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some one or other may not be worthy of a sensible man's approbation. But, by heavens, sir! there is not one that has not something or other so revolting to all good taste as to destroy the pleasure you might otherwise have in the performance. And over all is spread such a dung-heap of vile sensualism and immorality, that you fear for the health of the surrounding inhabitants; for such nauseous exhalations must bear "pestilence in every breath. There, sir, is a novel of his from which I intend to substantiate every one of these assertions,—and, by way of keeping my assertions more easily in mind, I will reduce them to these:—Goethe is a coarse-minded sensualist, and the laxity of German manners is most revolting. The Wahlverwandtschaften, or, as it may be translated, the affinities of choice (as opposed to the affinities of blood), is a novel of common life. A certain baron, who is presented to us by no other name than Edward, in the prime of life (which other circumstances make us fix at about forty-three), rich, polished, and happy, is the hero of the tale. Married within a year to a certain Charlotte, and retired to his estate, no two people apparently can be happier. Building bowers, laying out plantations, and getting up duets on the flute and harpsichord, with books and other appliances, make time glide pleasantly enough; but, in an evil hour, Edward determines to have a spectator of his happiness, and launches out on the comfort they would derive from the society of an anonymous gentleman, who flourishes all through the book under the convenient designation of "The Captain." Charlotte, like a sensible woman, objects a little at first; probably as she is aware that all captains are dangerous inmates; and she has also some little regard for the morals of a young girl of the name of Ottilie, who is at present at school, but whom she intends to send for and make a sort of assistant housekeeper. You will observe, sir, both our friends —Baron Edward and the sensible Charlotte—were no chickens, and had had considerable experience of the married life before. Like certain communicative personages on the stage, who generally relate the whole story of their lives, either to themselves or to some person who knows every incident as well as they do, Charlotte takes an early opportunity of informing her husband of various events which it is highly probable he was not altogether ignorant of. "We loved each other"—she says to him—"when we were young, with all our hearts. We were separated;—you from me, because your father, out of an insatiable love of riches, married you to a wealthy old woman; I from you, because I had to give my hand, without any particular view, to a very respectable old man that I never loved. We were again free you sooner than I was, your old lady leaving you a very handsome estate. I a little later, just when you returned from abroad. We met again—our recollections were delightful we loved them—there was no impediment to our living together. You urged me to marry. I hesitated at first, because, though we are about the same age, I am older as a woman than you as a man. At last I could not refuse you what you considered your greatest happiness. You wished to refresh yourself at my side after all the troubles you had gone through in the court, the camp, and on your travels;—to recall your recollections—to enjoy life—but all, with me alone. I sent my only daughter to a boarding-school, where, indeed, she learns more than she could in the country; and not only her, but Ottilie also, my favourite niece, who would, perhaps, have been better as my assistant in household concerns under my own eye. All this was done with your perfect approval, solely that we might live to ourselves, and enjoy our long-wished and late-gained happiness undisturbed."

Isn't this a charming mother, sir, and careful aunt?—Why, Mr North, you've filled up my tumbler without my seeing it!—you see how affectionate she is to her only daughter; how tenderly she talks of the respectable old man she could never love, and what purity of mind there is in the whole description of the double wedding and double widowhood. But a bit of private history comes to light, a little after, viz., that the Captain and she had intended to hook Edward, the rich widower, into a marriage with the aforesaid Ottilie, Charlotte modestly supposing that she was now too old to attract his observation. Now, suppose Edward was two-and-twenty when he St Albansed himself; Charlotte mar-