pearance, but alas, was now verging toward December. My friend soon after my arrival called cordially, and the next evening, a darky thrust into my hand a card, directed in a fine crow-quill hand to "Ichabod Singleton, Esq.," the contents of which were as follows: "Miss Sophronia Syllabub, at home-Wednesday evening I recognized the daughter of my friend, in the address, but its singularity brought out the ungallant phrase "The d-l she is"My landlady explained, (as the blackamoor was off in an instant) that it intended an invitation to a dance, and nothing of doubtful morality. Heavily passed the hours till the moment arrived, which was to resuscitate me as a fashionable. The intermediate space was occupied by the common avocations of existence, to which was superadded the amusement of gazing from the window upon travellers as they slipped, hobbled or tripped along the thronged streets. But the all important hour approached, and 8 o'clock found me at my friend's, who ushered me into a brilliantly lighted saloon, where were the young and the fair impatiently waiting for the commencement of the dance. The half suppressed flourish of the clarionet, and the demisemiquaver squeak of the fiddle, proclaimed that all was on the eve of readiness. When I entered, I felt the due weight of character appended to my blue coat, long Marseilles vest, stockinett pantaloons, powdered hair, and black ribbon queue. The youngest turned the bright eye of admiration toward me, and all smiled an overweening welcome. Happy was I to see, that twenty years had worn off the crust of reserve in the fair sex, and that I was to receive a portion of its benefits. "Allow me," quoth mine host, "to introduce you, &c." This sounded rather strange, but did not appear more singular than that there had been a wonderful transformation in the ladies' waists. Formerly they resembled the foretopsail of a man of war, clewed up upon her arrival in port, but now they had become transformed to hour glasses, and each body was squeezed into two inverted cones. Among the gentlemen similar transformations were apparent. The unmentionable under dress of the fair sex was adopted for pantaloons, beneath which sticks or legs might have been concealed-bob minor coat tails were in vogue, and when a gentleman bowed to you, he resembled Taurus in the almanack, or a frozen pitch mop.Young ladies wore caps and older ones went without; probably there had been a fever amongst the younger class, but I was so busy in peering into bright eyes around me, and expending my stock of small talk, that I did not materially criticise the outward man or woman who came in contact with me. Anon, the fiddle struck up, a signal was given, and dancing commenced. My friend urged me to join, which I declined, until my apologies would no longer be received, and I was introduced to some seven or eight ladies, who all were either engaged, or had the headach, and I then thought, that I was fairly excused-but my friend introduced me at last to a jolly, roguish eyed girl, who consented, with almost an eager readiness. I made her a bow of ninety degrees, which rather incommoded my near neighbour, (it was what they call a jam) and was leading her to take a place for a contra-dance, when she informed me that a cotillion was the figure,-and sure enough there we were, eight of us in a circle like a boxing ring. I apologized for not understanding any thing about this manœuvre, but she assured me that the negro fiddler would tell us all about it, and I consented to run the gauntlet of trial. We were stationed at the bottom of the octagon, when the negro bawled out, "Forward and back too"-How is that possible, thought I? But a young sylph came sidling, fronting, and sweeping up to me, in a most condescending manner, wherefore I could do no less than to make her one of my prettiest bows. "Opposite gentlemen the same," quoth Cuff. At this my partner told me, I must dance,-whereupon, nothing loth, I commenced a double shuffle on my post, which, I defy any man of my age to excel. I always prided myself on my activity in this particular, and had just commenced the operation with my eyes to the ceiling, when I felt my feet entangled, and looking down, found I had disarrayed my fair partner of lots of roses, and two yards of flounce or flummediddle, which skirted the lower part of her dress. On this I turned swiftly to apologize, and the superfluity of coat swung in the opposite direction like the snapper of a whip, directly into the eyes of a child of my friend's wife. I had scarcely anticipated a word of apology in front, before the cry of distress arose in the rear, and turning rapidly again, to ascertain the cause of outcry, and finding that the diabolical flounce and my legs were again in chancery, I pitched head foremost into the bread basket of a sputtering Frenchman, and he, myself, and those old boon companions, the shovel and tongs, to say nothing of the fire fender, were packed, like a barrel of herrings in the chimney corner. The French man laid hold of my quieu to assist him in rising, and before I had fairly got the better of my neighborly grievances, and regained a perpendicular, he began a mongrel dialect of swearing and vituperance at and concerning my coat "mit de tail, and le barbare, who no comprendre le cotillion." I abused him in good set French, and threatened to poke him up chimney for laying profane hands upon my quieue, a; ologized to my fair partner for the discomfiture of the flounce, kissed the child, wiped my (former) white vest, which had suffered from an intimacy with the superincumbent tongs, and forswore dancing. It would have driven Socrates mad to have witnessed the half concealed grins and titillations of mirth which had beset the whole present community of human bipeds. My friend, by way of comfort, took me aside, and advised me to throw aside my idolized coat, abjure quieu and powder, and go to a tailor's, assuring me that with my good sense and literary acquirements, I probably might obtain the admiration of both sexes. I thanked him, but assured him I had seen enough of fashionable life. He urged me to stay to supper, which I did-what was it? blanc mange, alias smoked bonny clabber-masses of corruption, called jelly-raw bacon, cut into thin slices like holy wafer cakes-washed down with that villainous compound of all liquors called noyeau. I tasted of all, went home and took an emetic. Misfortunes, like wild geese, come in flocks. Miss sent me a note of sorrow, (I hope without her father's knowledge) that I should so have insulted her party, by my dress-and the ape of a Frenchman forwarded a challenge, for calling him a baboon. To the former I expressed my regret, that I was thus ignorant of modern etiquette, and promised to release her from further anxiety on this head, and to the latter sent a reply that I would beat him into a quail-trap, for meddling with my quieu. Sitting as I do now, by the fire-place at the side of my spectacled aunt, and reflecting upon my adventures as they dance over the magic lanthorn of memory, there is much for speculative musing. The inconsistencies of fashion and of existence; of philosophy and of Frenchmen; of bachelors, fire fenders, pretty girls and pokers, leave lessons for grave instruction and sober application. Custom, like the nightmare, rides us to weariness, and none have enough of independence to shake off the elf. Fashion holds the scale of opinion, and a man is as much indebted to his tailor as to his classics, for honest fame and even a moderate share of literary reputation. And yet Fashion is inconsistent with itself. A Proteus in metamorphosis, to-day it is frightened with its imaginary elegance of yesterday. Oh, thou ill-fated, well-buttoned, narrow-backed, interminable coat which once whisked thy graceful appendage, with so much of pride in the assemblies of other days! how hast thou beaten down those aerial castles betokening conquest and renown among the rosy domains of bright eyes and fluttering hearts? Tempora mutantur, et nos mutamur illis-the enterpretation of which is, "Ichabod, the glory of thy house has departed." ICHABOD. CHRISTABELLE. "Now speed thee, page, now speed thee, page, O'er mountain and o'er lea, And swift as is the flight of thought, Thy gallant courser be; The life-blood ebbs full quickly, boy, Then take this raven curl, Press'd with my dying kiss, to her Dost weep, thou gentle boy, dost weep, When the proud trumpet's swell Shall lull the warrior to his rest! Mov'd not that gentle boy, though fast, More fierce the conflict grew. Like the big rain-drops on the wave, That fall and pass away, His tears unnotic'd fell, nor dimm'd The sun of triumph's ray. VOL. 1.-No. 3. The field of Agincourt is won,— But wherefore do the brave, The stern old veterans bend their brows, And weep o'er yonder grave? That fair boy's pure fidelity Might claim a sigh full well, But warriors shed no tears for man These mourn o'er Christabelle. KN. EARLY DAYS OF SHAKSPEARE. A few years ago, while on a tour through the three kingdoms, I visited Stratford on Avon, consecrated as the birthplace of Shakspeare. My first object, like that of all travellers, was to see the poet's house, and on my way thither, I passed sweet Avon. Unconscious of the genius of the place, I went by the domicil of Shakspeare without knowing it, and, on returning, my attention was rivetted by an inscription over the door of a butcher's shop, painted red, "This is the house in which the immortal Shakspeare was born." The appearance of this rude edifice seemed to pall association at once. My morning dreams, my nightly visions, all centered in the belief, that the mansion of Shakspeare stood uncontaminated and alone-a shining mark for posterity The owner, a middle aged lady, conducted myself and friend up stairs, into a narrow room, which she pointed out as the birth-place of the poet. In this room it might have been supposed that poverty had taken her last abode--no plaster, no paper, no furniture except a chair and table, while the rough walls were literally covered with names. Every one was disposed to leave some remembrance of his pilgrimage; but I learned with regret, from the good lady, that the former occupant of the house, a malicious woman, to revenge herself for being obliged to leave it, actually rubbed out the most important signatures, among which, were the King's, the Emperor of Russia's, and that of Lord Byron; she had taken great pains to restore them, but many were still indistinct. I was gratified to learn, however, that a townsman, to preserve in perfection such as might come |