THE DEVIL AND THE PRUSSIAN GRENADIER

      It is an old saying, that " the devil is not so black as he is painted." This proverb receives confirmation from the following story, which shows that the appearance of his Satanic majesty on earth may occasionally be attended with very agreeable consequences.

      In the year 1742, during the first Silesian war, Colonel de la Motte Fouque, afterwards a Prussian general, received orders from Field-marshal Schwerin to occupy the town of Kremsir, in Moravia, with his battalion of grenadiers. Among other precautions which he adopted on taking possession of the place, he stationed a sentry upon the ramparts, not far from the house of a catholic priest. Rumour had given a bad character to this quarter of the town; and it was universally believed that the devil himself was frequently to be seen prowling about there. The Prussian sentinel had ocular demonstration of the accuracy of this report on the very first night; for no sooner had the hour of spirits arrived, than the Prince of Darkness appeared, all in black, with horns, claws, and a long tail, and armed with a dung-fork.

      The grenadier posted at this place was a fearless veteran, who had long wished to fall in with his Infernal Majesty. Instead of being dismayed and deserting his post, he calmly awaited the gradual approach of the sable figure, which seemed to take no notice of his challenge of "Who's there?" Advancing close to him, it held forth the three-pronged weapon, and in a fearful voice threatened him with instant death.

      Conscious that he was engaged in the performance of his duty, the soldier was very little, if at all, alarmed. He coolly awaited the assault, parried the thrust of the dung-fork with his bayonet, and courageously seized his Satanic opponent. He held him tightly grasped, regardless of the screams of agony which his nervous gripe extorted from the writhing daemon. Some of his comrades, who were at hand, soon hastened to the assistance of the brave grenadier, and having secured Old Hornie, dragged him away to the nearest guard-house.

      Next morning he was conducted in his infernal accouterments  escorted by an immense crowd, through the town to the main-guard. Finding himself subjected to a rigorous military examination, the devil had the condescension to answer in the humblest tone every question that was proposed. It came out that he was no other man than the Catholic priest himself, before whose house the sentinel was posted. Annoyed by the incessant challenges of the latter, he imagined that a Protestant grenadier might be terrified as easily as the most superstitious of his own communion; but he was not so fortunate as to drive him from the vicinity of his habitation by the mask which he assumed.

      The other ecclesiastics of the town were aware that their indiscreet colleague had, by his masquerade, not only cast a stigma on his profession, but grossly offended against the laws of war; they, therefore, with all humility solicited his release, and voluntarily offered to pay any fine that might be imposed.

Colonel Fouque seized this opportunity of contributing the comfort of his grenadiers, who, like all the Prussian soldiers in those days, wore white gaiters, and after the arduous campaign which was just over had great need of new ones. He ordered a calculation to be made of the cost of new black gaiters for his whole battalion. It amounted to about one hundred ducats, which sum the Catholic clergy of the town cheerfully paid to atone for the misconduct of their colleague.

      The unlucky representative of Old Nick was sent to a convent to expiate his indiscretion; and the grenadiers were supplied with black gaiters, which rendered them good service in their subsequent marches. They jocularly observed that they had to thank the devil of Kremsir for their new leggings; and the king himself was so well pleased with the innovation of Colonel Fouque, that he determined to furnish his whole army with black gaiters, instead of the white ones which had hitherto been universally worn.

GAKRICK'S GHOST

In the records of his life by Taylor, we read of a trick of the great actor, who, like Brinsley Sheridan, had a fondness for practical jokes. It was on a professional visit of Dr. Moncey. " Garrick was announced for King Lear on that night, and when Moncey saw him in bed, he expressed his surprise, and asked him if the play was to be changed. Garrick was dressed, but had his nightcap on, and a quilt was drawn over him to give the appearance of being too ill to rise. Dr. M. expressed his surprise, as it was time for Garrick to be at the theater to dress for King Lear. Garrick, in a languid and whining tone, told him that he was too much indisposed to perform himself, but that there was an actor named Marr, so like him in figure, face, and voice, and so admirable a mimic, that he had ventured to trust the part to him, and was sure the audience would not perceive the difference. Pretending that he began to feel worse, he requested Moncey to leave the room in order that he might get a little sleep, but desired him to attend the theater  and let him know the result. As soon as the doctor quitted the room, Garrick jumped out of the bed and hastened to the theater  Moncey attended the performance. Having left Garrick in bed, he was bewildered by the scene before him, sometimes doubting, and sometimes being astonished at the resemblance between Garrick and Marr. At length, finding that the audience were convinced of Garrick's identity, Moncey began to suspect a trick had been practiced upon him, and instantly hurried to Garrick's house at the end of the plav ; but Garrick was too quick for him, and was found by Moncey in the same state of illness. These are truths which are indeed stranger than fiction.