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I marked it well; 'twas black as jet.
You stare; but, sirs, I've got it yet,
And can produce it.”- "Pray, sir, do;
I'll lay my life the thing is blue."

"And I'll be sworn, that when you've seen
The reptile, you'll pronounce him green."
"Well, then, at once to ease the doubt,"
Replies the
man, "I'll turn him out;
And when before your eyes I've set him,
If you don't find him black, I'll eat him."
He said; and full before their sight
Produced the beast, and lo!—'twas white.
Both stared; the man looked wondrous wise:
"My children," the chameleon cries,
(Then first the creature found a tongue,)
"You all are right, and all are wrong:
When next you talk of what you view,
Think others see as well as you:
Nor wonder if you find that none
Prefers your eyesight to his own.”

XLII.-THE ONE-HANDED FLUTE PLAYER.

NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.

HAVING strolled through the greater part of Normandy, eaten my fill of apples in the orchards which skirt its level highways, and drank cider to my heart's content at the village inns, I found myself, on a fine evening in October, approaching the village of Arques,* memorable for a brilliant victory of Henry IV. It is a place not more remarkable for its historical interest than it is rich in natural beauties. The ruins of an old castle overhang the village on the right, and I wound my way up the eminence on which they stand, for the purpose of exploring them.

*Pronounced Ark.

While I stood musing "in the open air, where the scent comes and goes like the warbling of music," the soft sounds of a flute came faintly towards me, breathing a tone of such peculiar and melting expression as I thought I had never before heard. Having for some time listened in great delight, a sudden pause ensued; the strain then changed from sad to gay, not abruptly, but by a running cadence that gently lifted the soul from its languor, and thrilled through every fibre of feeling.

I descended the hill towards the village in a pace lively and free as the measure of the music that impelled me. When I reached the level ground, and came into the straggling street, the warblings ceased. A few peasant women were seated at the doors of their respective habitations, while half a dozen children gambolled on the grass plot in the middle of the open place. I sought in vain among these objects to discover the musician; and not willing to disturb my pleased sensations by commonplace questionings, I wandered about, looking, in a sort of semi-romantic mood, at every antiquated casement. Fronting the church, and close to its western side, an arched entrance caught my particular attention, from its old yet perfect workmanship, and I stopped to examine it, throwing occasional glances through the trellis work in the middle of the gate, which gave a view of a court yard and house within. Part of the space in front was arranged as a garden; and a venerable old man was busily employed in watering some flowers. A pretty young woman stood beside him, with a child in her arms; two others were playing near; and close at hand was a man about thirty years of age, who was contemplating the group with a complacent smile.

His figure was in part concealed from me; but he observed me, and immediately left the others, and walked down the gravel path to accost me. I read his intention in his looks, and stood still. As he advanced from his concealed position, I saw that his left leg was a wooden one. His right arm was courteously waved towards me, but his left was wanting. He

was bareheaded, and his curled brown hair showed a forehead that a phrenologist would have admired. His features were all of manly beauty. His mustachios, military jacket, and tight pantaloon with red edging, told that he was not "curtailed of man's fair proportion" by any vulgar accident of life; and the cross of honor, suspended to his button hole, finished the brief abstract of his history.

A few words of apology on my part, and of invitation on his, ended in my accompanying him towards the house; and as I moved from his left side to his right, to offer one of my arms to his only one, I saw a smile on the countenance of his pretty wife, and another on that of his old father, and my good footing with the family was secured. We entered the hall large, bleak anteroom, with three or four old portraits mouldering on the walls.

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We then passed to the right, into a spacious chamber, which was once, no doubt, the gorgeously decorated drawing room of some proudly-titled occupier. The nobility of its present tenant is of a different kind; and its furniture is confined to two or three tables, twice as many chairs, a corner cupboard, and a secretary. A Spanish guitar was suspended to a hook over the marble mantel piece; a violin lay on one table, and fixed to the edge of the other was a sort of wooden vice, into which was screwed a flute of concert size, with three finger holes, and eleven brass keys, and of a most curious and elaborate construction.

It is useless to make a mystery of what the reader has already divined: my one-legged, one-armed host was the owner of this complicated machine, and the performer on it, whose wonderful tone and execution had caused me so much pleasure. But what will be said when I tell the astonished, but perhaps incredulous public, that his "good right hand" was the sole and simple one that bored and polished the wood, turned the keys and the ivory that united the joints, and accomplished the entire arrangement of an instrument unrivalled, I must believe, in ingenuity and perfection! Being but an

indifferent musician, and worse mechanic, I shall not attempt minutely to describe the peculiarities of this marvellous flute. Nothing could be more true, more tasteful, or more surprising, than was his execution; nothing more picturesque or interesting than his figure, as he bent down to the instrument, as if in devotion to his art.

This remarkable man is a half-pay colonel in the French service, though a German by birth. His limbs received their summary amputation by two quick-sent cannon shots, at the battle of Dresden, I believe. Since he was disabled, he has

lived in his present retirement,

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'passing rich with forty pounds a year;"

and happy it is for him that nature endowed him with a tasteful and mechanical mind, while art furnished him with that knowledge of music without which his life would have been a burden.

I do not consider myself at liberty to enter into the particulars of his eventful story, which he told with great frankness and simplicity. But with regard to his flute playing, he actually brought the moisture to my eyes by the touching manner in which he recounted his despair on discovering that he had lost his arm; the leg was in comparison an unregretted member. It needs not be told that he was an enthusiast in music; and when he believed himself thus deprived of the best enjoyment of his life, he was almost distracted. In the feverish sleep snatched at intervals from suffering, he used constantly to dream that he was listening to delicious concerts, in which he was, as he had been wont, a principal performer. Strains of more than earthly harmony seemed sometimes floating round him, and his own flute was ever the leading instrument. He awoke in ecstasy; the tones vibrated a while upon his brain; but, recalled to sensation by a union of bodily pain and mental agony, his inefficient stump gave the lie direct to all his dreamy paradise; and the gallant and mutilated soldier wept like an infant for whole hours together.

XLIII.-THE WHALE FISHERY.

NORTH AMERICAN REVIEW.

THE method of taking the whale, as practised by all nations, and for every species, is nearly as follows: The whale is compelled to come frequently to the surface, for the purpose of breathing. The nearest boat approaches from behind, and from it the harpoon is launched into the huge carcass. This it is almost impossible to disengage, it being provided with two strong barbs. If not instantly killed, the whale sinks, and sinks often to a great depth. Exhausted by the immense superincumbent pressure of the water, he sometimes comes up dead. Frequently he sinks only a short distance; but as soon as he rises, the whalemen endeavor to plunge into him the lance, an instrument of the finest steel, sharpened to the keenness of the surgeon's lancet.

Attached to the harpoon is a line, which, as the animal is disposed to sink or dash through the waves, is suffered to run loose around a small post in the stern of the boat; and it often flies with such rapidity that the harpooner is enveloped in smoke, and it frequently becomes necessary to pour on water, to prevent the friction from generating flame. They often bind line after line together. If the line becomes entangled while the whale is sinking, the boat sometimes rears one end aloft, and makes a majestic dive into the deep. In the contest the boat is sometimes dashed to shivers, and the men experience no pleasant immersion, if they are fortunate enough to escape without broken limbs.

The whale, stung with the fatal wound, sometimes dashes along the surface with a deathlike energy; and the little boat, almost under water, flies with the velocity of the wind. If he escape, he escapes with a prize on which he has no cause of congratulation; for he carries, deeply buried in his body, one or more of the sharp instruments, and drags off several hundred fathoms of rope.

Our whalemen have found irons in the

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