EVENING DRESS.-White satin robe, the corsage low and draped à la Sevigne; short tight sleeve, terminating in a lace manchette, looped by an ornament of gold and pearls, corresponding with that in the drapery of the corsage. The front and border of the dress is trimmed in the tunic style with a wreath of velvet flowers. Coiffure à l'Agnes Sorel, it is composed of gold blonde lace, ruby velvet embroidered in gold, and a circlet of gold and gems, which crowns the forehead. The cloak is composed of blue satin, lined with white, and trimmed with ermine; the hood and the Turkish sleeves are of a large size.

CARRIAGE DRESS.-Robe of drab-coloured pou de Soie, corsage half-high, and bishop sleeve; a single flounce set on very full borders the skirt. Black satin cloak lined with crimson gros de Naples; it is made in the pelisse style, bordered with sable, and with a large falling collar of the same fur; the sleeves of a moderate size are also bordered with sable. Violet velvet hat, a round moderate-sized brim, the interior trimmed with blond lace lightly intermixed with field flowers; the crown is decorated with satin ribbons and a long white ostrich feather, which placed at the bottom of the crown droops over it upon the neck. Sable muff.

ORIGINAL COMMUNICATIONS, CONSISTING OF TALES, ROMANCES, ANECDOTES, AND POETRY.

NIGHTS AT THE KIOSK.

BY MISS DE PONTIGNY.

(Continued from Page 68.)

So saying he smote his breast, and turned his eyes towards Heaven, as if to enquire the cause of so great a misfortune. Several people passing by, struck by the anguish that he displayed, stopped to enquire what was the matter.

"My house-where is my house?" was the only reply he could make.

"Your house, friend?" answered they, "truly it could be no house of yours that stood on this spot, but one that belonged to the rich Ali Buja.' At these words, seeing that he was not recognized, he enquired what had become of Ali Buja? "He is dead," they answered.

"But his wives-where are his wives?" cried the unhappy man.

"The Caliph has removed them into his harem," they replied;" and taken possession of his trea

sures.

Hereupon Ali Buja broke forth into fresh lamentations. "Holy Prophet!" cried he, "and do you suffer it? And is so abominable a falsehood to be tolerated? Oh! wretched Ali Buja, have you come to this!"

And as he clasped his hands in despair, the people wondered why he took such deep interest in the merchant's affairs, and after gazing a while, passed on. Presently, however, a fresh crowd gathered round him.

“Tell me, tell me," cried he, "what is the meaning of all this? Where are my wives, my house, my treasures? Tell me, or I shall go distracted." And he flung himself down on the ruins in the most passionate despair.

"Surely he is out of his senses," said one.

My good friend," said another, more compassionate than the rest, stepping forward from the crowd," you surely have lost your way, or are labouring under a great delusion. There never was any house here but Ali Buja's, and it has been pulled down since his death, by the Caliph's orders."

" 'Tis a lie! Ali Buja is living!” cried he with vehemence.

"No, no, he is dead," said several voices; "Poor man," they continued, "it is a hard case for him if he is one of his creditors."

Ali Buja was now worked up into a phrenzy of rage and grief. "I tell you he is living," he exclaimed with violent gestures," and praise be to Allah, here comes one who can attest it."

This was addressed to a tailor whom he had often employed, and who had joined the crowd to see what was the matter. "What do you say?" continued he, looking the man full in the face, "is Ali Buja living or

not ?"

"Alas!" said the man, covering his face with his hand, "Ali Buja is dead—and he was my best customer." So saying, he darted away from the throng without another word.

"It is all a dream," said Ali Buja, striking his forehead; "the Evil One has entered my brain for a short space. Presently I shall wake and find my house, and all that belongs to it."

So saying, he began to walk amidst the ruins, talking occasionally in an interrogatory voice, as if addressing his slaves for the purpose of obtaining an elucidation of this singular change. The bystanders meanwhile having satisfied their curiosity, and concluding he was crazed, dispersed by degrees, and as the shades of night darkened round him, he found himself completely alone. Still persuaded that he must be under the influence of some distressing vision, Ali Buja grew more and more confused as he wandered through the heaps of rubbish, and yet more and more persuaded that with the return of morning all would be set right again. He crept in amongst the trees of what once was his garden, and now was choked with weeds, and here, exhausted by the acute anguish he had experienced, and the fatigue of his long journey, he stretched himself on the ground, and soon a deep slumber brought him a temporary relief to his woes.

On waking early the next morning, refreshed in body and mind, Ali Buja proceeded to the spot where his house once stood, and endeavouring to see things in a more consolatory light, he said to himself: "After all I have only to show myself and make good my claims. Surely the Caliph will return me what is my own, when he finds that I am still living. But first of all I will go into the

I

town and enquire for Ali Buja, as if I were a stranger who wanted to find him."

With this he immediately proceeded to the nearest shop in the neighbourhood to begin his enquiries. It happened to be a baker's, with whom he had frequently dealt. Here however the same answer was given him as the day before, namely, that Ali Buja was dead, and that his wives were married to the Caliph.

"How! you scoundrel!" cried Ali Buja in a great passion, for he was aware that his person was well known to the baker, "do you tell me to my face that I am a dead man?"

And with this he dealt him several blows that might have proved to the most sceptical that the arm that inflicted them was as full of life as it ever had been.

"Now what do you say," he continued, " is Ali Buja living or dead?"

"I am sorry to offend you," replied the baker with a sigh," but he is dead."

"Dare you still doubt me?" cried Ali Buja in a fiercer rage than ever; and seizing hold of the baker, he was about to inflict a second chastisement upon him for persisting in his error, when the latter called loudly to his neighbours to come to his

assistance.

"Here's a man," said he, "who wants to pass himself off for Ali Buja, “and has been beating me because I refuse to give him belief, when all Bagdad knows that Ali Buja is dead."

The neighbours having rescued the baker, not without some difficulty Ali Buja was glad to escape from the jeers and laughter of the surrounding mob, and made the best of his way to a jeweller's with whom he had frequently had very large dealings. The jeweller welcomed him to his shop with all the politeness due to a stranger, but it was evident he either did not or would not know him.

"Gracious Heaven!” cried Ali Buja, “has a century passed by, that all these people have already forgotten my features?"

It was in vain he recalled to their mind the minutest circumstances that could prove his identity, every one that he applied to seemed to have lost either their memory or their wits. Neither tradespeople nor friends could be made to recognize him. Even those who had most frequently and most largely partaken of his hospitality, were not one whit more disposed to show a grateful recollection of the past. Distressed and perplexed beyond measure by these frequent repulses, Ali Buja fairly began at last to doubt his own identity, and thus apostrophized himself as he walked along the streets: “Oh, Ali Buja, or rather thou who hitherto hath usurped that name, it is now clear that thou art mistaken. It is not possible that a whole town can have agreed to deceive one man; consequently it must be thou that art the deceiver. Desist therefore from the vain attempt of passing thyself off for him whom thou art not, and rather seek to find out who thou really art, and by what name thou art called amongst mankind."

Ali Buja had just adopted this resolution, when he recollected that there was a merchant in Bagdad to whom he owed a sum of money. usually so regular in his payments that he never

He was

contracted any debts; but this had been forgotten in the hurry of his departure for the Holy City. He concluded sagaciously enough that as interest comes before friendship in the hearts of the many, a creditor would acknowledge him amongst a taillion who disowned him. Thus far he was not disappointed, for on reaching the merchant's house he was received like one who had been long expected.

"Allah be praised," thought Ali Buja, "here is at least one man who proves that I am not an impostor. Worthy Selim," he continued' aloud, "I see with pleasure that you have not forgotten me."

The old man replied that he had long expected to see him, and overloaded him with assurances of the joy he felt at beholding him back safe from so long a journey. He then bid him be seated, and having called for some refreshment, he proceeded to enquire how he had prospered during his expedition. Ali Buja related all his mischances; how he had lost all his slaves, and how, to crown his misfortunes, he had found his house pulled down, his wives gone, and his treasures seized. During the recital, Ali Buja's passionate grief was renewed to the degree that he wept afresh, and vented the bitterest denunciations against the authors of his troubles. But Selim, who at first had taken a lively interest in his description of the perils of the desert, had waxed gradually colder as his narrator grew more earnest, and when he had done speaking he said in a tone of displeasure, "From what you tell me, 1 must conclude that you have not come to pay me the debt you have owed me so long." Ali Buja replied that in his present state it was indeed quite impossible, but if Selim would take patience and advance him some money, and help him to get recognized amongst his old friends, he might raise himself speedily from the wretched condition to which he was now reduced. At these words Selim could no longer contain his indignation.

"Thou miserable impostor!" he exclaimed, "I have listened till now with patience just to see how far your insolence would go, and I marvel at your assurance in attempting to deceive a man of my penetration. Here slaves," continued he, clapping his hands, "come and seize this man who wants to pass himself off for Ali Buja. Carry him out of the house, and give him so good a thrashing for taking the name of my respected friend, that he shall be forced to acknowledge his deception; and if any body who passes by wants to hinder you, tell them it is thus that Selim punishes an impostor."

The slaves immediately proceeded to obey him. They took Ali Buja out of the house, and having beaten him according to the directions they had received, they asked him whether he still persisted in being Ali Buja?

"Alas! no," replied the latter, unable to contend against their numbers, and tired out by the bad treatment he had received from every one, "I am now quite convinced that I am nobody."

At this assertion the crowd who had assembled round Selim's door, began to laugh aloud, and they pursued Ali Buja along the streets with shouts of derision, while he fled with the rapidity of an arrow just shot out of a bow. It chanced