Erasmus too—­the grave, the phlegmatic Erasmus, melts into love and playful thoughts, when he thinks of kisses—­“Did you but know, my Faustus,” he writes to one of his friends, “the pleasures which England affords, you would fly here on winged feet, and if your gout would not allow you, you would wish yourself a Daedalus.  To mention to you one among many things, here are nymphs of the loveliest looks, good humoured, and whom you would prefer even to your favourite Muses.  Here also prevails a custom never enough to be commended, that wherever you come, every one receives you with a kiss, and when you take your leave, every one gives you a kiss; when you return, kisses again meet you.  If any one leaves you they give you a kiss; if you meet any one, the first salutation is a kiss; in short, wherever you go, kisses every where abound; which, my Faustus, did you once taste how very sweet and how very fragrant they are, you would not, like Solon, wish for ten years exile in England, but would desire to spend there the whole of your life.”

Oh what miracles have been wrought by a kiss!  Philosophers, stoics, hermits, and misers have become men of the world, of taste, and of generosity; idiots have become wise; and, truth to tell, wise men idiots—­warriors have turned cowards and cowards brave—­statesmen have become poets, and political economists sensible men.  Oh, wonderful art, which can produce such strange effects! to thee, the magic powers of steam seem commonplace and tedious; the wizard may break his rod in despair, and the king his sceptre, for thou canst effect in a moment what they may vainly labour years to accomplish.  Well may the poet celebrate thy praises in words that breathe and thoughts that burn; well may the minstrel fire with sudden inspiration and strike the lute with rapture when he thinks of thee; well might the knight of bygone times brave every danger when thou wert his bright reward; well might Vortigern resign his kingdom, or Mark Antony the world, when it was thee that tempted.  Long, long, may England be praised for her prevalence of this divine custom!  Long may British women be as celebrated for the fragrance of their kisses, as they ever were, and ever will be for their virtue and their beauty.

CHILDE WILFUL.

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NOTES OF A READER.

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“COMPANION TO THE THEATRES.”

An inveterate play-goer announces a little manual under this title, for publication in a few days.  Such a work, if well executed, will be very acceptable to the amateur and visitor, as well as attractive to the general reader.  The outline or plan looks well, and next week we may probably give our readers some idea of its execution.

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VOYAGE TO INDIA.