place in the literary edifice.
French novels, translated, if not original, are as commonly seen in the
"best regulated families" as comfits at the confectioner's or poison on
potter-carriers' shelves. The ban is removed, the anathema revoked;
either the Upas has been discovered to be less baneful than was
imagined, or the disease lurking at the core has been forgotten in the
bright colours and pleasant flavour of the appetible fruit. We take up
the newspaper. What heads the column? Half a score advertisements of the
"Mysteries of Paris"--a new edition of the "Wandering Jew," "illustrated
by the first artists"--"Memoirs of a Physician," in twopenny numbers and
shilling volumes; French novels, in short, at all prices and in every
form. We step into the club; the produce of Paris and Brussels presses
strews the table, and an elderly gentleman, with a solemn face and
quakerish coat, searches amongst them for the nine-and-twentieth volume
of "Monte Christo," or of some other French romance of longitude equally
sea-serpentine. We call upon our friend Tom Sterling, a worthy fellow,
much respected on 'Change. Miss Sterling is deep in a natty duodecimo,
whose Flemish aspect speaks volumes in favour of international
copyright. Our natural clearsightedness enables us to read, even from
the door, "Societe Belge de Librairie" upon its buff paper cover. Is the
book hastily smuggled under sofa-cushions, or stealthily dropped into
the neglected work-basket? By no means. The fair student deliberately
marks her place, and engages us in a controversy as to the merits,
faults, and beauties of a score of French romancists, in whose
lucubrations she assuredly is far better read than ourselves. In short,
English aversion for French modern literature has disappeared, and been
replaced by partiality--not to say affection. Dumas is a staple
commodity; Sue is voted delightful; English authors of talent and
standing translate or "edite"--to use the genteel word now adopted--the
works of French ones; even George Sand finds lady-translators, and, we
fear, lady readers; French books are reprinted in London, and the Palais
Royal is transported to the arcade of Burlington. We shall not take upon
ourselves to blame or applaud this change in public taste, to decide how
far such large importation and extensive patronage of foreign wares are
advantageous or deplorable--to tax with laxity those who write, or with
levity those who read, the lively and palatab