The Unsex'd
Females: Note 29
The Sonnets of Charlotte Smith, have a pensiveness
peculiarly their own: It is not the monotonous plaintiveness of Shenstone,
the gloomy melancholy of Gray, or the meek subdued spirit of Collins. It is
a strain of wild, yet softened sorrow, that breathes a romantic air, without
losing, for a moment, its mellowness. Her images, often original, are drawn
from nature: the most familiar, have a new and charming aspect. Sweetly
picturesque, she creates with the pencil of a Gilpin, and infuses her own
soul into the landscape. There is so uncommon a variety in her expression,
that I could read a thousand of such Sonnets without lassitude. In general,
a very few Sonnets fatigue attention, partly owing to the sameness of their
construction. Petrarch, indeed, I can relish for a considerable time: but
Spenser and Milton soon produce somnolence. As a Novel-writer, her Ethelinde
and Emmeline place her above all her contemporaries, except Mrs. D'Arblay
and Mrs. Radcliffe. But why does she suffer her mind to be infected with the
Gallic mania? I hope, ere this, she is completely recovered from a disorder,
of which, indeed, I observed only a few slight symptoms.