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Mon cœur prend son parti; mais malgré son effort,
Je sais qui Je suis, et que mon pére est mort.

In another of Corneille's plays, Les Horaces, is a passage connected with our subject, which produces a great effect on the French stage, but which, it has been said, must evaporate in any English translation. The father of the Horatii is angry at hearing that his surviving son retreats before the Curiatii (that being the stratagem he practised with success.) The people answer him—" What could your son do against three? (Que pourroit il faire contre trois ?) The father replies" Qu'il mourût.”

The Cardinal Richelieu instigated the French Academy to write a severe criticism on Corneille's play of the Cid; this occasioned a neat couplet by Boileau

En vain contre le Cid un ministre se ligue,

Tout Paris pour Chimene a les yeux de Rodrigue.

Mention has been above made of the actress Clairon, and her admiration of Garrick's acting, in Mrs. Garrick's presence. Voltaire celebrates her own acting in Corneille's tragedies—

Corneille, des Romains peintre majestueux,

T'aurait vue aussi noble, aussi Romaine qu'eux.

That Mrs. Garrick might have some cause for jealousy, appears from a "young man's song" composed by Voltaire for Clairon's birthday; one of the stanzas is as follows

Je suis a peine en mon printemps,
Et J'ai deja des sentimens :
Vous êtes un petit fripon.

Sois bien discrete,
La faute est faite,
J'ai vu Clairon.

And here I am tempted to introduce a passage, from the same eloquent author, concerning another French actress Couvreur; especially as the bigotry of the French clergy against theatrical performers may be a warning to other nations. By this, and like measures they offered outrage to human nature; the re-action, as is always the case with the inevitable re-actions of nature, was terrific. How much more wisely did our amiable and eloquent Archbishop Tillotson confess to Betterton, in a conversation with him at Lambeth, where he was often invited, that he envied him the superior powers which he possessed and exercised upon the stage, of impressing virtuous sentiments on the human heart. His Lordship asked Betterton, how he accounted for the greater effect produced by an actor than by a preacher? Betterton said, he thought it was because "the Archbishop was telling a story, but he was showing facts." Couvreur was buried on the banks of the Seine, close to the Pont-Royal, the "churlish priests" having denied her "sacred earth" and "hallowed dirges:"

Que direz vous, Race future!

Lorsque vous apprendrez la flétrissante injure
Qu'a ces arts desolés font des hommes cruels?
Ils privent de la sépulture

Celle qui dans la Grèce aurait eu des autels.
Quand elle etoit au monde, ils soupiraient pour elle;
Je les ai vu soumis, autour d'elle empressés :
Sitôt qu'elle n'est plus elle est donc criminelle !
Elle a charmé le monde, et vous l'en punissez !
Non, ces bords desormais ne seront plus profanes :
Ils contiennent ta cendre; et ce triste tombeau
Honoré par nos chants, consacré par tes mânes,
Est pour nous un temple nouveau.

Voilà mon Saint-Denys; oui, c'est là que j'adore
Tes talens, ton esprit, tes grâces, tes appas;

Je les aímai vivans; Je les encense encore,

Malgré les horreurs de trepas,

Malgré l'erreur, et les ingrats

Que seuls de ce tombeau l'opprobre déshonore.

Having dipped into French poetry, I will take the opportunity of inserting a few extracts illustrative of different parts of this work from the same source; it would be out of place The to occupy for this purpose more than a page or two. first shall be Voltaire's description of the voice of Conscience raised against Parricides:

Jamais un parricide, un calomniateur,

N'a dit tranquillement, dans le fond de son cœur,
"Qu'il est beau, qu'il est doux d'accabler l'innocence,
σε De déchirer le sein qui nous donna naissance !
"Dieu juste, Dieu parfait ! que le crime a d'appas !"
Voilà ce qu'on dirait, mortels, n'en doutez pas,
S'il n'etoit une loi terrible, universelle,

Que respecte le crime en 's 'elevant contre elle.
Est-ce nous qui créons ces profonds sentimens ?
Avous-nous fait notre ame? avous-nous fait nos sens?
L'or qui nâit au Pérou, l'or qui nâit al a Chine,
Ont la même nature, et la même origine :
L'artisan les façonne, et ne peut les former.
Ainsi L'Etre Eternel, qui nous daigne animer,
Jeta dans tous les cœurs une même semence.
Le Ciel fit la vertu, l'homme en fit l'apparence.
Il peut la revêtir d'imposture, et d'erreur;

Il ne peut la changer; son juge est dans son cœur.

The following passage regards the effects of native air; a subject to which Bolinbroke, in the passage above cited upon Exile, does not advert.

L'astmatique Damon a cru que l'air des champs
Repareroit en lui le ravage des ans ;

Il s'est fuit a grands frais, transporter en Bretagne.
Or, voyez ce qu'a fait l'air natal qu'il a pris!

Damon seroit mort a Paris,

Damon est mort à la campagne.

I will not prolong these French extracts further than by citing some verses closely connected with the sentiments ascribed to the Soldier of Evander, and the Dying Gladiator, as above noticed. Boucher, author of Les Mois, was condemned to death by Robespierre; on the morning of his execution he sat for his picture, and under it wrote the following lines, addressed to his children :

I

Ne vous etonnez pas, objets charmans et doux,
Si quelqu' air de tristesse obscurçit mon visage,
Lorsqu' un savant crayon dessinait cette image,
On dressait l'echafaud, et Je pensais a vous.

An Arabic poet may take advantage of the present digression, the translation is by Sir W. Jones

On parent knees, a naked new born child
Weeping thou sat'st, while all around thee smiled,
So live, that, sinking to thy last long sleep,

Thou then may'st smile, while all around thee weep.

To return to the behaviour of children towards parents. Dryden's description of the Duke of Monmouth's rebellious designs against his father Charles II, in his Absalom and Architophel, is one of the choicest specimens of English poetry that can be produced. It may be thought to afford an instance of greater poetical vigor than Pope could have exhibited, had he chosen a like subject. But this poem, which is the most splendid of English satires, appeared at a very improper moment. It is chiefly directed against Shaftesbury, who had been committed to the Tower, and was published only a few days. before a Grand Jury was to determine on a bill preferred against him for high treason. That Jury, however, did its duty. Their famous Ignoramus occasioned another satire by

Dryden, the Medal, and led to consequences intimately bearing on the Revolution.

Auspicious Prince, at whose nativity
Some royal planet rul'd the southern sky;
Thy longing country's darling and desire;
Their cloudy pillar, and their guardian fire.
The people's prayer, the glad diviner's theme,

The young men's vision, and the old men's dream!
Thee, Saviour, thee the nation's vows confess,

And, never satisfied with seeing, bless.

Swift unbespoken pomps thy steps proclaim,

And stammering babes are taught to lisp thy name.
What cannot praise effect in mighty minds,
When flattery soothes, and when ambition blinds?
Desire of power, on earth a vicious weed,
Yet, sprung from high, is of celestial seed.
In God 'tis glory; and when men aspire,
'Tis but a spark too much of heavenly fire.

Surrounded thus with friends of every sort,
Deluded Absalom forsakes the court;
Impatient of high hopes, urged with renown,
And fired with near possession of a crown.
The admiring crowd are dazzled with surprize,
And on his goodly person feed their eyes.
His joy conceal'd, he sets himself to show,
On each side bowing popularly low.

His looks, his gestures, and his words he frames,
And with familiar ease repeats their names.
Thus form'd by nature, furnish'd out with arts,
He glides unfelt into their secret hearts.
Then, with a kind compassionating look,
And sighs bespeaking pity 'ere he spoke,
Few words he said; but easy those and fit,
More slow than Hybla drops, and far more sweet.
"I mourn, my countrymen, your lost estate,

Though far unable to prevent your fate.
Behold a banish'd man for your dear cause,

Expos'd a prey to arbitrary laws!

Yet oh! that I alone could be undone

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