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 present 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 critics. 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 domestic life, while the brilliant Corinna will dazzle and allure. Alas! poor Corinna! did ever moral of any history 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 domestic 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, tea-drinking 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 skulks 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.

*See Edinburgh Review.

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 every nerve thrill, let him not hesitate in the choice of a profession: let him not be a clergyman, he would have to preach the sublime doctrines of christianity, to sustain weakness, and console affliction : let him not study the law, he might be called upon to oppose powerful injustice, or to defend the devoted victim against popular clamour and factious persecution: let him not be a physician, he may be expected to soothe the agony of wounded affection, to sympathize with the wretched, when his art has been ineffectual: no, let him hoard dollars and accumulate interest; his progress will be certain-nay, (the advice is perfectly disinterested) he will do well to bring up his children in the same manner.

This article has become too extended to admit of extracting passages from the work, to illustrate the opinions here advanced. One only must be indulged, for the sake of contrasting Madame de Stael with Kotzebue. The latter published in 1806, Travels in Italy, in four volumes, which are principally remarkable for their stale and virulent abuse of religion. The flattest jests and most scurrilous

remarks abound in every chapter; and what would be ridiculous, if it was not odious, is that he seems to have just awakened, and made a Quixotic expedition to retail forgotten, exploded abuse, which in the sixteenth century might have possessed the merit of boldness, but now is only insipid and cowardly. The Pope and the Catholics are shewn no mercy. When the Lion was confined to his den through age and infirmity, the Ass came and kicked him. The following sentence contains the reflecttions of Kotzebue on the illuminated cross, which is suspended from the dome of St. Peter's on Good Friday Evening. "Le Vendredi Saint on sus"pend dans la Coupole une croix enorme, illuminée 66 par trois cents lampes, ce qui doit faire une fort "jolie decoration." Compare this with the description and reflections of Madame de Stael on the same subject. The whole chapter, which is the fourth in the tenth book, is very interesting; but a single paragraph only will be taken, the first sentence of which is occupied by the same object with the one quoted from Kotzebue.

Corinne suivit la procession qui se rendait dans le temple de Saint Pierre, qui n'est alors éclairé que par une croix illuminée, ce signe de douleur seul resplendissant dans l'auguste obscurité de cet immense edifice, est la plus belle image du Christianisme au milieu des tenebres de la vie. Une lumiere pale et lointaine se projette sur les statues qui decorent les tombeaux. Les vivans qu'on apercoit en foule sous ces voutes semblent des pygmées en comparaison des images des morts. Il y a autour de la croix un espace eclairè par elle, ou se prosternent le Pape vêtu de blanc, et tous les Cardinaux rangés derriere lui. Ils restent la près

d'une demi heure dans le plus profond silence, et il est impossible de n'etre pas ému par ce spectacle. On ne sait pas ce qu'ils demandent, on n'entend pas leurs secrets gemissemens; mais ils sont vieux, ils nous devancent dans la route de la tombe: quand nous passerons à notre tour dans ce terrible avantgarde, Dieu nous fera-t'il la grace d'ennoblir assez la vieillesse, pour que le declin de la vie soit les premiers jours de l'immortalité !

Let the reader of the most ardent conception reflect a while upon this picture: the mystery, which is the most affecting and tremendous, the most awful and sublime, the consummation indeed of all the others of the christian faith, the populace and nobility of Rome, the whole hierarchy of the church with their spiritual Father at their head, are kneeling in silent and passionate devotion ;-the only light, which trembles on 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 reins of his imagination, it will never outstrip the effect such a scene would produce.