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set of chairs disposed formally all around the centre of enchantment. By and bye, a young lady began thumping on the piano-forte, and I guessed, from the exquisite accompani ment of Mr. Yaniewicz, that it was her design to treat us with some beautiful airs in the Don Giovanni of Mozart. Nothing, however, could be more utterly distressing, than the mode in which the whole of her performance murdered that divine master-piece, unless, indeed, it might be the nauseous sing-song of compliments, which the ignorance or the politeness of the audience thundered out upon its conclusion.

After this blessed consummation had restored to us the free use of our limbs and tongues, (I say free-for in spite of nods, and whispers of rebuke, administered by some of the Dowagers, our silence had never been much more complete than the music merited,) I joined a small party, which had gradually clustered around Mr. Jeffrey, and soon found that the redoubtable critic had been so unfortunate as to fall into an ambush laid to entrap him by a skilful party of blue-stocking tirailleures. There he was pinioned up against the wall, and listening, with a greater expression of misery than I should have supposed to be compatible with his Pococurante disposition, to the hints of one, the remarks of another, the suggestion of a third, the rebuke of a fourth, the dissertation of a fifth, and last, not least, in this cruel catalogue of inflictions, to the questions of a sixth. "Well now, Mr. Jeffrey, don't you agree with me, in being decidedly of opinion, that Mr. Scott is the true author of the Tales of my Landlord? O Lord!-they're so like Mr. Scott, some of the stories-one could almost believe one heard him telling them. Could not you do the same, Mr. Jeffrey?"-The shrug of ineffable derision which Mr. Jeffrey vainly endeavoured to keep down, in making some inaudible reply of two syllables to this, did not a whit dismay another, who forthwith began to ply him with query upon query, about the conduct of Lord Buchan, in deserting his wife-and whether or not, he (Mr. J—) considered it likely, that Lord Buchan had had himself, (Lord Buchan,) in his eye, in drawing the character of the Corsair"and oh, now, Mr. Jeffrey, don't you think Gulnare so romantic, a name? I wish I had been christened Gulnare. Can people change their names, Mr. Jeffrey, without an estate ?”. "Why, yes, ma'am," replied the critic-after a most malicious pause, " by being married."-**** "Mr. Jeffrey," exclaimed a fierce-looking damsel with a mop head—“ I in

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sist upon hearing if you have read Peter Bell-will you ever be convinced? Shall I ever be able to persuade you? Can you deny the beauty of the white sapling- as white as cream? Can you be blind to the pathetic incident of the poor ass kneeling under the blows of the cruel, hard-hearted, odious Peter? Can you be blind to the charm of the boat?" "Why--oh--the laker has made a good deal of his tub"Twin sister to the Crescent-Moon." "

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Ah!-naughty man, you are incorrigible--I'll go speak to Mr. Wilson."

I looked round, and saw Mr. Wilson. He had a little book of fishing flies in his hand, and was loudly and sonorously explaining the beauty of a bit of grizzled hackle on the wings of one of them to Mr. McKenzie. My venerable friend seemed to be listening with the deepest interest to what he said, but the young lady broke in upon their conversation with the utmost intrepidity. I could just hear enough of what passed, to be satisfied, that the brother poet made as light of the matter as the adverse critic. I suspect, that from the cruelty of Peter Bell's bludgeon, she made a transition to the cruelty of killing poor innocent trouts; but before that subject had time to be adequately discussed, supper was announced, and I descended close behind Mr. Jeffrey, who had a lady upon each arm, one all the way down discussing the Bank Restriction Bill, and the other displaying equal eloquence in praise of "that delightful--that luminous article in the last number upon the Corn Laws." Ever yours.

P. M.

LETTER XXV.

TO THE SAME.

I was never a lover of Blue-Stockings either at home or abroad; but of all that I have met with, I think the French are the most tolerable, and the Scotch the most tormenting.

In France, the genuine power and authority which the women exert, and have long exerted, in swaying the course of public opinion in regard to a vast variety of subjects, are sufficient, were there nothing more, to make one excuse a great deal of their petulance and presumption. And then there is a light graceful ease about the manner of their trespasses, which would carry off the indignation of a Diogenes himself. How is it possible to feel any serious displeasure against a pretty creature that comes tripping up to you with a fan in her hand, and seems quite indifferent whether you ask her to dance a quadrille with you, or sit down by her side, and discuss the merits of the last roman? The truth is, however, that the French ladies in general talk about things they do understand something about—or at least, which it is easy and natural to imagine, may be interesting to their feelings. But what say you to the Scottish Blue-Stockings, whose favourite topics are the Resumption of Cash-payments, the great question of Borough Reform, and Corn-Bill? They are certainly the very flour of their sex. "Ohe! jam satis est"-I would not be badgered as Mr. Jeffrey is for a moiety of his reputation.

I was at another party of sonie what the same kind last night, where, however, I had the satisfaction of seeing several more characters of some note, and, therefore, I repented not my going. Among others, I was introduced to Mrs. Grant of Loggan, the author of the Letters from the Mountains, and other well-known works. Mrs. Grant is really a woman of great talents and acquirements, and might, without offence to any one, talk upon any subject she pleases. But I assure you, any person that hopes to meet with a BlueStocking, in the common sense of the term, in this lady, will feel sadly disappointed. She is as plain, modest, and unassuming, as she could have been had she never stepped from the village, whose name she has rendered so celebrated. Instead of entering on any long common-place discussions, either about politics, or political economy, or any other of the hackneyed subjects of tea-table talk in Edinburgh, Mrs. Grant had the good sense to perceive, that a stranger, such as I was, came not to hear disquisitions, but to gather useful information; and she therefore directed her conversation entirely to the subject which she herself best understandswhich, in all probability, she understands better than almost any one else—and which was precisely one of the subjects, in

regard to which I felt the greatest inclination to hear a sensible person speak-namely, the Highlands. She related, in a very simple, but very graphic manner, a variety of little anecdotes and traits of character, with my recollections of which I shall always have a pleasure in connecting my recollections of herself. The sound and rational enjoyment I derived from my conversation with this excellent person, would, indeed, atone for much more than all the Blue-Stocking sisterhood have ever been able to inflict upon my patience. Ever yours,

P. M.

LETTER XXVI.

TO THE SAME.

I REMEMBER when Kean, in the first flush of his reputation, announced his intention of spending Passion-week in Edinburgh, to have seen a paragraph extracted from a Scots newspaper, in which this circumstance was commented on in a way that I could scarcely help regarding as a little ridiculous. I cannot recall the exact words; but the northern editor expressed himself somewhat in this style-"We are happy to hear it rumoured, that the celebrated new actor, Mr. Kean, proposes making his first appearance on our boards during the approaching holidays. He no doubt feels much anxiety to have the favourable opinion of the London public confirmed and sanctioned by the more fastidious and delicate discrimination, which, as all the sons of Thespis are well aware, belongs to the enlightened and refined, although candid and generous, audience of our metropolis."

What the measure of Mr. Kean's anxiety on this occasion might really have been, I possess no means of learning; but from all that I have seen and heard of the Edinburgh audience, I must confess I do not think, were I myself an actor, their favourable verdict would be exactly the crowning and finishing grace, for which I should wait with any very supernatural timidity of expectation. That they should for a moment dream of themselves as being entitled to claim weight and authority, equal (to say nothing of superior) to what is claimed and received by the great audience of the British

capital-this is a thing, at the first glance, so superabounding in absurdity, that I could scarcely have believed it to be actually the case, unless, from innumerable little circumstances and expressions which have fallen under my own observation, I had been compelled to do so. How old this ridiculous prejudice of self-complacency may be, I know not; but I suspect that it, like many other ridiculous prejudices of the place, has been fostered and pampered into its present luxuriant growth by the clamorous and triumphant success of the Edinburgh Review. Accustomed to see one or two of their fellow citizens sitting in undisputed pre-eminence above all the authors of England, it must have seemed a small matter that they themselves should claim equal awe from the actors of England, when these ventured to think of strutting their hour on this side of the "Ideal Line."-However this may be, there is no doubt the notion does exist, and the Edinburgh audience bona fide consider themselves as the most polite assemblage of theatrical critics that the world has produced since the days of Athens. I think Aristophanes, could be look up and see them, would observe a very sad change from bis own favourite σοφωτατοι θεαται.

There is no doubt, that the size of such a theatre as the Edinburgh one is much more favourable to accuracy of criticism, than a house of larger dimensions can be. It is somewhat larger than the Hay-Market; but it is quite possible to observe the minutest workings of an actor's face from the remotest parts of the pit or the boxes; and the advantages, in point of hearing, are, of course, in somewhat the same measure. The house, however, has newly been lighted up in most brilliant manner with gas; and this, I should think, must be any thing rather than an improvement, in so far as purposes, truly theatrical, are concerned. Nothing, indeed, can be more beautiful than the dazzling effect exhibited, when one first enters the house-before, perhaps, the curtain is drawn up. The whole light proceeds from the centre of the roof, where one large sun of crystal hangs in a blazing atmosphere, that defies you to look up to it-circle within circle of white flame, all blended and glowing into one huge orb of intolera ble splendour. Beneath this flood of radiance, every face in the audience, from the gallery to the orchestra, is seen as distinctly as if all were seated in the open light of noon-day. And the unaccustomed spectator feels, when his box-door is

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