have much greater attractions; and in the evening these Elysian Fields are only the resort of a few idle apprentices, who amuse themselves at nine-pins or bowls: such are the pleasures of the French Elysian Fields. diversifying the graver subjects, || find nobody. The newspapers and when they arise, with such light or chairs in the Tuilleries gardens humorous matter as may render || them most acceptable. The form of a dialogue is selected not only for the sake of freedom and ease of style, but for the purpose of bringing before our readers a variety of characters, whose peculiarity of thought and manner may farther enliven the discourse in which they are engaged. It will not, we apprehend, be necessary formally to describe them, nor to dwell upon the habits or qualifications of each individual, since that purpose may be accomplished by hints as we proceed. The comparative Merits of St.JAMES'S Scene-St. JAMES'S PARK. CES. Sir James. Say what you will, my dear, there is nothing in the neighbourhood of Paris equal to the place where we are now walking. It is the fashion now to abuse every thing that is our own; but for my part, I prefer St. James's Park to the much-boasted Elysian Fields, which in truth have little more than the name and crowded lime-trees to recommend them. Louisa. It does not prove that the walks are not pleasant because the French do not frequent or enjoy them: their amusements are not of that kind. But do you really like the formality of this park, with its straight rows of trees, its straight walks, and straight canal? Sir James. I do not admire it more on those accounts, but I would much rather have a constrained formality than an affected irregularity: what can be more offensive to the eye than the pretended rurality of a citizen's garden in the near neighbourhood of London; with his serpentine gravel-walk, just to draw your attention to its shortness, and his spruce clumps of shrubs, as if on purpose to make you look out for the wall! I would much rather see an old English bowling-green, with its quadrangular border of yellow gravel, than all these contemptible affectations. As to formality, nothing, you will allow, can be more stiffly so than the gardens of the Tuilleries, cut out more like mathematical figures than flowerborders. Louisa. Aye, there you are right; nothing can be more odious: but they are not the Elysian Fields. Sir James. I see that you are like Louisa. La papa, how can you say so? Every body who has been in Paris, declares that the Elysian Fields are the most delightful walks in the world. Sir James. Yet it is very singular | the inhabitants of Paris, captivated that they are never walked in. If by the name; call them the Elyyou go there in the morning, you sian Fields, and they are satisfied: as we see, near Islington or Walworth, small rows of houses assuming the title of Paradise and Prospect, when the one faces a dusty road, and the other a dead wall. But here comes Mr. Dapper, whom we met in Paris; let us hear his opinion. I think you will find in him a strenuous and voluble, if not an able, supporter. [Enter Dapper.] Good morning to you, sir. Dapper (taking off his hat with a flourish à la mode, and holding it in his hand). Miss Louisa, I kiss your hands; Sir James, your most obedient. not consider the ladies a part of the Fields? Are they wood or grass? Louisa. They are flowers at least, papa. Mr. Dapper. And some of the most beautiful that the world can boast. Sir James. Full blown, and as sweet-smelling as musk and otto of roses can make them. But you have been more fortunate than I was, for it never was my luck to see many respectable people in those Elysian Fields, and females very rarely or never. Mr. Dapper. Indeed, Sir James, you are uncandid in the extreme. I do maintain that the Champs Elysées are the most delightful, and the French ladies the most enchanting, Sir James (to Louisa). Till be went to France it was," How do you do?" and "I hope you are well." My daughter and I, Mr. Dapper, were just discussing the compara-things in the world-the one seems tive merits of the Elysian Fields and St. James's Park. Which do you think is to be preferred? Mr.Dapper. I should have thought, until you mentioned it, that there could not have been two opinions. Every person of taste, more especially those who have improved and cultivated it by foreign travel, I should apprehend, must give the palm to the Champs Elysées: they are delightful, enchanting, exquisite, delicious, superb! Sir James. In short, every thing that we can fancy of the fabled Elysian Fields: surpassing far, no doubt, the gardens of Armida, or the bowers of Acrasia. made for the other. Oh, Heaven! where is the comparison-charming trees, delightful women! St. James's Park sinks into nothing in the contrast. Wood, water, and grass are all very pretty, very pleasant-but the Elysian Fields! There is nothing like them in the whole world : in short, Paris, the whole city, is an elysium, and none but the blessed should be allowed to dwell in it. The French ladies are the most exquisite creatures-I can never praise them as they deserve. Louisa. Well, Mr. Dapper, I did not think that your French gallantry had so far overcome your English politeness; because I thought it was universally admitted, even by foreigners, that the ladies of Mr. Dapper. True, Sir James; you have expressed me to the life. Sir James. But in what respect || England far excelled in point of you hold them superior? beauty the females of any other country. do Mr. Dapper. In all respects. First of all, the company-the la dies. Mr. Dapper. And so they certainly do, Miss Louisa: I admit it; Sir James. I presume that you do the ladies of England are certainly Vol. VI. No. XXXI. D incomparably beautiful, charming beyond expression, lovely to a degree; but then Louisa. What, Mr. Dapper? Mr. Dapper. But then the French ladies and now we have reached the top of the Mall, and turning round, I see the fine trees of the Birdcagewalk on my right; the rich, sloping green intersected by the canal, and terminated by that stately and exLouisa. Are also "incomparably tensive building the Horse-Guards beautiful, charming beyond expres-in front, with the Green Park and sion, lovely to a degree." Are they that noble range of houses in Picnot, Mr. Dapper? cadilly and in St. James's Place on my left, I begin to be a convert to your opinion. Sir James. I am glad of it: there are few places where finer elms and limes can be found than here, and just where we now stand, that formality of which you so much complained is scarcely perceptible, unless in the straightness of the canal; even that is lessened by the pagoda bridge, which, however ugly in itself, has this advantage. It is to be hoped, that when it decays (and symptoms are already visible), a light iron bridge will supply its place, which, while it breaks the direct line of the water, will not hide what you fitly term the stately buildings of the HorseGuards, Admiralty, and Treasury. Sir James. No doubt each have their peculiar excellencies: the great difference between disputants on comparative beauty is, that they do not distinguish at all between beauty of feature and beauty of expression. Now, in my opinion, in the first the English ladies excel, and in the last the French: not that I mean to say that the expression of the countenances of English ladies is bad, but that they are deficient in it. Now the fault of the French ladies' countenances is directly the reverse, they have too much expression to please me; there is nothing like sedateness or tranquillity about their features. This contrast is striking and even offensive to many Englishmen, who are fond of repose, who dislike to see Mr. Dapper (striking his boot with a face perpetually upon the work; his riding-whip, and turning his foot it keeps them continually on the as if admiring the hollowness and fret, producing nearly the same symmetry of it). Well, Sir James, effect as sitting in company with perhaps I am of your mind too, but a person who is always beating still I cannot quite give up the what is vulgarly called the devil's || Champs Elysées. tattoo. But we have wandered from the point under debate, and I fear if we were to return to it, we should not be able to throw much new light upon it, or to convince each other by any fresh arguments. What do you think, Louisa? Louisa. I confess, sir, that what Mr. Dapper has advanced has had its weight with me [Dapper bows]: || Sir James. Nor need you; they have their advantages; they have fine trees, but too crowded, and not well disposed in groups, and the grass is very little attended to. It is to be regretted that the wood in our park is rapidly decaying, and that more pains are not taken to provide a succession of trees: how many vacancies there are in theMall, and the very noble clumps that || dervalue the advantages which our own country has over other nations. I mean of course only in these particulars, and especially of late years, since the rage for travelling commenced. formerly were seen in the centre, and overhanging the water, are much diminished. I am convinced that justice is not done to this park; if people would impartially view it from the spot where we now stand, I think they must admit, that it exceeds every thing of the kind abroad, but certainly near the French capital. I know that foreigners themselves allow it, but we English are always apt to un [Here the conversation dropped, and Mr. Dapper, wishing his friends a pleasant promenade, passed through Buckingham-Gate, while Sir James and his daughter proceeded up Constitution-Hill.] CELESTINE. MADAME D'AUBIGNY was what but this disparity signified nothing would be termed in England a ma- in his opinion; was he not the galnaging mamma; she had taken lant, gay De Rosiere, whose trigreat pains to secure for her only umphs over the fair had procured daughter a splendid alliance, and him some thirty years before the as soon as Mademoiselle d'Aubigny appellation of l'Irresistible? And had attained her sixteenth year, || did a mere child, a girl too without she was removed from the convent fortune, presume to refuse his offerin which she had been educated, in cd hand? Were all the pains which order that her nuptials with the he had taken to persuade himself Marquis de Rosiere might be cele- to sacrifice his dearly prized liberbrated. ty to be thrown away? No, he could not consent to be so shamefully foiled; Mademoiselle d'Aubigny should be his, and if persuasion could not make her so, force should. . Celestine d'Aubigny had always been taught, that she must bestow her hand on the object of her parent's choice; as to a will of her own in the matter, it was quite out of the question; and indeed young and timid as she was, it could hard ly be supposed that she would think of having one: to the astonishment, however, of every body, she asserted her right to a negative, and steadily refused to give the marquis her hand. The surprise and mortification of her intended husband at what he termed her unaccountable obstinacy, exceeded all bounds. True he was sixty, and Celestine had scarcely completed her sixteenth year: The marquis was not so inexcusable as he may appear to some of my fair readers, since he thought that if Celestine once became his wife, she must be one of the happiest women in the world; for that any woman could be otherwise than happy in a union with him, his selflove would not suffer him to believe. He persevered in his addresses, and he was ably seconded by Madame d'Aubigny: but for a considerable time all their endea vours to bend the spirit of Celes tine to their will were ineffectual; neither threats nor entreaties seem ceit, fancied that, with a little trouble, they could thaw the marquise's ed to move the obstinate girl, and they were about to give up the mat-ice: how far their conjectures ter in despair, and to consign the offending Celestine to a convent for life, when one morning Madame d'Aubigny received a billet from her daughter, containing only these words: might have proved just it is impossible to say, for at the end of six months the sudden death of De Rosiere left his lady one of the richest widows in Paris. As it was well known that Celes "I consent to marry the Mar- tine had been forced into the match, quis de Rosiere." every body expected that when she threw off her weeds, she would blaze forth a bright star in the gay circles of fashion; but to the utter surprise of all her acquaintances, she fixed her residence in the country, where she received no visitors; and it was generally said, that the gloom which had hung over her in her husband's lifetime did not ap The antiquated inamorato, who dreaded the ridicule to which the breach of the marriage would expose him, received her consent with transport. Her mother lavished on her a thousand caresses. The most expensive dresses, the most magnificent jewels were ordered for the approaching nuptials; but nothing had power to interest Ce-pear in the least abated. lestine, or excite her attention. She received the caresses of her mother with coldness, shrunk from the raptures of the marquis with disgust; and when forced to look at the clothes and trinkets provided for || her, regarded them with an air which plainly proved how little the possession of these glittering bau- | bles tended to tranquillize her mind, or to conquer the reluctance she felt to the intended union. The marriage ceremony at length took place, and the young and timid Celestine was immediately afterwards introduced to the first circles. The admiration which her uncommon beauty excited was not a little checked by the settled gloom of her manners; and her chilling reserve, so opposite to her years and to the general disposition of her countrywomen, soon procured her the appellation of the fair icicle. Some men of gallantry, however, who were not wanting in self-con The men expressed surprise, the women contempt, at this apparently strange conduct. Some declared that our fair widow was a fool; others, more charitable, were of opinion that her marriage had affected her intellects, and that she was melancholy mad: all agreed, however, that it was a thousand pities so large an income should be in the hands of a woman who had not the spirit to enjoy it. Among all the female friends, or rather acquaintances, of the marquise, there was only one who defended her conduct; and to the honour of the sex be it spoken, that one was as handsome, though not as young, as Celestine herself. Her name was St. Ange; she was a widow, and distantly related to the late Marquis de Rosiere. She had paid Celestine great attention, and though it was received with cold civility, she did not feel offended; on the contrary, she always spoke |