The notes are of a very practical character;
for instance, in the letter consoling a widow,
after saying, "doubtless the defunct merited
all your tenderness, for he had acquired the
esteem of all who knew him," the editor
adds, "here enumerate the good qualities of
the deceased, whatever they were— a good
husband, father, &c."

Then follows a letter to console one who
has lost a government place, which must be
very useful, as, at least, half the people who
can read and write in France are either seeking
a place or enjoying a place or discontented
because they have been turned out of a place.

But, the most amusing chapter of all, and
the one most novel and strange to our insular
notions, is that devoted to love and marriage.
A letter written with feeling and skill, says
the editor, will sometimes exercise such
power over the vanity or the heart of a
woman that it may overcome the coldness
which would otherwise plunge a lover in the
depths of despair; and then he goes on to
recommend lovers to study four letters which
he gives, and to make use of them as a
dictionary of love. He adds, every love-letter
should be on beautiful paper, neatly folded;
the elegance predisposes the lady to a favourable
answer. The four letters are pour
Liaisons Dangereuses, pour La Nouvelle
Héloïse! Considering that the letters in the
Nouvelle Héloïse are addressed to a married
woman, the selection is, to say the least, a
curious example of French taste.

In addition to these masterpieces of love-making
eloquence, the editor gives a couple
of original letters, each, of course, full of
allusions to the charms and beauty of the
lady addressed; but the word charms is
accompanied by the following acute and
matter-of-fact note: "If the lady to whom
the letter is addressed should not be pretty,
these words may seem ironical, and had
better be omitted; but there is always some
talent or quality on which you can expatiate
— for instance, one sings delightfully, another
dances gracefully," &c. This hint may be
useful to English lovers, whose sweethearts
would not appreciate the convulsions of
Rousseau and St. Pierre.

After a specimen of formal declarations of
love, we find what, we are quite sure, is not
to be found in any English Secretary's
Assistant or Letter-Writer— specimen billet-doux
(an untranslateable title), which is to be
written on very small ornamental note-paper,
as it is intended to be given under the rose to
some one to whom the writer has no opportunity
of speaking. The letter itself says:
"Since I am not so happy as to be able to
speak to you, if my addresses are not
disagreeable, place a blue riband in your head-dress."
And a note observes, the signal must
be varied according to circumstances— it
would be absurd to ask for a blue signal from
a person who always wears blue, and he goes
on to say: "This kind of communication is
often very successful— ladies who would not
dare to write or say a word, will venture to
wear a special flower or riband!"

We are also provided with models of letters
when a declaration has remained unanswered,
of another when a favourable answer has
been received, which begins thus famously:
"Mademoiselle,— Is it not delusion? You
love me! This charming word has been
pronounced by a ravishing mouth— your
fingers have traced it. O! happiness
inexpressible! why can't I run and throw myself
at your knees, there to die of joy and love,"
&c. Then comes a letter to ask a rendezvous,
after, we presume, the blue riband has been
worn— a letter to ask for the lady's portrait,
in order to cover it with kisses; fortunately,
photographs are to be had for a franc a-piece.

Then follows a letter of so astounding a
character that we cannot venture to do more
than allude to it. There are not less than
three letters from jealous and discontented
lovers, followed by one of irony and love after
a quarrel, in which the ill-bred gentleman
ends by regretting that the lady is not like
an orange with its bitter rind and sweet
pulp— for which he heartily deserves to be
kicked. But everyone who has noticed the
relations between French lovers must have
remarked that, while the deference shown to
the fair far exceeds anything we practise in
England, when they do quarrel the men
indulge in a degree of plain speaking, to use a
mild term, which would ensure any Englishman
a hearty thrashing. Only imagine an
English model letter in which a gentleman
tells a lady that she is capricious, aggravating,
ill-tempered, and sulky, while a note suggests
that any other faults may be inserted. After
the rude letter comes one finally breaking off
their engagement, and then three for choice,
praying for a reconciliation.

Sailors and soldiers being considered a
genus apart from ordinary men, two special
love-letters are destined for their service;
the sailor is short, sharp, and gruff, but
not technical. We have a faint recollection
of a Jack Tar's letter, by one of the
naval novelists, most ingeniously garnished
with sea-terms. But the soldier's letter is
more professional; he begins by saying, "I
do not know how to say a sentence which is,
nevertheless, plain enough— when away from
you it is on the tip of my tongue, but when I
see you I forget the password. This sentence
is short like the word of command— I am
going to give it— to say, 'I love you;' may
you rally at the sound, and I alongside of
you. Oh! if you only give the countersign,
the barrack will become to me like a slap-up
hotel, and the guard-house as jolly as the
tap— even in the black-hole I shall snooze
snugly dreaming of you. But perhaps you
will say, 'What's the use of a soldier for a
sweetheart, how can he keep house out of
his knapsack?' But, mademoiselle, I am not
a soldier for life— my term will soon be at an