was over, the cards were thrown on the floor; consequently, when play ceased in the morning, the players, to use the Beau's own expression, were nearly knee-deep in cards. Wattier's was in Piccadilly, at the corner of Bolton Street. The club took its name from Wattier, who was a chef de cuisine of the first order. Although the Beau played at whist, and played a good rubber, he did not generally play high at that game (although he is supposed to have once won a large stake at White's at one sitting), his gambling having been mostly at Wattier's at the game of macao, and at Newmarket. At Calais, he occasionally played at whist in private houses at moderate stakes, and seemed to enjoy the game. During the first few years of his residence in Calais, he associated with scarcely any of either the English or French families; but during several years prior to his departure to his consulate at Caen, he associated with one or two English residents, and joined in conversation generally with the groups of loungers on the Place, before repairing to the ramparts for his daily walk. He was fond of good living, in every sense of the word, in truth, I never met with a man who better appreciated, or did more justice to the good things of this life. Champagne and Bordeaux were his two favorite wines. When he dined alone, one bottle of good Bordeaux, not of the premier crû, was his allowance. When I dined with him tête-à-tête, which was often the case, we generally commenced with either a bottle of Sauterne, Château Grillie, or Champagne at dinner, and concluded with one or two bottles of Mouton, of which wine he possessed a quantity of excellent quality; some café noir, and a petit verre of O. D. V. finished the repast. When he dined out, he never objected to any amount of first-rate Bordeaux after dinner, although I never saw him more than in high spirits; and when under the inspiring influences of good cheer and first-rate liquid, he was always most agreeable and entertaining, relating numerous anecdotes of persons whom he had met in former days. I once asked him whether he ever drank port wine in his life: "Not from choice," was his reply; "but sometimes, when I was staying at B- Castle, or at some other great house in the country, when the cheese was introduced, some jolly red-nosed parson would say, Would a glass of port be agreeable, Mr. Brummel, after your cheese?' when, of course, to please the old boy, I was obliged to drink one." I met him on the day after his having dined with a French friend at Calais, when he expressed his extreme disgust at a circumstance which had occurred during the repast in reference to a piece of boiled beef, which in all probability had been specially prepared à l'Anglaise by the French host, with a view of pleasing his English guest; of this the Beau partook twice, whereupon the host, thinking he had made a good hit, risked the question: "Comment trouvezvous ce boeuf, Monsieur Brummel?" Monsieur," replied the Beau, "c'est excellent." When the host responded, "Mais cependant c'était de la vache." The disgusting brute!" ejaculated the Beau; just as if he could not have kept that to himself. The idea nearly made me sick.” 66 66 On another occasion, after having dined with some English friends at the Hôtel Rignolle, who were on their passage to Paris, he expressed great satisfaction at the excellence of the repast, the wines, &c., and seemed much gratified at the manner in which he had been entertained. But there was one circumstance which appeared to have in terfered with his comfort, as, on concluding his account of the repast and of the company, he remarked that the young ladies who were present, although very good-looking and very charming persons, had shown no consideration at all for poor little Vic, as they had actually eaten all the wings of the chickens, leaving nothing beyond the legs for poor little Vic's dinner, "so that, although I really fared well, little Vic was nearly famished." When in England, the Beau passed some of his time in Leicestershire during the hunting season, and occasionally went out with the fox-hounds, being mounted by a friend, of whom he was the guest. He told me that, on one occasion on which he was out, Colonel Joliffe (who, it is well known, used to wear a hat of peculiar shape, with a curved brim of very large dimensions) and Lord Alvanley were amongst the number of sportsmen, and on their ar riving at a brook which none of the field seemed disposed to take, but rather to look out for some shallow part which they might ford, Lord Alvanley muttered, "Perhaps Colonel Joliffe will oblige us with the loan of his hat, and punt us all over.' At this time the Beau and Lord Alvanley were both guests at Belvoir Castle. Lord Foley was also a guest, and it appeared that his legs were of such a slender description that they had become subject of notice, and it so happened on the occasion to which I refer that Lord Alvanley sat next to him at dinner. A fork accidentally fell from the table between them, upon which Lord Alvanley exclaimed, "God bless me!" in a tone of great alarm; upon which all the guests, who were alarmed by his manner, thinking something serious really had occurred, instantly and anxiously inquired what had happened, when Lord Alvanley responded: "O, I was really apprehensive some great misfortune might have occurred, as a fork just dropped from the table close to Lord Foley, and I feared it might have broken his leg." The Beau left Calais for his consulship at Caen in the year 1830, and I received my first letter from him in February, 1831, and as this epistle is very characteristic of his peculiar manner of viewing and describing whatever he witnessed, and, moreover, gives a short account of the English and French residents at Caen, I submit it to the notice of my readers. It appears that he was extremely well received by both the English and French families; indeed, his society was much sought and courted, and it is extremely to be regretted that so favorable and auspicious a beginning should have been the forerunner of so melancholy and deplorable a close, in a great measure due to his own imprudence; as it is certain the consulship and its protection would not have been taken from him so long as he lived, had he not unwisely written to the Foreign Office stating that it was a nullity, as he really had no duties to perform. His idea was, that his disinterested conduct in supplying the government with this information would have been rewarded by a superior position. This is an additional instance to the many which experience supplies, that very clever men sometimes are guilty of great oversights, and outwit themselves. The unfortunate Beau lost his consulship, and received neither thanks nor consideration for his disinterested communication. Unfortunately, at the time of the Beau's letter to the Foreign Office, there was a clamor for retrenchment; the government therefore had no alternative but to abolish a consulship which had been represented to be entirely useless. On the loss of the consulship at the end of the year, the Beau's Calais creditors availed themselves of their advantage; the consequence of which was arrest and imprisonment. But as this sad portion of the Beau's life has been fully and truthfully related by a writer of his life, I refrain from going further into this subject. The following letter from him is dated Caen, February 20, 1831; it was addressed to me at Montreuil, where I was then residing: is CAEN, February 20, 1831. MY DEAR: Old J- (though I believe he younger than myself) tells me, when he dined with you within your wretched antiquated ramparts in his progress to Paris, you were blowing up about my having neglected to "vous faire savoir de mes nouvelles," according to my promises. You must have known me sufficiently to be aware I am not the most regular person in the world in attending to promises, but malgré my most inveterate disinclination to sit down, or rather turn round in my chair, to scribble when I have nothing to say, I can assure I have frequently threatened both you and myself with the mutual penalty of inditing you some half a dozen empty sentences merely to represent my existence in this life of troubles, as Mr. Mawworm and his prototype, Mr. Percival, would express themselves. you pensity of drinking till late, so that I have already sacrificed a hat and a shoe on returning home from my visit to their houses. - My return to Calais is, from what I hear, sur les cartes, - in an official capacity, I mean: name it not in Gath. They are endeavoring to remove MC- - When you return there, and I understand you will again meet with the old lingering set, with that good-hearted fellow Longdon at the head, to whom I beg you will most kindly remember me, for he is the only one amongst them of any merit, pray write me word as to all that is going on there. Be civil to M- C, and get all you can out of him respecting any meditated change in his consular situation. Be kind also to, when opportunity may present itself. She is a very araiable person after all, and deserves better than to be placed by Providence under such a disgusting set of vulgar Hottentots. Remember me to Fand assure her that I am always hers, as well as yours, very sincerely. G. B. P. S. - Now, don't play with those wretches at Calais. Think of the end of my dear old friend Horace Beckford! II. THE Beau's personal appearance, independently of his dress, which was the perfection of neatness, Here I am, leading as opposite a life as possible was considerably in his favor; he was about six feet to that which I led during many peaceable seques-in height, wide across the chest, and well proportered years during my locality at Calais. You must tioned; his complexion rather florid, and the small know, in the first place, I am very popular here, gray, restless, scrutinizing eyes which illumined his and that I am much recherche, both with the Gothic countenance gave evidence of that continuous Norman noblesse who are out, and daily invoke the mental activity which so much distinguished him. heavens for the restoration of that little "enfant No peculiarity of dress, or manner of either male trouvé, Dieu-donné Henri V.," and with the modern or female, who came immediately within his view, functionaries of the place, with more liberal princi- escaped him; and the vigor and piquancy of his reples, but of more base pedigrees. At the hour of marks were considerably enhanced by the peculiar eight every evening, I have the entrée to about sev-significancy of the look which accompanied them. en of the principal Dons (who have all really magnificent hotels), of whichever it may be the night, and I sit down to franc long whist with all the old marquises, countesses, and baronesses, who smell more of caraway and diachylon than of Eau de Portugal, and I generally make a good or heavy evening to the amount of ten francs. With the new people like the prefet, maire, &c., I eat well, and in spite of that, which of course you will think the preferable attraction, as it concerns the satisfactory lining of my inside, I find this society the most agreeable. At the Ridoute, a weekly mélange of all classes, there is always smart écarte'; that is, for the provinces, to five hundred or six hundred francs a side. The women en sociétié are rarely good-looking, but those one meets with by chance in the streets of the grisette class are beautiful; and if I did not suspect would see my letter, I would tell you more about them. The town, taking it ensemble, is what a vulgar traveller would call superb; nothing can be superior to its public institutions, such as its colleges, hospital, mairie, courts of justice, &c.; and the public walks about it are better than any I have seen. There are, among many very respectable English residents, two excellent amphitryons of the names of each of them with ample annual means, large houses with gardens, and, what is better, admirable artistes à la cuisine. Gentlemen they are, in every common acceptation of the term, and so very amiable, that I cannot please them more than by sending in the morning to say I will dine with them; but then they have that nasty English pro His nose had decidedly the appearance of a "pug"; but when some allusion to this prominent feature was on one occasion hazarded by a lady in my presence, he responded: "I can assure you, madam, when I entered the Tenth Hussars, I had a most beautiful Roman nose; but unfortunately, when riding down the Steyn at Brighton, I was thrown from my horse; and the edge of my helmet or shako coming into direct collision with the bridge of that feature, partially broke it; hence the slight turn-up which you now perceive." As Captain Gronow, in his Reminiscences, records this accident as having actually occurred, it is possible the Beau's statement may be true; but to all appearance, as far as I could judge from frequent close observation, the turn-up" of this prominent feature seemed rather natural than accidental. His dress, which was invariably neat, was for years precisely of the same description, -a long frock-coat, between a Wellington and an overcoat, color brown, with velvet collar and silk lining; trousers dark colored, cut out in front to fit over the instep, and with straps under the boots, which were always well polished. He was very particular on this last point; indeed, it is recorded of him that, in the days of his great popularity, he was so tenacious as to the polish, that he always travelled with his own blacking, so that, on being solicited to prolong his visit in some great mansion in the country, he replied: "I must first consult Bruno as to my stock of blacking, before I can give you an answer." Peculiarities of this character were not only tolerated in the Beau, but received as excellent jokes, — a cir emulate the great and noble deeds of the exemplary and distinguished, requires the exercise of considerable energy, determination, and virtue. From the Beau's life, much instruction of this valuable description may be derived, for the guidance of those who are on the eve of entering upon the great stage of social life; and, although I admit there is comparatively little which suggests itself as worthy of imitation,-little of a positive character, cumstance which affords no inconsiderable argu- | compatible with the greatest indolence; whereas, to ment in favor of that ability to conciliate, please, and amuse which he so eminently possessed. His neckcloth was of white cambric, of large dimensions, wound twice round his neck, brought down capaciously in front, and fastened by a small gold pin. This peculiar tie was designated in those days as the "waterfall-tie." The neckcloth itself was a large, square piece of cambric, out of which twenty or more ties for the dandies of the present day might easily be made. I now arrive at the most important, and certainly the most conspicuous part of the Beau's dress, and one on the selection of which he bestowed much thought and consideration, his waistcoat. This was generally very striking, being of velvet, of some conspicuous color, and covered with flowers, worked either in silk, silver, or gold; indeed, this was the only showy part of the Beau's attire. His hat was of the fashion of former days; large, wider at the top than at the bottom, with a large, upturned rim; under it was a well-arranged wig, of a brown, color, slightly approaching to red, to keep his whiskers in countenance. His teeth were small, his chin rather prominent. When out walking, he always carried a very neat cane with a gold or silver head. His indoor dress in the morning was rather conspic-sideration of the valuable connections there formed, uous, the dressing-gown being of thick silk covered with handsomely-worked flowers, with slippers to correspond; and as the wig was not on duty till he had completed his toilet for his daily walk, a handsome velvet cap, with a gold tassel at its top, occupied its place, so that the Beau, in his morning's costume, had somewhat the appearance of a magician or astrologer. His mornings were employed in reading newspapers and French novels, and in mixing his snuff, which he kept in jars in his cellar; his favorite mixture was Martinique and Bolingero. The operation of blending his snuffs I have often In the first place, in consequence of having enseen him perform on a large piece of parchment tered a fashionable cavalry regiment, and being with an ivory spoon. Although he had a great va-quartered at Brighton, and having by some forriety of handsome and valuable snuff-boxes, the one which he habitually carried was a large ordinary one of "papier-mâché." there is much which may be received in the shape of warning. The Beau, however, possessed many good qualities, but those, unfortunately, proved his bane, and were the precursors of his downfall. He excelled to an eminent degree in the art of making himself agreeable to others, so that his society was considered an acquisition, and he was tempted to leave his own sphere, and to embark in one which eventually proved his ruin. At the commencement of his career at Eton, where he was educated, he soon became a great favorite amongst his school-fellows, and formed those connections which were subsequently of so much apparent service to him at the commencement of his social career. The advantages of public-school education, in conexperience teaches us have been somewhat exaggerated, for boys do not meet so frequently in afterlife as is generally supposed; neither do those, as a rule, who were very great friends at school, continue to be friends in after-life, if their social positions are different. But that considerable social advantages are derivable from public-school education cannot be denied. In Brummel's case, the connections which he formed at Eton were kept up and continued for several special reasons, chiefly of a personal character, and not on general grounds. tuitous circumstance become acquainted with the Regent, the opportunity of meeting several of his former schoolfellows, some of whom were men of The sitting-room in which he passed many years rank, readily occurred; and as he still possessed the of his life at Leleux's, the librarian in the Rue Roy-"magic art to please, his society was sought, so ale, Calais, was remarkably well arranged, the type that in his case, as far as advantages of that character of his former room in London, although on a smaller can be appreciated, his having been educated at scale. Although there were no paintings of much Eton proved of value to him; but respice finem; in value, there were several small handsome book and consequence of this association with men of rank, other cases of Japan and marqueterie, on the tops and of expensive and dissipated habits, he became of which were placed various curious specimens of immersed in those habits of vice and extravagance china and snuff-boxes, all of which eventually dis- which soon swallowed up his small means, and led appeared to meet some pressing emergency. I to certain acts which compelled him to leave his never could learn precisely what became of them, country. He inherited from his father upwards of but I rather fancy they encountered the usual fate thirty thousand pounds, so that had he fortunately which objects of this character meet with when conformed to circumstances, and kept within that they fall within the remorseless grasp of some cor-sphere in which his birth and fortune ought to have morant of a creditor, who depreciates before he seizes, so that that which was purchased at great cost, goes finally for the smallest trifle. induced him to confine himself, he might have passed a very agreeable and happy life without the sacrifice of independence, and have escaped all the pain and humiliation which he subsequently underwent before the great anticlimax of his imprisonment and death at Caen. If the Beau's life offers no positive lessons of instruction, it exhibits many important negative ones; indeed, it may be sometimes quite as useful and instructive to ascertain why one man failed, as to dis- He was confined in a common jail; herding in a cover why another has succeeded; to be made early small, comfortless room with other debtors, whereby acquainted with that which ought to be scrupulously he was subjected to an ordeal of suffering and privaavoided, because it is injurious, is salutary knowl- tion most trying to any man, but especially so to one edge; and as it is much more easy to avoid what is who had enjoyed all the luxuries of life, and who bad, than to pursue and imitate that which is good was, if possible, over-scrupulous on all matters conand praiseworthy, a negative lesson of this character nected with comfort and cleanliness. He was inis not without value; it is readily learned and carcerated in the month of May, 1835, at the suit of adopted, because it requires no exertion, and is | M. Leveux, a banker at Calais, to whom he was indebted to the amount of several thousand francs. M. Levens had formerly been a personal friend of the Beau's, but at last, becoming tired of his repeated unfulfilled promises to pay, carried out this extreme measure. The Beau was arrested with all those external ceremonies which usually attend an operation of *his character in France, so that the fact of his misbrtune was immediately promulgated amongst his fiends and other residents at Caen; and although there was a disposition to relieve him from his embarrassing position, the sum required for this purpose was far too large to be obtained from the voluntary contributions of his comparatively new friends and acquaintances. The captive was taken completely by surprise, and complained bitterly of M. Leveux havng given him no intimation of his intentions. A may be readily imagined, the Beau felt this humliation severely, especially as felons as well as debtors were confined in this prison. The hardships which he at first underwent were, however, to a great extent modified by the kind interposition of his friends, and he experienced no lack of the necessaries of life. After nearly three months' incarceration, he was liberated by the generous interposition of his former friends in England, who contributedsufficient to pay off Monsieur Leveux; and I believe also a further sum was subscribed to secure to him a small annuity, so as to rescue him from absolute want; he, however, only survived the great misfortune of imprisonment five years. Previous to his incarceration, he had experienced one or two severe attacks of illness, approaching to paralysis. On leaving prion, he returned to his former quarters, and as he lined at a table d'hôte most days, was still an objet of curiosity to tourists and others who chanced to mss a few days at Caen. But it was evident to all who had previously known the poor Beau that he was much altered; indeed, sympoms of his intellect being impaired had already become visible; finally, so much so, that it was arranged by his friends that he should be transferred to hospital, called Le Bon Sauveur, superintended by nuns and Sisters of Charity, where every attention vas shown him during the last few months which preceded his decease; his mind was so far gone that he vas incapable of appreciating the various acts of kndness which were extended to him, although it was admitted, at the same time, by the Sisters that he vas very docile and easy of management; he entered the Bon Sauveur in the year 1838, and died in 1840. Agreeably to my own feelings, I cannot conlude this slight sketch of some portions of the old Bau's life, without doing justice to the many good qualities which I know he possessed; I passed many agreeable days with him, the recollection of which resuscitates all the friendly feelings which I formely entertained for him. I always found him truthil, generous, and sincere. His courage was unquesionable, and his spirit of that decided and marked haracter which induced him instantly to resent theslightest indignity which was intentionally offered tohim. As a companion, his qualities were of the highest order; he was al ways cheerful, amusing, and full of anecdote, and there was a natural exuberane of joyousness and fun about him, which made his society at all times agreeable. In conclusion, I introduce to the notice of my readers a letter which I receive from the Beau from Caen, dated February 19, 1834 inasmuch as it is written in his usual gay and animaed style. MY DEAR CAEN, February 19, 1832. Your letter has been long staring me in the face like an injured ghost, but till the present instant I have not mustered up sufficient resolution to answer it, and even now I should perhaps have neglected its pale reproaching looks, had not I met with an accident (young devil that I am) in jumping out of a citadine last night, by the which juvenile freak I have severely sprained my right knee, and if it may be any retributive satisfaction to you, it is so much swelled that it will confine me chez moi two or three days. This annoys me, and puts me out of temper, for it is the very meridian of our gay season here, and so you must not expect to be amused by anything I may write to you. I wish to heaven F, with her constitutional propriety and invariable indulgent kindness to me, was at my elbow to rub the afflicted part with the camphorated stuff my Sangrado has ordered. I would have written to you before the expiration of last summer, but somehow or other I was continually gadding about to different places in the environs, and from time to time I protracted all episolatory debts and duties. Since the short days of autumn and winter have regenerated society here, and the truffles and the whist, I do not know how it has been, but from my idleness and dissipation I have unconsciously limited my writing to passports and to bills of three months. What a perfect reverse of the tranquil, innocent life I led during so many years at Calais, is that by which I have been led away at this place! Nothing but feasting, play, and dancing; to be sure I do not meddle but in a moderate way with the second amusement; and the "dear creatures most amiably dispense with my entering into the latter public attention. Two or three places to go to every evening, and all consisting of the very best society; it is indeed principally formed of the ancienne Normande noblesse resident here in their old staring hôtels, all Carlists or Henry V. to the backbone; but as I never interfere with political principles or absurdities, I manage to live on the same familiar terms of intimacy with the modern préfet and with the fallen peer. 99 I think L -n has done right in marrying Mademoiselle O- -r; he could never expect anything better, and the quiet conjugal state may prolong his life a few years more, if she remains with him so long. I had a letter yesterday from Be R———d, remplie with regrets and civil expressions at the altered condition of Calais - from which place he wrote - since my departure; nobody scarcely to speak to, nobody to dine with. He says, however, he stood godfather the day previous to a last-born of M- 's, eighteen at the subsequent repast, — raw, sanguinary beef, and barbarous cabbage! He does not mention the convives, so I presume he is ashamed of them; he adds that E- -y, the second female offspring from this veritable garenne de lapins, is about to be married to a Mr. P-1 (who the devil is he?), who is allowed only £ 100 a year by his father, and that if he marries without his consent, he will forfeit that. Nothing like settling in matrimonial life. I see by the papers that M- -k has been bitten in endeavoring to bite a German baron; damages against the said M-k, whom the journal styles a Mr. Mk, £200, a picture-dealing transaction of the lowest description. Remember me affectionately to F—§; and if you go on maiming the poor snipes, and, as usual, tuck yourself up after dinner for the rest of the yours, - DEMI-MONDE LITERATURE. An English family had been living there for some time. evening in your arm-chair, to redeem by snoring | paper. Macaulay dwells with just pride on the fact, those physical forces exhausted by the day's exer- that words spoken in the Senate at two in the morncise, enjoin her to write to me diffusively and ex-ing, are read in Edinburgh in the afternoon, and plicitly, and parole I will answer her. Very truly reach the remotest Highlands by night. If the PaG. B. risian notion is borrowed, there is no reason why the Have you read the Cocon? Charming! And elegant jests or pungent sarcasms vented by AnonyLe Duc, and Le Page, and La Princesse, and Le ma in her box at the Opera, on Saturday night, Sous-officier. Walter Scott's Bob of Paris is should not be eagerly read at the Sunday breakfast wretched, Cooper's Bravo of Venice worse. in London, and in the intervals between the morning and afternoon services in the country. Indeed, we don't see why some sort of international arrangement should not be made. Everything in these A NEW journal has within the last few weeks ap- days has its international aspect, from dog-shows, peared in Paris, which is understood to represent downwards; and an organ, which contained all the the views, ideas, and interests of the frailer, though fine things which had been done and said in the more powerful portion of the ladies of that city. Quartier Bréda on the one side, and in Pimlico on This valuable paper comes out every Sunday morn- the other, would perhaps do as much to cement the ing, thus acting upon the reader as the discourse of alliance between the two countries, as the tranquil a favorite divine acts upon her more reputable sis- emulation in manufactures, and the peaceful rivalry ters, and giving a sort of pleasant tone to her mind of the iron-clads. As yet, the French ladies have for the rest of the week. It is printed on a single scarcely got a thorough knowledge of the manners sheet, of a charming rose-pink hue, and may be and customs of the English. One of the contribupurchased for the modest sum-the only modest tors to the pink sheet, writing under the curiously feature it possesses- of two-pence halfpenny. compounded title of Aspasie Dea Maria, forwards a Most, if not all, of its contributors seem to be little story, which we venture to reproduce with litladies, Turlurette, Marie, Cora, and the rest. tle fear of hurting the feelings of a respectabe EngWe are promised the disclosure of some singular lish family. An hotel at Nice is the scene of the mysteries, "toujours, bien entendu, du côté fémi-myth: nin," -a reservation which naturally rather enhances than decreases the attractions of the pink sheet. This promise, however, can hardly be said to be fulfilled. The singular mysteries are still kept profoundly dark in the recesses of Turlurette's bosom, and, from all that can be gathered of Tur-fatigable in attending the balls of the Prefect. lurette's fashion of life, one may suspect that she has as little story to tell as the needy knife-grinder. The "soiled dove" has, as a rule, a singularly small collection of views or ideas. A journal professing to represent them would be rather like the famous chapter on the Snakes of Norway. They have no ideas. Plucking well-feathered young pigeons, and surpassing their rivals in riot and extravagance, are the two processes which exhaust their simple views. Four pages of pointless jests, witless little anecdotes, senseless little songs, and little bits of gossip about the play, are perhaps as faithful a representation of the minds of these fascinating creatures as one could desire. The pink sheet is the result of holding up the mirror to the understandings of the mercenary fair. The Aspasia of Paris, and perhaps of other cities too, has her amusing qualities exactly reflected in the truly brilliant and delicate wit of her literary organ. For instance: "One day at the Casino Cadet a fine lady with whom L- was dancing reminded him that he had no gloves on. It does n't matter,' he replied. 'I'll wash my hands after the quadrille." Or the picture of My dear, you are yawning." "Very likely, husband and wife only counting as one, when I'm by myself I'm bored." married bliss: 66 The idea of a registry of this kind of all the spiteful things which women of loose morals find to say of one another, is so exceedingly happy, that one wonders why some of the enterprising young members of the fashionable world, in our own country, have never taken it up. They certainly manage these things better in France. Imagine the pleasure which would be given to the horse-taming heroines of the Row, if they could awake every Sunday morning, with the proud knowledge, that their obiter dicta of the week were being diffused over the length and breadth of the town, on pink Two daughters, a father and a mother. This family, which is noble and rich, is inde One of the blonde young ladies met a young man there on three occasions. One evening the family came down to dinner, ing. One hour passes. .... two.... the whole even Excitement of the father and mother..... The day after that the parents get the following letter. The "jeune lady" would appear to have written to them in two languages, for the letter is printed by the Aspasian contributor thus: suivi. 'Dear Father and Mother, "Un petit Français m'avait promis son nom. Je l'ai Il m'a trompée et m'a laissée à l'Hôtel de Gênes. Il était marié et suis retenue pour la somme de seize livres. Envoyez-moi cette somne et votre pardon. "Votre respectueuse Alle, MISS MARY." The result was that the faher at once forwarded 66 the sixteen pounds, and sent poor "Miss Mary home. Qui disait done," concludes Aspasie Dea Maria, " que les Anglais n'étaient point fantaisistes?" So very differen' from the French in this respect, of course. Not the least remar'able thing about the contributors is their candor as to the secrets of their craft. The share whch poudre de riz has in their comeliness is a standng joke. Anna, for instance, gets very cross because Juliette insists upon going at full gallop in the Bois, which makes all the powder come of Tiens, voici la boite," says Juliette, immediately passing the box to her in a friendly way. Their passion for money is as little |