implied in the fact of their having become vastly more numerous, without supposing any actual degeneracy the nation itself. At a very popular point of M. Simond's journey, it appeared from a register which he consulted, that the proportion of travellers from different countries, was twenty-eight English to four Prussians, two Dutch, five French, one Italian, and three Americans.That some of this great crowd of emigrants might not be suitable associates for some others, may easily be conjectured-and that the better sort may not have been very willing to fraternise with those who did least honour to their common country, could scarcely be imputed to them as a fault. But these considerations, we fear, will go but a little way to explain the phenomenon; or to account for the Morgue Aristocratique," as Bonaparte called it, of the English gentry-the sort of sulky and contemptuous reserve with which, both at home and abroad, alm ost all who ve any pretensions to bon ton seem to think it necessary to defend those pretensions. The thing has undoubtedly been carried, of late years, to an excess that is both ludicrous and offensive-and is, in its own nature, unquestionably a blemish and a misfortune: But it does not arise, we are persuaded, from any thing intrinsically haughty or dull in our temperament-but is a natural consequence, and, it must be admitted, a considerable drawback from two very proud peculiarities in our condition-the freedom of our constitution, and the rapid progress of wealth and intelligence in the body of the nation.

after this period, confined to the children of the gentry; and a certain parade in equipage and dress, which could not be easily assumed but by the opulent, nor naturally carried but by those who had been long accustomed to it, threw additional difficulties in the way of those who wished to push themselves forward in society, and rendered any other bulwarks unnecessary for the protection of the sanctuary of fashion.

In most of the other countries of Europe, if a man was not born in high and polished society, he had scarcely any other means of gaining admission to it and honour and dignity, it was supposed, belonged, by inheritance, to a very limited class of the people. Within that circle, therefore, there could be no derogation-and, from without it, there could be no intrusion. But, in this country, persons of every condition have been long entitled to aspire to every situation-and, from the nature of our political constitution, any one who had individual influence, by talent, wealth, or activity, became at once of consequence in the community, and was classed as the open rival or necessary auxiliary of those who had the strongest hereditary claims to importance. But though the circle of Society was in this way at all times larger than in the Continental nations, and embraced more persons of dissimilar training and habits, it does not appear to have given a tone of repulsion to the manners of those who affected the superiority, till a period comparatively remote. In the days of the Tudors and Stuarts there was a wide pale of separation between the landed Aristocracy and the rest of the population; and accordingly, down at least to the end of Charles the Second's reign, there seems to have been none of this dull and frozen arrogance in the habits of good company. The true reason of this, however, was, that though the competition was constitutionally open, good education was, in fact, till

From the time of Sir Robert Walpole, however, the communication between the higher and the lower orders became far more open and easy. Commercial wealth and enterprise were prodigiously extended - literature and intelligence spread with unprecedented rapidity among the body of the people; and the increased intercourse between the different parts of the country, naturally produced a greater mixture of the different classes of the people. This was followed by a general relaxation in those costly external observances, by which persons of condition had till then been distinguished. Ladies laid aside their hoops, trains, and elaborate head-dresses; and gentlemen their swords, periwigs, and embroidery ;-and at the same time that it thus became quite practicable for an attorney's clerk or a mercer's apprentice to assume the exterior of a nobleman, it happened also, both that many persons of that condition had the education that fitted them for a higher rankand that several had actually won their way to it by talents and activity, which had not formerly been looked for in that quarter.— Their success was well merited undoubtedly, and honourable both to themselves and their country; but its occasional occurrence, even more than the discontinuance of aristocratical forms or the popular spirit of the Government, tended strongly to encourage the pretensions of others, who had little qualification for success, beyond an eager desire to obtain it.— So many persons now raised themselves by their own exertions, that every one thought himself entitled to rise; and very few proportionally were contented to remain in the rank to which they were born; and as vanity is a still more active principle than ambition, the effects of this aspiring spirit were more conspicuously seen in the invasion which it prompted on the prerogatives of polite society, than in its more serious occupations; and a herd of uncomfortable and unsuitable companions beset all the approaches to good company, and seemed determined to force all its barriers.

We think we have now stated the true causes of this phenomenon-but, at all events, the fact we believe to be incontrovertible, that within the last fifty years there has been an incredible increase of forwardness and solid impudence among the half-bred and halfeducated classes of this country-and that there was consequently some apology for the assumption of more distant and forbidding manners towards strangers, on the part of those who were already satisfied with the extent of their society. It was evidently easier and more prudent to reject the overtures of

really form a part of our national character. must concur, we think, with the alienation it produces in others, speedily to consign it to the tomb of other forgotten affectations. The duties that we owe to strangers that come casually into our society, certainly are not very weighty-and a man is no doubt entitled to consult his own ease, and even his indolence, at the hazard of being unpopular among such persons. But, after all, affability and complaisance are still a kind of duties, in their degree; and of all duties, we should really think are those that are repaid, not only with the largest share of gratitude, but with the greatest internal satisfaction. All we ask is that they, and the pleasure which naturally accompanies their exercise, should not be sacrificed to a vain notion of dignity, which the

This, we have no doubt, is the true history of that awful tone, of gloomy indifference and stupid arrogance, which has unfortunately become so striking a characteristic of English mauners. At its best, and when most justified by the circumstance of the parties, it has, we must allow, but an ungracious and disobliging air: But the extravagant height to which it is now frequently carried, and the extraordinary occasions on which it is sometimes displayed, deserve all the ridicule and reproba-person assuming it knows all the while to be tion they meet with. We should not quarrel false and hollow-or to a still vainer assumpmuch with a man of family and breeding tion of fashion, which does not impose upon being a little distant and cold to the many one in a thousand; and subjects its unhappy very affable people he may meet with, either victim to the ridicule of his very competitors in his travels, or in places of public resort at in the practice. All studied manners are ashome. But the provoking thing is, to see the sumed, of course, for the sake of the effect same frigid and unsociable manner adopted they are to produce on the beholders: And if in private society, and towards persons of the a man have a particularly favourable opinion highest character, if they happen not to be- of the wisdom and dignity of his physiognolong to the same set, or to be occupied with my, and, at the same time, a perfect conthe same pursuits with those fastidious mor- sciousness of the folly and vulgarity of his tals-who, while their dignity forbids them to discourse, there is no denying that such a be affable to men of another club, or women man, when he is fortunate enough to be where of another assembly, yet admit to the fami- he is not known, will do well to keep his own liarity of their most private hours, a whole secret, and sit as silent, and look as repulsive gang of led captains, or led parsons, fiddlers, among strangers as possible. But, under any boxers, or parasitical buffoons. But the most other circumstances, we really cannot admit remarkable extravagance in the modern prac- it to be a reasonable, any more than an amiatice of this repulsive system, is, that the most ble demeanour. To return, however, to M. outrageous examples of it are to be met with Simond. among those who have the least occasion for its protection,-persons whose society nobody would think of courting, and who yet receive the slightest and most ordinary civilities, being all that the most courteous would ever dream of offering them, with airs of as vehement disdain as if they were really in danger of having their intimacy taken by storm! Such manners, in such people, are no doubt in the very extreme of absurdity.But it is the mischief of all cheap fashions, that they are immediately pirated by the vulgar; and certainly there is none that can be assumed with so little cost, either of industry or understanding as this. As the whole of it consists in being silent, stupid, and sulky, it is quite level to the meanest capacity-and, we have no doubt, has enabled many to pass for persons of some consideration, who could never have done so on any other terms; or has permitted them at least to think that they were shunning the society of many by whom they would certainly have been shunned.

We trust, therefore, that this fashion of mock stateliness and sullen reserve will soon pass away. The extreme facility with which it may be copied by the lowest and dullest of mankind, the caricatures which are daily exhibited of it in every disgusting variety,— and the restraints it must impose upon the good nature and sociality which, after all, do

unknown acquaintances, than to shake them off after they had been once allowed to fasten themselves to repress, in short, the first attempts at familiarity, and repel, by a chilling and somewhat disdainful air, the advances of all, of whom it might any way be suspected that they might turn out discreditable or unfit associates.

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If he is somewhat severe upon our national character, it must be confessed that he deals still harder measure to his own countrymen. There is one passage in which he distinctly states that no man in France now pretends to any principle, either personal or political. What follows is less atrocious,—and probably nearer the truth. It is the sequel of an encomium on the domestic and studious occupations of the well-informed society of Zurich.

would tempt few strangers, and in France particu "Probably a mode of life so entirely domestic larly, it would appear quite intolerable. Yet I doubt whether these contemners of domestic dulness are not generally the dullest of the two. Walking occasionally the whole length of the interior Boulevards of Paris, on a summer evening, I have geneseveral hours, the very same figures sitting just rally observed on my return, at the interval of where I had left them; mostly isolated middle-aged men, established for the evening on three chairs, one for the elbow, another for the extended leg, a third for the centre of gravity; with vacant looks and a muddy complexion, appearing discontented A fauteuil in a salon, for the passive hearer of the with themselves and others, and profoundly tired. talk of others, is still worse, I take it, than the three chairs on the Boulevard. The theatre, seen again and again, can have no great charm; nor is it every one who has money to spare for the one, or free ac

cess to the other; therefore, an immense number

of people are driven to the Boulevard as a last reone thinks of the possibility of employing his time,

source. As to home, it is no resource at all. No

there, either by himself or with his family. And "Rousseau, from his garret, governed an emthe result, upon the whole, is, that I do not believe pire-that of the mind; the founder of a new relithere is a country in the world where you see so gion in politics, and to his enthusiastic followers a many long faces, care-worn and cross, as among prophet-He said, and they believed! The discithe very people who are deemed. and believe them- ples of Voltaire might be more numerous, but they selves, the merries! in the world. A man of rank were bound to him by far weaker ties. Those of and talent, who has spent many years in the Cri- Rousseau made the French Revolution, and permea, who employed himself diligently and usefully ished for it; while Voltaire's, miscalculating its when there, and who naturally loves a country chances, perished by it. Both, perhaps, deserved where he has done much good, praising it to a their fate; but the former certainly acted the nobler friend, has been heard to remark, as the main ob- part, and went to battle with the best weapons too, jection to a residence otherwise delightful- Mais-for in the deadly encounter of all the passions, of on est obligé de s'aller coucher tous les soirs à sept the most opposite principles and irreconcilable preheures, parcequ'en Crimée on ne sait pas où aller judices, cold-hearted wit is of little avail. Heroes passer la soirée! This remark excites no surprise and martyrs do not care for epigrams; and he must at Paris. Every one there feels that there can be have enthusiasm who pretends to lead the enthuno alternative, some place, not home, to spend siastic or cope with them. Une intime persuasion, your evenings in, or to bed at seven o'clock! It puts Rousseau has somewhere said, m'a toujours tenu one in mind of the gentleman who hesitated about lieu d'éloquence! And well it might; for the first marrying a lady whose company he liked very requisite to command belief is to believe yourself. much, for,' as he observed, where could I then Nor is it easy to impose on mankind in this respect. go to pass my evenings ?'"-Vol. i. pp. 404, 405. There is no eloquence, no ascendancy over the

minds of others, without this intimate persuasion in ical persuasion, lasting but as long as the occasion; yourself. Rousseau's might only be a sort of poetyet it was thus powerful, only because it was true, though but for a quarter of an hour perhaps, in the heart of this inspired writer.

"Mr. M-, son of the friend of Rousseau, to whom he left his manuscripts, and especially his Confessions, to be published after his death, had I observed a fair copy written by himself, in a small hand like the goodness to show them to me. print, very neat and correct; not a blot or an erasure to be seen. The most curious of these papers, however, were several sketch-books, or memoranda half filled, where the same hand is no longer discernible; but the same genius, and the same waytive thought which is there put down. Rousseau's ward temper and perverse intellect, in every fugicomposition, like Montesquieu's, was laborious and slow; his ideas flowed rapidly, but were not readily brought into proper order; they did not appear to have come in consequence of a previous plan; but the ideas, and served as a sort of frame for them, the plan itself, formed afterwards, came in aid of servient. Very possibly some of the fundamental instead of being a system to which they were subopinions he defended so earnestly, and for which his disciples would willingly have suffered martyrthought, caught as it flew, was entered in his comdom, were originally adopted because a bright monplace book.


These loose notes of Rousseau afford a curious

insight into his taste in composition. You find
him perpetually retrenching epithets-reducing his
thoughts to their simplest expression-giving words
a peculiar energy, by the new application of their
original meaning-going back to the naïveté of old
language; and, in the artificial process of simplici-
ty, carefully effacing the trace of each laborious
footstep as he advanced; each idea, each image,
coming out, at last, as if cast entire at a single
throw, original, energetic, and clear. Although
Mr. M- had promised to Rousseau that he would
publish his Confessions as they were, yet he took
upon himself to suppress a passage explaining cer-
tain circumstances of his abjurations at Anneci, af-
fording a curious, but frightfully disgusting, picture
Mr. M did not break his word in regard to some
of monkish manners at that time. It is a pity that
few more passages of that most admirable and most
vile of all the productions of genius."
Vol. i. pp 564-566.
The following notices of Madame de Staël
are emphatic and original:-

The following, though not a cordial, is at least a candid testimony to the substantial

benefits of the Revolution :

"The clamorous, restless, and bustling manners of the common people of Aix, their antiquated and ragged dress, their diminutive stature and ill-favoured countenances, strongly recalled to my mind the population of France, such as I remembered it formerly; for a considerable change has certainly taken place, in all such respects, between the years 1789 and 1815. The people of France are decidedly less noisy, and graver; better dressed, and cleaner. All this may be accounted for; but handsomer is not so readily understood, à priori. It seems as if the hardships of war, having successively carried off all the weakly, those who survived have regenerated the species. The people have undoubtedly gained much by the Revolution on the score of property, and a little as to political institutions. They certainly seem conscious of some advantage attained, and to be proud of it-not properly civil liberty, which is little understood, and not properly estimated, but a certain coarse equality, asserted in small things, although not thought of in the essentials of society. This new-born equality is very touchy, as if it felt yet insecure; and thence a degree of rudeness in the common intercourse with The lower class, and, more or less, all classes, very different from the old proverbial French politeness. This, though in itself not agreeable, is, however, a good sign. Pride is a step in moral improvement; from a very low state. These opinions, I am well aware, will not pass in France without animadversion, as it is not to be expected the same judgment will be formed of things under different circumstances. If my critics, however, will only go three or four thousand miles off, and stay away a quarter of a century, I dare say we shall agree better when we compare notes on their return.'


Vol. i. pp. 333, 334.

The way in which M. Simond speaks of Rousseau, affords a striking example of that struggle between enthusiasm and severity romance and cool reason, which we noticed in the beginning as characteristic of the whole work. He talks, on the whole, with contempt, and even bitterness, of his character: But he follows his footsteps, and the vestiges and memorials even of his fictitious personages, with a spirit of devout observance―visits Clareus, and pauses at Meillerie-rows in a burning day to his island in the lake of Bienne-expatiates on the beauty of his retreat at the Charmettes-and even stops to explore his temporary abode at Moitier Travers. The following passages are remarkable :

"I had seen Madame de Staël a child; and I saw her again on her deathbed. The intermediate years were spent in another hemisphere, as far as possible from the scenes in which she lived. Mixing again, not many months since, with a world in which I am


a stranger, and feel that I must remain so, I just saw this celebrated woman; and heard, as it were, her last words, as I had read her works before, uninfluenced by any local bias. Perhaps, the impressions of a man thus dropped from another world into this may be deemed something like those of posterity. Madame de Staël lived for conversation: She was not happy out of a large circle, and a French circle, where she could be heard in her own language to the best advantage. Her extravagant ad-scious of extraordinary powers, she gave herself up miration of the society of Paris was neither more to the present enjoyment of the good things, and nor less than genuine admiration of herself. It the deep things, flowing in a full stream from her was the best mirror she could get and that was well-stored mind and luxuriant fancy. The inspiall. Ambitious of all sorts of notoriety, she would ration was pleasure-the pleasure was inspiration; have given the world to have been born noble and and without precisely intending it, she was, every a beauty. Yet there was in this excessive vanity evening of her life, in a circle of company, the very so much honesty and frankness, it was so entirely Corinne she had depicted."—Vol. i. pp. 283–286.

void of affectation and trick, she made so fair and so irresistible an appeal to your own sense of her worth, that what would have been laughable in any one else, was almost respectable in her. That ambition of eloquence, so conspicuous in her writings, was much less observable in her conversation; there was more abandon in what she said than in what she wrote; while speaking, the spontaneous inspiration was no labour, but all pleasure. Con

(November, 1812.)

Rejected Addresses; or the New Theatrum Poetarum. 12mo. pp. 126. London: 1812.*

AFTER all the learning, wrangling and solemn exhortation of our preceding pages, we think we may venture to treat our readers with a little morsel of town-made gaiety, without any great derogation from our established character for seriousness and contempt of trifles. We are aware, indeed, that there is no way by which we could so certainly ingratiate ourselves with our provincial readers, as by dealing largely in such articles; and we can assure them, that if we have not hitherto indulged them very often in this manner, it is only because we have not often met with any thing nearly so good as the little volume before us. We have seen nothing comparable to it indeed since the publication of the poetry of the Antijacobin; and though it wants the high seasoning of politics and personality, which no doubt contributed much to the currency of that celebrated collection, we are not sure that it does not exhibit, on the whole, a still more exquisite talent of imitation, with powers of poetical composition that are scarcely inferior.

tried their hands at an address to be spoken at the opening of the New Theatre in Drury Lane-in the hope, we presume, of obtaining the twenty-pound prize which the munificent managers are said to have held out to the suc cessful candidate. The names of the imaginary competitors, whose works are now offered to the public, are only indicated by their initials; and there are one or two which we really do not know how to fill up. By far the greater part, however, are such as cannot pos sibly be mistaken; and no reader of Scott, Crabbe, Southey, Wordsworth, Lewis, Moore, or Spencer, could require the aid, even of their initials, to recognise them in their portraits. Coleridge, Coleman, and Lord Byron, are not quite such striking likenesses. Of Dr. Busby's and Mr. Fitzgerald's, we do not hold ourselves qualified to judge-not professing to be deeply read in the works of these originals.

We must not forget, however, to inform our country readers, that these "Rejected Addresses" are merely a series of Imitations of the style and manner of the most celebrated living writers who are here supposed to have

I have been so much struck, on lately looking back to this paper, with the very extraordinary merit and felicity of the Imitations on which it is employed, that I cannot resist the temptation of giving them a chance of delighting a new generation of admirers, by including some part of them in this publication. I take them, indeed, to be the very best imitations) and often of difficult originals) that ever were made: and, considering their great extent and variety, to indicate a talent to which I do not know where to look for a parallel. Some few of them descend to the level of parodies: But by far the greater part are of a much higher description. They ought, I suppose. to have come under the head of Poetry,-but "Miscellaneous is broad enough to cover any thing.-Some of the less striking citations are now omitted. The au- ! thors, I believe, have been long known to have


been the late Messrs. Smith.

There is no talent so universally entertaining as that of mimicry-even when it is confined to the lively imitation of the air and manner-the voice, gait, and external deportment of ordinary individuals. Nor is this to be ascribed entirely to our wicked love of ridicule; for, though we must not assign a very high intellectual rank to an art which is said to have attained to perfection among the savages of New Holland, some admiration is undoubtedly due to the capacity of nice observation which it implies; and some gratification may be innocently derived from the sudden perception which it excites of peculiarities previously unobserved. It rises in interest, however, and in dignity, when it succeeds in expressing, not merely the visible and external characteristics of its objects, but those also of their taste, their genius, and temper. A vulgar mimic repeats a man's cant-phrases and known stories, with an exact imitation of his voice, look, and gestures: But he is an artist of a far higher description, who can make stories or reasonings in his manner; and represent the features and movements of his mind, as well as the accidents of his body.


precise conception of the causes of those opposite sensations,--and to trace to the nobleness of the diction and the inaccuracy of the reasoning-the boldness of the propositions and the rashness of the inductions-the magnificence of the pretensions and the feebleness of the performance, those contradictory judg ments, with the confused result of which he had been perplexed in the study of the original. The same thing may be said of the imitation of Darwin, contained in the Loves of the Triangles, though confessedly of a satirical or ludicrous character. All the peculiarities of the original poet are there brought together, and crowded into a little space; where they can be compared and estimated with ease. His essence in short, is extracted, and separated in a good degree from what is common to him with the rest of his species;-and while he is recognised at once as the original from whom all these characteristic traits have been borrowed, that original itself is far better understood-because the copy presents no traits but such as are characteristic.

This highest species of imitation, therefore, we conceive to be of no slight value in fixing the taste and judgment of the public, even with regard to the great standard and original

The same distinction applies to the mimicry, if it may be so called, of an author's style and manner of writing. To copy his peculiar phrases or turns of expression-to borrow the grammatical structure of his sentences, or the metrical balance of his lines-or to crowd and string together all the pedantic or affected words which he has become remarkable for using-applying, or misapplying all these without the least regard to the character of his genius, or the spirit of his compositions, is to imitate an author only as a monkey might imitate a man-or, at best, to support a masquerade character on the strength of the Dress only; and at all events, requires as little talent, and deserves as little praise, as the mimetic exhibitions in the neighbourhood of Port-Sydney. It is another matter, however, to be able to borrow the diction and manner of a celebrated writer to express sentiments like his own-to write as he would have written on the subject proposed to his imitator-to think his thoughts, in short, as well as to use his words--and to make the revival of his style appear but a consequence of the strong conception of his peculiar ideas. To do this in all the perfection of which it is capable, requires talents, perhaps, not inferior to those of the original on whom they are employed-to-authors who naturally become its subjects. gether with a faculty of observation, and a The pieces before us, indeed, do not fall cordexterity of application, which that original rectly under this denomination: the subject might not always possess; and should not only to which they are confined, and the occasion afford nearly as great pleasure to the reader, on which they are supposed to have been proas a piece of composition, but may teach him duced, having necessarily given them a cersome lessons, or open up to him some views, tain ludicrous and light air, not quite suitable which could not have been otherwise disclosed. to the gravity of some of the originals, and The exact imitation of a good thing, it must imparted to some of them a sort of mongrel be admitted, promises fair to be a pretty good character in which we may discern the feathing in itself; but if the resemblance be very tures both of burlesque and of imitation. striking, it commonly has the additional ad- There is enough, however, of the latter to anvantage of letting us more completely into the swer the purposes we have indicated above; secret of the original author, and enabling us while the tone of levity and ridicule may to understand far more clearly in what the answer the farther purpose of admonishing the peculiarity of his manner consists, than most authors who are personated in this exhibition, of us should ever have done without this as- in what directions they trespass on the borders sistance. The resemblance, it is obvious, can of absurdity, and from what peculiarities they only be rendered striking by exaggerating a are in danger of becoming ridiculous. A mere little, and bringing more conspicuously for- parody or travestie, indeed, is commonly made, ward, all that is peculiar and characteristic in with the greatest success, upon the tenderest the model: And the marking features, which and most sublime passages in poetry-the were somewhat shaded and confused in their whole secret of such performances consisting natural presentment, being thus magnified and in the substitution of a mean, ludicrous, or disengaged in the copy, are more easily ob- disgusting subject, for a touching or noble one. served and comprehended, and their effect But where this is not the case, and where the traced with infinitely more ease and assu- passages imitated are conversant with objects rance; just as the course of a river, or a range nearly as familiar, and names and actions of mountains, is more distinctly understood almost as undignified, as those in the imitawhen laid down on a map or plan, than when tion, the author may be assured, that what a studied in their natural proportions. Thus, in moderate degree of exaggeration has thus Burke's imitation of Bolingbroke (the most made eminently laughable, could never have perfect specimen, perhaps, which ever will been worthy of a place in serious and lofty exist of the art of which we are speaking), we poetry-But we are falling, we perceive, into have all the qualities which distinguish the our old trick of dissertation, and forgetting our style, or we may indeed say the genius, of benevolent intention to dedicate this article to that noble writer, as it were, concentrated and the amusement of our readers.-We break brought at once before us; so that an ordinary off therefore, abruptly, and turn without farreader, who, in perusing his genuine works, ther preamble to the book. merely felt himself dazzled and disappointed -delighted and wearied he could not tell why, is now enabled to form a definite and

The first piece, under the name of the loyal Mr. Fitzgerald, though as good, we suppose, as the original, is not very interesting. Whether

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