PETTICOAT GOVERNMENT.
IT is quite right that the King should have one wife at least
The Shah of Persia thinks that the British Monarch is poorly off because he has not, as he has, three hundred and sixty e and, in fact, holds him to be little better than a slave on that score.
In the multitude of counsellors there lieth wisdom. Perhaps this is the reason why SOLOMON surrounded himself with such an in-
vigorating supply of petticoats. If a king had many wives, and he were inclined to consult them in affairs of state, he could, it is clear, avail himself of the ingenuity of their suggestions without being overwhelmed by the virulence of their eloquence. Una- nimity is not to be expected in such an assembly ; and while the opposing parties were aiming at mutual annihilation, the venerable consulter might retire scatheless, and leave the parties to spend_ their ammunition on each other. But where a king has but one wife, great is the danger and dire the strife ! How is he to escape? whither is the lover of tranquillity to flee ? The curtain lecture closes the night : the sulky breakfast issues.
in the morning : noon is open to discussion . the drive is a prison, with the agreeable company of an executioner. din-
ner is an interchange of indigestible glances. There is but one social hour—one genial moment of freedom and expan- sion : the ladies are gone—the claret sparkles—this is the time sacred to Reform. It is for this that Englishmen, despising Continental fashions, have preserved sacred the hour of the circu- lation of the wine—in other words, the hour of the circulation of the heart's blood—the conservative moments of our constitutional life. Around the impregnable board, the independence of man- kind flourishes like a gourd, and for a brief period man sparkles in all his pristine vigour. But, alas! the genial hour is brief: the news of the preparation of the feminine beverage sounds like a war-trumpet from a distance: the mind fancies the battle array of the drawing-room, and the spirit of man suc- cumbs. But most chopfallen of all is he at the bead of the table—he the most jovial of the crew —the Justice Shallow of the party—he who reminds the company of the
pranks of his youthful days, and knows where in his time the bona rims lived. Dead are the lees of wine! sad is the fate
of old flesh linked to young muscle! the contest is unequal:. the frothy joys of memory fail, and the imbecility of the• pre- sent day stands confessed before the lowering brow, the con- strained company-smile, the fatal whisper of the youthful drawing- room queen. The armoury of a woman is ever full; her ammunition is various and inexhaustible. For the yielding moment, she has smiles and blandishment ; for the hour of business, importunity and dis- turbance; for the hour of love, jealousy ; and it' all that is said be true, a Pantaloon may have a Harlequin flung in his face in the guise of a Lord Chamberlain or a Gold Stick. Man is a tranquil
animal : a woman is a creature of unquiet means, but of steady purpose — she is a squirrel in a cage, ever moving, and ever grinding. In the fulness of manhood, these arts may be resisted or averted; but in the decay of life, when an amiable man thinks only of descending to the tomb tranquilly and decorously, or of perhaps snatching a peaceful day from fate at the close of an un- quiet course, he is peculiarly the prey of a violent-tempered part- ner, firm of purpose and unscrupulous of means,—charaeteristies which may be disguised under the blandest of manners, in.the most gentle of private behaviour.
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