uman character and
power of clear analysis; a whole science of sentiment and art of
narrative, and a charm of narrative style that soothes the nerves like
music.

She has given us a long gallery of portraits of extraordinary variety.
It is true that her creations for the most part affect us rather as
masterly portraits than as living, walking men and women. This is
probably owing to the above-noted sameness of style of dialogue, and the
absence generally of the dramatic quality in her novels. On the other
hand they are extremely picturesque, in the highest sense, abounding in
scenes and figures which, without inviting to the direct illustration
they are too vivid to need, are full of suggestions to the artist. The
description in _Teverino_ of Madeleine, the bird-charmer, kneeling at
prayer in the rude mountain chapel, or outside on the rocks, exercising
her natural magic over her feathered friends; in _Jeanne_, of the
shepherd-girl discovered asleep on the Druidical stones; the noon-day
rest of the rustic fishing-party in _Valentine_--Benedict seated on the
felled ash-tree that bridges the stream, Athenais gathering
field-flowers on the banks, Louise flinging leaves into the current,
Valentine reclining dreamily among the tall river-reeds,--are a few
examples taken at random, which it would be easy to multiply _ad
infinitum_.

Any classification of her works in order of time that professes to show
a progressive change of style, a period of super-excellence or of
distinct decadence, seems to us somewhat fanciful. From _Indiana_ and
its immediate successors, denounced by so many as fraught with peril to
the morals of her nation, down to _Nanon_ (1872), which might certainly
carry off the prize of virtue in a competition in any country, George
Sand can never be said to have entirely abandoned one "manner" for
another, or for any length of time to have risen above or sunk below a
certain level of excellence. _Andre_, extolled by her latest critics as
"a delicious eclogue of the fields," was contemporary with the
bombastic, false Byronism of _Jacques_; the feeble narrative of _La Mare
au Diable_ with the passion-introspection of _Lucrezia Floriani_. The
ever-popular _Consuelo_ immediately succeeded the feeble _Compagnon du
Tour de France_. _La Marquise_, written in the first year of her
literary life, shows a power of projection out of herself, and of
delicate analysis, hardly to be surpassed; but _Francia_, of forty
year