littering before us in his full
court suit, in his letters, his anecdotes, his whims, his odd views of
mankind, his caustic sneerings at the glittering world round him; an
epistolary HB., turning every thing into the pleasant food of his pen and
pungency. But we cannot discover any letters from him, excepting a few
very trifling ones of his youth. We have letters from all sorts of persons,
great lords and little, statesmen and travellers, placemen and
place-hunters; and amusing enough many of them are. Walpole furnishes some
sketches, and nothing can be better. In fact the volumes exhibit, not
George Selwyn, the only one whose letters we should have cared to see, but
those who wrote to him. And the disappointment is not the less, that in
those letters constant allusions are made to his "sparkling, delightful,
sportive, characteristic, &c. &c., epistles." Great ladies constantly urge
him to write to _them_. Maids, wives, and widows, pour out a stream of
perpetual laudation. Men of rank, men of letters, men at home, and men
abroad, unite in one common supplication for "London news" _rechauffeed_,
spiced, and served up, by the perfect _cuisinerie_ of George's art of
story-telling; like the horse-leech's two daughters, the cry is, "Give,
give." And this is what we wanted to see. Selwyn, the whole Selwyn, and
nothing but Selwyn.

It is true that there is a preface which talks in this wise:--

It seems to have been one of the peculiarities of George Selwyn, to
preserve not only every letter addressed to him by his correspondents
during the course of his long life, but also the most trifling notes and
memoranda. To this peculiarity, the reader is indebted for whatever
amusement he may derive from the perusal of these volumes. The greater
portion of their contents consists of letters addressed to Selwyn, by
persons who, in their day, moved in the first circles of wit, genius, and
fashion."

We have thus let Mr Jesse speak for himself. If the public are satisfied,
so let it be. But people seldom read prefaces. The title is the thing, and
that title is, "_George Selwyn_ and his contemporaries." If it had been
"Letters of the contemporaries of George Selwyn," we should have
understood the matter.

Still we are not at all disposed to quarrel with the volumes. They contain
a great deal of pleasant matter; and the letters are evidently, in general,
the work of a higher order of persons than the world has often an
opportunity of s