pretty little girl-thirty! bless me, it is thirty-one years next November -yes, a pretty little girl, living at Richmond."

Miss Mary Dalziel gave a simper and a shudder.

"She did not really recollect-could not have been so long ago." "Must have been," chimed in Sir David, "for my old friend Dukes has had the cottage nine-and-twenty years.'

How the young lady wished the old fellow at Timbuctoo, or anywhere else. The word "pretty"-libel as it was-did not even compensate for "thirty years ago!"

"Oh, you old prosy, dunderheaded numskull of a baronet! not to

know ladies never pass three-and-twenty. Out upon you!-out upon you!" exclaimed the imp to me.

A pause ensued, so Lord Heavieland, having dined, amidst the most breathless silence delivered himself of a story, which, I make no doubt, would have been a very good one, if it had not lacked three rather essential ingredients-point, wit, and sentiment. The consequence was, everybody laughed at different parts of the story, and at different words, instead of the usual modulated but general round of applause which ought always to follow a lord's story, as regularly as the entrées do the

course.

"Only twenty-eight!" muttered the Earl, who was thinking aloud of the small majority of the Whigs on the Navigation-laws.

No one exactly understood what "twenty-eight" had reference to. Miss Mary Dalziel was afraid it might allude to her age; Tiptoft concluded the Earl had imbibed too much champagne; and Softley, that it was incipient softening of the brain. So Lady Majoribanks bowed to Lady Heavie. land, and the ladies retired to the withdrawing-room.

66

"Fine claret, this," observed Tiptoft, with the nod of a connoisseur, holding his glass up to a taper of the candelabra. Lafitte, I make no doubt. 'Gad! we don't get such stuff at our mess."

"Uncommon fine claret," mildly observed Softley, sipping the wine with the meekness of a martyr.

"Dr. Sexton is appointed surgeon to our union, mi lord," observed Sir David Dumfry. "Near run between him and Mr. Sawbones, mi lord. I voted for Sexton, so did our Chairman, and Parkinson of the Grove."

But the Earl's thoughts were far distant from his table: they were roaming among Navigation-laws, and Financial reform, and The rate-inaid tax, and Lord John Russell and Mr. Disraeli; so he only bowed an acquiescence, and observed, "The new workhouse was a fine building." Now, his lordship was a Low Churchman, so, of course, Mr. Softley, in his endeavour to please, entertained him with his (Softley's) own views, which were very High Church and Puseyistical; and his lordship having one weak point above another, which was the retention of his Pew in Church, of course Softley suggested it should be turned into Stalls; and his lordship being a Radical, of course entertained a mortal antipathy to the army, so, of course, Tiptoft gave him his ideas on the Baggage allowance, Good-conduct pay, and Education of the British Service, until the Earl proposed "Coffee, and an adjournment to the Ladies."

Tea-whist-music-conversation-and albums followed. Lieutenant Tiptoft found himself the chevalier of Miss Dalziel, while Softley was boring Lady Agnes with his solicitations for an Organ to the Church at Majoribanks.

June.-VOL. LXXXVI. No. CCCXLII.

P

"Have you been to the Opera this season?" inquired Miss Dalziel. "Ya-es," drawled Tiptoft.

"Almack's, or the Spitalfield's Ball?"

"Oh! no. Balls! I never go to balls."

Miss Dalziel set Mars down as a perfect Goth or Vandal. When Tiptoft went to town he went to the Opera once, as a matter of duty, as he would to a parade or his dinner, and was heartily glad when it was all over. But his hemisphere was the Casino de Venise, or The Judge and Jury Club, and then to the Gambling House, or the Berkley Club, where, having met a few "choice spirits" like himself, they "top up" the night, or rather morning, by a visit to Tom Frost's or Jack Smith's, and then dilate very loudly on their "larks" at their afternoon breakfast, or "tiffen" at the Wragenphamish Club.

"You have revoked," observed Mrs. Dalziel, at the whist-table.

"My lord, have you?" said the Earl, who considered a revoke and treason in the same scale of offences.

"Ah! so I have; rather too late, I suppose, quired Lord Heavieland, with boyish simplicity. twice."

66

to take it back?" in

Why, I have revoked

"Yes," replied Mrs. Dalziel; "that makes us three--game. Well, Sir David, I never expected that windfall."

"I wish you would bring me the Morning Post," said Miss Dalziel to a servant; and then, turning to Tiptoft, observed, "Oh, I am so anxious for the Foreign Intelligence."

"So am I," replied the lieutenant; "but the Indian Mail does not arrive until to-morrow. I trust and hope Lord Gough will then be announced as victorious, for he has sustained a defeat, so I hear, though of course we shall call it a drawn battle. The great cause lay in the defectiveness of our reconnoitring service in India, which is so inefficient, that often the enemy is within a few yards of our videttes when they little think it; and surely they have had, or ought to have had, experience enough of the great want of a good spy system at the actions of the Sutlej-when a cannon-ball greeted the arrival of Lord Hardinge; while another cause is that a Commander-in-chief ought to have plenary power delegated to him, and not be placed under the control of a Committee in London, who perchance never saw a howitzer, except in Woolwich, nor a larger ball than a Mansion House one. And then to

read how the papers revelled in the scandal of the 14th Dragoons, -a regiment who bears Talavera, Vittoria, Ortes, Peninsula, &c. Soldiers must obey orders, and if a Brigadier orders a cavalry regiment to retire by threes, with artillery in the rear, instead of the flank movement by threes-the simplest of parade movements-they must be thrown in confusion on their own guns."

"Oh-o!" drawled Miss Dalziel, with an ennuyéed air, "I was not thinking of India; I am sick to death of Indian news; the same thing over and over again; and Captain Pelican in the 'Blues' tells me that not above half the stories in the papers are true, and that they only emanate from the fertile brains of penny-a-liners to frighten us poor people at home. He says there is no danger in India-not that he has been there himself, because he don't like the sea voyage, except, he says, Lord Roscoe would take him out in his yacht; and that the duties on the 10th of April in London last year were much more arduous and dangerous than any our Indian army have to suffer. I know Captain Pelican was so

hoarse from the effects of the midnight damp in April, that he could not sing even a month after, at one of our little parties.' But the foreign intelligence I want to see is 'France,' and how The Dear Prince is getting on, and whether he rides his dear Bay Horse in the Champs d'Elysées as he did in Rotten-row-it was such a nice creature, though Captain Pelican did draw caricatures of it; and I am so anxious to know if he still uses fixateur to his moustachios, or whether the cares of state engage his whole time. The Court Journal always mentions these little incidents, while Galignani is sadly deficient upon these points."

"Now," said the demon to me, "read these two letters, which will be written

“MA CHERE Lisette,

"I am delighted to say we leave this place to-morrow for the Cranburys'. I am dying of ennui-quite gone. Our party consisted of the Heavielands. You recollect Captain Pelican's distich on my Lord, and others-nobodies-among them an officer passably good-looking, who actually, ma chère, conceived a penchant for me, and in his endeavour to please favoured me with an essay on strategy. He appeared to have a wild and indefinite idea of the beau monde, and talked of Lablache at the ballet! Should I, therefore, be caught in the silken meshes of love, and make him the happiest of men, I should first of all, before I introduced him, make him study under dear Lady Jervaulx the mysteries of our sphere. But, ma foi! what galimatias I am writing. However, I made him promise to get me some subscriptions from his brother officers for our Royal Superannuated Abigail Society. So you see I have made. some use of him. Now do tell me all the news of the capital. What is the opera and the latest modes-any marriages or elopements, or duels ? Ah! my dear girl, how I do envy you your sejour at Paris! And how does The Dear Prince bear his blushing honours? How is his Bay Horse? And does he still bandeline his moustachios? And does he really take snuff like his Uncle? Jenny Lind is married, so say the papers. Captain Pelican says he hopes it is the ideal Mr. Harris,' and I pray that we shall have her at the Opera all the season. The dear Captain has composed such a lovely march.

"Yours affectionately,

"Majoribanks, Tuesday. "JANE DALZIEL. "P.S.-I nearly forgot to say Lady Agnes is going to marry a Mr. Martin, a rich name, and a Yorkshire family.-J. Ď.”

"DEAR BOB,

"The Barracks, Poplar Town.

"I have been staying the last few days with Lord Majoribanks, who keeps a capital house in this neighbourhood-prime claret, delicious venison-I cannot say much for the company; and he has not a billiardtable in his house, so the mornings were precious slow, and I never heard a single bet laid the whole time I was there, except by a Sir David Somebody, who offered a penny, even. One of the party was a girl, a Miss Dalziel-a girl did I say?-judging from the length of her teeth, she must have been forty if she was a day, and as for ugliness, would have run a dead heat with our Vet's wife. She rather took a fancy to me, and asked me to get up a subscription for her; and as I know you fellows have got the blue devils over there, I enclose the list-quite a gem

in its way-and after you have all read it, and Vollans caricatured the subject, and Richards composed an epigram on the same, it will make capital spells for cigars. She asked me if I had ever been to Almack's. Now, had she questioned me about all max at Tom Frost's, I should have been more C au fait,' as she calls it. If she married me she would see but little of Almack's, or the Opera either, I calculate, except what she saw in the Mess Newspapers. She said suminer was the season of the year (Eh, Bob? you and I think it the dullest-no steeple-chasing, hunting, or shooting), and praised the French Prince; but you know that cock will not fight, so he is no good to us soldiers. Lady Agnes is a stunner, but she is going to be married; besides, I suppose she would not put up with a sub in a Dragoon corps if she was not. My white cat has got four kittens, and they are all born blind. Rummy thing! Love to all the fellows.

"Sincerely yours,

"HENRY VAUGHAN TIPTOFT.

"I have booked the bet 3 to 1 against Flying Dutchman with Thompson for the Derby; and tell him I will run him for fifty pounds, pp., a cross country, three miles, with Birdlime, twelve stone each. Tip

us a line."

Gradually and imperceptibly my hold upon the dwarf's tunic gave way, until at last, with perplexing velocity, I felt myself descend through the air, and fall with irresistible force on the floor of my sanctuary. I jumped up-and-awoke. I had been asleep. I had been dreaming. My lamp was exhausted, the Oronoko ashes had burnt a round little hole in my chair, the fire-place was a mass of cinders and dead coals; and there stood the bit of charcoal, my morning's labour. The room was bitterly cold, my old clock tolled one, and the grey streaks of morning struggled hard to get through the crevices of the closed shut

ters.

The post brought me a communication, written in the most curious style of rounded dark turns, and perfectly left-sided, signed "John Flooke, pro Gammon and Self, Attornies-at-law," enclosing a hundredpound note for "present uses," and informing me that my uncle was gathered to his fathers, and by his last will and testament had named me

his heir.

Again I shall try the world, not with the metaphysical tenets of a Cynic, but with the social and virtuous doctrines of an Epicurean. That happiness was a conventional rouge was palpably exemplified to my mind -at least in fashionable life-for when I heard Miss Dalziel tell Lady Majoribanks" she never spent such a pleasant visit in her life," and Lieutenant Tiptoft thank her ladyship most obsequiously for her kindnesses, and still in their hearts and in their sentiments to their bosom friends, think and write the very reverse-what was happiness but a registered paletôt, to be put on or off at the pleasure of the owner?

To fair readers-the slang phrase for gin-"For a glass of max."--Byron.

FRENCH ANTI-SOCIALIST PUBLICATIONS.*

AMIDST the bustle of the past elections, the results of which have been to a certain extent favourable to the moderate party, the friends of order were incessant in their labours to serve the cause of humanity and of civilisation. If France, it was too truly urged, was threatened with foreign invasion, it would be the duty of every citizen to act in its defence, and to sacrifice everything to the common safety. France, however, is not in such a position. It has nothing to fear from enemies without. The enemy who threatens is in the country itself. In it are the factions and the extreme parties, who have for auxiliaries all the bad passions. Some wish to subject the general interests to their minority; others pretend to change all the conditions of human society, which is worse than the actual devastation of the country. If a village, a town, a province, or even a whole country, was ravaged, sacked, and fired, still nationality would survive. History affords many examples of this great fact. But when religion, manners, and institutions are broken up, family ties disavowed, the population returns to the condition of savages, and barbarity succeeds to civilisation. It is national suicide. The most astounding thing of all is, that the factious, who dream of bringing the country into this state of chaos, call themselves regenerators, benefactors of the human race; and they have written on their banners these words: Socialism, Communism ! "The very name is a lie," exclaims M. Charles Gouraud. "Socialism

gives the idea of a doctrine devoted to the maintenance of those universal principles which serve as a foundation to human society-the belief in God, family ties, respect to property. Yet, what do the publications of the Socialists say?"

The first duty of a free and intelligent man is to drive away incessantly the idea of God from his mind and conscience; for God, if he exists, is essentially hostile to our nature, and we in no way benefit by his authority. God is folly and cowardice, tyranny and misery. God is at the root of all evil !—(Proudhon, Système des Contradictions Economiques.

The wretch, who in his insane delirium and blasphemous ribaldry penned the above, also writes of himself, in a style worthy of an inmate of Bedlam:

* Le Socialisme Dévoilé.

Simple Discours par Charles Gouraud.
Ce qui arriverait, si*** Aur vieux Soldats, &c., &c.
Officier en retraite, &c.

La Verité. Aux Ouvriers, aux Paysans, aux Soldats.
Théodore Muret.

Par M. L. Durat Lasalle,

Simples Paroles. Par M.

Le Club de Village. Par M. Lamarque Plaisance, Membre du Conseil, Général

de Lot-et-Garonne.

Le Budget de la République Rouge.

Les Rouges Jugés par Eux-Mêmes.

Les Partageur: Dialogues à la Portée de Tous. Par Wallon.

Le Fond des Cœurs.

Noir et Rouge. Les Gens de Beaumont à M. Felix Pyat.

Le Dix Décembre et le Treize Mai.

Petit Manuel du Paysan Electeur.

A Monsieur Pierre Joigneaux, Représentant du Peuple.
La Politique du Bon Sens, ou les Avis de Maitre Fischer.
Aux Elections! Par M. Alfred Nettement.

Profession de Foi de Jean Bonhomme. Par J. P. Schmit.
Où est le Salut du Pays? Par un Ami de la France.