It was really rather too bad to think that Miss Morgiana, after going to one lover to have her hair dressed, should go with another to the play; but such is the way with lovely woman! Let her have a dozen admirers, and the dear coquette will exercise her power upon them all: and as a lady, when she has a large wardrobe, and a taste for variety in dress, will appear every day in a different costume, so will the young and giddy beauty wear her lovers, encouraging now the black whiskers, now smiling on the brown, now thinking that the gay smiling rattle of an admirer becomes her very well, and now adopting the sad sentimental melancholy one, according as her changeful fancy prompts her. Let us not be too angry with these uncertainties and caprices of beauty; and depend on it that, for the most part, those females who cry out loudest against the flightiness of their sisters, and rebuke their undue encouragement of this man or that, would do as much themselves if they had the chance, and are constant, as I am to my coat just now, because I have no other. “Did you see Doubleyou, 'Gina dear?” said her mamma, addressing that young lady. “He's in the bar with your Pa, and has his military coat with the king's buttons, and looks like an officer.” This was Mr. Woolsey's style, his great aim being to look like an army gent, for many of whom he in his capacity of tailor made those splendid red and blue coats which characterise our military. As for the royal button, had not he made a set of coats for his late Majesty, George IV.? and he would add, when he narrated this circumstance, “Sir, Prince Blucher and Prince Swartzenberg's measure's in the house now; and what's more, I've cut for Wellington.” I believe he would have gone to St. Helena to make a coat for Napoleon, so great was his ardour. He wore a blue-black wig, and his whiskers were of the same hue. He was brief and stern in conversations; and he always went to masquerades and balls in a field-marshal's uniform. “He looks really quite the thing to-night,” continued Mrs. Crump. “Yes,” said 'Gina; “but he's such an odious wig, and the dye of his whiskers always comes off on his white gloves.” “Everybody has not their own hair, love,” continued Mrs. Crump with a sigh; “but Eglantine's is beautiful.” “Every hairdresser's is,” answered Morgiana, rather contemptuously; “but what I can't bear is that their fingers is always so very fat and pudgy.”