CLARINDA; OR, THE VACCILLATING FAIR. A TALE FOR YOUNG LADIES. LISTLESS, enervated, and dejected, Clarinda Drelincour had thrown herself upon a repose, and neglected a thousand sources of content which seemed to court her to happiness; but she rejected them all, because one idea of (at best doubtful) felicity was harboured in her bosom. At a fête given by the Marquis Deujalois, at Paris, Clarinda had engaged the attention of Captain Dencher, an officer in the Tenth, who, detained by the novelties of a foreign court, had suffered his regiment to return to England without him. He rejoiced at the leave of absence which had been granted him by his Colonel, as it would allow him, for one month more, to exhibit his "tawney boot and gilded spur" to the belles both of France and England. As he professed a thorough contempt for the dames of his own country, whom he declared were only remarkable for ill-made shoes and thick ankles, it is not a little extraordinary that Clarinda Drelincour could at all attach him to her circles; but Clarinda had a manoeuvring mamma, to whose tactics Dencher was more obedient than to those of Dundas, or any other military author to be met with at Egerton's. The truth is, that he was permitted, at the lodgings of Mrs. Drelincour, to abuse all the English, without the exception of a single lady, out of the company he was with; these never suspected themselves of those bourgeoise habits, which were attached to their countrywomen. matter-of-fact, what she herself would have laughed at, had she seen any other young lady paid similar attentions. Indeed, the compliments of Dencher were not common ones; his panegyrics were uttered in such a tone of earnestness-his likes and dislikes were so positively Clarinda's, that had she been ten years younger, we might have pitied her credulity, and most bitterly execrated the name of the man who trifled with her peace: as it was, she has little of our compassion. Clarinda Drelincour had been long obliged to call in those innocent aids to vanishing charms, which would make her appear more agreeable in the eyes of others, and give a greater air of jeunesse than the age of six-and-thirty did to her looks.Her tête à-la-Psyche had often been revived by an extra curl; her rouge assumed a warmer glow; and there were those who affirmed, with great hardihood, that a centre tooth was not her own, any further than that she had paid Monsieur Denteuse a certain number of livres in order that it might become so. Some persons wickedly. declared, that the age which she published herself to be of at her last natal fête, was the same which she had acknowledged ten years ago. We will not shock the ears of our readers by calling Clarinda, as yet, an old maid; but she certainly. did appear somewhat respectable when she associated herself, as she imprudently did, with all the French girls of eighteen and twenty, in spite of the “poudre subtil," and all the art and mystery of a well-furnished toilet. Although she was not in love with Dencher, she found him very necessary to her happiness; and what added to his influence was, that the English army had left France, and he was the only English officer left to offer incense at her altar.She was not to the taste of Frenchmen, consequently she returned the compliment by hating them; in fact, her pronunciation, or knowledge of their language, was not sufficient to make her au fait at compli Mrs. Drelincour's was an agreeable lounge at the déjeuné à-la-fourchette, or after a ball; or, in plain terms, Captain Dencher loved to lounge at this place, because he could indulge in his wit on toutes les dames, English as well as French; and he very much preferred this house to sitting alone at those times when no invitation, pour passer le tems, solicited his attention. To remain with a woman with out passing a certain bead roll of compliments, was as outré to Dencher as mounting a King's guard without white gaiters. Clarinda was acquainted with this propen-ments given or received, and she was as sity of his, yet wilfully shut her eyes tardy in comprehending them as she was against all consequences; and took for in giving them in return. and was far off the beau ideal. If Dencher rattled in conversation with an ease peculiar to himself, Morton was slow and tacituru; and his opinions, however correct or not, were often at variance with those of the beau monde. He possessed no accomplishments; his sabre-tash, or his other appointments, were not slung with the elegant negligence of Dencher's; and if his manners were respectable, they were not those of a man who had mixed in much polished society; and in so appear But this little month of Dencher's leave of absence was now expired, and he had made up his mind to make himself as exquisite in England as he had done in France: he never dreamt that, in leaving Clarinda behind, she would indulge in any more tristesse than what he should allow himself to feel; and we must do him the justice to declare, that so far from imagining she would be miserable at his absence, he thought that in his room another, and another, would succeed: he might have added, "and the last fool would have beening, gave the lie to what had really been as welcome as the former." But here he calculated without much knowledge of human nature, or it might have entered his head, that the days of new conquests were, with Clarinda, nearly over-that hundreds of younger, and more engaging debûtantes, would force her from her pedestal; in common words, that she had no time to lose. Clarinda had played off all the little arts of coquetry and affectation so often, that although they had become nearly natural to her, she became hopeless of success; and this last threatened departure of one whom she had mistaken for a lover, left her to feelings which we have attempted to describe at the beginning of this work, and seemed to deprive her of fresh exertion. It may be asked, why did not she and her mamma return to England || also? This might, indeed, have been done also, but not likewise. There were certain little embarrassments, but which, indeed, we shall not divulge, that made it more convenient for them to occupy a few small rooms in the Fauxbourg St. Antoine, than in a large house in Manchester-square. There was a gentleman of the same regiment with Dencher, who arrived in France about the period when the former was leaving it, whom, as the writers of old nouvellettes say, we shall call Morton. He was the particular friend of Dencher, and by him was introduced to Clarinda and her mother; and when in company with Clarinda, occasionally chaperon, operated as a very powerful foil: and it has been suspected, that from this cause alone, though we do not ourselves entirely believe it, rested all his regard for Morton. If Dencher was formed in the mould of the Apollo of Belvidere, Morton's was much too stout for either ease or elegance, the case. He was the only son of a father, who, until his death, had alone engrossed his society, and now, at the age of thirty, had released him; bequeathing him to the gay world, with few of its habits and tastes, with a considerable fortune. He was literary, and fond of science; but he never touched a card, except in compliance with wishes that could not be avoided. His opinion of a horse was very much in favour with that which carried him with the greatest safety. Vingt-et-un and hazard he only knew by name; in short, he was as unfit a companion for Dencher, as any man could be who had plenty of money, and willingness to lend it, to any gambler who made a demand upon his purse. Could such a man find favour in the sight of Clarinda Drelincour? She never dreamed that he expected it; yet she had no objection to entertain him, when Dencher, who was absent, was better engaged : and as Morton found himself neglected when he was present, his pride became piqued, and at length he found himself in love.. Proceed, human nature, in vexing and being vexed-in loving where ye are not loved, and hating where ye are loved! Morton had determined on leaving Paris before; he said, as things became worse, "he had better go while he could go:" worse they could not be, for his heart acknowledged its misery when absent from Miss Drelincour, and he could not go He, however, as he was a prudent man resolved not to commit himself before Dencher, as a thousand fashionable young men would have done; but determined, as we have said before, to fly. He ordered Jasper to prepare his trunks, and to depart by five o'clock, the next morning. Cupid had, truths than usual, we know not; but on the appearance of Morton to accompany them to the Theatre l'Odeon, less atten tion was paid to his condolements on their loss of Dencher than usual. however, not yet done with him. Dencher || in dressing for dinner on this day, false burst into his dressing-room; told him, in || rìnglets or false colouring told more homely his way, that his leave of absence was entirely expired, and that he must quit Paris; begged him to lend him another hundred, and vanished. Morton lent him the one hundred pounds with a pleasure which he pretended he could not account for, and remained in his dressing-gown, playing with the seals of his watch it ended in ringing for Jasper, and a countermand of a chaise. It is true the virtues of Morton were obscured by the fictious pearls of Dencher, but Clarinda was long, very long, in curs ing her destiny: long she persisted in being miserable for ever, until at length, hearing that Dencher had fallen by his own hands in a spunging-house, she condescended to be comforted by Morton, and accommodating herself to circumstances, she recalled all her natural charms: in spite of the advice of a silly mother she gave up rouge and ringlets, and applying herself to meet the love of a deserving man as How fortunate is it for the happiness of us mortals, that chance sometimes does more than our wisest resolves. Mrs. Drefincour, the late apostrophiser of les agrêmens of Dencher, now became the panegyrist of Morton: he was so reputable such a good young man. Clariuda did not like your good young men ; to be sure, he had not the life and spirits of Captain Den-he merited, moulded herself to his taste: cher; but all was not gold that glittered."What, mamma! 1 marry Morton! Me! I would rather die first!"-"No you would not, Clary; so do not be a fool."Whether Clarinda felt the bitterness of the vulgar sarcasm, or whether it was that, and was at length compelled to confess, that under a rough exterior, many a virtue may lie concealed; while the polished surface, which dazzles all day long, may hide a heart impervious to every moral feeling. ON WOMEN-(FROM THE FRENCH.) Women form a distinct body of themselves, and this rule may be applied to them more than to men. Man is often an isolated being, relying on his own indi On this subject many able pens have been employed, and will, probably, continue to exercise their skill: physicians, || poets, philosophers, all attempt to write on it: some preach, some flatter; others an-vidual powers; and it is but too often that alyze and dissect it. These last do not act wisely women rather prefer those who scold, them to those who judge them; he becomes the dupe of his own presumption. Women support each other, and remain together in a solid column; whoever attacks one, draws on himself the auger of the whole; great is the embarrassment, and perilous the struggle, when a thousand blows are levelled at once, by as many dif ferent persons. Their tongues act as darts, inflicting a thousand wounds, and as trumpets that proclaim, far and wide, the vic tory of their party. Every thing is performed through women, or for women; heroes have laid their arms and, laurels at their feet: such was the gallantry of former times. Now men reason and obtain political knowledge for their amusement; they glean from every new pamphlet that treats on the liberty of the press or ou elections; if there is any witty and excellent trial of police on writings or finance, they carry them to the ladies by wholesale; they applaud the law-conquering; and he revenges hintself of a yers; and, that is a real triumph to the orator. But when any one is desirous of sowing dissension among these amazons; when they have address enough to take them one by one, he is sure, on his side, of thousand sorrows, by a thousand delights: Formerly a female author was modest, delicate, and tender; and it was said of her, she is a woman and an author. We call her now a female writer: she has no reserve-she writes on every subject: but|| there is always in her armour some part left open; her sex is discovered; yet criticism does not spare the imprudent scribbler on that account. A celebrated woman is sometimes an exeeption to this rule: and there are men who are always in the suite of these sensible females, in order to have it thought they are themselves men of sense. Sometimes these women utter things that others do not understand; but they applaud them as if they understood them, when, in fact, they deserve to be hissed. A female who is eager to obtain the reputation of being a woman of sense, suffers many pangs when in love. She is scarce ever loved for herself, but rather for the celebrity she has gained. With so many means of pleasing, it is not likely she should be constantly attached to any one; she does, however, sometimes attach herself, and is, according to custom, generally betrayed. Every one is astonished at her|| refusing consolation, and the importance | that she attaches to worldly things: it is discovered that she is merely a woman of words, and without much difficulty she takes care to prove, that a woman of sense is just the same as any other woman. "Believe what I tell you," Madame P― used to say; "we only seek to extend our renown through a wide space, when our power begins to diminish in our own little circle: and when we try to make people speak of us, you may rest assured it is because they begin to say very little to us." When females are very young, they are very desirous of hearing stories and anecdotes; in a few years they choose to relate them themselves. When young, they endeavour to conceal their sentiments, and know not how to disguise them; as they grow older they let every one know their feelings, and often affect sentiments they never experience. However, he who lives not for woman is lost; who seeks to fly from her, is inevitably bewildered. It is difficult to preserve with women a just equipoise: we always do too much or too little for them. They do us much good or much harm: but no one can withstand their influence. Let your friends inform you when you interrogate them as friends; and if they answer you as conscience dictates, you will find. what an immense part women have taken, both in their sorrows and in their good fortune. S. G. Return-return-return-shall we never! Mackrimmon, hereditary piper to the Lord of Macleod, is said to have composed this lament when the Clan was about to depart upon a distant and dangerous expedition. The Minstrel was impressed with a belief, which the event verified, that he was to be slain in the approaching fend and hence the Gaelic words, Cha till mi tuille; ged thilles Macleod, cha till Mackrimmon. "I shall never return; although Macleod returns, yet Mackrimmon shall never return." The piece is well known, as the strain with which the emigrants from the West High. lands and Isles usually take leave of their native shore, and is thus elegantly alluded to in Article 1. of the Quarterly Review for January, 1816,|| concerning the Culloden papers :-"But if the hour of need should come, and it may not, perhaps, be far distant, the pibroch may sound through the deserted region, but the summons will remain unanswered. The children who have left her will re-echo from a distant shore the sounds with which they took leave of their own-Cha till, cha till, cha till mi tuille"We turn, we turn, we turn no more!" AN ARABIAN SONG. I LOVE thee, Ibla!-Thou art bright Fine is thy shape as the Erak's bough, And when I return, with a chieftain's name, No. 130.-Vol. XX. OH! what is life when feeling's dead, When hearts have ceased to glow; When bliss, nay worse, when hope is fled, O who would stay below? Oh! look on yonder aged man, With scatter'd locks of snow; His life with joy and hope began, But it must end in woe. That dim eye which so wildly strays, Once brightly beam'd; but now The voice which once he loved the best, And yet he does not smile. That beart which now so feebly beats, M m |