half as extraordinary, half as astounding
as the singularly-gifted, singularly beautiful,
singularly intellectual being within; a being
from another quarter of the globe, a being
adapted to an entirely different mode of
existence to ours; a being who could see in the
dark, a being who only lived upon raw meat!
A wonderful Albino who could speak the
German tongue!

Of course we must see the Albino; so in we
went, and some way or other I felt an unusual
shock. There he sat, in a black velvet dress
spangled with silver, the light coming in from
the top of the caravan, and his transparent
complexion, his burning, fiery eyes, like
carbuncles, his long waves of white, silky hair,
and his long, curling, snow-white, silky beard,
gave him the appearance of some enchanted
dwarf — some cobold or gnome out of a
subterranean palace.

But I had not much time to lose myself in
dreams about enchanted dwarfs or gnomes,
for there was something else burning in the
caravan besides the Albino's eyes, and that
was Madame Thekla's grand silk cloak! She
had come out with me in all her grandeur;
and now, while we stood enchanted before the
Albino, her fine silk cloak was singeing at a
little iron stove that stood behind the door.
Poor Madame Thekla! Out we rushed, and
she revenged herself by vociferating to the
crowd outside, as the Tyrolian had done just
before, and by exhibiting her unlucky cloak
in a sort of savage despair.

An hour afterwards, we again passed the
caravan, and the Tyrolian in the ribbed
stockings was again holding forth on the steps,
when, at sight of us, he interrupted his
oration, and politely invited us to re-enter,
and complete, free of cost, our inspection of the
Albino. But Madame Thekla, pointing with
stern dignity to her cloak, declined, and
marched on.

After this we went to the wäffeln-booths,
were we ate hot-baked wäffeln, a kind of
gofre cake; and then, resisting a wonderful
elephant show, we hastened to the monkey
theatre, the poor elephant's rival exhibition;
the " Grand Monkey Theatre from Paris," in
which forty-two apes and poodles, the
property of M. Le Cerf, would exhibit the most
wonderful and artistic feats.

We had to wait some time till the four
o'clock performance was over, which
unfortunately had begun before we arrived; and
whilst Madame Thekla and I stood
impatiently waiting in the cold, up there came a
merry-faced lad of about ten, and began, in
great glee, to describe to us the glorious things
that were performed by those " dear little
monkeys and dogs." He was quite eloquent
in his delight; and, " Oh! " said he, " if I had
but another sechser (twopenny-piece), wouldn't
I see it again! " " There is another sechser,
then! " said I, and put one into his fat little
hand. What an astonished, bright, face looked
up into mine; and he seized my hand in both
his, and shook it almost off. And away he
run up the steps for his ticket, flying down
again to us, and keeping as close to us as
possible, talking all the time, and fairly dancing
for joy.

"You've quite bewitched that little fellow,"
said Madame Thekla; and I seemed to have
bewitched all the little lads in the fair, for, by
a strangely-mysterious power, they were
drawn towards us in crowds, from all hands—
little fellows in blouses, little fellows in little
green and brown surtouts, little fellows in old-
fashioned, and, in England, almost forgotten,
buttoned-up suits — and all crept bashfully
towards us! Oh, the wonderful magic of a
twopenny-piece! Heaven only knows how the
news of this munificent gift of a sechser had so
swiftly spread through the fair! One little lad
actually had the bravery to say to me that
"children were admitted at half-price! " And
was I not a cold-hearted wretch to reply,
"Oh, indeed! " just as though it were a
matter of perfect indifference to me, though,
in truth, it was not: but I felt rather appalled
at the sight of such a crowd of little eager
heads, well knowing that my purse was not
full to overflowing, even with twopenny
pieces!

At length we were seated in the little
theatre; and, after a fearful charivari from
the orchestra, the curtain drew up, and we
beheld, seated at a long table, a company of
monkeys! It was a table d'hôte. A dandified
young fellow — perhaps Monsieur Le Cerf
himself—in the most elegant of cravata, the
most elegant white wristbands, the most
elegant ring, and the most elegant moustache,
performed the part of host; the waiter and
waitress were monkeys. The waiter—a most
drunken, good-for-nothing waiter he seemed
—a fat, big ape — drank behind the backs of
the guests the very wine he was serving them
with; he seemed so very tipsy, that he could
hardly walk; he staggered backwards and
forwards, and leaned against the wall for
support, as he emptied the bottle he was bringing
for the company. But the little waitress!
She was a little darling; the tiniest of little
monkeys, and she came skipping on the stage
in a little broad-brimmed straw hat, and a
bright-coloured little dress, with the daintiest
of little white muslin aprons on; she looked
just like a little fairy. Everybody was
enchanted with her. Even Monsieur Le
Cerf himself caressed her, and gave her not
only, every now and then, a nut, but a
kiss. She behaved beautifully. But as to
the guests! They quarrelled, and even fought
—Monsieur Le Cerf said it was about paying
the bill.

I can't pretend to tell you half the clever
things the monkeys did in the way of swinging,
dancing, firing off muskets, riding on a
pony, &c. Wonderful things, too, were
performed by the dogs, splendid spaniels and
setters. One large black-and-tan creature
walked on his fore-legs, in the style of what