Was threading lightly through her crisped locks, Then parting her luxurious lips, she spoke And did confess herself a mere, mere woman.”—Cinthia. No one who has read Dryden's Fables, can have forgotten the translation of that gallant Bird the Cock : "Mulier est hominis confusio, Madam, the meaning of this Latin is That woman is to man his sovereign bliss." : This is the very type of human conduct. Men rail against women, call them mutabile genus with Horace, exclaim with Lord Byron that "treachery is all their trust," or with the " Gentleman who has left his Lodgings,"" that they are soon contented to follow the crowd;" yet, in spite of all these objections, the influence of woman remains about the same as it was when Antony lost the world for Cleopatra. Men still shut their eyes against conviction, and walk blindly to their fate-they rail against the faithlessness and the heartlessness of woman one day, and they marry the next-and thus they are reduced to the necessity of translating Latin like Dryden's feathered biped, or, like Dominie Sampson, of addressing their ladies with " sceleratissima, that is, good Mrs. Margaret; impudentissima, that is to say, excellent Mrs. Merrilies." We rather think that the testimony of these gentlemen cannot be relied upon they are interested_witnesses, and they are already evidently in two stories. From them, therefore, we must not enquire the character of woman. To whom therefore shall we resort? To the philosophers? They have always been jealous of women, who are their most powerful antagonists, overturning systems with a smile, and destroying the most perfect reasoning with a nod of the head, and unphilosophising even the soul of a stoic. Besides, all philosophers call women Xantippes, being deep commiserators of the fate of Socrates. Can any of our readers form an idea of a philosopher courting? The very notion is as preposterous as that of an abstract idea of a Lord Mayor in Martinus Scriblerus. If then it is so useless to consult the philosophers, shall we get a better answer from the poets? Here the partiality is as great on the other side. What oceans of adulation! There is not a single superlative word of excellence that the poets have not pressed into the service of their mistresses-but of the poets' notions we shall say more anon. Ask the man of the world what he thinks on the subject. He pauses-and you see his head is running on settlements. When the poet calls his mistress heavenly-minded, the prudent worldling says she is a good match; and while the enraptured bard murmurs some impassioned words, about " the mind, the music. breathing from her face," our man of the mart is coolly calculating "£5000. 3 per cents now, and something more when the old fellow dies." Now which of these opinions shall we choose? We confess, for our own parts, we patronize the poet's, both because we believe it to be nearer the truth, and because, even if it were not so, it is by far the pleasantest of the three. But let us be understood, before we commence our panegyric, for we foresee it will be such-let us be fully understood to speak of woman in the abstract; not of old women, nor cross women, nor ugly women, nor foolish women, nor blue stockings, nor poissardes, but of the ideal woman, such as the soul of Milton conceived when he shadowed out the beautiful picture of his Eve. At the same time, we should be exceedingly chagrined if it were imagined that we intended any studied insult to the very respectable classes of females we have just mentioned. We have felt an affectionate veneration for several old ladies, and many a pleasant hour have we passed in their company. For his mother's sake a man is bound to respect old ladies-at least, in our minds. Now, as to cross women, it is a very well known fact, that their attachment is frequently stronger than that of goodhumoured ones; and, besides, it should be recollected that they contribute very much to a man's happiness by exercising the valuable qualities of forbearance and resignation. Want of beauty, as a quality, only relates to young women; for it does not matter whether an old one be ugly or not-but this circumstance, which is so often considered a misfortune, is very frequently a blessing, as those who have read Mr. William Parnell's Julietta, and Miss Burney's Camilla, feel perfectly convinced. Far be it therefore from us to speak with disrespect of a lady because perchance her nose is not of seemly proportion, or because her complexion happens to be rather like that of a lawyer. As for the foolish ladies, we can only say, we feel as much regard for them as we can, and have no possible intention of offending them; we would, however, venture to make one remark, that if they happen to be pretty, they may possibly achieve a conquest if they will but hold their tongues; but many a strong impression, made by a handsome set of features, has faded away at the utterance of a silly speech. Then, as to the blue stocking, or true literary lady--the precieuse--“ a female who cares for no man, but boasts that her protectors are Titlepage the publisher, Vamp the bookseller, and Index the printer:” -as for her, it will perhaps be as prudent to hold a discreet silence, lest in the very next number of this very magazine, we should find two or three pages filled with avenging remarks. We shall not at present enter into a formal refutation of all the calumnies which man, in the lordliness and vanity of his heart, has poured forth against his fairer half; (but we do heartily wish that all such offenders may be brought to speedy and condign punishment, for which purpose we recommend a jury of matrons to be impannelled.) There is, however, one accusation which is really too unjust to be passed over in silence, and we shall therefore say a word or two on the subject of female constancy. Fickleness has been an imputed female fault from the time of Horace, and long before, and the sentiment has been re-echoed by every misogynistic satirist. "Thou art not false, but thou art fickle," is the lightest of their accusations. The charge, however, comes but badly from the mouth of a man. What is the advice which a great philosopher, who looked "quite through the deeds of men," has given to his son, "Remember when thou wert a sucking child, that thou then didst love thy nurse, and that thou wert fond of her; after a while thou didst love thy drynurse, and didst forget the other; after that, thou didst also despise her so will it be with thee, in thy liking in elder years; and therefore, though thou canst not forbear to love, yet forbear to link, and after a while thou shalt find an alteration in thyself, and see another far more pleasing than the first, second, or third love." This is old crafty Sir Walter Raleigh! How much truth and how much guile is there in this sentence!" And this is man's fidelity!" It is strange that man should be so jealous of his superiority, as to endeavour to degrade the character of woman in order to exalt his own. It is only one mode of playing the tyrant-a part capable of being enacted in so many different shapes. The civilized man complains that they are talkative, jealous, narrowminded, and hence assumes a mastery--the Indians' reasoning is shorter he makes them carry his burdens. "All There is one mortal offence in women for which they have been, more than once, rated roundly by the satirists. women," says one of our malevolent old dramatists, " have six senses; that is, seeing, hearing, tatling, smelling, touching, and the last and feminine sense, the sense of speaking." We feel rather inclined to suspect, that the lords and masters of this goodly creation would not be very well content to allow the last of these senses to be the exclusive privilege of their fair partners. So far indeed from such a concession, they have absolutely monopolized the power of speaking (par excellence) to the exclusion of those who they contend are so much their superiors in the exercise of it. Who ever heard of a lady making a speech? We certainly do not mean to contend from this that our ladies are speechless; but we do say it is unfair in a man to attend a public meeting, and tire his auditors to death with a speech of two hours' length, filled with all the common-places of all the common writers of the day, and then to return home and chide his daughter for pouring forth a gay ten minutes' rattle in the overflowing gaiety of her youthful heart. While a man is talking stupid sense, you hear a woman uttering lively nonsense; and the latter commodity is infinitely more estimable in our opinion. On this subject, we may quote four of the best lines Dr. Darwin ever wrote: Hear the pretty ladies talk, Tittle-tattle, tittle-tattle, Like their pattens, when they walk, You There are very few men that know how to converse. see many a man like Addison, who can draw on his banker for £1000, but who has not nine-pence in ready cash, to contribute as his share in conversation. Women, on the contrary, are always both ready and willing to speak. Women have a most graceful way of talking about nothing, which men, in their wisdom, esteem beneath their powers. The French ladies are pre-eminent in this art; and after them the Irish ladies hold the most distinguished place. It is absolutely marvellous to listen to two sisters, who have been parted for three weeks, edifying each other with their mutual stores of intelligence, of which their brothers would have disburdened themselves in one-tenth of the time. The way in which women employ their time has always appeared to us most unaccountable. We ourselves have in general a good deal to do-poring over crabbed books all the morning-writing sonnets to our mistress's eye-brow-cunningly making notes for a sly article in the New Monthlyplaying chess and tennis-and hugging ourselves over the last new novel-yet, in spite of all these very multifarious occupations, we must confess it, there is many an hour that lies heavy on our hands, and neither by walking or reading, writing or riding, can we contrive to fill up all the little interstices of our life, so as completely to exclude that most villainous fiend ennui. But a lady-(we entreat our male readers for a moment to raise their eyes from our pages, and consult their wife, or their sister, or their first cousin, or any other lady who may perchance be sitting next them) a lady who sits in the house all day-who, out of the whole blessed four-and-twenty hours, is the absolute mistress of sixteen of them, and who has no imperative duties to perform that can possibly exact her attention for one-eight of that period-that lady will tell you, that the day is so very short, that she actually has not half time enough to do all she intends, and that she cannot recollect an hour which has not passed with too great rapidity. We have put this question to a great variety of our fair friends, and we have invariably received the same answer from all of them. In estimating the virtues of our fair countrywomen, we should perhaps feel inclined to award the palm of excellence to those who move in the higher ranks of our middle classes, possessing as they do all the polish which the first society can confer, with that utility of character, which the daughters of our nobility can seldom have the opportunity of acquiring. We do not intend to enter into a dissertation on the accomplishments and cultivation of the female mind at the present day-which may probably save our readers' patience, and our own fingers-else could we shew how this lady excels in mathematics, and how that one is deeply versed in political economy-in short, how much our country owes to the efforts of its numerous authoresses. Probably, however, in some future number, we may attempt to appreciate the merits of the "Living Poetesses of England." TO M. SAY. AND STAGNATION OF COM ON SOME FUNDAMENTAL PRINCIPLES IN STATISTICS, LETTER I. SIR-It was with the pleasure which I usually enjoy from the discussions of scientific men on questions of real utility, that I read your letters to Mr. Malthus, on Political Economy. The subjects are not only of theoretical, but great practical importance; particularly at present, when the people of Europe, as well as of North America, are suffering from a general stagnation, amid peace and plenty. You address your observations to Mr. Malthus; and it will be for that economist to make what reply he judges convenient. But the questions are for general consideration; and, as you know well that I also have laid before the public opinions on these very subjects, and that they do not coincide with your's, you will not be surprised that I should be a volunteer in the cause, in order to give my reasons for coming to a different conclusion. That what we call money, whether in the shape of gold, silver, copper, paper, or any other material, is merely an artificial ready medium for exchanging what we have gotten to dispose of with what we want to obtain, whatever be the character of either, or, |