The Press.
London, England, 1856-12-27 00:00:00

Later in this same letter lie says:—

What is to be thought of this life, my friend ? Hear
the story of my last three days. After tormenting myself
with reflecting on my charmer's former loves, and rumi-
nating on parting with her, I went to her. 1 could not
conceal my being distressed. I told her I was very un-
happy, but I would not tell her why. She took this very
seriously, and was so much affected that she went next
morning and gave up her house. I went in the afternoon
and secured the house, and then drank tea with her.
She was much agitated; she said she was determined to
go and board herself in the north of England, and that I
used her very ill. I expostulated with her ; I was some•
times resolved to let her go, and sometimes my heart was
like to burst within me. I held her dear hand; her eyes
were full of passion ; I took her in my arms; I told her
what made me miserable ; she was pleased to find it was
nothing worse. She had imagined that I was suspicious
of her fidelity, and she thought that very ungenerous in re-
considering her behaviour. She said I should not mind
her faults before I knew her, since her conduct was now
most circumspect. We renewed our fondness. She
owned she loved me more than she had ever done her
husband. All was again well. She said she did not re-
proach me with my former follies, and we should be on
an equal footing. My mind all at once felt a spring;
I embraced her with transport. [The letter then proceeds
to say that the same evening he supped with some friends,
became intoxicated, and committed gross follies, which the
next day he went and confessed to his charmer in terms
which he thinks eloquent.]
A little later we have a characteristic re-
mark:—

Now that i have given my mind the turn, I am totally
emancipated from my charmer, as much as from the
gardener's daughter who now puts on my fire and per
forms menial omoes just like any other wench; and yet
just this time twelvemonth I was so madly in love as to
think of marrying her. Shouid not this be an everlasting
lesson to me ?

He fell in love with a young Scotch lady, Miss
Blair, Fah his usual impetuosity. In sketch-
ing out a tour for his friend Temple, he prays
him to visit her, and furnishes him with the
most express instructions how he was to pro-
ceed :

Wednesday.—Breakfast at eight ; set out at nine ;
Thomas will bring you to Adamtown a little after eleven.
Send up your name; if possible, put up your horses there,
they can have cut grass ; if not, Thomas will take them to
Mountain, a place a mile off, and come hack and wait et
dinner, Oleo Miss Blair my letter. Salute her and her
mother; Lek to walk. See the place fully; think what
improveßteati phoold be made. Talk of ray were, the

SATURDAY,

purse, the chocolate. Tell you are my very old rand inti-
mate friend. Praise me for my good qualities—you know
them; but talk also how odd, how inconstant, how im-
petuous, how much accustomed to women of intrigue.
Ask gravely, pray don't you imagine there is something of
madness in that family? Talk of my various travels—
German princes,—Voltaire and Rosseau. Talk of my
father ; my strong desire to have my own house. Observe
her well. See, how amiable! Judge if she would be
happy with your friend. Think of me as the great man at
Adamtown,—quite classical, too! Study the mother.
Remember well what passes. Stay tea. At six, order
horses and go to New Mills, two miles from Loudoun ;
but if they press you to stay all night, do it. Be a man of
as much ease as possible. Consider what a romantic ex-
pedition you are on; take notes; perhaps you now fix me
for life.
This lady was for a time Bostvell's " Princess."
After a lengthened detail of his varying emo-
tions, and of her changing conduct, ho relates
an interview he had had with her:—
Edinburgh, 24th December, 1767.

I met the Princess at church ; she was distant as
before. I passed the evening at her aunt's, where I met a
cousin of my Princess, a young lady of Glasgow, who had
been with us at Adamtown. She told me she had some.
thing to communicate, and she then said my behaviour to
the Princess was such, that Mrs. B. and her daughter did
not know how to behave to me; that it was not honourable
to engage a young lady's affections while I kept myself
freel in short, the good cousin persuaded me that the
Princess had formed an attachment for me, and she
assured me the Nabob had been refused. On Monday
forenoon I waited on Miss B. I found her alone, and she
did not seem distant ; I told her that I was most sincerely
in love with her, and that I only dreaded those faults
which I had acknowledged to her. Tasked her seriously if
she now believed me in earnest. She said she did. I then
asked her to be candid and fair, as I had been with her,
and to toll me if abe had any particular liking for me.
What think you, Temple was her answer? " No; I really
have no particular liking for Sou; I like many people as
well as you." Temple, you must have it in the genuine
dialogue.
Boswell.—Do you, indeed? Well, I cannot help it; I
am obliged to you for telling me so in time. I am sorry
for it.

Princess.—l like Jeany Maxwell ( Duchess of Gordon)
better than you.
B. —Very well ; but do you like no man better than me?
P.—No.
B.—ls it possible that you may like me better than other
men ?

P —I don't know what is possible.
( By this time I had risen and placed myself by her, and
was in real agitation.)
tell you what, my dear Miss Blair, I love you so
much that I am very unhappy if you cannot love me.
must, if possible, endeavour to forget you. What would
you have me do?
P.—l really don't know what you should do.
B.—lt is certainly possible that you may love me; and
if you shall ever do an, I shall be the happiest man in the
world. Will you make a fair bargain with me? If you
should happen to love me, will you own it?
P.—Yes.
B.—And if you should happen to love another, will you
tell me immediately, and help me to make myself easy ?
I'.—Yes, I will.
B.—Well, you are very good (often squeezing and
kissing her fine hand, while she looked at me with those
beautiful black eyes).
P.—l may tell you, as a cousin, what I would not tell to
another man.

R.—You may, indeed. You are very fond of Auchinleck,
that is one good circumstance.
P.—l confess I am. I wish I liked you as well as Ido
Auchinleck.

have told you how fond I am of you; but unless
you like me sincerely, I have too much spirit to ask you to
live with me, as I Know that you do not like me. If I
could have you this moment for my wife, I would not.
P.-4 should not like to put myself in your offer
though.
B.—Remember you are both my cousin and my mie•
tress, you must make me suffer as little as possible, as it
may happen that I may engage your affectiors. I should
think myself a most dishonourable man if I were not now
in earnest, and, remember, I depend upon your sincerity;
and whatever happens, you and I shall never have another
quarrel.
P.— Never.
ll.—And I may come and see you as much as
please ?
P. Yes.

My worthy Mend, what sort of a scene was this! It was
most curious. She said she would submit to her hue
band in most things. She said that to see one loving her
would go far to make her love that person ; but she would
not talk anyhow positively, for she never had felt the un-
easy anxiety of love. We were an hour and a half together,
and seem pleased all the time. I think she behaved with
spirit and propriety. I admire her more than ever. She
intended to go to her aunt's, twelve miles from town, next
day : her jaunt was put off for some days. Yesterday I saw
her again ; I was easy and cheerful, and just endeavoured
to make myself agreeable.

. _
These specimens will suffice to show the
individualism of the letters. They are full of
the minutest details of Boswell's sentiments
and actions, and are at times positively affect.
ing from their confessions of frailty, and from
the evidenoo they afford that Boswell, vfitb

•

I

DECEMBER 27, 1856.

excellent dispositions, was never able to main"
tain the good resolutions he was perpetually
forming when beset by temptation. The
letters also contain many amusing anecdotes
of that society and age which Boswell seemed
born to illustrate. It is curious that he died
so soon after completing his great work. .He
lived only just long enough to enjoy the
success of its publication, and make some
additions to it. No edition of Boswell's
opus magnum will in future be complete without
this correspondence be added to it. This
volume is not less amusing than the Life
itself, arid will meet, we doubt not, with
crowds of eager readers wherever the English
tongue is spoken.

Biranger's Songs of the Empire, the Peace, and
the Restoration. Translated into English
Verse by Robert B. Brough. London :
Added•.

AMONGST modern lyric poets Beranger unques-
tionably stands proudly prominent. He has
all the merits which we look for in a first-rate
song-writer, freshness of tone, viva'ity of utter-
ance, and subtlety in style. He has wit and
humour, along with considerable pathos and
scathing powers of invective. Orel' French
verse he has absolute mastery, and his
writings must always be highly characteristic
of the spirit of his times.
In nothing does Beranger excel more than
in his faculty of addressing high and low ex-
tremes of society,—a gift which belongs only to
genius, and which marks the first class of
song-writers. There are phases in his poetry
which gratify the philosopher in his study ;
and the same pieces are chanted with enthu-
sioism by the cab drivers of Paris, as by the
peasants ;in the vineyards of Touraine. In-
tellectual in his aspirations, he is intensely
social in his sympathies. In his wide range
of metrical accomplishments Beranger has
something for every nature. There is much
of the enthusiasm for life and its inspirations
which characterised Rousseau and Chateau-
briand, without the morbid extravagance of
the first, and the maudlin sentimentalism of
the last. Kotzebue finely said, " Happy the
" man who perished in the early stages of the
" French Revolution, for he died. with le beau
" rive du matin in his brain." In Beranger we
are always made to think of the fine airy
dreams which float through the first years of
manhood's existence. His vigour is untamed,
his heart is unbroken, before the sorrows
and trials of life; and the ebansonnier (as he
modestly calls himself) presents to us the
charming spectacle of a noble old man, with
the experience of a sage, and the ardour of
youth.
Above all his other characteristics Beranger
is distinctively French. His vehemence,
though Gaelic-and volcanic, is graceful and
spirituel. There is a delicatesse both in his
irony and arch allusions which might have
been learned long ago in the Hotel de Ram-
bouillet, and which is not easily found out of
France. It is the national and thoroughly
French qualities of his mind which make it so
difficult to translate him into English.
Mr. Robert B. Brough appears to feel some
of the difficulties which are in the way of a
translator of Beranger. In examining his
translations we think that Mr. Brough shows
that lie appreciates the strength rather than
the sweetness and subtlety of his original.
The songs of " The Empire, the Peace, and
the Restoration," are selected; and for our own
part we do not feel much sympathy with the
politics of Beranger. Indeed, in our eyes
and ears, not the least of his merits is that his
chansons make us forget his politics. Mr.
Brough, however, is an ardent admirer of
Beranger in his civic character. He says
have long believed that a complete edition of the songs
of Beranger, conscientiously rendered into passable English
verse, with careful editing and annotation, would be accep-
table to this country, if on no higher grounds than as a
more complete history of France during the early part of
the present century than can be found elsewhere. One of
the few literary ambitions 1 have ever permitted myself to
indulge in ( I mean since I began to darken paper for a
livelihood) has been one day to test the attractions of such
a work practically . Though by no means an orthodox hero-
worshipper—at any rate, not having yet learnt to admire
warts and red-noses because Cromwell was a groat warrior
and statesman, or to consider club-feet symmetrical because
Byron was a wonderful poet—nevertheless, for the character