I should here remark, as the recollection of the fact came over me, I remember, at this precise moment, that at the time of which I am speaking -namely, the temporary restoration of the Bourbons in 1814-the most cold-blooded animosity was practised as well as felt towards the English residents and visitors, by a people always jealous of foreign superiority. The more open plan of duelling it is well known was systematically practised; but besides this, I was aware that men were frequently kidnapped in the way I had been, and never heard of. Bitterly did I now regret my extreme folly in allowing myself to fall so easy and unsuspecting a victim. Inwardly I resolved to try to put the best face I could on the matter, and, if the worst came to the worst, to sell my life dearly. I had never been a coward, but these are terrible situations: as Shelley sings,

"Death is a fearful blow

To a brain unencompassed by nerves of steel." And to die thus, too. I set myself to play my best, and thought of Kate Bushby.

I have always thought that the greatest disadvantage attending an autobiography is, that whatever situation of his life, whatever critical and perilous case the author may describe, you are not thoroughly interested. For why? Because you know that, as he is speaking to you, he must have survived it. All, therefore, I can claim is, that if I ever become read by any one, they will be kind enough to give me credit for being very uncomfortable and alarmed. Still I continued to play billiards, and to play very well too. I was usually a good player, but now-Lord, I could almost have given Jonathan points. Instead of my hand shaking, I went on without at all understanding it myself, in a sort of dream, making almost every stroke I attempted. When once I got a break, the game was mine. The Frenchmen looked on in admiration and surprise, but their looks lost not a whit of that farouche determination with which they had regarded me on my entrance. The suspense was horrible. They were evidently waiting for some one, and I was thinking of picking a quarrel with them all at once, to induce them to begin killing me.

A peculiar knock is heard at the door.

"Le voici qui vient," said one.

"Un peu tard," said another.

"Mais encore, voyons, assez tot," said my antagonist, looking at me with an odd look.

The servant had opened the door, and there entered-not the man who was to have killed me, I suppose, but a strong body of gens-d'armes. Need I say, a welcome sight?

My deposition was soon made to the commissaire, and the miscreants were brought to justice, which had just then in France an affectation of being very strict. On the trial it came out, one of the gang

having turned King's evidence-the man they were waiting for who had betrayed their haunt-that a man answering Greville's description had been decoyed, robbed, and thrown into the canal.

In the meanwhile the charms of person and delightful conversation of Madame La Grange, to which the continued illness of the old Comte afforded every assistance, were enthralling me deeper and deeper, and I began to hope for success.

Two letters arrived for me about this time from England, which I have kept as highly characteristic. They are now before me, and are as follows:

Mansfield, Dec. 1814.

DEAR PAUL,-Your mother and myself have been much surprised at your having so long neglected the duty of writing to either of us. If the cause of this be study and labour in your vocation, it is well done; but if idleness and lounging habits, if not worse, keep you from your family and those you are bound to love and honour, it is ill.

My Lord tells me you are giving him satisfaction. I trust it is so ; but have a fancy to hear it from yourself. I therefore desire you will at once write to us. You have no idea what a person the new curate is. He has had the effrontery to preach regeneration by baptism, though I have had a hint given him from more than one quarter that I am opposed to the doctrine. You know that joke of mine about the saddle of mutton being cut bridle wise, &c. The other day I had this Mr. TomFool to dinner, and had, of course, a saddle to bring in you see, my joke. Judge-fancy my disgust, at hearing him say that he thought he had heard it before. JOHN DENZIL MANSFIELD.

MY DEAREST BOY,-I have such a number of things to say to you, that I must let them out helter-skelter, without stopping to arrange them. In the first place there is a new curate, whom your father is naturally much displeased with. I may mention that he is poor, but wears very nice linen. He is in a consumption, and blows the flute; so we allow him and Jane to be a little more together than we should under other circumstances. You will be sorry to hear that Stiles has had a relapse of his old fits, which your father thinks very likely proceeds from excessive use of beer. But it is after all very shocking. I saw him in his cottage the other day lying on the floor, quite insensible; I sent for the parish doctor, who says he can cure him, I have, therefore, been reluctantly obliged to give him up. He is gone on the parish, and should his epilepsy desert him, will form an useful member of society. Your affectionate mother, ANNE M.

P.S.-By the bye, the Bushby's are ruined-that is, old Bushby is dead, and Kate is gone no one knows where. Take care of yourself, my blessed boy.

I must confess, epicurean as I was, these letters gave me some annoyance. To find my father as pompous and disagreeable as ever, and my mother as weak and goodnatured, was to be expected; but to find a consumptive flute-playing companion left a good deal with my sister;" and above all, to find in an incidental allusion that poor Kate was perhaps lost to me for ever, and cast forth to the storms of a pitiless and a cold world, was matter for sad and serious meditation. However, with the usual volatility of youth, my mind in a great degree, and in the presence of Madame La Grange, shook off these very natural emotions.

Sophie La Grange was decidedly the most fascinating woman I have ever met. At the time of which I am speaking she might have been about thirty, scarcely above the average of female stature, and perfectly well made; with no more of en-bon-point than almost of necessity falls to the lot of married ladies, or than was essential to the rounded symmetry of her womanly form. Fair, näive, and sparkling, with a manner perfectly gracious and easy, and besides, feeling herself bound to evince all possible gratitude to the preserver of her husband, what wonder that I persuaded myself she would yield to my hitherto unconquered powers of fascination.

It was about two o'clock on a mild day in January, that I found myself sitting in Madame La Grange's boudoir. We had been conversing on I know not what light topic of the day-for the Parisians were not then generally aware of the mine which was ready to be fired beneath their feet. I had not the courage in this, any more than in former téteà-têtes, to speak on the subject which I was trying to persuade myself was necessary to my happiness. "A propos," said Madame La Grange, “I have a very pretty country woman of yours, whom, at the recommendation of a friend, I have taken into my house as English governess to my little ones."

"Ah, Madame," said I, attempting to look sentimental, and producing in the endeavour that horrible leer for which our untravelled countrymen are so justly celebrated, "I have no country: lately, new associations have taken with me the power and place of those old ones." I know not what I should have said next, had I not been interrupted by the entrance of the sur-dite governess with the children, who came in from a morning walk, red in the face with health and animal spirits. I did not at first observe her features. A slight exclamation of surprise escaped the lips of the fair intruder: I looked round and perceived Kate. I am afraid I must have looked very foolish. Shame, embarrassment, and repentant love, were my predominant feelings; and if they showed themselves in my countenance, as they probably did, it must have presented a curious physiognomical appearance. She, poor girl, appeared much surprised at my extraordinary conduct, while Madame La Grange evidently did not know what to make of the whole affair.

We were for a little while a very theatrical but uncomfortable-looking tableau vivant. At length Madame found a tongue.

"Tiens," said she, addressing Kate, "vous connaissez donc M. Mansfield, ma chère."

It was now my turn to speak.

"Kate," said I, "what means this? In the name of Heaven speak. I leave you under the roof of your father my affianced bride-I meet you again with Madame La Comtesse in the situation of a dependant. How is this?"

"Have you not then heard?" faultered the bewildered girl.

"I sce I am de trop," smiled Madame La Grange, "au revoir, mon sécretaire. I will go and see how my husband fares." So saying, she walked gracefully out of the room with her healthy-looking offspring, and left the rover in the arms of his first love.

Kate's simple story was soon told, and I on my part concealed nothing from her. As I had not greatly sinned, I did not despair of pardon; though I have no doubt the dear girl would have forgiven me, had I had a deeper catalogue of crime to relate.

Altogether, being somewhat older than when first I left her father's house, I soon came to my determination; which was-that she should remain in the house of her present kind and amiable protectress, until I could succeed in mollifying the paternal heart. And Kate said she was not afraid of my coming to the Faubourg now; so that was all agreeably arranged. As for mollifying my father's heart, I might as well have attempted to mollify a brick-bat. So I lived on still at the Embassy for some time, and on the landing of Buonaparte from Elba, we all returned to England. I say all, for La Grange, having perfectly recovered from his wound, which he shrewdly suspected to have been the work of some Republican, anxious to remove a foe to the "Rights of Man," determined to wait in friendly England for better and happier times.

My father, unfortunately for him, fell into the mania of speculation which was so prevalent at the time, and lost all but his entailed estates. This loss, and the consequent diminution of importance, so affected his spirits that his health gave way, and he died of an atrophy, August 4th, 1815. A large slab in the church of Mansfield-cum-Millington, records his public and private excellencies, In the meanwhile I had not neglected my diplomatic career, and success crowned my application. I was employed on several missions of trust, and having cut in for some nice things under Government, which do not depend upon the opinions of the men in power, I am once more warranted in contemplating my union with Kate.

[Mr. Mansfield has dropped a veil over the horrible event which at this period, at one blow, dashed to the ground his bright and virtuous

NO. VIII.-VOL. II.

2 F

hopes, and imparted to his temperament that tint, as it were, of sadness, that ever afterwards slightly shaded the character of one born the most warm and natural of men. It would ill become us, even were we able, to lift this concealment, or fill up this gap which he himself has left. But we can do no more than the reader, before whom we shall hasten to lay such extracts (strung together after our manner) as may put him in possession of all the facts we have respecting this gentleman.-ED.]

INDIVIDUALITY OF CHARACTER, AND ITS EXTERNAL

SIGNS.

Respice finem.

HORACE.

To point a moral, and adorn a tail.

JOHNSON.

SOCIETY is composed from a vast but harmonized mass of apparent incongruities-those, I mean, which are produced by the kaleidoscopic variations of individual character. There are, indeed, some persons to be met with who appear at once to disclaim the possession of any "idiosyncrasy;" (what an ugly word that is ;) but such cases are rare. It is possible, certainly, that the constant intercourse between persons of all sorts, of different positions and occupations, so much furthered by the railways, will not have the same influence on people's character that the ever-flowing tide of the sea has upon the stones it washes. But we are not called upon for any philosophical or prophetical view of the case, we are only to consider in its practical view, how far individual character is to be predicated of by external signs, what those signs are, and whether we have any right to use them.

The theory that the salient points in the constitution of a man's mind are expressed to the intelligent spectator, by some as striking circumstances in the outward man, has received the support of many eminent philosophers besides ourselves. Aristotle, Bacon, Locke, and Dugald Stewart, lend their countenance to a theory which we struck out for ourselves by observation and reasoning. Many practical men have attempted to carry this theory out, by stating what the principal indicia were. Lavater's "noscitur a naso" notion was nothing but this. In later times, Messrs. Gall and Spurzheim thought they had hit the right nail on the head; while Boz, in his inimitable sketches, gravely asserts that he has generally found the knocker of a man's door, an unerring clue to the mazes of his heart. The proverb says, "Shew me the companions, and I will shew you the man ;" and we were once at school under a gentleman who said, "Shew me the handwriting, and I will shew you the man."