could if I would,” when Miss Love’s elopement is mentioned, and state with heroic confidence that the Vesuvius scene in “Masaniello” at Astley’s beat Drury by thirteen bricks and two ounces of Greek fire.  You must pretend to know the salaries of all the employes in every establishment, and be able to describe the plot of every new piece the moment it is underlined.  You can obtain sufficient information to enable you to pass muster on this subject any evening at the Garrick’s Head.  It would be of great service if you could contrive to be seen in conversation with a respectable actor now and then.  You must have seen every sight and exhibited at every exhibition in town, and be able to discuss their several merits or demerits with a “learned spirit.”  A knowledge of the principal nobility—­by person at least—­is a sine qua non, for how else should you be able to recount the names of those you saw in the Park on Sunday last?  Keep a list of the ages and portions of as many young ladies as possible, and be cautious how you dispose of your information on this score.  These, I think, are the principal topics; and the best advice I can give is, “Never be quiet:  speak on ad infinitum.”

The man who inwardly digests these rules will be a treasure at any dinner party.  The awful silence which prevails on the removal of the tablecloth—­and an awful silence it surely is—­will be dispelled.  No ordinary man thinks of speaking, except in monosyllables, till he gets a little “elevated,” and then he speaks nonsense as a matter of course. You must keep sober—­for people will occasionally get “mellow,” even in good society—­and this you will easily manage to do by thinking of the immense superiority you will thus secure on joining the ladies in the drawing-room.  You will be able to hand some blushing fair her coffee without pitching cup and contents into her lap, and stoop to pick up her fan or handkerchief without incurring the risk of breaking your nose.  Should quadrilles be proposed, you will also be able to avoid those little dos-a-dos accidents which are by no means agreeable, and be qualified to pronounce, with tolerable certainty, which is your own partner.

Sharpe’s Magazine.

* * * * *

THE SELECTOR; AND LITERARY NOTICES OF NEW WORKS.

* * * * *

VIDOCQ.

Some very pleasant blunderer is said to have declared Moore’s Life of Sheridan to be the best piece of Autobiography he had ever read; and with little more propriety can the concluding volume of Vidocq’s Memoirs be said to belong to that species of literature styled Autobiography.  The early volumes, however, possessed this feature, but the present is little more than a criminal supplement to the Memoirs.  Of this defect, the translator seems to be aware; for in his “Sequel,”