implied in the fact of their having become after this period, confined to the children of vastly more numerous, without supposing the gentry; and a certain parade in equipage any actual degeneracy in the nation itself. and dress, which could not be easily assumed At a very popular point of M. Simond's jour- but by the opulent, nor naturally carried but ney, it appeared from a register which he by those who had been long accustomed to consulted, that the proportion of travellers it, threw additional difficulties in the way from different countries, was twenty-eight of those who wished to push themselves forEnglish to four Prussians, two Dutch, five ward in society, and rendered any other bul French, one Italian, and three Americans.- warks unnecessary for the protection of the That some of this great crowd of emigrants | sanctuary of fashion. 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, almost all who have 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. 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 ra pidity 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 rank— and 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, In most of the other countries of Europe, and honourable both to themselves and their if a man was not born in high and polished country; but its occasional occurrence, even society, he had scarcely any other means of more than the discontinuance of aristocratical gaining admission to it-and honour and dig-forms or the popular spirit of the Government, nity, it was supposed, belonged, by inheri- tended strongly to encourage the pretensions tance, to a very limited class of the people. of others, who had little qualification for suc Within that circle, therefore, there could be no cess, beyond an eager desire to obtain it.— derogation-and, from without it, there could So many persons now raised themselves by be no intrusion. But, in this country, persons their own exertions, that every one thought of every condition have been long entitled to himself entitled to rise; and very few proaspire to every situation-and, from the nature portionally were contented to remain in the of our political constitution, any one who had rank to which they were born; and as vanity individual influence, by talent, wealth, or ac- is a still more active principle than ambition, tivity, became at once of consequence in the the effects of this aspiring spirit were more community, and was classed as the open rival conspicuously seen in the invasion which it or necessary auxiliary of those who had the prompted on the prerogatives of polite society, strongest hereditary claims to importance. than in its more serious occupations; and a But though the circle of Society was in this herd of uncomfortable and unsuitable comway at all times larger than in the Conti-panions beset all the approaches to good comnental nations, and embraced more persons pany, and seemed determined to force all its of dissimilar training and habits, it does not barriers. 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 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 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. really form a part of our national character, must concur, we think, with the alienation i produces in others, speedily to consign it t 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 indoThis, we have no doubt, is the true history lence, at the hazard of being unpopular among of that awful tone, of gloomy indifference such persons. But, after all, affability and and stupid arrogance, which has unfortunately complaisance are still a kind of duties, in their become so striking a characteristic of English degree; and of all duties, we should really manners. At its best, and when most justified think are those that are repaid, not only with by the circumstance of the parties, it has, we the largest share of gratitude, but with the must allow, but an ungracious and disoblig- greatest internal satisfaction. All we ask is, ing air: But the extravagant height to which that they, and the pleasure which naturally it is now frequently carried, and the extraor- accompanies their exercise, should not be sadinary occasions on which it is sometimes dis- crificed to a vain notion of dignity, which the played, 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 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 of people are driven to the Boulevard as a last re source. As to home. it is no resource at all. No one thinks of the possibility of employing lus time, there, either by himself or with his family. And the result, upon the whole, is, that I do not believe there is a country in the world where you see so many long faces, care-worn and cross, as among the very people who are deemed, and believe themselves, the merriest in the world. A man of rank and talent, who has spent many years in the Crimea, who employed himself diligently and usefully when there, and who naturally loves a country where he has done much good, praising it to a friend, has been heard to remark, as the main objection 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 heures, parcequ'en Crimée on ne sait pas où aller passer la soirée! This remark excites no surprise at Paris. Every one there feels that there can be no alternative, some place, not home, to spend your evenings in, or to bed at seven o'clock! It puts one in mind of the gentleman who hesitated about marrying a lady whose company he liked very much, for,' as he observed, where could I then go to pass my evenings?'"-Vol. i. pp. 404, 405. The following, though not a cordial, is at least a candid testimony to the substantial benefits of the Revolution : "Rousseau, from his garret, governed an empire-that of the mind; the founder of a new religion in politics, and to his enthusiastic followers a prophet-He said, and they believed! The disciples of Voltaire might be more numerous, but they were bound to him by far weaker ties. Those of Rousseau made the French Revolution, and perished for it; while Voltaire's, miscalculating its chances, perished by it. Both, perhaps, deserved their fate; but the former certainly acted the nobler part, and went to battle with the best weapons too, the most opposite principles and irreconcilable prejudices, cold-hearted wit is of little avail. Heroes and martyrs do not care for epigrams; and he must have enthusiasm who pretends to lead the enthu siastic or cope with them. Une intime persuasion, Rousseau has somewhere said, m'a toujours tenu lieu d'éloquence! And well it might; for the first requisite to command belief is to believe yourself. Nor is it easy to impose on mankind in this respect. There is no eloquence, no ascendancy over the minds of others, without this intimate persuasion in yourself. Rousseau's might only be a sort of poetical persuasion, lasting but as long as the occasion; yet 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. I observed a composition, 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 instead of being a system to which they were subservient. Very possibly some of the fundamental opinions he defended so earnestly, and for which his disciples would willingly have suffered martyr. thought, caught as it flew, was entered in his com. dom, were originally adopted because a bright monplace book. "The clamorous, restless, and bustling manners of the common people of Aix their antiquated and "Mr. M, son of the friend of Rousseau, to ragged dress, their diminutive stature and ill-favoured countenances, strongly recalled to my mind the whom he left his manuscripts, and especially his population of France, such as I remembered it Confessions, to be published after his death, had the goodness to show them to me. formerly; for a considerable change has certainly fair copy written by himself, in a small hand like taken place, in all such respects, between the years 1789 and 1815. The people of France are decidedly print, very neat and correct; not a blot or an eraless noisy, and graver; better dressed, and cleaner. sure to be seen. The most curious of these papers, All this may be accounted for; but handsomer is however, were several sketch-books, or memoranda not so readily understood, à priori. It seems as if half filled, where the same hand is no longer disthe hardships of war, having successively carried cernible; but the same genius, and the same way. ward temper and perverse intellect, in every fugioff all the weakly, those who survived have regen.tive thought which is there put down. Rousseau's erated 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 de. gree 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 "These loose notes of Rousseau afford a curious good sign. Pride is a step in moral improvement, from a very low state. These opinions, I am well insight into his taste in composition. You find will not pass in France without animadver- him perpetually retrenching epithets-reducing his sion, as it is not to be expected the same judgment thoughts to their simplest expression-giving words will be formed of things under different circum-a peculiar energy, by the new application of their stances. If my critics, however, will only go three original meaning-going back to the naïveté of old or four thousand miles off, and stay away a quarter language; and, in the artificial process of simpliciof a century, I dare say we shall agree better when y, carefully effacing the trace of each laborious footstep as he advanced; each idea, each image, we compare notes on their return. coming out, at last, as if cast entire at a single throw, original, energetic, and clear. Although Mr. Mhad promised to Rousseau that he would publish his Confessions as they were, yet he took upon himself to suppress a passage explaining certain circumstances of his abjurations at Anneci, affording a curious, but frightfully disgusting, picture of monkish manners at that time. It is a pity that Mr. Mdid not break his word in regard to some few more passages of that most admirable and most vile of all the productions of genius."' aware, 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: Vol. i. pp. 564-566. The following notices of Madame de Staël are emphatic and original: "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 void of affectation and trick, she made so fair and this celebrated woman; and heard, as it were, her irresistible an appeal to your own sense of her work last words, as I had read her works before, uninflu- that what would have been laughable in any ca enced by any local bias. Perhaps, the impressions else, was almost respectable in her. That ams of a man thus dropped from another world into this tion of eloquence, so conspicuous in her writing, may be deemed something like those of posterity. was much less observable in her conversation; Madame de Staël lived for conversation: She there was more abandon in what she said than a was not happy out of a large circle, and a French what she wrote; while speaking, the spontaneous circle, where she could be heard in her own lan-inspiration was no labour, but all pleasure. Cos guage to the best advantage. Her extravagant ad-scious of extraordinary powers, she gave herself 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 was the best mirror she could get-and that was all. Ambitious of all sorts of notoriety, she would have given the world to have been born noble and a beauty. Yet there was in this excessive vanity so much honesty and frankness, it was so entirely the deep things, flowing in a full stream from ber well-stored mind and luxuriant fancy. The insp ration was pleasure-the pleasure was inspiration; and without precisely intending it, she was, every evening of her life, in a circle of company, the very Corinne she had depicted."-Vol. i. pp. 283-286. (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. 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 deBcription. 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 oniitted. The authors, I believe, have been long known to have been the late Messrs. Smith. 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. 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 gratifi cation 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. 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 con- This highest species of imitation, therefore, ception of his peculiar ideas. To do this in all we conceive to be of no slight value in fixing the perfection of which it is capable, requires the taste and judgment of the public, even talents, perhaps, not inferior to those of the with regard to the great standard and original original on whom they are employed-to-authors who naturally become its subjects. gether with a faculty of observation, and a dexterity of application, which that original might not always possess; and should not only afford nearly as great pleasure to the reader, as a piece of composition,-but may teach him some lessons, or open up to him some views, which could not have been otherwise disclosed. The exact imitation of a good thing, it must be admitted, promises fair to be a pretty good thing in itself; but if the resemblance be very striking, it commonly has the additional advantage of letting us more completely into the secret of the original author, and enabling us to understand far more clearly in what the peculiarity of his manner consists, than most of us should ever have done without this assistance. The resemblance, it is obvious, can only be rendered striking by exaggerating a little, and bringing more conspicuously forward, all that is peculiar and characteristic in the model: And the marking features, which were somewhat shaded and confused in their natural presentment, being thus magnified and disengaged in the copy, are more easily observed and comprehended, and their effect traced with infinitely more ease and assurance; just as the course of a river, or a range of mountains, is more distinctly understood when laid down on a map or plan, than when studied in their natural proportions. Thus, in Burke's imitation of Bolingbroke (the most perfect specimen, perhaps, which ever will exist of the art of which we are speaking), we have all the qualities which distinguish the style, or we may indeed say the genius, of that noble writer, as it were, concentrated and brought at once before us; so that an ordinary reader, who, in perusing his genuine works, merely felt himself dazzled and disappointed delighted and wearied he could not tell why, is now enabled to form a definite and The pieces before us, indeed, do not fall correctly under this denomination:-the subject to which they are confined, and the occasion on which they are supposed to have been produced, having necessarily given them a cer tain ludicrous and light air, not quite suitable to the gravity of some of the originals, and imparted to some of them a sort of mongrel character in which we may discern the features both of burlesque and of imitation. There is enough, however, of the latter to answer the purposes we have indicated above; while the tone of levity and ridicule may answer the farther purpose of admonishing the authors who are personated in this exhibition, in what directions they trespass on the borders of absurdity, and from what peculiarities they are in danger of becoming ridiculous. A mere parody or travestie, indeed, is commonly made, with the greatest success, upon the tenderest and most sublime passages in poetry-the whole secret of such performances consisting in the substitution of a mean, ludicrous, or disgusting subject, for a touching or noble one. But where this is not the case, and where the passages imitated are conversant with objects nearly as familiar, and names and actions almost as undignified, as those in the imitation, the author may be assured, that what a moderate degree of exaggeration has thus made eminently laughable, could never have been worthy of a place in serious and lofty poetry-But we are falling, we perceive, into our old trick of dissertation, and forgetting our benevolent intention to dedicate this article to the amusement of our readers.-We break off therefore, abruptly, and turn without farther preamble to the book. The first piece, under the name of the loyal Mr. Fitzgerald, though as good, we suppose, as the original, is not very interesting. Whether |