ABSTRACT
There cannot be a more difficult task than to convey a just idea of a performance, where the elecution, fire, sensibility, refinement, and paradoxical humour of the author, constitute its principal ornaments and blemishes. Rousseau despises the common aids of plot, incident, and contrivance, and effects all his purposes by mere strength of genius and variety of colouring. His attitudes are common, but they are painted with such energy and grace, as cannot fail of striking with all the force of novelty. Like a sculptor who has drawn his materials rough from the quarry, he polishes, and in a manner animates the clumsy marble: even the simple Valesians become in his hands the most amiable people on earth. Such are the characteristics of the new Eloisa, of which we formerly exhibited a sketch, under the title of Lettres de deux Amans habitans d’une petite ville au pied des Alpes,1 and upon which we now venture to extend our criticisms, in compliance with the taste of many of our readers.
