to-morrow.  It having come the fashion of the day for managers of theaters to feast their patrons on the morbid sentimentality of French plays, (as if the vices of our own social system were not enough to excite the vicious propensities of our high blooded youths,) so also would it seem the highest inspiration of the eighteenth century play writer to rehash and coarsify for the American stage all those lascivious eccentricities for which the French are famous.  Hence, your jolly play writer is generally engaged with his friends, smoking pipes and reading the last French piece.  The pleasure excited by this congenial occupation is invariably heightened with libations of whiskey, the play writer having a credit with the grocer at the corner for three bottles, which, in a case of emergency, may be extended to four.  He writes occasionally for the Sunday newspapers, thinks John Brougham the greatest dramatist and wit of the age, and stands ready either to join him in a glass or sing his praises, though there is as much reason for committing so flagrant an outrage as there would be in praising the ten thousand and one stanzas written by that wonderful and very eccentric bard, Richard Yeadon, who has sung of so many springs and watering places as to dry up his own muse.  He is likewise something of a dabbler at reviewing novels, but they must be largely sprinkled with murders, and have plots strong enough to carry anything but the clergy.  All other critics are to him great bores; but, like them, he has a price for his services, and will, if you pay him, make Shakspeares and Corneilles of very ordinary persons.  As for respectable society, he never even scented the perfumery of its outskirts; he therefore holds it in utter contempt.  Ready at all times to adapt himself to circumstances, if he chance to get in arrears to his landlady, he will square the account by marrying either herself or her daughter.”  Mr. Tickler proceeded in this strain, relating sundry curious things of the critics, until the night was far advanced, and concluded by suggesting that no serious damage could result to his constitution from another punch.  The general immediately fell in with this opinion, and indeed was so entertained by his narrative, that he would have ordered a dozen punches without considering his obligation to him wiped out.  The punch being dispatched, the general slipped five dollars into Mr. Tickler’s hand, and desired him to proceed to the host, thank him for his great kindness, and clear the little score from his ledger.  Greatly delighted at the prospect of performing this service, Mr. Tickler proceeded to the office, and was informed by the polite host that it was a custom with him never to take money of persons driven to seek shelter in his house by accidents.  To end the matter, he vowed it not only gave him great pleasure to have so distinguished a military gentleman in his house, which had bore a character for hospitality he was scrupulous it should continue to maintain, but that he would be happy to see him again.  Indeed, he wished him success in all his undertakings, hoping they would bring comfort in great abundance.