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fur. Long sleeves are generally confined theatres are seen borets composed entirely

by three bracelets. An evening dress of white gauze, with satin stripes, has excited much admiration. It is trimmed with two broad puckerings of tulle, which are crossed over by rouleaux of coloured satin. The ball-dresses are made very short, the waists very slender, and the sashes very broad. A lady was seen lately at the museum, in a dress of cachemire, flowered all over in a very large pattern, both the flowers and the ground of camel's-hair-brown. This material had the appearance of an old-fashioned damask. The corsage fitted close to the shape, and was bordered round by an ornament, cut in notches, of green velvet : the belt was also of velvet, and the two flounces at the border of the skirt were cut in rounded scallops, edged with green velvet rouleaur. Two rouleaux of this material headed the flounces. Dresses of white spotted gauze are bordered with three broad tucks, through which is run a very stiff satin ribbon. Feathers are much worn in full dress; and bows of ribbons, gauze with silver stripes. A beret of rose-coloured velvet pleased me much ; over it was thrown a fichu of white blond, the two ends of which fell over the shoulders, in front of the bust; on the right side of the beret, this fichu was raised up by a bouquet of half opening roses. In the first boxes at the

of puffs of ribbon, which are so disposed as to mingle with the bows of hair; and this is a very becoming and elegant head| dress. Berets of pink crape are much worn by young married ladies, and dress hats of the same colour by matrons. Small blond caps are ornamented with heath-blossoms, disposed in wreaths, and placed under the border, on the hair in front: this blond, being very broad, and stiffened out as the flowers support it, has the appearance of an auréole round the head. Strings, which are fixed on the summit of the head, float over the shoulders. There are some very charming caps, the crowns of which are formed of gauze ribbons, interwoven together, and crossed one over the other, in various modes. They are trimmed in front with beautiful point lace of English manufacture, placed en serpentine, between puffs of ribbon. On several caps is thrown a fichu of English point, the corner of which falls over the forehead, and the two ends depend on each side, like lappets. Oh! how you, English, prize French lace Such is the predilection for every thing foreign: a French lady of fashion sets equal store on lace made in England. The favourite colours are lapis-blue, pink, bird-of-Paradise-yellow, pearl-grey, blue, and cherry-colour.

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the contest, to the signing of the Treaty of Intervention, on the 26th of July, 1827. A Reply to Sketches of the War in Greece, by Mr. Green, occupies nearly sixty pages; and the remainder of the book consists of numerous official documents, such as a Copy of the Treaty of Intervention, a Narrative of Colonel Gordon's Expedition to the Phalerum, a full and detailed account of the Battle of Navarin, &c.

Contenting ourselves with thus directing the attention of the reader to Mr. Blaquiere's volume, all that we shall do further is, to make one or two brief excerpts from his very vivid sketches of incidental circumstances, customs, &c. The following, from a letter dated Troezene, April 14, 1827, relates to the “Meeting of Congress,” after the arrival of Lord Cochrane:—

Owing to the difficulty of finding a house capable of receiving the representatives, of whom there are above two hundred collected here, it was decided that they should meet in a Lemon Grove, as at Astros, in 1823. It would be difficult to conceive any thing more interesting than this meeting, in which the fate of a whole people is doubtless to be decided. There is only one chair, occupied by the President; the members are seated round him on rough pieces of wood, laid along the ground for the occasion. As to the papers and archives necessary for the business of the day, they are placed between the branches of a lemon tree, which has the appearance of a card rack, though somewhat different to those which ornament the mantel-shelves of England. There is no regular hour for meeting. The assembly is summoned by sound of drum, and , this is done by an Arab drummer, one of those taken from Ibrahim Pacha :

From many other passages of a similar character, we select the following upon omens and superstitions:—

Of omens and superstitions, the Greeks have their share, in common with all the christian communities of Europe; but you will be surprised to hear that they are fewer, and in many instances less deeply rooted here, than in more civilized countries. I have never, for instance, met a Greek who believed in the existence of apparitions; on the other hand, the howling of a dog in a particular way, will fill them with the most ominous apprehensions, and I am told that, in some cases, these faithful companions of man are destroyed, in the hope of an end being thus put to the anticipated calamity. It is true, there are religious ceremonies for the repose of the dead,

No. 39.-Vol. VII.

and some entertain a popular prejudice, that sinners, though buried, never mix with the earth, but remain above ground till the last day. As to a belief in ghosts and dreams, they are interdicted by the priesthood. Neither fortune-telling, astrology, or magic, finds many believers in Greece: professors of the occult art existed before the Revolution, but they were always of the Mahomedan persuasion. It is singular, that the seeing a serpentis considered a fortunate omen, while nothing can be more ominous than the sight of a hare. Both the Greeks and Turks hold this timid animal in the greatest dread. One of Kariaskaki's captains lately told me, that on one occasion, while they were hotly engaged with a body of Turks, a hare happened to pass between them, upon which both parties instantly ceased firing at each other, and directed their musquets against the object of their superstitious terror.

Scarcely of a political character, yet not altogether without reference to political objects, “Sketches and Recollections of the West Indies, by a Resident,” will, at this crisis, be found a volume of considerable interest. “Whatsoever may throw light upon the existing state of our West Indian possessions,” observes the author—“ upon the relative situation of the white, black, and coloured population of the Colonies— upon the great question of slave emancipation—is at this moment an object of vital importance to the British community.” The aim of the “Resident,” whose arguments and illustrations, drawn from actual observation, are of the most candid and temperate, yet forcible description, is to shew, that, to act with either safety or justice, honour or humanity, the emancipation of our West Indian slaves must be gradual, not immediate.

In this, as well as in other respects, the volume before us will be found a suitable companion to Coleridge's “Six Months in the West Indies;” and, without any disparagement of that very lively and entertaining production, we can venture to assert that the present contains an infinitely greater portion of what may be termed practical information on every point relating to the West Indies. Perhaps the most strikingly original part of the work is that which describes the descent of the French upon Dominica, and the consequent destruction of Roseau, its capital, in the year 1805; no regular historical narrative of which had before been

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published. In the memorable scenes alluded to, the writer was actively engaged in the defence of the colony. We must add, that his notices of the scenery, climate, produce, government, and inhabitants of the West Indies—of the manmers and customs of the people—are not only clear and intelligent, but frequently vivid and picturesque in description. Our eye—our taste—our feeling—has been so much offended by what are termed the “improvements” now in progress at Buckingham House, and in St. James's Park, that we have been more than once disposed to devote two or three pages of LA BELLE Assembler, expressly to the subject. At present, we decline this ; but, in the interim, we earnestly request the attention of the public—especially of our legislators—to a little tract, which has been privately circulated, under the title of “Remarks on the Improvements now in Progress in St. James's Park, by an Old Inhabitant of Pall Mall.” The writer says— If Mr. Nash can persuade (it is hardly probable, though, that he can) the enlightened and tasteful ruler of these realms to inhabit a house, of which the front is blocked up by its own wings —of which the portico consists of the heaviest Doric columns without bases below, and of the most ornamented Corinthian above, adorned with a frieze of the most heterogeneous kind, and of which the whole is surmounted by a little cupola, resembling in shape and size an egg in an eggcup 3–if he can induce him to suffer his own private apartments to look due north, and his garden to be filled with a stagnant pond, by means of which, being between that and the canal in St. James's Park, the palace must be damp, and probably aguish;-if he can make him think the Arch of Constantine (which is to be placed before the palace) a model of pure taste;—if he can prevent his objecting to the neighbourhood of Pimlico, and above all, to the smoke of Elliot's brewery—no other person has a right to complain. In his inference, we do not agree with this writer. Admitting that his Majesty may be satisfied with the palace, with its accessories, its localities, its vicinity, &c., it does not follow that no other person has a right to complain. The PUBLIC has a oright to complain. The palace has nothing bold or striking, nothing magnificent or imposing in its aspect, nothing that is worthy of an English King, or of the

ceedingly objectionable and even offensive situation, it is neither more nor less than a mass of insignificance, an assemblage of paltry, pitiful details. It appears, however, that some one connected with, or interested in, the building, has been rendered sensible of its tasteless absurdities; as, according to a plan of alteration that has been published, we find “that the awkward and unsightly wings are to be deprived of their present absurd terminations, and to be raised to an equal elevation with the rest of the palace. The same orders of architecture are to be continued round the three sides of the quadrangle (the fourth being formed by the triumphal arch); and thus, it appears, that instead of the low corridors running from the main building to the two wings, there will be the two sides of the quadrangle, as already noticed, of uniform height with the centre.”

But when, leaving his royal edifices (continues the author of the “Remarks”) Mr. Nash proceeds to ruralize the canal in St. James's Park— to cut down the trees—to pull down Marlborough House, where the great Duke of Marlborough lived and died—and St. James's Palace, venerable as the residence of so many of our sovereigns, and upon which, within the last four years, no less a sum than £40,000 has been expended, to render it a fit place for his Majesty to hold his drawing-rooms and give his fêtes in:—when all this is commencing, the public surely has a right to inquire whether these extraordinary proceedings are judicious—and whether the objects to be attained by them are such as warrant “improvements” of so extensive and unexpected a nature.

All that we shall further advert to at present, is the ruralization of St. James's Park. Perhaps this may be pretty enough, as far as it goes—as far as the capabilities of the spot would allow; but, at all events, utility has been utterly lost sight of in the alteration: it may tantalize, but it cannot gratify the public; it cannot, in the slightest degree, conduce to their pleasure, their accommodation, their convenience. We write this under the impression that the iron railing is intended to exclude the people. Why should it be so? Even that ridiculous structure, the Pagoda Bridge, erected at the termination of our long but glorious conflict with

France, was eminently useful in the facility of passage which it afforded. An accommodation of this nature is more essential now, from the improvements meditated on the south side of the park, and in its neighbourhood.—As a pleasure ground, open to the public, the central portion of St. James's Park would offer a delightful scene of innocent recreation to thousands. The Regent's Park, in its present state, is indeed an “improvement:” it is an advantage, a blessing, to the neighbourhood; and when the trees shall have attained sufficient height and stability to permit their fences to be removed with safety, it will prove a scene of yet greater enjoyment. We do hope, therefore, that, whatever may be at present in contemplation respecting St. James's Park, the same principle will ultimately be acted upon as in the Regent's Park. Mr. Theodore Hook's new work— “Sayings and Doings : or, Sketches from Life, third Series,” in three volumes—consists of two tales, Cousin William, and Gervase Skinner, the first illustrative of the proverb, Ce n'est que le premier pas qui coute, the second that of Penny Wise and Pound Foolish. First in order of precedence, as well as of merit, Cousin William claims our attention. It occupies the first, and half of the second, volume; and for intensity of interest, variety and novelty of character, truth to nature, and vitality of incident, will rank, in the estimation of many, amongst the highest productions of its class. Forsaking the beaten track of novelists, the hero and heroine are presented as no faultless monsters, but subject to all the infirmities, inconsistencies, and vices, to which erring human nature is liable. The subordinate actors, with the exception of Mr. and Mrs. Crosby, whose study and practice of Buchan's Domestic Medicine is somewhat too highly coloured, are unstrained, true to nature, clear, distinct, and full of life. The characters of Sir Mark Terrington and Sir Ferdinand Shillito, the former the most common-place, insipid, but perfectly irreproachable person in the world, the latter, a most intolerable bore, wearying his auditors with - never-ending stories, the point of which he has invariably forgotten, are familiar to every reader. The heroine, Caroline Crosby, is introduced as

a beautiful and naturally-clever girl of sixteen, who, having lost her mother in infancy, is left by her father and stepmother, whose whole time and attention are devoted to their own imaginary disorders, to the unrestrained guidance of her passions and inclinations. She has conceived an attachment for her Cousin William, a profligate heartless villain, whose vices, in the warmth of her affection, she not only excuses, but almost magnifies into virtues. With protestations of the most devoted attachment to herself, he informs her of his approaching nuptials with the rich, but deformed Lady Anne Seward, a woman whom he almost loathes, but whose fortune will extricate him from the ruin into which he has been plunged by extravagance and dissipation. Nearly at the same time, Mr. Crosby receives overtures from Sir Mark Terrington for the hand of his daughter. With no moral or religious principle for the regulation of her conduct, and instigated by Davis, an intriguing, abandoned woman, her attendant and confidante, she continues to receive letters clandestinely from William Morley, and accepts the addresses of Sir Mark, whom she despises, as the means of escaping the thraldom of home, and of enjoying the society of her cousin in the world of fashion. The dissolute conduct of William, on the eve of his marriage, induces Lady Anne to break off the match. Ere the truth can reach the ears of Caroline, he flies to her, obtains, through the aid of Davis, a clandestine meeting at midnight, and, with a feigned story of his having found it impossible to give his hand to another, conjures her to abandon Sir Mark, and to elope with him. As she is entering a chaise in waiting, Morley is arrested, and borne off to prison, and Caroline is conveyed back senseless to the house. The object of William, in this enterprise, was. to secure to himself the little fortune of Caroline. The truth is soon divulged, and in a fit of mingled pride and resentment, Caroline confesses to her father her intended elopement. Her union with Sir Mark is speedily consummated. - The sudden appearance of William on the day. of her nuptials, revives all her affections, and buries his errors in oblivion. Here an interval of twenty years occurs, and . the story re-opens in London, with Lady Terrington at the head of the world of fashion, Sir Mark declining in years, and a martyr to the gout; her son William, an accomplished young man; and her Cousin William, now Sir William Morley, Bart., K.C.B., &c., domesticated in her family. The second part of this story, if we may so term it, displays more powerful writing and a more intimate knowledge of human mature than the former ; but our limits forbid our dwelling upon its details. William Terrington is engaged to the beautiful Flora Ormsby, who appears to be reacting, with less excuse, the earlier scenes of Caroline's life. The flagrant impropriety of Caroline's conduct is apparent to every one but to Sir Mark, and to her doting son, who beholds in his mother the personification of every virtue. The truth is at length revealed. Davis is still retained by Lady Terrington; but, wearied of the power which the former exerts over her, her Ladyship is anxious to be rid of her late confidante. Davis overhears a plan for effecting this purpose, and in revenge discloses to the distracted son the infidelity of Flora, and the guilt of his mother and Sir William. William Terrington shoots himself, Lady Terrington becomes a maniac, and “Cousin William ” continues to lead a life of incessant and heartless gaiety on the Continent. As we have already intimated, some of the scenes relating to the “Buchaneers,” are too warmly—too coarsely—coloured; and we must say further, that we think Mr. Hook has borne too hardly upon the ladies. Feeling—for such has been the result of our intercourse with the fairer portion of society—that the virtues, rather than the vices, of the sex preponderate, we doubt whether such a character as Caroline Crosby—if such a character, in all its darker shades exist, which we also doubt —ought to have been held up to the public gaze, even in terrorem. The tale of Gervase Skinner is totally different in its nature from that of Cousin William ; and, though evidently the production of a man of genius and talent, the interest which it excites is of a lighter character. Its admirers, we apprehend, will be comparatively few ; yet there are some, who, admitting it to be inferior in its kind, will deem it superior qf its kind.

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It is calculated to set the table in a roar. In illustration of its object, it details, with minuteness, the incidents by which a man of fortune is reduced to beggary, through an adherence to a system of petty saving, here invariably leading to the most ruinous expenditure. Economy is not, however, his only enemy; for at least an equal proportion of misfortune is produced by his entanglement in the snares of an intriguing actress. We rather rejoice in than pity the hero's distress.-Gervase Skinner must be perused as an amusing Chapter of Accidents, without considering the probability, or even possibility, of their being accumulated upon the head of one unfortunate individual. A few of the more prominent exploits of the hero are his lending his carriage, which is in want of repair, to some strolling players who are proceeding to London, by which means he imagines that its conveyance will be cost free: the glasses, however, are broken, and the lining is spoiled. He visits the metropolis for the purpose, amongst other views, of presenting a bill of £1,230. He quarrels with the guard for sixpence, the consequence of which is the loss of his desk; and in the interim of his advertising, &c., the banker by whom the bill had been accepted stops payment, and his money is lost. In getting another doubtful bill discounted, he consents to receive a lottery ticket in part of the amount. Finding himself, from some of his economical manoeuvring, destitute of cash, he sells the ticket, which ultimately is drawn a £30,000 prize. He purchases a horse for 50 guineas, well knowing it to be worth 150, and is apprehended as a horse stealer. He refuses, from economy, and . “ upon principle,” to ensure his country seat, and it is burnt to the ground in his absence. He puts his money out at mortgage on estates in Ireland, because he can there obtain six per cent for it instead of five. Disputes arise, and the whole is eventually lost. The result of another saving plan, is his actual introduction to a madhouse, where he gets his head shaved, and is treated as a lunatic. The loss which affects him least, is that of a beautiful girl for his wife—The moral, however, is, in caricature, very forcibly illustrated. We proceed to the examination of a

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