would have hesitated to introduce such stories into Jonathan Wild, which he also calls a history."

It is only in the latter part of the biography, that Mr. Martin becomes less affected, less excursive, less poetical: and the numerous anecdotes that throw light upon the state of France, shortly before her great convulsion, upon her literary coteries, and upon men, whose names are sufficient to attract attention to any particulars relating to them or their epoch, excite the greater regret, that not more of such interesting matter has been inserted, in lieu of mawkish whining, truisms, and commonplace reflections.

But we must now proceed to the account of St. Pierre's life, lest we should not have space to justify the preceding strictures. James Henry Bernardin de St. Pierre, was born at Havre, on the 19th of January, 1737, the eldest of four children of Nicolas de St. Pierre, who prided himself upon descending from the celebrated burgess of Calais, of the same name. With the exception of the youngest member of this family, each of the individuals we shall mention presently, was more or less characterized by extravagance. Catharine, our hero's only sister, played the coy and disdainful maiden, and discarded many respectable suitors, as long as she had a hope of doing it with impunity, or to use Swift's expression, "spent her time in making nets, and not in making cages." But at the critical age of thirty, she bethought herself better, and strove to make herself agreeable as much as she had previously endeavoured to exasperate those who laboured to please her. She retired at last to a convent, with a favourite lap dog. One of the brothers, Dutailly, entered the army, and by his follies, his violent temper, and equivocal manœuvres for his promotion, ruined his own prospects, and brought a part of his family to the grave. Dominique, to whom we have previously alluded, chose a career generally more suited to such an adventurous disposition as that of his brothers: but during a long service in the royal navy, he did nothing that could arrest his advancement, and after having attained the rank of captain, retired into the peaceable solitude of a modest rural establishment, with fortune enough to enjoy undisturbed happiness, in his union with a Mademoiselle de Grainville, for whom he ever entertained an exemplary esteem and attachment; and whom he did not long survive.

The future author of Paul and Virginia,' began his earliest studies by reading books, which humoured his inborn disposition for romance, exaggeration, and illusions. Imagination, and a lively sensibility, are generally the sources of such tempers, and their ascendency over the other moral faculties, is either restrained or increased by education. In young Henry, even religion rather produced the latter effect, than counteracted it. Having early formed false notions of the clear evidence of innocence and virtue,

and their certain triumph in this world, he grew angry, and rebelled, on the first occasion that his innocence was suspected by his mother. Being shut up in a closet, for a fault which he had not committed, he pondered upon the injustice he was suffering, and importuned Heaven, with prayers, to deliver him by some miracle. His prayers remaining without effect, he soon indulged in murmurs against the equity of Providence, and in doubts of the existence of God. But a sun beam, which suddenly pierced the clouds that had overhung the skies all that day, threw him again into a pious ecstacy; and kneeling down, he cried out, his eyes streaming with tears: "yes, there is a God !"

He was then but nine years old; and at that time, an occupation which his parents had assigned to him, probably for his recreation, may have given his mind the direction which he so remarkably evinced long afterwards, by all his writings. A small garden was entrusted to his care, and in cultivating it, his mind grew contemplative; and from observing, with fondness, the growth of plants and flowers, he soon loved to contemplate the other works of nature. On a visit to Rouen, while his father fancied he admired the spire of the magnificent cathedral, he gazed with wonder and delight at the flight of some swallows! He was chid for the preference he gave to a spectacle he could see everywhere, to one for which he had made an express journey.

The Lives of the Saints were his most favourite reading, when he was but turned of nine; and they nourished his belief in miracles. The ingenious author of a "Tale of Paraguay" has quoted Vieyra's opinion, in regard to the reading of good books, and the influence which the study of Hagiology had upon the destinies of the founder or supposed founder of the Jesuit order. "If it had been a book of knight errantry," says Vieyra, "Ignacio (Loyola) would have become a great knight errant ; it was the Lives of the Saints, and Ignatius became a great saint. If he had read about knights, he might have proved a knight of the Burning Sword; he read about saints, and proved a saint of the Burning Torch." We shall, however, have occasion to show that a young reader of holy books, and ay, a half-novice of the Jesuits, may become a knight errant of the Burning Sword. That Henry's belief in miracles was, from the beginning, not founded on reasoning, will be inferred by the sagacious reader, from his age, and from the incident previously mentioned; but being threatened, not long afterwards, by his pedagogue, with the birch, if he should not know, on the following day, his Latin lesson, he determined upon bidding adieu to the world, and becoming a hermit. Pocketing a portion of his breakfast, he skulked away into a wood near the town, in the persuasion that nobody would ever seek or discover him in that solitude. He spent the day in collecting flowers, and listening to the chorus of birds. When nothing remained

of his little stock of victuals, he plucked berries, and tore up roots, and feasted upon them. Prayers filled the intervals of these substantial enjoyments, and the stripling anchorite, waited for a miracle, which should carry him into some of those delightful places, of which he had read in the history of the Saints and Martyrs. The night approached, and he was already prepared to pass it in the wood, when his nurse, who had sought him everywhere, met him. He at first attempted to fly from her : but upon more consideration, he threw himself on her neck, with tears in his eyes, and accompanied her home.

His father attached much importance to that truant trick, and believing really that his son would take it into his head to run away, he sent him to a clergyman settled at Caen, who had several young pupils under his care. Here Henry was anything but serious and moody: the wildest of the unruly crew, he began to display, too, some less venial defects. Three figs had provoked his palate; and to obtain them, he patiently waited for an opportunity to outwit three Arguses that watched the forbidden treetwo dogs and an old housekeeper. Sunday, and the hour at which the other urchins went to church for vespers, seemed to the young Epicurean the best time to procure with safety, the object he coveted. Up he climbed the tree; but the barking of the dogs brought the spinster to the place. St. Pierre had, however, provided against such an accident, by keeping in his little fists strings that were fastened to the bells of the dining room and of the outdoor, and at the alternate ringing of which, Jane was twice carried off, and for as much time as the young strategist needed to consummate his stratagem and to catch the figs. In after life, he compared, says his ingenious biographer, that deed to St. Augustine's theft of some pears; but instead of repining at it, as the good father did, he triumphed in it.

Such an instance of infantine craftiness, or youthful vivacity, as Mr. Gifford calls the supposed deer-stealing of Shakspeare, might lead us to expect more and greater exploits of the kind, from a boy at school, with many other imps of his age. But happily for him and the readers of his biography, his disposition, even in the midst of his wantonness, was timid; he associated little with his school-fellows, and preferred musing on the friends he had left behind his parents, his nurse, and especially his godmother, Mad. de Bayard, a connexion of the hero's family, but whose fortunes were far less splendid than her name, and who lived upon a small pension, though she had been acquainted, in her better days, with persons of high consideration at Court, and with the celebrated Mademoiselle de Montpensier. The stories this old lady used to relate of her past grandeur and advantages in the world, filled the youth with a desire of becoming also a great personage, but only (as Mr. Martin adds) "to share the happiness of a

peasant; to become amiable and learned only to please his godmother; and rich, to give her all he should possess.". She was wont to make him presents, on every new year's day; and when, upon one of these occasions, she had become so poor that she had nothing to give him, he secretly thrust under her pillow some coin, which he had just received from some other person, in the hope of mending her situation.

On his return to his parent's house, he again read the Lives of the Saints, collected insects, caught birds, and cultivated his little garden. But in the midst of these quiet pleasures, a passion for travelling suddenly overcame all his other inclinations. A facetious and narrative friar of a neighbouring convent, who visited the St. Pierres frequently, being about to make a tour into Normandy, proposed to take Harry with him, on that journey; and the parents having consented, both departed on foot, and made their way, depending, as chance required, on the hospitality either of a convent or a chateau, or of some rich peasant. After having enjoyed this rambling life for two weeks, Henry declared his resolution to become a capuchin. Parents, that closely watched the boy's disposition, would certainly not have permitted him to con over Robinson Crusoe: but it was precisely this book, one of the most dangerous for an adventurous temper, that was given to him, about the time of his pedestrian expedition, by his godmother. But wonderful and incredible as it may seem, our lad of twelve years found a most capital defect in De Foe's romantic tale :-there is not a word of love in it, said he, nor of ambition neither. Fancying, therefore, a similar situation, he added a wife and nice little children and families once growing up, education and laws, and ay, a government too, would be indispensable. Thus from a critic, he soon waxed to an Utopian ;and the ideas which then filled his mind, never after abandoned him.

By that time, an uncle, who was a captain in the royal navy, was about sailing for Martinico, and having discovered, with a sailor's eye, in his nephew, dispositions suitable for a tar, he asked for his parents' consent to his accompanying him on his voyage. Harry embarked, not only with full-blown expectation, but a stout resolution, to become king of some deserted island. He found, however, the life aboard a ship, anything but agreeable and royal sea sickness had upon his ambition the influence which Byron says it has on love; and he came home, without much liking for the New world.

Displeased at his versatility, his father determined not to support him further in his studies, which was, of course, a very wise and parental resolution; but upon the intercession of his godmother, he was sent to the Jesuit college, at Caen. Here again, occasional reading of the toils and calamities and victories of some

celebrated Missionaries, inflamed him with a passion for travel and martyrdom; and martyrology, which was his constant mental nourishment, gave him a distaste, not only for his more pressing studies, but for all recreation. One of his teachers reprehending him one day for his negligence, he confessed, that he could not resist the desire of travelling, and of dying for religion's sake. The Jesuit humoured him, by holding out the prospect of his being enlisted among the missionaries to India, China, or Japan: but his father having heard of this new whim, sent him orders to come to Havre. Henry set out for that city, with great alacrity, and a head full of visions of his new career: but the tears of his mother and his nurse, some tales of the capuchin, and the entertainment he found in the narratives of journeys, made for other purposes than the stake and the gridiron, soon cured him of his passion for the missionary's crown: and when this change was once brought about, he was sent to a college at Rouen, where he went decently through a course of philosophy and mathematics.

His proficiency in mathematics qualified him for admission into a royal academy, on the plan of the more modern Polytechnic School, and where, especially, the sciences relating to the construction of roads and canals, were taught, at the expense of the government. Young St. Pierre was there about a year, when by his father's entering for a second time into wedlock, he lost all parental support. The school was, moreover, suppressed for the sake of economy; and he had accordingly no other choice, than to solicit employment in the corps of engineers. By a fortunate misconception, he and one of his classmates were taken, by the commander of a new regiment, which was then forming, for two young men, whom the director of the academy had recommended; and they were immediately breveted officers.

With an allowance of about four hundred dollars a year, and an outfit of 600 francs, he departed, in 1760, for Dusseldorff, which was then the head-quarters of Count St. Germain. As engineer, he was often attached to reconnoitring parties, and had accordingly frequent occasions to witness the cruelties and miseries of war. In the first battle, in which he performed an individual part, he was wounded, and thrown from his horse; but he rose and continued to behave gallantly. All went prosperously for the French army, until, in consequence of an altercation with the commander in chief (marshal de Broglio), Count de St. Germain was recalled, and had for successor the chevalier de Muy.

In the next battle, we behold Mr. de St. Pierre ambling a great deal, and carried away by the fugitive soldiery,-then again alone, and afterwards amidst routed troops: at last he gallops to the top of a steep and rocky bank, a feat, as Mr. Martin hints, which he would not have ventured upon at any other time. From that dangerous height, he finally gets down, and crosses a