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to allay my grief; it will only end with my life. || to cure the disease of our friend. Persuaded that What can comfort a man for the loss of her he the phantasm which pursued him would disadored? Absence: but that resource does not appear when opposed to the real object, and that exist for me." his imagination would be undeceived when he found his senses struck, we determined to introduce to him, in the dress of Mary, the female who was so like her.

He stopped. We attended in silence the explanation of those strange words. All at once his looks were animated; he arose, and exclaimed:- "Mary is dead! she is dead, but she is not absent. She is there," added he, looking stedfastly at an armed chair towards which he pointed. "Yes, there she is, I see her as plainly as I do you; she fixes her eyes on me, she hears me; if I approach her she retreats, but she never disappears."

He was silent, and we ceased to offer him any more consolations which were of no avail, for his affliction was of a nature too uncommon to yield to ordinary means. Chance, which in the crisis of fantastical cases sometimes collects different means, appeared to offer one which gave us hopes of saving our friend, and restoring him to himself.

After having agreed with this woman about the disguise she was to assume, the place she should go to, the signal at which she was to advance, her attitude, her gait, and all the requisites for the part she was to act, we went to Darville, and asked him a last proof of his friendship. "We are going to leave the place," said we, embracing him; "perhaps we may never meet again." Seeing he was moved, we pressed him to come and sup with us that same evening, saying that was the only proof we desired. He knew not how to refuse our invitation; he came, and we sat down to table. The repast was nearly finished, and he had not spoken a word, when, in order to raise to its height an emotion necessary to cause a total revolution, we talked to him about the fatal day on which he received the last sigh of his mistress.

Without making any answer, he looked earnestly towards a dark closet opposite to his seat; he arose, and extended his arms as if to reunite himself to the object which his delirium realised.

A public entertainment was given; all those contemptible women, who, it is said, preserve the morals of a town by corrupting them, appeared there. I was observing them in the ballroom, when I perceived one whose resemblance to Mary astonished me. I flew to an Officer of my regiment, and asked him whether I might show him a portrait of Darville's mistress, probably more exact, and certainly more real, than that with which that unfortunate man was beset. His surprise equalled mine. We placed our-friends, my friends, save ine! I am lost! I saw selves by the side of that woman, and studied her features. This examination confirmed the truth

We that instant gave the signal; the counterfeit Mary entered; he perceived her, and fell backwards; he shuddered, and cried, "O my

but one, and I see two." We attempted to convince him of his error.-He fell into con

of our first glance; and we immediately formed vulsions, and expired pronour.cing the naine of the design of profiting by so singular a meeting | Mary.

ON EPISTOLARY STYLE, AND ON MADAME DE SEVIGNE.

WHAT is it that essentially characterises the epistolary style? It is a difficult question to resolve. Epistolary style is that which is most suitable to the person who writes, and to the subjects written upon. Cardinal d'Ossat cannot write like Ninon de l'Enclos; and Cicero does not write on the murder of Cæsar, in the same tone as he records the supper he gave Cæsar. The same principle may be applied to the style of history, of fables, &c. The style of Tacitus has nothing in common with that of Titus Livius, nor the style of La Fontaine with that of Phædrus.

To what purpose are these doctrines of genera and others which have been introduced into litefature? Every thing is now reduced to classes and

genera: the term of perfection in every genus is the extreme point at which the best writer has stopped, and his manner is taken as a model. This critical spirit has indeed served to disseminate a more sound and general criticism, but has at the same time contributed to clog talents, and to contract the career of the arts. Happily ge nius will not be shackled by those petty rules which pedantry, mediocrity, the fury of judging have invented, and endeavour to maintain. The man of genius is like Gulliver among the Lilliputians, who bind him while he sleeps; he wakes, and without effort breaks those feeble bands which the dwarfs took for cables.

Nothing is more dissimilar than the epistolary style of Cicero and that of Pling, the style of

Madame de Sevigné and that of Voltaire, which are we to imitate? Neither; for we have, properly speaking, no style, unless it is adapted to our character and turn of mind, modified by our feelings at the time of writing.

Letters have no other object than to communicate our thoughts and sentiments to absent persons; they are dictated by friendship, confidence, and politeness. It is a conversation in|| writing; so that the style of letters ought to be the same as that of common conversation, with somewhat more choice in the subjects, and more correction in the words and phrases. The rapidity of speech causes an infinite number of negligences to be overlooked, which the mind has time to reject whilst we write, be it ever so rapidly; and, moreover, he who reads is not so indulgent as he who listens.

The essential character of the epistolary style is then to be natural and easy; laboured wit, elegance, or correctness are insupportable.

Philosophy, politics, anecdotes, the arts, bonmols, all may be introduced in letters; but with the easy carelessness and unpremeditation which characterise the conversation of well-educated persons.

ners prescribe them, serves to whet their wit, and on certain objects it inspires them with more refined and delicate turns; in fine, their thoughts participate less of reflection, their opinions are more connected with their sentiments, and their mind is always modified by the impression of the moment; thence that suppleness and variety which are usually found in their letters; that facility of passing from one object to others very different, without effort, and by unexpected ak though natural transitions; those expressions and associations of words, novel and keen without being sought for; those refined and often profound views of things, which appear like inspiration; and lastly, those happy negligences, more pleasing than exactness.

Men of talents, more accustomed to think and to write naturally, and, as it were, in spite of themselves, arrange their ideas so methodically as to render too much reflection apparent; and their style is of a correctness incompatible with that careless and negligent grace we so much admire in the letters of women.

Learned men, says Voltaire, do not usually write familiar letters well; like professed dancers, who cannot make a graceful bow.

The letters of Balzac and Voiture, which were so much admired in the last age, are at this time forgotten; because the passion for mere wit is

Who is he that writes best? He who has the greatest flexibility of imagination, the most promptness, gaiety, and originality of mind, the most taste and facility in his manner of expres-less lively, the taste more formed, and the art of

sion.

But whence comes it that the man who in conversation is animated, gay, and witty, is in his letters generally dull, dry, and heavy? It is because there are men who are excited by society, and others who are disconcerted. The impulse of society gives to the wit of some men more spring and activity, whilst it dulls and perplexes others. The former remain frigid whilst they sit in their study, pen in hand; the latter, in the same situation, regain the free exercise of all their faculties.

It may easily be conceived that those women who have wit, and a cultivated mind, write better letters than the best writers among men. Nature has bestowed on them more pliableness of fancy, and a more delicate organisation; their mind, less accustomed to reflection, possesses more vivacity and ready thoughts, it rambles into more digressions; shut up in society, and less distracted with business or study, they are more attentive in observing characters and manners, they are more interested in all the little events which occupy or amuse what is termed the world.

Their sensibility is more alert, more lively, and embraces a greater number of objects. They naturally express themselves with more facility; even the reserve which their education and man

writing better known. There remains still of that immortal age, letters of two women which will live as long as the French language. Every body has read the letters of Madame de Maintenon, and one never tires of repeatedly reading those of Madame de Sevigné. But what a difference between these two celebrated women! The letters of the first are full of wit and reason, the style is elegant and natural, but the tone is serious and uniform. On the contrary what grace! what variety! what vivacity in those of Madame de Sevigné !

What particularly distinguishes her, is that momentaneous sensibility which is affected at every thing, which is every where diffused, which receives with extreme rapidity different species of impressions. Her imagination is a pure and brilliant glass, wherein every object is painted, and reflected with a lustre they do not naturally possess. This pliancy of soul forms the talent of poets, especially dramatic poets, who are obliged almost at the same time to invent characters extremely different, and to be penetrated with the must opposite sentiments; when they are in the same scene, to represent a passionate and a sedate man, a virtuous man and a villain, Nero and Brutus, Mahomet and Zopirus, &c.

It has been said that Madame de Sevigné was a gossip; that may be, if we simply understand

a gossip to be a woman incessantly occupied by all the motions of society, by every word which escapes, by all the events which succeed each other, who collects every slanderous aspersion, who recounts with the same vivacity a pleasant folly and the death of a great man, the success of a sermon and the gain of a battle; but how can we apply the epithet of gossip to a woman of the first rank, well-instructed, full of wit, graces, gaiety, and imagination, admired and courted by the most distinguished men in the age of Louis XIV. ?

where, "When we have read a letter of Madame de Sevigné, we feel a kind of regret, because we have one the less to read." This sentence is worth his whole collection.

What adds to the value of Madame de Sevigné's letters, is the great number of strokes which depict the brilliant court of Louis XIV. We are pleased to find ourselves, as it were, in company with the greatest personages of that splendid reign, which, notwithstanding the censures of a severe and rigid philosophy, always retains an air of grandeur which attracts us, and strikes us with awe. It is not likely that our age will ever have the same attraction for our descendants. "What disgusts me with history," said a sensible lady, "is to think that what I see happen to day, will one day be history." This is a witty saying, but should not be taken literally. The history of the intrigues of the Vatican ought not to give us disgust for that of the Roman republic.

It is very difficult for a foreigner to feel the merit of her style; it originates from the progress which society had made in France, where she has created a language which is well understood by such persons only as have frequented good company for some time. The niceties of that language consist particularly in a great number of terms, which, being a little diverted from their primitive sense, express accessory ideas, of which the various shades are more readily felt than It appears as if most of those persons who addefined. There are numberless expressions and mire the writings of this extraordinary woman, turns which continually recur in our conversa- do not yet sufficiently feel her superiority. She tions, and which have no equivalent in our lan-is rational and frivolous, pleasant and sublime, guages. A stranger must be far advanced in the French language to be able to feel the charm of the letters of Madame de Sevigné, and of the fables of La Fontaine.

Count de la Riviere, of whom we have a collection of letters, in two volumes, says some

as occasion requires, and enters into all these varieties with inconceivable facility. The graces, suppleness, and liveliness of her style, shine above all in her narratives.

(To be concluded in our next.)

THE LADIES' TOILETTE; or, ENCYCLOPÆDIA OF BEAUTY.
[Continued from Page 83.]

Of Fashion.

BUT, let us return to our subject, to fashion, || has delineated upon it, is as proud of those deproperly so called, that haughty rival of nature, to whose dictates both the graces and beauty are frequently sacrificed.

Women, ever jealous of maintaining, and perhaps of extending the empire they possess over our sex, had no arms more powerful than those of beauty, and to give more force to its fascinating attractions they have called in art to the assistance of nature-art, so often a dangerous ally!

Hence sprung the love of the toilette, a propeusity as ancient as the world, a propensity universally diffused, and which is observable in the stark naked savage, as in the European clad in gold and silks.

In the savage! you exclaim. Most certainly. That Mogul women whose whole body is covered with flowers and the figures of animals, which she

corations as is an English belle of a robe embroidered by a fashionable milliner; and the negress of Zanquebar who wears a bell about her neck, does so only in conformity to the fashion, as one of our dashing females suspends from it a medallion encircled with brilliants.

But have women while they have made attention to the toilette to consist in perpetual change, while, in short, they have submitted to the disgraceful yoke of fashion; have they, I ask, attained the object they proposed? 1 venture to affirm that they have not.

Dress is to beauty what harmony is to melody; it ought to set it off to advantage, to enhance its lustre; never to cover or to disguise it. Luxury in dress is like luxury in accompaniments, which so far from giving greater effect to the voice of the

singer only serves to drown it. Farther, the toilette, like an accompaniment in music ought to harmonize with the person it is intended to embellish; it ought to vary according to the figure the features, the physiognomy, the colour of the complexion and of the hair; it ought also to be modified according to age, condition or character. It would be as absurd to dress all women in the same manner, as to sing every tune with the same accompaniment.

Woman of taste know perfectly well that the dress ought to be adapted to the wearer; accordingly, they are cautious not to follow any new fashions which would betray their beauty, which would not tend to set off the brilliancy of their charms, which would not shew the precious gifts of nature to advantage or which would ill disguise her partial neglect. Such females consult not the fashion, but their own persons; they imitate not, but invent. The productions of their fertile imagination cannot fail to appear extremely handsome, since their imagination has been guided by taste and not by caprice. Other women eagerly avail themselves of these new attractions, regardless whether or not they are adapted to their persons; and hence arises the abuse of fashion.

Fashion, I repeat, is the tyrant of taste, and is frequently the exterminating angel of beauty.

Here, I know, the younger portion of the sex will be ready to exclaim: "What, speak ill of fashion! how atrocious! of fa-hion, an object so seductive, that next to the felicity of following, there can be no greater pleasure than talking of it!"

A moment's patience, ladies; let me explain myself; for, in truth, I should be extremely sorry to give you cause of offence.

You will, doubtless agree with me, that fashion changes very often, that, to gratify this insatiable thirst of such everlasting variety, it is necessary to be incessantly inventing, and that when simple and elegant forms are exhausted, it is time to have recourse to the most irregular and frequently the most absurd. Are all these forms, and all these inventions sanctioned by good taste? Assuredly not: but just now you would say-I understand you; the fashion of the day is charming, delightful; but the fashion of ten years ago is odious, is horrible: that is clear.

Nevertheless, this odious, this horrible fashion, was the fashion of the day, ten years ago; it was then charming: and the fashion of to-day-What will you say of itten years hence, ladies?

How sincerely I regret that the fairy tales are but tales! Why do not those wonderful beings who perform such prodigies by the mere motion of a little wand actually exist! How convenient it would be! But let us suppose for a moment that it were so.

Ernestine is a charming woman; she places her self at her toilette, and the elegance and beauty of her dress are about to excite envious pangs in the bosom of all her rivals. I have no occasion to tell

But what is fashion, in the limited signification which we here give it? 'Tis a kind of dress which sometimes is perfectly suited to certain females, and which all are anxious to adopt. It is, for example, a head-dress which makes Hortensia look horribly ugly, but which Hortensia adopts because it appears charming when worn by Olympia. It is a robe which exhibits all the defects in the figure of Euphemia, but which Euphemia is determined to wear, because it enchantingly displays the divine form of the youth-you that Ernestine wears nothing but what is in ful Eleonora. This being the case, how many contrasts does not a delicate eye perceive between the persons and the dress of women who are the slaves of fashion! Here it is a young female whose arm should have been prudently concealed by the officious covering of a discreet sleeve, but who, in obedience to the fashion, displays it naked, and exhibits the ominows spectacle of skeleton leanness; there it is a robe cut down too low, making a general confession of sins.

I could produce a thousand instances of the bad taste of many females, and of the manner in which they disfigure themselves by blindly following the fashions; but what occasion have to say more? Women perceive much more clearly than we all these absurdities in persons of their sex, and whenever I have been in places where many females were assembled, a quarter of an hour's conversation with only one of them was sufficient to inform me how ill all the others were dressed.

the newest style: Ernestine is young, a Parisian, and a coquette.

The toilette is finished, but all at once, a hostile fairy waves her magic wand. Ernestine falls asleep. And how long does she remain in that state? Ten years-a mere trifle for a fairy.

Ernestine has slept ten years; she awakes without perceiving that she has been asleep; she goes to the play. What is her astonishment! Peals of unextinguishable laughter salute her on her entrance; every eye is fixed upon her and she is pointed at by every finger. Ernestine, unable to conceive the cause of such a singular reception, remains thunderstruck. "Madam", at length says one of the ladies in the same box with her, "how could you venture to appear in public in such a ridiculous dress?" "What do you say, Madam?" rejoins Ernestine; "it is in the very newest fashion. But it is you, ladies", says she to those who surround her, "that appear to me to be dressed in a manner equally extraordinary and

ridiculous. Or is this a masquerade?" "A
masquerade!" exclaims the prim Amelia;
"the
lady, I perceive can be jocular if she pleases."
"It is you, Madam," says the young and unaf
fected Ursula, "who seem to have been preparing
for a masquerade; but indeed you are too young,
and too pretty, to muffle yourself up so in that old
fashioned dress. I have an aunt, who always
keeps to the good old customs, and one might
swear, for all the world that you had borrowed her
clothes."

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My readers will not find it difficult to supply moving ringlets of her flowing hair: in a word, the remainder of this conversation.

Such, however, is the scene which would actually take place, were it possible to bring together unexpectedly two females between the fashions of whose dresses there should be an interval of a few years.

It is, therefore, evident that custom alone sanctions fashions, and extols to-day what it will cause to be despised to-morrow: consequently it is not the good taste of a dress that constitutes its merit, but solely the fancy of the moment. You are thought exceedingly handsome in a very ugly fashion, if it be but new, and you are thought ridiculous in a very handsome fashion, if it be out of date.

I had one day a striking example of this tyranny of fashion, which so frequently deprives women of the advantage of adopting the dress which is best suited to their persons.

Zephirina attracted not the facinated eyes of man, but Zephirina was dressed after the fashion of the day. Custom, then, would not permit her to appear more handsome.

There are indisputably charming fashions, fashions authorized by good taste, but in every thing there is a perfection, that is a point which good taste cannot pass without losing its way. As soon as this perfection is attained, no change can be made without removing farther from it; and this is exactly our case.

To the honour of the female Parisians I must say, that about five years since they had attained the degree of perfection of which I am speaking. Their dress at that time combined simplicity, ele|| gance, good taste, and gracefulness. They exhibited to us an image of those lovely Grecian women whose charms are celebrated in history. Their garments seemed to have been designed by the pencil of the Graces, and their head-dress was at once simple and noble.

Why has the genius of inconstancy obliged the sex to abandon so seducing a costume? Custom you know requires change, they have therefore changed in compliance with its dictates. Every day, introducing a new fashion, has destroyed a charm; every day has beheld a grace supplanted by something ridiculous, and caprice has succeeded good taste.

The sex cannot be too thoroughly convinced that absurdity kills taste, and that simplicity will always have just claims to embellish even beauty itself. The caprices of fashion, so far from increasAing the influence which women pretend to exer

At a masquerade during the carnival, I met with a lady of my acquaintance, a young and a very handsome woman; but what terms can express the charms with which she was on that day adorned! No, never did I see such brilliancy, such vivacity; never did I behold a physiognomy more open, more interesting, more animated eyes, a more sweetly smiling mouth. It was not the same person, but one of those airy nymphs with whom the voluptuous imagination of the poets has embellished the banks of the Eurotas. All eyes were fixed upon her. What was the reason of this extraordinary change? A dress proscribed by custom for several years, the wearing of which nothing but the carnival could then sanction. simple shepherdess's hat of white straw, placed rather backward on the head, a tuft of flowers, hair gracefully flowing-such was the talisman that created these new charms in Zephirina! "What a pity" said I, coming up to her, "that you cannot always wear a hat which becoms you so well!" "At any other time than a masquerade," said she, smiling, "I should be thought ridiculous." "I know it,” replied I, "but then how handsome you would look!"

Hence it appears that there are extremely pleasing fashions, which custom absolutely proscribes, and that there are others equally ridiculous which No. XV. Vol. II.

cise over our sex, only serve very often to render them ridiculous or ugly. I will mention but one example out of a thousand. Ought not the figure of the head to be oval? Should not every thing which alters this figure, be considered as detracting from nature? What then are we to think of those bonnets that project both before and behind, and give the head of a woman, seen in profile, the form of a hammer! Have savages ever invented any thing more ridiculous?

The time when the women of Greece acted such a distinguished part, when they received the homage of the greatest men, was when the sim.

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