Bret Harte

“ Look down from your box at the Opera Comique, Mademoiselle, and count the bald crowns of the fast young men in the pit. Ah—you tremble! They show where the arrows of love have struck and glanced off.
N. N. was also near-sighted, as all Parisians finally become. This is a gallant provision of Nature to spare them the mortification of observing that their lady friends grow old. After a certain age every woman is handsome to a Parisian.
One day, N. N. was walking down Washington street. Suddenly he stopped.
He was standing before the door of a mantuamaker. ”

“ In love they are simply barbarous. They purchase their wives openly, and not constructively by attorney. By offering small sums for their sweethearts, they degrade the value of the sex.
Nevertheless, N. N. felt he was saved. He explained all to the faithful Mongolian, and exhibited the letter he had written. He implored him to deliver it.
The Mongolian assented. The race are not cleanly or sweet-savored, but N N. fell upon his neck. ”