confined to the poetry of Sir Walter Scott and Lord Byron, and the Waverley novels. He tells us that he has translated several of the works of these two distinguished authors into French; and from the attention which he seems to have paid to them, his observations on their peculiarities are deserving of respect. But he seems not to understand Thomas Moore, and indeed to have taken up a prejudice against him. Dr. Pichot does not scruple to frame an elaborate apology for Don Juan; and yet with the same pen he minutely reprehends the Anacreontic indiscretions of the Irish bard, and denies him the title that has long been conceded to him, of the first lyric poet of the age. Campbell is highly praised, not, perhaps, beyond his deserts. The Doctor must, however, have strangely misunderstood the "Pleasures of Hope" when he preferred to it "Gertrude of Wyoming." It is obvious, from the specimens which he gives of Wordsworth, that the whole of his observations on that mystic bard are made up from the Reviews, rather than from the original works. The same remark applies to his notices of Crabbe, Cowper, Southey, Coleridge, Shelley, Rogers, and our other modern poets, with respect to whom he scarcely ventures a single observation of his own.

These are all material imperfections in a work professing to treat of the literature of England and Scotland, and which is avowedly framed on the model of Madame de Staël's "Germany." For Englishmen its value is very limited, because it tells us few things, which we have not been repeatedly told before. Yet it is not without interest for the people to whom it is addressed; and it will be of great assistance to those ardent minds of the Continent, which are every day more desirous of becoming acquainted with the intellect of this country. A work like this has been long a desideratum for their use: even to ourselves it would be a most useful acquisition, if it had been executed in a better style, and had really comprehended all the departments of our literature, which deserve to be celebrated.

We can easily understand that the author had sufficient reasons, for conveying his observations in the familiar form of letters: but why each of those letters should have been addressed to a different person, is a matter which we do not profess to comprehend. It is in fact very often an absurdity, if it be not intended as a piece of ridicule. For he writes upon a certain subject to one, continues it with another, and finishes it with a third, or perhaps a sixth friend, who cannot be supposed to know any thing of what had been said before. Several of the earlier letters are devoted to descriptions of the

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country

country through which the author passed on his way to London. He has not failed to observe and admire those splendid mansions and parks, which meet the eye in every part of England, and form the most unrivalled features of its landscape.

As to the climate of Great Britain, which has been so much abused, I can only say that I find it very agreeable. I not only admire the delightful serenity of the nights; but in the day-time, the sun, which is by no means so great a rarity as I expected it to be, produces the most beautiful effects of light and shadow on the numerous rises and falls of the ground, which is every where covered with the freshest verdure.

"God made the country, and man made the town,"

says Cowper; and it appears to me, that in England, of all other nations, the country is most worthy of God. If it cannot always boast of grandeur, every little meadow has an air of grace and beauty, were it only on account of the green hedge by which it is surrounded. The roads in France call to mind the cities to which they lead; but in England roads belong more especially to the country. They are kept in as good condition as the walks or drives in a park; and people of fortune, who have parks and pleasure-grounds, never appear to be really at home, except in their own houses. In their country-residences, the English nobility and gentry are surrounded by all the luxuries and comforts of life. Here they forego the etiquette which they so scrupulously observe in town. With their fine horses and hounds they enjoy the healthful sports of the field; or in tranquil retirement resign themselves to the contemplation of the choicest productions of art, and the stores of their valuable libraries. It has been justly observed, that our nobility withdraw to the country to repair their fortunes, when broken up and dissipated by extravagance in Paris. The English aristocracy, on the other hand, live in the most profuse style in the country: when ruined, they rather hide themselves in London, or go and economize on the Continent.'

The author does not seem to be intimately conversant with our architecture; and he takes no notice of the vast progress which the country is now making in this useful and elegant art. To our sculpture he is more just; nor does he follow in the train of those French and English declaimers, who have inveighed against Lord Elgin for his pious spoliation of Athens. He indirectly yields the palm of supremacy, not only over his own countrymen, but even over Canova, to our Chantry. The question is discussed between the author and a friend of his, at the exhibition-rooms in Somerset-House; and it is handled in such an animated manner that we cannot forbear transcribing the whole conversation.

"You

"You will, I know," said he, "feel a difficulty in acknowledging the full merit of Chantry, because you come from France impressed with the idea that England is incapable of producing either a great sculptor or a great painter. Yesterday, at my sister's, you declared that we were eternally excluded from the temple of the fine arts; and yet you confess that our northern atmosphere has in all ages been favourable to poetic genius. Now let me explain to you the system of our English prejudice. We assert that your sculptors did not deserve the rich treasures which conquest first gave you, and then took from you." I here interrupted Sir William, and proudly mentioned the names of Sir William interrupted me in his turn. "Mention no names," continued he. "Like a true Englishman, I will stick to my opinions. I intend to criticise your artists collectively; do not lead me into personalities. France has profited but little by the admirable models of which Bonaparte's ambition deprived the rest of Europe. The vanity and pride of the upstart dynasty certainly favoured sculpture. Yet in spite of that thirst of glory which, in France, might be said to be the malady of the age, have you produced any monument which deserves to be transmitted to posterity? The French seem incapable of understanding the repose and grandeur of the antique statues: they are only capable of representing grace and elegance. Instead of the dignity of a well formed woman, they copy the demure gravity of their tragic queens; and their goddesses and nymphs are merely operadancers.

"Before Chantry appeared, our English sculptors, I must confess, too much neglected nature: they fell into the error of supposing that ideal beauty consisted in absurd personifications and obscure allegories. That which is not in nature cannot belong to art. Ideal beauty is merely the happy selection of all that is most perfect in nature, the only model which art should endeavour to imitate. Our poetry, our philosophy, and our actions, are the expressions of our national character, and are stamped with its energy, boldness, and originality. Before Chantry's time, sculpture refused to speak our language.

"The character of Canova's works appears to me neither very natural nor very original. Like our Flaxman, he is merely an imitator. He has chosen for his models Greek beauty and Greek nature. He sees beauty and nature only with the eyes of those who have preceded him. Yet he has but in a few instances successfully seized the severe and majestic character of the masterpieces of antiquity; and it is only within these few years that he has excelled in the graceful and tender style, which is really his forte. His early productions are all theatrical and affected. His female figures are like coquettes who have studied how to set forth their personal charms to the best advantage. Canova was spoiled by following the precepts of the French school. Your great naturalist Buffon says that patience is genius. Patience and diligence certainly constitute the genius of Canova. We, however, prefer inspiration. Canova lives too much among demi-gods,

and not enough among men. It would appear that the ambition of the Pope's sculptor is to restore the lost statues of ancient Greece to their pedestals, instead of viewing nature and revealed religion with the eyes of Raphael."

"But," said I to Sir William, "you have in England the statue of Bonaparte's mother, which is highly praised for dignity. You have also the colossal statue of the son .'

"The statue of Madame Mère," resumed Sir William, "may be regarded as an exception to the general style of Canova. As to the statue of the god Mars, it is merely an athletic figure. You know Bonaparte himself said, when he saw it finished, Does Canova think I fight battles with my fists?" Exquisite grace is the distinguishing characteristic of Canova's sculpture. However, if you have seen his Hebe you must be convinced of the truth of the observation, that the Pagan mythology, which is founded on the senses, is far remote from the chaste representations of Christian modesty, for which we are indebted to the pencil of Raphael. Canova's Hebe is light and airy as a sylph; but the expression of the countenance seems almost to denote that she has tasted the intoxicating nectar. Chantry has not endeavoured to revive Greek sculpture. His art is a pure emanation of English genius. His style is perfectly original, and bears no more resemblance to that of the ancients than the ro mantic dramas of Shakspeare are like the dramas of Euripides; or the chivalric heroes of Sir Walter Scott are like the heroes of paganism.

"In his representations of manly strength and feminine beauty, Chantry takes living nature for his model; and the powerful emotions which his works excite are the most grateful tribute to his excellence. There is nothing constrained or theatrical in the attitudes of his statues; and the graceful simplicity of his draperies is always conspicuous. His busts of distinguished men are animated by the fire of genius and intelligence, and as it were encircled with the glory of immortality. Thorwaldsen, like Chantry, studies living nature; but he does not view it with a poet's eye. He possesses neither the power of invention nor the vigorous, dignified, and natural style which distinguish the English sculptor.

Thorwaldsen ventured to place himself in competition with Canova, by the production of a groupe of the three Graces, which, however, served only to mark the distance that separates him from his rival. In his statue of the daughter of the Duke of Bedford, he also risked a comparison with Chantry, which proved by no means favourable to him. The statue of Lady Louisa Russell, another of the Duke's daughters, is one of the happiest productions of our English Phidias. The young lady is represented standing on tip-toe, and pressing a dove to her bosom. Nothing can exceed the graceful simplicity of this figure."

"I hope," said I to Sir William, "to have the pleasure of conducting you over our Paris museums. There, while viewing the works of our great French masters, I may perchance be inspired as you are by the talents of your countrymen; and per

haps

haps I may be enabled to prove to you that the country which gave birth to a Coustou, a Puget, and a Bouchardon, may also produce a Chantry. Without adverting to our living artists, I may mention the name of Chaudet, who died in 1813, and who, though he found the French school degenerated, soon freed himself from the trammels of the artificial style, and the insipid and affected ornaments for which you condemn us. I should like to shew you his statue of Belisarius."

Here we dropped our discussion, and went up stairs to take a view of the paintings.'

Why does Dr. Pichot avoid mentioning also the statue of the young Duc de Bourdeaux, which we saw in the gallery of the Louvre two years ago? It was then fresh from the chisel of the artist, and seemed only to want a portion of inward fire to make it breathe. There was nothing of effort or false grace about it. It was a model of symmetry, and yet a Bourbon in every lineament. Is the author's facility in surrendering the pre-eminence of Canova the effect of national spleen against that immortal sculptor? Canova,' he says in another place, at the period of our reverses, was one of the servile instruments of the conquerors who stripped us of our treasures of art.' Canova well knew, as this author ought to have also remembered, that those treasures' were deemed by Buonaparte the legal objects of his plunder, when he was a conqueror. If conquest gave him the right to them, even according to his own doctrines conquest also could take it away. Besides, Canova was an Italian, and is to be commended for his zeal in causing the trophies of his country to be restored.

Flaxman for his classic groupes, Bacon for his angelic females, and Westmacott for his grace and harmony of contour, receive their due meed of praise. The author speaks rather too lightly of the Achilles of the latter in the Park. It reflects no honour on the artist or the nation.

The history of our school of painting is rapidly sketched. Holbein flourished under Henry VIII., but no progress was made among us in the art till the time of Charles I., who naturalized Vandyke, encouraged Reubens, and purchased the celebrated cartoons of Raphael. Painting, together with its kindred arts, was proscribed with the Stuarts, and restored with them, but not without being accompanied by a re-action, which produced licentiousness in every pursuit. Then it was that the rich and fantastic pencil of Sir Peter Lely, immortalized those court-beauties who figure in the witty and graceful pages of Grammont. The art was necessarily much neglected during