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imagination, the dignity, the elegant playfulness, or the occasional, though not frequent tenderness, which Pope displays. Who that reads his happy imitation of the Intermissa Venus Diu of Horace, does not wish he had oftener touched the plaintive chords All the Odes sarrées of Jean Baptiste Rousseau, many of his other odes, and many of his allegories and cantatas, possess an extraordinary degree of merit; we suspect that most foreigners would prefer them to the odes of Gray.*

We have nothing to oppose to the comedies of Moliere, the fables of La Fontaine, or the elegant trifles of Chaulieu or Gresset. In novels,-certainly the most numerous offspring of modern literature,-England.—(at least if we except the two most perverse productions of human talent, the Emile and the Nouvelle Heloise,)-has the pre-eminence.

The French allow the superiority of Bacon, Locke, and sir Isaac Newton, over their own philosophers,—and the superiority of Hume, Robertson, and Gibbon, over their own historians; but they observe that, while Bossuet, Bourdaloue, and Massillon, are to be found in all libraries and on many toilets in every part of the continent where literature is cultivated, scarcely one English preacher or divine is read out of England. With respect also to Sir Isaac Newton, they remark, that, since the death of that great man, the English mathematicians have done little more than slumber under his glories, while d'Alembert, Le Gendre, La Grange, La Place, and Carnot, have pursued his discoveries, have completed the grand edifice which he left unfinished, and may therefore he said to have given him a kind of posthumous domicile in France.

It is scarcely necessary to mention, that many splendid names in English literature are omitted in this brief comparison. Independently of this omission, the modern literati of Great Britain, that is to say, those who have flourished within the last thirty years, are not included in our Reminiscent's estimate. The author's prepossessions and affections are evidently, (and it is natural that they should be so,) with the classics which he loved in his youth, and the actors cotemporary with himself, who have now passed from the stage. We insert the only passage, in which he particularly notices the recent, or living poets.

"The most eminent poets of our own times are confessedly Cowper, Lord Byron, Sir Walter Scott, and Southey. The true poetic character is spread over all their poems: those of Cowper are particularly set off by a general tinge of religious and moral melancholy, which adds to their ef fect; but a multitude of his lines are rough,-a multitude, prosaic; this renders the perusal of them a task, and the pleasure which attends it does not always compensate the labour. It is surprising that Southey, who has written and still writes so much, should, as in his Don Roderick, have written so well. Lord Byron's poems contain many passages of great sublimity and pathos, and many of exquisite gayety and humour; but he is too frequently obscure, and too often, while the attention is exerted in discovering his meaning, his exquisite poetry evaporates. Sir Walter Scott's poems abound with passages of the highest splendour and animation: he carries

* We would oppose Collins to J. B. Rousseau. The French would then have no one to oppose to Gray.

his reader into the scenes which he describes, and makes him partake of their agitation. An antiquarian picturesque is frequently introduced, which, particularly to those who are skilled in antiquarian lore, has an indescribable charm; but his ease is not always laboured, and the mind of the reader is too much employed in endeavouring to understand his story, and follow the clue of his narrative, to be uniformly alive to the charm of his poetry. May we not apply both to him and Lord Byron, what Cardinal de Retz says of the grand Condè, that he did not do justice to the greatness of his own merit? We hope, and we believe, that neither has yet produced his greatest work.

It seems improbable that this hope will be realized by the production of another poem from Scott; and the harp of Byrou is silent forever. But France, in her literary annals, can find no parallel for the narrative and descriptive powers of the former, or the fire and pathos and sublimity of the latter. Her language is incompetent to embody in verse the inspirations of either. The Vicompte D'Arlincourt has indeed attempted, in inflated prose, a sort of travestie on both; but has only succeeded in producing certain things, which are ridiculous per se. The works of Byron, to be expurgated by the hand of time, belong to the classics of his country; and it is no rash prediction, that posterity will rank them with those of Milton and Spencer and Shakspeare-with the great original poets of a land, prolific in 'immortal verse.' Whether he died too soon or too late, as regards the greatness of his fame, is a question, which it were idle now to agitate.

Mr. Butler has had constantly in view, through life, the situation of his Catholic brethren; and has devoted much of his time and talents to the assertion of their claims upon the good faith, as well as the professed liberal spirit of the British parliament. The list of his writings on this subject, and on others connected with the history of the church and its defenders, proves his persevering zeal and unwearied industry. He has had the satisfaction of co-operating with men, whose eloquence was felt, and whose appeals were not to be answered, except on the ground of a doubtful policy. Genius and argument have, however, hitherto but slowly advanced the cause of Catholic emancipation. As the natural friends of liberal feelings and liberal government over all the world, the people of this country must sympathise with the author in the hope he indulges, that another generation may see this cause triumphant.

The most edifying parts of this work are those in which the writer comments, cursorily, on the laws of France and England, and speaks of the eminent lawyers, with whose history and character his professional associations have made him. familiar. We shall venture on another extract, from his cha

racter of Lord Mansfield, as asserting a doctrine to which we most readily subscribe.

"It has been argued, that his knowledge of the law was by no means profound; and that his great professional eminence was owing more to his oratory than his knowledge. This was an early charge against him. Mr. Pope alludes to it in these lines:

"The Temple late two brother sergeants saw,
Who deem'd each other oracles of law;
Each had a gravity would make you split,
And shook his head at Murray as a wit."

Imitations of Horace, book ii. epist. ii.

Perhaps the opinion was founded on the notion which many entertain, that the study of polite literature is incompatible with a profound knowledge of the law; not recollecting, that the human mind necessarily requires some relaxation, and that a change of study is the greatest and most natural of all relaxations, to a mind engaged in professional pursuits.-Besides,-the commune vinculum between all branches of learning, preserves the habits of appli ˇation, of thinking, and of judging, which are lost in the modes of dissipation usu lly resorted to for relaxation. The chancellor d'Aguesseau,* and even the stern Du Moulin, were eminently distinguished by their general literature. Lord Bacon's various and profound knowledge is universally known; and many works of lord Hale are published, which show, that to the deepest and most extensive knowledge of all the branches of the law, the constitution, and the antiquities of his country, he united a general acquaintance with the history of other nations; that he had given much of his time to the study of theology; that he occasionally sacrificed to the muses, and spent some time in the curious and instructive, amusements of experimental philosophy. It was late in life that lord Hardwicke took up the study of polite literature, but he afterward pursued it with great earnestness. His son, Lord Chancellor Yorke, always called himself afugitive from the muses: and, amidst his vast variety of occupations, still found time to converse with them. The elegant attainments of Sir William Scott have not prevented him from being the most eminent civilian of his time, and essentially contributing, by the profound wisdom, perfect justice, and admirable expression of his decisions, in the numerous cases which are brought from every part of the globe to the court in which he presides, to the high elevation which his country holds in the scale of nations. Lord Thurlow's passion for classical literature is generally known. Each of these great men might have said with Cicero, “ Quis tandem me reprehendat, aut quis mihi jure succenseat si quantum cæteris, ad suas res obeundas, quantum ad testos dies ludorum celebrandos, quantum ad alias voluptates, et ad ipsam requiem animi et corporis conceditur temporis; quantum alii tribuunt tempestivis conviviis, quantum denique alex, quantum pilæ, tantum mihi egomet, ad hæc studia recolenda sumpsero."

It is singular, that the name of Sir William Jones, whose accomplishments as a lawyer, and abilities as a judge (though he was undoubtedly greater as a scholar.) have never been called in question, should be omitted among these illustrious exam

This great magistrate used to say, "Le changement d'étude est toujours un délassement pour moi."

ples. We doubt also whether Mr. Butler himself has been a worse conveyancer, for having ascended to the antiquities of his own peculiar study, or suffered his mind to expatiale occa sionally in the fields of general knowledge.

The Reminiscent expresses his satisfaction, on a recapitulation of his own works, that he has never personally attacked the public or private character of any individual. For one who has written so much, and often on topics political and controversial, in books, pamphlets, and magazines, it is indeed rather singular, that he should never have been guilty, even of the venial sin of reviewing, as the cutting up of authors is denominated in the cant of modern times. Whatever unamiable pleasure the dissection of an unfortunate sub ect may yield the professional operator in this department, for the moment, we doubt much whether the recollection of such performances can be attended with comfortable feelings. On contemplating, in the aggregate, the works of an author whose labours have been of real benefit to mankind, one is almost tempted to renounce the 'ungentle craft.' To have given one useful treatise to the world, in any branch of science or knowledge, is to have rendered society and the writer himself far better service, than to have set fifty poor devils dancing and blaspheming, and abusing the world and their reviewers.

FROM THE ITALIAN OF MONTI.

This! oh ye Gods! to seat me by her side,
And feed my hungry soul upon her looks,
And on her words, and cn her angel smiles!
To sit so near her sweet lips, that I feel
Upon my own, their warm and balmy breath.
Oh! then, methinks, dissolving fires from Heaven
Thrill through my trembling frame. Before my eyes
Floats a dull doubtful mist, and the choaked word
Dies struggling in my throat; for there I feel,
Girding with violent grasp, a hand of fire.
Then long and deep, and longer deeper still,
Venting the flame that feeds upon my heart,
The thick pant labours from my gasping lips→→→
Till I can bear no more, and must, or seize
On her dear hand, devour it with my kisses,
And bathe it with my tears, or tear myself
Swiftly away, and with averted steps

Rush wildly forth, beating my tortured brow.
Vol. II. No. I.

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32

THE AMERICAN.

No. I.

On the principles which will probably regulate the development of imaginative talent in America.

Nothing is more common, with transatlantic critics, than the expression of wonder, that a young country like America, should have furnished little or nothing of what they call a young country's literature. "Imagination," they assert, "is the attribute of youth. America is young. Then why is not America imaginative?"

"That is question now;

And then comes answer like an A B C book :'

"Because the intellectual capabilities of Americans are inherently inferior to those of Europeans. There is some indescribable something in the north-east winds, or in the river Mississippi, a je ne sais quoi in the climate or the food, in the Indian summer, for example, or in the Indian corn, that so debases the mind, and so bronzes the face, that a very few years are enough to turn all the boys and girls of America into downright Cherokees and Mohawks. Any one who looks at the portrait of Washington cannot fail to be convinced of this truth."* In this way, with question and answer all to themselves, the business is speedily settled. The inference thus drawn is gravely reserved by these marvellous logicians, as a valuable theorem for future occasions; and such is the laughable solemnity with which their exterminating apothegms are uttered, that one would almost suppose that some of these wiseacres do really hallucinate, and believe at least a part of what they say. To those who reflect for a moment, however, the sophism will appear about as cunning as the puzzle of a horse and no horse,' and divers other quibbles, with which, when school-boys, we recollect to have been sadly perplexed. A country is denominated young in two senses: first, before science and art have matured and sobered the character of its intellect; and, secondly, when the date of its original settlement is recent. The character of a country, young in the first sense, is said to be, (we know not with what truth.) ardour and irregularity of fancy. Now, America is youthful only in the second sense; and to require that we shall predicate of the one, whatever is said of the other, is to be guilty of a gross and palpable sophism, (we speak to the learned,) a dicto ambiguè.

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