“It was a bad job, but he was only a recruit, and must get used to it like the rest.” “What!” said Colonel S——, “have you heard of others seeing the same?” “Oh, yes,” answered the sergeant, “there are many queer, unaccountable things seen here, I assure you, and many of our recruits faint a time or two; but they get used to it, and it don’t hurt them.” “Mrs. S—— never got used to it. She remained in a state of dejection for six weeks, and then died. Colonel S—— was long recovering from the impression, and was reluctant to speak of it; but he said he would never deny the thing he had seen.” What explanation Sir David Brewster has given of this singular apparition, the present writer does not happen to know. We quote it for its strangeness, and leave the reader to make of it what he can. We proceed with a curious instance of mental absence: Lessing, the German philosopher, being remarkably absent, knocked at his own door one evening, when the servant looking out of the window, and not recognizing him, said: “The professor is not at home!” “Oh, very well!” replied Lessing, composedly walking away; “I shall call another time.” There is an anecdote of successful coolness, of earlier date, which will serve very well to accompany the foregoing: Charles II., after his restoration, appears, according to custom, to have neglected his most faithful adherent, Lord St. Albans, who nevertheless was a frequenter of the court. One day, when a gentleman had requested an interview of his majesty to ask for a valuable office then vacant, the king in jest desired the Earl of St. Albans to personate him, which he did before the whole court; but, after hearing the stranger’s petition with an air of dignified authority, he said that the office was by no means too great for so deserving a subject. “But,” added the earl, gravely, “I have already conferred it on my faithful adherent, Lord St. Albans, who constantly followed my father’s fortunes and my own, having never before received any reward.” The king was so amused by this ready jest that he instantly confirmed the gift to his clever representative. But we have yet a cooler thing (though somewhat different in character) than either of the preceding to bring forward, and which, if true, is really one of the strangest incidents that could happen in a man’s experience. Barthe, a writer of French comedies, hearing that his intimate friend Colardeau was on the point of death, instantly hastened to the sick man’s chamber, and finding him still in a condition to listen, addressed him thus: “My dear friend, I am in despair at seeing you in this extremity, but I have still one favor to ask of you; it is that you will hear me read my ’Homme Personnel.’” “Consider,” replied the dying man, “that I have only a few hours to live.” “Alas! yes; and this is the very reason that makes me so desirous of knowing what you think of my play.”