DOROTHEA. THE reason why my memoirs have | Christian is a rogue, do I impugn the not been continued with that regu- professors of the whole Christian relilarity, which, I believe, is considered gion? Can my Hebrew critic say requisite by professional persons, in that a Hebrew banker never cheated order to insure the success of their in matters of exchange, or that a Hework, is a very simple one, -I have brew was never guilty of a roguery? been otherwise engaged; and as I do If so, what was the gold-dust robbery, not care one straw whether the pub- and why is Ikey Solomons at Botany lic do or do not like my speculations Bay? No; the Lion of Judah may (heartily pitying, and at the same time be a good lion, but he is a deucedly despising those poor devils who write bad arguer, nay, he is a bad lion, under different circumstances) as he roars before he is hurt. Be calm, I say, I was in Scotland shooting thou red-maned desert-roarer, the grouse for some time past, coming arrows of Fitz-Boodle have no poison home deucedly tired of evenings, at their tip, and are shot only in play. which I devoted to a cigar and a glass of toddy, it was quite impossible to satisfy the curiosity of the public. I bagged 1114 brace of grouse in sixty days, besides dancing in kilt before her M-y at Bl-r Ath-1. By the way, when Mr. F-x M-le gives away cairngorums, he may as well say whose property they are. I lent the man the very stone out of a snuff-mull with which Charles Edward complimented my great-great-aunt, Flora MacWhirter. The worthy publisher sent me down his Magazine to Dunkeld (a good deal of it will be found in wadding over the moors, and perhaps in the birds which I sent him), and, at the same time, he despatched some critiques, both epistolary and newspaperacious, upon the former chapter of my Memoirs. The most indignant of the manuscript critiques came from a member of the Hebrew persuasion. And what do you think is the opinion of this Lion of Judah? Simply that George Savage Fitz-Boodle is a false name, assumed by some coward, whose intention it is to insult the Jewish religion! He says that my history of the Löwe family is a dastardly attack upon the people! How is it so? If I say that an individual I never wished to attack the Jewish nation, far from it, I have three bills now out; nor is he right in saying that I have made a dastardly statement, which I have given under a false name; just the contrary, my name is, as everybody knows, my real name, it is the statement which is false, and I confess there is not one word of truth in it- I never knew, to my knowledge, any Hirsch or Löwe in my life; I never was with Minna Löwe; the adventures never did occur at Bonn. Is my friend now satisfied? Let him remember, in the first place, that the tale is related of individuals, and not of his people at large; and in the second place, that the statement is not true. If that won't satisfy him, what will? Rabbi, let us part in peace! Neither thee nor thy like would George Fitz-Boodle ever willingly harm-neither thee nor any bearded nor unbearded_man. ̈ If there be no worse rogues in Jewry, the people is more lucky than the rest of the world, and the fact is good to be known. And now for the second objections. These are mainly of one kind — most of the journalists, from whose works pleasing extracts have been made, concurring in stating, that the last paper, which the Hebrew thought so dangerous, was, what is worse still, exceedingly stupid. This disgusting unanimity of sentiment at first annoyed me a good deal, for I was pained to think that success so soon bred envy, and that the members of the British press could not bear to see an amateur enter the lists with them, and carry off laurels for which they had been striving long years in vain. Is there no honesty left in the world, I thought? And the thought gave me extreme pain, for, though (as in the Hebrew case above mentioned) I love occasionally to disport with the follies and expose the vices of individuals, to attribute envy to a whole class is extremely disagreeable to one whose feelings are more than ordinarily benevolent and pure. An idea here struck me. I said to myself, "Fitz-Boodle! perhaps the paper is stupid, and the critics are right." I read the paper: I found that it was abominably stupid, and, as I fell asleep over it, an immense repose and calm came over my mind, and I woke reconciled with human nature. Let authors consider this above fact well, and draw their profit from it. I have met with many men, who, like myself, fancy themselves the victims of a conspiracy- -martyrs; but, in the long-run, the world and the critics of nowadays are generally right; they praise too much perhaps, they puff a small reputation into a huge one, but they do not neglect much that is good; and, if literary gentlemen would but bear this truth in mind, what a deal of pain and trouble might they spare themselves! There would be no despair, ill-humor, no quarrelling with your fellow-creatures, nor jaundiced moody looks upon nature and the world. Instead of crying the world is wicked-all men are bad, is it not wiser, my brethren, to say, "I am an ass ? let me be content to know that, nor anathematize universal mankind for not believing in me. It is a well-known fact, that no natural man can see the length of his own ears; it is only the glass- the reflection that shows them to him. Let the critics be our glass, I am content to believe that they are pretty honest, that they are not actuated by personal motives of hatred in falling foul of me and others; and this being premised, I resume the narration of my adventures. If this chapter don't please them, they must, indeed, be very hard to amuse. Beyond sparring and cricket, I do not recollect I learned any thing useful at Slaughter-House School, where I was educated (according to an old family tradition, which sends particular generations of gentlemen to particular schools in the kingdom; and such is the force of habit, that though I hate the place, I shall send my own son thither, too, should I marry any day). I say I learned little that was useful at Slaughter House, and nothing that was ornamental. I would as soon have thought of learning to dance, as of learning to climb chimneys. Up to the age of seventeen, as I have shown, I had a great contempt for the female race, and when age brought with it warmer and juster sentiments, where was I?- I could no more dance nor prattle to a young girl than a young bear could. I have seen the ugliest little low-bred wretches carrying off young and lovely creatures, twirling with them in waltzes, whispering between their glossy curls in quadrilles, simpering with perfect equanimity, and cutting pas in that abominable "cavalier seul," until my soul grew sick with fury. In a word, I determined to learn to dance. But such things are hard to be acquired late in life, when the bones and the habits of a man Look at a man in a hunti has not been taught to ri All the pluck and cou world will not make the that I am, or as any m had the advantages of early education | I have been about from the beginning in the field. to the end of the dance. I always look at the lady opposite, and do as she does: if she did not know how to dance, par hasard, it would be all up. But if they can't do any thing else, women can dance; let us give them that praise at least. In the same way with dancing. Though I went to work with immense energy, both in Brewer Street, Golden Square (with an advertising fellow), and afterwards with old Coulon at Paris, I never was able to be easy in dancing; and though little Coulon instructed me in a smile, it was a cursed forced one, that looked like the grin of a person in extreme agony. I once caught sight of it in a glass, and have hardly ever smiled since. Most young men about London have gone through that strange secret ordeal of the dancing-school. I am given to understand that young snobs from attorneys' offices, banks, shops, and the like, make not the least mystery of their proceedings in the saltatory line, but trip gayly, with pumps in hand, to some dancing-place about Soho, waltz and quadrille it with Miss Greengrocer or Miss Butcher, and fancy they have had rather a pleasant evening. There is one house in Dover Street, where, behind a dirty curtain, such figures may be seen hopping every night, to a perpetual fiddling; and I have stood sometimes wondering in the street, with about six blackguard boys wondering too, at the strange contortions of the figures jumping up and down to the mysterious squeaking of the kit. Have they no shame ces gens? are such degrading initiations to be held in public? No, the snob may, but the man of refined mind never can submit to show himself in public laboring at the apprenticeship of this most absurd art. It is owing, perhaps, to this modesty, and the fact that I had no sisters at home, that I have never thoroughly been able to dance; for though I always arrive at the end of a quadrille (and thank heaven for it too!) and though, I believe, I make no mistake in particular, yet I solemnly confess I have never been able thoroughly to comprehend the mysteries of it, or what 66 In London, then, for a considerable time, I used to get up at eight o'clock in the morning, and pass an hour alone with Mr. Wilkinson, of the Theatres Royal, in Golden Square;an hour alone. It was one, two, three; one, two, three-now jump - right foot more out, Mr. Smith; and if you could try and look a little more cheerful; your partner, sir, would like you hall the better." Wilkinson called me Smith, for the fact is, I did not tell him my real name, nor (thank heaven!) does he know it to this day. I never breathed a word of my doings to any soul among my friends: once a pack of them met me in the strange neighborhood, when, I am ashamed to say, I muttered something about a "little French milliner,' and walked off, looking as knowing as I could. His In Paris, two Cambridge-men and myself, who happened to be staying® at a boarding-house together, agreed to go to Coulon, a little creature of four feet high with a pigtail. room was hung round with glasses. He made us take off our coats, and dance each before a mirror. Once he was standing before us playing on his kit- the sight of the little master and the pupil was so supremely ridiculous, that I burst into a yell of laughter, which so offended the old man that he walked away abruptly, and begged me not to repeat my visits. Nor did I. I was just getting into waltzing then, but determined to drop waltzing, and content myself with quadrilling for the rest of my days. This was all very well in France and England; but in Germany what was I to do? What did Hercules do when Omphale captivated him? What did Rinaldo do when Armida | of other magnificent edifices in the fixed upon him her twinkling eyes? Residenz, such as the guard-room, the Nay, to cut all historical instances skittle-hall (Grossherzoglich Kalbsbratshort, by going at once to the earliest, enpumpernickelisch Schkittelspielsaal), what did Adam do when Eve tempted &c., and the superb sentry-boxes behim? He yielded and became her fore the Grand-Ducal Palace. He is slave; and so I do heartily trust Knight Grand Cross of the Ancient every honest man will yield until the Kartoffel Order, as, indeed, is almost end of the world - he has no heart every one else in his Highness's dowho will not. When I was in Ger- minions. many, I say, I began to learn to waltz. The reader from this will no doubt expect that some new love-adventures befell me-nor will his gentle heart be disappointed. Two deep and tremendous incidents occurred which shall be notified on the present occasion. The town of Kalbsbraten contains a population of two thousand inhabitants, and a palace which would accommodate about six times that number. The principality sends three and a half men to the German Confederation, who are commanded by a General (Excellency), two MajorGenerals, and sixty-four officers of lower grades; all noble, all knights of the Order, and almost all chamberlains to his Highness the Grand Duke. An excellent band of eighty performers is the admiration of the surrounding country, and leads the Grand-Ducal troops to battle in time of war. Only three of the contingent of soldiers returned from the Battle of Waterloo, where they won much honor; the remainder was cut to pieces on that glorious day. The reader, perhaps, remembers the brief appearance of his Highness the Duke of Kalbsbraten-Pumpernickel at B House, in the first part of my Memoirs, at that unlucky period of my life when the Duke was led to remark the odor about my clothes, which lost me the hand of Mary M'Alister. I somehow found myself in his Highness's territories, of which anybody may read a description in the "Almanach de Goth." His Highness's father, as is well known, married Emilia Kunegunda Thomasina Charleria Emanela Louisa Georgina, Prin- There is a chamber of representacess of Saxe-Pumpernickel and a cous- tives (which, however, nothing can in of his Highness the Duke. Thus the induce to sit), home and foreign two principalities were united under ministers, residents from neighboring one happy sovereign in the person of courts, law presidents, town councils, Philibert Sigismund Emanuel Maria, &c., all the adjuncts of a big or little the reigning Duke, who has received government. The court has its from his country (on account of the cel- chamberlains and marshals, the ebrated pump which he erected in the Grand Duchess her noble ladies in market place of Kalbsbraten) the well-waiting, and blushing maids of honor. merited appellation of the Magnificent. Thou wert one, Dorothea! Dost reThe allegory which the statues round member the poor young Engländer? about the pump represent is of a very We parted in anger; but I think mysterious and complicated sort. I think thou hast not forgotten him. Minerva is observed leading up Ceres to a river-god, who has his arms round the neck of Pomona; while Mars (in a full-bottomed wig) is driven away by Peace, under whose mantle two lovely children, representing the Duke's two provinces, repose. The celebrated Speck is, as need scarcely be said, the author of this piece; and The way in which I have Dorothea von Speck present to my mind is this: not as I first saw her in the garden for her hair was in bandeaux then, and a large Leghorn hat with a deep ribbon covered half her fair face, not in a morning-dress, which, by the way, was none of the newest nor the best made - but as I saw her afterwards at a ball at the pleasant splendid little court, where she moved the most beautiful of the beauties of Kalbsbraten. The grand saloon of the palace is lighted the Grand Duke and his officers, the Duchess and her ladies, have passed through. I, in my uniform of the -th, and a number of young fellows (who are evidently admiring my legs and envying my distingué appearance), are waiting round the entrance-door, where a huge Heyduke is standing, and announcing the titles of the guests as they arrive. that is, I hate your little women Fancy her, then, if you please, about five feet four inches high- fancy her in the family color of light blue, a little scarf covering the most brilliant shoulders in the world; and a pair of gloves clinging close round an arm that may, perhaps, be somewhat too large now, but that Juno might have envied then.. After the fashion of young ladies on the continent, she wears no jewels or gimcracks: her only ornament is a wreath of vine-leaves in her hair, with little clusters of artificial grapes. Down on her shoulders falls the brown hair, in rich, liberal clusters; all that health, and good-humor, and beauty can do for her face, kind nature has done for hers. Her eyes are frank, sparkling, and kind. As for her cheeks, what Lie-paint-box or dictionary contains pigments or words to describe their red? They say she opens her mouth and smiles always to show the dimples in her cheeks. Psha! she smiles because she is happy, and kind, and good-humored, and not because her teeth are little pearls. "HERR OBERHOF UND BAUINSPEKTOR VON SPECK!" shouts the Heyduke; and the little Inspector comes in. His lady is on his armhuge, in towering plumes, and her favorite costume of light blue. Fair women always dress in light blue or light green; and Frau von Speck is very fair and stout. But who comes behind her? ber Himmel! It is Dorothea! Did earth, among all the flowers which have sprung from its bosom, produce ever one more beautiful? She was none of your heavenly beauties, I tell you. She had nothing ethereal about her. No, sir; she was of the earth, earthy, and must have weighed ten stone four or five, if she weighed an ounce. She had none of your Chinese feet nor waspy, unhealthy waists, which those may admire who will. No; Dora's foot was a good stout one; you could see her ankle (if her robe was short enough) without the aid of a microscope; and that envious little, sour, skinny Amalia von Mangelwürzel used to hold up her four fingers and say (the two girls were most intimate friends, of course), "Dear Dorothea's vaist is so much dicker as dis." And so I have no doubt it was. But what then? Goethe sings in one of his divine epigrams: "Epicures vaunting their taste, entitle me All the young fellows crowd up to ask her to dance, and, taking from her waist a little mother-of-pearl remembrancer, she notes them down. Old Schnabel for the polonaise; Klingenspohr, first waltz; Haarbart, second waltz; Count Hornpieper (the Danish envoy), third; and so on. I have said why I could not ask her to waltz, and I turned away with a pang, and played écarté with Colonel Trumpenpack all night. In thus introducing this lovely creature in her ball-costume, I have been somewhat premature, and had best go back to the beginning of the history of my acquaintance with her. Dorothea, then, was the daughter of the celebrated Speck before men- • tioned. It is one of the oldest names in Germany, where her father's and mother's houses, those of Speck and |