structed as elegantly in Edinburgh as any where in Europe; and many were annually exported to St. Petersburgh and the cities on the Baltic. The professior of a haberdasher, which was not known in 1763, was now nearly the most common in town. (This profession includes many trades, the mercer, the milliner, the linen-draper, the hatter, the hosier, the glover, and many others.) Perfumers had now splendid shops in every principal street; and some of them advertised the keeping of bears, to kill occasionally, for greasing ladies and gentlemen's hair, as superior to any other animal fat. Hair-dressers were more than tripled in number, and their busiest day was Sunday. An eminent surgeon, who had occasion to walk a great deal in the course of his business, first used an umbrella in Edinburgh, in the year 1780; and in 1783 they were much used. Maid servants dressed now as fine as their mistresses did in 1763. Almost every genteel family had a man-servant; and the wages were from 10l. to 201. a year. In 1783, also, a stranger might have been accommodated not only comfortably, but elegantly at many public hotels; and the person who, in 1763, was obliged to put up with accommodation little better than that of a waggoner or carrier, may now be lodged like a prince, and command every luxury of life. Such are, according to Mr. Creech, the features of the times in 1783. Less rigid, morose, and affected than those of 1763, an ease of manner seems to have been by this time introduced, which characterizes an improvement in manners. Of morals, this period, from the foregoing facts concerning the decay of religious principle, the multiplication of the women of the town, of robberies, and the late hours which fashion had introduced, presents not such a pleasing picture. "In no respect," says Mr. Creech, "were the manners of 1763 and 1783 more remarkable, than in the decency, dignity, and delicacy of the one period, compared with the looseness, dissipation, and licentiousness of the other.Many people ceased to blush at what would formerly have been reckoned a crime."-" The behaviour of the last age (says Dr. Gregory) was very reserved and stately. It would now be reckoned still and formal. Whatever it was, it had certainly the effect of making them more respected." Of the leading traits of the manners since that period, the following is a short sketch. The luxury of the table, and the late hours of dinner and amusements, have much increased since 1783. By the more opulent tradesmen and merchants, business is little attended to in the afternoon; and the variety of delicacies at their table is perhaps equal to what the first cities had in 1763. The company of the ladies is also, as in 1783, much neglected, and the bottle is preferred to the amusements of the drawing-room. Attendance at church, however, was in 1796 fashionable, and a universal interest was excited with regard to religion. The large building of the Circus, which had been erected in 1788 for equestrian performances, and in 1792 converted into a playhouse, was now occupied as a place of worship, and considerable sums of money were subscribed for sending missionaries to convert the heathen in foreign lands. At this time religious zeal was so universal, that even some of the servants of Satan, the players themselves, became ministers of the gospel*. Sunday, however was not so rigidly observed as in 1763, and it still continued by many to be held as a day of relaxation. Whether family-worship was much attended to in the period we are speaking of, we have not ascertained, but public prayers were more frequent than before. Religious societies were also formed for propagating the gospel at home; places of wor ship called Tabernacles were built; the Scottish capital was inundated with different preachers from England; and from it, as a centre, missionaries were issued to every part of the country. One of the most elegant amusements of the metropolis, the concerts at St. Cecilia's Hall, was at this time given up, and the hall itself was, and is still, occupied as a place of worship. Visiting and catechising their parishioners, is by the clergy at this time (1805) almost entirely given up, excepting among the dissenters; and these too do not officially visit so often as formerly. People of fashion do not frequent the church as often as a few years ago; and the number of fines for natural children has not decreased in the hands of the present kirk-treasurer. The number of prostitutes, which, according to Mr. Creech, had increased more than a hundred-fold in the short space of twenty years (from 1765 to 1783), has not increased in the same ratio since the latter of these periods, though their number has not perhaps much diminished. The torrent of vice, which, from the facts exhibited, appears to have been so alarming at that period, has been stopped, else by this time, on the same average of increase, the number of prostitutes would have amounted to that of the present population of the city. The wages of journey men, since 1783, has been much increased, and nearly doubled since that time. Housebreakings and robberies at present are rare; and the execution of criminals seldom occurs in Edinburgh. If the terror of ecclesiastical punishments, the repenting stool, and public satisfaction to the kirk, did not precipitate unfortunate women into the unnatural crime of child-murder, perhaps a se * Vide Edinburgh Missionary Magazine, Vol. I. ries of years might be mentioned, in which there was no capital offence committed in Scotland. same manner as in 1783, except that perhaps later hours become more fashionable. In the theatre, though loose expressions may still be applauded by the upper gallery, yet by the other parts of the audience they are always reprobated. Of the present manners of the female sex, the improvement is certainly striking. Though the young ladies are seldom to be seen at market, or perhaps do not interest themselves much in the management of household affairs, yet we may pronounce them superior to those of 1763, or 1783. Music, dancing, and a grammatical knowledge of their own and of the French and Italian jellies, and gooseberry-wine, are not held of so much importance as they appear to have been in the first of these periods, yet they are not even now totally neglected. As domestic conveniences, the ladies of 1805 may possibly be inferior to those of 1763; but as accomplished companions, they are certainly far their superiors. Public cock-fighting matches are now nearly given up in the city; and this barbarous amusement, it is hoped, will soon be laid aside for ever. Of the fine fellow of 1805 it is difficult to strike the peculiar likeness. Less accomplished than those of 1763, and without many of the vices of those of 1783, the fine fellow of the present day | is rather an object of laughter than censure, of pity rather than reprobation. He can drive a coach, full of ladies, equal to the most experienced coachman; does not often overturn the carriage, and very seldom rides down old people || languages, are essential parts of modern female or children. As a genealogist, he equals the High-education; and though the making of pastry, Jander or Welchman; can trace the pedigree of Goldfinder through a hundred descents, and enumerate all the dams, grand dams, and great grand dams, with the most fluent accuracy. He is a skilful physiognomist; can tell the good or bad qualities of a horse at first sight; and in the refined employments of the stable, can vie with the most expert groom or stable-boy. With regard to religion, unless he acquires it in the Racer's Kalendar, or Taplin's Farriery, he has no opportunity of knowing any thing about it. But in other parts of education he is not deficient: he excels in those tropes or figures of speech which the vulgar call swearing; and his method of argument is much more simple and convinc. ing than the analytic or synthetic modes of the schools. By this mode (betting) he could argue with a philosopher, and come off victorious, unless the philosopher were richer than he. As to the fair sex, the elegant society of the stable is preferable, in his estimation, to that of the drawing-room; and the lounge among brother fine fellows in the coffee-house, or the tavern, is superior to the company of the ladies, in whose conversation his accomplishments do not enable him to bear a part. He pays his debts of honour much in the same manner as the fine fellow of 1783;|| and like him can drink three bottles of wine, kick the waiter, and knock down watchmen with a good grace. In short, the fine fellow of the present day is neither calculated to add much to virtue by his good qualities, nor to increase vice by his bad ones. The accommodation, in every respect, is better now than at any former period. The Edinburgh inns and hotels equal those of any city in elegance and ready service; and if the manners of the people are not so perfect as might be wished, they are at least as good as could be expected, in a city where wealth and luxury give so many temptations to corruption and vice. The gentleman of 1763 seems to have been so much under the restraint of rules, which regulated all his periods of amusement, as to leave him very little exercise of thought, or allow him little liberty of consulting his own ease or pleasure. In 1783 this stiffness was thrown off; ease and familiarity occupied its place; but vice and folly seem to have predominated. In 1805, this ease and freedom of manner continues; but to the honour of the times, vice is not so prevalent as it is related to have been in 1783. ladies have also much changed since 1763, but that change has been for the better. At that period they were good housewives and nurses, and perhaps little else; but in 1783 and 1805, if they have lost something of these qualities, they have made it sufficiently up, by improving themselves in all that can be expected or wished in an inte Balls and concerts are conducted much in the resting agreeable companion. The No. II. Vol. I. STATE OF SOCIETY AND MANNERS. DESCRIPTION OF THE CARNIVAL AT PARIS, AND OF THE FETES DE LONGCHAMP. MY DEAR FRIEND, HAVING given you in my last a faithful Stentorian thunders. Follow these pompous account of a Parisian Sunday, I proceed to the description of various customs which prevail in this metropolis, and which will, I hope, unfold more of the character of the French than all the deep observations of self-elected critics, who fatigue the press with their attempts to prove what will strike every Englishman who sojourns a few days in France, that the French are a light, airy, fantastic nation; the slaves of a burning imagination, which sometimes exalts them to heroic deeds and sublime virtues, and sometimes debases them into the wildest frolics of folly and extravagance, while it gives to their minds a romantic and sentimental turn, which years, and the varied accidents of life can never alter. At length we have seen the long wished-for day, when the Carnival spreads her joyous dominion over this noisy metropolis, and turns the serious busy look, that darkened every countenance into the cheerful smile of pleasure and amusement. All the streets and public walks are already crowded with humourous shapes and strange beings, who, secure under the sheltering mask, attack and torment the unexperienced passenger; half pleased and half angry he receives the shower of jests that fall upon him, and oftentimes wonders at the hints and expressions which seem to announce a perfect knowledge of his person, his secrets, and affairs. It seems as if imagination had opened her enchanted bowers, and rolling back the tide of time, brought again to light the delightful days of fairy ages, and the humorous inhabitants of fairy regions. cavalcades. Here you behold folly, surrounded with pleasure, fashion, mirth, ridicule, and youth, welcoming, with benignant smiles, the triumphant legions of Parisian Badants, who, mounted on asses, advance slowly towards the consecrated ground, where the goddess and her radiant train await their homage. There the flower of earthly valour, the famous knight of the sorrowful countenance, shakes the long forgotten spear of chivalry, and, proclaiming aloud the peerless beauty of his lady, challenges all the knights of the universe. His faithful squire, the simple hearted, humorous Sancho, follows close to his master; astonished at the dazzling tumultuous scene, he frequently sighs out an abrenuntio, and shuddering recollects the fatal pomp that attended his descent into the gloomy empire of Pluto, and the deliverance of Dulcinea. But to give you a description of every character that awakens popular applause by its singularity, or the inventive powers it displays, is a task that would extend too far the limits I had fixed to this letter. Let then your imagination soar and wander over the fields of amusements I invite her to explore; let her pursue the path I pointed to her flight, and she will bestow upon her brilliant pictures a richness of colouring which description can never imitate, and reality but seldom equal. When tired with following the giddy course of the votaries of pleasure who parade the streets and gardens of Paris, unmindful of the wintry sky that frowns upon them; let her penetrate with me into those bals masqués, where the same mirth, the same dissipation, softened by the polite manners of the beau monde, La Rue St. Honoré, the Palais Royal, and the Vieux Boulevards,are the walks most frequented by the joyous children of the Carnival; the favoured spots where they delight to spread the wild mag-prevail. Let her mix in the gay country dance, nificence of their dresses, and exert the poignancy of their wit. La Rue St. Honoré, especially, is the focus whence the brightest rays of pleasure emerge; there folly and dissipation hold undisputed sway, rule every bosom, and transport every heart. There, carriages filled with masks, attract the eyes of the gazing multitude by the diversity of characters they contain; whilst peals of appropriate elequence, bursting from the lips of some fiery orators on their tops, sileace the acclamations of the crowd by their which the highest Gods of antiquity ennoble and enliven by their divine presence. Here, conquered once more by love, the powerful Sovereign of Olympus is sighing at the feet of mortal beauties. There, charmed into pity and tenderness by the plaintive lyre of the God of day, yielding Daphne repents her fight, and enters with her conqueror the delightful maze of the dance. The Carnival has unlocked the gates of mythology, and heathen divinities and heroes descend on the wings of pleasure to repossess for a while a land which once acknowledged their supreme power. You will tell me, perhaps, that you have masquerades in London, which afford equal delight to those who frequent them: that I will not deny, though I contend that Parisian masquerades display more pomp, more elegance, and open a wider field for amusement, as wit is more abundant, the stings of repartee more pointed, and characters supported with more case, nature, and propriety. As I have still some room, I will give you an account of a custom which the Parisians religiously observe; and which, though its origin was religion and piety, is now become the spring of that intoxicating and deceitful nectar, plea Sure. During the age of simplicity, commonly styled the age of darkness and ignorance, towards the middle of the fourteenth century, a convent of nuns was founded on the spot called Longchamp, at the distance of about five miles from Paris. There, when spring awoke the earliest flowerets of the year, and nature revived, under the tepid gales of April, the Parisians used to come, and offer praise and thanksgivings during three days to the great Father of Creation. This service was interesting and simple; the melting voices of the sacred virgins, soft as the vernals dews that fertilize the earth, stole on the breezes of spring to the throne of the Almighty, imploring peace, plenty, and propitious seasons; and the numerous spectators, struck with awe at the solemn ceremonies and lofty strains, fancied they beheld the angel of fertility descending from the sky, to unfold the swelling buds, and watch over the ripening fruits and harvests. pomp of fashion; of listening to the delightful strains of divine harmony flowing from the lips of beauty and innocence, became the only motive for their annual attendance at the Convent. Levelled with the dust by the storms of the Revolution, the convent exists no more; and the custom of repairing to the spot where once it stood still exists. The pure voices of the virgins of the Lord invite no more; it is the call of pride we obey, the beckoning hand of vanity we follow. Go on the 6th of April to the Champ Elysées, it is there the festive company assembles; it is on that day the profanation of the ancient custom commences. There you will behold with astonishment, in the wide valley which leads to the Bois de Boulogne, the most splendid equipages, ranged in double rows, advancing in all the pomp of wealth slowly towards Longchamp and crossing the whole of the Bois de Boulogne. For five miles the same prospect will strike your eyes, while the middle part of the road is enlivened by Cavaliers, mounted on fine horses, who, galloping from carriage to carriage, display the graces of their figures, the elegance of their dress, and their excellent horsemanship, to the view of the Parisian Belles, who repay their attentions with a smile. The alleys on both sides of the road are crowded with the humbler followers of fashion, whose wealth is not equal to the expence of lolling in a carriage, and who drink the dust, and brave the inclemency of the skies, to be able to say, "I have been to Longchamp." Farther from the road, under shelter of the thickening trees, you discern groups of dancers. There the fables of antiquity, the sports of fauns and nymphis seems to be realised before your eyes: the airiness of the shapes, the agility and gracefulness of their motions, the mysterious twilight caused by the young leaves unfolding upon the spreading branches, and the soft voice of music sighing through the opening A great fault with the French is that of turning every serious duty into a source of amusement. Pleasure is the constant wish of their hearts, and they endeavour to extract it from every object, even the most unlikely and the most unfit to gratify their wishes. What for a time had been a religious duty, became a party-glades, give to the pleasant scene a truly Elysian of pleasure; piety was exchanged for dissipation; and instead of the sentiments of gratitude and humility which a few years before prompted the inhabitants of Paris to visit the house of God, the wish of spreading before the admiring eyes of the crowd, the elegance of dress, and the aspect. On that side roars the vain, tumultuous, bustling world; on this smiles the shady vale where, embosomed in peaceful bliss, the souls of the virtuous inhabit and taste the pure delights of joy, innocence and simplicity. Yours, &c. &c. L-. PUBLIC RECREATIONS OF PARIS. [Continued from Page 41.] SINGERS. THE song is certainly not the fort of the French theatre. It is the trio, quintetto, chorus, and the more complex compositions, that we must admire. In these the voc 1 performers succeed in the highest degree. Nor is the composer less happy; as confident in the abilities of the performer, and the powers of an excellent orchestra, he gives full scope to his genius and fancy. We should certaisly expect, at the French opera, to hear singers of the first-rate talents; particularly when we consider the vicinity of Italy. But, at present, there are no great vocal performers on the Parisian theatres; and we look in vain for such as we have been accustomed to hear in London. Many circumstances, however, will account for the present inferiority of the French opera, in point of vocal performance.-First, singers of superior talents expect immense salaries, which, perhaps, their treasury is as little disposed as capable of giving:-Secondly, the opera being invariably written in French, naturally attaches to the best singer all the vocal disadvantages of that Janguage:-and thirdly, the singer, in the French song, is not sufficiently considered as principal, being too often subservient to the powers of the orchestra. These circumstances are certainly great impediments in the way of good singers; and may possibly account for the want of superior vocal performers on the French theatres. DANCERS. In this captivating art, the French certainly excel all other countries. The fascination and splendour of their ballets exceed description. Vestris justly stands at the head of the dance at Paris; and indeed of every dancer in Europe. Madame Gardel is the principal female dancer here; but the others are not without grace in all their steps. Even at the inferior theatres, we often witness superior dancers. At this, however, we cannot be surprised, when we reflect that dancing is the fort of the people. SCENERY. The scenery, dresses, and decorations, in the French theatres, are at all times characteristic, and well executed. Though in point of splen After the curtain is once up, it is expected that no person should interrupt the performance; the established law of a French audience being universal attention. A singular theatrical breach of decorum took place on Sunday evening, August the 8th, 1802, at the opera. The theatre being very full, and the weather uncommonly hot, two gentlemen in the centre boxes were of a sudden observed to be sitting without coats! the audience perceiving this, rose up and demanded the coats to be put on. After much clamour, the desire was apparently complied with, and the performance resumed. As the coats had not in reality been put on, but only thrown over the shoulders, so in less than five minutes they were again thrown off. Open war now ensued between the audience and the enemy; the latter completely repulsing the former in every successive attack. During the heat of the battle, one of the enemy, after having discharged a tremendous artillery of oaths at the audience, followed it up by a parley, which in the English language set them all completely at defiance. I will not pretend to repeat a speech which probably the major part of the audience did not understand. But the great concourse of English then on the theatre of war, justly feeling this unexpected attack on their national manners, immediately joined all their force to that of the audience, in the expulsion of the enemy. The consequence was, the allies were victorious. |