not seen too realistically or over-coloured, since attention is chiefly bestowed upon the saying of Descartes:--I think, therefore I am: I think, therefore I feel;--and everything there happens in or is led back to the bosom of the interior substance," in the "state of pure sentiment, of reasoned and dialogued analysis," in a sphere "no longer of sentiment, but of understanding, clear, extended, without mists and without clouds." Another student of Corneille opposes the different and equally admissible system of the French tragedian, "a constructor and as it were an engineer of action," to that of Shakespeare, portrayer of the soul and of life. Thus, while all the most famous plays of Shakespeare are drama, but lyrical drama, "hardly one of the most beautiful and popular plays of Corneille is essentially lyrical." What are we to think of "rationalistic" or "intellectualistic," or "logical" or "non-lyrical" poetry? Nothing but this: that it does not exist. And of French poetry? The same: that it does not exist; because what is poetry in France is naturally neither intellectualiste nor essentially French, but purely and simply poetry, like all other poetry that has grown in this earthly flower-bed. And if the old-fashioned romanticism, which sanctifies and gives substance to nationality and demands of art, of thought and of everything else, that it should first be national, is reappearing among French writers in the disguise of anti-romanticism and neo-classicism, this is but a proof the more of the spiritual dulness and mental confusion of those nationalists, who embrace their presumed adversary.