appearance, a favourable result, but the patient grew worse, and could not breathe.  His medical attendants could not conceive what occasioned this accident and retarded his cure.  He died almost in the arms of the Dauphin, who went every day to see him.  The singularity of his disease determined the surgeons to open the body, and they found, in his chest, part of the leaden syringe with which decoctions had, as was usual, been injected into the part in a state of suppuration.  The surgeon, who committed this act of negligence, took care not to boast of his feat, and his patient was the victim.  This incident was much talked of by the King, who related it, I believe, not less than thirty times, according to his custom; but what occasioned still more conversation about the Chevalier de Montaign, was a box, found by his bed’s side, containing haircloths, and shirts, and whips, stained with blood.  This circumstance was spoken of one evening at supper, at Madame de Pompadour’s, and not one of the guests seemed at all tempted to imitate the Chevalier.  Eight or ten days afterwards, the following tale was sent to the King, to Madame de Pompadour, to the Baschi, and to the Duc d’Ayen.  At first nobody could understand to what it referred:  at last, the Duc d’Ayen exclaimed.  “How stupid we are; this is a joke on the austerities of the Chevalier de Montaign!” This appeared clear enough—­so much the more so, as the copies were sent to the Dauphin, the Dauphine, the Abbe de St. Cyr, and to the Duc de V——.  The latter had the character of a pretender to devotion, and, in his copy, there was this addition, “You would not be such a fool, my dear Duke, as to be a faquir—­confess that you would be very glad to be one of those good monks who lead such a jolly life.” The Duc de Richelieu was suspected of having employed one of his wits to write the story.  The King was scandalised at it, and ordered the Lieutenant of Police to endeavour to find out the author, but either he could not succeed or he would not betray him.

Japanese Tale.

At a distance of three leagues from the capital of Japan, there is a temple celebrated for the concourse of persons, of both sexes, and of all ranks, who crowd thither to worship an idol believed to work miracles.  Three hundred men consecrated to the service of religion, and who can give proofs of ancient and illustrious descent, serve this temple, and present to the idol the offerings which are brought from all the provinces of the empire.  They inhabit a vast and magnificent edifice, belonging to the temple, and surrounded with gardens where art has combined with nature to produce enchantment.  I obtained permission to see the temple, and to walk in the gardens.  A monk advanced in years, but still full of vigour and vivacity, accompanied me.  I saw several others, of different ages, who were walking there.  But what surprised me was to see a great many of them amusing themselves by various agreeable and sportive games with young