in the corrupt atmosphere of intrigue and profligacy. The noble expanse of
wood, water, and meadow; the paths lined with stately myrtles and ancient
box, spread as invitingly to the eye from this embayed window, as when the
_grand monarque_ stood there to watch the graceful walk of La Vallière, or
the staid carriage of Maintenon. The abandonment and quietude of these
chambers, mirrored, tapestried, and solitary, owe not a little of the
spell they exercise over the imagination, to the vicinity of the galleries
devoted to the men of the Revolution and the campaigns of '92; amid the
smoke of conflict ever appears that resolute, olive face with the dark eye
fixed and the thin lip curved in decision or expectancy. We mechanically
repeat Campbell's elegy as we mark "Hohenlinden," and linger with
patriotic gratitude over "Yorktown," notwithstanding the absurd
prominence given to the French officers; Condé, Turenne, Moreau, Lannes,
Massena, and Lafayette fight over again before us the wars of the Fronde,
the Empire, or the Republic. The monotony of these scenes of destruction
is only relieved by the individual memories of the chiefs; they link a
certain individuality with the flame and shroud of war, the fragmentary
conquests, and the struggles that make up so large a portion of external
history; and we emerge from the crowd of warriors into the company of
statesmen, wits, and poets, with a sensation of refreshment. Each single
triumph of thought, each victory of imagination and memorial of character,
has an absolute worth and charm that the exploits of armies can never
emulate.

Racine's portrait revives the long controversy between the classic and
romantic schools; that of La Bruy re the art of character-painting now one
of the highest functions of popular literature; that of Bossuet the pulpit
eloquence of France and the persecution of Fenelon, and that of Saint Cyr
the Jansenist discussion. A blank like that which designates the place of
Marino Faliero in the Ducal palace at Venice, is left here for Le Sage, as