and sarcastic in his manners, he systematically seduces and debauches Ellinor, the kept mistress, during ten years, of the Count de P., who had received him into his family with all the kindness of hospitality. This he does, not because he was impelled from love to this woman, but from mere ennui-from vanity and self-love -not from an inclination to love, but a desire of being beloved."Tormented," (as he expresses it, p. 37,)" by a vague emotion, "I will be loved, said I, and I looked around me. I saw no per"son who could inspire me with love-no person who seemed to me susceptible of feeling it." No wonder the female world, p. 105, "saw in his conduct, that of a seducer; of an ungrateful man "who had violated hospitality, and who to gratify a momentary " whim, had sacrificed the repose of two persons, of whom, he ought "to have respected the one, and have spared the other."

The father is represented as a man who held light discourse on the ties of love (p. 35), who looked upon them as amusements, if not permitted, at least excuseable; and who in his representations to his son on the subject of his intimacy with Ellinor, seems to confine himself not to considerations of morality, but of prudence only.

The count de P. had lived in open defiance of the customs of society, with Ellenor, publicly, as his kept mistress, and had children by her. He attempts to introduce her in that capacity into respectable society; and his views are represented as well seconded, by the prudent and affectionate conduct of Ellenor herself, till she elopes with the hero of the novel, Adolphe, and at length dies of a broken heart, not occasioned by reflections on her own misconduct, but by perceiving that Adolphe is becoming sated, and wearied of the connexion, which no longer holds out the charm of novelty. The conclusions deduced, are not those which a man of honour and morality would draw from the story; as the reader may judge from the following extract:

'You ought, sir, to publish that anecdote. It cannot hereafter hurt any one, and could not be, in my opinion, without utility. The misfortune of Ellenor proves, that the most impassioned sentiment would be unable to struggle against the order of things. Society is too powerful: it reproduces itself under too many forms. It intermingles too much of bitterness with the love which it has not sanctioned. It favours that inclination for inconstancy, and that impatient fatigue, diseases of the mind, which seize it sometimes suddenly, in the bosom of intimacy. Indifferent persons have a wonderful eagerness to be slanderers in the name of morality, and noxious through zeal for virtue. It might be said that the view of affection troubles them, because they are incapable of it; and when they can avail themselves of a pretext, they delight in attacking it, and in destroying it. Wo then to the woman who reposes on a sentiment which every thing combines to poison, and against which society, when it is not compelled to respect it as legitimate, arms itself with all that is bad in the heart of man, to discourage all that is good in it!

The example of Adolphe will not be less instructive, if you add, that after having repelled the being who loved him, he has not been less uneasy, less agitated, and less discontented; that he has not made any use of a liberty regained at the expense of so much grief and of so many

tears; and that by rendering himself well deserving of blame, he has rendered himself also deserving of pity.'

The author has taken good care to do strict poetical justice, by making Ellenor, the deceived and seduced female, the most injured and least depraved of the whole group, die of a broken heart. All the other characters bear the catastrophe as well as can be expected. Adolphe grieves a little; but we do not find that he feels any permanent remorse for the mischief he has occasioned.

As a specimen of the translation so much praised in the note to the first page, take the following:

'Even to men themselves, it is not an indifferent matter to do this ill. Almost all of them believe themselves more corrupt, more thoughtless than they are. They expect to be able easily to break the intimacy which they carelessly contract. In the distance, the image of grief appears vague and indistinct, like a cloud, which they may pass through without difficulty.'

The book is not well printed, nor is it upon good paper; this is right: it deserves no better. The page is small, well spaced, with a modern margin. This is all well enough; if we must feed upon depravity, the thinner it is spread the better.

By far the most useful, entertaining, and instructive part of the volume, is an advertisement, on good paper, neatly printed, in small type, of the several publications that have issued from the press of a gentleman, who ranks not second in number and value of the works he has published, to any bookseller in the United States. This advertisement occupies twenty-four pages, and contains about sixteen thousand words: the novel Adolphe contains two hundred and thirty-eight pages, and contains about thirty-three thousand words. He seems to have thrown in his prefatory pages of advertisement as a make-weight, to make the work go down. No body will read the first, without feeling a pride and a pleasure in the prosperous state of the American press; no one will read the novel itself but with regret that this silly and wicked book may also find its place in such a catalogue.

C.

ART. VII.-The Adviser.-From Ackerman's Repository. AM truly grateful, Mr. Editor, for your prompt attention to my letter: I begin to have a better opinion of mankind since the publication of it, for I have had several applications for my advice; but as the case of Mr. Tremor appears to me the most pressing, I shall consider it first. As his letter may perhaps amuse your readers, I have subjoined it. I am, Mr. Editor, your obliged,

SOLOMON SAGEPHIZ.

To S. SAGEPHIZ, Esq. Adviser-General.

Never surely, sir, was there a man more in want of that sage counsel which you have offered to the world in general, than myself: I will not trespass on your time, however, by complaining of my misfortunes, but proceed to state them as briefly as I can.

Having from my childhood delicate health, I had made a resolution never to marry-a determination which was frequently and at last

successfully combated by my aunt, Mrs. Matchem. The old lady had formed a design of marrying me to her protégée, Miss Grace Goodenough, and at last, in pursuance of her advice, I gave that lady my hand. My marriage took place two years ago, and until last month I had no reason to repent it. My wife is an excellent manager, a pleasant companion, and what was of still more importance to me, of such a sweet disposition, that she paid me with the greatest cheerfulness all those little attentions, the value of which can only be estimated by those who, like myself, labour under diseases which perhaps are partly real and partly imaginary. We seldom had company, and then only in a snug quiet way; but the indefatigable attentions of my wife furnished me with sufficient amusement for my mornings, and one or other of friends generally passed the evenings with me at chess, drafts, or backgam

mon.

my

Thus, Mr. Adviser, did I spend nearly two years in quiet comfort, till unfortunately a distant relation of my wife paid us a visit. This lady, whose name was Apemode, is an old maid, who had passed her youth in dependance upon the great. She was just returned from France, whither she went as the humble companion of a lady of quality. Our plain, quiet, and retired way of life appeared insupportable to Miss Apemode; but as she did not dare openly to express her disgust, she commenced her insidious attack upon our domestic comforts, by persuading my wife that it was absolutely necessary for her, who had a right to consider herself as the principal person in the town where we reside, which I should have told you is at a considerable distance from London, to introduce among her neighbours some of the delightful customs of Paris: one of the pleasantest of which she said, was that of having social parties, which were styled Les thés dansants.

"And pray," cried my wife, "what sort of thing is this the dan

sant? it has at least a singular name."

"Why, my dear," cried Miss Apemode, "it has nothing singular but its name. You go to a thé dansant to drink tea, and dance afterwards, or play at cards, if you prefer it. You are expected to appear in a fashionable evening costume, but not in the dress proper for a bal paré; in a word, a thé dansant is a social party, where ceremony is excluded, and to which every body goes with a disposition to be pleased."

“Do,

At the conclusion of this speech my wife turned to me, and said with a look of entreaty which I did not know how to resist, my dear, let us have a thé dansant." I objected to the dancing, on account of the trouble which a large party would occasion in our small house: but all my objections were overruled. We were only to have a few friends, the dancing was to be over very early, and as to trouble or inconvenience, my wife assured me, it would occasion neither the one or the other.

Not wishing to contest with Mrs. Tremor the first point she had ever seemed desirous to carry, I consented; and invitations were accordingly issued for that day week. You will readily believe,

Mr. Adviser, that I was not a little surprised to find that this party, which was to occasion neither trouble nor inconvenience, robbed me of all my comforts. Until then my wife had regularly read to me at breakfast all that was interesting in three morning papers, for the weakness of my sight renders it painful to me to read for any length of time; but the day after our invitations were given, she read only a few paragraphs, because she assured me there was nothing worth looking at by the way, she said the same thing every day for the whole week-and after hurrying over breakfast in a most uncomfortable manner, she quitted the room, to make arrangements for our party. I always used to take some little nourishing thing in the middle of the day, which Mrs. Tremor had generally the goodness to prepare for me herself; but from the moment she began to arrange matters for this important evening, that task devolved on Betty, and consequently my beef-tea was watery, my chocolate oily, and my soup over-seasoned.

Well, Mr. Adviser, the important evening came at last, and, to my equal surprise and displeasure, the whole town poured in on us. Parties were immediately arranged for tric-trac and boston, which Miss Apemode has succeeded in rendering fashionable among us; and such was the noise and confusion, that I lost two games at chess, the first he ever won from me, to Captain Culverin, who has exulted in it ever since, and declares every where that he beats me at chess; although I protest to you, that the noise of the tric-trac tables, and the chattering of a confounded little Frenchman, made me give him my queen for a pawn in one game, and caused me to place three pieces in check at once in another; so you see what right he had to boast of his skill.

In the mean time the young people were amusing themselves with reels and country dances; for to the great disappointment of Miss Apemode, who presided as mistress of the ceremonies of the ballroom, none of them could figure in the waltz or fandango. While they were in the height of their mirth, my wife proposed that the dancing and cards should be suspended, that we might enjoy a little concert; which I found afterwards had been planned to bring for ward the musical talents of the Misses Screechwell, one of whom favoured us with some airs in I know not what language, and her sister and Monsieur Frivole, the Frenchman I before spoke of, performed what they were pleased to call pieces of music, which Miss Apemode assured us were the chefs d'œuvres of Cimarosa, executed in the manner of Crescemini. I actually blushed at her hardihood in hazarding such a ridiculous compliment; which, however, our musicians received as the homage due to their genius.

At last, to my great satisfaction, the concert ended, and then Monsieur Frivole begged to have the honour of amusing the company with some siight-of-hand tricks, which he had been taught by the celebrated D'Olivier, and had often practised with much applause at the house of his friend Madame la Duchesse de Parvenue, in Paris. Our guests had not hitherto thought M. Frivole of much consequence, but the name of the duchess convinced them of the ir

mistake, and they eagerly formed a circle round a table, at which the operator seating himself, exhibited dexterously enough several tricks with cards. The room rang with applause, which was not a little heightened by the whispers of Miss Apemode, that Monsieur Frivole was considered as the most skilful amateur of juggling in all Paris, and was absolutely doted upon by the noblesse. Alas! poor Monsieur Frivole had "touched the topmost point of all his greatness." He took a glass filled with wine, which he said he would change into rose-leaves, and scatter them on the bosom of Miss Bloomless. But by some mismanagement or other the trick failed, and instead of rose-leaves, poor Miss Bloomless received the wine, not on her bosom but on one side of her face, which instantly exhibited the tints of the crocus, instead of the roses and lilies that had adorned it the moment before. But this was not all: the lady who sat on her right, exclaimed bitterly against the awkwardness which had completely spoiled her white satin robe; and the one on her left, who by the bye was the most difficult to appease, had, in her eagerness to see the experiment more clearly, leaned so forward, that her head struck against that of Miss Bloomless, and the violence of the concussion displaced her flaxen wig, and broke one of her Marabout feathers. The three ladies were loud in their reproaches, and the poor operator, frightened at the storm which the unlucky failure of his spell had raised, sought to conjure down its violence by promising Miss Bloomless a pot of genuine Parisian rouge. This promise unluckily rendered her ten times more furious, for prior to this discovery she always denied that she wore any.

Baffled in his first attempt at conciliation, he had not courage to address either of the other ladies, but retreated from the table with a shrug so expressive of mortification, that, for his sake, I was heartily glad to hear supper announced. As I had conditioned that we should not have a formal supper, I leave you to judge of my surprise, when I found a table profusely covered a la Française.Certainly nothing could be prettier than the appearance of our supper, but unfortunately it resembled the dinner of Toby Allspice, for we had nothing fit to eat, at least in my opinion; my good neighbours, however, did honor to the fricassees, friandeaus, &c. &c. &c. to the great satisfaction of my wife and her friend Miss Apemode; and at last, when I began to be heartily fatigued, they took leave.

I flattered myself, that in the course of a few days we should fall into our old quiet track; unfortunately, I was totally mistaken: from that day all the habits of my wife are changed; instead of attending to my comfort, she is for ever planning schemes of dissipation. I find remonstrance and entreaty alike ineffectual to stop the progress of a taste for pleasure and expense, which I supposed would be easily subdued, because it has been so lately acquired.By pointing out to me what means I could use to restore order and comfort in my family, you would, sir, effectually oblige your very humble servant, TIMOTHY Tremor. If Mr. Tremor will follow my advice, he will directly oblige