were all in attendance-but the bridegroom came not. Impatience was visibly depicted on the countenance of M. Boulonger, and he despatched a messenger to know the cause of his absence. After waiting a considerable time, he determined on going himself; but he was horror-struck, on being told by an immense assemblage of persons who were gathered round the barber's door that Frisonnier had been engaged, during the whole of the night, in shaving a mysterious stranger, whose beard and whiskers were no sooner shaved off than they immediately recommenced growing, to the great consternation of the barber, who felt himself irresistibly compelled to continue his operations.

The brave old Burgher, on hearing this, immediately pressed into the shop; and beholding the barber in a broiling heat, and busily employed in shaving a figure in a cloak, demanded of the

stranger, in an authoritative tone, when Mons. "When he Frisonnier would be at liberty.

makes my face as smooth as my hoof," responded the stranger, lifting up his cloak and disclosing a cloven hoof of brass.

At these words poor Frisonnier grew pale; for he called to mind the rash vow he had made the preceding morning.

Most willingly would he now have sacrificed all his earthly possessions to have been able to call himself a free man again. But the fates had ordered it otherwise!

The barber continued his work.-Boulonger returned to the church, and, after what he had just witnessed, needed not many arguments to induce him to accept young Visapour for his

son-in-law.

Agatha and Annibal have long since reposed in the church yard; but the citizens of Rouen still remember them, nor do they ever fail to

cross themselves as they pass the house where the unfortunate Frisonnier is at this moment engaged in his never-ending task.

SIGHMON DUMPS.

ANTHONY DUMPS, the father of my hero, (the subject matter of a story being always called the hero, however little heroic he may personally have been,) married Dora Coffin on St. Swithin's day in the first year of the last reign.

Anthony was then comfortably off; but, through a combination of adverse circumstances, he went rapidly down in the world, became a bankrupt, and being obliged to vacate his residence in St. Paul's Churchyard, he removed to No. 3, Burying Ground Buildings, Paddington Road, where Mrs. Dumps was delivered of a son.

The depressed pair agreed to christen their babe Simon, but the name was registered in the parish book with the first syllable spelt "S-I-G-H:" whether the trembling hand of the afflicted parent orthographically erred, or whether a bungling clerk caused the error, I know not; but certain it is that the infant Dumps was registered SIGHMON.

Sighmon sighed away his infancy like other babes and sucklings; and when he grew to be a hobedy-hoy, there was a seriousness in his visage, and a much ado about nothing-ness in his eye, which were proclaimed by good-natured people to be indications of deep thought and profundity; while others, less "flattering sweet," declared they indicated nought but want of comprehension, and the dulness of stupidity.

As he grew older, he grew graver; sad was his look, sombre the tone of his voice, and half an hour's conversation with him was a very serious affair indeed.