waltz. No wheedling or pouting could bring him to endure it. It is even against his better judgment that he ever trusts one of his young and handsome daughters as far as " down the middle and back again." He had and has his reasons; and if he had equally his way (but one at last gets tired of being always in the right), not a foot would he allow them to set in one of those hotbeds of tenderness, a brilliant ball-room. "No quality is so likely to win a woman, whose heart is truly feminine, as force of character. Hence the success of young officers of a remarkably grave deportment. Females even of the first order of mind are sometimes duped by the affectation of this quality;" and M. B. lays it down as a general rule, "that a little charlatanerie in this respect may be fearlessly employed, provided it appears that the crystallization (on the lady's side) has actually commenced." In another passage he even hints that downright effrontery seldom fails, " either because it pleases in itself, or is mistaken for force of character."

Although the author's main object has been rigorously to lay down the law of" billing and cooing," he still contrives to bring in (d-propos de l'amour) many curious facts and opinions. Thus we have, important to female writers, "I would say that a woman ought never to write any works except (like Madame de Staël Delaunay) such as are not to appear till after her death. If a female under fifty determines upon printing, she commits her happiness to the most terrible of lotteries. The immediate effect is, that if she has the good luck to have a lover, she is sure to lose him on the day of publication." The following has more subtilty, if not more truth it is characteristically introduced as the last of the nine peculiarities which the author thinks he can, "avec ses yeux d'homme," distinguish in the female attribute of modesty. After stating (sixthly) as the great inconvenience of this quality, that it incessantly produces dissimulation, he says, " 9o. Ce qui fait que les femmes, quand elles se font auteurs, atteignent bien rarement au sublime, ce qui donne de la grâce à leurs moindres billets, c'est que jamais elles n'osent pas être franches qu'à demi-être franche serait pour elles comme sortir sans fichu. Rien de plus fréquent pour un homme que d'écrire absolument sous la dictée de son imagination, et sans savoir où il va.'

*

M. Beyle seems familiar with our language, and manifests a very tolerant feeling towards it. The few mottos he employs are taken from the Scotch novels, and at times he does not disdain to embody an English phrase in his text. Now and then, however, as it strikes us, the stranger makes rather a whimsical appearance, as in this instance"Il y a deux malheurs au monde ; celui de la passion contrariée, et celui du 'dead blank.''

Jealousy, of course, has not been left out. It is spoken of here, and we can well believe it, as the most terrible of evils; and hints for its cure are suggested. The remedies proposed are principally three.

"The reason why women, when they become authors, so seldom reach the sublime, and that which gives so much grace to every trivial note they write, is, that they never venture to express more than half what they feel, to speak out without reserve would seem to them like appearing in public without a covering on their necks: whereas nothing is more common than for a man to surrender hin self entirely to the guidance of his imagination, without knowing where it is to lead him."

First, with regard to your rival-You have only one alternative : you must either affect to treat the whole matter as a jest, or make him tremble for his life. If you can do both at a breath, so much the better; and for this purpose, we have not only general instructions, but a formal precedent of the language to be employed in such an emergency. "You are to conceal your attachment, and, under the pretext of vanity, and as if confiding to him a great secret, you are, with all possible politeness, and with an air of perfect indifference and simplicity to address him thus: Sir, I know not how it has come to pass that the world should have taken it into its head to connect the name of that little gipsy, So and So, with mine: they have been even pleased to imagine that I am desperately in love with her. Now, if you have any thoughts that way, I should really give her up to you with all my heart, were it not that such a proceeding on my part would unfortunately expose me to be laughed at. In six months' time, however, she is perfectly at your service; but just at present, the point of honour, which some how or other is attached to these things, obliges me to tell you (I do so with infinite regret) that if, par hazard, you have not the justice to wait till your turn comes, one or other of us must to a certainty blow out the other's brains.'" Mr. Beyle relies a good deal upon the effect of such a declaration. The only objection we see to it is, that the rival as well as the lover may happen to have read the treatise "De l'Amour," and may unexpectedly feel disposed, with responsive politeness and simplicity, to take him at his word. Secondly, reading Othello is recommended to the jealous, and particularly the passage

"Trifles light as air," &c.

Thirdly, a sea-view. "J'ai éprouvé que la vue d'une belle mer est consolante."

In the second volume the author takes a rapid sketch of the various nations of the earth "par rapport à l'amour." He hits the English hard: he does so, he assures us, with pain, and even tears in his eyes; for on the whole he likes us, and Shakspeare is one of his favourite writers but nations as well as individuals must be told of their faults. Some of his strictures upon what he saw here are amusing. Speaking of our domestic habits, he says, "In England, the rich, disgusted with their homes, and pretending that exercise is necessary, contrive every day to walk over the space of twelve or fifteen miles, as if man was created for the sole purpose of trotting about the world. The consequence is, that the nervous fluid which should have gone to refresh the heart, drips down and is dissipated through the legs; and yet after this they have the impertinence to talk of female delicacy, and to sneer at the manners of Italy and Spain." In Italy it is quite the reverse-a young Italian takes care not to trudge down his sensibility, and " as to the women, one of your English misses will get over more ground in a week, than a Roman lady in a year." The author, however, has elsewhere spoken more favourably of our countrywomen; and, in justice to them and to him, we cannot omit the passage. Towards the close of his work we find the following memorandum :-"London, Aug. 1817.-I have never in my life been so struck and intimidated by the presence of beauty as I was this evening at Madame Pasta's concert. She was surrounded by three rows of

such lovely girls-their beauty was altogether so pure and heavenly, that I involuntarily sunk my eyes in reverence, instead of raising them to admire and feast upon their charms-such a thing never happened to me before, not even in my dear Italy." We have inserted the date, as some of our fair readers may have been in the group, and may have no objection to be thus reminded of it.

His censures are equally severe upon our literature. He hints that one of our liberal Reviews is paid by the Bishops to abuse M. Chenier -and (a still more comprehensive charge) he asserts, not even excepting us, whom he reads and quotes, that "such has been the blighting influence of universal cant, that it has now become impossible (horrescimus referentes) to write a lively page in English!!" Shade of Jonathan Kentucky! Ghost of the Ghost of Grimm! (thou art, indeed, doubly dead if such an imputation doth not rouse thee from the tomb,) -sole patentee for genuine " Peter Pindarics !" and thou, his kindred spirit, from whose lips not milk and water, but "Milk and Honey," periodically flows-we call upon you to come forward and repel-but our personal feelings overwhelm us, and we must drop the subject.

From the foregoing extracts it has been seen that there is a good deal of bizarrerie, both of style and opinion, in this production; but in justice to the author we must state, that there are numerous redeeming excellencies, and that our general impression, when we closed the book, was one of considerable respect for his talents; mingled, however, with surprise and regret at seeing them so provokingly occupied. His thoughts upon female education, to which he has devoted three or four long chapters, are liberal and wise his sketches of society in the countries he visited (excepting England, which he manifestly does not comprehend) are spirited and original; and throughout, amidst all his waywardness of speculation, our inclination to smile has been incessantly checked by some new and delicate observation, delicately expressed; or by some burst of vigour, which proved to us that the writer had been trifling with his powers and acquirements. The following, for instance, (and almost every page would supply others quite as good) is worthy of Rochefoucault; we must give it in his own words" Des regards: c'est la grande arme de la coquetterie vertueuse. On peut tout dire avec un regard, et cependant on peut toujours nier un regard, car il ne peut pas étre repété textuellement."* We give another in a different style, N'ai-je pas vu des femmes de la Cour de Saint Cloud soutenir que Napoléon avait un caractère sec et prosaïque ? Le grand homme est comme l'aigle, plus il s'élève, moins il est visible, et il est puni de sa grandeur par la solitude de l'ame." This is not the only occasion upon which the author has ventured upon a compliment to his old master. His fidelity and courage do him honour, for he is not blind to Napoleon's failings, and he knows the hazard, at the present day, of not caJumniating fallen greatness.

"Glances.-This is the great weapon of virtuous coquettes.-One can say every thing by a glance, and yet one can always deny the meaning of a glance, for it is impossible to report it literally."

+ "Have I not heard the ladies that frequented the Court of St. Cloud insist that Napoleon's temperament was dry and unpoetical? A great man is like the eagle the higher he soars, the less he is discernible; and, in the end, he is punished for his greatness, by the mental solitude in which he finds himself."

M. Beyle has sprinkled his work with many original anecdotes. In the chapter on "Female Pride," he alludes to the fate of Pia, whose husband, Nello della Pietra, in a fit of jealousy, carried her off to a solitary mansion in the marshes of Volterre, where, as he anticipated, she quickly sunk beneath the effects of the mal-aria.* It happened once to me in Piedmont," says M. B., "to be the involuntary witness of a very similar circumstance, though, at the time, I was unacquainted with the details. I was detached with a party of dragoons into the woods that skirt the vale of Sesia, to prevent the smuggling that went on there. Upon arriving at night in that wild and desolate tract, I perceived among the trees the ruins of an old chateau, which I entered. To my great surprise, it was inhabited. I found within it a nobleman of the country. He was a person of an inauspicious appearance, about six feet high, and forty years of age. He gruffly supplied me with a couple of rooms. My billeting-officer and I amused ourselves there with music. After a few days we discovered that this man had a female in his custody, whom we laughingly called Camilla. We were far from suspecting the horrid truth. In about six weeks she died. I felt an impulse of melancholy curiosity to see her in her coffin. I gave a gratuity to the monk that had charge of her remains; and towards midnight, under the pretext of sprinkling holy water, he introduced me into the chapel where she lay. I found there one of those magnificent figures which continue beautiful even in the bosom of death. She had a large aquiline nose, whose contour, so expressive at once of elevation and tenderness, I never can forget;-I quitted the mournful spot. Five years after, being with a detachment of my regiment that escorted the Emperor when he went to be crowned King of Italy, I contrived to learn the whole story. I was told that the jealous husband, Count ***, had found attached to his wife's bed an English watch, the property of a young man of the little town in which they resided. On that very day, he carried her off to the ruined chateau, in the midst of the woods of Sesia. Like Nello della Pietra, he uttered not a syllable. In answer to all her entreaties he coldly and silently shewed her the English watch, which he always kept about his person. He thus passed nearly three years with her. At length she died of a broken heart, in the flower of her age. The husband made an attempt to stab the owner of the watch-missed him-fled to Genoa-threw himself on board a ship, and has never since been heard of."

We had noted down two or three other romantic situations for insertion; but we are reminded that we cannot afford, like our more susceptible neighbours, to dwell for ever upon this fascinating subject.

*When Dante meets her, (Purg. Canto v.) she disdains to complain of her husband, except in the most covert terms. M. Beyle is justified in pronouncing her words to be peculiarly touching.

"Deh! quando tu sarai retornato al mondo

雜

Ricordati di me, che son la Pia.

Sienna mi fè, disfecemi Maremma ;

Salsi colui, che inannellata pria

Disposando, m' avea con la sua gemma."

"Alas! when you return to the world, remember me.-I am Pia-I received my life at Sienna, and lost it in the Marshes. He from whose hands I got the spousal ring, knows my story."

We would, at parting, recommend to M. Beyle to follow our example. He has talents that fit him for higher things than compiling a "Wooingmade-easy," for the use of French coteries. He also evinces a laudable desire to emancipate himself from the trammels of French taste in matters of literature and art: and he has, to a considerable extent, succeeded. With such capabilities he can easily find subjects more worthy of their exercise; or, if it must be "Love, still Love," we would advise him to try his hand on a novel. He has many of the requisites for that species of composition:-sensibility, fancy, observation, with facility, and vigour of style and description. This is what he should have done with the materials of the present work; and if he would still be just to himself, and put his out-of-the-way opinions into the mouths of fictitious personages, and cristallize his axioms into interesting human beings, and affecting incidents and situations, we pledge ourselves to him that we are not yet so far gone in cant as not to relish his production; and that, in spite of all the wealth of the bishops, we shall record our approbation.

:

SELECT SOCIETY; OR, A WEEK AT WORTHING.

1822.-SEPT. 2d, Monday.-Set off from my tea-shop in Tooleystreet, in Newman's patent safety-coach, for Worthing. Stept in over the front wheel. Stopt at Elephant and Castle. Stopt at Elephant and Castle. Drew up cheek by jowl with Tom Turpentine, who was outside the Brighton Comet. Asked me why I went to Worthing: told him how select the society was. Tom grinned, and betted me a bottle that I should be at Brighton before seven days were over my head. Bought three pears at Dorking offered one to gentleman in front, which he declined, and took a paper of sandwiches from his pocket: never offered me one, which I thought rude. Arrived at Worthing at half-past four. Head dizzy with the rattling of coach-steps. Steyne Hotel: ordered a veal cutlet at five, and walked out to view the ocean. Never saw it before, and never more disappointed. Expected waves mountains high, shrieking mariners, swamped long-boat," and all that sort of thing." Smooth as West-India docks. Walked up to Wick's warm baths, upon the Pebbles,-natives called it the Shingle. Picked up a stone with a hole through it, and put it in my pocket for Jack. Opened window of coffee-room to get health enough for my money. Play-bill-" Cure for the Heart-ache"-performance to begin at seven. Looked at my watch, and wondered to find it only six. Took a stroll five times up and down Anne-street to pass the time. Saw two ladies alight from a coach that had no legs. Asked the driver (I should say the dragger) what it meant? Told me it was a fly. Looked more like a tortoise. Tall manager played Young Rapid. Man next to me said his name was Quinbus Flestrin-an odd name; probably German. Duke of Duck-water in stage box; never noticed me: probably owing to trellis-work. Vining in Frank Oatland;-plays nothing but Mercury at Drury Lane. What can Elliston mean?

Looked

Tuesday.-Prawns for breakfast: like shrimps better. through a telescope. Bathing-machines marked "for gentlemen only." Oil painting in coffee-room: woman riding on dolphin's back, without a rag of covering, and black-bearded man floundering and blowing a trumpet beside her. Asked waiter if that was a picture of a