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mirth, closely treading on the heels of each other; if the suf ferings of the greatest of heroes extend no farther than to his own heart, and the peasant at the end of his park palings carries on his daily work, and laughs and sings and jests as usual, even while his lord is stabbing or shooting himself in the wildest paroxysm of despair;-if all these contrasts are observable in nature, and if they forcibly tend to impress on the imagination a true sense of the littleness of life and the inanity of all mortal grandeur, why may not the same contrasts produce the same effects in what is, or professes to be, the representation of nature? We are decidedly of opinion that one of the greatest injuries ever done to our stage by the fury of modern reformers has been the banishment of Lear's fool; and grieved indeed should we feel ourselves, if the same rage for classical truth were ever to prevail against the grave-diggers of Hamlet.

This, however, is a discussion which would require volumes to do it ample justice, and it would be absurd to carry it farther in the short space still left to us for the conclusion of our present article. Proceed we, then, to the eulogist's ingenious comparison between

• Corneille, Bossuet, and Montesquieu.

Among the authors who differ most in the objects of their writings, may be found the closest analogy of thought and style. Already have we pointed out this relation between Corneille and Bossuet; and a more lengthened examination will demonstrate that the one was on the stage just what the other has been in the pulpit. In both is manifested that generalization of ideas, that force of conception, which embraces the whole extent and penetrates the whole depth of a subject. If it be the object to bring us acquainted with great Generals, the oration or the drama developes their military systems; it is not a priest, it is not a poet that I hear, it is Sertorius, it is Condé, who reveal the secrets of this art. When Bossuet carries his observations to the character of nations, when he paints the manners of the Romans, we might be tempted to imagine that he has just departed from the representation of a tragedy of Corneille, and that he transcribes or analyzes the discourse of those proud citizens.

Let a Christian orator, deriving religious instruction from the death of a great man, say, "Attendez-vous que Dieu resuscite les morts pour vous instruire? il n'est pas nécessaire que les morts reviennent ; ce qui entre aujourd'hui dans le tombeau suffit pour nous convertir." On the other hand, let a poet, speaking for the widow of Pompey, make her say to her husband's urn, "6 Objet terrible et tendre, tu est plus sacré pour moi que ces Dieux, qui, la foudre á la main, ont pu voir egorger Pompée. It is evident that the orator and the poet have the same conception, and draw the same conclusion from the spectacle of death, which, according to the difference of religious opinions, leads to a revolt against heaven, or to a submission to its decrees.

C Corneille

• Corneille and Bossuet resemble each other also in their imperfections; their diction is often harsh and unpolished, whether this defect be the consequence of great strength, or whether they think that a man who is really eloquent may dispense with being elegant. Sometimes also we discover surprizing incorrectness in their works; into which they could not have tallen but that, in the grandeur of their imagina tions, they for some moments neglected or disdained the rules of grammar. Both allowed themselves to create words; and by an effect of conformity in their conceptions, or from the love which Bossuet bore to the style of Corneille, many of these words are the

same.

It is not only to the eloquence of the pulpit that we may assimilate the dramas of Corneille, but also to the most celebrated works of philosophy or politics; and this resemblance is singularly observ able in the comparison of Corneille with Montesquieu. Assisting at the deliberation of Augustus respecting the abdication of the empire, we hear the constitutional principles of political societies, and their concordance with the manners of the people; this is but a presenti ment of the idea of Montesquieu, it is an anticipated analysis of the Esprit des Lois. On the other hand, in the dialogue between Sylla and Eucrate, which may be considered as a corollary to the considerations on the Causes de la Grandeur et de la Décadence des Romains, we think that we hear the dictator, in a tragedy of Corneille, reveal to his confidant the motives of his abdication; "Si je ne suis plus en spectacle à l'univers, c'est la faute des choses humaines qui ont des bornes.... j'ai cru avoir rempli ma destinée dès que je n'ai plus eu à faire rien de grand. ....Je me suis démis de la dictature, dans le temps qu'il n'y avait pas un seul homme dans l'univers qui ne crût que la dictature était mon seul asyle. J'ai paru devant les Romains, citoyen au milieu de mes concitoyens ; et j'ai osé leur dire : je suis prêt á rendre compte de tout le sang que j'ai versé pour la république. Je répondrai à tous ceux qui viendront me redemander leur pere, leur fils, leur frère.—Tous les Romains se sont tres devaŋt moi”

.........

Let this dialogue be placed at the end of Corneille's dramas, as a fragment of an inedited piece, or a scene which the author had not yet put into verse; and certainly the similarity in the grandeur of views, in the fierté of character, in the loftiness of sentiment, in masculine and noble eloquence, would have deceived the finest taste and the most just discernment.'

The author next presents us with some short remarks on the morality of Corneille; and his discourse closes with an expression of deep regret that the sublime and just maxims concerning the polity of states, which this dramatist exhibited on the theatre, were not allowed to influence the late popular assemblies in his country; since, had attention been paid to them, they would infallibly have checked the imprudent and fatal effervescence which led to so many errors and atrocities.

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ART. XIII. Poësies diverses, &c. ; i. e. Miscellaneous Poems by M. CHEVILLARD, formerly Director of the Marine Artillery at Toulon.

IN

12mo. 2 Vols. London. 1807.

N the Age of Lewis XIVth, Voltaire reproaches Saurin and the greater part of his expatriated brethren with a certain peculiarity of manner and language, which he denominates the "style refugié." We are not aware that M. CHEVILLARD, in his long absence from his native country, has contracted any of this rust. He appears to write with purity, and, as far as our northern ears are capable of discerning, his versification is harmonious and correct.

The poems are divided into odes and miscellaneous pieces. They consist chiefly of translations of didactic, sentimental, and amatory poems from Pope, Gay, Thomson, Merrick, Gray, Goldsmith, Barbauld, and other English writers, and of the "Vivamus mea Lesbia atque amemus" and the "Ille mi para esse deo videtur" of Catullus together with several short original compositions. Among the imitations, we discover the letter of Abelard, describing his sensations in the dressing room of Eloisa, clothed in poetic garb.

M. CHEVILLARD's translation of the "Beggar's Petition" partakes of the character of the original:

"Ayez pitié d'un être malheureux

Qui vient d'un pas tremblant demander assistance;
Adoucissez son destin douloureux,
Votre bienfait un jour aura sa récompense.

Voyez l'état de cet infortuné,

Ces cheveux qu'a blanchis sa trop longue carriére,
Cet ail flétri de rides sillonné

Qui servent de canaux aux pleurs de la misère.

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Je demandois un seul morceau de pain,
Ur laquais insolent m'a chassé de la porte,
En me disant d'un ton dur, inhumain,
de ta sorte.

Ce séjour n'est pas fait pour

les

gens

Il fait grand froid; je suis si malheureux!
Accordez-moi pour lit quelque peu de litière:

Cette faveur remplira tous mes vœux.......
Vous le voyez, je touche à mon heure derniére.

Quand vous saurez la cause de mes pleurs,
Si pour l'humanité votre cœur est sensible,

ab! vous serez touche de mes malheurs,
Vous plaindrez de mon sort la rigueur inflexible.

Un

Un petit bien, avec art cultivé,

Devenoit en mes mains agréable, fertile;
Par la chicane il me fut enlevé ;

La mort de mon bétail rendit mon champ stérile.

• Ma fille étoit l'espoir de mes vieux jours, Un jeune libertin l'enlève à ma tendresse ! Rassasié de ses folles amours,

Il la voit sans pitié périr dans la détresse...

Pour partager les horreurs de mon sort,
Il me restoit encor une épouse chérie ;

Elle succombe, et je perds, par sa mort,
Le seul bien qui pouvoit m'attacher à la vie...

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The fable of the Cameleon seems destined to exhibit as many changes as the animal which forms the subject of it. Merrick borrowed it from La Motte, and the present author has restored it to his country.

In M. CHEVILLARD'S selections, and in his own productions, he might have omitted several which rather trespass on the boundaries of decorum.

ART. XIV. Le Comte de Corke, &c. ; i. e. The great Earl of Cork, or Seduction without Artifice, to which are subjoined five Novels. By Mad. DE GENLIS. 2 Vols. 12mo. Paris. 1808.

JUDG

[UDGE Jefferies accused the celebrated non-conformist Richard Baxter of publishing as many books as would fill a cart; and Mad. GENLIS, who certainly has the pen of a ready writer, seems resolved to expose herself to a similar charge. Her works, indeed, have not the character which was falsely imputed to those of poor Baxter : but never was a writer more laborious in promoting a romantic turn of mind. She professes at times to follow history: but she soon leaps over its narrow boundaries, and employs herself in creating some aliment to feed the imagination of enthusiastic lovers.

Had we not been previously acquainted with this lady's habits, we should have been led to suppose by her reference to the life of Richard Boyle, in the general Biographical Dictionary, that she meant closely to follow the memoir of this distinguished individual: but we were prepared by her former productions of this class, for the kind of enter tainment which is here served up. In the preface, she gives a brief statement of the historic facts on which her romance is

founded,

founded, adding also some notices of Robert Boyle, son of Richard, the illustrious experimental philosopher. Having thus referred to the fond on which she professes to work, and stated the circumstances which gave rise to the present fiction, she spreads her own canvas, and delineates a Richard Boyle more adapted to a circulating library than to an historical museum. This Richard, like his prototype, is born of obscure parents: but Mad. DE G. finds him a generous protector, in Mulcroon, who lived near Black-rock, four miles from Dublin; who superintends his education, and presents him with a most beautiful and elegantly furnished cottage, not only decorated with a good library, but with things which are not usually found in dwellings of this description, vases of porphyry, &c. Here, contented with his garden and his books, he lives without ambition; till the Earl of Essex, then Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, visiting his cottage, and being struck with the noble appearance of this young man, gives him a book in which he had written these words; I predict that Richard Royle will make his name illustrious. From this moment, the germ of ambition begins to shoot; and no longer are Richard's views confined to his cottage and his garden. He wishes to visit London; and his kind protector Mulcroon is not only desirous of gratifying him, but accompanies him in his journey. Arriving at Chatham when Queen Elizabeth visited that place to go on board the ship of Sir Francis Drake, who was just returned from his circumnaviga. tion of the globe, Richard, in the croud which attended on that occasion, again encounters, the Earl of Essex but, to his great mortification, he is not recognized by this nobleman; and he returns to Black-rock without having effected any object by his tour.

As, however, in novels every thing is accomplished by the potent machinery of love, Richard is soon introduced to the acquaintance of a lady, who occupies his mind abundantly more than the prediction of Essex. Lady Ranelagh pays an accidental visit to the cottage; and having thrown back the veil which concealed her beautiful face, the young and manly Richard is at once inflamed with the ardour of love, as in the adventure with the minister of Elizabeth he had been warmed with ambition. On having asked him the question, "Whether the cultivation of his flowers had not formed his happiness?" his answer, "Yes, Madam, hitherto,"-revealed to Lady Ranelagh the impression which her charms had made on this young peasant; and flattered by so delicate a compliment, which seemed to require explanation, Lady R. replied, "You say that, till now, your greatest pleasure has been derived from

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