liament, and the bad administration of the finances-all these things gradually detached the French from their natural affection for their king. The abbé Terray, comptroller general of the finances, was a man destitute of principle and of feeling. Obliged to provide, not only for the excessive expenses of the king, but those of his favourite, and of her brothers-in-law, the count du Barry, he employed all sorts of means, even the most unlawful, for raising money. Some deputies from a certain body one day representing to him the injustice he had done them, said, sir, this is just the same as taking money out of our pockets. Well, replied he sharply, where would you have me take it from? In short, a general discontent prevailed, when the king died of the small-pox. He was so far from being regretted, that as the hearse which conveyed his body to the place of interment, passed by a great crowd of people, they saluted him with his favourite hunting cry, tayau! tayau!, and, when it reached St. Denis, they shouted his cry upon the death of a stag, alalli! alalli! I knew Beaumarchais extremely well. He was the son of a watchmaker at Paris; but his wit, talents and figure gave him a very advantageous reception in society. He composed very pretty songs, set them to music himself, sung them and accompanied them on the harp, and seemed to excel in each of these talents. With these he combined a great deal of gayety, presence of mind, vivacity and assurance. The prince de Conti, who was amused by him, afforded him his protection in an affair he had in the parliament, Maupeou, as the parliament was called, which was formed by the chancellor, when the former was dismissed. The memorials, which Beaumarchais wrote on that subject, exposed some of the members of that parliament to ridicule; and contributed not a little to degrade them in the opinion of the nation at large, and to bring about the recall of the other. These memorials sparkle with wit and gayety, and contain some passages remarkable for their eloquence. Beaumarchais had the good sense not to blush at his birth, and was the first to mention the excellent watches which his father had made. Once, when he was closeted more than an hour with one of the ministers, while some persons of distinction were waiting, one of them, indignant that Beaumarchais was the cause of his being detained so long, resolved to mortify him. He stopped as he was going out, and said aloud, M. de Beaumarchais, have the goodness to tell me what is the matter with my watch; it very often stops, and I am sure you will find the cause of it. Certainly, sir, answered Beaumarchais, for I served my apprenticeship under my father. As he said this, he took the watch, and pretending to be awkward in handling it, let it fall upon the floor; and went away making a thousand apologies for his inadvertence to the nobleman, who thus raised a laugh against himself. Saint Foix tells a story of a young woman who, on a promise of marriage, suffered herself to be seduced by her affection and the tears and entreaties of her lover. He immediately after became rich, and broke his promise. Her relations, in spite of her opposition, sued the seducer, and he was condemned either to marry her, or pay her one hundred thousand francs. When they came to announce to the high-spirited girl the result, "I refuse both," said she; "I will neither sell my virtue, nor be the wife of a Scoundrel." She took the veil. Amid the universal reign of egotism in France, men of real talents and profound knowledge may still be known by their comparative modesty, while the quacks and mere pretenders to literature, who use it like any other trade in order to procure money, and what they oddly enough call glory, exceed in extravagant vanity every thing that ridicule can portray. They look upon the French as superior beings to the rest of mankind; and themselves as superior beings to the rest of their countrymen. Far from being humiliated by their knowledge, which should in the first place teach them the weakness of their own understandings, and the infinite orders of minds, the least of whom may be infinitely their superior, they are so swelled with their little knowledge as to place themselves in a rank with Socrates, Plato, and the greatest names of antiquity. One of these contemptible, quacks, to the disgrace of that society, became, by some low intrigues, a member of the National Institute, published "A Me moir in defence of God!" and speaks of the great author of Nature in terms of friendship and ludicrous familiarity. When such heads still exist we the less wonder at some events of the revolution. The same man had his own bust, in plaster of Paris, a very proper material, as it resembles the original, on his own chimney piece, as no one else cared for it, with the modest inscription Dieu, l'homme, la Nature il a tout expliqué. M. de Châteauneuf shewed a very forward mind. When he was only nine years old, a bishop, thinking to puzzle him, said to him, Tell me where God is, my child, and I will give you an orange. "My lord, replied the child, tell me where he is not, and I will give you two." Sir William Jones, says in one of his elegant dissertations, "Ignorance is to the mind what extreme darkness is to the nerves; both cause an uneasy sensation, and we naturally love knowledge as we love light." It appears to me that there are no words in the English language derived from the Latin; but that the Latin is always called in as an auxiliary. It was the maxim of Socrates that, the proper study of mankind is man. To this purpose that great moralist in Plato's Phædrus, after having declared his indifference for all fables and mythological fictions, says not without archness; "I fix my attention to myself, and consider not the Gorgon or the Centaur, but what kind of monster I am: whether more double and slippery than Proteus, and more fiery than Typhon: or perhaps a tamer and milder animal, designed by nature for a divine lot, and peaceful destiny." A venerable English Reviewer (Joseph Robertson,) died the beginning of 1802 in his 76th year. It appears that he was concerned in writing the Critical Review for twenty one years, from August 1764 to 1785 inclusive. During this period, he was the author of above 2620 articles on theological, classical, poetical, and miscellaneous publications. In 1788 he surprised the learned world with a pamphlet, which called in question the famous inscription on the Arundelian Marbles. It is remarkable that this writer, so well versed in classical literature, made a voluntary sacrifice of his time by translating Telemaque. The follies of the first of April are little known or practised in Paris. They say donner un poisson d'avril à quelqu'un, to give an April fish to a parson. Some etymologists think that the word poisson was in the profanity of the middle ages, corrupted from the passion of Christ, on the third of April, who was sent as in derision from one tribunal to another; but this seems very far-fetched and improbable. As the month of April was sacred to Venus, it is more probably a pagan relict of some spoils, in honour of that capricious goddess; and the fish may allude to the dolphin which attends her, the symbol of her birth from the sea; as our maypoles seem to be relics of the wanton worship of Flora. Those conversant in the history of manners and customs, well know that some popular usages can scarcely be eradicated either by time or authority. The etymology of the word Calembourg, used in France for a kind of pun, in which the sound of one or more words is prescribed, but not the spelling, has not been ascertained. An ingenious friend informs me that it was occasioned by the curate of a place, called Calembourg in Flanders, having published a collection of bad jests. It was supposed that a binding of Russian leather secured books against insects; but the contrary was recently demonstrated at Paris by two volumes pierced in every direction. The first bookbinder in Paris told me he knew of no remedy, except to keep the blank leaves in muriatic acid. The reading rooms at Paris are useful and amusing Institutions. The best is that of Girardin in the Palais Royal, now kept by M. Saint Jome. All the French Journals with ny German and Italian, may here be read for six sous or three pence. The subscription for a month is six francs, and for six months thirty-two francs. A long research made in the Journals, for any particular article, costs two francs. There is also, a considerable library; and books are sold for the benefit of the authors. Among the recent inventions of the French are a transparent paper for copying maps, &c. made of some particular plant, without the use of oil, and what is called Papier Lucidonique, which, according to the inventor, possessed many singular qualities, besides its transparency, and is impermeable by water. In France, a preacher must previously have attracted great applause before he can venture to publish a sermon; and sermons always have been and are extremely rare productions in that country. A common preacher, printing a common sermon, would not only be an object of ridicule, but would be admonished by the bishop for his worldly vanity, and want of christian humility. A certain lawyer in the commonwealth of Massachusetts, was noted for delivering his arguments with the same warmth and splendor of language on all occasions, without any regard to the nature of the case. The most trifling or the most interesting question received precisely the same dividend of his eloquence. It happened, that while he had amused the court and the jury for the space of two hours, on a question too trifling to engross their attention for as many minutes, he was answered by a cold blooded humourist, who thus began his reply: May it please the honourable court, and you gentlemen of the jury, To wake the soul by tender strokes of art, Live o'er each scene, and be what they behold Silence! silence! exclaimed the judge, why is the time of the court and the jury occupied by such nonsense as this? The orator continued: May it please the court; your honour has refused to hear me speak four lines of poetry only, while brother B. |