Persuaded that a good writer cannot be written down but by himself,² we become apprehensive for the pen that seems to promise no end to its labours. It must, we think, tire at last;—and, to prevent being caught tripping, it were to be wished that a brilliant career might finish with éclat, and the close of a celebrated literary life be marked by this praise,

Nothing became it like the leaving it.³

Under the title of Souvenirs, Mad. de Genlis here presents us with a miscellany of anecdotes of courts, details of villagers, and what she terms historiettes, or little histories, bonmots, and jests; many among the latter of which are not unworthy of our own countryman of laughing memory, Joe Miller. We are told that these choice morsels have been already dispersed through thirty volumes of the Bibliothèque des Romans;⁴ and as they have been often copied in the journals, and printed in foreign countries, it was a duty which the fair writer seemed to owe to these wandering effusions of the muse, to collect them into an edition, and to prevent them from being pirated by others.

The first page leads us to expect a detailed account of Mad. de G.'s residence in England, and of the many civilities which she received during her long stay in what she denominates the pretty town of Bury: yet, even after the mention which she makes of this jolie ville⁵ and the pleasant society which it afforded, not a tittle of a grateful Souvenir drops from her pen. 'A small society, composed of five or six persons, très spirituelles,⁶ assembled together every day from the hours of seven till half-past ten: the amusement consisted of music and conversation; and the evenings passed very agreeably.' Fort agréablement seems but a vapid éloge⁷ from the pen of a French-woman, whose language is generally glowing with expressions of more rapturous signification; and Mad. de Genlis, by excluding from her vocabulary the words charming, enchanting, &c., excites the suspicion that this little society had not produced very lively sensations of enjoyment. Here, [Page 543] however, it was that the plan was projected of a journey to the delightful cottage of Llangollen; and as this Souvenir seems to have afforded more entertainment to the writer than any other that resulted from her English travels, it also communicates a superior degree of interest in the detail. Yet the hasty manner, in which this visit of curiosity was instantaneously adopted and arranged, is scarcely a less extraordinary event in the chapter of accidents than the motive which suggested its accomplishment. It is thus related:

One evening, the subject of our conversation happening to turn on friendship, I said that I would willingly undertake a very considerable journey to see two friends who had been long united by the ties of friendship.—"Well, madame," replied Mr. Stewart⁸ , "go to Llangollen; you will there see the model of perfect friendship; and the picture will please you so much the more, as it will be presented by two women who are still young, and in every respect charming. Do you wish to know the history of Lady Eleanor Butler and of Miss Ponsonby?"—"I shall be delighted with it."—"Then I will relate it."—At these words, we drew our little circle around Mr. Stewart:—he paused a moment for the purpose of recollection, and then began the narrative nearly in these terms.

We have not space for the insertion of this very novel history; for the accuracy of which, moreover, we are not able to answer: but we must refer the reader to Vol. i. p. 3. We cannot, however, fail to participate with Mad. de Genlis in the enthusiasm which her romantic imagination imbibed from the scenery of Llangollen, and the extraordinary attachment of its inhabitants; and the tout ensemble must have possessed a mind like hers with such visionary ideas, that we are not surprized at the effect of Fancy, when it produced the music of the spheres from the wild and random notes of an Eolian harp. In her subsequent reflections, nevertheless, Mad. de G. does not appear to be the advocate of such excentric connections as form the union between Lady Eleanor Butler and Miss Ponsonby, and she leaves Llangollen apparently dis-enchanted. Yet we are almost sorry when she takes leave of the friends, and changes her recollections to bon mots and jests. These are very commonly introduced without analogy, or association of ideas; and the scene shifts rapidly from the famous Vaucanson,⁹ the greatest mechanic of his day, who made an automaton which played on the flute, and a duck that both ate and digested its food, to a merry anecdote of a miser: which we will favour with our particular notice, in compliment to the fair author, because it seems to have given her peculiar delight: [Page 544]

M. de C****, very rich, but blinded by a cataract formed on both his eyes, came to Paris from the remotest part of Languedoc, to consult a surgeon; who told him that it was time for him to perform the operation of couching, for the success of which he would be answerable. M. de C**** inquired what would be the expence of the operation: fifty guineas, replied Granjean.—M. de C. remonstrated grievously against the charge, and was disposed to make a bargain, to lower the price: but Granjean was inflexible; and M. de C. had nothing left but patience, submission, and non-resistance. Some days afterward, the surgeon performed the operation; when, having removed the cataract from the right eye, M. de C. exclaimed with transport, that his sight was perfectly restored. Come then, said Granjean, let us proceed to the other eye. Stay a moment, replied M. de C.:—you take fifty guineas for the whole operation; that is, five-and-twenty for each eye: now as I see quite as well as is necessary, and as I wish to see, I shall content myself with one eye: to recover the other would be a very useless luxury; there are your five-and-twenty guineas.

With one more sprightly anecdote, we shall close our extracts; and as it relates to our celebrated countryman Mr. Gibbon, we think that it will not be uninteresting to the reader:

I hear from Lausanne that Mr. Gibbon has been settled there for some time,¹⁰ and is extremely well received. He is, they tell me, grown so prodigiously fat, that he walks with great difficulty: yet with this figure, and his strange face, Mr. Gibbon is infinitely gallant, and is fallen in love with a beautiful woman, Madame de Crouzas.¹¹ One day, finding himself with her tête à tête for the first time, and desirous of availing himself of so favourable a moment, he fell suddenly on his knees, and made a declaration of his flame in the most passionate terms. Madame de Crouzas replied in a manner sufficiently repulsive to discourage every temptation to renew the scene, and Mr. Gibbon appeared embarrassed: but he nevertheless retained his prostrate attitude; and notwithstanding Madame's repeated invitation to re-seat himself on his chair, he was motionless and silent.—"But, sir," repeated Madame de Crouzas, "rise, I beseech you."—"Alas, Madame," at length answered this unfortunate lover, "I am not able." In truth, the corpulency of his person totally impeded the possibility of his recovering his legs without assistance. Madame de C. then rang the bell, and desired the servant to help Mr. Gibbon to rise.

Here Mad. de Genlis takes leave of the gros Monsieur Gibbon, and directs her satiric pen to another ill-starred lover, whose stature was in the extreme of opposition; and the little man was even more ludicrously punished for an unwelcome declaration, by being placed upon the chimney-piece.

In revenge for the treatment of this unhappy wight, we shall now put the fair writer herself upon the shelf.