with bunches of grapes, formed of pearls, with silver foliage, is a favourite ornament on the head at balls, where is also frequently seen a wreath for the head formed of Iperican frutrix, made of silk and entwined with bunches of grapes. The toque basque is a favourite head-dress; it is of black vel- || vet ornamented with golden acorns, and is surmounted by a red feather, which falls over the left shoulder, after forming a half circle: the hair, with this toque, is divided on the forehead, and falls in three ringlets on each side of the face. A toque of white satin is also a favourite head-dress for the evening; it is turned up in front, is orna. mented with white feathers, and a polished steel brooch, or one large diamond button. A new kind of mosaic gauze is much in use for dress hats; these gauzes are variegated, and generally of four or five dif ferent colours. Before I dispatch this intelligence, 1 must impart some recent miscellaneous information which I yesterday witnessed, and which this morning came to hand under the chapter of novelties. At a ball given at the Gymnase, a dress of rose-coloured satin and tulle of the same colour, with stripes of roses, produced a beautiful effect; the sleeves were short, and the ankle displayed. The corsage was à-la-Sevigné. A dress of tulle, with three rows of coral coloured chenille in embroidery; the sash edged with coral chenille. Terpsichore wreath of pomegranite blossoms, and a profusion of diamonds. A dress of white tulle, with sprigs of lilac, and ornaments of amethysts set in gold à l'Antique. Several ladies at this ball had brooches of extraordinary richness to fasten their belts. Feathers were of all kinds-flat, curled, down feathers, ostrich feathers, heron's feathers, toucan's feathers, bird of paradise plumes, &c. Ladies who wear eye-glasses, no longer suspend them to a gold chain, but to a simple watered black ribbon; but in order to relieve this simplicity the two ends of the ribbon are run through a diamond slider which is fixed to the top of the stomacher. Two ladies, eminent for fashion, have lately sported at the theatres a kind of fan made of a bunch of feathers like those fans we often see in old English pictures: they collect the air, and it is possible that they may become more general. Fans, however, of the last fashion are of sandal wood, mother-of-pearl, horn, in imitation of tortoiseshell, or of ivory: they are ornamented with paintings, representing garlands of roses, hearts-ease, lilacs, or the little blue flower forget-me-not. The wreaths are painted at the top very near to the narrow ribbon that confines the mount-sticks. The favourite colours are emerald green, water of the Nile, Caroline, lemon-colour, and Marguerite; rose-clour is a standing favourite. COSTUME OF ZANTE. THE Zantiote ladies generally are dressed in black, with a white handkerchief pinned on the head, and falling half way down the back. The fan is considered so much a part of their dress, that they are scarce ever seen without one in their hand. They rouge universally, and have a strange custom of powdering their faces. LETTER FROM A YOUNG LADY TO HER SISTER IN THE COUNTRY. MY DEAR SISTER,—If you was surprised at the departure of our two cousins for London, I was no less astonished at their arrival: we well know that their constant aim was to be thought in their own country town, ladies of the first fashion: and it is really wonderful to see with what aptness they copy all the follies of fashion, and with what avidity they run after every species of amusement. What was become of their mother's prudence, she whom we always used to call our serious aunt? I mean not in sending her daughters to Loudon, but under the care of such a lady as Mrs. Woodley! My aunt, Lady Denbigh, is certainly a woman who could not exist but in fashionable life; but still she has a great share of prudence, and her rank in life allows her that latitude which cannot be given to Mrs. Woodley. As my time is now approaching when I shall bid a long adieu to this, sometimes, bewitching town, my aunt means to send me home with a complete wardrobe of fashion from head to foot; among which are some beautiful presents for you. I have hats here, bonnets there, new silk stockings of the finest texture, fichus of every kind, so that my dressing-room looks like the repository of a French milliner; I am absolutely surrounded by band-boxes. Certainly these elegant attirements are charming; but then they do not give them for nothing; and it is almost incredible to tell you the exorbitant price my aunt pays for every article. Indeed she had need of all her ample fortune, for she wants every new piece of furniture that she sees. A lady who is just arrived from France invited us last week to meet a party: her furniture all came from Paris; there were divans, tête-à-têtes, arm-chairs covered with amaranth-coloured velvet, and fringed and ornamented with gold, in a taste as novel as it was elegant. My aunt had no rest till her drawing-rooms were furnished exactly in the same manner. We dined yesterday with a family who expect every day to have an execution in their house, so much are they in debt. Well, we had ten different sorts of wine: we had a very pleasant little concert, at which some of our first vocal performers assisted; and after supper waltzing began: our supper was fit to have been set before Princes, and our dinner consisted of three courses; in short, it seemed a complete fête, as if the gentleman and lady were celebrating their approachiag ruin. It is impossible to mark the flight of time in London, where oue pleasure so rapidly follows another; with plenty of money at command, it is certainly a land of enchantment. The very children are elegant and witty; they are clothed like angels; they are not made to keep silence before their elders, as you and I were, but they chatter in all companies like little magpies; they behave with great decorum, however, when they are permitted to dine with their parents, and the little boys leave off their petticoats at two years old. Their mothers seem the most tender in the world; but they never confine themselves at home for them, but go to every ball and rout the same as if they were unmarried. I can pardon married ladies who are not mothers going to balls, for I must say I am passionately fond of dancing, particularly at Almack's. Oh how different is the dancing in this elegant establishment from No. 148.-Vol. XXIII. what I have seen in our very best country assemblies! Truly, I shall never be able to endure them again. The days I have passed in London have certainly been most happy, a continued scene of festivity and entertainment, where I have found crowds of admirers, but not one whose admiration I can return; and I am not coquet enough to encourage them, then laugh at them and enjoy their mortification. My aunt has given a ball and a concert lately: three rooms were thrown into one, and it was a very splendid affair; every room breathed all the perfume of exotic and hot-house flowers; and at the concert we had some delightful Italian music.Among the novelties in dress the most pleasing was the chapeaux de Bois Blanc à-laMarie Stuart, just now so popular at Paris. Yet amidst the delights of London the heart not yet dead to tender feelings, should regard sometimes the other side of the picture, and view the formidable contrast. While the gaudy carriage, with pampered servants in good warm great coats, and the footmen shielded by an umbrella, dashes through the pattering hail or soaking rain, behold the shivering half-pay officer, in his threadbare coat, lame from a wound perhaps received in his country's cause, walking on foot to carry home to his apartment his scanty and hard obtained dinner: and not unfrequently it is after dancing attendance on a great man, who has promised to do something for him; but in this town, whoever calculates on promises will find himself miserably deceived. One great fault in my aunt is her encouraging young people in being extravagant. She says "When I am forty 1 will begin to economise; it may then be a virtue; but in youth it is horribly ridiculous, to say no worse of it; for I am sure it shews a mean, miserly, and contracted mind. I hate," she adds, "those young Catos who, for fear of running in debt, lay down their coach or chariot, and ride about in a miserable demi-fortune, drawn by one horse; give up their favourite amusements, and when they go to the Theatre sit in the pit, under pretence of hearing better, when, in fact, I know it is only to save their money: and what is the result of their saving two or three hundred pounds? only A a high spirits. The ball was to begin at half past nine; a curious hour. The stair-case was beautifully illuminated, and as the rooms were full before my arrival, my cousin Caroline was stationed at the door of one of the apartments, where she welcomed me in the most cordial manner, and took me into a room which I found filled with shawls and mantles; Caroline then presented me, from a large corbeille, a superb bouquet of natural flowers. As we passed through another apartment, to my great astonishment, refreshments were handed round; I suppose it was to give us courage to enter the ball-room; for the wines were most exquisite and unadulterated. But I shall never forget my entrance into the ball-room; I had much ado to keep my countenance; for ranged on each side, as motionless as statues, stood the spruce city relations of Mrs. Woodley: all with their white gloves ready drawn on, and their shirt frills so stiff and so nicely plaited, that they looked like the fins of some monstrous fish. I must say that the handsome Mrs. Woodley did the honours of her the gaining more than a thousand sarcasms, and the hatred of their less prudent, but perhaps ten times worthier young friends." Yet with all these enlarged notions, with every luxury that affluence can procure, my aunt always entertains a love of order. She is never tardy in her payments, and her jointure is a most magnificent one: she has, moreover, the advantage of having an excellent steward: but the good man often looks anxious at the useless expences of his mistress; she has sold a beautiful piano and a harp, for one-third of what she gave for them, and has had her library fitted up in the most sumptuous manner, and all the books new bound in the most classical style: the romances and novels, which are very numerous, are bound in the most curious style of elegance. The coverings are white and gold, rose-colour, green, or violet, adorned with emblems analagous to the subjects they contain Venus in her car, and Cupid with his attributes; roses, doves, and cypress are the prevailing ornaments. The poor old steward shakes his head, as if he regarded his lady in a partial state of mental derange-house and table with the most captivating ment, and says, "Ah! she is very different from what she was when Lord Denbigh was living grief takes strange effect on the human mind." As the spring is set in I have laid aside, when in half-dress, gauzes, silks and blond. I wear cambric as fiue as a hair, and as white as snow: or India muslin of a cobweb texture. Mrs. Woodley gave a ball last Thursday; of course I received a card of invitation, which I was, in a manner, obliged to accept. My cousin Hortensia was confined to her apartment with a bad cold; but Caroline was gaily dressed, and in grace: but never shall 1 forget the prudish primming of her mouth: she, too, of whose fame censure has been so busy, when she declared, that she would have no waltzing; so that we had only country dances and a few quadrilles. At twelve a superb supper was served up, and the footmen had new liveries. I got home before two, and have been amusing my aunt yesterday with a full description of our ball. Farewell, my dearest sister, for but a short time; I shall soon have the pleasure of embracing you. MONTHLY MISCELLANY; ROSINA. INCLUDING VARIETIES CRITICAL, LITERARY, AND HISTORICAL. THE THEATRES. THE KING'S THEATRE. A NEW ballet, composed by M. Des let are of such colours as to brilliantly hayes, called La Paysanne Supposée ou generally, but particularly that of M. le Mariage Clandestin, has been produced Albert and Mademoiselle Noblet, is of the at this Theatre. The scenery is beautiful, finest description; such performances have, and the costly dresses of the Corps du bal-perhaps, never been exhibited at this DRURY-LANE. THE concluding Oratorio for the late Lent, was performed on Wednesday April 11th to a most crowded and brilliant audience. This is the last year of Sir George Smart's lease of the Theatre, and the selection was well calculated to impress the audience with a lively sense of the loss that will be sustained in the retirement of this able and most liberal conductor. In addition to the rare combination of talent which had previously graced this house, we had, on this occasion, the gratification of hearing Angrisani and Ambrogetti, Miss Stephens, the Mademoiselles Corri, and Madame Vestris. ten on the tragical death of her husband, and the warlike and political talents of his widow. In the course of his tragedy, M. Royou, the author, has followed faithfully, perhaps too faithfully, historical fact; nor has he abandoned it till the denouement. At the commencement of the piece, Zenobia, already vanquished by Aurelian in several combats, has been obliged to shut herself up in Palmyra, with the wreck of her armies. Aurelian forwards the seige, and already he has sent the Commander of the Pretorian bands into the town, to dispose Zenobia to yield herself up to the conquerer. This attempt is useless. The Queen calls her officers together, and presenting to them her children, she harangues them with that alluring eloquence which seems to promise them victory. The battle takes place; and the advantage at first seems Zenobia's, who, with her own a The subject is a grand one; it paints the ruins of a mighty state of the third century, under the rule of the famous Zenobia, who was styled the second Semiramis, and who would merit both the praise and infamy of the appellation, if we might believe all that historians have writ hand, wounds the Emperor; but the impetuous ardor of the Palmyrene troops carries them too far: victory then accom panies the Roman eagles. Zenobia, in despair, returns to her palace, and announces that she is about to depart, to forward the arrival of that succour which she expects from the East. In the mean time, before this separation from her faithful subjects and intrepid friends, the Queen wishes to leave them a pledge of her attachment and remembrance; she loosens the ornament that decorates her helmet, and permits them to divide amonst them that precious spoil. She departs; but no sooner has she left the city, when a traitor, employed by Aurelian, delivers Palmyra unto him. Aurelian appears: he has given orders for the pursuit of Zenobia, and commands her to be brought before him.His next care is to make sure of the Queen's children. Zenobia has confided them to the care of the High Priest, who has hid them in a subterranean apartment under the Temple of the Sun. In vain Aurelian strives to obtain from the faithful minister the secret of their concealment; Phamor answers him with the same intrepidity as Zamti did Gengis in a similar situation. At that moment the chief of the Pretorian band announces, that Zenobia has been stopped in her flight. Thanis, the sister of Zenobia, Thanis who is irrevocably attached to the destiny of her Queen, and her best and dearest friend, Thanis, who during the departure of Zenobia, shared with the High Priest the care of watching over her children, learns that || some Roman soldiers, as undisciplined as they are ferocious, thirsting after the blood of the Queen, are entering the palace with tumult to allay their fury by murdering that || august personage; these brigands are seen on the stage entering in wild disorder, and calling out aloud for the head of Zenobia. One of the officers belonging to the palace exclaims-" You are mistaken, soldiers, it is not Zenobia."-But the heroic Princess cries out to the officer to leave them in their error, while turning to the soldiers, she desires them to strike, and recollect that it is the blood of an enemy they spill. Aurelian now enters; and at sight of him the assassins disperse; and a striking scene follows, in which the Emperor informs his unhappy captive that she must add, by her presence, to the glory of his triumph. Zenobia is resolved to avoid this degradation by a voluntary death, when the chief of the Pretorian baud enters, and reveals to her that he has, with a party of the guards, conspired against Aurelian. In the fifth act, Aurelian has delivered up to punishment the traitor who opened to him the gates of Palmyra; it is a pity | that he spoils this act by a politic kind of severity by delivering up Longinus to an unjust death. Longinus, the minister and counsellor of Zenobia, has been guilty of no other wrong towards Aurelian than that of being faithful to his Queen; and although his condemnation is true to history, it militates against stage effect, which enacts an unshaken constancy of character in the same person. This contradiction is also visible in the succeeding scenes. Zenobia is resolved to die sooner than submit to the infamy of being led in triumph; Aurelian restores to her her sword, but declares if she attempts her life that of her children shall answer for it. Zenobia is ready to plunge the sword into her bosom, when Aurelian tells her, that as she defies the thunder, the thunder shall crush her, and he commands his guards to bring the heads of her children. These terrible || words have really the effect of thunder on Zenobia, who falls expiring into the arms of her beloved sister. GYMNASE DRAMATIQUE.-Le Jeune Homme en Loterie; a comedy in one act. The follies of Valcour have ruined him; but to complete the picture, he has taken a steward, who has a young daughter of whom, as may be supposed, Valcour has become deeply enamoured. In a numerous assembly, composed of females of every age, Valcour, closely watched by reason of his extravagancies, draws himself out of the scrape by a jest; he has sold every thing, furniture, equipages, and houses; there is only his own person remaining, and though it is not very clear but what that too may be the property of some of his creditors, he proposes to put it up as a lottery; provided it is understood that only the ladies shall be at liberty to draw for the prize. The ticket is a thousand franks, and at the risk of falling to the lot of an old superannuated dowager, the capital prize is to be the first drawn ticket of the next drawing of the lottery at Paris. Now it must be known that the pretended steward is no other than the uncle of Valcour, who is arrived from America, worth a million, like the rest of the dramatic uncles, and who arrives just in time to prove his nephew, and to save him from the result of his pranks. The mistress of Valcour is, therefore, his cousin, and as she sincerely loves her cousin, she takes upon her to put him to the most delicate proof; she takes the dress and the accent of au Englishwoman, covers her face with a long veil, and comes to declare to Valcour, by whom she is not recognized, that, smitten with his attractions, she has purchased ninety lottery tickets; and thereupon she puts into his hand a pocket-book, contaiuing exactly ninety thousand franks. cour, after amusing himself for some time with the singular pretensions of the foreigner, confesses that he is under the necessity of refusing her, by the tender attachment that unites him to his cousin : and the uncle receives, on his side, the proof of the unalterable attachment of his nephew; he throws off the character of the steward, and the English girl her gib. berish and her spencer. Valcour is blest by receiving the hand of his cousin, and through the generosity of his uncle, the reward of his fidelity and his truly noble sentiments. Val |