and all, it must be admitted, is written | dukes, have overwhelmed strangers with inwith a good deal of off-hand smartness. vitations. The foreigner, ordinarily so ill thought of in London, has all at once become the lion of the season. The beard is received with the most charming smile, and the mustache itself no longer draws from the young miss the exclamation “shocking!” The feuilletoniste of the Siècle, M. Texier, seems to have come over with the determination of finding every thing "rotten in the state of Denmark." He not only dwells with a sort of gloomy satisfaction on the Of all the feuilletonistes who have come misery of a certain portion of the population, amongst us, the first in talent as in rank is but actually takes his readers to the wretch-Jules Janin of the Débats. His articles are ed quarters occupied by the lowest class of full of that brilliant sparkle, that exquisite Irish, and cries, “This, then, is proud and embroidery, that airy and elegant phrasehaughty England!—fair to the eye, but rot-spinning for which he is noted; and in each ten within a giant with feet of clay-of passage may be found proofs that he possesses a good deal of classical knowledge, and no little reading. He has, however, unfortunately the plain common-sense which prevents him from falling into absurdities, or from torturing truth, or indulging in caricature. We say "unfortunately," because the consequence is, that he writes of the English almost as an Englishman would, and therefore says little that calls for translation. On the whole he seems to have been well received, and he certainly takes manifest pleasure in displaying the most cordial feeling towards our country. In short, he came amongst us as a friend should immense wealth, but with the most horrid misery gnawing at her vitals!" Jules Janin, we observe, has had the good sense and the good taste, in one of his recent feuilletons, to rebuke his young and indiscreet confrère: -"Before we denounce the defects of English society let us first look at home! And besides, when there is so much to admire, it is unjust to see only the stains on the picture!" Such is the substance, if not the exact words, of the eminent critic. Here, however, is an extract on a more agreeable subject from M. Texier: "It is the opinion of a great many persons that the Universal Exhibition of London will in no respect modify the character, manners, or habits of our neighbors. The islander, in fact, resists with all his power, the influence of the usages which prevail on the other side of the channel; and if commercially he is in favor of the practice of free exchange, in a moral point of view he is entirely opposed to continental exportations. This explains the peculiar and original physiognomy of the English people in this nineteenth century, in which most other nations have a certain air of relationship. However, if I take into account the phenomena which have occurred during the last few days in the privileged world, called here The nobility and gentry,' I must as sume that the irruption of Frenchmen will leave some traces, and that the old British usages will receive more than one encroachment. Can it be believed that at this moment, the houses of London which are protected by railings, and which resemble miniature prisons, are being opened to visitors? The home is invaded; the sanctuary is profaned; bearded visages show themselves for the first time in drawing-rooms, which hitherto have only witnessed the fair shoulders of ladies, and the mathematical faces of stiff gentlemen. Is this a sudden conversion? is it premeditated amiability? or is it only curiosity? I cannot tell. But the fact is, that baronets, earls, marquises, and with a heart overflowing with friendli ness; and every Englishman who reads his feuilletons, especially the later ones, will feel as much liking for the man as admiration for the writer. Here is an anecdote told in his own lively way: "I have spoken of the respect of each and all for the law, of which every man in the three kingdoms is naturally the protector and the guardian. One of the French exhibitors, a distinguished manufacturer, was standing the other day with a crowd to see the Queen pass. He had one foot off the pavement. Up came the policeman, who ordered our friend to stand entirely on the pavement. But-oh! incredible thing in the eyes of all who knew the respect of this man for order!-he refused, and declared that he would remain with one foot in the street and the other on the pavement. Good! The policeman makes his round, and returns and makes a new sign, Either walk in the street, or stand on the pavement!' He does more-seeing the Frenchman determined not to obey, he draws his staff from his pocket, and threatens to strike him a blow which would kill an ox! The danger was great; but, as I have said, the man was obstinately bent on resistance: he would sooner have consented to be killed on the spot than have withdrawn his foot. But the policeman took pity on him he placed his staff in his pocket, and called on two or three young men to give him aid and protection against this obstinate fellow. Thereupon these young men, faithful to the respect of the law, which is one of the glories of their nation, approached the offender, and, with a severe voice, said, 'Sir, you are not in France, where every body does what he pleases-you are in a country in which people honor themselves by obeying the lawyou will do as we do, sir,-you will obey!' And, bon gré mal gré, he had to get on the pavement! What do you say to the assistance rendered to a subaltern agent of the public peace In France, people would hardly take the trouble to stop a thief!" FUNERAL OF BYRON. "ONE day I found myself about noon at the bottom of Oxford-street, where it forms a right angle with the road which leads or did lead to Tottenham Court. Happening to cast my eyes around, it suddenly occurred to me that something uncommon was expected; people were standing in groups on the pavement-the upstair windows of the houses were thronged with faces, especially those of women, and many of the shops were partly, and not a few entirely closed. What could be the reason of all this? All at once I bethought me that this street of Oxford was no other than the far-famed Tyburn way. Oh, oh, thought I, an execution; some handsome young robber is about to be executed at the further end; just so, see how earnestly the women are peering; perhaps another Harry Symms-Gentleman Harry as they called him-is about to be carted along this street to Tyburn tree; but then I remembered that Tyburn tree had long since been cut down, and that criminals, whether young or old, good-looking or ugly, were executed before the big stone jail, which I had looked at with a kind of shudder during my short rambles in the city. What could be the matter? Just then I heard various voices cry "There it comes!" and all heads were turned up Oxford-street, down which a hearse was slowly coming nearer and nearer it drew; presently it was just opposite the place where I was standing, when, turning to the left, it proceeded slowly along Tottenham Road; immediately behind the hearse were three or four mourning coaches, full of people, some of which, from the partial glimpse which I caught of them, appeared to be foreigners; behind these came a very long train of splendid carriages, all of which, without one exception, were empty. "Whose body is in that hearse ?' said I to a dapper-looking individual, seemingly a shopkeeper; who stood beside me on the pavement, looking at the procession. "The mortal relics of Lord Byron,' said the dapper-looking individual, mouthing his words and smirking- the illustrious poet, which have been just brought from Greece, and are being conveyed to the family vault in . . . . . shire.' An illustrious poet, was he?' said L "Beyond all criticism,' said the dapper man; all we of the rising generation are under incalculable obligation to Byron; I myself in particular, have reason to say so; in all my correspondence my style is formed on the Byronic model.' "I looked at the individual for a moment, who smiled and smirked to himself applause, and then I turned my eyes upon the hearse proceeding slowly up the almost endless street. This man, this Byron, had for many years past been the demi-god of England, and his verses the daily food of those who read, from the peer to the draper's assistant; all were admirers, or rather worshippers, of Byron, and all doated on his verses; and then I thought of those who, with genius as high as his, or higher, had lived and died neglected. I thought of Milton abandoned to poverty and blindness; of witty and ingenious Butler consigned to the tender mercies of bailiffs; and starving Otway: they had lived neglected and despised, and, when they died, a few poor mourners only had followed them to the grave; but this Byron had been made a half god of when living, and now that he was dead he was followed by worshipping crowds, and the very sun seemed to come out on purpose to grace his funeral. And, indeed, the sun, which for many days past had hidden his face in clouds, shone out that morn with wonderful brilliancy, flaming upon the black hearse and its tall ostrich plumes, the mourning coaches, and the long train of aristocratic carriages which followed behind. Great poet, sir,' said the dapper-looking man, 'great poet, but unhappy.'" THE PHILOSOPHER'S BLUNDER. (From the German of Ludwig Tieck.) THERE lived, some years ago, in one of the large cities of Germany, a young professor of philosophy, and as, like philosophers generally, he was infallible, having discovered the only absolute truth and the only wisdom that would prove eternally impregnable, of course, he had plenty of disciples who were ready to swear by him. The hall in which he lectured was almost too small for the crowd who thirsted after knowledge, and such of his disciples as he honored with a more familiar intercourse were envied by all the rest. Men of business, who had almost forgotten their student years, considered it a great favor when this wise-and as yet tolerably young-Plato permitted them to sit among his pupils that they might also quench their thirst at the fountain. Though this teacher was so much in fashion, and, consequently, created a host of worthless admirers, those more earnest men who knew how to value his acuteness could not deny him their esteem. Nothing also could be more natural than that a travelling French lady-witty, curious, and inclined to research -should seek to become acquainted with the famous professor, and get him to give her an explanation of his system, as far as her smattering of German and his bad unassisted French would permit. She-voluble and impulsive, neither languid nor given to dreaminess-was a follower in the steps of the celebrated De Staël, who was the first to direct the attention of her self-satisfied countrymen to Germany, as a land, like some far Indies or fabulous region, wherein various things were to be discovered of which the perfectly civilized French had not so much as dreamt. So this young widow, Lady Deschamps, listened believingly, imbibing the didactic professor's metaphysics with both eyes and ears, and it frequently distressed her that, though her spirit was completely rapt, her mouth would keep laughing at the bad French of the Evangelist. It was still worse when, sometimes, (as one has seen it happen to artificial cascades in parks,) when the store of water runs short, the inspired teacher had to cease speaking, not being able to find words, either winged or lame, whereby to express his meaning in that VOL. II.-35 foreign tongue. In such a time of need, a fair girl, a younger sister of the lady-traveller, acted as interpreter, and translated the thoughts of the speaker, who thus found himself obliged to deliver them in German. This latter style of philosophical conversation was, after some time, considered preferable to the other, and the hours thus devoted to philosophy became more numerous, and assumed a more familiar and confidential character. These two young and graceful women hung on the words of the eloquent teacher who told them things so new and strange. They thought they understood him, and he, when he saw their look of wonderment, had not the slightest doubt of it. Nothing could be more natural than that, when the hours of severe study were over, they should refresh themselves with lighter conversation; and, at such times, the young professor displayed all his German politeness. He often met his lady-pupils in society, but greatly preferred seeing them at their own home. He was human, and one can scarcely blame him if, after some weeks, he fancied that both these amiable young ladies liked his society better than any other. He was unmarried, tolerably good-looking, besides being a celebrated author; so, after turning the whole affair over in his own mind, he thought he saw some probability of his womanly friendliness ripening into love. He hesitated some time as to which fair one he should give the preference; which he should approach with the idea of inspiring her with love, and experiencing it himself. At length, he fixed on the younger sister, who-besides being the more beauti. ful, and half a German already-had an estate at Alsace, about which he had heard a good deal; the said estate being a thing not absolutely disagreeable to a prudent man, or to one thinking himself so. He had also become more familiar with her, from her having to translate his instructions, and as this young sister, moreover, was always more respectful towards him, he was not sorry to find her sometimes at home by herself. Such was the state of affairs. The philosopher grew more honored every day by his admirers, who had visited that great city partly on his account. They wrote notes and letters to him containing expressions of devotion, which seemed to the happy fellow almost to border on idolatry, and which he himself secretly condemned. He got beautiful, gilt-edged, rose-pink paper, in order to reply properly; only he often lamented that those fine French characters, which were as delicately and beautifully rounded as if they were engraved, were sometimes very difficult to read, owing to the similarity of the letters. He had again been instructing the ladies, and was joyfully expecting to meet them the evening after at the house of the ambassador. In the morning, while sitting at breakfast with some of his most intimate friends, he received a long letter from his lady-traveller, the elder sister. Joy sparkled in his eyes as he opened and read the letter, imparting the contents to his friends. It seemed to be the old tale over again, with an admiration, if any thing, increased; and all were highly delighted that their teacher's greatness was also recognized by foreigners. The lady began by expressing her satisfaction that she was to meet the man, at the ambassador's house that evening, who was growing continually dearer to her heart and mind: his presence would confer more true dignity on the assembly. When this passage was read, the young Her Von Nettling remarked that she already began to think like a German, she could not have brought such a notion with her out of France. "So it is," observed a young poet, "it will be by means of us Germans, when they get to be better acquainted with us and with our literature, that the French will become a true individual rationality. These different travel lers, who are daily arriving, remind one of Joshua and Caleb, who announced the Promised Land to the dwellers in the desert." "And," said a third, "will not this young widow take a fine bunch of grapes back as a sample; thereby filling all her countrymen with delighted astonishment?" This young, impetuous fellow had scarcely uttered these words, when the professor, growing pale as death, let the letter fall to the ground," Whatever is the matter with you?" exclaimed all. The professor seated himself in his easy-chair, and, endeavoring to compose himself, said-in a voice full of emotion-" All of you, my friends, will bear me witness what true zeal, what kindness I have shown towards this haughty Frenchwoman, ever anticipating her wishes. How much of my valuable time I have sacrificed to her-striving to illuminate her benighted skull, that, being thus animated, she might be capable of a nobler, truer existence. She also seemed to feel this; yet still, still it is impossible for the Frenchwoman to change her nature-impossible for her to get rid of the presumption, selfishness, and insolent pretension inherent in her nation. Read for yourselves, with your own eyes, this scandalous letter; just read for yourselves this vulgar impertinence. It would have been impossible for the very coarsest German to write thus, unless to some open enemy whom he wished to humble to the uttermost. Read here, at the commencement, you see there are thanks, admiration, the finest French phrases; and here-speaking of my goodnature-she grows quite sentimental; and here-about my system—she shows herself not without insight; and then she says, only one German-myself—could unite to such profundity-a stupidity altogether unexampled! What do you say to it? Is not this shamelessness also unexampled !" All were dumb. Each took the letter in turn; each scrutinized and verified the of fensive line, and when all were convinced that this abomination had actually been said of their revered tutor, the manifold denials and pathetic exclamations by which every one sought to give vent to his rage, produced an uproar well nigh maddening. As soon as something like quietness was restored, the professor said, “Believe me, this nonsense really contains a eulogium; that is, such a eulogium as these insolents can and will give. This is what they think of us. They take us for bears and clumsy untamed creatures, and, with a sort of refined haut goût, which gives the very daintiest relish to their sublimated brilliancy, theythe finer souls-deign to learn of us rude, awkward things. It is a wonder to them that stupid barbarism should produce profundity-that a singular law of nature has so ordained that the deepest and most fundamental can only grow in this soil of stupidity; that is to say, with us. I must, however, repudiate such a eulogium, and will not allow either myself or my countrymen to be reviled in such a manner." It has often been said that it is best to answer a letter immediately as soon as received, and that this insures the freest and liveliest correspondence. As respects friendly epistles, this may be a true doctrine; but when passion, occasioned by a letter, possesses a man, it were more advisable, perhaps, that he first let his anger cool down somewhat, that in his answer he may observe due moderation. However, these enraged German philosophers did not think so. After some conversation, they all approved of the professor's resolution, which was—to answer the shameless document instanta, and in the most stinging style; all courteous introduction, all phrases of obligation or politeness were to be omitted. So the professor sat down, and, as quickly as his French would permit, wrote a decided declaration of war to her who had hitherto been his friend and admirer. Those who were around him furnished him with a phrase now and then which they considered wittier or more biting, so the whole formed a choice bouquet of German invectives, drawn upon a sheet of common writing-paper; the professor being now ashamed of his gilt-edged, rosepink preparations. In his reply, he declared himself on his guard against any further approaches on her part; and, as the enemy might perhaps try to offer some explanation of her ill-bred phrase, he said, since the French had endeavored to infuse some courtesy and politeness into the Germans, she would not take it amiss if he adopted her own letter as a model; trying, as far as was possible for him, to imitate it. He must confess that this her rudeness and unabashed impudence far transcended the unexampled stupidity which, in him, had so amazed her. His German good-nature-which she had praised somewhat too highly-was not, however, so great that he could laugh at her vulgar impertinence, or treat it as something pardonable in a lady. His anger, also, was thoroughly German, both by nature and constitution, and his own consciousness, as well as the respect which every learned man owed to himself, impelled him-his position in society, his reputation and his worth, compelled him-from henceforth, and in the strongest and most unequivocal terms, to break off all acquaintance with so thorough and inveterate a Frenchwoman. For the rest, he should be at the ambassador's that evening, and if, after the present declaration on his part, she should still dare to claim acquaintance with him, he could show herhowever stupid he might be with what profoundest contempt he could repel so presumptuous a creature. Inasmuch as stupidity and profundity might be united, so respect might be compatible with the present explanation; he therefore remained-soand-so. All admired this weighty epistle as much as if it were the masterpiece of some diplomatist, at once graceful and resolute. A man-servant took it to the lady's house immediately. To the ambassador's house went the professor, accompanied by a few of his squires, and armed with all his dignity. Many people of fashion, both ladies and gentlemen, as well as some distinguished men, were present. The professor was kindly welcomed by the host and his lady, and after a while, the French ladies-who had been keeping up an animated conversation with some of their own countrymen in a distant corner-came up to him. “Good heavens, my honored friend!" exclaimed the elder, in her native tongue; "what a most extraordinary letter you sent me this morning! I was in the country when it reached me. I had to get out of my carriage to make a few calls, so I read it, and, as I have not yet recovered from the astonishment it caused me, I have brought it along with me, Your excuses, my esteemed friend, will have to be both ample and clever, if I ascribe this most incomprehensible occurrence to a fit of hypochondria." "I have nothing to do with excuses!" cried the German, in a state of great excitement: "they ought to come from you; but how cleverly soever you may parade them, they will make no impression on my firmness." She replied with some warmthbeing naturally impetuous,—and as the professor scarcely took the trouble to keep his temper, his voice gradually rose into a scream, so that all the bystanders turned their heads towards this group in amazement. "Friends," said the minister, "come with me into the next room, lest this unusual disturbance should draw all eyes on you. If you think me worthy of being umpire in the matter, I trust I shall be able to reconcile such distinguished friends." So the contending parties followed the kind-hearted man, who was accompanied by |