employed in an equally curious manner, though not so successfully as
in the former instance. In the campaign of 1793, General
Bournonville, who was sent with four commissioners by the National
Convention to the camp of the Prince of Saxe-Coburg, was detained as
a prisoner with his companions, and confined in the fortress of
Olmütz. In this situation he made a desperate attempt to regain his
liberty. Having procured an Umbrella, he leaped with it from a window
forty feet above the ground, but being a very heavy man, it did not
prove sufficient to let him down in safety. He struck against an
opposite wall, fell into a ditch and broke his leg, and, worse than
all, was carried back to his prison.

One of the most remarkable instances on record, in which the
Umbrella was the agency of a man's life being saved, occurred,
according to his own statement, to our old friend Colonel Longbow. Of
course our kind readers know him as well as we do, for not to do so
"would be to argue yourselves unknown." At any Continental watering
place, Longbow, or one of his family--for it is a large one--can be
met with. He is, indeed, a wonderful man--on intimate terms with all
the crowned heads of Europe, and proves his intimacy by always
speaking of them by their Christian names.

He is at once the "guide, philosopher, and friend" of every stranger
who happens to form his acquaintance--a very easy task, be it
remarked--and, though so great a man, is not above dining at your
expense, and charming you by the terms of easy familiarity with which
he imbibes your champagne or your porter, for all is alike to him, so
long as he has not to pay for it: he can take any given quantity.

Well, the other day we happened to meet the Colonel, and he speedily