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FUGITIVE JEUX D'ESPRIT.

TRAITS OF NATIONAL CHARActer, &c.

THE OLD MAID'S REGISTER.

At 15 years, Is anxious for coming out, and the attention of the men.

16. Begins to have some idea of the tender passion.

17. Talks of love in a cottage, and disinterested affection.

18. Fancies herself in love with some handsome man who has flattered her. 19. Is a little more difficult in consequence of being noticed.

20. Commences fashionable, and dashes. 21. Acquires more confidence in her own attractions, and expects a brilliant establishment.

22. Refuses a good offer because the gentleman is not a man of fashion.

23. Flirts with every young man she meets. 24. Begins to wonder she is not married. 25. Becomes rather more circumspect in

her conduct.

26. Begins to think a large fortune not quite so indispensable.

27. Affects to prefer the company of rational men.

28. Wishes to be married in a quiet way with a comfortable income. 29. Almost despairs of entering the married state.

30. Betrays the dread of being called an old maid.

31. An additional love of dress is manifested.

32. Professes to dislike balls, finding it difficult to get good partners.

33. Wonders how men can leave the society of sensible women to flirt with chits.

34. Affects good humour in her conversation with men.

35. Is jealous of the praises of women. 36. Quarrels with her friend who is lately married.

37. Imagines herself slighted in society.

38. Likes talking of her acquaintance who

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THE OLD BATCHELOR'S REGISTER.

16. Incipient palpitations are manifested towards the young ladies.

17. Blushing and confusion occurs in conversing with them.

18. Confidence in conversing with them is much increased.

19. Is angry if treated by them as a boy. 20. Betrays great consciousness of his own charms nnd manliness.

21. A looking-glass becomes indispensable in his room.

22. Insufferable puppyism exhibited. 23. Thinks no woman good enough for him.

24. Is caught unawares by the snares of Cupid.

25. The connection broken off, from self

26.

conceit on his part. Conducts himself with airs of superiority towards her.

27. Pays his addresses to another lady, || 44. The widow jilts him, being as cautious

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30. Seems morose and out of humour in 47. Fears what may become of him when

all conversations on matrimony. 31. Contemplates matrimony more under the influence of interest than formerly.

32. Begins to consider personal beauty in a wife not so indispensable as formerly.

33. Still retains a high opinion of his attractions as a husband.

34. Consequently has no idea but he may still marry a chicken.

35. Falls deeply and violently in love with one of seventeen.

36. Au dernier desespoir another refusal. 37. Indulges now in every kind of dissipation.

48.

49.

old and infirm.

Thinks living alone irksome. Resolves to have a prudent young woman as housekeeper and companion. 50. A nervous affection about him, and frequent attacks of the gout.

51. Much pleased with his new housekeeper as nurse.

52. Begins to feel some attachment to her.

53. His pride revolts at the idea of marry-
ing her.

54. Is in great distress how to act.
55. Is completely under her influence, and
very miserable.

56.

Many painful thoughts about parting with her.

38. Shuns the best part of the female sex. 39. Suffers much remorse and mortifica- 57. She refuses to live any longer with

tion in so doing.

him solo.

40. A fresh budding of matrimonial ideas, 58. Gouty, nervous, and bilious, to excess. but no spring shoots. 59. Feels very ill, sends for her to his bedside, and intends espousing her.

41. A nice young widow perplexes him.

42. Ventures to address her with mixed 60. Grows rapidly worse, has his will

sensations of love and interest.

43. Interest prevails, which causes much

cautious reflection.

made in her favour, and makes his exit.

PORTRAIT OF A PARISIAN COQUETTE.

[From a French Paper.]

I WENT with a friend to the new Opera: || take off her hat, and we discovered the we had scarcely taken our places in the front most superb comb of polished steel, terof the Amphitheatre, when a beautiful ele- minating in points of diamonds. Presentgante, accompanied by an elderly cavalier, ly, a buckle of hair escaping from the who it was easy to see was her husband, comb, obliged her to take off a glove, and took the second row (by the bye, English || left us to admire a hand and arm of the gentlemen would have yielded to the lady most polished symmetry, and of the most and her husband the front seat). The lady healthful freshness, enriched with precious was beautiful, her tourneure distinguished, || rings and bracelets. The arm was exposed her toilette elegant, and an air of languish- to the shoulder. It no doubt cost her ing candour and enchanting amenity, struck some pain to conceal for a time her finelyevery spectator. The heat induced her to turned neck, but it was necessary that her

a little old lady was placed by the side of the elegante. I offered her my place on the front seat, and in a moment I took

rich cachemire should produce its effect.
At length, however, the cachemire dropt,
and discovered the finest shoulders in the
world, and a bosom the most seductive. || her station. In a minute or two my beau-

Neither my companion or I could avoid
from time to time, in audible whispers, to
praise short sleeves, naked shoulders, and
ornamented necks; compliments which
did not escape the attention of the lady
and her husband. The latter perhaps
found the air, from the occasional opening
of the door, a little too keen, and he said
with great sweetness, "Ma bonne amie,
I entreat you to draw on your shawl and
your gloves." I assure you," she said
in return,
"I do not feel the air from the ||
door; but yet I thank you for your atten-
tion, and I will instantly give you a proof
of it, my love." And in less than a minute
we could see nothing. Happily for me,

tiful neighbour, taking advantage of her husband's eye being turned, pulled off a glove to re-adjust her comb, and suffered her cachemire to fall off one shoulder, which she gathered round under the arm; and the husband being on her other side could not observe the fact; so the glove and the shawl remained off during the rest of the performance. I had not an eye to the stage. On rising to depart, the husband said, "Perhaps I have a little chagrined you, my dear; your robe is so beautiful-but your health is every thing." "O! I have given you pleasure," she replied, “and that is every thing to me.

AMERICAN CIVILIZATION.

REGULATIONS FOR THE WASHINGTON THEATRE.

A WELL-CONDUCTED Theatre is, at all times, not only an evidence of public taste, but an auxiliary in behalf of the public morals. But, that it may answer the end intended, it is essential that a rigid internal police be established for the purpose of preserving order and decorum in the audience. The following regulations are proposed :

1st. No person to be allowed to smoke within the walls of the theatre during the play nights. This will add to the security of the building, by taking away one cause of fire.

2d. No person allowed to sell intoxicating liquors within the walls of the theatre, a tavern being near, where they can drink and smoke without offending decency or annoying ladies.

3d. No person, on any pretence, allowed to stand up on the box benches, or cover them with dirt, and impede the sight of others.

4th. Ladies who come without a proper attendant, to be confined to the upper row; No. 154.-Vol. XXIV.

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and, on no occasion, to be suffered to intrude into the lower boxes.

5th. If any gentlemen choose to talk loud, quarrel, or fight, they are to retire to some spot where they cannot disturb the audience.-N. B. The watch-house, or penitentiary, is a very convenient place.

6th. All tipsy gentlemen to be positively refused admittance, unless they will promise to go quietly to sleep in a corner of a box.

7th. No actor should presume to give additional point or force to an equivocal passage or double entendre, by leering, winking, or the like, upon pain of being hissed off the stage.

With these rules, a theatre may be made a school of refinement, elegance, and morality. Without them, it is but a rendezvous for vulgar profligates, men without decency, and women without shame.

While we smile at the necessity of such regulations in the theatres of our transatlantic brethren, we may do well seriously to consider if some of them may not suit our own meridian.-Ed.

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FRENCH VOLUBILITY OF SPEECH.

THE Abbé Raynal, and the Abbé Galig- || volubility, that Raynal could not find the

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Well may that lonely flower decay and die!
She calls in vain---she wipes her tears away:
Thee, rapid streamlet! they may fill, and roll
Over thy bosom---make thy bed of tears:
"I had adorned me for that faithless friend,
That faithless friend is fled :-he hath stolen all,
All my possessions but my grief:---that grief
He left in mercy, if that grief can kill.
Come death! I veil me in thy shadows dim---
To thee I fly, as once I flew to him!"

TO A NEGLECTED HARP.

BY MRS. M'MULLAN.

'Tis long since thy sweet chords have giv'n
One lay to love, one hymn to heav'n ;
"Tis long since melody, from thee,
Awoke the soul of minstrelsy:
Like Druid harp, neglected long
By every smiling child of song,
In cypress wreath'd thy strings have slept,
Whilst friendship sigh'd, and feeling wept.
But on the breathing zephyr's wing,
Are dew-drops for the vase of spring;

And though not blossom'd, yet the rose
Still many a lovely petal throws,
Celestial fragrance round a shrine,
That woos and wins the sacred trine.
Though silent, yet the plaintive tale
Of love's devoted nightingale;
See wood-larks on bright ether float,
And thou wilt wake a matin not.
E'en when withdrawn the cheering sun,
Deem not, my lyre, thy task is done;
For, oh! the blissful twilight throws
So soft a mantle of repose,
O'er all the busy dreams of noon,
That sure we cannot part so soon.
Thy hallow'd charm remembrance prays,
To bring the joys of other days.
Come, pour that artless, native tone,
So mild, so sweet, so much thine own;
And Evening, 'midst her pensive reign,
Shall call her welcome shadowy train;
Review the dearest hours of youth,
And bring back friendship, love, and truth,
To gild the traces of her car,
And hail life's tranquil evening star.

FUGITIVE POETRY..

MIDNIGHT.

171

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