Catholics, once described to me the manner in which the Capuchins inter the brethren of their order. These defunct freres are embalmed, arrayed in their peculiar habits, as when living; and in the vaults of their monastic churches or chapels, ranged upright in niches formed for this purpose. On certain days, particularly on the Feast of All Souls, the doors of these cemeteries are opened to the public, who, as a religious duty, flock in to view these singular and affecting relics of mortality. The bodies undergo but little alteration in appearance for centuries; but Mr. M. being tempted to touch the very long nose of one old fellow, who looked "a leathern Pharoah, grinning in the dark," it disappeared in a shower of dust beneath his fingers.

A PARTY AT PALERMO.

"Palermo," said a lady whom I saw immediately after her return from a tour in Sicily, "is indeed a beautiful city; but I thought some things strange in the manners of the inhabitants. Mr. H. and myself were invited to a music-party, at the house of a person in the best society, whereat appeared most of the ladies in coloured and high morning dresses. Two tallow candles and a small lamp stood on the piano-forte in the music-room, and from this room we descended by three or four steps into another, containing a bed, over which was a shelf; upon the shelf was placed one bottle of wine and a few glasses; and this being intended expressly for the ladies, they were expected to go and help themselves when they pleased; but a fresh bottle of wine was brought when the first was exhausted."

FRENCH COUNTRY LIFE.

"The dinner-hour in the country," said a relation of the writer, who spends a great deal of time in France, "is generally two o'clock, even when company are invited to partake of the dinner; in which case, the whole party has quitted the house by six or seven in the evening,—a custom which ill accords with English ideas of sociability. Three table-cloths are usually laid upon the table, the first and second of which are, or may be, removed during the repast; but the third is never drawn off, except to be changed for a clean one. In England, we pride ourselves upon the fine mahogany of which our dinner-tables are made; we endeavour to obtain, in the first instance, an excellent piece of wood, and to improve it by assiduous rubbing and polishing. In France, it matters not of what material the table is framed; a cloth is always upon it; and I have seen the hospitable board of many families of rank literally formed of deal."

A DIFFERENCE.

"In this part of the world," says a private letter from India, (Hyderabad,) "we do not talk of striking gongs for dinner, but ghuzzies,—ghong meaning a horse or mare."

BOARDING.

In Ireland, when a man marries, who cannot afford to treat his friends to whiskey upon the occasion, they take the door of his house off the hinges, lay him upon it, and carry him thus upon their shoulders all day. In the evening he is allowed to return to his deserted bride. This custom is called "boarding," and is so frequent, as I myself can attest from personal observation, as to attract but little attention from the commonalty, and nothing like a mob.

M.L.B.

SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS.

THE MAN-MOUNTAIN.

We were all—Julia, her aunt, and myself, seated at a comfortable fire on a December evening. The night was dark, starless, and rainy, while the drops pattered upon the windows, and the wind howled at intervals along the house-tops. In a word, it was as gloomy a night as one would wish to see in this, the most dismal season of the year. Strictly speaking, I should have been at home, for it was Sunday; and my own habitation was at too great a distance to justify a visit of mere ceremony on so sacred a day, and amid such stormy weather. The truth is, I sallied out to see Julia.

I verily believe I could write a whole volume about her. She came from the north country, and was at this time on a visit to her aunt, in whose house she resided; and in whose dining-room, at the period of my story, we were all seated round a comfortable fire. Though a prodigious admirer of beauty, I am a bad hand at describing it. To do Julia justice, however, I must make the attempt. She was rather under the middle size, (not much,) blue-eyed, auburn-haired, fair-complexioned, and her shape was of uncommon elegance and proportion. Neck, bosom, waist, ankles, feet, hands, &c. all were perfect, while her nose was beautifully Grecian, her mouth sweetness itself, and her teeth as white and sparkling as pearls. In a word, I don't believe that wide Scotland could boast of a prettier girl—to say nothing of merry England and the Isle of Saints.

It was at this time about eight o'clock: tea had just been over, the tray removed, and the table put to rights. The star of my attraction was seated at one side of the fire, myself at the opposite, the lady of the house in the centre. We were all in excellent humour, and Julia and I eyed each other in the most persevering style imaginable. Her aunt indeed rallied us upon the occasion; and I thought Julia never appeared half so beautiful as now.

A servant bouncing by accident into a room where a gallant is on his knees before his mistress, and in the act of "popping the question," is vexatious. An ass thrusting its head through the broken window of a country church, and braying aloud while the congregation are busily chanting "Old Hundred," or some other equally devout melody, is vexatious. An elderly gentleman losing his hat and wig on a windy day, is vexatious. A young gentleman attempting to spring over a stile by way of showing his agility to a bevy of approaching ladies, and coming plump down upon the broadest part of his body, is vexatious. All these things are plagues and annoyances sufficient to render life a perfect nuisance, and fill the world with innumerable heart-breakings and felo-de-sees. But bad as they are, they are nothing to the intolerable vexation experienced by me, (and I believe by Julia too,) on hearing a slow, loud, solemn stroke of the knocker upon the outer door. It was repeated once—twice—thrice. We heard it simultaneously—we ceased speaking simultaneously—we (to wit, Julia and I) ceased ogling each other simultaneously. The whole of us suspended our conversation in a moment—looked to the door of the room—breathed hard, and wondered what it could be. The reader will perhaps marvel how such an impression could be produced by so very trivial a circumstance; but if he himself had heard the sound, he would cease to wonder at the strangeness of our feelings. The knocks were the most extraordinary ever heard. They were not those petty, sharp, brisk, soda-water knocks given by little, bustling, common-place men. On the contrary, they were slow, sonorous, and determinate. What was still more remarkable, they were three in number, neither more nor less.

Scarcely had our surprise time to subside, than we heard the outer door opened by the servant—then it closed—then heavy footsteps, one, two, and three, were audible in the lobby—then the dining-room door was opened; and a form which filled the whole of its ample aperture, from top to bottom, from right to left, made its appearance. It was the figure of a man, but language would sink under his immensity. Never in heaven, or earth, or air, or ocean, was such a man seen. He was hugeness itself—bulk personified—the beau ideal of amplitude. When the dining-room door was first opened, the glare of the well-lighted lobby gleamed in upon us, illuminating our whole apartment with increase of lustre; but no sooner did he set his foot upon the threshold, than the lobby light behind him was shut out. He filled the whole