Marie de Brabant, is also a very reputable production. There are a few other writers, such as MM. Guiraud, Liadières, St. Bis, Léon, Thiessé, and Chauvet, who have all their pretensions to the good graces of Melpomene. M. Garri published, in 1824, his tragedy, which has been highly commended, of Eudoxe et Cymodocle. The subject is from the Martyrs of Chateaubriand, and is happily chosen. M. Viennet, author of the Poetical Epistles, has gained repute by his tragedy of Clovis. M. Merville is the writer of La Famille Glinet and Les Quatre Ages, which are praised as good comedies; and M. Despagny has lately obtained laurels at the Odeon, by his comedy of Luxe et Indigence; M. Casimir Bonjour, also, by his two pieces, Le Deux Cousines and Le Mari à bonnes Fortunes. M. Delaville's comedy of Le Folliculaire, is written with taste and energy; and M. Gosse, in Le Médisant, has displayed estimable talents; he has published lately two other pieces, Les Jésuites and Les Autres Tartuffes.-We need only name the author of Ioconde, M. Hoffman; Dupaty, author of the Délateurs; and Scribe, author of Valeria, a character in which Mademoiselle Mars has so delighted the Parisians, to recall the numerous triumphs of these three writers for the few years past in the Opera Comique, and particularly in the Vaudeville, to which the French have recently attached peculiar interest.

The poet, the most original and philosophical, and one of those most richly endowed with poetic genius, of the present age, is unquestionably M. Béranger, who, under the modest appella tion of songs, says Benjamin Constant, makes odes of the most sublime and pathetic strain, worthy the lyre of Pindar or the lute of Anacreon. In the whole of his two volumes of songs, we can scarce find an exception to their poetic excellence. There are a few that perhaps may be noticed with special praise: Le Dieu des bonnes Gens, Mon Habit, La Nature, Les Enfans de la France, Les Adieux à la Gloire, Le Bon Vieillard, Le Cinq Mai. From the first-mentioned, we offer the two following stanzas:

"Dans ma retraite, où l'on voit l'indigence,
Sans m'éveiller, assise à mon chevet,
Grace aux amours, bercé par l'espérance,
D'un lit plus doux je rêve le duvet.
Aux dieux des cours qu'un autre sacrifie!
Moi, qui ne crois qu'à des dieux indulgens,
Le verre en main, gaîment je me confie
Au Dieu des bonnes Gens.

Un conquérant, dans sa fortune altière,
Se fit un jeu des sceptres et des lois;
Et de ses pieds on peut voir la poussière,
Empreinte encore sur le bandeau des rois.
Vous rampiez tous, ô rois qu'on déifie!
Moi, pour braver des maitres exigeans
Le verre en main, gaîment je me confie
Au Dieu des bornes Gens."

To the great increase of his popularity, Béranger had the advantage of being persecuted by the priesthood, for some traits of satire which had brought him under their displeasure; especially in his verses Sur Les Ignorantins et les Eteignoirs. They deprived him of his place of secretary at the university, his only fortune, and sent him, to do penance, to their ecclesiastical prison of Sainte Pélagie. In his Adieux à la Campagne, there are a few severe lines in revenge of these injuries:

"Ah! Dieu n'a point leur cœur pour me maudire,
L'intolérance est fille des faux dieux:

Ciel vaste et pur, daigne encore me sourire

Echos des bois, répétez mes adieux.

In the last collection of his songs, there is one on the death of Napoleon:

"Il dort enfin ce boulet invincible

Qui fracassa vingt trônes à la fois."

And another, entitled Lafayette in America:

"Républicains! quel cortège s'avance.-
Un vieux guerrier débarque parmi nous.
Vient-il d'un roi nous jurer l'alliance?
Il a des rois allumé le courroux.
Est-il puissant? seul il franchit les ondes.
Qu'a-t-il donc fait?-Il a brisé des fers!

Gloire immortelle à l'homme des deux mondes!

Jours de triomphe, éclairez l'univers!

Ce vieil ami que tout d'ivresse accueille,
Par un héros, ce héros adopté,

Bénit jadis à sa première feuille
L'arbre naissant de notre liberté,

Mais aujourd'hui que l'arbre et son feuillage
Bravent en paix la foudre et les hivers,

Il vient s'asseoir sous son fertile ombrage.
Jours de triomphe, éclairez l'univers!"

In the patriotic and sublime, Béranger stands alone,—“L'Anacréon de la gloire Françoise;" but in lighter composition, he has amongst his contemporaries some respectable rivals; in the number of these are Désaugiers and Armand Gouffé, who have composed many hundred songs of infinite wit and pleasantry. Two young poets have lately associated their talents to satirize arbitrary ministers, in a work they have entitled La Villéliade. M. Bailly deserves an honourable mention for his fables, and M. Levol for his Ages Poétiques, his poem De l'Enfant prodigue, his Maison des Champs, and several fugitive pieces. M. Bignan has gained a variety of poetical prizes; and M. Berchoux is known for his humorous poem La Gastronomie, which contains beautiful descriptions and excellent versification. The subsequent poetry of this writer is totally disproportionate to his reputation. It affects to be easy and familiar, but savours much more of Boeotian than Attic simplicity. Madame Desbordes Val

more is celebrated for her beautiful elegies; in one, she deplores the prejudice attached to the profession of an actor:

"Le monde où vous régnez me repoussa toujours;

Il méconnoit mon ame à la fois douce et fière.

Et d'un froid préjugé l'invincible barrière

Au froid isolement condamna mes beaux jours.
L'infortune m'ouvrit le temple de Thalie;
L'espoir m'y prodigua ses riantes erreurs,

Mais je sentis par fois couler mes pleurs
Sous le bandeau de la folie.

Dans ces jeux où l'esprit nous apprend à charmer,
Le cœur doit apprendre à se taire;

Et lorsque tout nous ordonne de plaire
Tout nous défend d'aimer.

O, des erreurs du monde inexplicable exemple!
Charmante Muse! objet de mépris et d'amour,
Le soir on vous honore au temple,

Et l'on vous dédaigne au grand jour.”

The Princess de Salm, some years ago, obtained a brilliant reputation by her Opera of Sappho; she has since published poetical epistles, which are thought to be well enough for a princess; and Mademoiselle Delphine Gay has lately published a collection of miscellaneous poetry which does honour to her abilities. Great credit is given to this lady for her faculty of extemporising.

To these authors of the female sex we must not forget to add Madame Amable Castu, who writes in a pure and very agreeable style; and now, to change the gender, we will introduce to our readers M. Alphonse De Lamartine, a special favourite of the French nation; and, indeed, we know of none of their living authors who has done higher honour to the Gallic muse. He is called the poet of romantic visions and melancholy sentiment, and is thus pleasantly described by Viennet in one of his epistles:"C'est une vérité qui n'est point la nature;

Un art qui n'est point l'art, de grands mots sans enflure;
C'est la mélancolie et la mysticité;

C'est l'affectation de la naïveté ;

C'st un monde idéal qu'on voit dans les nuages:

- Tout, jusqu'au sentiment, n'y parle qu'en images.
C'est la voix du désert ou la voix du torrent,

Ou le roi des tilleuls, ou le fantôme errant,

Qui, le soir, au vallon, vient siffler ou se plaindre ;
C'est un je ne sais quoi dont on est transporté;
Et moins on le comprend, plus on est enchanté."

The solemn and meditative humour of Lamartine has seduced him often into the region of metaphysics, and not unfrequently carried him above the usual elevation of our senses. He appears, indeed, a being rather of some intellectual sphere, than belonging to this world of corporeal substance. Béranger often treats subjects below the level of his genius, and Lamartine is continually hovering on the utmost confines of human speculation: it is on this account that the former is the more popular writer, and no doubt a more useful one, as the watchman's lamp is more use

ful than Saturn's belt and fiery satellites. For ourselves, we confess our partiality to the latter, and cannot refuse our reverence to his genius, whatever be the direction of its flights. There is, besides, a boldness in the structure of his verses quite uncommon with French poets, who appear always to feel their way with a tremulous footstep, ever in apprehension lest they should tread upon some threatening rule of propriety, or canon of criticism. The recollection of les convenances" says Madame de Staël, "pursues genius in this country even to its most secret emotions, and the dread of ridicule is the sword of Damocles suspended over the head of our writers, which no banquet of the imagination can make them forget;" she adds, rather sarcastically, that there is no need of curbs for coursers who have so little mettle.

Les Méditations poétiques of Lamartine consist of about twenty short pieces, mostly of the same metaphysical character; in the first rank of which we may mention Elvire, La Prière, La Semaine Sainte, Les Etoiles, Bonaparte, La Gloire, L'Immortalité. A small portion of the last may be quoted as a good example of this poet's solemn and melancholy character:

"Le soleil de nos jours pâlit dès son aurore,

Sur nos fronts languissants à peine il jette encore,
Quelques rayons tremblants qui combattent la nuit ;
L'ombre croit, le jour meurt, tout s'efface et tout fuit!
Q'un autre à cet aspect frissonne ou s'attendrisse,
Qu'il recule en tremblant des bords du précipice,
Qu'il ne puisse de loin entendre sans frémir
Le triste chant des morts tout prêt à retentir,
Les soupirs étouffés d'une amante ou d'un frère
Suspendus sur les bords de son lit funéraire,
Ou l'airain gémissant dont les sons éperdus

Annoncent aux mortels qu'un malheureux n'est plus!"

His verses on the "Golfe de Baia," are in a strain of the most pathetic and delightful harmony. It will be difficult to find lines, whether for imagery or animation, that can claim precedence of the following:

"O, de la liberté vieille et sainte patrie!

Terre autrefois féconde en sublimes vertus!
Sous d'indignes Césars maintenant asservie,
Ton empire est tombé! tes héros ne sont plus!
Mais dans ton sein l'ame agrandie,
Croit sur leurs monuments respirer leur génie,
Comme on respire encore dans un temple aboli
La majesté du Dieu dont il étoit rempli!"

Of the accession of Bonaparte to the imperial power, he says:-

"Les Dieux étoient tombés; les trônes étoient vides;
La Victoire te prit sur ses ailes rapides;

D'un peuple de Brutus la gloire te fit roi.

Ce siècle, dont l'écume entrainait dans sa course
Les mœurs, les rois, les Dieux-refoulé vers sa source,
Recula d'un pas devant toi!"

And further, remarking the miraculous events of his reign, he exclaims:

"Etre d'un siècle entier la pensée et la vie.
Emousser le poignard, décourager l'envie,
Ebranler, raffermir l'univers incertain,

Aux sinistres clartés de la foudre qui gronde,
Vingt fois contre les Dieux jouer le sort du monde;
Quel rêve! et ce fut ton destin!"

Besides his Meditations, Lamartine has composed two poems, La Mort de Socrate, and Le dernier Chant de Childe Harold, a continuation of the poem of Lord Byron. Personifying the English poet in his hero, he represents his departure from Italy, his arrival in Greece, and, finally, his death. This poem is well written, but not sufficiently in sympathy with the noble sentiments we are willing to ascribe to Lord Byron. He sings the devotion of his hero with seeming regret; obscuring it rather by a fable not very conformable with the generous ideas inspired by the love of liberty and independence. He is said to be one of those, who, having had a surfeit of liberty at home, is not very enthusiastic for its establishment abroad; though the following fine verses would seem to signify that he is no stranger to its inspirations:

"Remplis seule aujourd'hui ma pensée et mes vers,
Toi qui nâquis le jour où nâquit l'univers,
Liberté! premier don que Dieu fit à la terre;

Qui marquas l'homme enfant d'un divin caractère,

Et qui fis reculer, à ton premier aspect,

Les animaux tremblants d'un sublime respect;

Don plus doux que le jour, plus brillant que la flamme
Air pur, air éternel qui fait respirer l'ame!
Trop souvent les mortels, du ciel même jaloux,
Se ravissent entre eux ce bien commun à tous!
Plus durs que le destin, dans d'indignes entraves,
Ils ont de ses saints droits dégradé la raison:
Qu'ai-je dit? ils ont fait un crime de ton nom!
Mais semblable à ces feux que le caillou recèle,
Dont l'acier fait jaillir la brulante étincelle,

Dans les cœurs asservis tu dors! tu ne meurs pas!
Et, quand mille tyrans enchaineraient tes bras,

Sous le choc de ces fers dont leurs mains t'ont chargée
Tu jaillis tout-à-coup, et la terre est vengée!"

Next to Lamartine, in the romantic style, we may mention Victor Hugo, most of whose odes are sufficiently happy in poetical conception, but frequently disfigured by unnatural refinements, by vague and enigmatic phraseology. "Dum vitat humum, nubes et inania captat. "Of the same school, with less wit, though not less incomprehensibly metaphysical, are Alfred de Vigny and Jules Lefèvre, who appear to feed wholly upon ambrosia, disdaining earthly substances, or who descend, at least, to nothing less intellectual than a treatise upon souls.

In translation, the nineteenth century may challenge a com