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Sketches of Character.

are filled with bargains of every description, most of which are likely to descend to her children's children as memorials of her genius.


Is quite the reverse of Mrs. Bustle for she seldom rises till mid-day, and never troubles herself at all about her domestic arrangements; exertion is death to her, and the very thought of a kitchen puts her in the horrors. She appears only adapted for an eastern climate where she would be borne about in a palanquin, and fauned by her attending slaves. She lies stretched on a sofa in her morning dress from breakfast to dinner, with her soft eyes half closed, dozing over the pages of a novel or a poem: in short, she is quite the fine lady; and so little is she acquainted with what passes in her house, that she scarcely knows the faces of her domestics, except those that are immediately about her. It is lucky that she is the wife of a man of fortune, for her indolence and love of ease would bring ruin on a man of limited means. It is really amusing to see her and Mrs. Bustle when they meet. The latter all life, talk and business, running on in her random way, describing the excellence of a new receipt, or extolling her cleverness in cheapening her last purchase, while the vacant look of Mrs. Listless declares that she knows nothing of the matter. Now


Is a happy medium between the two: for she has all the cleverness of Mrs. Bustle without any of her fuss, and all the ease of Mrs. Listless without the least portion of her indolence. At whatever hour you may chance to drop in, you are sure to find her neat in her appearance, and perfectly easy in her manner; she is never to be caught with her sleeves tucked up to her elbows, and a servant's bib before her, as I have often found Mrs. Bustle, or lolling on a lounger as I have always discovered Mrs. Listless; and yet there is no woman who pays more attention to her household concerns than Mrs. Tidy; but she has a system in her management, and although her fortune is far from being ample, yet every thing about her displays the utmost elegance and order; and all this is accomplished with her being obliged to render her personal exertions, for she has no servants but those on whom she can depend, and who are always pleased in executing her orders. Her house is neat and commodious; and her apart

De Winza.

ments, though not superbly furnished, are tastefully arranged. Her table, unlike Mrs. Bustle's, never groans with the weight of the feast,' but it presents a happy specimen of elegant economy; abundance, without waste, and every thing excellent in its way. Indeed I am told she has reduced her domestic arrangements to such a system, that nothing in her house is lost or wasted; she is thus enabled, not only to relieve the necessities of the poor, and to save an useless expenditure, but also to preserve her domestics in sobriety and honesty, by depriving them of temptations which few of them can resist. It is from this cause that those she retains in her service are cheerful and happy, and never feel inclined to change their place, while the servants of Mrs. Listless are continually jarring among themselves, and are generally discharged for inebriety or peculation, which often ends in confirmed drunkenness, beggary and want.

So far, Mr. Editor, I have extracted from my note-book; and having devoted this paper to the ladies, I purpose in my next communication to trouble you with sketches of a few gentlemen, which perhaps may serve to entertain some of your readers.

With many thanks for your polite attention to so dull a correspondent,

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I beg to remain,

De Winza.

(Continued from page 38.)

Your obedient servant,

X. Y. Z.

"His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles;
His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate;
His tears, pare messengers sent from his heart,
His heart as far from fraud, as Heaven from Earth.”

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SHORTLY after the return of DE WINZA, a splendid entertainment was given by his father to celebrate his arrival in Madrid, to which most of the nobility and gentry of the capital were invited, and amongst the rest, DE MORLA and his wife. All that luxury could invent, or wealth procure,

De Winza.

was lavished on this occasion; the rich suite of apartments, in his house in the Plaza Mayor were thrown open at an early hour for the reception of company, and, together with the gardens, were brilliantly illuminated. Bands of music were stationed at convenient places, who, by a mixture of national and foreign airs, gratified the taste of the various individuals assembled. Devices, emblematic of the successes of Spain over her proud invaders, were placed in the gardens, which were splendidly lit with variegated lamps, and displayed such a scene of brilliancy and splendor as had seldom been witnessed in Madrid. Almost all the British Officers forming the garrison of the city were invited, and the ichness and variety of their dress, contrasted with that of the Spanish Cavaliers, who seemed to vie with them on the occasion, presented a spectacle not often beheld by the domestic demoiselles of Madrid. The beauty of the women, their light airy figures, hovering, like celestial spirits, through the rooms, galleries, and gardens; their splendid dresses floating in the amber light effused by the burning lamps and chandeliers, and the grace, elegance, and nobility of their motions, were felt and acknowledged by the throb of many a youthful heart. All was new, brilliant, and delightful; vases of incense placed in different corners of the rooms, sent up the most delicious perfumes, mingled with the fragrance of various plants and flowers that lined the interior of the walls, and equally delighted by their sweetness and beauty. Music, dancing, and feasting, were the amusements and occupations of the night, and in these, invention was racked to gratify the taste and inclination of the happy visitors. In one room were to be seen the national dances performed by some of the youngest and most beautiful of the Spanish nobility, who had not yet so far divested themselves of their national prejudices, as to join in the gayer movements of their more polished neighbours. In another room, a less fastidious party were wandering through the mazes of the waltz and the quadrille, displaying every attitude and movement that could delight the eye of the most refined voluptuary; while in a third apartment, a more numerous party were engaged in English country dances, and among these was DE WINZA. He had just led off with ISABEL, and the lightness and imperceptibility of their motions, the gracefulness and ease with which they passed along, combined with an air of indescribable elegance and bashfulness, that seemed desirous to shun the admiration

De Winza.

it excited, called forth the applauses of all around them. Her light and fragile form, her bending gracefulness of manner, her retiring softness, and imposing loveliness of person, were finely contrasted by his tall majestic figure, his manly deportment, and the peculiar air of dignified ease which accompanied every motion. There was a tone, a kind of intellectual energy in their dancing, that, compared, with that of others, appeared rather like the movement of spiritual beings, than that of mortal substances-a movement that left echo almost mute, and silence breathless. Every action, every motion expressed the intensity of that feeling which held such a powerful sway over their hearts, and made them, at the moment, forgetful of all that passed around them. They had no conception of any feeling but what was centered in each other; there was but one form floating before the eyes of each, and that form was robed in loveliness and light, presenting an altar and a shrine for the worship of its votary, upon which the purest incense of the heart might 'be offered, and offered without a blush, for it was stainless. The burst of admiration was unheard-the sigh of envy was unnoticed-they passed from the dancing room, and ISABEL complaining of fatigue, DE WINZA led her to a seat in an adjoining apartment.

There is a time in the infancy of passion, when every look, every tone is treasured, as an indication of that feeling we are anxious to excite; when we gaze on the clear bright surface of that countenance, which love has tinted with every hue, and decked with every grace, till we fancy we can read in the unclouded mirror, the guileless movements of the heart; when imagination is busy in the anticipation of delight, and every thought is dedicated to the one object, and every hope is confined to the one wish; when the heart, like the bark of the Indian, floats on the waters of existence, calm and untroubled-and the breeze that wafts it is filled with the odours of the Amrita, and the wave that bears it is sparkling in the splendor of the sunbeam. Then is the day-spring of passion in the breast, and the evening and the morning of that day are the first in the calendar of our intellectual existence. Where is the heart that hath not experienced the exquisite delight of awakening a new feeling in the soul of the one beloved, and of tracing that feeling through its various complexities-from the murmur of the first sigh, to the burning acknowledgement of love? Who hath not felt the impetuous tumult of his veins while leading

De Winza.

the beloved form through the dance, clasping her warm hands in the rapture of enthusiasm, and fancying the involuntary pressure of her hand, a tacit confession of the recognition of that feeling which pervades him? or

Who hath not paus'd while beauty's pensive eye
Ask'd from his heart the homage of a sigh?-

To those who have thus felt the question is unnecessary, and by those who have not, it cannot be understood. By De WINZA and ISABEL it was experienced silently but intensely; and the mute expression of their features spoke more forcibly than words, the internal emotions of their hearts. It is the language of Nature-a language not confined by terms, or subject to control, but having its origin in the essence of our spiritual being, and which every look indicates, every glance reveals. In countries the most barbarous, where the untutored savage "sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind," it is the language of his adoption-the vehicle of his thoughts, and it is only among the more refined nations, that man has recourse to the medium of words for the conveyance of his feelings.

DE WINZA and ISABEL sat for some time in that sweet inebriety of thought which the novelty of their situation naturally produced; they loved-each was conscious of the similarity of feeling which pervaded both, yet neither dared to give utterance to it. There is a timidity, a kind of innate bashfulness, attendant upon real love, that seals the tips of its votaries, and precludes, for a time, its open disclosure. We gaze on the beautiful object-we live in the light of her smile, and bask in the sunshine of her presence; we erect an altar in the heart, on which we sacrifice every hope of our existence, and consecrate our future life to the service of the being, for the worship of whose loveliness even the devotion of the heart seems inadequate; and yet we tremble to give utterance to the intensity of the passion which enslaves us, and we bow in mute devotion before the shrine that we adore. Such is the first dawning of love, in all its purity and brightness, and such it remains, till some accident calls forth the unburied "slumberers of the heart," and discloses those emotions we had treasured with an idolatrous enthusiasm.

The room in which they sat was at some distance from that in which they had been dancing, and several of the company had retired there to enjoy the comparative coolness of the air. It was a spacious apartment, and overlooked the gardens

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