handed it to me. With great difficulty I deciphered a portion. It ran thus:

"I, Manu, the Ethiopian, educated in the knowledge of Phtha, have been favored in my life by the deities. Horus lent himself to me. Thoth, the miracle worker-he gave me power over the earth spirits, which pervade all things, and work his illusion. He speaks, and they thunder; he calls, and all things are drawn together. Great is Thoth, and wonderful his demons. Great is sulphur, and the yellow vapor of the sea, and the black coal, and the scum of the Dead sea. All these are spirits, and they are everywhere present; but his illusion makes them appear to us here and there, and the ignorant know not their power. I, Manu, am able to convert a diamond, through the aid of Thoth, into a vehement demon, irresistible-"

Here ended the legible writing of the scroll. The remainder resembled an apothecary's writing of receipts for oint

ments.

A VERY great many have written down their opinions, published them too, in respect of the morals, the political rule, and the general appearance of the great Continental Capital. Yet there may be, and doubtless are, many curious people, who, however well satisfied on these points, still would be glad to know what provision there may be made for the material wants, in the French metropolis, and how a stranger is to avail himself of the provision; in other words, what a man eats at Paris-where he eats it, and what he pays for it. Having run over with the reader, though near a year has slipped away s.nce,--the inns, pot-houses, and country roads of England, we will now renew the acquaintance, in arming it together on the Boulevards, and in the crowded alleys of the cité.

With just so much of French on your tongue, as will enable you to pronounce intelligibly Hôtel Meurice, and so much understanding of all the questions that are addressed to you, whether "Oú logez vous?" or, " Combien de malles avez vous?" or, 66 Votre passeport, Monsieur?" that you reply to one and all, with the air of a man who know very well what you are talking about,-" Hôtel Meu rice"-with such stock, I say, of ready conversation on hand, you find yourself some warm noonday of French summertime crossing the last bridge over the Seine on the railway from Rouen to Paris, in a first class car. Had you been longer in the country, you would in all probability have taken a lower priced carriage, where you would have found a seat equally comfortable, and a better position for viewing the country; as it is, you are shut in a carriage for six, which con

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tains besides yourself a red-faced Englishman, in the corner, whose air and dress have formed all along the subject of your speculations, and you have congratulated yourself on so good an opportunity for observing the bearing of a French gentleman. He, good soul, enjoying the privation of talk, wraps himself in his own contemplations, imagining you, all the while, to be some conceited booby of a Frenchman. Had you unfortunately possessed knowledge of enough French words to venture a trifling remark, you would have received in reply only an ominous shake of the head, that would have made you inwardly curse your awkward pronunciation, and envy the superior knowledge of your companion; who isfive to one-ten times more ignorant than yourself. If, unfortunately, you should at such repulse, take a sly peep into your phrase-book, and practice a little upon a short query, under breath, and so, with a good deal of confidence, make a second venture, you will meet with a shake of the head still more ominous, and a repulsive gesture of the hand. At this, you may well give yourself up to despair; and John scowls, and curses the garrulous Frenchman. Nor do you find him out, till you hear him muttering a string of good English oaths, at the Douaniers, who insist upon ovehauling all his baggage for the third time.

Later experiences would teach you, that a first class carriage is no place to study French habits, for the reason, that French travelers in general are better consulters of economy and convenience, than to ride in them; and further, that nine out of ten first class passengers are English, who will not speak French-often be

cause they cannot-and who do not speak English, because they will not. Can stronger reasons be imagined?

But to return: You cross the heavy, but shaking timber bridge-you drive through the bellowing tunnels, and you come to a stop within the walls of the station of Paris. You find your luggage upon the bench of the officers of the Octroi; you unlock, wonderingly; their long fingers probe it to the bottom.

"C'est fini, Monsieur; quelque chose -a votre discretion," says the Examiner. "Hôtel Meurice." The Examiner turns up his nose at you as an incorrigible dog. The porter has caught your destination, and puts your portmanteau upon the omnibus, and he has shown you a seat, and says, Le facteur, Monsieur-quelque chose-pour-boire ?" "Hôtel Meurice." The coachman cracks his whip, the conductor takes his place. "Mais, Monsieur," says the pleading facteur; "quelque chose-quelque-argent."

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The thought occurs that your pronunciation may be still misunderstood, and to be lost the first day in Paris! You seize your pencil, and write in plain characters" Hôtel Meurice." You beckon to the panting facteur; he gathers new energy; he reaches up his hand; you put in it the slip of paper.

"Sac-r-r-e," says the man-you turn a corner, and the poor facteur has vanished. Our companions of the omnibus are strangely disposed to smile. How uncomfortable to be alone for the first time in Paris!

What strange wax floors are these in the sixth story of the Hôtel Meurice, and what odd little beds, in which a short man cannot lie straight, and what a view into the square court-on every side windows, and in the middle a traveling carriage or two, and a strolling courier with a gilt band upon his hat. Below, in the office, are three or four men writing violently; and in the outer court, strolling from smoking to coffee room, are little knots of men, the like of whom, in appearance and language, might be seen all over England. At the table d'hote you see only English faces, and you hear only English voices. Flowers and fruits in very pretty array stretch down the table, and the dishes, surprisingly small to one accustomed to American habits of abundance—are served by English-speaking waiters. After dessert-for there is little sitting over wine at a French table-we lounge into the coffee or smoking rooms,

or out under the arches of the Rue Rivoli, or across the way into the garden, among the throngs that are wearing out the after dinner hour in gossiping under the lindens, and among the oranges. Nursery maids with flocks of children-old ladies with daughters, old women with dogs, old men with canes are walking, sitting, laughing, reading-for the sun is yet a half a degree above the top of the distant Arc de l'Etoile.

At our left, upon entering, is a long, low, verandah-looking building, with swarms of people at little round tables in front of it, where they drink a half cup of black coffee and a thimble full of brandy,-mixing them together, and so dissipate an hour, at the cheap rate of half a franc. We will sit down too, for an ice, or a bottle of the light-looking beer that some are drinking; and so watch the swarms of passers grouping away into the shadows of the trees, and the vast extent of the palace, lengthening away into obscurity, as sombre and thoughtstirring-seen thus for the first time, in the dusk of evening-as has been its history. Here are journals scattered over the tables, if there were not richer interest in observing than in reading; and the evening drums are beating, as the battalion moves down from the Place Vendôme, and they die upon the ear as they scatter over the city. The loungers lessen at the little tables, the crowd go out of the iron gates one by one, and none come in; the lamps of the café are extinguished, the white aproned waiter gathers up the journals, and it is night in the garden, though in the city, it has hardly begun.

The heavy voitures for Neuilly and Passy, and the Barrier de l'Etoile, with their red, green and blue lights, are thundering by. And at going out, is a man with a strange tin temple upon his back, covered with crimson satin, and from under each arm are peeping out silver-tipped water spouts, like the keys of a Scotch bagpipe, and he tinkles a little bell, which means, (for he says nothing,) that for a couple of sous, he will draw you from his temple, a glass of what he has the assurance to call lemonade. Perhaps an old woman is hanging off a yard or two, with a tray of very indigestible-looking cakes, which will be needed by whoever ventures the lemonade, and the last doubly needed by whoever favors the old lady's cake. There is an understanding between the dealers. Gateways are favorite stations for them, and at all the

gateways in Paris you will find them: sometimes one saunters up the Boulevard des Italiens, sometimes under the Obelisk of Luxor, and between the fountains; and on occasions they are adventurous enough to appear within the aristocratic precincts of the Place Vendôme. Their customers are, in general, work people in blouses, small and unruly boys, who are led about by nursery maids, and families of provincial tourists.

We, of course, as strangers, and not knowing but so strange a receptacle may contain some stranger liquor, and still further ignorant, but that our smallest coin may over-pay the vender, regard not the bell, adopting the surer method of paying our two francs for an execrable punch compounded at the hands of an English factor on the corner of the Rue des Pyramids.

Among the first, and most interesting acquaintances, which the stranger finds at Paris, and they may be found in most of the other capitals of Europe, are the valets de place. The court and neighborhood of the Hôtel Meurice, are, we are able to say from experience, particularly favored in this respect. They talk English to a charm-they can understand the very worst of French, and say with an air that goes quite to the heart-" Monsieur, parle fort bien; sa prononciation est vraiment, charmante ?"`

How is there any resisting the advances of such a man? Beside, he knows the town throughout-the best eating-houses, the best shops, and the churches, to a fault. His conversation is piquant; he overflows with a fund of light and lively anecdote; he is a perfect chronicler of dates and events-not barely those commonplace ones which have crept into printed histories, but his observations are more recondite; what, forsooth, cares he for such notable truths as that in 1770 a thousand persons were crushed on the Place de la Concorde, and that in the time of terror the blood ran down the ditches, and tumbled through the parapets, red and sparkling as wine, into the muddy Seine? But when he tells you, with all the energy of inspiration, some private details of the massacre of St. Bartholomew, or that the surgeons in the Hôtel Dieu cut off regularly two legs a day before breakfast, and gives you sundry memoirs of the dead bodies at the Morgue, you may well congratulate yourself on finding so efficient an aid for exploring the wonders of Paris. What

is five francs a day to a man of such resourceful spirit? You want a book; who can do without Galignani's Paris Guide? He takes you to the nicest shop of the town, and at the naming of the price, your valet whispers you, in an under tone, and confidentially, "fery sheep -fery sheep, indeed."

Meekly you pay the price, and as you go out, our shopkeeper puts a franc or two in the hand of the valet-which is neither here nor there. Whatever may be wished, you will find the same obliging willingness on the part of the valet, and the same business knowledge of localities. You may find, indeed, from some good-natured friend or other, who knows the city better than yourself, that you have been paying double prices, no small part of which was in commissions to your valet, and that you have been listening to a great many cock and bull stories; but all this only adds to your lively experience of the gay capital, and should neither put you out of humor with yourself, nor your worthy domestic; for to be out of humor with one's self is always profitless, and to be out of humor with your conductor, would only give scope to renewed politeness in the form of apologies on the part of that individual,-afford him some private amusement, and in no way lessen his disposition to pursue a profession in which he is duly educated, and for which he has been duly licensed.

Whoever passes three days for the first time in Paris, without being thoroughly and effectually cheated-so that he has an entire and vivid consciousness of his having been so cheated-must be either subject to some strange mental aberration, which denies him the power of a perception of truth, or he is an extraordinary exception to all known rules. And the sooner a man learns this, and learns to take it good-naturedly, the better for his sleep, and the better for his appetite. It is done with good grace, and were better received with good grace.

Fancy the absurdity of a man, with a minimum of bad French, getting red in the face, and disputing prices, with a Parisian shopkeeper!

Trop cher? Mon Dieu!" says the dealer. "I sthink you pay vorty times so much at Londres: tenez-voyez-vous

ah! c'est magnifique! You ish long at Paris? C'est une ville charmante. Ah! sacre-quelle etoffe! la meilleur fabrique de la France. Trop cher! ah, c'est une