A stately smile was the answer to this tirade. I bowed, and retired.

Within a hundred yards I met my two friends, Varnhorst and Guiscard, and poured out my whole catalogue of wrongs at once. Varnhorst shared my indignation, fiercely pulled his thick mustaches, and muttered some phrases about oppression, martinetism, and other dangerous topics, which fortunately were scattered on the air. Guiscard neither raged nor smiled, but walked into the ducal tent. After a few minutes he returned, and then his sallow countenance wore a smile. "You have offended the duke desperately," said he. "And as a sovereign prince, I dare say that banishment from his territories for life would be the least reparation; but as a general, we think that we cannot have too many good troops, and your proposal to take a Hulan's lance and pistol in your hand, is irresistible. In short, he receives you as a volunteer into his own hussars, and as you are henceforth at his disposal, he orders."—My tormentor here made a malicious pause, which threw me into a fever. I gazed on his countenance, to anticipate his mission. It wore the same deep and moveless expression. "His highness orders, that you shall escort, with a squadron, General Lafayette, to the Chateau, our former headquarters, and where we first met; there deliver over the Frenchman to an officer of the staff, who will be in readiness to escort him further; and, in the mean time, if the very fiery and independent M. Marston should have no objection to travel at night, he may return, and be in time for whatever is to be done here to-morrow."

"Bravo, bravo!" exclaimed good-natured Varnhorst. "Guiscard, you are the first of negotiators!"

"No," was the quiet reply. "I pretend to nothing more than the art of being a good listener. I merely waited until the duke had spoken his will, and then interposed my suggestion. It was adopted at once; and now our young friend has only to ride hard to-night, and come to shade his brow with a share of any laurels which we may pluck in the forest of Argonne, in the next twenty-four hours."

I was enraptured—the communication was made in the most courteous manner to the marquis. He had at once perceived the difficulties of his position, and was glad to leave them behind as far as possible. Our escort was mounted within a few minutes, and we were in full gallop over the fruitful levels of Champagne.

To speed of this order, time and space were of little importance; and with the rapidity of a flock of falcons, we reached the foot of the noble hill, on which, embosomed in the most famous vineyards of the vine country, stood the Chateau. It was blazing with lights, and had evidently lost nothing of its population by the change of headquarters. We were soon brought to a stand by a challenge in French, and found that we were no longer among the jovial Jaegers of Deutchland. We had fallen in with the advanced corps of the Emigrant army under the command of the Prince of Conde.

Here was a new dilemma. Our prisoner's was perhaps the most startling name which could have been pronounced among those high-blooded and headlong men. The army was composed almost wholly of the noblesse; and Lafayette, under all his circumstances of birth, sentiments, and services, had been the constant theme of noble indignation. The champion of the American Republic, the leader of the Parisian movement, the commandant of the National Guard, the chief of the rebel army in the field—all was terribly against him. Even the knowledge of his fall could not have appeased their resentment; and the additional knowledge that he was within their hands, might have only produced some unfortunate display of what the philosopher calls "wild justice." In this difficulty, while the officer of the patrol was on his way to the Chateau to announce our coming, I consulted the captain of my escort. But, though a capital sabreur, he was evidently not made to solve questions in diplomacy. After various grimaces of thinking, and even taking the meersham from his mouth, I was thrown on my own resources. My application to the captive general was equally fruitless: it was answered with the composure of one prepared for all consequences, but it amounted simply to—"Do just as you please."

But no time was to be lost, and leaving the escort to wait till my return, I rode up the hill alone, and desired an interview with the officer in command of the division. Fortunately I found him to be one of my gayest Parisian companions, now transformed into a fierce chevalier, colonel des chasseurs, bronzed like an Arab, and mustached like a tiger. But his inner man was the same as ever. I communicated my purpose to him as briefly as possible. His open brow lowered, and his fingers instinctively began playing with the hilt of his sabre. And if the rencontre could have been arranged on the old terms of man to man, my gallant friend would have undoubtedly made me the bearer of a message on the spot. But I had come for other objects, and gradually brought him round; he allowed that "a prisoner was something entitled to respect." The "request of his distinguished and valued friend, M. Marston, dear to him by so many charming recollections of Paris, &c., was much more;" and we finally arranged that the general should be conveyed unseen to an apartment in the Chateau, while I did him and his "braves camarades" the honour of sharing their supper. I gave the most willing consent; a ride of thirty miles had given me the appetite of a hunter.

I was now introduced to a new scene. The room was filled with muskets and knapsacks piled against the walls, and three-fourths of those who sat down were private soldiers; yet there was scarcely a man who did not wear some knightly decoration, and I heard the noblest names of France everywhere round me. Thus extremes meet: the Faubourg St Germains had taken the equality of the new order of things, and the very first attempt to retain an exclusive rank had brought all to the same level. But it was a generous, a graceful, and a gallant level. All was good-humour under their privations, and the fearful chances which awaited them were evidently regarded with a feeling which had all the force of physical courage without its roughness. I was much struck, too, with the remarkable appearance of the military figures round me. Contrary to our general notions of the foreign noblesse those exhibited some of the finest-looking men whom I had ever seen. This was perhaps, in a considerable degree, owing to the military life. In countries where the nobility are destitute of public employment, they naturally degenerate—become the victims of the diseases of indolence and profligacy, transmit their decrepitude to their descendants, and bequeath dwarfishness and deformity to their name. But in France, the young noble was destined for soldiership from his cradle. His education partook of the manly preparations for the soldier's career. The discipline of the service, even in peace, taught him some superiority to the effeminate habits of opulence; and a sense of the actual claims of talents, integrity, and determination, gave them all an importance which, whatever might be the follies of an individual, from time to time, powerfully shaped the general character of the nobles. In England, the efforts for political power, and the distinctions of political fame, preserve our nobility from relaxing into the slavery of indulgence. The continual ascent of accomplished minds from the humbler ranks, at once reinforces their ability and excites their emulation; and if England may proudly boast of men of intellectual vigour, worthy of rising to the highest rank from the humblest condition, she may, with not less justice, boast of her favourites of fortune fitted to cope with her favourites of nature.

Among these showy and high-bred soldiers, the hours passed delightfully. Anecdotes of every court of Europe, where most of them had been, either as tourists or envoys; the piquant tales of the court of their unfortunate sovereign; narratives—sufficiently contemptuous of the present possessors of power; and chansons—some gay, and some touching—made us all forget the flight of time. Among their military choruses was one which drew tears from many a bold eye. It was a species of brief elegy to the memory of Turenne, whom the French soldier still regarded as his tutelar genius. It was said to have been written on the spot where that great leader fell:—

"Recois, O Turenne, ou tu perdis lavie, Les transports d'un soldat, qui te plaint et t'envie. Dans l'Elysee assis, pres du cef des Cesars, Ou dans le ciel, peutetre entre Bellone et Mars. Fais-moi te suivre en tout, exauce ma priere; Puis se-je ainsi remplir, et finir ma carriere."

The application to the immediate circumstances of those brave gentlemen was painfully direct. What to-morrow might bring was unknown, further than that they would probably soon be engaged with their countrymen; and whether successful or not, they must be embarked in war against France. But my intelligence that an action was expected on the next day awoke the soldier within them again; the wrongs of their order, the plunders of the ruling faction, their hopeless expatriation, if some daring effort was not made, and the triumphant change from exiles to possessors and conquerors, stirred them all into enthusiasm. The army of the Allies, the enemy's position, the public feeling of Paris, and the hope of sharing in the honours of an engagement which was to sweep the revolutionary "canaille" before the "gentlemen of France," were the rapid and animating topics. All were ardent, all eloquent; fortune was at their feet, the only crime was to doubt—the only difficulty was to choose in what shape of splendid vengeance, of matchless retribution, and of permanent glory, they should restore the tarnished lustre of the diadem, and raise the insulted name of France to its ancient rank among the monarchies of the world. I never heard among men so many brilliancies of speech—so many expressions of feeling full of the heart—so glowing a display of what the heart of man may unconsciously retain for the time when some great emotion rouses all its depths, and opens them to the light of day. It was to me a new chapter in the history of man.

The news which I had brought of the positions of the armies rendered me an object of marked interest. I was questioned on every point; first, and especially, of the intention of the commander-in-chief, with the most anxious yet most polished minuteness. But, as on this subject my lips were comparatively sealed, the state of the troops with whom they were so soon to be brought into contact became the more manageable topic. On mentioning that Dumourier was placed in command, I received free and full communications on the subject of his qualities for being the last hope of revolutionary France. One had known him in his early career in the engineers, another had served along with him in Corsica, a third had met him at the court of Portugal; the concurring report being, that he was a coxcomb of the first water, showy but superficial, and though personally brave, sure to be bewildered when he found himself for the first time working the wheels and springs of that puzzling machine, an army in the field. A caustic old Provencal marquis, with his breast glittering with the stars of a whole constellation of knighthood, yet who sat with the cross-belts and cartouche-box of the rank and file upon him, agreeing with all the premises, stoutly denied the conclusions. "He is a coxcomb," said the old Marquis. "Well, he is only the fitter to command an army of upstarts. He has seen nothing but Corsican service; well, he is the fitter to command an army of banditti. And he has been an espion of the Government in Portugal; what better training could he have for heading an army of traitors? Rely upon it, gentlemen, that you have mistaken his character; if you think that he is not the very man whom the mob of Paris ought to have chosen for their general, I merely recommend, that when you go into action you should leave your watches in camp, and, if you charge any of their battalions, look well to your purses."

The old soldier's sally restored our gaiety; but the man best acquainted with the French commander-in-chief was my friend the chevalier, at the head of the table. "It has singularly enough happened to me to have met M. Dumourier in almost every scene of his life, since his return from his first service in Germany. Our first meeting was in the military hospital in Toulouse, where he had been sent, like myself, to recover, in his native air, from the wounds of our last German campaign. He was then a coxcomb, but a clever one, full of animal spirits, and intoxicated with the honour of having survived the German bullets, of being appointed to a company, and wearing a croix. Our next meeting was in Portugal. Our Minister had adopted some romantic idea of shaking the English influence, and Dumourier had been sent as an engineer to reconnoitre the defences of the country. The word espion was not wholly applicable to his mission, yet there can be no doubt that the memoir published on his return, was not a volume of travels. His services had now recommended him to the Government, and he was sent to Corsica. There again I met him, as my regiment formed part of the force in the island. He was high on the staff, our intercourse was renewed, and he was regarded as a very expert diplomatist. A few years after, I found him in a still higher situation, a favourite of De Choiseul, and managing the affairs of the Polish confederation. On his return to Paris, such was the credit in which he stood, that he was placed by the minister of war at the head of a commission to reform the military code; thus he has been always distinguished; and has at least had experience."

Even this slight approach to praise was evidently not popular among the circle, and I could hear murmurs.

"Distinguished!—yes, more with the pen than the sword."

"Diplomacy!—the business of a clerk. Command is another affair."

"Mon cher Chevalier," said the old Marquis, with a laugh, "pray, after being in so many places with him, were you with him in the Bastile?" This was followed with a roar.

I saw my friend's swarthy cheek burn. He started up, and was about to make some fierce retort, when a fine old man, a general, with as many orders as the marquis, and a still whiter head, averted the storm, by saying, "Whether the chevalier was with M. Dumourier in that predicament, I know not; but I can say that I was. I was sent there for the high offence of kicking a page of the court down the grande escalier at Versailles for impertinence, at the time when M. Dumourier was sent there by the Duc d'Acquillon, for knowing more than the minister. I assure you that I found him a most agreeable personage—very gay, very witty, and very much determined to pass his time in the pleasantest manner imaginable. But our companionship was too brief for a perfect union of souls," said he laughing; "for I was liberated within a week, while he was left behind for, I think, the better part of a year."

"But his talents?" was the question down the table.

"Gentlemen," said the old man, "my experience in life has always made me judge of talents by circumstances. If, for example, I find that a man has the talent exactly fitted for his position, I give him credit for all—he had the talent for making the Bastile endurable, and I required no other. But there were times when graver topics varied our pleasantry, and he exhibited very various intelligence, a practical experience of the chief European courts, and, I am sorry to say, a very striking contempt for their politics and their politicians alike. He was especially indignant at the selfish perfidy with which the late king had given him up to the ignorant jealousy of the minister, and looked forward to the new reign with a resolute, and sometimes a gloomy determination to be revenged. If that man is a republican, it is the Bastile that has made him one; and if he ever shall have a fair opportunity of displaying his genius, unless a cannonball stops his career I should conceive him capable of producing a powerful impression on Europe."

The conversation might again have become stormy but for the entrance of a patrol, for whom a vacant space at the table had been left. Forty or fifty fine tall fellows now came rushing into the room, flinging down shakos, knapsacks, and sabres, and fully prepared to enjoy the good cheer provided for them. I heard the names of the first families of France among those privates—the Montmorencies, the Lamaignons, the Nivernois, the Rochefoucaults, the De Noailles, "familiar as household words." All was good-humour again. They had a little adventure in scaring away a corps of the rustic national guards who, to expedite their escape, had flung away their arms, which were brought in as good prize. The festivity and frolic of youth, engaged in a cause which conferred a certain dignity even on their tours de page, renewed the pleasantry of the night. We again had the chansons; and I recollect one, sung with delicious taste by a handsome Italian-faced youth, a nephew of the writer, the Duc de Nivernois.

The duke had requested a ringlet from a beautiful woman. She answered, that she had just found a grey hair among her locks, and could now give then away no more. The gallant reply was—

"Quoi! vous parlez de cheveux blancs! Laissez, laissez courir le temps; Que vous importe son ravage? Les tendres coeurs en sont exempts; Les Amours sont toujours enfants, Et les Graces sont de tout age. Pour moi, Themire, je le sens. Je suis toujours dans mon printemps, Quand je vous offre mon hommage. Si je n'avais que dixhuit ans, Je pourrais aimer plus longtemps, Mais, non pas aimer davantage."[10]

[10]

Lovely and loved! shall one slight hair Touch thy delicious lip with care? A heart like thine may laugh at Time— The Soul is ever in its prime. All Loves, you know, have infant faces, A thousand years can't chill the Graces! While thou art in my soul enshrined, I give all sorrows to the wind. Were I this hour but gay eighteen, Thou couldst be but my bosom's queen; I might for longer years adore, But could not, could not love thee more.

On returning to look for my distinguished prisoner, I found a packet lying on the table of my apartment; it had arrived in my absence with the troops in advance; and I must acknowledge that I opened it with a trembling hand, when I saw that it came from London and Mordecai.

It was written in evident anxiety, and the chief subject was the illness of his daughter. She had some secret on her mind, which utterly baffled even the Jew's paternal sagacity. No letters had reached either of them from France, and he almost implored me to return, or, if that were impossible, to write without delay. Mariamne had grown more fantastic, and capricious, and wayward than ever. Her eyes had lost their brightness, and her cheek its colour. Yet she complained of nothing, beyond a general distaste to existence. She had seen the Comtesse de Tourville, and they had many a long conference together, from which, however, Mariamne always returned more melancholy than ever. She had refused the match which he had provided for her, and declared her determination to live, like the daughter of Jephthah, single to her grave.

The letter then turned to my own circumstances, and entered into them with the singular mixture of ardour and sneering which formed this extraordinary character.

"I am doing your business here as indefatigably as if I were robbing nabobs in India, or setting up republics at home. The tardiness of the Horse-Guards is to be moved by nothing but an invasion; and it would be almost as rational to wait the growth of an oak, as to wait the signing of your commission; but it shall be done in my own way. I have means which can make the tardy quick, and open the eyes of the blind. You shall be a subaltern in the Guards, unless you are in too much haste to be a general, and get yourself shot by some Parisian cobbler in the purloined uniform of a rifleman. But, let me tell you one fact, and I might indorse this piece of intelligence, 'Secret and Confidential,' to the English cabinet, for even our great minister has yet to learn it—the Allies will never reach Paris. Rely, and act upon this. They might now enter the capital, if, instead of bayonets, they carried only trusses of straw. The road is open before them, but they will look only behind. The war was almost a feint from the beginning. The invasion was the second act of the farce—the retreat will be the third. Poland has been the true object; and, to cover the substantial seizures there, has been the trick of the French invasion. I predict that, in one month from the date of this letter, there will not be an Austrian or Prussian cartridge found in France. Potsdam and Schoenbrunn know more on the subject at this moment than the duke. I write to you as a friend, and by Mariamne's especial order, to take care of yourself. I have seen the retreats of continental armies in my time; they are always a scene of horrors. Follow the army so long as it advances; then all is well, and even the experience of service may be of use to you. But, in this instance, the moment that you find it come to a stop, turn your horse's head to any point of the compass but the front, and ride to the nearest seaport. The duke is a brave man, and his army is a brave army; but both will be instantly covered with all the obloquy of all the libelers on earth. If you have met him as man with man, you have doubtless been captivated with his manners, his wit, his animation, and his accomplishments. I have known him long and well. But Europe, within a month, will decry him, as a fugitive, a fool, and a dastard. Such is popular wisdom, justice, and knowledge. A pupil of the first warrior of Prussia and of modern ages, and wanting only experience to do honour to the lessons of Frederick, he will be laughed at by the loose loungers of the Palais Royal, as ignorant of the art of war, and branded by the graver loungers of courts and councils, as ignorant of the art of government. Once more, I say, take care of yourself. The first step in retreat will raise all France against the Allies. Ten victories would not cost as much as the first week's march towards the frontier. Every thicket will have its troop; every finger, for a hundred leagues round, will be on the trigger. Robbery and murder, famine and fatigue; disease and death, will be upon the troops; the retreat will become a flight, and happy is the man who will ever see the Rhine again. Be wise in time."

Enclosed within this long epistle was a brief note from Mariamne.

"You must not think me dying, because I importune you no longer. But, can you give me any tidings of Lafontaine? I know that he is rash, and even enthusiastic; but I equally know that he is faithful and true. Yet, if he has forgotten me, or is married, or is any thing that, as a preux chevalier, he ought not to be, tell me at once, and you shall see how grateful I can be, before I cease to be any thing. But if he has fallen—if, in the dreadful scenes now acting in Paris, Lafontaine is no more—tell me not. Write some deluding thing to me—conceal your terrible knowledge. I should not wish to drop down dead before my father's face. He is looking at me while I write this, and I am trying to laugh, with a heart as heavy as lead, and eyes that can scarcely see the paper. No—for mercy's sake, do not tell me that he is dead. Give me gentle words, give me hope, deceive me—as they give laudanum, not to prolong life, but to lull agony. Do this, and with my last pulse I shall be grateful—with my last breath I shall bless you."

Poor Mariamne! I had, at least, better hopes than those for her. But within this billet was a third. It was but a few lines; yet at the foot of those lines was the signature—"Clotilde de Tourville." The light almost forsook my eyes; my head swam; if the paper had been a talisman, and every letter written with the pen of magic, it could not have produced a more powerful effect upon me. My hands trembled, and my ears thrilled; and yet it contained but a few unimportant words—an enquiry addressed to Mariamne, whether she could forward a letter to the Chateau Montauban in Champagne, or whether her father had any correspondent in the vicinity who could send her the picture of a beloved relative, which, in the haste of their flight to England, they had most reluctantly left behind.

The note at once threw every thing else into the background. What were invasions and armies—what were kings and kingdoms—to the slightest wish of the being who had written this billet? All this I admit to be the fever of the mind—a waking dream—an illusion to which mesmerism or magic is but a frivolity. Like all fevers, it is destined to pass away, or to kill the patient; yet for the time, what on earth is so strange, or so powerful—so dangerous to the reason—so delicious to the soul!

But, after the long reverie into which I sank, with the writing of Clotilde in my hand, I recollected that fortune had for once given me the power of meeting the wishes of this noble and beautiful creature. The resemblance of the picture that had so much perplexed and attracted me, was now explained. I was in the Chateau de Montauban, and I now blessed the chance which had sent me to its honoured walls.

To hasten to the chamber where I was again to look upon the exquisite resemblance of features which, till then, I had thought without a similar in the world, was a matter of instinct; and, winding my way through the intricacies of galleries and corridors, loaded with the baggage of the emigrant army, and strewed with many a gallant noble who had exchanged the down bed of his ancestral mansion for the bare floor, or the open bivouac, I at length reached the apartment to which the captive general had been consigned. To my utter astonishment, instead of the silence which I expected under the circumstances, I heard the jingling of glasses and roars of laughter. Was this the abode of solitude and misfortune? I entered, and found M. Lafayette, indeed, conducting himself with the composure of a personage of his rank; but the other performers exhibiting a totally different temperament. A group of Polish officers, who had formerly borne commissions in the royal service, and now followed the Emigrant troops, had recognized Lafayette, and insisted on paying due honours to the "noble comrade" with whom they had served beyond the Atlantic. Hamlet's menace to his friend, that he would "teach him to drink deep ere he depart," had been adopted in the amplest sense by those jovial sons of the north, and "healths bottle-deep" were sent round the board with rapid circulation.

My entrance but slightly deranged the symposium, and I was soon furnished with all the freemasonry of the feast, by being called on to do honour to the toast of "His Majesty the King of Great Britain." My duty was now done, my initiation was complete, and while my eyes were fixed on the portrait which, still in its unharmed beauty, looked beaming on the wild revel below, I heard, in the broken queries, and interjectional panegyrics of these hyperborean heroes, more of the history of Lafayette than I had ever expected to reach my ears.

His life had been the strangest contrast to the calm countenance which I saw so tranquilly listen to its own tale. It was Quixotic, and two hundred years ago could scarcely have escaped the pen of some French Cervantes. He had begun life as an officer in the French household troops in absolute boyhood. At sixteen he had married! at eighteen he had formed his political principles, and begun his military career by crossing the Atlantic, and offering his sword to the Republic. To meet the thousand wonderings at his conduct, he exchanged the ancient motto of the Lafayettes for a new one of his own. The words, "Why not?" were his answer to all, and they were sufficient. On reaching America, he asked but two favours, to be suffered to serve, and to serve without pay.

In America he was more republican than the Republicans. He toiled, traveled, and bled, with an indefatigable zeal for the independence of the colonists; his zeal was a passion, his love of liberty a romance, his hostility to the dominion of England an universal scorn of established power. But if fantastic, he was bold; and if too hot for the frigidity of America, he was but preparing to touch France with kindred fire. He refused rank in the French army coupled with the condition of leaving the service of the Republic; and it was only on the French alliance in 1788 that he returned to Paris, to be received with feigned displeasure by the King, and even put under arrest by the minister, but to be welcomed by the praises of the true sovereign, the Queen, feted by the court, the sovereign of that sovereign, and huzzaed by the mob of Paris, already the sovereign of them all; from his military prison he emerged, colonel of the King's regiment of dragoons.

While this narrative was going on, mingled with bumpers, and bursts of Slavonic good-fellowship, I could not help asking myself whether Lavater was not quack and physiognomy a folly? Could this be the dashing Revolutionist? No plodder over the desk ever wore a more broadcloth countenance; an occasional smile was the only indication of his interest in what was passing around him. He evidently avoided taking a share in the discussion of his Transatlantic career, probably from delicacy to his English auditor. But when the conversation turned upon France, the man came forth, and he vindicated his conduct with a spirit and fulness that told me what he might have been when the blood of youth was added to the glow of the imagination. He was now evidently exhausted by toil, and dispirited by disappointment. No man could be more thoroughly ruined; baffled in theory, undone in practice—an exile from his country, a fugitive from his troops—overwhelmed by the hopelessness of giving a constitution to France, and with nothing but the dungeon before him, and the crash of the guillotine behind.

"What was to be done?" said Lafayette. "France was bankrupt—the treasury was empty—the profligate reign of Louis XV. had at once wasted the wealth, dried up the revenues, and corrupted the energies of France. Ministers wrung their hands, the king sent for his confessor, the queen wept—but the nation groaned. There was but one expedient, to call on the people. In 1787 the Assembly of the Notables was summoned. It was the first time since the reign of Henry IV. France had been a direct and formal despotism for almost two hundred years. She had seen England spread from an island into an empire; she had seen America spread from a colony into an empire. What had been the worker of the miracle?—Liberty. While all the despotisms remained within the boundaries fixed centuries ago, like vast dungeons, never extending, and never opening to the light and air, except through the dilapidations of time, I saw England and America expanding like fertile fields, open to every breath of heaven and every beam of day, expanding from year to year by the cheerful labour of man, and every year covered with new productiveness for the use of universal mankind. I own that there may have been rashness in urging the great experiment—there may have been a dangerous disregard of the actual circumstances of the people, the time, and the world—the daring hand of the philosopher may have drawn down the lightning too suddenly to be safe; the patriot may have flashed the blaze of his torch too strongly on eyes so long trained to the twilight of the dungeon. The leader of this enterprise himself, like the first discoverer of fire, may have brought wrath upon his own head, and be condemned to have his vitals gnawed in loneliness and chains; but nothing shall convince Lafayette that a great work has not been begun for the living race, for all nations, and for all posterity."

I could not suppress the question—"But when will the experiment be complete? When will the tree, planted thus in storms, take hold of the soil? When will the tremendous tillage which begins by clearing with the conflagration, and ploughing with the earthquake, bring forth the harvest of peace to the people?"

"These must be the legacy to our children," was the reply, in a grave and almost contrite tone. "The works of man are rapid only when they are meant for decay. The American savage builds his wigwam in a week, to last for a year. The Parthenon took half an age and the treasures of a people, to last for ever."

We parted for the night—and for thirty years. My impression of this remarkable man was, that he had more heart than head; that a single idea had engrossed his faculties, to the exclusion of all others; that he was following a phantom, with the belief that it was a substantial form, and that, like the idolaters of old, who offered their children to their frowning deity, he imagined that the costlier the sacrifice, the surer it was of propitiation. Few men have been more misunderstood in his own day or in ours. Lifted to the skies for an hour by popular adulation, he has been sunk into obscurity ever since by historic contempt. Both were mistaken. He was the man made for the time—precisely the middle term between the reign of the nobility and the reign of the populace. Certainly not the man to "ride on the whirlwind and direct the storm;" but as certainly altogether superior to the indolent luxury of the class among whom he was born. Glory and liberty, the two highest impulses of our common nature, sent him at two and twenty from the most splendid court of Europe, to the swamps and snows, the desperate service and dubious battles of America. Eight years of voyages, negotiations, travels, and exposure to the chances of the field, proved his energy, and at the age of thirty he had drawn upon himself the eyes of the world. Here he ought to have rested, or have died. But the Revolution swept him off his feet. It was an untried region—a conflict of elements unknown to the calculation of man; he was whirled along by a force which whirled the monarchy, the church, and the nation with him, and sank only when France plunged after him.

I have no honour for a similar career, and no homage for a similar memory; but it is from those mingled characters that history derives her deepest lesson, her warnings for the weak, her cautions for the ambitious, and her wisdom for the wise.

On the retiring of the party for the night, my first act was to summon the old Swiss and his wife who had been left in charge of the mansion, and collect from them all their feeble memories could tell Clotilde. But Madame la Marechale was a much more important personage in their old eyes, than the "charmante enfant" whom they had dandled on their knees, and who was likely to remain a "charmante enfant" to them during their lives. The chateau had been the retreat of the Marechale after the death of her husband; and it was in its stately solitudes, and in the woods and wilds which surrounded it for many a league, that Clotilde had acquired those accomplished tastes, and that characteristic dignity and force of mind, which distinguished her from the frivolity of her country-women, however elegant and attractive, who had been trained in the salons of the court. The green glades and fresh air of the forest had given beauty to her cheek and grace to her form; and scarcely conceiving how the rouged and jewelled Marechale could have endured such an absence from the circles of the young queen, and the "beaux restes" of the wits and beauties of the court of Louis the 15th, I thanked in soul the fortunate necessity which had driven her from the atmosphere of the Du Barris to the shades thus sacred to innocence and knowledge.

But the grand business of the thing was still to be done. The picture was taken down at last, to the great sorrow of the old servants, who seemed to regard it as a patron saint, and who declared that its presence, and its presence alone, could have saved the mansion, in the first instance, from being burned by the "patriots," who generally began their reforms of the nobility by laying their chateaux in ashes, and in the next, from being plundered by the multitudes of whiskered savages speaking unknown tongues, and came to leave France without "ni pain ni vin" for her legitimate sons. But the will of Madame la Marechale was to them as the laws of the Medes and Persians, irresistible and unchangeable; and with heavy hearts they dismounted the portrait, and assisted in enfolding and encasing it, with much the same feeling that might have been shown in paying the last honours to a rightful branch of the beloved line.

But, in the wall which the picture had covered, I found a small recess, closed by an iron door, and evidently unknown to the Swiss and his old wife. I might have hesitated about extending my enquiry further, but Time, the great discoverer of all things, saved my conscience: with a slight pressure against the lock it gave way; the door flew open, and dropped off the hinges, a mass of rust and decay. Within was a casket of a larger size than that generally used for jewels; but my curiosity durst not go beyond the superscription, which was a consignment of the casket, in the name of the Marechale, to her banker in London. Whatever might be the contents, it was clear that, like the picture, it had been left behind in the hurry of flight, and that to transmit it to England was fairly within my commission. Before our busy work was done, day was glancing in through the coloured panes of the fine old chamber. I hurried off the Swiss, with my precious possessions, to the next town, in one of the baggage carts, with a trooper in front to prevent his search by hands still more hazardous than those of a custom-house officer; and then, mounting my horse, and bidding a brief farewell to the brave and noble fellows who were already mustering for the march, and envying me with all their souls, I set off at full speed to rejoin the army.

With all my speed, the action had begun for some hours before I came in sight of the field. With what pangs of heart I heard the roar of the cannon, for league on league, while I was threading my bewildered way, and spurring my tired horse through the miry paths of a country alternately marsh and forest; with what pantings I looked from every successive height, to see even to what quarter the smoke of the firing might direct me; with what eager vexation I questioned every hurrying peasant, who either shook his moody head and refused to answer, or who answered with the fright of one who expected to have his head swept off his shoulders by some of my fierce-looking troop, I shall not now venture to tell; but it was as genuine a torture as could be felt by man. At length, exhausted by mortal fatigue, and ready to lie down and die, I made a last effort, would listen no more to the remonstrances of the troop, whose horses were sinking under them. I ordered them to halt where they were, pushed on alone, and, winding my way through a forest covering the side of a low but abrupt hill, or rather succession of hills, I suddenly burst out into the light, and saw the whole battle beneath, around, and before me. It was magnificent.

* * * * *



LETTER FROM LEMUEL GULLIVER.

TO THE EDITOR.

Sir—At the request of my four-footed friends, I forward to you a free translation of the proceedings of a meeting of Houynhyms, recently held for the protection of their interests in corn. As the language appears more temperate, and the propositions quite as rational, as those which are ordinarily brought forward in the other Corn-law meetings which still continue to agitate the county, I have no difficulty in complying with their wishes; and if you can afford space for the insertion of the report in your valuable Magazine, you will greatly oblige the Houynhym race, and confer a favour upon, sir, your obedient servant,

LEMUEL GULLIVER.

Stable-Yard, Nov. 10th, 1843.

* * * * *

ADVERTISEMENT.

A meeting of delegates from the different classes of consumers of oats was held on Friday last, at the Nag's Head in the Borough, pursuant to public advertisement in the Hors-Lham Gazette. The object of the meeting was to take into consideration the present consumption of the article, and to devise means for its increase. The celebrated horse Comrade, of Drury-Lane Theatre, presided on the occasion.

The business of the meeting was opened by a young Racer of great promise, who said it was his anxious desire to protect the interests of the horse community, and to promote any measure which might contribute to the increase of the consumption of oats, and improve the condition of his fellow-quadrupeds. He was not versed in political economy, nor, indeed, economy of any kind. He had heard much of demand and supply, and the difficulty of regulating them properly; but, for his own part, he found the latter always equalled the former, though he understood such was not the case with his less fortunate brethren. He warmly advocated the practice of sowing wild oats, and considered that much of the decrease of consumption complained of arose from the undue encouragement given to the growth of other grain; and that the horse interest would be best promoted by imposing a maximum as to the growth of wheat and barley, according to the acreage of each particular farm.

A HACKNEY-COACH HORSE declared himself in favour of the sliding-scale, which he understood from Sir Peter Lawrie to mean the wooden pavement. He admitted it was not well adapted for rainy seasons, but it was impossible to doubt that things went much more smoothly wherever it was established; and that he, and the working classes whom he represented, found in it a considerable relief from the heavy duties daily imposed upon them. He wished that some measure could be devised for superseding the use of nosebags, which he designated as an intolerable nuisance, especially during the summer months; but he principally relied for an improvement in condition on the prohibition of the mixture of chaff with oats; which latter article, he contended, was unfit for the use of able-bodied horses, who earned their daily food, and ought to be limited to those cattle who spent an idle existence in straw-yards.

A BRIGHT CHESTNUT HORSE, of great power, and well-known in the parks, warmly replied to the last neigher. He denounced the sliding-scale as a slippery measure, unworthy of a horse of spirit, and adding greatly to the burdens with which horses like himself were saddled. He daily saw steeds of the noblest blood and most undaunted action humbled to the dust by its operation; and if Sir Peter Lawrie was to be believed, it was more dreaded by the household troops than Napoleon's army on the field of Waterloo. He yielded to no horse in an anxious desire to promote the true interests of the horse community; but he could not give his support to measures so unsafe, merely because they enabled a small and inferior section of their community to move more smoothly. He reprobated, in strong terms, the unfeeling allusion of the last neigher to the unfortunate inmates of union straw-yards, whom, for his own part, he looked upon as nowise inferior to the hackney-coach horse himself, of whose right to be present at a meeting of consumers of oats he entertained serious doubts. (Loud neighs of "Order! Order!")

A SCOTCH HORSE feared that, strictly speaking, he was included in the same category with the hackney-coach horse, and had no right to be heard, having no personal interest in the question; but he trusted he might be permitted to speak as the delegate of the horses of Scotland, who were ignorant of the Houynhym language, and not entitled to attend. Permission being granted, to the surprise of the assembly he descanted with much asperity upon the gross oppression to which horses in Scotland were subject, as their rough coats and ragged appearance plainly manifested; and stated, in conclusion, that no hope or expectation of bettering the condition of the Scotch horse could be entertained until their lawful food was restored to them, and Scotchmen were compelled, by act of Parliament, to abstain from the use of oatmeal, and live like the rest of the civilized world.

Several worn-out horses belonging to members of the Whig administration then endeavoured to address the meeting, with an evident intention of converting the proceedings into a party question; but they were informed by the president, in the midst of loud snorting and neighing, that they had not the slightest right to be present, as they were all undoubtedly turned out for life. This decision appeared to give universal satisfaction.

AN IRISH HORSE was of opinion that the great cause of the present difficulties arose from deficiency in the quality and not the quantity of the article, and strongly recommended the growth of Irish oats in England. To the surprise of the English delegates, he warmly eulogized the superiority of the Irish oat; but it afterwards appeared, upon the production of a sample, that he had mistaken the potatoe oat for the Irish oat.

AN OLD ENGLISH HUNTER next addressed the meeting, and was listened to with deep attention. He impressed upon the young delegates the good old adage of "Look before you leap," and cautioned them against the delusive hope that their condition would be improved by change of measures. In the course of his long life he had experienced measures of every description, and had invariably found that his supplies depended, not on the measure itself; but on the hand that filled it. He had ever given his willing support to his employers, and served them faithfully; and if they were as well acquainted as quadrupeds with the secrets of the stable, they would learn the fallacy of their favourite maxim of "Measures, not men," and trust the administration of their affairs to upright and steady grooms, rather than those fanciful half-educated gentlemen who were perpetually changing the rules of the stables, and altering the form of the measures, whereby they embarrassed the regular feeding and training of the inmates, without producing any practical good.

A STAGE-COACH HORSE imputed their want of condition to the misconduct of their leaders, who, he said, could never be kept in the right path, or made to do one-half of the work which properly belonged to them. By a strange fatality, they were generally purblind, and always shyed most fearfully when an Opposition coach approached them. Indeed, it was well known that the horses selected for these duties were, generally speaking, vicious and unsound, and not taken from the most able and powerful, but from the most showy classes. He then proceeded to descant upon the general wrongs of horses. He congratulated the community upon the abolition of bearing reins, those grievous burdens upon the necks of all free-going horses; and he trusted the time would soon arrive when the blinkers would also be taken off, every corn-binn thrown open, and every horse his own leader.

Several other delegates addressed the meeting, and various plans were discussed; but it invariably turned out, upon investigation, that the change would only benefit the class of animals by whom it was proposed. A post-horse was of opinion, that the true remedy lay in decreasing the amount of speed, and shortening the spaces between milestones. A Welsh pony was for the abolition of tolls, which, he said, exhausted the money intended for repairs; whilst some plough-horses from Lincolnshire proposed the encouragement of pasture land, the abolition of tillage, and the disuse of oats altogether. The harmony of the meeting was, at one period, interrupted, by the unfortunate use of the word "blackguard" by a delegate from the collieries, which caused a magnificent charger from the Royal Horse Guards, Blue, to rear up, and, with great indignation, demand if the allusion was personal; but who was satisfied with the explanation of the president, that it was applicable only in a warlike sense. A long, lean, bay horse, with a sour head, demanded a similar explanation of the word "job," and was told it was used in a working sense. Several resolutions, drawn by two dray-horses, embodying the supposed grievances of the community, were finally agreed upon, and a petition, under the hoof of the president, founded upon them, having been prepared, and ordered to be presented to the House of Commons by the members for Horsham, the meeting separated, and the delegates returned to their respective stables.

* * * * *



THE PROCLAMATION.

Bold warriors of Erin, I hereby proclaim, That the world never witness'd your rivals in fame; Bold sons of Macmurraugh, Macarthy, O'Neill, The armies of earth at your sight would turn pale. A flash from your eyes would light England's last pile, And a touch give her sceptre to Erin's green isle.

Hurrah for the vengeance of old Mullaghmast, On the blood-bolter'd ground where your gauntlet was cast; Hurrah for the vengeance of Tara's proud hill, Where the bones of our monarchs are blood-sprinkled still. Hurrah for Clontarf, though the Saxon may smile, The last, greatest triumph of Erin's green isle!

Let the scoffer scoff on, while I hereby proclaim, That flight may be courage, and fear but a name; That boasting is good, when 'tis good for the cause, But, in sight of cold steel, we should honour the laws; That powder and shot make men swallow their bile— So, hurrah for the glory of Erin's green isle!

If they ask for your leader, the land's sword and shield, At least none can say that he fled from the field. He kept a whole skin—for the service of Rome; So he fix'd his headquarters in quiet at home. They might just as well hunt for the head of the Nile, While he reckon'd his beads for St Patrick's green isle.

If beggars on horseback will ride—to Clontarf; If tailors will caper with truncheon and scarf, At Sunday carousels, all know, I'm in flower, My taste for the grape don't extend to the shower. Besides, those blue pills disagree with my chyle, So, hurrah!—pence and peace for the grand Emerald Isle!

If the scoffer should ask, what the deuce brought you there? Of course, it was only to taste the fresh air; To pick cowslips and daisies; and brush off the dew, Or drink gin o'er the tombstone of Brian Boru. As to flags, and all that; 'twas but doing in style, The honours of Freedom to Erin's green isle.

Then, as to your "Squadrons," your "Mount for Repeal," 'Twas merely to teach them the "Right about wheel," By the word of command from the Saxon to run, As your leader would fly from a bailiff or dun; In short, since a miss is as good as a mile, Swear the whole was a humbug for Erin's green isle.

Besides, these are delicate moments to croak, Since the Saxon's new plan of a word and a stroke. My mind is made up, like a poodle or pug, No longer to stir from my berth on the rug; Though the bold may revile me, so let them revile— I'm determined to live for old Erin's green isle.

I proclaim—that the Saxon will tremble to meet The heroes of Erin; but, boys, life is sweet. I proclaim—that your shout frightens Europe's base thrones; But remember, my boys, there is luck in whole bones; So, take the advice of a friend—wait a while, In a century or two you'll revenge the Green Isle.

I know in my soul, at the very first shot

That your whole monster meeting would fly at full trot; What horrid melee, then, of popping and flashing! At least I'LL not share in your holiday thrashing; Brawl at Sugden and Smith, but beware "rank and file"— They're too rough for the lambkins of Erin's green isle.

Observe, my dear boys, if you once get me hang'd, 'Tis fifty to one if you'll e'er be harangued. Farewell to the pleasure of paying the "Rint"— Farewell to all earth's vilest nonsense in print— Farewell to the feast of your gall and your guile— All's over at once with the grand Emerald Isle.

* * * * *



THE FIREMAN'S SONG.

"Ho, comrade, up! awake, arise! look forth into the night: Say, is yon gleam the morning-beam, yon broad and bloody light? Say, does it tell—yon clanging bell—of mass or matin song? Yon drum-roll—calls it to parade the soldier's armed throng?"

"No, brother, no! no morning-beam is yonder crimson glare! Yon deep bell tolls no matin—'tis the tocsin's hurried blare! Yon sullen drum-roll mutters out no summons to parade: To fight the flame it summons us—the valiant Fire-Brigade!"

Then fast the Fireman rose, and waked his mate that lay beside; And each man gripp'd his trusty axe, and donn'd his coat of hide— There bounds beneath that leather coat a heart as strange to fear As ever swell'd beneath the steel of gilded cuirassier.

And from beneath the leather casque that guards the Fireman's brow, A bolder, sterner glance shines out than plumy crest can show; And oft shall ply the Fireman's axe, though rude and rough it be, Where sabre, lance, and bayonet, right soon would turn and flee!

Off dash the thundering engines, like goblin jaeger-chase— The sleeper shudders as they pass, and pallid grows his face: Away, away! though close and bright yon ruddy glow appear, Far, far we have to gallop yet, or e'er our work we near!

A plain of upturn'd faces—pale brows and quivering lips, All flickering like the tropic sea in the green light of eclipse; And the multitude waves to and fro, as in the tropic sea, After a tempest, heaves and falls the ground-swell sleeplessly.

Now, by my faith! goodly sight you mansion fast asleep— Those winking lamps beside the gate a dull watch seem to keep— But a gay awaking waits them, when the crash of blazing beam, And the Fireman's stern reveille, shall mingle with their dream!

And sound as sleeps that mansion, ye may mark in every chink A gleam, as in the lava-cracks by the volcano's brink; Through key-hole and through window-slit, a white and sullen glow— And all above is rolling smoke, and all is dark below.

Hark! hear ye not that murmur, that hush and hollow roar, As when to the south-wester bow the pines upon the shore; And that low crackling intermix'd, like wither'd twig that breaks, When in the midnight greenwood the startled squirrel wakes!

Lo, how the fire comes roaring on, like a host in war array! Nor lacks it gallant music to cheer it on its way, Nor flap of flame-tongued banner, like the Oriflamme of old, Its vanward cohorts heralding, in crimson, green, and gold.

The engines now are ranged a-row—hark, how they sob and pant! How gallantly the water-jets curve soaringly aslant! Up spins the stream—it meets the flame—it bursts in fleecy rain, Like the last spout of the dying whale, when the lance is in his brain.

Ha, ha! from yon high window thrill'd the wild shriek of despair, And gibbering phantoms seem to dance within the ruddy glare; And as a valiant captain leads his boarders to the fray, "Up, up, my sons!" our foreman shouts—"up firemen, and away!"

Their arms are strong and sinewy—see how the splinters fly— Their axes they are sharp and good—"Back, comrades! or ye die— Look to the walls!"—a rending crash—they topple—down they come— A cloud of sparks—a feeble cheer—again!—and all is dumb.

A pause—as on that battle-day, 'twixt France and England's might, When huge L'Orient blew up at once, in the hottest of the fight: There was not one, they say, but wink'd, and held his breath the while, Though brave were they that fought that day with Nelson at the Nile.

And by to-morrow's sunrise, amid the steaming stones, A chain of gold half-melted, and a few small white bones, And a few rags of roasted flesh, alone shall show where died— The noble and the beautiful, the baby and the bride!

O fire, he is a noble thing!—the sot's pipe gives him birth; Or from the livid thunder-cloud he leaps alive on earth; Or in the western wilderness devouring silently; Or on the lava rocking in the womb of Stromboli.

Right well in Hamburg revell'd he—though Elbe ran rolling by— He could have drain'd—so fierce his thirst—the mighty river dry! With silk, and gold, and diamond, he cramm'd his hungry maw; And he tamed the wild republicans, who knew nor lord nor law!

He feasted well in Moscow—in the city of the Tsar— When 'fore the northern streamers paled Napoleon's lurid star: Around the hoary Kremlin, where Moscow once had stood, He pass'd, and left a heap behind, of ashes slaked in blood!

He feasted once in London—he feasted best of all— When through the close-packed city, he swept from wall to wall: Even as of old the wrath of God came down in fiery rain, On Sodom and Gomorrha, on the Cities of the Plain!

* * * * *



POSITION AND PROSPECTS OF THE GOVERNMENT.

A recruited revenue; reviving trade and commerce; reduction in the price of provisions; the triumphant termination of hostilities in all parts of the world, with its great immediate prospective advantages: a general feeling of confidence, arising from the steady administration of public affairs, in spite of persevering and atrocious efforts to excite dissatisfaction and alarm; nay, even the stern repose prevailing in Ireland, preserved though it be, for a while, under cover of artillery, and at the bayonet's point, but affording a precious respite from agitation, and a foretaste of the blessings that may be expected from its permanent suppression: all these circumstances unequivocally attest the existence of a powerful Government acting upon a comprehensive and enduring policy, which is becoming daily better appreciated by the strong good sense which ever distinguishes the British character, when a fair opportunity is afforded for its exercise.

Upwards of two years have now elapsed since the accession of the present Government to power, at a period of universally admitted difficulty and danger. We have been, during this critical interval, dispassionate and independent observers of Ministers, and their conduct of public affairs, anxious to see whether they were really equal to the occasion, and worthy of the confidence of the Sovereign and the country. We are ourselves satisfied, and undertake to demonstrate to our readers, that this question must be answered in the affirmative. We say all this advisedly, and with no disposition to deny the existence of difficulties, which, if serious to the present, would be absolutely insuperable to any other Government. During the interval in question, Ministers have triumphed over more formidable difficulties than any which they have at present to encounter. That, also, we say advisedly—cheerfully, confidently—with Ireland before our eyes, and the din of the audacious and virulent Anti-corn-law League in our ears.

Passing these topics for the present, let us proceed to examine carefully the real position of Sir Robert Peel and his Government, with a view to ascertaining its prospects of a continuance in power. This enquiry cannot be successfully conducted, without referring for a moment to the immense changes in principles and parties effected by the Reform Bill in 1832—a period of quite as great a revolution as that of 1688. The Tory party it nearly annihilated!—The first Reform Parliament consisting of only 187 Tories to 471 Whigs and Radicals—the former being thus in the fearful minority of 284. We recollect sharing in the despondency, and even despair, which paralysed our party. There was, however, one signal exception in the person of Sir Robert Peel, whose conduct on that occasion entitles him to the eternal gratitude of every man pretending to the character of a Conservative, nay, of every true lover of his country and its institutions. With surprising energy, calmness, and foresight, he instantly addressed himself to the formation, even under those inauspicious and disheartening circumstances, of that great CONSERVATIVE party of which he is now the acknowledged head. In 1841, just before the general election, he thus reminded that party, and apprized the country at large of the principle on which he had acted in 1832. We beg our readers to ponder his words, and the period when he uttered them.

"I then foresaw the good that might result from laying the foundation of a great Conservative party in the state, attached to the fundamental institutions of the country—not opposed to any rational change in it which the lapse of years, or the altered circumstances of society might require, but determined to maintain, on their ancient footing and foundation, our great institutions in church and state. In order to form that party, however, it was necessary, in the first instance, to widen the foundation on which it should stand: to call into our connexion men from whom we had been separated in consequence of differences which no longer existed. My grand object was to build up that great party which has been gradually acquiring strength in this country—which has been gradually widening the foundation on which it stands, and which has drawn, from time to time, its support from its opponents."[11]

[11] Speech to the Tamworth Electors on 28th June 1841, (Painter, Strand.)

The shortest and best evidence of the success which has attended the unwearied exertions of Sir Robert Peel during the ensuing then years, is afforded by the following summary of the results of the four general elections since the passing of the Reform Bill; three of them under the auspices and with the unscrupulously exercised patronage of the Reform Government. Observe the ascending and descending scales:—

C. L. 187 471 (1832) 275 383 (1835) 314 344 (1837) 373 283 (1841)

Who was it but its founder, that led the Conservative party through these successive stages of triumph? Who did so much as he to effect that gradual but decisive change in public opinion which, in 1841, routed the Liberal Ministry in spite of their extraordinary exertions and advantages, and placed a Conservative Government at the head of affairs? To enable us to appreciate the importance of that great victory, and also the decision of character evinced on that occasion by Sir Robert Peel, let us for a moment advert to the calm self-reliance with which, amidst the breathless apprehensions and misgivings of his whole party, he gave battle to the enemy—proposed the memorable vote of want of confidence, and carried it by a majority of one.[12] A more critical move never was followed by more signal success; every ensuing event serving to show, that so far from his movements having been impelled by rash and desperate party speculations, they had been based upon a profound and accurate knowledge of his resources, and of the state of feeling and opinion in the country. "I gave the Government every advantage," said he, "to make their appeal to the country. They boast of the confidence of the crown—they have every means at their disposal which official influence can command to exert in their own behalf. An appeal has been made by them from the House of Commons to you, and it is for the country to decide the question at issue. They have made an appeal to public feeling on account of cheap sugar and cheap bread. My firm belief is, that the people of this country have not at all responded to that cry." How well-founded was that "firm belief," was proved by the glorious result:—the "people of this country did" not "respond to that cry"—they rejected—they repudiated it, and they would do so again if another such appeal were made to them to-morrow.

[12] Ayes, 312; Noes, 311—4th June 1841.

Let us now proceed to show what pretence there is for the injurious insinuations and assertions of Sir Robert Peel's traducers—whether treacherous friends or open enemies—that, in order to obtain power, he hung out false colours to the nation; that his declarations before the general election have been disregarded and falsified by his acts on attaining office. We will for ever demolish all such calumnies and false pretences by going, step by step, through a document which we made a point of procuring at the time, and preserving hitherto, and to which we have since frequently referred, on hearing uttered the slanderous charges to which we allude. That document is a copy of the speech which Sir Robert Peel, on the 28th June 1841, addressed formally to his constituents, but virtually, of course, to the whole nation.

One of his earliest declarations was the following:—"Gentlemen, I have ever professed moderate opinions on politics. The principles I professed, and adhered to, I shall adhere to during my public life, whether in opposition or in power, are, I believe, in perfect conformity with the prevailing good sense, the moderation, and the intelligence of the great body of the people of England." This was a sufficiently distinct notice to all men, especially to those of extreme opinions, whether Tory, Liberal, or Radical, of the course of action which was to be looked for from the expectant Prime Minister.

Then, first, he proceeded to admit the existence of manufacturing distress.

"I admit and deplore it, but I do not despair. I have seen distress in manufactures and in commerce before now. I think the causes of the present distress are but temporary—that the cloud will soon blow over—and that the great foundations of manufacturing prosperity are not affected; and I hope I shall very shortly see the day when our manufactures will once more revive, and when we shall again fill the place we have always occupied—that of producers for the markets of the world."

Now for its cause.

"Now let us consider the important question, as to how far the distress in the manufactures and commerce of the country is fairly attributable to the corn-laws." He proceeded to show, from Lord Palmerston's official statement in Parliament on the 22d July 1840, that, between the years 1830 and 1839, the exports had risen from the value of L.38,000,000 to L.53,000,000, and the imports from L.46,000,000 to L.62,000,000, "a clear proof that, notwithstanding the local and temporary checks which our commerce had experienced, on the whole it had gone on steadily improving, and that between the two periods it had increased not much less than from two to three."

He then took the shipping and navigation of the country for the preceding three years; and in looking at them, I cannot help thinking that, if there was any thing like an absolute decrease in trade and commerce, there would also be a decrease in the shipping of the country. "Well," said Sir Robert Peel, "What do I find?" The returns "showed an increase, presented within the last three years, from 4,000,000 tons to 4,780,000 tons." Now mark—"during the whole of this period the corn-laws were in operation; how then can they be fairly or honestly assigned as the cause of the present manufacturing and commercial distress?"

But if the corn-laws were not, what was the cause?

"I see causes enough in the world, as well as in this country, why there should be manufacturing and commercial distress at the present moment, irrespective and totally independent of the corn-laws."

These were—

1st, "I do fear that, in the north of England, an undue stimulus has been given to manufacturing industry by the accommodation system pursued by the joint-stock banks. I think the connexion of the manufacturer with the joint-stock banks gave an undue and an improper impulse to trade in that quarter of the county; and I think that, in consequence of this, there have been more manufactures produced within the last two years than were necessary to supply the demand for them."

2ndly, "Look to the state of some of the foreign countries, which took, at one time, the greatest quantity of our manufactures;" South America, its ports strictly blockaded by France; the United States of North America, "in a state of nascent hostility," and also labouring under "a distress similar to our own, and arising from similar causes. The facility of accommodation afforded by certain banks there gave an undue stimulus to industry; this produced extravagant speculations; many persons failed in consequence, and trade necessarily then came to a stand-still." Canada—the peninsula, France, the great Kingdoms of the middle and north of Europe—Syria, Egypt, China, had been, and were, in such a state, as occasioned all interruption of our trade thither; "a stoppage in the demand for manufactured goods, and a correspondent depression in commerce." "When you put all these things together, all causes, mind you, affecting the market for your goods, and then combine them with the two or three defective harvests we have had of late, I ask you to answer me the question, Whether or not they have been sufficient to account for the depression of manufacturing industry."

Then came Sir Robert Peel to the two grand and suddenly discovered panaceas of the late Government, for recruiting the exhausted revenue, and relieving the general distress—viz. "cheap sugar," and "cheap bread."

1st, As to foreign sugar:—

"I clearly and freely admit that those restrictions which cannot be justified should be removed, and that the commerce of the country should be perfectly free, whenever it can possibly be so; but I consider the article of sugar to be wholly exempt from the principle of free trade." * * * "The question now is this—whether, after the sacrifices which this country has made for the suppression of the slave trade and the abolition of slavery, and the glorious results that have ensued, and are likely to ensue, from these sacrifices—whether we shall run the risk of losing the benefit of those sacrifices, and tarnishing for ever that glory, by admitting to the British market sugar the produce of foreign slavery." * * * "If you admit it, it will come from Brazil and Cuba. In Brazil, the slave-trade exists in full force; in Cuba, it is unmitigated in its extent and horrors. The sugar of Cuba is the finest in the world; but in Cuba, slavery is unparalleled in its horrors. I do not at all overstate the fact, when I say, that 50,000 slaves are annually landed in Cuba. That is the yearly importation into the island; but, when you take into consideration the vast numbers that perish before they leave their own coasts, the still greater number that die amidst the horrors of the middle passage, and the number that are lost at sea, you will come to the inevitable conclusion, that the number landed in Cuba—50,000 annually—is but a slight indication of the number shipped in Africa, or of the miseries and destruction that have taken place among them during their transport thither. If you open the markets of England to the sugar of Cuba, you may depend on it that you give a great stimulus to slavery, and the slave-trade." Sir Robert Peel then pointed out peculiar and decisive distinctions between the case of sugar, and that of cotton, tobacco, and coffee; that, though all of them were the produce of slave labour—First, we cannot now reject the cotton of the United States, without endangering to the last degree the manufacturing prosperity of the kingdom. Secondly, of all the descriptions of slave produce, sugar is the most cruelly destructive of human life—the proportion of deaths in a sugar plantation being infinitely greater than on those of cotton or coffee. Thirdly, slave grown sugar has never been admitted to consumption in this country.[13] He also assigned two great co-operating reasons for rejecting slave-grown sugar:—"That the people of England required the great experiment of emancipation to be fairly tried; and they would not think it fairly tried, if, at this moment, when the colonies were struggling with such difficulties, we were to open the floodgates of a foreign supply, and inundate the British market with sugar, the produce of slave-labour;" adopting the very words of the Whig Vice-President of the Board of Trade, Mr Labouchere, on the 25th June 1840. The other reason was, "that our immense possessions in the East Indies give us the means, and afford us every facility, for acquiring sugar, the produce of free labour, to an illimitable extent."

[13] The following striking passage from the writings of the celebrated Dr Channing of America, was quoted by Sir Robert Peel in the speech under consideration. "Great Britain, loaded with an unprecedented debt, and with a grinding taxation, contracted a new debt of a hundred millions of dollars, to give freedom, not to Englishmen, but to the degraded African. I know not that history records an act so disinterested, so sublime. In the progress of ages, England's naval triumphs will shrink into a more and more narrow space in the records of our race—this moral triumph will fill a broader—brighter page." "Take care!" emphatically added Sir Robert Peel, "that this brighter page be not sullied by the admission of slave sugar into the consumption of this country—by our encouragement—and, too, our unnecessary encouragement of slavery and the slave-trade!"—Noble sentiments!

So much for foreign sugar. Now for—

II. FOREIGN CORN; and we beg the special attention of all parties to this portion of the manifesto of Sir Robert Peel:—

"Look at the capital invested in land and agriculture in this country—look at the interests involved in it—look at the arrangement that has been come to for the commutation of tithes—look at your importation of corn diminishing for the last ten years—consider the burdens on the land peculiar to this country[14]—take all these circumstances into consideration, and then you will agree with Mr McCulloch, the great advocate of a change in the Corn-law, that 'considering the vast importance of agriculture, nearly half the population of the empire are directly or indirectly dependent on it for employment and the means of subsistence; a prudent statesman would pause before he gave his sanction to any measure however sound in principle, or beneficial to the mercantile and manufacturing classes, that might endanger the prosperity of agriculture, or check the rapid spread of improvement.'"[15]

[14] "We believe," says Mr McCulloch himself in another part of the pamphlet, (Longman & Co., 1841, p. 23—6th Edit.) from which Sir Robert Peel is quoting, "that land is more heavily taxed than any other species of property in the country—and that its owners are clearly entitled to insist that a duty should be laid on foreign corn when imported, sufficient fully to countervail the excess of burdens laid upon the land."

[15] Speech, pp. 9, 10.

Now for the "Sliding Scale."

"I just here repeat the opinion which I have declared here before, and also in the House of Commons, that I cannot consent to substitute a fixed duty of 8s. a-quarter on foreign corn, for the present ascending and descending scale of duties. I prefer the principle of the ascending and descending scale, to such an amount of fixed duty. And when I look at the burdens to which the land of this country is subject, I do not consider the fixed duty of 8s. a-quarter on corn from Poland, and Prussia, and Russia, where no such burdens exist, a sufficient protection for it."[16]

[16] Do. p. 8.

Again—

"If you disturb agriculture, and divert the employment of capital from the land, you may not increase your foreign trade—for that is a thing to dwell under existing circumstances—but will assuredly reduce the home trade, by reducing the means to meet the demand, and thus permanently injure yourselves also."[17]

[17] Do. p. 13.

Again—

"I have come to the conclusion, that the existing system of an ascending and descending scale of duties, should not be altered: and that, moreover, we should as much as possible make ourselves independent of a foreign supply—and not disturb the principle of the existing corn-laws—of these corn-laws, which, when you have an abundance of your own, exclude altogether the foreign supply—and when the price rises in this country, freely admits it."[18]

[18] Speech, p. 15.

Again—he quoted the following remarkable language of Lord Melbourne on the 11th June 1840—

"Whether the object be to have a fixed duty, or an alteration as to the ascending and descending scale, I see clearly and distinctly, that that object will not be carried without a most violent struggle—without causing much ill-blood, and a deep sense of grievance—without stirring society to its foundations, and leaving behind every sort of bitterness and animosity. I do not think the advantages to be gained by the change are worth the evils of the struggle."[19]

[19] Do. p. 18.

And Sir Robert Peel concluded the foregoing summary of his views, on the great questions then proposed to the country for its decision, in the following words:—

"I ask your free suffrages, with this frank and explicit declaration of my opinions."[20]

[20] Do. p. 18.

On this, there occur to us three questions—

(1st.) Was this, or was it not, a frank and explicit declaration of his opinions? And, (2d.) Did it, or did it not, as tested by the result of the general election, completely satisfy the country? (3d.) In what respect has the subsequent conduct of Sir Robert Peel been inconsistent with these declarations? And we echo the stern enquiry of the Duke of Wellington, for "the when, the where, and the how," "of Sir Robert Peel's deceiving his supporters or the country"—and "pause for a reply." Failing to receive any—for none can be given, except in the negative—we shall proceed to condense the substance of this memorable manifesto into a few words; offer some general observations designed to assist in forming a correct judgment upon the topics discussed in the ensuing pages; and then give as fair an outline as we know how to present, of the "DOINGS" of Sir Robert Peel and his Government, by way of comment upon, and illustration of his previous and preparatory "SAYINGS."

What, then, was the substance of Sir Robert Peel's declaration, on presenting himself before the country as a candidate for the office which he fills? He avowed himself a man of moderate political opinions; recognized the existence of manufacturing and commercial distress, but referred it to causes of only a temporary nature, unconnected with the corn-laws; repudiated the empirical expedients proposed by the late ministry; and pledged himself to maintain the principle of protection to our agricultural interests; declaring his deliberate preference of a sliding scale of duties, to a fixed duty, upon foreign corn.

The first of the observations to which we beg the reader's earnest attention, is—that Sir Robert Peel has to govern by means of a Reformed House of Commons. It is for want of well considering this circumstance, that one or two respectable sections of the Conservative party have conceived some dissatisfaction at the line of policy adopted by Sir Robert Peel. They forget that, as we have already stated, the Tory party was nearly destroyed by the passing of the Reform Bill; that from its ashes rose the CONSERVATIVE party, adapted to the totally new political exigencies of the times; its grand object being, as it were, out of the elements of democracy to arrest the progress of democracy. The bond of its union was correctly described by its founder, as consisting in attachment to the fundamental institutions of the country—non-opposition to rational changes rendered requisite by the altered circumstances of the times—but determination to maintain, on their ancient footing and foundation, our great institutions in Church and State. Keeping these grand objects ever in view, the true policy to be adopted was to widen the foundations on which should stand "that new party which was to draw, from time to time, its strength from its opponents." None saw this more clearly than Sir Robert Peel—and hence the "moderation," indispensable and all-powerful, which he prescribed to himself, and recommended to all those who chose to act with him, and the steady acting upon which has at length conducted them to their present splendid position of power and responsibility. Could the government of the country be now carried on upon principles that were all-powerful twenty—or even fewer—years ago? No more than Queen Victoria could govern on the principles of Queen Elizabeth! We must look at things, not as they were, or as we would wish them to be—but as they are and are likely to be. He is unable to take a just and comprehensive view of political affairs in this country—of the position of parties, and the tendency of the principles respectively advocated by them, who does not see that the great and only contest now going on, is between conservative and destructive. We say boldly—and we are satisfied that we say it in conformity with the opinions of the immense majority of persons of intelligence and property—that the forces which would drive Sir Robert Peel's Government from office would immediately and inevitably supply their places by a Government which must act upon destructive principles. This will not be believed by many of those who, moving in the circumscribed sphere of intense party feeling, can contemplate only one object, namely—a return to power, and disregard the intentions of the fierce auxiliaries of whose services they would avail themselves. To the country at large, however, who breathe a freer air, the true nature of the struggle is plain as the sun at noonday. The number of those who only nominally belong to parties, but have a very deep stake in the preservation of our national institutions, and see distinctly the advantages of a Minister acting firmly on moderate principles, and who will consequently give him a silent but steady support in moments of danger, is infinitely larger than is supposed by the opponents of the Conservative party. Such a Minister, however, must make up his account with receiving often only a cold and jealous support from those of his adherents who incline to extreme opinions; while his opponents will increase their zeal and animosity in proportion to their perception of the unobjectionableness of his measures, the practical working of his moderation, viz.—his continuance in power, and their own exclusion from it. Such a Minister must possess a large share of fortitude, careless of its exhibition, and often exposing him to the charge of insensibility, as he moves steadily on amongst disaffected supporters and desperate opponents, mindless equally of taunts, threats, reproaches, and misrepresentations. He must resolve to bide his time, while his well-matured measures are slowly developing themselves, relying on the conscious purity of his motives. Such a man as this the country will prize and support, and such a man we sincerely believe that the country possesses in the present Prime Minister. He may view, therefore, with perfect equanimity, a degree of methodized clamour and violence, which would overthrow a Minister of a different stamp. Such are the inconveniences—such the consolations and advantages—attending that course of moderation which alone can be adopted with permanent success, by a Conservative Minister governing with a reformed House of Commons.