With respect to the artifice, we have nothing to say: but we cannot help admiring the ignorance which is equal to the assurance betrayed in this passage. Whether the system of

albranche was charged with Spinosism, we cannot assert: but this we know, that charges of a similar nature were urged here against the kindred theory of our most ingenious and subtle Berkley.-Many of the confident dicta of the literary veteran, however, are here pointedly refuted, and many of his inconsistencies ably exposed.

Though the reader will complain that this author is desultory, and by much too minute, still he will find that his criticisms are in general well considered, frequently convincing and satisfactory, and the dictates of a mind distinguished by culture, taste, and judgment. In the midst, however, of decrees to which not much can be objected, there occurs one instance of flagrant injustice, sufficient almost of itself to condemn the whole; we refer to the sentence which the author passes on Paradise Lost, and which runs thus: 'No man of taste, notwithstanding some sublime passages, and some beautiful conceptions, will ever compare a shapeless production, which swarms with faults the most offensive, to Virgil and Tasso; a poem which has neither course nor plan, and which joins to so many other faults, that of terminating at the end of the fifth canto; so that it is impossible to wade through what follows without languor.' (Vol. xiv. p. 358.)—A person who opened the voluminous Cours de Litterature, and first stopped at this passage, could not be very severely condemned if he never opened it again. In charity to the writer, indeed, we may suppose the former French versions of our divine bard to have been most grossly defective; and perhaps he would have recalled his anathema, had he lived to see the translation of the Abbé Delille, which we hear has recently made its appearance. It does not fall within our province to treat as it deserves so gross an insult on our literature. In another part of his work, the author deliberately renews his outrages but it would be an ill use of our limited space, to occupy any of it with a vindication of our immortal poet against censures so extravagant.

In his observations on the fables of Florian, the lecturer renders due justice to that admirable author; and a fine vein of criticism runs through his pages. Of these fables he says that, out of a hundred of which they consist, three-fourths are very beautiful, and some of them are, in my judgment, little chefs d'œuvre. We feel happy in an opportunity of recommending to the notice of our youthful readers a work so deserving of their attention.

Vol. XIV. opens with a chapter on Eloquence, divided into sections, 1. On the Eloquence of the Bar; 2. On that of the Pulpit; 3. On that of Panegyrics or Eulogies. On the first head, M. LA HARPE reasons in favour of a doctrine which has lately been very current, and which represents eloquent speaking and eloquent writing as faculties completely distinct, if not oppo- / site. He illustrates (as he thinks) this notion by a striking modern example. We do not dispute the fact, but we hold the inference to be fallacious.

The faculty of speaking, as distinct from that of writing, has uniformly distinguished the luminaries of the bar. We ever find their writings inferior to their professional reputation. The habit of availing themselves in their arguments, which they never write, of external means, the effects of voice, the vehemence and nobleness of action, readiness in reply, looks, gestures,-all these things are nothing on paper, but they powerfully operate on an audience. Besides, there are men who are all animation before a listening crowd, but are wholly lethargic when they take up the pen. Had we not an instance of this in the most celebrated advocate of our days? Who is there that has not witnessed the powers of Gerbier in the Hall of Justice, so often the theatre of his triumph? But his genius could only be called forth in the forensic combat. His senses required to be roused before he could put in motion those of others. Action and shew, the apparatus of tribunals, the presence of his adversaries and of his clients, and the agitation of a large assembly, were necessary in order to awaken his powers. It was in this arena that he astonished us with his stores, that he displayed by turns animation and dignity, fancy and pathos, reasoning and eloquence. He trusted to the mo ment, and was never deceived; and for whole hours he rivetted attention, and carried along with him the judges and the assembly. Nature had made him an orator: his organs, his physiognomy, and his sensibility fitted him to support that character: but when alone, sitting down to composition, all his powers abandoned him, and he became an ordinary man. He wrote little, and though what he produced was in good taste, it was destitute of force: but he was more happy, perhaps, in the numerous and brilliant successes of which he had the enjoyment, than if, instead of those oratorical powers which died with him, he had possessed that grand talent of writing which dies not, indeed, but which is rarely estimated according to its value, till it can no longer be enjoyed.'

Many of our readers will probably think that this picture would have been but little different, had it been the delineation of a well-known personage on our side of the water.

We admit, as it is here intimated, and as it has often been contended, that the faculties of writing and speaking eloquently are distinct but we deny, on the authority of antiquity, that they are so distinct as it has recently been the fashion to maintain. We are aware that the transcendent orators of our own country,

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country, with the exception of one only, are so many instances adapted to corroborate the notion which we combat: but we can not grant that this difference has any foundation in nature; since the harangues of antient speakers, who threw the assemblies of the people into raptures, still affect us in a similar way, and are the models on which we form ourselves. The two sorts of eloquence are kindred attainments, and mutually aid each other. If elo. quent speakers are not eminent in composition, they may thank their own remissness for it; we are to ascribe it to idleness and to an indifference to posthumous fame; and we may be sure that, for this very reason, they are the less accomplished and less finished speakers.

We cannot resist the temptation of inserting the author's eulogium on a character which has always attracted high and general esteem:

Posterity will ever honor, in the Chancellor D'Aguesseau, a man who himself did honor to France, to the magistracy, and to letters, by his virtues, by his talents, by his knowlege, by the services which he rendered to the state, and by the light which he introduced into jurisprudence. His youth under Louis XIV. was illustrious; his disgrace under the regency was not less honorable to him; and his old age was held in just veneration. His writings will ever prove a rich source of instruction to those who study our laws. His eloquence was that of a magistrate who was the minister of justice, who recommended good principles, who pointed out abuses, who prescribed and set an example of moderation. His diction was pure, and his taste was not less sound than his judgment: he was a writer who had imbibed the excellencies of both the antient and the modern classics.'

In the midst of the illumination and polish which have rendered so imposing the reign of Louis XIV., the courts of law still retained their former barbarism. About the time of Louis XV.'s accession, a race of superior advocates commenced; who, quitting the antient track, sought a new course, and disengaged the language of the courts from the pedantry which had before distinguished it. It is this title to fame which has handed down to us the names of the Reverseaux, the Degennes, and above all, those of a Lenormand and a Cochin. In their time, they were the luminaries and ornaments of the French bar; and the reading of their memorials forms at this day the study of their successors. The diction is pure, and they are admirable specimens of discussion. Cochin has the merit of going directly to the point, and of exhibiting his proofs with eminent conciseness; he manages them admirably; and most forcible is the conviction which he makes them produce. Grant to him and to Lenormand moving pictures, and a glow of style, and they would have been orators: but now they are only able advocates.

We

We must, however, hasten our steps; and we can only farther notice some detached passages of the Fragments which occupy the greater part of this volume, and which treat of various works in the classes of history, novels, miscellaneous and foreign literature, &c.

It has been unpropitious to the fame of Lesage, and to the better information of our youth, that his celebrated work has been a school-book in this country; since its merit has on that account been far less estimated, and the profit derived from it incomparably diminished. Few productions so well deserve to be carefully studied by young persons at the period of entering on the great theatre of the world. Impressed with this opinion, we lay before our readers the admirable account of that work which is given by M. LA HARPE:

• Gil Blas is a chef-d'œuvre; it is one of the small number of novels which is ever re-perused with pleasure; it is a moral picture, exhibiting real human life; and all orders of persons appear there, either to receive or to furnish lessons. Instruction is never conveyed without charms; and utile dulci ought to be the motto of this excellent book, which agreeable pleasantry every where pervades. Many of its traits have passed into proverbs; as for example the homilies of the archbishop of Grenada. The interrogation of the servants of Samuel Simon are worthy of Moliere; what a bitter satire on the inquisition! And what pictures of the audience of a first secretary, of the impertinence of comedians, of the vanity of an upstart, of the folly of a poet, of the effeminacy of a rich ecclesiastic, of the interior of a great house, of the character of the nobles, and of the manners of their domestics! Gil Blas is the school of the world. It has been objected to the author, that he sketches none but cheats: but why should this be an objection, if they exist in nature? It has also been urged against him, that he enters too much into detail: but is he not ever correct and instructive? The characters of Gil Blas are recognized; we have lived with them, we meet with them every moment. In the painting which he has drawn, not a trait is without design, or without an object.'

With regard to Telemachus, the lecturer observes that Fenelon has blended in that work all that is most beautiful in Homer, Virgil, and Sophocles; and he has made it level with the capacity of all his readers, by charms of style peculiar to him, and by the magic of the antique,-to call up which his powers alone were equal. In reading him, we fancy that we are reading an antient.

We shall conclude this article with two anecdotes; which, if not very pertinent to the subject of these lectures, are intitled to insertion as respecting a fine genius, and one of the besthearted among men,-the very amiable prelate of whom we have just been speaking:

The worthy archbishop did not deem it beneath him assiduously to confess his flock, and he admitted all without distinction. He celebrated mass every Saturday. One day, as he was going to ascend the altar, he perceived an old woman who seemed desirous of speaking to him he approached her in a most gracious manner, and encouraged her to open her mind to him. My lord, said she, weeping, and presenting him with a piece of twelve sous, I dare not; but I have great confidence in your prayers. I feel a desire to intreat you to say mass for me. "Give it," replied Fenelon, receiving her offering, "your alms will be acceptable to God."—“ Gentlemen,” said he to the priests who accompanied him to serve at the altar, "learn to honour your ministry.” After mass, he ordered a large sum to be given to the poor woman, and promised to say mass for her again the next day.'—

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While the army of the allies was in possession of a part of Flanders, and whole villages sought safety within the walls of Cambray, the good archbishop himself threw open the doors of his palace, to receive those unfortunate persons who were driven from their posses sions. A young peasant, who seemed to be profoundly afflicted, and who ate nothing, engaged his notice. In order to make him forget his misfortunes, Fenelon sat by him, and told him that troops were expected the next day, who would drive away the enemy, and that he would be enabled to return to his village. cow there," said the I shall not find my peasant : "The nourish my father, my wife, and my children." Fenelon promised to poor animal gave milk enough to give him another cow, if the soldiers had taken his own away: but all his attempts to console his humble guest were fruitless. He then made him accurately describe the situation of his cottage, which was at the distance of a league from the city; and this benevolent prelate, attended only by one servant, taking his pass with him, set out at ten o'clock at night on foot, went straight to the village, brought the cow to Cambray at midnight, and went himself to inform the poor labourer of what had been done. When was the direction of our Saviour," He that would be greatest among you, let him be the servant of all," so finely exemplified? Ye high-crested priests, if ye would be really great, imitate the primitive pastor of Cambray.'

A careful perusal of the Cours de Littérature will enable a person to bear a part in conversations on topics of French literature; and the diligent student, who will moreover attentively read the principal works discussed in its pages, will attain as intimate an acquaintance with this subject as is compatible with the other necessary pursuits of an English scholar;-an acquaintance which cannot fail to have a favourable effect on his taste and his turn of mind.

Jo.

ART.