light which the literary character can present: passing his days in retirement and study, supporting poverty and prosperity alike with philosophical serenity, cultivating the best affections of our nature, and, above all, with incorruptible integrity, disdaining, in the most perilous times, either to conceal or to modify his opinions. While he shunned public life and abstained from plunging into the vortex of the Revolution, he was at no pains to elude observation; and considering the capricious and sanguinary temper of the times, and his own unbending consistency, it is wonderful how he escaped with existence through all the bloody scenes of the Revolution, from the reign of terror to the settlement of the imperial despotism.

It was in the summer of 1771, that he returned to France, and began his career as a man of letters. His first published work was his well-known Voyage to the Isle of France;' and his exposure of the iniquities of the slave trade, immediately drew down upon him the enmity of the whole class of persons, who were interested in the commerce of the colonies. His Voyage, however, was universally read and admired; and the reputation of this work introduced its author into all the literary circles of Paris. But in that society he appears to have found far more to loathe than to love; and he never mingled in its intrigues and cabals. He had sufficient virtue to resist the advances of a beautiful woman, because her husband was his benefactor. The lady proclaimed her own infamy for the revenge of covering him with ridicule; and his forbearance from the commission of enormous ingratitude and treachery, made SaintPierre the laughing-stock of the Parisian coteries. Again, a bankrupt bookseller loaded him with abuse; and because the placable man of letters did not take the life of the miserable offender on the spot, the philosopher d'Alembert marvelled at his want of spirit, and a Jansenist bishop proclaimed, with a sneer, that M. de SaintPierre had l'ame très chrétienne.' Whether the luckless observer of the commonest dictates of gratitude subsequently contrived to rid himself of his offensive reputation for continence, his biographer does not inform us; but to recover the respect of Parisian society for his courage, he was compelled to court two duels, and grievously to wound his antagonists in both. But this was the last sacrifice which Saint-Pierre offered to the prejudices of the worthless society in which he moved; and the philosopher, ever afterwards, reproached himself for having dreaded this violation of the laws of God, less than the endurance of ridicule. In the first emotions of disgust at the corruption which surrounded him, and in bitter resentment at the petty obloquy with which he had been pursued, for venturing 'to keep a conscience,' it was natural, for a mind so easily excited as that of Saint-Pierre, to rush into the most absurd extremes, from universal benevolence of feeling, to misanthropy and hatred. He secluded himself for some time from all mixture with the world, and determined to commune only with his own heart.

In the composition of his Etudes de la Nature," he now found a cure for these morbid feelings. This, his most elaborate work, appeared in 1784; and its favourable reception, above his sanguine hopes, recompensed him for all that he had suffered. Four years later, the publication of Paul and Virginia,' completed the measure of his reputation; and thenceforth he ranked in France among the most successful and popular writers of his age. In 1792, one of the last acts of power of the unfortunate Louis XVI., was to nominate him the successor of Buffon, in the charge of the Jardin des Plantes, and Museum of Natural History. This office he had held but a few months, when, in the anarchy of the period, it was suppressed; and our philosopher gladly withdrew to a rural retreat which he now possessed at Essone. Here he remained during the worst horrors of the Revolution, cultivating his garden and farm, endeavouring to abstract himself from the dreadful scenes which were in daily agitation, and scrupulously avoiding the perusal of all newspapers and political works, which would have compelled him to contemplate the progress of events. Just before this epoch, and at the sufficiently mature age of fifty-five, he had married the daughter of his publisher, a young woman, who numbered fewer years than himself by one-half. There was nothing remarkable in this marriage, except that it was one of mutual affection, too often embittered by pecuniary distresses. It is not unworthy of note, that Saint Pierre gave the names of Paul and Virginia to the only two children which the union produced. In his sixty-third year he was left a widower; but his engaging qualities, even in old age, very soon obtained for him a second youthful bride of amiable character, who, captivated by the graces of his mind, was contented to forget all disparity of time. She performed the duties of a mother to his children with exemplary care, and solaced his declining years with cheerful society and affectionate attention.

From his retirement at Essone, Saint Pierre was reluctantly dragged forth in 1794, to a public employment, which, though unsolicited, he was not permitted to refuse; and an escort of gensd'armes conducted him by force to his chair of moral philosophy in the national Norman school. Here, in his inaugural discourse, he electrified his auditors by daring, after all the frightful impieties of the Revolution, once more to proclaim the existence of a God, and the necessity of religion! On the formation of the institute, in the following year, he was openly insulted by his atheistical colleagues, for maintaining the same obnoxious doctrines : by more than one of these wretched maniacs he was challenged to the proof, sword in hand, that there was no God; and Cabanis put it to the vote that there was no Supreme Being, and that the name of the Almighty should be interdicted in their assembly!

But we turn with a shudder from this picture of the most terrific variety of human madness. Bernardin de Saint-Pierre had al

ready survived the epoch of his extreme danger. The Buonaparte family, who now began to appear above the political horizon, chanced to be partial to his writings. Louis and Joseph, who, in all the strange vicissitudes of their fortune, have exhibited some estimable qualities, eagerly sought the acquaintance and personal friendship of the author of Paul and Virginia. Louis, when a mere youth, had been so charmed by that tale, as to introduce himself to Saint-Pierre by a letter, which is a curious memorial of enthusiasm; and Joseph, at a later epoch, in mere admiration of his genius, settled a pension on him, unshackled by any conditions of patronage: an act worthy of record, as a trait of generous friendship, alike honourable to the donor and the object of his respect. Napoleon himself, too, both before he was first consul, and after his elevation to absolute power, paid sedulous and less disinterested court to Saint-Pierre; and we have, in M. Aime's Supplement to his Memoirs, some curious particulars of the intercourse which, for a time, subsisted between Bernardin and the young conqueror of Italy. From this part of M. Aime's work only shall we offer an extract.

'After his brothers Joseph and Louis, Napoleon, in his turn, came to visit M. de Saint-Pierre: but this was not the first advance which the warrior had made to the philosopher. In the course of the campaigns of Italy, he had written to him a charming letter: "Your pen is a pencil," said he; "whatever you paint is present to our eyes; your works delight and console us; you will be, at Paris, one of the men whom I shall see most frequently, and with most pleasure." The flattering partiality thus shewn for him by an illustrious captain, the fame of his victories, the friendship of Louis, the visit of Joseph, had all predisposed Saint-Pierre in favour of Buonaparte.........The general had just been elected by the class of sciences in the Institute: he spoke much of his plans of learned industry and retirement; he mentioned his wish to purchase a little country-house, in then eighbourhood of Paris, and said he should only visit the capital to be present at the sittings of the Institute. M. de Saint-Pierre, in the sincerity of his heart, applauded this project, which, to his feelings, appeared quite a natural one; and he even went so far as to offer his little place at Éssone to the conqueror of Italy, who only smiled with a slight air of embarrassment, and muttered a few words about servants, equipage, &c. M. de Saint-Pierre, then, at once saw that this young man, with his straight hair, sallow complexion, and severe deportment, was anything but a Cincinnatus; and thenceforth he put himself upon his guard; for he said, "This is a man of ambition; he flatters me only to gain the ascendancy over my will;" and this reflection redoubled his reserve. Buonaparte, however, prolonged his visit, and ended by pressing Saint-Pierre to dine with him. The latter excused himself, on account of the illness of his wife. "It is only a friendly party," said Buonaparte; "we shall have Ducis, Collin d'Harleville, Lemercier, Arnault," &c. Saint-Pierre persisted in his refusal, and the general gave another turn to the conversation, spoke of the disorder of the finances, the delay of payments, and bluntly asked him whether he suffered any inconvenience from these matHe then rose, and took his leave.

ters.

Two days afterwards, Buonaparte called again: he was received by Madame de Saint-Pierre; she alone was at home. "See," said he, placing a purse of money on the mantle-piece, "here is a little sum which I have just succeeded in touching for you at the Institute. Having obtained the minister's order, I was resolved to get it executed myself: in future we shall have no more delays." "Then," he added, on taking his leave: "M. de Saint-Pierre can sign the entry for the amount at the next sitting."

Touched by the kindness of this conduct, Saint-Pierre thought he should take the occasion to offer the general a copy of his Studies of Nature; and on the morrow he called at his hotel. Buonaparte then lived in the Rue de la Victoire: the porter seeing M. de Saint-Pierre pass with a packet of books, told him it was forbidden to offer the general any present, and shewed him some magnificent vases of gold and silver, which were displayed in his lodge. These were presents from the contractors of the army; and the general had not suffered them even to be brought into his anti-chamber. M. de Saint-Pierre, however, persisted; and the porter, foretelling that he would have the same fate as the contractor, suffered him to pass. The general's anti-chamber was full of strangers of distinction, among whom were a diplomatic body: M. de Saint-Pierre passed through the crowd, gave his name, and was admitted. Buonaparte received his thanks with modesty, and his book with the best grace in the world. "See," said he, drawing from his shelves a copy of the same work, which bore the marks of having been very much used," in what good time your present comes: really this is a happy day for me!" He pronounced these words with the most amiable manner; and, shewing some medals which had just been struck, of his Italian campaigns, he offered one of them to Saint-Pierre, and begged him to keep it as a memorial of his first visit. M. de Saint-Pierre would then have withdrawn: Buonaparte detained him. "But," said the other, "there are strangers waiting to see you." "Well," replied Buonaparte, in a rude tone," let them wait: it is their vocation;" adding, with a contemptuous smile, "They are some of the worthless agents of that modern system of politics, which teaches only how to deceive, to lie, and to plot, without ever arriving at an object." As he thus spoke, his hand was mechanically pointing to a little cannon which stood upon the table. "General," said Saint-Pierre, putting his finger on the gun, "here is a plaything, which, in the hands of a hero, settles more matters in a day than all the courts of Europe in ten years." Buonaparte raised a pale and thoughtful countenance, but a smile was upon his mouth, and his look was penetrating. He fixed it upon Saint-Pierre, as though he would pierce his inmost thoughts; and finding his gaze encountered by that of a man who could also read the secret of hearts, he turned away his eyes, and the smile vanished. in the exchange of this single glance, the man of ambition and the philosopher had read each other, and discovered they were not made for congeniality.

A short time afterwards, Saint-Pierre went to dine with Buonaparte on the renewal of his invitation. Every thing was then modest, and without pretension, in the establishment of the man who was, soon, to subjugate Europe, and inhabit the palaces of monarchs. His table was frugal; but a woman, full of graceful charms, did its honours; and he was himself anxious to please. He had eulogies for all the varieties of talent which were assembled at his board, and every compliment was heightened by some appropriate reflection.'-Tome i., pp. 123-129.

After interesting his party in some lively anecdotes of his Italian campaigns,

....Buonaparte spoke of his taste for retirement, of his intention to live in the country; and then, all at once, becoming animated against the journalists who accused him of ambition, he gave vent to his indignation at their servility and their falsehoods, recalled several stinging instances of the satire which they had directed against the writings and persons of all the individuals who were listening to him, and ended by proposing that all his friends should unite with him in establishing a journal which should be consecrated to truth, and might give a direction to the. public opinion. The address of the hero did not succeed; and whether the proposal alarmed the indolence of his auditors, or provoked suspicion of his projects, some of them excused themselves, by alleging the contempt which such miserable antagonists should inspire; and others by quoting the example of Boileau, that criticism, however unjust, serves only to double the powers of genius. But an unexpected sally decided the question. "General," said a poet of sonorous voice, and imposing stature, "you wish us to assume a power which tolerates no master: if we were to turn journalists, you would dread us, you would crush us!" If the event may guide our judgment, this foresight could not be displeasing to Buonaparte: it taught him, at least, the extent of the danger which he was courting..... He became lost in thought, absent, and took no further part in the conversation; and his guests understood that it was time to withdraw.'-Tome i., pp. 131-133.

This friendly intercourse with Buonaparte was suspended by the failure of Saint-Pierre to appear at the Thuilleries after Napoleon became First Consul, and still more by his rejection of a solicitation, on the part of the conqueror, that he would become the historian of his campaigns in Italy. Saint-Pierre excused himself, with the remark, that he had studied only the laws of nature, and was ignorant of those of politics and war; and Napoleon then, for some time, descended to shew his resentment against him by bitter sarcasms and paltry persecutions in the Institute; but he never seriously carried his hostility farther, and Bernardin passed his declining years in the quiet enjoyment of the independence, for which he was principally indebted to the friendship of Joseph Buonaparte. He did not live to witness the dissolution of his benefactor's ephemeral dream of royalty; but peacefully closed his life in January, 1814, and at the great age of seventy-seven years, with the tranquillity of a true philosopher, and the piety of a sincere Christian.

ART. VII. Life of Theobald Wolfe Tone, Founder of the United Irish Society, and Adjutant-General and Chef de Brigade in the service of the French and Batavian Republics. Edited by his Son, William Theobald Wolfe Tone. 2 vols. 8vo. Washington, Gales & Seaton. 1826. WE have not lately seen two volumes of more peculiar and more captivating interest, than those which are now before us. We hope that in inviting the attention of the reader to them we shall