WINNING manners are to the virtues what a becoming habit is to the person, therefore it is the duty of those, who wish to promote the influence of virtue, to make her appear in as attractive a form as possible.

Moralists of all ages have not only considered man as a bundle of habits, but the human character, as made of almost as many imperceptible particles, of which habits are the chief ingredients, as those which compose a Mosaic pavement-it is on the purity, the brilliancy, and the strength of those component parts that the value of a character, or the beauty of a pavement, depends.

Innocence and mystery never inhabit long together.

True education consists less in precepts than in practice.

No one can be happy who does not enjoy his own esteem.

When the appetite is not contented with bread, says the proverb, the back is ready for servitude.

All wickedness springs from weak

ness.

The weak man is apt to be restless; the great man is always tranquil.

The weak deceive the powerful command.

We love our equals better than our superiors.

The love of our country is a passion in the people of that country, but it is a virtue in a philosopher.

We sometimes pardon hatred-but never contempt.

The friend, who conceals our defects from us, serves us less than the enemy who reproaches us with them. Few things are more difficult than to keep a secret, to forget an injury, and to make the best use possible of one's leisure.

There is less baseness in attacking an unarmed man, than in speaking ill of those who can't defend themselves.

There are two things to be feared -the envy of friends, and the hatred of enemies.

An empire must be in danger, if the magistrate does not obey the laws, and the people the magistrate. Riches do not consist in the pos Eur. Mag. Vol. 82.

session of wealth, but in the use made of it.

The most necessary of all sciences is to learn to preserve oneself from the contagion of bad example.

The miser does not so much possess his wealth, as his wealth pos-sesses him.

The only treasure, which we cannot be deprived of, is the consciousness of doing good, and acting uprightly.

Those who enter on the career of the sciences, or indeed on any exercise of the mind or the fancy, should fix their eye on those who are before them on the road, and not look on those who are behind them.

The diamond that falls in a dunghill does not thereby become less precious; and the dust, which the wind elevates high in air, does not thence become less vile.

To believe that a feeble enemy cannot hurt us is as absurd, as to think a spark cannot cause a conflagration.

What is the tongue in the mouth of a wise and virtuous man ?-A key that unlocks a treasure.

Let us endeavour to conquer ourselves rather than our fortune, because we can alter our desires sooner than the order of the world-and because nothing is in our own power but our thoughts.

In order to make fortune and events subservient to you, begin by making yourself independent of them.

The first step towards vice is to make a mystery of innocent actions ; and he, who is fond of concealment, will sooner or later have reason to con ceal himself. This moral precept, if attended to, would annihilate the necessity of any other.

Never do or say any thing that thou dost not wish all the world to see and hear.

We ought never to blush to avow that we have done wrong, because by making this confession we prove, that we are wiser to-day than we were yesterday.

It is much easier to act well in difficult and strongly exciting circumstances, than to fulfil correctly the quiet duties of every day life!

It is easy to avoid a great and evident danger, and to perform a duty that is obvious and prominent-but duties and danger, that are remote and gradual in their operations, are difficult to avoid and to fulfil. When one meets a chimney-sweep in a narrow path, one takes care to avoid the certain and obvious contamination of his touch---but we are not conscious of the equally certain destruction of the purity of our garments from dust and the effects of constant

wear.

That woman is indeed pitiable, who can bring herself to believe that a marriage of mere interest is any thing better than legal prostitution.

To perform one's duty, at whatever risk and sacrifice to oneself, is always the safest, and even in this world the happiest path; and vainly beat the waves of woe against the feet of those who firmly and closely cling to the "Rock of ages."

There is not in the daily intercourse of life any charm like attention, and attention in trifles.

What an awful thing it is to be the depository of another's happiness! Let no one presume to enter the marriage state, who is not deeply sensible of this awful responsibility.

There is a time when even the most rational enthusiasm looks back, appalled in some measure, on the actions to which it has impelled.

Love levels all in their turns-the weak with the strong, the sensible with the foolish.

The passive virtue of patient endurance is far more difficult to practise than any other, and it is only too often the necessary duty of wives -a duty too, which is so much expected from them, that they cannot be excited to the performance of it by the hope of obtaining applause but they have the support of their own approving conscience, and the certainty that "he who seeth in secret will reward them openly."

To give advice is the common and troublesome propensity of weak people-they over-rate their own sagacity, as the child does the value of its play-thing, and fancies the tinsel on its doll to be gold; but the child will grow wiser one day, and know gold from tinsel-not so the offici

ous givers of common-place advicetheir tinsel will seem gald to them to the end of the chapter.

When an old man marries a young wife, he should add a new quartering to his arms, namely, a cradle with a coffin beside it; for, the children, that may result from such a marriage, will, as well as their youthful mother, entail on him so many cares and anxieties, that the coffin will very soon succeed to the cradle, and his life be shortened, if not embittered by his folly.

The parting hour is far more trying to those who remain than to those who go-as a path, a view, a chair, the veriest trifle are to the former, melancholy memorials of departed pleasures-while for the latter, new scenes, new objects, and even motion itself possess a power to lull the mind in temporary forgetfulness.

How worthy of love is that being, who is fond of encouraging sources for thankfulness, and how salutary is the influence of such a one! Such a temper, like the Claude Lorraine gloss, sheds a glowing tint over scenes which are already pleasing, and creates them where the prospect is gloomy and cheerless.

Alas! it is painful to reflect how often we owe our happiest days to illusion and imagination.

When vanity first gave birth to, and then married detraction, and no one can doubt of their being thus doubly united, they became the parents of the largest family in the world-for up to them may be traced some of the crimes, and most of the vices and evils that embitter and desolate society.

As a man covered with a case of asbestos might go through fire unhurt, so the man whose habits are those of spotless truth and ingenuousness, may go through the world uninjured, even by the shafts of malice. Those only are vulnerable to them, in whose minds and conduct there is something which will not always bear the light, and to hide which they are found occasionally to have recourse to falsehood.

Vanity and conceit are often used as synonymous terms, though in reality none can be more distinct.

MY DEAR VERMONT,

EVER Since my return from America, where I spent so many happy days in your society, I have meditated a journey to Paris-to that Paris which you made me anxious to see, by the enthusiastic terms in which you used to speak of it. After having been prevented again and again, by a variety of circumstances, from carrying this favourite project into execution, I at last availed myself of the opportunity of being at Brighton, from which place packets sail daily for the coast of Franceand embarking on board one of these vessels on Friday last, arrived here yesterday evening. As one of my principal inducements for coming hither was the hope of renewing our former habits of intimacy, and, under your auspices, of seeing the Gallic capital to the greatest possible advantage, I need scarcely say how great was my disappointment, when on going this morning to your hotel, I learnt from your old Swiss porter that you were absent, and gone to London: the latter piece of intelligence has increased my chagrin; for I am thus not only deprived of your expected aid in piloting my way through the unknown regions of the French metropolis, but also of the sincere pleasure with which I should have offered you mine, in exploring the wonders of London.

On receiving these unwelcome tidings, I was so surprised, and so distressed, that had I allowed myself to be governed by my first impressions, I should immediately have ordered post-horses, and should have now been on my road back to Eng land; in order, if I may be permit ted to use a French phrase, de vous faire les honneurs de mon pays.

Having, however, allowed myself a few moments for reflection, (with out which you know we sober English seldom take any decided step,) I begin to think that this apparent

disappointment (which I have the vanity to believe you will regret no less than myself,) may eventually prove favourable to the attainment of the objects which we have mutually in view. No doubt, in visiting London, it is your wish, as it is mine in coming hither, to examine every thing with impartiality and fairness -had you met me in England, or I met you in France, would this have been possible? The stranger respecting the judgment of his resident friend, would have been implicitly governed by his opinions-admiring what he admired, and censuring what he censured-he would have lost all the pleasure of first impressions, and would have seen none of the objects of curiosity presented to his attention with unprejudiced eyes. Left to ourselves we shall, doubtless, be both guilty of a thousand ridicu lous mistakes; and, with the precipitancy so common to all travellers, we shall alike praise and condemn improperly-still, let us determine to communicate to each other our respective remarks and observations with the utmost candour; and the errors of each may be subsequently corrected by the maturer knowledge of his correspondent. In losing my "fidus achates," I shall, therefore, make a merit of necessity, and learn to depend on myself. Hoping that in your letters to me you will speak of England with no less freedom than I shall use towards you in talking of France, I shall throw aside all ceremony, and tell you honestly and freely what I think.

Having been only four days in France, and but four and twenty hours at Paris, you will not expect in this first epistle that I should have much to say. Yet, perhaps, you will receive, with a smile of good humour, the crude reflections of an inexperienced foreigner, the novelty of whose situation may plead his excuse for innumerable faults.

In landing at Dieppe, I experi

enced (never having been before on the Continent of Europe) all that surprise which prior tourists have described, and, indeed, after an expeditious voyage of a few hours, I found such a change of scene in all around me, that I seemed much more in a new world, than when, after traversing the Atlantic, I set foot in America. There, the objects which presented themselves, were all similar to those which I had left behind. The countenances of the people, their dress, their manners, and their language were all the same. Here every thing seemed metamorphosed. The darker complexions and more marked features of the crowds who thronged the shore, the large cocked hats and fierce looks of the military, the high head-dresses, and other peculiarities of the Norman costume, which the female peasantry displayed, and the unaccustomed sounds of French and Patois, which assaulted my ears, presented altogether a picture so different from that which I had taken leave of a few hours before at Brighton, that I had some difficulty in persuading myself, that what I saw and heard was real, and not the phantom of a dream.

When I had sufficiently recovered my astonishment to observe them, I found myself surrounded with the importunate, but civil emissaries of numerous inns; each of whom in sisted, as he forced a card into my hand, that the house which he recommended was incomparably the best. The one to which, by the ad, vice of a fellow passenger, I allowed myself to be conducted at Dieppe, as well as most of those at which I stopped on the road, afforded much better accommodations than I had been led to expect; but you must pardon me for observing, that I remarked in all of them, an incon gruity of the most extraordinary kind. The walls of the rooms were generally painted with Arabesq figures, or otherwise ornamented

but the floors, rarely carpeted, were often tiled, and commonly far from clean. Every where we found magnificent looking glasses, marble chim, ney pieces, and or-moulu clocks of great value and beauty; while the doors would not shut, and the win dows displayed many a broken pane -the beds were excellent, and the

linen delicately white, but the furniture, of silk or satin, was often ragged, and sometimes dirty; and a mahogany dining-table seemed an unknown luxury.

I had an early specimen of the manners of your people, exhibited in those of a short boy, about fourteen years of age, who waited on me at dinner, on the day of my landing. He displayed no trifling marks of their volubility, vivacity, and officious politeness, which are supposed to be inherent in Frenchmen, in every class of society, and at every period of life. But though no creature could be possibly more civil,—and he might well be called rempli de grace,

I was surprised at certain improprieties in his behaviour, of which the aukwardest clown in our island would be ashamed. When I asked him for drink, he took a small tumbler from the table (exactly such a one as we use in our dressing-rooms in England,) and throwing some water which it contained under the cinders of the fire, wiped the glass with a dirty napkin, which he carried under his arm, and then filled it with wine.

This seemed to me no very decorous mode of executing my commands; but my surprise increased, when, at the conclusion of the dinner, the same graceful youth, after removing the cloth, threw the crumbs of bread, parings of apples, orange peel, and other relics of the meal which it contained, under the table, at which I sat, without attempting to sweep them away, or to offer any apology for what he had done.

In the course of eonversation (for this pigmy waiter had chatted away during the whole of his services, and let me into all his secrets,) he had informed me, that he was very partial to the English, and was going very soon to Brighton, in order to learn our language, and to study our manners. I therefore took the liberty of hinting, that among other improvements which probably he would derive from his visit to Great Britain, I hoped he would discover, that (at least according to our prejudices,) it was not very delicate to empty a glass in the fire-place, or to throw a cloth full of crumbs under the table. He stared, thanked me; and, seeming to be

quite unconscious of having been guilty of the least impropriety, observed, as he shrugged up his shoulders, and walked out of the room, "Que tout pays a ses usages.”

In respect to the appearance of the country, I had heard much of the beauty of Normandy, and was not disappointed: it fully answered my expectations, particularly as we drove along the smiling banks of the Seine. The scenery is, indeed, delightful, and wants nothing to complete the landscape but some of those elegant villas, thatched cottages, and romantic villages, which are so common on the English side of the Channel. The specimens of Gothic architecture which the buildings of Rouen, and other towns which I traversed on my way to Paris, so profusely offer to the attention of the antiquary, I did not stop critically to examine, but what I saw both pleased and surprised me, and, perhaps, on some future occasion, I may be tempted to come hither again, purposely to study these interesting edifices.

On the road, I made it my practice to dine at the Tables d'Hote, both for the sake of society, and in order to have an opportunity of seeing the manners of the people who frequent them. At one of those din ners, finding that politics were the order of the day, I determined to take no share in the conversation, but to listen in silent attention.

One of the company, however, seemed resolved not to let me off so easily. From his dress, I concluded that he was an Abbé, and, from his mode of arguing, that he belonged to that party, which bears, in this country, the name of Ultra-Royalist.

Having made some observations, which, by his looks, he seemed to expect that I should approve, but to which I neither expressed assent nor dissent, Mais parlez donc, Monsieur L'Anglois," exclaimed he, "et dites nous n'est il pas vrai que vous commencez d'eprouver dans votre pays les tristes effets de principes revolutionaires que l'insurrection est orginazeć á Londres, l'anneé séduite, et un gouvernement provisionné formé chez le Lord Mayor."

Such seemed to be the current report of the day, and when I met this enquiry with a positive negative, I found the only point, upon which

the company seemed disposed to agree, was to disbelieve my evidence; and, in spite of the repeated assurances which I gave them, that I had left London perfectly quiet only two days before, my declarations produced no effect on these ardent politicians; and though they were too well bred to tell me I lied, I read in their countenances that such was their opinion.

In the course of the same conversation, I was informed (and many an Englishman has before heard the same news in France,) that Bonaparte's return from Elba was a British manœuvre; that L'affaire meurtrierede de Mont St. Jean (as the battle of Waterloo was called,) was not a victory gained, but a fortunate escape on our part, on which occasion we owed our escape to the accidental arrival of the Prussians; and that the victor at Toulouse was not the Duke of Wellington, but Marshal Soult.

I have no doubt that you will find English quid-nunes making very egregious errors in their estimate of the present state of France; but I apprehend you will scarcely meet with an instance of mis-statements, as gross as those which I have just related, yet those who were guilty of them belonged to rather a higher class of society, consisting (besides ladies) of two Ecclesiastics, several military men, and three returned emigrants, on whose button-hole dangled the cross of St. Louis.

Of Paris, I have as yet only seen the principal features, and I am so bewildered with gazing at the various splendid objects which claim my attention, that I shall reserve my observations till another time.

For the present, then, adieu. I enclose some letters, which, I hope, will procure you an entrée into some of our most distinguished circles, in which you may study the English character en beau. As to John Bull in his rough garb, he is so very easily known, that I shall leave him, with all his faults and merits, to the unbiassed examination of your penetrating eye.

Believe me,

Ever yours,
C. DARNLEY,