A MYSTERIOUS LETTER OF INTRODUCTION.

DURING the reign of Louis XVI. of France, cipher writing became an indispensable auxiliary to diplomacy. The different European powers occupied in complicated and apparently interminable political intrigues, adopted every conceivable ruse to fathom each other's secrets. Couriers were habitually intercepted, and gold was liberally spent in bribery and corruption whenever there appeared to be the slightest prospect of success. Under these circumstances the most subtle refinements of the cryptographic art were introduced in order to baffle the all-prying curiosity of the professional decipherers.

The Count de Vergennes, Minister of Foreign Affairs at the court of Louis XVI., was in the habit of employing, in relation with diplomatic agents at foreign courts, a most ingenious method of cipher writing. It was used in the letters of introduction, or passports, which were given to strangers when entering France, and served to furnish the most minute details respecting the bearer-the country, age, religion, occupation, character of the owner, his virtues and vices, personal appearance, the object of his journey, and other particulars were all clearly set forth on a simple card, which, to any person unacquainted with the secret, would not appear to contain anything which would attract curiosity or awaken suspicion.

This was effected in the following manner:- -The colour of the card showed the bearer's native country: thus, white signified that he came from Portugal; red, from Spain; yellow, England; green, Holland; white and yellow, Venice; red and green, Switzerland; red and white, the States of the Church; green and yellow, Sweden, &c. &c.

The age of the bearer was shown by the shape of the card if it were circular, it was a sign that he was under five-and-twenty; if he were between twentyfive and thirty, the card was oval; between thirty and forty-five, it was an octagon; between forty-five and fifty, a hexagon; from fifty-five to sixty, square; and above sixty, oblong.

Two lines, placed immediately under the person's name, expressed his personal appearance. Were he tall and thin, the lines were undulating and parallel; if on the contrary, he were short and stout, they formed an angle with each other; if he were tall and stout, the lines were straight and parallel; and if he were thin or small in stature, it was designated by means of straight or curved lines more or less inclined to one another.

The expression of his countenance was designated by means of a flower which was drawn in the border surrounding the card: thus, a rose denoted a frank, open expression; a tulip indicated that the bearer had a grave and retired air.

A riband was likewise drawn, by way of ornament, round the border; and, according to the length to which it extended, it showed whether the bearer were single, married, or a widower.

Dots, placed at intervals round the border, indicated his wealth and position in life; and his religion was made known by a sign of punctuation placed after his name. If the person named were a Catholic, it was followed by a full stop; if a Lutheran, by a semicolon; if a Jew, by a comma; whilst if he passed for an atheist, no stop was inserted.

Ornamental marks placed above, below, or at the sides of different words, or small figures inserted at the corners of the card, and which might pass merely as ornaments, served to portray the various qualities, faults, or attainments of the owner. In short, there was not a vice or propensity, or any piece of informa

tion which might be considered as being in the slightest degree worth bringing under the cognisance of the police, which had not its distinctive mark; and, by a simple inspection of the card of introduction, the minister could learn in a moment, and with as much certainty as if if were all written in so many words, whether the person to whom the introduction had been given were a gamester, libertine, or duellist; if he came into France for a wife, to look after an estate, or for the purposes of study; if he were literary, scientific, or attached to the legal or medical profession; if he ought to be kept under the surveillance of the police, or whether he were a person about whom they need have no suspicions.

No one could imagine that such secrets as the above were latent in a simple note of the most inoffensive appearance, and written in somewhat similar terms to the following:-" Alphonso d'Angeha. Recommended to the Count de Vergennes by the Marquis de Puysegur, French Ambassador at the Court of Lisbon."

But the lines placed under the bearer's name, the punctuation, and the few ornamental marks which were to be seen in the corners of the card, were full of revelations which none but the initiated could have suspected.

ORIGIN OF THE WEDDING RING.-Some doubt seems to exist in the minds of antiquaries and others as to the origin of the sanctity of the ring, that most important feature in our marriage service, as in bygone ages it was given to the bride only as a gift amongst other presents. The form of it was doubtless a symbol of eternity. It was the custom amongst the AngloSaxons for children to be betrothed at an early age, and at such ceremonies the bridegroom gave the "wed" (whence our word wedding) or pledge, which consisted of a number of valuables, amongst others a ring, which was placed on the girl's right hand, where it remained until it was transferred to her left when she was married. On that occasion the bridegroom put the ring on each of the bride's left-hand fingers in turn, saying at the first, "In the name of the Father," at the second, "in the name of the Son," at the third, "in the name of the Holy Ghost," and at the fourth, with one of the bride's shoes as a token of the transfer "Amen;" after which the father presented the husband of authority, whilst the bride was made fully aware The husband bound himself down by oath to use his of the fact by a blow on her head given with the shoe. wife well, in failure of which she might leave him, although he was allowed by prescriptive right to bestow on her and his apprentices moderate castigation. Popular opinion in time formed itself into law, and even nowadays there is an idea current in some parts of the country that a husband may beat his wife, provided that the stick be no longer than the wielder's arm and no thicker than his middle finger. An old Welsh law considered three blows of a broomstick a fair punishment upon any part of the lady's body Those were queer homely days, except her head. when people believed in the truth of the doggerel"A woman, a whelp, and a walnut tree,

The more they're beaten, the better they be."

Now, however, there are such personages as policemen and stipendiary magistrates, such punishments as the treadmill and the cat, as many a ruffian wife-beater has found out to his cost.-The Ladies.

A FEW THINGS TO AVOID.-Walking between two umbrellas on a pouring wet day; "just another glass before you go;" being the mediator in a quarrel between a man and his wife; bowing to a lady from the top of an omnibus; and taking a new hat to an evening party.

HISTORICAL.

LORD EDWARD FITZGERALD.

LORD EDWARD FITZGERALD, whose name figures prominently in the history of the Irish Rebellion of 1798, was brother of the Duke of Leinster, and one of the leading members of the Society of United Irishmen. He had spent some time in France during the great Revolution, and there imbibed those socialistic ideas, the realisation of which would, he thought, be a panacea for all the ills of Ireland under British rule. During his residence in Paris he took a prominent part in the proceedings of Jacobin clubs, and responded to toasts of a thoroughly revolutionary character at a public dinner which was graced by the presence of the notorious Thomas Paine and others of the same extreme school of politics. His known association with these men led to the loss of his commission as an officer in the military service of England. Lord Fitzgerald was an active accomplice of the Jacobins who projected an invasion of Ireland, and on his return to his native country, when French revolutionary emissaries were sent over he introduced them to the leading spirits in the incipient insurrection. The scheme of Irish revolt had been planned during the very height of the Reign of Terror by the Rev. William Jackson, Wolf Tone, Hamilton Rowan, Simon Butler, and other conspirators, who worked in secret like Guy Fawkes and his friends of the Gunpowder Plot.

At the funeral of Jackson, who was convicted of high treason, but anticipated his sentence by suicide, the signs of disloyalty and disaffection were so marked that Government put a stop to all questions of political concession, and spies were sent out in shoals to dog the steps of the agents of sedition. Wolf Tone and Hamilton Rowan, finding Ireland too hot for them, escaped to the United States, as many of their Fenian successors have done in our own time. In the States they got acquainted with other Irish revolutionists as enthusiastic as themselves, and on Wolf Tone being furnished with money he went to France with the view of stimulating the Directory to undertake the invasion of Ireland, which he described as ripe for revolution. Though he was warmly received by Carnot and General Clarke, who acted as Minister of War, the members of the Directory, before embarking in the enterprise, wished to see some other leaders of the United Irishmen.

Accordingly, in the spring of 1797, Lord Edward Fitzgerald and Mr. Arthur O'Connor went over to France to arrange the invasion of Ireland. At Basle, which they reached by way of Hamburg, they opened negotiations with the Directory, but the members objected to receive Lord Fitzgerald at Paris on account of his marriage with Pamela, who was reputed to be the daughter of Madame de Genlis and Philip Egalité. O'Connor was therefore under the necessity of going up to Paris alone; and he arranged for the expedition under General Hoche, which came to such a disastrous termination. Notwithstanding this failure the United Irishmen, still impatient to rise, sent urgent appeals to France for another armament, and a favourable reply was received from Talleyrand. On the 28th of February, O'Connor and other conspirators were arrested at Margate when about to embark for France. Shortly afterwards Thomas Reynolds, who had acted as treasurer for the insurgents in his country, betrayed his associates, and it was mainly through his instrumentality that Lord Edward Fitzgerald was surprised as he lay in bed in the house of a man named Murphy. This bold and active conspirator made a desperate resistance, at once attacking with a dagger

Major Swan, who presented a warrant for his apprehension. The Major discharged a pistol, but missed, and Mr. Ryan, a magistrate, who next entered, received a stab which stretched him lifeless on the floor. Major Sirr, who had brought a number of soldiers along with him, then rushed in, wounding Fitzgerald in the shoulder with a pistol-shot, and preventing him from continuing his desperate resistance. On being overpowered and secured, Lord Edward was conveyed to Newgate, where he died soon afterwards of fever, which was brought on by his wounds, and greatly aggravated by the mortification he felt at the failure of his enterprise.

A GIGANTIC FRAUD.

THERE are on record many very striking cases of forgery-cases exhibiting much ingenuity, skill, and perseverance on the part of their performers, which would, if properly directed, have placed them in a position of credit and respectability. Common forgers, in the days when death by the law was more common than it is now, and when, indeed, it was the only remedy on which the State seemed to place any reliance for the cure of moral evil-common forgers were hanged by scores; fellows who scarce knew their right hand from their left were hanged for passing forged notes-but great rogues created a great sensation, and a banker, or a doctor of divinity, undergoing the extreme penalty of the law, was what made society stand aghast; it was legislative wisdom, evenhanded justice, singing in dread cadence the song Macheath:

"Since laws were made for every degree, As well for the rich as for me,

I am sure I shall have good company On Tyburn tree."

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When Dr. Dodd committed forgery, there was a great outcry as to the scandal of hanging a Church dignitary. Petitions were sent to the king from all parts of the country; the doctor was regarded as a martyr, more than a criminal; he held levées in the prison; he thanked his friends, through the public press, for their kind sympathy; the lord mayor and court of aldermen besought royal clemency for the reverend offender-but the king was true to the letter and spirit of the law. He saw and recognised no difference between the clergyman's gown and the common felon's corduroy, except that the educated man, the public teacher, the minister of God, ought to have known better and acted better than the untaught boor; and so the doctor was hanged, and the public was extremely sorry, and wondered what

next.

Similar excitement to that which was caused by Dr. Dodd was occasioned, about half a century later, by the hanging of a wealthy city man—a banker, moving in the best society, and altogether superior to the class of offenders who sustained the leading rôles in the Newgate tragedy, played every Monday morning to an immense crowd, in the Old Bailey, intelligent clerk, named Fontleroy, who ultimately Sixty years ago, there was a steady, hard-working, became a partner in the firm of Marsh, Stracey, and Co. Into this business his son was subsequently introduced, and exhibited so much tact, energy, and diligence, that he gradually rose to be the principal man in the house-the whole of the management of the affairs of an extensive banking establishment being entrusted to him at the early age of twenty-two.

The business of the house was extensive, but heavy losses had been encountered, and Fontleroy found

He was a shrewd

himself beset with difficulties. thinker and a hard worker, and he set himself to the task of clearing the house of its liabilities, and Alone, building up its credit on a sure foundation. night after night, he remained in his private room at the bank, assiduously examining into the affairs of the establishment. Gradually he might, probably, have overcome the difficulties in which he found himself, but the sudden demand made on the house for £170,000 threw all his calculations into disorder. He now seriously began to speculate on what was to be done; he was himself involved in trouble, for, although no gambler in the ordinary sense of the term, he had dabbled in stocks and lost a large amount of capital. One of two courses it was clear that he must take either the house must stop payment, or money must be raised at any cost. At any cost! Imagine Fontleroy, the educated gentleman, the man of fashion and refinement, the wealthy banker, sitting alone in his private room, the longwicked candles flaring on the table, and casting a fantastic shadow of the banker's figure on the wall; how absorbed he is in thought, how dejected his expression as he glances round the elegantly-fitted room and murmurs to himself-"at any cost!" Brown and Jones have gone home, perhaps thinking to themselves, in their family circles, how fortunate a thing it would be if they could change places with the banker -if, instead of being the poor drudges of desk and counter, their homes were like his home-and they, as well as he, were borne to those homes in dashing equipages of their own. Who would not be Fontleroy, the banker? The porter down below looks round on the water-buckets and muskets of the bank, to keep its golden stores from fire and thieves, and wonders how a gentleman like Mr. Fontleroy can spend so much of his time over the dreary ledgers; and Fontleroy, sitting in his room, is saying to himself, "It must be done, at any cost!"

All is perfectly right at the bank; no breath of suspicion has tarnished its brilliancy as yet, but, by some means or other, that most touchy and fidgety old lady of Threadneedle Street grows nervous of Fontleroy paper, and obstinately refuses to discount the bills of the house. Well, never mind; the sex and the age of the individual must be taken into account; Fontleroy will not break his bank or heart on that account. The Bank must honour certain powers of attorney; they bear correct signaturesthey are safe-safe as the Bank: certainly, they are presented with extraordinary frequency, but what of that? Fontleroy sits one morning in his private room at the bank. He is busy with his morning correspondence; he has certain cheques to sign, made ready for his signature. The business of the house is just beginning. Here are Brown and Jones fresh from the suburbs and domestic comfort, wishing still, perhaps, that they were in as good a position as the gentleman banker who employs them. Ah me! how unequally Fortune scatters her favours! Brown is not a banker and Fontleroy is-ay, and a wealthy one: why should Fortune favour Fontleroy, and set poor Brown no better work to do than shovel up guineas for other people?

Two gentlemen come in-let us say gentlemen, for the sake of convenience-and they want to see the banker. The clerk whom they address distinctly mentions that it cannot be done, except the business be peculiarly urgent. Yes, it is most urgent. Fontleroy will see them, certainly; they have followed quickly in the clerk's footsteps, and are in the room as soon as he. The banker looks up and motions him to retire: what then? One of them lays his hand on the banker

"Mr. Fontleroy, I am a Bow Street officer, and arrest you on a charge of forgery."

"Good heavens! can't this business be settled ?" 'Pray make no disturbance; please to finish what you are engaged upon, and we will step out with you and talk over the matter."

Fontleroy's face is deadly white, and he seems to have grown ten years older in a second. Mechanically he takes the pen and signs the necessary cheques; then he leans towards the man who had first spoken, and whispers, "Ten thousand pounds are yours if you can assist me."

Pray be calm; step out with us and talk over the matter."

And so the banker passes through the bank with his strange visitors, and the clerks wonder amongst themselves what can have happened; they have marked his haggard expression and unsteady step, and are of opinion that bad news has arrived, and perhaps a death-bad news and death to follow. Fontleroy is taken to the house of a friend, Mr. Conant, but for no friendly purpose. Mr. Conant is a magistrate, greatly shocked to hear the charge, and quite unwilling to believe it; but the case is very clear. It would be out of the question to talk of bail. The private room at the bank has been searched, and a little book discovered, containing a list, in Fontleroy's handwriting, of forgeries to the amount of £112,000. Beneath these entries is the inscription:-"In order to keep up the credit of our house, I have forged powers of attorney, and have thereupon sold out all these sums without the knowledge of my partners. I have given credit for the interest when it became due.-H. F. The Bank first began to refuse our acceptances. The Bank shall smart for it."

The town was soon ablaze with the news. Fontleroy, the gentleman forger, the criminal banker, was the one topic of conversation. His portrait, his history, his sayings and doings, his style of behaviour, the condition of his appetite, everything about him was invested with interest; but the most interesting question of all was, would he be hanged? Of that he felt no doubt himself when he heard that his little book had been discovered. "I am a dead man," he said; and he was unquestionably a dying man from that moment. A good many people regarded the unhappy gentleman with commiseration, not because they thought it wrong to hang a forger, but because he was so exceedingly well bred! But if forgery ever deserved death, that penalty was faithfully awarded in the case of Fontleroy. Little rogues had been hanged by scores for doing less than he had done, so the banker was justly hanged after the common. fashion; and certain criminal celebrities of our own day, who have rivalled Fontleroy, have reason to be grateful that a more humane legislation has saved. them from his fate.

BIRTHDAY SONNET.
UPON the threshold of another year,
Let me shake off the clinging mire of sin,
And with a reverent feeling enter in,
Thoughtful as if my final hour was near;
And let me supplicate for light to cheer

My darling soul, that stumbles through the gloom,
That shrouds the dubious pathway to the tomb,
The end of all our strife and struggle here.
True aspirations towards the good should clear
My grief-beclouded mind; good thoughts should bring
The power to do a good and holy thing,
And make me strenuous, steadfast, and sincere:
Good deeds should help me o'er the rugged way
To a diviner realm. Let me begin to-day.

JOHN CRITCHLEY PRINCE..

NO TIME FOR READING.

"WHAT are you looking at, Arthur ?" inquired Mrs. Merritt, as she raised her head and found her brother's eyes fixed intently upon her.

"I was remarking your industry. Do you devote the whole of your time to needlework?"

"When I am not attending to other duties, I am never destitute of needlework. There is so much to be done in a family," resumed Mrs. Merritt, stitching away faster than ever, and not noticing the peculiar expression on Mr. Warren's face. She considered his observation rather a compliment than otherwise, but at the same time wondered why he had never remarked the fact of her industry before.

"What are you reading now?" he asked, after a short pause.

"What am I reading? Nothing particular that I know of; I cannot possibly get time. Oh, upon a second thought, I did read a sketch last week; but I glanced over it so hurriedly that I'm sure I can't tell

now what it was about."

"Do you always read hurriedly ?"

"I am obliged to do so, when I read at all; but to be candid, I don't trouble books and papers much." "You have no taste for reading, I presume?" "On the contrary, I am very fond of it; but you know it takes up so much time, and I really have not a minute to spare. With my sewing, visiting, shopping, and family cares, I have no leisure." Some people put out their needlework, but I think it a needless expense," said Mrs. Merritt.

"You do no unnecessary needlework, I suppose ?" "Oh no, indeed!"

"If I may be so bold, what are you making now?" "This is an apron for Lizzie, as you may readily see."

"But could she not wear it without such a quantity of trimming?" queried Mr. Warren, looking at the diminutive article the lady was working upon.

"I suppose she could; but it would look very plain, and I do so like trimming and embroidery on children's clothes," said the lady, glancing admiringly on the pretty vine her fingers had formed on the delicate goods.

"How much time does it require to embroider an article like that ?"

"Why, how inquisitive you are to-day, Arthur! But if you must know, I presume it would take quite a day to do it thoroughly, or, at least, in the way I should like it to be done."

"You have allowed that it is unnecessary to embroider at all; and have furthermore added that a day is required in which to complete the important work. Now, would it not be wiser and better to spend the time named in reading some instructive work?" asked the gentleman, looking earnestly at his sister.

"In some cases, it might," was her reply; "but you must recollect that I do not embroider all the time; I generally have plain sewing in my hands."

"You have rather evaded my question. Supposing you get but eight hours' reprieve from plain sewing in a week; you can certainly devote it to that purpose, if you please," he added, with a good-humoured smile.

"You make a great story out of a little matter, brother Arthur,' returned the lady, colouring. Eight hours a week are hardly worth taking advantage of."

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"Let us look about and see if we cannot increase the number. Here are six chair-seats, all embroidered by yourself; and yonder are two small and three large pictures, which originated from the same source. How long did it take you to accomplish these?"

"I really cannot tell; I do not know."

"But you can form some estimate ?" persisted Mr. Warren, who seemed determined to gain his point. "Well, perhaps the leisure time of a year," said Mrs. Merritt, after a short pause.

"And that, allowing eight hours a week, would make four hundred and sixteen hours in a year. That sounds much larger than our first calculation, does it not, Julia? Just think how many books you could read in that period. You would not always be obliged to put in the plea of 'sewing which must be done,' when I invite you to accompany me on some of my charitable visits, where a woman's judgment and penetration are so much superior to those of a man. You could also devote more time for music, and, in addition, not feel obliged to give up an interesting and agreeable correspondence with distant friends, for want of time to write. Am I not a good calculator, my dear sister ?"

Mrs. Merritt did not reply; she did not like to own that her brother had the best side of the argument, though her better perception told her that he had.

I like to look at embroidery," he continued. "Beautiful colours are always agreeable to the eye, and the employment denotes industry, ingenuity, and perseverance; but that is no sign why it should be carried to excess. Pictures in worsted look very well; but your own good sense will tell you that it requires very little talent to produce them. Any lady, who understands the stitch which is used, and can make a good selection of colours-which is easily learnedcan do what demands no superior genius or uncommon ability to perform. Am I right or wrong in this? Pray encourage me a little," he added, laughingly.

Well, I don't suppose it requires any extraordinary talent to work pictures," replied the lady, after some hesitation.

"Thank you for the admission; now for something else. Here are four curtain tassels tied up very nicely in little bags. I dare say you consider the latter ornaments, do you not?"

"There are different opinions on that point; but, admitting they are not ornamental, they are certainly useful, for they prevent the tassels from being faded," added Mrs. Merritt, with an air that indicated her consciousness of being right that time.

But was it necessary to ruffle them in so tasteful a manner ?" was the next grave inquiry. "I have no patience with you, Arthur!" exclaimed the lady, laughing in spite of herself. "I never knew gentlemen noticed such trivial things."

When a

"Then you have something still to learn. lady asserts that she has no time to spare for reading or charitable visits, or a correspondence which she is well able to carry on, I invariably endeavour to find out what employs her all her hours. If I see her working worsted pictures, embroidering numberless articles with patience worthy a better cause, trimming children's clothes, which look a great deal better-in my old bachelor estimation-perfectly plain, ruffling bags to put curtain-tassels in, manufacturing tall vases out of tiny shells, braiding rag carpets-which are not needed, and which cannot certainly lay claim to beauty-I think that she has mistaken her vocation; that she does not carry out her principles; in fact, that she is inconsistent. What think you, sister ?" "I have not thought about it at all."

"Just as I supposed; but if you will reflect upon the subject, you will see the justness of my conclusions. Where there is a will, there is a way; and if you really like reading, I think you can find time to indulge in that highly intellectual employment."

Mrs. Merritt made no rejoinder, but the sequel proved her brother's suggestions were not wholly lost upon her.