Misrule;" and "the like," says Stow," had ye in the house of every nobleman of honour or good worship, were he spiritual or temporal."

In some Catholic countries there is a custom of dressing up puppets, called Christmas children, hiding them on Christmaseve, setting persons in quest of them, and giving a reward to the finder; nor is it improbable that this custom was also derived from the Heathen practice of sending puppets as presents during the Saturnalia. "At Rome," says an ancient calendar, "sweetmeats were presented to the fathers in the Vatican, as well as all kinds of little images;* and these last were found in abundance in the confectioners' shops."-Nay, in England, the bakers used formerly to bake a kind of baby, or little image of paste, which they presented to their customers; in the same way as chandlers gave Christmas candles.

Before we take our leave of this subject, we cannot refrain from adverting to a singular tradition, from which some have been willing to derive the name given to this festival, in the East. It is related by some of the old fathers of the church, that, on the night of our Saviour's birth, a number of fountains and rivers were turned into wine; and they add, that this miracle took place on the very night and at the very hour of his nativity, in order that the disbelievers in the truths of Revelation might be turned from their unbelief. St. Chrysostom says, in one of his Homilies, that the water drawn on that night, kept for some years without undergoing any natural change; and he concludes that from this circumstance arose the tradition we have mentioned. Epiphanius, the first father of the church, indeed, places so much credit in the tale, that he ventures to make use of it as one weapon for confounding the infidels of his day. However, the second father of that name, who lived thirty years later, pronounces this tradition to be, what it really appears to have been, a fable; though he still believes it to be the distortion of some different occurrence. Be all this as it may, the tradition was once of general notoriety; the people placed implicit faith in it; many of the fathers sided with them; and none but the enlightened Chrysostom were unable to persuade themselves of its authenticity.

* In Vaticano-" Dulcia Patribus exhibentur.

-omnium generum Imaguncula."

S.

Our English appellation of "Christmas" originated in the mass at this season being called Christ's-mass; it was usual, at this season, for the Romish priests to offer up masses to the saints, imploring forgiveness for the people of their debaucheries, or backslidings, at this festival.-The German name for this season is "Wein-nachten," or Wine Nights, which some derive from the tradition above alluded to, and others from the practice which prevailed among the ancient Germans, of celebrating this period of the year by general drinkingbouts, and interchanging presents of "the juice of the grape."

ANECDOTES OF THE BASTILLE.

COUNT DE B-, a Lieutenant-general in the French army, who died about the commencement of the Revolution, had lived on terms of intimacy with the two M. M. de Belle-Isle, of whom he occasionally related interesting private anecdotes. The following particulars are so extremely curious that they deserve to be recorded:

The Count and the Chevalier de Belle-Isle were grandsons of the famous Intendant Fouquet ; and notwithstanding the disgrace of their grandfather, they were pretty well advanced in the military service at the death of Louis XIV. After the saturnalia of the regency, they became involved in the disasters of Le Blanc, the secretary of state for the war department, and the two brothers were arrested and put under close confinement in the Bastille. To aggravate their misfortune, they were imprisoned in separate apartments. The Chevalier was constantly endeavouring to devise some plan by which he might be enabled to enjoy the society of his brother. He had with him a valet de chambre, a young man of spirit and activity, and who, moreover, possessed no small share of cunning: he had been educated as a surgeon, and, at his own solicition, was permitted to share his master's captivity. By means of intrigue and artful interrogations, he learned that an apartment, then unoccupied, was the only disposable one in the prison, and that it was immediately below that allotted to the Count. He accordingly formed his plan, without saying a word on the subject to the Chevalier.

The Chevalier, though a man of intrepid courage, occasionally exhibited a weakness of mind which is not without example even in persons of the firmest character: he was unable to bear the sight of a wound, or even to hear one spoken of, without experiencing those disagreeable sensations to which nervous persons are liable, and which often terminate in completely overpowering the organic faculties. This reciprocal mental and physical reaction, in the human frame, is unaccounted for, though its existence cannot be doubted. It resembles those puerile, but unconquerable antipathies we experience at the sight of certain animals, or the odour of particular plants; or rather, perhaps, those fits of vertigo with which persons (who on all other occasions exhibit perfect self-possession) are seized on ascending a height, or when on the brink of a precipice. Be that as it may, no man is a hero to his valet de chambre; and the knowledge of this habit enabled the faithful servant of the Chevalier de Belle-Isle the better to arrange his schemes.

The Governor of the Bastille paid frequent visits to his two

prisoners. The conversation of the Chevalier particularly pleased him. The valet was occasionally permitted to join them; for he had a number of stories, anecdotes, and jests, with which he enlivened conversation, and excited the interest and curiosity of his hearers. One day he very adroitly turned the discourse to the battle of Hochstadt, in which he had served in the medical department of the army. He did not fail to dwell on this subject with all the eloquence he was master of. All the wounds he had dressed—all the amputations he had seen performed all the heart-rending groans he had heard—nothing was spared. At length, to effect his object with the more certainty, he even overcharged the picture. The talisman had the desired effect. The Chevalier performed his part the better by not being prepared for it; he grew pale, became gradually more and more languid, and at last fainted. The zealous valet flew to his assistance; and by applying the usual remedies, soon recovered his master. The Governor anxiously inquired the cause of the sudden indisposition of the Chevalier. "Sir," said the valet, "grateful for your goodness and attention, my master did not venture to complain to you; but, certainly, the room you have assigned to him is very injurious to his delicate nerves. The accident you have witnessed takes place almost daily; and indeed I cannot answer for the Chevalier's life, if his lodging be not changed." The Governor, an old officer, better acquainted with military affairs than with physiology, did not hesitate a moment. "Why did you not speak before," exclaimed he, "my dear Chevalier? There is a room vacant on the other side of the fort, and you shall be removed to it this very evening." The Chevalier returned thanks, and the Governor withdrew to give his orders. He well knew that the two brothers would thus be nearer each other; but he relied on the thickness of the walls, and the vigilance of the sentinels, to prevent all intercourse between them. He was deceived, for misfortune is ingenious. After a minute search, the Chevalier and his valet discovered a chimney-pipe, which led to the Count's chamber, and a communication was soon established between the two brothers.

It was of great importance to the prisoners to be able thus to concert together for their common defence; but that was not all-it was necessary to find the means of annihilating the material evidence which might compromise them. The Chevalier had acquired a knowledge of the charges that were brought against him. There was one very serious accusation which could be supported only by one individual, namely, a clerk in one of the offices of the war department. This man was easily intimidated, and still more easily gained over by promises: the prisoners, however, had but a very superficial knowledge of him.

The Chevalier de Belle-Isle, therefore, arranged his plan from conjecture; and tranquilly awaited the day when he should be confronted with his accusers.

According to the old French system of judicial investigation, the first examinations were always secret. The witness appeared in the presence of the accused, and no person attended the proceedings except the judge and the clerk. The prescribed rules, however, were not very rigorously observed when the accused party happened to be a person of rank. In the present case the deposition was read. It was very strong; but the Chevalier soon knew the man he had to deal with. He composed himself, and listened with profound attention to the evidence. Surprise, grief, and impatience, were by turns painted in his countenance. When the reading was ended, he rushed forward to the witness, and, seizing his hand, he exclaimed, in the most emphatic way, "How, sir, can it be possible that you are my accuser?-You, for whom I have always felt so much interest!-You, whom I have ever regarded as a friend!-Can you lend an ear to such absurd calumnies?"—He continued to address the witness in a tone of vehemence and warmth, which indicated an affectionate complaint rather that a bitter recrimination, until he observed some happy result of his eloquence. He, moreover, employed an argument on which he relied with still greater confidence. On seizing the witness's hand, he contrived secretly to slip into it a note, which he had prepared for the purpose; and thus placed the witness in the delicate alternative of becoming either his accuser or his accomplice. The movement of the Chevalier de Belle-Isle was so sudden and unexpected, that nobody could think of opposing him; and, besides, it appeared extremely natural, and strictly within the bounds of legal defence. The witness was confounded by the impressive appeal that had been made to him; and found that he was in possession of a secret, which might decide the fate of an accused person, who had thus thrown himself on his generosity. He was aware of the danger of retracting, while, at the same time, he was flattered by the condescending way in which a man of rank treated him as his friend-in short, he was perplexed by conflicting thoughts and sentiments. The Chevalier observed the embarrassment of his antagonist, and felt the necessity of immediately relieving him. Resuming the evidence article by article, he endeavoured to soften it down, and at the same time to avoid compromising the witness by blank denials. His plan succeeded. The charges became more and more feeble, till, at length, the whole evidence rested on a few unimportant assertions, which, there was reason to hope, might be satisfactorily refuted. The sitting terminated; but such was the terror with which the witness was seized, that he had not courage to

unclose the hand in which he held the note. He passed the drawbridge of the Bastille, and wandered through almost every street in Paris, like a criminal, dreading the glance of every one he met. It was not until he reached the Pont-Royal that he ventured, by stealth, to cast his eyes on the note. Within the first envelope were written these words: "If you faithfully and speedily deliver the enclosed note according to its address, your fortune is made." The inner note was directed to a lady, the intimate friend of the Chevalier, requesting her to take charge of, and to suppress, certain letters which might prove of the utmost injury to his cause. The commission was punctually fulfilled, and the witness received the promised reward.

The above were not the only extraordinary circumstances attending the fate of the M. M. de Belle-Isle. When the evidence against them was at an end, the two brothers were granted somewhat more freedom, and also the permission of living together. By means of secret communications, they had agreed with a friend that, if their sentence should be unfavourable, they were to be warned of it by the firing of a certain number of guns. One day, as they were walking together on one of the ramparts of the prison, they heard the signal, and the fatal number of guns announced their irrevocable condemnation. They descended mournfully, and retired to their gloomy apartment. In a few moments, their friend rushed in to inform them of their acquittal. On inquiring into the cause of the mistake, it was found to have been occasioned by a gun-maker of the Faubourg St. Antoine, who happened that day to be making trial of some of his guns.

After their liberation, the most brilliant fortune attended the two prisoners. The Chevalier was created a Count, and promoted to the rank of Lieutenant-general: after distinguishing himself honourably in the service of his country, he was killed at the attack of Col-de-l'Assiette, in the year 1746. His elder brother, who is celebrated for many acts of valour and military skill, particularly for the retreat of Prague, was created a Duke, a Peer and Marechal of France, and died minister of war in 1761. At the commencement of the seven years' war, he had the misfortune to lose his only son, the Count de Gisors, a young officer of the greatest promise. Thus perished the last branches of the family of the Intendant. Like him, they possessed all the brilliant qualifications necessary for the success of ambitious projects; and they were memorable examples of the frowns and favours of fortune.