out the certainty of finding him willing to hear, quick to sympathize, and never backward in exertions to redress. While Valdez was CaptainGeneral, he was the channel for most of the petitions and complaints of all kinds, which ascended from the unfortunate and the poor, to the supreme power. On one occasion, with O'Donnell, Valdez's successor, when, by persistance, he had induced the Captain-General to revoke an oppressive decision which he had just made, in the case of a poor old widow applying for a pension, Lopez told him that he (O'Donnell) must bear with him, for that, under his predecessor, he had many a time twenty-five cases in a day, in which he had to urge the petitions of the poor, who made him their advocate, and he produced an appalling list of memoranda of cases which he had then been solicited to present. Not unfrequently has he been known to make journeys from the interior (the Central Department) to Havana, for the sole purpose of claiming justice for a poor guajiro, improperly imprisoned or otherwise wronged. And in the army the common soldier always knew General Lopez as a sure friend, to whom he would never have to look in vain for justice or generosity. The truth is, that, combining readily with a very kindly disposition, his democratic principles have naturally generated an habitual sympathy with the poor and the oppressed, which an earnest and resolute energy of character has ever tended to make practical and active. On one occasion, when reproved by the Captain-General, Valdez, for descending from the dignity of his rank, in appearing as the defender of a subordinate officer, before a court-martial composed of members of corresponding grade, his reply was, "that any court representing the law and the dignity of justice, was far above his or any other military rank; and moreover, that if his general's faja (sash) was to forbid his defending the cause of the humblest soldier whom he believed to be wronged, he would throw it off, and prefer to return to the rank of lieutenant:" a reply which Valdez afterwards acknowledged to have been right, and to have raised still higher the attachment and respect in which he had always held General Lopez.

This is the man who (not without the aid of some Cuban patriots in civil life, some of whose names are before the world, others, not less worthy, being necessarily reserved,) has undertaken the noble mission of emancipating Cuba from the yoke and the abomination of Spanish tyranny, with a view to her entrance into our Union. North and south, east and west, we apprehend there are few who will not wish the movement God-speed. That the people of Cuba are themselves anxious for it, is a truth familiar to us through many accumulated evidences. If any one could doubt it, the one simple fact, that only one lady attended the Queen's Birth-night ball, in the city of Matanzas, last October, (and that lady the wife of an official,) would suffice to prove the unanimity of the public sentiment, especially when we regard the time and circumstances under which the brave beauties of Matanzas dared to make so open a demonstration. General Lopez's prestige with the army, together with its discontent, also well known, added to the popularity which he possesses with the country people, especially of the Central Department of the Island, will probably make the movement a rapid and easy one, whenever he may think it the proper time to make a voyage to Cuba;-if indeed he still contemplates such a voyage, at some future day, when, under an administration less sympathetic with every anti-popular cause, he may not find the Navy of the United States applied to the inglorious service of the blockade of our own shores.

CHATEAUBRIAND'S SKETCHES OF ENGLISH

LITERATURE.*

It is rarely that the literature of any age or country presents the same aspect to different minds. Tastes, prejudices, and dispositions, whether speculative or practical, previous intellectual and moral culture, the circumstances of birth, religion, and a thousand other differences, minute in themselves, but weighty in the aggregate, all conspire to influence our estimates and appreciation of literature. The same work, even, is rarely viewed in the same light by every mind-similar causes combine to produce the same result. How many are heterodox enough to rank Virgil above Homer, and even to prefer Pope's Iliad to the original? How often is criticism at variance, when it seeks to determine the relative merits of authors? What notion of the poetry of Byron, Southey, or Wordsworth, could we gather from the confused medley of the opinions so dictatorially laid down by the monthly reviews? There are certain points, of course, which enlightened criticism can absolutely determine, and by gradually unfolding in the public mind a sense of the truly beautiful and grand, enable it to appreciate the more readily and correctly ; but individual differences of opinion must as necessarily exist in literature as in everything else which one is called upon to determine for himself. When an author, therefore, gives us sketches of the literature of a country, he must intend them either as historical or critical, or combine the two together. Chateaubriand has chosen the latter less exceptionable and less hazardous course-for history is easily made to assign causes which the writer's imagination or prejudice has discovered.

A foreigner's opinions of our literature may be interesting. One likes to know what others think of him; but they can never have much weight with us, from the obvious reason, that where he happens to differ from us, which is not seldom, we claim to be better judges than he of the point in question, from our more intimate knowledge of our language. We may listen with attention to a foreign writer criticising our literature, but we cannot refrain from smiling at his vanity and assumption, when he thinks to instruct us as to the merits of the authors we have been familiar with from childhood, and the intricacies of a language we imbibed with our mother's milk, and entwined into our very being.

To pronounce with confidence upon the literature of any age, is a prerogative which belongs only to him who has spent his life in mastering it. Literature varies in character with the nation which produces it. The literature of France is as distinct in its nature from that of England, as a Frenchman is in character from an Englishman Even in a foreign dress, who does not at once recognize the vivacity and short sentences of a Frenchman? To acquire a thorough knowledge and appreciation of the literature of two countries, the mind must, so to speak, be

*Sketches of English Literature; with considerations on the Spirit of the Times, Men, and Revolutions. By the Viscount de Chateaubriand. In two volumes. don. 1836.

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cosmopolitan in its constitution-while judging of that of one country, it must enter into the spirit of the national character, identify itself with its various features, mould itself into their likeness; but, recovering again its original isolated condition, go through the same transformation with regard to the other. We know of no one whose powers have been such as to enable him to attain this enviable state of mind-surely M. Chateaubriand has not attained it.

Although his sketches were ostensibly written for his own countrymen, one can readily discern the uneasy glances which the sensitive author is ever casting to the other side of the channel. He delivers an opinion dogmatically, because that is the most natural way of expressing it, for the Frenchmen to catch up and parade in the saloons of Paris, while he appeals, half-trembling, half-triumphant, to the stern critics of London. and Edinburgh to support him-deprecating their censure at the very moment he demands their praise.

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But one who ventures to put forth his opinions of English literature can claim no indulgence from his reader, on the score of their being designed for any one people alone; criticisms do not vary with those who read them. They must stand or fall by their own intrinsic merit. author may not indeed be aware of the responsibility he assumes when he pretends to instruct us, but he must be conscious that he lays himself open in some degree to censure. To assign to an author his proper rank in the great republic of letters, is generally no ordinary task; but to dispose of a Frenchman's criticisms of English literature, is a comparatively easy matter. Yet one is not surprised that Chateaubriand has succeeded no better; his reading was extensive, but necessarily too superficial to enable him to penetrate deep enough to find a sound basis for his criticisms.

Let us first consider the Reformation, which, though not exclusively relating to England, has given Chateaubriand one of those opportunities he apparently prizes so much, of letting his imagination run away with his reason and the true nature of which, even after all that has been written upon it, seems so little understood. Luther did not create ithe was but an agent in the hands of God to accomplish His great designs-it is often said, and hence denied, that he was anything more than an ordinary man. Chateaubriand says: "The intellectual movement effected by Luther did not emanate from his genius; he had no genius." Strange words to apply to the greatest reformer the world has ever seen. Luther came at a fortunate conjuncture; at any other period it is admitted, that probably he would never have been heard of; a revolution was just beginning to dawn-a few faint gleams of its spirit had already manifested themselves. Luther discerned them; and, though not, perhaps, aware at first from what a resplendent luminary they shot out, he was conscious that they were the harbingers of a better state of things; he engaged heart and soul to propagate the cause of reform, and expose the corruptions of the Romish Church-corruptions which had already become too glaring to escape the notice of the most degraded boor. The vicar of God on earth, the most august title that man can confer on his fellow, or human ambition aspire to, had become the vicar of hell-sullied with crimes and vices so odious to humanity, that even imperial splendor could not gloss them over. The ghastly monster would put forth his head at every turn. The celibacy of the clergy was

a by word of derision-simony was unblushingly practised-often avowed; the sale of indulgences-that firebrand which Leo X. unconsciously applied to the fabric of ecclesiastical dominion, and which was destined to consume it, that a nobler, purer, more harmonious, more catholic worship might rise on its ruins-had become a regular source of revenue. St. Paul's Cathedral was to be completed at the expense of St. Peter's power. Men were becoming disgusted, for they were gradually becoming enlightened; they questioned the doctrines of the Church, timidly at first, but boldly at length, as their success gave them courage. They remembered how the Pope had not always been omnipotent. They called to mind those despised, persecuted men, who, in former times, had expiated their heresies at the stake; who, amid the agonies of the most frightful tortures that bigotry could devise, and passion worse than hate could execute, had avowed the cause of that Redeemer, who, to save an erring world, had like them laid down His life, invoking the maledictions of Heaven on the whore of Babylon, while they prophesied her speedy ruin. Wickliff and Jerome of Prague had not lived and died in vain-their example and their spirit still survived, to animate and support the outcast, forsaken monk, who, in the solitude of his cell, heard the voice of God speaking to him through the sacred pages of the followers of His son, and rose up to fulfil the mission to which it summoned him. Luther was borne along by events; he had no power to control them; the revolution had begun before he came into being, and was silently working its way amidst the huge mass of corruption that polluted Christendom. But must we deny all merit in him who had the courage to guide and restrain it, while he gave it an outward expression, a visible form? Luther discerned the spirit of the times, the character of the age in which he lived; he may not have perceived the extent to which the Reformation would go; and, at the outset, indeed, we find him constantly affirming that he meant nothing prejudicial to the power or prerogative of the Pope; he desired only that certain abuses should be corrected, which Chateaubriand calls a willingness to retrace his steps. Well may have the humble monk been astounded at his success, when the students of Wirtemburg burnt the propositions of Tetzel, who had burnt his! The noise of his doings was spreading far and wide. Leo X., the successor of the martial Julius II., whose arms had raised the temporal power of the Pope at home, to, perhaps, the highest pitch it ever attained-and whose vigorous policy had extended and strengthened the spiritual power of the Church abroad, was seated on the Papal throne. He heard of the bickerings of some obscure monks beyond the Alps, but strong in the plenitude of his apostolic might, he apprehended no danger; he looked about him, and found his spiritual character recognized, the whole Christian world bowed at his feet. His disposition was peaceable. Literature was beginning to regain her benign sway. The Medici had immortalized Florence, and made Italy the seat of the arts and of learning. Leo was resolved to imitate the example of his family. Men of letters from all parts of the civilized world flocked to Rome to avail themselves of the patronage of the Pontiff. Around him Leo might see the most distinguished characters of the age. Aricsto, indeed, he had in vain endeavored to draw from his retirement at Ferrara; but there was Sannazarus, the rival almost of the ancient classic writers-Trevaldo, and Accolti, who was in such favor, that the shops

were shut as for a holiday, when it was announced that he would recite his verses. There was Pietro Bembo, the friend of Cardinal Pole, and the intimate associate of the poet Beazzano, and Francesco Molza, the Tibullus of his age; and above all these was Vittoria Colonna-that true exemplar of Italian refinement, learning and wit-who has again appeared in the pages of Madam de Stael-for who does not recognize her in the portrait of Corinne? Imagination had cast at her feet the treasures of her magic empire, and knowledge had penetrated its boundless depths, and brought forth its richest gems to encircle her brow. This tendency to the culture of literature and art, Luther, with all his monkish asceticism and mortification, did not overlook; it was too marked to escape his sagacious eye; but he was by no means so fortunate in securing the alliance of men of letters, as his Papal rival, who, despite the bad system he upheld, had genius enough to give an enduring character to the age in which he lived; his greatest ambition was that future times, connecting his name with the revival of learning and the arts, might look back with fond reverence upon the age of Leo X. Augustus was the patron of Virgil-Leo of Michael Angelo.

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Like all men, and more particularly like all great reformers, Luther was by no means always consistent with himself—a fault which his enemies have not failed to dwell upon. "The emancipator of the human mind," says Chateaubriand, " evinces no sympathy for popular liberties," because he did not agree with Erasmus in his liberum arbitrium, that great doctrine which has made the name of the latter so dear to mankind, and which even makes an eloquent writer ask, which of the two (Luther and Erasmus) left more substantial matters for posterity-Luther denying free-will, and replacing one dogma by another, or Erasmus claiming for man liberty of conscience?" Luther's mind was by no means metaphysical; what was not repugnant to common sense-what was unconnected with the corruptions of the Church, he admitted readily, for he had no leisure for philosophic discussion on any of those vexing and vexed questions, which have troubled man ever since his creation. He felt that he had a mighty work to accomplish; an omnipotent hierarchy was to be overthrown-a hierarchy which for more than ten centuries had been steadily increasing in strength, which already ruled all Christendom, which the Jesuits were just beginning to extend into distant benighted regions, and which was soon destined to penetrate from the Great Wall of China to the savage who hunted the bison at the headwaters of the Mississippi.

It is in viewing the consequences of the Reformation, that the bias of Chateaubriand's mind is most plainly seen. A Roman Catholic by birth, and by education; called by a mother's dying words to serve God according to the Holy Catholic rites, and consecrated to that service by the most sacred and impressive ceremonies which, perhaps, the human imagination can devise, he finally became an enthusiast in its defence; the evils of the system he overlooked; its sublime, self-sacrificing spirit was congenial to his nature-that spirit which had made many of the martyrs of the Revolution, when religion was sinking under the attacks of atheism, and the goddess of Reason, paraded by the mob through the streets of Paris, seemed about to be recognised by the nation. Chateaubriand was then just emerging into manhood. Brought up by a stern old father in the strictest notions of the ancient regime, he had