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14. Sabbath Sonnet. Composed by Mrs. Hemans, a few days before her death, and dedicated to her Brother. Blackwood's Magazine. 414

15. Diary of a Blasé. By the Author of Peter Simple, Jacob Faithful, &c. Continued from p. 312.

16. Personal Recollections of the late Charles Mathews. 17. William Cobbett.

1. The Fudges in England. By Thomas Brown the Younger.

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19. The Adventures of Japhet in Search of a Father. By

the Author of Peter Simple, Jacob Faithful, &c. 20. On the Character of Mrs. Hemans's Writings. 21. Sad Things. By R. R. Madden.

22. Halley's Comet.

23. Tender Mercies.

24. The Library. By Mrs. Abdy.

25. A Parallel of Shakspeare and Scott.

London Metropolitan. ib.
London Court Journal. 419
New Monthly Magazine. 423

London Literary Gazette. 424

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* In the text, this article is erroneously credited to Fraser's Magazine.-Ed. Mus.

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PIERRE-JEAN DE BERANGER-LIFE OF SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH.
From Fraser's Magazine.

PIERRE-JEAN DE BERANGER.

De Beranger! How like him in attitude, mien, figure, look! He is depicted just as he is. He will not, on this occasion, say as he did of the frontispiece to an edition of his songs, in 1826:

"Non, non, tu n'es pas mon portrait !"

Whether the next line,

345

Many a song of this kind, and some of them extremely noble and heart-touching-not the less of either because they are dictated by passion, are to be found in his works. But the restored Bourbons and their ministers were the principal objects of his satires; which, in 1821, sent him to prison for three months, and, in 1828, for nine. His works were, however, profitable to him, and his independence was on many occasions remarkably exhibited. When Charles X. fell, he declared, that, "Jamais je ne me suis fait peindre," in dethroning that prince, song had been dethroncontinue to be true or not we cannot say: but ed. He has, we should think, since found, that that he has been painted will not now be denied all she complained of in the overthrown Bourbons, by himself, when he sees the accompanying page. flourishes in stricter rigour under Louis Philippe; There he sits, in the apartment of the prison to that the censeur tyrannique still exercises the which the absurd policy of the ministers of the same functions under the citizen-king, as when he restored Bourbons consigned him, while they wrote his song of La Censure; and that the "inoverlooked the real traitors who were undermin-finiment petits" are as much in power as in the ing their throne; and he is shown in his usual days of the Gerontocracie. But, after all, why simple, unostentatious garb, divested equally of the affectation of extreme plainness as of dandyism. He looks to be what he is-a man. His life is written in his songs; his birth is dated [See REGINA, vol. xi. p. 93]

"Dans ce Paris, plein d'or et de misère,

En l'an du Christ mil sept cent quatre vingt, Chez un tailleur, mon pauvre et vieux grand-père." The fairy, at his birth, gave him the gift divine of song-making-the gift which has never departed from him; and then decided that his lot was to run through the various phases of

should our baldpated and bespectacled friend trouble himself about squabbling politics? Why should not he act like his hero, l'Homme Gris, and sing “Moi, je m'en ris ?"

From Fraser's Magazine.

Memoirs of the Life of the Right Honourable
Sir James Mackintosh. Edited by his Son,
Robert James Mackintosh, Esq. 2 vols. 8vo.
London, 1835.

The most remarkable feature, we think, in the literature of the present day, is the great and in"Garçon d'auberge, imprimeur, et commis;" creasing proportion which biography, and particuand, accordingly, in all these characters he figur-larly autobiography, appears to bear to the geneed before he took his station in the literary world. In whatever situation he was, it is unnecessary to say that his talents for wit and good humour were speedily developed. What he did at twenty we learn from himself: laughed and drank at Madame Grégoire, made love to Lisette in a garret, and wrote songs.

"J'avais vingt ans, une folle maîtresse,

De francs amis, et l'amour des chansons:
Bravant le monde, et les sots, et les sages,
Sans avenir, riche de mon printems.
Leste et joyeux, je montais six étages—
Dans un grenier qu'on est bien à vingt ans !

*

A table un jour, jour de grande richesse,

De mes amis les voix brillaient en chœur,
Quand jusqu'ici monte un cri d'allégresse

ral mass of publications; and we cannot divest ourselves of a strong suspicion that this disproportion arises from circumstances which are indicative of some degree of deterioration in the public taste, and of abasement in the literary character of our times. Not that we deem lightly of the merit of a good biography-on the contrary, our doubts are founded on the very opposite opinion. Our readers need hardly be reminded how often we have characterised biography, when adequately executed, as one of the most delightful species of reading, and certainly not one of the least difficult styles of composition;-but corruptio optimi pessima-and there is nothing more easy and more worthless than a biography in the modern fashion. The eminence of the personthe splendour or utility of his or her life-the inQu'à Marengo Bonaparte est vainqueur !" formation it may convey, or the lesson it may inThat cry has remained in his heart and soul culcate, are by no means-as they used formerly ever since. It is the key-note of all his writings. to be-essential considerations in the choice of a An eager zeal for the military glory of France, a subject. It would be extrajudicial (if we may use profound sorrow for the reverses of its arms, and the expression) and therefore invidious, to mention a deep hatred of all who, either native or foreign, particular instances-but our own library tables, contributed to the fall of Bonaparte, are remark-and the shelves of every circulating library, are able in his songs. Our heroes and ourselves, from filled with the lives of second or third rate persons "Lord Villain-ton" and downwards, of course to whom the honours of a special biography have suffered under this feeling. The name of Water- been voted, either by those who deem it the realoo was so sad, that it was never to be allowed to diest field from which a little temporary harvest cast a shade of sorrow over his song, even by might be gathered, or by the more pardonable mentioning it. Our very hats were satirised, and partiality of private affection or friendship. Paneour taste and politeness vilified, without compas-gyrics, which would formerly have occupied a few sion. Our victories were chance, or the effect of lapidary lines on a tablet in the parish church, numbers ; and, at all events, things to be deplored. are now expanded into the greater but we fear VOL. XXVII.—OCTOBER, 1835-44

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