the state in which we now are, with that in which, if an opposite party had been in power, and an opposite policy had been pursued, we should have been, the most querulous amongst us will see little reason to complain. What answer would a Tory government have given to the Duke de Broglie? Should we have been at peace if Sir R. Peel had been prime minister of this country? We should have been at war:-not in unity with France, but in hostility to France; not for the purpose of procuring a permanent peace by a short effort, but with almost the certainty of commencing a war-a war of incalculable duration—a war of opinion in which we, the free people of England, would have been engaged against the freedom of France-against the freedom of Germany against the freedom of Portugal-against the freedom of mankind. The cause of the King of Holland is not the cause of the King of Holland alone. He has connected himself with the oppressors, and we have taken the side of the oppressed: he has destroyed our ancient sympathies and our ancient recollections; and for the same reason that we leagued with his people formerly, we find ourselves opposed to them now. What feeling can there remain in favour of the vanquishers of Alba, when they are become the brethren of the Holy Alliance? What prestige remains to the name of William of Nassau, when it designates the friend of the destroyer of the Poles?

But the citadel of Antwerp is taken-and what now is likely to result? We have expressed, and we repeat, our regret-that affairs were not brought to such a point, that by one effort similar to that we have been making, they would have been decided. We regret that the taking of Antwerp is not more important in itself but we see beyond its mere possession by the Belgians-a great moral advantage that has resulted from its capture. The union between France and England has been successful in carrying the object it had in view, and, whatever that object might be, its attainment-in the impression it will produce-is of no inconsiderable value.

France and England united, have obtained in three weeks by an act of energy and decision-what-during three years of friendly conferen cizing and conversationing in Downing Street, they were unable to obtain. Russia, so potent in her embassies, has slumbered on her arms→→ and Prussia, so loud in her protestations, has done nothing more than protestan infinitude of minor questions are now starting up-but these, and such as these, always disappear before a policy that shows moderation in its ends, but determination in its means. The great, and the only important question-is-whether the absolute powers are determined upon a war of principle or not?-If they are-the Union of France and England is necessary in order to obtain victory;-if they are not that Union may be still necessary in order to maintain peace.

That the French should forsake their ancient ambition, and that we should retain our present alliance, is the best, and perhaps the only check upon a struggle, which, whatever way it terminate, would be a misery to mankind. A calm but bold tone, and a firm bearing-an inclination to avoid war, if it be possible, and to take as our firmest ally, if we must engage in it-Public Opinion-such is the policy, and such the thoughts, which should at this time be present to the minister for the foreign department of England, who will have to justify his conduct before a reformed House of Commons.

"LET him who wishes to become acquainted with English politics, read M. de Pradt let him who reads for reading sake, read the following observations of Giuseppe Pecchio."

So says Giuseppe Pecchio. Giuseppe is obliging. The Quarterly Review, which, being the great Church journal, invariably acts upon a Christian principle, for it raises the poor work and abases the lofty one; the Quarterly Review, which makes poets of butlers and butlers of poets which in political statistics extols Mr. Sadler, and in literature calls Croker's edition of Boswell the "book that next to Homer the world could least easily lose ;"-the Quarterly Review assures us, that "the little volume" of Giuseppe Pecchio" contains both descriptions and remarks of considerable merit." The reader, if he has lately studied the Quarterly Review, will therefore understand, that Count Pecchio has written "a little volume" of insufferable trash. It is true that he is fond of quoting eminent men: Montesquieu and Helvetius are household words with him. It is ordinarily a bad sign of a man's respectability when you find him always talking of great people; the respectability of Count Pecchio as an author is no exception to the rule. True that he philosophizes,-nay, the anonymous editor of the work informs us, "that it cannot, at any rate, be denied that he thinks for himself." Happy if, thus thinking for himself," he had reserved solely for his own use the monopoly of the manufacture! Yes, he philosophizes, and thus he accounts for the philosophy of the English:-" Who would not become a philosopher if he were shut up in a house for so many hours by the inclemencies of the weather, with a cheerful fire, quiet and obedient servants, a good-humoured wife, and silence within doors and without?" It is, we suspect, on such grounds, and on such grounds alone, that Count Giuseppe Pecchio himself has become a philosopher. The expe riment has not succeeded. It has often been remarked that the English do not gesticulate so much as their continental neighbours. Giuseppe Pecchio, inspired by his cheerful fire and obedient servants, traces the effect to its causes.- 66 Why is it," saith he," that the English gesticulate so little, and have their arms almost always glued to their sides? Because," he ingeniously adds, "the rooms are so small that it is impossible to wave one's arm without breaking something or inconve niencing somebody." Yet, assuredly, there are times when even a good-humoured wife" ceases to nail the philosopher to the fire-side, and he indulges in a walk!-Does he then gesticulate in Regent-street, or wave his arms in Hyde Park ?-or doth the philosophizing Count suppose that even in those places there would not be room for him to indulge in the mountebank antics which are common to the Continent? Giuseppe also assures us, that the reason we don't dance well is because we do not practice, on account of the thinness of the houses if we cut ascaper in the third story, we should go" like a bombshell" into the kitchen! This is one of the remarks, we conclude, which, in the eyes of the Quarterly, have "considerable merit.' We were not aware, by the way, that it was in houses that the peasants of France practised dancing. * Semi-serious Observations of an Italian Exile. Effingham Wilson. 18330

But here, perhaps, Count Giuseppe is only in jest-no unlikely supposition; for

"Gentle dulness ever loves a joke."

Count Pecchio, however, soon grows undeniably grave. He proceeds to inform us that in England, "Over-elegance has not yet spoiled that taste for nature which is the prevailing characteristic of the nation ;dress and manner, compliments and salutes—all, even to the conclusion of letters, is redolent of simplicity."

Alas and seriously-would that this were true! We are the most artificial of nations. Look at our fashions-our Almack's-our watering-places, and then talk of " simplicity." But what can you think of a man's talent for observation, who assures you of our taste for nature ? We can only say with the Editor-" Count Pecchio thinks for himself." The Count then wanders through some remarks on the Parliamentary Opposition, without which, he says, we should have no literature,—and an eulogium on turnpike-roads, which is really the best part of the book; and he then at length finds his way-to Market! Here one commodity surprises him-it surprises us no less." In their markets," quoth he, "a commodity is to be met with, which is very rarely found in the markets of the Continent-books!-How often have I seen two or three hundred volumes exposed for sale on a stall, and disappear in a couple of hours! Scarcely have I been able to make my way to the bench, such a crowd of farmers has been standing over the books, reading, selecting, purchasing. What a favourable idea must not the traveller form of the enlightenment of a people who read and buy books! -and what books?-Not interpretations of dreams, legends, and such nonsense, but Bibles, the works of Addison, Milton-Milton, "the Eng

lish Homer!"

The poor dear Count!-He was evidently taken in ;-they were ballads the good people were buying!-and Giuseppe took Nancy Dawson for the Bible, and "Gallopping dreary dun" for "the English Homer!" The Count clenches the paragraph by adding, that " Education has become so COMMON in England, that by way of economy, ladies are now employed to make the calculations for the Nautical Almanack." The words " so common in England" mean-if they mean anything that the ladies of England are commonly employed in making calculations for the Nautical Almanack. This is probably one of those profound truths which, as the reviewer in the Quarterly expresseth it," present a pleasing contrast to the spleen, insolence, and self-conceit of Prince Puckler Muskau!" We allow the fact-the two travellers are not alike.

The Count having once given lessons in Italian,-(and, by the way, he states this fact in a manner that does him honour; and we are ready, while condemning him as an author, to respect him therefore as a man; —he will not thank us for the antithesis) — becomes acquainted with a Reverend who keeps a footman, who wears "white cotton stockings, not clocked however." We are informed of this reverend gentleman, that "His coat, made in the fashion of the English ridingcoat, was of velvet !—a stuff which excites in all, from king to muleteer, more respect than any other!! Except this, there was not the most remote indication of his profession about him!" Except this!"

"Profession!"-Why, does the man really think our parsons walk about in velvet coats?—No;-they are bad enough, it is true, but they are not quite capable of that yet.

The Count afterwards informs us that, if his readers wish to know the manners of the higher classes, they may consult truer and better painters, viz. Pope's Rape of the Lock-Lord Byron in Don Juan," and ABOVE ALL, the Novel published last year under the title of Almack's!!! This is excellent! Fancy the Continent judging of our manners by the very worst of all the fashionable novels,—a work written with the pen of a housemaid, and conceived with the soul of a cook. The Count, who, as we are all agreed, thinks for himself,-thinks differently, and ends his chapter by declaring, that the author of Almack's "is an angel,—who writes like an angel.' So much for the Count's knowledge of English fashion, and his taste for English literature. Still more singularly does he edify us afterwards,-for he tells us, that " if you be a bachelor and young, (but not licentious-at least openly,) and fall ill,-you will have the visits of ALL the married and marriageable ladies of your acquaintance." Oh, the unconscionable Giuseppe, to set the mouths of his Italian compatriots watering at this intelligence! "All our pretty ones-did he say all?" We then have a very charming sentimental episode, in a platonic friendship formed by the Count with a young lady, who, "knowing that his linen was neglected," "with gentle violence took upon herself to set every thing to rights!-mended up (the Count's) lacerated equipments, and marked his name on his handkerchief and shirts!" Tender sensibility!-Giuseppe-worthy of the name he bears—afterwards thinks it necessary to declare, that "he never had the slightest unbecoming thought of that young lady,-on the word of a man of honour!" If Count Pecchio is not enamoured of the young ladies who pay him visits and "set everything to rights," he makes up for his coldness to them, by falling in love with our children. He informs us, that "they are washed two or three times a day; and every day they change their clothes, at least once." All we can say to this is, that these are not the children that go to school. He also says, they are made "serene in countenance and healthful in body," by the “invariable mildness and placability of their parents! and the total absence of unpleasing objects." Perhaps the good Giuseppe does not think a birch rod an unpleasing object, but if he does so think-we beg civilly to inform him, that it is a spectacle presented more frequently to English children, than to those of any other nation under the sun. This must be a difficult truth for the Count to swallow; for, according to him," long lamentations and fits of crying"-are never to be heard "in genteel houses." Did it ever occur to him, that in a genteel house, perhaps the nursery is removed as far as possible out of hearing?

A new trait of paternal virtue now strikes the admiring Count. "Here!" he exclaims with enthusiasm," the father does not interfere at all in the education of his sons: he is absorbed in business, and abandons them, therefore, to the care of the mother!"-Amiable and faithful discharge of fatherly duties, were it true!-but, alas! the Count is under a delusion-juvat ire sub umbrâ—the little masters are "abandoned" to the tender mercies of academical Thwackums. Seriously, on so important a subject as education, a subject on which a

judicious foreigner might have given us so many useful hints-might have exposed so many national errors-it is even more melancholy than ludicrous to find this gentleman, so bepraised in the Quarterly, uttering the most wondrous platitudes, and falling into the most lamentable blunders. In one page he says, gravely, and without the least qualification," all the boys in the island can ride, because they are accustomed to it from the tenderest age." In another page he tells us,- "that there are (indeed) two things in the present system of education, that he cannot approve.' Will it be believed, that the first of these is the "excess of reading ?" Did this gentleman ever converse with one boy educated at a public school? Did he ever attend a wine party at the Universities? The ordinary course of English education is comprised within six volumes-four of them Latin, and two Greek. For what else we know, we teach ourselves when our education is over. But perhaps to Count Pecchio, six volumes may be an excess of reading, were they like his own they certainly might be ! His second objection is to "the stays worn by the ladies." Profound Count Pecchio!-in male education he sees nothing but too much learning; and in female-only a superabundance of whalebone.

It is impossible to follow this critic of the customs, manners, and institutions of a great nation, through all the disconnected and guideless ramblings into which he wanders, from " plum puddings to the integrity of judges," from the page in which he informs us that Unitarians do not believe in the Trinity-to that in which he hears Mr. Buxton promise justice to some dancing savages.

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From these fatiguing excursions, he makes, at length, a long and complacent pause in our Lunatic Asylums. There ends his book,and there will we leave himself. Enough has been said to show how crude are Count Pecchio's remarks-how confused and erring his information upon the most ordinary topics on which it has pleased him to treat. It only remains for us to add-that these faults are not counterbalanced by any beauties of composition. His style-in whatever language it be read-will be found flippant without humour-and feeble without simplicity. No new facts bear out the extraordinary poverty of the remarks. From the Dan of the first page, to the Beersheba of the last, "all is barren." If we be asked why we have singled out this book for exposure, we answer-less for the sake of proving the faults of Count Pecchio, than for that of displaying the grounds upon which the Reviewers of the Quarterly commend. Those critics who perceived no merit in Prince Pückler Muskau, despite his errrors (which we ourselves did not spare)-may well recommend the vapid balderdash of Count Giuseppe Pecchio. The public will now judge for themselves how far reliance is to be placed in the Archimandrites of that journal who, in literature always praise a foolish thing, and in politics never write a wise one.