efforts of indigent, than of wealthy or dignified mediocrity. The Bloomfields obtained a sort of distinction by poems, which, had they been written by men of education, would have sunk without notice into forgetfulness. Hogg, and even Burns have been a good deal overrated, on account of the interest excited by their humble origin and small advantages; while on the other hand the dunces have been uniformly more severely handled by critics and the public, in proportion to their rank and fortune. Lord Thurlow found no protection for affectation and nonsense in his own title, or the merit of his father; and the earl of Carlisle's coronet did not secure him from the most unmerciful castigation by his own nephew, lord Byron,-more severe, perhaps, than mere unoffending dulness really deserved. Byron himself received for his hours of idleness a critical lashing, which did not seem to be inflicted with the less relish because it fell on patrician shoulders. In short, we apprehend that notwithstanding the efforts lately made in Europe to give the greatest possible prevalence to the doctrine of legitimacy, it has not yet obtained sway in literature, and if all the other governments in the world should assume a monarchical form, except the United States, we shall still have the republic of letters to keep us in

countenance.

The principal merit of Madame de Stael's compositions is the poetical coloring of the language. Without having, perhaps, the best possible taste in style, she succeeds to a considerable extent in what she attempts. She is not satisfied with a merely natural and perspicuous expression of thought, which is, after all, the perfection of art, but aims assiduously and constantly at effect and brilliancy. She deals willingly in large and majestic forms of expression; and this manner, however imposing when perfectly successful, borders too nearly on stiffness and affectation to be employed without considerable hazard. But Madame de Stael has avoided on the whole, with great skill and success, the principal faults into which her peculiar taste was likely to lead her; and her language, though rich and elevated, is in general very flowing and easy. She has also throughout great spirit and vivacity. Her imagination enlivens every thing it touches; and in the several departments of literature which she has attempted, such as historical and fictitious narrative, description of art and nature, the analysis of sentiment, and abstract speculation on

various branches of philosophy, she possesses the art of giving her compositions a high degree of interest. This is the true secret of literary success. An attractive style is not so much the clothing of thought, as the conductor of it. Without the intervention of this medium the communication is not formed between the minds of the writer and the public. His merit, whatever it is, cannot be felt or appreciated, because it is not known. We live by style, was an apophthegm of Voltaire, who had thoroughly studied his profession. To know how to write is indeed of necessity the first qualification of a good writer; and a mind, however rich in thought and feeling, can no more impart its treasures to the world, in the form of written composition, without possessing naturally, or acquiring by the necessary labor and study the arts of language, than it can pour them out upon canvass without initiating itself into the mysteries of painting. This remark may appear trite, but if it were as familiar in practice as it is in theory, the world would be spared at least ninety-nine out of a hundred of the books that are published.

But Madame de Stael, though possessed of a poetical mind, was not a poet. She had neither the perfection of style nor the force of imagination, both of which are required for this art. This is proved by the failure of all her attempts at poetry. Her essays in verse were wholly unsuccessful, and she was herself so conscious of it, that she did not publish them during her life. They now appear in the collection of her posthumous works; but whether the editor has shown his judgment in the publication of them is perhaps a question. They certainly add nothing to the reputation of Madame de Stael as a writer; but as her acquired fame does not rest in any degree upon these pieces, their inferiority can, of course, do her no injury; and it is agreeable, as a mere matter of curiosity, to see the attempts in verse of a person who has obtained so much celebrity in other walks of literature. These essays consist principally of two tragedies, which were among the very first of her compositions, and which are wholly destitute of any kind of merit. They have all the coldness and stiffness of the French school, without any of its high finish and elegance. There is no example in fact of a good poem of this importance, written at the age of seventeen or eighteen, when these were produced; and it is not impossible that the talent of Madame. de Stael might have been brought by the necessary labor New Series, No. 9.

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and discipline to the degree of perfection required for writing good poetry. But whether for want of this course of training, or from original inaptitude, her subsequent attempts are not much superior to the first; and the few of them that appear in this collection are wholly spiritless. The best things in this way are two or three little comedies, of the slightest possible pretension, written for representation at her own house at Copet, in the manner which the French call dramatic proverbs. These pieces are gay and pleasant; and show how far talent can go in trifling things, even without the regular discipline. They are written in prose.

Madame de Stael was not only incapable of writing in verse, but she wanted the vigor of imagination which constitutes the essential requisite of poetry; and her works in prose, as far as they assume the character of poetical inventions, may also be regarded as complete failures. Her smaller novels met with no success at all; and would now be unknown, as indeed they are very nearly, without the subsequent reputation of the writer. The same is true of Delphine, which is defective in every respect as a work of art, and having no other accidental merit to sustain it, is almost wholly worthless. The morality of it is far from being unexceptionable, notwithstanding the arguments alleged by the author in its defence in a separate essay. But, as was observed by the best critics at the time of its publication, a work that is not read with pleasure can never be dangerous. Corinna has higher claims; but if examined, its merit will not be found to lie in the poetical, but in the descriptive part; and as far as it is a work of invention, it is still a failure, though not to the same extent as Delphine. The character of the heroine is doubtless drawn with considerable spirit and produces effect, but this success does not seem to be the result of a general inventive talent. The personage is wholly out of nature; and under the pen of an actual observer and true painter, like Shakspeare or Scott, could only have been exhibited, in sorrow or in sport, as a half maniac, if exhibited at all. It is in substance a picture by Madame de Stael of herself, with the expression of every feature heightened to the very verge of carricature; not, as may well be supposed, for the purpose of producing a ludicrous effect, but in consequence of the intense interest with which an ardent mind naturally expresses its habitual feelings. This deep interest, and the perfect knowledge which every individual has of his

own sentiments, supply, for this particular object, the defect of inventive talent. This seems also to be the extent of lord Byron's power of poetical creation, although he possesses in perfection the talent of writing in verse, which Madame de Stael wanted, and which it might be wished that the noble author would put a little more upon the stretch, than he has done in most of his poems. The failure of his late attempt in tragedy adds a positive confirmation to these negative proofs, that his inventive power has a very limited range. But with regard to Corinna, whatever may be the value of the principal character, it is not commonly considered as the chief merit of the work. The book is, after all, a description of Italy in a poetical form, drawn up with far more talent than is commonly exhibited in this class of writings. Descriptions of foreign countries, although in general very indifferently written, are still, from the inherent interest of the subject, among the most popular works which appear. It is easy, therefore, to imagine that a production of this class, recommended by the charm of eloquence, and replete with profound and philosophical views, could not fail to attract great attention. We find, accordingly, that the subsequent work on Germany, which is another Italy without the attempt at poetical invention, is not only more valuable, but at least equally if not more popular. We also find among the posthumous works, a dramatic essay on the story of Sappho, which shows what Corinna would have been without Italy, as the Germany shows what Italy would have been without Corinna. A true poetical talent would have treated this subject much more at ease in the form of a tragedy, than with the incumbrance of a great country to describe in the midst of all the sentimental agonies of an unrequited passion. The failure of Sappho proves very clearly that the loves of Oswald and Corinna would have excited but little interest without the associations of ancient greatness and glory, and the descriptions of natural and artificial beauty with which they are accompanied. A German poet, Grillparzer, has lately produced a tragedy on the subject of Sappho, which resembles the work of Madame de Stael so nearly in plot, that there must necessarily have been a communication between the two authors. Whether Grillparzer had seen her Sappho in manuscript, or whether after the publication of his, she undertook to treat the same subject in her own way, we are not informed.

As Madame de Stael, though possessed of sufficient taste and imagination to write with correctness and elegance, and even with poetical coloring, had not the essential requisites of real poetry, it is evident her success must have depended at least as much upon the substance of her compositions, as upon their form. Even fine versification, to produce its effect, must be sustained by a brilliant inventive talent, or a power of deep and original thought. Poetry properly requires the former; but the latter sometimes serves as a substitute, as in Pope, Goldsmith, and for the most part, Byron. Mere prose, however beautiful, demands still more imperiously, the aid of some substantial merit. This merit, as in poetry, may consist either in thought or invention. The novels of Richardson, Fielding and Scott, which, are real poems in prose, derive their principal value from invention. As Madame Stael wanted this talent, we find, as might be supposed, that her substantial excellence is thought. Philosophy, and not poetry, was her proper department; and in making a general estimate of her literary character it is still more important to look at it under this point of view than the other.

In the various walks of speculation, her reach of mind was very extensive; and if she treats some subjects more superficially than others, it seems to be rather from a want of inclination to engage in them, than of ability to sound them to the bottom. In the account she gives of the German philosophy, the analysis of intellect is lightly touched, and the conclusions in which she acquiesces much too hastily drawn. Without examining the system of Kant, she was seduced into an approval of it by the slight and wholly superficial colouring of plausibility which may be given to his leading principle. To do her justice, however, it should be observed, that she does not profess to have studied his theories, and after giving a general view of his leading principle in one of her chapters, she says little more than that there is an appearance of plausibilty about it, which is true. Had she pushed her inquiries farther, she would have seen that this was only an appearance. But probably deriving her knowledge of the system from persons who approved it, she regards this plausibility as a presumption in favor of its truth. She was doubtless repelled by the obscurity in which the German metaphysicians have voluntarily shrouded their speculations, from entering into a thorough examination of them; and few, we fancy, will blame her for it,