and authors--and, though living up five
or six pairs of stairs in a narrow lane, gives _soirees_ and
_conversaziones_. More ludicrous all this, and decidedly less
disgusting, than the assumptions of our man-milliners and fishmongers.
There is short sketch by Paul de Kock, called a _Soiree Bourgeoise_,
which we translate entire, as an illustration of this curious phase of
French character; and we shall take an early opportunity of bringing
before our readers the essays of the daily feuilletonists of the
Parisian press, which give a clearer insight into the peculiarities of
French domestic literature than can be acquired in any other quarter.

A CIT'S SOIREE.

Lights were observed some time ago, in the four windows of an apartment
on the second floor of a house in the Rue Grenetat. It was not quite so
brilliant as the Cercle des Etrangers, but still it announced something.
These four windows, with lights glancing in them all, had an air of
rejoicing, and the industrious inhabitants of the Rue Grenetat, who
don't generally go to much expense for illumination, even in their
shops, looked at the four windows which eclipsed the street lamps in
their brilliancy, and said, "There's certainly something very
extraordinary going on this evening at M. Lupot's!" M. Lupot is an
honest tradesman, who has retired from business some time. After having
sold stationary for thirty years, without ever borrowing of a neighbour,
or failing in a payment, M. Lupot, having scraped together an income of
three hundred and twenty pounds, disposed of his stock in trade, and
closed his ledger, to devote himself entirely to the pleasures of
domestic life with his excellent spouse, Madam Felicite Lupot--a woman
of an amazingly apathetic turn of mind, who did admirably well in the
shop as long as she had only to give change for half-crowns, but whose
abilities extended no further. But this had not prevented her from
making a very good wife to her husband, (which proves that much talent
is not required for that purpose,) and presenting him with a daughter
and a son.

The daughter was the eldest, and had attained her seventeenth year; and
M. Lupot, who spared nothing on her education, did not despair of
finding a husband for her with a soul above sticks of sealing-wax and
wafers--more especially as it was evident she had no turn for trade, and
believed she had a decided genius for the fine arts--for she had painted
her father as a shepherd with his c