LETTER XXVI.

TO THE SAME.

You will doubtless ask me, Madam, what is meant by a rout ?* One would really believe that the fashionable world of London was anxious to rival the tumult of the crowds which assemble at the doors of the theatres. A rout is a large assemblage of fashionables. The lady of the house invites her friends a long time previously, so that the mob may be as great as possible. The avenues of the streets are filled with carriages; the staircases, landing places, and apartments are so crowded with visitors, coming and going, that you almost despair of ever reaching the principal drawing-room, where the lady of the mansion lavishes her smiles on all who are fortunate enough to be carried so far in the stream. When, as they work their way out again, panting for breath, you hear them exclaim, "What a glorious even

* I cannot refrain from noticing here a singular mistake made by the first French translator of Waverley. Sir Walter, in speaking of some Highlanders, says, that they were so robust and active, that they might very well have been the ancestors of some of those modern Celts who now enjoy the happiness of transporting the ladies of Edinburgh, in sedan chairs, to ten routs in one evening. This passage M― has translated, en aurait pu dire qu'ils avaient reçu le jour de ces adroits photons qui conduisent á Edinbourgh les belles voyageuses en chaises de poste. Ces porteurs se mirent en route, &c. &c."

Waverley has, however, been retranslated for Gosselin's 8vo. edition.

ing!"-"What a delightful party!" Next morning they eagerly examine the columns of the newspapers, in search of the article headed Fashionable parties, and happy the lady who finds, among its valuable contents, a minute description of the dress she wore, written probably by her own hand, or that of her milliner. How delighted our Parisian coquettes would be to find the less spacious columns of our journals imitate the gallantry of the London newspapers, and attach as much importance to ladies' dresses as they do to political debates and the price of the funds! the very Journal des Modes does not the smallest personality of this kind. who shall say that we pay too great an the fair sex?

But, alas! indulge in After this, homage to

The present period is the most brilliant throughout the whole year, for the butterflies of fashion; and it is therefore, by way of distinction, termed the "season." Every lady and gentleman of fashion is ready to risk suffocation at ten different routs in one evening. I certainly should never have expected to find, in a nation so noted for gravity, so violent a taste for society.

To hear the conversation of the ladies, the young gentlemen, and even grave statesmen, a foreigner might fancy himself among the most frivolous people in the world. The Hero of Waterloo himself is, in society, merely an insignificant fop. If the English aristocracy did not leave town, when the season is over, to lay in a fresh stock of vigour at their country houses, all their national

energy would be suffered to evaporate in the insipid atmosphere of their drawing-rooms.

The remark of a celebrated female writer on German society may, with justice, be applied on this occasion to the English. "A part of their time," says Madame de Staël, "is lost in dressing, in a manner suitable to these great assemblies, part is lost in the street, part on the stair-case, and part during a three hours' stay in the drawing-room; and it is impossible in these numerous companies to hear anything beyond the ordinary circle of conversational phrases. This daily exhibition of individuals one to another, is only an ingenious invention of mediocrity to annihilate the faculties of the mind. If it were agreed to consider reflexion as a disorder, to guard against which a certain regimen is necessary, it is impossible to conceive any better remedy than this insipid system of diversion-a system which renders it impossible to pursue one single idea, and transforms language into a kind of chattering, which men may learn as well as birds."

It cannot be denied, that to the higher classes in every country we must look for real elegance of manners. If the society of our nobility, previous to the revolution, was the most agreeable in Europe, it must be attributed to the exclusion of the commoners, who, though at all times dis tinguished for sterling virtues, are seldom able to acquire the cultivated graces of polite society. The French nobility preserved themselves, as far as possible, uncontaminated by alliances with the

lower classes, and admitted to their society only literary men, who brought with them the tribute of originality, wit, and flattery. Rich commoners were sometimes tolerated, it is true, but they for the most part paid off their reckoning in the ridicule they unconsciously suffered. There existed a positive distinction, as far as regards taste and manners, between the two castes. The revolution first brought them into contact, and afterwards blended them together, and since then, the line which separates them is by no means distinctly marked. The people still remain the same, but similarity of education has effaced the shades of distinction which before existed between individuals belonging to the two different classes, even in cases where they enjoyed equality of wealth. We are now no longer attracted or repelled by a class, but by an opinion. Here you find a marquess, who has secretly cherished his attachment to the bonnet rouge; there you meet with an upstart, who has learnt to share the prejudices of the old aristocracy. In vain would the nobility refine their ranks, and close their doors again upon the commoners. The latter have been so naturalised in high life, that they would carry away with them all the established usages of polite society. I do not know that the aristocracy have lost any of their elegant demeanour through their intercourse with the lower classes; but I should rather be inclined to think that they have lost nothing but their haughty foppery. Seriously speaking, have they any reason to regret

the loss of the marquesses of the last century, who amused us at the theatre after they had quitted the stage of real life, and took leave of us for ever when Fleury left us?

English society has long been in that situation to which the new manners of the republic and the empire have reduced our own. It is chiefly in the provinces of England that political institutions mingle the different ranks; while in London the aristocracy more decidedly maintains its sphere. In France, on the contrary, it is in the small towns that our petty nobles have endeavoured, since the restoration, to get upon the stilts again, and form themselves into a separate class.

The English nobility may well be satisfied with their own resources in the elegant drawing-rooms of London. At their country seats they renew their connection with the people, and there, perhaps, they still prove themselves worthy of having founded the liberty of the people. But it is only in the drawing-rooms of Berkeley and Grosvenor-squares that I have at present the opportunity of observing them. There, without the least prejudice to their character as a political body, I find them exchanging their formal gravity, their natural originality, their independence, their dignity, for the affectation of those frivolous graces which had hitherto belonged exclusively to the French character. They do not attempt to conceal their admiration of Parisian elegancies, which they appear to consider indispensable to the happiness of life. Both sexes certainly form