enjoy the sight of the house, and said to him thoughtlessly:

"How many ugly women there are in the box of the diplomatic body!"

"The first one is my wife, who arrived this morning," replied the Austrian ambassador.

"Not the one which you point out,” replied the Duke of Laval; "the other beside her, with a white dress; she is hideous."

"It is my sister," said the colleague in a discontented tone.

"But, no, no-the third, so ungraceful; the others are very good-looking."

"It is my daughter!"

"Ah!" replied the Duke of Laval in the most affable tone," she is charming. These ladies are all charming, sir, and I present to you my most sincere compliments."

CXXVII.

THE KING AND THE PAGE.

One day Frederick the Great rang his bell and no one came. He opened the door and found his page asleep in an arm-chair. He advanced towards him, and was about to awake him, when he perceived the corner of a letter which was out of his pocket.

He felt curious to know what it was, took

it out and read it. It was a letter from the mother of the young man, thanking him for sending her a part of his wages, to lighten her poverty. She concluded by telling him that God would bless him on account of the filial love which he had for her.

The king having read this note, took a roll of gold pieces, slipped it, along with the letter, into the pocket of the page, and quietly reentered his room. A little afterwards he rang so loudly that the page awoke and came to the king.

"You have slept soundly!" Frederick said to him. The page seeks to excuse himself, and in his embarrassment puts his hand into his pocket. He feels the roll, draws it out, and is at the height of astonishment. He grows pale, and looks at the king, in shedding a torrent of tears, without being able to utter a single word.

"What is it?" said the king; "what is the matter?" "Ah, sire!" said the young man, throwing himself at his knees, "they want to ruin me; I do not know what this money is which I find in my pocket." "My friend," said Frederick, "God often sends us wealth while we are asleep. Send that to your mother, and assure her that henceforth I will take care of her and you."

CXXVIII.

THE YOUNG CYRUS.

The young Cyrus having obtained from Astyages, his grandfather, permission to hand his drink to him, in order to imitate the cup-bearer of that prince he fulfilled this duty very gracefully.

"I am pleased, my son," said Astyages to him, "no one can serve better. But since you wish to imitate Sacas (this was the name of the cup-bearer), why did you not, like him, taste the wine?"

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"I was afraid," replied the young prince with frankness, "that there might be poison in that liquor. For at the festival which you gave on your birthday to the noblemen of your court, I saw clearly that Sacas had poisoned you all." How did you see that?" said the king. "How!” replied Cyrus; "because I perceived, after they had drank a little of that liquor, all the guests lost their senses. I saw you do things which you would not pardon children for doing-shouting all at once, without understanding what you were saying; then singing all together in a most ridiculous manner; and when one of you sang alone, you swore, without having heard him sing, that he sang admirably well. Each of you boasted of your

strength; but when you had to rise, you could not even keep yourselves steady on your feet."

“How?” replied Astyages; “does not the same thing happen to your father?"

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Never," replied Cyrus.

"What happens to him, then, when he has drunk?"

"He ceases to be thirsty," replied the child.

CXXIX.

VICTOR COUSIN AND MR. VILLEMAIN.

Cousin and Villemain were brought up together, studied together, shared the same inkstand and the same repasts.

Monsieur Villemain, two years older than Victor Cousin, about 1813, delighted to talk and to live with him. They were then students, and poor. Ah, happy days! They had little to live upon; for dinner, for example, a dish of meat, some vegetables, and two apples, each one his own.

But Mr. Villemain was greedy. When the moment came for the dessert, he skilfully turned the conversation on one of the pet subjects of the enthusiast Victor Cousin. The latter, fiery, started like a cork from a champagne bottle, and started eloquently into his philoso

phical theories. . . . Then, while listening to him, while smiling, Monsieur Villemain ate the two apples.

CXXX.

THE SEA ON STRIKE.

Some men intrusted to represent the waves in a tempest, had been engaged in a theatre at the rate of a shilling per night. They were reduced to sixpence.

The waves immediately held a meeting, at which it was decided that all the sea should be on strike. Consequently, the same evening, whilst counterfeit lightning was raging on the stage, and the false thunder resounded at its loudest behind the scenes, the ocean, to the stupefaction of all, remained calm and smooth like a carpet.

The prompter, out of his wits, raised a corner of the cover and ordered the waves to do their duty. "Waves at sixpence or a shilling?" asked a voice which came from the bottom of the abyss. "At a shilling!" replied the prompter, who had no other alternative.

As soon as this magic word had been pronounced, the sea moved in good earnest, as if it had been tossed by a true tempest.