the Duke of Wellington; the Emperor Alexander appoints Prince
Kutusoff. The Duke of Wellington is to go out first, and is to meet
Napoleon at Battersea Fields. There were open fields at Battersea:
_then_: only think! open fields! I don't know how the duel ends--I am
just in the midst of it--it is so interesting."

The author of _Anastasius_ (Mr. Thos. Hope) has contributed five or six
pages on Self-love, Sympathy, and Selfishness--which are deep enough for
any Lady D. of this or the next century. We expected a powerful and
picturesque tale of the East, and not such sententious matter as
this:--"Every sentient entity, from the lowest of brutes to the highest
of human beings, desires self-gratification:" we may add, a principle as
well understood in Covent-garden as in Portland-place. Mr. Banim has
written The Hall of the Castle, an interesting Irish story; and Lord
Normanby, The Prophet of St. Paul's, of the date of 1514--which
concludes the volume.

Among the Poetry are some pretty verses by Lord Porchester; but it is
well that metrical pieces do not predominate, for some of the writers
are sadly unmusical sonneteers.

The "Letters from Lord Byron to several Friends" are not of interest
enough for the space they occupy.

The _Plates_ are beyond praise. The Frontispiece Portrait of Lady
Georgiana Agar Ellis, by Charles Heath, is one of the most exquisite
ever engraved; and two plates illustrating Sir Walter Scott's _House of
Aspen_ have the effect of beautiful pictures on a blank wall. _Two_
views of Virginia Water are, perhaps, questionable in the same volume;
but they are admirably engraved. Wilkie's "beautiful, though," as Lord
Normanby says, "somewhat slight cabinet picture of the Princess Doria
and the Pilgrims[1]" has been finely executed by Heath; and a View of
Venice, from a drawing by Prout, is a masterpiece of Freebairne. Equal
to either of these is The Faithful Servant, engraved by Goodyear, after
Cooper, and Dorothea, the title-page plate. Of The Bride, engraved by
Charles Heath, from a picture by Leslie, it is impossible to speak in
terms of sufficient praise, as it is, without exception, one of the
loveliest prints ever beheld. We have had our laugh at The Portrait, a
scene from Foote, painted by Smirke, and engraved by Portbury. Its whim
and humour is describable only by the British Aristophanes. We can only
add, that it is Lady Pentweazle sitting to Carmine for her portrait--the
look that he despairs