The Sun.
London, England, 1850-01-31 00:00:00

MISS CUSHMAN.

BROADWAY THEATRF.-TiliS distinguished Ame-
ricaa actress is playing a farewell eag-agement at the
lir ada ay, preparatory to a lengthened visit to the
southern and western St tes. Her reception has
been as warm as that accorded to her on her last visit
to New York.
The species cf antagoni.,tic criticism exercised
upon Miss Cushman has induced us to watch her
performances with increased scrutiny during her
present engagement ; for we confess to being among
those who would accord to this gifted woman the
fullest extent of genius and artistic talent, cordially
awarded to her by the ablest critics in England and
this country. And in carrying out our observation,
we find. nothing to warrant us in adopting a " sober
second thought" contrary to the opinion we formed
on witnessing her first performances on her re-ap-
pearance among us. We hold her to he unques-
tionably one of the greatest actresses of our times,
and especially do we conceive her to be one of the
ablest illustrators of that peculiar school of acting,
which, taking its impress from our days, bids fair to
become the standard on which acting as an art will
hereafter be modelled. The acting of Miss Cushman
is without dispute a veritable embodiment of the mo-
dern literal or real school of histrionic art, as con-
trasted with the ideal, in which may be comprised
the classical and the romantic. This modern school
is the growth of our practical age, which is alike
stamping its brand on every department of literature,
science, and art, and is consequently moulding the
minds of men to the strictly practical and real. The
drama, which is the most secular of all poetry, could
not tail of receiving a large infusion of the liberal
spirit of the age; and the players, who are " but the
brief abstracts and chronicles of the times," would
be sure to adapt themselves to the prevailing tone of
society. But actors, as a class, from their prejudices
and conventionalisms, are ultra-conservatives; they
eschew reform and cling to existing evils, with un-
yielding tenacity. A few daring spirits, " finely
touched," have occasionally appeared on the theatri -
cal horizon, who sought to bring acting nearer to
nature and reality ; and their influence, although
limited, has been salutary. But in their day they
had to pass through the furnace of opposition, and were
branded as ‘• heretics," by the old established leaders
of long cherished conventional usages. Quin de-
nounced Garrick as an innovator, and denied all faith
in his delivery of language, because it lacked the ac-
customed stage "tang." Cooke was pronounced coarse,
ungainly, and unclassical—by the admirers of the
finished Kemble school ; and the elder Kean, by the
same infallible authorities, was dubbed a harlequin,
a mountebank, and a ranter.
Miss Cushman has ventured on the real and literal
in acting. She follows out the principles of the great
disciples of this school, Rachel, Bouffi, and others of
the class; and converting her personifications—not
into ideal sublimities of human nature, harmonized
into a species of deification, but into flesh and blood
realities, she gives tangible, practical, and readily
understood interpretations of her author's language,
and this too without conventional regard to rhythm
and melody, so strenuously insisted upon, as being
the inseparable adjuncts of stage delivery. Sound,
or the " stage tang," is wholly set at defiance, when
its adoption would interfere with the due rendering
of the sense; and hence her marvellous power of
bringing home to the perceptions of an auditory
the true meaning of language. She appears to
anatomise every wcrd, nay, every syllable she
utters, with a power almost electric, when an
accented stress is necessary to convey a great
thought. Her acting is consequently always sugges-
tive. Let any intelligent spectator contrast her
method of delivery with that of the actors surrounding
her, and the full force of our remarks will become
palpably apparent. Her action, bye-play, and the
so-called business of the stage, are also modelled
after this literal and real school ; and to this joint
combination we are indebted for the realities of her
Meg Rlerrillies, her marvellously real Lady Macbeth,
and her life-like embodiments of Rosalind, Beatrice,
and Julia. To the same causes we presume she is
indebted for her reputation in ltotneo, and characters
of that class.
This adoption of the real, in preference to the ideal
in acting, we know is open to argument. It is cOn-
sidered a desecration of histrionic art thus to reduce
it to the mere literal. The very illusion of the
drama, it is contended, is sacrificed by bringing it
down to the real. But in an age when everything is
imbued with the practical, this position is un-
tenable. At the period when the bar, the pulpit,
and the senate have discarded the factitious
" graces of the schools," and are compelled to be
earnest and real, to secure the suffrages of
their auditors, the stage cannot expect to main-
tain its ascendancy by speaking a language foreign
to the appreciative powers, and contrary to the taste
of the people. Why even opera is no longer the
vehicle of harmonies alone, and unmeaning sounds.
It is the lyric drama ; its professors must be able to
embody passions, feelings, and emotions, and mus
interpret the conception of the master,. or they wi
fail in their vocation.

Nay, further, what is called this boasted ideal, as
applied to acting ? Is not the true use of acting to
hold " the mirror up to nature," with just so much,
perhaps, of the ideal to render it agreeable and strik
ing, as the painter employs to throw a charm around
pictorial art. The litera tchool of acting, of which
Miss Cushman is so able an illustrator, does this. As
the painter is compelled to examine and dissect the
minutest particularities of nature, animate or inani-
mate, so does the actor of the real analyse the hu-
man mind, lay hire its inmost recesses, and imitate
its palpable and actual developments, heightening and
colouring each particular phase to suit it for public
display, or he resembles the orator, increasing
the force of his conversational tones to arrest the
attention of his hearers, and give expression to his
thoughts Will the most strenuous advocate of the
ideal in acting avow that the customary stage decla-
mation, with its conventional tones and mechanical
and recurring cadences, is a transcript of real life ?
Do the pompous and stilted style of action, and the
stereotyped trickeries of the stage, look in any way
like true reflexes of nature ? Are they not weariness
to behold, ridiculous and offensive in the eyes of in-
telligent spectators ?
As models for professional orators, or as subjects
for imitation in social life, they are utterly false and
valueless. And yet such is the influence of the
stage, in all communities, that it becomes a model on
these points. These evident defects of the ideal
school of acting are sufficient to make every intern.
gent playgoer hail the advent of the present stage
reform, and give his cordial and hearty support to
Miss Cushman, for the very able and powerful expo-
sition of the one that she has so wisely adopted.
New York Albion, Dec. 29, 1849.

DEATH OF MADAME GRASSINI,
Madame Grassini, one of the most celebrated Ita-

Tian singers, and the most beautiful woman, of her day,
died lately at Milan, at the advanced age of 75. Few
of her profession ever boasted of a career so long and
so brilliant as hers. In Italy, France, Germany, and
England, she achieved for herself the highest reputa-
tion, and for many yeara ruled in undisputed possess-
sion of the throne of song. She was born at Varese,
in Lombardy, in 1775. From her earliest age she
displayed an extraordinary aptitude and predilection
for music. Struck with these manifestations, and the
singular beauty of her voice, General Belgiojoso un-
dertook the charge of her education. The progress
of the young cantatrice surpassed the most ar-
dent expectations of her patron. Mdlle. Grassini
became an accomplished singer at an age when other
candidates for the profession are in their novitiate.
She made her debut at La Scala, in Milan, in 1794.
She sang with Marchisi, and the tenor Lazzsrini, in
the Artaserse of Zingarelli ; and in the Demofonte of
Portogallo. She was overwhelmed with ap-
plauses, and the beauty, power, and quality
of her voice produced an immense effect. Her lower
notes were more especially admired. Madame Gras-
sini's voice was, in fact, a contralto, but, like Mali-
bran, she had worked it up into the soprano register.
From the moment of her first appearance Mdlle.
Grassini created an unprecedented sensation, 'which
soon spread throughout all Italy. Her journey to
Venice, to Naples, to Rome, was marked by a series
of triumphs. Recalled to Milan in 1796, she sang
with Crescentini in Zingarelles Romeo e Giulietta,
and excited the utmost enthusiasm. The following
year she appeared at Venice, at the La Fenice
Theatre, where she played Orezia in Cimarosa's opera
Gli Orazi a Curiazi. Again she awakened the same
furore, each performance confirming more and more
the fiat of public opinion. Shortly afterwards she
returned to Naples, and performed during the fetes
which were given on the occasion of the marriage of
the hereditary prince. In 1800 we again find Mdlle.
Grassini singing in Milan, at the Scala. After the
battle of Marengo she was heard at a concert in pre-
sence of Napoleon, then First Consul. Napoleon
was in raptures with her, and took her to Paris,. On
the 22d of July, in the same year, she assisted at the
grand national festival celebrated at the Champ de
Mars, at which 800 musicians performed. At this
period her voice had attained all its power, and was
in full possession of its freshness and beauty. The
sensation she created, according to the critics of the
dtoayi, was perfectly indescribable. Ia 1803 she came
London, and was engaged at the King's Theatre.
At this time Mrs. Billington was the reigning favou-
rite with the English public. She had debuted for
the first time at the Italian Opera house but a short
favouritism bestowed onni s
time previous to Grassi "
the appearanceone— a ;n andone—and
justly
fromty be-
stowed—andthe the immense reputation which preceded
the other, expectation wasaswiotunld up to the highest
Garaways is, was pitch. But expectation,
some-
how disappointed. Maame Grassini:
Andid not move
Mrs. Billington from her popull_a_ri.tsy.
esup4saoiarllylBoastt,aarheecdalletda
order from
Napoleon, then Emperor, in
Madame Grassini to Paris.
the theatre pad the concerts of the court, she sang

for several years with Crescentini, 13rizzi, Ta
nardi, and Madame Paer. Paer wrote the Di 'done
expressly for her, in which her acting has been re pre-
sented as equally fine with her singing. Mac: ame
Grasaini, it i, said, made, a veritable creation of this
character, which was pronounced a chV dceuvre, as
we 11 for dramatic force and expression, as for the pf-:r-
fecqon of style and vocalisation. The fall of Yipo-
leon lost to Madame Grwisini all the brilliant advan- •
tages she possessed at the court. But her voice no
longer retained its freshness and purity, and she
could not seek elsewhere to establish a new reign of
power and absolutism. She left Paris for Italy,
where she sang f,r SOMR year, and then retired inqo
private life.—Musical World.

LECTURE on SLEEP, SUSPENDED
ANIMATION, AND DEATH..
The sixth lecture of this course, at the Royal In-
stitution, was delivered on Friday evening last, by
Mr. Thomas Turner. The lecturer said, that when
a person was in a state of catalepsy, a very little fur-
ther advance would cause the individual to pass from
time to eternity. Catalepsy usually began suddenly,
and the duration of the disease was uncertain ; it had
been known to continue for a day or two, but he
believed there were no well-authenticated instances
of its being extended over many days. One remark-
able phenomenon in this state was that the muscles
remained in a very flexible state; and that in what-
ever position the arm, the hand, or the body itself,
was placed, in that it would remain. In catalepsy,
we had the suspension of the visible evidences of
life manifested to the greatest extent to which they
could possibly be carried, without their terminating
in death. In treating of the subject of death, be
should endeavour to divest it of many of those terrors
which might be associated with it, and consider it in
its philosophical, physiological, and moral point of
view. In the language of their syllabus, molecular
death was the necessary accompaniment of life—
general death was the necessary consequence of life.
Every minute that we live there was a waste and a
decay, and death took place in the body. There was
more mystery, more wisdom manifested in the little
things that escaped our attention, than in all the
great things we observed. We talked of man, and
we considered him in reference to his bones, his
muscles, his joints, his organs of digestion, circula-
tion, respiration, and powers of thought ; but if we
looked into the minute atoms of which man was
formed, we should know that it was in those little
cells that all the active operations of life were carried
on—that each cell was an individual organism, and
had its own means of supply and waste—that its
existence was ephemeral—that it was formed, per-
formed its office, died, and passed away. It was
through the medium of those cells that the food taken
into the body was converted into blood—that the dif-
ferent solids and fluids of the body were formed—that
nutrition was accomplished, the energy of the senses
maintained, and the powers ofthe mind manifested. The
death of those molecules or cells, or of the elements of
which they were formed, would soon draw in general
death. Supply and life were the two essential con
ditions of active life; and in order that health and
life should be maintained, there must be a balance
betwixt the two. Age made a distinction. In the
child, the supply exceeds the waste, because the exi-
gencies of growth and nutrition had to be accom-
plished. In the old man the waste exceeded the
supply, and he died from inanition, if not from dis-
ease. If the supply were withheld, the body became
emaciated, the cheeks hollow, the eyes sunken, the
face pallid, the skin cold, as that of a corpse ; the
person became pulseless, and the breath was slow,
giving no more than an indication of life; the brain
became demented, there was an indifference as to life
or death; and in that state the individual died. In
a case of mesentric disease, food was taken abundantly,
and digested, chyle was formed, but its passage to the
blood was dammed up; there was an insurmountable
barrier beyond which it could not go, and, therefore,
it could not afford any nutriment. The child ulti-
mately died of inanition, all the soft parts being ab-
sorbed to nourish the body. Inanition was the cause
of death in old age, when disease did not ter-
minate death. It was not that food was not copiously
taken, but the stomach was worn out, and refused to
perform its office of digestion. Even if the food
were perfectly assimilated, the heart, from age and
change of texture, might be incapable of transmitting
the blood to the cells, and to the capillary extremi-
ties of the vessels. Respiration was not carried on
with the energy necessary to maintain the tempera-
ture of the body, the blood became impoverished, and
did not furnish the nutriment which the system de-
manded ; and thus it went on, until all the organs re-
fused to act. During this time the system lived upon
itself, like a hybernating tree the vessels of the body
lived upon its deposited fluids and solids, and even
the animal matter contained in the bones was absorbed,
until they lost all their elasticity, and became brittle
as glass. The individual at length succumbed to
death, almost without a struggle. Disease, as
arising from defective supply, or from the molecules
falling into a state of decay, would bring on general
death. Death, as arising from molecular decay,
might well be divided into natural and
morbid. Natural molecular decay was that
which took place necessarily, and had for
its object the removal of the effete and done-
with matter, which, if they remained, would be not
only useless but injurious to the animal economy. In
the morbid state, disease began in the molecules,
before there was any indication of general death ; but
it crept on until it involved the brain, the lungs, and
the heart, the great triumvirate for sustaining mental
and organic life. When it was seen ho ar all parts of
the human organism were knit together by the sym-
pathy of nerves, vessels, and other things, it was
scarcely possible to suppose that one part could die,
or be affected, without involving the whole. But
look to the reparative power of nature. There was
inherent in living matter, a power of repair of which
medical men availed themselves—if they assisted it,
that practice was, when permitted, successful ; if they
thwarted it, it was an egregious mistake, and the pa-
tient paid the penalty. This power resisted disease
and repaired accident. It was inherent in the tree,
and in animals as well as in ourselves, and there-
fore, it was a gift for preservation. Mr.
Turner then referred to, and explained at some
length, a diagram, as well as a cast of the human
brain, in order to show the influence of the brain up-
on organic life, and the independence of organic life,
to a certain extent, of the brain. The relative de-
pendence upon the brain was this : That if we
withdrew the will from respiration, it would fail to
effect its purposes—it would not perform the offices
which it was intended to perform, and which we
knew it to perform Will was necessary, in con-
nexion with respiration, for speech, for in speaking
we had a control over respiration ; but there was
also the involuntary power of respiration, such as
was manifested by our breathing during sleep, which
fulfilled important purposes in connexion with ani-
mal life. If we were to abate or cut away the dif-
ferent portions of the nervous system, of which he
had before spoken, all the mental powers would be
gone—there would be no will, no sensatior, no feel-
ing, no indication of the existence of mental life; and
thus, by the separation of one part from the other,
we could separate the mind from the body, so far as
it could be done, in reference to the nervous system.
There was a similarity in the case of dying—for the
mind died before the body.—Manchester Guardian.

UNIVERSITY INTELLIGENCE.
OXFORD, JAN. 30.

JESUS COLLEGE.—A scholarship belonging to one
of the six counties of North Wale., and of the en-
dowment of Oliver Lloyd, Doctor of Divinity, ac-
cording to the donation of the benefactor, to be nomi-
nated by the heirs of his family, being vacant, the
Principal and Fellows have fixed .Monday, the 18th
of February next, for the election of a proper person
into the vacant place.
The Boden Professor of Sanscrit (Mr. H. H. Wil-
son), will commence his lectures at the Clarendon on
Monday, the 11th of February, at two o'clock.
Two elementary Hebrew classes will be formed
during the present term. The first is intended for such
as are just beginning the language; the second, for
those who require instruction in the higher parts of
Hebrew grammar.
Those who wish to attend the elementary lectures
are requested tc call on the Rev. R. Gamlen, M.A.,
Magdalen Hall, on Friday, the Ist of February, be-
tween the hours of two and three.
Christ Churcb, Jan. 30.

CAMBRIDGE, JAN. 30.
The Professor of Mineralogy has given notice that
his lectures will commence on Thursday, Feb. 7.
These lectures will be given on Mondays, Tues-
days, Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays, from two
to three, in the Mineralogical Museum, under the west
end of the new library.
Gz.ntlemen who attend these lectures with the in-
tention of obtaining the professor's certificate, which
by grace of the S:nate (Oct. 31, 1848) is now re-
quired under certain conditions for the degrees of
B A., honorary M.A ~ and 8.C.L., must be provided
with the professional lecture ticket, for which they are
requested to apply to the registrary, or to their college
tutor.

Gentlemen who do not require the certificate are
admitted gratis.

NORTHAMPTON AND PYTCHLFY HUNT

RACES.

Fad Spencer, the stsnch and lile4tlsupportor of these
well-conducted races, has suggested a new stake for tho
second day of the ensuing meeting, to which his Lord-
ship will add 1001. It will be a handicap of 20 sem
each, h ft, for three yrs old and upwards. To enter on
the Ist of March, the weights to be published on the
15th, and forfeit, on the 20th. There is every prospect
of this being one of tho most brilliant meetings ever held
at Northampton.

ADVICE TO THE LADIES.
(From Eliza Cook's Jour.,:al.)
From causes I need not now stop to trace, those
persons on whom the ladies liberally shower the epi-
thets of kill-joy, square-toes, or old quiz, have
hitherto, fir the most part, had it all their own way
in the reading of "lectures" and delivering cf
"preachments" to our fair cotintrywotnen. May
rot I—seeing from a point of view quite different to
theirs—jot down some notions of mine on so impor-
tant a subject ? I have never heard that the alphabet
was less easily learnt from ginger-bread letters;
that draughts of medicine were rendered less effica-
cious by being flavoured with peppermint, garnished
with pink paper, and dispensed by an assistant pos-
sessed of good teeth, and valanced with those "dear
whiskers ;" nor can I believe that my observations,
and fault-finding I may add, will be the less note-
worthy for their writer's being a young bachelor,
with not the faintest intention of ever being an old
one ; but kesping at the bottom of his Pandora's box
of daily vexations, the hope of matrimony.
At all events, I shall try the experiment through
the medium of passionless foolscap and ink, of making
you acquainted with some of my convictions on what
I may call lady-vices, illustrated by no highly-
finished portraitures, but mere outlines of the most
prominent characteristics of those of my female
friends, who may serve to show my meaning. And,
if you please, I shall dispense with the rules of art
altogether in my gossip to you, meeting promiscu-
ously (as I am in the habit of doing with Alargaret,
of whom, more anon—though there is often some art
about that), meeting promiscuously, I say, with the
topics as they rise. And, first, my fair readers, I
would lay great stress on your not being frivolous;
and this I would beg of you, not to be, in defiance of
those conventional rules that indicate the manufac-
ture of book marks, fly-traps with yellow paper,
canary birds inside, porte monnaies, anti-macassars,
Joseph's, coat-like patch-work table-covers, and jug-
shaped Berlin wool pence-pouches, as thefit disposal of
your thne, in defiance of a saying—current only
among the shallowest of men, and having no founda-
tion in truth—that "nothing profiund should be ex-
pected from the petticoats;" and in corformity with
the sentiment of that beautiful couplet in " Man-
fred,"—
‘• rhitek'st thou existence doth depend on time?
It doth, but actions are our epochs."
Bear in mind that, as Dr. Johnson well observes ;
" many of our hours are lost in a rotation of petty
cares, in a constant recurrence of the same employ-
ments." That you are, by nature, "noble in reason
and infinite in faculties;' that—but I will introduce
you to Mrs. Le Grand, late Miss Pinchbeck, an ex-
cellent specimen of frivolity.
Mrs. Le Grand, late Miss Pinchbeck, then, is a
great correspondent, that is, every afternoon she un-
locks her ladies' rose-wood writing-desk, and
papeterie, which latter contains her envelopes and
fancy note-paper, and dashes off some half-dozen
vapid notes, containing less practical utility, per-
haps, than Solomon's (in the Stranger")
the
"foreign correspondence," and every morning
business-like knock of the postman an-
nounces the arrival of some responsive echoes wafted
to her, crossed in the writing, and scaled with motto
tous memoranda,
wafers. She called her husband variously "hubby,"
" dear old crosspatch," and " old man ;" says " bless
ashkees ati
sneezes ; carries a Letts'
probably having in it for subject-matter, followers and
dyioaur,y", unfailingly,—e ifm
unfair joints; calls any hurry she may happen to be
in a "scuffle ;" loses her housewifely keys, and then
is "in tribulation about them,"-and knows only two
words cf French, which she consequently wears to
death : "distingue," and "distrait." She is no reader,
indeed, she wonders how any lady can go and see
" Othello ;" she parades a superstitious dread of ill-
luck on a Friday ; she will apostrophize a singed
moth for five minutes together, in your presence ;
will speak of "styles of meat," of a cheesemonger's
"shining" in bacon, of the weather as "muggy,"
and when disposed to be jocular, aims at it by using
such exaggerating phrases as "exchequer," or
" finances," to express a purse or money ; " breaking
a charter," for making an exception, and the like. In
fine, she will go on with the same monotonous note,
as the travelling clocktnan announces his passing by
sounding—day after day ; like, as after they have
"cast on," "knitted," and "purled" ten or
twelve rows, the votaries of crotchet and embroidery
will commence again, so, ten or twelve hours of one
day of her life and employment of it, typifies the
whole. May I not write a brief moral under this
Picture. I have no high-flown views about woman's
mission to impart. I was nassed the other evening
by two women, one covered about the bonnet and
cloak with small dust-fall, fokwed at a little distance
by two men, one of whom had..goubt/ess been amusing
himself by pitching handsful of gravel after them. I
should not have noticed this, btit that, just as they
passed me, one of the women said, in reply to an ob-
servation, I had not heard madulby one of the men,
" We were not made to throw 'atones at, however."
Very well, I adopt your sentitnerit, madam, that wo-
man's vocation is not to have stones thrown at it, nor
is it either to be put in a glais-case and looked at like
a wax flower—like Mrs. La Grand. Should you have
"great taste in dress," but nothing besides, no genuine
sympathies—no degree of information—no average
intelligence—no anything? II it fitting that you
should while away your time in conversation, well
'erined small-talk, that leads to no result—elicits no
new fact, and could possibly have no Q.E. D. written
at the end of it ? I, at all events, will launch
13 archell's (in the " Vicar of Wakefield") expressive
criticism, "Fudge," at you fer it. I, at all events,
will assert that the cares of house-keeping, whether
shared by a family of daughters, or discharged
single-handed, are not so engrossing; but that you,
who are engaged in no regular occupation, have the
amplest leisure for laying in a stock of that learning,
which is justly pronounced better than houses and
lands.

Mrs. Bell Wether too is a lady who I hope will not
include you among her disciples. She is a great
stickler for conventionalities ("I should like to do
what is proper, of course," in her own words), tells
you that no fashionable person would be seen in town
after August 12th ; that the Queen has taken her
physician with her on her tour ; or that a new ladies'
ear• trumpet has been invented,
shaped like a fiswer.
The peerage and baronetage supplies her idea of the
sublime and beautiful (a Burke wrote a book on each) ;
indeed, she has an implicit respect for the great, in
the abstract, and will prose half an hour together as to
my Lord Tom Noddy bears to Lady
whose title he will succeed to; she
hich she makes from a tea-urn,
rather than caste ; and
oNwvhoe aro td
hireeehlrae relationship
nhwai p
would lose anything
she will affect a very finical horror of low neigh-
bourhoeds and humble people. Poor quivering shirt-
hand in White's-rents, ragged hawker in Brown's-
lane, she knows you not I And vet, tell her of a
shipwreck in the other hemisphere, read to her of a
conflagration leagues away, and she will show such
" a dejected 'haviour of the visage, together with all
forms, modes, shows of grief," as makes me recall a
phrase in the cheap outfitters' advertisements,
"mourning to any extent at five minutes' notice."
But let me now, however, turn to a more congenial
subject ; let me leave the Le Grands and Bell
Wethers (polished grates may I call them; compared
with stoves glowing
with a ruddy, crackling fire), let
me leave these, and all who in their anxiety to be
lady-like forget to be womanly, and turn to that
Joan of whom I confess myself to be the Darby, that
certain party who has not the least idea of high life—
Margaret. Mind, Iby no meansdesire to affirm that
Margaret is the N. of to whom I am irrevo-
cably willed to be the M. of No, if it were in
that certain state, I should hardly last week have
been exacting the customary tribute, which had
cost me a three minutes' chase and all my breath,
from a very pretty girl in pink, at kiss in the
ring, or reassuring her engaging
terror, while what
was billed as " a sanguine display of fireworks" was
going on, hard by : or at a still latter period have,
Petrarch-like, dogged a very Laura of charmers
in a slate-coloured bonnet, and a black silk visite,
a full two miles out of my way, until, indeed, her
abruptly stopping to exchange salutations with a rival
in a shooting coat and garden hat at the corner of a
street, obliged my simultaneous disappearance down
an opposite one. Oh no, we are not engaged, though
when, as she sews a button on for me, she asks what
we men would do without her sex, I cannot help be-
ginning to think. I shall never he able to do without
her; though, when I am sufficiently happy to be
holding skeins for her to reel, and she calls all my
fingers thumbs in such a bewitching way, that I do
myself glancing at the unringed
fourth and ; and though often, when
sometimes
fingercatch
of her left hand
roused by some remark of hers from a wrapt contem-
plation of her, I begin to wonder whether this may
not be the private interview preparatory to a final
settlement, mentioned in matrimonial advertisements.
I will attempt a faint outline of her appearance
Ivory shoulders, pearly teeth, ruby lips, ebon hair,
these are some of" the gifts which, fused into one person,
make her " a real fortune to a husband ;" but could I
daguerreotype the " feminine assault" of her smile
when she corrects a trifling misstatement with, no—
I tell a story— or tells your and her humble servant
of wet nights, that he will "go home by water,
then"—you—why you too, perhaps, would he want-
ing to launch into the honourable estate of matrimony
with so winsome a steerstnate.
A

nd as I consider Margaret as coming near enough
o womanly perfection for my purpose, I shall just
finish this paper with her description. She works
for her living with her hands, which may excuse ber
fondness fur light reading in leisure hours; she can
sympathise with that dashing highwayman, Claude
Dina), with that preux chevalier Valancourt, and, in
a word, generally with that numerous class of travel-
stained pedestrians who, towards the close of a wet
day in the spring of the year --, and at the opening
of many a dry novel I call to mind, are continually
arriving at romantic road-atdc inns, (I know that