He made no reply; astonishment prevented him. No curtain now intervened between him and the light. It had been removed as if by magic, and a splendid chandelier appeared suspended over his head. Throngs of ladies, richly dressed, but without death’s-head masks, stood round, and a due proportion of gay cavaliers was mingled with them. Music was still sounding, but it was seen to proceed from a band of mortal musicians stationed in an orchestra near at hand. The air was yet redolent of incense, but it was incense unblended with stench. ‘Mon Dieu!’ cried the Emperor, ‘how is all this come about? Where in the world is Piche?’ ‘Piche?’ replied the Empress. ‘What does your Majesty mean? Had you not better leave the apartment and retire to rest?’ ‘Leave the apartment? Why, where am I?’ ‘In my private drawing-room, surrounded by a few particular persons of the Court whom I had invited this evening to a ball. You entered a few minutes since in your nightdress with your eyes fixed and wide open. I suppose from the astonishment you now testify that you were walking in your sleep.’ The Emperor immediately fell into a fit of catalepsy, in which he continued during the whole of that night and the greater part of next day. CHARLOTTE BRONTË. From the manuscript of the ‘Green Dwarf,’ an unpublished story which was commenced on July 10th, 1833, and completed on September 2nd, 1833.—C. W. H. THE TRAGEDY AND THE ESSAY THE TRAGEDY AND THE ESSAY FROM THE MANUSCRIPT ENTITLED ARTHURIANA, OR ODDS AND ENDS BEING A MISCELLANEOUS COLLECTION OF PIECES IN PROSE AND VERSE, BY LORD CHARLES A. F. WELLESLEY. Commenced September 27th, 1833. Finished November 20th, 1833. THE TRAGEDY AND THE ESSAY ONE wet and rainy afternoon Arthur was sitting alone in his room. The unfavourable weather, united to a severe headache the consequence of certain vigils of the previous night, indisposed him for serious study, and he sat toasting his feet at a bright fire and languidly turning over Vernet’s splendid views of the scenery round Verdopolis. While thus employed, or rather indis-employed, in the vain endeavour to kill time, a servant entered and announced: ‘Mr. Hamilton.’ ‘Show him in,’ said Arthur with alacrity, glad of anything which might be likely to divert the tedious ennui which oppressed him. As the young architect, who it is well known is one of my brother’s numerous toadies, appeared at the door, he rose and, offering him his hand, said with that winning air of condescension which has gained for him the hearts of the rising geniuses in Verdopolis: ‘Well, Edwin, how are you this suicidal day?’ ‘Quite well, my lord, I thank you. I trust I find your lordship the same?’ As they seated themselves on a sofa the marquis replied: ‘I cannot say that I am very brisk this afternoon, I have a slight headache…’ A brief silence followed of which Arthur seemed impatient, and he broke it by saying: