like cockatrices' eggs for a pepper-and-mustard pudding! You will have to patch up their quarrels when you are my private secretary!' And the fiend had his laugh, and I did not envy him the pleasure.
I could not help pitying poor Antony. He is one of the grand and inimitable 'Lives' of Plutarch, in which I have from boyhood taken the greatest delight, although the dark side of his character is black enough. His close connection with, and devotion to, the wonderful Julius Caesar, his military talents and brilliant victories—nay, even his lightness and gaiety as contrasted with the heavy, bloodthirsty ferocity of Marius and Sylla—won my youthful admiration, if they did not command my respect; and his miserable self-inflicted death, under the influence of a heartless woman, often nearly brought tears to my eyes. What agony it must be to be under the heel of a vindictive, untruthful woman, who will unmercifully drag her victim before the scornful world !
A few steps brought us to the gate of another palace; except for the glaring lamps in the street it was in total darkness.
'This is the residence,' said the Demon, 'of another of my favourite daughters, and you will have to take especial care of her. I will tell you her name privately. She must be ill now, as all her lights are out, but we will go in and see her; perhaps we may be able to do her good. My dear young friend,' here he turned round with a rabbit-trap snap of his teeth close to my very nose, 'never mind what say about me; I don't care two straws for anything they say; the truth is, I delight in doing good whenever I can get a chance; nothing fills me with greater joy than to give pleasure to those who love me.'
Here I was overtaken by a violent fit of coughing and sneezing, which nearly cost me my life. When I recovered,
