ART. 15.-Les Voyages de Céline, &c.

The Travels of Celina, a Poem. By Ev. P***, 12mo. Puris. 1806. Imported by Deconchy.

M. PARNY, the author of these pages, has already obtained some celebrity among his countrymen by several poetical works, not in deed destitute of genius, but distinguished by greater profligacy and a more unblushing contempt of decorum, than is usually found even in the publications of our immoral and licentious neighbours.

The little poem before us is an entertaining trifle. Celina is a young lady, of sufficiently warm temperament, who has been married just long enough to know and to regret that the attentions of a husband are by no means correspondent with the ardour of a lover. Lying in her solitary bed, she thus opens the poem:

The night rolls rapidly away, and I in vain expect the ungrats ful man who has deserted me. That such coldness should dwell in. one who calls himself a lover! That my tenderness should thus be outraged! Alas! it is mauimony that has made me miserable! While I was still free, young, and beautiful, I loved, and I tasted happiness! But now Dorval is unfaithful. How is the female sex to be pitied among a people who are called so sensible and so superior, so distinguished for their nobleness and their gallantry! Women have every thing to dread; marriage, love, the opinion of the world, the laws themselves. Happy, thrice happy, those remote regions, faithful still to nature, where love knows no deceit, but reigns with out reserve, without anxiety, and without end !'

During this sorrowful complaint, sleep surprizes our expecting fair one; she is conveyed by Morpheus in a dream to the uncultivated regions of North America, and landed on the banks of the Mississippi. These wild and artless regions, the enraptured Celina hopes to find the scenes of real love, and of pleasure without alloy, A savage, copper-coloured, naked, and besineared with dirt, advances towards her, and claims her as his wife. But there is no hurry,' says the ungallant lover. In the mean time take this load upon your back. He places upon her a quantity of skins, stakes, and iron tools, and orders her to hasten to a place which he points out at a distance, to build him a but, and prepare his dinner, with a

gracious promise of the leavings of the feast as a reward. Our he roine could only express her chagrin and disappointment by her tears. The opportune kindness of Morpheus however transported her in an instant to the charming island of Otaheite,

Where love is liberty, and nature law.

But the gross inhabitants of that licentious country, dispense with that mysterious secrecy which constitutes the principal charm of Jove. They preferred day to night for their enjoyments, Celina turned away her eyes with dissatisfaction and disgust. 'Innocence,' says she, may be too naked. These good people would shew their wisdom in being somewhat less natural. How disgraceful is the homage which is here paid to love! The wretches possess senses only. What! none of the little fears which spring from jealousy? No refusal! No murmurs! No obstacles! No importuning! The rose is here without flowers, but it is also without colour, and with out perfume!'

She now wishes to bid adieu to uncivilized life; but suddenly finds herself transported among another race of savages, though of a different description from the former, the New Zealanders. The tribe, which she visits, is just marching to battle against a neighbouring horde. The females attend their husbands, and fight with desperation. Celina is lifeless with fear. Her tribe is defeated, One of the conquerors seizes on her, and grinning with pleasure examines with his eyes and his hands her soft and delicate limbs, her white arms, her well proportioned leg, and her naked bosom, and overjoyed with his prey, which promises so luxurious a dinner, gives her over to his attendants to be roasted for the banquet of victory. She shudders with horror the most insupportable, but Morpheus deranges the plan of the festival, lends her the assistance of his wings, and she does not slacken her flight till she arrives in China. She is espoused by a mandarin, who happens to pass, and is struck with her beauty. She is shut up in a splendid palace, and guarded with the most rigorous jealousy. The tedium of solitude and confinement is poorly alleviated by the honours which are paid to her, and the grandeur with which she is surrounded. But is the husband, who so carefully guards her, faithful to his new possession? Is he alive to the power of her charms! Alas! his attentions are confined to objects the most unworthy, and be even devotes himself to brutal, pleasures. Celina cannot live in China. Perhaps,' says she,' the haughty and wandering Tartar, though he be called barbarian by' these villainous Chinese, whom he has conquered in spite of their numbers, their civilization, and their cunning, will prove more kind, and, without doubt, he will be less jealous.' The beautiful stranger makes her escape, and approaches a solitary cabin, which is occupied by a young Tartar. With the rapidity of thought, she is woo'd, married, and becomes a mother. The first strange custom, that astonishes her in her new country, is the ceremony attendant on accouchement, where the men

HUDIBRAS.

I must reconcile myself as I can,' says she, 'to this senseless eustom. At least my husband is faithful to my bed, and does not neglect me. But another ceremony, still more extraordinary than the last, awaits her. Two travellers enter the cottage of the generous Tartar, and claim the privilege of passing the night, which is easily granted. The hospitality of this people knows no bounds. Celina is commanded by her husband to make an offer of her person to the strangers. Her remonstrances are vain, and she is obliged to ac quiesce. According to the custom of the country, however, it is necessary that her purity should be restored by a slight castigation with a horsewhip, which her husband, to comply with custom, and not from ill-will, proceeds to inflict with an unsparing hand. Morpheus again befriends her in the very commencement of her penance. She passes to the Indies,and the first object that strikes her eyes is a young and beautiful Hindu female preparing to ascend the funeral pile of her husband. This is not the country for barbarism. 'Itis right,' says she, to lament one's deceased husband,, and to detest life without him; but to follow him! That, it must be owned, is a little too much.'

་

She is conveyed to the isle of Ceylon, where the laws of the East, in general so unfavourable to the female sex, are reversed, and women are permitted to make two husbands happy. Celina has the good fortune to render herself acceptable to two young friends, who determine to live together, and share alternately the bed of Celina. The first month of her new marriage was delightful to our fair one; the second was only passable; the third disagreeable; the fourth absolutely intolerable. She is neglected by both her husbands, and on reflection cannot wonder that indifference should spring in the bosom of those who can bear a partner in their love. But offended beauty knows how to be revenged. Her infidelity is discovered, and as the option of the dagger or the bowl is offered to her, she once more makes her escape.

We are now carried with her to several of the uncivilized countries of Africa; each is distinguished by different usages, but none of which are to the taste of our heroine. Among the Caffrarians ber very beauty is her misfortune, and she is insulted because she has not high cheek bones, a flat nose, short hair, thick lips, and a pendant bosom. The last journey which she makes is to Asiatic Turkey.

Among the Chinese Tartars, the men of quality, when their wives are brought to bed, are nursed and tendered with as much care as women here, and are supplied with the best strengthening and nourishing diet. This is also the custom of the native Brasilians, if we may believe Maffeus, (see Purchase's Pilgrims, vol. 5, bock 9, chap. 4, p. 90n), who observes, That we men in travail are delivered without great difficulty, and presently go about their household business; the husband in her stead keepeth his bed, s Visited by his neighbours, hath his broths made him, and junkets sent to com▪ fort him. See Baron Pollnitz's Memoirs, vol. 2, p. 396.

She falls into the hands of a Jew merchant, who treats for the sale of her with a wealthy Mussulman. They squabble about the price. Is she a virgin?' demands the son of Mahomet. • No,' says

the facetious Israelite, 'she is a French woman.' A bargain however is struck. Celina is conveyed to the haram of her master, and a crowd of jealous rivals are compelled to yield their ascendancy to hers. Among the Mahometans there is no first act in courtship. Regardless of preliminary forms the Mussulman proceeds to take advantage of the right of purchase; Celina's European delicacy revolts at this unceremonious mode of proceeding; she resists; the Turk is angry, Celina persists in her opposition, and seizes a dagger to revenge herself; the Turk uses strength to force, her to compliance, but in the heat of the struggle she awakes, and cries out in a tone of agreeable disappointment, Ah! c'est tu, Dorval !' She relates her dream to her husband, and determines to be no more dissatisfied.

·

The above story is told in a pleasing manner, and with all the vivacity which so much distinguishes the French. Those severer readers who are of opinion that amusement can only be allowable when it is made subservient to the noble purpose of instruction may draw from it no useless moral; they may make it illustrate the folly of those, who suffer their minds to be possessed with ideas of unalloyed happiness, and may inculcate from it the necessity of submitting to partial evils, and of being contented with that situation for which Providence has designed, and habit qualified

us.

ART. 16.-Elizabeth, or the exiles of Siberia; to which is added the taking of Jericho, a Poem by Madame Cottin. A Paris, chez Giguet et Michaud, Imp. Libraires, Rue des Bone. Enfans, No. 34.

MADAME Cottin, the celebrated authoress of Amelia Mansfield and other works of considerable repute in the world of novels, has here presented to the public a very pleasing production.

It is founded on the circumstance of a daughter travelling on foot from Siberia to Petersburgh to solicit of the emperor the pardon of her father. The subject is original and conducted in a very skilful manner, the incidents are few, but what there are are natural and affecting. The character of Elizabeth, the only one who makes any figure in the piece, is beautifully drawn, and we may safely venture to recommend the work to the perusal of our fair readers.

It is followed by the taking of Jericho, which but for the title-page we should never have discovered to have been a 'Poem.' It is nothing more than stalking prose, displaying hacknied similies, unnatural events, common-place characters, and what we must deprecate as its greatest defect, placing the character of the Deity in too familiar a point of view. Madame Cottin appears entirely to have disre garded that excellent rule of our amiable predecessor in the fields of criticism :'

'Nec Deus intersit nisi dignus vindice nodus Inciderit,'

ART. 17.-Epitre à Voltaire.

Epistle to Voltaire, by M. Chenier. Fourth Edition. Paris. 1806 Large 800. pp. 22. Imported by Deconchy.

CHENIER. Auteur tragique et satyrique tres-distingué, attaque par l'envie et vengê par le gout.' Such is the observation of the satiric author of the Review of the Theatres of Paris and of its 500 authors. The present effusion will not perhaps detract much from his reputation for taste and satire, though it most unquestionably will add but little to his fame as a poet. With the exception of the first twenty lines indeed, it contains nothing but a combination of the harshest syllables and most aukward rhymes that could be combined in any language. Considering however the feebleness and general insignifi cance of French verse, if the present be entirely devoid of grace and harmony, it has some claim to that kind of strength and dignity which may result from the laboured disposition of hard names, and unpoetical epithets. Nevertheless the object of the author seems to be pretty fully attained. His design has been to avoid all direct eulogy on Voltaire as far as possible, and to seize only those truths or facts in his life, which must leave impressions, and at the same time to contrast them with those of other literary men accompanied either by approbation or censure, as it may suit the effect of adding glory to his hero. The vicissitudes of Voltaire's life are marked in a few verses rather rapid than lively, and this "universal author," a mere versifier, but no poet, (as Palissot has justly denominated him) is placed "between Sophocles, Horace, Ariosto and Virgil!" Several stanzas in this epistle are less complimentary to the French uation than usual;

"La triple alliance

D'un regne ambitieux punissait l'insolence;

Et dans Versailles même, au nom du peuple Anglais,
Bolingbrocke & Louis venait dicter la paix."

"Tu courus d'Albion visiter le rivage,
Et, par elle éclairé, tu revins sur nos bords
De sa philosophie apporter les tresors."

Few of Voltaire's friends or enemies are bere left without a line of praise or rebuke, which abounds in such lines as "De la philosophie arboraient l'étendard," "Et pour le genre humain voulait de lois humaines." As a defence of the French philosophers, it has considerable merit,but as a poem,compared with La Harpe's Dihyrambic to the Manes of Voltaire, which gained the prize from the Academy in 1779, it is greatly inferior. There is scarcely a word in La Harpe which is not highly poetical and fit for his subject, whilst that of Chenier is but measured and unharmonious prose.

ART. 18.-Histoire de Fanny Seymour, &e. History of Fanny Seymour, or Innocence persecuted. By M. Lesbroussart. in three Vols. 12mo. Paris. 1805. Imported by Deconchy.

WE read this production of M. Lesbroussart with tolerable pa