Prince Metternich and the Duke of Wellington; but not wishing to speak ill of the living when he can help it, he withholds many statements respecting those two distinguished individuals, which are currently circulated in society. In every page of his Memoirs M. Ouvrard seems to say, “I have plundered, it is true; that's part of my business as a contractor. Napoleon robbed me twenty times; but I do not choose to submit to be robbed by the blockheads who are at the head of our government. They shall pay me what they owe me (about 13,000,000 of francs, of which M. de Villele some time ago boasted of having deprived Ouvrard.) Napoleon was a great man, and moreover a despot; but the present ministers are a set of fools. They are plunderers, as bad as I, or even worse. But the liberty of the press still remains; and, by heaven! I will bespatter them with dirt, if they do not pay me my 13,000,000."

But M. Ouvrard's case cannot of course be so interesting and amusing in England as it is in France. I will therefore make an end of the matter, and relate to you a ludicrous little adventure which took place at the house of oue of our ministers, who is remarkahle for the gravity and hauteur of his manners. He invited to dinner a poet, a member of the Institute, a man distinguished for excessive diffidence and absence of mind, and who, like the master of the house is a good Jesuit. The poet, somewhat astonished at receiving an invitation from his Excellency, made his appearance in the dress worn by the members of the Institute, consisting of a black coat, embroidered with green silk, and a sword. What was his consternation when, on entering the drawing-room, he found that he was the only person in official costume, all the rest of the company being in plain dresses. The sword which dangled awkwardly by his side, striking his legs and impeding every motion, was the most inconvenient part of his costume; and when the company were summoned to the dining-room, he contrived to remain behind the rest, and taking his sword from his side, he hid it under the cushions of an ottoman. Dinner being ended, the company again returned to the drawing-room, and the wife of the minister and some other ladies seated themselves on the ottoman. About nine o'clock the company began to depart, and only a few of the minister's particu lar friends remained. This was the fitting moment for the poet to take his departure, but he still kept his seat.

At eleven o'clock almost all the company were gone; and when twelve came, the poet was left alone with the minister and his wife. His Excellency naturally concluded that his guest had some favour to solicit; but at length finding that he said not a word, he wished him good night and left him alone with his wife. The lady, who was still reclining on the ottoman, was not a little astonished at the poet's protracted visit. The poor member of the Institute, overwhelmed with confusion, was very silent and very dull, and at length the lady, oppressed with drowsiness, closed her eyes. The poet thought this a favourable moment for regaining possession of his sword. He cautiously approached the lady, and putting his hand beneath the cushion, seized the hilt of his sword; but not having reached the scabbard, he drew out only the unsheathed blade. To facilitate this awful operation, the poet knelt down, and just as he had extricated his sword from its hiding place, the point touched the lady's foot. She opened her eyes, and what was her amazement to behold the poet on his knees, pale and trembling, and holding a drawn sword in his hand, pointed towards her. I will not transcribe the very curious prayer which some ill-natured persons affirm, was uttered by the devout minister's lady on this occasion. She thought herself about to be murdered by an insane lover. The poet stammered out an unintelligible explanation, and hastily retreated sword in hand, while the lady in her terror exclaimed that he was a monster. The friends of the minister affirm that this is an old story, that the affair happened two or three years ago, and that a celebrated geometrician was the hero of the adventure. But the real fact is, that the fatal dinner took place last week.

All our small fry of literature sine nomine vulgus are at present highly inte

rested about M. Raynouard, a man of intriguing spirit, and the author of a tolerably good tragedy entitled Les Templiers. This production procured him admission into the French Academy, and by dint of intrigue he at length obtained the post of perpetual secretary; that is to say, chief of a literary institution which formerly enjoyed such high reputation. From 1700 to 1782, the situation of Secretary of the Academy was successively filled by Duclos and Dalembert, and, for some time after, the post was the ne plus ultra of the ambition of literary men. But honours of this kind have greatly diminished in importance, now that reason estimates their value, and the public scarcely bestow a thought on the disputes of M. Auger and Roger and their unfortunate antagonist M. Raynouard. It is said that the late Perpetual Secretary of the Academy wished to oppose a new clection still more ridiculous than those of MM. Guiraud, Droz, and Briffaut.

Fashion, which in France reigns paramount, has ordained that every body shall read a little volume which is very annoying to the government, and is sold at the low price of fifty centimes. It contains the whole of the Marriage of Figaro, the Henriade, the Vert-vert of Gresset, very neatly printed. Another work, which has had a very extensive sale, is a Biographie des Ministres des Bourbons, from the year 1814. This work, which is the production of M. Lagarde, is written in a singularly bold style: every word tells. An Englishman who wishes to make himself acquainted with the history of France from 1814 to 1826, should procure a copy of this little volume. Lagarde tells every thing; and he puts out of date and renders ridiculous the many huge volumes which have been published on the same subject, and whose authors have been afraid to speak out. A foreigner who wishes to form an idea of the events which took place between the years 1814 and 1826, should be aware that almost every thing that has been published on the subject has been paid for by the Bourbons. The only books that can be relied on are-1st, The Abbe de Pradt's pamphlet on the Restoration of 1814, which was brought about by the weakness of Alexander, who, in the space of a week, changed his opinion no less than three times-2d, Carnot's Memoire, addressed to the King, which appeared in 1815-3d. The Annuaire, by M. Le Sur, which is a record of events, on the plan of your Annual Register; and 4th, the little work by Lagarde, above alluded to, which is a collection of truths. The Duke de Richelieu, who was a man of limited talent, but extremely zealous, left behind him some Memoires, but they were so unfavourable to Charles X.* that for a long time the Duke's family would not suffer them to be printed. The Duke de Choiseul has just consented to the publication of four volumes of the Letters of Madame de Maintenon and the Princess des Ursins. The former was united, by a left-handed marriage, to Louis XIV., and the latter was the powerful favourite of the imbecile Philip V. This book has been only a few days out. It is said that Louis XV. was very anxious that it should never be printed; and, now that it is printed, probably nobody will read it. The correspondence commences in 1705 and ends in 1714, the period during which Marlborough triumphed and France suffered the greatest misfortunes. In no succession of letters is the word frankness more frequently employed, and yet never were two beings more distrustful than the writers. The real object of the correspondence was to keep Louis XIV. in the dark respecting all that took place at the court of his grandson Philip V. The old king, who proved himself very incompetent to manage his own affairs, was ambitious of directing the government of Spain from his palace at Versailles. This correspondence affords a faithful picture of the court of an old despot, who rendered his subjects unhappy, and was equally unhappy himself. Such was the monarchy which existed at the period of the Revolution of 1789. Madame la Trenouille des Ursins writes better, and evinces much greater

During the reign of Louis XVIII. Charles X. was at the head of the secret government, which was courageously denounced by M. Nadier de Montjaud of Nismes.

talent, than the widow of Scarron. Both speak very ill of the princes with whom they were connected, and accuse them of the blackest ingratitude. The indisposition of a princess, the daughter of Louis XV., once agitated all Paris; but things are changed, and now when a king dies people coolly say, Perhaps his successor will be better. The sovereigns of Europe have forfeited public respect through the indifference with which they have viewed the massacres in Greece; and it may be truly said that more changes, moral and political, have taken place between the reign of Louis XV. and the present day, than there were from the time of Charles VII. to that of Louis XV.

The account of the expedition of the English in Egypt, by M. de Noé, has been read, because the author is a peer of France. M. de Noé was, during the expedition, a captain in the English army which opposed Bonaparte. He discloses some curious facts, and his work is rather entertaining. This cannot be said of the Traité de Legislation, or Exposition of the Laws by which mankind prosper, decay, or remain stationary, by M Charles Comte, the author of the Censeur Européen. The title of the work is certainly imposing enough. The author, who is a good meaning sort of man, was long exiled from France, and was persecuted in Switzerland by the Holy Alliance. But these good-meaning authors do not take sufficient pains to render them. selves agreeable to their readers. They think they have discovered the true secret of making laws, by which mankind will be rendered happy. The vanity natural to authors persuades them that nothing is more useful than their books, which unluckily often happen to be quite unintelligible. Montesquieu and his commentator Count de Tracy have spoiled us in this class of composition; we must have talent, or at least perfect intelligibility. M. Comte is more obscure than Jeremy Bentham, and he does not so decidedly adopt the great principle of general utility.

I shall not say much about the Memoires of Prince de Montbarey, Minister of War in the reign of Louis XVI. The book will no doubt appear in an English translation. People read it chiefly with the view of ridiculing the author. The more he tries to justify the measures he records, the more severely he satirizes the old system. All our journals have quoted Montbarey's portrait of M. Necker, who, at the period alluded to by the author, had just been appointed to the office of Director of the Royal Treasury. He had formerly been the partner of the banker Thelusson, by whom he is said to have been pensioned. This word pensioned irritates the pride of poor Montbarey. Unreflecting people, who cannot read Miguet's History of the French Revolution, find a hundred proofs of the moral necessity of that revolution in the "memoires" of the distinguished persons who figured about the close of the eighteenth century-works which the booksellers hunt out from the archives of all our great families. The Memoires of M. de Montbarey are very amusing from the excessive vanity and self-sufficiency of the author, who, in spite of himself, possesses the merit of speaking truth--the very first recommendation in a writer of "memoires."

The

There is a great deal of truth, and consequently a great deal of interest, in the Letters of a Spaniard, a novel recently published by M. Viardot. Spaniards prefer misery to labour, and M. Viardot exhibits them as carrying this principle to a singular excess. It would require no little exertion on the part of the Spaniards to rid themselves of the disgusting insect the cimex. But instead of endeavouring to relieve themselves from this annoyance, they are content with invoking St. Ponce, who in Heaven fills the post of counsel against bugs. Such is the official title which this saint enjoys in Spain !

There was an amusing sitting of the French Academy on the 5th of June. M. Cuvier, who has always prostrated himself to power, delivered an eloge on M. de Lacépède, the friend of Buffon, and Grand Chancellor of the Legion of Honour, the talisman which has operated so powerfully on French vanity, and for which we are indebted to Lucien and Napoleon Buonaparte. M. de Lacépède was an amiable and exceedingly charitable man; but one of the

most unblushing flatterers of Napoleon. He was a senator, and he proposed that the senate should assent to the conscriptions demanded by the Conqueror of Wagram and Jena. Cuvier, who is himself devoted to power, took care to say nothing in dispraise of a flatterer of it. The address was instructive and amusing, on account of the situation of the speaker.

M. Fourrier, who is celebrated in the scientific world as the author of the work on Heat, delivered a dull eulogium on Ferdinand Breguet, the famous watch-maker. But the most amusing part of the sitting was a speech by M. Dupin, the well-known author of the Voyage en Angleterre, which he has ingeniously contrived to get puffed every month in all the journals of Paris and the departments. Unfortunately for M. Dupin, he attempted to appear very clever in treating of the sense of hearing in its relations with the arts of literature. M. Dupin repeated in a sentimental style all the nonsense respecting the delightful influence of music, which our petty journals have daily dealt out in their accounts of Weber's death, and the pretended poisoning of Mozart by Salieri. Two or three times the andience were ready to burst into a fit of laughter; and whenever M. Dupin observed this, he hastily turned over eight or ten leaves of his manuscript. Never was there a more complete and ridiculous failure. Never did a man, wishing to appear clever, exhibit a more melancholy want of talent. But, in spite of all this, the journals were next morning full of the great effect whcih had been produced by Baron Dupin's address. Paris is a droll city. These little tricks and quackeries render it the most amusing place in the world; but people must be very sharp-sighted to discover all that is going on.

In the higher ranks of society here, English books are much read; and they are the more prized, because they are sold at an exorbitant price in Paris. To speak about Woodstock during the first week of its appearance in London, was at once a mark of fashion and literary taste. But the work has been thought dull, and has not been liked here. On the other hand, Denham's Travels in Africa have been read with the liveliest interest, and there has been a great demand for copies. Galignani has just published one of the prettiest volumes that Didot's press has this year produced. It contains the complete collection of Lord Byron's works. The French say of your dis tinguished countryman, that he was by turns a coxcomb, a madmar, and a great poet, and that one of the motives of his journey to Greece was to rid himself of the society of his last mistress.

The conversation of Marshal d'Hoquincourt, and the Jesuit Father Conaye, the best of Saint Evremont's works, has just been reprinted.

A new edition of Samuel, Inventeur du Sacre des Rois, by Count Volney, has also appeared. This is a most learned and entertaining little work. It prevented Louis XVIII. from getting himself anointed; for that Prince had not courage to brave ridicule.

I need not say any thing about the Memoires of the Duke de Gaète, Minister of Finance under Napoleon, and who has contrived to obtain under the Bourbons a place worth one hundred thousand francs. He is still living, and therefore his book is full of misrepresentations. "Memoires," particularly in France, are never worth any thing, except when the author writes with the certainty of their not being published until after his death. The Memoires of the Duke de Gaète (his name was Gaudin before he was raised to the Dukedom) are full of blanks. This book throws some useful light on the history of finance during the reign of Napoleon; but there are two men infinitely better qualified to write such a history than M. Gaudin, and these are MM. Ouvrard and Seguin.

A new novel called Cinq Mars has just made its appearance here. It is the production of Count Alfred de Vigny, and is full of affectation. Sir Walter Scott's novels have been more successful here than any that have been published since 1814. He has had a host of imitators in France, and MM. Sismondi, Keratry, Salvandi, &c. have by turns presented us with historical novels. M. Vigny has undertaken to pourtray Cardinal Richelieu, one

of the greatest characters modern history presents. The Cardinal in his dying moments still overpowers the feebleness of Louis XIII. the unworthy son of Henry IV. Louis XIII. induces Cinq Mars to conspire against the Prime Minister, who gets him beheaded. This subject might have been rendered admirable, had the author adopted a natural and simple style, and availed himself of a greater degree of historical research. M. de Vigny is already advantageously known to the public as a poet. Cinq Mars has reached a second edition, and a third is preparing. De Vigny makes Richelieu and Louis XIII. express themselves in epigrams. When will this writer venture to be simple?

All our hired journals have received orders to get up jokes upon your elections. The Drapeau Blanc belongs to Baron de Danas, a short-robed Jesuit, and the Minister for Foreign Affairs. The Etoile is in the pay of M. de Peyronnet, the Keeper of the Seals; the Journal de Paris is M. de Villele's ; and the Gazette de France, the dullest journal in the world, is supported by Corbière. I mention these particulars, that you may not be imposed on by the falsehoods which these paltry journals set forth against Sir Robert Wilson and other Englishmen who are respected in France. Never was there a more despicable and stupid assembly than our present Chamber of Deputies. It is not even good enough to satisfy the ministers. They dread a comparison between it and the House of Commons which you are now electing. Thus it is easy to account for the triumphant manner in which our hired journals have quoted and commented on the letter addressed to Mr. Wells, offering freemen at five guineas each. But in spite of such abuses, if our Chamber possessed one half the virtue and talent of your English House of Commons, France would enjoy a degree of happiness which she will not probably attain for twenty years to come. An immense majority of the Members of our Chambers are maintained by the taxes, and must be the slaves of the minister under pain of losing half their incomes.

An English performer named Cooke has lately appeared with extraordinary success at the Theatre de la Porte Saint Martin. The piece in which he has performed is a melo-drama, entitled "Le Monstre," taken from Mrs. Shelley's romance of Frankenstein. National vanity has at length permitted an EngJish actor to appear on a Parisian stage; but I shall return to this subject in my next letter."

DE SISMONDI ON THE EXTERMINATION OF THE GREEKS.

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THE fermentation produced in Great Britain by a general election has now subsided the distress among the manufacturing classes has been relieved; the laws relating to Corn, Catholic Emancipation, and the amelioration of the condition of the Negroes, are adjourned, at all events, until a new Parliament assembles; and the moment is now doubtless arrived when England is to give her attention to the fearful crisis of the affairs of Greece, the misfortunes of which will cast a stain on the present century, as deep as the massacre of St. Bartholomew, or the extermination of the Albigenses, have thrown upon ages more barbarous, though less culpable, than our own. It is time for England to inquire what she ought to do what humanity, honour, religion, and policy demand of her.

Throughout the rest of Europe attention is sufficiently called to the condition of Greece: no other subject has ever excited such a powerful sensation. The very peasants throughout Switzerland and Germany inquire with anxiety, when their affairs call them to market, what are the last news from Athens or Napoli di Romania; and they never return to their villages without having contributed from their pittance something which may aid in procuring assistance for their brethren in Greece. In France, subscriptions have been opened, and money solicited throughout every town, in behalf of a Christian nation