is _chapeaux_ look as if made by fairy fingers, so fresh,
so light, do they appear; and his caps seem as if the gentlest sigh of
a summer's zephyr would bear them from sight, so aerial is their
texture, and so delicate are the flowers that adorn them, fresh from
the _ateliers_ of Natier, or Baton.

Beware, O ye uxorious husbands! how ye bring your youthful brides to
the dangerous atmosphere of Paris, while yet in that paradise of fools
ycleped the honey-moon, ere you have learned to curve your brows into a
frown, or to lengthen your visages at the sight of a long bill.

In that joyful season, when having pleased your eyes and secured your
hearts, your fair brides, with that amiability which is one of the
peculiar characteristics of their sex, are anxious to please all the
world, and from no other motive than that _your_ choice should be
admired, beware of entering Paris, except _en passant_. Wait until you
have recovered that firmness of character which generally comes back to
a Benedict after the first year of his nuptials, before you let your
wives wander through the tempting mazes of the _magasins de modes_ of
this intoxicating city.

And you, fair dames, "with stinted sums assigned," in the shape of
pin-money, beware how you indulge that taste for pretty bonnets, hats,
caps, and turbans, with which all bountiful Nature has so liberally
gifted you; for, alas! "beneath the roses fierce Repentance rears her
snaky crest" in form of a bill, the payment of which will "leave you
poor indeed" for many a long day after, unless your liege lord, melted
by the long-drawn sighs heaved when you remark on the wonderfully high
prices of things at Paris, opens his purse-strings, and, with something
between a pshaw and a grunt, makes you an advance of your next
quarter's pin-money; or, better still, a present of one of the hundred
pounds with which he had intended to try his good luck at the club.

Went yesterday to the Rue d'Anjou, to visit Madame Craufurd. Her hotel
is a charming one, _entre cour et jardin_; and she is the most
extraordinary person of her age I have ever seen. In her eightieth
year, she does not look to be more than fifty-five; and possesses all
the vivacity and good humour peculiar only to youth.

Scrupulously exact in her person, and dressed with the utmost care, as
well as good taste, she gives me a notion of the appearance which the
celebrated Ninon de l'Enclos must have presented at the same age, and
has