ELEMENTS OF THOUGHT. WORDS IN SEASON FROM NAPOLEON. Ir the stability of a Government require a predominant faith, its tranquillity is opposed to a domineering religion. (Alluding to the Roman Catholic.) There are storms, which are instrumental to the strengthening of a Government in its roots. The maintenance of the law, in its rules and forms, is the palladium of civil liberty. The throne is an irresistible magnet; no sooner are we seated upon it, than we are infected with a species of contagion which the best cannot avoid. The right, which is universally acknowledged amongst all nations, is that of scrupulous reciprocity. Undisciplined bravery has sometimes succeeded on land; but never at sea. The crimes of children are, in frequent instances, the fruits of the vicious education they have received from their parents. How deserving are men of the contempt they inspire? Behold yon resolute republicans! I have but to gild their vestments, and every one of them becomes my servant. I found a crown lying upon the ground, and stooped to pick it up. We should never deprive princes of the inheritance of whatever good they do, or whatever eloquence escapes their lips. Virtue, like all things else, has its limits. Whoever pretends to travel beyond them is most commonly a hypocrite. My enemies hold rendezvous around my grave; but let him look to it who is last there. Of Talleyrand he said, "Nothing need create less surprise than his wealth. Talleyrand sells those who buy him." Of a Russian Count he observed, "I was perfectly aware the youth was a reptile, but I did not think he was a viper." THE FUTURE PROSPECTS OF EUROPE AND ferior power, who has the occupation of Boulogne and Brest. The wide separation of Russia and England, leaves no adjacent field of combat, on which they might measure their forces, and decide the contest; and England, it is now evident, can best preserve the independence and prosperity of Europe by preserving peace; and her surest weapon is the communication of her own knowledge and liberty; before which, barbarism, however potent, must bow, and stirred up by which, vassals, however depressed, will rise up and shake off the yoke. While Britain counterbalances the ascendency of Russia in the west, she will divide with her the supremacy of the east, and have for her share the fairest, if not the most extensive, portion of Asia. They are the two great antagonist powers in the old world, opposite in their nature as in their influence-the one physically, the other morally great-the one at present retarding, the other ac celerating, the march of European society; but both ultimately destined to be instruments of political changes, which will give a new face to the institutions of the ancient Continent. As the balance of power is shifting among the nations that compose European confederation, it is chan ging also in the component parts of each individual state; and the struggle for political liberty is begun, which can only terminate with the general acquisition of free institutions. This tendency to freedom it is every way the interest of Britain to foster and protect. Despotic kings are truly her natural enemies, who must inevitably wish to destroy those institutions which are of so bad example to their own subjects; and it is only from freemen, actuated by a similar spirit, that she can expect cordial sympathy and co-operation. Freedom, which far more than doubles the force of states, derives a new value from the energy it would communicate to the nations, in resisting the attacks of every aggressor; and the new life and additional permanency it would infuse into the states of the Continent, who require every aid, in their present circumstances, and every amelioration in their condition, to enable them to resist the pressure which they must soon feel, from the vicinity and the growth of the Russian empire. If the fate of Europe were different from the expectations that are formed of its rising prosperity, and its free and civilized states should fall before a new irruption of barbarians, America would soon fill up the blank, and take the BY JAMES DOUGLAS, ESQ. lead in the advancement of society. The enlightened and THROUGHOUT Europe, there is no less a revolution in the the brave of the old world would withdraw from the slavery relative position of the nations towards each other, than in of their native lands, and, with the same ardour, on another the interior condition of each. The French and the Rus- side of the globe, would follow the pursuit of truth, and ensians have changed situations in the political scale; Peters- large the boundaries of science. America, no longer receiv burgh has become the centre of aggression, and Paris, that ing the supplies of knowledge from abroad, would comof resistance and defence. The invasions which Europe mence an original literature, and beginning where the Eu has now to dread are from the north, and the hope of its ropeans had ended, would enter a fresh career of improveultimate freedom rests upon the energy and the prosperity ment, and explore new riches of mind. In less than 25 of its southern states. The position of Russia is eminently years the American States double their population, and favourable for successful and limitless encroachment, and more than double their resources; and their influence, which possesses within itself ample space for ever-increasing num- is even now felt in Europe, will every year exert a hers. It has no enemy behind it, to distract its attention or wider sway over the minds of men, and hold out to them a divide its efforts; it has only opposed to it a weak and more illustrious example of prosperity and freedom. In broken frontier, without any one commanding defence, and little more than a century the United States of America with vulnerable points innumerable, from the Baltic to the must contain a population ten times greater than has ever sea of Japan. The Swedes, the Turks, the Persians, the yet been animated by the spirit and energy of a free governTurcomans, and the Chinese, are unable to cope with the ment; and in less than a century and a half, the new world Russian armies, and must yield at the first shock of the in- will not be able to contain its inhabitants, but will pour vaders. Austria and Prussia hold their Polish provinces in them forth, straitened by their overflowing numbers at some measure at the mercy of Russia, and France is the only home, upon the shores of leas civilized nations, till the whole nation which, single-handed, could afford an adequate re- earth is subdued to knowledge, and filled with the abodes sistance. As France has changed from the attitude of ag- of free and civilized men. But the spirit and the imitation gression to that of defence, England, the supporter of the of American freedom will spread still more rapidly and independence of the Continental nations, becomes the natu- widely than its power. No force can crush the sympathy ral ally of France, instead of being its "natural enemy;" that already exists, and is continually augmenting, between and henceforth it is manifestly the interest of this country, Europe and the new world. The eyes of the oppressed are that the French should be great, powerful, and free. It is even now turning wistfully to the land of freedom, and the certainly for the advantage of England, that the seat of ag- kings of the Continent already regard with awe and dis grandizement and danger should be removed from the banks quietude the new Rome rising in the west, the fore shaof the Seine to the shores of the Baltic; and an Attila, dows of whose greatness yet to be are extending dark and whose troops are encamped in Poland, and along the fron-heavy over their dominions, and obscuring the lustre of tiers of China, is less to be dreaded than an enemy of in- their thrones. THE STORY-TELLER. THE PROPS OF THE PULPIT. 'UNDER the above title, your imagination, gentle and intelligent reader, will naturally disport itself amidst the members of our General Assembly. You will think incontinently of our Inglises, our Cookes, our Chalmerses, our Thomsons, or such other Tuscan and Doric pillars upon which the Church visible at present rests; or, in the retirements of former ages, you will discern those mighty shades which have long taken their place with the illustrious departed. Or, perhaps, in the grosser materiality of apprehension, you may even conjure up those beams and pillars on which our pulpits are outwardly and visibly supported. But in all such efforts, you will come wide of the truth, and the "Props of the Pulpit" which are here meant, are nothing more nor less than old men and women who commonly cluster around our parish pulpits, to the exceeding annoyance of the precentor, and the great delight of every efficient and faithful pastor. It is quite possible that a very useless and inefficient minister may be popular ;-the walls of his church may perspire from door to door, and from floor to ceiling, encompassing a dense and gaping multitude, and yet all this while the speaker may be a mere dandy, with a high collar and a white handkerchief, a showy style and a retentive memory. But no such orator will ever clothe his pulpit stair-way with tartan plaids and Shanter bonnets, with clasp-bibles and crooked kents. Till, however, such conquest has been made, and the venerable and pious "Props" I refer to have been attracted into their places, the speaker, though he may tickle the imagination, and gratify the ear of his audience, is yet a great way from utility,-from that true and genuine efficiency, which bespeaks the operation of "Grace," through the instrumentality of our honest, and fervent, and devotional feeling and utterance. Take your summer excursion from "the Mull" to "Pomona," from Ailsa to the Bass, and mark, in your progress, the Sabbath ministrations of every minister in Scotland. Deaf though you were, and altogether incapable of ascertaining from the year the power and value of the respective ministrations, you may gather from the eye alone, from these "Pulpit Props," how the spiritual interests of each parish fare,whether the incumbent preaches himself or his master, the Gospel or the idle showiness of learning, ingrafted on vanity of worldly wisdom and conceit, gilt and glossed over with a show and a seeming of godliness. It may be that the church you have visited is not crowded to the door, and that, even amidst a comparatively limited number of hearers, you observe somewhat of an unexcited and inattentive aspect, as if no great expectation had been raised, and no particular exertion had been made to excite it. But if you have the aged and wrinkled faces of threescore and ten immediately fronting you,—if you can mark, while the venerable and venerated man of God is composedly dividing the word of truth, a gradual and a solemn lifting and falling of the hands; if the Bible lies half opened, and dog-leafed at the text, in the lap of age, and the eyes of the surrounding " Props" are ever and anon raised in humble acquiescence to the face and the utterance of the pastor, then all is right: such a parish has been blessed in its minister, and such a minister has had, and will have, reason to rejoice in his pastoral labours. I had rather sit ander such a ministry, than under all the fiery and scalding droppings from the lamp of the red-hot zealot, or blazing sentimentalist. Do you observe that figure which occupies the lowest step of the pulpit range? There she sits, with her little orphan grand-daughter at her feet, and there she has sat for many years past: she never desires to ascend higher, or to come into contact and competition with the persons or the privileges of the precentor or bell-man. Her heart is humble, yet it is feelingly alive to any acts of condescension or kindness with which it may be visited. Carefully, as the minister ascends to the pulpit, does she draw in the extremities of her dress, contract her body to leave the requisite breadth of stair-way for the well-known foot, which her very soul embraces in its passing. Her Little Nancy, now no longer, through the intervention of female charity, an object of parish relief, sits on her gown tail, looks up the psalms and texts, and occasionally enjoys, with a half-formed smile, the old woman's embarrassment in fixing her untempled spectacles firmly and graspingly on her nose. The history of that womar and her orphan ward is interesting, and on another occasion you shall have it; in the meantime, you must be content with a more limited notice of her next neighbour in the order of stair ascent, videlicet, Janet Smith. Janet is a queer body. I have never been able yet to find out with perfect assurance whether Janet is, or is not, truly religious. She is remarkably sagacious, that is certain, knows the Scriptures better than most clergymen, and attends most regularly on the ordinances of religion. But then, on the other hand, Janet's voice is loud when a proclamation has been made over her head; nor are her commentaries always made in perfect charity. To young preachers, or stibblers, as she calls them, she is quite ferocious, cutting them up at the kirk-style, and, indeed, all the way home to her hut in the clachan, at no allowance; and occasionally, if I am rightly informed, taking a pretty sound and protracted nap, even in the midst of my very warmest addresses. For this I ventured, one day lately, to challenge Janet; contrasting her vigilance and attention, when a young man had officiated, with her supineness and inattention under my own ministrations. "And d'ye no ken the reason o' that, sir," responded Janet, with a look that intimated, in her own language, " that she had not her tale a-seeking;" "D'ye no ken the reason o' that, sir ?" I immediately acknow. ledged my ignorance. "Troth, sir," proceeded my instructor, whan it's yourself that delivers and expounds the oracles,' we can a' take a nap wi' safety, for we ken brawly in wha's han's they are. But when a young birkie like yon opens, and tries to explain the sacred word, it tak's us a' to look sharp after him !” T. G. [T. G. being interpreted, meaneth Dr. Gillespie, who wrote as above in the Literary Journal.] PADDY FOORHANE'S FRICASSEE. PADDY FOORHANE kept a shebeen house at Barleymount Cross, in which he sold whisky-from which his Majesty did not derive any large portion of his revenues-ale, and provisions. One evening a number of friends, returning from a funeral-all neighbours too-stopt at his house "because they were in grief," to drink a drop. There was Andy Agar, a stout rattling fellow, the natural son of a gentleman residing near there; Jack Shea, who was afterwards transported for running away with Biddy Lawlor; Tim Cournane, who, by reason of being on his keeping, was privileged to carry a gun; Owen Connor, a march-ofintellect man, who wished to enlighten proctors by making them swallow their processes; and a number of other "good boys." The night began to "rain cats and dogs," and there was no stirring out; so the cards were called for, a roaring fire was made down, and the whisky and ale be gan to flow. After due observation, and several experi ments, a space large enough for the big table, and free from the drop down, was discovered. Here six persons, including Andy, Jack, Tim-with his gun between his legs-and Owen, sat to play for a pig's head, of which the living owner, in the parlour below, testified, by frequent grunts, his displeasure at this unceremonious disposal of his property. One boy held several splinters to light them, and another was charged with the sole business of making more, and drying them in little bundles at the fire. This, however, did not prevent him from making many sallies to discover the state of the game. A ring, two or three deep, surrounded the players, and in their looks exhibited the most inte rest. This group formed what might be termed the foreground of the picture. In one corner were squatted five boys and three girls, also playing cards for pins. But notwithstanding the smallness of the stakes, there were innu. merable scuffles, and an unceasing clamour kept up, through which the treble of the girls was sure to be heard, and which, of any unusual food. One of the most deadly modes of says Jack Shea, "that's fine stuff. How a "Yet, Tim, what's a priest's oath? I never heard that." "Why, sure, every one knows you didn't ever hear of anything of good." "I say you lie, Tim, you rascal." every now and then, required curses, loud and deep, from some "Sure the proctors got the tongue ere yesterday, and you know there an't a bit in the tub. Oh the murtherin villains! and I'll engage 'twill be no good for us, after all my white bread and the whisky;-that it may pison 'em." "Amen! Jillen; but don't curse them. After all, where's the meat? I'm sure that Andy will kill me if we don't make it out any how ;-and he hasn't a penny to pay for it. You could drive the mail coach, Jillen, through his breeches pocket without jolting over a ha'penny. Coming, coming; d'ye hear 'em ?" "Oh, they'll murther us. Sure if we had any of the tripe I sent yesterday to the turf-cutters." "Eh! What's that you say? I declare to God here's Andy getting up. We must do something, Thonom an Dhiaoul, I have it. Jillen, run and bring me the leather breeches; run, woman alive. Where's the block and the hatchet! Go up and tell 'em you're putting down the pot." Jillen pacified the uproar in the kitchen by loud promises, and returned to Paddy. The use of the leather breeches passed her comprehension; but Paddy actually took up the leather breeches, tore away the lining with great care, chopped the leather with the hatchet on the block, and put it into the pot as tripes. Considering the situation in which Andy and his friends were, and the appetite of the Irish peasantry for meat in any shape-" a bone" being their summum bonum-the risk was very little. If discovered, however, Paddy's safety was much worse than doubtful as no people in the world have a greater horror Tim was on his legs in a few moments, and a general battle was about to begin, but the appetite was too strong, and the quarrel was settled; Tim having been appeased by being allowed to explain a priest's oath. According to him, a priest's oath was this:-He was surrounded by books, which were gradually piled up until they reached his lips. He then kissed the uppermost, and swore by all to the bot tom. As soon as the admiration excited by his explanation, in those who were capable of hearing Tim, had ceased, all fell to work; and certainly, if the tripes had been of ordinary texture, drunk as was the party, they would soon have disappeared. After gnawing at them for some time, "Well," says Owen Conner, "that I mightn't!—but these are the queerest tripes I ever eat. It must be she was very "By J" says Andy, taking a piece from his mouth to which he had been paying his addresses for the last half hour, "I'd as soon be eating leather. She was a bull, man; I cant find the soft end at all of it." "And that's true for you, Andy," said the man of the gun; "and 'tis the greatest shame they hadn't a bull-bait to make him tinder. Paddy, was it from Jack Clifford's bull you got 'em? They'd do for wadding, they're so tough." "I'll tell you, Tim, where I got them-'twas out of Lord Ramorne's great cow at Cork, the great fat cow that the Lord Mayor bought for the Lord Lieuteuant as a churp naur hagusheh.* "Amen, I pray God! Paddy. Out of Lord Ramorne's cow? near the steeple I suppose. The great cow that couldn't walk with tallow. By - these are fine tripes. They'll make a man very strong. Andy, give me two or three libbhers more of 'em." “Well, see that! out of Lord Ramorne's cow; I wonder what they gave her, Paddy. That I mightn't!—but these would eat a pit of potatoes. Any how, they're good for the teeth. Paddy, what's the reason they send all the good mate from Cork to the Blacks. Tho But before Paddy could answer this question, Andy, whe had been endeavouring to help Tim, uttered a loud nom an dhiaoul! what's this? Isn't this flannel?" fact was, he had found a piece of the lining, which Paddy in his hurry, had not removed, and all was confusion Every eye was turned to Paddy, but with wonderful quick ness he said, “”Tis the book tripe, agragal, don't you see," and actually persuaded them to it. "Well, any how," says Tim, "it had the taste of wool. "May this choke me," says Jack Shea, "if I didn't think that 'twas a piece of a leather breeches when I saw Andy chawing it."" This was a shot between wind and water to Paddy. His May it never come out of his body. #elf-possession was nearly altogether lost, and he could do no more than turn it off by a faint laugh. But it jarred most unpleasantly on Andy's nerves After looking at Paddy for some time with a very ominous look, he said, "Yirroo Pandhrig of the tricks, if I thought you were going on with any work here, my soul and my guts to the devil if I would not cut you into garters. By the vestment I'd make a furhurmeen of you." "Is it I, Andy? that the hands may fall off me!" But Tim Cohill made a most seasonable diversion. “Andy, when you die, you'll be the death of one fool, any how. What do you know that wasn't ever in Cork itself about tripes. I never ate such mate in my life: and 'twould be good for every poor man in the County of Kerry if he had a tub of it.” Oh, the villain of the world!" roared Andy, "I'm pisoned! Where's the pike? For God's sake Jack run for the priest, or I'm a dead man with the breeches. Where is he? D― yeer bloods won'nt ye catch him, and I pisoned?" The fact was, Andy had met one of the knee-buttons sewed into a piece of the tripe, and it was impossible for him to fail discovering the cheat The rage, however, was not confined to Andy. As soon as it was understood what had been done, there was an universal rush for Paddy and Jillen; but Paddy was much too cunning to be caught after the narrow escape he had of it before. The moment after the discovery of the lining that he could do so without suspicion, he stole from the table, left the house, and hid himself. Jillen did the same; and nothing remained for the eaters to vent their rage but by breaking every thing in the cabin, which was done in the utmost fury. Andy, howver, continued watching for Paddy with a gun a whole month after. He might be seen prowling along the ditches near the shebeen-house, waiting for a shot at him. Not that he would have scrupled to enter it were he likely to find Paddy there; but the latter was completely on the shuchraun, and never visited his cabin except by stealth, It was in one of those visits that Andy hoped to catch him.-Tait's Magazine. [This is the genuine Irish story which we promised our readers long ago.] COLUMN FOR THE LADIES. AN ESSAY ON FLIRTS. DEDICATED TO THE LADIES OF EDINBURGH. FLIRTS are especial favourites of ours, and we hold ourselves bound, as good knights and true, to do battle for their reputation, at all times, and against all comers. Be it understood that we speak now of Flirts in the restricted acceptation of the term, and not of Jilts, who are immoral, nor of Coquettes, who are heartless personages. The true Flirt is quite a different sort of person. The appellation is the same with that used to designate a certain sudden, but not ungraceful, mode of unfurling a fan; and if we may credit the tradition embodied in one of our most venerable "Joe Millers," there is some mysterious analogy supposed to exist between the character of the motion, and that of the class of the fair sex to whom the name Flirt has been applied. A Flirt is a girl of more than common beauty, grace, and amiability, just hovering on the verge which separates childhood from womanhood. She is just awakening to a sense of her power, and finds an innocent pleasure in exercising it. The blissful consciousness parts her lips with prouder breath, kindles up her eyes with richer lustre, and gives additional buoyancy and swan-like grace to her motions. She looks for homage at the hands of every man who approaches her, and richly does she repay him with rosy smiles and sparkling glances. There is no passion in all this. It is the first trembling into conscious existence of that sentiment which will become love in time. It is the heart of woman venturing timidly to inhale imperceptible portions of that atmosphere of devoted affection in which alone she can afterwards breathe and exist. There is nothing of vanity in it, nothing of selfishness. She thinks not of her beauty while thus triumphantly wielding its spell, any more than does that young greyhound fetching his graceful gambols before us. She feels only the delight of exercising a new-born power. She regards not her own indulgence; happy herself, she sees others happy to sun themselves in her smile, and feels yet more happy in consequence. It is the rich gush of young existence that mantles at her heart, and overflows in loveliOh! blame it not, nor regard austerely. Like the first blush of morning, it dies away before we can well note its surpassing beauty, and all that is to succeed of after life is dull and tame in comparison. ness. That a girl chances to be a Flirt at a certain age, is no proof that she is incapable of enduring affection, but rather the contrary. and wit at will, and yet the beholder feel himself obliged to confess that there is some charm awanting-he cannot exactly say what, although he feels its absence he may depend upon it that closer search will show him minute, but sure signs of heartlessness. Beauty is the exuberance, the fulness, the overflow of nature. And the richer, the more dazzling the beauty at the moment, when, like a butterfly bursting from its hull, ODIUM MEDICUM.-The true Odium Medicum, says Gre- the girl passes insensibly into the woman, the more reason ry, in his memorial to the Royal Infirmary, approaches nearer there is to expect a ripe store of affection beneath. It is, thany thing else known in human nature, to the genuine indeed, warmth of heart alone that can give the finishing Gdium Theologicum. It has even been doubted, by compe- grace to the gay and playful creature we have been describthat judges, which of the two is the worse; for though phy-ing. If there be beauty, and elegance, and sportiveness, trians have never yet carried the joke so far as to burn alive heir adversaries whom they could not convert them as Dominican conaks and others used to do very successfully with their obtinate opponents; yet there is reason to suspect, that this reserve and delicacy on the part of our faculty has proceeded more from want of power than from want of good-will to the work. It is certain, at least, that, at one time, about two hunred and fifty years ago, in Spain and Portugal, they fairly red it, and they had well-nigh succeeded in their attempt. There was formerly, in the time of Sydenham, a controversy be ween those doctors who thought purging good in cases of fever, ad those doctors who thought it bad. One of the purging doctors and one of the anti-purgers, meeting at the entry to Sam College, soon came to hard words and from hard words hard blows; the result of which was, that the purging ktor knocked the other down, and drawing his sword, bid beg his life. "No, doctor," replied the fallen hero, as he ay sprawling, with the point of his enraged adversary's sword this throat; "that I will not do, unless you were giving me by sic." "We leave our Edinburgh readers to draw their own clusions from this text. A button, by —. A Flirt is, however, a dangerous creature; not that she means any harm, but that she unconsciously and involuntarily turns the heads of all who approach her. Boys she strikes down by dozens, wherever she moves. If, while tripping along the street on a windy day, the increasing vehemence of the blast force her to turn away from it to adjust the set of her bonnet, the sweep of her laughing eye to see whether any one observes, and the ready blush when she marks all eyes turned upon her, make captive at least six juvenile swains. In the turn of a waltz, her aerial gliding (vera incessu patuit dea) draws the attention of all. She cannot ask for a glass of lemonade, without making an involuntary conquest. Nay, "tough seniors"men inured to business-are not safe. They look with complacency on a thing so lovely with a paternal placid benignity but longer conversation awakens warmer thoughts, and, in proportion as the infusion of the passion is more difficult into such toil-strung themes, so is its eradication more difficult. But the danger does not stop here. By a retro-active influence, all this lip and eye homage may well at times turn the head of a giddy and inexperienced girl. This, however, is a danger not to be avoided; and cure we know of none, save a generous, deep-rooted affection, which, sooner or later, is the lot of every true woman. It is beautiful to see the effect of serious love upon the gayest of these creatures! -how completely all their little vanity is melted away by its engrossing warmth. Not that we think love, any more than the feeling we have been describing, an enduring passion. It is only more intense and absorbing. That affection alone is lasting, in which love has, upon further acquaintance, been confirmed by esteem, and which has been heightened by common sympathies, strengthened by the endurance of common trials, rooted for eternity by mutual forbearance. No one, we will be bold to say, has read the romance of Undine without pleasure, and yet we suspect that to the majority of readers (to ourselves we know) its supernatural mysteries constitute the least part of its attraction. The interest centres in Undine. And what is she? A shadowy type of every beautiful and amiable woman, in the successive stages of her mind's development the Flirt, the Lover, and the Wife. In our opinion, however, the period of flirtation is of very brief duration. It is (we beg our fair readers not to imagine that any improper insinuation is couched under this simile) an ebullition of momentary excitement, akin to that of the pointer when loosened from his chain on a fine September morning. It excites admiration only so long as it is unconscious. The instant a woman plays off these little airs with foreknowledge and predetermination, their innosence is gone. They are to be reprehended as indications of a designing mind. Their exercise is on a par with the use of cosmetics and dress to repair or conceal the ravages of age. Our fair friend has ceased to be a Flirt, and has become a Coquette. We have already stated that there exists a distinction between these two characters, and that this distinction is not in favour of the latter. A Coquette may have been, or she may not have been, a Flirt. She is one who envies the success of the other, and seeks to emulate it by acting her character. She is artificial-she has a part to support, and that alone detracts from the worth of any human being. It certainly is our duty to cultivate our powers, even of pleasing, to the utmost, and to check our weaknesses; but this must be done in accordance with the original constitution of our mind: to seek to new-form ourselves according to some favourite model, is to destroy what little good we may have. The Coquette may generally be known by her overacting the character. Her gestures and words come not from the prompting of feeling, they have no internal standard to regulate them; they are false, constrained, or excessive. Her glances are stares, her movements sudden and awkward, her languor overacted. The Flirt attracts us involuntarily, and we feel that this is the case-the Coquette gives us encouragement. Even a sensible man is in danger from the Flirt-the Coquette inspires him with aversion. The victims of the Flirt's charms never complain, for they know her free from any design upon them-the fools who fall into the lures of the Coquette, accuse her, and justly, of heartlessness and vanity. The Jilt we have called an immoral, we may add, a coarse and vulgar mind. Jilts are of two kinds : those who are incapable of affection, and sell their show of tenderness to the wealthiest ; and those who have a sentiment which they call love, but which is transferable at a moment's notice to another. The latter like to indulge in this feeling, but they have no real regard for any one but themselves. They are of those concerning whom it has somewhere been said, that "they love the love, not the lover." In blaming a person of this unamiable class, people are apt to lay much stress upon her inconsistency. This is taking an incorrect view of her character. She cares for nobody but herself, and that attachment knows neither change nor decay. Having thus done our best to guard our favourites against popular misconstruction, by pointing out the essential difference between them and two other classes with whom they have occasionally been confounded, we proceed to complete our task, by remarking upon one or two inaccuracies in the language of common conversation, which have a tendency to foster misapprehension. We not unfrequently hear people say, that such or such a married woman is a great Flirt, or fond of Flirtation. This is a shocking abuse of the term. A married woman whose deportment bears any likeness to that of a Flirt, must either be one who is pos sessed of a gay and buoyant temperament, but without heart, and who seeks the pleasure of the moment, careless of every other person's happiness; or she is one who knowingly and wilfully lingers on the frontiers of vice, to indulge herself with the contemplation of its charms-one who wants only courage to be wicked. Had Heaven, for our sins, seen fit to doom us to the married state, we do not know which of these two we should have regarded as the greater curse. Another strange perversion of language is to speak of male Flirts. Male Jilts there are, and male Coquettes in plenty-with sorrow and shame we make the confession. But a male Flirt would be an anomale in creation. Nerve, strength, and manly vigour, are the characteristics of our sex, and they at no period unbend into such a happy and graceful unconsciousness as constitutes the Flirt. It is ours to be attracted; when a man sets about to attract, he reverses the order of nature. He acts a part-and he uniformly acts it in a loutish and ungainly style. Thus we have discharged, however imperfectly, the task we undertook. We rest the defence of Flirts, not upon any desert we suppose to be inherent in them, nor upon any moral value we attribute to them. When young, we loved and admired them, because it is their nature to awaken such feelings. They are as the blossom, delicately expanding amid the freshness and dews of a sunny morning-a3 the early song of birds, full of flutter and delight—as every thing that is most lovely and evanescent. We commend to the cherishing of future ages these delicate creatures, who, although they were the plague of our youth, have been the objects of tranquil and kindly admiration to our old age. But such commendation is needless, for there is a charm about them which must ever command a willing obedience from all young hearts.-Edinburgh Literary Journal. AN IRISH ELECTION BILL. A TRUE copy of an account furnished Sir Marcus Somer. ville by a publican of Trim, after an election :— To eating sixteen freeholders above stairs, for Sir Marks, at 3s. 3d. a-head, L.2, 12s. To eating sixteen more below stairs, and two clergymen after supper, L.1, 15s. 9d. To six beds in one room, and four in the other, at two guineas every bed, three or four in a bed every night, and cheap enough, God knows, L.22, 15s. To twenty-three horses in the yard all night, at 13d. every one of them, and for a man watching them all night, L.5, 5s. Breakfast and tea next day for every one of them, and as many as they brought with them, as near as I can guess, L.4, 12s. For beer, and porter, and punch, for the first day and, night, I am not very sure, but I think for the three days and a half of the election, as little as I can call it, and to be very exact, is in all, or thereabouts, as near as I can guess, and not to be too particular, L.79, 15s. 9d. To shaving, dressing, and cropping the heads off 42 freed holders for Sir Marks, at 13d. every one, cheap enough L.2, 5s. 6d. (In the place of Jeremy Carr) BRIAN GARRATTY. N.B.-On inquiry it was found that the publican furnished one shoulder of mutton, two barrels of beer, three beds, and a spacious back-yard for the horses. |