We recognise, in the lively style and rich display of historical knowledge which characterise this singular work, the hand of the author of Cinq-Mars, although the late Revolution appears to have imparted somewhat of its disorganizing influence to his imagination. Instead of marching steadily along in the beaten track of the historical novel, he indulges himself in sundry eccentric promenades on the neutral ground which lies between philosophy and fiction; a region much trodden of late, for the benefit both of indolent writers and fastidious readers, who are apt to be appalled almost equal ly by the aspect of a metaphysical essay, and of a complete three-volumed novel, with its apparatus of hero, heroine, plot, and descriptions. It is, in fact, a half serious, half grotesque performance, powerfully executed in parts, but without unity of plan or of manifest purpose, so as to leave no very distinct impression on the mind of the reader. A slight chain of fanciful narrative connects the three tales, or scenes, of which it is composed; intended, as the author seems to intimate, to illustrate some determinate theory of society and mankind; but for a more full developement of these views, we must probably wait for a second consultation of the Black Doctor, should that redoubtable personage favour us with farther specimens of his conversation.

Stello is a young man of wealth and high connexions, a wit and a poet, and classed among those individuals whom the world terms happy, because external circumstances seem to modify themselves to his wish, as if he were the protégé of a fairy princess or a beneficent star. Yet Stello is unhappy. He is constitutionally subject to the attacks of the tormentor of men of genius, that fiend Legion whom we have recently learned to designate by the title of Blue Devils, and for whom,

strange to say, the French have borrowed, in modern days, the appella tion of "Le Spleen," by which he was known to our grandmothers in the days of George the Second. His nervous fever preys upon his mind, until all its powers seem to desert him, yet without impairing his natural goodness of heart, and a sensibility rendered yet more excitable by the irritated condition of his sys. tem. It is in one of the fits of this distemper that he communicates to his friend and confident, the Black Doctor, a desperate resolution which he has conceived of vanquishing the enemy by plunging into the abyss of politics, and devoting his pen to the service of a political cause. To cure him of this dangerous mania, the Doctor relates three tales, intended to shew the sufferings and neglect which are the portion of genius, when it endeavours to lean on the hollow support of political power in either of its three modern formsAbsolutism, Constitutional Monarchy, and Democracy.

With the first of these stories, the "Histoire d'une Puce Enragée, a Tale of the year 1780," we will not detain our readers. Under this whimsical title, we are introduced to a detailed sketch of the horrible end of Gilbert, a poet of talent, whom, for the sake of effect, our author delineates as having perished of actual want in a garret in Paris;-a somewhat exaggerated representation of a lamentable real catastrophe. It is an extravagant attempt to blend together the terrible and the ludicrous. Since the days of Childe Harold and Don Juan, too many writers appear to imagine, that the true mode to interest, or rather to astonish, the reader, is to aim at producing the most startling contrasts of circumstance, and confounding the most opposite extremes of human feeling, in the same cold and somewhat sarcastic style of narrative; as if each component part of our mixed huma

nity was of equal value in the eyes of the calm anatomical observer. Now, although the Black Doctor represents, we are told, "the abstract idea of Analysis," and his office is to dissect the moral portion of man with as much indifference as he would operate on an actual subject in a hospital, yet the reader can scarcely partake in his impassibility. He can with difficulty pass from the awful to the ridiculous-from Paris to Versailles-without carrying away from the one a remnant of his late impression, which neutralizes the effect of the other. It requires some discretion to play the Mephistopheles; that favourite character of the present day, who, being supposed to have run through in his own person the circle of all possible passions and emotions, has acquired a thorough knowledge and contempt of all. Therefore, although somewhat tempted by our author's lively description of the leisure hours of Louis XV., and his sketch of the good old Archbishop of Paris, M. de Beaumont, we will pass on to the second picture which the physician places before the eyes of his patient, the "History of Kitty Bell," or, in other words, the death of Chatterton. The portrait of the "Naïve Anglaise," who is the heroine of the tale, is amusingly drawn. The Doctor, it will be observed-whether he be an abstract idea, or a Magian, or the Wandering Jew-speaks always as the eyewitness of the scenes which he describes.

ous in his trade, so devoted to the improvement of his bridles and stirrups, that he scarcely ever placed his foot in the shop of his pretty wife during the day. She was grave and discreet; he knew it -he relied on her, and I verily believed that he was safe in doing so. On look

ing at Kitty, you would have taken her for the statue of Peace. Order and repose breathed in her every gesture and

action. She leaned on her counter, and rested her head in a soft attitude, looking at her two beautiful children. She cross

ed her arms, waited for customers with the most angelic patience, rose respectfully to receive them, answered precisely in the words that were wanted, quietly wrapped in paper the change which she banded to customers; and such, with small exceptions, was the whole of her daily occupation."

"Kitty Bell was one of those young women, of whom there are so many in England, even among the common people. Her countenance was soft, pale, and oval, her figure tall and slender, with large feet, and a certain slight awkwardness and bashfulness of manner which I found full of charms. From her elegant and noble features, her aquiline nose, and her large blue eyes, you would have taken her for one of those beautiful mistresses of Louis XIV. whose portraits on enamel you admire so much, rather than for what she was, namely, a pastry-cook. Her little shop was hard by the two Parliament Houses; and sometimes the members would alight at her door, and enter to eat a bun or a cheese-cake, while they continued their discussions on the pending 'Bill.' The husband of Kitty was one of the best saddlers in London; and so zeal.

We will add, in the Author's own language, the following portrait of Chatterton's well-known patron, the Lord Mayor, Beckford; bearing no real resemblance, as will be immediately seen, to that popular magistrate, who ventured personally to address his sovereign with the language of opposition, but a sort of fancy sketch, in the manner of a French sentimental tourist, of the fabulous John Bull, who parades in his gilt coach, and eats imaginary custard in civic robes.

"C'était un digne Gentleman,' exerçant sa jurisdiction avec gravité et politesse, ayant son palais et ses grands diners, ou quelquefois le Roi était invité, et où le Lord-Maire buvait prodigieusement sans perdre un instant son admirable sang-froid. Tous les soirs, après diner, il se levait de table le premier, vers huit heures du soir, allait lui-même ouvrir la grand porte de la salle à manger aux femmes qu'il avait reçues : ensuite se rasseyait avec tous les hommes, et demeurait à boire jusqu'à minuit. Tous les Ivins du globe circulaient autour de la table, et passaient de main en main, emplissant, pour une seconde, des verres de toutes les dimensions, que M. Beckfort vidait le premier avec une égale indifférence. Il parlait des affaires publiques avec le vieux Lord Chatham, le Duc de Grafton, le Comte de Mansfield, aussi à son aise après la trentième bouteille qu'avant la première, et son esprit strict, droit, bref, sec, et lourd, ne subissait aucune altération dans la soirée....Il avait un ventre parresseux, dedaigneux, et gourmand, longuement emmailloté dans une veste de brocart d'or: des joues orgueil

leuses, satisfaites, opulentes, paternelles, pendantes largement sur la cravate; des jambes solides, monumentales, et goutteuses, qui le portaient noblement d'un pas prudent, mais ferme et honorable; une queue poudrée, qui couvrait ses rondes et larges épaules, dignes de porter, comme un monde, la charge de Lord-Mayor. Tout cet homme descendit de voiture lentement et peniblement."

The third tale, longer and more complete than either of the two for mer, exemplifies, we are told, the fate of genius in the midst of popular violence, by the history of the brothers Chénier; of whom the greatest, the celebrated André, fell by the guillotine in the days of Ter ror. But it must be owned that the fable required to have the moral pointed out beforehand, as few readers would be apt to deduce this or any other general result from the series of distinct, disjointed scenes which the dramatic power of the author has placed before us in this performance. It contains a beautifully imagined developement of female character in its mixed firmness and frailty, in the portrait of Madame Saint Aignan. The dialogue between Robespierre, Saint Just, and the younger Chénier, is also powerfully conceived, and would be more interesting if it were not for the constant effort at the sarcastic and humorous, with which it is intermixed, and the short, epigrammatic, "saccadé," style, which may give piquancy to an imaginary conversation on general subjects, but which interferes very unseasonably when the mind is engrossed with the interest of a narrative. We will, however, extract no more than the following description of the last execution under the Committee of Public Safety, when the struggle had already begun in the Convention, and the destinies of France and of her tyrants yet trembled in the scale, agitated by the breath of each successive orator from the opposite sides of the Assembly.

"Lost in reflection, I gazed from my window on those Tuileries, ever royal and ever mournful; with their green chestnut trees, and the long façade on the long terrace of the Feuillans: the trees of the Champs Elise és, all white with dust; the Place all dark with human heads; and in the midst of it two paint

ed wooden structures—one the statue of Liberty, the other the Guillotine.

"The evening was oppressive. As the sun slowly sank behind the trees under a heavy purple cloud, its rays fell more and more obliquely on the crowd of red caps (bonnets rouges) and black hats, reflecting gleams of light which gave to that agitated multitude the aspect of a dark sea, flecked with spots of blood. The confused hum of their voices reached my high attic chamber like the voice of its waves, and the distant roll of the thunat once the murmur increased, and I saw der augmented this dreary illusion. All every head and every arm directed towards the Boulevards, which were out of my sight. Something proceeding from that quarter excited their cries and hootings. The noise increased every moment, and a louder sound gradually approached from the other side, like the roar of cannon in the midst of musketry. A huge wave of men armed with pikes burst into the wide sea of disarmed people which cccupied the Place; and I saw at length the cause of this ominous tumult. It was a waggon painted red, and laden with eighty living bodies. All stood upright, closely packed together. All ages and sizes were huddled together in the same mass; all were bareheaded, and there were among them grey hairs, bald heads, little flaxen-haired polls reaching to the waists of their neighbours, white gowns, labourers' frocks, and the various habiliments of officers, priests, and citizens. As I have already told you, this was called "Fournée." The load was so heavy that three horses could scarcely drag it. Besides, (and this occasioned the noise,) at every step the carriage was stopped by the people, with loud exclamations. Toe horses backed against each other, the chariot was completely besieged. Above the heads of the guards, the victims stretched out their arms towards their friends. It was like an overloaded vessel about to founder, which those on shore are striving to save. At every attempt of the gendarmes and the sans-culottes to move on, the people uttered a loud shout, and pressed back the percussion with all the force of their chests and arms. As each vast tide of men rolled on, the car swayed about on its wheels like a vessel at anchor, and was almost lifted into the air with its load. I was in continual hopes of seeing it overturned. My heart beat violently: I breathed no longer: My whole soul and life were in my eye. In the exaltation caused by this grand spectacle, it seemed to me as if Earth and Heaven became actors in it. From time to time, a single flash of lightning

a

sessed of no internal principle of stability is overthrown by violence, such a convulsion may rather be said to manifest the disunion and insecurity which previously existed, than to produce or aggravate it. A determined conservative spirit may develope itself in a nation, either where there has prevailed a long habit of obedience to the laws, or where new principles have been suddenly and vehemently adopted among a whole people. But a monarchy introduced as it were by a third party, institutions founded on foreign interference, were ill calculated to acquire ardent defenders. The only auxiliary which the Bourbons possessed in France, when foreign bayonets had been withdrawn from her soil, was the fear of revolution which prevailed among all classes raised above actual want. The cause of quiet and public order, in common times, is sure to have an influential majority enrolled in its support. And it is natural enough that the ruling powers, when thus supported, should overlook the insecurity of the foundation on which the superstructure of their authority rests, and mistake negative acquiescence for active adhesion. Thus the governments which succeeded each other during the vacillating period of the Restoration, made no effort to establish any definite principle of political action. Provided the world of France appeared satisfied that the designs of the "extreme left" were incompatible with orderly government, and that the visions of the "extreme right" could not be realized in a country where popular doctrines had once taken root-ministers felt secure as to the ultimate prospects of France, and intent only on the minor struggles of party warfare.

Then came those years of more determined conflict which preceded the late Revolution, when the Tiers Etat had begun to resume its strength, prostrated by successive blows from the armed hands of Napoleon and the Allies. In the excitement produced by every successive victory which the opposition obtained, sanguine minds thought they at length saw a principle. They imagined that political liberty and the old feeling of national honour would prove elements sufficient to

reconstitute society, when the obnoxious tokens of conquest and feudality were removed together. Nor, on the other hand, was there any lack of confidence among the writers and thinkers on the Royalist side. They had long suffered from the suspicion and discord which naturally arise among the members of a victorious party. There were among them Ultramontanes and Jansenists, Absolutists and Liberals, men of every shade of religious and political feeling. These now possessed one common bond of union, the cause of monarchy; and, from Delamennais to Chateaubriand, they stood side by side on the defensive, and opposed a single front of resistance to the mighty host which assailed them.

The struggle was great and imposing. It was ended by the "ordonnances," which drove from the side of Royalty more than half its conscientious supporters; and by the days of the barricades, which terrified into neutrality half the professors of Liberalism. Then it became evident to both sides, how fallacious were those appearances of concord, under which they had so long combated together. Disunion and discontent commenced alike among the victorious and the vanquished party. And the disgust of the still united portion of the friends of liberty, was increased by the turn which affairs took immediately after the Revolution. It was seen that the men who profited by that event, were not the men who had actively concurred in it. Those who found their way to office, it was bitterly said, were for the most part taken from the old tribe of place-hunters, who find profit in every change; and their main support was the timidity of the great body of the people. This must have been foreseen by the wise; nay, it was clearly inevitable. Ministries could not be formed from among the warlike artisans of Paris, or the vehement patriots of the Polytechnic School. Nor was it possible to satisfy with place or pension, all those two or three hundred politicians who direct the ephemeral opinions of Paris, through the medium of its journals. That the excluded should attack their more successful bre thren with sarcasm and abuse, was natural. But it was somewhat more