"You are right—Mr. Clanricarde is born too late; the reputation of a conqueror, whether of hearts or kingdoms, is now philosophically demonstrated to be worthless. Utility is fast annihilating the empire of the sigh or the sword: a hero is pronounced to be dangerous, or, worse, useless—and Alexanders and Richelieus are equally out of keeping with our time. Mr. Clanricarde's theory of sentiment is rather original: he says he quite agrees with Montesquieu's doctrine of the influence of climate; he therefore argues that this external effect must be counteracted by an internal one, and takes up an attachment as the best resource against the fogs, rains, and snows of our island. He changes his mistresses with the weather: in sunshine, by way of contrast, he devotes himself to some languid beauty—in gloom to some piquant coquette. I rallied him the other day on his homage this June to the lively and witty Miss Fortescue. 'Yes, summer is setting in with its usual severity,' replied he—'one must have a resource.'"
"He is a practical reproach to our barometer," rejoined Emily: "but do you not think the inconvenience of such rainy seasons
