according to the fashion of the good old fairy times, were endowed not only with feeling and reason, but with speech.

Many, I fear me, are the crooked sticks which "the ancient of days" by a strange infatuation compel themselves to adopt. And much might be gravely and properly said upon this subject for the edification of young and old, but the following will be better than grave discussion, and more to the tastes of those who value scenes from real life.

"Lady Frances Hazlitt, Charles! Surely the most fastidious might pronounce her hand

"Pshaw! Such grace?"

Harry," replied the young nobleman, smiling according to the most approved Chesterfield principle, removing his eyeglass and looking at his friend with much composure, “you had better, I think, marry Lady Frances yourself."

"You are a strange being, my good lord," replied his friend, after a pause. "I would wager a good round sum that, notwithstanding your rank, fortune and personal advantages, you will die-or, at all events, not marry until you are a veritable old bachelor. I pray thee tell me, what do you reyou require? A Venus? A Diana? A Juno? A-a-'

'Simply a woman, my dear fellow-not, indeed, one of those beings arrayed in drapery whom you see moving along our streets with Chinese feathers, smoke-dried skins and limbs that might rival those of a Hercules, nor yet one of your bescented, spider-waisted priminies who lisp and amble, assume a delicacy which they never felt and grace which they never possessed. My ideas of woman's perfections of the perfections, in fact, which I desire-and I may say " (Lord Charles Villiers was certainly a very handsome and a very fashionable man, and yet his modesty, I suppose, made him hesitate in pronouncing the latter word)—"I may, I think, say— deserve," gaining courage as he proceeded, "are not as extravagant as those required by your favorite Henri Quatre. He insisted on seven perfections; I should feel blessed if the lady of my love were possessed of six."

"Moderate and modest," observed his friend, laughing. "I pray you tell me what they are."

"Noble birth, beauty, prudence, wit, gentleness and fidelity."

Sir Harry Beauclerc drew forth his tablets and on the corner of the curiously-wrought morials engraved the qualities Lord Charles had enumerated, not with fragile lead, but with the sharp point of his penknife.

"Shall I add," he inquired, "that these requisites are indispensable?”

'Most undoubtedly," replied His Lordship.

"Adieu, then, Charles. Lady Frances's carriage is returning, and, as you declare fairly off, fairly off, I truly tell you that I will try to make an impression on her gentle heart; you certainly were first in the field, but, as

you are insensible to such merit, I cannot think you either deserve to win or wear it. Adieu! au revoir !" and with a deeper and more prolonged salute than the present courtesies of life are supposed to require the two young fashionables separated, one lounging listlessly toward the then narrow and oldfashioned gate which led from Hyde Park into Piccadilly, trolling snatches of the last cavatina, which the singing of a Mara or a Billington had rendered fashionable, the other proceeding with the firm and animated step that tells plainly of a fixed purpose to meet the respectable family-carriage graced by the really charming Frances, only daughter of the earl of Heaptown.

Five and twenty summers had passed over the brow of Lord Charles Villiers since Sir Harry Beauclerc noted on his tablet the six indispensable qualities the young nobleman would require in his wife. The lord still remained an unmarried and an admired man seeking to find some lady worthy his affections. It is too true that some of the young creatures just come out on whose cheek the blush of innocence and modesty still glowed, and whose untutored eyes prated most earnestly of what passed in the sacred citadel called "heart"—such creatures, I say, did discover, to the sad annoyance of their speculating mothers and sensible-Heaven bless the word! sensible-chaperons, that Lord Charles's once beautiful hair was now indebted to "the Tyrian dye" for its gloss and hue, and that, moreover, a most ingenious scalp mixed its artificial ringlets with his once exquisite curls, that the belles (whom years had rendered staid mammas, and even grand- I cannot finish the horrid

a few

word) used to call, in playful poetry, “Cupid's bowstrings." Then his figure had grown rotund; he sat long after dinner, prided himself upon securing a cook fully equal to Eustache Ude in his best days, descanted upon the superiority of pheasant dressed en galantine to that served in aspic jelly, and gained immortal honor at a committee of taste by adding a most piquant and delightful ingredient to Mr. Dolby's sauce a l'aurore. Had he not been so perfectly well bred, he would have been considered touchy and testy; the excellent discipline of the old school fortunately preserved him from those bachelor-like crimes -at all events, in ladies' society-and whatever spleen he had he wisely only vented on those who could not return it; namely, his poor relations, his servants, and occasionally, but not often (for he was a member of the Society for Preventing Cruelty to Animals), on his dogs and horses. However, his figure was as erect, if not as graceful, as ever, and many a fair lady sighed at the bare idea of his enduring to the end in single misery.

Sir Harry Beauclerc never visited London except during the sitting of Parliament, and it was universally allowed that he discharged his duties as M. P. for his native county with zeal and independence. Wonderful to say, he neither ratted nor sneaked, and yet Whigs, Tories and Radicals treated him with deference and respect. He had long been the husband of her who when our sketch was commenced was known as Lady Frances Hazlitt, and it would be rare to behold a more charming assembly of handsome and happy faces than their fireside circle presented at the celebration of Merry Christmas. The

younger portion of this family were noisily and busily occupied at a game of forfeits, while those who considered themselves the elders of the juvenile set sat gravely discussing matters of domestic or public interest with their parents, when a thundering peal at the portal announced the arrival of some benighted visitor. I am not about to introduce a hero of romance at such an unseemly hour, only our old acquaintance Lord Charles, who claimed the hospitality of his friend as protection against an impending snow-storm.

When the family had retired for the night, a bottle of royal Burgundy was placed on the table as the sleeping-cup of the host and his guest; old times were reverted to, and Sir Harry fancied that there was more design than accident in the visit with which he had been honored. This feeling was confirmed by Lord Charles drawing his chair in a confidential manner toward his friend and observing that "he was a lucky and a happy fellow, to be blessed with so lovely a family lovely a family and so amiable and domestic a companion." Sir Harry smiled, and only replied that he was happy, and he hoped his friend would not quietly sink into the grave without selecting some partner whose smiles would gild the evening of his days, etc. A fine sentimental speech it was, but ill-timed, for the gallant bachelor suffered it to proceed little farther than "evening," when he claimed,

ex

"Faith, Sir Harry, you must have strange ideas! Evening! I consider myself in the prime and vigor of existence, and I have serious ideas of changing my condition: it is pleasant to settle before one falls into the sere and withered leaf. And although, as I said before, I feel myself in the very vigor

"Indeed! Well, to tell you the truthit is, however, a profound secret, and I rely on your friendship-I am really a married man. There! I knew I should surprise you. I shall surprise everybody."

"Most sincerely do I wish you joy, my dear lord, and doubt not your choice is fixed upon one who will secure your happiness. I am sure Lady Frances will be delighted at an introduction. Your pardon one moment while I relate a most extraordinary coincidence. Do you remember my noting down the six perfections which you required the lady of your choice to possess? Perhaps you recollect: it was five and But no matter. Well, the tablets upon which I wrote. This morning-only this very morning-I was looking over a box of papers, and, behold! there they were. And do you know-how very odd, was it not?-I put them in my waistcoat-pocket," continued the worthy baronet, at the same moment drawing them forth, "intending to show them to my eldest son, for there's a great deal-I assure you I speak in perfect sincerity—a great deal— My dear lord, what is the matter? You look ill.”

To confess the truth, Lord Charles appeared marvellously annoyed: he fidgeted on his chair, the color heightened on his cheek, and he finally thrust the poker into the fire with terrific violence.

"Never mind the tablets, my good friend," said he at last; "men change their tastes. and opinions as they advance in life. I was