Foreign Bible Society found it expedient to reduce their prices. But this, in six months, involved them in a loss of £ 13,000!

"Meantime, the free trade prices in the North could not remain a secret, and before the close of the year the people of England were paying for their English Bible from 150 to 300 per cent, more than in Scotland!"

What did the London committee now do? Of course they agitated the country, and petitioned parliament to save their constituents, and the Christian public at large, from such an enormous tax on the Bread of Eternal Life, of which they were the official guardians; and availed themselves of their extensive organization and metropolitan position to do the work of reform effectively. Nothing of the kind. The secretaries came forward, and begged " most distinctly to say that they would not touch the question of the monopoly at all!" Why not? Did not the monopoly touch the society? Did it not raise the price of the Scriptures 150 to S00 per cent., for the benefit of private individuals, to the great detriment of the cause of truth? Yet, strange to say, the auxiliary societies were equally apathetic. Not one in London, Dublin, or Edinburgh moved.

The society was not to have the glory of this great reform. They were "too many" for God to work by. In perfect harmony with the whole history of the English Bible, marked all along by independence on official authorities or institutions, the monopoly was brought down by three private individuals! These were—Mr. Childs of Bungay, Dr. Thomson of Coldstream, and Dr. Campbell of London. The latter gentleman threw all his characteristic energy into the movement, and by his accurate calculations, and powerful appeals through the press, contributed largely to rouse the public mind. Monopoly was compelled to capitulate, and the patentees suddenly reduced their prices to less than one half.

Now the press sends forth of copies of the Scriptures in English, " 19,000 every week, 3000 every day, 300 every hour, or five every minute of working time!" When this fact is considered in connexion with the increasing predominence of the English language throughout the civilized world, the vast extent of our empire, the rapid growth of our colonies, and the probability that many of them will yet become independent nations, it is fitted to awaken deep solicitude in the Christian mind—to produce an almost overwhelming sense of responsibility, and to call forth the most strenuous exertions, that wherever the accents of our noble language are heard, there the English Bible may be known and valued as the Rule of Faith.

"Not one hour of the twenty-four," says Richardson, " not one round of the minute hand of the dill is allowed to pass, in which, on some portion of the surface of the globe, the air is not rilled with accents that are ours. They are heard in the ordinary transactions of life; or in the administration of law—in the deliberations of the senatehouse, or council chamber—in the offices of private devotion, or in the public observance of the rites and duties of a common faith."

Be ours the endeavor that the volume which contains the inspired record of this faith, shall not only be maintained in its supreme authority at home, but borne on the tide of emigration to every land, till it do for the new and rising nations of the west and south still greater things than it has done for Britain!


Beaott and Truth, in Heaven's congenial dime,
Inseparate seen beside the Almighty throne,
Together sprung, before the birth of time.
From God's own glory, while he dwelt alone ;—
These, when creation made its wonders known,
Were sent to mortals, that their mingling powers
Might lead and lure us to ethereal bowers.

But our perverse condition here below
Oft sees them severed, or in conflict met;
Oh, sad divorce! the well-spring of-our woe,
When truth and beauty thus their bond forget, ■
And Heaven's high law is at defiance set!
'T is this that good of half its force disarms,
And gives to evil all its direst charms.

See truth with harsh austerity allied,

Or clad in cynic garb of sordid hue;

Sec him with Tyranny's fell tools supplied,

The rack, the fagot, or the torturing screw,

Or girt with bigotry's besotted crew;

What wonder, thus beheld, his looks should more

Our scorn or hatred, rather than our love?

See beauty, too, in league with vice and shame,

And lending all her light to gild a lie;

Crowning with laureate-wreaths an impious name.

Or lulling us with syren minstrelsy

To false repose when peril most is nigh;

Decking things vile or vain with colors rare,

Till what is false and foul seems good and fair.

Hence are our hearts bewildered in their choice,

And hence our feet from virtue led astray;

Truth calls imperious with repulsive voice

To follow on a steep and rugged WBy;

While Beauty beckons us along a gay

And flowery path, that leads, with treacherous

slope, To gulfs remote from happiness or hope.

Who will bring back the world's unblemished

youth; When these two wandered erer hand in hand; When truth was beanty. beauty too was truth, So linked together with unbroken band, That they were one; and man, at their command, Tasted of sweets that never knew alloy, And trod the path of duty and of joy?

Chiefly the poet's power may work the change;

His heavenly gift, impelled by holy zeal,

O'er truth's cxhaustlcss stores may brightly range.

And all their native loveliness reveal;

Nor e'er, except where truth has set his seal,

Suffer one gleam of beauty's grace to shine,

But in resistless force their lights combine.


Lord, My voice by nature is harsh and untunable, and it is in vain to lavish any art to better it. Can my singing of psalms be pleasing to thy ears, which is unpleasant to my own? yet though I cannot chant with the nightingale, or chirp with the blackbird, 1 had rather chatter with the swallow, yea rather croak with the raven, than be altogether silent. Hadst thou given mo a better voice I would have praised thee with a better voice. Now what my music wants in sweetness, let it have in sense, singine praises with understanding. Yea, Lord, create in mc a new heart (therein to make melody,) and 1 will be contented with my old voice, until, in thy due time, being admitted into the choir of heaven, I have another, more harmonious, bestowed upon me.—Fuller.


M«. Punch has received from lhat eminent railroad authority, Mr. Jeames Plush, the following letter, which hears most pathetically upon the present Gauge dispute :—

"Yua will scarcely praps reckonize in this little •kitch the haltered linimints of 1, with woos face the reders of your valluble mislny were once fimiliar—the unibrtnt Jeames de la Pluche, fomly so selabrated in the fashnabble suckles, now the pore Jeames Plush, landlord of the Wheel of Fori«ne public house. Yes, that is me; that is my haypun which I wear as becomes a publican— those is the checkers which hornyment the pillows •f ray dor. I am like the Romin Genral, St. Ccnitus, equal to any emudgency of Fortun. I, who have drunk Shampang in my time, aim now abov droring a 4 pint of Small Bier. As for my wife—that Angel—I 've not ventured to depigt An\ Fansy her a sittn in the Bar, smilin like a sunflower—and, ho. Hear Punch! happy in nussing a deer little darlint totsy wotsy of a Jeames, with my air to a curl, and my i's to a T!

"I never thought I should have been injuicced to write anything but » Bill agin, much less to r«res» you on Railway Subjix—which with all my sole I abate. Railway letters, obligations to pay hop. gluteal inquirys as to my Salissatnr's name, &c, &c, I dispne and scorn artily. But as a nun, an usbnd, a father, and a freebon Briltn, my j*wty compels me to come fbrwoods, and igspress toy opinion upon that nashnal nnrsanceThe Break or Gage.

•• An interesting ewent in a noble family with which I once very nearly had the honer of being kinected, acurd a few weex sins, when the Lady

Angelina S , daughter of the Earl of

B——crea, presented the gallant Capting, her utbend. with a Son & hair. Nothink would satisfy her Ladyship but that her old and atocht foody-soaraber, my wife Mary Han Plush, should Ve present upon this bospicious occasion. Capting S—— was not jellua of me on account of my fanner attachment to his Lady. I cunsented that my Mary Haon should attend her, and me, my wi(p. and our dear babby acawdingly set out for our noabie frend's residence, Honeymoon Lodge, near Cheltenham.

"S»rk of all Railroads myself, I wisbt to poast it in a Char and 4, but Mary Ilann, with the hobMancf of her Sex, was bent upon Railroad travelling, and I yealried, like all husbinds. We set oat by the Great Westn, in an eavle Hour.

'• We didnt take much luggitch—my wife's things in the ushal bandboxes—mine in a polmanrbo. Our dear little James Angelo's (called so in esoiplinvent to his noble Godmamma) craddle, and a mail supply of a few 100 weight of TopsanW» terns. Farinashinus food, and Lady's fingers, far thst dear child who is now 6 mouths old, with a prr&Jjrai apjmtite. Likewise we were charged with a bran new Medssn chest for my lady, from Skitiry k Moris, containing enough rewbub, l>anV» Alixir. Godfrey's, with a few score of panic* for Lady Hangelina's family and owsebold. Awrat'JOOO spe»symins of Babby linning from Mrs. Flummary's, in Regent Street, a Chayny Cresning bowl from old lady Bareacres (big enough to imams a Haldemian,) & a rase marked 'Glass,' frosi her ladyship's ineddiele man, which were slowed awsy together; had to this an ormylew

Craddle, with rose-colored Satling & Pink lace hangings, held up by a gold tuttlc-dove, &c. We had, ingluding James Hangelo's rattle & my umbrellow, 73 packidges in all.

We got 011 very well as far as Swindon, where, in the Splendid Refreshment room, there was a galaxy of lovely gals in coltn velvet spencers, who serves out the soop, and 1 of whom maid an impresshn upon this Art which I shoodn't like Mary Hann to know—and here, to our infanit disgust, we changed oarridges. I forgot to say lhat we were in the secknd class, having with us James Hangelo, and 23 other light harticles.

"Fust inconveniance; and almost as bad as break of gage. I cast my hi upon the gal in cottn velvet, and wanted some soop, of coarse; hut sensing up James Hangelo (who was layin his dear little pors on an Am Sangwidg) and seeing my igspresshn of hi—' James,' says Mary Hann, 'instead of looking at that young lady—and not so very young, neither—be pleased to look to our

fackidges, & place them, in the other carridge.' did so with an evy Art. I eranged them 23 articles in the opsit carridge, only missing my umbrella & baby's rattle; and jest as I came back for my haysn of soop, the beast of a bell rings, the whizzling injians proclayms the time of our departure^—& farewell soop and cottn velvet. Mary Hann was sulky. She said it was my losing the umbrella. If it had been a cotton velvet umbrella I could have understood. James Hangelo sittn on my knee was evidently unwell ; without his coral: & for 20 miles that blessid babby kep up a ruwring, which caused all the passingers to simpilhize. with him igseedinglv.

"We arrive at Gloster, and there fansy my disgust at beiu ableeged to undergo another chaugo of carriages! Fansy me holding up moiiphs, tippits, cloaks, and baakits, and James Hangelo rawring still like mad, and pretending to superintend the carrying over of our luggage from the broad gage to the narrow gnpe. 'Mary Hann,' says I, rot to desperation, 'I shall throttle this darling if he goes on.' 'Do,' says she—' and go into the refreshment room,' says she—a snatchin the babby out of my arms. 'Do go,' says she, 'youre not fit to look after luggage,' and she began lulling James Hangelo to sleep with one hi, while she looked after the packets with the other. 'Now, Sir! if you please, mind that packet!—pretty darling—easy with that box, Sir, its glass— pooooty poppet—where's the deal case, marked arrowroot, No. 24 1' she cried, reading out of 11 list she bad.—And poor little James went to sleep. The porters were bundling and carting the various harticles with no more ceremony than if each package had been of cannon-ball.

"At last—bang goes a package marked 'Glass,' and containing the Chayny bowl and Lady Bareacres mixture, into a large white bandbox, with a Trash and a sinujb. 'It 's My Lady's box from Crinoline's !' cries Mary Hann; and sheputs down the child on the bench, and rushes forward to inspect the datumidge. You could hear the Chayny bowls clinking inside; and Lidy B.'s mixture (which had the igsack smell of cherry brandy) was dribbling out over the smashed bandbox containing a white child's cloak, trimmed with Blown lace and lined with while salting.

"As James was asleep, and I was by this time uncommon hungry, I thought I would go into the Refreshment Room and just take a little soup; so I wrapped him up in his cloak and laid him by hia mamma, and went off. There 's not near such

good attendance aa at Swindon.

• • • • •

"We took our places in the carriage in the dark, both nf us covered with a pile of packages, and Mary Hann so sulky that she would not speak for some minutes. At last she spoke out—

"' Hare you all the small parcels?'

"' Twenty-three in all,' saya I.

"' Then giro me baby.'

"' Give You What?' says I.

"' Give me baby.'

"' What hare n't y-y-yoooo got him V says I.

"O Mossy! You should have heard her sreak!

re 'd left him on the ledge at Gloster.

"It all came of the break of gage."—Punch.


In furtherance of the objects of this roost useful charity, it is in contemplation to establish a school, for the purpose of preparing young ladies destined to be governesses, for the situations they are intended to fill. The necessity of teaching those who are to be teachers, and of instructing the governess how to govern, is obvious; the pupils, accordingly, will learn all the modern languages and accomplishments—geography, astronomy, the use of the globes, and so much of moral philosophy as includes the true principles of education. But as the social position of a governess is a peculiar one, being, as a novelty, rather uncomfortable, though, like a certain process to which eels are subjected, nothing when anybody is used to it, one great object of this school will be to familiarize the pupils with the life they may expect to lead. Its arrangements will therefore comprise a system of training calculated for the inculcation of an amount of practical as well as moral philosophy adequate to this purpose.

To the institution will be attached a servants' hall, wherein, at stated times, will attend a number of footmen and other menials, to intercourse with whom the future governess may be habituated, and whose insults and. impertinences she may learn betimes to put up with. A nursery will also be connected with it, in order to exercise her palienco in the management of refractory children, at which probation the students will take turns. The children will be selected from the most purseproud families, and their mammas will drop in every now and then, daily, and reprimand and find fault capriciously and unjustly with their preceptress, so as to inure her to such treatment. Some charitable ladies of great style in the vicinity of Hussell Square, have volunteered their services in this particular. One of these ladies will, moreover, preside regularly at dinner to teach (he language of looks, that the learner may understand, from a glance, when she is to refuse wine, or to decline another helping.

Evening parties will be given occasionally, in the schoolroom, and to them will be invited i number of agreeable men, that the "young persons" may know how to behave in society: that is, to i hold their tongues and sit still. For the due enforcement of these proprieties, one of the ladies aforesaid will also be present, accompanied by her daughters, by whom tho scholars are to be studiously snubbed, by way of a lesson to them in meekness under contumely. The novices, during leisure hours, are to sit in separate aparlmonts, accessible to ail the servants, u ho, however, will,

not be allowed to wait upon them, or bring them any refreshment, if hungry from the insufficiency of their meals. Their dresses are to be such aa a young lady can afford upon twenty pounds a year, finding herself in everything but her victuals, and not having, by half, as much of those as she can eat. Thus, it may be hoped, will governesses be provided with qualifications high enough, wants few enough, and spirit humble enough, to meet the views of any lady in the land.—Punch.


There is a paragraph in the Nonconformist, which states, that some genius has invented a musical bed, that begins to play a tune directly you lie down, and can be wound up to play another tune when you are desirous of waking.

There is one advantage about a bed of this description, namely, that yon can always rely on having it well aired by means of the favorite airs of some of the most popular composers. We should think, however, that there must be some tact required in adapting the musical compositions to the required purposes. It would be very injudicious, for instance, to attempt to send any one to sleep with a quadrille of Musard, while to try and wake any one up with a bit of Sebastian Bach, or a morccau of Juvenile-England classicality, would be equally preposterous. The invention certainly opens quite a new field to many of those longhaired and torn-down-collar composers, who will now have a splendid chance of bringing their composing talents to bear upon those who are soliciting the sometimes-obstinate Morpheus. There are several rising young men, who have been rising for the last twenty years, who are admirably adapted to ihe task of setting four-posts and French bedsteads to somniferous music. We presume that the idea has been taken from the Chamber concerts, which have recently become popular.

Considering the awful infliction it is, lo be compelled to hear the music of certain persons whom we could but will not name, the addition of their music to a bed might turn it into a regular lit de justice, or shocking instrument of cruelty.

The arrangement by which one is to be woke up at any hour, comprises a march, with drum and cymbal accompaniments. Such a charivari might not be always very welcome when it came; for, though one often goes to bed with a very valiant determination to get up very early, it is extremely natural to alter one's mind by the moming. If we often get angry wilh the person calling us, and disturbing our rest, whst should we say to the drums and cymbals going through a regular march, at a most unseasonable hour? For our own parts we should muffle the drums at once with our bolster, and suffocate the cymbals with our goosefeuihcr bed. Wc should recommend that, if the principle is carried out, the airs chosen should be appropriate to the kind of beds they might be adapted to. "Oh rest ihee, bahe, rest thee, babe," would do verv well for an infant's cot, while "Hisr, gentle Moon," would be suited lo the purpose of waking a celebrated alderman.—Punch.

A Cheaf Tair.—ITpwards of 7,000 tons of ■Travel have been shipped from New York since .September last for the purpose of beautifying the parks snd gardens of Ixmdnn. According to this, a Yankee domiciled in London would be able to tread again his native soil without going any farther than Hyde Park.—Punch.

From Chambers' Journal. USAGES OF SOCIETY

A Correspondent, a great stickler for etiquette, kinds us the following hints; a knowledge of which, however commonplace, he thinks may be useful to those not up to the mark in this weighty subject.

"I shall begin with calls. When you call at the house of an acquaintance, or indeed call anywhere, and do not happen to find the party at home, you should leave your card. Leaving your name will not do; because names left verbally are seldom correctly delivered, if delivered at all, and yonr call may be said to go for nothing. Your card is the enduring evidence of your visit. The card is one of the moat useful things in modern society. All are supposed to carry a small stock of these pasteboard representatives about with them, and the ?iving of one is very handy on many occasions. For example, in visiting, instead of sending in your name by a servant, hand in one of your cards, and then yon may be sure there will be no mistake.

"Having either seen your acquaintance, or left yonr card, it is now the duty of your acquaintance (supposing it is a call of ceremonial intercourse) to return the call within a reasonable time. If he do not call, you do not repeat your visit. And why »»? Because it may be his wish to drop your acquaintance, and your continuing to call on him may be disagreeable. Knowing that such is the rule, a second call from you seems like forcing yourself on his notice—a determination that he »hi!l not rid himself of you. The rule of call for nil, therefore, is on the whole not a bad one. It affords every one an opportunity of dropping an acquaintance when his society is no longer wanted, (a good society, no one ever complains that an acquaintance has not returned a call—the thing is silently dropped.

"Calls of ceremony, which are not usually performed till past one or two o'clock, are seldom expected to last more than ten or fifteen minutes, and, as everybody knows, are performed in a plain walking-dress. Gentlemen, in making forenoon oils, or attending soire'es, do not lay down their hat in the lobby, hut carry it in their hand into the morn, and never let it go, however long they stay. This is a very odd piece of etiquette, that has often am used roe. I frequently see gentlemen walking about a drawing-room for hours, each cuddling his hat below his arm, as if it were a crime to part with it even for a moment. A man might as conveniently carry about a child's drum under his arm; vrt he cannot well escape from the annoyance. If left in the hall at large parties, and worth the slealias. the unfortunate hat will m all probability be never more seen by its owner; for there appears to b* nothing like conscientiousness in the matter of tu;>> How fir the dread of losing the hat led to tie practice of parading about with it under the arm, is of little consequence. The modem custom of keeping fast hold of it during short or extempore ntits. is considered to indicate that you do not iitcrwl to stay any great length of lime, nor expect as invitation to remain to dinner, or any other meal; in short, that it is your design to vanish after a little friendly chit-chat. Thus, laughable as it seems, tWrs hi really a meaning, and not a bad meaning other, is the practice. A host who wishes you to mum, or at least not to go in a hurry, will beg to relieve you of your incumbrance. "Next as to invitations. When you ask a per

son to dinner, let it, if possible, be done a week or ten days in advance; because, to ask a person only a day or two days before, looks as if you had been disappointed of somebody else, and had asked him as a mere stop-gap. A short invitation is only allowable for off-hand parties, or with strangers who are passing through a town.

"When you invite a person to dinner, or any other party at your house, specify only one day. Don't say you will be glad to see him on either of two days, as Tuesday or Wednesday next. And why! Because this person may not wish to dine with or visit you at all; and so far from a choice of days being thought an act of kindness, it maybe considered one of servility, if not rudeness. Always state only one day; and let the invitation, like the answer, be unequivocal.

"Invitations for several weeks in advance are almost as bad as invitations for alternative days; because long invitations convey the impression that the inviter is desperately ill for guests, and wishes to insure a number at all risks. The person invited is also apt to feel that it is not his pleasure or convenience that is consulted; and to raise a feeling of this kind is anything but consistent with true politeness.

"The receiver of an invitation has a duty to perform as well as its giver. It is incumbent on him to say yes or no at once—not to allow a post or a day to elapse before answering. The reason is obvious: a delay on his part looks as if he were waiting for a better invitation before he made up his mind. Not to send a speedy reply, therefore, is one of the worst pieces of breeding of which a man can be guilty. It is also not using the inviter well: for a dinner party usually consists only of a certain number; and if you cannot accept the invitation, say so, in order that time may be allowed to invite another person in your place. Let the answer also be distinct: no uncertainty is allowable: and if the invitation be accepted, let it be kept.

"The answer to an invitation should be directed to the lady of the house. •

"I now come to the fulfilment of the engagement. Some time ago it was fashionable to be rather late—twenty minutes after the hour being considered a fair thing. Now, prompt to the hour is the rule, which is a great improvement. In attending two or three dinners lately, I found that all had assembled within the space often minutes.

"A drawing-room is the domain of ladies, and on entering, you first make your obeisances to the lady of the mansion, who is of course ready to receive you. Loading the ladies down stairs to the dining-room is a simple affair, yet one may be a novice in this as well as in everything else. The rule is, for the lady you take down to sit on your right hand, if that can be managed conveniently. But when you take down the lady of the house, you sit on her right hand—that is, you have the seat of honor. It will not do for any guest to rush forward to offer his arm to the ladyof the house. The honor of leading her down, if not assigned by the host to a favored guest, is taken by the most elderly gentleman, or by the party of Highest rank present. To save all doubt on this point, the host always asks one of the party to be so good as take Mrs. So-and-so down stairs. Where the party are generally strangers to each other, it is customary for the host to make a similar request to the other gentlemen as respects the other ladies. The host selects the lady of greatest consequence, and leads her off first. The hostess waits to go down last— sees all go down before her.

"In going down stairs, the lady should have the widest side, supposing the stair to hare a narrow and a wide side, as is the case with winding-stairs. Better, however, take the wrong side, than make any fuss about correcting so small an error.

"A custom, lately come in, seems to be deservedly gaining ground: instead of sitting at the top and bottom of the table, the host and hostess sit opposite each other at the middle; by which means they are more at ease, more in the centre of their guests, and better able to communicate with each other. George IV. adopted this practice twenty years ago: it is followed by the present queen. According to this arrangement, two persons can be accommodated at each end of the table—not a had point where there is limited accommodation.

"A dinner-party usually lasts four hours. If you go at six, you may order your carriage at ten: if at seven, it may come at eleven; and so on. What dinner hours are by and by to come to, I cannot tell. Not many years ago, dinner at five o'clock was thought mighty genteel; then we had half-past five; next came six, and six and a half— both of which are now general; but seven is also far from uncommon. That the fashionable dinner hour will be pushed on to eight, to nine, or to ten, is what we may reasonably expect. When it comes to this pass, will dinner bound back to its ancient hours, or will it be extinguished as a formal meal?

'• So much for dinners: now for a little about personal decoration: and here I address myself chiefly to ladies. In giving a dinner or evening party, take care to dress somewhat less elegantly than any of your expected guests; because, were you to dress much more elegantly, it might be supposed that you invited the party only to astonish them with your finery, or at least to show them that you could afford to dress better than they—a thing not likely to be agreeable to their feelings. As under-dressing may be considered disrespectful to guests, it is equally to be avoided with overdecoration. Good taste will suggest the proper medium.

"I must say a word on tokens of sympathy. 'If you wish me to weep, you must weep with me,' says the Roman poet. Quite reasonable this. If you wish to condole with a friend, you must at least employ the emblems of woe. In calling on an acquaintance who is in mourning, put on a little mourning also—don't go in flashy attire, out of character with the occasion. If your correspondent seals his letters with black, seal your replies with black also. These may be trifles, hut if they tend to give any one gratification, why not practise them? A thousand comforts in life depend on what are intrinsically trifles.

"The prompt answering of letters is considered an unequivocal mark of a gentleman and a man of business. Why is delay the reverse? Because not to answer a letter (supposing it deserves to be answered) is the same thing as not answering when you are spoken to; and everybody knows that that is had enough. Yet some people, who mean nothing wrong, but are only ignorant of what is due to

the feelings of others, are most remiss in the answering of letters, and will allow days and weeks to elapse before despatching a reply. When letters are conceived in an impertinent or intrusive spirit, it is of course allowable and reasonable to let them remain unanswered. Persons of notoriety, for example, who are pestered with letters on all sorts of frivolous subjects, frequently for no other purpo&e than to get hold of their autograph, may very excusably take some latitude in regard to this rule.

"In asking after the health of a person's relations, give each his or her proper name and title,

unless it be a child. Ask for Mrs. , or Miss

, and so on: never say, ' How is your wife?'

'I hope your daughter is well,' &c. Any such mode of address is intolerably over-familiar, and is almost certain to give offence. Calling persons 'My dear sir,' or ' My good fellow,' in speaking to them; also holding them by the button—an offence denounced by Chesterfield—are, for the same reason, objectionable."


The French are a polite nation; therefore we expect that they will return a compliment very largely paid them in this country. We allude to the adoption of cant terms borrowed from their language by British journalists, in order to denote the things and transactions of high-life. As, by calling the most fashionable sort of people the tlite or ton, and speaking of a dancing tea-party as a thi dansant; whereas it is the party that dances, not the Hyson ; and the tea is quite distinct from the caper.

Also, by describing a person of dignified demeanor as distingut instead of dignified, a root as a soirte, and a meat-breakfast as a dtjeuncr it la fourchctte, just as if everybody does not use a fork who has a Yarmouth bloater for that meal. If we, out of admiration for the French language, employ it when we might full as well talk plain English, the French ought surely to reciprocate the civility, particularly since we go out of our way in deference to them, often using a phraseology which is at the same time Frenchified and nonsensical. Accordingly, in their fashionable journals, we shall expect to find such announcements as the following :—

Hier an soir came off, a sa maison, dans la Rue St. Honore", le trrand hop de Madame La Comtesse De Vanille. La compagnie e"tail orne'e par presque tous les swells les plus lip-top.

Aujourd'hui, M. De donnera, ft son hotel, un spread magnifique ; oft plusieurs nobs de la premiere distinction se trouveront autour de sun mahogany.

On dit qn'il y a sur le Kidderminster une alliance nuptiale entre un Marquis bicn connu parmi les crack cercles, et une demoiselle de tin, heritiere a un millionaire Anglais.

Au plein tog et fancy ball de Madame De PafilLote, assisierent une foule de first-rate gens. L'affaire e'tait extremement spicy.

Our neighbors must really consent to a free interchange, amongst other commodities, of fashionable slang, or we shall never believe in the entente rordialc that they talk about.—Punch.

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