Suddenly a shriek of agony startled the
bathers and spectators. A young soldier had
taken two horses into the sea; but, not being
aware of the treacherous conformation of the
ground and the power of the tide, he had
ventured out too far, and man and horses suddenly
sank in deep water. The boat at once pulled
towards the spot. Like others, I hastily swam
back to the machine, huddled on my clothes,
and joined an anxious crowd just as the
apparently lifeless body of the soldier was placed on
a sort of stretcher on wheels, to be conveyed
to that small yellow house familiar to every
visitor at Boulogne, close to the Etablissement,
called Maison de Sauvetage. Two sergents-de-
ville prevented persons trom entering. They
were stopping me; but, on my presenting my
card, the magic "open sesame," "journaliste,"
admitted me at once.

The doctor, two attendants, four private
soldiers, and two or three officials, were in the place.
It is a clean, airy, well-ventilated room, with four
beds without curtains, a table, and some wooden
chairs. On one of these beds the drowned man
was placed. The four soldiers stripped him, the
usual warm applications were resorted to, and
rubbing of the body was vigorously performed.
The man lay motionless, but life was not extinct.
I stood at the head of the bed anxiously watching
his eyes, which had a dull glazed look, but
not the look of death.

The doctor now did what, in England, is seldom,
if ever, done. He bled the patient in
the left arm. The blood trickled, and, as the
rubbing continued, the body was soon
covered with blood, until it was sponged off by
one of the attendants with warm water. Still
there were no signs of motion. The doctor
then forced the point of a small pair of bellows
into the man's mouth, with a view to
inflate the lungs; but without effect. He then
drew a deep breath, and, placing his lips upon
those of the dying man, endeavoured to blow
warm life into him. This he repeated twice. All
this took place in a very few moments.

The shadow of death suddenly passed over
the man's face. I looked at the doctor, who
with his thumb gently raised the upper eyelid
and shook his head. I placed my hand
on the chest of the dead soldier. It was cold
clay. "He is dead?" I said, inquiringly. The
doctor shrugged his shoulders, and put on his
hat. We left the room together.

All that was done to save that poor fellow's
life was well and promptly done. The question
as to the propriety of bleeding in cases of
drowning, is one wnich appertains to the realm
of medical science. In Italy it is usually
resorted to. Indeed, bleeding is there so usual,
that every barber carries a lancet. If an
Italian feel heavy in the head, he has a
"salazzo"—that is to say, he enters a barber's
shop, bares his arm, and is bled. Cavour,
according to some, was positively bled to
death.

We have a receiving-house for the drowned,
near the Serpentine. Here, the hot bath is
used instead of bleeding, and many imprudent
skaters have been saved by that simple remedy.
The matter may be worth the consideration of
French authorities.

KÄTCHEN'S CAPRICES.

IN TEN CHAPTERS. CHAPTER I.

IT was a pretty picture, prettily set, that
fair young face crowned with a lavish abundance
of plaited tresses, looking forth from the quaintly
carved window-frame! The owner of the face
was Katerina Kester; and if you had lived in
the village of Gossan, or within twenty English
miles of it, I should not have needed to say
more. You would have known her by reputation,
if not by sight. But as it is, I had better
explain who she was. Katerina's father, Josef
Kester, kept an inn at the village of Gossan, in
Upper Austria, close to the beautiful lake of
Hallstadt. Not the inn where travellers stopped
to dine and bait their horses, and whence they
took boats for excursions on the lake; that was
the Black Eagle. Josef's hostelry bore the
sign of the Golden Lamb, and was of much
humbler pretensions, being frequented only by
the country-people, or occasionally receiving a
footsore "Bursch," or German travelling workman,
tramping through his probationary year
of apprenticeship. The Black Eagle was
flourishing, the Golden Lamb was decaying. The
epithets black and golden might, indeed, have
been reversed in their case; for the eagle had
a glaring gilt beak and gilt talons, and a bright
gilt crown on each of his two cruel-looking
heads; while to believe that the poor lamb had
ever been golden, was a strain on one's faith,
so begrimed and dingy had he grown, with the
blackening effects of time and weather. But
the lamb, whether black or golden, possessed
something of more beauty, ay, and some people
thought of more value, than any article within
the well-furnished rooms, guarded by the fierce,
spruce, double-headed eagle. Katerina Kester,
the landlord's daughter, was famed among the
Gossaners, and for many a mile around Gossan,
as being the prettiest girl in those parts. That
might not be saying that she was really beautiful;
for gloriously bountiful as Nature has been
in making the surrounding scenery delightful
to the eyes, she has not scattered female loveliness
amongst its inhabitants with so lavish a
hand. The women are in general tall and
strong, but meagre, bony, brown-skinned, and
betraying the effects of hard work and hard fare,
by a premature appearance of age. Katerina,
however, was as fresh and fair and rounded as
a Hebe. Her mother had been a Saxon woman,
from Tirna on the Elbe; and from her, Katerina
inherited a blonde peach-like skin, large
limpid light-blue eyes, and an enormous wealth
of fair hair. This hair was splendid from its
silky quality and great quantity; but it had not
the warm richness of colour which painters
love. It was not golden, but resembled rather
the pale brightness of moonlight than the
dazzling glow of sunshine; and when uncoiled it
fell down straight on her knees in a silky mass,