licentious writings serve only as a transient relaxation of the mind, which rarely retains any recollection of them."

"Human nature is of a serious cast, and, in the silence of meditation, we attach ourselves solely to those works which are calculated to exercise our reason or our sensibility. It is in this kind of writing only that literary glory has been acquired, and in it alone can the real influence of literature be displayed." (P. 45.)

Upon the whole, this chapter is both important and, in the main, just; though it errs in forgetting that men may know what is right and yet fail to love or practise it. At the same time, we firmly believe that literature and religion usually suffer together; and that piety is at this moment degraded in the eyes of the world by the language and images with which some good men have contrived to associate it. We do not hope or wish to form a nation of literati; but, believing religion to be the very consummation of refined taste, we think that it will, cæteris paribus, be best followed where the principles of taste are best understood. The mischiefs of literature have chiefly displayed themselves where, as in France, the upper ranks have been cultivated and the lower neglected. Where this is the case, the learned will be apt to mislead the mob, or the mob to mistake the learned.

The next chapter of Madame de Staël is on the connexion of literature with "glory." Her first maxim is a valuable conces sion from the mouth of philosophy. "If literature contributes to the improvement of morals, it must, by that circumstance alone, have a powerful influence upon glory: for there can be no durable glory enjoyed by a country in which due regard is not paid to public morals." Grand ideas prompt to grand actions. the expectation of poetical or historical renown will stimulate men to achievements worthy of poetry and history. We cannot help quoting the following passage, describing the fastidious, cold-hearted state to which, under peculiar circumstances, a nation tends, as a sort of canon for those who write Reviews, and those who read either them or any thing else.

"They are afraid of being deceived should they attempt to bestow praise; and, like young fops who assume the air and tone of fashion, they imagine they distinguish themselves more by an unjust censure than by too great a facility to commend. Such a people, under such circumstances, generally sink into apathy and indifference: the frost of age seems to have beuumbed their rational faculties. They have a sufficient knowledge of things to guard them against surprise, but not enough to qualify them for discriminating what deserves. esteem. They may have destroyed a number of illusions, but have

not established a single truth: through old age, they have relapsed into infancy; and through reasoning, into uncertainty: they have become strangers to the glow of mutual interest, and have sunk into that state which Dante calls the hell of the lukewarm." (P.49.)

In the next chapter, upon the connexion of literature with "liberty," she contends powerfully for the greater importance of education to free states than to despotisms. It is altogether inexplicable to us that there should have been statesmen in our own country, at the same time friends to liberty and enemies to education. This is to give a sword to a man who, it is previously determined, shall not be taught to wield it. Madame de Staël, however, concerns herself chiefly to plead for the education of the higher orders in free states. And, certainly, where the fictitious barriers between the classes existing in despotic states are cast down, and power is to be maintained by personal qualifications, it is of the highest importance that those qualifications be assiduously cultivated. There is a very eloquent contrast in this chapter between the influence of the fine arts and of philosophy on the liberties of a people. The tyrant trembles at the philosopher, but encourages the artist: Madame de Staël tells us why.

"Poetry has more frequently been employed in flattering, than in censuring power; and, in general, the fine arts may sometimes contribute, through the very enjoyments they procure, to fashion men to that mould in which tyrants would wish them to be cast. By the endless variety of pleasures which they daily hold out to enjoyment, the arts have a power to divert the mind from cherishing any predominant idea: they enlist men on the side of their sensa tions: they breathe into the soul a kind of voluptuous philosophy, a deliberate unconcernedness, a passion for the present, an indifference for the future; than which nothing can be more favourable to tyranny." (P. 60).

In the next chapter, on the connexion of literature with "happiness," we find the following powerful declamation.

"From the arid sadness which we feel when abandoned and forlorn, from that icy hand with which misfortune presses on us when we imagine ourselves to be deserted by pity and compassion, we are rescued in some measure by those writings that still bear the breathing impression of noble thoughts and virtuous affections. Such writings draw forth tears in every situation of life: they raise the mind to general meditations, which divert our attention from personal suffering: they create a society for us, and a communion both with dead and living authors, and with all those who concur in admiring the works which we approve." (P. 67.)

A debtor herself to letters for consolation in misfortunes, she

thus expresses the obligation by which, in this respect, she feels herself bound to future generations.

"The voyager, whom a storm has cast upon an unpeopled shore, engraves upon the surrounding rocks the names of the aliments he bas discovered, and points out to those who may be involved in a similar fate the resources which he employed against danger and death. We, whom the chances of this mortal life have reserved for a period of revolution, should also make it our business to transmit to future generations an intimate knowledge of those secrets of the soul, of those unexpected consolations, which parent nature has employed to smooth our way through the rugged paths of life." (P. 70.)

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Having thus generally rendered her homage to letters, or rather to philosophy, a homage which we should think as fairly due as it is eloquently expressed, if her philosophy had been less independent, she enters upon that detailed examination of the literature of all nations, and the various causes by which it has been assisted or impeded, which occupies the rest of her volumes. She begins with the Greeks. And the first question which stands in the way of this prophetess of perfectibility, who believes that letters, taste, knowledge, and philosophy have been from the beginning in a state of gradual progress, is this: How is it to be explained that the first poet has not been surpassed in 3000 years?-To this she returns at least an ingenious answer. Poetry is defined by Aristotle to be "an imitative art;" and, as far as it consists of imagery without sentiment, the definition is exact; and such is the poetry of Homer. But such poetry is unsusceptible of indefinite improvement. A portrait cannot do more than resemble, nor is it even to be expected that this species of poetry should improve. The ancients took the first possession of a land unexplored, of nature unoccupied and unused. Such scenes and images, therefore, as were best adapted to poetry, they at once seized upon and appropriated, and thus enriched themselves and exhausted the materials for future poets. If, however, modern poetry is not superior to the ancient in painting, it is in sentiment. The moderns have combined philosophy with imitation, have associated thought with art they have animated dead nature: they have breathed a new soul into inert matter: they have found "books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in every thing." Such then is the progress of poetry; and the interval between the first and last poets is as vast as that between matter and mind. The question, however, still recurs-"Why is the taste of the early poets so pure?" The proper answer is, we think, that bad taste arises chiefly from labour after novelty; but

Homer had no predecessor or rival. Besides, it is impossible to judge of the taste of a writer who is himself allowed to create the standard of taste. Is it certain that the catalogue of ships, the inexhaustible prolixity of speeches and details, the repetitions, the minute dissections of human bodies, the naked display of smoking entrails, the verbose preludes of battles, the mean exultations of victory, and the coarse amours and vulgar quarrels of the gods and goddesses, are in good taste? For these heterodox questions, we think it right to say, that we, and not Madame de Staël, are responsible.

There were doubtless many special circumstances which contributed to the sudden perfection of imitative poetry in Greece. The events, the characters, the superstitions, the customs of the heroic ages, were peculiarly adapted to the display of poetical imagery. And as their poetry was recited at religious festivals, it became invested with something of the grandeur and solemnity of their mythology. If, on the other hand, we look for what may be called the philosophy of poetry in the Grecian poets, it is wholly wanting. The moral of their poetry is infinitely coarse; their virtue is mere animal courage; women are transferred from man to man like cattle; slavery is universally recognized; chaste and virtuous love is utterly unknown.

The author concludes her chapter on the Greeks by an eloquent and masterly examination of the influence of their form of government, and their circumstances with regard to other nations upon their literature; but it defies abridgment. Much, however, is conveyed in this single sentence-"they had but a small territory to guard, and the great theatre of the world for action." This at once supplied them with leisure for the cultivation of letters, and a stage on which to display their acquirements. But as they had few great objects in view, their writings pointed more to amusement than utility; and, consequently, they were often as defective in solidity as they were exquisite in taste. Madame de Staël laments that the Grecian privilege is now withheld from authors of announcing themselves publicly and explicitly (in the style of Corinna, we imagine) as candidates for fame, of unblushingly calling upon mankind to hear and applaud them. In this we cannot agree with her. Modesty is so uniform a companion of greatness, that no mind of ingenuous worth will regret the restriction imposed upon it; and the public will lose but little, if those who deserve but little are forbid to be clamorously importunate.

We are compelled to pass over, though with regret, the observations upon the tragedy, comedy, philosophy, and eloquence of the Greeks. They are many of them new, brilliant, and pro

found. It is impossible to go through them without being carried back into the circle of sages and orators, and gaining a new famiharity with the minds of men whom we have hitherto admired at a distance. Madame de Staël moves among them as one to whom all the mysteries of their minds, as well as of their philosophy, have been revealed. She presents them to us as so many automata, touches the springs on which, as it were, their movements depended, displays their mechanism, the ropes and pulleys which check or impel them. No part of the work has impressed on us a higher respect for her knowledge and understanding. She concludes the chapter with this epitomised account of them.

"The love of fame was the motive which guided every action of the Greeks; they studied the sciences in order to be admired; they supported pain to create interest; they adopted opinions to gain disciples; and they defended their country for the sake of ruling it: but they had not that internal sentiment, that national spirit, that devotion to their country, all which so eminently distinguished the Romans. The Greeks gave the first impulse to literature and the fine arts; but the Romans gave to the world invaluable testimonies of their genius." (P. 146.)

The author proceeds next to the Latin literature. The literature of Rome is divided into three epochs :-that of the republic, of Augustus, and of the succeeding emperors. Madame de Staël considers the Roman character as fully displayed only in the first of these epochs. Indeed, a nation has little or no character unless it is free. The ruling passion of a Roman was evidently the love of his country; and as the highest stations in the country were accessible to all, this imparted to their character and writings a serious, energetic, wise, and philosophic spirit, unknown to most other nations in that comparatively infantine state of the world. In Greece, the writer strove to recommend himself simply to the people; in Rome, to the aristocracy, to the elevated few with whom power, in a temperate and wise government, chiefly resides.-Literature had no reception in Rome till it was conceived to be an instrument of importance and value to the state, and upon these terms alone it was received. Other qualities conspired to give its peculiar character to the early Roman literature. They dreaded excess, and respected woman; whence issued a subdued language and a prevailing tenderness. At the same time their writings, though an improvement in this respect on the Greeks, are defective in metaphysics, in what may be called the philosophy of mind. The Romans despised all strong emotions. It is a singular observation of Madame de Staël, that, to such a degree were the more ardent feelings sub