story, and poor Sir Charles's vindication of himself, in regard to his
estimation of 'le beau sexe,' amused all who heard it; as for me, I had
to leave the room, half-choked with suppressed laughter. And, now, let
us bolt, for I see Burke coming, and, upon my soul I am tired of telling
him lies, and must rest on my oars for a few hours at least."

"But where is the necessity for so doing?" said I, "surely, where there
is so much of novelty as a large city presents to a visitor for the first
time, there is little occasion to draw upon imagination for your facts."

"Ah, my dear Harry, how little do you know of life; there is a kind of
man whose appetite for the marvellous is such, that he must be crammed
with miracles or he dies of inanition, and you might as well attempt to
feed a tiger upon pate de foie gras, as satisfy him by mere naked
unvarnished truth. I'll just give you an easy illustration; you saw his
delight this morning when the 'Duke' rode past; well I'll tell you the
converse of that proposition now. The night before last, having nothing
better to do, we went to the theatre; the piece was 'La Perouse,' which
they have been playing here for the last two months to crowded houses, to
exhibit some North American Indians whom some theatrical speculator
brought over 'expres', in all the horrors of fur, wampum, and yellow
ochre. Finding the 'spectacle' rather uninteresting I leaned back in my
box, and fell into a doze. Meanwhile, my inquiring friend, Mr. Burke,
who felt naturally anxious, as he always does, to get au fond at matters,
left his place to obtain information about the piece, the audience, and,
above all, the authenticity of the Indians, who certainly astonished him
considerably.

"Now it so happened that about a fortnight previously some violent
passion to return home to their own country had seized these interesting