ily perceives an individuality and
originality of thought and expression; but no one would predict or
desire that this production should pass to posterity.

"Le Marquis des Saffras," by Jules de la Madelene, on the contrary,
gratifies both judgment and feeling. It is a spirited painting, acute
and profound, as well as true, of human life, especially of provincial
life. The human being is revealed in all his aspects. Though the author
disguises neither errors nor weaknesses, he presents clearly the
redeeming side--the simple manners and the humble devotion of sincere
hearts. This, then, is the reason _why_, sustained by a style rich in
grace and strength, full of the breath of poetry which is felt rather
than described, "Le Marquis des Saffras" holds its place as an
incontestable masterpiece in the choice libraries that preserve the
renown of great writers.

A more careful examination of the doctrine of Delsarte--"The necessity
of the concurrence of the mother modalities of the human organism to
fulfil the conditions of aesthetics"--but forces the conviction that
disregard of this requirement renders all sterile and incomplete, if not
monstrous. Is this equivalent to saying that the deductions from the law
of Delsarte tend to condemn in French literature its simple gaiety, its
graceful lightness, and to efface this stamp of the race that our
ancestors have surely imprinted?

In works of the imagination the omission of moral meaning is often more
seeming than real, and every good reader should be able to recognize
this. However, this negligent seeming is far less hurtful than brilliant
wit concealing crudities and modifying boldnesses. Writers of this class
do not lose sight of the fact that, while the French character has its
audacities (contrary to the modifications of aesthetics), our language
possesses a proverbial chastity, which, even in its farthest wanderings,
genius comprehends and respects. Tact and taste suffice to him who
consults them to escape grossness of language. The delicacy of the
allusions leaves their images in a transparent mist; the very elasticity
of the equivocation furnishes a refuge for the thought which it
disquiets.

By art some most delicate subjects, very nearly approaching license,
have been pardoned. We would surely exhibit a tyrannical and morose
humor to condemn to be burned _en place de Greve_, by the hand of the
executioner, the romances of _Manon Lescaut_, and _Daphnis_ and _Chloe