than the old, but still somewhat free and easy, addicted as it were to living in its shirt sleeves, very pleasant to see, and to go through, but not at all good to be lived in for the moral man. During the thirties this Cave of Adullam was in full swing, crowded with refugees--not for political causes--with veterans of the old war intent on making pension and half-pay go as far as possible, and with pleasure-seeking people ready for any amusement (the cheaper the better), and not too exacting as to the moral qualities or social position of those with whom they were prepared to amuse themselves. Marryat with his abundant spirits, his faculty for story-telling, and his sufficient command of money, would naturally fall on his feet in this rather gypsy world. He spoke French fluently, and his wife, as the daughter of an English consul in Russia, would be at home in continental society. Once more it must be confessed that the details are wanting. Mrs. Ross Church says, that “to this hour” (she wrote in 1872) “many anecdotes are related of him by the older residents at Brussels.” Sadly few of them seem to have been collected, for Mrs. Ross Church can only muster two--neither, it must be confessed, very brilliant nor very honourable. According to the first, Marryat was asked to dinner to meet a company of celebrities and friends of his own, in hopes that he would talk. He held his tongue, and when asked whether he had been silent because he was bored, answered, “Why did you imagine I was going to let out any of my jokes for those fellows to put in their next books? No, that is not _my_ plan. When I find myself in such company as _that_, I open my ears and hold my tongue, glean all I can, and give them nothing in return.” The story needs a good deal of explaining before the point of it becomes obvious; and unluckily the circumstances, which could alone explain it, are wanting. The fun, if there was any, was supplied (we must suppose) by the character of the person it was said to--and who was he? The other story contains a repartee--an awful repartee--a thing to be put in a collection of witticisms with the comment that “so and so smiled, but never forgave the jest.” It is about the bridge of somebody’s nose, and is not greatly inferior to the recorded jokes of Douglas Jerrold.