beautiful by the free use of “Chaulks Poudres,” a box of which can be obtained at 96 Azure-street, for 25 cts.  After reading another column, headed “An act of mercy,” you find at its close a most pathetic appeal to your tender sensibilities in an affectionate request for you to call on Dr. Digg and have your corns extracted without pain.  Despairing of finding the “intellectual treat,” you lay the paper aside, and resolve upon taking a walk.

Before you are monstrous show-bills, emblazoned with large letters and innumerable exclamation-points.  Above you, flaunting flags with flaming notices.  Beneath you, marble slabs inscribed with the names of traders and their goods.  Around you, boys with their arms full of printed notices, and men encased with boards on which are mammoth posters.  Sick of seeing these, you close your eyes; but you don’t escape so easily;—­a dinner-bell is rung in your ears, and a voice, if not like mighty thunder, at least like an embryo earthquake, proclaims an auction sale, a child lost, or news for the afflicted.

And thus it is, the world is one great Babel.  All is business, business, and we ask for “some vast wilderness” in which to lie down and get cool, and keep quiet.

In Paris, the people long since adopted a plan which has not yet come in vogue among us.  A long story is written; in the course of this story, a dozen or more establishments receive the author’s laudations, which are so ingeniously interwoven that the reader is scarcely aware of the design.  For instance, Marnetta is going to an evening party.  In the morning she goes out, and is met by a sprig of gentility, a young man of fashion, who cannot allow her to omit entering the unrivalled store of Messrs. Veuns, where the most beautiful silks, etc., are to be seen and purchased.  Leaving this, she next encounters a young lady acquaintance of prudent and economical habits, by whom, “our heroine” is led into a store where beauty and elegance are combined with durability and a low price.  She wishes perfumery; so she hastens to Viot & Sons; for none make so good as they, and the fragrance of their store has been wafted on the winds of all nations.

Thus is the story led on from one step to another, with its interest not in the least abated, to the end.  This embraces “puffery,” as it is called.  And, while on this subject, we may as well bring up the following specimen of this species of advertising.  It was written by Peter Seguin, on the occasion of the first appearance in Dublin of the celebrated Mrs. Siddons.  It caused much merriment at the time among some, while in others, who could not relish a joke, it excited anger.