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of bullock's plucks, and teapot spouts for arms. It is in vain to attempt to argue these poor people out of the supposed extraordinary nature of their sterns, and noses, and arms; and perhaps it may be equally impracticable to persuade Mr. Grey, that he is not reproachable with wit, the fancied wickedness of which will doubtless embitter his last hour. But though Mr. Grey is not a wicked wit, he is a prodigious philosopher. His discoveries are, indeed, surprising. Doubtless much has been said of OBLIVION Since the beginning of things; but it was reserved for this wicked wit to find out that "OBLIVION, after all, is a just judge." (p. 11.) What does he mean? Surely a delicate compliment to the venerable chancellor who forgets causes. OBLIVION stands for Eldon. The qualities of oblivion are certainly, when we come to consider it, highly judicial. But if it, after all, be a good judge, we think that Anticipation, before all, is a good Recorder. This is a pleasant manner of writing: we have half a mind to adopt it. There is what the Americans call a slick-right-away manner in it, which is vastly engaging. No one has, we believe, ever composed or said any thing upon EXPERience. It is an intact subject—a virgin topic. It has never been whispered, that all men like to purchase their own experience, just as epicures like to buy their own fish, on the full assurance that they will be the losers by their bargains. It has never been uttered that every one is above making use of secondhand experience; that we prefer paying the first price for it; and having the taste of the sin, together with the advantage of the knowledge. There being this void in moral philosophy, Mr. Grey thus supplies the deficiency:—

EXPERIENCE Word so lightly used, so little understood! Experience,-mysterious spirit! whose result is felt by all, whose nature is described by none. The father warns the son of your approach, and sometimes looks to you as his offspring's cure, and his own consolation. We hear of you in the nursery-we hear of you in the world-we hear of you in books; but who has recognised you until he was your subject, and who has discovered the object of so much fame, until he has kissed your chain? To gain you is the work of all, and the curse of all; you are at the same time necessary to our happiness, and destructive of our felicity; you are the saviour of all things, and the destroyer of all things; our best friend, and our bitterest enemy; for you teach us truth, and that truth is despair. Ye youth of England, would that ye

could read this riddle!

The thing's impossible. The sphynx was a poor simple-minded creature compared with our genius. The youth of England are not a generation of Edipuses. We will give them a puzzle more proper for their parts.

BIRCH-word, so lightly used, so little understood! Birch-mysterious spirit! Whose result is felt by all, whose nature is described by none. The father warns the son of your approach, and sometimes looks to you as his offspring's cure, and his own consolation. We hear of you in the nurseries-we hear of you in the world-we hear of you in brooms; but who has recognized you until he was your subject, and who has discovered the object of so much fame until he has kissed your rod. Ye youth of England, would that ye could read this riddle!

"The genealogy of Experience," ingeniously adds Mr. Grey, "is brief; for Experience is the child of Thought, and Thought is the child of Action." And Action is the child of Thought, and, handy

"Sometimes one, some

dandy, which is the father, which is the son?
times to'ther." But marry, this is philosophy.
We are now in possession of two notable truths-
That Oblivion is a just judge.

That Experience is little master Thought, and the grandchild of Action.

And we may add to these, that "indifference is the boon of sorrow; for none look forward to the future with indifference, who do not look back to the past with dread." (p. 17.) Read it either way, and it is equally sound. Like the domestic contrivance called a cat, the proposition is as much on its legs when turned topsy turvey, as in its original order. "None look back to the past with indifference, that do not look forward to the future with dread." How does the just judge Oblivion feel in these cases? Poor fellow, he has not got a past to his back. He stands on a fore quarter, and gives his decisions as the Lord Chancellor both retires and performs in the paulo-post future tense. He sets the scourge of conscience at defiance, for he has not the posternal rump whereon she is wont to bestow her favours. Of the nature of HAPPINESS we had not the slightest conception, till we read the writings of Mr. Grey, who confidently informs us that it is A TALISMAN-(p. 17.)—a poetic idea, which the reader will observe is as original, as that of the judicial capacity of OBLIVION is profound.

Of grammar, too, we had but very imperfect notions before we took up this book, wherein we find this mode of speech," really these burghers have managed the business exceedingly bad," p. 35. Again, p. 140, “no one now will own, by any chance, they're ever wrong.'

In similes the author is particularly refined-" the soft thought dwelt on his soul only for an instant-as the shadow of a nightingale flits over the moonlit moss." Nightingales never come amiss. It is always so pretty to talk of nightingales. The shadow of a bat, or an owl, would have served the purpose of the simile quite as well, but the bare mention of a nightingale melts a Christian reader's heart.

But in giving a passing notice of these rare beauties we are neglecting the story, about which, however, it is not our intention to say much, simply because it is an extremely fatiguing task to give a detailed account of a series of outrageous improbabilities, inconsistencies, and extravagances. It is like reporting a dream, or this nonsense story by Foote "So she went into the garden to cut a cabbage leaf, to make an apple-pie, and at the same time a great she-bear coming up the street, pops its head into the shop- what, no soap?' So he died, and she very imprudently married the barber," &c.

In the first volume of the second part, Mr. Grey, who is travelling in Germany, visits Ems, where he contracts an intimacy with a Baron Konigstein, and forms an acquaintance with two Englishwomen of the usual circulating library manufacture, Lady Madelina Trevor and Miss Fane. The baron is a very gentlemanly well-informed man, who has but one fault, namely, that he cheats at cards, for which, however, he is extremely sorry, when he is found out. On being detected, lest this failing should be imagined "his custom in the afternoon," he tells Mr. Grey that he has been most unjustly suspected of having fleeced Miss Fane's brother in England; but that in fact, he, the baron, was robbed of his honour, and ruined in his sleep, thus: he

went to a play party, consisting of his own acquaintances, in the capacity of guardian angel to his imprudent friend, young Fane; and happening to slumber, most unlike a protecting cherub, on the sofa, the sharpers won the youth's money, and people were malicious enough to suppose, that the baron was concerned in the conspiracy. Stung to the quick, the baron returned to the Continent, and being in want of cash, and a friend having proposed the expedient of cheating at cards, the baron adopts the suggestion, and makes the attempt we have described, but behaves in the most genteel manner on detection. This is all very absurd as respects the character of the man; but the scene of the fraud is well worked up, and the machinery of the trick is ingenious. Observe how an idle story introduces the cards.

"It's the chevalier's turn now [for a story]. Come, de Baffleurs-a choice one!" "I remember a story Prince Salvinski once told me."

"No, no-that's too bad-none of that Polish bear's romances; if we have his stories, we may as well have his company."

"But it's a very curious story," continued the chevalier, with a little animation. "Oh! so is every story, according to the storier."

"I think, von Koningstein, you imagine no one can tell a story but yourself," said de Baffleurs, actually indignant. Vivian had never heard him speak so much before, and really began to believe that he was not quite an automaton.

"Let's have it!" said St. George.

"It's a story told of a Polish nobleman-a count somebody-I never can remember their crack-jaw names. Well! the point is this," said the silent little chevalier, who apparently, already repented of the boldness of his offer, and, misdoubting his powers, wished to begin with the end of his tale, "the point is this-he was playing one day at écarté with the governor of Wilna-the stake was trifling; but he had a bet, you see, with the governor, of a thousand roubles; a bet with the governor's secretary— never mind the amount, say two hundred and fifty, you see; then, he went on the turn up with the commandant's wife; and took the pips on the trumps with the archbishop of Warsaw. To understand the point of the story, you see, you must have a distinct conception how the game stood. You see, St. George, there was the bet with the governor, one thousand roubles; the governor's secretary-never mind the amount, say two hundred and fifty; the turn-up with the commandant's lady, and the pips with the archbishop of Warsaw. Proposed three times-one for the king-the governor drew ace-the governor was already three and the ten. When the governor

scored king, the archbishop gave the odds-drew knave queen one hand-the count offered to propose fourth time-governor refused. King to six, ace fell to knave— queen cleared on-governor lost, besides bets with the whole etat-major; the secretary gave his bill; the commandant's lady pawned her jewels; and the archbishop was done on the pips!"

"By Jove, what a Salvinski!"

"How many trumps had the governor?" asked St. George.

"Three," said the chevalier.

"Then it's impossible: I don't believe the story; it couldn't be."

"I beg your pardon," said the chevalier; " you see the governor had-" "For heaven's sake, don't let us have it all over again!" said the baron.

"Well!

if this be your model for an after-dinner anecdote, which ought to be as piquant as an anchovy toast, I'll never complain of your silence in future. I'm sure you never learnt this in the Palais Royal!'

"The story's a true story," said the chevalier; "have you got a pack of cards, von Konigstein? I'll show it you."

"There is not such a thing in the room," said the baron.

"Well, I never heard of a room without a pack of cards before," said the chevalier; "I'll send for one to my own apartments."

"Ob! by-the-bye, perhaps Ernstorff has got a pack. Here Ernstorff, have you

got a pack of cards? That's good; bring it immediately."

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The cards were brought, and the chevalier began to fight his battle over again; but could not satisfy Mr. St. George. You see there was the bet with the governor, and the pips, as I said before, with the archbishop of Warsaw."

My dear de Baffleurs, let's no more of this. If you like to have a game of

écarté with St. George, well and good; but as for quarrelling the whole evening about some blundering lie of Salvinski's, it really is too much. You two can play, and I can talk to Don Vivian, who, by-the-bye, is rather of the rueful countenance to-night. Why, my dear fellow, I haven't heard your voice this evening-frightened by the fate of the archbishop of Warsaw, I suppose?

"Ecarté is so devilish dull," said St. George, " and it's such a trouble to deal." "I'll deal for both, if you like," said de Baffleurs; "I'm used to dealing." "Oh! no-I won't play écarté; let's have something in which we can all join." "Rouge-et-noir," suggested the chevalier, in a careless tone, as if he had no taste for the amusement.

"There isn't enough-is there?" asked St. George.

"Oh! two are enough, you know-one deals,-much more four."

"Well, I don't care-rouge-et-noir then-let's have rouge-et-noir:-von Konigstein, what say you to rouge-et-noir? De Baffleurs says we can play it here very well. Come, Grey!

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"Oh! rouge-et-noir, rouge-et-noir," said the baron; "haven't you both had rouge-et-noir enough? A'n't I to be allowed one holiday. Well! any thing to please you; so rouge-et noir if it must be so."

"If all wish it, I have no objection," said Vivian.

"Well then, let's sit down; Ernstorff has, I dare say, another pack of cards, and St. George will be dealer, I know he likes that ceremony."

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No, no, I appoint the chevalier."

Very well," said de Baffleurs; "the plan will be for two to bank against the table; the table to play on the same colour by joint agreement. You can join me, von Konigstein, and pay to receive with me, from Mr. St. George and Grey.'

"I'll bank with you, if you like, chevalier," said Vivian, very quietly.

"Oh! certainly, Mr. Grey-certainly, Grey-most certainly; that is if you likebut perhaps the baron is more used to banking; you perhaps don't understand it." "Perfectly; it appears to me to be very simple."

"No-don't you bank, Grey," said St. George; "I want you to play with me against the chevalier and the baron-I like your luck."

"Luck is very capricious, remember, Mr. St. George."

"Oh, no! I like your luck; I like your luck-don't bank." "Be it so."

Playing commenced: an hour elapsed, and the situation of none of the parties was materially different to what it had been when they began the game. Vivian proposed leaving off; but Mr. St. George avowed that he felt very fortunate, and that he had a presentiment that he should win. Another hour elapsed, and he had lost considerably. Eleven o'clock.-Vivian's luck had also forsaken him. Mr. St. George was losing desperately-Midnight-Vivian had lost back half his gains on the season. George still more desperate; all his coolness had deserted him. He had persisted obstinately against a run on the red; then floundered, and got entangled in a see-saw, which alone cost him a thousand.

St.

Ernstorff now brought in refreshments; and for a moment they ceased playing. The baron opened a bottle of champaign; and St. George and the chevalier were stretching their legs and composing their minds in very different ways-the first in walking rapidly up and down the room, and the other by lying very quietly at his full length on the sofa. Vivian was employed in building houses with the cards.

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Grey," said the Chevalier de Baffleurs; "I can't imagine why you don't for a moment try to forget the cards; that's the only way to win. Never sit musing over

the table."

But Grey was not to be persuaded to give up building his pagoda; which, now many stories high, like a more celebrated, but scarcely more substantial structure, fell with a crash. Vivian collected the scattered cards into two divisions.

"Now!" said the baron, seating himself; “for St. George's revenge."

The chevalier and the greatest sufferer took their places.

"Is Ernstorff coming in again, baron?" asked Vivian, very calmly.

"No! I think not.'

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"Let us be sure it's disagreeable to be disturbed at this time of night, and so interested as we are."

"Lock the door then," said St. George.

"A very good plan," said Vivian, and he locked it accordingly.

"Now, gentlemen," said Vivian, rising from the table, and putting both packs of cards into his pocket--" Now, gentlemen, I have another game to play." The chevalier started on his chair-the baron turned quite pale, but both were silent.

"Mr. St. George," continued Vivian, "I think you are in debt to the Chevalier de Baffleurs, upwards of two thousand pounds; and to Baron von Konigstein, something more than half that sum. I have to inform you, sir, that it is utterly unnecessary for you to satisfy the claims of either of these gentlemen, which are founded neither in law, nor in honour."

"Mr. Grey, what am I to understand?" asked the quiet Chevalier de Baffleurs, with the air of a wolf, and the voice of a lion.

"Understand, sir!" answered Vivian sternly; "that I am not one who will be bullied by a black-leg."

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Grey! good God! Grey! what do you mean?" asked the baron.

"That which it is my duty, not my pleasure, to explain, Baron von Konigstein." If you mean to insinuate," burst forth the chevalier, "if you mean to insinuate—” "I mean to insinuate nothing, sir; I leave insinuations and inuendos to shuffling chevaliers d'industrie. I mean to prove every thing."

Mr. St. George did not speak, but seemed as utterly astounded and overwhelmed as Baron von Konigstein himself; who, with his arm leaning on the table, bis hands clasped, and the forefinger of his right hand playing convulsively on his left, was pale as death, and did not even breathe.

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Gentlemen," said Vivian, “I shall not detain you long, though I have much to say that is to the purpose. I am perfectly cool, and, believe me, perfectly resolute. Let me recommend to you all the same temperament-it may be better for you. Rest assured, that if you flatter yourselves I am one to be pigeoned, and then bullied, you are mistaken. In one word, I am aware of every thing that has been arranged for the reception of Mr. St. George and myself this evening. Your marked cards are in my pocket, and can only be obtained by you with my life. Here are two of us against two; we are equally matched in number, and I, gentlemen, am armed. If I were not, you would not dare to go to extremities. Is it not, then, the wisest course to be temperate, my friends?"

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"This is some vile conspiracy of your own, fellow," said de Baffleurs; "marked cards, indeed! a pretty tale, forsooth! The ministers of a first-rate power playing with marked cards! The story will gain credit, and on the faith of whom? adventurer that no one knows; who, having failed this night in his usual tricks, and lost money which he cannot pay, takes advantage of the marked cards, which he has not succeeded in introducing, and pretends, forsooth, that they are those which he has stolen from our table; our own cards being, previously to his accusation, concealed in a secret pocket."

The impudence of the fellow staggered even Vivian. As for Mr. St. George, he stared like a wild man. Before Vivian could answer him, the baron had broke silence.

It was with the greatest effort that he seemed to dig his words out of bis breast. "No-no-this is too much! it is all over! I am lost; but I will not add crime to crime. Your courage and your fortune have saved you, Mr. Grey, and your friend, from the designs of villains."

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After this, the baron tells the story of the affair which gave rise to the unjust suspicion that before attached to him, and he is of course implicitly credited. Indeed, Mr. Grey is quite afflicted at the idea of having marred his scheme so rudely, and is made to think in this strain. Openly to have disgraced this man! How he had been deceived! His first crime"-[poor innocent]-" the first crime of such a being; of one who had suffered so much-so unjustly. Could he but have guessed the truth, he would have accused the baron in private." He would have said "my noble and honest friend, you know how I esteem your character, but really you must not cheat at cards. You may do what you please with me, Konigstein, except pick my pocket, and on my word that is not genteel behaviour, and it is what I cannot permit."

This baron is a man of prodigious talent and acquirement. He is as wise as the author himself! The author makes him speak, and then praises him in this manner for what he has spoken. The baron's lecture,” says he, was rather long, but certainly, unlike most other lecturers, he understood his subject." (p. 55.) This is praise

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