his wife's shame, and his own dishonour: he uncovers his domestic wounds as beggars do their sores; perchance to excite pity sometimes, but disgust always. To prove the injury he has sustained, he must furnish evidence of the affection his unhappy wife felt for him previously to her dereliction from virtue. Thus, the sacred privacy of conjugal love is unveiled before the profane and gloating eyes of that many-headed monster denominated "the public." Sentiments of affection, and terms of endearment, become by-words of the coarsest raillery in the mouths of the lowest and grossest rabble. Revolting details of facts demonstrative of the criminality of the accused are not only proclaimed in court, but published in your journals; until all England and the Continent are convinced that the husband is what, with us, a husband would rather die than avow himself to be; and his wife, the

mother of his innocent children, is branded with the searing iron of ignominy.

How a proud man, or a man of honour, can thus expose himself, seems wonderful; and yet such examples occur continually with you. Yours is essentially a commercial country; and every thing, however sacred, even to the affections, are viewed with a reference to this national peculiarity.

Is a husband wounded in the tenderest point, the honour of his wife, he seeks redress by an action against her seducer; and, if he establishes her guilt, and his own shame, the law adjudges him what is considered the full value of both, mulcted from the purse of the

paramour.

Are a fond parent's hopes for ever blighted by the seduction of his daughter, he appeals to the law for redress. His child's frailty, previously known but to a few, is proclaimed to

the world; a stain is for ever attached to her name: but the father receives the price at which her virtue was estimated.

Is a young and innocent girl disappointed in her virgin affections by some false youth who had won them, and sought her hand she flies not to solitude to weep over his broken vows, and her too fond credulity, but to the next lawyer, to bring an action against the deceiver for a breach of promise of marriage! She then displays every line "the false one" ever wrote to her; repeats every protestation of love he ever uttered; and seeks to recover a pecuniary compensation as a salve for her wounded heart.

Confess, ma chère Caroline, that the examples I have quoted of the commercial habits of your compatriots prove little for the delicacy of their feelings; and, prone as we are, in our Anglomania, to adopt your customs, I do not

think those to which I have alluded are ever likely to become popular in France.

Madame ma mère has lately given us much inquietude by having become a devotee, and placed herself under the guidance of a certain Père Maubois; a Jesuit more remarkable for a covetousness of the good things of this world than for a conduct likely to ensure those of the next. I fear he may induce her to make a will in his favour; but any exposé of his real character, on our parts, would only tend to render her more disposed towards him, as she is more self-willed and obstinate than

ever.

Adieu, ma chère Caroline! je vous em

brasse.

Votre affectionnée

DELPHINE, MARQUISE DE VILLEROI.

MISS MONTRESSOR TO LA MARQUISE

DE VILLEROI.

I AM au désespoir, chère Delphine, at hearing that le pauvre Florestan has been so imprudent. I always knew Madame de Heautforte to be un peu bête, but I did not suspect her of the folly of encouraging votre mari's propensity to extravagance, or still less of the meanness of profiting by it.

This is a triste affaire, and may become very embarrassing in its consequences; for Florestan, with an excellent heart, has not the wisest possible head. And so, madame la duchesse, votre mère, has become a devotee, la dernière ressource of coquettes, who give themselves to God when men slight them. If, indeed, she took to religion, it would be fortunate; but,