reign bayonets had just imposed upon France. The pamphleteer was appointed Ambassador to Sweden; but his repugnance for illegitimates retained him at Paris. Napoleon reappeared. Chateaubriand fled to Ghent, in the capacity of minister to Louis XVIII. He returned to France after the battle of Waterloo; he ranged himself among the proscribers in the Chamber of Peers, and "requested the king to suspend the course of his inexhaustible clemency." He afterwards published his "Monarchie selon la Charte," with the manifest and avowed intention of arming against the royal authority all the doubtful persons who, by the ordinance of the 5th of September, 1816, had just reentered within the pale of the charter, and adopted ideas of amnesty and union. This work cost the author a formal destitution; and the partisan of legitimacy throwing himself thenceforward into opposition, established the Conservateur, and, armed with that journal, into which, it has been said, "he crammed more eloquence than would have been sufficient for an ordinary man to earn a high name," he made war to the death against the ministry of Decazes, which he overset. He then took his seat in the council by the side of Villèle-excited the Spanish war-and was subsequently turn ed out by his colleague, as a "garcon de bureau." He next became liberal, and, in the Journal des Débats, attacked the triumvirate Villèle, Peyronnet, and Corbière, with a perseverance and talent little common; and, after three years' contest, having contributed to their fall, he laid down his arms, and passed anew into the ranks of aristocracy, upon being appointed Ambassador to Rome: upon having the dignity of councillor of state bestowed upon his two aides-de-camp, Bertin de Vaux and Salvandy; and after having stipulated for the payment by the ministry of a sum of 350,000 francs, as an indemnity for the expenses of the war of which the illustrious Viscount pockets 280,000 francs, while his confidential secretary, M. Roux Laborie, has the remaining 70,000. We have seen that, in politics, versatility is the staple feature of M. de Chateaubriand's character. He has divided his affections between the monarchy and the republic, the theocratic and the constitutional government. We have seen him pass from a seminary at St. Malo to the shores of the United States,-shed his blood at the siege of Thionville, under the banners of the emigration, and profess, at London, republican principles. We have seen him join Napoleon and quit him—and again join him to quit him again. We have seen him abjure the principles which he had proclaimed under the empire, in order to profit by those diametrically opposite after the restoration. It has been said, and we agree with it, "in politics, M. de Chateaubriand has no fixed principles, and is rather un républicain manqué than anything else." Considered as a moral and religious writer, M. de Chateaubriand does not deserve either the excessive praise or the excessive blame that have been poured out upon him. At Rome, his Génie du Christianisme has been placed on the prohibited list, like Emile and Candide; and in the seminaries, where religion is treated so microscopically, they beheld in M. de Chateaubriand only a philosopher who was little of a theologian, who brought within the same poetical horizon the Venus and Virgin Mary-Jupiter and Jehovah. They counted up a thousand and twenty-three objectionable propositions in his book ;-and those parallels between the Bible and Homer-that comparison between the scriptural Phædra and the pagan Dido -between the recognition of Joseph by his brethren, and of Penelope by her husband,-did not furnish to the Vatican bolts sufficient to crush them into dust. In the salons of the Fauxbourg St. Germain, on the other hand, M. de Chateaubriand is held up as the moral writer par excellence. There, it has been overlooked that it is not quite according to morality to present to us in the Mémoires sur le Duc de Berri, his amorous weaknesses as an addi tional perfection in the character of a chivalrous Frenchman,-to tell us, in Réné, in the name of virtue and of the monarchy, the story of an incestuous brother, who casts the eye of guilt upon his sister; to delight in the description of the impurities of the infamous Heliogabalus; or to paint in the Martyrs the violent loves of Eudorus and the Druidess Velléda. The Martyrs, notwithstanding their many blemishes, bear the impress of the greatest talent. A few of those strange expressions, and fantastic siThis last work, the Martyrs, is miles, with which Chénier reproached perhaps the least popular of all those M. de Chateaubriand, signify but litwhich M. de Chateaubriand has pub- tle. There are imagination, ideas, lished, and yet, to our taste, it is his images, in his poem. We behold chef-d'œuvre. Its plan is vast and well Rome, with all its glorious buildings, wrought out it contains novel and still erect-Naples, with its perfumes ably-drawn characters; descriptions and its revels-Germany, with its full of truth and beauty; a style fre- mysterious forests-Greece, with its quently calling to mind the beautiful enchantments-Gaul, with its Druids Homeric simplicity; bold images, and -and the Gauls and the Franks bringideas, sometimes bordering on the fan- ing to their battles that savage and tastic, but still strictly those of a poet; a indomitable energy which belongs to whole, in short, in which, as in the barbarians. Like Voltaire, like Gibmost part of M. de Chateaubriand's bon, like Pascal, Bacon, Corneille, works, there is much to blame, but Racine,-Chateaubriand has more still more to admire. Homer, Hesiod, than once taken the subject of his Virgil, Dante, Milton, Klopstock, and pictures from both ancient and mothe Bible, formed the sources of Cha- dern authors. His Voyage en Améteaubriand's inspiration when he com- rique is full of thefts from the Pilposed the Martyrs. He has not raised grimage in Europe and America of himself as high as his models; he often Beltrami. But these plagiarisms, and wants boldness, and often sinks to the the blemishes of style with which we character of a timid copyist. Influ- have reproached M. de Chateaubriand, enced by French taste, he has failed cannot deprive that author of the first in the daring, the terrible, and the rank among the French prose-writers grand, when he has come to the de- of the age. His imagination is as scription of his Hell. There is nei- fertile as Nature herself, and his dether majesty, nor rage, nor terror in scriptions are as varied as the places the Infernal Council of the Martyrs. he has visited, the opinions he has His demons, as compared with the embraced, or the diversified passions Titans, who tried to scale Olympus, which have agitated his tumultuous with Satan, or Belzebub, bold enough to existence. It is easy, and it is right, aim at dethroning the Eternal, are but to criticise the political variations of a troop of pygmies before a race of M. de Chateaubriand; one must lagiants, which, by the way, have ac- ment such aberrations in a public man. quired an immense height in passing But nothing but praises can rise to from the hands of Homer into those the lips when we think of the admiraof Milton. But that creation of the ble pictures of new and uncultivated Demon of Homicide, which our poet nature which we find in Atala—its owes solely to his own inspiration- tenderness, its pathos, and its passion; who, with a torch in one hand and a of the superb parallel between sword in the other, stops over Rome, Washington and Napoleon, inserted and gives the signal for the massacre in his Travels in America and Italy; of the Christians-the whole of that dreadful event-the scene in which an apostate Hebrew, standing on the ashes of those touching scenes, so truly rendered, of the devotedness of a man of the desert to René-that unhappy exile from the ancient world ;-of that terrible picture of Hériocles, sick, abandoned even by his slaves, received into their hospital by the very Christians who have been the objects of his cruel persecutions, and, at last, relieved in his agony by the same hand which had just bound up the wounds of a martyr ;-of that awful description of the death of this impious and wicked man-his appearance before the tribunal of God, whom he has denied in Time, and whose face he will never more behold during Eternity the intercession of his guardian angel -the silence of the guilty man, dumb through terror, for he has judged him self-the cries of the lost angels, who demand their prey-the judgment pronounced in Heaven-the fall of the Atheist, cast down into Hell, which yawns to receive him, and closes upon him, pronouncing the word "Eternity!"-the echo of the abyss as it repeats "Eternity!"-All these things cannot, we think, but be regarded in their various ways, as beauties touching, tender, terrible, and sublime. It is, we readily admit, foolish to cry up M. de Chateaubriand's compositions as anything approaching to faultless; but it is equally foolish, and unjust besides, to conceal or to deny his great, many, and very varied merits. MRS. G. G. RICHARDSON'S POEMS.* THE mind as well as the form of woman is more tender and delicate than that of man; and when, endowed with more than ordinary vigor, it expends its energies in poetry, it is generally more remarkable for minuteness and truth of painting. Sappho has excelled, in the delineation of love, all who have ever written; and it is perhaps not too much to suppose that, did all her works remain, we should find her equally powerful and correct in her descriptions of other feelings and passions. It is true that no modern poetess has hitherto produced anything comparable to the Sapphic fragments; nor is there any probability that, while the present poetical creed continues to be received, anything equal or similar will ever be given birth to : yet numerous lyrical and miscellaneous pieces, of great originality and beauty, have in our own day proceeded from the female pen. The reasons why ladies succeed in short fugitive pieces, and fail in longer efforts, are obvious enough their own hearts furnish them with delicate sentiments, tender feelings, and pure thoughts; but their domestic life denies them that large experience of the world, which can alone furnish the materials of a great poem. We love to linger over the excellent productions of the female mind. They seem to be redolent of beauty, and to be as soft as the bosom in which they were formed. Lovely faces appear to greet us with smiles as we turn over the pages; we become a woman's confidant, and learn, as from her own sweet lips, the secrets of her heart. It is true we do not see the lips move, or feel her breath, like a cloud of fragrant incense, floating about us ; nor does the silver voice shower its delicious music into our ears: but we have her ideas, her most hidden thoughts, her most cherished feelings, clothed in the best language of which she is mistress. It is almost like receiving a letter from a beautiful woman at a distance; and we think of every woman as beautiful per se, whom we do not know to be otherwise; for, with us, woman and beauty are synonymous terms. Many of the pieces which compose the volume now before us are distinguished by great chasteness both of thought and language, by pleasing and appropriate similes, natural metaphors, and very gentle pathos. A clever critic would immediately discover them, by their peculiar sweetness and deli * Poems, &c. By Mrs. G. G. Richardson. 12mo. Edinburgh and London, 1828. cacy, to be from a female pen; for the distinctions of sex really prevail in mind as well as in our physical nature. There is a vein of pious melancholy running through the whole volume, plainly indicating that the writer has had many sorrows to contend with; but there is also a resignation, a reliance upon Providence, and a strong faith in the goodness of the Divinity, which more than counterbalance the effects of this gloom. The talent displayed in the poetry, indeed, is equalled throughout by the nobleness of the sentiments, the strength of affection, and the amiableness of character it exhibits. In making our extracts we are puzzled what to select, many of the best of the short pieces having been already printed, and the longer poems being much too long for copying. We shall begin with four sweet lines from the first copy of verses in the volume: "Beneath its shade to vagrant thought resign'd, While zephyr's wings, dipp'd in the violet's dew, Sweep by like dreams of bliss when life was new, I rest from noontide cares my wearied mind." As a very pretty natural picture we select The Little Angler. The summer morn was shining bright, Inclining me to roam; Birds, trees, and sweet perfume invite To ramble far from home. At play, beside the dingle brook, A thread and pin, his line and hook, With ever-baffled toil to wile The craftier minnow race,Fair, curly haired, blue eyed, a smile Still winnowing o'er his face. Playmates were jeering him, but no! He would not be subdued; I watch'd him long, 'twas time to goMy wanderings were pursued. Full many a mile, the sun was high When I this path retraced; There stood the little fisher-boy Just where I left him placed. Blazing. Still, every throw fresh hope supplied, The gazer o'er that woodland scene, Where Nature's most enchanting sheen But eye, thought, fancy, all were spell'd His minnow chase, his flashing smile, The ardor of his fruitless toil- ""Twas pretty though 'twas sad" to see How artlessly he play'd His future youth's sure history- Four years he scarce had number'd ; boy! Will good or ill, that Will employ When manhood shades thy brow? We shall conclude our notice with the following sadly pleasing verses: St. Mary's Kirk-yard-Selkirkshire. O lay me there, O lay me there, When the blink is out now feebly lowing,* Where naething stirs but the moorland air The dead wi' wither'd leafies strowing! I hae had eneuch o' stir and din- St. Mary's loch lies shimmering still, But St. Mary's Kirk-bell's lang dune ringing; There's naething now but the grave-stane hill, To tell o' a' their loud psalm-singing; The plover wails where gossips met, And the fremitt curlew fearless hovers Where the plighted trysting hour was setO where be now the blooming lovers? And where be now the hopes and fears, And the dowie, and the merry, meeting? There's naething here but the morning's tearsAneth the mools§ there's nae mair greeting.|| A calm soughs T on the loch the now, Where the waves were ance sic a warstle keeping; And the lift** looks down wi' her bonny brow, O lay me there, O lay me there, I want nae dirge but the moorland air, † Stranger, not of kin. T Sighing sound. Heavy, sad. **Sky. § Mould. Weeping. ESSAYS ON PHYSIOLOGY, OR THE LAWS OF ORGANIC LIFE. ESSAY I-DIVISION OF NATURAL BODIES, AND GENERAL LAWS OF ORGANIc Life. How delightful a task it is, to every well regulated mind, to investigate the wonders of nature? "To look through nature, up to nature's God," is indeed worthy the philosopher and Christian. In the workmanship of the Almighty, we behold, wherever we turn our eyes, boundless proofs of His wisdom and beneficence; and whatever part we make the subject of our study, in that we find ample cause for gratitude and praise. Pre-eminent, however, among the works of creation, and affording to the contemplative inquirer the highest intellectual pleasure, is the race of beings animated and living. The animal frame is indeed an inexhaustible mine for research,--it forms of itself a world, through which the eye of science ranges with admiration, and regards with delight the wonders unfolded by the diligence of the inquirer. If we consider the animal frame as it respects either its mechanism, or the curious and complicated structure composing it, or, diving more deeply into the mysteries of nature, endeavor to elucidate and explain the laws by which it is governed, we shall find more than sufficient to claim our attention, and excite our interest. In essays on the present subject, adapted for general perusal, there are many difficulties to surmount,-some arising from its intricate nature,and others from the necessity of avoiding, as much as possible, technical terms, which, granting they were universally understood, would afford clearer ideas than any other, of what is meant to be conveyed. Clearness and perspicuity, however, we shall endeavor to attain, and if any information be communicated, or a spirit of candid inquiry excited,-Reader! our wishes are satisfied! families, viz. the organic, and the inorganic,-and these are distinguished by laws, which draw a marked line of separation between them, furnishing data, at once simple and positive, and enabling us to determine immediately to which family to refer any object we view. The organic family comprehends all bodies endued with vitality;-the inorganic, those not possessing this principle :-to the former group, therefore, belong animals and plants;-to the latter, all other bodies cognizable by our senses. Animals are natural bodies, organized, living, and sentient. Vegetables are natural bodies, organized and living, but not sentient-all other bodies are neither organized, nor living, nor sentient. It is therefore to the laws of organic life, that our observations are to be confined. The phenomena manifested by all organic bodies, result apparently from an inherent power,-a power innate in the structure of the body itself, and producing all the characters of animal and vegetable life. This power, whatever it may be, is generally termed the " 'vital principle;" but vital principle is an expression calculated only to cover our ignorance respecting the abstract nature of the cause of these phenomena, or effects, perpetually and uniformly associated to the structure of organic matter. This principle must, from its very essence, remain forever enveloped in mystery ;-facts proclaim its existence, and with this we must rest content. We shall perhaps, however, be able to form a more accurate idea of what is implied by the term, "vital principle," and consequently of the distinction between organic and inorganic matter, by a more close comparison of these two families. All natural objects with which we Inorganic matter is simple in its are acquainted, and which constitute form, without fixed shape or determithis globe and all upon its surface, are nate parts, and homogeneous in its divided into two distinct groups or composition. Incapable of growth, |