On Thursday, a beautiful equipage was seen in the Champs Elysées, containing an elderly gentleman and a lady; the latter, though her face was covered with a thick veil, appeared to be young and handsome. The gentleman, an Englishman, Sir Edward ——, is said to be one of the oddest and most eccentric fellows ever produced by prolific Albion. A talented pianist was lately summoned to his house. His services were required for an evening party, and a generous recompense was promised. The musician came early, and he was introduced into a spacious drawing-room, where many persons were already assembled. This apartment, which was magnificently furnished, was but dimly lighted by two lamps, and scarcely heated at all—the splendid fireplace, adorned with costly bronzes, containing only a wretched fire, which cast a sepulchral glare over the rich furniture. The host went to meet the musician as soon as the footman had announced him, and received him in a most flattering manner. A lady, most sumptuously and elegantly dressed, was seated on a sofa. "Allow me to introduce you to Lady ——, my wife!" said Sir Edward. The musician made a profound obeisance, which the lady, nevertheless, took no notice of; she sat straight and immovable, and fixed an unearthly gaze on the new-comer. There was another lady in an arm-chair, leaning with her elbow on a round table, and apparently reading a book with the greatest attention. "My sister, Miss Emily," said Sir Edward. "Mademoiselle," said the pianist, with a bow; but in vain did he repeat the word and the salutation to call the attention of the young lady; she neither moved nor raised her eyes from the book. "She has always loved reading very much," said Sir Edward. "Rather more than politeness would warrant!" thought the artiste to himself. The remainder of the company consisted of five or six gentlemen. The artiste observed, with astonishment, that all these persons affected a strange immobility, just like the lady and sister of Sir Edward. "Will you take a seat at the piano?" said Sir Edward. "What do you wish me to play?" asked the musician. "Shall I select the pieces, or will madam have the kindness to point out some favorite morceau?" Miladi did not reply, and Sir Edward, answering for her, said, "My wife and I have the same taste in music, so play a piece of Mozart or Listz, and one of your own compositions." "I will begin my own, therefore; for after those masters mine would not be acceptable!" modestly replied the artiste. The sofa on which Miladi was seated was very near the piano, and placed in such a manner that the artiste had the lady opposite him. He looked at her while he was playing, in order to read in her countenance the impression which the music might produce on her. The handkerchief which Miladi held in her hand, having, after a while, fallen to the ground, the musician rushed forward to pick it up: and, in doing so, could not refrain from uttering an exclamation of surprise. "What is the matter with you?" said Sir Edward. "Oh, sir, the lady—the pretended lady!" "Alas!" interrupted Sir Edward, "I only possess the image of an adored wife!" And it was then explained that the worthy baronet, being inconsolable for the loss of certain friends, always travelled about with their image in wax! A party of living friends afterwards assembled, and the evening was spent very agreeably.
HOUSEKEEPERS, look at this; and, before you engage a cook, inquire if she has a husband. This is an illustration of that that said husband going to the paternal abode, with something to feed the young ravens, after having paid a visit to his wife. It is simply "the husband of your cook leaving your house."
SOUND REASONING—and, as such, will be recognized by those who have been humbugged by the Brown and other lecturers who have honored us with visits from abroad:—
Lectures vs. Books.—Why a man should put on his overcoat and comforter, and a woman wrap herself in furs, mufflers, cloaks, and shawls, and the children bundle up, to face a strong nor'-wester, and go out to hear a lecture of dubious excellence, or a concert that, after all, is little better than a bore, while at home a goodly array of philosophers and poets, story-tellers and grand advisers, stand waiting to offer their services; yet not one of which looks sad if his neighbor is preferred before him—this we would wonder at, if it were not everybody's habit. If a man has weak eyes, or his thoughts find no anchorage, and if he cannot afford the luxury of a private reader, let him visit the public lecture-room, and he can get much good from it. Or if, for his sins, he has lost his home, let him go to the concert and mortify himself. But we who have homes cannot afford, first, the sacrifice of our home comforts, second, the loss of precious winter evening hours, and third, the price of tickets, unless we know of a surety that they will admit us to choice performances.