"Je rougis de ma faiblesse,
Encor plus de mon amant."

fell in love with her at first sight. Such a man-killer was this witty, piquant, little girl! The abbé, learning how gloomy were Aware of how this confession may be her prospects, generously offered to settle an turned against her, she delightfully remarks, annuity on her. Although counselled by "I would have suppressed this had Í her friends to accept this offer, she declined been writing a novel. I know a heroine it; and herein displayed the rectitude fought to have but one passion; that it her judgment no less than her firmness of must be for some one quite perfect, and "Je m'étais resolue de bonne heure," never die. But truth is truth, and has only she says, "à l'indigence, et j'y trouvais the merit of being what it is." moins d'inconvénient qu'à me charger de quelque obligation suspecte." It is saying a great deal for her that the abbé, as well as M. Brunel, in relinquishing the idea of gaining her affection, did not cease to be her firm and excellent friend.

will.

"Le vrai est comme il peut, et n'a de mérite que d'être ce qu'il est :" is not that an admirable aphorism? It not inaptly characterises the whole of these Memoirs, written as they are in a style as subdued as it is clear and truthful; with no want of wit or wisdom, there is no striving after either.

It would seem that there was a sort of fascination about our heroine which pecu- We have lingered on these first flutterliarly affected Plutus, for her friends seem ings of the heart because they formed, as it excessively prompt to offer her money. M. were, the preparations for a deeper feeling: Rey, a married man, and a great admirer, Love was trying his young wings before hearing of her distress, very delicately pro- encountering the noble perils of a true pasposed to assure her a sum which would sion. The Marquis de Silly, the conquerenable her to live honorably,-adding, as a or of this heart, like Cæsar, conquered the proof that he wished to take no advantage moment he appeared. Novelists in search of the obligation, that he would consent, if of a situation, or novel-readers in search of she required it, never to see her again. This, also, she declined, perhaps wisely, for one has an uneasy feeling that the condition would not have been fulfilled on bis side. He, also, continued her friend. The gradual cooling of his love is calculated by Mademoiselle de Launay, as a geometrical ratio, in a style very characteristic of the age; "I often visited," she says, "Mademoiselle d'Epinay, where M. Rey was almost daily. As they lived close to the convent I usually returned on foot, and M. Rey always accompanied me. There was an open square to pass in our way, and during the early part of our acquaintance he always took me round by the side; he now traversed it through the centre, from which I concluded that his love was diminished by the difference of the diagonal and the two sides of a square."

an emotion, cannot do better than accompany our charming De Launay to the Château de Silly. There is nothing very attractive in it at first sight: it is sombre with the shadow of centuries; it is grand, but with a grandeur derived from faded splendor rather than from present prosperity. There is nothing gay about it: no riotous hospitality lights up its halls; no echoes of many mirthful voices cheer its solitude. On the whole, however, it is not without its charm.

An old marquis, poor,

and, like most country gentlemen, inclined to avarice; a rigid marquise mumbling her devotions; a lively daughter and her lively friend;-and when that friend bears the name of De Launay, cannot the reader, with a little indulgence of his imagination, make out the personnel of a drama? Not yet, perhaps; but, patience! the lover arrives, and then the circle is complete. They have been talking of him daily; he is expected from England, where he has been detained

prisoner of war. Fond father, proud mother, proud sister, and inquisitive friend, they have all daily discussed his merits; and now he arrives.

Of the Chevalier de Herb- we have only a touch, but it is done with a master's pencil. Here was a new sort of man, one who had l'air du monde, a well-dressed, well-a spoken, good-looking nonentity. On interrogating her memory she found that, during a whole evening, she had heard him say nothing but the terms of his game at cards, The "coming man," when long expected, and she was disenchanted. She confesses, long talked of, appears under incalculable however, to have felt great jealousy at advantages, if he have not the misfortune seeing him pay his addresses to another, to create a decidedly unfavorable disapand wrote some verses, in which she said,-pointment. Our idea of him from the de

scriptions of others is sure to be false,perhaps ludicrously so. And not only have we to recover from that first disappointment, but also from another, and that other far more cruel, the discrepancy between the actual march of events and our imagined scheme for them. We arrange little dramas in our head; we settle what we shall say, what we shall do, what he will reply, and how he will act. He arrives quite unaware of the scheme laid down and the part assigned to him. He acts his own part instead of ours, and all our little dreams are blown away into thin air." But it may happen that, owing to the very intensity of our disappointment, the impression he creates is greatly deepened; such appears to have been the case with the Marquis de Silly.

of harm had been said of him, and that it had not been said jestingly. One has no wish to jest,' I said to him, when complaining of you.' This naive answer pleased him. I did not expect,' he replied, looking at me, to find what I do in the valley of Auge. He then confessed the pleasure he had felt in listening to our conversation, although he had not been spared in it. From that time he thought us worthy of his, and never left us. Our walks and reading were all in common. So I passed the whole day with some one who dreamed of pleasing. It appeared to me impossipleased me immensely, and whom I yet never ble that a man, accustomed to live with and be loved by the most charming women, could pay me the least notice, wanting as I did both beauty and the charms which the knowledge of the world alone confer. I wrote some verses, which I did not show, which well expressed this disposition of my mind, for, after drawing his portrait, I ended by saying,

"Hélas! je l'aimerais si j'étais plus aimable.

I was youthful in experience rather than in years, for I had as yet loved nothing; the first fancy I had felt at fourteen or fifteen was but the effect of romantic ideas, which made me desire to have a passion in order to become, as it seemed to me, a more important personage. The fit of jeamortification of pride humbled on every point. It lousy that I had afterwards suffered was but the in no wise resembled the feelings which now seiz

Had she imagined a dashing young officer, gay, sprightly, gallant; with easy manners and incomparable moustachios; anxious to please, and, above all, to please the sex? The marquis was the reverse of all this. Cold, haughty, and reserved, he scarcely spoke but to command; kept himself to his own room in company with his books; or walked alone, and was scarcely visible but at meals. Had he adopted such a part on mature calculation, he could noted me. I do not know how it was that I never have chosen one more effective: the ardent imagination of our heroine was at once inflamed, and the less he seemed to notice her, the more she thought of him. ConsiThe fear of entangling himself with me, or of der! They were in a country-house; he giving me an opportunity of explaining myself, was the only young man; he was a soldier, made M. de Silly careful not to be alone with me. a hero, and mysterious; she was young, I was fully determined to say nothing to him, yet romantic, sensitive: if your invention can-I passionately longed for the meeting he so carenot weave out a romance with such materials, it must be beggarly indeed. Just read these simple passages, so brief, yet so pregnant with meaning, and see what a little world of feeling they enclose :

"His attractions and his disdainfulness piqued me keenly. His sister, who had seen him more sociable, was hardly less mortified than myself; and it was the usual topic of our conversation. One day, as we were walking in a wood, where we thought ourselves alone, we gave utterance to our feelings of resentment. He came close up to us without our perceiving him, and, as he found we were talking of him, stopped to hear us. We had seated ourselves; he concealed himself behind some trees, and lost none of our conversation, which was animated by divers passions. He found it worthy of his attention, and felt that we had reason to complain of a contempt which we did not deserve. He did not show himself; but when we returned to the chateau, he told us that he had heard himself spoken of, that a great deal

thought of resisting them; it seemed to me that they were without danger because they would be unreturned, and I thought I had nothing to do but to conceal them carefully.

fully avoided. On discovering the motive of his circumspection, I wished more strongly than ever should reassure him, and let him know how far I to have some private conversation with him which was from forgetting what I owed to myself. I had, at last, that satisfaction one day, as we went our usual walk. Mademoiselle de Silly, not being well, excused herself. The mother, who thought only of her son's amusement, told me to go with him. There was no possibility of escape. We went to some distance in the fields. He walked along in silence far more embarrassed than I was. This little triumph gave me courage to speak. It was, at first, on the beauty of the fields; but that not being distant enough from the subjects I wished to avoid, from earth I ascended to heaven, and dashed into the midst of the system of the universe, I kept firmly up in that exalted region until we joined the rest of the party on our return to the chateau.

“M. de Silly, free from all anxiety, had gracefully joined in the conversation, of which the subject, though grave, had been light y treated. I derived this advantage from it, that he saw that I knew both

Low to talk and how to be silent. Moreover, I enjoyed that delightful sensation unknown to those who are unable to resist the impulses of their

hearts.

ennui of a camp, and she became in his eyes, to use her own energetic expression, nothing more than une vieille gazette.

Let us turn from these amours to the more

"Henceforth M. de Silly no longer shunned me. I did not avoid him, and we often met. He stirring events of her life; let us quit the appeared pleased to converse with me and made convent she is forced to quit on the death me conscious of the most flattering esteem. He of her protrectress, and follow her to Paris, added to this a tender interest in all concerning where she is penniless and almost friendme. I found a proof of this in the little bits of less. The style of the romance changes, advice he was fond of giving me, Their success but the interest increases. There we see was infallible. In fact I found in him all that I could desire, except the love which I fancied I did the clever, strong-willed, unhappy girl, surnot desire. It was pleasant to love without fear rounded with perils, and bravely surmountand without struggle, safe from all weakness, and ing them; and the sight is interesting in with no other care than that of dissembling my many aspects. Few books are more agreefeelings; but, as I have already said, I did this able than these Memoirs, containing as they badly, and I make no doubt that a man so sharp do the portrait of one human being, and the and so well versed in gallantry as the Marquis de brilliant sketches of a strange and interestSilly, must have been perfectly aware, perhaps ing epoch; but we have no time to dwell even more so than I was myself was, of what I felt for him. It is true that he never let me per- long on their riches, and must e'en bid the ceive that he had noticed it, not even when in after reader seek them out for himself. All we times we lived in an intimate confidence. I only can do is to select a few piquant extracts knew from his sister, a long while afterwards, by way of a whet to the appetite. that he had been tempted to attach himself to me; but that foreseeing the attachment would not be eternal, he had been withheld by the esteem with which I inspired him, and pity for the sad fate he would be preparing me. He sometimes said to me with excitement, I should hate any one wretched enough to deceive you.'”

Having thus expressed his feelings for her, he began to pay attention to a certain Mademoiselle D- who had neither grace nor talent, but who seemed, at any rate, to have more charm for our haughty, pedantic marquis, though she failed to excite any jealousy in the breast of our he

roine.

He departed, leaving Mademoiselle de Launay hopelessly in love, and obliged to find a consolation in writing stories and romances in which her own feelings and adventures were depicted. One figure was constantly appearing, as if her pencil lovingly dwelt upon every feature; that figure was of course the portrait of the marquis, such as it had impressed itself upon the ex citable imagination of the writer. We insist upon the last point, for in spite of the glowing colors of her palette, he has left very different impression upon our minds. To us he appears morose, selfish, reserved, pedantic, and wholly unworthy of her regard.

a

When she arrived at Paris her hopes were by no means high; with all her talents and instruction, she saw but little chance of honorably obtaining a livelihood; but the giddy, foolish Duchesse de la Ferté, having warmly espoused her cause, and having been immensely astonished by her talents, spoke glowingly of what she would do for her. She began by settling that Mademoiselle de Launay should be the instructress of the royal infant, whose birth was then expected. Madame la Dauphine could not refuse the Duchesse the politesse of bringing forth a daughter; and that daughter should be the pupil of Mademoiselle de Launay. Meanwhile the duchess took her about with great pride, to display her as a prodigy; and in one of these visits But we must let our heroine speak for herself:—

"Le lendemain, étant allée chez la Duchesse Noailles, elle me manda d'y venir: j'arrive; Voilà, dit-elle, voilà, madame, cette personne dont je vous ai entretenue, qui a un si gran desprit, qui sait dant dechoses. Allons, Mademoiselle, parlez. Madame, vous allez voir comme elle parle.' fallait m'aider comme une chanteuse qui prélude, .....Elle vit que j'hésitais à répondre, et pensa qu'il à qui l'on indique l'air qu'on désire d'entendre'Parlez un peu de religion,' me dit-elle, vous direz ensuite autre chose.''

This little romance had no dénouement : Is not that exquisite? It was the same like many other romances of real life, it duchess who one day said to her, "Tiens, fades away into prosaic insignificance. She mon enfant, je ne vois que moi qui a touremains his firm friend, and continues an jours raison:" what a naïve avowal of an active correspondence with him when she almost universal feeling! It was she, also, is at Paris; her letters serve to lighten the i who in the country used to amuse herself

with playing cards with her domestics and
the neighboring tradesmen, adding, "Je
les triche; mais c'est qu'ils me volent."
It is somewhat painful, at first, to find a
woman so gifted with a powerful mind,
brilliant wit, and unusual calmness and
prudence, as Mademoiselle de Launay in-
dubitably was, obliged to accept the place
of a mere femme-de-chambre to the Duchess
de Maine, and condemned to functions she
was ill-fitted to execute, while so many
other offices would have profited by her
talents: yet this only makes her subsequent
triumph more striking. Power must mani-
fest itself; expel it with a fork and it still
returns; place it at the plough, and even
the coarse environments of field labor will
not prevent its upward flight; place it in
the stable, and even the company of ostlers
and grooms will not stifle it; place it on a
lonely moor, in the bosom of a shepherd
boy, and even there the irresistible impulse
will burst all bonds, and make a pathway
for itself through all obstacles. Never was
there a more erroneous opinion than that
which, soundingly and epigrammatically
expressed by the poet in one line, has been
caught up as an oracular utterance coming
from the very depth of things, by all whose
strivings are out of proportion with their
powers, and who proudly ccho that

"The world knows nothing of its greatest men."

to find inferior intellects more popular, because more adapted to the comprehension of the crowd, is not failure, is not a cause of complaint, but lies in the very nature of things.

We emphatically repeat, therefore, that power of every kind must manifest itself, and its manifestations must be recognised. We find an humble illustration in the remarkable woman whose Memoirs now occupy us. She is in, perhaps, the very worst position that could be chosen for the display of those talents which she possessed— femme-de-chambre to a dissipated and not very discerning duchess, she feels herself imprisoned by the circumstances of her office, yet accident opens a small issue for her, and at once her cleverness is revealed. The duchess carelessly tells her to write to Fontenelle respecting a pretended miracle which then occupied Paris. She writes, and her letter is so piquant, so clever, and so well expressed, that Fontenelle, who was a connoisseur, shows it to every one. It is copied, circulated, passes the frontier; and its author attracts universal attention. From that moment she becomes the duchess's secretary, and an important personage. Her talents are called forth and acknowledged. The femme-dechambre changes at once into the femmed'esprit; and all the clever men of the kingdom are her friends and admirers. It is true that the world does not always, What follows the grandes nuits at Sceaux? if it does ever, know the greatest to be the the conspiracy of Cellamare; her imgreatest; but it is the condition of what-prisonment in the Bastille, with her amour ever is strong to realise itself, and whatever there with the Chevalier de Menel; and is realised must be recognised. On this the touching unrequited love of Maison subject no little confusion exists, owing to Rouge, the governor of the Bastille, must the shiftiness with which "the world" is be sought in her Memoirs; we can do no employed as a general term. If it be meant more than allude to them. They will not that the world of Smith and Jones, the bear abridgement, she has told them so world of crowded thoroughfares and heated well; and, moreover, our own limits are manufactories, knows nothing of the great nearly touched. geometer, the great thinker, or even the great poet, until Time has consecrated the opinion of the few, and consolidated into a monument the vapory breath of reputation, no one will dispute the position; but then the aphorism about the world knowing nothing of its greatest men falls to the ground: the world does know that is to say, the world of geometers, of thinkers, of poets, the men who are capable of recognising this greatness recognise it; the crowd not being capable has no eyes to see. It is idle to rave about genius being neglected, when genius itself rarely appeals to any very extended circle; to be neglected by the crowd,

To conclude this account, which will have fulfilled its object if it set the reader in quest of Madame de Staäl's Memoirs, we will give the portrait she has drawn of herself. Every one is acquainted with the pleasant little practice which was then common in France, for persons to write descriptions of themselves, an agreeable exercise of egotism and cleverness Madame du Deffend, the witty blind old friend of Horace Walpole, who first, we believe, set the fashion; and this is Mademoiselle de Launay's contribution :

It was

"De Launay is of the middle height, thin,

"She has filled up her life with serious occupations, more to strengthen her reason than to ornament her mind, for which she has little regard. No opinion presents itself to her with sufficient clearness for her to cling to it, or to prevent her being as ready to reject as to receive it; which is the cause of her arguing but rarely, unless from ill-humor. She has read a great deal, and yet only knows enough to understand what is said on any subject, and not to say anything mal à-propos. She has sought carefully a knowledge of her duties, and has respected them at the expense of her tastes. She has felt authorized, from the little allowance she makes for herself, to make none for other people; in which she follows her inflexible nature, which her position has cramped without depriving of its elasticity.

bony, and plain. Her disposition and mind are like her face; there is nothing disagreeable, but there is no charm. Her ill fortunes have a good deal contributed to her being so well thought of. The prejudice which exists, to the effect, that people of neither good birth nor fortune are uneducated, causes the little they may know to be overvalued; yet she has had an excellent education, and from it has derived al that is good in her, such as the virtuous principles, noble sentiments, and rules of conduct, which habit has rendered natural to her. Her folly has always been to be reasonable; and, like those women who fancy they have fine figures because their stays are tight, her reason having greatly troubled her, she fancies she has a great deal. Yet she has never been able to triumph over the hastiness of her temper, nor even subject it to some appearance of equality, which has often rendered her disagreeable to her superiors, a burden in society, and perfectly insupportable to those dependent on her: happily fortune has not placed her in a situation to bave many in that relation. With all her faults she has not failed to acquire a sort of reputation "She has always been very sensible to friendwhich she owes solely to two fortuitous occa- ship, yet more touched by the merits and virtues sions: one of which brought into evidence what of her friends, than by their feelings for herself; talent she had; and the other displayed her dis-indulgent when they are only wanting to her, procretion and firmness. These events having been vided they are not wanting to themselves." much known, made her known likewise, notwithstanding the obscurity in which her condition bad placed her, and induced for her a considera-ed with the proper reserves: she does not tion beyond her station; she has tried to be none paint herself in the most glowing colors; the vainer; but the satisfaction she feels in think- but the lineaments are correctly given. ing herself free from vanity, is a vanity in itself.

"The love of liberty is her predominant passion,-a most unfortunate passion for her, who has passed the greater portion of her life in servitude; therefore, her position has always been unbearable to her, notwithstanding the unhoped-for pleasures she may have found there.

This portrait is, of course, to be accept

From Hogg's Weekly Instructor.

JOHN KEATS.

"A POET is born, not made," says Cicero, | poetical scale. Not dissimilar were the by which remark he means that the gift or fates of the two youthful sons of genius for faculty of song is a primary endowment, whom we have thus claimed especial preand not acquired artificially or by teaching eminence. The story of "the marvellous and training. Nearly at the head of such boy who perished in his pride," shadowed true" born" poets of nature, in whom "the forth but too closely the career of his equally inspiration and the faculty divine" are de- unfortunate successor, on whose high spirit veloped so early in life, and so strikingly, the injustice of the world produced nearly as to leave no doubt of their proper voca- the same disastrous effects; and, yet, short tion on earth, stands John Keats, the sub- as was the existence here of the subject of ject of our present sketch. Indeed, among the present notice, he lived long enough to all those whom Shelley beautifully styles ensure an immortality of fame. Grievous "the inheritors of unfulfilled renown,' "" no it must always be, nevertheless, to reflect other name in English literature, save that on the brevity of his course, and the more of Chatterton, can claim for a moment so, as his last fragmentary composition was even to rank on an equality with that of indubitably the grandest of all his works, Keats. Michael Bruce, Henry Kirke White, exhibiting few or none of those blemishes, and others cut off, like them, in their open- arising from youth and inexperience, which ing promise, must be assigned a much low-marred here and there the perfectness of er, though still most honorable place in the his previous productions. In the poem al