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petuate, by sending in piece after piece, written in the full expectation of their being accepted; but, with the exception of one small farce, selected as the merest lever de rideau, Somerset was "left out in the cold" to starve, I fear, and his patron Kemble made no further sign on his behalf, although Somerset persisted in boring the management with his pieces; so much so, indeed, as to give a vast amount of trouble; he haunted the stage-door of the theatre, and Kemble was compelled to make a furtive way out to escape the troublesome dramatist.

A marked effect on the fortunes of London theatres in my younger days was produced by the advent of a new star. This was Madame Celeste, who with her husband, a gentleman named Elliott, came from America to act here. Celeste at once took the town by storm at the Adelphi, in the admirable melo dramatic character of the French Spy, a part for a serio-pantomimist, which was Celeste's specialité. After a long run the French Spylgave way for Celeste to appeat in another piece which proved eminently successful, the "Wept of the Wish-ton Wish." The American drama was followed by a number of others, in all of which Celeste played parts of pantomimic action. Young and beautiful as the French actress, Celeste, was in her early career in England, she yet could only speak the English language with difficulty; hence her range of characters was limited almost to dumb parts: but by degrees our idiom became familiar to her, and ultimately we saw her playing the heroines of the regular Adelphi domestic drama, such as Lucille, Miami, ("Green Bushes") &c., &c., &c., always, however, speaking with a French accent, that to a certain extent marred the effect of her acting in English melo-drama. Celeste remained many years at the Adelphi, and finally became known to the present generation of play-goers as the popular, and successful manageress of that theatre, "Comparisons are odious," saith the proverb. Nevertheless when I talk of Celeste, the figure of a much more modern actress will present itself to my mind's-eye. Miss Menken's style of acting is somewhat after the manner of Celeste. But Celeste, the "French Spy," the "Wept of the Wish-ton Wish," &c., were, perhaps rather better in their way than the "beautiful Menken," and that worn-out "Mazeppa," with Drolinski's towers, and its faded flag!-that flag by the way, which has braved a half century of rough usage, and flaunted through every vicissitude of old Astley's amphitheatre; being now down" and trampled in the dust, and then again triumphantly "raised" to endure yet another "battle and the breeze." How bald and insipid at this day sounds the dialogue of the Astley's equestrian drama "Mazeppa." Such fastian can only be eclipsed by that of the once famous piece "The Battle of Waterloo," in which the celebrated Gomersal took snuff in so "pronounced" a manner (to imitate a habit of Bonaparte's), out of a bulky diamond snuff-box.

As Madame Vestris was the first of the manageresses of London theatres, so Madame Celeste was the second; Mrs. Waylett the third; Miss Vincent the fourth (at the Victoria), Mrs. Davidge the fifth (at the Surrey). We had nearly forgotten Mrs. Nisbett at the Queens, Tottenham Court Road; and Mrs. Warner at Sadler's Wells and the Marylebone: then came our modern directresses, such as Miss Swanborough at the Strand, Miss Herbert at the St. James's; Miss Wilton at the Prince of Wales's, Miss Oliver at the New Royalty, Miss Marriott at Sadler's Wells, and now Mrs. Alfred Mellon at the new Adelphi. It is a fact not generally known, that the creator of contemporary theatrical manageresses is the veteran Mr. Benjamin Webster, who owns several of the metropolitan theatres at the present time, and has been manager of many others in the past. Mr. Webster's management, indeed, has always been intelligent, and through his good taste many intellectual, refined, and elegant dramas have been produced, chiefly at the Haymarket and Adelphi theatres. Perhaps Mr. Webster has introduced to the public more, modern comedies than any other manager going over a period of twenty years past.

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LEAVES FOR THE LITTLE ONES.

AMY'S PARTY.

BY MAY LEONARD.

"Here we are, Amy! Good-night!" cried Harry Flint, with that lack of ceremony which forms a refreshing characteristic in escorts of his age, or youth.

"Good-night!" said Amy, as if pronouncing a benediction. Harry, in age, was her junior by three months; her seniority in all else was consequently as many years. "What a fib I told him," she soliloquized, with a sigh, as she mounted the steps leading to her own door, "but I could not say his sister's party was a failure, and that I'd had a horrid evening and would never go again."

Amy hoped to steal unnoticed to her place by the library fire, but such was not her tate.

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"Hallo!" cried Frank. Beauty once more illumines our dwelling; but (after a pause and close scrutiny) with radiance dimmed. Has Cinderella lost her slipper? Was the frock the ne plus ultra of all your desires, and ultima thule of all your wishes, Miss Brown's 'shay dove' 'eclipsed? Whence this Il Penseroso' air?" "Queen Lilliput's limbs are weary," said George, kindly lifting his pet sister to his knee. "What is it, birdie?" he whispered.

"Ask_me not what the maiden feels " continued Frank. "Were golden curls at a discount-quenched by the waterfalls? Did it fail of Charlotte Russe. Any way, it's heartsick and world-weary, and wants to be a nun, mamma."

"I've given up these parties," said Grace, a philosopher of sixteen years, who suffered from ennui, having tapped the world and found it hollow. "Such tiresome people! Vulgarity, pretension, officious intrusion, and prosy Nell Windsor."

"

Ob, it's all of them," said little Amy, with intense disgust. "Every one there. Nell was prosy, Nettie disobliging, each one looked out for self first; for my part, I did not join in any game, or play or sing. The Greens favoured us with duets until we wished them to-Jericho."

"Oh for a knight like Bayard" said Frank, "then Amy wouldn't make herself a wall-flower. Oh for Sir Charles Grandison, or Don Quixotte!"

"I think I'll go to bed, mamma," said Amy, rising, with a lofty air of injured dignity, which quickly dissolved in a flood of tears upon mamma's shoulder. So little Amy found comfort, and closed her eyes peacefully within her quiet room.

She heard a voice, soft, sweet, clear as a silver bell calling her name, and suddenly beheld the blessed apparition for whose advent she had often watched. By the shower of golden curls,

like her own, only longer and more abundant in proportion to the elfin form they enveloped by the tiny hand grasping its jewelled wand, by the beautiful, kind eyes and kinder smile, Amy knew the fairy godmother she had so often dreamed was hers.

"Yes, Amy," said the fairy, checking her rapturous exclamations, "I'm your godmother, as you guess-by name Vanisa. I'm your friend, and prove it by ommitting all sentiment and coming at once to business. You shall give a party, little one, inviting whom you choose, and entertaining them just as you like. I'll lend my aid in assembling and dispersing them, however distant their homes. I will provide an ample feast, and an elegant suit for you, my dear. All else I leave to your management. Whom will you invite?"

The idea seemed in some way familiar to Amy, and she answered, with tolerable readiness and composure" If you please, fairy godmother, I'd like my oldest friends to come. I've enjoyed them so much; we never disagreed. Let us ask Red Riding Hood, poor dear Robinson Crusoe; Cinderella, for she's used to parties; the poor little Babes of the Wood, and Blue Beard's wife and good Sister Anne; 'the girl who spoke diamonds and pearls; Jack the GiantKiller; Prince Giglio and Betsinda; and Oh dear godmother, all the rest. You arrange the list, please, and don't ask one that's selfish and ugly."

And now Amy is dressed for her reception. How shall I describe her? The gown is of some strange, delicate texture, more like the creamy petals of a lily than anything else. A knot of moss rose-buds mixed with lilies of the valley nestles among her golden curls, and another upon her bosom-these, with large, luminous diamonds, glistening like dew-drops, form her ornaments. Her tiny slippers might be Vanisa's own, and happy expectation lights her face into radiant beauty. So much fame, romance, and loveliness assembling at her bidding, her heart swells with pride and joy at the thought.

A disturbance at the door apprizes her of the first arrival. The sight of Jack Giant-Killer's sword has awakened fearful recollections in Mrs. Blue Beard's mind, and with a loud shriek she has fallen fainting into the arms of her faithful Anne. Restoratives being administered with success, Amy receives her guests with equanimity and grace.

Some little jars arise, the more aristocratic evincing repugnance at being brought into con tact with poor Friday and any one so coarsely clad as Red Riding Hood and the ragged infants of the Wood.

Amy, unfortunately, so worded her iuvitations that each guest has come to grace her feast as its one particular star, the rest to form but an admiring and enraptured audience; and now, as

if possessed by the spirit of the Ancient Mariner | insist upon her sitting in their laps, and bestow each tale is related, but to most contemptuous frequent kisses upon her precious lips. The listeners. juveniles crowd about her, jostling each other in their attempts to catch the precious stones, and quarrelling for their possession.

When Mrs. Blue Beard tragically relates the horrors of "that closet," Red Riding Hood says-" What are dead women to a wolf whose eyes are balls of fire, his breath flame, and his gceat teeth-oh!"

"Poh?" says Jack Giant-Killer, "a wolf is easily disposed of; but think of a giant!"

Aladdin pronounces Robinson Crusoe a slow coach, and the Babes of the Wood are unanimously voted little bores.

Hoping to divert her guests from their present disappointment, Amy proposes a dance; and Cinderella, being very gorgeously dressed, and "used to that sort of thing," is requested to lead. But having once danced with a prince, she'll accept no other partner, intimating, however, her willingness to condescend to perform the shawl dance if they would like it. Betsinda feels that a slight has been cast upon her dear Prince Giglio; and Robinson Crusoe says if a solitary dance is desired, Friday shall show them his favorite war-dance.

Friday and his master being both athletic and in excellent training, this privilege is reluctantly accorded.

Ever since her immortalizing adventure, Red Riding Hood's nerves have been in a delicate state, and ere Friday's gyrations are well begun, she and the unfortunate Babes are in convulsions. Don Quixotte charges upon the innocent savage, who is, of course, vigorously defended by his master. A fearful scene ensues. Vanisa's wand at length restores outward harmony, but many brows are overcast.

At length, Amy, in despair condemning her to utter silence, hides her within the sacred precincts of Miss Stanley's alcove-a resort which is quickly invaded by the enterprising young members of the Swiss family Robinson, who continue to poke and terrify her into involuntary ejaculations.

The perplexed hostess hastens the advent of supper, which she trusts may restore goodnature; at least it will serve as a diversion. Pique, Pride, and Rivalry prevent the observance of any courteous ceremonies, and the whole company proceed en masse to the supper-room. The table, which is laid with great elegance, sparkles with myriad waxen lights and a splendid array of silver. Great pyramidal bouquets fill the air with fragrance. Everything is prepared in a style of quaint beauty. Among many rare delicacies, the viands most common are scarcely recognizable, because fashioned in some fantastic though lovely form. Nothing which can charm or tempt the appetite is forgotten.

Even Sir Charles Grandison begins to thaw, and instinctively to act the part of the attentive guest, until Jack Horner's vulgar greediness restores his former frigidity.

Few find the condiment they desire. Miss Stanley prefers water-cresses to ambrosia, and declares herb tea more salubrious and agreeable beverage than nectar. Raw meat is essential to Friday's well-being, and the covetous glance he casts upon the plump little heroine of the Three Bears causes her to retire with great precipitation.

In an alcove apart from the throng, as if dreading contamination, is Lucilla Stanley. Sitting most painfully erect, with eyes closed and ears Supper proving rather a bone of contention stopped, expressive of her utter abhorrence of than a mollifying banquet, Amy hurries the comall about her, she makes herself as generally dis-pany once more to the drawing-room. Here is agreeable as any one present, which is saying a great deal, to be sure.

Sir Charles Grandison, who stands behind his hostess with anything but a festive air-precise, disapproving, unapproachable-is little better.

The guest whose coming Amy had anticipated with most eagerness was Christian. She longed to behold his delight at seeing Christiana and the children in their Pilgrim suit.

The family reunion was a beautiful sight, and yet their joy was of short duration. Such an uncongenial multitude! He at first thought it was Vanity Fair, and then said it was no better. He told them he had once loved them all, and it grieved him to see such dear friends in fiction so proud, wayward, and selfish in reality. He exhorted them with most earnest pathos to reform; but his voice was disregarded, and soon drowned in their loud clamour. So, sorrowfully and quietly he bade Amy adieu, and withdrew with his family from the scene.

The girl whose lips drop jewels adds greatly to the confusiou. She is the belle of the party, aud it's wonderful how interesting all classes find her. She is such a darling, the elders

something to interest them, surely; an automaton elephant, equipped with Eastern splendour, and presenting quite a magnificent appearance. It is indeed an ingenious and interesting contrivance. The children are invited to ride, good Vanisa holding the strong silken string which guides the motions of the beast.

Jack Horner, being a "brave boy," is the first to mount, and soon tires of moving slowly under a woman's direction, so wilfully insists upon taking the check-rein himself.

He sets off at a famous pace, which increases in swiftness as he gains confidence, until he fairly runs. One of the Woodland Babes stumbles in his path; in vain he strives to check the monster plaything; he has lost all control thereof. Another instant and the poor child will be crushed. Jack and his victim in turn send up a shrill and dismal shriek; the duet speedily becomes a chorns, in which all of the juveniles join. Don Quixotte and Jack GiantKiller, who have been burning for an adventure, charge simultaneously with drawn swords, and the luckless toy flies in a thousand fragments about the room, shattering statues and mirrors,

extinguishing lights, wounding many, and discomposing all.

The utmost limit of Vanisa's power can only avail to disperse the angry throng. As they pass sullenly from her threshold, Amy sadly feels that though black looks are interchanged, the blackest fall on her.

Grace suddenly awaked, feeling a damp, chilly sensation about her throat, and clasped with

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strangling closeness by little arms Why, Amy! what are you crying for?" she said, giving her sister a gentle shake.

"Oh, Vanisa! dear, good godmother, give me back flesh-and-blood realities," sobbed Amy. "The Greens and Flints, Nettie and Nell Windsor are better than Lucilla Stanley and Sir Charles Grandison."

OUR PARIS CORRESPONDEN T.

MY DEAR C—,

Last month it was the discussions on the new military law, that absorbed all our attention, and roused our patriotic sentiments. That law; in spite of the opposition in parliament, and the murmurs of those whom it most concerns, the rural population, is passed, and we have only to submit. The uniform is chosen, and the young men who are destined to form this new body of soldiers have received orders to repair to the different" prefectures," in their several departments, before a certain epoch, with assurances that this is merely for the form, Government not intending to call upon their services yet. Those believe this, that can. This month it is the law on the press that troubles the equanimity of our Corps Legislatif, and menaces to make the public believe, by the personal compliments passing to and fro there, that its members for the most part ought to be good judges of the various opinions on politics in France, having each man professed, now one, now the other, at different periods of his life. It seems that the Emperor is too liberal: his advisers round him have until now prevented him from fulfilling his promise to journalists last year at length the bill is proposed: the only difference it brings to the existing law, is that every French citizen enjoying his civil rights may found a newspaper without asking permission. This has been voted, but our deputies have so ornamented it with amendments that a journalist has thus defined it: "1st art. Every French citizen in possession of his civil rights may found a newspaper. 2nd art. Every French citizen who founds a newspaper will be punished with death." The amusing part of the affair is, that the Ministers who defend the new law appear to shrink from the task, and are not sorry to see some of the amendments admitted. The Opposition asks for trial by jury as in criminal offences; but Monsieur Baroche declares "that he will not have that justice which gives the chance of being acquitted by one jury, and condemned by another." Such lenity is good for assassins and thieves; but for men who blame the acts

of Government-it is wonderful that they dare put themselves on a line with cut-throats and housebreakers. The Opposition also would like the security money now given to Government when a newspaper is founded to be done away with. What licentiousness in a well-regulated country like ours! Of course the Opposition pours forth its eloquence in vain. The new law forbids also a journalist attacking the private life of French citizens. A witty deputy of the majority, after listening to all the discussions on this famous bill, gave vent to his poetic vein in the following extemporary verses, which repeats exactly the conditions of the liberty of the press in France in 1868, according to the new law for which we are indebted to the gracious liberalism of Napoleon III. They are composed in the same form as the Ten Commandments in the Roman Catholic church, and are entitled

THE COMMANDMENTS OF THE PRESS.

I.

En te fondant tu verseras Un très gros cautionnement.

II.

Les droits de timbre tu paieras Au fisc quotidiennement.

III.

Jamais tu ne censureras
Les actes du Gouvernement.

IV.

Les Chambres tu respecteras Et les Ministres mêmement.

V.

De nul citoyen ne diras

Un mot sans son consentement.

VI.

Compte-rendu ne publicras Parallèle, ni autrement.

VII.

En y manquant, tu subiras
L'amende et l'emprisonnement.

VIII.

Chaque amende te mangera
Le tiers du cautionnement.

IX.

Dès droits d'électeur tu seras
Dépossédé par supplément.

X.

Le tribunal te suspendra
Pour six mois provisoirement.

XI.

Et même il te supprimera,
S'il veut, definitivement.

XII.

Sauf ces réserves tu pourras
Ecrire et parler librement.

Monsieur Dupanloup, Bishop of Orleans, and the Minister of Public Instruction, are still at open war. The struggle is fierce, and we wonder which will be the conqueror. It is said that the bishop has vowed to have the last word, and all because Monsieur Duruy thinks that young French girls may be allowed to receive the same education as their brothers. What is certain is that the worthy bishop, in spite of his poetical delineation of "the Frenchwoman," has but very little faith in her virtue, and such a fragile bit of perfection ought to have a guard of eunuchs round her, every time she stirs out, to hide her from profane eyes, and to hide profane eyes from her, like the women in the East. It is defiling her to let her cross the streets with her mother, exposed to the gaze of the passers by, her books and ink in her hands, to go and seat herself on the form that boys have already polluted by sitting on them, and to listen to a young professor of grammar, revealing to her the origins and secrets of the French language; and yet that same young girl may go through the streets with her mother to church, may sit on the forms at the catechism where boys have been before her, or go tothe confessional, and have the mysteries still dormant of her young heart, fathomed by a confessor, whose questions are often more apt to taint her purity than are the rules of the French language, even when explained to her by a young professor, though why he must necessarily be young no one knows: the bishop is determined that young he shall be. The Pope, enchanted with the talented defender of the church, has sent to congratulate him on the zeal he displays in attacking Monsieur Duruy, and “deplores with bitterness that those to whom the public weal is entrusted should favour the designs of impiety, by such unheard-of attempts, and thus themselves put the finishing stroke to the ruin, already begun, of social order," This

gracious speech is sent no doubt in gratitude "to those to whom the public weal is entrusted," for the Chassepot guns that did wonders, and instead of the sword and hat blessed by his holiness on Christmas night, at the same time as the gold rose, sent to the Queen of Spain, and which is the greatest testimony of favour a Pope can send to a mortal. Henry the VIII. of England received them at the same time, as the title of Defender of the Faith. Philip II. of Spain was also so honoured, and several other monarchs equally as worthy of such a holy distinction. You remember when the Evening Star went down, and consigned so many unfortunate victims to a watery grave, amongst others a troop of French comedians. The clerical papers saw in that catastrophe the hand of God. A little while ago a fire burnt down the extensive printing office of l'Abbé Migne, and consumed quantities of religious books, amongst other things a manuscript of an unpublished work of Monsieur Dupanloup. who immediately applied to the insurance office for a very considerable indemnity. A diabolical journalist has had the impudence to recall the event of the Evening Star, and to point out to the Bishop of Orleans that the hand of God is evidently manifest in the destruction of the printing office, that God in his wisdom had judged that the work was good for nothing or prejudicial to the truth, so that he cannot in conscience require an indemnity.

By the serious tone of my letter, you will begin to imagine that we are become a nation of wise people, fighting for our rights, far from the pleasures and vanities of the world, and not in the midst of the madness and dancing of carnival; and yet on all sides I hear the din of balls, dinners, and concerts, ladies dancing in diaphanous dresses of gold and silver tinsel, looped up with strings of diamonds or rubies, with the back hair so high on the head, that it touches the forehead, all of course beautiful and charming enough to vanquish the most inveterate old bachelors, as in fact is the case, for marriage after marriage is to come off, as soon as the madness of carnival is sobered down by the penitence of Lent, though alas! no Father Hyacinthe will be near the fair penitents to convert them for a moment, he having set out for Rome, where he is engaged to preach "le Careme" for the salvation of the Roman ladies. The grand balls at the Tuileries are all over, but their majesties will give several grand dinner parties and receptions during the maigre season. Not that the Emperor and Empress are such rigorists as to eat fish and vegetables all Lent; no: one day, Good Friday, suffices to clear up accounts on that score at the Palace. At the St. Charlemagne this year, the grand fête of the collegians, the Prince Impérial as a reward for having been first in his class, went and breakfasted with his class at the Bonaparte Lycée, quantities of game and champagne having been sent from the Palace to the Lycée for the occasion; his governor tutor, and equerry accompanied him, and the Minister of Public Instruction, with the head master, received his Imperial Highness at

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