It is surprising that the satirist’s attention was not attracted to the scene in _Stella_, in which one of the heroines describes the rapid growth of her passion to its object: “I know not if you observed that you had enchained my interest from the first moment of our first meeting. I at least soon became aware that your eyes sought mine. Ah, Fernando, then my uncle brought the music, you took your violin, and, as you played, my eyes rested upon you free from care. I studied every feature of your face; and, during an unexpected pause, you fixed your eyes upon—upon me! They met mine! How I blushed, how I looked away! You observed it, Fernando; for from that moment I felt that you looked oftener over your music-book, often played out of tune, to the disturbance of my uncle. Every false note, Fernando, went to my heart. It was the sweetest confusion I ever felt in my life.” Footnote 4: The whole of this _jeu d’esprit_ has been claimed for FRERE, but on unsatisfactory evidence. It is much more in CANNING’S way as a student of oratory, which FRERE was not. Footnote 5: [See pages 32, 34.—ED.] Footnote 6: [A very eminent Mathematician and Physicist, and the inventor of descriptive geometry; born in 1746. In 1792 he was appointed Minister of Marine; and afterwards took an active part in the equipment of the Army. After founding the _École Polytechnique_, he was sent into Italy to receive the pictures and statues seized by Buonaparte. He then joined the expedition to Egypt, and rendered great service both in the war operations and in the labours of the _Egyptian Institute_, the results of which were published by command of Napoleon in that magnificent and extensive work the _Description de l’Égypte_. He died in 1818.—ED.] Footnote 7: [Parodied from Payne Knight’s poem, “_The Progress of Civil Society_,” which is admirably ridiculed in No. XV. _post_.—ED.] Footnote 8: [By SOUTHEY.—ED.] Footnote 9: [The original poem, by Southey, is here subjoined:— THE WIDOW. SAPPHICS. Cold was the night wind; drifting fast the snows fell; Wide were the downs, and shelterless and naked; When a poor wand’rer struggled on her journey, Weary and way-sore. Drear were the downs, more dreary her reflections; Cold was the night wind, colder was her bosom: She had no home, the world was all before her, She had no shelter. Fast o’er the heath a chariot rattled by her: “Pity me!” feebly cried the poor night wanderer. “Pity me, strangers! lest with cold and hunger Here I should perish.