original articles, four to extracts, and the remaining four to miscellaneous information and advertisements.

These two periodicals are still in a flourishing existence, and are likely to continue so.

Ilaving thus disposed of reprinted books, political newspapers, and literary journals, in the English language in France, we now come to original works in the same tongue and the same country. These have been few, and generally unimportant or obscure. A posthumous work by Sir Jonah Barrington was published by M. Bennis, of The Librairie des Estrangers, in 1832; but its success was trifling and small. An author then appeared in the person of Mr. Browning, who wrote two books called " History of the Huguenots," and "The Provost of Paris ;" and, not contented with having written them, he ventured to offer them to a publisher, who was found sufficiently arduous to present them to the world in the shape of printed volumes. The total failure of these publications for a time discouraged any author from entering into the field of English literature in the French metropolis. At length, towards the middle of 1835, a volume of songs and scraps of poetry, entitled "National Airs and Vagaries in Verse," was ushered forth to the world, under the auspices of Messieurs Bennis, Galignani, and Baudry. A gentleman, who rejoiced in the cognomen of Lake, was the perpetrator of this assemblage of impertinence and trash; and the decay and fall of the book was more rapid and signal than even those which marked the failure of Mr. Browning's unfledged literary efforts.

A clever well-written treatise on English poetry, and another on teeth the former by a gentleman named Spiers; the latter by a dentist named Mortimer-followed closely upon Mr. Lake's abortion, and were met with a tolerably flattering reception, which they really deserved.

"

In December, 1835, appeared" The Youthful Impostor," a novel in three volumes, by Mr. Reynolds, the late editor of The Courier. This was the first original English work of any consequence published in France; and it experienced a most extraordinary success. It was afterwards reprinted in England, and was then translated into French by the celebrated Defauconpret, to whom the French are indebted for being enabled to peruse the novels of Walter Scott, Bulwer, Marryatt, &c. &c. The Youthful Impostor" was followed by Songs of Twilight, translated from the French of Victor Hugo," by the same author. This work was also well received; but the unpopularity of poetry in these degenerate days prevented its circulation extending to even half of that of "The Youthful Impostor." "The Songs of Twilight" was the last original English work published in Paris. Such is the state of English literature in France; but if an international copy-right law were to be brought into effect, an immediate and striking change would take place. Dishonest monopolies would be overthrown-literary property would be safely secured to its just owners-and the laudable endeavours of intelligent men to extend the literature of their native country in a foreign land would be essentially aided. Let us then hope that the two governments will shortly take measures to decide so important a question.

"SHAME! shame!" said I, placing myself between two dirty urchins, who, being already dreadfully bruised, and profusely bleeding, were nevertheless on the point of recommencing their pugilistic fight. Scarcely had I dared so much, when I was assailed by the groans, hisses, and imprecations of the multitude, whose favourite sport I had unintentionally interrupted. Unterrified, but disgusted at such a behaviour, I endeavoured to effect my retreat from the field of battle by walking rather hastily. Part of the mob however followed my steps, abusing me and calling me all sorts of names from French Dog to Jim Crow; and just as I began to think myself out of danger a middle-sized red-haired man overtaking me placed his hat on the ground, and taking the attitude of a professed gladiator with a tremendous oath challenged me to box. Feigning to laugh at his threat I continued my walk, requesting him to leave me alone. But the fellow having again advanced before me without further ceremony struck at me, and made me feel the heaviness of his fist.

To such a brutal assault I answered by drawing my sword from my stick, and having immediately turned its point towards my ag gressor, a great confusion and uproar ensued. The women screamed aloud Murder! Murder! my assailant retreated to a respectable distance, exclaiming Police! Police! and I, sword in hand, awaited in a doubtful state of mind for the arrival of some of those useful Metropolitan constables, who, when most wanted, are seldom met with.

A strong clap on my shoulder from behind, accompanied by the question, "What are you about?" made me imagine that I was already in the hands of the police. But in turning my head, to my great surprise and delight I soon recognised my friend Asmodeus. Oh! most generous friend," cried I, "help me, save me from this unpleasant situation." "I ought not," answered Asmodeus drily," in order that you might learn in a station-house how to moderate in future both your foolishness and imprudence. But as you are already in too bad odour in this country, I will spare you another exposure; and so saying, he bolted with me, leaving the uproarious multitude astonished at my sudden disappearance.

As soon as we were in our crystal-boat, Asmodeus, looking rather serious, said, "I am truly displeased with your conduct. You are exactly like a wolf,-that ferocious animal in his old age loses its teeth, but retains all its naturally voracious propensities; and you have

grown old and grey, but you have not lost any of your foolish and rash habits. Do you remember that maxim—

"Dum Romæ fueris, Romano vivito more?"

"Yes, I do," replied I. "You do, eh!" resumed Asmodeus, "but at the same time you always act against its precept. Have you not lived long enough in England to have learned that the English delight in gladiatorial exercises? Don't you know that boring is fashionable with them, and that dukes, most noble, right honourable, and honourable lords, and squires, patronise those who excel in that scientific manslaughtering and pick-pocketting profession? If you wish to live comparatively comfortable in this country, hear my advice: don't interfere with the habits and customs of its inhabitants, because they think that their notions of morality and civilization are in the highest degree perfect, although they often appear to a foreigner both extravagant and absurd. But enough But enough on this score. Venons à nos moutons.

According to my promise I should have been with you sooner, but since we parted I have had a good deal to do. First of all I have conveyed M. M. Bazard, Rodrigues, and Carnot, three schismatic Saint Simonians, to the Supreme Father Enfantin, their Pope." "Enfantin, you said?" interrupted I. "Yes, Enfantin," replied Asmodeus hastily. "And why are you surprised?" "Because I have been informed that he died of the plague at Cairo." "Died of the plague!" muttered the devil laughing, "it was only a newspaper report, and you know that newspapers often deal in falsehoods. Enfantin is in perfect health, and in the best possible spirits, because as he is still of opinion that the moral law can only be revealed by the co-operation of woman; he now more than ever is confident of the approaching advent of the woman who shall accomplish the triumph of Saint Simonism." "But does he preach in Egypt?" questioned I, "Preach?" quoth the devil leering, and what?" "The Saint Simonian doctrine," said I. "The Saint Simonian humbug you ought to say," observed Asmodeus; adding, “Believe me, Enfantin is not like the founder of his sect. Saint Simon was a crazy-brained enthusiast, who foolishly squandered his fortune and that of his relations to forward his absurd system; but the present Saint Simonian Pope is a cunning and shrewd fellow, who has never had any thing to lose, and who likes, as many other mortals do, to live at the expense of fools, and happily for him your microscopic world contains an overwhelming majority of such inhabitants. With the money that he receives from his deluded followers in France, in order to make converts and proselytes in Egypt, Enfantin enjoys there a comfortable independence, and I assure you that he never interferes with the religious creed of the slaves of Mahommed Ali, being well aware that that half-and-half-civilized despot would not scruple to have his St. Simonian Holiness impaled before his palace, were he to displease in the least his Mahommedan highness. However, my three travelling companions have signed a concordate with Enfantin, and it is now settled that he is to return shortly to Paris in order to recommence, with greater zeal and activity, the work of female regeneration, three old rich dowagers having promised to furnish to the Saint Simonian Apostles plenty of money, which alone can inspire their regenerating minds. The sect will also change its colours, be

cause the blue having of late become an emblem of rididule and scorn, it would not suit their ultra-liberal principles."

"But will Saint Simonism ever become a powerful sect?" asked I. "No, never," answered Asmodeus, "because civilization is too far advanced."

"My next trip," continued he, "was with M. de Genude, whom, to please my old acquaintance M. de Chateaubriand, I conducted to visit the duke of Bordeaux! I assure you that nothing less than the great esteem I entertain for the genius of the author of " Atala," could have induced me; for you know that we devils are sworn enemies to both duplicity and apostasy, and consequently I dislike the proprietor of the 'Gazette de France," equally as much as I despise Talleyrand, the ex-bishop of Autun. The latter abandoned the pastoral mitre to become the worst citizen and husband of France, and the best diplomatist of the world; and the former has entered into holy orders to become a very bad priest, and the worst hypocritical fomenter and promoter of the intrigues of his anti-liberal party. My excursion however was not without its interest, because I had the opportunity of laughing at the royal mummeries of the courtiers of the would-be Henry V., and of that idiot the duke of Angouleme.

"Having reconducted to Paris the Abbé de Genude, I went to visit our mutual friend Duclos, who, by the bye, is not much pleased with you for having divulged both his foibles and his domestic comforts. At his house I met an interesting young gentleman almost in despair, in consequence of the sudden disappearance of a beautiful young and rich orphan heiress, whose affections he had won. Her guardian wishing her to marry his son against her inclination, and she having refused to comply with his request, he has placed her in the convent of the Ursulines of Lyons, in order that being there entirely separated from her lover she might forget him. Duclos begged of me to assist his friend, and I immediately transported him into her cell, where they enjoyed a delightful tete à tete of two hours, exchanged love for love, and mutually swore to be faithful to their vows, until the girl, having become of age, should be allowed to give her hand to the choice of her heart. But now I will fulfil my promise to you by showing you a few nocturnal scenes of London." "I should like to go home first," said I, "because, having left some papers on my table, my landlady will certainly turn them tupsy-turvy, for she is very curious of knowing what I write. She is naturally a good-hearted woman, but a staunch Tory; and, notwithstanding that I read every day The Times and the Standard, she still suspects that I am a liberal." "Be it so," quoth Asmodeus, and I was in my room quicker than he could say "Jack Robinson."

On examining my table, Asmodeus took in his hand the Spirito Antipapale of Rossetti, and turning to me said, "What? are you reading this work?" "Yes," answered I, "but its disquisitions are so prolix and prosy, its quotations and repetitions so frequent and so erroneous, that I am often much puzzled to find my way through its labyrinth." "You mean through this monstrous Zibaldone," observed Asmodeus, looking at the book with contempt; "but you are a great fool to waste your time about it. To give you some idea of its worth, I will relate what was the opinon that the learned inquisitor general

of Rome, Father Olivieri, gave of it. Some time ago a bigotted English Catholic forwarded this book to the Maestro del Sacro Palazzo, in order that it might be registered in the INDEX LIBRORUM PROHIBITORUM, as containing, advocating, and propagating heretical opinions. Father Olivieri, having perused it with great attention and perseverance, declared that it did not deserve to be forbidden, because the absurd and cabalistical suppositions with which it abounds, are more than sufficient to disgust any man of sound mind and common sense, adding that it is easily perceivable that either a dreamer, or the most self-conceited madman must have stored together such a mass of incomprehensible worthless trash; therefore the best thing you can do with it is either to sell it as waste paper to some pork-butcher, or to throw it into the fire at once. I will also tell you, that the same author will shortly publish Il Mistero d'Amore Svelato, or the mystery of love revealed, which in point of absurdity and cabal is far superior to the Spirito Antipapale." Poor Dante! what a fool pretends to have first revealed

"La dottrina, che s'asconde

Sotto il velame de' tuoi vosi strani."

"But," remarked I, "if his works are really so conspicuously incomprehensible, cabalistical, and worthless, how can the author repay himself for the outlay of their publication?" "I will explain to you," quoth Asmodeus, "how he doth arrange his affairs. A rich gentleman, wishing to be considered very learned in Italian literature and history, furnishes him with the blunt, and receives in exchange dedications, and many flattering encomiums. Thus, you see, he incurs no risk, and can lose only his reputation, but that is next to nothing.

"And what do I see there?" continued he, pointing to several casts, which lay on a shelf in my room. "Oh! oh! are you a phrenologist?" "No; I am simply an admirer of that interesting, moral, and useful system," replied I. "Interesting-moral-and useful system," whispered Asmodeus slowly; and then grinning at me most significantly, added, "By all my immortal brethren, Mr. Admirer, when you begin to blunder there is no end of it. I do not deny that phrenology is an ingenious and interesting hypothesis, and that it could be rendered somewhat useful; but hitherto it has not worked well. Gall, as a German Free-thinker, and Spurzheim, as a German Methodist, were not bad fellows; don't ask whether they were either true moralists, or really disinterested philanthropists, because my answer would be rather unfavourable. Be it said, however, to their honour, that neither of them ever abused their phrenological knowledge and experience for the sake either of indulging their own private spleen, or of defaming their living fellow-creatures in their lectures to please their friends. But it is not so at present. Phrenology, having unfortunately fallen into bad hands, is daily becoming a dangerous system, and a kind of scientific conduit of scandal, and this is the reason why until now not a single man of sterling genius, not a single literary or scientific personage of real eminence has deigned to become a promoter of phrenology; nay, amongst the thousands of so-called phrenologists, scarcely a dozen of them could cut a respectable figure in any assembly of third-rate talent.” "Faith! you truly