ATENTI PEBETA.

When you're out on the sidewalk and a rich fellow sizes you up, act the innocent and don't give yourself away; don't let him know you're ready to fall for his first move, or that a pair of neatly pressed trousers will make you lose your head.

When you come downtown, walk with your eyes on the ground, shuffling your shoes and keeping close to the wall, as if all your hopes and consolation were gone; otherwise the fools will say someone's led you astray.

If you see those light-colored gloves, run from them! And a pair of gaiters? Run from those as well! Pay no attention to those overcoats with fourteen buttonholes, or you'll be ruined; nor to those tiny mustaches of fourteen strands that look more like fishing lines than mustaches. Watch out, young girl, take my advice: I'm an old fox, and I care about you.

Lower your skirt until it reaches your ankles; let your hair grow long and wear it in a proper bun. Buy an iron corset, complete with rivets and screws, and give up powder, face cream and rouge. Drink milk with biscuits, or hot chocolate with churros, even when it's exactly the hour for an aperitif. Then get yourself a pistol, and when you catch the first scoundrel, you'll make him pay dearly for disappointed love.