-pation she had sufficient influence to be very troublesome to him in the commencement of his reign,and when he was obliged to be gradual in his usurpation of power. In the organization of the new temporary government she out manœuvred the future emperour, and placed Benjamin Constant in one of the assemblies, in spite of his efforts to the contrary. When he had acquired stability, he did not forget Madame de Stael, but sent Talleyrand to tell her she must leave Paris, and go to Switzerland. It was rather an awkward commission, but he executed it with address. He called on her, and after a few compliments told her—“ I hear, madame, you are going to take a journey." _“ O no, it is a mistake, I have not the least intention of doing it."-" Pardon me, I heard you were going to Switzerland.”—“ I have no such project, I assure you."-" I have been told so by the best authority, and that you would leave Paris in three days," The hint was taken. Af ter some period had elapsed, she returned to Paris, and, about the epoch of General Moreau's banishment, she was exiled again, and ordered not to come within ten leagues of Paris, because at her house a numerous circle of men of talents and influence assembled, who were disaffected to the government. This she evaded two or three times, which was discovered by the police,and she was then banished to Switzerland. She made a tour in that country the summer of last year in company with her friend, the beautiful Madame Recamier, and the last winter they passed at Vienna.

The regions of science and literature have been so generally explored, that many of those, who have not been able to discover any new matter, have been contented with

the humbler occupation of varying the manner of what has been already described. Several of the sciences have been divested of their harsh and technical appearance, and taught by tricks and experiments, by rhymes and riddles, as our quacks administer their medicines in the guise of sugar-plums. History and Romance, which have often been two names for the same thing, are becoming so blended, that, possibly, the notions of posterity about the two or three last centuries will be very similar to those we have of the expedition of the Argonauts. Fifty years ago we were diverted with "Romantick Histories," and now we are treated with "Historical Romances." If our descendants should become so enervated and effeminate by this exuberance of the press, as to prefer amusement to fact, many of our sprightly romances will be read, and many of our dull histories will be forgotten.

Corinna is a novel engrafted on a journey and description of Italy, and the licentious fashion of blending fancy and reality is more innocent and justifiable in this kind of work than in any other. Of the advantages, which it possesses, Madame de Stael has availed herself in the ablest manner. The description of the interesting and magnificent objects of Rome, the disquisitions on Italian society, and the progress of the novel, are most ingeniously mingled, and by being alternately brought forward, prevent the most fastidious reader from tiring. Mrs. Radcliffe's romances are celebrated for

their beautiful descriptions, which lose a great part of their interest not only from being too often repeated, but because they are only pleasing pictures of the writer's imagination, composed perhaps from studies of landscape, but vague and

transitory as the shadows of summer clouds. Here Madame de Stael possesses a striking advantage; for, not confined like a writer of travels, to mere journalizing and description, a selection suffices for her purpose, and the canvass of her work is filled, not with

The Alps, the Appenines and River Po,

but with the most interesting objects of ancient and modern Italy. The persons of the novel are few in number, but these few are sketched with that delicate and minute observation of character, which belongs to her sex; while the contrasts arising from different tempers and education, and the effects of the passions, are developed with all the force and skill produced by a profound knowledge of the human heart. Count d'Erpeuil is a gay, well bred, distinguished Frenchman, portrayed with the most aggravat ing accuracy: perhaps the fidelity and spirit of this portrait is better sustained than any other in the book. Mr. Edgermond, the relation of Lord Nelvill, who makes his appearance at Rome, is delineated so generally, that he represents a species, yet so simply and naturally, that he affects us like a miniature among a collection of historical pictures. Oswald posseses too many noble qualities to suffer us to despise him; but when a being, like Corinna, is sacrificed to morbid sensibility and imaginary duties, we pity the victim too much to respect the sacrificer. Corinna is the fair monster of the work

she is a character out of nature; so at least she will be generally, and so she had better be considered: yet she has enough of humanity in her composition, a sufficient portion of the faculty of inspiring and suffer ing emotion, to excite, even in the

generality of readers, an interest beyond that of a mere heroine of romance.

The incidents are many of them striking and novel; and in the present state of literature, this is one of the rarest kinds of merit. Oswald saving the madmen from the hospital in flames at Ancona, the moonlight scene at the fountain of Trevi, and Corinna on the road from Naples to Portici, will support Madame de Stael's claim to this praise. The style is eloquent; and the thoughts are many of them singularly just, beautiful and original.

The intimate knowledge, which is discovered of the character of different nations, is a remarkable feature of this work; and it is hard to say which is delineated most accurately, the French, the Italian or the English The Count d'Erpeuiltells Oswald," je n'aime en fait de nation, que les Anglais et les' Francais; il faut etre fiers.comme eux, ou brillans comme nous, tout le reste n'est que de l'imitation.” It ́ is easy to see, which has the supe-1 riority in the eyes of the author."? Neither Dr. Moore, nor M. Dupaty has shewn more acquaintance' with the Italian character; the dialogue allows her the means of attacking it with the ebullitions of French vanity, and the moroseness of English pride; which is answered by Corinna only with patient submission and mild regret It appears to have been one of the prin-" cipal objects of the writer,to shew, that the Italians have been "more sinned against than sinning;" to convert the contempt of the world into pity, and to excite a belief, that men, whose ancestors once governed the universe, who have furnished learning and the arts with some of their brightest ornaments, are capable of being elevated from their pre

sent degraded situation, and assuming a conspicuous rank in the world.

The work is not without its faults; and those,who are fonder of the chaff than the grain, may select them. But there is one obliquity of sentiment, which becomes the more remarkable, as it exercises a fatal influence over the conduct of her hero. Madame de Stael was extremely fond of her father, and has attempted in a book, she published, containing his posthumous works, to sublimate this affection, into a mysterious, metaphysical passion, which exposed her to severe reprehension from the French criticks. If she had persuaded the world in this respect, she could only acquire credence for singularity; yet, by a kind of perversity, she has made this indefensible principle a governing motive in her new work. Peculiar circumstances may modify the affections unnaturally in a few individuals will Madame de Stael make an unfortunate exception a general rule? Is affection to a mother so subordinate, that la perte d'un pere, is la plus intime de toutes les douleurs? Is affection for a husband, or for our offspring, weaker than this? Ardent and melancholy minds are apt to run into exaggeration, but this if it were realized, would recal the fable of Saturn devouring his children.

To expiate this censure of Madame de Stael, it will be a grateful task to attempt her defence, where she has been blamed unjustly. It has been said, that her inimitable description of the circle in Northumberland has a tendency to discourage the gentle virtues of private, and to ridicule the simplicity of domes tick life, while the brilliant Corinna will dazzle and allure. Alas! poor

See Edinburgh Review,

Corinna! did ever moral of any his-tory stare the reader more fully in the face? Is it not as apparent, as those, heaped up at the end of fables, labelled and dried for the use, of school-boys? Does not the luckless heroine lament, that she is deprived of the charms of domestick life, which she was formed to enjoy; and does she not fall a victim to one of these admirers of still life? The author gives a representation, which is neither harsh nor extravagant, of the imbecile taciturnity, the morose, awkward pride, and the petrifying power of this Northumberland teadrinking society, which occasions an outcry among the parties concerned. What will these moralists say. to the following lines of Cowper, which ought to be engraven on the teapot of every similar coterie !

True modesty is a discerning grace,
And only blushes in the proper place;
But counterfeit is blind, and skulka
through fear,

Where 'tis a shame to be asham'd to appear:

Humility the parent of the first,

The last by vanity produc'd and nurs’d. The circle form'd, we sit in silent state, Like figures drawn upon a dial plate ;; Yes ma'am, and no ma'am, utter'd softly,

show

Every five minutes, how the minutes go.

The improvisations of Corinna will be less admired than any other. part of the work. That, which she makes at the capital, is eloquent, and would be beautiful in Italian verse, but is too florid for prose. The last, which is recited at Florence, must be excepted; it is affecting and sublime. He, who can read it without emotion, would do well never to leave the bounds of demonstration to wander among the fields of Literature. If any young man reads it, and every pulse does not vibrate and revay nerve thrill, let him not

the outlines of this immense and august congregation, on the statues of saints, and the tombs of departed sovereigns, emanates from the illuminated type of the sacrifice they are celebrating let him consider the lively and intimate belief of this

assembly,--that the time is night,the place, the vast Basilick of St. Peters; he may loose the reigns of his imagination, it will never out. strip the effect such a scene would produce.

London, June 20th, 1808.

MY DEAR SIR,

I RECEIVED, rather unexpectedly, your letter from Gravesend, requesting some remarks upon the exhibition at Somerset House, and have been three times, in order to form a deliberate opinion. I cannot persuade myself to respect the arts in this country. Even the President provoked me excessively by the first words I ever heard him pronounce, when showing us an outline-engraving." I shall perhaps" said he, "have all my works engraved in this way,if I find the publick have any taste for it!!" Was there ever such a self-condemning sentence; or such an insult to the publick? After boasting of having painted more than ever artist painted; after a long life, which ought to have been devoted not only to raise the state of the arts generally, but to create a taste for them which should at this day have admitted of no doubt; that observation excited in me some of the genuine irritability, and has in some degree diminish ed my reverence for his works. Thus prepared, I went, not like a true shepherd to roll my eyes with delight over Arcadian fields, but to encounter horses, dogs, and pigs.

Nothing so lively, I assure you { But head upon head-whole lengths, half lengths and quarter lengths! These are the " green fields of fat cows" of pastoral life, which adorn the walls of Somerset House!

I had no sooner seated myself to survey them more at leisure, than I felt that disposition for yawning, which such an exhibition of endless, thick. chop'd portraits annually excites. It is very like finding yourself at a cit's dinner, surrounded by good, wholesome, fat faces in per fect unison with the steaming round of beef, at which a grain of attick salt would excite as much surprize as a shower of hail.

I should, before I proceed any farther, offer as a supposition, that this exhibition at Somerset House is considered by some of the artists as a catch-penny thing-that any thing will do for the vulgar mob— that it is very well to get 2000 or 3000 1.-for I do not find that some of the best ever exhibit there, and that Mr. West himself has stuck up a little sketch of his Thetis and Achilles, already exhibited "en grand," which I consider as another insult.

The best of the historical paintings is that, which you recollect to