1. L'Admiration.

2. On se dit-Quel plaisir de lui donner des baisers, d'en recevoir, &c.

3. L'Espérance-On étudie les perfections, &c.

4. L'Amour est né."-Here we have a short description of the passion, containing nothing new to the initiated, and that would not be very intelligible to such of our readers as have never said within themselves, "Quel plaisir, &c."

5. "La première cristallisation commence." With all our anxiety to keep on friendly terms with our author, we involuntarily started at this passage, and exclaimed, "Diable! qu'est que c'est donc que la cristallisation?" He was prepared for this, and proceeds as follows to defend his phraseology: "Set a lover's brains at work for four and twenty hours, and here's what takes place. The branch of a tree, which winter has stript of its leaves, is sometimes thrown into the saltmines of Saltzbourg; and, on being taken up two or three months after, is found to be covered with brilliant crystals. The minutest ramifications, even those that are as slender as the feet of a tom-tit, are surrounded with infinite clusters of moving and glittering diamonds. It is impossible to recognise the original branch. Now, what I call crystallization is that operation of the lover's mind, which can draw from every idea that presents itself, a discovery that his mistress has some new perfection. For instance, if a traveller describes the freshness of the orange-groves of Genoa, on the sea-coast, during the burning days of summer, Quelle plaisir (thinks the lover) de gouter cette fraicheur avec elle!' Again, a friend happens to break his arm at a hunt, Quelle douceur (whispers the crystallizing principle within us) de recevoir les soins d'une femme qu'on aime.' To fancy ourselves for ever at her side, and the object of her unremitting tenderness, makes us almost think that the pain would be a blessing; and before we take leave of our friend with the broken arm, we have thoroughly satisfied ourselves of the angelic qualities of our mistress. In a word, we have only to think of any particular perfection in order to find it realized (to our imagination) in the person that we love."

This phenomenon the author calls crystallization; and he has with great propriety taken an early opportunity of disclosing its signification, else we should have been grievously puzzled with many passages that ensue in the course of his work,-as "a girl of eighteen has not a sufficient supply of crystallization at her command."-" Hatred has also its crystallization." "The most afflicting moment for early love is, when it discovers that it has made a false reasoning, and that it must upset at once a whole pailfull of crystallization." But to return to the epochs in the progress of the passion.

6. "Le doute nait." In this stage, the lover, by virtue of the first crystallization (No. 5.), has satisfactorily assured himself of the perfection of his mistress; but he has many doubts whether the crystallization has been equally active on her side. "He takes a severe view of the grounds of hope on which he had rested. The apprehension of a dreadful calamity seizes him; and along with it the most profound attention." From this torturing predicament of the heart he is released by

7. "Seconde cristallisation ;"-"the diamonds produced by which

are so many confirmations of the idea,' she loves me." To this conclusion, after a good deal of tossing to and fro (au milieu des alternatives déchirantes et délicieuses), the lover comes at last; and as a consciousness that his love is returned is far more grateful to his feelings than a mere persuasion that his mistress is perfect, M. B. very justly assigns a considerable superiority to the second crystallization. In this, the last stage," the mind of the lover incessantly passes and repasses between these three ideas :-1st. My mistress has every perfection under the sun. 2d. She is in love with me.-3d. What must I do in order to obtain a signal proof of her affection?"

Having gone through the seven epochs of love, the author sums up with the following table of their respective durations:

"There may be the interval of a year between No. 1 and No. 2. "A month between No. 2 and No. 3.

"The twinkling of an eye (un clin d'œil) between No. 3 and No. 4. "No interval between No. 4 and No. 5.

"A few days, more or less, according to the temperament, habits, and force of character of the party, between No. 5 and No. 6. "Not a moment's interval between No. 6 and No. 7."

We have not been sufficiently in the habit of splitting sighs to pronounce upon the philosophical merits of this summary: we would merely (in reference to Nos. 4 and 5, and Nos. 6 and 7) suggest to M. B., unless the objection should in any way interfere with his system, that, in questions of duration, any two given points of time, between which there is no interval, have been generally held to be simultaneous, or, in other words, mathematically one and the same.

The above condensed sketch contains the general results of the author's meditations upon the metaphysics of the heart. The rest of his work is occupied by deductions from these primary principles, and by illustrations drawn from his own experience or from books. Neither are very methodically arranged: we shall, therefore, be excused if we extract, rather at random, a few of the passages that strike us. Among his practical observations we find the following:

"In love nothing is more surprising than the first movement (le premier pas) and the extraordinary revolution of feeling that it occasions. No scene is more calculated to produce this than a ball-room. A rapid waltz, in a brilliantly-lighted saloon, fills the young heart with an intoxication before which timidity vanishes, and by thus augmenting the consciousness of its powers, inspires it at last with the courage to fall in love (l'audace d'aimer). For the sight of a lovely object is not in itself enough. On the contrary, extreme loveliness discourages persons of any sensibility. The object must be seen, if not manifesting a preference for us, at least divested of its majesty. No one thinks of falling in love with a queen, unless she makes the first advances. Nothing is, therefore, more favourable to the birth of love than a mixture of dull retirement, and occasional balls, with long intervals of expectation between them. Prudent mothers, who have daughters on their hands, know this, and act accordingly." And we shall add, in confirmation of our author's conclusions, that, in this country, prudent fathers know it too. John Bull never heard of crystallization; but his rough instincts revealed to him a secret, which a French philosopher has elaborated by dint of logic. From the beginning, he set his face against the German

waltz. No wheedling or pouting could bring him to endure it. It is even against his better judgment that he ever trusts one of his young and handsome daughters as far as "down the middle and back again.' He had and has his reasons; and if he had equally his way (but one at last gets tired of being always in the right), not a foot would he allow them to set in one of those hotbeds of tenderness, a brilliant ball-room. "No quality is so likely to win a woman, whose heart is truly feminine, as force of character. Hence the success of young officers of a remarkably grave deportment. Females even of the first order of mind are sometimes duped by the affectation of this quality;" and M. B. lays it down as a general rule, " that a little charlatanerie in this respect may be fearlessly employed, provided it appears that the crystallization (on the lady's side) has actually commenced." In another passage he even hints that downright effrontery seldom fails, "either because it pleases in itself, or is mistaken for force of character."

Although the author's main object has been rigorously to lay down. the law of "billing and cooing," he still contrives to bring in (à-propos de l'amour) many curious facts and opinions. Thus we have, important to female writers, "I would say that a woman ought never to write any works except (like Madame de Staël Delaunay) such as are not to appear till after her death. If a female under fifty determines upon printing, she commits her happiness to the most terrible of lotteries. The immediate effect is, that if she has the good luck to have a lover, she is sure to lose him on the day of publication." The following has more subtilty, if not more truth: it is characteristically introduced as the last of the nine peculiarities which the author thinks he can, avec ses yeux d'homme," distinguish in the female attribute of modesty. After stating (sixthly) as the great inconvenience of this quality, that it incessantly produces dissimulation, he says,-" 90 Ce qui fait que les femmes, quand elles se font auteurs, atteignent bien rarement au sublime, ce qui donne de la grâce à leurs moindres billets, c'est que jamais elles n'osent pas être franches qu'à demi-être franche serait pour elles comme sortir sans fichu. Rien de plus fréquent pour un homme que d'écrire absolument sous la dictée de son imagination, et sans savoir où il va."*

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M. Beyle seems familiar with our language, and manifests a very tolerant feeling towards it. The few mottos he employs are taken from the Scotch novels, and at times he does not disdain to embody an English phrase in his text. Now and then, however, as it strikes us, the stranger makes rather a whimsical appearance, as in this instance-" Il y a deux malheurs au monde; celui de la passion contrariée, et celui du' dead blank.'

Jealousy, of course, has not been left out. It is spoken of here, and we can well believe it, as the most terrible of evils; and hints for its cure are suggested. The remedies proposed are principally three.

"The reason why women, when they become authors, so seldom reach the sublime, and that which gives so much grace to every trivial note they write, is, that they never venture to express more than half what they feel,-to speak out without reserve would seem to them like appearing in public without a covering on their necks: whereas nothing is more common than for a man to surrender himself entirely to the guidance of his imagination, without knowing where it is to lead him."

First, with regard to your rival-You have only one alternative: you must either affect to treat the whole matter as a jest, or make him tremble for his life. If you can do both at a breath, so much the better; and for this purpose, we have not only general instructions, but a formal precedent of the language to be employed in such an emergency. "You are to conceal your attachment, and, under the pretext of vanity, and as if confiding to him a great secret, you are, with all possible politeness, and with an air of perfect indifference and simplicity to address him thus:- Sir, I know not how it has come to pass that the world should have taken it into its head to connect the name of that little gipsy, So and So, with mine: they have been even pleased to imagine that I am desperately in love with her. Now, if you bave any thoughts that way, I should really give her up to you with all my heart, were it not that such a proceeding on my part would unfortunately expose me to be laughed at. In six months' time, however, she is perfectly at your service; but just at present, the point of honour, which somehow or other is attached to these things, obliges me to tell you (I do so with infinite regret) that if, par hazard, you have not the justice to wait till your turn comes, one or other of us must to a certainty blow out the other's brains." Mr. Beyle relies a good deal upon the effect of such a declaration. The only objection we see to it is, that the rival as well as the lover may happen to have read the treatise "De l'Amour," and may unexpectedly feel disposed, with responsive politeness and simplicity, to take him at his word.

Secondly, reading Othello is recommended to the jealous, and particularly the passage— "Trifles light as air," &c.

Thirdly, a sea-view. "J'ai éprouvé que la vue d'une belle mer est consolante."

The

In the second volume, the author takes a rapid sketch of the various nations of the earth "par rapport à l'amour." He hits the English hard: he does so, he assures us, with pain, and even tears in his eyes; for on the whole he likes us, and Shakspeare is one of his favourite writers-but nations as well as individuals must be told of their faults. Some of his strictures upon what he saw here are amusing. Speaking of our domestic habits, he says,-"In England, the rich, disgusted with their homes, and pretending that exercise is necessary, contrive every day to walk over the space of twelve or fifteen miles, as if man was created for the sole purpose of trotting about the world. consequence is, that the nervous fluid which should have gone to refresh the heart, drips down and is dissipated through the legs; and yet after this they have the impertinence to talk of female delicacy, and to sneer at the manners of Italy and Spain." In Italy it is quite the reverse; a young Italian takes care not to trudge down his sensibility, and " as to the women, one of your English misses will get over more ground in a week, than a Roman lady in a year." The author, however, has elsewhere spoken more favourably of our countrywomen; and, in justice to them and to him, we cannot omit the passage. Towards the close of his work we find the following memorandum :--" London, Aug. 1817.-I have never in my life been so struck and intimidated by the presence of beauty as I was this evening at Madame Pasta's concert. She was surrounded by three rows of

such lovely girls-their beauty was altogether so pure and heavenly, that I involuntarily sunk my eyes in reverence, instead of raising them to admire and feast upon their charms-such a thing never happened to me before, not even in my dear Italy." We have inserted the date, as some of our fair readers may have been in the group, and may have no objection to be thus reminded of it.

His censures are equally severe upon our literature. He hints that one of our liberal Reviews is paid by the Bishops to abuse M. Chenier -and (a still more comprehensive charge) he asserts, not even excepting us, whom he reads and quotes, that "such has been the blighting influence of universal cant, that it has now become impossible (horrescimus referentes) to write a lively page in English!!" Shade of Jonathan Kentucky! Ghost of the Ghost of Grimm! (thou art, indeed, doubly dead if such an imputation doth not rouse thee from the tomb,) -sole patentee for genuine "Peter Pindarics!" and thou, his kindred spirit, from whose lips not milk and water, but "Milk and Honey," periodically flows-we call upon you to come forward and repel-but our personal feelings overwhelm us, and we must drop the subject.

From the foregoing extracts it has been seen that there is a good deal of bizarrerie, both of style and opinion, in this production; but in justice to the author we must state, that there are numerous redeeming excellencies, and that our general impression, when we closed the book, was one of considerable respect for his talents; mingled, however, with surprise and regret at seeing them so provokingly occupied. His thoughts upon female education, to which he has devoted three or four long chapters, are liberal and wise: his sketches of society in the countries he visited (excepting England, which he manifestly does not comprehend) are spirited and original; and throughout, amidst all his waywardness of speculation, our inclination to smile has been incessantly checked by some new and delicate observation, delicately expressed; or by some burst of vigour, which proved to us that the writer had been trifling with his powers and acquirements. The following, for instance, (and almost every page would supply others quite as good) is worthy of Rochefoucault; we must give it in his own words "Des regards: c'est la grande arme de la coquetterie vertueuse. On peut tout dire avec un regard, et cependant on peut toujours nier un regard, car il ne peut pas étre repété textuellement."* We give another in a different style, N'ai-je pas vu des femmes de la Cour de Saint Cloud soutenir que Napoléon avait un caractère sec et prosaïque? Le grand homme est comme l'aigle, plus il s'élève, moins il est visible, et il est puni de sa grandeur par la solitude de l'ame."+ This is not the only occasion upon which the author has ventured upon a compliment to his old master. His fidelity and courage do him honour, for he is not blind to Napoleon's failings, and he knows the hazard, at the present day, of not calumniating fallen greatness.

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"Glances.-This is the great weapon of virtuous coquettes.-One can say every thing by a glance, and yet one can always deny the meaning of a glance, for it is impossible to report it literally."

"Have I not heard the ladies that frequented the Court of St. Cloud insist that Napoleon's temperament was dry and unpoetical? A great man is like the eaglethe higher he soars, the less he is discernible; and, in the end, he is punished for his greatness, by the mental solitude in which he finds himself.”