He, of course, laughed at marriage, and declared it a crafty invention of priests and lawyers, and adopted by statesmen to keep people in trammels, and save trouble. It followed that he was an advocate for the doctrines which, growing out of the licentiousness of French romances, were beginning to be seriously entertained by the then wide-spreading philosophy which was hastening the crisis of the French revolution. By these it was held, and afterwards for a time made law, that marriage meant an agreement of men and women to live together so long as they were mutually pleased, and no longer.

What was called the virtue of a woman, he counted for nothing, being, as he said, the result of force. He supported this theory by examples drawn from the authorized liaisons, as he called them, at Paris, where he seemed to have studied them, as well as from a number of those loose and mischievous memoirs of actresses, and fashionable demireps, which from time to time had appeared, and had been equally the object of his research. Some of these were Ninon de l' Enclos, Constantia Philips, Mrs. Baddeley, Mrs. Robinson, et id genus omne--in all of which he appeared to be well versed.

To do justice to Granville's party, though almost all very young men, we looked at one another with a kind of disgust at these sentiments, which Gran

ville endeavoured to get rid of, rather than answer, by saying he was quite sure his friend Sir Harry was not serious in them, and only broached them as amusing paradoxes.

Sir Harry, however, declined availing himself of the retreat thus offered, declaring he was perfectly in earnest; and moreover added (for by this time the claret began to work), that he did not believe there was one in the company who, if he dared, would not avow himself of the same opinion.

"I should be sorry to think that," said Mr. Brownlow, a gentleman of about Granville's age, of uncommon intelligence of features as well as elegance of appearance, and who, it seems, after having had the reputation of being a great champion, as well as admirer of the sex, was lately married. "I believe I know something of women, and I beg not to be included in this sweeping declaration."

"We shall be all against you, Melford," said Granville," so you may as well give in, and confess that you have thrown up a straw to see how the

wind lies."

"No such thing," replied Sir Harry; “and least of all, since Brownlow professes to be against me-the most determined devotee and worshipper in the temple of Cupid; whose taste in beauty is proverbial, and who is courted by the women for a good word, or bad sonnet, to put them into fashion."

Brownlow good-humouredly joined in the laugh which this occasioned, observing, however, somewhat seriously,

"If I am, indeed, all this, I trust it may be a proof that I am not a bad judge of my subject, and that I may be right in opposing every one of the strange positions you have laid down, particu. larly when you disparage marriage, and prefer a brittle mistress, even (as I would allow you to mean) as a mere source of pleasure, to a virtuous wife."

"This, to me," replied the baronet; "me, who have heard you rave by the hour about Madame Rossi's grace and Miss Brown's charms;* so that you never missed an opera when one danced in Don Juan; nor the Duenna, or Beggar's Opera, when the other sang in Clara or Polly. Nay, you are talked of, and cannot deny it, as one of the initiated, a hero of the Green-room."

Here Sir Harry got another little laugh against Mr. Brownlow, who, however, sustained himself with dignity, though he pleaded guilty to the whole charge of admiring the theatrical charms of both the ladies mentioned, and even of his pleasure sometimes in the Green-room.

"You see," said he, "I deny nothing, for, in

* Madame Rossi was the Taglioni of this time; and Miss Brown, afterwards Mrs. Cargill, the original Clara of the Duenna, and most attractive Polly in the Beggar's Opera.

truth, it is this very experience of the little real power of attraction in your goddesses that gives me a right to protest against your opinions. I may and do find pleasure in contemplating the talents, and, if you will, the beauty, of these and other celebrated ladies (the whole sex at large, if it so please you); but do not mistake me-with all my devotion, and whatever my admiration of them for the passing hour,—for her person, her wit, or her accomplishments, I could not live as a companion with any woman whom I could not esteem.'

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Sir Harry looked a little disconcerted, especially when we all seemed to approve the sentiment; but still more when Mr. Brownlow went on

"Her wit, indeed, if it was very racy and pungent, as was said of Lady Dorchester's and Nell Gwyn's, I might admire; her accomplishments might even fill me with wonder; but would this either create a moral respect, or satisfy the heart? When passion was gratified, and languished, as it soon would, what would be left to renew, or continue, much more to heighten it? Any thing from mind? from reciprocity of sentiment ? from mutual esteem? No. She has no mind; or if she has, it can only embitter her feelings, by making her lament the loss of her virtue."

"Is virtue, then, or rather chastity, for that is your meaning," said Sir Harry, "a sine qua non to good taste? In the arts, or belles lettres, for

instance? May not an elegant-minded mistress be your companion there ?”

"My point is," answered Brownlow, "that in an unchaste woman, or one who has parted with her honour, this elegance of mind is not to be found.” "What! may not she understand and admire a picture or a statue ?”

"Yes; particularly if they partake, as they very likely may, of her own licentiousness; but in the belles lettres, which you also mentioned, I should say not;-for genuine belles lettres having good taste for their province, and all good taste, that is, real elegance of mind, requiring delicacy and virtue for their foundation, nay, their very essence, a woman destitute of these, as an unchaste woman must be, cannot feel their real beauties."

"According to you, then, a kept mistress could not relish Shakspeare ?"

"I know not," said Brownlow, "what parts of him she might relish; but there are parts which, if she is not lost to all feeling, must make her ashamed, despairing, and unhappy. What woman of loose conduct, if not abandoned, could contemplate the innocent Juliet or Desdemona, Imogen or Ophelia, and, far from pleasure, not turn with horror to herself? But if abandoned, what pretension can she have to the delicacy of mind which I have said is essential to the good taste necessary to make a woman a companion ?”