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342 but the feeling in them does not seem to be very genuine, and much of their success must have arisen from the very nature of the themes.

It would be as absurd to give a lengthened notice amongst these Notes of Lamartine as of Victor Hugo. He himself in his own magnificent language has related what everybody knows about his infancy and his youth. He was born in the most sombre period of French history, and in a respectable and religious family. The province in which his early days were past, is one of the most beautiful in all France,—'an enchanted land.' Of his education, his travels, his memorable part in the Revolution,—when threatened on all sides by levelled guns and bayonets he preserved his coolness, and made an oration which brought down the 'drapeau rouge' already hoisted and prevented a massacre,—his subsequent poverty and distress,—the loss of those he loved,—the death which at last came,—who that is at all familiar with the literature of France does not know? Read his life by himself and his travels, dear reader, if you have not done so, and thank us for the recommendation. His poetry has been criticised and reviewed times innumerable both in French and English literary periodicals, and there is very little new to be said about it. In fancy, in imagination, in brilliancy, in grandeur, in style,—in all that makes a poet—excepting purity—he must yield to Victor Hugo. In purity he yields to none. His mind is essentially religious. He never forgot what he learned at a sainted mother's knee,—a mother whom he has a thousand times lovingly commemorated in his writings. There is much in Victor Hugo—far greater poet though he be—which it would not be wise to put into the hands of young people whose principles have not been sufficiently formed; but Lamartine may be placed indiscriminately in the hands of all.

The 'Lectuies pour tous'—a selection by himself of his own writings—has not a line over which the most delicate maiden or most innocent child need blush; and it is delightful reading, only—for the truth must always be told—a little dull here and there. Lamartine married an English lady, a granddaughter of Governor Holwell, who was incarcerated in the Black Hole by Surajah Dowlah, in the early days of British rule in India. Of the piece we give here, 'The Lake,' Alfred de Musset has said:—