classical tragedies; yet, in reading, I did not think it would be very interesting in acting: I was deceived, for I found it very much so, although there is no plot, no story in it, and little development of character. Gloster is very much what I should think Cooke and Kean made Richard III.-not the bold and courageous Plantagenet, but the plotting underminer of his nephews' throne. The two children are taken quite from Shakspere, but they are introduced more frequently than Shakspere introduces them. Their mother Elizabeth is, however, quite a new character. The piece is well written, but wants power; it is touching, but not striking; and there are in it passages, word for word from Shakspere.

As to the performance, I must tell you, that our principal object in going was, to see Mademoiselle Mars. We did not care what play we saw her in, and it happened to be this of Delavigne's, which I had read. I was delighted with the long-celebrated actress. She has not the least rant, but a simple, earnest, and tender style of acting, which is truly enchanting. I should not call her very handsome, but she has a very sweet expression of countenance, and her voice is soft and touching, an admirable thing in woman," and extremely rare among Frenchwomen. On another evening, we went to the Opéra Comique; it is a pretty theatre, and very much frequented: we saw the Domino Noir-a very amusing piece, in which there is some good music, and Madame Cinti-Damoreau sang very sweetly in it. However, this gave me but little pleasure in comparison with another evening at the theatre, when I was truly delighted by a new and most astonishingly talented actress. She is a Mademoiselle Rachel, of whom you must have read something in the newspapers in England, and she performs at the Theatre Français, in tragedy. The play was Bajazet—far from being one of Racine's best ; but everything that is unfavourable to it was forgotten in the interest Roxana's part excited, as played by Rachel. Her style of acting is abrupt and impassioned, full of the strength of genius. She is really wonderful, for she

cannot be more than twenty years of age, if so much; and how she can have acquired the power of entering into the conceptions of others, and of delineating the passions at her age, is but little short of the inspiration of such gifted beings as Chatterton. What force she gave to passages which, in reading, seem nothing! I cannot but think her conception of the character of Roxana even superior to the author's. She is a Jewess by birth, I am told, and was, like the late Kean, brought up in the lowest walks of life-they do say she was a ballad-singer on the Boulevards-but, of course, of persons of this kind so many absurd reports get into circulation, that I only ask you to believe of her what I tell youthat she is a woman of great genius. I do not think her pretty-indeed, some persons call her plain-but her talent and passion triumph over all things. Her voice, though not sweet, like that of Mademoiselle Mars, is deep and expressive -and so much for the theatre, and for an evening of very great enjoyment in seeing this gifted person perform.

You are not displeased that I have had a little more gaiety than a triste pension generally permits; and now I shall return to my reading very quietly, giving you always an account of it. But, speaking of books, I must tell you a very droll thing. I asked a person who was purchasing some to procure me "Montaigne's Essays," which I had heard spoken of as something very admirable-they have been sent to me -and I am quite disconcerted at the possession I have acquired. Four volumes of old French, on rambling subjects, apparently like an old English book I have seen, called "Plutarch's Morals," a sufficiently tedious thing. I feel exceedingly like Sir Andrew Aguecheek, after he had sent his challenge, and discovered that his opponent was valiant. Plague on't, had I thought he was so voluminous, I'd have seen him burnt, ere I'd have purchased him!" But, no matter-Shakspere, they say, read Montaigne, and liked him ; so I must try to read a little of him on that account, if on no other; however, I shall not read him here, but attend to

more modern writers, who influence the taste, and, perhaps, the morals of the present day.

You are interested in the preachers of whom I have spoken, and I must tell you, that the last time I was at the Oratoire I heard a strangely unorthodox sermon; it was against the eternity of future punishments. The line of argument of the preacher was, of course, similar to that of Dr. Smith, in his book on the Divine government of the world, but necessarily much condensed, and mingled with passages of declamation to make it effective. I always thought that there was much that is mere special pleading, and much that is extremely fallacious, in Dr. Smith's book; and I found precisely the same faults with the sermon of which I speak. How is it that they do not perceive that this is a weapon which cuts both ways? That, taking away eternity from what we choose to call punishment, we must take it from what we are pleased to call reward after this life! And, yet further, the preacher's reasoning seemed to me useless, when he declared that the effects, the consequences of evil, never ceased. Now, the consequences of evil are the punishment of evil: if these last eternally, is not the punishment eternal ?

Had he confined himself to the consequences of evil in this life, and not touched on the sacred ground of that which must be left to the Just Judge of all the earth, his sermon would, in my mind, have been a very useful one. It was, indeed, most true, with reference to this life, what he said of time— "That that employed in going back to repair evil, might have been employed in advancing—that employed in undoing the evil done, in doing good—and the moment not seized on for advancing, for doing good, is lost for life." It appears to me, then, that if man were taught that punishment is ever near in the consequences of wrong, the Hell which has been placed beyond this life at hand at every moment, the effect would be more impressive than is that of a state of punishment altogether unknown to us, almost inconceivable by us in the present life. With all this, I am not the least inclined

to join with those who argue, that the words everlasting and eternal do not mean everlasting and eternal. Although they may be used sometimes in the Bible for things which do not endure eternally, I can never doubt that our Saviour used them in the literal sense of eternal, when he spoke of future rewards and punishments.

One Sunday I deserted the Oratoire, and went with some of the ladies of this house to a little chapel in the Rue Taitbout, very near this. The service was much more simple than that of the other: it was in French also, but it seemed to me more calvinistic than lutheran. I was very much impressed by it, and this effect was not diminished by the singing of some simple hymns, without accompaniment, by the ladies of the congregation. I think I shall be inclined to visit this place more frequently.

I find myself more at home here than when I wrote last. My companions are all very kind and agreeable, but most of them being English, we are too much inclined to indulge ourselves in speaking our native tongue when we get into familiar chat.

I can learn nothing of the M.s, nor of their dispersed household. I am very sorry for it, because there were many belonging to it in whom I was interested; and I know not the address of the kind old curé, or I should endeavour to learn something from him. I think he lived in the country, for I remember that he surprised me very much by telling me that he walked eight miles every time he came to Madame M.'s. The B.ş, also, I shall now see very little of, I am at so great a distance from them; and it is both difficult and unpleasant to visit persons at a great distance, or to visit them often when one is a pensionnaire in so large a place as Paris. I shall not forget old friends, however, should I never see them. Do I ever forget to give you some kind of news of me? Do not you, then, forget your punctuality.

Good bye!

M

LETTER XXI.

MY DEAR MOTHER,

Paris, December 5, 183—,

I HAD Some letters from Marshal Macdonald, after he left Paris, and on his return, a short time ago, to the capital, our former intercourse was renewed, and I have since breakfasted and dined with him more than once. A few days ago he took me with him to St. Denis, to breakfast with the Countess de Bourgoing, to whom, I told you formerly, that I had been introduced. I have met her more than once at his house, and she has always been extremely kind to me. I also formerly described to you the Maison Royale of St. Denis, so that I need not do so again, but I assure you, I saw it all again with much interest, and think still more highly of the establishment. The Marshal called to take me in his carriage at an early hour, for he is, even now that his health has become infirm, a very early riser, having preserved vigorously his industrious, orderly, soldierly, habits. All that he regrets, indeed, is, that he ever in any way relinquished them, and took, what are called habitudes de bureau; these were necessarily forced on him, when under Louis the XVIII. he became Chancellor of the Legion of Honour. In that office he continued seventeen years; at the revolution of July, he resigned it, and being now, what he loves to be, free from trammels, he returns to his former mode of life as much as possible; still, Paris is unfavourable to his perfect independence, and it is in the country alone that he thoroughly enjoys himself.

We had a very pleasant breakfast with Madame la Surintendante, the Countess's title there, and when it was over, we went to her drawing-room, where she took her seat like a