with everything. Here, being patient means to strive restlessly for a given object, and never to cease one's efforts until, step by step, it is attained. And that is the right sort of patience, hard as it may be to possess it." Allowing for slight inaccuracies, has not Mrs Lewald here put her pen upon the secret of the tranquillity that has reigned in England, and of the anarchy that has rent Germany, since the beginning of 1848, that fatal year of folly and revolution? It is curious to remark in the course of her book how, during her stay in England-whither, as she says in her preface, she came with both mind and eyes open to impressions-convictions steal upon her, diametrically opposed to the nonsensical theories she had previously cherished, and which she still is loath to abandon. She somewhere says, whilst praising this country, and expressing gratitude for the kindness she met with, that she could, with pleasure, take up her abode in England. We suspect that it would need no very long residence to wean her from the most obnoxious of those delusions which at present hold her captive. It is with no good will, however, that we find ourselves compelled to censure the tenets or writings of a lady who says so many civil things about this country, and who so repeatedly and earnestly praises the hospitality, benevolence, good sense, and tolerant spirit of its people. Many of the comparisons she establishes between England and Germany are by no means favourable to the latter. We know not how far the following shrewd remarks will be acceptable to her countrywomen.

"Of that artificial infancy and purposely - prolonged childhood in which we in Germany strive to detain our women and children, there is here no trace. An Englishman would take it for a very bad compliment if you vaunted to him that the girl he proposed to marry was quite a child,' a kind of praise at which many Germans would be delighted: the delight of a petty vanity, which often enough is converted into bitter sorrow, when life presents itself in its more serious aspects, and the husband, instead of finding himself with an earnest courageous helpmate, be

holds at his side a faint-hearted helpless creature, whom he has to sustain and support though he himself need assistance. A very sensible Englishwoman, whom I often see, and who has long resided upon the Continent, recently expressed herself very severely with respect to the majority of German marriages, the ineptitude of the women and the consequent absence of respect towards them on the part of the men. 'Your countrywomen,' she said, are children or housekeepers; they know not how to help themselves, or, when they do, they dare not. One sees evidence of that even in their personal appearance. Hardly any of them can stand or walk tolerably, and yet the men let them ramble about the streets alone and unsupported. We in England can stand and walk, and ride and drive also, and no Englishman would walk beside a woman without offering her his arm and his support.' How much of this is exaggeration, how much the truth, we know only too well. I was obliged to admit a great deal, whilst, on the other hand, the Englishwoman was compelled to acknowledge numerous and honourable exceptions. A recently published romance, Initials, whose scene is laid in Munich, and which is written by a lady who must have derived her knowledge of German life from observation of the middle classes of society, judges and lashes German women with satirical bitterness. Like most satirists, she runs into exaggeration and often overshoots her mark; but yet there is truth in her delineations. It were no bad thing to translate the book, and show the women of Germany in what light they appear to the eyes of Englishwomen. As we lately, whilst discussing this subject, got upon the question of education, and I observed that in Germany it was considered good to let boys and girls be children as long as possible, she asked me, 'Is it, then, such happiness to play with a leathern doll or a wooden horse? Keep them young and fresh by bodily exercise in the open air, but give to them, as soon as possible, that which you yourselves esteem your chief treasures the use of their mental faculties, and a love for

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the great and the beautiful. At the same time they may ride, and play at cricket, dance and sing, and enjoy a far higher degree of cheerfulness than they could derive from unnecessarily prolonged trifling with tasteless toys.'

"Besides the above explained view of the dependence of German women, there exists in England a second notion concerning them, to which have given rise the few German imitators of George Sand's youthful exaggerations. Very sensible Englishwomen have gravely asked me whether it were true that in Germany the female partisans of the Socialist theories went about in men's clothes, spoke at public meetings, and shared in the orgies of their husbands and friends? and many more such whimsical questions. In some cases I was able to trace the origin of these fancies back to a source casually known to me, but not to be relied upon, and so could authoritatively exculpate our poor countrywomen from the reproach of such absurdity. It really often seemed as if they thought we had a race of Amazons living amongst us. When I corrected the misapprehension, and affirmed that, to my knowledge, only two women in Germany had worn men's clothes-the one out of mistaken ideas of emancipation, the other, to accompany her husband in a campaignthey believed so much the more readily that the other stories of the kind which had been repeated to them had contained downright lies, or at least great exaggeration. It is never difficult to convince the English of actual truths; for as they themselves are truthful and positive-they call it matter-of-fact-so have they also a quick feeling for truth in others. I esteem them more every day, and already I could easily make up my mind to remain permanently in England."

Mrs Lewald's visits to London theatres were not numerous. She attended some morning concerts, and exclaims against their too great duration. One comprised seven-andtwenty pieces of music, another fourand-thirty. She declares herself contented with half the quantity. The performances at the Opera-House

she also finds, not without reason, enormously lengthy. "A German lover of music leaves the opera quite satisfied when he has heard Lucia di Lammermoor; the English public expects much more. To-day, at Her Majesty's Theatre, the smallest of the two Italian opera-houses, they gave first Lucia, then a divertissement, in which Ferraris danced, then several scenes out of the Elisir d'Amore, and finally a ballet. I only remained for Lucia and the little divertissement." She is no admirer of the present style of dancing, and denounces as barbarous and graceless what she calls "the fakeer-like muscle-torture," which draws down thunders of applause from indiscriminating audi

ences.

"Beautiful it neither is, nor ever can be, to see a dancer rise upon the point of her toe, till her foot looks like a crippled horse's foot, her whole body quivering with the strain upon the muscles, the stereotyped smile converted into a painful grin, and then elevate her other foot into a horizontal position, and spin frantically round upon the point of the toe. As often as I have heard bravo shouted at such an exhibition, and witnessed the rapture of the men, and the admiring wonder of the women, so often have I trembled for our condition and civilisation." Mrs Lewald treats the matter rather too seriously, and wastes her virtuous indignation, as well as her alarm, at the possible evil effect upon our civilisation of those feats of supple distortion by which a Ferraris or a Taglioni win the hearts of the stalls, and draw bouquets from the boxes. Descending from the opera to the minor theatres, we presently find her hugely diverted at what she calls "a capital buffoonery," an Adelphi burlesque, from whose facetious rhymes she makes extracts in her book; but as she pays the same compliment, at equal length and with seemingly equal gusto, to the effusions of an advertising tailor's tame poet, her approbation can hardly be esteemed very valuable. She is not so well pleased at the Haymarket, where, she says, "the costumes, scenery, and machinery left nothing to desire; but the men played so badly in their fine clothes, that I fancied

I saw before me the veterans of the Berlin theatre." Amongst other more or less valid reasons for the decline of the British stage, she includes the enormously high prices of the two Italian Operas. "It ensues from the peculiar organisation of English society, that all desire to be thought rich, or at least well off, and therefore love to show themselves at such places as are accessible only to the wealthy. To visit the Italian Opera once in the year is a point of honour with persons of small income, just as it is a satisfaction to the rich to have a box there for the whole season. Instead of going thrice a-year to the English theatre, people go out of vanity once to the Italian Opera; and the visits to the national drama, and therewith all sympathy in its productions, are sacrificed to fashion. Were it possible to compel the operahouse managers to reduce their prices to the level of the other theatres, it is my belief that many persons, who know little about music and not a word of Italian, would abandon foreign performances for those theatres where English plays are performed in the English tongue." It will not escape our readers that Mrs Lewald has a sharp eye for the foibles of the English character, as well as a pen always ready to extol its good qualities. Many of her strictures are just enough in the main; but, shrewd though she unquestionably is, she was hardly long enough in the country to be always correct in details; and it is easy to discern that her imperfect knowledge of the language, or the imperfect German of her English acquaintances, has occasionally led her astray. When citing the evils of what she calls "the monarchical centralisation system," she gives a concise but highly-coloured sketch of a London season. "It is the Alpha and Omega of every one," she says, "to pass the season in London and push themselves up a step higher upon the ladder. It is with reason that the English speak scoffingly of this tip-top' system. The angels could not swarm more busily up Jacob's ladder, than does every one here squeeze his way upwards. To be seen in this or that house, to

be able to say that you know this or that person-meaning perhaps that you saw him across a room in a third person's house-to have one's carriage standing at this or that door— for the great routs are so crowded that one half the guests never reach the drawing-rooms, or even get into the house at all-all these are points of the greatest importance. Of course there are some Englishmen above all this, who join me in smiling when we hear tell of such things. The richest bankers covet an invitation from a lord or a presentation at court; every one is eager after the acquaintance of celebrated persons. This eagerness often springs not from a wish for actual intercourse with persons whose acts or writings have made them interesting, but from a desire for that sort of distinction conferred by acquaintance with those with whom it is perhaps not easy to become acquainted. People strive after it as they do after an order, because it is a distinction. Nevertheless I have not feared to confess to many of my acquaintances, how much I should like to know Dickens; neither did I hesitate to-day to accompany Mr G. and Miss S. on a visit to old Lady Morgan, because her romance, The Beguins, was long ago a great favourite of mine. It was the first of that class of English novels which I ever read. And Lady Morgan most completely represents her works. She still lives and moves in the little affairs of the great world which she used to portray, and takes the same warm interest in it at her advanced age as in her earlier years. She inhabits a pretty house beyond Hyde Park-of course in a fashionable part of town. We were conducted through three rooms, full of oil-paintings, portraits, statues, and curiosities. Amongst these were busts and pictures of the lady at various periods of her life, and in the most various fancy-dresses, in which it was once the fashion to have one's-self painted, now as a muse, then as Sappho, &c., &c. According to these portraits, Lady Morgan must have been handsome." A gossipping description follows, of her ladyship's balcony and bonnet, flowers and rings. "She sat in a comfortable arm-chair,

with cushions around her, told us about a soirée she had been at a few days before, and of other soirées aud parties, speaking in a lively manner, now in English, now in French, talking of a whole catalogue of lords and ladies, and telling us various little facts and current anecdotes of society. She also spoke of Pasta, now here, and who is to perform once more for the benefit of the Italian refugees, as I believe; remarked how she herself was sought after in society, notwithstanding the retirement in which she lived; advised me to translate certain English romances; received the visit of an attaché to the Turkish embassy; and when we took our leave of her, I felt as if I had been transported for a while into that world which Lady Morgan once was wont so skilfully to describe." Apropos of translations, and of a visit to Mr and Mrs Pulsky, whom she found busily compiling, and rendering into English, works relating to Hungary, its history, traditions, and revolutions, Mrs Lewald sets down her notions concerning English appreciation of German literature. Considering the short time she had to ascertain the hereprevailing taste in that respect, her views are tolerably correct. She had had, it is true, by this time, the advantage of a conversation with Mrs Austen and other competent authorities, by whom any delusions she may have cherished as to the popularity in this country of what she styles the Literature of the Revolution, had doubtless been pretty thoroughly dispelled. She remarks how small a portion of German literature is known in England, except to the exceedingly small number of Englishmen who have made the language and literature of Germany their especial study, and that the portion that is known does not inIclude the works of recent writers.

"Thomas Carlyle, the translator of Wilhelm Meister, and of some of Jean Paul's works, has done much towards making German authors known. The Wahlverwandtschaften are not translated, and would be disapproved in England, even Goethe in general, with his pantheistic this-sidedness, and his universal toleration, cannot be very

VOL. LXX.-NO. CCCCXXX.

as

wonder when we exalt him above Schiller, or when we say that he has yet to be fully appreciated, whilst Jean Paul and his tendencies already belong, in Germany, to a bygone epoch. They think Schiller and Jean Paul must be better adapted than Goethe to the German character. They have a knowledge of the romantic school; but of young Germany, and its undeniable influence on a certain phase of our development, they know nothing-or at least only a very few know something about it. So far as I could ascertain, none of the writings of that school have been translated. Several persons asked me what there was good to translate amongst the German novels and belles-lettres of the present day, and I was always embarrassed what answer to give, because the opinions and taste of the English are so fixed. I believe that any of the literature of the first ten years of this century-the works of Tieck, Novalis, even of Hoffmann-must here succeed better than the creations of the last fiveand-twenty, or especially of the last ten years. Only Stifter's, Auerbach's, and the like novels, have been here translated and approved, because they keep aloof from all polemics and scepticism, and properly belong, or make near approach, to the old romantic school. Even scientific works are only adopted here, in so far as they are not inspired by and saturated with the spirit of our newest philosophy."

Mrs Lewald is in error, if she imagines that the tendencies of the modern school of German novels and light literature have been the only cause that has kept them out of the hands of English readers, and still more of English translators. We have seen the works of a far more vicious and dangerous school of French writers eagerly sought after in this country, both in the original language and in innumerable translations, and read by all classes. The fact that far more English persons have a reading knowledge of French than of German does not suffice to explain the difference. The French books in question, however bad in tendency and tone, did not lack

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talent; their authors were men of originality, and some of them even of genius, however misdirected. The German school referred to by Mrs Lewald, is, in our opinion, not only perverse, but particularly dull and talentless; and, accordingly, it has found here as she quite correctly opinesfew readers and no translators.

The most charitable way of estimating a book like Mrs Lewald'sa German author's account of a visit to England-is to put one's-self in the place of the readers for whom it is intended. Were our knowledge of Vienna or Berlin, of the habits and feelings of their inhabitants, as limited as we have some reason to believe is the acquaintance of a very large majority of Germans with London

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and its people, we should certainly feel indebted to any intelligent Englishwoman who should put before us, in the form of animated and pleasantly written letters, the results of her investigations and observations during a two months' visit to either of those capitals. And we have little doubt that this, the first half of the Travelling Diary of Fanny Lewald," will be relished in Germany, although English readers will find in it little to interest them beyond those passages which we have here pointed out. The shortly-expected publication of the second volume will enable us to judge whether or not she found her ramble in the provinces and in Scotland more suggestive than her stay in the metropolis.

ONE day about the beginning of August last, I was sauntering along Princes Street in anything but a cheerful mood of mind. The truth is, that I did not very well know what to make of myself for the next two months. I was exceedingly anxious to be off to the moors as usual; but I had no spare cash to rent one, and no grouse-shooter of my acquaintance had been thoughtful enough to make tender of his hospitalities. To expend the whole season in Edinburgh was clearly out of the question. True-I might shut myself up in my rooms, post a notice outside the door that I would be back in time for the boxday, and devote the interval to the completion of an historical romance which I had commenced eighteen months before, and conducted as far as the single combat in the middle of the second volume, where I stuck for want of incidents. But not even Sir Walter could have submitted to such a penance at such a time; and, besides, I was not at all assured that any publisher would adequately recompense me for my trouble. I began to ponder upon the respective merits of different watering-places, princi

"with

pally on the west coast, angling at an easy distance, and every convenience for bathing at hand;" but these cogitations summoned up no more cheerful visions than the reminiscence of a row of unpicturesque two-storied houses, fronting the sea, in which certain Glaswegian nereids, in long night-gowns, were perpetually floundering-of a hard truckle bed with clammy sheets-of iron-pronged forks, and of marvellously ill-flavoured mutton. It will, therefore, be easy to comprehend why I glared malignantly at the travelling-carriages, as each, with its appropriate load of luggage, drove away from the doors of the hotels, conveying some delighted party to their residence in the far Highlands. There are certain moments in every man's life, when he succumbs to the original sin of radicalism.

There were not many men in town. On the previous week the Toxophilites had departed, relieving the streets of Edinburgh from the unwonted ravages of Robin Hood and his merry men, attired with classical propriety in a sort of spurious tartan. To them had succeeded the philosophers, who were now occupied as usual with their