drew his own chair closer to the fire, and motioned to Reynolds to place himself at his side. My lord talked about politics, the weather, the books which happened to be scattered about the table, pictures too-when any turn in the conversation naturally led to them, the news of the day, and other casual subjects. When Reynolds rose to depart, his lordship shook him by the hand, rang for a servant, and expressed a hope that Mr. Reynolds would not be long in repeating his visit. He left the house, pleased at his reception, but never once thinking of the immense distance which separates a painter from a lord-so completely had the nobleman set him at ease with himself. Now, according to the French feeling, or, strictly speaking, the French system of politeness, the palm would decidedly be awarded to Milord qui faisoit tant de révérences. There is no doubt that in France, Politeness, even according to French notions of it, has been gradually decaying ever since the commencement of the Revolution. That event, whatever good it may have produced in other respects, unhappily sowed the seeds of a barbarons spirit amongst them, and they are increasing and multiplying with fearful rapidity. Woman has at all times received less moral consideration in France than in most other civilized countries, particularly England; but till the bloody and ferocious examples daily exhibited in the course of the Revolution familiarized the public mind with the horrors inflicted on, and committed by, women, the female person had always been held sacred. Woman, though possessing few independent and rational rights, had always been the object of an abundance of little attentions, and the charter of protection from harm and insult, granted to her by nature, was in France, as it still is in other European countries, ratified by man. How is it with them now? Not to speak of twenty or thirty years, but only a little month ago, in one of their theatres, women they were Englishwomen, to be sure, and that may serve as an excuse to the politest nation in the world-were pelted with rotten eggs, potatoes, half-pence and stones! All were struck, some were bruised; and it is to be attributed rather to the awkward aim than to the gentle intentions of the urbane assailants that greater ills were not inflicted. The journals which have stood most forward in defence of this disgraceful affair admit that the assailants were not the mob, the mere rabble of Paris, but the students of the law and medical schools-la belle jeunesse Française ! as they call them.* "By this we have proved our hatred of the English,” say they. There needed no such proof of their hatred. They hate the English, and for reasons which it would be too humiliating to their vanity to enumerate. But like bad reasoners they have proved more, much more, than they intended: they have proved, what cannot now be disputed, that they are no longer la nation la plus polie du monde;-that they are nearly bankrupt in politeness, and would fain maintain their reputation on the credit of what they formerly enjoyed;-that now that their real funds are exhausted, they would keep up the same show with mere counters, and pass them upon the rest of Europe for current coin ;that (as it has already been said) a barbarous spirit is growing up amongst them; and that, though they continue to play off the grimaces, the monkey-tricks of politeness, the real politesse Française, the politeness of the heart (if indeed they ever possessed that), is gone from them forever! But let us turn from the recollection of the scene alluded to; it is too disgusting, and, contrasted with French pretensions to politeness, teo ridiculous for quiet contemplation. To conclude. The French are rather the favourites of Europe, for they are an amusing, a clever, It is really a pity to see these poor deluded lads, the unthinking dupes of a little newspaper faction, turned from their needful studies on every occasion where a riot is to S be got up, and excited to the work which in London is left to coal-heavers, brewers'<draymen, and St. Giles's labourers. What demon is it that tempts them to set up for 4 politicians and legislators, before they have escaped from the ferule of their schoolmasters? How different is this from the decent and gentlemanly conduct of the students of our Inns of Court. and in many respects a kind people; and those who are best inclined to love them are the most grieved to witness the ridicule they draw down upon themselves by their ceaseless, ill-timed vapourings, blusterings, and boastings. The merits of the French, and they possess many, are fully and fairly appreciated by other nations; the praises they deserve are freely bestowed upon them; their excellencies, and (where they are superior) their superiorities, are acknowledged; but though they beplaster their Boulevards with representations of their glory, and courage, and patriotism, ten times thicker, if possible, than they do, though they continue to stun one another by their plaudits of the flashy compliments paid to them by their own little Vaudeville-makers for being the most polite, the most civilized, the most enlightened people on the face of the globe-it will not serve to place them a jot higher in any one's estimation but their own. It is evident that they are anxious to acquire the character of being a useful as well as a clever and pleasant people, and are growing ashamed of their proverbial frivolity; and of being looked to merely for the supply of the most expert dancers, cooks, and hair-dressers. This is laudable. But to execute their purpose it is necessary that they correct themselves of that constitutional vanity which considerably impedes their progress in improvement, and, at the same time, renders them somewhat ridicu lous in the eyes of the world; that they learn to think more favourably of others, less favourably of themselves; and, above all, that they bear it constantly in mind, that in what way soever they may be desirous of establishing a reputation for excellence, their right to it will be estimated by their acts and works alone, while the only meed of their PRETENSIONS will be ridicule and contempt. THE TWO PEACOCKS OF BEDFONT. 1. ALAS! that breathing Vanity should go In novel flesh, clad in the silent boast 2. Each Sabbath morning, at the hour of prayer, Shining, far distant, in the summer air Tom Hood That flaunts their dewy robes and breathes between Their downy plumes,-sailing as if they were Two far-off ships-until they brush between The church-yard's humble walls, and watch and wait On either side of the wide open'd gate. 3. And there they stand-with haughty necks before And tempting homage from unthoughtful eyes: Of health, and smiles on the heart-conscious face; Because that Wealth, which has no bliss beside, May change the soul's warm glances for the fire 5. The aged priest goes shaking his grey hair 6. Also the solemn clerk partakes the shame Turns her pain'd head, but not her glance, aside ή. "I have a lily in the bloom at home," Quoth one, "and by the blessed Sabbath day I'll pluck my lily in its pride, and come And read a lesson upon vain array ;— And when stiff silks are rustling up, and some 8. Then her meek partner, who has nearly run His earthly course," Nay, Goody, let your text Grow in the garden.—We have only one Who knows that these dim eyes may see the next? Summer will come again, and summer sun, And lilies too-but I were sorely vext To mar my garden, and cut short the blow 9. "The last!" quoth she, " and though the last it were-Lo! those two wantons, where they stand so proud With waving plumes, and jewels in their hair, 10. So speaking, they pursue the pebbly walk And anxious pedagogue that chastens wrong, 11. And blushing maiden-modestly array'd In spotless white-still conscious of the glass; She veils her tears under the deep, deep shade, 12. Thus, as good Christians ought, they all draw near Now the last frock, and scarlet hood, and shawl Fade into dusk, in the dim atmosphere Of the low porch, and heav'n has won them all, -Saving those two, that turn aside and pass, In velvet blossom, where all flesh is grass. 13. Ah me! to see their silken manors trail'd 14. But swept their dwellings with unquiet light, 15. Now in the church, time-sober'd minds resign Painting the mistlight where the roof is dim; 16. Soiling the virgin snow wherein God hath 17. "Oh that the vacant eye would learn to look Drink the warm-breathing tenderness and grace 18. "Doth the vain heart love glory that is none, Dazzling the brain with orbs of living fire; 19. "Oh go, and gaze,-when the low winds of ev'n And mountain-rocks and cloudy steeps are riv'n 20. "Yet suns shall perish--stars shall fade away- Like the frail furniture of dreams beneath 21. They hear, soul-blushing, and repentant shed Its grace-then soberly, with chasten'd tread, |