choice of the site was always the work of the architect, but that an art which is in unison with the feelings of the people, seldom errs far in what is really beautiful. Observe, on the other hand, how wretchedly almost all our edifices copied from the antique are placed. Not one of the heights around Paris is ornamented with any of the splendid edifices with which the city is filled. The modern Greek edifices resemble the corrupted language which they speak at Sparta and Athens; it is in vain to maintain that it is the language of Homer and Plato; a mixture of uncouth words, and of foreign constructions, betrays at every instant the invasion of the barbarians. "To the loveliest sunset in nature, succeeded a serene night. The firmament, reflected in the waves, seemed to sleep in the midst of the sea. The evening star, my faithful companion in my journey, was ready to sink beneath the horizon; its place could only be distinguished by the rays of light which it occasionally shed upon the water, like a dying taper in the distance. At intervals, the perfumed breeze from the islands which we passed entranced the senses, and agitated on the surface of the ocean the glassy image of the heavens."-I. 182, 183. The appearance of morning in the sea of Marmora is described in not less glowing colours. "At four in the morning we weighed anchor, and as the wind was fair, we found ourselves in less than an hour at the extremity of the waters of the river. The scene was worthy of being described. On the right, Aurora rose above the headlands of Asia; on the left, was extended the sea of Marmora; the heavens in the east were of a fiery red, which grew paler in proportion as the morning advanced; the morning star still shone in that empurpled light; and above it you could barely descry the pale circle of the moon. The picture changed while I still contemplated it; soon a blended glory of rays of rose and gold, diverging from a common centre, mounted to the zenith; these columns were effaced, revived, and effaced anew, until the sun rose above the horizon, and confounded all the lesser shades in one universal blaze of light."-I. 236. folded with lucid precision, and its principles Cosi all Egro fanciul porgiamo aspersi "On nearing the coast of Judea, the first visitors we received were three swallows. They were perhaps on their way from France, and pursuing their course to Syria. I was strongly tempted to ask them what news they brought from that paternal roof which I had so long quitted. I recollect that in years of infancy, I spent entire hours in watching with an indescribable pleasure the course of swallows in autumn, when assembling in crowds previous to their annual migration: a secret instinct told me that I too should be a traveller. They assembled in the end of autumn around a great fishpond; there, amidst a thousand evolutions and flights in air, they seemed to try their wings, and prepare for their long pilgrimage. Whence is it that of all the recollections in existence, we prefer those which are connected with our cradle? The illusions of self-love, the pleasures of youth, do not recur with the same charm to the memory; we find in them, on the contrary, frequent bitterness and pain; but the slightest circumstances revive in the heart the recollections of infancy, and always with a fresh charm. On the shores of the lakes in America, in an unknown desert, which was sublime only from the effect of solitude, a swallow has frequently recalled to my recollection the first years of my life; as here on the coast of Syria they recalled them in sight of an ancient land resounding with the traditions of history and the voice of ages. "The air was so fresh and so balmy that all the passengers remained on deck during the night. At six in the morning I was awaHis journey into the Holy Land awakened kened by a confused hum; I opened my eyes, a new and not less interesting train of ideas, and saw all the pilgrims crowding towards throughout the whole of which we recognise the prow of the vessel. I asked what it was? the peculiar features of M. de Chateaubriand's they all replied, 'Signor, il Carmelo.' I inmind: a strong and poetical sense of the stantly rose from the plank on which I was beauties of nature, a memory fraught with stretched, and eagerly looked out for the sacred historical recollections; a deep sense of reli- mountain. Every one strove to show it to me, gion, illustrated, however, rather as it affects but I could see nothing by reason of the dazthe imagination and the passions, than the zling of the sun, which now rose above the judgment. It is a mere chimera to suppose horizon. The moment had something in it that such aids are to be rejected by the friends that was august and impressive; all the pilof Christianity, or that truth may with safety grims, with their chaplets in their hands, discard the aid of fancy, either in subduing remained in silence, watching for the appearthe passions or affecting the heart. On the ance of the Holy Land; the captain prayed contrary, every day's experience must con- aloud, and not a sound was to be heard but vince us, that for one who can understand an that prayer and the rush of the vessel, as it argument, hundreds can enjoy a romance; ploughed with a fair wind through the azure and that truth, to affect multitudes, must con- sea. From time to time the cry arose, from descend to wear the garb of fancy. It is no those in elevated parts of the vessel, that they doubt of vast importance that works should saw Mount Carmel, and at length I myself exist in which the truths of religion are un-perceived it like a round globe under the rays of the sun. I then fell on my knees, after the manner of the Latin pilgrims. My first impression was not the kind of agitation which experienced on approaching the coast of Greece, but the sight of the cradle of the Israelites, and of the country of Christ, filled me with awe and veneration. I was about to descend on the land of miracles-on the birthplace of the sublimest poetry that has ever appeared on earth-on the spot where, speaking only as it has affected human history, the most wonderful event has occurred which ever changed the destinies of the species. I was about to visit the scenes which had been seen before me by Godfrey of Bouillon, Raymond of Toulouse, Tancred the Brave, Richard Cœur de Lion, and Saint Louis, whose virtues even the infidels respected. How could an obscure pilgrim like myself dare to tread a soil ennobled by such recollections!"-I. 263 -265. Nothing is more striking in the whole work than the description of the Dead Sea, and the Valley of Jordan. He has contrived to bring the features of that extraordinary scene more completely before us than any of the numerous English travellers who have preceded or followed him on the same route. "We quitted the convent at three in the afternoon, ascended the torrent of Cedron, and at length, crossing the ravine, rejoined our route to the east. An opening in the mountain gave us a passing view of Jerusalem. I hardly recognised the city; it seemed a mass of broken rocks; the sudden appearance of that city of desolation in the midst of the wilderness had something in it almost terrifying. She was, in truth, the Queen of the Desert. "As we advanced, the aspect of the mountains continued constantly the same, that is, a powdery white-without shade, a tree, or even moss. At half past four, we descended from the lofty chain we had hitherto traversed, and wound along another of inferior elevation. At length we arrived at the last of the chain of heights, which close in on the west the Valley of Jordan and the Dead Sea. The sun was nearly setting; we dismounted from our horses, and I lay down to contemplate at leisure the lake, the valley, and the river. "When you speak in general of a valley, you conceive it either cultivated or uncultivated; if the former, it is filled with villages, corn-fields, vineyards, and flocks; if the latter, it presents grass or forests; if it is watered by a river, that river has windings, and the sinuosities or projecting points afford agreeable and varied landscapes. But here there is nothing of the kind. Conceive two long chains of mountains running parallel from north to south, without projections, without recesses, without vegetation. The ridge on the east, called the Mountains of Arabia, is the most elevated; viewed at the distance of eight or ten leagues, it resembles a vast wall, extremely similar to the Jura, as seen from the Lake of Geneva, from its form and azure tint. You can perceive neither summits nor the smallest peaks; only here and there slight inequalities, as if the hand of the painter who traced the long lives on the sky had occasionally trembled. On the "The chain on the eastern side forms part of the mountains of Judea-less elevated and more uneven than the ridge on the west: it differs also in its character; it exhibits great masses of rock and sand, which occasionally present all the varieties of ruined fortifications, armed men, and floating banners. side of Arabia, on the other hand, black rocks, with perpendicular flanks, spread from afar their shadows over the waters of the Dead Sea. The smallest bird could not find in those crevices of rock a morsel of food; every thing announces a country which has fallen under the divine wrath; every thing inspires the horror at the incest from whence sprung Ammon and Moab. "The valley which lies between these mountains resembles the bottom of a sea, from which the waves have long ago withdrawn: banks of gravel, a dried bottom-rocks covered with salt, deserts of moving sand-here and there stunted arbutus shrubs grow with difficulty on that arid soil; their leaves are covered with the salt which had nourished their roots, while their bark has the scent and taste of smoke. Instead of villages, nothing but the ruins of towers are to be seen. Through the midst of the valley flows a discoloured stream, which seems to drag its lazy course unwillingly towards the lake. Its course is not to be discerned by the water, but by the willows and shrubs which skirt its banks-the Arab conceals himself in these thickets to waylay and rob the pilgrim. "Such are the places rendered famous by the maledictions of Heaven: that river is the Jordan: that lake is the Dead Sea. It appears with a serene surface; but the guilty cities which are embosomed in its waves have poisoned its waters. Its solitary abysses can sustain the life of no living thing; no vessel ever ploughed its bosom ;-its shores are without trees, without birds, without verdure; its water, frightfully salt, is so heavy that the highest wind can hardly raise it. "In travelling in Judea, an extreme feeling of ennui frequently seizes the mind, from the sterile and monotonous aspect of the objects which are presented to the eye: but when journeying on through these pathless deserts, the expanse seems to spread out to infinity before you, the ennui disappears, and a secret terror is experienced, which, far from lowering the soul, elevates and inflames the genius. These extraordinary scenes reveal the land desolated by miracles-that burning sun, the impetuous eagle, the barren fig-tree; all the poetry, all the pictures of Scripture are there. Every name recalls a mystery; every grotto speaks of the life to come; every peak re-echoes the voice of a prophet. God himself has spoken on these shores: these driedup torrents, these cleft rocks, these tombs rent asunder, attest his resistless hand: the desert appears mute with terror; and you feel that it has never ventured to break silence since it heard the voice of the Eternal."-I. 317. "I employed two complete hours in wandering on the shores of the Dead Sea, notwithstanding the remonstrances of the Bedouins, who pressed me to quit that dangerous region, I was desirous of seeing the Jordan, at the place where it discharges itself into the lake; but the Arabs refused to lead me thither, because the river, at a league from its mouth, makes a detour to the left, and approaches the mountains of Arabia. It was necessary, therefore, to direct our steps towards the curve which was nearest us. We struck our tents, and travelled for an hour and a half with excessive difficulty, through a fine and silvery sand. We were moving towards a little wood of willows and tamarinds; which, to my great surprise, I perceived growing in the midst of the desert. All of a sudden the Bethlemites stopped, and pointed to something at the bottom of a ravine, which had not yet attracted my attention. Without being able to say what it was, I perceived a sort of sand rolling on through the fixed banks which surrounded it. I approached it, and saw a yellow stream which could hardly be distinguished from the sand of its two banks. It was deeply furrowed through the rocks, and with difficulty rolled on, a stream surcharged with sand: it was the Jordan. "I had seen the great rivers of America, with the pleasure which is inspired by the magnificent works of nature. I had hailed the Tiber with ardour, and sought with the same interest the Eurotas and the Cephisus; but on none of these occasions did I experience the intense emotion which I felt on approaching the Jordan. Not only did that river recall the earliest antiquity, and a name rendered immortal in the finest poetry, but its banks were the theatre of the miracles of our religion. Judea is the only country which recalls at once the earliest recollections of man, and our first impressions of heaven; and thence arises a mixture of feeling in the mind, which no other part of the world can produce."-I. 327, 328. The peculiar turn of his mind renders our author, in an especial manner, partial to the description of sad and solitary scenes. The following description of the Valley of Jehoshaphat is in his best style. "The Valley of Jehoshaphat has in all ages served as the burying-place to Jerusalem: you meet there, side by side, monuments of the most distant times and of the present century. The Jews still come there to die, from all the corners of the earth. A stranger sells to them, for almost its weight in gold, the land which contains the bones of their fathers. Solomon planted that valley: the shadow of the Temple by which it was overhung-the torrent, called after grief, which traversed it-the Psalms which David there composed-the Lamentations of Jeremiah, which its rocks re-echoed, render it the fitting abode of the tomb. Jesus Christ commenced his Passion in the same place that innocent David there shed, for the expiation of our sins, those tears which the guilty David let fall for his own transgressions. Few names awaken in our minds recollections so solemn as the Valley of Jehoshaphat. It is so full of mysteries, that, according to the Prophet Joel, all mankind will be assembled there before the Eternal Judge. "The aspect of this celebrated valley is desolate; the western side is bounded by a ridge of lofty rocks which support the walls of Jerusalem, above which the towers of the city appear. The eastern is formed by the Mount of Olives, and another eminence called the Mount of Scandal, from the idolatry of Solomon. These two mountains, which adjoin each other, are almost bare, and of a red and sombre hue; on their desert side you see here and there some black and withered vineyards, some wild olives, some ploughed land, covered with hyssop, and a few ruined chapels. At the bottom of the valley, you perceive a tor rent, traversed by a single arch, which appears of great antiquity. The stones of the Jewish cemetery appear like a mass of ruins at the foot of the mountain of Scandal, under the village of Siloam. You can hardly distin guish the buildings of the village from the ruins with which they are surrounded. Three ancient monuments are particularly conspicuous: those of Zachariah, Josaphat, and Absalom. The sadness of Jerusalem, from which no smoke ascends, and in which no sound is to be heard; the solitude of the surrounding mountains, where not a living creature is to be seen; the disorder of those tombs, ruined, ransacked, and half-exposed to view, would almost induce one to believe that the last trump had been heard, and that the dead were about to rise in the Valley of Jehoshaphat.”— II. 34, 35. Chateaubriand, after visiting with the devotion of a pilgrim the Holy Sepulchre, and all the scenes of our Saviour's sufferings, spent a day in examining the scenes of the Crusaders' triumphs, and comparing the descriptions in Tasso's Jerusalem Delivered with the places where the events which they recorded actually occurred. He found them in general so extremely exact, that it was difficult to avoid the conviction that the poet had been on the spot. He even fancied he discovered the scene of the Flight of Erminia, and the inimitable combat and death of Clorinda. From the Holy Land, he sailed to Egypt; and we have the following graphic picture of the approach to that cradle of art and civilization. "On the 20th October, at five in the morning, I perceived on the green and ruffled surface of the water a line of foam, and beyond it a pale and still ocean. The captain clapped me on the shoulder, and said in French, 'Nilo;' and soon we entered and glided through those celebrated waters. A few palm-trees and a minaret announce the situation of Rosetta, but the town itself is invisible. These shores resemble those of the coast of Florida; they are totally different from those of Italy or Greece, every thing recalls the tropical regions. "At ten o'clock we at length discovered, beneath the palm-trees, a line of sand which extended westward to the promontory of Aboukir, before which we were obliged to pass before arriving opposite to Alexandria. At five in the evening, the shore suddenly changed its aspect. The palm-trees seemed planted in lines along the shore, like the elms along the roads in France. Nature appears to take a pleasure in thus recalling the ideas of 26 civilization in a country where that civiliza- | eyes sought for the site of Utica. Alas! The "I saw on my right several vessels, and the castle, which stands on the site of the Tower of Pharos. On my left, the horizon seemed shut in by sand-hills, ruins, and obelisks; immediately in front, extended a long wall, with a few houses appearing above it; not a light was to be seen on shore, and not a sound came from the city. This, nevertheless, was Alexandria, the rival of Memphis and Thebes, dying monarch gave instructions to his son "As long as his strength permitted, the which once contained three millions of inhabit- Philip; and when his voice failed him, he ants, which was the sanctuary of the Muses, wrote with a faltering hand these precepts, and the abode of science amidst a benighted which no Frenchman, worthy of the name, world. Here were heard the orgies of Antony will ever be able to read without emotion. and Cleopatra, and here was Cæsar received 'My son, the first thing which I enjoin you is with more than regal splendour by the Queen to love God with all your heart; for without of the East. But in vain I listened. A fatal that no man can be saved. Beware of viotalisman had plunged the people into a hope-lating his laws; rather endure the worst torless calm that talisman is the despotism which extinguishes every joy, which stifles even the cry of suffering. And what sound could arise in a city of which at least a third is abandoned; another third of which is surrounded only by the tombs of its former inhabitants; and of which the third, which still survives between those dead extremities, is a species of breathing trunk, destitute of the force even to shake off its chains in the middle between ruins and the tomb ?"-II. 163. ments, than sin against his commandments. Should he send you adversity, receive it with humility, and bless the hand which chastens you; and believe that you have well deserved it, and that it will turn to your weal. Should he try you with prosperity, thank him with humility of heart, and be not elated by his goodness. Do justice to every one, as well the poor as the rich. Be liberal, free, and courteous to your servants, and cause them to versy or tumult arise, sift it to the bottom, love as well as fear you. Should any controwhether the result be favourable or unfavour It is to be regretted that Chateaubriand did not visit Upper Egypt. His ardent and learned mind would have found ample room for elo-able to your interests. Take care, in an espequent declamation, amidst the gigantic ruins of Luxor, and the Sphynx avenues of Thebes. The inundation of the Nile, however, prevented him from seeing even the Pyramids nearer than Grand Cairo; and when on the verge of that interesting region, he was compelled unwillingly to retrace his steps to the French shores. After a tempestuous voyage, along the coast of Lybia, he cast anchor off the ruins of Carthage; and thus describes his feelings on surveying those venerable remains: cial manner, that your subjects live in peace and tranquillity under your reign. Respect and preserve their privileges, such as they have received them from their ancestors, and preserve them with care and love.-And now, I give you every blessing which a father can bestow on his child; praying the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, that they may defend you from all adversities; and that we may again, after this mortal life is ended, be united before God, and adore his Majesty for ever!"—II. 264. leon, "is not that of Racine, it is that of a "The style of Chateaubriand," says Napoprophet; he has received from nature the sacred flame; it breathes in all his works." It is of no common man-being a political opponent-that Napoleon would have said these words. Chateaubriand had done nothing to gain favour with the French Emperor; on the contrary, he irritated him by throwing up his "From the summit of Byrsa, the eye embraces the ruins of Carthage, which are more considerable than are generally imagined; they resemble those of Sparta, having nothing well preserved, but embracing a considerable space. I saw them in the middle of February: the olives, the fig-trees, were already bursting into leaf: large bushes of angelica and acanthus formed tufts of verdure, amidst the re-employment and leaving his country upon the mains of marble of every colour. In the dis- assassination of the Duke d'Enghien. In truth, tance, I cast my eyes over the Isthmus, the nothing is more remarkable amidst the selfishdouble sea, the distant isles, a cerulean sea, a ness of political apostasy in France, than the smiling plain, and azure mountains. I saw uniform consistence and disinterestedness of forests, and vessels, and aqueducts; moorish this great man's opinions. His principles, villages, and Mahometan hermitages; glitter- indeed, were not all the same at fifty as at ing minarets, and the white buildings of Tunis. twenty-five; we should be glad to know whose Surrounded with the most touching recollec-are, excepting those who are so obtuse as to tions, I thought alternately of Dido, Sophonis- derive no light from the extension of knowba, and the noble wife of Asdrubal; I contem-ledge and the acquisitions of experience? plated the vast plains where the legions of Annibal, Scipio, and Cæsar were buried: My * Memoirs of Napoleon, iv. 342. Change is so far from being despicable, that | eloquent but the most complete and satisfacit is highly honourable in itself, and when it tory dissertations on the political state of proceeds from the natural modification of the France during that period, which is anywhere mind, from the progress of years, or the lessons to be met with. It is a singular circumstance, of more extended experience. It becomes that an author of such great and varied accontemptible only when it arises on the sug- quirements, who is universally allowed by all gestions of interest, or the desires of ambition. parties in France to be their greatest living Now, Chateaubriand's changes of opinion have writer, should be hardly known except by all been in opposition to his interest; and he name to the great body of readers in this has suffered at different periods of his life from country. his resistance to the mandates of authority, and his rejection of the calls of ambition. In early life, he was exiled from France, and shared in all the hardships of the emigrants, from his attachment to Royalist principles. At the earnest request of Napoleon, he accepted of fice under the Imperial Government, but he relinquished it, and again became an exile upon the murder of the Duke d'Enghien. The influence of his writings was so powerful in favour of the Bourbons, at the period of the Restoration, that Louis XVIII. truly said, they were worth more than an army. He followed the dethroned Monarch to Ghent, and contributed much, by his powerful genius, to consolidate the feeble elements of his power, after the fall of Napoleon. Called to the helm of affairs in 1824, he laboured to accommodate the temper of the monarchy to the increasing spirit of freedom in the country, and fell into disgrace with the Court, and was distrusted by the Royal Family, because he strove to introduce those popular modifications into the administration of affairs, which might have prevented the revolution of July; and finally, he has resisted all the efforts of the Citizen-King to engage his great talents in defence of the throne of the Barricades. True to his principles, he has exiled himself from France, to preserve his independence; and consecrated in a foreign land his illustrious name, to the defence of the child of misfortune. Chateaubriand is not only an eloquent and beautiful writer, he is also a profound scholar, and an enlightened thinker. His knowledge of history and classical literature is equalled only by his intimate acquaintance with the early annals of the church, and the fathers of the Catholic faith; while in his speeches delivered in the Chamber of Peers since the restoration, will be found not only the most His greatest work, that on which his fame will rest with posterity, is the "Genius of Christianity," from which such ample quotations have already been given. The next is the "Martyrs," a romance, in which he has introduced an exemplification of the principles of Christianity, in the early sufferings of the primitive church, and enriched the narrative by the splendid description of the scenery in Egypt, Greece, and Palestine, which he had visited during his pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and all the stores of learning which a life spent in classical and ecclesiastical lore could accumulate. The last of his considerable publications is the "Etudes Historiques," a work eminently characteristic of that superiority in historical composition, which we have allowed to the French modern writers over their contemporaries in this country; and which, we fear, another generation, instructed when too late by the blood and the tears of a Revolution, will be alone able fully to appreciate. Its object is to trace the influence of Christianity from its first spread in the Roman empire to the rise of civilization in the Western world; a field in which he goes over the ground trod by Gibbon, and demonstrates the unbounded benefits derived from religion in all the institutions of modern times. In this noble undertaking he has been aided, with a still more philosophical mind, though inferior fire and eloquence, by Guizot; a writer, who, equally with his illustrous rival, is as yet unknown, save by report, in this country; but from whose joint labours is to be dated the spring of a pure and philosophical system of religious inquiry in France, and the commencement of that revival of manly devotion, in which the antidote, and the only antidote, to the fanaticism of infidelity is to be found. NAPOLEON.* with the lapse of time, and will continue through all succeeding ages, like the eras of Themistocles, Cæsar, and the Crusades, to form the noblest and most favourite subjects of historical description. THE age of Napoleon is one, of the delinea- | far from diminishing, seems rather to increase tion of which history and biography will never be weary. Such is the variety of incidents which it exhibits-the splendid and heart-stirring events which it records-the immortal characters which it portrays-and the important consequences which have followed from it, that the interest felt in its delineation, so * Memoires de la Duchesse D'Abrantes, 2 vols. Colburn. London. The translations are executed by ourselves, as we have not seen the English version. Numerous as have been the Memoirs which have issued from the French press during the last fifteen years, in relation to this eventful still undiminished. Every new set of memoirs era, the public passion for information on it is which is ushered into the world with an histo |