wheat, and having no produce to pay his rent, went backward in the world, and destroyed himself!

medical letters that have so long disgraced the daily papers, nor shall we crowd our pages with them, merely observing that Most certainly neither liberality nor Joanna's own conduct during all those prudence prompt us to be the advocates visits was of a shuffling kind, notwithstand of persecution; yet we cannot help lamenting that she appeared even to Dr. Simms ing to see this impostor enjoying the fruits to be fully impressed with the truth of of her imposition; nay, we will venture to || her own story. He considered her as suf. prophecy, that if she is not checked, we||fering under delusion; we differ from him, shall soon have other candidates for a holy gossiping, as there are great temptations in laced caps, embroidered mantles, silver pap-spoons, and caudle cups, to the amount of 1501. independent of the value of the crib, which has been stated to have cost upwards of 2001. to which must be added all the fine things sent from Birmingham and other places, the bare list of which would fill a page.

as we think it impossible for any person to look at her portrait, and to hesitate for a single moment as to the predominant feelings of her mind. We give Dr. Simms, however, credit for his liberality; and we wish that other Doctors had not written more than even they themselves understood: in short, Joanna's own directions to the medical examinants were evidently the result of studied deception, of which she is

We have avoided noticing specifically the either the origin or the victim !!!

ORIGINAL COMMUNICATIONS.

A TOUR THROUGH FRANCE.

IN A SERIES OF LETTERS FROM A LÁDY TO HER COUSIN IN LONDON, IN 1814.

I have been engaged in such a whirl of bustle, gaiety, and visiting for this week past, that I scarce know how to give you an account of all I have seen, remarked, or heard; but as I well know that such a prologue will, with you and my exact uncle, by no means excuse the irregularity of the melo-drame you will receive, I must endea vour to be as correct in my information as possible.

I HAVE seen enough in a few days to convince me that Paris is all show and gaiety, but that it wants the real comforts we enjoy in London. The architecture here is on a grand scale, the houses are in the form of palaces, but many of them have not what we should call two good rooms within them. Pantheons, museums, statues, fountains, and bridges, public walks and gardens, impose on, and delude the sight. On the north of the Seine lie the Boulevards of St. Denis, St. Martin, Du Temple, Du Calvine and St. Antoine. The public buildings are remarkably fine, and an intersection of crescent-like appearance of the public walks forms a beautiful and striking effect in the one half of Paris, the Faux-for him. borugs St. Germain and St. Marcel: the extent from Les Jardins des Plantes to the hospitals of Des Enfans Trouvés, remains unfinished.

In the first place, I would advise every one who means to visit Paris, to write beforehand to their correspondents (if they have any), to procure them lodgings before their arrival. Be sure to tell our old friend Colonel C, who is as particular as any old bachelor I know, that as he means to visit Paris very soon, I beg he will commis sion me, who am so well acquainted with all his eccentricities, to provide a lodging

I will now give you an account of the first visit we paid, previous to our shewing our faces at the public spectacles with which Paris abounds, and which appear to

be, in the eyes of its inhabitants, the great ridiculed, and I have all my dresses made glory of the nation. by Madame Leroy, in the rue Richelieu, the most celebrated dress-maker in Paris.

We feel ourselves sometimes as much puzzled'in the choice of the spectacle we shall visit in this luxurious and splendid

Nothing diverted me so much, amidst a group of well dressed people at the house of Madame de N, to whom we were first introduced, as the Anglo-mania of two young men who were parading her spa-city, as we sometimes are in that of a new cious saloon; and would you believe it, my dear Harriet, they so well copied the present manners of modern English beaux, that they gave a very slight, nonchalant look at the Belle Angloise, Emilie, and then immediately turned away, routed their fingers in their cropped-hair, and pulled their enormous cravats still more over their chins, so that the muslin nearly touched their nether lip: when they chanced to pass the beautiful pier glasses with which this elegant apartment is adorned, their own dear persons seemed the most important point of attraction.

gown, cap, or bonnet, when the opulent English merchant displays his varied stores of fashion and elegance to our bewildered taste. The old and new Boulevards present a multiplicity of different amusements, and I believe there are from twenty to thirty theatres open every evening. For the morning recreation of walking, we cannot find that comfort and amusement as in London, the want of flag-stones rendering the streets frequented by carriages very unpleasant to the pedestrian; in the Thuilleries and in some of the squares, we may, to be sure, contrive to keep our shoes clean; and in that place of wonders, the Palais Royale, that collectiana (you will say I am fond of coining words), of every thing rare, curious, luxurious, and expensive. I will just say a word or two of it, en passant, for on such a theme I must, when more at leisure, positively employ a whole letter.

The house of Madame de N is fitted up in the first style of classical elegance; we sat down to supper at half past midnight; the supper was more splendid and tastefully ornamented than it was plentiful. After supper we had a ball; you know I was somewhat vain of my waltzing when in England, but you will scarce credit that Ladies, comme il faut, are seldom seen, a Frenchman should say, that though Ma- either in the walks or under the arcades of demoiselle Emilie performed the waltz most this astonishing scene, except from the gracefully, Elle y mettoit trop d'expression! || hours of twelve till three; at two the and it is wonderful to see the delicacy, the higher classes begin to move off; but respect and elegance with which French- Henry positively declares that my aunt and men perform this dance of close contact, I shall go incog some evening with him in. which Werter, though a German, condemu- order to view this motley scene in all its ed, and which has been so much censured splendour, and which, he declares to be by our plain and honest countrymen. such as is without a parallel.

Aunt Di was here during our short peace The building encloses a large garden with Bonaparte, when he was FirstConsul; with fine gravelled walks, ornamented with she says the dresses of the ladies, though orange trees, from which you have a fine then not quite so correct as she could have prospect of the superb edifice; it termiwished, were infinitely more tasteful nates near rue du Lycée, in a double than at present. I cannot indeed now piazza, with two rows of shops, and under say much in praise of Gallic costume. the arcades before them you behold lounShort full petticoats with treble flounces, gers of every description. The coffeechevaux-de-frize trimming of crape or houses form another resort for the idlers; stiffened muslin round the sleeves and coffee, lemonade, orgeat, liqueurs, and ice, bosoms of the gowns, give to the ladies the are to be had in every one of them; and. appearance of Friezland hens, and their I am told that the concourse of people who hair is neither well nor classically arranged; || are seen daily and nightly in the Palais however, they can laugh, and that pointed- || Royale is never at an end. ly enough, at those who deviate from their present mode, which I assure you, I faithfully copy, because I am not fond of being

The motley groups which passed before me dazzled my eyes, as 1 beheld, in mingled confusion, soldiers, abbiés, women of

quality, fops, and courtezans; a tawdry, though they do not offer such an assemdressed girl, highly rouged, curtsied to blage of well dressed females as one sees in Henry; and we found, on enquiry, she had | London, were yet very tolerably filled : been one of his fellow travellers in the the ladies were much adorned with cordiligence to Paris; she was a young actress nelian ornaments. belonging to the Comedie Française, and Henry told us, that after several minaude ries, exerted in vain to catch the attention of my Lord Anglois, she thought proper, during their journey, to feign frequent indisposition: this could not fail with so ten der an heart as Henry is possessed of.

I was much amused, as I stood near a Caffé at hearing a number of young men calling, with an air of importance, for an English newspaper, which they will spread before them on the table, and they seem to read, with an appearance of well informed consequence, what I am sure they do not understand one word of; these pretended linguists seldom drink any thing but a glass of English beer. But I was particularly amused last Sunday, to see the little quadrilles of Bourgeois which bent their way to the Palais Royale; one of these quartettos was composed of a young grocer, with his hair à-la-Titus, and who gave his arm to the merchant's wife, whom he accompanied ; whose husband's head was covered with a new Brutus as sleek as the hair of a well fed coach horse; the wife was dressed in a printed English calico, trimmed with pink ribband, and made high like an English dress; while the daughter, in a clean muslin frock, an interesting looking girl of seventeen, walked as upright as a dart with papa, and often stole a timid look at the young grocer, which he returned with an unmeaning ocillade. But enough, at present, of the Palais Royale; this fairy land, as I said before, merits an epistle to itself.

I will now then transport you to the Theatre Français, where we saw performed Les Horaces, and Le Mercure Gallant; the famous Mademoiselle Petit performed the part of Camille: opinions are much divided concerning this actress; she pleases me, and Henry she enchants; my aunt says she plays too scientifically, and sacrifices to the theory of the art all true feeling and sensibility. We were all affected by the harmonious voice of Mademoiselle Volnais, who performed the tender part of Sabina. The acting of St. Prix, in the Elder Horace, was superb.

The boxes at the Theatre Français,

On Monday we were at the Opera Comique, Le Billet de Lotterie, and Le Magicien sans Magic. Le Billet de Lotterie is an interesting piece, the scene of which lies in England: a young French girl, in deep distress, has fallen into the hands of a selfinterested inn-keeper, whom she thinks a pattern of generosity: he is, however, only aiding the munificent lover of the heroine, he contrives, through the pretence of a of whose virtue the hero being convinced, prize in the lottery, to elevate her to her former rank, and the opera concludes with their marriage.

Many, you and I, my dear cousin, well because it is the fashion; and I could not know, attend the operas in London merely forbear remarking both at this theatre and did not seem as if they were at all amused. at the Theatre Français, that the audience The ladies were employed in scrutinizing each other's dress; while the gentlemen were either reading, yawning, or talking; indeed I saw more than three asleep. One would-be critic, who sat next me, called the play of Horace insipid, the actors tiresome, the decorations monotonous. “ Happy mediocrity!" said my aunt, as she told me to look at the pit and gallery. "What attentive and animated countenances! The

decorations, the actors, and the piece, all appear to them striking and enchanting."

On Tuesday we visited the Pantheon, which was formerly the church of St. Genevieve, but dedicated by the patriots to the worthies of the revolution, and other illustrious characters of France; the vaults are very fine, and of Tuscan architecture; Voltaire and Rousseau have tombs erected || there to their memory; they deserved the honour, for they certainly were, in fact, the first founders of the revolution, by the licence which they made use of in disseminating their free-thinking principles. The statue of Voltaire has been a chef d'œuvre of sculpture, but it is much mutilated.

Our next visit was to see the sculpture at the Louvre, to describe which must form one of the subjects of my next letter, as I have already swelled this to a little

she was the daughter of Lewis Gonzaga, Count of Rodigo, and Marquis of several other places in Italy.

Vespasiano Colonna, Duke of Trajetto, when she had just completed her thirteenth year, demanded her in marriage. He was above forty years of age, and lame in both hauds and feet. Julia had the art of so well preserving her decrepit husband's affection, that he settled an handsome dowry on her, provided she never entered on the marriage state.

COUNTESS OF DESMOND.

THIS lady, who was a remarkable instance of longevity, was the daughter of the Fitzgeralds of Drumaną, in the county. of Waterford; aud was married in the reign of Edward IV. to James, fourteenth Earl of Desmond. When she was presented at court on her marriage, she danced with the Duke of Gloucester, afterwards || Richard III. whom she described as being as handsome a man as any at court.

She lived to the age of one hundred and Ippolito de Medici had long been despe- forty years, and died in the reign of James rately in love with her: he translated into the First, retaining her full health and virhymeless verse the second book of the gour to the day of her death. But just Eneid, as a similarity of the fire of his love before her demise she was reduced to exand the burning of Troy. The dedication treme poverty, and obliged to take a jour prefixed to the poem to Julia, was a formal || ney from Bristol to London, the greatest declaration of his love. But she had so part of which she performed on foot, to great an aversion to the wedded state, that solicit pecuniary relief from the court. She she never would retain a married woman is said to have twice shed her teeth, and in her service, and was much displeased had new sets come in the place of the old when any of her female attendants left her to marry.

The fame of the rare beauty of Julia Gonzaga had penetrated even to the Ottoman Porte, and Barbarossa formed the design of carrying her off as a present to Solyman, his master. The Turks had already forced the gates, and were hastening to the palace where Julia dwelt; when, raised by the cry of the inhabitants of Fondi at the entrance of the Turks, she sprang on a horse, and passing through a postern escaped to the mountains. Halfnaked, she scampered over hill and dale, and being attended by a few of her most trusty servants, she at length found a concealment in a covert, where she hid herself till a decent dress could be procured her, in which she escaped to one of the surrounding fortresses.

As soon as the news of the landing of the Turks was brought to Rome, the Pontiff sent the Cardinal Ippolito, with a chosen body of troops, to drive them back. The Turks, however, were apprised of his coming, and made off with all possible speed; and the Cardinal had the triumph of carrying his beloved Julia back with him to Fondi.

She was represented, in sculpture and painting, under the figure of the morning

star.

||

ones.

BIANCA CAPELLO,

WAS mistress to the Grand Duke of Tuscany, during his wife's life-time, who

was

a woman far advanced in years; the extraordinary beauty of Bianca triumphed over the conjugal fidelity of the Duke; and Johanna of Austria, whom he had wedded, at length found herself utterly forsaken for the new favourite.

Bianca had neither fortitude nor virtue sufficient to reject the offers of the Duke; allured by his flatteries and his liberal offers, she found also much to admire in the elegance of his manners and the beauties of his person, so that she reflected not on her recent marriage with Buonaventuri, who, eager to gain advantage by the beauty of his wife, adapted himself admirably to his disgraceful situation: but in proportion as the Duke heaped favours on him his pride and insolence increased to, that height, not only towards the chief nobility but even to the Duke himself, that he was one night way-laid in the street and murdered.

Johanna, the Duke's wife, though she strove as much as possible to master her grief at her husband's infidelity, yet her jealousy and anguish of mind preyed on