water can only penetrate into one part of the ship. This appears to our author to be a most admirable contrivance, and he proposes that packets should be built upon the same construction, which, although they might not sail so fast as the others, would amply repay this inconvenience by the superior security afforded to the crew and cargo. Six divisions, he thinks, would be enough to begin with, and we really think so too. The Baron is not very clear in his description, but we understand him to mean, that there should be six ships, one within another, like a nest of boxes, and that the outside ships should be stripped off as occasion required, like the grave-digger's coats in Hamlet. If this be his meaning, we think he has rather mistaken the passage to which he alludes; but that is a matter of little moment: his scheme will possess a greater degree of originality, and procure him a greater degree of reputation-in Germany. We presume, from the attachment manifested by M. de Sack towards a tropical climate, that at some future period he may again be tempted to visit a country so favoured by nature, and which has now acquired so much celebrity from his animated descriptions. In that case, we venture to express a hope, that we shall hear from him again. We feel interested in every scheme, which he has proposed, from the establishment of a commerce in slaves founded upon principles of humanity, to his last luminous suggestions upon the subject of ship-building. We now take our leave of him, grateful for all the information which he appears to have been desirous of affording, and for all the entertainment which he really has afforded us. ART. XIII. Correspondance inédite de Madame Du Deffand, avec D'Alembert, Montesquieu, Le Président Henault, La Duchesse Du Maine; Mesdames De Choiseul, De Staal; Le Marquis D'Argens, Le Chevalier D'Aydie, etc. S vols. 12mo. Colburn. 1810. Letters of the Marquise Du Deffand to the Hon. Horace Walpole, afterwards Earl of Orford, from the Year 1766 to the Year 1780. To which are added Letters of Madame Du Deffand to Voltaire, from the Year 1759 to the Year 1775. Published from the Originals at Strawberry-Hill. 4 vols. 12mo. Longman. 1810. THE first of these publications has been for some time before the world; but as it was composed chiefly of the letters of Madame du Deffand's friends, it served to excite rather than to gratify curiosity respecting her own. The second publication, which has more recently appeared, supplies the omissions of the former. It consists almost entirely of the letters of Madame du Deffand herself, and will therefore be the principal subject of reference in the course of our remarks. We do not hesitate to call this collection an interesting one;-interesting however, not, because it admits us, like the correspondence of Madame de Sevigné or Mademoiselle d'Aïssé, into the recesses of a susceptible heart; but, because it introduces us to a brilliant circle of acquaintance; and discloses, in some measure, the interior of a very peculiar character. The name and history of Madame du Deffand are probably well known to most of our readers; but for the sake of those who may not immediately recollect the particulars of her life, it may be proper briefly to mention, that she was born of a noble family in the province of Burgundy; that she early attracted notice by her gallantries no less than by her beauty and talents; that she was married to the Marquis du Deffand, from whom she separated on finding him a weak character and a tiresome companion;" that she formed for many years the center of the most brilliant and scientific society in Europe; and that after a life distinguished for every thing but virtue, she died at the age of eighty-three in the year 1780. To develope the character of such a woman by the lights which she has herself supplied in her familiar writings, would be a task both curious and useful. It is a task however which we disclaim the idea of attempting:-our intention is only to bring into one view some desultory observations which have arisen during the perusal of these volumes. This lady seems to have united the lightness of the French character with the solidity of the English. She was easy and volatile, yet judicious and acute; sometimes profound and sometimes superficial. She had a wit playful, abundant, and well-toned; an admirable conception of the ridiculous, and great skill in exposing it; a turn for satire which she indulged, not always in the best natured manner, yet with irresistible effect; powers of expression varied, appropriate, flowing from the source, and curious without research; a refined taste for letters, and a judgment both of men and books, in a high degree enlightened, and accurate. As her parts had been happily thrown together by nature, they were no less happy in the circumstances which attended their progress and developement. They were ripened, not by a course of solitary study, but by desultory reading and by chiefly living intercourse with the brightest geniuses of her age. Thus trained, they acquired a pliability of movement, which gave to all their exertions a bewitching air of freedom and negligence; and made even their best efforts seem only the exuberances or flowerings-off of a I 12 mind mind capable of higher excellencies, but unambitious to attain them. There was nothing to alarm or to overpower. On whatever topic she touched, trivial or severe, it was alike, en badinant'; but in the midst of this sportiveness, her genius poured itself forth in a thousand delightful fancies, and scattered new graces and ornaments on every object within its sphere. In its wanderings from the trifles of the day to grave questions of morals or philosophy, it carelessly struck out, and as carelessly abandoned the most profound truths; and while it aimed only to amuse, suddenly astonished and electrified by rapid traits of illumination, which opened the depths of difficult subjects, and roused the researches of more systematic reasoners. To these qualifications were added an independance in forming opinions and a boldness in avowing them which wore at least the semblance of honesty; a perfect knowledge of the world, and that facility of manners which in the commerce of society supplies the place of benevolence. Such was this extraordinary woman on the side of talents; but we are sorry to add that on the side of the better and more endearing parts of our nature, the affections and the virtues, she appears in a less favourable light. This assemblage of captivating qualities covered a heart equally unprincipled and insensible. Her feelings were, probably, always superficial; but in truth, no feelings, whatever might be their temper, could have long resisted the habitual depravity of her principles. As she was a sceptic from her childhood, and enured to the excesses of an age and a court memorable in the annals of dissoluteness, it is not surprising that in renouncing the virtues of her sex, she renounced also its sensibilities. Jealous and vindictive; severe in her judgments; incapable of real attachment, but the slave of caprice; sudden in fondness as in resentment, and as inexorable in the latter as in the former she was volatile; envious and malignant; incredulous of virtue because she could not appreciate it, she contracted at length a selfishness so inveterate that it might be termed the essence of her character; a selfishness in which were joined the obstinacy of a principle and the ardour of a passion. She was the victim of prejudices which often clouded her judgment, and disturbed even her tact in the estimation of character. Her wit seldom played without wounding; and we cannot but think that her frankness itself was owing at least as much to a coarseness and presumption of mind as to a simple love of candour. She was obviously beyond the reach of the restraints which diffidence, or respect for received notions, or consideration for the feelings of others, impose on the overflowings of common minds. We observe accordingly that where it was her wish to conciliate, she could condescend to sacrifice her zeal for truth. Inflexible as it was to the suggestions of delicacy or tenderness, it invariably yielded to those of vanity. During the first part of her life, while her self-love was flattered by incessant homage, the defects to which we have alluded, attracted less notice and claimed perhaps some indulgence; but, as time advanced, they became more obtrusive and less pardonable. The habits of her youth had ill prepared her for an age unusually lengthened, and attended with more than common sorrows. Disease and infirmity, by confining her body, abridged in some measure the range of her mind; her distresses were aggravated by blindness, and every day, while it took away some outward gratification, envenomed the gnawings of secret chagrin. At length that restless and undisciplined spirit, continually driven within narrower bounds, preyed upon its own strength, and abandoning itself to a querulous impatience, gave the last shade to its sufferings by making them less affecting and less respectable. There was obviously but one resource for such a mind so situated-it was that of attaching itself to some object which might fill up its faculties, and thus divert it from brooding over its own misery. Madame du Deffand perceived this necessity, and determined to resign herself to such an attachment. But now it was that those sensibilities which she had so early insulted, were avenged. The heart, which had been long closed to the profound feelings, now refused to be softened. She found herself, after repeated' experiments, incapable of a sentiment so deep and exclusive as that of which she yet felt the perpetual and pressing want. Her first experiment seems to have been to establish under her roof some humble relative as a companion, whose attentions she might always command, and in whose society she might find a constant relief from ennui This plan not answering, she tried the effects of friendship; and, as a last resource, endeavoured to take shelter in devotion. After being successively baffled in these efforts, she quietly resigned, the pursuit of any permanent distraction from her misery. She re solved to enjoy what was yet attainable, to mix in the circles of pleasure, and to shut her eyes on the future, which had been too little regarded to be welcome, but was now too near, not to be sometimes obtrusive. Thus in a state of alternate wretchedness and mirth, or rather of anguish, sometimes sicklied o'er with the pale cast' of gaiety, tormented by a disquietude which vainly struggled to become despair; shrinking from the hope of annihilation which she professed to indulge; and disavowing a futurity which she could not disbelieve, did this miserable woman pass the closing years of a long life; and thus at length did she sink into a grave which was hallowed by no sacred remembrance, nor washed by any tears but those of pity. If any of our readers should be disposed to quarrel with the justice of the character which we have here represented, let them suspend their judgment till they have considered how far we are 1 1 3 supported supported by the letters before us. A few, and comparatively but a few extracts shall be produced, which, we think, will convey a tolerable impression both of the good and of the bad qualities of Madame du Deffand. Nothing can be more agreeably written than these letters. There is an air of freedom and good breeding about them, which sets off the felicities of their diction, and the charms of wit with which they sparkle. The style of their composition is light and elastic, and, excepting when sombre topics are expressly treated of, enlivened by a tone of gaiety. We shall begin our quotations with an account of the Chevalier de Listenai, in the letters to Mr. Walpole. We cannot recollect to have met in any place a more admirable delineation of a class of our fellow-creatures whom it is not uncommon to encounter. "Ce chevalier de Listenai dont je vous ai parlé, est positivement celui avec lequel vous avez soupé ; il est parti aujourd'hui pour Chanteloup. Je le trouve un bon homme, doux, facile, complaisant; en fait d'esprit il a à peu près le nécessaire, sans sel, sans sève, sans chaleur, un certain son de voix ennuyeux; quand il ouvre la bouche, on croit qu'il bâille, et qu'il va faire bâiller; on est agréablement surpris que ce qu'il dit n'en est ni sot, ni long, ni bête, et vu le tems qui court, on conclut qu'il est assez aimable.'—Letters, voi. i. pp. 232-233. The following passage will convey no mean idea of candour and independance of judgment, united with great discrimination, To those who have been familiarised with the records of the grand siécle, it may not be unpleasing to review their early impressions under the guidance of an eminent observer of human nature; and to remark with how true a hand the balance is struck between two distinguished personages, the one the most interesting, the other the most surprising woman of that age of wonder and interest. In the sentence which is here passed upon Petrarch, we confess that we feel more reluctance to acquiesce. We cannot so easily forget and taste. La dolce vista, e'l bel guardo soave,' which charmed us on the threshold of modern literature; nor can we consent to renounce the muse, of whom it may be said, in her own strains 'Con leggiadro dolor par ch'ella spiri Still however, if it were allowed to insert a saving clause in favour of the real tenderness and purity of sentiment which breathe in the writings of Petrarch, we do not know that it would be possible to give in such few strokes a more accurate sketch of the Italian school of love. 'Je |