EVERY NUMBER EMBELLISHED WITH A STEEL ENGRAVING. THREE DOLLARS A YEAR. VOLUME III. OFFICE OF PUBLICATION, ANN-STREET, NEAR BROADWAY. THE UNITED STATES FRIGATE HUDSON. THE admirable plate given this week has a peculiar interest, and will be looked upon by artists as a melancholy me. mento of a man beloved for genius and private qualities. This engraving is the last work (and we believe it will be conceded, the best) of WILLIAM J. BENNETT, the marine painter and engraver. It represents the frigate Hudson returning from a cruise, and coming up the harbour of NewYork with a fair wind. We have another marine view by the same hand, done a few weeks since, and that we shall give soon. The plate of this week will be a treasure both of feeling and taste; but we must apprize our readers that the hand is cold which could execute this difficult style, and that we know no other artist who could design and engrave these unrivalled views. DONNA SYLVERIA LOPEZ AND HER LOVERS. (CONCLUDED.) "We, ignorant of ourselves, Beg often our own harms, which the wise powers TIME rolled on; and Sylveria, wearied of the adulation that sorrounded her, suitor after suitor was dismissed by Don Juan, until Sylveria fancied his fastidiousness bordered upon tyranny. "My dear friend," said Sylveria to Madame Douro, "my father is making himself wretchedly unhappy about Adolphe Helfenstein; he imagines that I encourage his attentions, and he has almost vowed never to consent to my marriage with a foreigner, as he calls all others than our poor and proud Hidalgos." "If you are pleased with Helfenstein, Sylveria, a regard for your happiness will, no doubt, induce your father to alter his determination." PAYABLE IN ADVANCE. NUMBER 12. "José! go with this note to the house of Don Juan Lopez, and give it to Donna Sylveria." As José ascended the stairs, Don Juan met him. "I have a note for Donna Sylveria." "I was told, sir, to give it to Donna Sylveria herself." Madame Douro smiled when the message and note were delivered to her. Taking up her pen, she wrote: "Madame Douro begs leave to return the enclosed note, for Don Juan Lopez's perusal; he will then use his pleasure in handing it to Sylveria." Musing over the situation of her friend, Madame Douro was interrupted by the entrance of a servant, who presented to her a note. Opening it hastily, she read: "Come to me, my dear friend, if you can ever again look on your Sylveria after the unpardonable insult my father has offered you. He is ashamed of his suspicions. He blushed when handing me your note." "My dearest child, do not distress yourself thus on my acount," said Madame Douro to Sylveria, who received her, weeping tears of vexation; my conscience acquits me of all interference between your father and yourself. Don Juan met me as I was entering the house, and bowed, very ceremoniously, it is true, perhaps to hide his embarrassment -we shall be firmer friends than ever, if the Swedish motto be true 'A little strife and brawl, “But I have no regard for him beyond that of an agreeable acquaintance. I do not like my father to doubt my word. I have told him I would not marry without his consent; yet his altered demeanour convinces me that I am not Together, the friends sauntered along the beach, the riptrusted. You know his habit, dear Madame Douro, of con- ple on the lovely bay making sweet music as it touched the versing with me on home affairs, and of consulting me, per- shore. Pensively, and in silence, Sylveria leaned on the haps more confidentially than my age warrants; after our arm of her friend; whilst listening to the words of kindness guests leave us in the evening, my father and myself pro-and of hope, she looked into the future with a firmer glance, menade the piazza for hours together; but now he is silent; he thinks I am deceiving him-deceiving my father, whom I love so sincerely!" That fair head bowed to the pressure of the trembling hands, and bitter tears relieved the aching heart within. "Ah! Sylveria, your trials commence early; you think your father severe, but do you not suppose this estrangement is equally painful to him? Rest assured, a father who loves his child never opposes her wishes through caprice; he is anxious for your welfare, and Helfenstein being so very accomplished as well as prepossessing, your father naturally supposes you cannot be otherwise than charmed with him. Remember, too, several of your friends have had their pros. pects in life sadly clouded; your father's heart, dearest Sylveria, has cast a perpetual sunshine on your path, and he dreads the shadow of a cloud on your horizon. Be patient, (dutiful, I know you will be,) and trust to Time the comforter." determining that her father's severity should never induce her to disobey him, and excusing his strange waywardness by attributing it to intense anxiety for her welfare. "He thinks Helfenstein is too poor to marry; but I do not wish to marry him. Would that my father would be convinced! I did not tell you, my friend, the strange decision my father has made. He told me last night, if I would renounce Helfenstein, he never again would oppose me; and I have determined, that the next offer I receive I will accept." "Be not rash, Sylveria!" "I am wearied of my present life. We shall see-we shall see." An interval of several weeks elapsed, and a painful period it proved to Madame Douro. Upon her return from strolling on the beach with Sylveria she felt indisposed, and a severe cold was the consequence. Much she wondered that neither visit or message from Sylveria had beguiled time of its dulness. A tap at the door, and it gently opens, displaying the object of her thoughts, entering on tiptoe, fearful of disturbing too suddenly the invalid. "Ah! you thought I had deserted you, and what will you say when I tell you I am about to desert you entirely,” said Sylveria, as she bent her blushing cheek to the salute of her friend. "I do not comprehend you-desert me! Am I not sincerely attached to you? Why, then, pain me by this language?" "I shall astonish you by my confession. Know, then, that Raimundo has renewed his addresses, and I have accepted him. There is now a certainty before me-whether for better or worse, time will show." Madame Douro remained profoundly silent; the apparent rashness of the lovely being who had thus staked her hopes of happiness on the faith of an almost stranger, grieved her to the heart. Placing her hand tenderly on the head of Sylveria: "May you be happy; as happy as you deserve to be, dearest," said she. A smile and a blush was the only answer. tion as that dear father's hand is laid amid ringlets and orange flowers upon her head. "As you have been dutiful and patient with your father, Sylveria, may God shower down blessings upon you. As you have cherished truth and virtue in your heart, may you be rewarded by finding unchanging truth in him whom you have chosen. God bless you, my child." "I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows, Where cowslips and the nodding violet grows." Thus sweetly murmured Sylveria, as the delicious fragrance arose from beneath the wheels of the carriage, as it rolled towards the mansion of her now liege-lord and master. "Can you be happy, dearest, in this bright isle, in the midst of the summer sea," smilingly asked Raimundo. "Am I not your wife?" PARISIAN CORRESPONDENCE. PARIS, April 1st, 1844. FETES have been rare this week, but they have not been absolutely discontinued. The Russian countess S, and M. Thorn, the American, gave magnificent concerts, followed by dancing. Madame S is the fairy of music, and the protectress of all the Italian tenors. The bracelet that ornamented her arm, with three symbolical pearls, was much admired the other evening. At M. Thorn's, a letter was read, pcst marked Italy, announcing that Rossini had just been appointed municipal counsellor in a little town between Bologna and Ravenna. Behold the limits of the ambition of the illustrious composer! That will not hinder his statue from being erected in the green-room of the opera. Let us hope he will respond to this just homage by a new chef "My only grief, now, is the impossibility of your being present at my marriage, and the uncontrolled sorrow of my father at parting with me. He rejoices that I have accepted Raimundo, is proud of his talents, fortune and standing, but the idea of my leaving him, his friend and councillor' as he most kindly terms me, affects him too acutely. Since he gave his consent, he has not spoken on the subject; when announcing it to my mother, he gave a carte blanche to pre-d'oeuvre. pare everything exactly as I desired, but forbade any of the arrangements being mentioned to him. This distresses me exceedingly, I am not disobeying him, but he suffers in eilence on my account. The polka continues its ravages. The polka takes the place of songs in the saloons. Levassor and Grassot, from the Palais Royal, performed this dance with the greatest success, at the ball given last Monday, by the Countess de A heavy sigh dimmed the brightness of Sylveria's counte. Ch. It is announced, that these two artists polkeront at nance, as she arose to take leave of her friend. Baskets of fresh flowers are borne to the chapel; loving hands arrange them in vases placed on the altar; the dew sparkles on the rose, the jessamine, the orange-flower; fresh odours fill the atmosphere; the tapers are lit. Father Guinard in his robes, with book in hand, stands ready to pronounce the benediction on the flower of his flock. Dim twilight reigns around; the building, save in the vicinity of the altar, remains in deep shadow. Gradually the space fills up; (although few are bidden to the marriage, and they not yet arrived ;) high and low, rich and poor, have assembled to do honour to the gifted, the gentle Sylveria. She has been the pride of all hearts, and she is about to leave them, to be transplanted to one of nature's loveliest gardens in the summer sea. But hush the crowd separates-her young friends lead the way-with trembling steps, Sylveria follows, proudly supported by the young Raimundo; her downcast eyes seek the earth in modest confusion, but his alternately flash with triumph, or beam with tenderness, as he gazes upon her. the approaching soirée of the English ambassador. The amusement, which now shares the vogue with the polka, is the game of lans-quenet. Yes truly, the bouillotte has lost its attractions, and whist its charms, and all other games of cards are abandoned for this of the last century. The grave and the giddy, the notaries and the dandies, the husbands who dance no longer, and the dancers attacked by polka morbus, play the lansquenet like gray musketeers and roues of other times. Women, even, are drawn away by the fascination of the lansquenet, and become players as they were in the times of the directory, and under the reign of Louis XV., when they staked what they had and what they had not, in the small apartment of the Palais Royal, and in the saloons of the Luxembourg, where Barras held the bank. Here, at the end of the season, the lansquenet will doubtless cause much ruin, many mysterious defalcations. It is a perfidious game, which always entices its players too far. One is allured, excited, forgetful-and the next day payment comes. Waltzing has less danger. Women, to whom the polka is interdicted, go to the lansquenet. Let the husbands beware! We cannot forbid two things to women, in this But where is he, whose treasure the young bride has world,-since only one was forbidden in the terrestrial hitherto been? He has not looked upon her, he could not paradise, and it is well known what followed that unique give her away. And the solemn vow is taken, God's holy forbiddance. Between two evils, one should choose the priest has blessed the kneeling pair, friends have throng-least, if one hopes for any chance of safety. A prudent ed around with congratulations, but Sylveria is not com- husband will, therefore, tear his wife from the lansquenet, pletely happy until, clasping her father's knees, she veils her to confide her to the polka. sweet eyes beneath their fringed lids, and weeps with emo The echoes of fame announce the appearance of a re markable invention. Until now we have had square billiard-tables: a man of genius has invented round ones. What more, or what better could we desire? The round is made square, angles are given to that which is round; such is the progress of the human mind; such the history of most discoveries ancient and modern. At the last exhibition of industry, they had only invented a foot bath for the billiards in crystal basins enlivened by gold fish; but that did not change the noble game; now that the square has become a circle, the best players, those who have gained most honours, will be obliged to recommence their studies. "One simple question, Madame; does this carriage belong to you?" "Of what consequence is it to you, if it does or not?" "Allow us, Madame; we have a right to be impertinent we are paid for being inquisitive." "Singular employment, truly!" "We belong to the minister of finance; you are ignorant, perhaps, that all carriages are subject to a tax. In disguising the truth, you might commit yourself; answer then frankly, and tell us whether you are the proprietor, or whether you only hire it." Incapable of resisting these menacing words, and fearful of telling a dangerous falsehood, the actress owned she hired it for 700 francs per month. Very well, Madame, we shall commence our lawsuit." The inquisitive, who always are present at such little events, crowded around to hear: the actress wished to es At the obsequies of Colonel Bricqueville and General Pajol, were seen groups of soldiers of the republic, and empire, dressed in the old uniforms of the red Lancers. Hussars, dragoons of the empress, and the Roman soldiers of the guard. The people regard with lively curiosity these last representers of our great military epochs. They were seen at the funeral of the emperour; they are seen every anniversary of Napoleon's death, depositing wreaths of immortelles at the foot of the column, while the curious throng around the old uniforms, which recall so many fine feats of arms. The civil costume of those times is as religiously prescribed as the military, by men who are faith-cape from this disagreeable scene; she slowly alighted on ful to their youthful recollections. Many members of the Institute, distinguish themselves by this pious attachment to the modes of former times. The days on which the class of moral science and the fine arts, are in session, you will meet in the environs of Mararin's palace, cravats of the directory, waistcoats of the consulate, and fracs of the empire, worn with all the grace displayed formerly by the singer Garat, and M. de Montrond, the model of the exquisites. the pavement, abandoned her equipage to the vindictive exactors, and with a light step, reached the theatre, three-quarters of an hour too late. The manager inflicted a fine of five francs. A Russian of distinction left Paris suddenly last week. It has been supposed he was recalled to St. Petersburg, but perhaps he committed some indiscretions at the suppers of the Carnival. The czar is more furious than ever against Paris, which continues to publish documents not very flattering to the Muscovite government. A new and very recherché pamphlet contains very piquant details about the Russian court, and probably redoubles the imperial anger. All the pretensions of the czar are attacked; and it is shown that he is not the handsomest man in his empire; that he has a blind and ignorant taste for the theatre,-in a word, his military talents are very insignificant. M. Marc Fournier, the author of this work, would do well to desist from travelling in Russia. He would meet with no very agreeable reception on the banks of the smiling Neva. An actress, of one of our vaudeville theatres, was going to rehearsals the other day in the brougham-the low carriages which almost reach the ground, now swarming in Paris, are called broughams. The illustrious name borne by these vehicles, explains their origin. The greatest head in England did not disdain to invent it, in the moments of leisure so rarely found in his occupation, of great jurisprudence and high politics: so true is it that the minds of the elité know how to pass from grave to pleasant, from the sublimity of science to the caprices of fashion, especially in a country where the sport is held in honour, and where the ministers even pride themselves on making a figure at the We possess at this moment a stranger of high distinction, solemnities of the turf. Fatigued with climbing into high who attracts the curiosity of the world by his figure, his carriages, Lord Brougham planned a carriage, to get in manners, and his adventures. The noble stranger is called which he was hardly obliged to raise his feet; he gave the Prince Sombre; it is not a fancy name, as one would supdesign to his carriage-maker, executed by his own hand, pose from the complexion of his highness: he is excessively and was the first to roll over the macadam of Regent-street brown, because he is an Indian, and is called Sombre, his in one of these little chariots, so convenient and comfortable. | father's name, of French origin, who went to seek his forBefore his time, Lord Filbury and Lord Stanhope had given || tune in India towards the end of the last century, and found their names to elegant carriages; a kind of celebrity which the English aristocracy seek with ardour. Lady Spencer would not admit, in her genealogical tree, the illustrious poet of her name, but she was very proud of having given her noble name to a garment, which the fashion adopted. Garrick, the illustrious tragedian, always considered, as one of his finest productions, the great-coat with many collars, in which he enveloped himself on coming out of the theatre, and which an ungrateful orthography has disguised, under the name of Garrick. Our young actress was in her brougham on her way to the theatre. She was only twenty-five minutes too late, almost punctuality for a pretty woman who devotes long hours of watchings for the study of her role. Suddenly the carriage was stopped; two men approached, and rapped gently at the glass door.. what he went in search of. After marrying the daughter of one of the sovereigns of the country, and being elevated by that union to the rank of a prince, the father died, leaving his title and thirty millions to his son. Master of this fortune, young Sombre soon grew weary of his Indian life. Although a prince, he was born in the English possessions, and consequently was a subject of England; it was told him nabobs could be happy only in the metropolis: he listened to the sophistry, realized his patrimony, and embarked for England with his treasures. A brilliant future opened before him. Prince Sombre could be but well pleased in a country which numbers the Black Prince in the history of its heroes. London received the Indian nabob admirably; he was saluted to the ground when he deposited his millions at the bank, he was applauded when he appeared at the opera the Thames, and arrived at Havre, free and happy, but without money, even without a hat. A nabob with thirty millions under sequestration can easily find credit. The prince made himself known, and proceeded to Paris to await events, and prepare means of defence. Would you believe it-his adversaries have had sufficient influence to procure a diplomatic note, demanding him to be given up to them? But France is a hospitable land and keeps the crazy-giving up criminals only. However, the aliena. tion of the prince having been reported dangerous, an inquest was held in the presence of personages of distinction: the prince supported the examination very honourably; and replied with perfect clearness to all the questions addressed him: showing the fullest evidence of good sense, propriety, and logic. This proof is decisive, at least unless the Eng for the first time, in his national costume draped with cachemires, covered with jewels. Aristocratic saloons made advances to him; it was, who should have him, who should show him; he was put in the postscripts of invitations to || balls and concerts. His success was complete. By degrees he was despoiled of his Indian costume: some intelligent ladies informed him that cachemires and diamonds were not becoming for men, it was the attire exclusively reserved for women. He allowed himself to be directed, and became European. He was considered charming when dressed by the tailor of Count d'Orsay. Queens of fashion declared that his gentlemanly costume suited admirably his oriental tournure, his olive complexion, his curly hair, and his large white eyes. Ladies feted him; and young misses, at first intimidated by his Othello physiognomy, became accustomed to the idea of his colossal fortune. Prince Sombre was sin-lish lawyers, who sometimes indulge in epigrams, do not gle, and he was not dissatisfied with remaining so; but how was he to resist the thousand seductions which surrounded him, the white shoulders, the fair hair, the mild, blue, fascinating eyes? The most illustrious families in the English peerage sought his alliance, how decline so much honour? The prince had his choice: he selected a charming young person, daughter of Lord take it into their heads to plead the incompetency of the French nation to judge in matters of reason. The bar on the other side of the channel has licences as well as we; but jests are powerless against realities. The Indian prince continues to make his proofs; he gave a magnificent ball last week in the saloons of Lemardelay, at which was seen all the elite of the English society; he did the honours of The wedding of Gamache can give only a faint idea of the evening with admirable tact. The testimony of his comthe fetes which celebrated this union. The Indian spouse patriots is henceforth his together with the Parisian suffrage. did not understand conjugal legislation as it is practised in The sequestration must therefore be withdrawn, the interthe Britannic isles; he only asked to be guided; the law-diction annulled, and the millions be returned to him, that he yers told him that it was customary for Indian nabobs to may establish himself comfortably in Paris. settle two hundred thousand pounds sterling on their wives. Prince Sombre understood this clearly, and, too generous to raise the least obstacle against this article, he willingly signed the contract which was to enrich his young and noble bride. Everything went right at first. The millions and the husband had been accepted with equal eagerness; but this equality did not last long. The millions lost nothing of their favour, but the husband, less fortunate, lost some of his charms. He was too Indian; his manners and his person preserved too much of their Asiatic complexion; he seemed indocile to the usages of English society, having nothing in common with the customs of the India company; he was, moreover, too intolerably jealous for a civilized country. Hostilities commenced immediately after the honey-moon: advantage was taken of the eccentricities of the nabob to accuse him of insanity; he grew angry, and his excusable anger was presented as a fit of furious madness. The prince was incapable of defending himself against the crafty manœuverers: two physicians examined him, and declared him a victim of mental derangement. The report of the doctors was sufficient to cause rigorous measures to be adopted the English laws are precise. A man declared suspected of madness, by a certificate signed by two physicians, must immediately be locked up. Prince Sombre defended himself like a Bengal tiger, but his struggles were useless; he was confined in a mad-house, and kept from sight his wealth was sequestered, and his wife, Lady St. V- Princess Sombre, entered in possession of the two hundred thousand pounds sterling guaranteed her by the marriage contract. : : This state of things would doubtless have remained a long time, perhaps even forever, if the unfortunate nabob had not succeeded in eluding the vigilance of his guardians. After having exhausted his fury, he had recourse to cunning. The lion turned serpent. Aided by a devoted domestic, he escaped from the house where the English laws had shut him up. He stole into one of the numerous packet-boats of E. P. THE LOOK OF A GENTLEMAN. "The nobleman-look? Yes, I know what you mean very well: that look which a nobleman should have, rather than what they have generally now. The Duke of Buckingham (Sheffield*) was a genteel man, and had a great deal the look you speak of. Wycherley was a very genteel man, and had the nobleman-look as much as the Duke of Buckingham.-POPE. He instanced it too in Lord Peterborough, Lord Bolingbroke, Lord Hinchinbroke, the Duke of Bolton, and two or three more.”— SPENCE'S Anecdotes of Pope. I HAVE chosen the above motto to a very delicate subject, which in prudence I might let alone. I, however, like the title; and will try, at least, to make a sketch of it. What it is that constitutes the look of a gentleman is more easily felt than described. We all know it when we see it; but we do not know how to account for it, or to explain in what it consists. Causa latet, res ipsa notissima. Ease, grace, dignity have been given as the exponents and expressive symbols of this look; but I would rather say, that an habitual self-possession determines the appearance of a gentleman. He should have the complete command, not only over his countenance, but over his limbs and motions. In other words, he should discover in his air and manner a voluntary power over his whole body, which, his will. It must be evident that he looks and does as he with every inflection of it, should be under the controul of likes, without any restraint, confusion, or awkwardness. He is, in fact, master of his person, as the professor of any art or science is of a particular instrument; he directs it to what use he pleases and intends. Wherever this power and facility appear, we recognise the look and deportment of the gentleman, that is, of a person who by his habits and situation in life, and in his ordinary intercourse with society, has had little else to do than to study those movements, and that carriage of the body, which were accompanied with most satisfaction to himself, and were calculated to excite the approbation of the beholder. Ease, it might be observed, is not enough; dignity is too much. There I must be a certain retenu, a conscious decorum, added to the first,—and a certain "familiarity of regard, quenching the austere countenance of controul," in the other, to answer to our conception of this character. Perhaps propriety is Quere, Villiers, because in another place it is said, that "when the latter entered the presence-chamber, he attracted all eyes by the handsomeness of his person, and the gracefulness of his demeanour." (I have heard N— say) had a butler, or steward, who, from constantly observing his master, had so learned to mimic him-the look, the manner, the voice, the bow were so alike he was so "subdued to the very quality of his lord"-that it was difficult to distinguish them apart. Our modern footmen, as we see them fluttering and lounging in lobbies, or at the doors of ladies' carriages, bedizened in lace and powder, with ivory-headed cane and embroidered gloves, give one the only idea of the fine gentlemen of former periods, as they are still occasionally represented on the stage; and indeed our theatrical heroes, who top such parts, might be supposed to have copied, as a last resource, from the heroes of the shoulder-knot. We also sometimes meet with a straggling personation of this character, got up in common life from pure romantic enthusiasm, and on absolutely ideal principles. I recollect a well-grown comely haberdasher, who made a practice of walking every day from Bishop's gate-street to Pall-mall and Bond-street with the undaunted air and strut of a general-officer; and also a prim undertaker, who regularly tendered his person, whenever the weather would permit, from the neighbourhood of Camberwell into the favourite promenades of the city, with a mincing gait that would have become a gentleman-usher of the black-rod. What a strange infatuation to live in a dream of being taken for what one is not,-in deceiving others, and at the same time ourselves; for no doubt these persons believe that they thus appeared to the world in their true characters, and that their assumed pretensions did no more than justice to their real merits. as near a word as any to denote the manners of the gentle-been retained by their lacqueys. The late Admiral Byron man; elegance is necessary to the fine gentleman; dignity is proper to noblemen; and majesty to kings! Wherever this constant and decent subjection of the body to the mind is visible in the customary actions of walking, sitting, riding, standing, speaking, &c. we draw the same conclusion as to the individual,-whatever may be the impediments or unavoidable defects in the machine, of which he has the management. A man may have a mean or disagreeable exterior, may halt in his gait, or have lost the use of half his limbs; and yet he may show this habitual attention to what is graceful and becoming in the use he makes of all the power he has left,-in the "nice conduct" of the most unpromising and impracticable figure. A hump-backed or deformed man does not necessarily look like a clown or a mechanic; on the contrary, from his care in the adjustment of his appearance, and his desire to remedy his defects, he for the most part acquires something of the look of a gentleman. The common nick-name of My Lord, applied to such persons, has allusion to this-to their circumspect deportment, and tacit resistance to vulgar prejudice. Lord Ogleby, in the Clandestine Marriage, is as crazy a piece of elegance and refinement, even after he is" wound up for the day," as can well be imagined; yet in the hands of a genuine actor, his tottering step, his twitches of the gout, his unsuccessful attempts at youth and gaiety, take nothing from the nobleman. He has the ideal model in his mind, resents his deviations from it with proper horrour, recovers himself from any ungraceful action as soon as possible; does all he can with his limited means, and fails in his just pretensions, not from inadvertence, but necessity. Sir Joseph Banks, who was almost bent double, retained to the last the look of a privy-counsellor. There was all the firmness and dignity that could be given by the sense of his own importance to so distorted and disabled a trunk. Sir Charles B-nb.ry, as he saunters down St. James's-street, with a large slouched hat, a lack-lustre eye, and aquiline nose, and old shabby drab-coloured coat, buttoned across his breast without a cape,-with old top-boots, and his hands in his waist.coat or breeches' pockets, as if he were strolling along his own garden-walks, or over the turf at New-market, after having made his bets secure, presents nothing very dazzling, or graceful, or dignified to the imagination; though you can tell infallibly at the first glance, or even a bow-shot off, that he is a gentleman of the first water (the same that sixty years ago married the beautiful Lady Sarah L-nn-x, with whom the king was in love). What is the clue to this mystery? It is evident that his person costs him no more trouble than an old glove. His limbs are, as it were, left to take care of them-¦, selves; they move of their own accord; he does not strut or stand on tip-toe to show how tall His person is above them all ; Dress makes the man, and want of it the fellow : I confess, however, that I admire this look of a gentleman, more when it rises from the level of common life, and bears the stamp of intellect, than when it is formed out of the mould of adventitious circumstances. I think more highly of Wycherley than I do of Lord Hinchinbroke, for looking like a lord. In the one, it was the effect of native genius, grace, and spirit; in the other, comparatively speaking, of pride or custom. A visiter complimenting Voltaire on the growth and flourishing condition of some trees in his grounds, Ay," said the French wit, "they have nothing else to do!" A lord has nothing to do but to look like a lord: our comic poet had something else to do, and did it!* Though the disadvantages of nature or accident do not act as obstacles to the look of a gentleman, those of education and employment do. A shoe maker, who is bent in two over his daily task; a tailor, who sits cross-legged all day; a ploughman, who wears clog-shoes over the furrowed miry soil, and can hardly drag his feet after him; a scholar, who has pored all his life over books,-are not likely to possess that natural freedom and ease, or to pay that strict attention to personal appearances, that the look of a gentleman implies. I might add, that a man-milliner behind a but he seems to find his own level, and wherever he is, counter, who is compelled to show every mark of comto slide into his place naturally; he is equally at home plaisance to his customers, but hardly expects common among lords or gamblers; nothing can discompose his civility from them in return; or a sheriff's officer, who has fixed serenity of look and purpose; there is no mark of a consciousness of power, but none of good-will to or from superciliousness about him, nor does it appear as if any anybody,—are equally remote from the beau ideal of this thing could meet his eye to startle or throw him off his character. A man who is awkward from bashfulness is a guard; he neither avoids nor courts notice; but the clown,-as one who is showing off a number of impertinent archaism of his dress may be understood to denote a linger-airs and graces at every turn, is a coxcomb, or an upstart. ing partiality for the costume of the last age, and something like a prescriptive contempt for the finery of this. The old one-eyed Duke of Queensbury is another example that I might quote. As he sat in his bow-window in Piccadilly, erect and emaciated, he seemed like a nobleman framed and glazed, or a well-dressed mummy of the court of George II. We have few of these precious specimens of the gentleman or nobleman-look now remaining; other considerations have set aside the exclusive importance of the character, and of course, the jealous attention to the outward expression of it. Where we oftenest meet with it now-a. days, is, perhaps, in the butlers in old families, or the valets, and " gentlemen's gentlemen" of the younger branches. The sleek pursy gravity of the one answers to the stately air of some of their quondam masters; and the flippancy and finery of our old-fashioned beaux, having been discarded by the heirs to the title and estate, have Mere awkwardness or rusticity of behaviour may arise, either from want of presence of mind in the company of our betters, (the commonest hind goes about his regular business without any of the mauvaise honte,) from a deficiency of breeding, as it is called, in not having been taught certain fashionable accomplishments or from unremitting application to certain sorts of mechanical labour, unfitting the body for general or indifferent uses. (That vulgarity which proceeds from a total disregard of decorum, and want of careful controul over the different actions of the body-such as loud speaking, boisterous gesticulations, &c.-is rather rudeness and violence, than awkwardness or uneasy restraint.) Now the gentleman is free from all these causes of ungraceful demeanour. He is independent in his circumstances, and is used to enter into society on equal terms; he is taught Wycherley was a great favourite with the Duchess of Cleveland. |