"Do, this dreadful dust makes one look such a fright!"

"How beautifully your bouquet smells."

"Oh, yes, my violets! I am so fond of flowers!"

"Ah, I see there is a serpent under them!"

'My bracelet! isn't it pretty? Papa gave it me as a birthday present."

"But the hand is much prettier!" ('Tis so natural to transfer our admiration from dead to living beauties.) "Nay, nay, you really must not do so.'

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I will keep my little white prisoner here, were it only to hear you say 'nay' so prettily."

"Now, Mr. ; now, Henry, do let go my hand. The man will open the door in a minute.”

A pretty little struggle. How pretty it is to wrestle with a white arm-during which the serpent becomes unclasped, and, like the wily tempter of old, wriggles off and escapes. When the dazzle of the house and the grand crash of the overture has a little toned down, the lady discovers that her bracelet is gone. Oh, my dear little serpent-it is lost. I must have dropped it getting out of the cab.

How placidly those large blue eyes look at you as she speaks-how collectedly they meet yours. What a calm. innocence, a holy truth dwells in their clear depths! A man must be a brute to gainsay her. Yes, it must have dropped off getting out of the cab.

The Times next morning has an advertisement to that effect, for which the gentleman is but too happy to pay, and Howell & James's furnishes a fresh serpent, which the lover is but too delighted to be allowed to clasp round the lady's delicate wrist.

TIMES

I detect you, male reader, smiling in your sleeve! You, too, then have bought your experience-Well, I do not know that it could be purchased in a more delightful And thus ends my little history of an advertise

manner.

ment.

OLD THINGS BY NEW NAMES.

THERE seems to be a rage just at the present moment for re-christening all articles of wearing apparel. Genuine old Saxon appellations appear to be on the point of being driven out by foreign invaders, just as our indigenous population fled before the banners of the White Horse. A French and Latin dictionary is become almost indispensable in elucidating one half of the advertisements to be found in the Times. It is quite bad enough in Scotch gardeners to astonish a clump of cowslips, or a bed of edging stock, by ticketing them with some outlandish name as long as my arm-(poor things! I often think how, in the early morning, they must try and repeat over to themselves their new names, and at last give it up in disgust)—but for honest, downright coats and hats and breeches to be so served, is quite intolerable.

I was making some purchases the other day, in one of the splendid outfitting establishments in the city, much given to this sort-of absurdity, when a scene occurred which placed the ludicrousness of the practice in rather a strong light. A rough-looking farmer came in, and after gaping round the establishment a minute or two, wiping his brow and slapping his handkerchief into his hat with force enough to hit the crown out, he gave a bang on the counter with his crooked ash stick, and

shouted out to "Cash," as the lad is called who receives the sales-money from the different shopmen in his isolated pulpit.

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'Young man, I do want doo or dree dthings."

(Undeniable "Down-along " Zummerset,* thought I to myself.)

"Cash" took not the least notice of this appeal, however, but went on apparently at a difficult calculation.

The farmer kept gazing up at him a minute or two longer, like the man in the illustrated spelling-book at the boy who won't come down out of the apple

tree.

At last he shouted out, "Co-am down and serve I, hool 'e ?"

At this new and rather more energetic summons, "Cash" lifted his eyes, as a superior being might, who surveyed an inferior world, glared at the customer, and fell to his work again as though nothing had occurred.

Two or three assistants, however, who had heard the noise, now pressed forward to supply the new customer.

"I ben' calling up to dthick veller in pulpit, like mad. If I had'n in my vive acre at who-am, I'd make'n look a bit livelier, I reckon; I do want to zee a gurt co-at."

The shopman drew an invisible tape round the capacious chest of his customer with his eye, and took down a bundle from a shelf. "I think this paletot" but ere he could complete the sentence the farmer was down upon him.

* That portion of Somersetshire which lies between Bristol and Bridgwater, is called by the inhabitants, "Down-along."

Paletoe, what's a paletoe? what be thick vellar telling about?" he said, turning to me.

The shopman in astonishment, stood stock still, and stared with the string of the still unopened parcel in his mouth.

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I do want a gurt co-at-zummat like dthick," went on the farmer, buttoning his great sack of a top-coat, and turning round, "only, we' a little more cut like."

The little dapper assistant had by this time collected his senses, and, undoing the parcel, he handed out the paletot, this time prudently omitting its name.

"We do a great deal in this article," said he.

The farmer pinched up the material between his great thick finger and thumb, then held it up with both hands. between him and the light.

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Why I should bust'n out in the zeems in vive minutes! uh be dthinner than our Mall's bumbazeen petticoat! Noa, noa! that on't do vor I."

After a great deal of rummaging, a "slop" great coat was fixed upon, which chiefly recommended itself because of a side pocket that would be "handy-like for a vlem.” "What's the next article I can do for you?" said the shopman.

"Well I do want doo or dree szhurts."

"Carratzza's?" said the salesman, interrogatively. The farmer looked up and down as if he did not quite catch the question; then, as if he fancied his dog must have been addressed, he whistled and said, "Snap, tell the gentleman can you kill a rat, zur."

"You mistake me," said the shopman. "This is the carratzza shirt-buttons behind-cut to shape of bodysmall sleeves-article I can recommend."