dans le cas de manquer de mesure. La petite malade continua de jouer pendant plus de 30 heures de suite, sans autre interruption que celle qu'il fallait pour prendre ses bouillons, et dans ce court intervalle on voyait les contractions des tendons se renouveller, quoique moins fortes. Les musiciens fatigues, elle se contenta de la voix, qu'elle accompagna de son instrument. Au bout de ce terme, un sommeil de six ou sept heures, qui vint tres naturellement, produisit une augmentation de calme. Au reveil, on varia les exercices, et ainsi se termina la scene qui avait dure 48 heures, apres laquelle les convulsions cesserent totalement. Trois jours apres, la malade se trouva parfaitement bien; et ne restait que des convulsions tres faibles, et la maladie se termina apres trois mois de duree." A still more singular effect of music is related by Roger in the case of a poor wretch broken upon the wheel. In his agonies he blasphemed in the most fearful manner, and cordially damned the spiritual comforter who sought to reconcile him to his sufferings. Some itinerant musicians chanced to pass by, they were stopped by the priest and requested to play to the patient, when to the surprise of all around, he seemed relieved, and became so tranquil, that he attended with calm resignation to their exhortations, confessed his manifold offences, and died like a good Christian. Rousseau, who entertained a sovereign contempt for French music, observes, that the _Cantates_ of Bernier cured the fever of a French musician, while they most probably would have given a fever to a musician of any other country. This remark of Rousseau reminds me of the French philosophical traveller (I believe it was Diderot), who on his journey to London from Dover, while horses were changing, had the curiosity to see a sick ostler with a raging fever attended by a country practitioner, who, despairing most probably of his patient, said, that he might be allowed to eat any thing he wished for. The man asked for a red-herring, which was forthwith given to him. Our tourist, generalizing like most of his brethren, immediately noted in his diary--_English Physicians allow red-herrings to fever patients_. Some months after he changed horses at the same inn, and asked how long the unfortunate creature had survived his herring, when, to his utter surprise, he was informed that the hale, hearty fellow who was bringing out the relays, was the very man. He of course pulled out his journal and entered--_red-herrings cure the fever of Englishmen_. Our traveller crossed over, and having accidentally seen in a French inn a poor devil whose case appeared to him similar to the sturdy ostler, he ventured to prescribe a similar remedy, which the patient only survived an hour or two; when his death was announced, he philosophically shrugged up his shoulders, and wrote in his book--_Though red-herrings cure fevers in England, they most decidedly kill in France_.