1829.] 
which the clock strikes—I am attacked on all 
sides.” The principal consoled him with this 
advice, “ Keep to true time—give gentle and 
obliging words, and all parties will be satisfied.” 
St. Francis’s application of his little tale 
involves an admirable hint for reviewers. 
Some ladies of rank, at Paris, came to visit St. 
Francis, just after he had been preaching. Every 
one had some difficulty. They all assailed him at 
once with different interrogatories. ‘*I would 
willingly reply to all your questions, provided 
you will answer one I wish to propose—In a 
society where all talk and none listen, pray what 
is said?” . 
Here is a morsel for Dugald Stewart 
himself— 
“ Reason,” says he, ‘‘is not deceitful, but rea- 
soning is.” After due attention to the arguments 
of those who were conversing with him, he would 
say, “ These, I perceive, are your reasons, but do 
you perceive that all your reasons are not reason- 
able ”’ “‘ This,’’ said some one, “is accusing heat 
of not leing hot.’’ “ No,’ says he, ‘‘ reason and 
reasoning are things widely different—reasoning 
is the road that leads to reason,’’ &c. 
On some occasion something reminded 
him of a woman remarkable for her way- 
wardness, and constant opposition to the 
wishes of her husband— 
*« She was drowned,” said he, “in ariver. On 
hearing of it, her husband desired the river should 
be dragged, in search of the body—zgo against 
the current of the stream,” says he, ‘* for we have 
no reason to suppose that she should have lost 
her spirit of contradiction.” 
“Nothing sh ould be done,’’ said St. Francis, 
“ for the paltry love of praise—and no duty left 
undone from the fear of applause. It is a weak 
head that is overcome by the perfume of roses.” 
Some one in the Saint’s presence was ridiculing 
a hump-backed person—* All the works of God 
are perfect,” observed St. Francis. ‘ How per- 
fect?” said the satirist ; “ the figure I speak of is 
evidently imperfect,” “ Well,” replied he, as- 
suming a lively tone— may there not be perfect 
hump-backed people, as weil as people of perfect 
symmetry ?” 
* Virtuous habits,” he would say, “ are not de- 
stroyed by one bad action ; you cannot call a man 
intemperate, who, once in his life, is intoxicated.” 
“ Ido not know,” said St. Francis, “how that 
poor virtue, prudence, has effended me, but I can- 
not cordially like it—I care for it by necessity, as 
being the salt and lamp of life. The beauty of 
simplicity charms me—I would give a hundred 
serpents for one dove.” 
The conversation turned one day on a person 
who sought the reputation of heing a man of deep 
understanding, by the practice of great silence. 
“Well then,” said he, “he has discovered the 
secret of purchasing celebrity with yery little ex- 
pense.” After a pause, he continued—* Nothing 
%o much resembles & man of sense, as a silent 
fool.” 
> Experience, 4 vols., 12mo. ; 1828.—This 
Domestic and Foreign.” 423 
comes from Mr. Newman’s manufactory— 
the once memorable Minerva press—a 
house which supplies inferior libraries 
with inferior novels—sometimes, perhaps, 
only because a more fashionable publisher 
is not come-at-able—to inferior classes 
of readers, tradesmen’s daughters, and 
milliners’ girls, if, poor souls, the latter we 
mean, they can steal an hour to glance at 
them. In the height of our dignity we 
might be expected to survey them with the 
supercilious scorn of our colatemporaries, but 
not being habitually governed by names 
and precedents, and blest, or curst, with 
some little curiosity—-we turned over the 
pages of Experience, and if not very pro- 
foundly struck, or very greatly instructed, 
or very intensely interested, we were at 
least well pleased to find—what is surely no 
unimportant improvement—indications of 
considerable ability, an easy command of 
good language, vigorous sentences, and even 
sentiments—no straining and wrenching—a 
distinct, though a complicated narrative, and 
more than usual facility in the conduct of 
conyersation-scenes—many of much higher 
pretensions would shrink from the com- 
parison. 
Still we do not feel ourselves warranted 
in any attempt to elevate it to the first class 
of novels—to such as are written by men and 
women familiar with the business of life, 
and the manners—the habits—the tone— 
the sentiment—the whatever distinguishes 
the cultivated from the unreclaimed regions 
of modern society. For the truth of it is, 
the story and style of development has 
little to do with real life; and is, indeed, 
very obviously the production of a reader, 
and not of an observer—comparatively, of 
course we mean—of some accomplished go- 
verness, perchance, very capable of compre- 
hending and even estimating refinement, 
but denied, by position, the attainment of 
more than a glance, to vivify occasionally 
her not very useful readings. 
The title of Experience is expressive 
of the religious and moral benefits of ad- 
versity—the advantages of change of cir- 
cumstances. The scene is almost wholly 
confined to one noble family. The earl 
is very stiff and stately and important, 
the countess extremely well-behaved, but 
even with the earl distant, and never 
more than courteous. They have several 
children—one son, merely a worthless and 
insignificant profligate, and not likely to 
live, and a daughter, a very haughty young 
lady, with a toadying attendant and a vul- 
gar servant for her confidantes, and full of 
malignity, jealousy, and all uncharitable- 
ness. In the family, in a very equivocal 
position, is a young girl of seventeen, some- 
times in the school-room with the governess, 
sometimes in the working-room under the 
dominion of the favoured servant, appa- 
rently, and, generally, dull and spiritless, 
but giving, occasionally, indications she is 
not what she seems. Among the visitors 
is a nephew, a very brilliant youth, who 
