"
'There are fine lines in his "Cinq Mai;" the sentiment is as
grand as Manzoni's, though not sustained by the same majestic
sweep of diction, as,--
'"Ce rocher repousse l'esperance,
L'Aigle n'est plus dans le secret des dieux,
Il fatiguait la victoire a le suivre,
Elle etait lasse: il ne l'attendit pas."
'And from "La Gerontocratie, ou les infiniment petits:"
'"Combien d'imperceptibles etres,
De petits jesuites bilieux!
De milliers d'autres petits pretres,
Lui portent de petits bons dieux."
'But wit, poet, man of honor, tailor's grandson and fairy's
favorite, he must speak for himself, and the best that can be
felt or thought of him cannot be said in the way of criticism.
I will copy and keep a few of his songs. I should like to keep
the whole collection by me, and take it up when my faith in
human nature required the gentlest of fortifying draughts.
'How fine his answer to those who asked about the "de" before
his name!--
'"Je suis vilain,
Vilain, vilain," &c.
J'honore une race commune,
Car, sensible, quoique malin,
Je n'ai flatte que l'infortune.
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