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in the enjoyment of high health and spirits, when our light-heartedness finds a natural vent in gay raillery and sparkling repartee, or we must be suffering sufficient positive unhappiness to make us feel that a strong effort is necessary to screen our sorrows from the careless gaze of those around us. Now, though Coleman had not been far wrong in describing me as "weak, languid, and unhappy," mine was not a positive, but a negative unhappiness, a gentle sadness, which was rather agreeable than otherwise, and towards which I was by no means disposed to use the slightest violence. I was in the mood to have shed tears with the lovesick Ophelia, or to moralize with the melancholy Jaques, but should have considered Mercutio a man of no feeling, and the clown a "very poor fool" indeed. In this frame of mind, the conversation appeared to me to have assumed such an essentially frivolous turn, that I soon ceased to take any share in it, and, turning over the leaves of a book of prints as an excuse for my silence, endeavoured to abstract my thoughts altogether from the scene around me, and employ them on some subject less dissonant to my present tone of feeling. As is usually the result in such cases, the attempt proved a dead failure, and I soon found myself speculating on the lightness and frivolity of women in general, and of Clara Saville in particular.

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'How thoroughly absurd and misplaced," thought I, as her silvery laugh rang harshly on my distempered ear, 'were all my conjectures that she was unhappy, and that, in the trustful and earnest expression of those deep blue eyes, I could read the evidence of a secret grief, and a tacit appeal for sympathy to those whom her instinct taught her were worthy of her trust and confidence! Ah well, I was young and foolish then (it was not quite a year and a half ago), and imagination found an easy dupe in me; one learns to see things in their true light as one grows older, but it is sad how the doing so robs life of all its brightest illusions.”

It did not occur to me at that moment, that there was a slight injustice in accusing Truth of petty larceny in regard to a bright illusion in the present instance, as the fact (if fact it were) of proving that Miss Saville was not unhappy, could scarcely be reckoned among that class of offences.

"Come, Freddy," exclaimed Mrs. Coleman, suddenly waking up to a sense of duty, out of a dangerous little nap in which she had been indulging, and which occasioned me great uneasiness, by reason of the opportunity it afforded her for the display of an alarming suicidal propensity which threatened to leave Mr. Coleman a disconsolate widower, and Freddy motherless.

As a warning to all somnolent old ladies, it may not be amiss to enter a little more fully into detail. The exhibition commenced by her seating herself bolt upright in her chair, with her eyes so very particularly open, that it seemed as if, in her case, Macbeth or some other wonder-worker had effectually "murdered sleep." By slow degrees, however, their lids began to close; she grew less and less "wide awake," and, ere long, was fast as a church; her next move was to nod complacently to the company in general, as if to demand their attention. She then oscillated gently to and fro for a few seconds to get up the steam, and concluded the performance by suddenly flinging her head back, with an insane jerk, over the rail of the chair, at the imminent risk of breaking her neck, uttering a loud snort of triumph as she did so.

Trusting the reader will pardon, and the humane society award me a medal for this long digression, I resume the thread of my narrative.

"Freddy, my dear, can't you sing that droll Italian song your cousin Lucy taught you? I'm sure poor Miss Saville must feel quite dull and melancholy." "Would she did!" murmured I to myself. "Who is to play it for me?" asked Coleman. "Well, my love, I'll do my best," replied his mother;

"and, if I should make a few mistakes, it will only sound all the funnier, you know."

This being quite unanswerable, the piano was opened, and, after Mrs. Coleman's spectacles had been hunted for in all probable places, and discovered at last in the coal-scuttle, a phenomenon which that good lady accounted for on the score of "John's having flurried her so when he brought in tea;" and when, moreover, she had been with difficulty prevailed on to allow the music-book to remain the right way upwards, the song was commenced.

As Freddy had a good tenor voice, and sang the Italian buffa song with much humour, the performance proved highly successful, although Mrs. Coleman was as good as her word in introducing some original and decidedly "funny" chords into the accompaniment, which would have greatly discomposed the composer, if he had by any chance overheard them.

"I did not know that you were such an accomplished performer, Freddy," observed I; "you are quite an universal genius."

"Oh, the song was excellent!" said Miss Saville, "and Mr. Coleman sang it with so much spirit."

Really," returned Freddy, with a low bow, "you do me proud, as brother Jonathan says; I am actually— that is, positively—

"My dear Freddy," interrupted Mrs. Coleman, “I wish you would go and fetch Lucy's music; I'm sure Migs Saville can sing some of her songs; it's-let me see-yes, it's either down stairs in the study,-or in the boudoir, or in the little room at the top of the house, or, if it isn't, you had better ask Richards about it."

"Perhaps the shortest way will be to consult Richards at once," replied Coleman, as he turned to leave the

room.

"I presume you prefer buffa songs to music of a more pathetic character?" inquired I, addressing Miss Saville.

"You judge from my having praised the one we have just heard, I suppose."

"Yes, and from the lively style of your conversation; I have been envying your high spirits all the evening."

"Indeed!" was the reply; "and why should you envy them?"

"Are they not an indication of happiness, and is not that an enviable possession ?" returned I.

"Yes, indeed!" she replied, in a low voice, but with such passionate earnestness as quite to startle me. "Is laughing, then, such an infallible indication of happiness?" she continued.

"One usually supposes so," replied I.

To this she made no answer, unless a sigh can be called one, and, turning away, began looking over the pages of a music-book.

"Is there nothing you can recollect to sing, my dear?" asked Mrs. Coleman.

She paused for a moment as if in thought, ere she replied,

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II.

Behold, young beauty's glances
Around she flings;
While as she lightly dances,
Her soft laugh rings:
How very happy they must be,
Who are as young and gay as she!
"Tis not when smiles are brightest,
So old tales say,

The bosom's lord sits lightest-
Ah! well-a-day!

III.

Towards the greenwood's cover
The maiden steals,

And, as she meets her lover,
Her blush reveals

How very happy all must be

Who love with trustful constancy.

By cruel fortune parted,

She learns too late,

How some die broken-hearted-
Ah! hapless fate!

The air to which these words were set was a simple plaintive old melody, well suited to their expression, and Miss Saville sang with much taste and feeling. When she reached the last four lines of the second verse, her eyes met mine for an instant, with a sad reproachful glance, as if upbraiding me for having misunderstood her, and there was a touching sweetness in her voice, as she almost whispered the refrain, "Ah! well a day!" which seemed to breathe the very soul of melancholy. "Strange, incomprehensible girl!" thought I, as I gazed with a feeling of interest I could not restrain, upon her beautiful features, which were now marked by an expression of the most touching sadness, "who could believe that she was the same person who, but five minutes since, seemed possessed by the spirit of frolic and merriment, and appeared to have eyes and ears for nothing beyond the jokes and drolleries of Freddy Coleman?"

"That's a very pretty song, my dear," said Mrs. Coleman; "and I'm very much obliged to you for singing it, only it has made me cry so, it has given me quite a cold in my head, I declare;" and, suiting the action to the word, the tender-hearted old lady began to wipe her eyes, and execute sundry other manoeuvres incidental to the malady she had named. At this moment Freddy returned, laden with music-books. Miss Saville immediately fixed upon a lively duet which would suit their voices, and song followed song, till Mrs. Coleman, waking suddenly in a fright, after a tremendous attempt to break her neck, which was very near proving successful, found out that it was past eleven o'clock, and consequently bed-time.

It can scarcely be doubted, that my thoughts, as I fell asleep, (for, unromantic as it may appear, truth compels me to state, that I never slept better in my life,) turned upon my unexpected meeting with Clara Saville. The year and a half which had elapsed since the night of the ball had altered her from a beautiful girl into a lovely woman. Without in the slightest degree diminishing its grace and elegance, the outline of her figure had become more rounded, while her features had acquired a depth of expression which was not before observable, and which was the only thing wanting to render them (I had almost said) perfect. In her manner there was also a great alteration: the quiet reserve she had maintained when in the presence of Mr. Vernon, and the calm frankness displayed during our accidental meeting in Barstone Park, had alike given way to a strange excitability, which at times showed itself in the bursts of wild giety which had annoyed my fastidious sensitiveness in the earlier part of the evening, at others in the deep impassioned feeling she threw into her singing, though I observed that it was only in such songs as partook of a melancholy and even despairing character that she did so. The result of my meditations was, that the young lady was an interesting enigma, and that

I could not employ the next two or three days to better advantage than in " doing a little bit of Edipus," as Coleman would have termed it, or, in plain English, "finding her out;"-and hereabouts I fell asleep.

RAMBLES IN BELGIUM.

No. VIII. ANTWERP.

THE road from Malines to Antwerp is flat and dull enough, and has few features of interest. The old châteaux, with their odd-looking turrets, and the straight formal rows of poplars, are occasionally passed; the fields always presenting an abundant population most industriously employed. The nearer Antwerp is approached, the land becomes somewhat uneven, and the majestic tower of the cathedral soars over every thing near and around. The steeple is very lofty, and can be seen for a considerable distance. Flax is cultivated to a great extent; and wheat grows most luxuriantly,some ears that I had given me were plump and of the finest quality. The women in the fields fag away, regardless of the sun, and seem much more inured to their work than the men. It does not need any guide or valet de place to inform a traveller to Antwerp that it is a fortified city. Entering by the Porte de Borgerhout, the drawbridges, fossés, mounds, etc., are passed in succession, and seem to spread their ramifications in all directions. It is soon evident what a stronghold the place must be. The streets are very narrow and gloomy, and in some parts have a most sombre look.

The Place Vert is in the heart of the city, and, being full of trees, and containing several cafés and hotels, affords a great relief to the eye that has seen so little cheerfulness in the neighbouring streets.

Near the Place de Mer is the house, and garden, formerly the abode of the great genius of Antwerp, Rubens, who gave his most superb picture, "The Descent from the Cross," to the company of the Arquebusiers, for this dwelling place.

The Place de Mer is a very grand street, and compensates for the smallness, narrowness, and gloom, of some of the smaller ones. There are several very handsome houses in it; one has the royal arms over it, and is used by the present King of the Belgians when he visits the city. The quays are of great extent, and are matchless. Very near one of them, which is the place of embarkation from the steam-boats, there has been recently erected a statue of Rubens, of large proportions. I cannot say it gave me so pleasing an idea of the artist as the portrait painted by himself, so well known, and so often copied and engraved. Antwerp was the scene of a high festival on the day of the inauguration of this monument to the memory of one whom Antwerp may be justly proud to call her own.

There is no city in the world, Venice alone excepted, which attained to so great a prosperity as this. In commercial greatness, it was without a rival. All nations held a mart within its walls. Like Venice, alas! the days of its splendour and glory are past. Merchants were its princes, and their habitations were its palaces. Like Venice, too, it was the home and haunt of men who have left an undying reputation ; men, too, who excelled in the same art: Rubens, Vandyke, Quentin Matsys, Teniers;-all of whom contributed in themselves to form a school, and who have here left behind them testimonials of their departed Worth. The cathedral, which is dedicated to "Our Lady," is very beautiful and very large. It is of Gothic architecture, and has suffered considerably by the devastations of time. The stone-work has been frequently under repair, and, whilst I was in the town, scaffolding was being erected for a similar purpose.

The general aspect of the interior is very striking, very imposing, the painted windows, the massy columns, the sculptured tombs-all unite in producing a solemn and devotional feeling, as one traverses the aisles. The pulpit is, as usual, one of those specimens of carving by Verbruggen, which are so prevalent in this country, and of which, from their constant recurrence, I began to feel aweary this one is full of quaint emblems and odd devices. There are several monuments in marble that deserve a longer inspection than one feels disposed to give them when it is known that a great work of art is so near. This picture, known all over Europe, is hid from the world without by two wings, which are painted on both within and without, and refer to the name of Christopher. One represents St. Christopher bearing the Infant Christ. The other is designed to be another saint, who seems waiting to receive his comrade: at least, such was the impression I received of the intended effect. On another side the Virgin is receiving the Salutation of Mary and Elizabeth, and upon another the priest Simeon is holding Christ. But, admirably as these are designed, they are forgotten and lost sight of when the volets are drawn aside and the wondrous picture of pictures is displayed. Before that, all things surrounding are as though they were not. The excessive holiness, so to speak, of this composition the masterly grouping of the actors in the mournful ceremony, are such as no pen can describe. The principal figure is faultless; the bend of the body in its descent, the placid calm expression, and the corpse-like flesh, are beyond all praise, and far above all criticism. The whiteness of the sheet is most inimitable, and contrasts wonderfully with the deadness of the flesh. I never saw any pictorial representation so suggestive of divinity. It is impossible to stand before it, and remain unmoved.

An old lady, evidently English, was quite overcome with her emotions, and remained gazing, after I left it to see his other productions, none of which were so impressionable as this.

The Elevation of the Cross, the Assumption of the Virgin, and the Resurrection, are all paintings of the highest merit. I was pleased to hear the lower class of people and shopkeepers express their reverence for the works of their own Rubens, and yet, how strange is it, and seemingly inconsistent, that these same individuals, whose appreciation and homage is so true and so genuine, not only tolerate, but approve of, images of the Virgin and Infant Saviour,-which are placed against the walls of many of the corners of the streets, and are tawdry, tasteless, wretched productions: at night they are illuminated by tallow candles and bits of tapers, which serve to show off and enhance their native ugliness. This custom prevails in most of the towns in Flanders, and occurs oftentimes by the wayside. If they require such stimulants to prayer and a remembrance of duty, how much better is the simple cross! what volumes of real religion are contained in a cross, so emblematic, and common to all Christian people! The church of St. Andrew has a noble pulpit, the story being the departure of St. Andrew to follow our blessed Lord. Some of the smaller objects are exquisitely delicate, and are finished as minutely as the most elaborate lace-work. There is a monument to the memory of Mary Queen of Scots, erected by her maids of honour. The inscription shows their zeal, if not their discretion: "Perfidia senat et heret: post 19 captivit. annos relig: ergo caput obtruncata."

In the church of St. Paul are some works of Vandyke, and two of Teniers. At the entrance is a barbarous conception of Calvary. Anything more revolting or coarse it is impossible to imagine. It distances in its disgusting details the daubs and dolls before spoken of, and can serve no other purpose than to shock and

offend.

There is no religion in such things; their tendency must be adverse to anything like real devotional hum

bleness of mind and heart, or the prayerful lifting up of the inner man. The church of St. Jacques is ornamented by an altar-piece of Rubens. It is a Holy Family, and embodies portraits of himself, his two wives, father, grandfather, and child. The tomb of the illustrious painter is here. It had gone to decay, and suffered severely; but was restored by a canon of the cathedral in 1775. A slab of white marble, on which is an inscription to record the genius and reputation of the artist, covers the illustrious remains.

The church of the Augustines contains an altar-piece that is of the finest quality of art. In it, Rubens again went far before my previously high-wrought expectations. The subject-the Marriage of St. Catharine, has but small field for the imagination to work upon; yet, on this canvas, all is excellent. The heads of some saints are perfect, and the colouring of the men's dress as rich as it is possible to conceive. I was so tired, whilst in this city, with repeated visitations to enjoy. the beauties of Rubens, that I should entail something of my weariness upon the reader, were I to detail the half only of the contents of the Museum. In one of the rooms is preserved a memento of Rubens,--the chair on which he sat as president of the academy. The inhabitants place a great value on this relic.

The celebrated painting of the Crucifixion of Christ :On either side are the two thieves; the expression on the faces of every person introduced is wonderful; the longer I gazed on the marvellous scene, the more I was astonished with the completeness and beauty of the whole. Every face is a picture in itself. It is, indeed, a magic power, which can create such a vivid composition as this. Rubens has done wisely;-in Antwerp he has left his choicest memorials. Antwerp is his shrine. The Adoration of the Magi is another large picture, with a great many figures in it, and is in his finest style of colouring.

To enumerate the others would really be to write a catalogue; they will not be overlooked when once the gallery is entered. I was disappointed with the Hotel de Ville; there is nothing remarkable in it,-in every way it is inferior to the magnificent edifices I have described as adorning Louvain, Brussels, and other towns. It is situated in an old square, and is surrounded by some veritable remains of the Spanish sway in Flanders; one house, in particular, was pointed out for my observation, as having been the residence of Charles the Fifth, on his occasional visits to this city. There is an immense pile of building, called the Hanseatic House, which serves as a depôt for merchandize.

The Exchange was erected during the latter part of the fourteenth century: there are truncated pillars or columns, somewhat resembling those at Liege, in the court; and the entire character of the edifice resembles the old Venetian. It is said that Sir Thomas Gresham, when on a journey in this place, was so delighted with this bourse, that he took it as a model for the old Royal Exchange in England.

On quitting the gallery of paintings at the Museum, I made an appointment to accompany a gentleman over the Citadel, the works of which have been renovated since the memorable siege of 1832, under the General Chassé. There are some evidences remaining of the terrific bombardment which shattered several buildings into dust. The outer fortifications appear to be renewed in all their pristine strength.

The time of my departure from Flanders being at hand, I had occasion to pay a visit to the Douaniers, whose great incivility, and unnecessary and most unmeaning procrastinating habits, I can and must speak of. On the night I quitted Antwerp, and took my berth on board the steamer, I produced my luggage for their inspection. Whilst the process, sufficiently tiresome and annoying in itself, was going on-of emptying on the floor all one's linen and travelling equipments, my great coat was seized and thrown across a bar of iron in the room, Presently a fellow-voyager smelt fire, and

exclaimed loudly to that effect; little notice was taken | Mademoiselle de Meulan, that she might take advantage of this, but the smell becoming too powerful for the of her talents, not only to extend the circle of her actiolfactory organs of the officials, a search through the vity, but also to lighten the burden which weighed upon apartment was instituted, and my hapless garment her family. Thus what had been her solace in retireproved the cause. It had been cast on an iron which ment, became her resource in misfortune; and from this had some connexion with the stove, and the latter hav-time, labour, either from necessity or choice, became the ing been overheated, a large hole had been burnt in my constant occupation of her life. Her first novel, Les coat. For this damage I could obtain no other recom- Contradictions, which displays keen wit, and a great pense than a variety of shrugs and exclamations, and. | facility of style, appeared in 1800, and obtained such as the steamer, being governed by the tide, could success, as made her name known to the world, and not wait for any man, I was obliged to put up with it. excited a great interest in her situation. Society was The commonest attention would have prevented it. I beginning to amend; it eagerly encouraged a young was sorry when the last glimpse of Antwerp faded slowly person, whose misfortunes had been their own, and who from my sight, as I stood on deck. Belgium, with opposed her talents to her destiny. many faults, is, after all, a pleasant land to sojourn in. Provisions, and living of all kinds, are cheap and easily accessible. The people, generally speaking, are civil, courteous, and obliging. The climate is pleasant, and the aspect of the country, though flat, is not destitute of interest.

To live in it for ever and ever, is what I cannot think any Englishman would voluntarily choose to do. Much is there in its old cities to charm the antiquarian and the lover of history and old associations; but there is nothing, at least that I saw, to compensate for the sweet comforts of an English home; nothing to supply the place of the parks and groves, and, above all, the lanes and trim neatness of rural England.

AN ACCOUNT OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF MADAME GUIZOT.'

FROM 1795, to the end of the last century, if liberty was not complete and secure, still there was liberty; and spectators were able to participate in the movement of public affairs, otherwise than by pity or detestation. Every one could form and advance an opinion, apply himself to some cause, be concerned in a plan : in short, pursue an honorable course with some prospect of success. The revolution had encroached so much upon civil liberty, that it re-acted against the revolution itself; there was a struggle, a struggle perhaps unforeseen but not hopeless. For the first time Mademoiselle de Meulan took an interest in political events; she ardently wished success to those who fought against the revolution, for it had been oppressive, and her sympathy naturally turned to the side of the opposition. What she hated in the revolution was its violence; what she admired in some of its adversaries, was independence in misfortune. At the same time, she was endeavouring to enlarge her mind by new studies. Her taste drew her towards moral theories, and metaphysical inquiries. She began some books, and tried to initiate herself into the theories of the philosophy of the 18th century; she did not finish them. Her mind was so free, so spontaneous, so active in itself, that it could not yield without reluctance to the subjugation, which an examination of the ideas of others imposes; it preferred directly attacking realities, than searching without an interpreter the mysterious meaning of the enigmas with which our reason is surrounded.

The best and most serious books were to her but subjects for meditation, either to make the ideas she met with her own by a deeper research, or to arrive by her own single strength at ideas, which she held not in common with any one. Thus, she studied more than she read, and gave herself the habit of writing a great deal, but only in order to regulate her thoughts, or give account of her meditations. What is written, in fact, fixes and elucidates all, and makes us, in some way, be present at the display of our own mind.

It was at this time, that two friends of her father's, Monsieur Suard, and Monsieur Devaines, suggested to

(1) Continued from page 156.

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La Chapelle d'Ayton was published soon after, and modestly presented as a translation from the English; it is not even an imitation, the general idea is all that Mademoiselle de Meulan had borrowed. Most of the events, the unfolding of the characters, the form of the recital, in short, the sentiments and the expressions, are her own. Few novels are more engaging, though it contains neither exaggerated sentiments, nor unnatural scenes; it is, however, a narrative which pierces the heart, and carries our compassion even to pain. The source of its interest is derived from one of those cruel mistakes, which have given so many affecting works to our stage, and of which the tragedy of Tancréde is perhaps the finest and the most pathetic example.

In La Chapelle d'Ayton, the sensibility of the author is entirely displayed, and even with that excess which belongs only to youth,-to that age, when the emotions, whatever they may be, go not beyond their strength; when imagination softens their bitterness, and often even lends them an inexpressible charm: at a later period, they are too painful. Madame Guizot, I have no doubt, would not have had the courage to compose La Chapelle d'Ayton, and to combine so much innocence and misfortune, when she wrote: "The effect of the works of art ought to be such, that no idea of reality adheres to it; for as soon as that enters it, the effect becomes distressing, and even sometimes insupportable: therefore, I cannot bear, at the theatre, or in novels, or poems, under the names of Tancréde, or Zara, or Othello, or of Delphine, the sight of those great afflictions of the mind, or severe dispensations of fortune. In point of happiness and grief, my life has been so full, so alive to them, that I cannot touch upon one of those depths without a trembling hand. The reality reveals itself to me, through all the coverings with which art can envelope it; my imagination, once disturbed, reaches it in one bound. It is but a short time since the music in l'Agnese produced the same effect on me as I usually experienced from the works of art. I could not bear the finale of Romeo and Juliet; that of l'Agnese alone, made me weep without rending my heart." (1821.)

Whatever may be the affecting interest which pervades La Chapelle d'Ayton, it is remarkable, that the work offers but few traces of that indulgence for passion, that sentimental theory, which sacrifices judgment to feeling, and flatters the bewitching fantasies of an exalted imagination, at the expense of conscience and of truth. Few novels are more free from what can be called romantic morality. I insist upon this observation, because it is characteristic.

At the time Mademoiselle de Meulan wrote, there was a happy singularity in preserving oneself from the opinions which prevailed in literature, and in society, with regard to duty and affection. It was the time when sympathy explained every thing, when devotedness excused every thing; when the heart knew no rule but affection, no virtue but fidelity. Mademoiselle de Meulan was far from having reflected on all things, with such serious impartiality as she has since done; she did not then know, as she did at a later period, that there is something higher than sensibility itself, which consecrates by regulating it. But, in default of principles, her native good sense taught her, that what weakens the

character, what wastes time, and blunts the feelings, could not be the real vocation of human nature; and that every thing, even the ability to love, has been bestowed upon us for a higher end than our gratification.

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were designed either to portray, or to elucidate them. This method had at that time the great merit of novelty. In the general zeal for returning to good principles, literature had not been forgotten, and nothing was more spoken of than the necessity of following the great In 1801, Monsieur Suard established a newspaper, models in every thing, a sort of criticism which consists under the name of Le Publiciste. A moderate indepen- in drawing up in books the rule for books, and in giving dence, the love of order without oppression, and of truth to art for a model, the examples which it has itself prowithout boldness; in fact, the philosophy of the eigh-duced. Women are not easily satisfied with this criticism teenth century, enlightened and intimidated by the of rhetoricians; we hear them almost always judge of the revolution, formed the spirit of this publication. It compositions of art by the reality, or after their own agreed, although imperfectly, with the opinions of mind, which is also reality. It is perhaps because they Mademoiselle de Meulan, and she did not scruple to take are less learned, that they become more true. When a share in its compilation. She wrote innumerable they apply themselves seriously to literature, and have articles upon literature, society, and the stage; the merit received the advantage of strength of mind, the ardour and success of which decisively established her rank of talent, if they keep their natural manner of judging, amongst the first writers of the age. The composition they can carry into criticism a genuine superiority, and of newspapers is a work, which, though sometimes give to their literary views something of the interest amusing, is necessarily hurried, and is one which both and value which is attached to original works. stimulates and wears the mind. Nothing less than varied powers, such as those of Mademoiselle de Meulan, would have sufficed for such an undertaking. Notwith standing the constant demand upon them, she was never at a loss, and knew, in a species of work in which it is very difficult not to fall sooner or later into routine and profession, how to pursue and even to increase that sprightly originality, which distinguished and marked her articles, even better than the first letter of her name Pauline. The remembrance of them is not effaced amongst the persons of that time; expected with anxiety, read with eagerness, they often formed the whole topic of conversation in society, which at that time took up those little things with more interest than it would be reasonable to do at present.

This was a time of re-action. After violent commotions, society sought only for repose; every opinion which could have contributed to disturb it, became suspected; ; every thing that seemed to lead to, or to evince the return of order, was received with favour. Thus, those peaceful occupations, those harmless pleasures, which appear to some minds the whole of civilization; the enjoyment of society, literature, arts, &c. were taken up again, as benefits long forgotten, as proofs and securities of public tranquillity. At the same time, all consideration was withdrawn from the things most important to the community; the great subjects of politics and philosophy gained scarcely any attention: people were unwilling to consider them, lest they might bring every thing into question. It has been said, that the true wisdom of society was not to meddle with its concerns; and France only desired two things, to be governed, and to be left in peace. This weak disposition made the fortune of despotism; but, for a lesson to human nature, France, abdicating without finding rest, learned by experience, that there is no compensation for the sacrifice of liberty.

Mademoiselle de Meulan did not at that time give a reason for this general disposition, which drove all minds under the yoke. She, herself, partook of it to a certain degree, from the recollections of indignation and grief, which the ill time of the revolution had impressed upon her. She was, however, far from calling in slavery as an expiation for anarchy; and struggled undesignedly, and from the sole effort of her own independence of mind, against that timidity of troubled reason, which tends to bring back in books and manners, as well as in the laws and institutions, that puerile frivolity, the companion and the instrument of superficial literature and servile politics. She accordingly aroused herself to what was still called philosophy, but did not adopt all its principles; she scon combatted them on matters of morals, those to which she had devoted most attention; for, from that time, all her compositions prove a visible desire to bring every thing back to a moral point of view. Even literary criticism was to her but an opportunity of studying human nature, and she drew up her judgments upon literary productions in the form of essays, which

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This is what may be remarked in the greater number of articles by Mademoiselle de Meulan. The value of them is often independent of the work which suggested them even when they cannot be connected with the general ideas of human nature, they at least join in portraying the manners and the age. A choice of these articles would form an agreeable collection, and some of them might serve for a history of society in France after the revolution.

The reputation of Mademoiselle de Meulan made her daily more sought after by the world. She appeared in it as much as her labours would permit; it amused her mind; she excelled in conversation and enjoyed it, as affording opportunities for observation, and exercising the mind by compelling it to reflect quickly, and disclose itself clearly. She felt, nevertheless, that much was still wanting to the happiness of her life. She had no one to sympathize with her. Ever independent and natural, she felt the consciousness of a power superior to all that she did, and life appeared inadequate to it. Her influence around her was effectual and salutary: the affairs of the family were managed by her care, and made easy by her labour. In 1803 she married her sister to Monsieur Dillon, and gave up, on that occasion, her own share of an inheritance that belonged equally to both. Persuaded that she would always live a single life, sure of the resources of her own talents, and looking forward to the future with a confidence that never forsook her, those acts, which are generally called sacrifices, were to her so easy that it had been almost an injustice to praise her for them. Devotedness was, with her, the very consequence of her independence; it formed a part of her existence; she almost thought she had a mission to regulate every thing, to improve every thing around her, and to consider herself as nothing; for nothing common would have satisfied her. It was fit that she should do much for the happiness of others, as they could do so little for hers! She felt that it was placed beyond the common lot, and that it did not depend on any one about her, or even on herself, to give it to her. She regretted this happiness that she was born to feel, but she no longer expected it.

She was mistaken: it was not an ever solitary and hard lot that awaited her; by a rare dispensation in this life, it was happiness of such a kind as was suited to her nature. She was about to fill the situation for which she was formed, and was one of the very few whom life has not deceived. In the month of March, 1807, she was in much affliction; her sister had just lost her husband, the family affairs were in great disorder, her mind was harassed with a thousand painful cares, and her impaired health obliged her to give up her literary labours. While in this distressing situation she was surprised by receiving a letter without any signature, and in an unknown hand. The writer did not wish to give his name, but said he had heard of her illness, and begged to be allowed to supply the articles she had been engaged to write for Le Publiciste, as long as she felt

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