ple, may frequently save them from finding their own amusements in drunkenness and other low vices*. The revolutionary spirit, which has lately raged with such violence in France, has not, says a late delineator of French manners†, been limited to political and civil institutions. Monks and abbés with muffs, silk coats, arm-hats, and all the assimilating costume have disappeared. The well-dressed men are either military, or habited so like the English, as to appear almost the same people. They are chiefly to be distinguished from the English by difference of deportment, differ * The wisdom or propriety of this last sentiment is doubtful: to furnish, in any state, the people with amusement at the public expence, though, in some degree, it might at first preserve them from drunkenness, would, we think, at last have the infallible effect of eradicating all the habits of industry, (which is the guardian of good morals,) and of plunging them into those of inveterate idleness, and of its constant concomitant, unbridled licentiousness. + The following observations, on the French manners and character, are taken from Mr. Holcroft's interesting travels, lately published. On this subject we beg leave most decidedly to differ from Mr. Holcroft; and we think we could remind him of the time, when a cropped head was an object of his partiality. The writer is evidently attached to many regulations of the ancient Greeks and Romans; and hence we are surprised how he can condemn the imitation of them in their personal appearance, which was certainly bold and majestic. Far be it from us, however, to condemn the use of hair powder in toto. It is advantageous, in as much as it contributes to furnish the means of carrying on the war; while there are many professions to whom it is indispensable: Such are judicial and clerical characters, physicians, attorneys, and elderly people:-but the black-headed British youth who would sacrifice a pair of manly whiskers, and fill his head with a dust which would be more appropriate for his food, places himself on a level with the effeminate inhabitants of Italy. B. ence of physiognomy, and by an overgrown bush of hair on each cheek. Some of the English affect this disgusting appearance, which, without powder, gives a man the air of an assassin, and with it that of a grey baboon: nothing but the frequency of the object can reconcile it to the eye. - But the well-dressed men are very few: the revolution has far from entirely corrected the propensity of the lower orders to slovenliness. That the phlegmatic German, who sits, walks, or works with his pipe in his mouth, should be careless concerning his appearance, is but the result of his corresponding habits; but that the great mass of a nation, with so much vivacity, so vain, so continually boasting of superior grace, and of giving the ton to all Europe, I mistake, to the whole universe; that the great mass of such a nation, I say, should be slovenly, is a phenomenon which, at first view, astonishes an Englishman, who has only heard their character from their own mouth. Long pantaloons, once put on and never changed till they are entirely worn out; linen not fit to be seen, and therefore concealed; a great coat dangling to the calf of the leg, buttoned up, and worn also while it will last; a-rusty round hat, uncombed hair, fierce whiskers, and a handkerchief tied, not under, but over it, and not of muslin or silk, but of a coarse, coloured linen, rarely washed; such is the figure, not perhaps of the majority, but of great numbers of the men to be met, of an evening, even in coffee houses. Such are hundreds of the figures that crowd together, at all hours of the day, and walk the Palais Royal, fill the billiard-rooms, and exhibit themselves in all public places where the entrance is free, At some, even of the dancing gardens on the Over Fragm the fe the Boulevards, they find it necessary to write over the door, "Admittance to persons decently dressed." The French character is enterprising, forward, impelled by curiosity, not easily repulsed, and with little of that shyness which, in the English is sometimes pride, and sometimes a foolish feeling of shame, but often likewise a decent sense of propriety. It appears as if a Frenchman imagined he has only to show himself to be admired. If he publicly write, speak, or act, he assumes importance. If his portrait be painted, his head must be thrown back, his breast forward, and his air must either be smiling, dignified, or disdainful; in his own language, it must impose. Would he permit his numerous good qualities to act unaffectedly, and without ostentation, he would indeed be admirable: but he hides the real worth of his charac ter, which is often great, by his open and extravagant claims to superiority; and, when he happens to have less than a common share of understanding, sometimes his ludicrous impertinence almost levels him with the ape. SOLILOQUY OF A LOVER BY MOONLIGHT*. "Love mounts and rolls about my stormy mind, Like fire that's borne by a tempestuous wind." DRYDEN, ....THE immeasurable vault of heaven is spread over the head of an atom! I am lost in the immensity * We present to our readers the following extraordinary fragment, translated from a German novel, as an instance of the fervid, impassioned, but metaphysical language with which the Germans express the effusions of love. of space, nevertheless, Henrietta! oh, adorable WOman! this eye, composed of the dust, discovers the brilliant Sirius; and penetrates to scenes immensely removed. My mind embraces thousands of worlds. It is greater and more vast than creation itself: the whole of creation is its domain. It measures the universe, comprehends all existence, prescribes all its laws. I stand beneath innumerable worlds, which glitter over my head; they fall, they cease to shine, but I remain ! My soul shall not be hid by the thick curtain which separates worlds, for it penetrates eternity with confidence! It is with thee, my beloved, that I long to enjoy. this eternity! I adore thee! those words raise me above all temporary and fragile matter. I adore thee! and thou shalt be mine! Never have my arms pressed thee to my heart; never has this heart beaten with transport against thine, yet thou art mine, Henrietta! although destiny should place immense seas between us, although death should separate us in this world, still thou art mine! I shall rise victorious with thee from the tomb! We will take our flight together through the heavens, while suns shall gild the flowing folds of thy robe! .... For what do I languish? What passion is it that draws tears from my eyes? What desire expands my breast? I wish for thy love! I wish for nothing beside. I am thine! ah, be thou mine! .... Will not those bright and lovely eyes be also extinguished in the grave-alas! if thou didst even now press me to thy heart, would not the tomb open to separate us? ....To be silent and to die! Henrietta, such is my fate. If I dared to speak, if a beneficent Providence permitted me to say to thee, be mine! If, at these words, those resplendent eyes, glistening with love, turned upon him who pronounced those words; if thy' hand pressed mine; if thy lips uttered-I am thine! oh, I should expire with rapture! or, if I survived that moment, Henrietta, my mind would lose the character with which thou hast reproached it; my soul would cease to be a stormy sea; joy, happiness, repose would possess me wholly! .... Yes, my beloved, my heart is the victim of storms. Thou art the destiny of my life: it depends on thy will. Tranquillity is the gift of thy pure and gentle heart: oh, when shall I possess it! ah, may hope, Henrietta, that thou wilt one day be mine? I .... I perceive the neighbouring scene, which the moon yet faintly illumines, begins to be enveloped with clouds; they rise slowly, and gather into an immense canopy. I no longer can descry the house in which thou dost sleep. The resplendent Sirius no longer casts its rays upon me. Alas! if it is true that thou canst never love me, Henrietta, then a dark and eternal cloud will envelop the heavens and all nature!.... When thou dost speak, a sudden emotion agitates me. I prefer death to your indifference. From the whole world are the sentiments of my heart concealed, unhappy am I if they are also concealed from thee; if thou dost not know by what irresistible necessity I am thine. ... Lately didst thou take an infant in thy arms, from that time the child was the object of my friendship; I pressed it to my heart-ah, had I been that infant!.... |