boat, and determined to wait for another
twenty-four hours for the next steamer.
The next day (Thursday) was of brighter
aspect; the sun shone out cheerfully in the
morning, and we had the opportunity of
studying the faces of refugees under a more
propitious sky than the day before. Our feelings
towards them, however, were slightly
changed, for we now looked on each
individual as a possible competitor in the
struggle for berths which was sure to ensue
long before three A.M. on the next day.
Warned by experience, we went on board
at ten P.M., and even at this time the steward
looked upon himself as treating us with
especial favour in finding us sitting room
by the side of the saloon table, where he
instructed us we might, when supper was over,
lay our head on our arms on the mahogany,
and try to sleep till the hour of starting.
Five hours of sitting in this stifling
and fetid atmosphere seemed to the jaunty
steward rather a light and airy way of
spending one's time. However, recalling to
mind the bargain which had been struck
with the engineer of the vessel of the
previous night, we requested to be put into
communication with that grimy dignitary.
A bargain was soon made, and we were
forthwith ensconced in a little den of our
own, which was indeed a haven of peace,
amid the wild fight for accommodation
going on fore and aft throughout the boat.
The whole cargo of passengers was about
five or six hundred, and never since the
boat was launched had she had to bear so
miscellaneous and mournful a crowd.

There were people of every condition
and every nation, though the French of
course predominated; and women with
tribes of children of all ages, from the babe
at the breast to the child who was ceasing
to be a child. There were Spaniards, Jews,
Italians, Wallachs, Austrians, &c.; bankers'
clerks, musicians, itinerant jugglers, actors
and actresses, dealers in articles of virtù,
photographers,idlers, and members of every
imaginable trade and profession. On our
emerging upon deck in the morning we
found amid the crowd a face we recognised;
close behind our friend stood two
men in livery. This was M.——, of one
of the leading banks in Paris, and the two
men in livery were servants of the bank.
The three had been sent over together to
convey to London and place in security all
the valuable papers of the bank—amounting
to Heaven knows how many millions
of francs; and from the jealous watch kept
over bags and little boxes by many of the
passengers, one could well see that stores
of jewels, trinkets, and valuables were being
carried away from the impending fall of the
Gallic Babylon, and one was irresistibly
reminded of the flight of the multitude
from Pompeii when the portentuous black
cloud big with ruin was hanging over the
terrified city.

Nevertheless, careworn and downcast as
was every face, one noticed a temporary
gleam of satisfaction come over it, when
the foot was surely set on the peaceful soil
of England. May all the sad-hearted
immigrants find among us a kindly welcome,
until they can return in security to their
much-loved country, no longer profaned by
the tread of the invader!

      A LITTLE MORE PROVERBIAL
                PHILOSOPHY.

NON vale un acca—not worth an H—is a
saying in Italy, where, to account for it,
Baretti tells his readers, "We have no
aspiration" and the "dronish letter" means
exactly nothing at all.

Precisely the same meaning is with us,
in England, when we say, Not worth a rap,
and, although the idioms of the two nations
do not run quite parallel here, they do run
parallel in many proverbial instances. We
say, for instance, One swallow does not
make a summer. The Italians put it, Un
fiore non fa primavera—one flower does not
make a spring; and the force of both is
made clearer by the contrasting. If the
cap fits wear it, we English people say.
Chi ha spaga, aggomitoli—he who has pack-
thread may wind it, insinuates an Italian;
varying it, at times, with a deeper cut
still, to Chi è in difetto è in sospetto—he
who is in fault is in fear. They who come
late must kiss the cook, Baretti tells us was
our wit, in his time, to tardy comers. Chi
tarda arriva, male alloggia—a late arriver is
lodged badly, is the corresponding whip to
promote punctuality in Italy. To kill two
birds with one stone is considered by us
a masterpiece of completion. Batter due
chiodi ad una calda—to strike, that is,
forge, two nails at one heating, denotes the
same cleverness to an Italian. Meddle
with what concerns you, is a saying of ours
that might be thought emblematic of only
British caution and reserve. The same
sentiment, however, prevails in impetuous
Italy. Metter la falce nella biada altrui—
put the scythe in other men's corn, is the
version there; and so is, rhymingly,

"tr