danseuse is entitled to a place by the side of illustrious legs. The ballet in question is called Le Caprice. We have already spoken of it, but it was then only talked of. It was announced only as a ballet in the cradle; now it is on its legs, and only waits the drawing of the fiddle-bow to walk. Madame Adele Dumilatre will dance the principal role; this role, it is said, will set off her talents in un éclat quite new. We doubt not but what Mademoiselle Dumilatre will obtain great success. The subject and the title of the work admirably suit a pretty danseuse; these demoiselles know so well what caprice is?

has lost none of her bloom nor gayety, and who waltzes still as one waltzes at twenty. The tenors and counter-tenors of the comic opera formed the male battalion, if, indeed, the Comic Opera really knows what is called tenor and counter-tenor. The Royal Academy did not consider it derogatory to their character to go and dance with their second cousin the Comic Opera; and the Italian Theatre went himself, like a good prince. As to the Vaudeville, you may imagine it felt honoured with the invitation, and ate an abundance of ices in token of fraternity and gratitude. Madame Volnys raised her dark eyebrows on one side, Madame Doche smiled on the other; here Mademoiselle Here is some real news! Our colonies are endeavouring Nathalie made the tail of the cat, while the blushing Rose- to cultivate the dramatic art at the foot of the Atlas; and Cherie hazarded an avant-deux; Madame Page, her soft some of these days we expect to see some famous ut de paleness and white shoulders of little Duchess; and Made-poitrine taken in the midst of a razzia under the banners moiselle Boisgontier assumed her air of tambour-major. of General Lamoriciere. In a coming bulletin we shall Talk to me of these balls of artists, where no one has any-read:-" Three hundred prisoners, two hundred fusils, four thing to conceal from the other, where the lively sallies burst forth with the champagne! Horses of pure blood do not prance at the door; but the humble cabriolet and the modest citizen carry away more joy and more pleasure from such a night than all the splendid equipages of Mesdames the Duchesses gallop with in a whole year!

hundred camels, twelve hundred sheep, an ancient cadi engaged to play the Caliph of Bagdad, two lovers escaped from the fanaticism of d'Abd-el- Kader, (the monster!) and three figurantes danseuses of the Revolte au Serail. It is said that the rat (style of scenery) begins to spring up and progress in the provinces of the old Jugurtha," etc. How

compatriots are making colonies of the drama, at the same time with the settlements in the plains of Metidjah. Here is what a correspondent writes:

The tribunals have still attracted attention this week.ever, things are not yet in so prosperous a state, and our Poulman's lawsuit has ended, condemning to death the ac. cused person. The ex-notary Lehon, condemned at Paris for abuse of confidence, then sent to be tried at the assizes at Lyons, has been acquitted by the jury. The Journal du "The city of Constantine is becoming French; the proof Loiret informs us on this occasion of one of those fabulous of this is in the erection of a theatre. This exploring comstories of devotedness before which we must bow. Anpany is under the direction of M. Roubaud, and draws naaged woman, whose whole fortune, amounting to a considerable sum, Lehon had lost, gave herself up, from a feeling of charity, to partake the captivity of him who had stripped her of all her wealth. This woman of unequalled piety became a prisoner, in order to remain with Lehon, and give him the attention and consolations his condition required. Before he was taken to Orleans she went before him to prepare his lodgings in the prison.

tive amateurs as well as the European population."

"Monseigneur, the Duke d'Aumale, gives the theatre from his private purse six hundred francs a year, as long as he commands in the province. He amuses himself very much at the theatre, which he constantly attends."

66

Among the number of pieces represented, we mention, The Yellow Gloves, and the Apprentice, vaudevilles, in which the humour of M. Henri and the enthusiasm of Madame Roubaud are highly applauded."

"A colossal drama has been tried on our stage; the famous Tower de Nesle served for the debut of Madame Lovendal, who conciliated the public from the very first salutation."

site style."

The news is a cheat. We were promised Mademoiselle Cerito, but she has not come. Mademoiselle Cerito is jest. ing with us. She makes one step towards the Opera, and then goes back again. Twenty times we have been told: "Mademoiselle Cerito has come to us with her lightest foot!" Mouths are opened, every one holds himself ready "M. Armand, in the roles of Achard, does very well; we to clap his hands. Your servant! No Cerito. She goes to must not forget the grateful Madame Roubaud; and MadeNaples, to London, to Milan, to Vienna; in short, every-moiselle Ambroisine, who attracts attention by her exqui. where but to Paris, where she is so ardently desired. I know very well that this is the method of Galetée; but at last Galetée allows herself to be taken under a willow. Mademoiselle Cerito is still retreating; is it that she may We are assured that, after the denunciations of the jourbe run after? However, one gets tired of running, loses nals to M. the Prefect of Police, that which contributed the breath, and even the most patient Tytire would, after a most to the correction of the orthographical error on Motime, send Galetée to the devil. Let Mademoiselle Ceritolière's monument, was the following billet addressed to the reflect, if she ever means to take Paris for her Tytire. When she gets ready it may be too late; the shepherd may have found another shepherdess.

For want of Mademoiselle Cerito, Mademoiselle Taglioni was announced. Very well; we have neither. It is decided, the sylphides will have nothing more to do with us! But, since they are so disdainful, let us be proud in our turn. Adieu, then, ungrateful sylphides! adieu, Cerito and Taglioni! You refuse us the honour of your presence. Let it pass. Have we not Carlotta Grisi, who is worth as much as you, after all; and Mademoiselle Dumilatre, who will do her best to cut cross-capers in your tracks? Mademoiselle Adele is to try her skill in your career within a month; this new attempt will positively decide whether the pretty

"To sum up all, the prince, the public, and the director are equally satisfied."

edile of the artistical capital:

"To MONSIEURR R. RAMBUTEAU, Prrefect of the Seine. You had betterr rrun and prrocure two private sentinels for the fountain of Molièrre, in orderr to guarrd the two R R's of the AvaRRe.

Yourr grreat admirerr."

WRITING A STORY.

"I can't make a speech, but if any gentleman wishes to do so, I'll hold his hat!"

It would be strange, indeed, if the "regular contributors" to our periodical literature never admitted into their produc. tions an errour in expression or metaphor. Their sketches must necessarily oftentimes be "sent into this breathing

world" without time for correction, and the reconsideration of their many parts; the only wonder, therefore, is, that a greater number of them are not liable to the censure of being "scarce half made up."

"Oh, you're cooling off, are you?" joyously inquired a young man, who had until now remained silent.

"Not at all," said Pembrook, though not boldly, and evi. dently piqued at the last remark.

leisure."

"Well, where are the paper and ink?" asked he, in a tone almost implying his entire confidence that they were not at hand.

Many there are who will rail in turn at a story, the writer, "Well, give us a single chapter to-night, then," suggestand the journal; for what? Is the story deficient in plot ored Saunders, " and you may write the remainder at your incident? Does it present a false picture of nature or of society? Or has the writer introduced characters that are calculated to offend the sense of delicacy and refinement? None of these. Well, then, to what, in the name of good nature and common sense, do you object? "Why--ahem! the truth is, I don't like the author's vein!" Ah, indeed!|| Well, my dear sir, you are probably one in a hundred; there may be ninety-nine who sympathize and feel at home with the writer, to you who do not.

“Ah! yes,” tauntingly said Frank, “I can accommodate you,” and he stepped into the next room. Presently returning, he placed upon the table pens, ink and paper, and then politely requested Pembrook to favour them with a story. Pembrook sat down at the table, and, seizing a pen, commenced writing; he wrote as far as what appeared to be the title, then hesitated, then commenced again, and had been writing two or three minutes. All were silent, though they could scarcely remain so, because of a crisis expected. || "The Mysterious Hunter!" exclaimed, or rather scream

Dear reader, a word with you, which I did not like to say to my friend, though I cannot resist the inclination to say it of him. He has literary pretensions. I am sorry I cannot let you "judge of the tree by its fruit;" for, the fact is, it has produced none, (save and except, perhaps, a newspaper paragraph or so; which, by the way, is, more properly speak-ed the young man I have before mentioned, who had been ing, not fruit, but a sort of blossoming;) but, no matter, he for a moment looking over Pembrook's shoulder. The lathas literary pretensions! and judging, very correctly, (it must ter gentleman started up from the chair in a pet, and threw be instinct, though,) that he can never attain to the emi- the pen into the fire, while a burst of laughter escaped from nence others have gained, he appears determined upon all in the room, (except himself.) equality at least, and therefore zealously endeavours to pull the ladder from under them, and thus reduce them to his level. Friend, thou mayest never reach "the topmost round" while thou labourest at the bottom!

66 Oh, it is capital!" exclaimed Frank Hammond, who had just been reading to three or four friends from a book which lay open upon his table.

Capital title, that!" exclaimed Frank. "Beautiful!" ejaculated Saunders.

"So perfectly romantic!" cried he who had announced it, still holding on to his sides.

"Well, who could write anything upon the spur of the moment?" angrily asked Pembrook.

64

"John Pembrook, Esquire!" coolly replied Saunders; a young gentleman who was here a short time since, and

"What's capital?" asked young Pembrook, at that mo- proposed writing a tale in half an hour." ment entering.

"Give him a chance," said Frank. "Let us meet one

"Good evening, Jack; take a seat," said Frank, without week from to-night, and if Jack does not bring an original regarding the question.

"Good evening, gentlemen; but, Frank, let's hear that capital idea of yours."

"Ten to one you won't agree with him," said Saunders, exchanging a glance with Frank, "it's the story he commenced the other evening; however, Frank-" "Stuff!" ejaculated Pembrook.

sketch, let him forfeit opera-tickets."

"Very well," said Pembrook, "I agree to it; good night." When he had gone, his friends indulged in another hearty laugh.

"Ah, he has left his manuscripts," said Frank; "well, Sol, we'll appoint you reader, as you commenced it for us." "He had not gone far into the story, but here it is:

"Why, Jack,” interposed Frank, “it's absolutely of noOn a gloomy and disagreeable day in November, 18— purpose to talk to you about these matters. I never saw a fellow in all my life with so little sentiment."

"Sentiment, eh? Why, my dear fellow, can you discover any sentiment in that confounded story? Balderdash !" "Oh, you're mistaken," said Frank, "it's not balderdash, by any means."

"Continue reading," proposed Saunders, as he would have done before had not Pembroke interrupted him by crying "stuff," "continue reading, and he'll be convinced."

"Oh, no, no! I'm obliged to you. I've read it all, and found it 'flat, stale and unprofitable' enough, so don't trouble yourself, Frank."

"Just let me read to you," said Frank, "about five lines here, conveying a delicate touch of fancy that-"

"Delicate touch of humbug!" warmly exclaimed Pembrook. "I tell you there's not a single sentence in the whole production, or in all the man ever wrote, that ought to be saved from oblivion. I'll bet you an opera-ticket, I could sit down, and in half an hour write a more ingenious sketch than that same thing you praise so."

"I take your bet," quickly but quietly responded Frank. "Oh, well," returned Pembrook, "I don't exactly mean a half hour."

just as the mantle of night was falling upon the forest of B-, two horsemen, engaged in earnest conversation, suddenly dashed across a small opening in the wood, and were again hidden by the density of the surrounding forest. || The horses were sweating and foaming at the bit, and the riders were covered with dust. The elder of the two was dressed-' That's all."

"So far so good," said Frank; “but I think I've heard something like that before. However, let's see what he'll bring us next Thursday evening. You'll be here?" "Yes."

"And you?"
"Yes, all."

Thursday evening came. So did Pembrook, and the rest. But Pembrook, upon entering, laid no neat little roll upon the table, nor did he put his hand to his coat pocket, as if to assure himself that he had safely stowed there what would shortly" astonish the natives." Still, he might have a manuscript with him, and, although his friends could see nothing of it, his air of calm decision almost satisfied them that he would presently produce it. For some time, no allusion was made to what was uppermost in the minds of all;

but, after they had impartially discussed and exhausted roundly asserted that Napoleon did not know his duty at several topics with philosophic patience, and as Pembrook Waterloo; and they clearly demonstrated to the whole cirhad not produced the evidence of his ability to write a story|cle, or the whole table, where he erred, and where they at all, much less in half an hour, they commenced calling as lustily for the story as did the citizens of Rome to hear Cæsar's will.

"Come, we've waited with a good deal of patience to 66 out with it." have you bring forth that story," said Frank; "Yes, the story, the story!" cried all. "Sol," said Saunders, "read the title for him." "Have you continued the story of the Mysterious Hunter," said Sol, smiling, "or have you written upon the 'Beacon of the Night, or the Illuminated Lamp-post,' eh?" "Gentlemen," said Pembrook, drawing himself up as if for an effort, yet with an air of perfect good humour, "I've come to the conclusion that, however simple and easy the idea of writing a story is in the abstract, it becomes quite another thing when we attempt to put it into practice." "Bravo!" cried Frank.

"Glad you're satisfied of it," said Saunders.

"Now, Jack," said Frank, "I perceive you're coming to your senses, and I want to ask you, candidly, don't you think it better to acknowledge the beauties a work contains, than to be constantly harping upon what you conceive to be its errours, and thereby endeavouring to cast ridicule upon the author, whose talents you should respect?"

"Well, I don't know but what you are right," answered Pembrook, somewhat reluctantly.

"Now that point is settled," said Sol, "let's pass to the next, id est, the Opera. When do you pay those tickets?" "To-morrow night, if you like."

"Very well, to-morrow then; and Jack-don't criticise so harshly hereafter, or make rash promises of deeds to be done in half an hour."

It is scarcely necessary to say that Pembrook now regards these feuilletons in a more tolerant spirit, never indulging in his former vein of hypercriticism.

ANNE.

THERE is a pensiveness in quiet Anne,
A mournful drooping of the full, gray eye,
As if she had shook hands with Misery,

And known some care since her short life began ;

Her cheek is seriously pale, nigh wan,
And, though of cheerfulness there is no lack,
You feel as if she must be dress'd in black;
Yet is she not of those who, all they can,
Strive to be gay, and striving, seem most sad,—
Hers is not grief, but silent soberness;
You would be startled if you saw her glad,
And startled if you saw her weep, no less;
She walks through life, as, on the Sabbath-day,
She decorously glides to church to pray.

J. R. L.

THE letter which precedes the admirable poetry below was not intended for publication, but we cannot resist the pleasure of giving its good sense and charity to the public.

TO THE EDITORS OF THE NEW MIRROR.

GENTLEMEN: In some of the public "obituaries" published of the late, Nicholas Biddle, I have noticed this flippant remark: "He also was something of a poet." Everybody who knew him bears willing testimony to his mild and gentle manner-his courtesy, his kindness, and every quality that fitted him to discharge the duties of social life. He was a gentleman in every acceptation of the word. I leave his financial abilities to the better judgment of those who understand these matters better than I do-perhaps the least of them would have managed affairs better than he did. I say perhaps, because, time and oft, I have heard grave discussions, and sometimes gay ones, in which many have

(had they been Napoleon) would have seized advantages which he overlooked. Being myself neither financier or general, I can pass no opinion on these grave matters; but one thing I will venture to say, and that is, that the following lines, written twenty-two years ago, (long before the bank war,) are from the pen of the late Nicholas Biddle, written at the period when he exchanged his residence on his farm to the presidency of the bank. If any man, after reading them, is in doubt as to their poetic merit, let him try and show how far he can surpass them. The subject, to be sure, is a light one, and therefore may be the more easy to compass and manage. Yours,

S. S. T.

The following lines were written in 1822. To make
them intelligible, it should be said that, on a former occa-
-'s album; that now
sion, Mr. B. had written in Miss
he sent it back with a refusal, and that he had just before
exchanged his residence in the country for his confinement
in the bank:-

Time was, when to see thee, fair lady, alone
Would 'wake into verse this cold bosom of stone;
But now thy commands, all unchanged as thou art,
Cannot kindle the fancy, nor soften the heart.
So unequal our fates, since that scythe-bearing Time,
Appeased by thy beauty, provoked by my rhyme,
Though he folded his wings, and muffled his tread,
And passed without touching a hair of your head,
As he came by my farm, cut me down to a cit,
And dispersed my whole stock of merinos and wit.
If you think this some pretext made up for my wife,
Only look at my dwelling, and think of my life.
Not a mummy, wrapt up in his pyramid hall,
Nor the toads, that live on for whole years in a wall.
Nor the famed iron mask, breathe more sadness and gloom,
Than I when inclosed in my vast marble tomb,
Midst vaults of cold stone, and huge chests of dark iron,
That would quell all the fancy of Shakspeare or Byron.
Alas! had the ancients, who often surpass us

In their pure golden age, fixed a bank on Parnassus,
What an exquisite trial such a model to follow-
Only think now, to sign one's bank-notes like Apollo !
But that rake of Olympus, too happy to rove,
Would have scorned to make money and ceased to make love;
And the Muses, whose sex scarcely brooks their protectors,
Have a true female scorn of all sorts of Directors.
"Tis fiercely avenged though, for Banks, where they know it,
Feel a horror that warns them to shun every poet;
And, since the first rhyme, the Muse's fond votary,

If ever he's trusted, soon goes to the notary.
Even I, sainted ladies, who, fixed on my farm,
Though you never would visit me, wished you no harm-
Even I would exchange, shall I dare to confess t'ye all,
For one sheet of bank-notes the whole quire celestial.
I prefer my last letter, from Barings or Hope,
To the finest epistles of Pliny or Pope;
My "much esteemed favours from Paris," to those
Which brought on poor Helen an Iliad of woes;
One lot of good bills from Prime, Bell or the Biddles,
To whole volumes of epics, or satires, or Idylls;
Nay, two lines of plain prose, with a good name upon it,
To the tenderest fourteen ever squeezed in a sonnet.
Why, I would not accept, not for Hebe's account,
The very best draft from Helicon's fount;

Nor give-this it grieves me to say to their faces-
More than "three days of grace" to all the three Graces.
Then their music of spheres! what more soul-thrilling sound
Than kegs of hard dollars all rolling around;
And Cecilia herself, though her lyre was divine,
Never gave to the world notes equal to mine.
I'll be judged by the fair sex, and if she deny it,
Will go down to the fish-market with her and try it.
But we've parted in peace now-I never shall quarrel
That all my wide branches can furnish no laurel;
And awaked from illusions, am calmly content
To revel in discounts and quarters per cent.
While my bank is my goddess, its desks are my altars,
And all my "fine phrenzy" is spent on defaulters.
So unless, like the sculptor of old, in this stone
You can wake inspiration as pure as thine own,
Be it mine, while no scribbling your tablet defaces,
Though out of your books, to keep in your good graces.

THE NEW MIRROR.

DIARY OF TOWN TRIFLES.

(KEPT REGULARLY FOR THE NEW MIRROR.)

"If trifles engage and if trifles make us happy, the true reflection suggested by the experiment is upon the tendency of nature to gratification and enjoyment."-Paley.

moss"

like as "regular a spoon" as could be wished by those who are compelled to look up to him-his wife, apparently, of the same utensil capacity.

The dwarf at Peale's Museum, Rado Scauf, (that he should ever have been thought worth baptizing !) is a sweetwith heels to them. A two-fingered lady's glove would make faced minion, with feet in boots looking like two cockroaches him an ample pair of trowsers, and his walking-stick is a sizeable toothpick. He has fine eyes, and would look like plenty, ladies would carry them in their pockets-portable a nice lad, through a magnifying glass. If such bijous were garter-claspers and glove-buttoners. Fancy the luxury! It were worth a Yankee's while to send a venture to Lilliput, to import them.

Ir will cut up for a fact, when you have done using it as a pun, that "the first sign of spring in the city is the prevalence of spring-carts." (I borrow this of the author and lend him, in return, an analogy of my own discovering-between sidewalks and green pastures-the simultaneous outbreak of dandy-lions with the first warm weather.) Oh, the moving! But should be remembered by those who groan over the universal exposure of household gods and shabby furniture on May-day, that when it ceases, our now mobile republic will harden into a monarchy. The " of aristocracy is not "gathered" by the "rolling stone." People must live long in one place to establish superiority the public, but even more praiseworthy to serve self and In these "consideration" times, it is praiseworthy to serve for themselves or to allow it in others. Mrs. Splitfig, the public in one venture. WILEY AND PUTNAM have made their grocer's wife, is but just beginning to submit patiently to the bookstore most frequentable for facility of purchase by pubairs of Mrs. Ingulphus, the banker's wife, when May-day lishing elaborate catalogues of such books as are "moving," comes round, and away she goes with her tin and crockery || (in bookseller phrase,) well classified and with prices anon a spring-cart, to start fair again with some other pre- nexed. This is the kind of enterprise that goes ahead of tender, in some other neighbourhood. "Old families" are || fortune-making like sappers at the head of a regiment. To of little use without old neighbours to keep the record. The subduing of neighbourhoods is (at present) the battle of Pretension with a Hydra-one set of heads sliced off, a new set is ready to come on. So, long live our acquaintance with the shabby sides of easy-chairs, and the humilities of bedding and crockery. Some fifty May-days hence, we shall be ready to stop shaking the sugar-bowl, satisfied that the big lumps are all at the top!

The most courted value in New-York at the present time is unquestionably the "nimble sixpence." The new omnibuses that have been put upon the different lines within a week or two are of a costliness and splendour that would have done for a sovereign's carriage in the golden age. Claret bodies, silver-plated hubs and yollow wheels, cut velvet linings and cushions, and all to tempt the once unconsidered SIXPENCE to get up and ride! (Query-as to the superiority of the "Mirror held up to nature" over the NEW MIRROR held up to sixpence ?)

The racing of omnibuses seems to be agreeable to inside passengers, since it might always be prevented by pulling the check-string-but to those who have the temerity or the dangerous necessity to cross Broadway, it is become a frightful evil. King Sixpence could regulate it very easily, if he had his wits about him. As was said before, the checkstring is always obeyed. Terrified ladies who chance to have no fancy for riding races in Broadway, should be reminded of this leather preservative.

Those who have the bold wish to tamper with their standard of human nature can now be gratified, as there are giants at one museum and a dwarf at the other. Mr. and Mrs. Anak, at the American Museum, are certainly two very tall people-more tall than comely. The flat-chested and gaunt lady looks as if she had been lengthened with a rolling pin-her length entirely at the expense of her intermediate belongings. Not so the husband, who is a thick-lipped, big-eyed, double-fisted, knoll-backed, and thick-tongued overgrowth. For one, I do not like to have my notions of human stature unsettled, and I abhor giants. Six-feet stature is undervalued by familiarity with seven-as diamonds would be ruined by the discovery of a few as large as potatoes. I am happy to console the eclipsed six-footers and under, by the information that this large vessel of human nature does not seem intended to hold more soul. He looks

those who are purchasing books, by the way, and who live in the country, these catalogues would often save the expense and trouble of a journey, as they can be mailed for a trifling expense, and the books ordered by letter.

throngs-Captains Roe and M'Lean the principal pathmasThe well-watered road to Albany is ready for its summer ters. We must go the length of saying that a road more having said what nonsense there was to say, let the North free from ruts we have never travelled on wheels. And so, river be congratulated on the re-appearance of the noble Empire and Swallow, Highlander, Knickerbocker, and Troy, the magnificent boats upon her bosom; and let those who promenade these floating streets, in their transit, be. lieve forthwith in the flying through the air of the brick and mortar chapel of Loretto. Truly a passage up in the Empire fine scenery, and the happiness of a chat with the agreeable is ample stuff for pleasure and astonishment, let alone the captain across the capstan.

THE BREVIARY.

simple air. It is in the old fashion-of putting all there is
HERE is a point-blank song which would go well to a
to be said in the two first lines of the verse, and diluting
away all the pungency of it by the remainder. Very like
the Irish way of taking a dram neat, and drinking the water
afterwards :-

Tell me, now that thou art mine,
Why thou wert not sooner so:
Did thy bosom ne'er repine,
When thy lips had answer'd-no?
When I call d'up visions bright
From the realms of hope and bliss,
Did thy fancy shun the sight?

Did thy wishes fly my kiss?
What! and wouldst thou have me tell
How my foolish heart was won?
Wouldst thou have me break the spell,
Ere its whole sweet work is done?
Many a year the same light chain

That has bound me now, shall last;
And I fear 'twould fall in twain,
Were a glance but on it cast.

Here is some humorous poetry, in a vein wholesome and
commendable :-

In a Devonshire lane, as I trotted along
"T other day much in want of a subject for song,
Thinks I to myself, (perhaps inspired by the rain)
Sure marriage is much like a Devonshire lane!

Miss Landon was a woof of a more changeable thread, and here is a tribute to fidelity in love, done after her fashion:

Are other eyes beguiling, Love?

Are other rose-lips smiling, Love?
Ah, heed them not; you will not find
Lips more true, or eyes more kind,