'T'ou didn't see a green striped carpet-bag,' said he, almost breathless-' didst t'ou?'

'What! was that yours?' The guard again opened his receptacles; again rummaged them-not there!

'What is it you're seeking?' shouted his friend from the door at which he stopped, at the same time holding up the carpet-bag, already delivered.

Ah! a ha' gotten it!-all reet-good-day to you;' and for the last time, we saw the tormenting little man with the wig!

So ends this tale of a coach-goblin-for, at the time, I could hardly consider him in any other light. Perhaps, at home, as Bob Acres says, and out of harm's way, the little man with the wig was a most respectable member of society. It was evident, however, from his proneness to coach-accidents and scrapes, that he was a man who, in circumstances at all extraordinary, and when forming part of a social system, was calculated to derange his own comfort and that of every person in contact with him— not perhaps, from ill dispositions, but from want of attention and punctuality. There are many such characters in life; but I never met with one in a more extreme or more amusing form than the LITTLE MAN WITH THE WIG.

ANECDOTE OF A LUNATIC.

'WHAT is honour?' says Falstaff. A word. What is in that word honour? What is that honour? Air.' Though the witty knight thus reached the conclusion that honour, being neither able to set a limb,' nor to take away the grief of a wound,' was a non-existent thing, the very fact of his making such a catechetical inquiry into its nature and qualities shews that, in his days, honour had been somewhat of a puzzle, as it certainly is in ours. It may be air, but sometimes it is air in commotion, with the

force of a potent breeze to fill the sails of prosperity, or a hurricane to overturn and destroy. The most heterogeneous things are done in its name, and the most irreconcilable things reconciled through its influence. A man of honour may cheat honest tradesmen, and still be held not the less honourable; but if he does not pay a gambler whom he strongly suspects of cheating him, he ceases to be a man of honour. A man of honour may ruin the happiness of his dearest friend, and yet be not the less a man of honour-provided always that, in addition to the injury primarily inflicted, he is willing to go out and shoot at the friend in question. In short, the most extraordinary incongruities go to the making up of the compound, honour, at the present day. Of some features in the modern man of honour's character, every principle of reason and justice bids us disapprove; but in other respects, certainly, there is something fine and noble in the ideas entertained on this subject. We have a little story to tell, which will at once illustrate our meaning, and shew how the preceding ideas have been at this moment suggested to us.

Visiting lately a rural district of Scotland, which, for good reasons, we do not wish to name particularly, we were led to pay a visit to a small private asylum for lunatics-a scene always peculiarly attractive to those who take an interest in the philosophy of mind. Everything was found to be in a most comfortable and creditable condition-as unlike as possible to that of all such places twenty or thirty years ago. One individual, out of the small number of persons confined here, arrested our special attention. He was a man past mid-age, upright in person, and with that general bearing which at once indicates the military man. His manner was quick and lively, or rather restless, and this was, in truth, the only feature in his deportment from which one could have guessed anything to be amiss with him. He spoke rapidly, and with apparent good sense, and seemed to take a pleasure in talking with visitors, as well as to have an anxiety to entertain them. His power to do so was in a great

measure confined to the exhibition of his room, and the few curiosities contained in it. He had everything in excellent order-the habits of the soldier in this respect being evidently strong within him. All his books were neatly arranged, and his numerous papers were docketed and shelved with the greatest regularity. These papers consisted chiefly of memorials to government or the waroffice, the drawing up of which formed the great occupation, we were told, of his days, and the main theme of his conversation. Altogether, he spoke so sensibly, and everything about him had such an appearance of order and respectability, that it was impossible not to feel an interest in the poor man, or to avoid entertaining some curiosity as to his past history. Fortunately, a friend was able to supply the desired information on this point.

'Poor Captain B- said our informant, is a victim to the niceties of military honour at the present day, though, in some measure, as you shall hear, he assuredly deserved his fate. He served with credit in our army during the early part of the late continental war, and was subsequently sent out with his regiment to one of the West India islands, for the possession of which the French were then disputing with us. The British took the island, and remained stationed in it for some time, but they were in turn attacked and expelled by the French. A considerable number of our soldiery were taken prisoners, and among them was Captain B- He was a man unpossessed of that degree of mental fortitude which can render endurable any chance occurring in the way of duty, and fretted greatly under the misfortune that befell him. Nevertheless, like others, he gave his parole not to attempt an escape, and on the faith thereof, was permitted to enjoy a good deal of licence in his movements. He and his companions were not permitted to roam wherever they chose, indeed, on the island, but they were allowed the freedom of a large open space for the benefit of air and exercise.

'Such had been the state of things for some weeks, when, one day, a British ship was seen hovering off the

island. Captain B saw it among others, and instantly the possibility of an escape occurred to him. If he could quit his place of confinement, and put off in a small boat from the coast, under cover of the shades of evening, the probability was, that he would readily reach the ship. But, then, his parole-the word of honour given by him not to attempt flight? Captain B- was not blind to the impropriety of breaking a pledge of this kind; but the desire of escape gained the ascendancy over all other feelings, and smoothed down all objections. That night, without communicating his intention to any one, the captain contrived to leave his room, clambered over the wall encircling his place of confinement, and made his way safely to the beach. The moonlight enabled him to see the British ship at but a very short distance, and he got hold of a small boat without being observed. In this vessel, after a long and laborious pull at the oars, the captain found himself at last by the side of his countrymen's ship, and was taken in greatly exhausted. "To the officer in command, Captain B said nothing about his parole, but when conveyed to Jamaica, where his regiment then lay with the rest of the forces on the West India station, he found himself obliged to tell the truth, knowing that, sooner or later, it would be learned from others, whether he himself told it or not. After the excitement attending the act of escape had passed off, he had begun to reflect, with some uneasiness, on the light in which the matter might be viewed by his superiors in command. But the reality was far more harassing than he had at all anticipated. His colonel, when informed of the affair, threw him instantly into arrest, and summoned a court-martial to inquire into the matter. The captain's statement was decisive against himself. He admitted having given his parole, and having broken it. The decision against him was unanimous, and to the effect, that his "conduct was most unworthy a British officer and gentleman, and calculated to throw disgrace on the whole service." It was, morcover, resolved, that he should be instantly sent back again to the French station, with the

explanation, that "the British army, to a man, reprobated the conduct of Captain B- in breaking his parole."

'Accordingly, by the earliest opportunity, the unlucky officer was reconveyed to his late place of confinement among the French. His state of mind, under these circumstances, was pitiable. To be so cast off and repudiated by his own friends, and to be sent back to meet still greater disgrace, and perhaps punishment, at the hands of the enemy, was indeed calculated to gall his feelings most deeply. The results of his re-transmission to the French station made the case much worse. When he was landed under a flag of truce, and conveyed to the quarters of the general in command, that personage immediately called his principal officers about him, and held a consultation with them. Captain B- was present, and every eye was turned upon him with indignant contempt. The conference was short, and ended in the commander sitting down to write a note, which bore, that "the French were highly gratified with the politeness of the British in sending back Captain B, and sincerely believed that every man in the British army must despise his conduct in violating his word of honour; but that they (the French) begged leave to return him to his friends, as they declined keeping, or having anything further to do with, so mean a rascal." This note was read aloud to Captain Band that unfortunate person was afterwards under the necessity of returning to the vessel which had brought him from Jamaica.

'If the feeling of shame and disgrace endured by the captain was great before, it was increased tenfold on his return to Jamaica with the scornful note of the French commander. All his former friends cut him directly and avowedly. No man would speak to or associate with him, and he was ultimately obliged to petition to be sent home on the plea of bad health. In reality, his bodily health was perfectly good, but not so with his mental health. The circumstances here related preyed upon his thoughts, until reason was shaken from her throne. This change was first made apparent in England, by the incessant and