1826.] [ 253 ] 



THE ART OF GETTING INTO DEBT. 



An ingenious French writer, who conceals his own name under the 

 general appellation ot" Un Homme comme ilfaut, has WTitten a treatise on 

 the art of getting into debt. Nothing can be more satisfactory tlian the 

 precepts which he lays down ; his reasoning is conclusive, his examples 

 are striking, and, in short, for all practical purposes in his own country, 

 " I'Art de Jaire des Defies" is a book which no gentleman of expensive 

 habits and slender means ought to be ^vithout. But the objection that 

 we cannot help feeling to the work is, that it professes to systematize that 

 which is above any such restriction. To get into debt requires qualities 

 which instruction or study can never supply. True genius scorns the 

 help of dull precepts ; and the adepts in the noble science of gulling the 

 credulous are always prepared 



" To snatch a grace beyond the reach of art." 



This fondness for reducing things to a system is, however, a common 

 fault with our lively neighbours, and constitutes one of the main points 

 of difference in the character of the two nations. The greater part of 

 an Englishman's follies arise from his determination to follow no model ; 

 in his utmost absurdity he insists upon being an original fool — " None 

 but himself shall be his parallel ;" and your real unsophisticated John 

 Bull feels no reproach so bitterly as that of being a mimic of other men 

 — no matter whether in good or in evil. This feeling it is that makes 

 our countrymen wear wigs and cocked-hats and long-tailed coats in 

 Africa, or broadcloth gaiters on the Boulevards in the dog-days ; and 

 while in the East-Indies the very natives are melting in muslin, the 

 Company's Servants button their red coats up to their chins, nourish 

 heads of hair as big as a grenadier's cap, and boot themselves as reso-. 

 lately as if the fii-st object of their existence was to make their 

 bodies air and water-proof. At home, the eccentricity of private per- 

 sons is beyond all conijxirison ; and from Lord Liverpool's velvet great- 

 coat and loose pantaloons (with the Order of the Garter occasionally 

 fastened round one leg), to the cocked-hat and ribbons of the late Billy. 

 Waters, every man has a fashion of his own. Tlie contrary of this feeling, 

 makes the Frenchman a lover of systems. He is naturally gregarious ui: 

 his tastes and his pleasures. Fashion, in the metropolis of France, is a 

 goddess at whose shrine every one bows ; and although among her 

 worshippers there may be many fanatics, there are no dissenters. 

 Every thing is a la mode ; and what has been found to be, or (which is. 

 the same thing) is thought to be good, every body must adopt. A joke 

 of Potier's, or a grimace of Brunet's, must be received universally — , 

 the man who does not know them knows nothing, and he who does not 

 laugh at them is a heretic, and is excommunicated accordingly. This, 

 it is that makes the ladies in Paris at this moment wear all their clothes 

 and ornaments a la Jocko — this made every man a soldier under the 

 Emperor, and makes almost every man a hypocrite under the Bourbons ; 

 and, to carry the matter to a more serious point, this made the great 

 majority of the nation rush into the horrors and excesses of the Revo- 

 lution, and do such deeds as the whole history of the world cannot shew 

 the like of. That instance of their love of system which is most to our 

 present purpose is to be found in VArt de Faire des Dettes. 



