most uncomfortable freedom. Luckily, this manly argument for slavery has been debated and settled in Europe some five hundred years, and it is not probable that M. Soulié would have his countrymen turn slaves again; but he means, we take it, to establish the point, that our compassion is greatly thrown away upon a set of idle good-for-nothing blacks, who are quite unfit for liberty, and, in fact, greatly happier than they deserve to be.

M. Clémenceau, the young Frenchman, will not believe in these signs of prosperity; he will have it that the blacks are wretched, that they are only ordered to be happy for that day under pain of flogging, and that there is some tremendous plot against him. He is, in fact, extremely peevish, and absurdly suspicious; and because he cannot, or will not, understand them, ready to calumniate all the world. Is it possible that a young French philanthropist should ever be in such a state? and if one, is it possible that a whole nation should have such prejudices? Perhaps. But we are getting again on the general question. The Frenchman is installed in the planter's house, where, received with kindness, he is ready to mistrust and to bully every body (one cannot, do what one will, but think of the general question), and here at length we have him in presence of the Englishman. The scene is a dinner party, and the two rivals begin quarreling' as to the manner born.'

"And what Parisian novelties have you brought us,' said Madame de Cambasse.

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My father has begged me to offer some little presents on his part to Mademoiselle Sanson, and as soon as my baggage is brought on shore, I hope M. Sanson will permit me to present them to Mademoiselle.'

.I accept for her with a great deal of pleasure,’said Monsieur Sanson.

"And I am sure that these presents will be in the best possible taste,' said Monsieur Welmoth, if Monsieur Clémenceau has selected them.'

"The sneer was evident, but Ernest did not choose to take personal notice of it, and replied,

، ، There is no great merit in choosing in our country : for elegance, grace, and good taste, as Monsieur says, are to be found in which is done there."

every thing

"It is certain that you are the kings of the mode,' said Welmoth, still sneering.

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،، As you are the kings of commerce,' replied Ernest, with the most impertinent politeness.

"Jean at this made a grimace. He thought his master was not holding his own, as the phrase is. Mr. Welmoth was of the same opinion, for he continued in a pompous tone,

"The kings of commerce! No frivolous empire that, I think.'

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Certainly not; but it is an empire of circumstance which a thousand events may destroy; whereas that which is inherent in the talent, the tact, the good taste of a nation, to use your expression sir, remains eternal. You may continue for a long time yet to be kings of the coalmine and the rail-road: but we shall be always kings of the fine arts, of literature, of every thing which elevates the soul and aggrandizes the dignity of humanity.'

"You speak of literature, Monsieur Clémenceau : you have never read Sir Walter Scott.'

"I know him by heart, sir. However ignorant Frenchmen may be, they have not that narrow spirit of nationality which prevents them from seeing the merit of their rivals. Almost all of you know French, gentlemen; but you don't know a word of our literature. In fact you have the same spirit in every thing,-you know the mechanism, but you

know not the work.'

"And are they worth reading, your French books?' said Welmoth. "You will be able to judge when you I have read them.'

"Ernest pronounces these words in such a calm tone of disdain that Monsieur Welmoth blushed red, and Madame de Cambasse turning to Clémenceau said, 'Have you brought many new books?'

"A whole cargo,' said Clémenceau, laughing.

"At this moment Jean in waiting upon Clara committed some little awkwardness.

"He!' said Edward with an arrogant air. 'Monsieur le domestique Français, mademoiselle has her own people to wait upon her.' "Pardon me, mademoiselle,' said Ernest, but the French domestics are like their masters, and are in the habit of being polite to every one.'

"The two young men looked each other in the face, the two grooms exchanged hostile glances-war was declared, and the positions already taken up."

This little bit of comedy is curious and laughable, not on account of the two illustrious antagonists and their 'grooms,' whom M. Soulié has brought to wait at table, but on account of the worthy author himself, who exhibits here no unfair specimen of the scribes of his nation. From the 'National,' upwards or downwards, the animus is the same; in great public journals, and here as we see in humble little novels, directly L'Angleterre is brought into question La France begins to bristle up and look big, and prepare to écraser the enemy. They will have us enemies, for all we can do. Apropos of a public matter, a treaty of commerce, or a visit to dinner, war is declared. Honest Monsieur Soulié cannot in a novel bring a Frenchman and his servant in presence of an Englishman and his groom (the latter, by the way, is described as being dressed in a livery of yellow and crimson, an extremely neat and becoming costume), but as soon as the two couples are toge

How to make an Impression.

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ther they begin to hate each other. Jean, the French servant, dresses himself in his most ficelé manner, in order to compete with his antagonist in the crimson and yellow; and similarly recommends his master to put on his best clothes, so as to overcome his British adversary. When Clémenceau was left alone,' our author says, 'he comprehended that the gros bon sens of John had advised him better than all his own personal reflections, and he took particular care à faire ressortir tous les avantages de sa personne.' The imagination can supply the particulars of that important toilet. Is it not a noble and magnanimous precaution?—a proof of conscious dignity and easy self-respect? The hero to be sure is an imaginary one: but who but a Frenchman would have thought of preparing a hero to overcome an enemy by the splendour of his clothes, the tightness of his waist, the manner in which his hair was curled, and the glossy varnish of his boots? Our author calls this uneasy vanity gros bon sens. Thus, before he has an interview with the Europeans, Quashimaboo's wives recommend him to put another ring in his nose, and another touch of ochre over his cheeks, in order that the chief may appear more majestic in the eyes of the white men. There is something simple, almost touching, in the nature of the precautions, and in the naïveté which speaks of them as gros bon sens.

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When our author brings his personages together, the simple artifices with which he excites our respect or hatred for them are not less curious. He takes care even that the politeness of the groom' should be contrasted. Crimson and yellow remains behind his master's chair after the fashion of his insolent country, while the Frenchman is made to be polite to every body as Frenchmen always are. What a touch that is of He! Monsieur le domestique Français, Mademoiselle has her own people to wait upon her.' How like in all respects to the conduct of an English gentleman in a strange house, to attack other people's grooms' for bad behaviour at table, and to call them Messieurs les domestiques. The servants might make what mistakes they chose; the whole table might be upset; the sauce-boat might burst in shivers upon the lap of the Briton; and in a strange house: and such is the indomitable pride of those islanders, that impavidum ferient ruinæ. As English reviewers we are not going to take a side with Mr. Welworth against M. Clémenceau and the author, but would only point out humbly and good-naturedly such errors as we conceive the latter commits. Thus the speech put into the mouth of M. Clémenceau, that though Englishmen are almost all acquainted with the French language, they do not know a word about its literature; and the hint that the French, though they do not know our language, do know our literature, having no narrow

spirit of nationality which prevents them from seeing the merit of their rivals this speech may be considered as a general observation, applicable to the two countries, rather than to the story; and might have taken a place in the Memoirs of the Devil,' or in the ''Four Sisters,' or in the 'General Confession,' or in the 'Château des Pyrénées,' or in any work of M. Soulié. It is a proposition that may be asserted apropos of any thing.

But is it a fair one and altogether unopen to cavil? It stands thus. The English do know French, but don't know French literature. The French don't know English, but do know English literature. We are the mechanicians, we know the wheels but not the work: they are the great spirits, which know the work, but do not care for the petty details of the wheels. Victor Hugo has enunciated in his book upon the Rhine an opinion exactly similar to that of Soulié: viz., that France is the great intellect and light of the world, and that, in fact, all the nations in Europe would be fools without her.

Let us concede that pre-eminence. A nation which can understand a language without knowing it, has advantages that other European people do not possess. She is the intellectual queen of Europe, and deserves to be placed at its head. There is no coming up to her: we don't start with the same chances of winning. But surely it should not be argued that our knowing the French language operates against us as an actual disadvantage in becoming acquainted with French literature. We have no other way of getting at it. We are not master-spirits: we can no more read books without knowing the words, than make houses without setting up the bricks. Do not turn us away and discourage us in our study of the words. Some day or other we may get to comprehend the literature of this brilliant France, and read the 'Memoirs of the Devil.'

This is all we humbly pray for. The superiority of France we take for granted. But if in an English book we were to come across such an argument and dialogue as the above to a Frenchman, 'We in England do not know your language, but can perfectly appreciate your literature; whereas, though I admit you are acquainted with English, yet your natives are much too great fools to understand -we should say that the English author was a bigotted, vain coxcomb, and would expose as in duty bound, his dullness, monstrous arrogance, ignorance, and folly.

it'-we

After giving the above satisfactory specimen of the élégance, the grâce, and the bon-goût of his country, M. Soulié prepares to cure his hero of his generous error regarding slavery: and if the romancer's epilogues have any moral to them, as no doubt they are intended to have, we should argue from

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his story, not only that slavery is not an evil, but actually a blessing and a laudable institution. We will not say that this is the opinion in France, but we will say that in that sentimental and civilized country the slave-question has been always treated with the most marked indifference, the slave sufferings have been heard with scepticism. Is it that the French are not far enough advanced and educated to the feelings of freedom yet, to see the shame and the crime of slavery? or, rather, that they are inspired by such an insane jealousy of this country, as to hate every measure in which it takes the lead? When the younger Dupin said in the chamber that the abolition of slavery by England was an immense mystification,'-and spoke what was not unacceptable to the public, too-he satirized his own country far more severely than the nation he wished to abuse. A man who sees his neighbour generous, and instantly attributes a base motive to his generosity, exposes his own manners more than his neighbour's. A people living by the side of ours, who can take no count of the spirit of Christian feeling in England, of the manly love of liberty which is part of our private and public morals, shows itself to be very ignorant and very mean, too, and as poorly endowed with the spirit of Christianity, as with that of freedom. There was not a meeting-house in England where sober, quiet, and humble folk congregated, but the shame and crime of slavery was soberly felt and passionately denounced. It was not only the statesmen and the powerful that Wilberforce and Clarkson won over; but the women and children took a part, and a very great and noble one, too, in the abolition of that odious crime from our legislation. It was the noblest and greatest movement that ever a people made the purest, and the least selfish: and if we speak about it here, and upon such an occasion as this trumpery novel gives us, it is because this periodical, from its character, is likely to fall into some French and many foreign hands; and because, such is the persevering rage of falsehood with which this calumny is still advocated by a major part of the French press, that an English writer, however humble, should never allow the lie to pass without marking his castigation of it, and without exposing it wherever he meets it.

Our novelist, with the ardent imagination of those of his trade, goes however to prove a great deal more than is required of him: and gives such a delightful picture of the happiness of French negroes, that poor Jacques Bonhomme might cry out to be made a slave at once, if, by sacrificing his rights at present, he could be inducted into such a charming state of dependence. The hero of the story finds that the slaves only work six hours in a week, for which they are well fed and clothed; they have the rest of their time to them