door standing open,) and all within was bustle, noise, and confusion. On my entrance, I met a footman in the most splendid livery I had ever seen. A lady and gentleman passed him, and I heard him bawl out in a voice like Stentor's, Lord and Lady B. This was reechoed by two or three voices above stairs, for all the world, Mr Spy, like the watchmen of this city "calling past twelve o'clock," which I had heard on my way. When I entered the room in which the company were assembled, the scene that presented itself was brilliant beyond any thing I had ever seen in a private gentleman's house. The room was seventy or eighty feet in length, and fitted up in a most superb stile with curtains of crimson velvet. The sofas and chairs were covered with the same stuff. The room was in a blaze of light, and what I could see of the floor was painted with beautiful devices. Here were no fewer than four hundred people crammed so close that they scarcely had room to walk.

When I entered, the lady of the of the house heard my name, and received me with an easy politeness; but she had no sooner paid me the usual salutations, than her attentions were drawn to a party who followed me, and she did not speak to me again during the night. I was all at once lost among this crowd, of whom I knew not a single individual. I stood more than an hour, a silent spectator of the scene. The whole group was in motion, except two or three card parties at the corners of the room. I could not see what all the people were amused with, for to judge by their faces, they were very much delighted. Yet there was neither music, vocal nor instrumental, no dancing, and indeed no amusement whatever, save that of gazing at one another. I could I could remark that I attracted some share of notice, and frequently heard people say as they passed me, He is a young foreign noblemen; yet no person spoke to me, or took any other notice of me.

I soon grew heartily tired of this scene, but I was still in expectation that the lady of the house herself would seek me out at last, and by her attentions make me some amends for the tedious hour and half, which I had passed. After standing some time longer to no purpose, I forced my way to the other end of the room, where I saw a great number of people standing around a card table. I took my station, and heard a gentleman say, "Her ladyship is in very bad luck to night." I immediately cast my eyes upon the lady of whom he spoke; she had lost the bloom of youthful beauty, but was still a fine woman. Her eyes were full of animation, fire, and intelligence, but her whole soul was fixed on the cards, and though she was losing, and the play was deep, preserved astonishing serenity of countenance. countenance. In a few minutes, I saw her lose five hundred pounds, and in spite of all her efforts, a temporary gloom overspread her lovely countenance. She soon recovered her gaiety of manner, and addressing herself to a young man who stood beside her, "Come, Sir," said she, "you'll join our party." Delight beamed in his countenance, proud, I supposed, of the proferred honour. He was the son of a wealthy merchant, and paid dearly for his foolish vanity; for during the half hour that I looked on, he lost near one thousand guineas. I quitted the spot in indignation, and as I was forcing my way through the crowd, with a design of returning home, two young men came up to me. As they approached, I heard one of them saying, "I'll bet a thousand guineas, that he is not a nobleman; he has not even the air of a gentleman."-" Done," said the other, "I was informed that he was by Lady BLady B, and she could not be mistaken." This presumption confounded me; but I took no notice of it. I went to my own lodgings with no very high opinion of Scotch hospitality or Scotch politeness, and heartily wished myself

again in my beloved native city. I have been since informed on very good authority, that this evening's entertainment did not cost less than five hundred pounds, though the gentleman at whose house it was given was averse to such follies, and his whole annual income did not amount to more than three thousand pounds!

Next day I received a card from a lady, inviting me to spend the evening with her. I did not understand this invitation, and was terribly afraid of another rout; and was firmly resolved not to go, should it prove to be so. Before I returned an answer, I shewed the card to one of my young countrymen, who told me it was to cards and supper, adding, that these were usually very pleasant parties. I accepted the invitation, and went on the evening appointed. The lady and her husband both received me very politely; but there was nearly fifty people of different ages present. I expected to meet a small party, and to have an opportunity of becoming acquainted with the family, particularly with the young ladies. I was, besides, desirous of embracing every occasion of improving myself in speaking the language, in which I was conscious of being very deficient. When I entered, the whole party were seated round card tables, engaged at play, or standing beside the players, looking at them. The lady of the house kindly placed me at the table where her own daughters were sitting, to whom she introduced me as their uncle's intimate friend. They asked me to take a hand at whist; and, though I told them that I knew little or nothing of the game, yet they insisted. on my joining them. When I consented, however, I did not know that they were playing for half-a-guinea a game. I very soon lost five guineas. At this I was greatly dissatisfied, yet I concealed my chagrin the best way I could, and resolved to play no more; for, though not poor, neither am I very rich, and

this was a sum I could not spare without inconvenience.

I left the table and sat down on a sofa alone, where I remained some time meditating on Edinburgh hospitality. Surely, said I to myself, things have changed much for the worse since my friends were in this city, else they would never have combined to deceive me.This is only the second party in which I have been, since my arrival here, and in the one I have been tired to death by the insipidity of the scene, and even insulted; and in the other I have been robbed. While I was engaged in these cogitations, two of the ladies who had kindly lightened me of my superfluous cash, came up and seated themselves beside me. One of them asked me if I had seen the panorama of Ben Lomond? I have not, said I. O then, Sir, said she, you must go and see it. It is the most beautiful thing in the world. You will see all the mountains and lakes in Scotland in perspective, far as the eye can reach; and in particular Loch Ketturin, that beautiful lake described by Walter Scott. You must have heard of Mr. Scott, said she, without giving me time to make any reply, all the world have heard of him. He is just the poet of fashion, all other poets are low and vulgar, compared to him. He made me a present of a copy of The Lady of the Lake, said she, handing it down to me. "It has not been used," said I. I have not read it, said she, for I have been at a rout every night for the last six weeks, except Sunday; which, to be sure, is a most terribly tiresome day; and you know, Sir, with all these delightful engagements, it is impossible to find leisure to read. Delightful indeed, said I, seizing the only break in her discourse, for she was now fairly out of breath. "But then," said she," it is so beautifully printed, and so handsomely bound and gilt, and it does so grace my book-case, and then the boast of having received it from

proper word, and I soon discovered with joy that he could converse with fluency in my own language. The lady over against us lost, and I gained much by the change. He took no notice of what had happened, and she well deserved her loss, and I should have no objection to tell her, through the medium of your paper, Mr. Spy, that it would perhaps be as well to be a little more polite to the next stranger she meets, though the cut of his coat, or the turn of his hair should not be exactly in fashion. After four or five hours were passed at cards, a young lady was asked to sing, which she did to the piano, in a manner that made me regret that I had not heard more of it. She had sung just one song, when, to my great mortification, supper was announced. I have forgotten the name of the song; but it was said to be written by Burns, and if I recollect rightly, began thus, "Open the door." The simple melody and pathos of this song, acted on my mind like a shock of electricity, and I could now have wished that the supper had been served in Paris. Strange, Sir, that when the delights of music, and rational conversation is in people's power, they will still prefer card-playing to the obvious injury both of temper and fortune.Nothing happened during supper, worthy of notice, and I was allowed to return home about half past two o'clock, completely exhausted, and very little delighted either with the late hours or the style of entertainments in Edinburgh.

About two months after, I received an invitation to dine with the lady at whose house I had been. I went, and I went, and was happy to find the family alone.She told me, that she regretted much that she had not been able to see me earlier. She complained of the dissipation of this city, and the despotism of fashion. She and her daughters, she told me, had been in company every night for three months past, to a very late hour, and that they were now going to the country for a few months to

recruit. They seemed indeed to require it. The young ladies were feeble, pale, sickly and peevish: The bloom of youthful beauty, and the cheerfulness and vivacity natural to their age, had both fled. Is it not astonishing, Sir, that a mother should sacrifice her own health, and that of her lovely daughters, at the shrine of fashion? Is this the way to prepare them to act the part of good wives, or good mothers, or to make them amiable and respectable in any one relation of life? Is it not wonderful that a woman like this, who, when not tramelled by fashion, was hospitable, amiable and intelligent, should suffer herself to be dragged along. by the despotic sway of fashion, and that too, diametrically opposite to her own better judgment? This letter is rather longer than I at first intended, but you will oblige me by inserting it in an carly number of your paper, and if any foreign idiom have crept into it, or any inaccuracy in grammar, expression, or spelling, I shall thank you to correct NORMAN.

them.

After new modelling a number of sentences, altering some expressions, and correcting a good many inaccuracies in grammar and spelling, I with pleasure lay my correspondent's letter before the public this week, and shall make a few remarks on the subject of it. I do this the more readily as I have been frequently a sufferer in the same way myself. Not many days ago, I went to call on a lady upon business of importance, in which I knew she was deeply interested. I walked from Hope Park to the west end of Heriot Row, and when I mounted the steps, I was glad to see her standing at the diningroom window. The instant she saw me she retired; I however saw her fully, and was confident that it was she the servant told me his mistress was not at home. Not at home? said I, with surprise; you must surely be mistaken! She is not at home, said he, with a

grave countenance, and will not be at home to-day! I left the lying rascal in wrath, and determined not to put my self to the same trouble soon. This habitual lying is a very great hardship imposed on servants; and I have known some conscientous men quit their places rather than submit to it. A friend of mine manages this matter differently. She is shocked at the idea of making her servants tell a falsehood, and when she does not choose to receive visitors, she suffers them to ring the bell without answering it at all. Now I would just hint to ladies of this description, that if this is not positively telling a falsehood, it is concealing the truth, which is nearly as bad. The practice of the Quakers is worthy of imitation in this, as in many other things. A few days ago, as I was walking along Nicholson's Street, I observed a shop of one of the Friends shut, and on a brass plate fastened to the door were these words, "Open at twelve o'clock." Now may not our fine ladies save themselves a great number of vexatious interruptions, and their servants telling a number of falsehoods, by some such contrivance. In this way, intimation might be given that visits of ceremony will not be received at any hour but from three to five. Norman had as good cause to complain of this, as ever man had; but his second subject of complaint is a much more alarming evil, and I am not at all surprised that he was struck with the unnatural state of our evening parties, a state of which our grandmothers had not even a conception. They, good ladies, kept the house all the forenoon, engaged in domestic arrangements, attending to the education of their sons and daughters, or perhaps cultivating their own minds. They seldom stirred abroad unless when duty called, till after ten, and then they made their calls of ceremony. When they gave enter. tainments, which happened seldom, they were marked by neatness, econo my, and unfeigned hospitality, rather

than by splendour, ostentation, and extravagance; and their parties seldom exceeded twelve or sixteen persons, intimately acquainted with each other, of similar tastes, and equal in rank; they spent two or three hours in innocent merriment or amusing and instructing conversation; and if they did sometimes indulge in a hand at whist, card. playing had not then degenerated into gambling. They parted in timely hours, without converting night into day, or injuring their health by continued vigils. In these days it was no unusual thing to see a simple and frugal repast given by some woman of taste or genius, the Mrs H, the Mrs G or Mrs F, of her day; graced by the presence of the poet, the historian, the philosopher, the physician, or the divine, who was the ornament of his age. But these frugal entertainments were seasoned by attic wit, by a playful and sportive humour, or by the ef fusions of a genius, whose graver productions were destined to delight future ages. But, alas! these days of simplicity, elegance, and economy, are long passed. At present all ranks of people seem to vie with each other in the splendour, folly, and extravagance of their entertainments, and the number of visitors they can bring together at one time. Simplicity and frugality are banished from the land. It is melancholy to see the fete of a nobleman described in our public prints with all the pomp of language, that might suit a battle which is to decide whether Europe is to be emancipated, or for ever enslaved. It would be well if the evil terminated here, but like a contagious distemper, it pervades the land, and contaminates the whole mass of society. Four months of each year are spent in a species of dissipation, by which we are led as far as possible from the simple pleasures of nature; by which the mind is enervated and rendered incapable of relishing any thing serious or manly. Domestic education is rejected, and the