ANECDOTE OF D'ALEMBERT. D'ALEMBERT was the son of a celebrated lady of high rank, who, to conceal her indiscretion, caused him to be exposed on the steps of the church of St. Roch. Here he was found by a poor woman, who earned a livelihood by her needle; she adopted him, maintained him by the produce of her labour, and placed him in the college of Montaigu. The young man profited by the instruction he received, so that, like Pascal, he made new discoveries in geometry in his fifteenth year. His name soon became known over all Europe, and the learned courted the society of the young student of Montaigu. Such was the fame he acquired by his early talents, that the lady at last began to be proud of having given birth to such a son. His fosterImother had been watched, and consequently came. "I am the real mother had obtained information con- ON WALKING. Exercise is necessary, but the constitution of || position, that they afford these persons an opwomen is adapted only to moderate exercise; their portunity of indulging in extravagant ideas feeble arms cannot perform work too laborious which charm them while they fatigue the faculand too long continued, and the graces cannot ties of the mind, and in extatic visions in which be reconciled with fatigue and sun-burning. Ex- they delight: so that all the benefit they obtain cessive labour reduces and deforms the organs, from this kind of exercise is to return with mind destroying by repeated compressions that cellular and limbs wearied out, and to fall into a state of substance which contributes to the beauty of inertness more than that which by walking they their contours and their colours. The exercise intended to guard against. If we walk merely which women of a middling condition find in by way of regimen, the walk not interesting useful and indispensable occupations is the most us sufficiently to raise us above ourselves, permits wholesome, because it joins to the natural effects us to think too much on the motive which led of labour, the inward satisfaction afforded by the us abroad, and which consequently becomes a accomplishment of a duty for this reason it is subject of contention in the mind, capable of the most proper for filling the soul and for pre-counteracting the effect of such a remedy. Bagventing it from weighing too heavily upon itself as it does in those who are ruled by indolence. :: livi said, that by thinking too much about digestion, it is impossible to digest all. The same observation may be applied to the other vital or animal functions; we disturb them by thinking incessantly of them. Man requires actual labour, and the most proper would be that which should exercise alike the body and the mind, and main Walking, by which indolent people imagine they comply with the general law which dooms us to occupation and action, is not labour, but a recreation from labour: it is productive of none of the effects of the other, as it fulfils none of the conditions of it. This kind of exercise, in-tain a just equilibrium between the mental and stead of communicating an equal motion to the whole body, or at least an alternate movement to the different muscles, sets in motion only the lower parts of the body; all the upper remain motionless. The humours to which the former have given a strong impulsion, must experience from the others a powerful resistance, which renders their course irregular and their distribution unequal. There is this farther disadvantage in walking, especially in the solitary walks of persons of infirm health, or of a melancholy dis physical powers. After such labour a walk would be a recreation equally salutary and agreeable, because, instead of carrying abroad the melancholy and gloomy ideas of indolent beings, we should take with us organs which the impression of labor has rendered more eager after new sensations: it is then that a pure air, a cool shade, and the delicious perfume of the flowers would produce oblivion of past occupations, and transfuse into the soul the strength necessary for suporting new ones. ON SLANDER. THE homage due to truth has been insisted upon in prose and verse, by ancients and moderns from Seneca to Boileau. All have agreed in thinking Truth extremely beautiful when perfectly naked; but is it possible to veil or to confine her? "Truth" says Cicero, "sometimes escapes from children and from fools in sleep; it is obtained by accident or extorted by violence." Thre is a class of men, who from time immemorial, tell the truth without being asked; from what injustice is it that the world feels not the smallest obligation to them? Almost all moralists have expressed their indignation against the retailers of slander; but I am almost sure it was because they were not thoroughly acquainted with them. I hope to banish from honest minds the prejudices that have been instilled into them against those who indulge in slander; the good should not conceive an aversion for any individual on the bare word of another. In the first place, then, as the public good x should be considered before private advantage, it is incontestable that the welfare of states depends on slander, and that every wise government keeps slanderers in its pay. In the coinmerce with the world, it is easy to prove that slander is to calumny, what in the time of our good ancestors, tournaments were to battles. It is a sport equally innocent, born with society, to which it gives motion and life. Slander is arrayed in every colour except that of falsehood; it has its barriers, and the world is its lists. The error of those surly moralists who would absolutely proscribe it, proceeds from their confounding it with calumny. I detest the calumniator, but I claim some indulgence for the slanderer, or at least the liberty to state his rights. God forbid that I should ever take the one for the other; that would be as if you imagined you were caressing a pretty collared snake, which is the friend of man, and were to find under your hand a viper. I have spoken of the right of the slanderer to indulgence, there are few claims which it is so easy to support. Imagine for a moment that you are on the top of a steeple at London, at Paris, at Vienna, or at Madrid, and that the Devil on two Sticks grants you the same favour as he did to his friend Don Cleophas Leandro Perez Zambullo, and shews you some houses in one or the o her of those great capitals, for the spirit of society is nearly the same every where. Observe that little circle composed of men of wit and amiable women; all of them seem to listen with great attention to a man who is speaking, with No. III. Vol. I. his back towards the fire-place, and the two skirts of his coat turned up over his hips, as is the universal custom in good company. I have no occasion to tell you that this man is retailing scandal; you would guess as much from his tranquil figure; from his cheeks which would swell were we not forbidden to join in the laugh at what we say ourselves; he has all the signs which, according to the elements of physiology, manifest inward satisfaction Now is it possible that this sweet satisfaction can evince any other than an innocent intention? No; human nature is not so perverse; I appeal for the truth of this to the doctrine of Dr. Gall. Were it otherwise, the features of this moveable mirror called the face, would not accommodate themselves to such deep hypocrisy ; an involuntary, visible, tedious contraction would betray in the slanderer the internal conflict of conscience. I read in his tranquil physiognomy, that he has nothing to reproach himself with, nay, he is even satisfied with himself, for he gives delight, and it is not in this age alone that the slanderer, independent of his own approbation, has enjoyed that of others. I am aware that you will produce the name of John Clopinel, whom the maids of honour of a great queen pursued, rod in hand, for having slndered them; but you must not forget Brantome, who was the first propagator of Scandal of his time. Though he said all he knew of his neighbour, he never owed any person a grudge, nor did any person ever owe him one. In attacking slander and avenging its supposed victims, moralists have set up for the redressers of wrongs of which these last never thought of complaining. Can it be reproached for the strokes it inflicts, if those whom it attacks forgive them? But what can be said if they congratulated themselves on this score? It is well known that many people like to make themselves the subject of conversation; but to effect this in a certain manner, it is necessary to have talents or good luck, and those who have neither are not less solicitous to rescue themselves from oblivion. Now, every person is not able to cope with the Syracusians, or to strike terror into the satraps of the great king. Many people think you resemble Alcibiades if you cut off their dog's tail. Boileau slandered the cook, Mignot; but Mignot was not displeased with the poet; he gave his address to those who were unacquained with it. Many an author and actor owe their celebrity to some distinguished critic, and are angry with him only out of form. Should they seriously complain, they who are the spoiled children of slander? We see then, on the one hand, the severe moralists, the profound investigators of the vices of human nature, fulminating against slanderers; and on the other hand those whom they set up as the plaintiffs not only absolving the defendants, but even confessing their obligations to them. I endeavoured to account for this contradiction, and I think I have accomplished this in a satisfactory manner. If it be true that at the present day people listen with pain, that their attention is easily diverted, and their eyes roll widely around whenever an indiscreet tongue proclaims merit or virtue; whereas, on the contrary, the philosophers of former ages, Cicero, Seneca, Horace, Quintilian, and many more, not only paid homage to those qualities of the heart, but were desirous that they should obtain universal praise; would not this difference between them and us prove our superiority, and that the human heart, as well as the understanding, is continually proceeding towards perfection. I am convinced that this disapproving silence proceeds from individual modesty. We can bear to hear ourselves praised in another; or rather that generous confidence which causes us to love our neighbour as ourselves, excites an aversion for praises which would seem to prove the rarity of our understanding merit and virtue. I am aware that I am here strewing the seeds of a new theory, and therefore I affirm nothing positively. I leave metaphysicians to pursue this idea, if they please, and shall return to my subject. It is possible that slander was formerly a pest equally formidable and fatal; but if we observe its benignity at the present day, we shall be ready to believe, that the same change has taken place with slander, as with various diseases which, as the world grows older, lose their virulence and dwindle into necessary evils. It is now-a-days nothing more than a manner more or less skilful, more or less direct of putting a person forward. Are you desirous of bringing into notice a person in whose welfare you are interested; begin by gaining attention, and this you will easily effect with the aid of a seasoning of slander. The interest is concealed beneath this officious veil ; What gifts of heaven have an origin more you must take care to let the friend whom you pure than slander? The daughter of Truth, she wish to serve, play not the most silly part but tells what she knows; she shews what she has the most gay. Slander disposes the mind to cu- seen; she never tears the veil, but only lifts it up, riosity, and curiosity leads to good will, especially that the eye may have a passing glance. The among the fair sex; were it not for that interest-principles of slander are so well known, that ing part of society slander would be propagated there exists, as were, a pragmatic sanction be only on great occasions. I am convinced it is tween her and society. Of this Cardinal de from motives so pure, and a profound knowledge Richelieu once reminded his niece very seasonof the world, that numbers of people take de-ably. She complained to him of a report which Fight in slandering their best friends. A ludicrous adventure caused Louis XV. to recollect some, time afterwards the name of a man whom a slanderer had not ventured to serve directly. A government became vacant; the King saw upon the list the name which had excited his risibility, "I know him," said he, and the man's fortune was made. Undoubt edly he had as much merit as good luck; but it is sufficient for me to have proved that friendship has not a stronger support than slander. In this same circle, where it has obtained so much approbation, begin on the contrary to say ingenuously all the good you can think of any person, and you will find that universal silence instantly takes place. It is not the silence of interest; beware of harbouring such an erroneous idea. By observing this silence, which has, however, the same character, the same mute language, I have been led to a reflection really new, and I may say consolatory; for if the part of a sensible observer has its bitters, it has likewise its sweets, had been propagated that she had had two chil dren by a gallant. "My dear niece," replied that great minister, by way of consoling her, you must know that people ought never to believe more than half of what they hear " It is evident then, that slander is in society what specifics are in medicine. I have proved that she is the auxiliary of friendship, the daughter of truth, the support of empires, the friend of all the world. If gaiety, activity, curiosity, the softer passions are sources of life for the social body, it cannot be doubted that slander, which nourishes them, is of itself an excellent thing, This is an acknowledged truth; but the use of it ought to be modified with a certain degree of circumspection. Too many, I am obliged to admit, indulge in slander. There are some who go to work so awkwardly that no one will listen to them even when they are uttering slander; this proves that it is equally useful and allowable to speak ill of others, but that a degree of skill is required to ensure success, LETTERS TO A YOUNG LADY, MY DEAREST ELIZA, [Continued from Page 83.] LETTER II. It has been said, by an authority which can. not be disputed, that the heart is deceitful above all things; and what peculiar privilege can I suppose myself to possess, that this potent dc ceiver should fail in its attempts upon me, when so many appear to be enthralled by it? Is my guardian angel cloathed with superior power? or has it received the charge of a more unremitting vigilance? Alas! mine is the common allotment; but improved, enlarged, informed, and fortified by affection; and it is that word alone, with its concomitant feelings, which can save me, or any young woman in my situation and cir cumstances, from some degree of change in her character, and, I fear, for the worse. I might certainly address myself to higher sanctions; but, without entering farther upon the subject, may I not say that affection is among the brightest emanations of them. I have, however, been led away, though the egarement is pleasant enough, by the real talisman, from announcing my proposed symbol of it. I have ordered a seal with no other engraving but the word affection, and without any decorative allusion: my next letter to you will be sealed with it. The wax shall bear the title of its contents. But as virtue, or excellence, or decorum, may be rendered more endearing by a display of the opposite quali ies, and as our most eminent moralists and divines adopt sometimes the contrasting mode to enforce their opinions on the improvement of the mind, I shall proceed to tell you that I have received a visit from Lady Mary- she called it, indeed, a morning lounge, though it was near four in the afternoon; and, considered as a mere matter of curiosity, as a new exhibition of the human character, which it was to me, it was not altogether unamusing. On the stage, as a dramatic representation, it would have been very pleasant; but, as a friend, or even as an acquaintance, to which that superior name is sometimes applied, it was not calculated to exhilarate reflection; and had I been left to myself on her departure, I might have wept over her fashion and her follies :-but the tone of the afternoon was in her favour, and there was so much good humour and languid pleasantry in all she said and did, that I found myself rather disposed to laugh. I think, at this moment, that I hear you exclain, my dear, dear Caroline, where is your talisman? and I answer fearless, that I am writing to you, and under the best operations of it.—But to the subject: I continue my volume, for a volume of no small size will my letters compose, before the happy moment arrives when the communications of our hearts will be renewed in all the delightful expression of personal intercourse.This great town is all before me, where to chuse, not my place of rest, for rest there is none, but my subjects of amusement, for your recreation and instruction as well as my own. If there had been time for any acknowledgment of my last letter, I well know that I should have had a paper bimfull of curiosity, with all its interrogatories, concerning Lady Mary This eager epistle is, I doubt not, on its wing to me; and, to say the truth, it does not delight me a little to anticipate its contents. 'Tis a pleasing,-but why should I not elevate my expressions?-it is a noble sensation, which proceeds from the generous conferring of kindness, favours I should rather say, without any application for them. The discerning mind, which knows the precise extent of its power, and can discover, as it were, with a glance, to what point it can be exercised with the most satisfaction, to the blended feelings of our pride and our humanity, has no ordinary pleasure in its grasp. I will not boast very much on the occasion, but I certainly experience sensible gratification to my affections, (the maternal watch-word of my heart) in the idea, that, I do || not say all your questions, but a principal part of them will be answered at a moment when the dear, dear interrogatress, does not suspect that they are received. This is not taking time, but affection by the fore-lock. If I repeat this endearing term again and again, do not imagine, I beseech you, that it is for your sake, but for my own. You are daily, nay every hour of the day, making your offerings at the shrine of it; while I am surrounded with its most powerful enemies. Your Caroline is subject to the open attack, and the secret mine; the pestilence that destroys by day, and the arrow that flies by night. It is true, that I feel myself strong in my defensive powers, and that the citadel which contains them is impregnable; yet I hear of such transformations in the conduct and principles of those who were educated with as much care, and certainly possess as much understanding as myself, that there are moments when I almost tremble at my own dangers, mistrust my boasted resolution, and feel the rising doubts of my own security. Our gay friend found me alone, and having asked me which was the most comfortable sofa in the room, she laid herself down, with a graceful air, on that which I recommended, and began describing herself as a perfect fright; and when I proposed to bring a glass to prove the contrary, she screamed out as if I were going to do her a mischief. She had not only the features, but the most descriptive language of horror at the idea of Jooking in a glas till she had dressed for the evening, as she felt herself to be a fright: nor would hear my consolatory assurances in favour of her good looks. No, no, no! she exclaimed, I feel myself to be a fight!-Gracious Heavens! this feeling oneself to be a fright, must be a terrible thing!-Of all the nervous sensations pro-imposed on me, and to which, of course, I most duced by a life of dissipation, this surely must be the worst. At present they are no more than the despairing moments of a coquette;-but, what must be her condition, when these moments are become hours, and the hours advance into days, till, at length, time tinges the whole of her life with this melancholy hue. approaching was to encrease the number of her slaves. The intervening hours formed an interval of renovating reflection on the charming past and the delightful future. Such was the stile of her conversation: but this was not all, she had taken a fancy to me:there was something about me, she said, that was full of attraction; and as a proof of her sincerity, she would willingly become my preceptress, and direct my course. That was indeed the object of her visit; and to commence her || character, she came to invite me to go with her that very evening to the most charming and delightful party in the world. When, however, I replied, that it was a condition my father had She now proceeded to give me a history of the last fortnight of her life, if such a hurrying, varying, dissipating, enervating, and fantastic existence, as she described, can deserve that name. It alternately made me giddy, and sick, and sorry; but, believe me, I, experienced no contagion; for, through the whole of it, not a word, an expression, a tone, or a look, denoted the least symptom of affection. She did not appear to remember her child; she seemed to have altogether forgotten her husband, while she either ridiculed or abused all her friends, with the exception of yourself, and she pitied you. Into what class your Caroline is admitted, no hint, as you may suppose, was given: but my fate, probably, is not yet determined. It is not for me to suppose that I am as yet a decided object either of her pity or her ridicule. It is not improbable but that, at present, I may be favoured with a small portion of both. Her opinions are all of them in extremes: her mind resembles a chessboard; all are black or white; there are no middle tints in her pictures, I assure you. Men, women, or thing, sare either angelic, or charming, or delightful;-or they are frightful, or odious, or detestable and all these violent expressions were delivered in such a languid tone, that a stranger who might, perchance, see her in hese gentle demeanors, or, as she calls them, her morning moods, would naturally suppose that she was repeating the opinions and the words of some other person. She denominates this state of mind a repose, to recover herself from the toil of her last conquests, and to strengthen her for new victories. The preceeding night saw a legion of admirers in her chains; and the evening that was cordially assented, never to go to any party, public or private, but in the company of the lady whose guest I was, she opened her fine eyes upon me, and after vociforating in three different tones 0, la belle Philosophe! she ridiculed what is called the Sylvan System, in a quiet, but at the same time, in such a pointed strain of irony, as actually to disarm my mind of its serious reflections; and to convince me of the real danger of associating with those, who have the art to dress up folly, not to say vice, in these pleasing allurements, and to throw such a veil of ridicule over virtue itself, as to deceive the well-ordered mind, though but for a few minutes, to partake of the mirth produced by such a profane misapplication of wit and fancy. She would not, however, quit the house till we promised to partake of a little family dinner with her the next day; when she took her leave to array herself for the conquests of the evening. She seems to have been studying French romances, the worst species of sudy in the world, I believe, for any woman, but particularly for those who are wives and mothers, and to have formed her mind and conduct upon them.Nevertheless, there is something in her air, manners, and chit-chat, that is very amusing, though there is so much about her hat it is impossible not to lament ;-ought I not, my dear Eliza, to use a harsher term? You will again exclaim, where is the talism in? That, be assured, will never fail to possess and guard my heart, when I think of my dear home, and the sill dearer objects which it con'ains, when I tell them of my heartfelt duty and affection. I dispatched my last packet to my dearest Eliza on Wednesday, and on Friday I am again at my wri ing table, to renew my epistolary conversation with her; and though I can do nothing in which you have any concern without those feelings of affection which harmonize our na |