nd even discordance, of aspect: some, brilliant in
wax-light and gorgeous in decoration, glitter with the jewelled dresses
of the gay company; others, mysteriously sombre, shew the shadowy
outlines of an almost shrouded group, dimly visible in the distance.

The theatre is the very spirit and essence of life in Italy. To the
merchant it is the Bourse; it is the club to the gambler, the _cafe_ to
the lounger, the drawing-room and the boudoir to the lady. But where is
the domestic life?

CHAPTER III.

Another note from Favancourt, asking me to dine and meet Alfred de
Vigny, whose "Cinque Mars" I praised so highly. Be it so; I am curious
to see a Frenchman who has preferred the high esteem of the best critics
of his country, to the noisy popularity such men as Sue and Dumas write
for.

De Vigny is a French Washington Irving, with more genius, higher taste,
but not that heartfelt appreciation of tranquil, peaceful life, that the
American possesses. As episode, his little'tale, the "Canne de Jonc," is
one of the most affecting I ever read. From the outset you feel that the
catastrophe must be sad, yet there is nothing harassing or wearying in
the suspense. The cloud of evil, not bigger than a man's hand at first,
spreads gradually till it spans the heavens from east to west, and night
falls solemn and dark, but without storm or hurricane.

I scarcely anticipate that such a writer can be a brilliant converser.
The best gauge I have ever found of an authors agreeability, is in the
amount of dialogue he throws into his books. Wherever narrative, pure
narrative, predominates, and the reflective tone prevails, the author
will be, perhaps necessarily, more disposed to silence. But he who
writes dialogue well, must be himself a talker. Take Scott, for
instance; the very character of his dialogue scenes was the type of his
own social powers: a strong and nervous common sense; a high chivalry,
that brooked nothing low or mean; a profound veneration for antiquity;
an innate sense of the humorous, ran through his manner in the world, as
they display themselves in his works.

See Sheridan, too, he talked the School for Scandal all his life;
whereas Goldsmith was a dull man in company. Taking this criterion,
Alfred de Vigny will be quiet, reserved, and thoughtful; pointed,
perhaps, but not brilliant. _Apropos_ of this talking talent, what has
become of it? French _causerie_, of which one hears so much, was no more
to be comp