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-humoredly 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 oppoposing every one of the strange positions you have laid down, particularly 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 theatri

* 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.

cal 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 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."

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 elegantminded mistress be your companion there?"

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'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 elgance 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 Shakespeare?"

"I know not," said Brownlow, "what parts of him she night relish; but there are parts which, if she is not lost to all feeling, must make her ashamed, desparing, 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 ?"

We all applauded this sentiment, and the baronet looked embarrassed.

"As my support in this," continued Brownlow, "recollect the poor Jesse of Shenstone, once seemingly endowd with a taste for elegance, but lost with her innocence:

If thro' the garden's flowery walks I stray,

And court the jasmins which could once allure,
Hope not to find delight in us, they say,

For we are spotless, Jesse, we are pure,'

Such self-condemnation, by destroying all cheerfulness, must at once destroy companionship, and render even beauty nugatory, perhaps repulsive; and thus, as far as even mere passion is concerned, your heroine has lost the power of creating it, and has dwindled either into a sorrowful mope, or a reckless, abandoned prostitute."

Instead of answering this forcible elucidation, Sir Harry filled his glass to the brim, and began beating the devil's tattoo under the table; and it was easy to see he was maintaining a contest with himself; but rallying a little, he observed,

"This will, at least, not apply to a mistress's wit. That surely must remain intrinsically wit, whatever becomes of esteem."

"I am too fond of wit, as a mark of intellectual vigour," returned Mr. Brownlow. " to deny its power. But in this instance, what power? To please by filling the understanding, and giving food for reflection? No; to amuse, perhaps

to dazzle and excite, but only for a moment. The effect over, it revives not. Like a cordial, it warms and kindles, but has no nourishment; for we love not, because we do not respect the person of the speaker, and our esteem for intellect is so mingled with disesteem for character, that we do not remember what is spoken with pleasure."

According to this," said Sir Harry, "you would not admire a beautiful passage in a play, should the actor be a bad moral character."

"I should endeavour," returned Brownlow, "to think only of the author, and forget the actor."

"But how, if the author himself was a profligate? Would that derogate from the beauty of the language?"

"Not from its beauty in the abstract," returned Brownlow, "but from my pleasure in it, certainly, unless I could succeed in forgetting the writer."

"What think you of Sterne or Rousseau ?" asked Sir Harry. "As writers or men?" asked Brownlow.

"As both conjoined," replied Sir Harry.

"Much as I admire them as writers," said his opponent, "if I think of their characters while reading, I answer distinctly and fairly, my pleasure is much diminished."

"What! at the pathos which surrounds Uncle Toby and Le Fevre, or the wit that belongs to old Shandy!"

"Even so; unless, as it luckily often happens, that in this wit and pathos I am so beguiled, that I forget the bad husband and pretended lover of virtue."

"And Rousseau ?"

"There I am very clear; for in all his most eloquent touches, I never do, and never can, forget the hypocritical sophist-the avowed thief-the false witness-the deserter of his offspring. No, Melford, do not be led astray by the meteor of false sentiment, into the deceit of thinking evil good, or good evil; or that a woman's virtue does not heighten ber charms, even to a man of pleasure. But, as to the meretricious attractions of the persons you have mentioned, be assured, what I always thought, and now know, is true; that one kind look, one soft pressure of the band, from the wife of your heart, who loves you, and knows you love her, is worth a whole harem of purchased favours.”

This address seemed by no meaus thrown away upon him

to whom it was directed, for he not only shewed signs of being beat, but of inward distress, for which, when I thought of what had caused this change in his character, I heartily pitied him.

Nor was it lost upon any of us, least of all upon myself; for I conceived both liking and respect for Brownlow, who did honour to that undefinable character, a man of fashion; and I was glad, by Granville's particular introduction to him, to add so worthily to the list of my select acquaintance.

Having outstaid the company, Granville gave me the following account of Brownlow:

"He is a man of fortune," said he, "good family, and of the best monde; or, as Shakspeare would say, 'of great admittance.' He has been as much what is called a man of pleasure, as a pure taste and fine mind would permit him to be, so as to have acquired much knowledge of the ways, perhaps of the corruptions of society, without being corrupted himself. His talents for pure and good criticism threw him at one time a good deal into the theatrical world, where his judgment was much respected, and his notice courted by the women as much as the men; and hence Melford's allusions. But, if not his virtue, his taste, in regard to the sex, of which you saw a good specimen, kept him pure in those opinions which he so well en forced; and in this he was the more lucky, for, previous to his present happiness in marriage with a woman of great beauty and merit, he was a warm and ill-used lover."

"Ha!" cried I; was such a man ill-used? Disappointed perhaps ?"

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Downright jilted."

"You amaze me!"

"I thought I should; and I am not sorry that you have seen him thus flourishing and happy, because I had him often in my mind when I told you that a man might love to distraction, and yet recover; nay, as in this gentleman's instance, rejoice in his failure in one place, for his far superior happiness in another."

"This must be an interesting history," said I.

"It is ; but not on account of any particular adventures any romance-but merely from the completeness of his recov ery, and his achievement afterwards of the most perfect felici