in flatteries, because Nature moulded his lips for truth; they are, therefore, rather of a manly shape, which you will quite love when you know their character, than of that versatile and changeable grimace, which, when you do understand, you will no more like than you do the unnatural evolutions of tumblers-both alike the effects of early distortions from the original stamp of truth. And, when such a one does utter sweet things to you-how sweet-!they will not come from a mouth tainted with cigar. His soft and pure breathings will need no fumigation they will have a natural enchantment. You will be spared the incense of tobacco-the odious incense of a lying breath the insult of tobacco. Were I a woman, I had rather be a widow and wear weeds, such as might become a widow, than admit a filthy fellow to blow his weed into my nostrils. But oh! I am raving like an impatient, illconditioned man, and showing how unfit we are for conversion into women. They have patience-can endure that and a great deal more. Do I forget Griselda-patient Griselda! Every woman is a " patient Griselda" who has a smoking husband. It must be the poison of that noxious weed that has pinched in, and deteriorated to such a degree as we see them, the bodies of the young men of the present day. Half of them are dwindling fast into shadows, nipt, cast off, smoking away their own epitaphs-"Fumus et umbra sumus"-we are but smoke and shadow.

Who shows disrespect to womankind insults his own mother; who shows disrespect to age, offers his own person for scorn to shoot at, at twenty paces. For to that age is he progress ing, and some twenty paces will bring him to the point. Yet, is such disrespect too common. It is a mark of a selfish heart and a mean mind. Whence comes it, and to what degradation is it to lead? We never shall go on as we ought to do, until there be in our manners and feelings an infusion of the spirit of chivalric days. Men were then brave and gentle that could neither write nor read. And now we read and write ourselves out of all that is good. There never can be a better time to commence a change. Have we not a young Queen? A more "Glorious Gloriana." So even in our homes let the empire of womankind be restored-fully restored, That

But

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elegant and amiable dominion will demand our delicate attentions which will grace us like reflected beauty, even perhaps the best beauty. The habit of pleasing is ever rewarded by the habit of being pleased. Where there is a due deference to the sex, and a romantic caution not to offend, of how little consequence will be a few discrepancies of taste and temper. Things that are not quite pleasant in themselves, will be gilded over with agreeability. I have seen the happy effects of pursuing the deferential system. I knew a gentleman much given to study and reflection-there was a charm to him in silence. he was wedded to one who knew it not. He was the most polite listener, even when what he heard was not to his own praise. He neither could nor would see a fault in the wife of his bosom, and though her incessant speech was a sad interruption to him for years, and perhaps deprived the world of valuable inventions, so far from complaining of or to her, he rather called himself to task for feeling it an annoyance. Now, one of the bruteschool would have plainly said, "My dear madam, your talk is a great bore,' and perhaps used still coarser language. Not he. He bore it smilingly. for years, rather than endure the cruelty of making her aware of it; and at last, most happily invented an instrument which secured enjoyment to both. It was made of wire, and passed over the head, reaching on either side to each ear, where the wire was ingeniously turned inwards, and formed at the same time a coil, which was thickly padded, and pressed in upon the ears; they were, in fact, ear-dampers. The wire was so slight as not to be visible under the hair, and so likewise by a little arrangement were the dampers themselves concealed. He told me he had worn them for years, that he could think and reflect with perfect security, without interruption, merely occasionally bowing his head politely as in assent to what in reality he did not hear; and his dear talkative wife spoke in raptures of his sweetness of temper, for he never contradicted her. I have described the instrument that it might be useful in cases of domestic discord. Oh! M. Gisquet! M. Gisquet! did you really kick and cuff your chère amie? Did you really propose to a virtuous woman, with whom you could

not boast of any familiarity, to defame her own character, in order to enable you, with a double falsehood, to make your mistress jealous? And did you do this affecting sentimentality, for the indulgence of which you had in sulted, and ruined the peace and welfare of your "amiable" wife and family? In England, if it were possible that such a letter as M. Gisquet's to Mad. Focaud could be written, the writer would be in a lunatic asylum. But in France-France, once the polite, now under the new regime of "Young France"-persons in their sober senses enact monstrosities against morals and manners; and, what is worse, their sanity is not doubted. Brutality, that in the first French Revolution sent out boat-loads of accomplished and beautiful women, guilty only of aristocratic manners, to be sunk, has grown to a very refined monster; and has learnt to cover with a gauzy sentimentality the innate depravities of a base and cowardly heart. Happy is the nation that cherishes female influence! Chivalric, heroic, romantic, are epithets of one great virtue arising from devotion to woman, and faith in her purity and exceeding loveliness. The possessor of this virtue will be happy in the thoughts it engenders-he will deeply love one woman, and will deem all, as partaking of her nature, to be endowed with a portion of her goodness; and for her sake will think himself bound to protect all. It pains, it angers me, to hear people speak as they do contemptuously of old maids and old women. It surely ought to be enough that men virtually reject all, to whom they might make offers of themselves, and do not, need not add unnecessary insult. For my own part, I see in every elderly maiden an object of admiration or of sympathy-one who has been bereaved by death or evil circumstances of all she loved; or one who in saintly blessedness has devoted her life to a gentle and extensive be. nevolence. If there were not some few such, richly endowed, to perform this assigned task, how cheerless would be many a secluded and miserable home and corner of human life, where man will not, perhapscannot enter; and the married could only do so ineffectually. As to an aged, or, as she is in mockery called," an old woman," I would view her with the eye of an antiquary, who pays the more devoted

attention to the ruin, and loves it a it is, while he feels within him the charm of imagining its former perfection. Oh, if women were but more scarce, we should fight for them as the greatest, the best riches-but we are thankless, and abuse the prodigality of nature. There are in England, Wales, and Scotland, four hundred and ninety thousand two hundred and seventy more women than men! So that because every man may have at least one, many will perversely have none-and how many ill-use those they have! We shall never, as I before said, go on well till feminine dominion be restored. There is love and gentleness even in its most severe enactments.

The submission it exacts ens nobles. I will venture to offer two examples, the one from high, the other from low life. They will show the tenderness and reasonableness of the sex, how fit they are to direct, and how much the happiness of mankind is maintained by concessions to them. That of low life will be given in a dialogue which actually took place, and, that it may not lose an iota of truth, it shall be given in the proper dialect, and verbatim. The scene is in that part of Devonshire which borders on the county of Somerset. A gentleman who had not seen his nurse for some years, happening to be in the village where she lived, called on her, when this conversation ensued:

Nurse. "Lor a massy, sir! is it you? Well, sure, I be cruel glad to zee ye! How is mistres-and the young ladies-and maister?"

Master. "All well, nurse, and desire to be kindly remembered to you. You are quite stout, I am glad to see

and how is your husband?"

Nurse. "My husband! Ou, mayhap, sir, you ha'nt a heared the

news?"

Master. "The news! No. I hope he is not dead?"

Nurse. "Oh no, sir, but he's dark." Master. "Dark? what, blind!— How did that happen?"

Nurse. "Why, there now, sir, I'll tell ye all about it. One morning'tis so long ago as last apple-picking

I was a gitting up, and I waked Jahn, and told un 'twas time vor he to be upping too. But he was always lazy of a morning: zo a muttered some'at and snoozed round agin. Zo, arter a bit, I spoked to un agin. Jahn,' says I, what be snoozing

6

there vor?-git up.' 'Zo,' says he, what's the use of gitting up bevore 'tis light?' Oh,' zays I, tisn't light, is it? Thee'st know what's behind the door. I'll zoon tell thee whether 'tis light or no, you lazy veller.' " Then,' zays he, turning his head, why, 'tis zo dark as pitch.' Now that did pervoke me-I'll tell your honour the truth-and I begin ned to wallop un a bit. But-Lor a massy-God forgive me! in a minute the blid gushed to my heart and gi'd me zitch a turn, that I was vit to drap! Vor, instead of putting up his arms to keep off the stick, as a used to do, there was he, drowing 'em all all abrodd!-and a said Don't yedon't ye—I can't zee! If 'tis light I be dark!' 'Oh,' zays I, my dear, you ben't, to be zure.' Ees,' says he, I be, zure enough.' Well, I was a-gushed-zo I put down the stick, and looked to his eyes, but I couldn't zee nort in 'em. Zo,' zays I, why, there's nort in your eyes, Jahn, you'll be better by'm bye.' Zo I got un up, and dressed un, and tookt un to the winder. There,' zaid I, Jahn, can't ye zee now?' But no, a zaid, a couldn't. Then,' zays I, I know what 'tis. 'Tis your zight's a-turned inward.' Zo I took't a pair of zizzers, not sharp-tapped ones, your honour, and poked to his eyes to turn the zight outward agin-but I couldn't. Well, then I brought un down-stairs into this here room, your honour. Zo,' zays I, Jahn, 'can't ye zee in this room, neither?' anda' zaid no, a couldn't. Well, then I thought of the picturs-he was always cruel vond of picturs-thinks a, pr'aps a may zee they; zo I tookt 'um up to thin. There,' zays I, Jahn, don't ye zee the pictur?-'tis Taffy riding upon his goat. But a zaid no, a couldn't. Zo then a tookt un up to t'other pictur. There'-sir, he was always very vond of thin—and I pushed his nose close to un; 'there,' says I, 'to be sure you zee this pictur, can't ye?'

But

a zaid no. Why,' zaid I, 'tis Joseph and his brethren; there they be there be twelve of 'em-can't ye zee ne'er a one of 'em?' But a zaid no, a couldn't zee none of 'em. Then,' says I, 'tis a bad job-your zight's a turned inward.' Zo we pomsterred with un a bit, and then tried some

doctor's trade, but it didn't do un no good; and, at last, we was told there was a vine man at Exeter vor zitch things-zo we zent un up to he. Well-there-the Exeter doctor zeed un, and tookt his box of tools, and zarched about his eyes a bit; and then a zent un home with this word, that he couldn't do un no good, and nobody else couldn't do un no good, vor a'd got a gustavus. Zo he's dark ever since, your honour, but he's very well to health.'

I take the next example from the, Bibliotheca Topographica Britannica, and by it will be seen how sadly the power of women has been reduced.

Sir John Spencer was Lord Mayor of London in 1594, commonly called, from his great wealth, rich Spencer. He had by his lady (Alice Bromfield) one sole daughter and heiress, Elizabeth, of whom there is a tradition, that she was carried off from Canonbury house in a baker's basket, by the eontrivance of William, the second Lord Compton, Lord President of Wales, to whom, in the year 1594, she was married. The following let. ter from her to her lord, without date, but written probably in or about the year 1617, shows the extravagant expectations of women of the seventeenth century :

"MY SWEET LIFE,-Now I have declared to you my mind for the settling of your state, I supposed that it were best for me to bethink or consider with myself what allowance were meetest for me. In considering what care I have had of your estate, and how respectfully I dealt with those, which, both by the laws of God, of nature, and of civil polity, wit, religion, government, and honesty, you, my dear, are bound to, I pray and beseech you to grant me L.1600 per annum, quarterly to be paid. Also I would (besides that allowance for my apparel) have L.600 added yearly (quarterly to be paid), for the performance of charitable works; and those things I would not, neither will be accountable for.

"Also I will have three horses, for my own saddle, that none shall dare to lend or borrow; none lend but I, none borrow but you.

"Also I would have two gentlewomen, lest one should be sick, or