of precisely this character. Whilst her husband, whom she married of her own free will, but when she was so very young that she knew not what she did,' is described as one of those men who take a sullen and obstinate pride in stupidity and ignorance,'-'a morose savage,' a Caliban,' she is of course, his opposite in every quality;' full of genius, loveliness, and feeling; as kind as Charity, and almost as liberal in the distribution of her favours. In short, our author's anxiety to render the husband as degrading a personage as possible, is only equalled by the earnestness of his attempts to persuade us that the wife is all a woman need or ought to be. She married him, forsooth, when she knew not what she did :' when she was scarcely half taught in any thing!' The circumstance of her being a married woman, seems to have invested her with strong additional attractions for Gilbert Earle, and he accordingly falls most devoutly in love with her; blindly so indeed; for at the moment she was about to dishonour her wedded husband, and desert her child (she who could not look at a barefooted beggar's brat without tears!) he does not scruple to talk of her purity! And what is Mr. St. Leger's poetical justice for conduct like this? He puts the poor, morose devil of a husband out of the way shortly after his wife's elopement; and the only punishment awarded to the frail pair, is the reflection that had they waited a little longer, they might have gratified their illicit desires without drawing down upon them the condemnation of the world. Finally, she dies, and as our author seems to fancy, passes St. Peter with very little difficulty! What think our readers of such a morale as this? In another part of the same volume, Mr. Earle (who is withal a very charming man) countenances his friend in the seduction of the pretty daughter of a petty farmer on his domain; visits her in her state of open and shameless profligacy, and, having, aided in the destruction of her immortal soul, finally saves her when she has descended to the last stage of human degradation, from perishing in the streets of London ! And all this execrable taste occurs in one little book, which, for passionate earnestness of style, vividness of description, and pathos of the deepest and most overwhelming character, is not surpassed by any single volume of the same description in modern literature. Within the last few days, another work, from Mr. St. Leger's pen, entitled Mr. Blount's MSS.' being sketches of the life of a man of the world, has issued from the press; evincing much of the genius of his first attempt, with not a little of the unhappy taste we have just taken occasion to reprobate. Mr. Philip Blount is, at the commencement of these volumes, a gay, accomplished, warm, though fickle hearted young man of fashion, who, tired of the round of London dissipations, sets out on his travels abroad, with apparently two or three such laudable objects as that of dissipating ennui, by looking at the pretty grisettes of France, and the more bewitching blondes of Italy; and of writing long and very interesting letters and diaries concerning his proceedings, for the use of his ostensible biographer. Throughout the narrative given in these uncomfortably disjointed letters and fragments, there is, however, we rejoice to say, less of French and German sentimentality than is to be met with in Gilbert Earle; and, as the overwhelming grief of Mr. Blount's life is referred to the falseness of his taste, and his libertine apprehension of the shackles of matrimony in youth, we have no right to attribute the laxity of morals obvious in some of what profess to be his confidential communications, to the author of the book. But to the story. During a short sojourn at Tours (while you live never send your hero to any part of France save the South) Mr. Blount becomes acquainted with a young Italian girl of gentle birth, peerless beauty, universal accomplish

ments, and, of course superlative amiability of character. She had lost her mother some six years before, and was then residing with her aunt, although (having completed her education) on the eve of returning with her only surviving parent, an Italian, to his native land.

They are in due time mutually entranced with each other; she is every thing that the heart of man can imagine of pure and lovely in woman; but our convert to the philosophy of Rousseau is hampered between two alternatives; he does not like to attempt the seduction of such a creature; he has some qualms about him as to that; but be cannot prevail upon himself to talk to her of marriage, (although his fate is, in this respect, at his own disposal), because he is still too much of an Exquisite to care to resign his liberty! And having, like a coxcomb as he is, asked himself the question, of what do I intend to do with this love, now that I have excited it,' he resolves, that his heart is more interested in the matter than he intended it should be;' takes time for consideration; and at length, after cool and mature deliberation, decides, that he will neither marry, nor do worse.' He accordingly suffers his adored Antonia to depart without any explanation, althongh not without a severe struggle with himself to prevent his putting the climax to the injuries he has inflicted upon her, by urging her to become the partner of his journey. When she is fairly gone, he begins to snivel and whine, and write long epistles full of deep regret,' and 'keen reproach.' In a month or two, however, he goes to Paris, (the year is 1789), whence he dates some interesting but rather long-winded accounts of several important political events, and among others the destruction of the Bastile, (which is in short little more than a version of the most authentic French account of that extraordinay affair). From Paris, Mr. Blount goes to Spa, as we discover from the abruptly introduced story of Blanche Delvyn, where it is not his fault that he does not engage in another amour, of a less platonic kind than the one to which we have just alluded. The story of Blanch Delvyn, is beautifully told, but liable to many objections. Its morality has, nevertheless, been greatly improved since its publication in the Album. She too, a self-devoted victim to the demon of matrimony, (for with this author, matrimony can only be personified by a devil), goes to the altar for the purpose of pledging her vows to a man whom she positively abhors. 'She held him' (her husband), says her historian, 'lightly, for his want of sense; she laughed at him for his pompous assumption of it; she despised him for his narrow and undignified ways of thinking; she hated him for his morose and cloudy temper;' and yet, in spite of all these ungracious feelings, she married him! Mr. St. Leger would fain persuade us, that she was influenced by her father; but the only influence of this kind we could ever make any allowance for, is that described in the pathetic ballad of Auld Robin Gray, and even there the victim neither despised nor hated her 'gude man.' Was it not the coronet of the Earl of Montore that offered the main inducement? We should rather suspect it was. In our intercourse with the fair sex, we have commonly remarked, that women who manifest the most unblushing disregard of the opinions of the world, and the bienseance of society, are almost invariably those who pretend that the first cause of their ruin was, their deference to parental influence. We hold the opinion, that a brazen adulteress could never have been a dutiful daughter. But to return to the story of Blanch Delvyn : in about a year and a half after her marriage, she elopes with her cavalier servente, and writes a long sentimental letter from Paris, to a friend in England upon

the subject, in which she abuses her husband, in the most approved terms of fashionable censure; adding that she believes that if she had borne him children her hatred for him would have destroyed the strong feeling of maternal love. Well, and what is the nature of the punishment inflicted upon this candid and amiable woman, for her hypocrisy and adultery? Her seducer's coldness. At Spa, Mr. Blount renews his acquaintanceship with Blanch and her protector, and narrowly escapes depriving his old friend of a companion, for whose society he seems long to have lost all relish. However, he escapes the snare; consoles himself by translating into English a Legend of the Rhine, and having passed into Italy, learns from his beautiful Italian, that she is on the eve of entering a convent. He attempts to gain an interview with her; but, finding that she has really taken the veil, returns to England. Once more he enters the busy and fashionable world, and discovers that he has wasted both his time and energies, and lost an excellent opportunity of setting down happily for life. Two or three years afterwards, he receives a letter from Antonia, informing him that the events which consequent the French Revolution, have enabled her to obtain a dispensation of her conventual vows, and sounding him in very delicate terms as to the state of his affections towards her. He replies by imploring her to come to England and be married. She consents; but the vessel in which she is passenger, is wrecked off Hastings, and she, and every soul on board, save a little Italian boy, perish.

Here the story should have concluded; for what interest can survive the loss of such a woman as 'Antonia. However the author seems to have been of a different opinion, and therefore transforms his wretched hero from a man of fortune to a gamester; from a gamester, by a very natural transition, to a beggar; and from a beggar to the despising and contemptuous husband of a woman of wealth and fashion. Here the author again displays his very questionable taste, by making the newly married spouse abuse his wife, as bitterly as Blanch Delvyn did her husband. Who that knows any thing of the laws which govern decent society and the human heart does not know that a sense of a man's own dignity, to say nothing of the feelngs or courtesy which should characterise a gentleman, ought to restrain him from reviling the woman whom he has condescended to honour with his hand. Besides, a man, who like Mr. Blount has the meanness to marry a woman to save himself from a gaol should exhibit a little more gratitude and forbearance than are presented to us in this picture.

We are almost ashamed of having been affected as deeply as we have with these volumes; but with all their faults they are full of literary beauties of the very highest order. If the author will but purify himself from his very apocryphal opinions respecting women and marriage, he may command any rank in the modern Republic of Letters he chooses to select for himself; for if we except Sir Walter Scott, and his son-in-law, Mr. Lockhart, there is no one who can compete with him on his own ground.

With regard to his passion for the spurious sentimentality of France and Germany, it disfigures even his style, admirable as it is, in all other respects. He cannot write a page without introducing some affected foreign phrase which does not assist his expression one jot; nay, which often gives an artificial appearance to a passage full of passion and nature. Let him but eschew at once these unseemly excrescences of feeling and of taste, and no one will hail his re-appearance before the public with more sincere pleasure than the author of these hasty and imperfect observation.

THE DIARY OF A COMMERCIAL TRAVELLER.

MONDAY. This was the first day of my entering upon a new career of life; arose early, looked through the window, and found from the appearance of the river, that there had been much rain; this put me in mind of Shakspeare,

There is a tide in the affairs of man,

Which taken at the flood leads on to fortune.

Thought it an omen of my future prosperity. Thomas knocked at my door, with a pair of boots shining like the richest satin; sang a cantata to the praise of Day and Martin; ordered him to put my nag into my vehicle; finished dressing, went down stairs, and practised bowing to a customer, with two or three peculiar smiles, before a large mirror; proceeded to the stable, and found all right, the neatest ' turn-ouť on the road; black buggy, pricked out with yellow, claret lining, brass harness, with my own crest (three peacock's feathers), 'rampant' as they call it, and a prime bit of chesnut blood. Previous to taking the reins in hand, persuaded Thomas to play the draper, for the sake of showing him the superior mode I had hit upon of introducing myself and shop.' Bowed, inquired after his health, his wife, and all the little drapers; Thomas laughed; called him a fool; mounted, and drove off; passed the window of ma chere amie, expected a gaze, but the window-blind was down; sadly disappointed,-my turn-out must have made an impression; consoled myself with the happy conclusion that she was dreaming about me. Met several clerks coming to business,-many of them nodded-could not see them, morning foggy. Pushed along; pleasantest life in the world; caught the last glimpse of St. Mary's spire; turned round to gaze more intently, in the act of singing Adieu ! adieu, my native land,' when my horse stopped, and I found myself at the first turnpike. Man asked me if it was a ' hired concern ;' wondered how men who had lived so many years could be so ignorant; shewed him my crest, and gave him a sharp negative; pushed on again, delightful country, charming life, thought it a very long ten miles; began to snuff the smoke of B- as Hamlet's ghost did the morning air.' Entered the town, midst the roar of little boys, and the gaze of shopmen. Drove to the Commercial;' hostler's bell rings, servants running in all directions, convincing proof of the gentility of my' turn-out.' Took me for a gentleman, and showed me into a private room. Was not to be done, wished for society, and had no desire to pay a shilling extra for dinner; so told them I was only a gentleman traveller, and soon found myself in the travellers' room. Charming prospect-full of box-coats, gig-whips, driving-boxes, saddle-bags, and Birmingham samples. Ten o'clock, and two gentlemen at breakfast; delightful life, how pleasant to be one's own master. Thought I'd nick 'em, so left them at it, and set off to my customers; felt a degree of palpitation, but posted on to our number-one men; Messrs. Stout, Fine, and Co. came to the door, looked in the windows, and walked past; rather nervous for the first time in my life;-tried again, found several people in the shop; stood at the door, bowed to Mr. Stout, and adjourned;—had paved the way, and Richard was himself again. Fed my horse, and returned once more to the attack. Shop clear, rushed in, and bowing to a gentleman on the left, heard a half stifled laugh not far from me; found I had mistaken the man for the master; shop began to turn

round; troubled with very uncomfortable sensations,-beheld Mr. S. at the other end of the shop, and making an effort to reach him, upset a pile of grey calicoes, and fell with my nose against the counter,-nose bleeding, good excuse, so made my exit as quick as possible.-Determined not to go out again this day, so began balancing my cash; found I had already spent one shilling and ninepence, and got nothing but a broken nose, and a headache. This would never do, so went out again,-tried hard with another of our friends-very successful; another-still more so; returned to the inn, ordered a sheet of foolscap, and wrote home. Measured the letter when folded, and found it eight inches by four and a half, largest I had ever written; much astonished to find these large letters so soon despatched!

TUESDAY.-Woke in the morning by seven, after dreaming I had been cramming fifty pieces of calico down the throats of Messrs. Stout, Fine, and Co.; thought it ominous; rose, dressed, went down stairs; found the housemaid busy dusting the room; black eyes, and very pretty, but not quite awake yet;-smiled at me, found she was a wicked girl, a kind of decoy-duck, so proceeded to the stable. Bid hostler have my horse ready at half-past twelve,-hinted they dined at one,was not to be done; Governor told me before leaving home not to drink wine. After breakfast proceeded to Messrs. Stout and Co. found my nerves much improved; Stout looked very solemn, but did not care for that; had shed my blood for him, and what man could do more. After blowing me up, saying they did not want any thing; deducting short measures, damages, discount, and interest, settled my account, and gave me a large order. Felt uncommonly elevated, and asked Stout to dine with me. Returned to the Commercial,' found my horse ready, but gave back-word; felt sorry to give hostler so much trouble, but made amends by tipping him an extra sixpence ; said I had the neatest turn-out on the road, and who should know better than hostler; found him a very agreeable fellow; told me I need not trouble myself, to feed my bit of blood, as he would do all that for me; thanked him, and ordered him a glass, could do no less, considered it possible this fellow might speak well of me ;-always an eye to business. Dinner on the table, Stout made his appearance; ten beside myself; elected president without a dissentient voice, here was an honour; could do no less than drink wine, so ordered a bottle for self and Stout. Gentlemen said they should like some too; told them to order for themselves, but they refused, and politely left it to me; considered commercial gentlemen the most genteel men I had ever met with; called upon for a toast or sentiment, gave Skin, Flint, and Co. my worthy employers, (loud applause); every body admired my gratitude; gave them my whole history, from the time I carried parcels to the day I carried samples; felt more elevated than ever; ordered more wine, and sang a song (much applause); Mr. Vice quite delighted; felt myself much at home, not the least trepidation or nervousness about me; proposed we should all give the lass we loved best, and commenced myself with Miss Amelia Trifle. Thought the company much increased, and and very much surprised to see two Mr. Stouts, and two Vice-Presidents; somebody said they would shoe me, told them I always wore boots, (much laughter); just then my chair began swinging backward and forward; two or three gentlemen cautiously crept under the table; the candles were put out, at least it went very dark, and I forget the rest.

in

WEDNESDAY.-Awoke much disturbed in my mind, but more particularly my head; rang the bell, and chamber maid came with shaving water;