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costume and a walk down Broadway are J indissolubly connected. The great morning and afternoon promenade for the ladies of New York is from Union Square, say Fourteenth Street to Canal Street, near, but not so far down as the Astor , House, that is to say, the arbitrary centre of Broadway. This, a space of some two-and-a-half miles, is during the daytime almost monopolized by the ladies. Nine-tenths of the men are away upon business down-town. By eight o'clock' in the morning, and from four to six p. M., you may see the Broadway stages! crammed with men-folk bound to their stores or their counting-houses; but during the broad daylight the fair sex have it all their own way in Broadway. In Fifth Avenue, again, until the time arrives for the trotting-wagons and the equestrians on their way to the Central Park to make their appearance, you rarely see any but ladies, children, and a few chance foreigners of the male persuasion. Have you not observed an analogous paucity of men hi the charming London suburb of Bromptonf From ten A. M. j to five p. M., the gentlemen are as much at a discount between Knightsbridge Green and the Admiral Keppel as though South. Kensington were a territory of the Amazons. The shadows falling on the pavement are increased fifty-fold by the affluence of crinolines and unfurled parasols. You are delightfully uncertain as to: which is the sunny and which the umbrageous side of the way. It is charming. The ladies take pity upon you sometimes, a solitary man-wanderer, and smile, or regard you compassionately with their big dreamy eyes. Why don't you take oft your hat to that entrancing creature with the yellow hair and the purple stockings—terminated with, oh! such boots— who is gently chiding the nasty little' beast of a poodle which she leads by a criinsou cord, and beneath one of whose fair arms (the lady's, not. the poo- j die's) are tucked two volumes hot from Mr. Wcsterton's Library? Ah! happy should I be to follow that fair maiden about, even in the guise of a poodle-dog j wearing' a jacket of crimson flannel, with the crest and cipher of My Beautiful Lady embroidered in the corner! Happy should I be, though four-footed and a: contemptible snivelling cur, to be privi-'

lesjed to contemplate without ceasing those ankles and those boots, even as Indian devotees aspire to the enjoyment of eternity in the perpetual contemplation of Buddha! Speak to the young lady '. Why, bless my heart alive, you have not been introduced to her ; you don't know her from Adam. You would be guilty of the grossest impertinence. I know it, ma'am; but why these hollow conventionalities? why this yawning gulf between hearts born, maybe, to sympathise with each other? La fenime qui me camprenne, le cantr qui parle au mien: ou eist-ftte, ou e.rfil f That beast of a poodle spoke to the old lady's Skye terrier without having been introduced to her. That ruffianly organ-grinder kissed his hand and bowed —the tawny scamp!—at the sylph with the yellow hair and purple hose. She gave him pence. He had not been introduced to her. I wish she would give me a copper. I am sure !• could grind Stridi la Vampa much better than that brown scoundrel, if somebody would only teach me. Then there was that rude and vulgar boy, who—without the slightest introduction—saluted my sylph with a scurril allusion to her hat and feather, and asked her if her hoops hurt her much. And, finally, there was a smooth and sallow and sly-lookingFather Liguori from the Oratory. I don't think he has ever been introduced to the sylph ; but as he glides past her—he is always gliding in and out of Brompton—he casts upon her a tortuous, oily, insinuating, but strictly paternal glance, as though to say, "Save thee, fair daughter! If thou longest for rest and peace, come to the Oratory. Walk into my little chapel. You will learn to love wax-candles aud St. Philip Neri,tand all kinds of pretty things." The organ-grinder, the vulgar little boy, aud the Oratorian, are the only men-folks to be seen about Brompton at this time of day. The policeman only looks in occasionally, and doesn't stop long.

Now this is a digression, I will frankly admit, and has no more direct reference to Broadway, New York, thau a cocked-hat has to a pound of pickled salmon. But it has a remote and contingent reference not to be overlooked. If you wish to see the lilies of the American valley in all their glory, you must stroll up and down Broadway between the points I have indicated. Lilies they are, indeed ; for they toil not, neither do they spin : yet King Solomon, arrayed in that most gorgeous sheen wherein he received the Queen of Sheba, would have looked seedy by the side of the American belles.

How they come, trooping, tripping, sailing, flouncing, and flaunting—and, whenever they chance to meet a stray' male animal, flirting with the most desperately delightful energy! Here they come, decked out in all the colors of the rainbow, and in many other hues undreamt of in the solar spectrum! They' float in flocks down the stately stream of Broadway, like swans; and oh! the delightful sport to go out swanhopping'.' But they are too 'cute to allow their! pretty bills to be nicked par le premier \ mit/, and the swanhopper has often his labor in vain.

I must confess that I prefer the cygnets to the full-grown swans. A young American girl is about the prettiest creature ever imagined out of the ballet of the Si/lphide, or one of John Gilbert's illustrations to the Midsummer-Nigh?s Dream. I Her features are exquisitely delicate ; her j complexion precisely like alabaster; her j teeth pearly and transparent—a pearliness and transparency which unhappily ( do not last; her hair glossy and luxuri- j ant; her figure undulating, slender, graceful, svelte or mignonne. There is, it is trae, a dash of sameness in her prettiness. There are just two types of gcntilfe-wc as to countenance : the damsel with j the aquiline nose, and the damsel with! the Ukz retrousse— the Empress Eugenie' and the Madame Dubarry type, in short. In Houdetot's statue of the Dubarry, in the gallery of the Hermitage at St. Petersburg—the figure is as unadorned as the Venus de' Medici—there is the most wondrous idealization of a snub-nose ever achieved in marble. Now a snub-nose in a very young girl is tolerable, and even admirable. What can be more charming than a baby's snub'? A hook-nose—a gentle hook—likewise does not offend in the very young; but it is when middle age approaches that the prominence of those features becomes painful. I give the American young lady from sixteen to twenty-six to riot in a carnival of pret-! tiness; and this, the rapid life of the conn- I

try considered, is a liberal allowance—n very Milanese carnevalone as to extension of time. At twenty-six she is middleaged; at thirty she is elderly; at forty— ne m'en parlez pas. The skinniness, the angularity, the cadaverous gauntness, the faded and worn-out look possessed by the majority of American ladies when they reach the mid-term of life, is most pitiable to view. I am not speaking of, the spinsters. There do not appear to be in the United States—out of New England, where most people you know have two or three unmarried aunts—any old maids whatsoever. "I never heerd ary one say dead myoule," observes Mr. Josh Billings, discoursing on the traditional longevity of that animal; and, so far as my observation is concerned, I never met with an American old maid. The only one to whom I was introduced as a spinster turned out to be a widow. I fancy that when they reach a certain age and are not mated, the State Legislature secretly takes the matter up, and passes them on to Nevada or Arizona, where it is well known nothing but bars of yellow gold will serve the turn of housekeepers for washing, and the children are weaned on nuggets. But it is dreadful to see this sallow leanness amongst mothers of large families. Their teeth also go to the bad. Immoderate indulgence in sweetmeats, and excessive potations of iced-water—within the ken of the brute sex they never touch any thing stronger— ruin their ratcliers. What becomes of their luxuriant hair I don't know; but I can vouch for the sad fact that at least threefourths of the glossy tresses which turn ble down the backs of American ladies are false. In the face of which two social peculiarities you will readily understand why New York can boast of the most cunning coiffeurs and the most accomplished dentists in the world.

Twenty or thirty years ago there ran all through the Continental newspapers a grim but silly story about La femme a la tele de Mart—"the woman with the Death's-head." A million of francs down was said to be the reward offered to the man bold enough to marry this dreadful personage, who spoke seven languages, played the pianoforte and the harp to perfection, painted in oil and water-colors, and had a most kind and feeling heart; but who unfortunately could show i nothing but a grinning and fleshless skull! beneath the silver mask which she con-1 stantly wore. This cock-and-bull tale! may with ease be traced to an old mediajval Italian legend called La donna a la teftu di Mora—" the .woman with the Moor or Negro's head." Some ingenious Frenchman had jumped at the conclusion that " Mora" meant "Death" instead of '" Moor," and so translated it "Mart." '< Traduttore traditore. But if ever you visit: the United States, and take a walk down , Broadway, you will be appalled at beholding, and not unfrequently either, in the flesh—or rather in the bone—the Lady with the Death's-head. I have a carte-de-visite of one, chosen promiscuously from a photographer's stock. The original is probably not thirty-five years of age; she is splendidly dressed; but there is the awful Death's-head, just j covered with a shrunken integument,' and the sockets filled with eyes, ns you | see in Henri Valenti's drawing of the i "Skeleton " in the Mysteries of Parti. The mortuary characteristics of the lady stop, I have no doubt, at her face. She is in | all probability a very lively chatty person, can sing and play with brilliancy and exactitude, is a capital trencherwoman, and gets through enough tenderloin-steak and pumpkin-pie to make her under more favorable climatic influences as fat as Daniel Lambert.

The drollest thing is, that when the American lady comes to be about fifty years old, she gets over her leanness and her plainness, and suddenly becomes young again. The population of Broadway seems to be composed (apart from the middle-aged ladies, who are as a rule heart-rending in appearance) of pretty young ladies of sixteen, and pretty young ladies of sixty. No, sir, I have not tripped in my speech ; I repeat, young ladies of sixty. A juvenile grandmother is any' thing but a rarity here; gushing young! things of threescore are not uncommon ; ( and I have ventured to cast more than • one humbly tender glance at a damsel of, seventy. You very seldom meet with an old man in society. The men work, fret, smoke, speculate, chew, or drink themselves to death at a comparatively early [ age. Nor are old men very popular in I the States; they are passed by, as "play- \

ed-out." I have heard more than one lawgiver and statesman called a " wornout cuss." It was an unfailing topic of sarcasm against the Hon. Edward Everett that he was so very old; and George Bancroft, the illustrious historian of the United States—a writer who combines the accuracy of an Alison with the research of a Pinnoek, the copiousness of a Grimshaw with the vivacity of a Peter Parley—is usually spoken of by the irreverent young men of Gotham as "old Fuss and Feathers." The truth is that American men have little reverence for age among their own sex. Strong, active, energetic, unscrupulous, noisy, pushing men they admire and almost deify; but age generally brings with it wisdom, experience, calmness, judgment, deprecation of wild enthusiasm, dislike to rash innovation. These qualities are not to the taste of Young America. They are not go-ahead. They do not go far towards making up the beau-ideal of Transatlantic humanity: "A real live man, sir, by —!" I have heard of venerable partners in mercantile firms being superseded and pushed off their stools, as obsolete and incompetent, by their juniors; and an American—mind, an American, not an English—friend once told me tliat he saw over a store-front in Jersey City this announcement, "Tompkins and Father." Therein lay a mine of philosophy. Tompkins the elder was evidently "playedout;" he was a "cuss," and of "no account," and "verysmall potatoes." He •was permitted, just for charity's sake, to continue in the business, mind the shop, dust the counter, and see the shutters put up by the black porter: but the real live man in the concern was young Tompkins, who, despising and disparaging his antiquated progenitor, was making rapid strides, no doubt, towards running for Congress, taking the presidency of a petroleum company, and putting himseli'in nomination for the highest offices in the State—say the secretaryship of the treasury, the postmastership of Communipaw, or the lighthouse-keepership at Cape Knob.

An old American gentleman, when you do meet him, which is but rarely, is generally a most delightful companion— very benignant, very tolerant, very free from prejudice, and usually a strong

friend to England. The old American lady, whom, fortunately, you very often meet, is the most charming person it is possible to conceive. See her in Broadway; handsomely, but warmly and sensibly clad; smiling and nodding and joking; with her wrinkled but rosy little face; in guise something between a waxen peach and a well-preserved pippin; with the nicest set of artificial teeth that Doctor Zachary could carve from a rhinoceros' tusk; and her own hair disposed in snowy silvery bunches on either side' of her temples. American ladle's, young, middle-aged, and old, are always lien yaiitAs and bi^n chausees; but it has been 'among the old ladies that I have seen the prettiest hands and feet, and the most faultlessly-fitting gloves and boots. The which reminds me that there was living, a year ago, and that there may be living still, in the fair city of Baltimore, an old lady, ordinarily designated "the Madam;" her age prodigious, her form bent double, her attire curiously antiquated in its fashion; yet still retaining in her faded features something of the sparkle of bygone comeliness, still in her tottering gait a trace of the elasticity of youth. This was once the beautiful Miss Patterson, the fair American who became the bride of that heartless, worthless, and dissolute scamp, Jerome Bonaparte, sometime King of Westphalia; and who, but for the selfish poltroonery of her husband, and the ruthless ambition of her imperial brother-in-law, might have been at this day mistress of the Palais Royal. Enveloped in a black silk calash, put together by some mantua-maker of the year One, and leaning on a crutch-stick, the famous old lady might be seen any day in the streets of the Monumental City; and people would make way for her, and doff their hats, as though around that decrepit form there still hung some perfume of the imperial purple to which she had been transitorily allied. And I remember too, one bitterly cold December day, driving out in a sleigh to High Bridge, at New York, having pointed out to me, by my companion, a grand old country house, where dwelt, he said, in the most rigid seclusion, another " Madam," in age prodigious, in memories inexhaustible, who had once been as beautiful and as famous—but her fame was of a different

order, and not quite so gratifying—as la belle Patterson. Wealthy and solitary, sternly refusing to commune with a generation whom she hated, here waited grimly for death the well-known Madam ,

the widow of Aaron Burr; he who slew Alexander Hamilton in a duel; he who was tried for high-treason, for the attempt to establish, in conjunction with an Irishman named Blennerhassett, an independent sovereignty on the North American continent; he who was at one period Vice President of the great Republic; and he who, after the wildest and stormiest career, died at last very poor and miserable, 'and discarded even by hig wife, the "Madam " who lives in gloomy state by High Bridge.

Fraser'8 Hugazmc.


At the close of a paper on Constitutional Statesmanship which appeared in the last number of The National Review, the doctrine was laid down, from which probably no one will dissent, that it is incumbent upon all who, either by action or advice, aspire to take a leading share in public life, to determine clearly and definitely in their own minds what ought to be the future course and goal of Great Britain in relation, first, to her domestic institutions, and, secondly, to her external policy; that, having once settled this question as to the direction in which the vessel of the State should steer, all their efforts, legislative and administrative, should tend to make her course as steady, consistent, and direct as shifting winds, disturbing currents, and intervening obstacles will allow ; that all politicians are bound to have a rational and feasible ideal in their minds of what they would wish England's future to be, and to work with unfaltering and converging purpose towards the realization of that ideal.

More especially was it urged—putting aside for the moment all internal and home questions of policy—that it was incumbent upon all public men to form a clear conviction and a resolute intention on this cardinal poiut: "Is Great Brit

ain henceforth, as heretofore, to assert her old position as a first-rate influential European power, who must have a voice, and use it, in every European controversy; must, as of yore, never be silent, and never speak without enforcing respect for what she says? Or is she to admit frankly, spontaneously, and unrepiningly, that recent changes in naval and military art, recent political events, and gradual modifications in her national conceptions of what is wise and obligatory, have materially altered her relative ] osition and its incumbent claims, and that she is by no means disposed either to deplore or to resist the change; that she has duties and demands elsewhere, as well as new ideas at home, that disincline if they do not incapacitate her from keeping up such a military force as alone would enable her to take a constant and supererogatory part in continental quarrels; that, holding it inconsistent with her dignity to meddle in them by counsel and homily alone, she is resolved henceforth to abandon both the pretension and the wish to restrain all the wick•ed, to defend all the feeble, or to guide all the foolish; satisfied that by such a course she will most surely secure peace for herself, and perhaps also be best able in great emergencies to prevent the perpetration of great wrongs?

That this grave question should be decided by each man for himself, and by the nation for itself, is obviously not only important, but of the most imperious ne-, cessity; but if we said that the decision was an easy one, or the case a clear one, we should show a very inadequate con- , oeption of the various material interests and moral considerations immediately or indirectly involved. A more difficult problem, and at the same time a more urgent one, has seldom pressed upon a statesman's mind. It admits of neither delay nor dogmatism: the first may be [ dangerous—for events hurry on and; questions press for answers, while we are digging for a principle and groping fora formula; the second would misbecome even the most experienced statesman and the profouudest thinker; for the questions ( at stake arise precisely out of those altered aspects of affairs which bewilder and defy experience, and involve consid- j erations rather of probable consequences

and necessary compromises than of positive rights or indisputable obligations. But the determination of the principle on which our future policy is. to be based, though difficult, is all the more imperative. It concerns our dignity as well as our peace that we should bring our attitude into harmony with our action ; that we should speak strongly only where we mean to act decidedly; that we should encourage only where we are prepared to aid; that we should lecture and dictate and direct only where we have made up our mind to act the patron as well as the pedagogue. At present, as regards our Foreign Office, the ideas and traditions of the past are singularly at variance with the notions and powers of the present. We blend in most confusing inconsistency the sentiments and language which were suitable and becoming, and which were in a manner forced upon us, when we stood forth as the liberators of Europe, the conquerors of the great Emperor and

: Captain of the age, the encouragers and subsidizers of all other states through their crises of despondency and destitution,^with the utterly conflicting doctrines and feelings of a generation to whom all these things are become history, and a history to which we do not look back with unmingled reverence or pride. We retain the inveterate habits of remonstrance, of warning, of uninvited teaching, of almost impertinent criticism, which sat not

: unbecomingly upon a nation that was always ready to go to war and seldom went to war in vain, when we have grown to be a nation hating war as an evil only second to spoliation or dishonor, and dreading it as a monstrous extravagance, a probable folly, and an incalculable risk —a nation coveting no territory, shrinking from all aggression, and anxious only for honest leisure and repose. No doubt this is a case of national rather than of individual inconsistency; it belongs to a people whose political ideas are in a state of transition and imperfect fusion; it arises from the fact that old men reign at the Foreign Office while young men sway the popular feeling,—that men of one generation and of one up-bringing sit at the helm and direct the details of navigation, while the men of another generation, and a widely different training, constitute the crew and the younger offi

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