of the first cities in Europe. He was much struck with the quick walking of people in the streets, and the rapid movements of the vehicles; but, above all, the women arrested his attention; and he could not understand how the Frengi, clever and sensible people as they are, could allow their women-folk to appear in public in such clumsy and uncouth attire, and without any protection. In the day time I often saw him standing by the telegraph wires, listening to the sounds that passed along them. At night he would stare at the gas lamps, full of curiosity to discover whether it was the iron that was burning. At the hotel, the luxury and magnificence that surrounded him filled him with astonishment. Judging of every person he met by his dress, he regarded every one as some mighty lord or potentate, and frequently exclaimed: "Oh! this is a happy country! Here seems to be not a single poor man!" He soon grew accustomed to the looks of curiosity that followed him wherever he went. His former dread of the Frengi had entirely disappeared; he had a pleasant face for every one, and frequently entered eagerly into conversation with the first person he met, forgetting, in his characteristic manner, that no one could understand him; and he would go on talking to his heart's content, without being in the least disturbed by the surprise exhibited by those he was thus addressing. I should most gladly have taken him on with me to London, had I not deemed it better for him to leave him for the while behind in Hungary. A friend of mine, who lived in the country, received him kindly into his house; and when, after a year's absence, I returned from England, I was not a little surprised to find my young Tartar dressed in the Hungarian costume, and, instead of the turban, with his hair nicely curled and trimmed, with a rather droll air and demeanour, and a certain stiff gravity in his manner. He had learned the Hungarian language in a very short time; he was everywhere liked and heartily welcomed, and when, for the first time, I saw him smartly dressed, and with gloves on his hands, talking most courteously and earnestly to a lady in her drawing-room, I could scarcely refrain from laughter. Two years ago a Mollah of a Medresse, he is now grown into half a dandy:--in truth what cannot be made of an Oriental? Being able to write as well as speak Hungarian, my friends kindly procured him an appointment as assistant-librarian in the Academy, which position he fills at the present moment. When I question him about his new life, and talk to him of the difference between Eastern and Western manners and habits, I find that his past life floats like a dream across his mind, which he cherishes only as a distant reminiscence, but which he would not on any account exchange for his present existence. He rarely feels any longing for his native home, and he loves our Western civilisation for the following reasons. In the first place,