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my father drove to his own house, where he furnished his new acquaintance with an apartment for the night.

The stranger, on the following morning, when he discovered how much he had been befriended by my father, gave himself a formal introduction; and proved to be no other than the celebrated personage described in a late excellent and highly popular novel as Gentleman George.* In a month from this time, my father was created a baronet; and was spoken of in the Court Journal with the following high-sounding appellation—" Sir John Augustus Frederick Geoffry Ulric, Bart.” His name alone, I am told, inspired many of the nobility with a sort of awe and reverence; although it was known that he had been at one time in the humble occupation of a soap-boiler.

Soon after my father was knighted, he went on an excursion to Paris. Here he fell in love, at first sight, with a Spanish lady, whom he saw promenading in the garden of the Tuilleries. The gaze of her dark and eloquent eye fell casually upon him in passing, and this his vanity interpreted into an evidence of her admiration for his fine person, or, it might have been, his mustaches, which he wore according to the most approved German models. He was quite an enthusiast in such matters, and resolved to follow her to her abode; but it so happened that she and her attendant were soon lost in the crowd. Thus disappointed, he daily visited the public walks and places of amusement, hoping that he would meet her again. For many days he was unsuccessful; and although he was by this time as deeply enamoured of a score of others, he still retained a vivid impression of the Spanish beauty. At length he accidentally saw her alight from a carriage, and pass into a house in the Rue de La Paix. From this moment he thought of nothing but her bright eyes and beautiful person. He ascertained her name, and rested not until he had made her acquaintance. His devotion to her was unprecedented in the annals of wooing. Antony and Abelard could not be compared with him. He lavished on her the most costly gifts. Her fingers were gemmed with diamonds, and rubies sparkled in her hair. Had he been endued with the power, he would, for her sake, have commanded the earth and the sea to yield up their treasures, and freely given them all for the privilege of calling her his bride. A month did not elapse, however, before his wishes were consummated; and in the fulness and transport of their affections, they believed themselves the happiest of created beings.

* See Paul Clifford.

It may be thought that I have been unnecessarily diffuse in describing my father's adventure in search of a wife ; but I beg leave to inform the reader, that, had he been less resolute, it is highly probable I should not be engaged at this moment in giving my invaluable history to the world. It will be observed, therefore, by the philosophic reader, (should I have one, which is doubtful!) that the merest trifle is sometimes productive of the greatest results.

Never was there a couple, as I am informed, who enjoyed a greater degree of happiness than Sir John Augustus Frederick Geoffry Ulric, and his accomplished and fascinating wife, Lady Isabella Ulric. This, however, refers more particularly to the earlier part of their matrimonial existence: I cannot say as much of the after growth of their joys. She, like married women in general, could be amiable if she chose, and certainly possessed some of the requisites of an agreeable wife. She could play delightfully on the harp—sing and dance elegantly ; and had read the best English, French, Spanish, and Italian authors. I might add much more in her favour; but I will wait until the further progress of this history.

My father was fond of travel ; and for one who was so thoroughly English in his habits and manner of thinking, it is somewhat remarkable that he was never known to find fault with the manners and customs of other countries when they differed from those of his own. He cared not if the Persian used his fingers instead of a knife and fork; and had no objections to the seraglio of the Turk. For everything supposed to be ridiculous abroad, he. believed he would have no difficulty in finding a parallel at home. Thus far, at least, he deserved commendation.

Among his amusements were the opera, horseracing, and cards. I know of but one thing, indeed, which he abhorred, and that was learning. Books he considered as so much waste-paper. He had a theory peculiar to himself. He contended that the only true and essential knowledge consisted in a proper understanding of mankind-in being able to comprehend their characters—to study their motives—to dive into the secrets of their very thoughts. I shall not soon forget, young as I was at the time, the solemnity with which he one day spoke on this very important subject.

“ Books, of themselves," said he, "are of but little value. We must learn to think-to reason—to analyze. We may avail ourselves of the opinions of men, as they are presented to us on paper; but we are in danger of confounding the good with the evil; and sometimes choose the latter, while we reject the former. Every young gentleman

should be able to read an advertisement, and scrawl a letter to his mistress. Beyond this, I know not that he would be benefited by an education. I heard it stated some time since at one of our Clubs, that the great Doctor Johnson quarrelled with a man because he asked him a question about the Punic war. Here is an illustration of

my

doctrine -clearly showing that there is no necessity for burdening the mind with such useless lore. People of every age, and in every country, with a trifling difference in their manners, customs, and forms of government, are essentially the same; therefore, history is merely useful, as is an almanac, to be referred to occasionally; for there are none who would wish to charge their memory with these things, unless it be the pedagogue or antiquary.

“As to novels, I can only say that they are destructive of all virtue and morality. The women, unfortunately—both young and old—are more particularly influenced by these pernicious productions. They grow so nervous, that they faint at the breaking of a teapot; or so ethereal, that they scarcely believe themselves inhabitants of the earth.

"I do not wish, however, entirely to discourage a disposition to become acquainted with books; the refinement of the age in some measure requires it ; (refinement! they call it) I desire, more especially,

VOL. I.-B

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