Like summer lightning, French wit flashes frequently, brightly and innocuously, leaving nothing disagreeable to remind one of its having appeared.  Conversation is, with the French, the aim and object of society.  All enter it prepared to take a part, and he best enacts it who displays just enough knowledge to show that much remains behind.  Such is the tact of the Parisians, that even the ignorant conceal the poverty of their minds, and might, to casual observers, pass as being in no way deficient, owing to the address with which they glide in an a propos oui, ou non, and an appropriate shake of the head, nod of assent, or dissent.

The constitutional vivacity of the French depending much on their mercurial temperaments, greatly aids them in conversation.  A light and playful sally acquires additional merit when uttered with gaiety; and should a bon mot even contain something calculated to pique any one present, or reflect on the absent, the mode in which it is uttered takes off from the force of the matter; whereas, on the contrary, the more grave and sententious manner peculiar to the English adds pungency to their satire.  Our old and valued friend, Mr. J. Strangways, has arrived at Paris, and very glad were we to see him once more.  He passed through a severe trial since last we parted; and his conduct under it towards his poor friend, Mr. Anson, does him credit.

The two companions—­one the brother of the Earl of Ilchester, and the other of Lord Anson—­were travelling in Syria together.  They had passed through Aleppo, where the plague had then appeared, and were at the distance of several days’ journey from it, congratulating themselves on their safety, when, owing to some error on the part of those who examined their firman, they were compelled to retrace their steps to Aleppo, where, condemned to become the inhabitants of a lazaretto until the imagined mistake could be corrected, they found themselves tete-a-tete.

The first two or three days passed without any thing to alarm the friends.  Engaged in drawing maps for their intended route, and plans for the future, the hours glided away even cheerfully.

But this cheerfulness was not long to continue; for Mr. Anson, having one morning asked Mr. Strangways to hold the end of his shawl while he twisted it round his head as a turban, the latter observed, with a degree of horror and dismay more easily to be imagined than described, the fatal plague-spot clearly defined on the back of the neck of his unfortunate friend.

He concealed his emotion, well knowing that a suspicion of its cause would add to the danger of Mr. Anson, who, as yet, was unconscious of the fearful malady that had already assailed him.  Totally alone, without aid, save that contained in their own very limited resources, what must have been the feelings of Mr. Strangways, as he contemplated his luckless companion?