from the fort, but the fort has to be retaken. Of this class was the retort of D'Orsay on the facetious Tom Raikes, diseur and dandy, but whose face no amount of dandyism could beautify, it being deeply pitted, his nose especially, with the small-pox. The latter had sent the gay Alfred a copy of offensive verses anonymously, which, however, being shown about, caused great laughter at the beau's expense. D'Orsay knew who was the writer. In a few days he saw Raikes at the club, and called out, "The next time, mon cher, that you write an anonymous letter don't seal it with the end of your nose." The letter had been sealed with a wafer and a thimble to maintain its assumed character. This was coarse, "wanting in finish," but certainly effective. During one of the German wars in the last century a young English officer was dining in company with a German prince at a large mess. After dinner the latter, from wantonness, began "flipping" some water that was in a glass before him, and contrived to splash some of it in the officer's face. Now here was an embarrassing situation. To resent the affront seriously would bring about a scene, court-martial, and possibly ruin — a result wholly disproportioned to the offence; to pass it by was to lose caste as accepting an affront. The young Englishman had the true instinct; without an instant's hesitation he said, smiling to the German, "That's a droll trick, but we do it better in England," and with a loud laugh threw a glass of water in the other's face. There was some confusion, but an old general interfered, and said, "Mon prince, vous l'avez commencé!" and the whole passed off as a rough joke.
When a person who is superior goes out of his way to raise one who is inferior, and the latter presumes on this gratuitous elevation to assert a superiority, how delightful it is to witness the old relation restored! The meaner souls often thus presume; to say nothing of dependents and "poor relations," whose awkward situation, however, gives them an excusable sensitiveness. The writer once saw this complimentary brevet-rank which had been good-naturedly bestowed, and turned to somewhat arrogant uses, most happily withdrawn by a pleasant and capable host. X——, who was flourishing at the law, and loved to have his friends about him, had bethought him of poor Drudgeby, whose rusty habiliments and hungry lineaments betokened but short commons in the way of briefs. He invited Drudgeby to one of his grand banquets — with queen's counsel, patents of precedence and the rest — and artfully contrived to place Drudgeby beside the well-known solicitors, "Tucker and Tucker," whom Drudgeby had been yearning to know. There was no patronage, nothing in the way of condescension. After dinner our host called out pleasantly, "Tell me how you like that claret, Drudgeby?" On which the latter, raising his glass to the light, sipping it critically, and with an ineffable air of connoisseurship, said aloud, "Well, I think it is new!" To whom the host, stung by such a return: "New to you!" This wholesome rebuke, though somewhat rough, was felt by the crowd to be necessary, and sent the guest down to his former level.
Even more scientific was the Duc de Richelieu's behaviour. In a moment of petulance and at a supper the king had given him a slap. This, it will be seen at once, was being "driven into a corner." To return it was impossible, to rest under it was disgrace, and, indeed, any serious dealing with the matter must, at the best, have led to retirement from the court — a self-inflicted punishment which would have been ridiculous where no offence had been given. Without a moment's pause the nobleman turned to his neighbour and slapped his face, saying, "The king wishes you to pass that on." Thus it passed into the regions of jest. If the reader studies the principle of this little situation he will see that the solution will apply to many a critical point in life; and that the really skilful have the art of making a grave situation appear light, or a light one grave, to suit their views.
THE MUSHROOM.
Perhaps there is no other country on the face of the globe where the above fungus is less understood or appreciated than England. We find on the contrary, on the Continent, that it is almost a daily dish — when it can be procured — with even the poorest persons, and it often has to make, and does make, a delicious and inexpensive meal where none would be had otherwise. In England thousands of people, particularly of the lower classes, will eat no mushroom except that known as the field mushroom, while on
