Various

Art. I.—Burton's History of Scotland. Vols. V., VI., and VII. London. 1870.

The affairs of Scotland will always occupy an honourable and conspicuous place in the grand drama of national development which makes up the history of the British Empire. It has been the destiny of the Scottish people to influence the general fortunes of England in a larger degree, and more permanently, than could have been expected from their mere numbers, or their position in the north of our island. In the years which succeeded the Norman Conquest, Scotland was, in some measure, a place of refuge for the English name from foreign oppression; and though deeply penetrated by the Norman elements which consolidated and strengthened her feudal monarchy, she held up something like a beacon of hope before the eyes of the down-trodden Saxon, during the calamitous period of alien domination. Two centuries later, when her nationality had become more firmly established, when her Highland clans, her Anglo-Norman colonies, her Norse settlements, and her Lowland commonalty had been brought nominally under a supreme government, though not yet formed into one people, she exhibited to the world a magnificent spectacle of prolonged, stubborn, and successful resistance to the encroachments of a very superior power; and, in the internecine struggle which ensued, we see distinctly the high qualities which have made her the worthy compeer of England. It was probably one of the results of this contest that France, aided by her Northern ally, was enabled to throw off the Plantagenet yoke, and to acquire the position she still holds in Europe; and, but for Verneuil and other battles, it is possible that, in the fifteenth century, England might have become a military despotism, extending from the Western Isles to the Pyrenees, and have had a completely different history. It is unnecessary to say what Scotland accomplished at the great crisis of the Reformation; if, in the person of Mary Stuart, her dynasty threatened England with subjection and with the despotism of the Catholic League, her people proved the defence of Protestantism, rejected the sovereign they justly detested, gave strength to the counsels of Elizabeth, and contributed largely to the success of the policy which culminated in the ruin of the Armada. For it was at the momentous period of the civil wars of the seventeenth century that the house of Stuart and part of the Scottish nobility endeavoured to blight the prospects of England, to stifle freedom by military power, and to restore what was Romanism all but in name; but the mass of the nation opposed the movement, and set the noble example of resistance to it; and though they ultimately separated from England, they did much to cause the series of events which ended in the Revolution of 1688. Scotland, in a word, has had a beneficent influence of a marked and even extraordinary kind in shaping the course of our English story; and we need not notice how her independent spirit has affected for good the national character, what eminent men she has given the State, what valuable additions she has made to the treasures of British literature and thought, what use some of her institutions have been, as patterns for our own imitation.

The author of the interesting volumes before us has long held a distinguished name in connection with the literature of his country. He has given us an exceedingly good account of the transitional period in the history of Scotland, which embraces the Revolution of 1688, the Union, and the final extinction of the reactionary and half-Romanist party in the nation, when Jacobitism perished in 1745. He has also described with clear insight, and, on the whole, with an impartial pen, that honourable episode in Scottish annals, of lasting importance to these kingdoms, the 'ancient league' of Scotland with France; and no writer, perhaps, has done more to elucidate whatever is most noteworthy in the antiquarian remains and monuments of the races which from the earliest times have inhabited the northern division of our island. The history, however, which he has just completed, and which deals with the affairs of Scotland from the Roman invasion, under Agricola, to the overthrow of the House of Stuart, is, beyond comparison, his greatest work; and as a repository of the learning with which modern research and criticism have explored the national life of his countrymen, it stands alone, and without a parallel. Mr. Burton, in his first four volumes, which were published in 1867, carried down his narrative from the legendary period of the Roman occupation, of the Scots and Picts, of Fergus and the old Celtic monarchy, to the rise of the feudal kingdom of Scotland and its long contest with the power of England; and he went on to describe the memorable era when the ascendancy of France, and national pride resenting Flodden and Pinkie Cleugh, struggled with the forces of the Scottish Reformation; and Mary Stuart, but for her crimes and her fall, would probably have united the two crowns, and become the sovereign of a Romanized Britain. If in treating this important part of his subject Mr. Burton was sometimes carried away by a somewhat too exuberant patriotism, if he, perhaps, assigned too high a place to the position of Scotland in British annals, and if he was never eloquent or picturesque, he displayed rare and extensive knowledge, a judgment usually calm and correct, and the faculty of forming sound conclusions; and his account of the Scottish war of independence, and of Scottish politics in the sixteenth century, is worthy of very high commendation. His last three volumes, which have recently appeared, and which we purpose now to review, comprise the last years of the reign of Mary Stuart, the triumph of the Reformation in Scotland, the struggle between the Kirk and the Crown, which marked the beginning of the seventeenth century, the reaction against James I. and his son, and the memorable events which were the result; they proceed to describe the great civil war, the important attitude of Scotland in it, the conquest of the kingdom by Cromwell, and the dreary epoch which followed the Restoration; and, as may be supposed, they exhibit the merits and the shortcomings of the earlier volumes. Mr. Burton is inclined to exaggerate the part which Scotland played in 1640-1649: he is rather too lenient to the Stuart kings, and he is not skilful in the art of composition. But, on the other hand, his learning is profound; his views of most of the great questions which arose during this memorable epoch, are sound and judicious, and deserve attention; and, on the whole, he has placed the events of the drama of which he has followed the chequered scenes, in their true light and real significance.

Mr. Burton's narrative begins at the period of the imprisonment of Mary Stuart at Lochleven. A few months previously the Scottish queen had been the hope of the Catholic Powers, which were ever planning the ruin of Elizabeth, and the overthrow of the Reformation in England; and, widely as they were divided from each other, they looked upon her as the appointed instrument with which to assail the common enemy. Her beauty too, her extraordinary gifts, the magic of her presence, and her rare abilities, had won the hearts of the Scottish nobility; and though she had never deceived Knox and the earnest champions of Scottish Protestantism, the pride of the nation was aroused in her favour, from the circumstance that it seemed probable that the two crowns would unite on her brow, and that she would become the sovereign of England and Scotland. Distrusted as she was in England by all the real friends of the Reformation, she was supported by the Catholic party, still most formidable in rank and numbers; and she had on her side the conservative feeling, of extraordinary strength in that age, which saw in her the heir to the throne, Elizabeth being without children, and the means of bringing England once more into the old order and ways of Europe. Had Mary Stuart not disgraced herself in the opinion even of that generation, not over-scrupulous about the acts of princes, there can be little doubt that she would have been acknowledged as Elizabeth's successor; and very probably she would have brought the reign of the heretic Tudor to a close, would have become the ruler of England and Scotland, arrested the Reformation for a time, and changed the whole tenor of our history. Providentially, however, this was not to be; and Mary Stuart, by her own hand, was to destroy the prospect of power and ambition, fraught with destruction to the destinies of mankind, which fortune seemed to have opened to her. The murder of Darnley, followed by the shameless and infamous marriage with Bothwell, revealed the depths of recklessness and crime in the existence of this singular woman, and placed her at once under the moral ban of Scotland, England, and Catholic Europe. At Carberry Hill her followers' arms dropped, as it were, from their nerveless hands; the nation rose in fury against her; her adherents were for the time silenced; and she found herself on a sudden a prisoner, her son proclaimed, the Reformation victorious, and Murray exercising the powers of a regent; the whole scene changing as if by magic. Catherine de Medicis, also, gave her up, alarmed at the storm which had burst out in Scotland; and though undoubtedly the Florentine queen was not guided by moral considerations, and, at this moment was beginning to adopt a conciliatory policy towards the French Huguenots, her complete abandonment of Mary Stuart was caused chiefly by a true conviction that she had ruined herself in general opinion. Philip II. also declined to give the slightest countenance to the beautiful fury, in whom he had hoped to find a St. Teresa; and in Catholic and Conservative England the revulsion of feeling was so strong, that thenceforward the cause of Mary Stuart ceased to be national in any real sense.

Sir Walter Scott and Mr. Froude have given us very different accounts of the captivity of Mary Stuart at Lochleven. Mr. Burton has taken great pains to ascertain the facts, and to judge of them, and we quote a few words from his description:—

'The conclusion of all is, that there is nothing in the conditions to justify the inference that the captive was to be sent thither as to a place of sordidness and severity, as well as of seclusion and security.... There is no evidence that the Lady of Lochleven treated her prisoner harshly. Much vigilance was necessary, however, and that could not be accomplished without giving annoyance and even pain. The daughters of the house shared the prisoner's bed. To one who had enjoyed full command over the stately reserve of the court of France, and the impregnable barrier of isolation which it had put at her disposal, this may have been a heavy grievance; it can be paralleled only by the sufferings of people accustomed to civilized refinement, when their lot is cast among barbarians.'—(Vol. v. 98.)

The only personage, as is well known, who seems to have shown any real sympathy with the Queen of Scotland, in this forlorn condition, was the sovereign who, it might be supposed, was of all persons the least likely to do anything in behalf of her cause. On hearing of the imprisonment of Mary, Elizabeth not only refused to give open support to her 'rebellious lords,' but actually threatened to invade Scotland, should they not restore their mistress to the throne, on terms, however, dictated by England. To suppose that this conduct is to be ascribed to chivalrous generosity would be a mistake; nor do we think with Mr. Burton, that it was due wholly to Tudor dislike of disobedience to the Lord's anointed, though this certainly was one ruling motive. Elizabeth, undoubtedly, throughout her entire reign, especially in the case of the united provinces, was averse to countenancing revolted subjects, even when to do so was her evident interest; but in this instance she was, in fact, guided by other considerations in her conduct. She seems to have wished in this, following the traditional policy of English rulers, to have taken upon herself the settlement of Scotland; and she did not choose that that kingdom should be revolutionized without her sanction. She also had a particular aversion to Knox and the Reforming leaders; and very probably her sagacious advisers may have foreseen that the rule of Murray and his associates was far from secure. These motives probably influenced her policy in not siding with the Regent and his followers; and in one respect the event vindicated, in a great measure, her cautious prudence. Though the infant James was formally crowned, though the Reformed Church was established in Scotland, and Murray proved himself an able ruler, a strong reaction set in in favour of the imprisoned queen; and though unquestionably the great mass of the nation remained completely hostile, she was able to rally a party sufficient to cause a violent counter-revolution. The numerous adherents of the old Church, the whole body of the Catholic clergy, and a large minority of the Scottish nobility enlisted themselves on the side of Mary Stuart; they were joined by some of the politicians and patriots whose one idea was the giving a Scottish sovereign to England; and pity for misfortune, the recollection of rare beauty and great gifts, and that strange loyalty which so often has shown itself superior to the sense of right, of justice, and of the successful cause, contributed to swell the ranks of her followers. Mr. Burton describes the escape from Lochleven, and the stirring incidents of the struggle which ensued, with much research and even animation; but we can only refer our readers to them. The unimportant battle of Langside showed that, however imposing it was in name, the party of the queen was not supported in any degree by the Scottish nation; a defeat, though little more than a skirmish, was sufficient to overthrow her career, and to compel her forthwith to leave her kingdom. After her flight, in which she found few friends, Mary Stuart was obliged to take refuge in England, abandoning for ever a country in which she had played one of the most astonishing parts that have ever fallen to the lot of woman, and which, excepting a revolutionary faction, had repudiated her for crimes which had effaced the sentiment of former affection.

We agree generally with Mr. Burton in his estimate of Elizabeth's policy when her rival had placed herself in her power. That policy was not generous or high-minded; it was even temporising, doubtful, and tentative; but it was essentially crafty and prudent. To have listened to the petition of the Scottish queen, and to have sent her over to France or Spain, would have been to arm the enemies of England with a weapon of the most perilous kind, and, at the same time, to make all Protestant Scotland permanently hostile. On the other hand, Elizabeth refused to hand her guest over to the Scottish lords, in part certainly from compassionate feelings, in part from her known antipathy to rebellion against a lawful sovereign, and in part from a well-founded doubt whether the government of Murray was really stable, and whether, if the surrender were made, a violent reaction would not follow. A middle course was artfully struck out, which had the advantage of seeming just, of ruining the fair fame of Mary Stuart, and depriving her of all moral influence, and which, moreover, gave her the right of intervening in Scottish affairs, and making England the arbiter of them. Under the form of a charge against her revolted subjects, Mary Stuart was really put on her trial before the most distinguished personages in England; and the result of the inquiry was that she was disgraced in public opinion, that her detention was in part justified, and that, though made somewhat dependent on England, Murray and the Regency were confirmed in power. This is what Elizabeth and Cecil had aimed at, and whatever may be thought of the dignity of their conduct, it fell in with the interests of England; and it was, on the whole, inspired by wisdom. Mr. Burton describes at much length the conferences at York and Hampton Court, but we have no space to dwell on his narrative. The only real question was as to the guilt of Mary, and of this, like ourselves, he has no doubt. The evidence contained in the casket letters is confirmed by numerous subordinate proofs; the authenticity of the letters themselves was hardly questioned in that generation, and not a single member of the Commission—though several were devoted to Mary—not even, apparently, her own advocates, attempted to challenge this decisive fact. As the Scottish queen has found defenders of the boldest kind, even in our day, we quote a part of Mr. Burton's comments:—

'There are two theories on which the guilty conclusion to which the casket documents point has been resisted with great perseverance and gallantry; the one is, that, as we now see them, they have been tampered with; the other, that they are forgeries from the beginning. All questions raised on the prior theory, are at once settled by the fact that those to whom the letters were first shown, drew conclusions from them as damnatory as any they can now suggest.... The theory of an entire forgery seems not to have occurred to any of those friends or foes of the queen who saw the documents.... And it is impossible not to connect the stream of contemporary impugnment with a notable peculiarity in these documents. They are as affluent in petty details about matters personally known to persons who could have contradicted them if false, that the forger could only have scattered around him, in superfluous profusion, allusions that must have been traps for his own detection. Wherever any of these petty matters come to the surface elsewhere, it is in a shape to confirm the accuracy of the mention made of them in these letters.... Though this controversy has produced dazzling achievements of ingenuity and sagacity, I would be inclined not so much to press technical points of evidence, as to look to the general tone and character of the whole story. In this view nothing appears to me more natural than the casket letters. They fit entirely into their places in the dark history of events.'—(Vol. iv. p. 436, et seq.)

Events showed that Elizabeth and Cecil were right in calculating that the power of Murray did not rest on a secure foundation. The Regent was one of the best governors who ever appeared in Scottish history; he was honourable, upright, firm, yet humane; and during his too brief rule he maintained order in a manner unknown in that generation. The religious movement, too, of which he was the unselfish and sincere champion, was followed by the great mass of the nation; and though most of the Reforming lords were simply greedy for the spoils of Popery, Knox and his adherents went with them, and, as a people, Scotland was sincerely Protestant. These combined elements of power, however, did not render the Government safe, and it was exposed to a series of formidable attacks which kept the country for some years in anarchy. The united parties which Langside had quelled again formed a perilous coalition; and the old Church, many of the great feudal lords, and the statesmen who wished above all things to place a Stuart on the Tudor throne, once more rallied in behalf of Queen Mary. The leading spirit of this ill-assorted league was that singular character, Maitland of Lethington, one of the ablest men of that stirring age, yet, with his keen intellect and clear brain, an enthusiast possessed by a vain idea. Long one of the chief opponents of the queen, he had yielded to the alluring prospect—held out to him skilfully by his wife, one of the captive's principal attendants—of making Mary Stuart the sovereign of Great Britain, and he now schemed and plotted in her cause in conjunction with his worst former enemies. At the same time, Elizabeth maintained a dubious attitude towards the Regency: wishing to stand well with the Catholic Powers, with whom for the moment she was at peace, and always disliking undutiful subjects, she more than once declared she would release the queen; and though we do not believe she was sincere in this, the effect was to weaken the Scottish Government, and to add strength to its many adversaries. Besides, Elizabeth contrived to stir the sense of Scottish patriotism to the quick by an imperious demand for the extradition of one of the leaders of the Northern rebellion; and the cry went forth that the pusillanimous Regency was the dishonoured instrument of Tudor oppression, and that Scotland under her lawful sovereign should again vindicate her independence with the assistance of her old ally, France. The result was a furious civil war, of which, after the murder of the Regent, the issue was for a time doubtful; and, as Mr. Burton correctly observes, Scotland was more thoroughly and widely divided than she had been at any former period. An event, however, which in that age revolutionized the politics of Europe, was, in Scotland also, to change the situation. The atrocious massacre of St. Bartholomew stirred to its depths a people essentially Protestant, confounded the adherents of Mary Stuart, made the French alliance a source of dread, and threw the nation on the side of the Regency, now in the hands of the vigorous Morton. At the same time, it showed Elizabeth that the interest of England compelled her to support 'the lords,' Knox, and the Reformation; that in Mary she had an implacable enemy; and that her only chance was to strike in boldly with Morton and the national Protestant party. The union of these forces was decisive; Morton and his adherents, backed generally by the spirit of an indignant people, overcame quickly Mary Stuart's faction; an English army invaded Scotland, and the siege and fall of the Castle of Edinburgh put an end to the French alliance, destroyed for ever the chances of the Scottish queen, and, with the death of Lethington and Grange, extinguished the prospects of her cause.

Mr. Burton thus describes this conjunction, one of the turning-points in the history of Scotland:—

'For the future three great disturbing forces, prolific in action, are seen no more. In the first place, the game of conquest has been entirely played out by England. We may say, perhaps, that it came to an end with the Reformation; but there was still room for it, and it might start up any day. Now its place was occupied. On both sides of the border, men looked to another solution of the problem, how the two nations should be made into one. Secondly, it followed that there was no longer danger from abroad, since French protection was no longer needed. The ancient league, if not dead, was paralyzed, and all its long romance of heroism and kindly sympathy was at an end.... Thirdly, Queen Mary has no longer a place in the history of her country. She was in one sense busier than ever ... but in Scotland, however many may have been the hearts secretly devoted to her, her name passed out of the arena of political action and discussion.'—(Vol. v. 384.)

After these events the history of Scotland passes through a period of intrigues and factions, in the midst of which James I. grew up. He abandoned his ill-fated mother, and the Catholic Powers endeavoured to make his youth the instrument of their designs. The ascendancy of D'Aubigny and Arran marks the short-lived triumph of this policy. These attempts, however, were in the long run fruitless; the great body of the people adhered to Protestantism and the English alliance; the Kirk and the Reforming nobles worked together against the common enemy; and James, as he grew to man's estate, had sagacity enough to see the strongest side, and to direct accordingly his public conduct. Mr. Burton omits to dwell upon the base selfishness of the young king, in throwing over the unhappy princess, to whom he owed the love of a son. But morally he was always a coward; and the prospect of the inheritance of England, and the dread of alienating Elizabeth, was more than enough to determine his purpose. The extremely unsettled state of Scotland, after the death of the Regent Morton, and the rudeness and barbarism of its government, appear in the frequency and sudden violence of the changes which took place in its rulers; and it seems to have been assumed, that whatever faction had possession of the person of the king, was rightly invested with supreme authority. In these circumstances, as may be supposed, the progress of Scotland was only slow; the face of the country seemed scarred with the marks of desolation and war; the nation was rent by intestine troubles; and travellers from England drew marked contrasts between the aspect of the Southern land at peace under the Tudor sceptre, and that of its lawless Northern neighbour. Nevertheless, the course of events tended inevitably to the approaching union of the two crowns under a common sovereign—invasion from England had wholly ceased—and though the aged Elizabeth would not acknowledge the title of James to her glorious throne, every politician in both countries was aware that the time was not distant, when the policy inaugurated by Edward I., and pursued by every great English monarch, of joining together the whole of the island, would be consummated without civil war or bloodshed. Meanwhile the tragic and striking figure which had played such an awful and mournful part in the historical drama of the two kingdoms had passed away for ever from the stage, and the terrible career of Mary Stuart had been cut short by the Fotheringay headsman. Mr. Burton properly does not dilate on the incidents of her melancholy life during the later years of her long imprisonment, for they hardly belong to his subject, but his estimate of them is generally correct. Mary Stuart, after the final overthrow of her party in Scotland, transferred her energies to intriguing with the Continental powers; and it can admit of no question that she continued to maintain her claims to the crown of England, that she plotted directly against the life of Elizabeth, and that she kept England in a state of apprehension, intolerable to the Parliament and nation. She was a conspirator of the worst kind, and deserved the death she bravely encountered; and the crooked policy, the vacillation, and the duplicity of her rival towards her prisoner, should not render us blind to the real issue.

While, in circumstances such as these, Scotland was working out her political destiny, her ecclesiastical and religious reformation was being developed and matured. In no country, perhaps, in Europe had the Church of Rome been so grossly corrupt as in the northern part of our island; it had been the appanage of a vicious court, and the instrument of coarse spiritual tyranny; and in none, accordingly, was the reaction against it more rapid, popular, and thoroughly decisive. Although Beaton and the men of his faction had endeavoured to associate the defence of Popery with the spirit of stern opposition to the Southron, their policy had, in the long run, failed; and before Mary Stuart ascended the throne, Scotland, as a nation, had become Protestant. The grand and striking figure of Knox was the chief exponent of this movement; but it is idle to imagine that even Knox could have changed the spiritual life of Scotland, if the people had not been generally with him. As usually has happened, the baser elements of selfishness mingled with this revolution; and the support given by most of the Scottish nobles to the overthrow of Romanism was chiefly prompted by a greedy appetite for the spoils of the fallen Church. Nevertheless, the Reformation took firm root; the old ecclesiastical system of the country and its ancient faith were violently changed; and the accession of Murray to the Regency marks the period of this great transformation. Mr. Burton's account of the new Church which rose on the ruins of its predecessor, and of its peculiar ritual and doctrine, is one of the most interesting parts of his book, and abounds in learning and sound criticism. The Scottish Kirk was founded upon the model of the Huguenot Church of France; with a large admixture of lay elements, it had the same definite and strong organization, and the same tendency to create what was a powerful priesthood all but in name; and its teaching exemplified the austerity and strictness of the theology of Calvin. From the first, accordingly, it was calculated to encourage pretensions among the ministry, and to become an imperium in imperio, not without risk of collision with the State; and its whole system, in its excess, led to fanaticism and contempt of civil authority. We transcribe a few passages from Mr. Burton's description of the Second Book of Discipline of the Scottish Kirk, a specimen of its general principles:—

'It sets forth that, "as the ministers and others of the ecclesiastical estate are subject to the magistrate civil, so ought the person of the magistrate be subject to the Kirk spiritually, and in ecclesiastical government." Further:—"The civil power should command the spiritual to exercise and do their office according to the word of God; the spiritual rulers should require the Christian magistrate to minister justice and punish vice, and to maintain the liberty and quietness of the Kirk within their bounds." Nothing could be on its face a fairer distribution. The civil power was entitled to command the spiritual to do its duty; but then the magistrate was not to have authority to "execute the censures of the Church, nor yet prescribe any rule how it should be done." This is entirely in the hands of the Church; but in enforcing it the State is the Church's servant, for it is the magistrate's duty to "assist and maintain the discipline of the Kirk, and punish them civilly that will not obey the discipline of the same." Thus the State could give no effective orders to the Church, but the Church could order the State to give material effect to its rules and punishments. It was the State's duty, at the same time, to preserve for the Church its whole patrimony; and we have seen that this meant all the vast wealth which had been gathered up by the old Church. Among the prerogatives of the clergy, it was further declared that "they have power to abrogate and abolish all statutes and ordinances concerning ecclesiastical matters that are found noisome and unprofitable, and agree not with the time, or, are abused by the people."'—(Vol. v. 470.)

While Knox and his generation survived, the tendencies of the new establishment were prevented from fully showing themselves. The great Reformer was at bottom moderate; he had a real reverence for the powers that be, however he abhorred Mary Stuart. The lay lords had sufficient influence to control the ministry throughout the country; and the presence of a common danger compelled the Scottish Protestants to uphold the Government. But, when the Kirk had become settled, and the Reformation was completely secure, dissensions rapidly grew up between the spiritual and civil powers, and the Presbyterian clergy began to assume that attitude in the affairs of Scotland, which led, afterwards, to such momentous consequences. The leader of the new school of divines was the celebrated Melville, thus described by Mr. Burton:—

'Knox had a respect for hereditary rank which only yielded to a higher duty, when, as the successor of the prophets of old, he had to announce the law of God even to the highest. Melville, though born to a higher position, was more of the leveller. He was the type of a class who, to as much of the fierce fanaticism of the Huguenots as the Scottish character could receive, added the stern classical republicanism of Buchanan.'—(Vol. v. 404.)

An organization of this kind, supported by such spiritual leaders, ere long displayed its natural tendencies. The Kirk, with its powerful local ministry, connected with each other by numerous links, attempted to revive in Scotland the pretensions of the old dominant Church, and it succeeded in creating a vast spiritual power, often in conflict with the authority of the State. The principal fact in Scottish history, during the last years of the sixteenth century and the first of the seventeenth, was the opposition given, by the Presbyterian clergy, to the acts and even the rights of the Crown; and though the conduct of James I. was, as usual, arrogant and unwise, he was subjected to extreme provocation. The enthusiasm which followed the defeat of the Armada, the supposed inclination of the king to High Church, and even Romanist doctrines, and the open favour he showed to several of the old Catholic Scottish houses, gave strength to the champions of the Kirk; and for some time, as he ruefully exclaimed, he was not a ruler in his own dominions. The formal abolition of Episcopacy in Scotland—the institution had existed in name even after the iconoclasm of Knox—marks the highest point of Presbyterian ascendancy; and, more than once, the king and his council were compelled to yield to the demands put forward by those whom he called the 'Popes of Edinburgh.' Undoubtedly, however, if James had been a really able and popular ruler, he could have vindicated his supreme authority, and the national estates, which even at this juncture often showed jealousy of the heads of the Kirk, would have upheld the prerogatives of the Crown. As it was, Scotland was divided by a contest between the Church and the State, and the Presbyterian Hildebrands assumed an attitude which contributed afterwards to many troubles. We quote a passage that gives an idea of the bickerings between the king and the clergy:—

'Entering in the cabinet with the king alone, I show his Majesty that the Commissioners of the General Assembly, with certain other brethren ordained to watch for the well of the Kirk in so dangerous a time, had convened at Cupar. At the which word the king interrupts me, and angrily quarrels our meeting, alleging it was without warrant and seditious, making ourselves and the country to conceive fear where there was no cause. To the which I, beginning to reply in my manner, Mr. Andrew could not abide it, but brake off upon the king in so zealous, powerful, and unresistible a manner, that, howbeit the king used his authority in most crabbed and choleric manner, Mr. Andrew bore him down, and uttered the commission as from the mighty God, calling the king but "God's silly vassal," and, taking him by the sleeve, says this in effect, through much hot reasoning and many interruptions, "Sir, we will humbly reverence your Majesty, always, namely, in public. But, since we have this occasion to be with your Majesty in private, and the truth is, you are brought in extreme danger, both of your life and crown, and, with you, the country and Kirk of Christ is like to wreck for not telling you the truth, and giving of you a faithful counsel—we must discharge our duty therein, or else be traitors, both to Christ and you! And therefore, Sir, as divers times before, so now again, I must tell you, there are two kings and two kingdoms in Scotland. There is Christ Jesus the King, and His Kingdom the Kirk, whose subject King James the Sixth is—and of his kingdom, not a king, nor a lord, nor a head, but a member!"'—(Vol. vi. 81.)

While seeds of trouble were thus growing up in the contests between the Kirk and the Crown, the great Tudor queen had passed away, and James became monarch of the three kingdoms. Both England and Scotland recognised in him the principle of hereditary right, for there was little in his character or antecedents to recommend him as a national sovereign. In his own country he had become unpopular, and in England he was chiefly known as one who had basely betrayed his mother, who had intrigued with Elizabeth to obtain her throne, and who had no sympathy with the great alliance with France and the United Provinces in the war with Spain. James, however, encountered no opposition in assuming the sceptre of these realms; and his progress to London from the North—described graphically by Mr. Burton—was a scene of continuous joy and festivity. The king, at least, had ample reason to feel delight at the happy change which had come over his life and prospects. He left a poor and distracted country—where his reign had long been a long scene of trouble, and where he was being continually reviled by those who, in his phrase, 'agreed as well with monarchy as the devil with Christ'—for rich, peaceful, and well-ordered England; and he might well expect a season of repose amidst the blandishments of a Tudor hierarchy, and the submissive acts of Tudor courtiers. For some time he was not disappointed, and what between the unctuous flattery of prelates, who said that 'he spake like the Spirit,' and of nobles who vied with each other in adulation, James must have thought himself translated to a sphere not unworthy even of his own estimate of himself. Before long, however, he was destined to find out that in England, as well as Scotland, he was to earn the contempt and dislike of his subjects. Essentially timid and short-sighted, he abandoned the foreign policy of Elizabeth; he disgusted Englishmen by his open preference for worthless and needy Scottish favourites; and in a few years he found himself in antagonism with the House of Commons, now becoming a real image of the nation, and with the tremendous force of Puritanism already growing into ascendancy in England. Mr. Burton gives us, from a contemporary chronicler, this sketch of the ignoble monarch:—

'He was of a middle stature, more corpulent through his clothes than in his body, yet fat enough; his clothes ever being made large and easy, the doublets quilted for stiletto proof; his breeches in great plaits and full stuffed. He was naturally of a timid disposition, which was the greatest reason of his quilted doublets. His eyes large, ever rolling after any stranger came in his presence, inasmuch as many for shame have left the room, being out of countenance. His beard was very thin; his tongue too large for his mouth, which ever made him speak full in the mouth, and made him drink very uncomely as if eating his drink, which came out into the cup on each side of his mouth. His skin was as soft as taffeta sarcenet, which felt so because he never washed his hands—only rubbed his finger-ends slightly with the wet end of a napkin. His legs were very weak, having had, it was thought, some foul play in his youth, or rather before he was born, that he was not able to stand at seven years of age—that weakness made him ever leaning on other men's shoulders.'—(Vol. vi. 162.)

As is well known, the dislike entertained for James in England was in part owing to the favour he showed to Scotch favourites. The nation, too, abounding in keen adventurers—poor, hardy, and pushing—came in for a share of this feeling; and the wits and satirists of the day indulged in sarcasms on the greedy race who crossed the border in hungry swarms to feed on the wealth of of the well-fed Southron. We quote from one of these pasquinades:—

'Bonny Scot, we all witness can,

That England hath made thee a gentleman.

Thy blue bonnet, when thou came hither,

Could scarce keep out the wind and weather;

But now it is turned to a hat and feather;

Thy bonnet is blown—the devil knows whither.

Thy shoes on thy feet when thou camest from plough,

Were made of the hide of an old Scots cow;

But now they are turned to a rare Spanish leather,

And decked with roses altogether.

Thy sword at thy [back] was a great black blade,

With a great basket-hilt of iron made;

But now a long rapier doth hang by his side,

And huffingly doth this bonny Scot ride.

Bonny Scot, we all witness can,

That England hath made thee a gentleman.'

—(Vol. vi. 191.)

During the years that followed the union of the crowns, Scotland made considerable material progress, though still troubled by occasional disorder. The strife which for ages had made the border a theatre of desolation and rapine came, to a great extent, to an end, and signs of good husbandry and growing comfort began to appear in this wild district. The great house of Huntly, 'the cock of the North,' and the terror of the Reformation party, was balanced by the rival house of Argyle, and the barbarous Highlands were reduced in some degree to subjection to the Crown. The wealth of Scotland increased apace under the influence of trade comparatively free; and the political consequences were important in weakening the connection of the country with France. At the same time, the authority of the law, which, since the death of Murray, had been feeble, began to be again vindicated. The following, from a contemporary eye-witness, will show the progress of this revolution:—

'The Islanders oppressed the Highlandmen; the Highlanders tyrannized over their Lowland neighbours; the powerful and violent in the country domineered over the lives and goods of their weak neighbours; the Borderers triumphed in the immunity of their violences to the ports of Edinburgh; that treasons, murthers, burnings, thefts, reifs, heirships, hocking of oxen, breaking of mills, destroying of growing corns, and barbarities of all sorts were exercised in all parts of the country—no place nor person being exempt or inviolable—Edinburgh being the ordinary place of butchery, revenge, and daily fights.... These and all other abominations, which, settled by inveterate custom and impunity, appeared to be of desperate remeid, had been so repressed, punished, and abolished by your Majesty's care, power, and expenses, as no nation on earth could now compare with our prosperities.'—(Vol. vi. 283.)

Yet, though Scotland was growing in wealth, and the authority of the Crown was increasing, the nation, during the last years of this reign, abounded in discontent and disorder. The Scots seem to have felt bitterly the transference of their ancient Royal House to an alien and lately hostile country; and though they had no affection for James, they resented the visible loss of the monarchy. A High Commissioner and Council at Edinburgh could not supply the place of the sovereign; the evils of absenteeism began to be felt in the capital and the rural districts; and complaints were made that what had been a kingdom was now treated as a subject province. Dissatisfaction of this kind, however, was small, compared to the angry sentiments engendered by the long-standing quarrel between James and the Presbyterian clergy. Puffed up by the oriental flattery of the courtiers and prelates at Whitehall, that sagacious ruler formed the design of revolutionizing the Kirk in Scotland, and of restoring the mode of Church government which the Reformation had violently overthrown; and he proceeded to his work with a timid arrogance which provoked contempt and indignation alike. Many circumstances concurred to second a purpose, which in the next generation was to culminate in disaster and ruin to the House of Stuart. The pretensions of the Presbyterian ministry had disgusted many moderate persons; their despotic claims to spiritual domination had aroused the jealousy of the national estates; a large party among the nobility were ready to comply with the wishes of James; and though the nation was fanatically Protestant, a minority of it had no sympathy with what they thought was sacerdotal tyranny. The result was that, without seeming difficulty, Episcopacy was again set up in Scotland; the king was enabled to boast complacently that he had built up the chief pillar of the throne, and he even succeeded in introducing innovations into the simple ritual which had been established after the Reformation. James, however, prudently abstained from allying aristocratic selfishness with popular feeling, and did not venture to lay hands on the forfeited possessions of the Church, long in the ownership of lay families; and, on the whole, notwithstanding the tone of pompous dictation assumed by him, he avoided wounding powerful class interests when he insisted upon the return to 'Prelacy.' His bishops, indeed, were very different personages from the mitred tyrants who, a century before, had lorded it over thousands of vassals, and had exasperated Scotland by their pride and wickedness. They were, for the most part, needy and insignificant men, who thought a great deal more of 'making ends meet,' and of winning the royal ear by adulation, than of asserting the claims of the Church, and they had little in common with the class of the Beatons. Mr. Burton gives us a most interesting account of their difficulties and privations, and of the ignoble means some of them took to keep up their state. We quote an anecdote to that effect:—

'When I was in England his Majesty did promise to me the making of two serjeants-at-law, and I travailed with some to that effect, with whom I covenanted, if they were made serjeants by my means they should give me eleven hundred pounds sterling the piece, and the projector a hundred pounds of it for his pains. Now I have received ane letter, that these same men are called to be serjeants, and has received his Majesty's writ to that effect, and desires me to write to them anent that indenting. I beseech you to know if his Majesty's will is I be paid by that course or not.'—(Vol. vi. 265.)

This change, however, though it did not provoke a violent revolution in Scotland, created a large amount of discontent. The Presbyterian clergy declared that the Kirk had been contaminated and profaned; they kept up a sullen agitation; and many of their congregations only awaited an opportunity to revolt openly. Whenever James paid a visit to his Scottish dominions, which he occasionally did, his devout respect for the Anglican ritual, his reverence for 'my Lords, the Bishops,' and his assiduous care about forms and vestments, aroused indignation and contempt, and before his death it had become evident that a great religious movement was at hand. The King, however, continued to avert a passionate explosion during his life; he avoided acts of high-handed oppression; and it is remarkable that he expressed an unfavourable opinion of the wrong-headed personage who in the next reign was to precipitate the catastrophe and bring his son to ruin. We quote James's account of the character of Laud:—

'The plain truth is, that I keep Laud back from all places of rule and authority because I find he hath a restless spirit, and cannot see when matters are well, but loves to toss and change, and to bring things to a pitch of reformation floating in his own brain, which may endanger the steadfastness of that which is in a good pass, God be praised. I speak not at random. He hath made himself known to me to be such a one; for when, three years since, I had obtained of the Assembly of Perth to consent to five articles of order and decency in correspondence with this Church of England, I gave them promise by attestation of faith made, that I would try their obedience no further anent ecclesiastic affairs. Yet this man hath pressed me to incite them to a nearer conjunction with the liturgy and canons of this nation.'—(Vol. vi. 339.)

The death of James, in 1625, was the inauguration of a new era in Scotland. The king, though full of arrogant pretensions, was timid, feeble, and not without a certain kind of political insight; and if he had irritated and alarmed the nation, he did not venture to outrage its feelings or to assail some of its most powerful interests. His successor, naturally a firmer man, and taught to believe the odious doctrines of passive obedience and divine right, had no scruples in overbearing opposition, however stern and national, to the line of policy he had marked out for himself; and the conscientiousness he undoubtedly possessed with respect to certain cardinal principles, made him obstinate in carrying them out in government. Besides, he seems to have really thought it was no part of the duty of a king to keep faith with ministers or subjects, that something in his office placed him outside the pale of ordinary moral obligations; and in addition, like all the Stuarts, he was especially addicted to favourites, and to lend an ear to their unwise counsels. Such a man, a bad ruler as it were on principle, was calculated to precipitate the great revolution which in England and Scotland alike had been gradually in course of development. As Mr. Burton truly observes, the teasing, fitful, and hesitating attempts of James to cross the will of his people, were as nothing to the steady and resolute efforts with which Charles endeavoured to accomplish the ends which from the first he had clearly in view. The battle in Scotland, as might have been expected, commenced upon the affairs of the Church; and the king, with singular unwisdom, contrived to unite against him most of the nobility, the Kirk, and the bulk of the people, and to stir to its depths the national sentiment. There can be little doubt that Charles intended to force the Anglican system on Scotland, and to introduce into that kingdom the well-endowed State Church, the rich courtier prelates, 'the midge-madge of doctrine,' and the gorgeous ritual which he considered divine in England. His first step was audaciously to claim the resumption of the revenues of the old Church of Scotland, which had been forfeited at the Reformation:—

'A proclamation announced the general revocation by the new king of all grants by the Crown, and all acquisitions to the prejudice of the Crown, whether before or after his father's Act of Annexation in 1587. This was virtually the proclamation of that contest of which King Charles was destined never to see the end. It proposed to sweep into the royal treasury the whole of the vast ecclesiastical estates which had passed into the hands of the territorial potentates from the Reformation downwards, since it went back to things done before King James's annexation.'—(Vol. vi. 355.)

By this wicked and insensate measure, Charles made enemies of all the powerful men, the leaders of the nobility of Scotland, who were in possession of ecclesiastical property, and he gave the whole nation a significant example of the iniquities of mere arbitrary power. But he was not satisfied with exasperating a class; he proceeded to touch to the very quick the religious and patriotic feelings of the nation. At the stroke of a pen he completely changed the ecclesiastical polity of Scotland, by proclaiming his right to make canons for the Kirk; and he not only introduced many of these ordinances, but he peremptorily enjoined the use of forms and symbols in worship for many years detested in Scotland. This was done, too, with a coarse contempt of Scottish sentiment which was especially galling; the innovations being thrust upon the country by English prelates, regarded as aliens. We quote a specimen of scenes which, doubtless, were not unfrequent at this juncture:—

'At the back of this altar, covered with tapestry, there was ane rich tapestry wherein the crucifix was curiously wrought; and as those bishops who were in service passed by this crucifix they were seen to bow their knee, and beck, which, with their habit, was noticed, and bred great fear of inbringing of Popery.... The Archibishop of St. Andrew's and four bishops did "the service" "with white rochets and white sleeves and copes of gold, having blue silk to their foot." Bishop Laud took Glasgow, and thrust him from the king with these words, "Are you a Churchman, and wants the coat of your order?"'—(Vol. vi. 376.)

In this kind of foreign innovation, Laud, now made a royal favourite, was badly and conspicuously eminent. This meddling priest, who thought that he could bind the faith of two nations within his formulas, was made an overseer of the Scottish prelates, and presented to them with insolent rudeness the ecclesiastical policy they were to adopt. There is reason to believe they disliked him heartily, while he was execrated by the Presbyterian clergy. We quote a few words from one of his dictatorial letters:—

'You are immutably to hold this rule, and that by his Majesty's strict and most special command—namely, that yourself, or the Lord Ross, or both of you together, do privately acquaint the Earl of Traquair; ... and the earl will readily do all good offices for the Church that come within his power, according to all such commands as he shall receive, either immediately from the king, or otherwise by direction of his Majesty from myself.'—(Vol. vi. 386.)

By this policy, Charles had contrived to unite the great mass of the nation against him. The descendants of the lay lords of the Reformation, the moderate men who reverenced law, the still powerful Presbyterian clergy and their congregations throughout the country were alarmed, irritated, and provoked; and signs of discontent were manifest even in the Council of National Estates. The last drop that made the cup overflow was the publication of the famous Liturgy of Laud, which, itself odious to all true Protestants, was forced on the people in a manner certain to exasperate a high-spirited country. Mr. Burton criticises at length and learnedly this celebrated attempt on the faith of Scotland: it must suffice to say that the new Liturgy was in conflict with all the forms of Scottish worship, devised, as we have seen, from the Huguenots, which had existed since the Reformation. The scenes that ensued are well known, and it is not necessary to dwell on them. The 'rabblings' of the angry mobs at Edinburgh, Jenny Geddes and her 'devout sisters,' the terror that fell on the appointed bishops, were merely symptoms of the deep indignation which had taken possession of the people of Scotland; and, in a short time, a general opposition was organized against the king and his government. How ignorant Charles and his ministers in England were of the tempest they had waked, will be seen from the following passage:—

'The truth is, there was so little curiosity either in the court or the country to know anything of Scotland, or what was done there, that when the whole nation was solicitous to know what passed weekly in Germany and Poland, and all other parts of Europe, no man ever enquired what was doing in Scotland; nor had that kingdom a place or mention of one page of any gazette.'—(Vol. vi. 451.)

Meanwhile the opposition to the king in Scotland had assumed a formidable shape, and throughout the country crowds of 'supplicants,' demanding a repeal of the obnoxious measures which had been passed during the preceding years, had formed themselves into regular assemblies, connected with a central convocation, which expressed angrily the will of the people. It has been supposed that the Council of Edinburgh connived, to say the least, with this movement; it certainly recognised the representative quality of the delegates by treating officially with them; and the institution of the celebrated 'Tables' marks the commencement of the great revolution. Charles, however, and his councillors were unrelenting; and Laud especially distinguished himself in invoking fire and sword upon the audacious 'rebels.' The 'Tables,' that is, the leading men of the nation, acknowledged as a lawful power, in direct opposition to the Sovereign, resolved to make their authority felt; and the famous compact of the 'Covenant' found the entire sympathy of all classes with them. The Covenant, in fact, was the solemn protest of Scotland against the wrong done by the king. The following, from a contemporary account, shows the deep enthusiasm with which it was welcomed:—

'Gentlemen and noblemen carried copies about in their portmanteaus or pockets, requiring subscriptions thereunto, and using their utmost endeavours with their friends in private for to subscribe. It was subscribed publicly in churches, ministers exhorting their people thereunto. It was also subscribed and sworn privately. All had power to take the oath, and were licensed and welcomed to come in; and any that pleased had power and license for to carry the Covenant about with him, and give the oath to such as were willing to subscribe and swear. And such was the zeal of many subscribers, that for a while many subscribed with tears on their cheeks; and it is constantly reported that some did draw their own blood, and used it in place of ink, to underwrite their names.'—(Vol. vi. 488.)

Charles now began to act after the fashion which was to lead him at last to ruin and death. He had not yet alienated the hearts of his people, and timely concession and simple justice would certainly have allayed the tempest. But he resolved to dissimulate with them, to hold out hopes that he would comply with their requests, and, at the same time, to prepare the means of chastising them as audacious 'rebels.' He sent Hamilton, as a commissioner, to Scotland, with full power to redress grievances, with a promise that a General Assembly and a free Parliament should be convened; but he secretly determined to put down opposition by sheer military force. If Charles was not what is called a 'bad man,' if he was not a mere reckless and wicked tyrant, it must be allowed that the detestable doctrines of kingcraft had poisoned his understanding; he acted on system, as though he were free from all obligations of good faith with his subjects. Mr. Burton gives us the following letter, written to Hamilton at this juncture; it is one of the worst extant specimens of royal duplicity:—

'And to this end I give you leave to flatter them with what hopes you please.... This I have written to no other end than to show you I will rather die than yield to those impertinent and damnable demands, as you rightly call them.... As the affairs are now, I do not expect that you should declare the adherers to the Covenant traitors until, as I have already said, you have heard from me that my fleet hath set sail for Scotland.'—(Vol. vi. 505.)

According to the promise given by the king, a General Assembly was now held, described fully by Mr. Burton. This great convention met at Glasgow; and Episcopacy was condemned and set aside, as in the days of the first Reformation. Charles replied by seizing Edinburgh Castle, and taking possession of the chief Scottish fortresses; and Hamilton openly issued proclamations denouncing the Covenanters as audacious rebels. Civil war broke out in 1639; and in a few weeks, an irregular contest was raging in the east and south-east, and threatening to overrun the kingdom. At this juncture, Scotland abounded with soldiers trained in the Thirty Years' War, not mere mercenaries of the Dalgetty type, but men really fitted to command; and a resolution was formed to march to the south, and to make an armed demonstration against England. In an incredibly short time, 22,000 men were arrayed under the orders of Leslie, and making for the English border—a force relatively to the population of Scotland, of extraordinary numerical amount, and a conclusive proof of the enthusiasm of the country. The composition of this army, led by some of the noblest men in Scotland, shows all classes, high and low, joined in the movement against the king:—

'Our crouners (that is, colonels) for the most part were noblemen. Rothes, Lindsay, Sinclair, had among them two full regiments, at least, from Fife. Balcarras, a horse troop; Loudon, Montgomery, Erskine, Boyd, Fleming, Kirkcudbright, Yester, Dalhousie, Eglinton, and others, either with whole or half regiments. Montrose's regiment was above fifteen hundred men.'—(Vol. vii. 56.)

The Scottish army having reached the Border, the king consented to the brief truce known by the name of the Pacification of Berwick. Once more Charles made specious promises with a resolution to break faith: the wishes of the nation were to be respected; Episcopacy was not to be restored; Presbyterianism was to be the form of Church government; and the National Estates were to sanction the reforms confirmed by a paternal and high-minded sovereign. The Parliament, however, was hardly assembled before it was indefinitely prorogued; and there is ample evidence that Charles intended, as soon as an opportunity came, to invade Scotland, and take summary vengeance. At this juncture, the Scottish leaders unquestionably remembered the 'Ancient League,' and looked to France and Richelieu for aid; and if we cannot approve their purpose, we at least should remember the great provocation. The king thought that the time had arrived to inflict punishment on the 'rebels of the North;' he felt assured that the old English jealousy of a political connection between Scotland and France would throw all England upon his side; and he issued orders for a general armament, for the invasion and even the conquest of Scotland. But, at this crisis, political sympathy got the better of past national dislikes; and England, as a people, was averse to aid the king in crushing discontent beyond the Tweed. For a series of years the government of Charles had provoked indignation in England, only less than that which existed in Scotland; the tyranny of Strafford and the arrogance of Laud had combined the Constitutional and Puritan parties, and a great revolution was fast approaching. The future chiefs of the Long Parliament co-operated with the Scottish malcontents; and Charles found it impossible to collect a sufficient army to carry out his purpose. Mr. Burton describes the situation thus:—

'The result is described by one on whom heavy responsibility lay—the Earl of Northumberland, who was to command the army of the North: "Most of the ways that were relied on for supplies of money have hitherto failed us, and, for aught I know, we are likely to become the most despised nation of Europe. To the regiments that are now raising, we, for want of money, have been able to advance but fourteen days' pay—the rest must meet them upon their march towards Selby, and for both the horse and foot already in the North, we can, for the present, send them but seven days' pay." Those who were considered liable to serve in the army resisted the conscription; and when embodied, they were often so mutinous as to be more dangerous to their officers than they were likely to be to the enemy.'—(Vol. vii. 99.)

The Scottish army, as is well known, encountered no opposition on the Tweed, and, having taken Newcastle, was advancing southwards, when its progress was stayed by the Treaty of Ripon. The sword had been struck out of the hands of the king; his English subjects had refused to second his efforts against their ancient enemies; and, in England and Scotland alike, the national cause was about to triumph. From this time, the chiefs of the opposition to the court cooperated in the two countries; and the acts of the Long Parliament and the Scottish Estates were, in a great degree, of the same kind, and had objects almost similar. Mr. Burton, however, correctly shows that Scotland certainly has the honour of having inaugurated this glorious resistance; but for the resolution displayed by the nation, it is not impossible that Stratford's scheme of 'Thorough' might have been successful for many years, and the constitutional liberties of England might have been suspended for at least a generation. Mr. Burton describes at some length the visit of the Scottish Commissioners to London, and the first proceedings of the Long Parliament; but we have no space to dwell on a subject which, however interesting and picturesque, belongs more properly to the History of England. In 1640-41, the Scottish Estates were convened in accordance with the conditions of the Treaty of Ripon, and it became evident, at once, that the authority of the king would be swept away by a violent revolution. This Assembly, formerly little more than an instrument of the will of the king, was now intent on putting an end to the policy and the power of Charles; it was overflowing with religious zeal and with national, if not democratic passion; and it resolved once for all that the House of Stuart should no longer trifle with the rights of Scotsmen. As Scotland had suffered more grievously than England from the tyranny of the court, the legislation of the Estates was more violent than that of the Long Parliament, and marked more strongly with precipitate haste; on the whole, it does not contrast favourably with that of the English Assembly; but, undoubtedly, not a few of its measures served as precedents for the Long Parliament, in the later stages of the conflict with Charles. For instance, after destroying Episcopacy, and sweeping away all the innovations in Church and State of the twenty years before, the Estates proceeded practically to abolish the prerogatives of the Crown in Scotland; and the course they took seems to have suggested the Nineteen Propositions of the Long Parliament:—

'One of the points which the Estates had determined to carry, was the appointment, by themselves, of all public officers. The Secret Council and the Court of Session were recast, the appointments being made in two separate Acts. In a general Act, applicable to Government offices at large, the king's form of appointment is treated with all reverence; but, at the same time, it is to be exercised in each instance "with the advice and approbation" of the Estates.'—(Vol. vii. 140.)

It was not to be expected, after this, that a revolution could be avoided. Charles, unquestionably, resolved to draw the sword as soon as an opportunity offered; the Estates, backed by the mass of the nation, were as determined to maintain their advantage. When such were the feelings on either side, there is little use in examining with care how or by whom the Civil War was commenced. But, as in the case of the Five Members, so in that of the mysterious Incident, the king seems to have acted with that treacherous malice which so often provoked the indignation of his subjects; and after this event, war was inevitable. The great Irish rebellion of 1641 came to add fuel to the gathering flame; and Scotland, like England, was impressed with the belief that Charles had connived at an infamous scheme of overthrowing the colonists of Ireland, and of marshalling a Papist Irish army to put down the Estates and the Parliament. Mr. Burton examines at some length the evidence against the king in this matter, and certainly is not inclined to acquit him; however that may be, it is somewhat curious that he does not allude to a most significant fact, that the alleged commission to the rebellious Irish was given under the great seal of Scotland, and was said to be in the interest of the Scotch, and that the Irish carefully avoided to lay a hand, at first, on the Scottish colonists, while they massacred wholesale their English fellows. Civil war now broke out in England and Scotland; and for some time, as is well known, success inclined to the side of the king. Mr. Burton describes the brilliant campaigns of Montrose in the North minutely and well; but he shows correctly that they were mere raids, of which the importance has been exaggerated; and Montrose was defeated without difficulty, when encountered by a really able soldier. The real struggle was in the South; and Mr. Burton, perhaps, underrates the extraordinary efforts of Cromwell in restoring the Parliamentary cause, and overestimates the weight which Leslie and the Scottish army threw into the balance. Undoubtedly, however, Leslie and the Scots were auxiliaries of extreme importance. We quote this brief description of Marston Moor, where Leslie and Cromwell commanded together:—

'Prince Rupert headed one of those impetuous attacks for which he was renowned, and scattered before him the right of the allied army under Fairfax and Leven. It was one of those great blows that may confuse a whole army; but the other half was in very competent hands—those of Cromwell and David Leslie. They beat back their opponents, not by a rush, but a hard, steady fight, and were on the enemy's ground, when Rupert returned from a pursuit which he had carried too far. He found that while he had been away pursuing the defeated enemy, events behind him had arranged matters for a second battle, in which each occupied the ground that earlier in the day, had belonged to the other side. The end was an entire victory.'—(Vol. vii. 180.)

Meanwhile the Solemn League and Covenant had attested the Union of England and Scotland, and the celebrated Assembly of Divines at Westminster had been employed in devising means for establishing one faith in both kingdoms. The inherent difference between the Protestantism of the two countries was fully developed. The Scottish Presbyterians, true to the narrowness and bigotry of their peculiar tenets, claimed that the Kirk was of Divine institution, and endeavoured to compel a universal adoption of its ritual and forms of worship. These vain pretensions were strenuously opposed by the Parliament, broad and Erastian in view, and by the great mass of the Puritan party, trained by the results of the persecution of years to acknowledge the rights of freedom of conscience. Disputes, leading to memorable consequences, were the result of these divergent views which Mr. Burton has fully set forth:—

'To the Scottish covenanters the calling of this Assembly, and the adoption of the Solemn League and Covenant as revised by it, were rapidly bringing on the consummation of that great scheme of Divine Providence destined to establish the Presbyterian polity over all mankind. The government of the Church by a General Assembly, Synod, Presbyteries, and Kirk Sessions, was the divine form of Church government, and all others must dissolve before it.... The Parliament, however, had other views, and skilfully prepared for the consummation. There lurked at that time, in the class of men who made the Parliament and the influential circles, a disinclination to reconstruct any strong priesthood.... The Brownists, Independents, or Congregationalists, were a large body in England, and had been growing, even in Scotland, too rapidly for the peace of the Covenanting party. Their principle was, that there should be no combined system of Church government, whether prelatic or Presbyterian, but that each Christian congregation should be a church in itself.'—(Vol. vii. 209.)

The civil war had gone on during these long and important discussions. The genius of Cromwell and the power of his army had everywhere overcome the Royalists; and the great Republican had become the arbiter of the situation, and supreme in England. In these circumstances the auxiliary force of the Scots became of little importance, and jealousies had already begun to grow up between the soldiers of the two nations. As is well known, the unfortunate king repaired to the Scottish camp, and the Scottish leaders delivered him up to Commissioners of the Parliament for a sum of money. We quote Mr. Burton's account of this transaction, which, if not so base as has been described by writers of the Junius type, does little credit to Scottish honour:—

'Apart from any question about trust, had the king really fled from enemies to find refuge with friends? The Scots army were older and steadier enemies than the English. It was in the future, no doubt, that in England he was to be put to death; but the Scots had no more reason to expect this of the English than to be themselves suspected of such a design; and it was not by the party to whom he was intrusted or "sold" by the Scots that he was put to death, but by the enemies of that party. The Scots had made up their minds to return home when their arrears were paid. They could not keep the king except by taking him with them into Scotland, and such an act would have implied at once suspicion and hostility towards those who had been so long their allies. The Scots showed in what they afterwards attempted for him and his son, that, had he agreed to their terms, and consented to be a Presbyterian king over a Presbyterian people, they would have fought for him instead of "selling" him.'—(Vol. vii. 236.)

It is unnecessary to dwell on the melancholy scene of the execution of Charles I. In his case, as in that of Mary Stuart, sufferings and a violent death endured with dignity, have atoned, in the eyes of many persons, for misgovernment and political crimes. This event was the signal for an open rupture between the leaders of the various parties which, in England and Scotland alike, had accomplished the great revolution of the time. The English Independents, already supreme under Cromwell and his invincible army, had resolved to establish the Commonwealth, and to set up Puritanism as the national faith; the Scots insisted on placing Charles II. on the throne as a covenanting King, and on Presbyterianism as the church of these realms. A brief but decisive struggle ensued, which, as might have been expected, ended in the overthrow of the weaker country, and the complete ascendancy of the great soldier who had never yet met his equal in the field. Mr. Burton describes at some length the 'crowning mercies' of Dunbar and Worcester, but we have no space to refer to the narrative. In the settlement of the religious affairs of Scotland, the breadth of view and even the toleration of Cromwell contrast favourably with the high-flown pretensions and narrow-mindedness of the Presbyterian clergy, who approved themselves the Pharisees of pedantic formalism. His grand exclamation—'In the bowels of Christ, I beseech you think that you may be mistaken,' shows that he recognised one of the principles which in matters of faith enjoins charity. We quote Mr. Burton's account of the closing of the General Assembly:—

'Lieutenant-Colonel Cotterel beset the Church with some rattes of musketeers and a troop of horse. Himself (after our fast, wherein Mr. Dickson and Mr. Douglas had two gracious sermons) entered the Assembly House, and immediately after Mr. Dixon, the moderator, his prayer, required audience, wherein he inquired if we did sit there by the authority of the Parliament of the commonwealth of England, or of the commander-in-chief of the English forces, or of the English judges in Scotland. The moderator replied, that we were an ecclesiastical synod, a spiritual Court of Jesus Christ, which meddled not with any thing civil; that our authority was from God, and established by the laws of the land, yet standing unrepealed; that by the Solemn League and Covenant the most of the English army stood obliged to defend our General Assembly. When some speeches of this kind had passed, the lieutenant-colonel told us his order was to dissolve us; whereupon he commanded all of us to follow him, else he would drag us out of the room.... Thus our General Assembly, the glory and strength of our Church upon earth, is by your soldiery crushed and trod under foot, without the least provocation from us at this time in word or deed.'—(Vol. vii. 303.)

It is, however, but just to add that Cromwell did not countenance this violence; and though the General Assembly was closed, no restriction existed during his rÉgime on the exercise of the Presbyterian form of worship.

The northern and southern parts of our island were now under the rule of Cromwell, the Long Parliament having been swept away, and the great soldier wholly supreme. Even the worst enemies of the Protector must allow that in Scotland, as elsewhere, his government was in advance of his time, and, if despotic, was wise and judicious. After long conflicts, the nation was at rest; and if its patriotic spirit was quelled, it enjoyed a large share of real freedom, and grew rapidly in material wealth. Though the Kirk was no longer established, all forms of Protestantism were tolerated and favoured; and the Catholic nobles also had no cause to complain of the harshness of the civil magistrate. In governing the country Cromwell gave proof of that profound policy and anticipation of the future, which marks him out as one of the greatest of statesmen. All restraints on commerce were removed. Scotland was completely united to England; the feudal jurisdiction of the great nobles and Highland chiefs was summarily abolished; and forts, armed with sufficient garrisons, kept the half-barbarous clans in subjection. In a word, all the capital reforms which it took a century after the Restoration to introduce into Scotland again, were, in a few years, carried out by Cromwell; and it is but the truth that his Scottish policy was a model for three generations of statesmen. Under his far-sighted and firm government the country began to thrive apace. We quote from a contemporary chronicler this curious account of Leith and Glasgow:—

'The town of Leith is of itself a pretty, small town, and fortified about; having a convenient dry harbour, into which the Frith ebbs and flows every tide, and a convenient quay on the one side thereof, of a good length, for the landing of goods. This place formerly, and so at this time, is indeed a store-house, not only for her own traders, but also for the merchants of the City of Edinburgh, this being the port thereof.... Glasgow, seated in a pleasant and fruitful soil, and consisting of four streets, handsomely built in form of a cross, is one of the most considerable burghs of Scotland, as well for the structure as trade of it. The inhabitants, all but the students of the college which is here, are traders and dealers.'—(Vol. vii. 313.)

Our space precludes us from dwelling at length on the history of Scotland after the death of Cromwell, described fully by Mr. Burton. As is well known, a loyal reaction set in, in favour of Charles II., and this was followed by a period of tyranny in Church and State of extreme severity. Not only were proscriptions frequent, and the scaffold crowded with many victims, but the legislation of 1641 was cancelled, Episcopacy was insolently restored, the authority of the Crown considerably increased, and Presbyterianism barely allowed to maintain a weak and inglorious existence. The era, indeed, of the ascendancy of Sharp, and of the tender mercies of Claverhouse and his dragoons, was one of darkness and sorrow in Scotland—it far exceeded in its melancholy features that of the Cavalier reaction in England; and the question arises why a nation, which had proved itself so fiercely tenacious of its independence in the preceding generation, submitted for years to this cruel oppression. Mr. Burton has hardly brought out sufficiently the causes of this remarkable quiescence, which are of deep interest to the student of history. They are, we think, to be found in the facts that, after the exertions of the great civil war, Scotland was, in a great degree, exhausted; that after the Restoration, the power of the Crown was upheld for the first time by a standing army, not large, but formidable; and, above all, that the Government avoided one capital error of Charles I.—it conciliated instead of injuring the nobles, and did not attempt to assail their interests by threatening to resume the old Church revenues. Worn out, borne down, and without leaders, the nation was for a time submissive; its discontent exhibited itself in a few occasional risings only; and Lauderdale, Charles II., and his brother were allowed a season to fill up the measure of iniquity and wrong. At last the fierce awakening came. But it should be observed that at this conjuncture the movement for freedom began in England; and if Scotland inaugurated the events which led to the meeting of the Long Parliament, she played a very subordinate part in the Revolution of 1688. The passages of that memorable time are not narrated in this work, so it is not necessary to allude to them. An estimate of Mr. Burton's history will be gathered from what we have already written. It is deficient as a picturesque narrative; it sometimes, as may be supposed, displays a too fervent national patriotism; but it is singularly well-informed and complete, and its conclusions on men and events are usually careful, correct, and judicious.

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Art. II.—Early English Texts. Publications of the Early English Text Society. London: TrÜbner and Co. 1864-70.

'O Poesy divine! O sacred song!

To thee bright fame, and length of days belong:

Thou goddess, thou eternity canst give,

And bid secure the mortal hero live.'

Thus sings Nicholas Rowe in his translation of the poet Lucan; but can we agree with the sentiment expressed? It is partly true and partly false, for although the poet possesses this wonderful power, he himself creates an enemy that wars against his own and his hero's immortality, and this enemy is the medium he uses to express his thoughts. Few men will take the trouble to learn a language for the special purpose of enjoying an author's works, and therefore for the many it is requisite that some one should be ready and willing to reintroduce the old writer into new society. The poet Waller feared that the time would come when his countrymen would be unable to understand his writings, and he thus expressed his fear—

'Poets that lasting marble seek,

Must carve in Latin or in Greek:

We write in sand, our language grows,

And like the tide our work o'erflows.'

This is, of course, an extreme view, and time has proved it to be a false one; but the writers of the centuries previous to Waller are already in the position that he expected soon to be in himself. Chaucer is a household name, but we fear that few read his works, and still fewer the works of those who went before him. This is a state of things that should not be allowed to exist; but that it does exist, no one would be rash enough to deny. We do not blame those who neglect foreign literatures, but we do blame those who turn away from the authors of their own land because there is some little difficulty in understanding their writings.

It cannot be right that the literature of England for eight or ten centuries should be quietly ignored by Englishmen, because it is not easy to read its language; and, moreover, this difficulty is much exaggerated, for although a Saxon book may, without previous study, appear as if written in a foreign tongue, yet the few difficulties of its language will in a graduated study speedily disappear. The pedigree is complete that takes us back from the language of the nineteenth to that of the fifth century. Both in language and literature it is emphatically true that the child is father of the man, and no one can thoroughly appreciate the greatness of Shakspeare, Milton, and our moderns, who has not contrasted them with the authors who preceded them; no one can rightly judge the force of words and phrases, who has not followed them up to their sources, and seen the meads of thought they have flowed through.

Not long ago the early history, language, and literature of England were thought to be unworthy of study. Men of culture studied the languages and literatures of France, Italy, Spain, and Germany, but utterly neglected the early literature and language of their own country, which were considered rude and unworthy of attention. We do not expect to find any among the uneducated caring for the old forms of speech, but it is a disappointment to find men of education, who ought to be justly proud of the grandest literature in the world, treating our old writers with neglect. This feeling of contempt for our early literature is by no means yet destroyed, and therefore no lover of the work done by his ancestors should rest until it is entirely and for ever eradicated.

In the old English literature there is a choice for all tastes: history, biography, theology, science, romance, lyrics, and merry tales, have all come down to us from the earliest times, and in them may be seen the gradual development of the nation's mind. It should be a cause of pride for the Englishman to remember that the links in the chain that connects the language of Tennyson with the language of Alfred are all perfect.

Shall we, then, allow the treasures of the past to crumble and decay? We are now living in the enjoyment of an intellectual feast that centuries of our forefathers have prepared for us; and shall we in return leave to our children less than we have ourselves received? Are we not bound rather to take no rest until all our MS. treasures are placed beyond the reach of decay? The printing press must not be allowed to pause in its work until every line is set in type. Nothing is more likely to encourage our desire to attempt this great work than for us to see what has been done of old. All honour is due to the unnamed writer of the Vernon MS.,[172] to Shirley and Thornton, the contemporaries of Chaucer and Lyndesay, who recognised the value of the treasures that came in their way, and copied MS. libraries that have survived in safety to our times. The man who has consulted the grand Vernon MS. in the Bodleian Library has obtained a glimpse of the olden time, with its noble desire to benefit posterity, that he is never likely to forget.

The student, however, may naturally ask, 'Where can I study these works? I can't read at Oxford, Cambridge, Edinburgh, or London; and even if I could I don't understand the writing. I want the books in print, and not only in print, but in an accessible form.' It is this question that we will attempt to answer; this want that we will try to show can be satisfied.

Various worthy men have at different times laboured to diffuse a knowledge of our old literature, and societies have been formed for the same purpose. Hickes, Junius, Gale, Lye, the two Elstobs, and many others, are editors whose works have been so widely circulated that we need hardly dwell on them; but the issues of printing clubs are less known, and we therefore propose to summarize them. In 1812, the Roxburghe Club was instituted in London, to commemorate the grand sale of the Duke of Roxburghe's library, and although many trifling matters were printed by its members, yet through its aid several important texts have been brought to light. In 1818, John Gower's 'French Ballads' and other poems were printed; in 1819, Caxton's translation of six books of 'Ovid's Metamorphoses,' 'Le Morte Arthure,' and 'Sir Lancelot du Lake;' in 1828, 'Havelok the Dane;' in 1832, 'William and the Werwolf;' in 1838, 'The Owl and the Nightingale,' and Old English versions of the 'Gesta Romanorum,' and in later years the 'Alliterative Romance of Alexander,' the 'Ayenbite of Inwyt,' and the 'History of the Holy Graal.'

In 1823, the Bannatyne Club was started at Edinburgh, and in 1827, it printed the 'Palice of Honor,' by Gawin Douglas, and in 1839, a collection of all the poems relating to Sir Gawayne, and Douglas's translation of the 'Æneid of Virgil,' which it has left without preface, glossary, or notes.

In 1828, the Maitland Club was founded in Glasgow, and it printed three old romances, viz.: 'Clariodus,' 'Sir Beves of Hamptoun,' and 'Lancelot du Lak.'

The Abbotsford Club commenced its career in 1835, at Edinburgh, and printed several romances from the Auchinleck MS., as 'Rouland,' and 'Vernagu,' and 'Otuel,' 'Arthour and Merlin,' 'Sir Guy of Warwick,' and 'Rembrun,' and 'Sire Degarre.'

The Spalding Club, which was founded in 1839, at Aberdeen, printed Barbour's 'Brus' in 1856.

Although the publications of these clubs are very praiseworthy, and have done much good, the number of copies is so small, and their commercial value so great, that they are placed almost as far beyond the reach of the ordinary literary man as the manuscripts themselves. We believe that all true lovers of their country's literature will echo the words of a living editor quoted in the first prospectus of the Early English Text Society. 'I should rejoice to see my books in the hands of a hundred, where they are now on the shelves of one.'

Soon after the select printing clubs were started, a more popular movement set in, with the foundation in 1834 at Durham of the excellent Surtees Society. Although its publications are mostly of an historical or local character, it has issued several literary relics, such as 'The Anglo-Saxon and Early English Psalter,' 'Latin Hymns of the Anglo-Saxon Church,' and 'The Lindisfarne and Rushworth Gospels.'

Four years afterwards, the Camden Society was started in London, and from 1838 to the present time it has continued to publish a most valuable collection of works. Its chief object has been to advance historical studies, but it has issued the 'Thornton Romances,' comprising the early English romances of Perceval, Isumbras, Eglamour, and Degravant; three early English metrical romances—viz., 'The Anturs (or Adventures) of Arther at the Tarnewathelan, Sir Amadace, the Avowynge of King Arther, Sir Gawan, Sir Kaye, and Sir Bawdewyn of Bretan;' 'The Ancren Riwle,' a treatise on the rules and duties of monastic life; an 'Apology for Lollard Doctrines' attributed to Wicliffe; and Mr. Way's invaluable edition of the old English and Latin Dictionary, entitled 'Promptorium Parvulorum.'

All students of English literature owe a debt of gratitude to the Percy Society, which was founded in 1840. Unfortunately it did not meet with the success that it deserved, and died a natural death after some unfortunate dissension among its editors. Nevertheless, it published in a convenient form, among other works, 'Selections from the Minor Poems of John Lydgate;' 'The Owl and the Nightingale' from a better MS. than that which the Roxburghe Club had printed; 'Reynard the Fox;' 'Poems of John Audelay;' 'Romance of Syr Tryamoure;' 'Chaucer's Canterbury Tales,' from the oldest and perhaps the best manuscript known; 'Songs and Carols of the fifteenth century;' and William de Shoreham's 'Religious Poems.'

In 1843, the Cheetham Society was formed at Manchester, in order to print the historical and literary remains connected with the palatine counties of Lancaster and Chester; and the Ælfric Society in London, for the publication of Anglo-Saxon works, both civil and ecclesiastical.

The Caxton Society was started in 1845, and the Warton Club in 1854.

The late Canon Shirley at one time projected a Wycliffe Society, which was to print our great reformer's works, but instead he induced the Oxford delegates to undertake the task, and after great labour he published, in 1865, his catalogue of Wycliffe's works. His lamented death has not stopped the undertaking, and one volume of the Latin works has been published at Oxford, and three of the English ones are nearly ready for issue.

In January, 1857, the Master of the Rolls submitted to the Treasury a proposal for the publication of materials for the history of this country from the invasion of the Romans to the reign of Henry VIII., which has resulted in the issue of the valuable series of chronicles and memorials of Great Britain and Ireland during the middle ages. Many of these works are in Latin and French, but among those to be mentioned as written in English are Capgrave's 'Chronicle,' Pecock's 'Repressor,' Cockayne's 'Saxon Leechdoms,' the 'Anglo-Saxon Chronicle,' and Wright's 'Political Poems and Songs.'

We have now scoured the field and shown shortly what had been done before the formation of the Early English Text Society. This was but little, for there was a mass of unprinted literature entirely unknown and unregistered, and it was felt by a few lovers of early English that the time had come when the great work of producing this literature in cheap editions must be grappled with.

The Philological Society commenced in 1858 with the occasional publication of some Old English MSS., and issued 'Early English Poems and Lives of Saints,' 1250-1406; 'The Play of the Sacrament;' 'Liber Cure Cocorum,' a cookery book in verse; Hampole's 'Pricke of Conscience;' and the 'Castel off Love.' In 1864, these texts were discontinued, and a few of the members of the Philological Society 'formed a committee for the purpose of collecting subscriptions, and printing therewith early English manuscripts.' From this small beginning the Early English Text Society has grown to its present flourishing condition, with a yearly income of over £900.

The publications of the Society are naturally of a very varied character, but they may be divided under four heads. There are first the Arthurian and other romances; and these form a large, and probably the most popular class, for they were the light literature of our ancestors, and in them we see as in a mirror the love for war and women, and for action of all kinds. Few of these are of native growth, but are translations from the French.

The second division consists of works illustrating our dialects and the history of our language, including a series of early English dictionaries. Some of these last are of great value and interest, and we are glad to see that the Committee propose to edit some which will form worthy companions to the 'Promptorium Parvulorum' of the Camden Society. A rare old rhyming dictionary has already been issued, and it is proposed to bring out shortly the 'Catholicon Anglicum' from Lord Monson's MS. This is a dictionary of a slightly later date than the 'Promptorium,' which contains many new and unregistered words. To this second division all the texts may be said to belong more or less, because most of the editors give careful glossaries and introductions on the dialect of their authors. Dr. Morris's introductions, especially, are the only real grammars of our early language, and are of the greatest value to the student of the history of the formation of our tongue.

The third division consists of Biblical translations and religious treatises; and the fourth of texts, such as 'Piers Plowman,' which do not come under either of the three first headings.

We will now pass in review some of the works issued by the Society, and we shall do so according to their dates, beginning with the 12th century.

The most valuable monuments of our language are chiefly of a theological character, and in 'Old English Homilies'[173] Dr. Morris has given us a deeply interesting collection, from which a curious insight into the religious views of the time may be obtained. Much of the religious teaching of these old preachers was of an evangelical character, and is but little mixed up with the legends of later writers. One writes: 'We must forsake the broad way which leads to hell, and choose the narrow and green way along the high cliffs which leads to heaven, where there are no earthly luxuries, but where the sight of God alone constitutes the eternal life, bliss, and rest of his saints.' In the homily on the Lord's-day the author tells the curious legend of St. Paul's and St. Michael's descent into hell, and how they obtained for the damned one day's rest in the week unto doomsday. He admonishes all to honour the Sunday, and fortifies his position thus:—'We ought to honour Sunday very much, and to observe it in all purity, for it hath in it three worthy virtues which ye may hear. The first virtue is that it on earth gives rest to all earth-thralls, men and women, from their thrall works. The second virtue is in heaven, because the angels rest themselves more than on any other day. The third virtue is that the wretched souls in hell have rest from their great torments.'

In the 'Story of Genesis and Exodus,'[174] the author has versified the most important facts contained in those books, and has included portions of Numbers and Deuteronomy, so as to give a complete history of the wanderings of the Israelites, and the life of their leader Moses. The poet (of whom nothing is known) invokes the aid of the Deity in these terms:—

'Fader god of alle Ðhinge,

Almightin louerd, hegest kinge,

Ðu giue me seli timinge,

To thaunen Ðis werdes biginninge,

Ðe, leuerd god, to wurÐinge,

QueÐer so hic rede or singe!'[175]

He then goes on to relate, in a spirited manner, the chief incidents of the Bible narrative. Lamech's bigamy is thus referred to:—

'Ðis Lamech was Ðe firme[176] man

Ðe bigamie first bi-gan.

Bigamie is unkinde[177] Ðing,

On engleis tale, twie-wifing.'

To bigamy is afterwards added murder:—

'Twin-wifing and twin-manslagt,

Of his soule beÐ mikel hagt.[178]'

The author thinks that Christian men ought to be as glad as birds are of dawn, to hear the story of man's bliss and sorrow.

'Seinte Marherete,'[179] is the first of a triad of saints' lives, to be edited for the Society, the other two (St. Juliane and St. Katherine) are still to come. The editor is Mr. Cockayne, whose observations are always worth a hearing, although they are of a very pugnacious character. In 'Hali Meidenhad,'[180] he expresses great offence at the opinions of his author, whose attacks on wedlock he takes very much to heart. We find in the side-notes such expressions as these—'highflying notions,' 'this ranter.' The anonymous author of the treatise is supposed by Mr. Cockayne to have been a bishop, and the same as he who wrote the three saints' lives, and the 'Ancren Riwle.' Whoever he was, he writes with considerable vigour, and describes the troubles of wives with great goodwill. The maiden is to ask the queens, rich countesses, and saucy ladies as to their mode of life. 'Truly, truly, if they rightly bethink themselves and acknowlege the truth, I shall have them witnesses that they are licking honey off thorns. They buy all the sweetness with two proportions of bitter.' A husband is held up before the maiden's eyes in these unfavourable colours:—'While he is at home, thy wide walls seem too narrow for thee; his looking on thee makes thee aghast; his loathesome voice and his rude grumbling fill thee with horror. He chideth and jaweth thee, and he insults thee shamefully; he maketh mock at thee; he beateth thee and mawleth thee as his bought thrall and patrimonial slave. Thy bones ake, and thy flesh smarteth, thy heart within thee swelleth of sore rage, and thy face externally burneth with vexation.' It shows how much outspoken language has gone out of fashion, that the author thinks it necessary to put into Latin certain of the passages which a bishop addressed to some young nuns. Mr. Furnivall has unearthed from the Vernon MS. a later essay on the same subject, entitled 'Clene Maydenhood,' in which the author adjures young women to bind Christ in their hearts, because man's love is never constant.

'Havelok the Dane,[181] is one of the best—if not the very best—of early romances, and we are indebted to the Society for bringing it within the reach of the ordinary reader. It was first edited, in 1828, by Sir Frederic Madden, for the Roxburghe Club, but since that time it has been almost unattainable on account of its scarceness and consequent high price. The story, like most of the romances, is a version taken from an original, written in French. Two kings, of England and Denmark, die, and each leaves his child to the care of a steward, who uses it badly. Grim, the founder of Grimsby, saves the life of Havelok, the son of the King of Denmark, and comes with him to England, where the boy grows up stalwart, and becomes the strongest man alive, putting the stone twelve feet beyond his companions. Havelok marries Goldborough, 'the fairest woman alive,' who was the daughter of the dead King of England. The two go to Denmark and drive the usurper from the throne, after which they return to England, and conquer the English usurper. They reign for sixty years, and fifteen children are born to them, who all become kings and queens. Havelok's first acts, on his return to England, were to found a priory of black monks in Grimsby, for the good of his old friend Grim's soul, and to marry Grim's daughters to two of his courtiers. 'King Horn,'[182] another romance of the thirteenth century, is of English origin. Horn, the son of the King of a place called Suddene, who had been killed by the Saracens, reaches the country of a neighbouring king with his companions, and is loved by that king's daughter. The king finds out the attachment, and banishes Horn, who travels to another kingdom, and conquers a formidable giant. After this, he returns to Westernesse and claims his lady love. Various troubles succeed; but, in the end, Horn returns to take possession of the ancestral throne of Sudden.

We now pass to the fourteenth-century texts; and here we find the most important work that the Society has attempted, which is a three-text edition (under the able editorship of Mr. Skeat) of the most valuable work in early English literature before Chaucer, viz., 'The Vision of Piers Plowman.'[183] This great 'Puritan' poem was very popular for many years, and a large number of MSS. of it have come down to us. These differ very much, and it appears that the author, William Langland, was induced by the popularity of this work to produce at various times what may be called, for want of a better term, three editions. These are represented by—1, the Vernon MS.; 2, the copy printed by Robert Crowley, in 1550; and 3, that printed by Dr. Whitaker, in 1813; and all the MSS. at present known can be ranged under one or other of these types. Before commencing the great work of producing a worthy edition of this great classic, the Society was anxious to have as much information concerning the MSS. as it could obtain, and in 1866 issued Parallel Extracts of twenty-nine MSS., asking, at the same time, that librarians or possessors of libraries would communicate to the Society's editor the discovery of other MSS. not noticed in these extracts, as the committee believed that many valuable ones might have remained unknown. In the following year Text A, from the Vernon MS., appeared. This only extends to eleven passus, or less than half of the whole poem, as subsequently written. The author is very severe upon the vices of his day, and in scourging them he gives us a valuable insight into the domestic life of the time.

The poem is divided into two parts, the 'Vision of Piers the Plowman,' and the 'Vision of Do-well, Do-bet, and Do-best.' In the first, the author describes how he fell asleep on the Malvern Hills, and saw, in a dream, much to displease him. The world is represented by a field full of folk, among whom are ploughmen, spendthrifts, hermits, minstrels, beggars, pilgrims, friars, a pardoner with bulls, law-serjeants, bishops, and all kinds of craftsmen. Holy Church comes to the author as a lovely lady, and points out to him Falsehood, Bribery, Simony, and Flattery. The King makes up his mind to punish Falsehood, if he can catch him; but that delinquent flees, and takes refuge with the friars, who pity him and take him under their protection. The king then appeals to Reason, but he will not take pity on wrong until lords and ladies love truth, rioters are holy clerks, knights are courteous, and priests practise what they preach. The author awakes, but soon dreams again. Conscience preaches, and is seconded by Repentance in his endeavours to convert the deadly sins. The preaching has great effect, and all set out on a pilgrimage to find Truth; but no one knows the way, and a Palmer who has returned from the Holy Sepulchre, and met many saints, knows nothing of Truth. They now meet Piers the Ploughman, who directs them to the way, and promises to guide them when he has ploughed his half-acre; meantime he sets them to work. At first, the people will not work till hunger comes in, and then they agree to do whatever Piers wills. All the names of persons introduced into the poem tell their own story, thus Piers's wife is called Work when time is, his daughter, Do as you are bid, and his son, Obey your king. In the second part, Do-well is to fear God, Do-bet to suffer, Do-best to be lowly of heart. All the allegory of the poem is very palpable, and at times tedious; but the incidental allusions to the state of the people are of the greatest interest. The author appears to have felt strongly the responsibility of his position as a preacher, and the contempt he evinces for the small value of the Pope's pardon, shows us that in the middle ages a purer Christianity was occasionally preached than we are often apt to imagine. Langland lays great stress on the law of love, and shows the infinite superiority of a life of righteousness over a mere trust in indulgences. Mr. Skeat says of him: 'He shows himself to us a man of simple, noble, and pure faith, the friend of the poor, the adviser of the rich, with strong views on the duties of a king toward his subjects, together with a feeling of deep reverence for the kingly character, fearless, unprejudiced, and ever willing to be taught.'

'Pierce the Ploughman's Crede'[184] is not written by the same author as the 'Vision,' but is an imitation of it by some one who was glad to avail himself of the popularity of that work. It is thus analyzed by Alexander Pope:—

'An ignorant plain man, having learned his Paternoster and Ave Mary, wants to learn his creed. He asks several religious men of the several orders to teach it him. First, of a friar Minor, who bids him beware of the Carmelites, and assures him that they can teach him nothing, describing their faults, &c., but that the friars Minor shall save him whether he learns his creed or not. He goes next to the friars Preachers, whose magnificent monastery he describes; there he meets a fat friar, who declaims against the Augustines. He is shocked at his pride, and goes to the Augustines. They rail at the Minorites. He goes to the Carmelites; they abuse the Dominicans, but promise him salvation without the creed for money. He leaves them with indignation, and finds an honest poor Plowman in the field, and tells him how he was disappointed, by the four orders. The ploughman answers with a long invective against them.'

Mr. Skeat has followed manuscripts in his edition which had been previously neglected. Dr. Whitaker and Mr. Wright printed from the first edition of 1553, but the British Museum MS. is older than this, and there can be little doubt that both the MSS. and the printed copy are all copied from a MS. now lost or not forthcoming.

The next work we shall mention is a translation of a French treatise on sins and virtues into the homely English of Kent. It is called the 'Ayenbite of Inwyt,'[185] two old and expressive words which are now completely lost to us, and superseded by remorse and conscience. The book was written for the benefit of laymen, in order that fathers and mothers might keep their consciences undefiled. There is a very full account of sins, and the morality preached is very strict, for backgammon and chess are placed among foul and forbidden games. This text had been previously edited by Mr. Stevenson for the Roxburghe Club, but in a very careless manner, as is seen by the author's original preface and table of contents being left out. Dr. Richard Morris has remedied these deficiencies, and has prefixed a most valuable grammatical introduction, in which the characteristics of the Southern dialect during the early English period (1250-1340) are pointed out.

The late Mr. Toulmin Smith's collection of the statutes of 'English Gilds,'[186] in the 14th and 15th centuries, is one of the most valuable works issued by the Society, as its interest is so wide as to include both the past and the present. The study of the societies of the olden times gives us a deep insight into the domestic and municipal life that has been so much neglected by historians, and throws a strong light upon the present condition of the working classes as developed in the trades' unions.

A life and coherency has been put into the dead bones of dry statutes by the valuable essay on the subject by Dr. Lujo Brentano, which is the first and only 'History of Gilds' in English, and comprises the Continental Gilds as well as our own. Mr. Toulmin Smith unfortunately died before the work was completed, but his daughter, with filial piety, has worked at the completion of her father's design, and the result is a book that forms a worthy monument to an able and good man.

The 'Early English Alliterative Poems'[187] consist of the 'Pearl,' 'Cleanness,' and 'Patience.' The first poem is an allegory of great beauty, in which resignation to the will of God is enforced. The writer has lost a daughter of two years old, and he dreams of gleaming rocks, crystal cliffs, and silver trees, and sees his child in bliss on the opposite side of a stream. The second poem is a collection of Biblical stories tending to enforce purity of life, and the third is a paraphrase of the Book of Jonah. All three show the author to have possessed much poetic power.

'William and the Werwolf'[188] was edited by Sir Frederic Madden, in 1832, for the Roxburghe Club, but his edition had become very scarce before the Early English Text Society undertook its publication as the first text for their Extra Series. Mr. Skeat, who has edited this edition, has wisely changed the name of the English romance to William of Palerne, because it is a translation of the French 'Guillaume de Palerne,' and has been able to fill up the missing parts of the English version from the French MS., portions of which were supplied to him by M. Michelant, of the Imperial Library at Paris. The story is as follows:—William, the son of the King of Apulia, is about to be murdered by his uncle, when he is carried off by a wolf, who is found subsequently to be a werwolf or manwolf, enchanted by his stepmother. William is adopted by a cowherd, and afterwards taken into his household by the Emperor of Rome, whose daughter falls in love with the boy. To save herself from being married to another prince, Melior leaves the palace with William, both of them being disguised as bears. They are taken care of by the werwolf, and afterwards re-disguise themselves as a hart and hind. William performs marvels, taking the werwolf's step-mother a prisoner, and only releasing her on condition that the werwolf shall be disenchanted. All ends happily, with several marriages as a climax.

We have not yet referred to the great cycle of Arthurian romances, which have lately been brought so prominently before the reading public by the charming poems of the Poet Laureate. Most of these romances were introduced to an English public in the 15th century, but some are of an earlier date. 'Sir Gawayne and the Green Knight'[189] is one of these last, and appears to have been written by the author of the 'Alliterative Poems' previously mentioned. Sir Gawayne, the matchless and faultless son of Loth, was one of the leading spirits in his uncle's court, and the present text contains one of the most interesting incidents in his career. While Arthur is holding a Christmas festival at Camelot, a knight of gigantic stature, clothed entirely in green and riding on a green foal, enters the hall. He carries an axe, sharp as a razor, and asks that some one should strike him with it, on condition that he may return the stroke at the end of a year. All are silent. Arthur accepts the challenge, but Gawayne beseeches his uncle to allow him to undertake the encounter, and the king consents. The Green Knight adjusts himself, and after Gawayne has struck off his head, walks off with it under his arm. The company feel more comfortable after his departure, but the year soon comes to an end, when Gawayne must travel to seek the Knight of the Green Chapel. After many adventures, Gawayne comes to the loveliest castle ever beheld, where he is welcomed warmly. The lord (who is the Green Knight in a more ordinary costume than that he had before adopted) treats him nobly, and tells him that he will direct him to the Green Chapel. The two make a covenant between them that the lord shall go to the chase and Gawayne stay at home, and at the end of the day give each other what they have got in the meantime. On the first day the hostess tempts Gawayne, but he is proof against her charms, and she leaves him with a kiss, which he gives the host at night; on the second day she does the same and gives him two kisses, which he gives to his host; the third time Gawayne is again tempted and receives three kisses, and a girdle of green lace that will preserve whoever wears it from wound or death. At night Gawayne gives the kisses but keeps the girdle. On the morrow, after much trouble, he finds the Green Chapel, from which the Green Knight comes out, and makes a feint to strike him. The Knight pretends to strike again, and the third time he brings blood, when he explains his conduct to Gawayne thus:—'Two blows I aimed at thee, for twice thou kissedst my fair wife, but I struck thee not, because thou restoredest them to me according to agreement. At the third time thou failedst, and therefore I have given thee that tap.' The Green Knight, who is Bernlak de Hautdesert, now tells Gawayne that his aunt, Morgain la Fay, lives at his castle, and presses his friend to return with him, but Gawayne will not, as he wishes to return to Arthur's court. Here he is received with joy, and all the knights wear a green belt in his honour. The author tells all this, which we have been obliged to relate in the baldest manner, with great spirit and vivacity; and in the midst of his story he gives lively accounts of boar and fox hunts, which display a wonderful mastery over language. Another of the prominent knights of Arthur's court was Lancelot of the Laik.[190] His adventures are related in a short romance paraphrased into the Scottish dialect from a part of the long French 'Lancelot.' The author is in love and dares not tell it, but dreams that he should write a poem for his lady love to read. He does not know what to write about until he thinks of the romance of 'Lancelot,' when he runs over rapidly an enumeration of that knight's early deeds by way of saying that he will not tell of them. He then commences in earnest with the wars between Arthur and Galiot. A knight brings a message from King Galiot, bidding Arthur to yield to him or he will invade his land and not return until he has conquered and taken Queen Guinevere prisoner. Arthur returns the defiance, but on asking Gawayne who Galiot is, he learns that ten kings obey him. At this time Lancelot is imprisoned by the lady of Melyhalt, and laments his fate, but as he hears of a battle between Arthur and Galiot, he obtains leave from the lady to join Arthur on condition that he returns to his prison at night. The lady provides him with a red courser, and red shield and spear, and he goes to the fight, where he performs wonders, and sees the queen, with whom he falls in love. He returns to prison, where the lady visits him, and is smitten with love. She goes to court, and returns after being sumptuously entertained. She now promises to let Lancelot go on one of three conditions—either he must tell whom he loves, or declare his name, or say if he expects again to equal his former exploits. He refuses to tell his lady's name, or his own, but declares his trust to do more than he has done before.

The lady of Melyhalt asks Lancelot to remain with her till the next battle, when she will provide him with black armour. Arthur's forces are led in the fight by Gawayne, who is severely wounded. Lancelot joins in the battle on the third day, and laments over Gawayne, but he does not waste time in regrets; for on all the ladies, with the exception of the queen, sending him a message, he overthrows several knights, and does great damage to the enemy. At last, on Gawayne's instigation, the queen sends him a message, the receipt of which affects him so much that he seems to grow a foot in height, and nothing can withstand him, as he goes into the thick of the fight. His foes leave the place in mortal fear at the sight of him; for whilst his thoughts are of his lady's love he achieves unheard-of-wonders. At last he is borne to the earth, and Galiot, who has seen his powers, says he shall not die on his account, and gives him his horse. Here the Scottish romance closes, and the rest of the story is only to be learnt from the French original. Gawayne swoons when he sees Lancelot with Galiot; but the latter is induced by Lancelot, although he is conquering, to submit to Arthur. When all are friends, Galiot and Arthur go to see the wounded Gawayne, and then they speak of Lancelot. Gawayne says that he would wish to be a woman, if Lancelot would love him all his life. The queen seems to approve of the sentiment, for she admits that she can say no more. Now the serious part of the story commences, for the queen, through the instrumentality of Galiot, visits Lancelot, and promises to love him. She takes counsel with the lady of Melyhalt, and after a general understanding they all part, with hopes of soon meeting again.

Mr. Furnivall has printed a short and rapid sketch of the life and wars of Arthur,[191] king of men, which occurs in an incomplete Latin 'Chronicle of the Kings of Britain,' belonging to the Marquis of Bath. The author seems to have got excited, and found dull Latin prose unequal to his feelings, so he breaks out into English verse. There are many spirited and lively sketches in the Lincoln 'Morte Arthure,'[192] which was first printed by Mr. Halliwell, in 1847. It opens with a general statement of Arthur's conquests, and then proceeds with the account of the summons from the Emperor Lucius. When Arthur hears it, his face is so terrible that the Romans who bring the letter quail before him. The king has a magnificent feast prepared, at which boars' heads are served upon silver, and peacocks and plovers upon golden plates. There are also sucking pigs, herons in sauce, huge swans, cranes, and curlews, tarts and conserves, hams and brawn in slices, wild geese and ducks, young hawks, stews, curries, and all kinds of made dishes. So much for the food; and the drinks are on as grand a scale of magnificence. Wine of various kinds is made to run in silver conduits, and the rare sorts are served by the chief butler in goblets of gold, decked with precious stones, in order to preserve the drinkers from the deadly effects of poison. All this grandeur astonishes the Roman senator, who allows that Rome itself could show nothing equal to this luxurious feast. Arthur sends a grand message to the Roman emperor, in which he threatens to throw down the walls of Milan, ravage Tuscany, and besiege Rome. All these big words seem to have frightened the Roman senator, for he prays to be protected on his homeward journey; and Arthur tells him that if his coffers were crammed full of silver, he would be quite safe with a passport from him. Nevertheless, the Romans were glad to get away, and

'Of alle Þe glee undire Gode so glade ware Þey nevere,

As of Þe sounde of Þe see and Sandwyche belles.'

In the great battle that follows, Lucius's army is preceded by sixty giants, born of fiends and witches, riding on tower-bearing camels. In spite of all this, Arthur is victorious, and sends the body of the emperor, whom Lancelot had killed, to Rome, as his arrears of tribute. Other battles[193] succeed this, till Arthur learns of the villany of his bastard son, Mordred, when he at once sets out for Britain, and he might well say with Edgar—

Gawayne, always rash, fights Mordred like a madman, and is slain in the deadly struggle. Thus dies the merriest, the kindliest, and the bravest of knights—he who was the hardiest of hand, the happiest in arms, and the most polished in hall. Now all grows dark, and the end begins to close upon all. Arthur finds the dead body of his nephew, and his great grief is beautifully exhibited in the following description:—

Arthur now, with his 1,800 men, fights desperately against 60,000, and is successful in conquering them, and killing Mordred; but what signifies victory, when he has got his death wound, his wife has deserted him, and his friends are dead around him. The great conqueror and pattern of all knightly virtues dies a broken-hearted man, and the grand old story comes to an end. The writer really felt what he was writing about, and the consequence is, that his history stirs our very blood. And not in vigour alone is the writer's power shown; the lines in which he describes a bright morning in spring, and others in which he tells of love, can hardly be beaten by any other early work.

'Merlin'[199] is one of the longest of the romances, and although the whole of the text has been issued in three parts, the work still awaits for its completion Mr. Wheatley's introduction, index, and glossary. It has, however, two interesting essays prefixed—one by Mr. D. W. Nash, who learnedly draws the distinction between Merlin the enchanter and Merlin the bard; and another by Mr. J. S. Stuart Glennie, on the Arthurian localities which he finds in Scotland. The story commences with the miraculous birth of Merlin, and a description of King Vortiger's tower. The various events occur very rapidly at first. Pendragon and Uter defeat Vortiger, and Pendragon becomes king, but soon after he is killed in a battle, and Uter succeeds him, taking his brother's name at the same time as a surname. Uter Pendragon falls in love with Ygerne, the wife of the Duke of Tintagel, and by the help of Merlin he deceives her into receiving him as her husband while the duke is away. This ill-used man is killed in a fight, and the king at once marries Ygerne, who soon after bears him Arthur. Merlin is now very busy, and by his help the child is carried away. When Uter Pendragon dies, Merlin points Arthur out as the heir. He is made king, but the barons revolt against him, and now a long series of battles commence, which are graphically described by the old author. Gawein and the other nephews of Arthur come to him to be knighted, and through their instrumentality the rebel kings are gradually reconciled to their chief, to whom they do homage.

Merlin is enchanted by Nimiane, in a hawthorn bush, in the forest of Brochelond, and Arthur is heavy at heart on account of the long absence of his adviser. Gawein and his fellows go to seek for Merlin, and with the account of their adventures the book is brought to an end.

The 'Romance of the Chevelere Assigne'[200] is a translation of the French poem, 'Chevalier au Signe,' and was formerly edited for the Roxburghe Club by Mr. Utterson. The present editor, Mr. Henry Hucks Gibbs, gives in his preface a description of a curious ivory casket of 14th century workmanship, belonging to Mr. William Gibbs, which illustrates the story.

King Oryens and his queen Beatrice have no child to succeed them, and when one day they see a woman with twins, the queen is unkind enough to revile her. As a punishment, she herself soon afterwards bears six sons and one daughter, each with a silver chain about its neck. The king's mother, Matabryne, gets a man to drown the children, which she replaces by seven whelps, and then bids the king to burn his wife. Marcus, the man employed to take away the children, leaves them in a wood, wrapped up in a blanket, a hind then suckles them, and a hermit takes them home. The forester sees them, and tells Matabryne, who has the eyes of Marcus put out, and employs Malkedras to kill the children, and take away their chains. The man only finds six, as one is with the hermit; but he smites the chains from off these, and the children are turned into swans. The queen gives the chains to a goldsmith to make into a cup, but one chain increases so that half of it does for a cup, and the workman keeps the other five. The poor queen is to be burnt for her crime of bringing forth seven whelps, and a day is fixed for the purpose; but in the meantime, an angel comes to the hermit, and tells him the whole truth, commanding him at the same time to take the child he has with him to court, and have him christened Enyas. The angel counsels the child, who is twelve years old, to say that he will fight for the queen. There is then a great combat, in which right is victorious.

Enyas cuts off the head of Malkedras, and the old queen is burnt instead of the young one, who is unbound. The goldsmith comes forward with the five chains, which being given to the swans, bring them back to their proper form. The unfortunate sixth one, however, is obliged to remain a swan because its chain is irrevocably gone.

The 'Book of the Knight of La Tour Landry'[201] is a very entertaining work, as it gives us a good insight into the condition of woman in the fourteenth century, which cannot be considered as at all satisfactory. The worthy knight set about instructing his three daughters on their various duties, and all his directions are enforced by some tale from the Bible or monkish legends. He employed two clerks and two priests to look up examples and anecdotes for him, and a curious medley is the result of their labours. He seems to have been a credulous man, and a good friend to the priests, for he never fails to uphold their views. He tells us that the Virgin saved the life of an evil woman when she fell into a well, because she fasted on Fridays and Saturdays, and kept herself from sin on those days; but a good woman was lost because she did not confess one sin. He is very severe upon the dressiness of the women, and says that young ladies now often take so long to adorn themselves that they are too late for service. Some ladies who washed their hair in wine and other things, to change its colour, could not get into the church of our Lady until they had cut off their hair. Besides waste of valuable time, much money was thrown away by these ladies, and the knight laments that one woman's dress would have clothed many poor. The worthy man wrote a book for the benefit of his sons, on the same plan as this one for his daughters; but, unfortunately, it has been lost.

'The Wright's Chaste Wife'[202] is really, as it is here styled, 'a merry tale.' A wright or carpenter marries a fair maiden, whose mother can only give, as her portion, a garland of roses, that will keep its colour while she is true to her husband, but will change if she is faithless. The man makes a room in his house, with a trap-door, out of which escape is impossible, and then goes to build a hall for a certain lord. This lord asks the wright about his garland, and thinks he will go to try its efficacy. He gives the wife forty marks, and she tells him to go to the secret chamber, where he drops through the trap-door. He threatens, but his passion is of no avail; and when he is hungry, the woman will give him nothing to eat until he has earned his dinner by work. The steward follows the lord, and gives the woman twenty marks, when he also is sent upstairs, and tumbles through the trap-door. This man won't work until he is very hungry. Next comes the proctor, who also gives the woman twenty marks, and likewise tumbles through the hole prepared for his reception. He very much objects to work, and stands out for a longer time than the others; but at last he is obliged to give in too, and spin for his meal. At last the wright comes home, and wonders at the noise. When he finds out the cause, he asks his wife to let the lord out, but she will not until his lady is sent for. At last all three are set free, and the garland remains as fresh as ever.

This story is a reproduction and improvement of one of the 'Gesta Romanorum,' in which the carpenter gets with his wife a shirt that will never want washing as long as she is faithful to him. In the original story the three lovers are fed on bread and water, and not made to work, as in Adam de Cobsam's poem.

Mr. Furnivall seems to have a special gift for hunting interesting tales and bringing them to earth. His 'Political, Religious, and Love Poems'[203] are a miscellany of good things of various dates; but the 'Babees Book'[204] is a perfect treasure-house of curiosities, which tend to illustrate the manners of the fifteenth century. It contains a 'lytyl reporte' of how young people should behave; 'how the good wijf tauzte hir douztir;' 'how the wise man tauzt his son;' the 'Book of Nurture, or schoole of good maners for men, servants, and children,' by Hugh Rhodes; the 'Boke of Nurture, by John Russell;' the 'Boke of Kerninge;' the 'Booke of Demeanor, and the allowance and disallowance of certaine misdemeanors in companie, by Richard West;' the 'Boke of Curtasye;' the 'Schoole of Vertue, by F. Seager,' and various other pieces on the customs of the times. The authors of these pieces give very good rules for behaviour, and some of them would be appropriate in a book of etiquette of the present day; but others discover a state of society now happily passed away. The subjects treated of rise from the rules laid down for boys, which if they follow,

up to the difficulties that beset chamberlains, ushers, and marshals, in ordering the precedence of the great men entertained by their lords.

Mr. Furnivall has prefixed to his book a valuable introduction on the subject of Education in Early England.

'The Booke of Quinte Essence'[205] is a short text with a long title, on a revelation delivered to Hermes, the prophet and king of Egypt. It is here said that God's greatest secret for man's need is how to restore old feeble men to the strength of youth. A walnut-shell full of the wonderful liquid is sufficient to turn an old man young again, to cure one given up by the doctors, and to make a coward bold and strong. Besides all these advantages, it has the further one of driving away the devil. As the price of the book that contains these wonderful secrets is only one shilling, we should not be surprised to learn that the Society had sold a very large number of copies.

We now pass to some of the purely religious texts of the fifteenth century, commencing with the hermit of Hampole.

Richard Rolle, author of the 'Prick of Conscience,' was formerly held in great estimation as a prolific writer, and his 'English Prose Treatises'[206] are a real addition to our literature. The hermit was not a priest, but a recognised, although an irregular sort of preacher. One John de Dalton gave him a hermit's clothing and a cell, and provided for his maintenance. His gaze was ever upwards, and he was so absorbed in his work that his friends could take off his tattered coat and put it on again when mended without his knowledge. He was an ascetic himself, but saw that some men must lead an active life or the world would come to an end; and although much of his teaching is gloomy, it is generally Scriptural. Hampole died of the Black Death, in the year 1349, and his shrine became a favourite resort of pilgrims, who believed that he performed miracles of healing after his death. Mr. Perry has discovered a very great curiosity in a Latin office, prepared for the time when the hermit should be sainted. Whether this time did arrive, or whether the office was actually used, does not appear.

The 'Religious Pieces in Prose and Verse'[207] contain Dan Jon Gaytryge's sermon, 'the whilke teches how scrifte es to be made, and whareof and in scrifte how many things solde be consideride' (this has also been wrongly attributed to Wiclif); the 'Mirror of St. Edmund,' which contains some good precepts, although gloomy and ascetic; the 'Abbey of the Holy Ghost,' and a few hymns and poems. The 'Abbey of the Holy Ghost' is founded in the conscience, and the maidens that cleanse the place are righteousness and purity. The abbey is built on the river of tears, meekness and poverty prepare the ground, the walls are raised by obedience and mercy, the love of God and right faith are the cement. Patience and faith shall raise the pillars, shrift make the chapter-house, preaching the hall, prayer the chapel, contemplation the dormitory, sadness the infirmary, devotion the cellar, and meditation the store-house. The Holy Ghost is the warden and visitor, charity the lady abbess, wisdom the prioress, meekness the sub-prioress, discretion the treasure, orison the chauntress, jubilation the helper of the chauntress, devotion the cellaress, penance the cook, temperance the waiter, soberness the reader, pity the answerer, mercy the almoner, dread the porteress, honesty the mistress of the novices, courtesy and simplicity the receivers of the guests, and reason the purveyor. But with all these excellent virtues about, four evil damsels are introduced into the abbey, and they are envy, pride, grumbling, and evil-thinking, who do much mischief; but in answer to prayer the visitor expels the evil damsels.

John Myrc, a canon of Lilleshall, in Shropshire, knowing how ignorant many priests were, compiled his 'Instructions for Parish Priests,'[208] for the purpose of 'coaching' them in their duties. He instructs them as to the questions they should ask the penitent in confession, and gives forms of absolution. He says that bad Latin does not spoil the Sacrament, if the first syllable of each word be right. The author, however, does not confine himself to priests, but adjures the laity to be reverent in their behaviour at church; and not to jest or loll against pillars and walls. This treatise affords, as may be supposed from its subject, very valuable illustrations for the life of its time.

We have left to the last, one of the texts that we like best, and that is, the 'Hymns to the Virgin and Christ.'[209] These poems are full of a pure devotional feeling, and many of them exhibit their authors as true poets. 'The Mirror of the Periods of Man's Life; or, Bids of the Virtues and Vices for the Soul of Man,' is a striking and vigorous poem; but there is a tender philosophy breathing throughout 'Revertere' (in English tunge, turne aghen!) which is very charming:—

Besides the texts we have noticed, there are many of a later date than the fifteenth century; but we cannot do more than mention the names of Lauder's 'Poems,' Hume's 'Orthographie of the Britan Tongue,' Thynne's 'Animadversions of Chaucer,' Lyndesay's 'Works,' 'The Romance of Partenay or Lusignen,' Levins's 'Manipulus Vocabulorum,' Awdeley's 'Fraternitye of Vacabondes,' &c., &c.

The list of books to be printed in the future is a very tempting one, and we notice many works of great interest, which we trust the Society will have money enough at its disposal to allow it to issue. This can be done only by a large accession of members, and we are sorry to see that the income has not increased as it ought to have done during the last year. The following are the totals of the balance-sheets of the various years from the formation of the Society in 1864, when the income was only £152 2s.; 1865, £384 0s. 11d.; 1866, £681 0s. 1d.; 1867, £941 6s. 10d.; 1868, £1,229 1s. 3d.; 1869, £1,227 19s. 4d.

The committee seem to feel the greatness of the work before them, and calling for further assistance, write in their fourth report:—'Thus reinforced, the Society can proceed with fresh vigour to the accomplishment of its task, with the determination not to rest till Englishmen shall be able to say of their early literature, what the Germans can now say with pride of theirs, "Every word of it is printed, every word of it is glossed."' And in their second report, they had previously said, 'The Society will be ready to take on itself the burden laid by the late J. M. Kemble on the Ælfric Society, to leave no word of Anglo-Saxon unprinted.' In redemption of the latter pledge it has now in the press, King Alfred's translation of Gregory's 'Pastoral Care,' the 'Homilies of 971 a.d.,' belonging to the Marquis of Lothian, and a fresh set of Ælfric's 'Homilies,' most of which are in verse.

We ought never to lose sight of the urgent need there is for printing our MS. treasures. A unique manuscript may be destroyed at any moment, as has lately occurred in the total destruction of the Strasburg library, to the irreparable loss of the whole literary world.

All tastes are catered for in the set of Early English Texts. Do you wish for ballads and short poems? You have them here. Do you care only to read romances? You have the tales of battles and gallantry that delighted our grandfathers while they sat as open-mouthed listeners to the reading of the great volume that lasted them for many a long winter evening. Do you wish to study manners and customs, to find out how our ancestors lived, worked, and played, what were their religious beliefs and superstitions? Here are ample materials for your investigation. Or is the old language the object of your examination? Then the great object of the Society is to popularize the old works that illustrate the history of our native speech.

There is everywhere evidence of a growing living interest in modern languages, and of an attempt to study them with the thoroughness that has heretofore been confined to the classical languages. At present, although we are comparatively in the dark as to our grammatical forms, we are gradually constructing a history; but we cannot build without bricks, and the Early English Text Society proposes to supply them.

No pleasure is thoroughly enjoyed until it is imparted to another, so that as we have had the satisfaction of conversing with, and studying the mind and manners of our ancestors, we are anxious that others should enjoy the same pleasure; and we cannot but feel that those who will only read printed books are under great obligations to those gentlemen who undertake the arduous task of reading and explaining the manuscripts for their amusement and instruction. We have made a rapid sketch of the literature of several centuries as illustrated by the publications of the Society, and necessarily, from the extent of the subject, in a very slight and cursory manner, but we shall be quite satisfied if its imperfections lead our readers to consult the originals themselves.

We may add, for the benefit of those whom it may interest, that the subscription to the Early English Text Society is one guinea a year (with an additional guinea for those who subscribe to the Extra Series), and the honorary secretary is Mr. Henry B. Wheatley, 53 Berners-street, W.

Art. III.—Parties in the Episcopal Church.

(1.)Judgments of the Judicial Committee of the Privy Council. By the Hon. G. C. Brodrick and Rev. W. H. Freemantle. London: John Murray.

(2.) The Church Times.

(3.) Church Association Reports.

The glory of the Episcopal Church, according to many of her loudest eulogists, is her comprehensiveness. She is not, they say, like the sects, bound within the narrow lines of a rigid orthodoxy. She does not expect that from all her pulpits the same doctrines should be preached in stereotyped phraseology, not even that her ritual shall always conform to the same pattern. She recognises diversities of tastes, and adapts herself to them. Instead of checking, she encourages the widest freedom of inquiry, and secures for her clergy a liberty which the members of voluntary communities will not tolerate in their ministers. Hence she includes in her ranks men of innumerable varieties of opinion, from believers in the extreme theory of verbal inspiration on the one hand to Doctor Colenso and his sympathizers on the other; from upholders of sacramentarian and sacerdotal systems, which run to the very verge of Romanism, to men whose Church principles are hardly to be distinguished from those of the Plymouth Brethren. Whether such diversity is consistent with the fundamental principles of the constitution of the National Church; whether it was ever contemplated by the men who, at the time of the Restoration, gave her her present character; whether the advocates of this comprehensiveness support it by arguments drawn from their own ideal of what a National Church should be, rather than from the documents which determine what the Anglican Church really is; whether the principle they lay down is worked out to the extent which, if admitted at all, justice would demand; whether, on the whole, it works for evil or for good, are questions which we do not propose to discuss at length here. The fact at all events is patent, and was never more so than at present, that the Church of England includes not only individuals of different views, but great antagonistic parties having their separate organizations, pursuing their own ends, and two of them at least, so far from admitting that the Church should be of this comprehensive character, asserting that they themselves are the only loyal Churchmen, and that all others have more or less of the taint of heresy upon them. The lines of demarcation have become even wider, and the feelings cherished by the more eager partizans on either side more intense than when, eighteen years ago, one of the distinguished divines of the day gave to the world his celebrated sketch of the rival hosts. During the interval there have been many fierce struggles, in the settlement of which the courts of law have been called to intervene. Decisions of great importance in their bearing upon the liberty enjoyed by the clergy have been given. Toleration has been secured for doctrines and practices which it was generally thought were inadmissible, and the legislature has gone so far in its desire to relieve scrupulous consciences as to modify the terms of clerical subscription. The result of the liberty thus given, has been, as perhaps might have been expected, a wider divergence of opinion than has existed at any previous period; but this, unfortunately, has not been accompanied by a growth of that mutual tolerance which even the result of the various suits, instituted for the suppression of what was regarded on one side or the other as heresy, ought to have produced. The parties who have failed in their attempts to purge the Church of error have sat down under their defeat, angry and discontented, the loud talk of a determination to secede rather than be parties to the toleration of false doctrines has died away, but the lesson as to the limitation of their power has done nothing towards producing a spirit of greater charity.

The Broad Church party—if indeed it is right to speak of a number of men who have no party organization and no party aims, among whom are to be found all shades of opinion, and whose one bond of connection is their common love of freedom—have consistently maintained that the Church of England belongs neither to one section nor the other, but is intended to comprehend all. The aim of the courts has been as far as possible to maintain this view, on behalf of which they have often strained the language of the law to a dangerous extent, and in fact have allowed mere custom to set aside the authority of law in a way which certainly would not have been tolerated in any proceedings relative to property or civil right. The expositions of ecclesiastical law, as given even by the highest court, have often been remarkable as illustrations of the dexterity with which the judges have rescued the Church from positions of great difficulty, rather than as examples of sound interpretation of the statutes. Considerations of public policy have affected the decisions, and the strict letter of the law has been disregarded in a fashion which would find little favour in Westminster Hall. The question has been, not as to the positive requirements of the statute if construed on the ordinary principles of language, but as to the amount of latitude to be permitted; and so far has this been carried, that the defendant in a recent suit was bold enough to quote a passage from a letter of Dr. Arnold, which was not published till after his death, as illustrative of the liberty which had been granted to him, and which, therefore, though to a much greater extent, he demanded for himself. Statesmen and lawyers in truth, understanding that the absolute victory of either of the contending parties meant the downfall of the National Church, have anxiously sought to protect all in the enjoyment of their position, and to make them understand that the continuance of the great institution, to which in common they profess so hearty an attachment, depends upon their mutual recognition of each other's rights. But the lesson has been given to reluctant pupils, of whom it would not be too much to say that they cling to that which they ought to forget, and turn a deaf ear to all they need to learn. If among the best men on all sides there has been the steady growth of a better feeling, and if there is an increasing body of the ablest and most thoughtful of the clergy who refuse to identify themselves with any party, the majority of the strong adherents both of the High Church and the Evangelicals display all the old spirit, and if they had the power certainly do not lack the will to make the Church the exclusive preserve of their own section.

A better illustration of this could not well be found than that which is given in the introductory Essay on 'Anglican Principles' in the recent volume of 'Essays on the Church and the Age,' the manifesto of moderate High Churchmen. In this party the Dean of Chichester deservedly holds a very high place. His great abilities, his large and varied experience, his distinguished services in various departments of labour, his high character, rightly give him position and influence. He is not a man of illiberal temper, and if he ever had the heat of the partizan, the mellowing influence of time has toned down its ardour. He is so far from being a man of extreme views or from cherishing any sympathy with the Ritualist party, that he says, 'They assert dogmas which are scarcely to be distinguished from some of the errors of the Church of Rome.' 'To this party,' he adds, 'those who adhere to the principles of the English Reformers, and who were, till of late years, known on that account as High Churchmen, are as much opposed as they have ever been to the Puritans, and on the same grounds.' His opposition to these Romanizing tendencies, however, does not lead him to regard more favourably those who are at the other pole of the theological compass. On the contrary, if he condemns Ritualists, he lays much of the blame for their position, as well as for that of the Rationalizers, on the Evangelicals, whom he charges with infidelity to their ecclesiastical obligations, and with all the consequences which have resulted from those lax notions of subscription of which they gave the first example. 'The only difference,' he says, 'between the Tractarian and the Puritan, in regard to the formularies of our Church, is this, that the former honestly, if not discreetly, has avowed the principle upon which the other party has, from the time of the Reformation, never ceased to act. The Puritans did not use the term non-natural; but what else is meant when they clothe in the garment of Calvinism what the Church has laid before them as plain and simple Catholic truth?' Having himself no sympathy with those who do not care to inquire what the Church really means in the dogmas which she has laid down, and who are satisfied if they can so torture her formularies as to make them lend an apparent sanction to preconceived opinions, he contends that 'if the thumb-screw be allowable to one party, it cannot be withheld from the other;' ... that if liberty be granted to one, it must be extended quite as freely to the other; and that if this be conceded, the only conclusion is that 'we possess no authoritative statement of doctrine whatever.'... 'The question is—we repeat it—the principle having been conceded to the Puritans, where is it to stop!' This is certainly turning the tables to some purpose. The Evangelicals have been in the habit of denouncing, with a good deal of righteous indignation, the Popish traitors who eat the bread of a Protestant Church, while all the time they are labouring only to betray her into the hands of her enemy; or the still greater offenders who continue to occupy Christian pulpits, while their writings show that they have accepted even the fundamental doctrines of Christianity in a non-natural sense. It is somewhat startling for them to be told, not only that they are equally guilty, but that their own laxity has been the fruitful parent of the excesses of which they complain so bitterly in others; that as the definite meaning of formularies must be maintained or universal liberty be conceded, and every man left to believe as seemeth right in his own eyes, the toleration to a Gorham necessitated toleration to a Bennett and a Mackonochie and a Colenso; and that on them, therefore, rests the responsibility for the disorder, the anarchy, and the heresy by which the Church is afflicted. The argument is not new, for it is substantially that which was employed by the Rev. W. G. Ward in his defence before the Oxford Convocation, and the Evangelicals would doubtless have a good deal to say in opposition to its conclusions. We quote it here only as indicative of the strong feelings that prevail between different parties. Mr. Ward used it in self-defence, and in an extremity when the tu quoque plea was about the only one which was available. From Dr. Hook it comes as a judicial utterance; and when such a man adopts this style of criticism, we can easily understand with what bitterness the struggle will be carried on by those who have neither his ability nor his self-restraint.

While High Churchmen are thus determined on their side, and while the more advanced section of the party never attempt to conceal the contempt they entertain for Evangelicals, we have only to turn to the utterances on the opposite side to see how fully the sentiment is reciprocated. It would be hard to conceive of a sadder caricature of Christianity than would be presented by a series of extracts from the Church Times and Church Review on the one side, and the Record and the Rock on the other. That there are members of both parties who are shocked by the violence, the narrow-mindedness, the unreasoning partizanship of their organs, we do not doubt; but it is impossible to deny that these journals do represent large classes, whose antagonism to each other they at once stimulate and express. The scenes which two or three years ago disgraced the meeting of the Christian Knowledge Society, and the prosecutions which occupy so much of the time, and must sometimes try the temper and patience of the judges, are other indications of the same virulence of spirit. We hear about the comprehensiveness of the Church, but while this internal strife continues, that comprehensiveness is its scandal, not its glory. It is the legal association in a Christian Church of men who have no faith in each other, whose principles are mutually subversive, who lose no opportunity of expressing their disgust with their companions and their belief that they are where they are, only by unfaithfulness to conscience and disobedience to law. It is the maintenance of an outward and visible form of union where there is not the inward and spiritual grace; not the fellowship of those who have subordinated minor differences that they may cultivate a true spiritual unity, but of those whose antagonism is deep-rooted and intense, and who remain in the same Church from mutual jealousy and distrust rather than from any better feeling. It is a comprehensiveness which is the child of legal moderation, not of Christian charity, which, so far from being the legitimate development of noble and generous sentiment, is the result only of external constraint, whose hollowness is evident in the railing accusations to which both parties condescend, and which survives only because neither is willing to withdraw from an enforced and hateful union, and so leave all the prestige and emoluments of the National Church in the hands of its opponents for the promotion of what it regards as deadly error.

The ideal of a church which allows the greatest latitude of opinion consistent with an adherence to the primary truths of the Gospel, which trusts for the maintenance of Christian truth to its own living force rather than to any artificial defences, which aims to cultivate unity of spirit rather than agreement in creed, which, proceeding on the belief that where there is the same spirit there will yet be diversities of gifts, and under the same law differences of administration, does not attempt to curb the free development of individual belief or allow the divergence to which it may lead to interfere with the enjoyment of true spiritual fellowship, is a very exalted one. If the Church of England were really striving to attain that, or if it exhibited any signs of an approach to it, we should be prepared to condone many faults, and, even though it failed to realize its own conception, to honour it for aiming at such an ideal. But this is just the view which High Church and Low Church would alike repudiate. Little love as they bear to each other, they have still less for the only section which is honestly seeking to give the Church this character. Whether or not the members of the Broad Church party are right in their interpretation of the facts of history or the principles of ecclesiastical law, it is due to them, at least, to say that they are consistent in their maintenance of clerical liberty. Others demand freedom for themselves, and are very loud in their protests against ecclesiastical despotism if there is any danger that they may themselves become its victims. Broad Churchmen vindicate the liberties of all, and have more than once, in times of fierce excitement, exposed themselves to a storm of unpopularity by their gallant defence of men who had made themselves obnoxious by their avowal of what was branded as heresy. All others have in their turn been assailants; they, never. From all the crusades against heresy they have stood aloof, and have been content to bear the reproach of heterodoxy themselves rather than do anything which might narrow the boundaries of the Church, or curtail the freedom of the clergy. We could not find a better illustration of this than in Dean Stanley's recent volume of Essays. We find him in the Gorham controversy breaking a lance in defence of the Evangelicals when an attempt was made to deprive them of their status in the Church; and when they, forgetful of their own difficulties, turned round, and in their turn became assailants of the authors of 'Essays and Reviews,' we find him equally resolute in courageously withstanding them. His own views in opposition to Ritualism are expressed with sufficient distinctness, and, when dealing with its favourite South African prelate and his attack on Dr. Colenso, he is bold and unsparing; but if any wish him to unite in an effort to expel Ritualists from the Church, his answer is, 'As we would wish to include the Nonconforming members of the Church who are without its pale, so we would wish to retain those Nonconforming members who are within its pale.' The very thoroughness with which the Dean carries out his principle itself irritates many. They cannot understand how a man should be so zealous a champion of the rights of those whose theological and ecclesiastical opinions he has not a spark of sympathy. But nothing tempts him to swerve from his position. The Church is nothing to him if she be not comprehensive, and he will resist to the death anything which threatens to deprive him of this boasting on her behalf.

All that Broad Churchmen can thus do, however, is to justify themselves. They cannot alter the fact that there is an Act of Uniformity defining exactly what the character and constitution of the Church shall be; and when we come to examine the history and requirements of that Act, it is difficult to see how it can be maintained that the Church was intended to be comprehensive. It is so in fact; but it is so certainly in opposition to the designs of the ecclesiastics of the Restoration who gave it its present constitution, and in opposition to the letter of the law.

But if the existence of separate parties with views in such complete antagonism as to be mutually destructive is an anomaly, these parties may plead in their own behalf that they are as necessary to the Establishment as the Establishment is to them; that they could exist and work for the advancement of their own views even though they should be expelled from the Establishment, but that in such case it must assuredly fall; and that so conscious of this have been the administrators of the law, that until the extreme views of Mr. Purchas and Mr. Voysey have dictated a somewhat different course, their constant effort has been to avoid any decision which might compel any one of them to secede—a tenderness certainly not prompted by any regard to them, but solely by a consideration of the probable results to the Establishment. How far this should reconcile conscientious men to retain their position, is a point which must be left for themselves to settle. Nonconformists have sometimes been too ready to settle it for them, and condemn both Evangelicals and Ritualists for infidelity to truth because they do not take the course which, under like circumstances, they themselves would feel bound to adopt. Imputations of this kind are as impolitic as they are unfair. They leave out of sight the different aspect in which the same facts present themselves to different minds, and the diversity of conclusion which may be reached with perfect honesty on all sides. It is certain, however strange it may seem to those looking at the subject from a different stand-point, that of the two extreme parties there are numbers who sincerely believe that the Church was intended to be of their particular type—'Evangelical or Catholic,' as the case may be. It requires a good deal of faith, perhaps, to believe that any man can honestly think that Gunning or Sheldon intended to make the Church Evangelical, but it is nevertheless certain that numbers have a sincere conviction that Evangelicals are the true Churchmen. That 'Catholics' on their side are satisfied of their own ecclesiastical orthodoxy is less surprising; while any, whether High Churchmen or Low Churchmen, who are candid enough to confess their rubrical transgressions, would maintain that no one conforms to the pattern in all things, and that if they err, it is only in common with all beside.

One of the most remarkable features in the history of the Church during the last twenty years has been the development of High Church principles; and in this we do not so much refer to the extreme extent to which they have been pushed by the Ritualists, or to the increase of professed adherents of the party, as to the higher tone of Church sentiment which is so perceptible, and which has affected numbers who would disown all connection with any section of the party. The Tractarian movement has undoubtedly been one of the chief causes of this. Mr. Bennett and others of the early leaders who still remain faithful in their allegiance to the Church of their birth, may well congratulate themselves on the different atmosphere by which they now find themselves surrounded. They have not indeed succeeded in moulding public opinion, they have not undermined the strong Protestant feeling of the nation nor have they persuaded the people that the National Church is anything but a Protestant Church. But practices are tolerated to-day which formerly were regarded with horror and alarm; battle-grounds which once were hotly contested have been left in possession of the High-Anglicans, and they, grown bold by the successes they have won, have put forth new claims and are seeking to introduce innovations—or, as they would call them, restorations—which the most sanguine among them would not have dared to contemplate a few years ago. To preach in a surplice, for example, is no longer regarded as an evidence of Romanising tendency, although, perhaps, it is still a sign that the preacher is not of the Evangelical party. In the struggle, however, which is now waged to prevent the adoption of sacrificial vestments, it is almost forgotten how recently the appearance of the preacher in a surplice was sufficient to provoke popular commotion and to furnish an occasion of legal prosecutions. In the style of Church architecture and music, in the more elaborate form of service adopted in places innocent of High Church tendencies, and in the increased attention paid to some of the festivals, we find the same advance. Nor is it only in such points as these that the change is seen. Even more significant is the quiet revival of Convocation, and the amount of influence it has been able to gain. Power in the strict sense of the term it has not; and there is often a ludicrous contrast between the loudness of its talk and the feebleness of its performances. But if it has no legislative authority, it continually passes its judgment on questions affecting the interests of the Church, and its pretensions have sometimes been treated with a consideration, not to say deference, which is indicative of an alteration in the spirit of the times. No English Prime Minister, indeed, whatever might be his personal proclivities, would dare to concede what its leaders consider themselves entitled to ask; yet a careful observer cannot fail to see that it has been quietly asserting itself in a way most grateful to the advocates of ecclesiastical ascendancy. The Bill for the Revision of the Lectionary, introduced in the last session of Parliament, afforded a very striking proof of this advance. Convocation was first consulted as to the changes proposed to be made, and greatly to the satisfaction of High Churchmen, the preamble of the measure contained a distinct reference to the opinion which that august body had expressed on the subject. It is true that the Bill did not pass the House of Commons, and would probably not have been able to secure the assent of an assembly chosen by household suffrage without the sacrifice of this point of the preamble, but the fact that it was introduced by the ministers of the Crown and, in opposition to the protests of Lord Shaftesbury and some other peers, was accepted by the House of Lords, is itself painfully significant. It may even prove that the move has been premature and impolitic, and the result may be the awakening of a spirit of jealousy that will prevent any further encroachments. Still, such progress as has been made in this development of Church authority would not have been possible if there had not been, in certain quarters, a state of feeling friendly to it—a reaction against the Erastianism which would treat the clergy as mere officers of the State, whose duty was simply to carry out the will of Parliament—a growing tendency to accept the rule of the Church in the business of the Church.

There are many who attribute this High Church development to the influence of what they call the 'Catholic revival' throughout Europe. A wave of deeper spiritual feeling, more humble reverence for authority, more perfect faith in Catholic truth, and more earnest desire to work out the true Catholic ideal of holiness has, they say, been passing over the Continent, and it has reached us. Before we admit the fact of this revival, we are entitled to ask where its evidences are to be found. Is it in Belgium, esteemed the most Catholic country in Europe except Ireland, where the closer our acquaintance with the people the more clearly does it appear that underlying much show of outward devotion, there is, especially in the male part of the urban population, a spirit of silent but decided revolt against the superstitions of Rome? Or is it in Austria, whose ecclesiastical policy has been growingly liberal in its character, and has been continually putting it more and more out of accord with the Vatican? Or in Spain, where once priests and Jesuits ruled supreme, but where the fall of their wretched instrument, who so long disgraced the throne of that unhappy land, has inaugurated an era of freedom? Or is it in Italy herself, preserving indeed her outward allegiance to the Papal See, but it is to be feared with little faith of any kind surviving among her people? As we look at these nations where the dominion of Rome is supposed to be most secure, it seems absurd to talk of 'Catholic revival.' Still we cannot say that it is only a dream of enthusiasts. In a certain sense there has been the revival of which Archbishop Manning is so fond of boasting. Ages and countries in which we find great material prosperity, love of luxury, a low standard of morals, are those in which we find also a strong development of superstition, and a readiness to bow to the will of the priest. Europe in the nineteenth century is no exception to the rule. France in particular would perhaps be pointed out as the scene of the great Catholic revival of the day; and if the desertion by the great body of the Gallican bishops and clergy of the cause for which their predecessors so gallantly contended, the readiness of priests and people to accept the most extreme views of Papal infallibility and Mariolatry, the restoration of the rites of the Church in the old cathedrals in their full pomp and circumstance, and the shameless subserviency of French politicians to Papal ambition, be the signs of a 'Catholic revival,' such revival there undoubtedly has been. Side by side with the falsehood, the frivolity, the idle display, the incredible extravagance, and the immorality which were the scandal of Paris, and in which the court of the Second Empire was so deeply implicated, there was also an outburst of superstitious devotion, yclept, we suppose, a 'revival.' The Empress was the great leader of fashion, and as she was a devotee of Rome and the Jesuits, it became fashionable in the circles of which she was the centre, to affect an earnest zeal for the Church and her observances. As in Paris, so to some extent in other capitals; and thus, though there is little on which a Church intent only on spiritual ends could congratulate herself, there have been an increased splendour in ceremonial, a more facile acceptance of Church dogmas, a greater show of deference to the priest, and especially to the Holy Father, which have been gratefully welcomed. Looking back at the position of the Papacy in 1848, and tracing its rise from the extreme depression into which it had fallen at that time, to that sense of power which encouraged the Pope eighteen months ago to convene a Council in the hope that it would realise the grand idea of years, and proclaim his infallibility, we cannot be surprised that we hear boasts of a revival. But the more closely it is examined, the less of a religious character will it be found to possess.

In England it has been different. Whatever we may think of the doctrines of the Tractarians, it would be worse than uncharitable to doubt their sincerity, their conscientiousness, their intense devotion to the principles they hold, their spiritual life and fervour, as it would be foolish to deny that they have been the authors of what may fairly be described as a 'Romish revival.' So far as there has been any real religious movement in the Roman Catholic churches of the Continent, we believe that it has come from this country. It was no small thing for the Papal See to gain the distinguished band of converts, of which Newman and Manning are the most conspicuous. Bringing with them subtle and highly-cultured intellects, high reputations, and fervid zeal, they threw themselves into the service of the Church in which they professed to have found rest with all the passionate devotion of new converts, and their influence could not but be felt throughout the whole Romish community. The prospect of the return of England to the true Church that so large a secession from the Anglican ranks seemed to hold out, was itself sufficiently stimulating, while the example of their ardour and diligence stirred up their new associates to nobler efforts in the common cause.

But while they thus breathed new life into the movements of the Roman Catholic Church, their influence did not end there. The leaven of their teaching and spirit remained in the Church they had forsaken. Contrary to what was once expected, their secession neither deterred many of their sympathisers from venturing still further in the dangerous paths which had conducted their leaders to Rome, nor induced them to follow their example, and reconcile themselves with the Holy See. So far from the Church being purged of Tractarian principles, these are more defiant and rampant than ever. Mr. Bennett, Dr. Littledale, and Mr. Mackonochie have only developed the idea of Mr. Newman and his coadjutors; but they have done this to an extent which their predecessors never attempted, and which in those days they would not have thought possible. It is possible now, because these teachings have done much more than merely indoctrinate a certain number of minds with their opinions, they have created a High Church tone in a much wider circle than that which they are able directly to affect. Men who would scorn to accept them as their leaders, who declaim about the absurdity of some of their practices, and the Romish tendency of the whole movement, are yet to an extent, perhaps almost unconsciously, influenced by them. How is this?

Something is due to their very audacity. They speak with no faltering tone, they act with decision and fearlessness, and the confidence which they show in themselves and their opinions begets a similar feeling in others; while even with those who refuse to yield themselves absolutely to their lead, there is a disposition to think that, though they may push their notions too far, they would not have dared to go to such an extreme unless they had been in the main right. There are large numbers of Englishmen, who, looking on at the spectacles provided for them in Ritualistic churches, are induced, after the first feeling of surprise, and possibly of indignation, is over, to say, 'There must be something in these men; they have gone too far, but that is only what others are doing in the opposite direction. They have borrowed too much from Rome, while others approach too near Geneva. We like neither the one nor the other. What we want is the service of our own Church well done.' Thus they have carried a large body who condemn Ritualism to a position in advance even of the old High Church view, and they have done it mainly because they had the courage of conviction, and did not shrink from the consequences to which their boldness might expose them. What the Protestant public would think and say of them, how many prejudices they would awaken, what condemnation they would have to face, they must have foreseen. But they have braved all, and they have a reward, even beyond the progress they have made in winning converts to their party, in the subtle but powerful influence they have exerted on Church sentiment.

They have had, too, the life and energy characteristic of the youth of religious parties. In the abundance of their labours, in their freedom from conventionalism in their work, in their willingness to adopt any plan which has been found successful by others, they are an example to ministers of all churches. There are, of course, among them those who have little sympathy with the noble aims of their brethren, and who have no higher object than a gratification of their own strong priestly instincts, perhaps even of their childish love of display, who delight in the show of the gorgeous service, and have little care for the truths it is intended to symbolize, and who bring contempt upon the whole movement by words and deeds which stamp on it a character of weakness and puerility. It is the fate of every party to attract some followers of this type, and it would be as unfair to judge it by them, as it would be uncandid not to recognise the higher qualities of those who have given it weight and importance. The truth is, these men have a faith, and they are not afraid of avowing and of acting upon it; and in an age which is only too prone to seek after compromises, this itself gives them power. Their very dogmatism, offensive as it is to inquiring minds, is a reaction from the too prevalent laxity of religious belief, and commends them to a large class who are weary of endless disputations, and crave for something positive. To the clamour for liberty—which is not unfrequently only another name for lawlessness, the sign of an unwillingness to submit to any rule either of faith or practice, the assertion of a man's right to believe what he likes, and do what he will—they oppose the law of a Catholic Church, ending all discussion, and silencing opposition by the mere assertion that the Church has spoken, and that through her we receive the will of God. In the presence of a widespread disbelief in the supernatural, and a desire to eliminate the miraculous from the teachings of Scripture, they assert the existence of a perpetual miracle in the presence of the Lord upon His own altars, and find the best evidence of His Incarnation in the extensions of that incarnation through the sacraments for the nourishment of the spiritual life of His followers. Such a creed is out of harmony with all Protestant opinion, and does not bear the test of either reason or Scripture; and when, as it must be, the demand for its acceptance is based on the authority of the Church, it is open to attack from the Roman Catholic side equally fatal with that which it has to encounter from Protestantism. But illogical and unscriptural as it appears to us, it is held by Anglicans with a tenacity, and worked out with an enthusiastic ardour, of which we find too few examples among the believers in creeds of a more Scriptural order. They are ready to proclaim its articles on the housetops; so far from attempting to hide the extravagance of any of their pretensions, they seem rather to delight in bringing them out in their most pronounced obnoxious forms; and by their outspoken boldness they constrain even the admiration of those who like them least.

If this party have gained power by the strong assertion of their distinctive principles, they have largely increased it by the way in which they have identified themselves with various popular movements, and the earnestness, combined with a certain kind of practical wisdom, with which they have prosecuted their work. With all the deference they claim for tradition in relation to doctrine, they show not the slightest respect to traditional notions, so far as Christian work is concerned. Of that regard to dignity which restrained the High Church clergy of a former time from everything that bore the most distant resemblance to Methodism, they have not a vestige, and, indeed, they view it as one of the errors of that dreary Hanoverian Protestantism which they hate intensely, and certainly not without good reason. They set out with an ardent longing to recover the masses of the people to their allegiance to the Church, and any means that will contribute to that end they adopt. 'All other sections of the English Church save one,' Dr. Littledale tells us, 'have stood their trial and have failed.' The time is come when an effort should be made on a different principle, and that principle is a careful regard to the tastes and necessities of the people whom they have to win; for past failure is to be attributed largely to 'a refusal to face the fact, that it is with beings with human wants and frailties, and not pure disembodied rationalities that the Church has to deal, that the shopkeepers and artisans have gone to Dissent, and the labourers have gone to the devil.' Acting on this conviction, they have sought to understand the nature of the influences by which the people have been drawn on both sides in order that they might fight both dissent and the devil with their own weapons. They have been willing to learn everywhere, believing that if the children of this world are in their generation wiser than the children of light, the latter cannot do better than become pupils in their school. Hence they have not been particular as to who their instructors were, if only they had something to teach them, and have been content to learn from a gin-palace as well as from a conventicle, from the Odd-Fellow or Forester as well as from the Primitive Methodist, borrowing from the one the histrionic style of their Ritual, and from the other the spiritual enthusiasm which expresses itself in revival services with stirring addresses and glowing hymns. There is certainly something singular in the idea that, inasmuch as the landlord of the gin-palace caters for his customers by means of painting, light, and music, the Church of Christ should do the same, and that ministers of the Gospel, adopting the arts of the managers of benefit societies, and pandering to that childish love of display which the latter gratify by glittering insignia of office, processions with a great deal of pomp and show, and rites around which a mysterious awe is thrown, should seek to attract the people by churches with gaily decorated altars, processions with banners and music, and a regular succession of church festivals celebrated with accessories that appeal to both the eye and ear. It indicates, however, the spirit of the party. Their Ritual has a deeper meaning than this, but by many it has undoubtedly been developed with the prominence they have given it under the belief that it would produce great popular effects.

Had they, however, confined themselves to the cultivation of this histrionic element, they would never have gained the power they possess. They have been equally active in the employment of means of a higher order. With the contempt for preaching which was, and still is, so prevalent amongst a large number of the Anglican clergy, they have little sympathy; for while they attach supreme importance to the work of the sacrificing priest or the confessor, they take ample care also to cultivate the art of popular address. This was specially apparent in the celebrated 'twelve days' mission,' which brought into notice more than one public orator of a type very different from anything with which the Episcopal Church has been familiar. That mission itself, disfigured as it was by many extravagancies and eccentricities, lowered in its character as a Christian work by the loud flourish of trumpets by which it was heralded, and the jubilant exultation as to its success in which its promoters indulged, and especially discredited by their manifest design to make it an opportunity of familiarising the minds of the people with Romish notions and practices, was, nevertheless, a remarkable proof of the skill as well as enthusiasm of the party. We should be sorry to think that among those by whom it was carried on there were not many influenced by a higher desire than to secure a mere party triumph; but regarded in that light only, we cannot too much admire the knowledge of human nature, and particularly of English human nature, shown by those who conceived the idea. Its very novelty was sure to arrest attention and draw crowds, and the fact that crowds are drawn by whatever means to religious services is with many sufficient to cover a multitude of offences against good taste, and even against Christian truth. There are those who apply to everything what they call practical tests, and one of their surest tests of the power of a preacher, is his capability of attracting large audiences. Of course, the proclamation of a grand crusade against sin and Satan, to be undertaken by a number of clergymen whose peculiarities had already attracted to them a large share of public attention, awakened curiosity, and, if there had been no other feeling, that would have been sufficient to crowd the churches. Among those who attended these services were many good people who went to see in what fashion and with what weapons this new warfare would be carried on. They saw the unusual sight of numbers, and many of them belonging to classes seldom found in a place of worship, coming night after night, and apparently impressed by the services. They heard eloquent preachers preaching to them the great truths of the Gospel, in forcible and striking language rebuking the sins of the day, in vivid and glowing pictures setting before them the love of Christ and His redeeming work, and in thrilling appeals beseeching them to believe and obey. Though even this could not reconcile them to a style of worship so strongly Romish in its character, or lead them to accept the error which was so subtly insinuated, it disarmed not a few prejudices, and led numbers, who never had a friendly thought towards Ritualism or Ritualists before, to think that, despite all their faults, these men were doing a great work, and were not lightly to be evil spoken of. The spectacle of so many clergymen banding themselves together for earnest evangelistic work, casting aside the traditions of their Church and their office, throwing themselves heart and soul into services in which the freedom and fervour, characteristic of Methodist revivals were substituted for the dulness and decorum with which the high Anglicans of former days were satisfied, and determined that, so far as lay in their power, they would make their Church what it has so often claimed to be, and what as a National Church it ought to be, the Church of the people, could not fail to produce a deep and favourable impression. Men who maintain an attitude of indifference to all parties did homage to the earnestness which marked the movement; and even among those who regarded it with strongest disapproval, and believed that its effect, so far as it was successful, would be to Romanize rather than Christianize the people, there were many who felt that the only way of overcoming such workers would be to display a spirit as devoted, as self-denying, and as practical as their own. Ritualists would be mistaken if they accepted the ungrudging praise which was given in many quarters to their daring courage, their free and energetic modes of action, their conscientious attempts to solve in their own fashion one of the most important problems of the day as indicating any abatement of decided opposition to their teachings, or of the righteous indignation with which those who are most ready to honour them for all that is good in them or their work, view their disloyalty to the Church of which they are ministers, and the wretched quibbles by which they seek to cloak or excuse their unfaithfulness. But, on the other hand, the Evangelicals will be equally mistaken if they forget that practical service of this character tells powerfully on behalf of the party by whom it is undertaken, and that those who feel that duty compels them to take a position of antagonism to it must, if they are to carry popular sympathy with them, justify their faith also by works.

Another feature in the conduct of the Ritualist clergy deserving of commendation, is the tact they have shown in utilising the power which was lying dormant in their congregations. The experience of all Churches testifies that nothing does more to attract a man to a religious community than the assigning to him a place and a work, and so making him feel that he contributes something to its power and prosperity. The 'Catholic' party (as they would have us call them) understand this, and have acted upon it. They endeavour to find a place for every one who will heartily give himself to the common work. They take care, of course, to preserve the sanctity and authority of the priesthood, and have clearly-marked boundary lines beyond which no layman will be allowed to go; but they perceive that one grand secret of the weakness of the Episcopal Church has been the unwillingness or the inability of the clergy to use the services which numbers in their congregations were willing to render, and they have sought to remedy the defect. Let it be granted that much of the work they give to their followers is not of a very exalted or edifying character. Still, even the masters of ceremonies, the cross-bearers, the choristers, the acolytes, the sacristans, feel themselves honored by the kindly notice of the clergy. They are pleased to think themselves of some use and importance, are led to identify themselves with the movement, and are often among its most zealous propagandists. The Christian work of women has been made a special study, and a number of devoted labourers called forth, who are among the most trusty adherents of the party, and whose ministry of love has been an immense gain to the influence of the Church in the neglected districts where it is carried on, and is a tower of strength to it. If we were intending here to estimate the exact value of the service done in these and other ways by the Ritualist clergy, we should be compelled to make many deductions. But the point on which we wish to insist, is simply the effect of their work in ministering to the growth of High Church sentiment in the country—a growth which has been aided by the unwise opposition of the Evangelicals, who have been too prone to oppose every movement of Ritualist origin without regard to its character. They have thus not only enabled their opponents to monopolise the entire credit of movements which might just as consistently have been undertaken by one party of the Church as another, but have caused Evangelicalism to be viewed by men of a more catholic spirit, who belong to no party organization, but are willing to accept wise suggestions from whatever quarter they come, as obstructive and impractical. The Éclat which never fails to attend activity and enterprise has thus unfortunately remained with the Anglicans.

But while High Churchmen owe much of their present position to themselves, or, to speak more accurately, to the small but active section who form their extreme left, it cannot be denied that they have to some extent been favoured by circumstances. There are different characteristics of the age, distinct from and even opposed to each other, which have been friendly to them. They have profited by its material prosperity, and the consequent increase of its wealth and luxury; and they have profited, though in a different way, by its spirit of philosophic inquiry, its intelligent freedom, its political earnestness. A religion which delights in show, which attaches high importance to externals, which will be lenient in its judgments of those who obey the priest and regularly attend the sacraments, is certain to find many votaries in an age when there are such numbers who have no higher business in life than the pursuit of mere pleasure. The love of a new sensation alone is enough to attract crowds of this class to a church like St. Alban's. But it is not the novelty alone which captivates them; it is the type of religion which meets their tastes. It is true that they may hear from the pulpit eloquent denunciations of the frivolity of the life they are leading, but these oratorical thunders do not disturb them, save for the time. It is a remarkable fact, indeed, which has often been noticed, that sermons directed against their own special sins are rather popular than otherwise with hearers gathered from the world of fashion. They listen with interest, and if a preacher does his work well, are, perhaps, moved to some degree of sentimental emotion; they meekly submit to the castigation which they have to endure, and accept it as a species of penance which is to be borne with all humility, and having discharged what they consider a religious duty, feel themselves entitled to return with all the more zeal and avidity to the scenes from which they have for a time been withdrawn. They have had indeed the virtues of an ascetic life set before them, but they do not apply the exhortations to themselves. These, they quietly assume, belong to the 'religious,' the clergy, or those who have a vocation to a more exalted type of piety. For themselves, they are satisfied with a much humbler rÔle; and if they are regular at church, observe the Holy Communion at proper times, and practise some degree of abstinence on Fridays and in Lent, they consider that they have amply satisfied all the claims of conscience and religion. If they are zealous at all, their zeal is shown in a very different direction. They leave to others all services demanding self-denial or patience. They are never found in the crowded alleys where the poor congregate, visiting the sick or succouring the needy. For the painful austerities which some practise they have no love. It is by the histrionic element that they are attracted. To them the decorations of the church and the vestments of the priests are subjects of supreme interest. They go into ecstasies over the cut of a chasuble or the colour of a stole, can tell the exact difference between a dalmatica and an alb, can give the most orthodox opinion as to the colour proper to each church festival, and are wonderfully captivated with a religion in which millinery plays an important part. 'You should (said one of this class) visit —— church. It is so delightfully high; the vestments are superb, and the clergyman has got such dear little boys, with red stockings, for acolytes.'

There is a better side of the system which appeals to another and higher class, also to be found in aristocratic circles. Repelled by the wretched frivolity of fashionable society, wearied of its incessant round of pleasure, conscious that life ought to have some higher end, and seeking after something to satisfy the craving of their souls for the real good,—they are taken by the ascetic view of Christian life as given by High-Churchism. The idea of an authority in the Church which shall relieve them from the trouble of deciding between the conflicting opinions which are abroad, and shall give them some resting-place in which they may find secure footing and so be saved from the indifference and unbelief into which such numbers are drifting, is itself welcome. They are pleased with the idea that they have the faith held by the Catholic Church for centuries, while the prospect of a life marked by self-sacrifice and active labour is that above all others the most calculated to kindle their aspirations. Romanism has always had these two sides by which it has attracted adherents of the most opposite character; and it is not surprising that Ritualism, which has sought to follow so closely in its steps, should exhibit the same characteristics with the same results,—drawing from out the circles of fashion both the superficial and frivolous, who are captivated by its outward and objective character, and the more earnest, who are won by that ideal of a life with nobler aims, and under the government of unselfish principles which it exhibits before them.

The controversies of the day, too, have helped the development of High Church feeling. When a Church is or is supposed to be in danger, when enemies are assailing her from without, and some of her own adherents are seriously compromising her character and influence, and when there is a need, therefore, for the display of special zeal on the part of those who would maintain her position, the party which is conspicuous for the highest idea of her rights, and for the most uncompromising spirit in their assertion and defence, is sure to be specially popular. High Churchmen have known how to use to the utmost advantage the existing state of things. By a singular coincidence, the Judicial Committee have been engaged in hearing the case of Mr. Voysey on the one hand, and Mr. Mackonochie and Mr. Purchas on the other; and although the Vicar of St. Alban's and the Brighton Incumbent have both been condemned, we doubt whether the High Church will not profit more by the spectacle presented by Mr. Voysey than it will lose by the suspension of Mr. Mackonochie or the prohibition of the extravagancies of Mr. Purchas. By the one, indeed, the High Church, as distinguished from the Ritualist section, will gain, rather than lose, if the result be the repression of outrages upon Protestant feeling and defiances of law, which check the sympathy that otherwise would flow much more decidedly in a High Church direction. By the other, however, the gain is immediate and very considerable. Here, we are told, is the outcome of Protestantism. 'Rights of private judgment, free inquiry, individual responsibility—see to what they all lead us! There is safety only in abiding by Catholic truth, and submitting implicitly to the authority of the Church which asserts it. The assumed right of conscience which is the basis of Protestantism is the root of all evil, and the consequence of admitting it will be an absolute eclipse of faith. Reject the voice of the Church, and men will soon cease to believe in the Bible, or even in God at all.' There are not a few who receive all this; even sincere lovers of Evangelical principles will declare that they would rather men should believe too much than believe too little, forgetting that the one evil is tolerably sure to be the cause of the other; that it is just where the dominion of superstition has been most absolute that, in the inevitable sway of the pendulum, scepticism becomes most rampant and powerful; and that no more fatal error could be committed by the friends of truth than to appeal to ecclesiastical authority on its behalf. The fact, however, is undeniable, and it is only another illustration of the general law of which we have just spoken, that in the reaction from rationalizing views and the fear of their consequences, numbers are ready to throw themselves into the sheltering arms of High-Churchism. They love truth more than liberty, and are content to surrender the latter rather than brave the risk of any danger to the former.

The progress of opinion in favour of the separation of Church and State, so manifest in different quarters, has produced a similar effect. Anticipating the possibility of disestablishment and of its coming soon, thoughtful members of the Episcopal Church are anxiously considering in what way she will be best able to meet the difficulties and demands of the novel position in which she will find herself when she is placed on a level with other Christian churches. They see that when the prestige of State connection is gone, something will be necessary to make up for the loss which she will sustain, and they hope to find it in that exaltation of her claims in which High Churchmen delight. In the view of High Churchmen, the Evangelical who has nothing on which to rely but his faithfulness and power in carrying on the work of his ministry, and who admits that the Congregational minister by his side is on a level, so far as authority is concerned, with himself, reduces the Church to the position of the sects; and in the competition which is provoked, she will not necessarily be the gainer. What is wanted, according to them, is that the clergy should assert their prerogative. The maintenance of an ornate and gorgeous ceremonial is important, for it has been shown that it has great attractions for the mass of the people, and has been able to win back numbers who, so long as simplicity was the order of the day, saw no difference between the service of a church and that of a dissenting chapel, and, in fact, preferred the latter because of its greater freedom and warmth. But of still greater moment is it that the Church should mark out distinctly the line which separates her from the sects; should insist on the authority which belongs to her clergy as being in the true line of the Apostolical succession, and should make it felt that her members possess advantages in which those outside her pale do not participate. We do not believe that experience will justify the policy, or that the pretensions which are intolerable in an Established Church would meet with anything but ridicule when put forth by a Church which has not even the special patronage of the State to encourage such un-Christian arrogance. In the meantime, this is a prevalent view, and it is of material service to the party who are contending for High Anglican principles.

From those various causes a High Church spirit is showing itself far beyond both sections of the clergy who have identified themselves with Anglican movements, and, in fact, is more or less affecting all parties. We heard of a conversation the other day between some laymen of extensive information and strong Evangelical sympathies, in which the question was asked in relation to a place which had once been a stronghold of Evangelicalism, 'Are they not becoming rather high at ——?' 'Where' (was the reply) 'is it that they are not becoming high?' We have taken some trouble to get information, and it all goes to corroborate this view. There are few of our larger towns, even those which have been most distinguished for their zeal for Evangelical principles, where we do not find the intrusion of a High Church, and indeed, a Ritualist element, which in some cases may become strong and popular. We regret to add that several of the Episcopal appointments made by the present Government must still further strengthen the hands and encourage the hopes of the sacerdotal party. Already we note some ominous signs in a southern diocese, where, after the lengthened rule of an Evangelical bishop, one of a very different character—a prelate of great power of eloquence and extraordinary tact, not to say subtlety—has been appointed in his room. Some of the Evangelical clergy have, we are told, suddenly awakened to a perception of the great worth of their new diocesan, and are adopting practices which hitherto they have condemned, and a tone which will certainly be much more acceptable to him than that which they have been accustomed to maintain. We venture to predict, that if he preside over the see for a few years, he will be able to report a different state of things from that which he found when he commenced his administration. It is not probable that he will so completely expel the Evangelical element as, if we are to accept his own statement, he had excluded Ritualism from his late diocese, but we fear that his influence may so transform some of his clergy that their old friends will hardly be able to recognise them. Whether Nonconformists have any reason to congratulate themselves on this result of the Liberal triumph to which they so largely contributed, is a question on which we need not enter. They do not owe so much to the Evangelical prelates on the bench, that they have any special reason to regret that their number has not been augmented. Still, the increase of the power of the High Church party was not the direct and immediate object for which they gave their support to Mr. Gladstone; and we are bound to say that the amount of encouragement given to that party, both in the appointment of its members to important positions, and in the favour shown to certain points of its policy, has not been regarded with satisfaction.

One result of the new spirit that has been awakened in the Anglican party, has been the almost entire extinction of that particular section of the Episcopal clergy known as the 'high and dry' school. So long, indeed, as the present system of patronage continues, it is never likely altogether to cease from among us. While there are a considerable number of livings in the gift of the Universities and colleges, who appoint to them members of their own body, who have lived so long among the musty records of the past that they have little fitness for the work of the living present, who have, in fact, by the very force of circumstances, became so many Dryasdusts; and while there are a still larger number regarded as the appanages of great families, who give them to younger sons or needy cousins, without any thought either of their mental or spiritual qualifications, many of the clergy are sure to be 'dry, yea, very dry;' and because they are dry they will also be high. They have nothing on which to rest their claims except the authority of the Church and the dignity of their office, and they are sure to exalt the one and magnify the other. Still, the section is a diminishing one, and the Church may well rejoice both that it is diminished in numbers, and that what remains of it is improved in quality. We have before our eyes now, one whom we knew in our childhood, a quiet, dignified old gentleman, who might have earned respect in any other position but that of a clergyman. He resided in the parish for many years, but what influence for good he ever exerted upon it, except by means of his charities, which were always free enough, it would have puzzled his admirers to tell. Of course, he had a righteous horror of Dissent and Radicalism; but even in opposition to them he never showed any enthusiasm. Such men belong to another generation, and where they are found now occupying positions of importance, in the midst of the busy life of this nineteenth century, they only hold them to the injury of the Church of which they are the representatives.

The papers announced, a few weeks ago, the death of one of this class, with some facts of whose story we happen to be acquainted. He was one of the few pluralists who still remain, residing on one of his livings in a midland county, and holding another in a large manufacturing town in the North of England. This town, with its teeming population and growing importance, he had never visited for more than twenty years. The work was left to be done by two curates, living on very inadequate incomes, while their rector satisfied himself with drawing the lion's share of the ample revenues of the parish. He found more congenial employment in the small village where his other cure was situate, and where he discharged, doubtless with becoming grace, the duties of a country gentleman. A glimpse of his life was given through a side-light in a speech of one of his curates, who, in acknowledging his rector's health, at a great agricultural dinner in the town of which he was so negligent an overseer, assured the company that the rector would gladly have been present, as he took a deep interest in all agricultural pursuits, and was himself one of the most successful breeders of pigs in the county of ——. It is hardly necessary to say that Dissent has a powerful hold upon the parish, or that numbers have grown up in indifference, if not in absolute hostility to religion altogether. And yet even he was not of the worst type. We remember, some years ago, driving several miles in a midland district, with a friend who was thoroughly acquainted with the region and its history. The country was rather thickly studded with churches and parsonages, and, as we passed them, our friend gave us some account of the men who had lived and worked in them. Many of the livings were in the gift of colleges and other public bodies, while others were the property of the country gentry, and, as might be expected, the clergy had almost invariably been of the 'high and dry' school; and as we heard story after story of indolence, incompetence, heresy, or, in some cases, ministerial delinquency, we could not but feel that the Church of England might well rejoice that there are but few remaining of so unworthy a generation.

The Anglican clergyman of to-day (and the class is very numerous in rural districts) is of a very different pattern. Even where he has not actually embraced Ritualistic opinions, he has generally breathed something of their spirit, and is determined to carry it into his work. He loves Dissent as little as his 'high and dry' predecessor, but he is determined to deal with it in a different way. He is courteous in his manner toward the Dissenting minister, but he means, all the time, to 'stamp out' Dissent. But it is to be done by outworking it everywhere—in schools, in pastoral visitation, and in public services; any weakness in preaching being compensated by increased splendour of service. It is impossible not to admire the intensity of devotion with which some of these young clergymen give themselves to their work. A Congregational minister of our acquaintance was telling us of one of them who had recently come to his neighbourhood, and who was working a wondrous change among a remarkably slothful and apathetic people by the earnestness of his spirit and the abundance of his labours. He had himself been called to visit one of his own members, and, though he immediately responded to the summons, he found the clergyman already there, proffering services of every kind, and unwilling to accept a denial of his request to sit up and watch all night by the bedside of the sick man. The Nonconformist convictions of a poor man must be very clear and decided if he can be insensible to such a mode of approach as this, and it was only natural that, when he recovered, the recipient of such kind attentions should be found occasionally in the parish church. But it is by means of the schools, especially, that this gentleman and his class operate, and operate to considerable effect. We are told, and with some truth, that children cannot enter into nice theological distinctions; but it is not in theological subtleties that they are instructed. The lessons given are plain and intelligible enough, as to the rights of the Church and the evils of Dissent, the reverence due to a clergyman and the Church, and the sin which they commit who neglect to show it. Besides there are innumerable ways in which, indirectly, both parents and children are affected; and a clergyman knows well enough, that when he has once got a child to the national school, he has taken the first step towards securing the parent for the Church. Hence the resolute determination of the clergy to get hold of the education of the people, an attempt in which they have been helped by those who, twenty-five years ago, persuaded Nonconformists to take up an untenable position that prevented their just scruples from receiving proper attention, and shut them out from a work in which they had previously been the leaders. Hence, too, the remarkable outburst of zeal and liberality in the extension of denominational schools since the passing of the late Act. Denominational schools are, for the most part, Anglican and Roman Catholic, and a large proportion of the grant to them will, as a matter of fact, go to build up the power of the Establishment and suppress Dissent in the rural districts. It is true the new national schools will be under a conscience clause, but they must be credulous indeed who believe that it will be of much avail in parishes where there is an active and influential clergyman, wielding, in conjunction with the squire, a supreme authority. A more potent instrument could scarcely have been put into the hands of the priesthood; and among the young recruits of the Anglican party, there are numbers who know how to wield it with the greatest effect. They do not trust to the influence of the teaching alone, but they find various ways of interesting the children: they form them into singing classes; they prepare them for their choirs; they accustom them to the observance of Saints' Days; they please them by giving them a place in processions, or employing them as acolytes. In short, they find them in the National schools, and they lose no opportunity of so training them that they shall naturally grow up to be loyal sons of the Church. We have neither the intention nor the desire to reproach them for the manner in which they thus carry on their work, or for the care which they specially devote to children. With their views of the Church, they are only showing a proper loyalty to conscience in the course which they adopt. What we object to is, that the nation should be called upon to support them in this hierarchical crusade by increasing the grants they now enjoy. We have asserted from the first that schools already in existence had a fair right to be left undisturbed in the enjoyment of advantages which the State had virtually engaged to secure them, and which they had won by their own efforts. What we complain of is, that facilities should be given for the multiplication of these denominational schools at the very time that the Government are establishing a great National system.

The National school, however, is not the only theatre on which the activity of the advanced Anglican priest is manifest. His coming into a parish is the signal for a series of changes, all directed to one end. First, the interior of the church is to be remodelled to adapt it to the style of service he means to introduce. Pews which, it must be confessed, are often unsightly enough, are displaced to make way for benches. If it be practicable, a part is railed off for a sanctuary; and the altar, with its tall candlesticks, and, where they can be obtained, with its embroidered and coloured cloths, assumes an entirely new aspect. Fast days and feast days, hitherto unknown, begin to be celebrated; intoning takes the place of the quiet and orderly reading of the service, and by degrees the people find their church and their worship bear a striking, and, to many, not pleasant resemblance to that of Romanism. In all this there is no consultation, either of diocesan or of parishioners. The clergyman assumes the position of a dictator, and resolves to carry out his own ideas, whatever be the result. Sometimes there is fierce discord and, not unfrequently, there are many secessions; but even where this is not so, the changes are, as we hear, in many cases anything but satisfactory to the squirearchy, who have hitherto been found among the most steady supporters of the Church. They valued it as furnishing a respectable and quiet type of religion, which did not make any excessive demands from them. Their old High Church clergyman neither disquieted himself nor disturbed them. He was a welcome guest at their boards, and the slight requisitions which he made, in the way of subscriptions to his charities, were not particularly burdensome, and were generally met with cheerfulness. The new-fangled notions, which make it a far more difficult thing to be zealous Churchmen, requiring not only money for schools and other objects, but some amount of personal effort and sacrifice, and often involving a man in unpleasant controversies with his neighbours, are far from being welcome, and already quiet murmurings may be heard in various quarters. We have given the party by whom this work is carried on, all the credit to which they can possibly lay claim. We are therefore the more at liberty to condemn that which is reprehensible; and one of their most prominent features is their utter contempt for the law to which they owe subjection. Not content with adopting the most pitiful evasions in order to introduce practices contrary to the whole spirit of the Church to which they belong, they have invented a convenient theory of their own as to the distinction between the law of the Church and the law of the State, refusing to obey the one when it comes into collision with the other. In the economy of the Episcopal Church, such a distinction cannot be maintained for an hour. In the eye of the law, the nation is the Church, with Parliament as its legislator, and the courts as its administrators. If any of the clergy feel that their consciences are aggrieved by this subjection to civil authority, they have the remedy in their own hands. Nonconformity has after a long and difficult struggle, succeeded in obtaining for itself a recognised legal status, and the liberty which it has thus secured is opened to them, if they are content to accept the conditions. They can have the freedom, if they are satisfied to pay the price at which it can be obtained. What they cannot do, is to enjoy the advantages which the law gives to the national Church, without, at the same time, submitting to its control. Their declamation about the rights of the Church, and the iniquity of any secular Parliament putting restraints on its free action, or any civil tribunal undertaking to adjudicate on matters of doctrine and discipline, sounds well enough, but coming from those who still claim to enjoy the prestige and emoluments of a national Church, it is simply idle bunkum which can impose on no one. Were they manfully to resolve rather to be free than to retain a position which they can only hold on condition of their disobeying what is to them a higher law, they would command sympathy from all who know how to honour loyalty to conscience. As it is, their attempts to represent themselves as victims of persecution because they are required to obey the law, expose them only to contempt and ridicule.

It is only fair to add that there is a considerable section of the party by whom the force of this reasoning is felt, and who are prepared to carry their objections to State interference to their ultimate issue.

How far it is consistent for any man to lend his personal support to an alliance which he pronounces 'wicked, immoral, and godless,' by continuing to accept the advantages which it secures to him, is a question which his own conscience must be left to determine; but it is at least satisfactory to find that Mr. Orby Shipley and his friends have begun to feel the inconsistency of their present position. Whether in the event of the Judicial Committee condemning their distinctive principles, as it has already condemned their symbolic practices, and deciding against Mr. Bennett as it has done against Mr. Purchas, they would secede from the Establishment, is not very clear. What is clear is, that they regard the present relation of the State to the Church as hindering the work of the 'Catholic' restoration, and therefore seek disestablishment as the first essential to the realization of their ideal. But this cannot be brought about at once, and in the meantime circumstances may force on a separation. Perhaps, however, it is more as a menace to the bishops than as an indication of any serious purpose that Mr. Shipley tells their lordships that the 'conspicuous want of success which has attended Episcopal hindrance to the Catholic revival has certainly postponed, but has not at all removed the prospect of impending schism.' We are left to infer, therefore, that if the attempts to repress Ritualism should be crowned with more success than has hitherto attended them, we must be prepared for schism, which, Mr. Shipley says, would be an untold evil to the Church; adding, and in this we agree with him, 'that the present state of abnormal antagonism, in any Christian sense, is less harmful, it is hard to believe.' If, however, this calamity should come, he gives the Episcopal Bench to understand that on them the responsibility will rest.

These thunders will not disturb the serene complacency of the Episcopal Bench, nor are such petulant utterances to be regarded as indicating any serious idea of separation, but their insolent and lawness tone is eminently characteristic of the party. They have formed their ideal of the Church, and in defiance of all authority, whether civil or spiritual, they are determined to work it out. They know and confess that they are at variance with the bishops, whom they have promised 'reverently to obey,' 'following with a glad mind and will their godly admonitions, and submitting themselves to their godly judgments;' but they have a convenient theory as to the necessary limitations of the obedience they are bound to render, by which they satisfy themselves that they are right in their resistance to the authority which they have in the most solemn manner bound themselves to accept. The bishops 'are, it may be, good results, but still they are results of a bad, vicious, immoral system; of a system which is utterly un-Catholic;' they have pronounced against the Catholic revival from beginning to end, and having thus set themselves against all that 'priests of the Catholic school' are doing, they have condemned themselves, and forfeited all title to unlimited obedience, by condemning these developments. In other words, the want of harmony which they confess exists between the mind of the Episcopate and the mind of the Presbyterate is a sufficient reason why priests should refuse their allegiance. The conclusion is not that which suggests itself to ordinary minds, but these men are so thoroughly convinced that they have Catholic truth, and are doing a great Catholic work, that they seem to suppose themselves superior to the laws by which ordinary mortals are governed. They may seem to be arrogant and overbearing, they may indulge in railing and vituperation, they may condescend to a style of controversy, happily altogether cast aside by Christian gentlemen, but everything is done in the interests of the Catholic revival, and these are to be advanced at all costs. Mr. Shipley candidly avows that their aim is to 're-Catholicize the Church of England,' and he appears to think that because that object cannot be secured without disobeying the bishops, there is sufficient reason why they should be disobeyed. After enumerating the changes that require to be made in the election of bishops and the remodelling of Convocation, he says:—

The simplicity of this is no doubt beautiful, but its weakness is manifest. 'Limitless obedience' no one expects them to render; but the justification of their refusal to obey at all, on the ground that disobedience is necessary to their design of revolutionizing the character of their Church, has certainly the merit of novelty. They seem to imagine that the first essential to success is audacity, and expect that they will prevail, in virtue of their blustering self-confidence and contemptuous treatment of all opponents. But the ultimate result of such a policy cannot be doubtful. A party which sets up a plea of liberty to excuse the violation of distinct obligations, whose Catholicity has in it not a single element of true charity, which seeks to subject others to authority while it disclaims all authority that comes into collision with its own ideas and designs, which brands every man, however eminent and good, who will not bow down to its idols as a heretic or an infidel, is not a party that is likely to exert any permanent influence. The age is tolerant, disposed to permit great latitude of opinion, perhaps too ready to sympathise with those who are resisting constituted authority, but it is not to be cajoled by the specious sophistries of men who, professedly contending for liberty, are seeking only to establish a new priestly despotism.

But if we have no fears of Anglican Catholics being able to shape the future of the Church of England according to their wishes, neither can we look hopefully on the condition and prospects of the Evangelical party. Thirty years ago it was the most popular and influential, if not the most numerous section of the Church. Its most sanguine friend would hardly pretend that it holds the same position to-day. We have already marked incidentally the disadvantage under which it lay in contending against a party full of the passionate zeal and energy of youth, and with ability equal to its earnestness, its members claiming to be par excellence, the assertors of Church principles and the champions of Church interests, skilful in adapting themselves to the wants of different classes of minds, fertile in expedients, and indefatigable in labours. Under any circumstances, it would have been no easy task to have maintained an equal struggle against such adversaries, hampered as the Evangelicals necessarily are by their position in the Church. Still they had many compensating advantages, and had they known how to avail themselves of the forces at their command, they might not only have held their ground, but have been to-day masters of the situation. In the great conflict which has been going on between authority and freedom, the reactionary forces are not the strongest, and had the Evangelicals been prepared fully to identify themselves with the cause of liberty, they need not have feared the result of the struggle. They had on their side the prestige of the noble work which they had done in rousing the Church from torpor and idleness, and in regaining for her much ground that she had lost, in quickening the spiritual life of the nation, in promoting social and philanthropic movements at a time when they were not viewed with so much favour as at present. As the representatives of Protestantism in the National Church, they were able to rally to their support a strong national sentiment, not always very intelligent or reasonable, but deep and passionate in its hatred of everything that has on it the taint of Romanism, and only too easily roused in opposition to any party which could fairly be suspected of Popish sympathies. Their position, too, seemed to mark them out as the connecting link between the Established Church and the Nonconformists. Their theological views, if not identical, were in close sympathy with those of Evangelical Dissenters: they were frequently brought into association in Christian work, and had often to fight side by side against the common foe; and though there never was a chance that the Nonconformists could be won back to the Church, kindly and intimate relations might have been established with them, which would have told greatly to the credit of the party by whom they had been promoted. Yet with all these circumstances in its favour, the Evangelical party has been declining. Its enemies point to it with triumph, and exaggerate the weakness over which they rejoice. Its friends reluctantly confess it, and find the explanation in the wickedness and degeneracy of the age.

The tone of a recent gathering of the leaders of the party at Islington shows that they are conscious of the fact, and alive to the necessity of making some strenuous effort, perhaps of effecting a considerable change in their policy, in order to recover the ground that has been lost. To outsiders, however, the real causes of their weakness may be more apparent than to themselves, and we shall therefore attempt to explain a state of things which we unfeignedly regret. The Episcopal Church, whether Established or not, must be one of the most powerful religious forces in the country, and we must desire to see its influence wielded by men whose theology is that of the Reformers, who recognise the rights of the individual conscience, whose creed is derived from the Bible and not from Church tradition, who preach salvation by faith in the living Christ, and have no confidence in priests and sacraments. It would therefore be cause of sorrow to us, as it will assuredly in the issue prove disastrous to the Church and injurious to the nation, if the Evangelical party should be overborne in the present struggle, its power crippled, or its character so modified as to impair its usefulness. We are fully alive to its defects. As Nonconformists, we have little for which to be thankful to it; but not the less should we deplore the loss of what has been the most spiritual element in the Church, and therefore we can only regard with sorrow the state of things of which we have to speak.

The decline of the Evangelical party is attributed by many, both friends and foes, to a growing distaste for evangelical doctrine. The age, we are often confidently told by those in whom the wish is father to the thought, has outgrown the old theology; it is too intelligent to rest in the dogmas which were once received without question; the leading spirits of the time are known to be unbelievers, and that fact itself is sufficient to make unbelief a fashion among a class who desire to be esteemed intellectual. Very sorrowfully we admit there is some ground for these statements, but they are only half-truths. The philosophic and scientific movements of the day, have undoubtedly affected theological opinion; the spirit of inquiry has become more searching in its investigation; the rebellion against the bondage of creed has, in some instances, led to an indifference to all forms of belief; and in general, doctrines that were thought to be established, are discussed with freedom, and rejected when they do not stand the more severe tests by which they are proved. Orthodoxy counts for less in the estimate of Christian character, and there is less disposition to condemn any man because of his inability to accept all its shibboleths. But all this does not indicate that the power of the Gospel is diminishing; and, indeed, there are many things that point in the opposite direction. Preaching qu preaching may be less influential; but the preaching which is a power at all, never was a greater power than it is at present. Men chafe against the notion that it is their duty to hear a certain number of sermons, even though they be made up of platitudes rendered additionally wearisome by the style in which they are delivered; but where a preacher has a message from God, and knows how to deliver it he is quite sure of having a large audience. Nor is it at all likely to be diminished by the fact that his sermon is decidedly evangelical and even strongly dogmatic. We have popular Ritualist as well as popular Evangelical preachers; but the discourses of the former are in their leading features as decidedly evangelical as those of the latter. Indeed, at the conference at Islington, it was frankly admitted that whatever might be the actual condition of the party, the doctrines for which it contends were never so widely preached by the clergy as at present. Certainly, the Nonconformist Churches know no decline, nor is their prosperity to be traced to any abandonment or concealment of evangelical doctrines. Congregationalists, accustomed as they are to breathe the atmosphere of freedom, and unfettered by the restraints of any formal creed, have, perhaps, felt more of the influences of the age than any other body of Christians; but no one who is acquainted with them would assert that they have at all faltered in their loyalty to the Gospel. Perhaps one of the best proofs of this is to be found in the essays in 'Ecclesia.' Their writers speak with great frankness; they admit many defects in their system, and suggest various changes; they are anxious, as far as possible, to adapt themselves to the wants of the age; but withal, there is a consistent adherence to the essential principles of the old theology. Changes in the forms in which doctrines are expressed, differences in the modes of expounding and defending them there are, but change as to the root-ideas there is none. And Congregationalism upholding the great truths of the Trinity, the Godhead of our Lord, and the Atonement, and basing all on the authority of Scripture, not only maintains its ground despite the opposition it has to meet from the renewed activity of the Established Church, but is on the increase.

If, then, the Evangelicals are decreasing in numbers and influence, the cause must be sought in some errors in their policy, and not in the increased unpopularity of the principles they profess. We are confirmed in this view by the refusal of some of the best men of the day to identify themselves with the party, even though they hold the principles. It would be invidious to name living men; but there is one recently passed from among us, to the great loss not of his own particular Church only, but of all Christian Churches, who affords, perhaps, the most striking illustration of the remark. Others there are, of whom the late Canon Melville may be taken as a type, whose High-Church ideas are sufficient to prevent them from uniting with a party with whom in doctrinal sentiment they have much in common. But the Dean of Canterbury, we need not say, had no such hindrance. Mr. Ryle himself is not more free from any tinge of ecclesiasticism, as he certainly is not more heartily and thoroughly Evangelical, than was Dean Alford. Yet the latter stood aloof from the Evangelical party; and they, we fear, did not desire his union with them. His case was a typical one, and enables us to understand the enfeebled state in which the Evangelicals find themselves. They did not like the Dean's breadth of view; they regarded the opinions on the subject of inspiration, to which his Biblical studies had led him, as unsound and dangerous; they did not understand, what was one of his marked characteristics, a large-hearted sympathy with goodness even in the professors of a false creed. So, though he was educated in the school, and (as the Rev. E. T. Vaughan truly says) though he 'preached the Gospel which they preached with a force and simplicity which they might well have wished to emulate,' they looked coldly on him, and he could find no home in their midst.

Here, then, is one great secret of their loss of influence. Their ideas of Evangelical doctrine are narrow and rigid, and they are maintained with an intolerance which is at once repulsive and inconsistent. We complain that the 'Catholic' champions of authority should demand for themselves that individual liberty for which Protestantism contends, but it is still more intolerable that these Protestants of Protestants should set up a claim to infallibility, and brand all those who do not agree with them as traitors to the Gospel. By maintaining the verbal inspiration of Holy Scripture, insisting on a particular theory of the Atonement as alone Evangelical, committing themselves to a particular scheme of prophetic interpretation, and adhering to those old ideas of the religious life which make worldliness to consist in certain outward acts which are therefore forbidden to the spiritual man, rather than in the world-spirit which can make everything common and unclean, and which is the evil to be resisted, they have placed themselves in direct collision with the culture of the age—even that part of it which retains a hearty allegiance to the Gospel. But when with these extreme views is combined a spirit of intolerant conservatism, when new modes of thought, and even new forms of expression are regarded as dangerous novelties, when all wisdom is supposed to be summed up in the determination to walk in the old paths and to meddle not with those who are given to change, and when those who dare, even in relation to subjects that do not affect the essentials of the faith, to take independent ground are treated as enemies of the truth, it is not difficult to account for the weakness of the party. A creed that is not only unpopular, and in some points illogical, but which can be regarded as the creed only of a section, and that not the most intelligent section of Evangelical Christians, and which is yet set forth as the only true representation of the Gospel, must alienate many; but a spirit of exclusiveness, a Pharisaic pride of orthodoxy, a dislike of free inquiry, are sure to alienate still more.

It may be said, indeed, that the dogmas of the Anglican school are still more narrow and extreme, and its intolerance still more arrogant and exclusive; but this does not mend the case. The intolerance of the Anglicans is extreme enough, but then it is consistent. Their system is based upon the assumption of a special sanctity and authority belonging to their Church party. The name of 'Catholic' which they arrogate to themselves is itself an insult to all other Christians. For them, therefore, to abjure the spirit of exclusiveness would be to renounce their own principles. But the Evangelicals are in a very different position. They are the children not of the bond-woman, but of the free. They rest their doctrines not on an appeal to authority, but to reason. The Scripture is their one rule of faith, and they recognise the right of every man to interpret its teachings for himself. When, therefore, they attempt to put a bar on all progress, when they claim for the traditions of their school a position hardly less authoritative than that which their opponents demand for 'Catholic' tradition, when they discover a spirit of watchful jealousy in relation to all the intellectual movements of the day, and seem afraid of the light which science and philosophy have to shed upon the difficult problems of human life, they are untrue to themselves and their principles. Their watchword is, 'The Bible and the Bible only as the religion of Protestants,' but with them there is a reserved condition that the Bible must be interpreted as Puritans and Reformers interpreted it. They are afraid of the liberty to which they owe their existence, and are continually throwing themselves back on that Church authority which, if it is to be accepted at all, will pronounce in favour of their opponents.

It is this ignorance of their true strength which has betrayed the Evangelicals into errors of policy which have been fraught with serious injury. As Protestants, they ought to have been the most liberal party in the Church; the most desirous to secure the greatest liberty compatible with loyalty to truth; the most ready to welcome every advance in scholarship that might help to a more thorough understanding of the Word of God; the most candid in examining and pronouncing upon the conclusions which modern Biblical criticism has reached; the most anxious to establish cordial relations with Nonconformists outside the pale of the Church. Unhappily, the very opposite of this has been the case. They have left to others the duty of practically developing those Protestant principles of which they claim to be the representatives, and have again and again employed their influence in favour of the party of reaction. The spectacle which they have presented in the ecclesiastical controversies of the last few years has, indeed, been humiliating in the extreme. They have been the most timid in every panic,—the first to raise the cry of danger,—the most eager in the assault, whether upon Rationalists within or Dissenters outside the Church—the facile instruments of the High Church party, whose leaders have gladly accepted their aid, knowing well that any prestige or advantage that might be secured must remain with those who were the consistent champions of authority. At present they are the most zealous champions of the Establishment, and their organ the most Erastian in its tone of any of the journals of the day. Yet there is no party which owes so little to the Establishment, or would have so glorious a future before it if the union between the Church and the State were dissolved. Except during the brief interval when Lord Palmerston scattered mitres so lavishly in its ranks, it has had but a scant share of the higher honours of that Church which owes so much to the devoted labours of its members. Even of the more important parochial charges, but a small proportion is held by the Evangelicals, many of whose ablest men are the incumbents of churches dependent entirely upon voluntary contributions for their support. If the Evangelical leaders would make a careful estimate of the exact position of the two parties in the Church, and of the amount of the national revenues which go to the maintenance of that which they are continually telling us is deadly error as compared with that which is devoted to the support of their own principles, we think they would be inclined to doubt the wisdom of the position they take in relation to the Establishment. That they who ought to have the most confident faith in the spiritual forces of the Church, and whose own experience affords ample proof that that faith would not be misplaced, should cling the most tenaciously to the union with the State, with all its painful and compromising conditions, is surely a strange phenomenon. Yet this is not the worst of the case. Unfortunately, their zeal for the Establishment is not allied with charity, and their characteristic intolerance marks their treatment of those Nonconformists who feel themselves constrained to seek the dissolution of an alliance which they believe to be contrary to the mind of Christ and injurious to the interests of truth. Apparently unable to understand that this difference of opinion is perfectly consistent with the preservation of Christian unity and mutual respect, they have resented the assertion of Nonconformist principles as a personal injury, and have urged it as a sufficient reason for withdrawing from Christian intercourse with those who have been guilty of so flagrant an offence. They expected that Dissenters would purchase their friendship by unfaithfulness to their own principles, and have been disappointed and indignant when they have discovered their mistake. If Nonconformists will play the rÔle of poor relations, content to receive a patronizing notice on the platforms of Bible and Missionary Societies, and for the sake of this to suppress their own convictions, they are willing to be on terms of kindly intercourse with them; but that they should presume on this, and venture to assert their religions equality, is more than they will tolerate. The inevitable result has been a division between two parties who have much in common, and whose union would have been a tower of strength to Evangelical Protestantism.

We should not care to have written thus fully on these points, but for the conviction that we are on the eve of important ecclesiastical changes, and that the character of the future will depend largely upon the position taken by the Evangelical party. The Broad Church dream of comprehension must remain a dream. It is beautiful, and it speaks much for the liberality of men trained amid the influences and associations of an Established Church, that they should have indulged in such a hope. But it cannot be realized. Nonconformists do not wish for a place in the National Church, and could not accept one without the renunciation of all for which they have been contending. And assuredly, the recent meetings at Sion College show that a large and powerful party in the Establishment have no desire for union with them. But if comprehension is impossible, disestablishment must come, and come speedily, and with it will come a new phase of the great struggle. 'I disbelieve,' said Mr. Orby Shipley, himself an able advocate of the separation between Church and State, 'in anything but a change in the contest of the Church militant, a change from a contest against the State without to a contest within, against Puritanism, against Latitudinarianism, against Infidelity, and against what may be termed "Lay-elementarianism in the Church."' The sacerdotal party believes that its position in this struggle will be improved by disestablishment; but if the Evangelicals are loyal to their Protestant principles, we predict that it will find itself mistaken. Disestablishment will remove the one obstacle to hearty co-operation between the two great sections of English Protestantism, and united, they will be fully able to withstand the fierce onslaught with which they are threatened. But if the Evangelicals are to play their part in this controversy, the sooner they choose their position, and resolve to hold it firmly, the better. Two great principles are daily coming more and more directly into conflict, and they must elect to abide by the one or by the other. They must abandon all tamperings with the delusive fancy of an apostolical succession, or of special virtue attaching to Episcopal ordination. They must cease the foolish coquetting in which a few of them seem disposed to indulge with High Church ideas and practices, they must show a broader spirit and cultivate closer relations with those of kindred opinions who do not belong to their party or even to their Church; in short, they must not shrink from the full development of their own principles, and they will soon regain the strength which has been lost by the timid and compromising policy of the past.

Meanwhile it is evident that the Establishment is on the eve of a great crisis. The condemnation of Mr. Purchas has goaded the High Church party, some almost to madness; and should it be followed by a decision against Mr. Bennett, it is not easy to predict the result. Indeed, be the deliverance of the Court what it may, 'there are breakers ahead.' If it be against the Vicar of Frome, it will be fatal to the hopes both of Anglican and Broad Churchmen. It will compel the former to secede, for we believe the body of them to be honest men who will not renounce principles which they hold to be the very essence of Catholic doctrine. It will teach the latter that their dream of comprehension is at an end. On the other hand, a decision in his favour will not conciliate the Ritualists, since it will still leave them subject to the restrictions imposed by the Mackonochie and Purchas judgments, while the Evangelicals in their turn will be placed in extreme perplexity. At present the Church Association is in the ascendant. We wish we could say that its deportment in the hour of victory was such as to assure us in relation to the future of the Evangelical party. We cannot wonder that it is jubilant, but wisdom would have suggested some moderation in the expression of its joy, especially considering that the decision yet to be given may prove that its exultation has been as premature as it certainly is undignified and impolitic. We read the report of the meeting at St. James's Hall to celebrate the victory with extreme pain and sorrow. The evident failure to realise the gravity of the crisis, the unseemly tone adopted towards defeated adversaries, the apparent unconsciousness of the scandal such a strife is bringing upon the Church and upon religion in general, and perhaps more than all, the disposition to rest so much on the power of the law, are all indicative of extreme weakness. Men who can talk in the style of the Dean of Carlisle clearly do not comprehend the spirit of the times or the true position of the party which they represent. They seem to think they can stamp out High Churchism at all events, in its more advanced forms. They do not appear to understand that, could they succeed, they would secure the downfall of that Establishment which they love 'not wisely and too well.' If they would think less of law, and remember that the true weapons of their warfare are not carnal, but spiritual, they would take a position more in harmony with their principles, and be more sure of ultimate success.

Art. IV.—Ingoldsby.

(1.) The Life and Letters of the Rev. Richard Harris Barham. By his Son. London: Bentley.

(2.) The Ingoldsby Legends. By Thomas Ingoldsby, Esq. London: Bentley.

(3.) The Bentley Ballads. Edited by John Sheehan. London: Bentley.

'Ingoldsby,' like Odysseus, has become a name. The word, used as a nom de plume by a facile versifier, has come to indicate the kind of verse which he produced, and in which he has had hundreds of inferior imitators. Mr. Carlyle, who objects utterly to the whole herd of

'Corvos poËtas et poËtrias picas,'

as being the emptiest shams the world has ever seen, would probably regard the 'Ingoldsby Legends' as fathom-deep below contempt; but with the highest respect for the philosopher of Chelsea, we hold such things worth notice, and do not intend to allow his virtue to prevent our reference to 'cakes and ale.' Indeed, there are times when the laughing philosopher does considerable service in the removal of abuses and prejudices; and if our Democritus writes in rhyme, it does not appear that he is any the worse. The world, probably, would be none the less happy for more true mirth than we at present get. There are laughters hideous and contemptible—aye, and even pathetic. Ruin and cynicism, and scorn and spite, have their hyÆna laugh; but it differs wholly from the pleasant laughter of the man to whom the world brings always joyous impulses. We English are, assuredly, a humorous race, more humorous, in all likelihood, than any other; this is shown, not only in Chaucer, Shakspeare, Butler, Sterne, Dickens, but in the incidents of our country and city life, in the quaint colloquy and light chaff of the market-place and the way-side. 'Merry England,' is an ancient phrase; and there is much merriment in our modern England that is not always observed by philosophers and politicians. We happen to have walked through most English counties, and to have enjoyed the marvellous differences of humour which exist through the breadth of the land. We have tracked Shakspeare through Central Warwick; have trodden the paths of Wordsworth and Coleridge and Wilson, in the realm of lakes; have talked with moormen on Dartmoor, and with shrimpers at Poulton-le-Sands. Everywhere we have encountered a joyous humour, inextinguishable by poverty and toil—a humour clearly designed to lighten men's hearts in their passage through a world of many troubles. Recognising this, we think that any form of humour is worth cultivation, and that a writer like Barham, who, to many grave thinkers, might seem a lover of ineffable nonsense, was not without his use in the world.

Three things may be affirmed in his favour. He caused good honest laughter, by telling stories in a ridiculous style, without writing a word to which the most absolute purist could object. He ridiculed foolish and superstitious legends, blowing them away as the winds of the vernal equinox blow the dead wood from the trees. And he proved that the position of a minister of religion, doing his duty in a manner thoroughly conscientious, was not inconsistent with a pleasant mirthfulness of temper. Of him we may say, as Rosaline of Biron—

And, with all his merriment, Barham did not for a moment neglect his clerical duty; indeed, there are indications that he was a remarkably good specimen of the parson of the parish. If we found any fault with this biography, which is, for the most part, well executed, it is that Barham's life as a clergyman is too slightly indicated. His friend, Mr. Hughes, father of the member for Frome, wrote of him thus in the New Monthly:—

This testimony from one who knew him well, makes us regret that more of Barham's parochial life has not been revealed to us. Often there is a curious difference between the practical and the literary half of a man's career. A priori, one would not expect the 'Lay of St. Cuthbert' to be the work of a Canon of St. Paul's. More information as to Barham's clerical career would have been intensely interesting to the psychological student; but his filial biographer has refrained from entering on the subject to any extent. We are not certain as to his motive. Perhaps he thought it hopeless to persuade the world that a good parson could be a lover of fun. Well, another lover of fun was one Sydney Smith, well known to all of us, also a Canon of St. Paul's. Smith was a resolute Whig, Barham a high Tory, yet were they excellent good friends. Here is proof. Barham sent Smith some game: here is the other Canon's epigrammatic ironic reply:—

The pheasant for rectors, the fowl for Dissenters—a characteristic bit of chaff from Peter Plymley to Tom Ingoldsby. In these days, after wonderful rapidity of movement, when the questions which troubled the last generation have been merged in others far deeper and wider, it is pleasant to think of Whig and Tory in the same cathedral precinct—Tory sending Whig some game, and Whig replying with a gibe at all dwellers without the orthodox limits. Few years have passed, yet the atmosphere is marvellously clearer; there is not precisely the same relation between Conformist and Nonconformist. The pheasant and the barn-door fowl are rather more equally distributed, perhaps.

Mr. Barham's son and biographer thus states his determination not to record his father's clerical life. 'With the details of his experience as a clergyman, rarely suitable for publication as such particulars are, I do not propose to deal. Of course, an outline will be given of his professional progress; but the reader must, once for all, be requested to bear in mind that it is intended, in the following pages, simply to throw together some slight records of his leisure hours and recreative pursuits.' This design has been very well executed; but we certainly think that more might be done. However, we must perforce accept the editor's view of the matter, and learn what we can of his father by sidelong glimpses of him. Taken solely as a man of letters, Barham is well worth study. Taken as husband and father, he is delightful. His correspondence with his children is equal to Tom Hood's letters to infant friends, though in quite a different style. His nonsense, prose or verse, was always pleasant nonsense. Thus he writes to his daughter Fanny:

Pater peramans, evidently. Here again is a pleasant piece of chaff addressed to the same young lady, on 'having nothing to say' in a letter:—

So easy and regular was the course of Barham's life, that there is really nothing to say about it. As landowner, Canon of St. Paul's, parson of a City church, he moved pleasantly in society, and had only to encounter life's inevitable troubles. We remember him in our hot youth, at the long-extinct Chapter Coffee-house in St. Paul's churchyard, whose landlord bore the appropriate name of Faithful, improvising marvellous verses over a glass of antique port. Perhaps his life was almost too facile; perhaps men of serious temperament would regard such productions as the 'Ingoldsby Legends' as things intolerable: but Barham had his mission, depend on it, and if you go to a 'Penny Reading' in the country any winter evening, the chances are that you will get selections from 'Pickwick' or from 'Ingoldsby,' whatever else may greet your ear. Everybody knows Sam Weller and Tiger Tim—both typical man-servants:—

Everybody also recollects that rascally 'Jackdaw of Rheims'—related, doubtless, to the graculus superbus of Phaedrus—who stole the Cardinal's ring just as his Latin predecessor stole the peacock's feathers. There is no reductio ad absurdum extant equal to this whimsical legend. Excommunication, which was slightly damaged in value by the curse of Ernulphus, came to a ridiculous end when the Cardinal Lord Archbishop of Rheims tonitrated his worst maledictions at a thievish jackdaw. 'Maledictus sit vivendo, moriendo, manducando, bibendo, esuriendo, sitiendo, jejunando, dormitando, dormiendo, vigilando, ambulando, stando, sedendo, jacendo, operando, quiescendo,' &c., &c.

When after awhile the mystery was out— when the poor little comminated jackdaw presented himself in a sad state, so that of the cathedral officers, sacristans, and vergers, and the like, it is recorded,

the absurdity reached its climax. For our own part, though these humours are not of the highest or deepest order, we laugh at them. Life has its follies; Shakspeare had his clowns. In the old forgotten coaching days, there was wonderful humour at the wayside inns. Sam Weller was possible then: a railway porter has no time to be humorous. Of the Ingoldsby humour, as practised by Barham himself, there is this to be said: it was always harmless, and it was directed against absurdity and nonsense. Ingoldsby has had disciples, who have not disgraced their master, yet who have never quite equalled him in certain peculiar points. There is Hood's admirable story of 'Miss Killmannsegg,' wherein, if we remember aright, he depicts certain folks as—

There is Praed's 'Red Fisherman:'—

Then, again, there is Browning's 'Pied Piper of Hamelin,' a rare old story rarely versified:—

There is vast difference between the three writers; the courtly epigram of Praed, and the scholarly variety of Browning, differ widely from the style of the master whom they imitate. But it is a high testimony to the literary value of what we may call the Ingoldsby method, that men so original and so desperate have tried their hands at it. A glance at the 'Bentley Ballads' shows that the same thing has been done by a great number of very different men; Sheehan and Creasy, Maginn and Mahony, Sam Lover the versatile, whom we remember delighting us with improvisations at Barnes-terrace just above the Thames, Tom Ingoldsby's son who follows his father with filial felicity, have done excellently well in this style of spirit and humour.

Indeed, to succeed in it to a certain degree, demands only abundance of animal spirits and a capacity for rhythm and rhyme. But it is clear that Barham had more than this. What, indeed, makes him perfect and absolute master of his craft, is his power of invariably catching the whimsical aspects, the humorous sides, of an event. Hood was too fond of a pun, Praed was too fine a gentleman, Browning is too subtle and curious, to attain the precise humour of Ingoldsby. Wherever we open the 'Legends' we find the frolicsome fancy of their author fresh and facile. Take the description of Winifred and David Pryce, in 'Look at the Clock!' It is a picture easily realized in the Principality:—

Now in this there is absolutely nothing that will bear analysis; it is the laughing spirit of the man that carries you on, amusing you in spite of yourself, in spite of your decided feeling that really there is nothing to laugh at. But, somehow, what with the ready jingle of the rhyme, and the perfect good humour of the ridicule, amused you are.

Barham's loudest fun was generated when he had to deal with obsolete and obsolescent superstitions. He loved to laugh at the vulgar idea of the Devil—the fiend with horns, tail, and hoofs, whom Cuvier ruthlessly dismissed as 'a graminivorous animal.' Thus, in the 'Lay of Saint Cuthbert,' we find him describing a group of demons at dinner:—

and so on ad libitum. Again, in the 'Lay of Saint Abelard,' he gives us 'Old Nick' defeated by a saintly personage. It was—

Demons and saints were the favourite themes of Tom Ingoldsby's laughter; he jeered alike the Romish miracle-monger and the anthropomorphic fiend. A volume might be written on the way in which the popular and vulgar idea of the devil has gradually arisen. It is clear from 'Paradise Lost,' that Milton favored the mediÆval notion that the Pagan divinities were really fiends; and it can scarcely be doubted that the hirsute Pan gave the first sitting for that portrait of the devil which Coleridge completed, when he wrote

At such matters we can smile contemptuously; but in earlier centuries, when the Pagan superstition had still some vitality left in it, it was a serious matter to the Christian convert. Pan might meet him at the corner of a lonely woodland, and strike him with a panic dread. Worse than all he might be allured by the terrible enticements of Venus. To this day, Friday has a tradition of ill-luck, because it is dies veneris—vendredi. That the goddess of evil pleasure still came among men as a female fiend was a firm belief of the Middle Ages. Hence have we the legend of the Venusberg, chosen as a theme by more than one living poet, the version we prefer being unquestionably Lord Houghton's; hence also that of the betrothal ring inadvertently placed by a bridegroom on the finger of a statue of Venus, which finger, on his return, he finds bent, and the ring irremovable. This latter story is told with prosaic prolixity in the final volume of Mr. Morris's 'Earthly Paradise.' It must be remembered that the change from Paganism to Christianity was often effected in curious ways; that the worship of Apollo, the sun-god, was, by a play upon words, diverted to Elias the prophet; that temples of Venus were, as a rule, dedicated to the Virgin. Probably that worship of the Virgin Mary to which Romanists cling so fondly originated in a weak desire to satisfy proselytes by giving them one goddess in exchange for another. Any way, the belief in Venus endured so long that, in 1614, in the good city of Frankfort, a learned lawyer named Kornman, published a work called 'Mons Veneris,' which dealt with the legends about her as if they were based on fact. Of such legends let us name one only; an English story, told by William of Newbury. In the reign of Henry I., a peasant passed at midnight, near a hill, not far from the town of Burlington. To his amazement, he heard sounds of revelry therefrom, and saw a door open in the hillside, and, entering, beheld a vast chamber, where men and women held high festival. A cup was handed him, full of some liquid, which doubtless would have the effect of Circe's magic wine: with singular presence of mind, our peasant threw away the wine, and ran off with the cup. All the rabble rout of Venus pursued him, but the swift-footed ploughman brought his prize safely to Burlington. Somebody (probably the mayor, who should have been knighted for it) sent the cup to the King, and the King made it a present to the Queen of King David of Scotland; but King William of Scotland returned it to Henry II. of England. Whether it is still among the royal plate is a point to be determined by 'Notes and Queries.'

The growth of letters and of science changes all this; just as Venus vanished a few centuries ago, Old Bogy also—the foe of our infancy—has vanished from modern nurseries, nor do very many children of elder growth believe in an archdemon of the graminivorous type. Hence the fun of 'Ingoldsby' that ridiculed superstition of this sort is likely to lose its interest in time. We fear, however, that his laughing caricature of Romish absurdities—as in 'The Jackdaw of Rheims'—will scarcely lose its point at present. The Pope may be reduced to 'the Vatican, and a garden,' but the Papal superstition still clings closely to multitudes of men, especially of the Celtic race. That race, as M. John Lemoinne has just said of his French kindred, is feminine, and seems unable to accept a manly religion.

The 'Ingoldsby Legends' are peculiarly adapted to the palate of youth. They make fun out of trifles and vulgarities. One can hardly understand a man of high culture caring much about them after forty. Then the humour of Shakspeare's clowns, of Cervantes, and Sterne, and Elia, becomes more enjoyable than the 'Ingoldsby Legends' or the 'Pickwick Papers.' Then you prefer Autolycus to Sam Weller. The strong point of Ingoldsby is his gay high-spirited boyishness; but this quality is only attractive under certain conditions. It may, perhaps, be roughly stated that a man will care to read Ingoldsby so long as he cares to play cricket. It is, in fact, the eager buoyancy and rather perspiring fun of the cricket-field which one finds in the rollicking strophes of the 'Legends.' When their writer knocks over a saint or a demon as if he were a wicket, you almost expect to hear the shout of, 'How's that, umpire?' Indeed, the book is a loud book, scarcely to be tolerated, one might think, in a quiet library. Yet was its author a quiet haunter of libraries, and we find in one of his letters how he received in one a royal visitor:—

Her lively Majesty might have been felicitated on finding Tom Ingoldsby as a guide to the library of the great cathedral. But to return to the 'Legends.' Besides their extreme boyishness, their redundancy of pulsation, there is a deficiency in them which must prevent their becoming classic. They are devoid of poetry. Master of the grotesque as he was, Barham had no mastery of the picturesque. Keen to see and seize the humorous aspects of affairs, he had none of that deeper humour which creates character. A real poet who had written some fifty or more eccentric legends, could not have helped inventing or describing certain individual characters in the course of his work. He must have done it unconsciously, must have done it if even he had tried to avoid it. There are two tests on the very surface of the true poet. If he describes a scene, you see it; if he describes a man, you know him. Barham's grotesque descriptions are often remarkable; indeed, his legends somewhat remind us of the hideous gurgoyles of old churches, wherein tradition sayeth the old ecclesiastic architects depicted their enemies, making of them waterspouts, that during rain they might seem to vomit. The men who carved those gurgoyles could not have sculptured an Apollo; and of Barham it may be said that, though he wrote laughable stories with supreme felicity, he never produced a line of poetry. He appears, indeed, to have regarded only the surface of life. There is nothing in his published works to show that he had an original idea, or that he cared about ideas. Of course, having given us the 'Ingoldsby Legends'—a piece of work absolutely unique, and quite unlikely to meet with a readable rival—he will be forgiven if he had a contempt for ideas; but one feels some desire to know whether such fertility of fun was not the upper stratum of something stronger and finer. Tom Hood's fun, for example, grows out of his profound melancholy, as under Etna's laughing vines the volcanic fire is sleeping. Shakspeare's fun grows out of his masterful knowledge of the world, of men, of women. In a play of his you seem in some city of chivalry and romance, where the great knight passes to deeds of high emprise, and the lovely lady smiles on him from her balcony, and the troubadour sings of 'the Lord of Oc and No;' and all the while you hear the chaffer of the market-place, the chatter of street gossips, the insignificant laughter of loitering louts. Fun that has no root in something deeper seems morbid and hysterical; and we cannot help believing that there was more in Barham than his writings reveal, than his most intimate friends knew, than perhaps he knew or even guessed himself.

Dr. Maginn, a man like yet unlike Tom Ingoldsby, wrote these four lines—part of a poem which we have no means of obtaining:—

Maginn had, if we may judge from appearances, higher poetic instincts than Barham; his 'Homeric Ballads' are a very remarkable contribution to the literature of Homeric translation; but he unwisely expended himself upon periodical writing, and has left nothing behind him worthy of his powers. It is, we think, a subject for congratulation, that the cheap magazines of the day are so anxious to please the populace, that a first-rate writer has absolutely no chance with them, and is obliged to do work worthier of him. The shilling magazine has to suit the taste of the railway reader, who wants to be amused during the hour in which Great Western or Great Northern accepts him as a parcel to be delivered at a friend's house by dinner-time. How this is done we need not say, as anybody who likes to expend a shilling can judge for himself; but it is so done as to render it absurd for men of the calibre of Barham and Maginn to write for the majority of these magazines. This we take to be an advantage. Such men are obliged to work harder—and better.

Another instance of a man with something nobler in him and better than he ever gave the world, or even his friends, is Theodore Hook. Until his private diary came into the hands of those who knew him best, they had no knowledge of the depths of passionate remorse for a wasted life which lay beneath the too brilliant surface of his character. 'In every page,' wrote Lockhart,

Theodore Hook laboured under the double disadvantage of an irremovable load of debt, and of an illicit connection which effectually prevented his marrying a woman who might have directed his marvellous powers into their true channel. The consequence was that he lived a false factitious life; worked terribly hard to produce income necessary for him to meet wealthy peers on apparently equal terms; was always pestered by money-lenders; yet all the while his daring spirit maintained an external gaiety unquenchable. At the very time when his spirit seemed highest, when his wit was memorably brilliant, when at club or country house he was amazing every one by his victorious vivacity, there occur in his diary entries that show a broken spirit, a wounded heart, an infinite regret for the past and despair of the future. Such was the inner condition of a man whose conversation had such unique sparkle, that men dined at the AthenÆum for the chance of being allowed to draw their chairs to his little table in a favourite corner (Temperance Corner) after dinner—so that the diners at that club fell off more than 300 a year after his disappearance from his wonted seat.

It is unfortunate that the early career of men of letters is often turned awry by the well-meant interference of their relations. A boy of genius, who happens to appear in the midst of a steady, stolid, respectable family, is usually regarded as a 'black sheep.' They try to make him work in some regular groove, and, of course, he fails. If they are very determined, he quarrels with them, and then, too often, he runs headlong into debt, or love, or both, and burdens himself in such a way that he has to toil for freedom through the best years of his life, and possibly never emancipates himself. Of course, it is always hard to say whether the young gentleman is right who fancies himself a genius. Dr. Holmes, in his latest novel, has a capital sketch of a young poetaster who 'eventuates' behind the counter of a store. Such youths require Darwinian compression; but there are just a few of higher mould, with the irrepressible vocation for pen and ink which nothing can cure, who would do better if some way could be devised to give them a chance in literature. Perhaps when the school boards have leisure to consider the subject, they will try to discover a way of developing those latent powers, mathematical as well as poetical, which often exist in regions wholly unexpected. Inspectors of schools might be directed, after they have registered the triumphs of the clever boys, to investigate the habits of the stupid ones. A great poet or mathematician is almost certain to seem stupid in his boyhood.

It may appear that we have tried the 'Ingoldsby Legends' by too high a test; and, indeed, it is a very unpretentious production. Its originator was wholly modest, and did not dream of placing himself in the foremost seats of the literary amphitheatre. He knew the true value of his invention. It is designed for those who would rather laugh than think. It may amuse children at any rate, and there are certain fortunate folk who, to the end of their lives, can be children now and then—can listen to merry rhyming, can believe for the moment that in Fairyland there are mock turtles and March hares, that the dogs there have no ears because the dog's ears have been used up on the little boys' Latin grammars, and the sheep no eyes because the little girls have used up all their sheep's eyes in looking at their sweethearts; can imagine that in Ghostland one may dine comfortably with one's doppelganger. There are times—'weird winter nights,' as Shelley calls them, warmed with merriment, and joyous summer days in which the nightingale seems ebrious with ozone—when there is a necessity for nonsense of one sort or another. It is this necessity which Ingoldsby and his followers supply. Possibly some good is effected by the fact that the occupants of lofty positions have deigned to play with these toys; that the occupants of deaneries and canonries (ecclesiastic port-wineries, if we may venture to coin a phrase) have found in such matters Attic salt for their filberts.

Apropos of Ghostland, just named, Barham was a great lover of spectral stories, and the reader who cares about such will find in his memoir some of the best we have ever seen. As to anecdotes, the book is brimming over with them. Of course, one meets with one or two that have been met before; but an old story, like an old friend or an old coat, is sometimes more enjoyable than a new one. Barham was at Paul's School with some men as well known as himself, among them being Sir Frederick Pollock, Nestor of lawyers, and Richard Bentley, Nestor of publishers. Another of his comrades was Charles Diggle, afterwards Governor of Sandhurst College. Of him and Barham we find a good story:—

It was very improper, certainly; and we cannot help hoping that the Head Master of Dean Colet's famous school heard of the impertinence, and administered to the 'nether-urchin' of the future military pedagogue the sharp flogging which he undoubtedly deserved. But one cannot help laughing at these schoolboy absurdities; and the naughtiest boys, if looked after by a schoolmaster like Tom Hood's,

often turn out the ablest men. There is incipient power in these wayward vivacities of youth.

Musical amateurs of the present day of the strenuous class that elicited Charles Lamb's verses beginning—

will doubtless deem Lord North an utter barbarian. George III. scolded him for never going to the concerts of ancient music. 'Your brother, the Bishop,' said the King, 'never misses them, my Lord.' 'Sir,' answered the Premier, 'if I were as deaf as my brother, the Bishop, I would never miss them either!'

Of Lord Thurlow we believe it was that Theodore Hook declared that nobody could be as wise as Thurlow looked. Whether he had much wisdom is a moot point; but strength of will he possessed in an enviable degree, as the following anecdote shows:—

This we take to have been highly creditable to Thurlow: it was a courageous assertion that the aristocracy of genius is at least equal to the aristocracy of birth. Here is an amusing story of clerical ignorance from Barham's diary:—

In those days Eton was not famous for its erudition, and a fellow of that famous corporation was likely to be a better judge of the 'other fish' than of the chalybeate. Dr. R—— would probably have known exactly the right way to dress a red mullet from the Avon or a Coniston char.

Here is a good story of Dr. Thomas Hume, an intimate friend of Barham's:—

We hope that unlucky clerk could understand the rebuke that he received; but to us it appears that sarcasm is generally thrown away on such people. They are pachyderms.

The book contains some capital stories of poor Theodore Hook, that marvellously wasted intellect. His great power lay in impromptu, of prose or verse, spoken or written. No man has ever equalled him at a paragraph or a squib, except as to the latter, Garrick and Coleridge. Nobody was ever so exquisite a conversational wit. And certainly no one has ever possessed his power of improvisation in English. He threw off stanza and strophe as fast as a knifegrinder's wheel throws sparks. He scintillated always. Coleridge, after an evening in his company, declared he was as great a genius as Dante. His felicity was invariable. When he was improvising at the piano, after luncheon, at his Fulham villa, enter the ancilla, to say Mr. Winter, the tax collector, has called. Ejaculates Hook:—

But how could Hook stand the tremendous dissipation to which he foolishly condescended? Here is a specimen of his way of living:—

To revert from anecdotes of this class to the special theme of our article. Poetry is one thing, and verse-writing is another, and there may be very good verse-writers who would not condescend to be poetasters. In the present day there are a multitude of foolish persons who have discovered that breeze rhymes with trees, and that there are as many syllables as they have fingers in a line of blank verse. So they flood the shilling magazines with their silliness, and some of them raise money enough to pay for the publication of a volume of their trash. Within a few days from this time of writing we have had occasion to look through about a score volumes of this class, and only one contained anything that could be called poetry—and that one came from San Francisco. Now, why cannot people with a faculty for verse write it sensibly, without trying to be poets? Why can they not give us something manly, something humorous? Lockhart and Maginn wrote fine verse, but would have smiled at the notion of being called poets. Barham never wrote a line of poetry, in the severe sense—but what immense amusement has the world received from the rhymed stories of Ingoldsby!

Art. V.—The Downfall of Bonapartism.

(1.) Documents Authentiques AnnotÉs. Les Papiers Secrets du Second Empire. 4e Édition. "Fiat lux." Bruxelles: Office de PublicitÉ. 1870.

(2.) La Guerre de 1870: l'Esprit Parisien produit du la rÉgime ImpÉrial. Par Emile Leclercq. 5e Édition. Bruxelles. 1870.

(3.) NapolÉon I^er, et son Historien, M. Thiers. Par Jules Barni. Paris, Germer-BailliÈre. 1869.

(4.) Histoire de NapolÉon I^er. Par P. Lanfrey. Paris: Charpentier. 1867-70. Vols. I. to IV.

(5.) NapolÉon le Petit. Par V. Hugo. Bruxelles. 1852.

(6.) Romans Nationaux. Par Erckmann-ChÂtrian. Paris: Hetzel. 1868-70.

Histoire d'un Paysan, ou la RÉvolution FranÇaise racontÉe par un paysan.

Le Conscrit.

Le Blocus.

La Guerre.

L'Invasion.

Waterloo, etc.

(7.) Louis's own Account of the Fight at Dame Europa's School. Literally translated from the French. London: J. Camden Hotten. 1871.

Imperialism has fallen; and with it France has for the present disappeared from among the great Powers. With Metz in foreign hands, she is much in the same position as that of Paris when the Prussians had turned upon her the guns of Mont ValÉrien. Her eastern frontier is wholly exposed; she must feel as Lombardy did while Austria held the Quadrilateral.

As far as material influence is concerned, France is become a second-rate state. She must confine her aim to doing what she has so often done before—influencing the world of ideas. She did this in the Middle Ages in a way which we seldom sufficiently appreciate; she did it in a less degree during the post-Reformation period, for then her own religious wars and the preponderance of Germany had thrown her somewhat into the shade; she did it most of all when the EncyclopÉdistes began to claim for her a definite position as the world's teacher. This position she had not formally claimed before. Under the old rÉgime she had been slowly getting welded together; feudalism, carried out more 'logically' in France than elsewhere, had kept her provinces almost as distinct as so many little German kingdoms. Louis XI.'s policy, indeed, did for the French noblesse much what the Wars of the Roses did for ours; and Louis XIV., by giving the higher classes a taste for Court life, drew them together and trained them to a community of habits and aims; but the mass of provincials were scarcely affected by this centralization of a single class. Louis XIV., however, did one thing more: he secured to Paris that fatal predominance which has ever since made her the arbitress of the national destinies. While saying 'l'État c'est moi,' he so arranged that very soon the Parisians could say, Paris c'est la France. The great writers, too, lent their influence to glorify the capital: the town-loving spirit was strong in them all. Paris got more and more supreme, while at the same time the efforts of Government were divided between crushing out provincial independence and meeting the ruinous expenditure of a Court always luxurious and very often warlike. Hence a tendency in the old rÉgime to a more and more strictly personal government. Feudal liberties were crushed; feudal tyranny was aggravated. The provincial parliaments, and that of Paris into the bargain, gradually lost even the semblance of power; and the old system degenerated into despotism.

The Revolution, while superficially breaking up this system, left untouched those parts of it which some say are grounded on the peculiarities of French character. It intensified centralization, and it practised most oppressively that interference with the rights of the individual which is of the essence of personal government. The very men who so loudly proclaimed the principles of '89 were found most ready to act on rules which led them straight to the lawless tyranny of the Terror. Their 'ideas' were grand, but personal freedom was far too trifling a thing to be allowed to stand in their way for a moment. In one point the Revolution diverged from the old rÉgime: it became intensely and deliberately propagandist—bent, i.e., on carrying forward, with the strength of the whole nation, the mission which the thinkers of Voltaire's day had assigned to themselves. We often find that the man who believes in nothing in particular is the most violent in opposing the beliefs of others. So it was with the leaders of the Revolution: they were mad to spread their doctrines over Europe; and their doctrines being those of Paris, Paris became (in Frenchmen's eyes) the recognized head, not of France only, but of the civilized world.

Imperialism was at first a reaction from despotic anarchy; the dread of another Terror made the French welcome with delight a man who seemed strong enough to be 'the saviour of society.' So it was again in 1849, when the Socialist struggle in which 13,000 Parisians perished so alarmed the successful 'bourgeois,' that to prevent its repetition they condoned the coup d'État. Ideas, it was said in 1795, were ruining France; the men of ideas had been beaten in the field; Imperialism therefore meant military glory as the basis of French prosperity. Frenchmen were content to believe that (as M. Louis Blanc said the other day at Bordeaux) 'glory and liberty are incompatible,' and deliberately to choose the former.

Of course the Imperialism of 1852 differs somewhat from that of 1804, but it is the same in its intense selfishness, and its thorough insincerity. Under the second Empire, there have been commercial treaties and alliances, and the working class has found good wages, so long as it has been content with political nothingness; but the two will be seen to be the same in principle. Each has the radical evil of depending on success in war, or peace, or both, for its stability; and this necessary instability makes them more hopeless as systems than the old rÉgime, with all its corruptness, or even than the wild theories of the Republic.[211]

But it is needless to enlarge on the manifest causes which made a hereditary monarchy stable so long as it is not wholly intolerable. The same causes make the best of 'tyrannies' (in the Greek sense of the word) unstable. Men as 'logical' as Frenchmen are sure to feel that if such a government is not fulfilling the purpose of its creation, it had better cease to exist; and feeling with Frenchmen generally means action.

The first Napoleon had immense success on his side; he 'saved France,' in his own fashion, and so long as he was successful, very few Frenchmen cared to inquire into the soundness of the method employed. The third Napoleon had in his favour the remembrance of his uncle's success, and the fact that the rÈgne du bavardage had failed as completely in 1849 as it had done in the days of the Directory. Both were helped, too, by the systematic lying of their newspapers, which, amid the enforced silence of all who would not speak as they did, could say what they pleased without fear of contradiction. Both, too, were able administrators: Louis points out, in 'his own Account of the Fight at Dame Europa's School'—a bitter satire on the selfish insincerity of Imperialism—how hard he worked for years, and how by repressing them with one hand and giving them employment with the other, he controlled the terrible Paris canaille. This is, in fact, his solitary claim for forgiveness. But both fell when the moment of pressure came, and the fall of the nephew is irreparable: for him there can be no 'hundred days;' even the boundless capabilities of treachery which he found in Bazaine failed to do anything but seal his fate by convincing France that, whereas the uncle shed French blood like water in support of his selfish ambition, the nephew actually paltered with the enemy, and betrayed the strongest fortress in the country, in the vain hope of securing foreign support.

It is plain to the most superficial observer that of all the things which have collapsed in France since last July, none has collapsed so hopelessly as Imperialism. When the ex-Emperor rushed into war as the only way of staving off a revolution, France showed herself (as she so often has done at critical periods of her history) culpably passive. There were complaisant prefects who assured his Majesty that his people went with him heart and soul; there were crowds, hired or not, such as can always be collected in any great city, who shouted Vive la guerre and À Berlin; but the peasantry still believed that the Empire meant peace; and when they afterwards found war come upon them, they fancied (so strong was their faith in Napoleon) that it was the Prussians who were the aggressors. Just in the same way on the eve of the Spanish war, in 1808, the servile Senate said: 'Sire, the will of the French people goes along with you. This Spanish war is just and necessary. Fathers envy their sons the glory of rushing to join your ranks, and of winning another Marengo and another Austerlitz.' And this farce was kept up at a time when the conscription had grown so odious that the Government had to imitate Louis XIV.'s dragonnades, and to quarter garnisaires upon the families of those lads who had escaped to the woods, or had fled across the frontier.

France was passive in July, 1870, as she was more than once during the first Napoleon's career; the difference is, that the nephew's army, on which he was supposed to have lavished so much thought and money, and which, since the coup d'État, he had pampered into prÆtorian insolence, failed him utterly both for defence and offence; whereas the uncle always had something which he could trust to fight well, if not to win battles.

Since Sedan, France, no longer passive, has worked wonders; and every step in her work has made a relapse to the old state of things more impossible. 'The man of Sedan,' it was felt all along, could never return, except behind Prussian bayonets. Had he, on that last fatal day, cut his way at whatever loss through the encompassing host, and, throwing himself on Paris, raised a levÉe en masse to the old cry of 'the country in danger,' matters might have turned out very differently, both for him and for France; but he could not have so acted without denying his own principles. His whole career had been an attempt to juggle with universal suffrage while practising the narrowest despotism, and now to appeal in real earnest to popular principles, and to give the pledges necessary to make that appeal a serious one, was an impossibility for the man who had eagerly snatched at the chances of war which the crafty Bismarck threw in his way, rather than honestly carry out the liberal measures which he had at last been forced to adopt. There is a point beyond which charlatanism cannot go. Thrice had the uncle felt that this kind of appeal is useless when it is contrary to a man's whole antecedents: once at Arcis-sur-Aube, when in the midst of the battle, Sebastiani said, 'Are these all your Majesty's forces?' 'Every man I have.' 'Then does not your Majesty think of raising the nation?' 'Nonsense: you're dreaming of the way they did things in Spain, or here in France, in '91. How can you talk of raising a nation whose nobles and priests have been destroyed by the Revolution, and whose Revolution has been destroyed by me?' There was nothing, he felt, left to appeal to. Again, on his return from Elba, wisdom said, 'Wait on French soil, and crush the invaders at Paris and Lyons;' but this would have necessitated an appeal to the nation and a pledge that all war except defensive war should cease, and, as Colonel Charras says, in words which seem almost prophetical of the events of last July, 'to re-establish his despotism he could not do without the prestige of victory: he thought to find it on the frontier, so thither he hastened.' A third time, when, after Waterloo, Napoleon was among the remnant of his troops at Laon, it was still free to him to show himself not only the 'child of the Revolution,' but its legitimate offspring and its protector. He still shrank instinctively from doing so: bolder, indeed, than his nephew, he did go to Paris; but with the invincible dislike of all his race to true freedom of government, he went there merely to see if there was a chance of carrying on the war without making any real political concessions.

So it was that, after Sedan, the nephew passed out of history: no amount of plotting can restore the man who showed himself fool as well as knave, who fell—not, like his uncle, under the blows of banded Europe—but because he had allowed himself to be wholly deceived, both as to the quality and composition of his own army and as to the dispositions of neighbouring powers. France never can forgive such a result of twenty years of personal government. But that the ex-Emperor should disappear out of history is natural enough; the marvel is that he ever became one of the makers of history. His success was due to the vitality of the Napoleonic idea, nourished as it was after the restoration by writers of all kinds—notably by the veteran statesman who now, more than any one else, has made a return to Imperialism impossible. For this total revolution in literature it is hard to give a sufficient reason. Before the restoration, literature, when not venal, was strongly anti-Bonapartist.'[212] After the Bourbons were restored, writers began to extol Napoleon as industriously as before they had decried him. This change was owing partly to French feeling against the mode of his removal: it was a great humiliation; as Madame de StaËl said (deploring the return from Elba), 'It's all over with liberty if he succeeds, and with the national independence if he is beaten.' The nation felt that the peace of 1815 had compromised its independence; and, in writing down the king who had been brought in by foreign armies, literary men were acting as the mouthpiece of France. But this is not all; wounded vanity did much. Under the Empire mind had been powerless, unless, as in the case of LacÉpÈde and other savans, it had submitted to be the humble tool of force: when SiÈyes said, 'I'll be the head and that little Corsican shall be the arm,' he had quite unwittingly spoken the truth; for, in Napoleon's system, the head was nothing and the arm everything. Great, then, was the disappointment when under Louis XVIII., and still more under his successor, the head seemed almost as powerless as before. The heart (if such a word may be used of the hollow system of Popery) came into play; and, unless a man was dÉvÔt, or seemed to be so, ability of any kind served him little. Add to this the wilful blindness of the Bourbons, who (it was soon seen) 'had learnt nothing and forgotten nothing.' Their petty despotism disgusted the nation; while the 'Memoirs of St. Helena' and a crowd of similar writings made out, with a sophistry so barefaced that we should fancy it could never have deceived even Frenchmen, that the Emperor had always acted as a dutiful son of the revolution, according to the programme which himself had laid down, that 'liberty, equality, and prosperity shall be ensured.' Will the nephew ever venture to assert, as the uncle did in 1816, that his government was a constitutional and temperate monarchy, and that the French people under it were the freest people in Europe? However this may be, there is no doubt that the claim thus made by Napoleon I. told immensely on the thought of the nation, and through it on the masses. Claiming to have saved the revolution by moderating its violence, the exile of St. Helena persistently called himself its soldier and its martyr. His wars (he said) had been undertaken to spread its civilizing influence; and the consciousness of this had made kings and princes so determined on his overthrow. We, of course, can see through the hollowness of all this: but the French writers of that day, finding France humiliated, and knowing that she had been glorious, actually came to believe, or at any rate fostered the belief, that in the days of her glory she had been free, since undoubtedly in the days of her humiliation she was fettered. No wonder the rest were deceived, since a man of consummate ability, M. Thiers, whose honesty is proved by his having refused office during some seventeen years of 'personal government,' could write such a marvellous romance as that which he gave to the world under the title of 'The Consulate and the Empire.'

Thus, by a combination of causes we may partly account for the change in the mind of France; and this change told upon the more or less educated masses. When Thiers wrote as he did; when Victor Hugo—whom a strange Nemesis afterwards urged to write 'Napoleon the Little'—sang the great man's praises in 'Lui,' and, throwing moral sanctions to the winds, declared that

when BeauchÈsne, in 'L'Ecolier,' pathetically described the day-dreams of the boyish enthusiast; and, yet more, when BÉranger sang his 'Vieux drapeau,' and his 'Serrez vos rangs, Gaulois et Francs,' and, above all, his 'Souvenirs du Peuple,' no wonder men forgot the real Napoleon, and accepted the ideal which was so persistently put before them.

BÉranger was a true prophet when he sang

It is not easy to trace how this feeling had so penetrated downwards, and had so thoroughly laid hold of the lowest stratum, the wholly uneducated peasantry, that the first time the vote by universal suffrage was taken, many peasants thought they were voting for the old Emperor. That it did so is one more proof how soon a nation with great 'recuperative powers' loses the memory of disasters. The cruel conscriptions which drove mere boys to die in Spain under the fire of Wellington's seasoned troops—the retreat from Russia, after which 'the man of Smorgoni' was for a time as unpopular as 'the man of Sedan,' were forgotten. The heroic defence of Champagne, and the glories which preceded it, were alone remembered. This will account for the growth of the Imperial idea in the more fighting parts of France, especially in Alsace and Lorraine, which have always contributed much more than their share to the army.

How it was in La VendÉe we cannot pretend to say. Napoleon there had been as ruthless in his way as the 'blues;' he had ordered that every family which could not prove that all its members were at home and quiet should lose its property, this being divided between the 'good subjects' and the occupying troops. Nor can we understand how the Southern peasants should have welcomed the nephew when they had hated the uncle. It was against them chiefly that the odious garnisaires had to be employed; and we all know how they showed their feeling in 1814 by several times nearly tearing the Emperor to pieces when he was on the way to Elba, frightening him so that he disguised himself as an English officer.

North-eastern France was Bonapartist because it was anti-Prussian, and the Emperor had thoroughly humiliated Prussia. For this special hatred of Prussia there is ample reason. The Prussian character is not loveable; even at the best it is singularly domineering and cantankerous; and during the invasions of French territory (not to speak of the bloodthirsty pursuit after Waterloo) the Prussians had shown themselves (as unhappily they too often have during this war)[213] worse than Cossacks. This special hatred of Prussians comes out continually in the Erckmann-ChÂtrian series. The contrast between the bitterness with which the fights at Ligny and Wavre and the final conflict at Waterloo are described is remarkable; it may almost be said to be prophetic of the merciless way in which too much of the fighting has been carried on within the past few months. 'No quarter' is the word on both French and Prussian side; and scornful hatred lurks in every phrase of the graphic account of those savage conflicts which at last left the French nominally victorious. The English, on the other hand, are 'jolly fellows, well shaved, and with the get-up of bons bourgeois.' We do not think that, even before the Crimean war, French mothers ever taught their children to hate us; whereas, mon fils tu haÏras les Prussiens was a daily lesson among the peasants of the North-east.[214]

To account for the Napoleonism of the peasants in other parts, we must add to the feeling that Napoleon had glorified France, on the part of those who (we said) were only too ready to forget how he had also humiliated and ruined her, the persistent dread of the spectre rouge on the part of the vast class of little landowners, and thirdly, the influence of the priests. Both these had been made use of by the uncle. Whenever he wanted an excuse for despotism, he always got up a Jacobin plot. This was the pretence for that famous 18th Brumaire, by which 'model and prototype of all coups d'État,' as M. Barni calls it, he destroyed the constitution which he had sworn to defend.

When, as First Consul, he arrested a number of those who remained true to the Republic—among them Jourdain, the hero of Fleurus—and threatened to banish them to Cayenne, the pretext was 'the infernal machine' (very probably 'got up,' like so many more recent conspiracies), which was denounced as a Jacobin invention. Jacobinism was his apology for forming (at the beginning of the Empire) eight State prisons, and for exercising the most rigorous censorship both of the press and of the stage.

How the priests helped him may be judged from the amusingly profane addresses made to him on his accession to empire by the different bishops. The Bishop of Aix wrote: 'Like another Moses, Napoleon has been summoned by God from the deserts of Egypt,' 'God seems to have said (wrote the Bishop of Orleans), "My heart hath chosen a new ruler to rule my people; My almighty arm shall help him in his glorious work, and I will strengthen his throne. He shall reign over the seas, and the rivers shall become his servants."' In the eyes of other bishops and capitular bodies the new emperor is 'another Matthias sent by the Lord,' 'a new Cyrus,' 'Scripture hath given us, in the reign of Jehoshaphat, a prophetic outline of his reign.' This, the fitting reward of the Concordat, was the incense offered up by a servile clergy on the eve of his coronation; and it matches well with the Catechism, published by authority, and in use in all French churches in 1811.[215] After repeated injunctions as to the special duty of reverence for the Emperor and his house, the question is asked, 'Are there not yet other motives to bind us strongly to our Emperor?'—'Yes; for it is he whom God raised up in troublous times to re-establish the public worship of the holy religion of our fathers and to be its protector. He has restored and preserved public order by his profound and energetic wisdom; he defends the State by his powerful arm; he is become the anointed of the Lord by the consecration which he has received from the Sovereign Pontiff, chief of the Universal Church.'[216]

How the Pope, of whose meanly cruel treatment by Napoleon, the Count d'Haussonville gave such a graphic account in the Revue des Deux Mondes of two years ago, really felt on the subject, we need not inquire; with Napoleon the case was simple enough: 'he wanted a clergy (says Madame de StaËl) as he wanted chamberlains and courtiers, and all the old things over again.' As for his being the restorer of religion, no praise was ever less merited; he told Cabanis: 'This concordat of ours is la vaccine de la religion; in fifty years it will have killed it out like a moral small-pox.' On the other hand, before the Concordat was signed there was full liberty of worship, and nearly eight millions of people were in full practice of Catholicism. His Concordat was needless, except for his own purposes; at the outset, indeed, the Assembly had borne heavily on the clergy: to force them to take oaths and then to persecute those who refused was to show an ignorance of the first principles of toleration; and one of the few things which we have to find fault with in MM. Erckmann-ChÂtrian's excellent novels is the way in which the 'refractory priests' are spoken of, and in which the harsh treatment they underwent is justified, because they disturbed the peace of families, and intrigued for 'royalist restoration.' But by the Constitution of the year III. Church and State had been separated, and freedom of worship restored to every one. There was no need, therefore, for any effort on Napoleon's part to secure what the Constitution had already secured; he was, as usual, working simply for himself: 'I did not despair,' (he writes from St. Helena) 'of sooner or later getting full control of the Pope; and then what a lever for moving the world, what a help towards keeping men's minds in hand!'

With the Pope and the Italian clergy, indeed, Napoleon never had the least success; but in France the large salaries which he gave to the bishops produced the effect he anticipated; and at last, even in La VendÉe, a good deal of the old feeling died out. The noblesse of course still spoke of him as a mere locum tenens: for them he was always 'the General Bonaparte, Lieutenant-in-Chief of the Forces of his Majesty's King Louis XVII.' But the peasantry were gradually taught to accept him as the friend of religion, and not simply as a temporary police magistrate who was necessary to keep down their hated enemies the 'Reds.' Of this his nephew reaped the reward, and he moreover was able to come forward as the defender of the Papacy under circumstances in which his conduct gratified not only the peasants, but every sincere Romanist in France, while it caused one more breach in the already divided Republican camp. If the occupation of Rome was actually initiated by honest Republicans, they never (not even when they made Louis Napoleon Prince-President) were guilty of a more fatal mistake. They shared the reward of all trimmers; supporting 'order' at the expense of principle, they lost the confidence of the best men of their party; while the Prince-President, assuming to be the champion of that 'order' which after all they had only defended with half-heartedness, gained all the credit of the act, and won thereby the support of the Ultramontanists. Of this support his subsequent vacillation could not deprive him, because the Ultramontanes were sure that, whatever he might do in other countries, in France he would not relax those fetters which the Papacy finds so essential in securing the acceptance of its newly 'formulated dogmas and repressive encyclicals. When we say this, we by no means assert that the ex-Emperor had the full confidence of the clergy; that confidence it is not the policy of Rome to accord to any one. Now again, as in 1848, she has shown that on occasion she can be as revolutionary as Garibaldi himself, if there is an end to be gained by being so. Napoleon is lost; despite the ridiculous outcry of London imperialist papers like La Situation, his cause is hopeless; therefore Rome hastens to give him up, and to affirm that he is rightly punished for having supported Victor Emmanuel. But, so long as he was a power in Europe, he received support enough to keep him popular among the priest-ridden classes, because he was less dangerous than those who would be sure to succeed him. A Republican government would without doubt have given up the Roman occupation; while the Orleanists, who would come to the surface if the Republic failed, are, as the real friends of religious liberty, the most unacceptable of all to the Ultramontane party. Guizot, the Orleanist statesman par excellence, ventured to doubt whether it is not an abuse of toleration to allow full scope to such irreconcilable foes to liberty as the Jesuits; therefore it was better to uphold Napoleon, and to trust to the influence of the Empress rather than to provoke a change which was sure to be for the worse.

But we have said enough to account somewhat for the growth of the Napoleonic idea, after the first Emperor had done his best by the failures, and still more by the littleness of his later years, to crush it.

France, moreover, had been humiliated in 1815, and Louis Philippe kept her at peace without giving an outlet for enterprise in foreign colonization. If Algeria had been less of a mere military settlement; or if, instead of Algeria, France had laid hold of a colony better suited for Europeans to thrive in, the Orleans line might have still been on the throne. But the nation was slow to realize the amount of waste which had accompanied the wars of the Empire. France did not like to keep quiet and repair the ugly gaps left in her prosperity; she wanted to make a grand figure before the world. Louis Philippe thought that by combined repression and corruption he could check this restlessness; and so he, a constitutional king, was led into a career of unconstitutional conduct—the proximate, though not the remote, cause of the revolution in 1848.

The facilis descensus from a republic to a despotism was seldom more inevitable than amid the chaos of parties which succeeded the Provisional Government. France wanted prestige: who more likely to give it to her than the nephew of the man who won Jena and Austerlitz? France wanted protection against the 'Reds,' 'the enemies of order and property:' surely, the very man to secure this to her was l'homme providentiel, who could sway the army as one man, and who, though he professed to believe in universal suffrage, and to have a high regard for the working man, was known to be hand in glove with the great financiers and capitalists? As Victor Hugo puts it in his little history of the coup d'État, 'tous les hommes du passÉ, depuis tel banquier juif qui se sentait un peu Catholique jusqu'À tel ÉvÊque qui se sentait un peu juif,' all combined to work up the Napoleonic idea, and to induce the masses to accept what was the best government for stock-jobbers and Court tailors and highly paid functionaries of all sorts. It was the Nemesis of 1793 which produced the coup d'État of December 1851: but for the recollection of the Reign of Terror, of that wild carnival of cruelty and rapine, such an outrage would have been impossible. Men of substance argued that what had been might be again; and therefore they threw in their lot with the saviour of society, even while they abhorred the means which he employed for its salvation. National susceptibility, then, and a half unconscious desire to wipe off old scores, combined with Popish influence and the dread of the 'Reds,' helped to give tangibility to this long-cherished Napoleonic idea, by bringing about the second Empire.

A few words, now, on the causes and the history of its decay. These, as usual in political and social matters, are complex and seemingly conflicting. First, those who looked for prestige were not satisfied with the declaration, l'Empire c'est la paix, even explained away though it was by the many wars undertaken in the last twenty years. France fighting side by side with England in the Crimea and in China, was not the same as France carrying her eagles into almost every European capital. This feeling forced on the war which resulted in the sudden peace of Villafranca—the suddenness of which peace proved (to the French Emperor's detractors) that Magenta and Solferino were not such very decided victories, after all. It always seemed in Napoleon III.'s undertakings, that he was stopped at a certain point, just as if he had not really been the master of France, but was only free to use her resources within the range of his tether. This may be due to the financial complications in which he and his creatures were always mixed up, or to that indecision of character which, while it gave him for a time a reputation for profound wisdom, did him immense harm by making men suspect him of deep plotting when he was simply at a loss how to reconcile conflicting ideas, and by exciting profound distrust on occasions where pity would have been the more appropriate feeling. Herein he paid the penalty (almost always exacted in all ranks of life) of seeing both ways. The notion which couples moral obliquity with crookedness of vision is confined to the vulgar; but comparatively few can avoid distrusting the mental power of looking at once in several directions. The ex-Emperor had his English experience; his political education was far in advance of that of most of his subjects; he saw the weak points of each party, and saw too how each drew strength from the amount of truth which it had grasped. Could he have lived as president of a republic in which all these elements should have had free scope, France might have thriven morally during the last nineteen years, as much as she has thriven materially. But the French character, no less than his own designs, forbade this. Frenchmen cannot bear to 'give and take;' their logique shows itself by forcing them into the streets to battle for their cause as soon as there is the feeblest chance of success; and, above all, his aim was, not to give France the best government, but to keep himself by all means at her head. Hence, lying and repression became his instruments. One party was played off against another. The prolÉtaires kept in good humour by the Hausmannizing, not of Paris only, but of half the French cities, were told that the Emperor was really their friend; and so long as they got panem et circenses they seem pretty generally to have believed it. The parti prÊtre was petted at home; and the control which the clergy was allowed to have over education more than compensated for the cutting off of the Romagna. The moneyed class, and all the crowd of little rentiers, who are almost forced to accept the existing order of things, saw by the vast growth of public credit and by the steady price of public securities, that the Empire was the millennium of men of means. The army, petted and spoiled, was full of dislike for civilians, and of chauvinist contempt for foreigners. The literary class alone feebly kept up the struggle; and its protest against the dictum 'la France c'est moi,' was chiefly confined to such far-fetched allusions as we find in 'LabiÉnus' and in the 'leaders' of the Revue des Deux Mondes. The French are brave; but those who did not accept the Empire were cowed by the coup d'État; and in such circumstances they are of all people the most patient under what they have come to believe inevitable.

But though nothing was done much was felt, and the mistakes and disappointments of later years soon brought the feeling to the surface. From the very first, nothing but the coup d'État had thoroughly succeeded. The Crimean war ended too soon; it failed in its main object, that of crippling Russia, and it was from the outset distasteful to a large party because it drew France so close to England. The Austrian war wanted the dash and vigour of Marengo; and the Mexican campaign (so opposed by Thiers in 1864) showed that the ruler of France was afraid to move when the United States bade him stand still. Meanwhile Poland had been twice given up—and Poland is very dear to a large section of the French; the Confederate States had been abandoned, and Denmark had been left unhelped to the tender mercy of Prussia and Austria. Military prestige had gone, despite the numbers and the ruinous cost of the army. All the while the occupation of Rome was a standing outrage on the feelings of the most thinking part of the nation; and, combined with it, by that strange inconsistency which marks all Napoleonic procedure, the creation of the kingdom of Italy alienated the Ultramontanes, and set them plotting, after their fashion, against the man whom it was still their interest outwardly to support.

Herein uncle and nephew are thoroughly at one. Both Lanfrey and the author of the 'Romans nationaux' remind us how constantly the first Napoleon displayed a cynical disregard for men's feelings, without apparently seeing that thereby he was giving irreparable offence. He looked on men as reasoning machines, and quite left out of account all the sentimental springs of action. Those whom he needlessly insulted would, he thought, recognise both his power to crush and also to benefit them, and therefore they would be his obedient servants. Such was the state of the Continent that he was scarcely disabused of this notion till he undertook to govern Spain. Italy submitted to exactions more galling though less ruinous than those which the Germans have been making upon France. Germany, thoroughly dissatisfied with its own serene highnesses and arch-dukes, and looking upon Napoleon as the true successor of Hoche and Moreau, and the others who had spread republican ideas through the Fatherland, was content to bear a great deal before she showed any signs of anger. Spain certainly set Continental Europe an example in this. Napoleon might prove beyond dispute that under his tutelage she would soon rise rapidly in position and wealth; but Spain had been cruelly outraged by the treatment to which her people as well as her royal family had been subjected; and Spain cared not a jot for either position or wealth compared with a successful revolt against French occupation. We know how wholly, in dealing with individuals, the uncle left the power of personal feelings out of account; the nephew, rarely forgetting this in regard to the individual, forgot it when dealing with classes. To the clergy for instance, he said, 'Italy must be reconstituted, and to that end the Pope must give up the Romagna and the Marches. You shall have our troops still in Rome, and I will arrange that you may control French education pretty much as you please.' The clergy, accepting what he gave, never even pretended to be grateful for the boon; they never forgave the 'spoliation of the Church;' and thus the ex-emperor's conduct, as usual, displeased both parties, and deprived him of any support except what it was manifestly men's interest to give him.

Then came the dread of Prussia, and the sudden attempt (almost as bad as deploying under fire) to reorganise that army for which so much money had been drawn that had really been expended on other objects. The severer conscription made the peasants restless; and the plÉbiscite was called for much in that spirit of distrust which set David numbering the people. When it was found that a considerable percentage of the army had voted the wrong way, it was felt that the pyramid, hitherto propped up on its small end by bayonets, was tottering; and the war, of which we have lately seen the sad issue, was hurried on as the sole change of retrieving the fortunes of the dynasty.

It is not our business to gauge the complicity of the French people in the affair of Benedetti and Gramont.[217] France, as we said, showed herself culpably passive; Paris, say the French 'irreconcilables,' was culpably complaisant. We may be thankful that here in England we have not for centuries seen twenty years of such a debasing system as that which made Paris what it was till it was purified in the furnace of affliction. We fancy that the reaction against the despotism of the capital will be very strong. There is far more independent life left than most people imagine in the French provincial cities, far more than in our large towns; and they were increasingly indignant at the pre-eminence which the imperial system gave to Paris in everything. This exaltation of Paris is natural in a dynasty which has no roots in France itself. Paris had proved herself in 1790 capable of taking the lead and giving the law to all France; Paris, therefore, must be kept strong in order that all France might be of one mind. How different from the days of Henry IV., or of any of the old race! To the Corsican intruder the peasant of Beauce was just the same as the peasant of the Bourbonnais—merely a fighting machine. Hence the real depression of the provinces, despite of some exceptional improvements in Brittany and in the landes of the Gironde. The first Napoleon's levies so reduced the relative strength of the country districts that Paris, in his time, gained a position which she has ever since held. Whatever form of government she chose the provinces echoed her choice. Disliking her, they still never thought of shaking off her yoke. That Paris, befooled by BÉranger, by chauvinism, and by the popular fiction of imperialism, should have chosen such a President as she did, is a strange comment on all the bombastic nonsense which Victor Hugo talks about Paris-cerveau—Paris, the brain of the world. Paris now, conscious of her degradation, is avenging herself by heaping all sorts of abuse on the man of her choice—'the phlegmatic perjurer,' 'the silent Tartuffe,' as M. Leclercq calls him. But the choice was hers, and the degradation which resulted from the years of personal rule followed with peculiar rapidity owing to a want in the French character. The most 'logical' of nations is indeed terribly consistent; it always seems to want that happy power of stopping short before things have gone so far as to make a catastrophe inevitable.

The last years of the late emperor's reign were morally unhealthy beyond the average of the most immoral times since the Reformation. It is not that people were worse in their conduct: they were more cynical. They had got to laugh at everything, to despise all sanctions—even those shadowy ones which the first revolution substituted for the sanctions of religion. The years in which Cora Pearl and the rest of the demi-monde were the arbiters of fashion, in which ThÉrÈse was the pet of drawing-rooms, and the younger Dumas the popular littÉrateur, saw the extinction of much that was noble in France, for they witnessed what we may call the apotheosis of epicureanism. Paris seemed to have lost all moral sense since the time that its government had ceased to have any. The efforts of Parisian talent resulted in nothing but ill-digested and unwholesome works. The upper classes did as the Court did—that crew of wholesale stock-jobbers, like the Duke of Morny, among whom, one who was a strange mixture of reckless extravagance and gross bigotry presided as mistress of the revels. The masses were sunk in ignorance, and lived a life—those Paris ouvriers who have so often taken in hand to regenerate the world—which it would terrify the average English workman to contemplate. The middle class, the Famille BenoÎton of the play, vegetated, made money, and reasoned on false premises. It was Babylon over again, as poor PrÉvost-Paradol styles it. Tongue-tied on all high subjects, the Parisians flung themselves mad with delight upon that class of ideas which soon brings thought down to its lowest level, 'Make money, never mind how, and live simply to gratify your meanest instincts,' that was everybody's maxim—leur esprit s'Était abÂtardi.

At the same time Paris still asserted that superiority over all the rest of the world which her writers had first claimed when they began to write up the first empire. Her writers kept on blowing one another's trumpets, and crying out that theirs was the great nation, and that to the people among whom primary education is more deficient than even in Spain was entrusted the mission of indoctrinating Europe with ideas. Grossly ignorant of their own shortcomings the French were, last July, quite incapable of forming a fair estimate of any other nation. Because Napoleon III. had always managed to mystify his people as to what he was going to do, therefore they fancied he had mystified Europe. Because he had met Bismark at Biarritz, and had been always fond of personal conference with princes, therefore they dreamed of Tilsit over again, and refused to see that on every point their master was either outwitted or else over-mastered by other statesmen. All the follies which come of boasting, of contempt for one's adversary, of unmeasured self-esteem, of confidence in one's power of doing anything in any line whatever, seemed to have burst out at once into monstrous growth in the Paris of last July. M. Leclercq collects chronologically the choice passages from the Figaro, the Gaulois, &c., which show the feeling of those who claimed to be the leaders of thought; and surely nothing better than such a collection can justify the almost universal dislike to France which was felt at the beginning of the war. Belgian as he is, he knows how bad the supremacy of Paris has been for Brussels, her little imitator, and he hopes that this supremacy is gone never to be restored. In this hope he gives us page after page of blatant absurdity, of grotesque and childish rant, of transparent falsehood, from the inaugural 'leader' in Figaro down to the wild dithyramb which Victor Hugo published when he entered Paris after the 4th September.

It is worth while to quote a few sentences from Figaro of the 17th July:—

And the 'leader' (what an abuse of the word) winds up with a prayer 'to the God who has said that they who take the sword shall perish by the sword, and who ordains that liberty's furrows should be blood-watered, since no otherwise can the germ of freedom be developed.' Many have been offended during the war with the tone of Emperor William's telegrams; but even the Standard must confess that they are infinitely preferable to the blasphemous hiccoughings of the Figaro.

The strangest part of it, perhaps, is the monstrous lying; Austria (we are told) is thirsting for revenge:—'The Austrian aristocracy is wild about the insolence of these Brandenburg margraves, these parvenu, princes' (the appropriateness of the epithet from a Bonaparte of a HohenzÖllern deserves remark).... 'Frankfort has shut all its shops, and its trade won't recover the shock for many years.... Prussia has withdrawn all the able-bodied men out of Hanover for fear of an outbreak.' The truth being that, except a portion of the highest class, and a very few of the lowest, the whole Hanoverian population went in heart and soul for German unity.

This incredible ignorance of other nations is matched by an equal ignorance of the French army and its belongings:—'War can bring us no annoying surprises, for we have the most marvellous body of Éclaireurs in Europe,' is an assertion repeated over and over again towards the end of last July, at a time when the Uhlans were already beginning to show what they were capable of, and when French officers were finding out that they had nothing provided in the way of maps, except out-of-date plans of East Prussian fortresses. The absurd vanity which could write in this way when the Prussians were showing that they knew every inch of French soil, is only equalled by the craven way in which Figaro's readers gave in whenever Prussian audacity, backed by Prussian knowledge of their country, enabled Uhlans or regulars to make a dash. The Cornhill tale, 'How the Prussians took Mousseux-les-Caves' (under the guidance of a sub-lieutenant who had been clerk to a wine merchant there), is a story which has been acted out to the letter, not once but fifty times, to the confusion of those who were boasting all the while about their 'admirable corps d'Éclaireurs.' The boasting was about as well-grounded as that which, a fortnight later, declared that of Prince Frederick Charles's army nothing was left but the remnants, and that the whole corps of Bismark's white cuirassiers had been cut off to a man.

The companion piece to all this senseless exaggeration, encouraged, we must remember, and endorsed by the highest authority—first by the Emperor himself and then by Count Palikao—is Victor Hugo's dithyramb aforesaid. It appeared in the Electeur Libre of 3rd October, and surpasses anything which Walt Whitman, in his wildest moments, ever dreamt of:—

'We are but one Frenchman, but one Parisian, but one single heart; there is but one citizen left, 'tis you, 'tis I, 'tis all of us. Where the heart is, there will be our breasts to make a barrier.

'Resistance to-day, deliverance to-morrow: that sums up everything. We are no more flesh, but stone. I don't know my own name any more, I am called, "Country, forward on the foe!" We are called, "France, Paris, stand like a wall."...

'The Pantheon wonders what it can do to make room beneath its dome for all this people who have a right to lie there.... Each time the shells fall, and the grape-shot roars, what see we in our streets? women tripping by with a smile. O Paris, thou hast crowned the statue of Strasburg with flowers; history will crown thee with stars!'

It is as hard for sober Englishmen to imagine a people delighting in edicts penned in that style, as it is for us to read without disgust any two consecutive pages of L'homme qui rit. Hugo's latest novel is well matched by his latest political utterances.

One encouraging sign is, that Paris journalism grows ashamed of itself: the lies, indeed, continue to the last: insincerity seems (since the first Napoleon's time) to have become inseparable from French bulletins; but the SiÈcle of the middle of November proves what a change had come on:—

M. Leclercq's comment on this is—

This, from a Belgian, is at least as humiliating to Paris as any of the Prussian victories.

From politics, as from warlike criticism, M. Leclercq abstains almost wholly: of course, he cannot help wondering at Bazaine's behaviour at Metz; as we heard it lately expressed by a great English financier, unable, like most financiers, to help liking the Emperor after all:—'I won't say Bazaine was a traitor; that is not quite fair upon him. But I will say that he thought more of his government than he did of France. He might have prevented the investment of Paris, there is not a doubt of it.' The decay of the Napoleonic idea is put in a startling light, when we reflect that Bazaine was, before the end of last September, almost the only Imperialist in France. Paris, which had been so delighted at the prospect of glory as to forget all about the coup d'État, went round as one man. In fact, Sedan was hurried on because Paris could not be trusted: there was no sincerity in the ex-Emperor's professions and concessions. The Parisians knew that, and though they had been ready enough to shout against the Prussians, they were only waiting for their opportunity to get rid of their own ruler. It is the old story of a house divided against itself. The poor men were mowed down at Sedan by shells from such a distance that they could not see whence they were fired, simply because it was 'useless' for Napoleon to go to Paris. The idea of really honestly trusting to the country, and giving pledges for future conduct, never presented itself as possible in 1870 any more than in 1814 and 1815.

On one point M. Leclercq finds just fault with the Republican government: they decreed a second expulsion of Germans from Paris, and they vowed not only never to yield an inch of French soil, but never to raze a stone of one of her fortresses:—'As to the soil (says our author), let the inhabitants decide; but the offer to dismantle Metz and Strasburg, and, above all, the little fortresses which have so long wished to be made open towns, would at once have set them right with all the noblest minds in Europe: to act as they did was to play into the hands of the King of Prussia.' But M. Leclercq is somewhat of a peace-at-any-price man.

He is a prophet, too, and delights in the thought that France, before long, will be a federation like the United States. Its provinces will then (he says) resume their old importance—'the life now heaped up in Paris will be spread abroad where it is needed.' Paris, no doubt, has done nobly, and there is, after all, a good side to her character. He is as little desirous as we are to deny this; but, then, the fault was mainly hers. Had she last autumn stood firmly by the Republican party, instead of falling so readily and blindly into the trap which Louis Napoleon laid for her, war would have been impossible. She enabled the Emperor to begin; and then, by her fickle restlessness, she hampered his movements and forced him to fight, as it were, with one hand tied up. Instead of Hugo's Paris-cerveau, M. Leclercq calls her Paris-spectacle, Paris-plaisir, Paris-panache, and he sees no future for France except in her humiliation: il faut trÉpaner (he says) le cerveau de la France.

The Papiers Secrets need not occupy us long; they were hardly worth the trouble of unearthing. The Government of National Defence might surely have found better work for men like De KÉratry, Lavertujon, and Cochut, than to be rummaging among the rubbish found at the Tuileries, at St. Cloud, and at Meudon. If they had so destroyed the environs of Paris as to prevent the Prussians from finding shelter; if they had (as common sense would have dictated) fortified Versailles, connecting it with the enceinte by a strong military line, and used their abundant labour to make the works impregnable, it would have been far better than to have wasted precious time in docketing papers which are certainly disappointing. They reveal nothing, for we already know that the Empire was based upon corruption and espionnage; and all they do is to enable the curious reader to follow the ramifications of this imperial system into unsuspected corners.

Thus, at the outset, we have a letter from the Empress en route for Suez, which shows her grammar and orthography as much at fault as those of the fine ladies of Queen Anne's time, and which is sadly like what Henrietta of France might have written to Charles I.:—

Altogether Eugenie does not come off badly in the published correspondence.

Of the chapter on Napoleon's mistresses we need say nothing except that it will disappoint the prurient reader. Marguerite Bellanger, who first fathered a son on him, and then (after being managed by the prÉsident du cour, poor M. Devienne) confessed she had cheated him, and Miss Howard, are the only two who come to the front; the latter, by the way, appears to have received in the course of two years five and a half millions of francs—good interest for having paid 'the Prince's' debts when he was in England. It is unsafe to state anything about the ex-Emperor's private property. The 'facts' have been contradicted and re-asserted; but there they are, in this little pamphlet, with full details, sixty-three millions of francs, including the accounts with Baring of London, with Kindlet of Vienna, with Funder and Plitz of St. Petersburg, with Berg von Dussen of Amsterdam, and Jecker in Mexico, and Brown Brothers of New York. What he had in the French funds the author, of course, professes himself unable to tell; but en revanche he gives (in the chapter headed ce que coÛtaient les impÉrialists) the whole of the enormous civil list, a great deal of which was (as is proved by marginal notes on the documents) paid by the Emperor over and above the allowance, without the intervention of the Ministry.

We all know how persistently Pierre Bonaparte begged for money, and how recklessly money was wasted on affairs like the Prince Imperial's baptism, but the amount expended per month on men like Baron JÉrome David, M. Granier de Cassagnac, and others of the 'vendus' is prodigious; and we are told that of the actual total we can form no notion, the usual plan of payment having been one which may be recommended to our own 'man in the moon'—a trusty go-between used to breathe on the glass of the office door, and then write with his finger the sum which he was authorised to draw, whereupon it was paid without question.

Of the Cabinet Noir, where letters were opened, according to a system adopted in France at any rate since Louis XIV.'s day, we have all heard a good deal. The actual letter-stealers were certain concierges with whom the postmen were instructed to leave all letters addressed to certain persons. These letters were then carried off to M. Saintonier, 18, Rue Les Cases, who opened them, had them copied, if necessary, and, if possible, returned them in time for the next delivery. Among the copies found is a remarkable letter from Ducrot, at Strasburg, to Trochu, dated 1st December, 1866, setting forth the dangerous state of feeling in Germany, and pointing out that Prussia can get ready 600,000 men and 1,200 guns far sooner than France can muster half the number. Ducrot animadverts severely on the 'stupid vanity' which makes his countrymen think they can choose their own time, and get their Great Exhibition well over before they begin. He says, too, that the frontier swarms with Prussian agents, and that the feeling between the Moselle and the Vosges is far less French than people fancy:

Surely the Emperor was warned; and that, in spite of all warnings, he should have acted as he did, justifies as well as explains the scorn which all parties alike have manifested for him.

These papers, in fact, remind us that imperialism was based on surveillance publique, on a spy system so vast as to embrace lists of all the 'dangerous men,' of whatever views, throughout the Empire. The prop of this system was the terrible power of arbitrary arrest given to all prefects by the 10th article of the Criminal Code. How the nation which boasts of being exceptionally logique reconciles such an article with the principles of 1789 we cannot imagine; but it is clear that a Government, resting on such a basis, could only stand by its prestige. At whatever cost, it was necessary last July 'to do something,' and at Sedan the ex-Emperor judged rightly that he had better fall into Prussian hands than trust to feelings which even his uncle had not ventured to rely on.

Persigny, according to the letters contained in the Papiers Secrets, was Louis Napoleon's Strafford. As late as December, 1867, he memorialises the Emperor at great length on the state of the nation, and exclaims against the folly of concessions:

Persigny, at any rate, was faithful, and, we believe, felt proper scorn for the miserable policy which tried to secure the bourgeoisie by alarming them every now and then with sham plots. Except the Orsini and Pianori plots, and the Villette affair of last summer, all the plots were, we are told, hatched by Pietri and Lagrange. Thus Greco, who was condemned to life transportation in 1853, was let out one night from Mazas by M. Lagrange himself, lived for years in America on a pension of £250 and then came back to Paris under a feigned name, and worked as a detective. The man, we read, is now in prison, and has made a full confession of his antecedents.

That Ollivier, at the end of 1869, was anxious to infuse new blood into the Imperial councils, and also to win over 'the few men of talent between thirty and forty years of age who had not already been driven into the revolutionary ranks,' is a proof that the Constitutional-Imperialist was more clear-sighted than his enemies will admit. That the Empress, after WÖrth, should have telegraphed to her husband not on any account to return to Paris, as she could not be answerable for the consequences, shows a weakness of character which the admirers of Eugenie certainly did not anticipate.

These quotations from Paris newspapers and secret documents help to show why the Empire fell. It was unsound. However we may differ as to the amount of culpability shared by the French nation, or even by the Parisians, there is no doubt of the rottenness of the whole system. That it has been swept away is a gain for the world—a gain for France which will outweigh all her hopes, if only (in the words of the SiÈcle) the esprit boulevardier, the street-idler spirit, disappears along with the rÉgime which fostered it; and if that hardness towards the poor, and indifference to their sufferings, which are too characteristic of the French wealthier classes, can be modified.

And now for a very few facts to show what a poor idol was the uncle of such a nephew. The three writers, Lanfrey, Barni, and Erckmann-ChÂtrian, have done more than any others to disabuse the French mind about Napoleonism. The cheap edition of Barni, from which the analysis and seriatim confutation of M. Thiers' books are omitted, has been immensely read; that such a book could be published in France in 1870 was a sign of the times quite as alarming to imperialists as the known disaffection of a part of the army. Besides these Charras, Scherer, Quinet, and Eugene Pelletan had for years been working against the worship of which Thiers was so long the prophet, and had succeeded in proving to all thoughtful Frenchmen that Fichte and Channing were much nearer the truth than was the romancer who wrote the 'Consulate and Empire.'

Our remarks must necessarily be brief; but we would call special attention to what M. Lanfrey tells about the early life of Napoleon: so much seems accounted for by such circumstances acting on such a temperament. Corsica was passing through a crisis when he was a boy; his father, head of one of the most influential families, went over to the French side when he saw resistance was hopeless. The son, who began life an ardent patriot, cursed his father for not having shared Paoli's exile. The family, however, profited by his change of side. He himself, displaying that same skill in managing men, above all Frenchmen, for which his son was afterwards so remarkable, became the confidential adviser of the governor and his cabinet. His children were provided for on the different royal foundations then so common in France. Napoleon went to Brienne, and thence to Paris; the great poverty of his family, and the humiliating position in which he found himself among the cadets of noble houses, accustomed to spend money as recklessly at their military colleges as our boys nowadays do at Sandhurst, made him cynical. The references to his want of means are frequent in his early journals; but this consciousness of poverty did not deprive him of his keen power of observation. His journals are an admixture of practical shrewdness and of originality expressed in wild bombast. He soon took the measure of those with whom he was brought in contact, fathomed their weaknesses, and adroitly made use of them. Life in Paris in the days when young Bonaparte first went there must have been trying to a young man's faith. Bonaparte had been 'finished' under the rÉgime which was said to have existed par les femmes et pour les femmes; but before he was fully a man the old system was swept away, and Paris was a scene on which the most fantastic absurdities were enacted in the name of liberty. The selfish greed of the Republicans seems to have done more than anything else to make the young man a disbeliever in the grand phrases which he so freely used. His determination to act for himself comes out strikingly in his first Italian campaign, when by his happy boldness against Wurmser he had made the convention of Loeben inevitable. Throughout the preliminaries he behaved as an independent prince. He told the Directory what he was doing, and received their instructions, and from time to time acted upon them; but the only way in which he showed himself a faithful servant of the government was by putting money and art-treasures in their way. The greed which these Parisian deputies displayed was something incredible: and their young general encouraged them in it. He told them that Italy was rich and able to pay; and the contributions which he levied—though trifling compared with the amounts of recent Prussian requisitions—were sufficiently grievous to drive the people of the Milanese to revolt. Leghorn, for instance, had to pay two million francs for the privilege of being protected against the English. How Venice was treated is well known. 'The child of the revolution' betrayed that city to Austria as cynically as he afterwards crushed the Ligurian republic. 'Give them (said he, writing of the Corfiotes), plenty of talk about old Greece and liberty: it will please them, and it means nothing.' He is always the same, pitiless in his scorn of that bavardage, to put a stop to which he tells Menou that he was leaving Egypt. No success ever pleased him more than the way in which he fooled SiÈyes, the man of ideas—making use of his reputation as a constitution-builder, and then showing 'the head' that as soon as its work was done it must give way to the arm.

Lanfrey's account of the 18th Brumaire, when only two of the five directors, Gohier and Moulins, stood firm, and when the affair of the Orangerie consummated by force what had been begun by corruption, is exceedingly instructive. It shows how, out of such a chaos, the rise of the ablest man was inevitable. Had Napoleon been a Washington he would, of course, have risen for far other than selfish ends; he would at once have taken in hand the constitution of which he so well knew the defects, and would have perfected it. Even had he been a Cromwell, earnest and impressed with a really noble idea, he would have looked at home instead of abroad, and have proved that 'the empire is peace.' Being what he was, the successful military commander, with no rule of action, except to make everything further his own advancement, he began by destroying representative life, and making even the judges his creatures, at the same time that he entered on that career of war in which he never paused save for short breathing times. A true instinct told him that either the French must have bon fide freedom, or must be drawn away from politics by being kept always at war. He may have mistrusted his ability to play the part of Washington; or what he had seen of Frenchmen may well have made him doubt whether they would appreciate his self-denial. Anyhow he never tried them; war became a necessity of his position; and to make war he did not shrink from so thoroughly exhausting France that we may doubt if she has suffered so much by this last ruinous war, and yet more ruinous peace, as she did by the long struggle which ended at Waterloo. The recklessness of last July was but a recognition by the nephew of the uncle's maxim, that 'by war, and war only, can our position be kept safe.'

Another point in common between uncle and nephew, is reckless expenditure; we do not sufficiently remember that, besides the conscription, the first Napoleon had the whole wealth of the nation under his personal control. He used it as the resources of the Second Empire have been used. The vast salaries of senators, the bribes, direct and indirect, the encouragement of a luxury which made large means essential—all this soon destroyed 'the austere simplicity of the republic.' 'Il faut se montrer' was the phrase in everybody's mouth, 'for if we do not come forward as friends of things as they are, we shall have none of the prizes which are being so lavishly distributed.' It was imperial Rome over again.

Such a system could not last; and the way in which France succumbed after Waterloo, while it does not exalt our opinion of French gratitude (for, after all, the first Napoleon had for years given France all that the mass of Frenchmen ask for), shows how inherently weak the strongest 'tyranny' (in the Greek sense) must always be. Any one who wants a simple and natural account of how Napoleonism grew up out of the folly and corruption and strife of the republicans, and of the helpless disgust with which the mass of the nation submitted when they saw what Napoleonism really meant, should study the Erckmann-ChÂtrian series. We do not wonder that the writers should have been elected as deputies for the Meurthe and the Haut Rhin, so thoroughly do their books photograph life and thought in these most republican departments. The peasant proprietor, who has bought with his hard-earned savings a little patch of confiscated land, is as fiercely bent on keeping it as ever tigress was on defending her cubs. He is told that kings and nobles, creatures of Pitt and Coburg, are sworn to wrest it from him; and his previous experience of kings and nobles assures him that he has nothing to hope if he fall into their clutches. That was the secret of Napoleon's strength; he went forth as the soldier of the Republic, predestined to show Europe that it was hopeless to dream of restoring the ÉmigrÉs. How the true Republicans, who formed the nucleus of his armies, got gradually depraved until they became the 'dogs of war' of the Old Guard is wonderfully well set forth; and is, we fear, only too truly paralleled in this recent war, in which the moral deterioration of the German citizen-soldier has, like everything else, gone on at railroad pace.

The Erckmann-ChÂtrian novels have been compared with the Waverley series. We do not think the comparison a happy one. They do not aim at Sir Walter Scott's intricacy of plot; the stories are exceedingly simple, and the events (pÉripÉties is the untranslateable word which best describes them) are unfolded historically, rather than after the manner of a romance; the human agent merely serves to string together a number of sketches from actual affairs. On the other hand, the Erckmann-ChÂtrian books show that rare power of accurate nature-painting which belongs almost wholly to very modern times, and which shines forth so conspicuously in our own George Eliot as well as in Dickens, and which among French writers is best seen, perhaps, in Georges Sand. Very different this from the landscape style of Scott, which has beauties of its own, but which differs from them much as a picture of Wilson, or Constable, or 'old Crome' differs from one by Tenniel. In the 'Romans Nationaux,' too, there is a vast deal more direct political teaching than 'the author of Waverley' ever attempted. He no doubt had very strong views of his own; and he managed, strangely enough, to make a sentimental Jacobitism fashionable at the very time when 'his most Sacred Majesty George IV.' was visiting North Britain. He is answerable for several inversions of historical truth: he makes Balfour of Burley and his class contemptible, and throws a halo of glory round Claverhouse, like that with which Byron invests his Werterian villains. But he never directly teaches politics. The 'Romans,' on the contrary, do this in almost every page. They assume, moreover, an amount of political knowledge on the part of their readers which would be very unwisely assumed by any English novel-writer. The fact is, the average Frenchman does know his own history since '89 far better than most Englishmen know the tortuous politics of the Georgian era—knows it better because he take a vastly more personal interest in it. For us, Mr. Disraeli well pointed out, history from the Revolution to the Reform Bill is chiefly the record of the quarrels of a few 'great houses;' to the Frenchman the earlier half of the eighteenth century is the time when his country was in the labour pangs of the strange, wild birth which was to follow; and the close of it is the fitful period in which the Revolution, surfeited with blood, sank helplessly under the yoke of military despotism. No need to urge Frenchmen to do what her Majesty's inspectors have so often recommended in our elementary schools, to begin history at the modern end and work backwards. Our boys and our men prefer woad-stained Britons and the strife of Dane and Saxon to the Rockinghams and Walpoles, and even the Pitts; but in France it is wholly different. Hence an amount of political knowledge in the country, for which we rarely give our neighbours credit. Your diligence-driver between Caen and Falaise will point out the ChÂteau Turgot, and will tell you all about the minister whose name it bears in a way which would have astonished any of the old mail-coachmen along the Western road, who knew, indeed, Burke's name in connection with High Wycombe, but who knew nothing but the name. This is one of the errors of 'our own correspondent:' because Frenchmen have not that blatant freedom of speech to which he is used at English hustings, he writes home that they know little and care less about politics—and this of people who seldom hesitate, on occasion, to die for their opinions. Their peculiar way of managing things arises from their habit of looking to authority, of moving under pressure of a force majeure; they have not, and can form but a faint idea of, that English liberty which is in our air, which M. de Montalembert used to call a bain de vie; but they have generally speaking, historically at any rate, more political knowledge than we have.

This accounts for much in the 'Romans' which, to the English reader, is wearying; they appeal to what he does not possess, a knowledge of the state of parties from '89 downwards. Every one, however, must appreciate the way in which the rise of Napoleon is shown to have been due to the corruption, the gross corruption, as well as imbecility of the Directory. No wonder Bonaparte despised mankind, when such poor specimens—vain, self-seeking, blindly conceited—were presented to him as the pick of republican France. Thus politics, as well as national character and habits (the habits, be it remembered, of that Alsace which is now to become the Ireland of Germany), are abundantly illustrated in these novels. We do not mean to analyse any of them, or to give samples which would be about as satisfactory as a single stone picked out of a Greek temple. The most touching of them is 'Madame ThÉrÈse,' which, showing as it does how heartily the Germans on the frontier sympathized with the ideas of which Hoche was the expounder, bears on the question, 'How will the annexed districts get on under Junker rule?' Quiet Dr. Jacob, the hero of the story, is already so smitten with revolutionary ideas, that when he hears them commented on by the wounded vivandiÈre whose life he has saved, he forgets that she is only the daughter of a village schoolmaster who had volunteered and had fallen, with his three sons, at Valmy, and, marrying her, joins Hoche as army surgeon. Men of this stamp are found on both sides of the Rhine; and to force Junkerism upon them would provoke a speedy break-up of the German empire. German optimists say that this danger is imaginary: acknowledging the disagreeable features in the Prussian character, they say that 'Germany will open Prussia out.' If not, trouble must ensue.

The 'Blocus' is, perhaps, the most picturesque of the whole series. The old Jew who, despite his timidity and his hatred of war, gradually becomes an effective national guard, is admirably drawn; the details of the siege, the misery, the excitement, are told so differently from the half flippant, half bombastic manner of even the best of 'our own correspondents.' The old soldier who, churl as he is supposed to be, meets the Jew's kindness with still greater kindness, and who, long refusing to believe in the Emperor's abdication, shoots himself when the truth is forced upon him, is a finished picture of which any artist might be proud. And the town thus immortalised is Phalsbourg, which henceforth is to be German. But we hope our readers will go to the books themselves: their appearance marks an era in novel-writing; it has done much more, for they are all novels with a purpose, and have been very powerful in pulling down the Napoleonic idol, in hastening the decay of the imperial idea.

The idol is overthrown; what will be reared in its place is doubtful. Political wisdom is not to be learned in six months, no matter how sternly its lessons may be enforced. The France which accepted Louis Napoleon, which gloried in the absurd boast, 'When France is satisfied the world is at rest,' which suffered itself to be kept in leading-strings for twenty years, giving full control over its wealth, its resources, its foreign and domestic policy, to an unscrupulous adventurer and his stock-jobbing associates, is not likely to rise at once to the dignity of a free people. 'Unstable as water' has hitherto been the curse of France's efforts at free government. The mission she has chosen has been to teach ideas to others, not to work them practically out for herself. When we read in old files of the approving Times of the revels at CompiÈgne, the luxury, the extravagance, we are reminded of the answer made to the first Napoleon, when he asked, 'Have I not got back the old system in toto?' 'Yes, but you forget that two million Frenchmen died to root out that old system; and you can't bring them to life again.'

Why is France, as a whole, sick of 'ideas?' Why, although they could dance round the statue of Strasburg when they ought to have been making peace and husbanding their strength for by-and-by, were the besieged Parisians incapable of any serious effort? Why was Trochu paralysed by the fear of Blanqui? Why should Bourbaki's wretched army have behaved so differently from that of Hoche, which was equally shoeless, and almost as much in want of everything, and which its enthusiastic leader kept at fighting point by allowing no tents during the bitterest winter that had been known for years? Man for man, Germans have always been superior to the French; to succeed, these last must move in masses welded together by one overmastering idea. They had no idea, no union, last year. Will this terrible lesson give them that unity of sentiment which Germany, since 1808, has been gradually feeling after, and has only just attained? Let us hope that sad experience may, at any rate, teach them the insufficiency of the very grandest of all merely human ideals. The noble thoughts of the 'Marseillaise'—

led to the brutal Carmagnole and the sickening excesses of the Terror, because, though noble, they were not sanctified. The sickness that comes from aiming at too much brought on a reaction which has lasted ever since; and the fact that Romanism is the hereditary religion of the French masses increases the difficulty of hearty national union. No earnest political reformer can ever look on the priests as more than temporary allies; no ultramontane can ever be an honest Republican.

What may come if Rome changes in the direction indicated by the AbbÉ (so he styled himself) and now lately by PÈre Hyacinthe, we cannot say; anyhow, such changes must be slow. At present the French priesthood must be reckoned among the bitter opponents of all free constitutional development.

The next few months will better enable us to determine whether Paris will still hold its own against France, or whether M. Leclercq's hope will be realized.[218] We may be quite sure that thousands of Frenchmen feel what he so well expresses—that it is Paris which made Louis Napoleon possible, even as it was Paris which enabled his uncle to be what he was. They both, indeed, used 'France' against Paris; but it was Paris which gave them a status at the outset. Those who think thus will feel that in the changed character of the capital is the best safeguard for the good government as well as for the moral regeneration of France; and if this change of character seems hopeless, the dangerous experiment must be tried of moving the Legislature out of such an unhealthy atmosphere.

We have thus striven to trace the growth and decay of Imperialism—which in its re-establishment was the practical expression of the Napoleonic idea—and to contrast it indirectly with the old rÉgime, and with the sad delusion which, beginning so nobly in 1789, too soon ended in perhaps the bloodiest tyranny that modern Europe has ever seen. We decline to draw any horoscope of the future; such prophesying is always useless. Let us hope that God, who 'fulfils Himself in many ways,' will comfort the faith which this cruel satire on modern progress has so rudely shaken, by showing plainly that good has come out of all the evil. We cannot hope that nations will yet recognise the truth that war is organised crime; but we may hope that for a long time imperialism, based, as we have shown it to be, on lawlessness and on the glorification of the individual, will be impossible.

That the beaten nation always deserves to suffer is a maxim which nothing but a distorted view of Scripture will propound. Berlin is not many degrees above Paris in morality; and France, despite the character given of her in her filthy novels, is certainly not without home life and deep pure home affections.

All that we can say is that we, believing in God's providence, are very sure that, however strangely things may seem to turn out, the course of this world is ordered by Him.

Art. VI.—Religious Tests and National Universities. By F. A. Paley, M.A. Williams and Norgate, 1871.

(2.) Report from the Select Committee of the House of Lords on University Tests.

Owing to the energy with which Her Majesty's Government have pushed through its earlier stages, the identical Universities Tests Bill which was so adroitly shelved last year by the resolution of the Marquis of Salisbury, we may confidently anticipate that, before these pages reach the public, every hindrance which kept men from the enjoyment of prizes which they had fairly won, and from posts of honour and usefulness which they were well qualified to fill, simply and solely because they were Nonconformists, will be swept away for ever. It would be gratifying if as reasonable a hope could be entertained that the far more stringent and objectionable religious test which is a practical bar to the enjoyment of half the fellowships of Oxford and Cambridge, not only to Nonconformists, but to all such as cannot say they believe in their hearts that they are inwardly moved by the Holy Ghost, and called, according to the Will of Our Lord Jesus Christ to His ministry, as defined by the Church of England, would be as speedily removed from the threshold of offices which in no way require, and, practically, are seldom associated with the exercise of this professedly divinely imposed ministry. The progress of events may discredit our hopes or our fears, but this need not prevent a review of the struggle for the abolition of those tests at the universities which are obnoxious to Nonconformists alone, as though it were a thing of the past; nor a prospective glance at the clerical test which is obnoxious to all conscientious laymen who object to give in their adhesion to a complex creed, and hesitate to assume functions which are imposed by the Majesty of Heaven, but defined by the Majesty of Britain. This is the point upon which we must next concentrate our forces.

In the course of a few years it will, no doubt, be a source of wonder that religious disabilities should have been retained at the universities so long after they have been removed from almost all civil and municipal offices throughout the realm. This wonder will certainly not be lessened by an enquiry into the nature of the offices they are supposed to guard, or the value of the emoluments which attach to those offices. That any man otherwise qualified to explain the laws which govern the physical forces of light and heat, or the principles of comparative anatomy, should be cut off from a professorship in these sciences, because he will not conform to a liturgy containing the Athanasian Creed, can never appear less absurd by the lapse of time. A fellowship at one of our colleges, is, as Mr. Paley correctly defines it, wholly and absolutely a sinecure. No duties whatever are required as a condition of its tenure. Fellowships are held by gentlemen who are absent from, as well as by those who are resident at their colleges, and if the residents in any way promote the discipline or education of the students in those colleges, they have extra payment for such services altogether apart from their incomes as fellows. The word 'sinecure,' however, as applied to a fellowship, loses much, if not all the odium usually attached to that term from the fact that fellows are elected absolutely according to their merit as scholars, as that merit is proved by success in the university and college examinations. It seems strange that one-half of the nation should have been so long content to be excluded from participation in the prizes of pure scholarship, when the possession of these, unlike the enjoyment of livings and benefices, involved no duties either lay or cleric. That creed or conformity should be required of those whose sole duty was to enjoy an income of £300 per annum is ridiculous, unless we adopt the theory that the disabilities were meant to be punitive in their character. The same remarks apply to the yet more lucrative headships of colleges. Nor can it be supposed that exclusion from these rewards of learning by a religious test was submitted to because the rewards were insignificant in amount, either singly or in the aggregate. Mr. Paley estimates the gross annual revenue of the two universities and their colleges at half a million of money, £50,000 of which goes to the heads of forty colleges and halls, while 730 fellows enjoy average incomes of not less than £300 a year. Thirty years' residence at Cambridge has given Mr. Paley the right to speak with some authority in these matters, but we think he has understated the amount of these emoluments. We should not be surprised if, at no distant day, a commission of enquiry should reveal, that the gross revenue of these institutions, calculated on the real value of their rapidly increasing property, is double the sum named. The apathy of other sects in not urging more determinedly their claims to have the prizes of the university course open to them, when the course itself is open to all comers, is not to be accounted for on the ground that they can afford to despise those prizes. The explanation lies in the fact that the injustice done them has never till lately assumed a practical and tangible form. The indifference of the English to theoretical grievances is proverbial, and a conjunction of circumstances has tended to mask the character of the injustice.

The circumstances referred to will in a few short years become hard to understand unless we seize the present moment to record them. On the one hand Nonconformists had not yet recovered from the repeated blows dealt upon them by the legislature—blows of which the Act of Uniformity may be taken as a striking example. Content to be tolerated and glad to be hidden, finding neither social comfort nor encouragement in the pursuit of the liberal professions, they sought in commerce a fair field and no favour, and entered on this avocation with an energy which has not a little tended to establish our national importance. At the present time we claim free entrance to the offices and emoluments of our universities, because they are national institutions, but to a dissenter a few years ago the very term national conveyed the idea of exclusion, as it still does in such phrases as 'National Church' and 'National School.' Nonconformists had almost learned to regard themselves as aliens, for so the legislature had taught them to consider themselves. The idea of demanding equal privileges with all other subjects of the Crown, had scarcely entered their thoughts. Hence the universities were regarded by them, as were also the army, navy, and the bar, as inhospitable places where they would be slighted and ignored.

On the other hand the universities them selves had, at the commencement of the present century, fallen from their high estate, and become corrupt, servile, and dead to all the higher aims which should distinguish institutions for learning and education. At that period a very narrow stream of conventional scholarship ran through a very wide meadow of mediocrity, which it never overflowed or irrigated. The modicum of knowledge required of the ?? p????? was contemptible, and every arrangement seemed to be based on the principle of letting through as easily as possible those who could afford to pay, and rendering the course of study of the studious as useless as the nature of study would permit. At the time when Gunning was the repository of university gossip, it is evident that both university and colleges were dishonest in their distribution of both honours and emoluments; they were willing to set the university stamp of education upon men whose only claim to be considered educated consisted in their being able to bear the lavish expenditure of college life. From this depth of degradation the universities have been slowly extricating themselves, while during the same period Nonconformity has been relieving itself from civil disabilities, and increasing in wealth and influence. The two circles, which were once far apart, have by synchronous enlargement at length cut one another. Despite every discouragement, Dissenters began to send their sons to the ancient universities, especially to that of Cambridge. Of those sent up a large proportion were men of great ability. Messrs. Stirling, Aldis, Wilkins, and Hartog—and during the present year Dr. Hopkinson—and many others, obtained the highest places in the competitive examination. These men were no doubt consciously fighting the battle of liberty of conscience in general, and of their co-religionists in particular. The stimulus afforded to their competitors by the prizes incident to a high place in the tripos lists was, in their case, substituted by a desire to break down a system of injustice which oppressed their several sects, and the nobler impulse produced the noblest results. From the time of the triumph of such men the question assumed a new character. The injustice had ceased to be theoretical, and appealed for redress to every right-minded man in language which could neither be misunderstood nor disregarded. The tacit eloquence of unrewarded merit addressed itself most powerfully to the most influential quarters. However averse to self-reform the governing bodies at the universities might be, since they were composed of men who had climbed to their present dignity by the arduous path of study, these could not be altogether without sympathy for men of like ability. Hence the party for the abolition of tests within the universities has wonderfully augmented of late years, and, as is natural, numbers as its own the men of the greatest talent. These tests which had been regarded as the heavy armour of defence began so to gall that they are now looked upon as more cumbersome than useful. Whatever might be the necessity for the maintenance of tests, the incidental evil that men of such industry and acquirement should fail of their appropriate rewards could not but be deplored by all generous minds. Henceforth candid enquirers began to ask what were the uses of tests which were to counterbalance these palpably bad results? and men not celebrated for candour saw the necessity of finding some arguments in their favour.

Attention having been imperatively called to the question of tests, their abolition became certain. Besides the direct injustice done, it was soon perceived that tests inflicted indirect injury upon the whole body of Nonconformists, upon the universities themselves, and on the nation at large. Religion, discredited by her uncharitable janizaries, longed to repudiate them, and both religion and morality discarded safeguards which could exclude the man who was so loyal to the God of truth that he would not violate His truth in the slightest particular, but could include any infidel, provided he were not only infidel to his God, but also to his own conscience.

Nonconformists became alive to the necessity of claiming a perfect political and social equality with all other of her Majesty's subjects: they perceived that their practical exclusion from the old universities gave some colour to the imputation of ignorance and narrow-mindedness which their enemies had sedulously endeavoured to fix upon them.

University reformers, bent on opening the universities to all classes for the furtherance of every branch of study, saw the necessity of removing every invidious distinction, and welcoming on equal terms that half of the nation which had hitherto regarded these institutions as places where their sons would not have fair play. The rapid growth and wide influence of the London University, where no such disabilities existed, no doubt quickened the perception of these reformers, each of whom beheld his Alma Mater beginning to weep like Niobe for the loss of her children.

To oppose this rising current of opinion that set against the tests, their defenders had only such arguments as could be ranged under two categories; the one retrospective, and the other prospective. It was contended that by abolishing the tests the wills of the founders and donors would be violated, and the violence done to them would have a tendency to weaken the rights of property, and dry up the streams of benevolence. It was further argued that these tests were the only safeguards which could defend the minds of our youth from the inroads of infidelity, and from the hydra-headed monster of unbelief which was quickening into such active life. These were the two sheet anchors cast out astern and astem to keep the tests from drifting to destruction. The cogent logic of facts soon showed that, however good the anchors might be, their cables could not hold. The application of these arguments was singularly unfortunate. For the benefit of such uncompromising advocates of the tests as the Rev. E. H. Perowne, who, if sincere, must now be pacing the deck of his forlorn craft in fear of instant and imminent shipwreck, we may show the insecurity of the stays to which he trusted.

It is notorious that the offices and emoluments guarded by the tests were made, not for churchmen by churchmen, but for Catholics by Catholics. In the case of the writer of the pamphlet at the head of this article, we have a singular instance of cruel disregard of the wills of the founders. Mr. Paley is one of the best instructors in classics, and perhaps the most voluminous classical author in the University of Cambridge. He is in every way qualified for any post of classical instruction, but because he is an adherent of that church to which the founders of nine-tenths of the colleges belonged, he could receive no benefit from emoluments which were specially intended, where there was any limit to their application at all, for his co-religionists. On the narrowest conservative grounds Mr. Paley might urge his right to enjoy promotion in the university he adorns. If he were told by an advocate for tests, that the offices and emoluments were secured to the adherents of the religion of the state, and that they were since reserved for the professors of a different faith, because the state had adopted that new faith, he would doubtless reply;—that his church had never stooped so low as to admit that articles of faith could be matters of state legislation, and that the Catholic founders of the colleges would have stood aghast at the astounding anomaly of a state-made church. Surely none but an outlaw to the realms of logic and ethics could after that maintain that he ought to be excluded. Mr. Paley has chosen to advocate the abolition of tests on broader grounds. He is a Roman Catholic of the most liberal type, but as a Catholic citizen, whether liberal or ultramontane, his defence of his right to participate in the honours of the university is impregnable. We can readily imagine the just indignation with which the claim to these universities, as Church of England institutions still carrying out the wills and wishes of the original Catholic founders, made by those who are perpetually taunting Catholics with a want of veracity, would be flung aside as a sophism unworthy of men who ought to identify religion with the strictest honesty and truth.

But, even if this sophism were more worthy of the adoption of honourable men, it has become quite obsolete and inapplicable at the present time. The abolitionists might concede, for the sake of argument, that it is right that donors, living in a remote age, should be assisted by the present administration of law to attach conditions to the tenure of property which have a tendency to modify, restrain, and stereotype the political and religious opinions of a nation centuries after they had ceased to mingle with the affairs of men. They might even admit that no considerations of the wishes and convenience of the present holders of the property, nor the promotion of that education which is the main object for which the colleges and universities were founded, nor the requirements of the nation, ought to be permitted to modify the administration of the property by the present governing bodies. They might further forget that the universities were constituted by royal charter, and upheld by continual renewals of their charters. If colleges were looked upon as corporations irresponsibly holding property more absolutely than corporate bodies have ever been permitted to do in any enlightened state, yet these admissions would in no way affect or enfeeble the action of those who are now urging on the abolition of all religious tests. They, at least, are not responsible for introducing any novel principle of action dangerous to the stability of property. For, to say nothing of all past legislation,—including that act of uniformity which by limiting the election to headships, fellowships, chaplaincies, and the office of tutor to a certain class of persons, recognises an imperial authority to remove these limits—we have the recent Oxford and Cambridge University Acts. The latter Act specially and distinctly empowers the governing body of any college to repeal from its deeds of constitution, &c., disqualifications to office, and to abolish oaths and declarations. The Oxford Act has a section of the same tenor, but owing to its having been passed two years earlier, it is less distinct and explicit. This interference of the legislature has already been accepted by many of the colleges. Proceeding under the provisions of that Act, many of the governing bodies have removed the necessity for celibacy from the holding of fellowships, and made other important modifications with regard to the tenure of office, and the receipt of emoluments. It has therefore been recognised on all hands by Churchmen and Dissenters, by the authors of the act of uniformity, and the supporters of the University Acts, by Parliament as well as by the colleges, that the special provisions of the donors may be set aside in order to promote the main object of their benefactions. It is strange that men conversant with these facts should be content to occupy ground which, while it is completely commanded by their opponents, is to them a labyrinth of absurdities.

In some cases the Tests Bill will absolutely restore to the colleges their ancient rights and liberty which the legislature had previously ruthlessly curtailed. In the statutes of Trinity Hall, Cambridge, it is expressly and advisedly provided that no religious disabilities shall bar their offices. At the last annual meeting of the fellows of Trinity College, the following resolution was passed by twenty-five votes against ten: "That the master and seniors take such steps as may be necessary in order to repeal the religious restrictions in the election and conditions of tenure of fellows at present contained in the statutes." This vote is rendered nugatory, so far as nonconformists are concerned, because of an unrepealed clause in the Act of Uniformity. Thus, at Trinity, we have a governing body intent on rendering its means of education efficient, and administering rewards strictly in accordance with merit, but debarred from doing so, not by the wills of the founders, but by a subsequent innovation which restricts the rights of the present holders of the college property. Such a state of things appeals to every true conservative as well as to every wise liberal instinct for speedy and complete legislation.

The stern cable of the maintainers of tests having parted, is the fibre of the other more reliable? The confidence in the efficiency of tests, which was once almost universal, is being every day shaken by fresh revelations of their futility. At the Universities the tests have been themselves tested and found to be base metal, stamped indeed with the die of authority, but current only in those marts where credulity holds commerce with cruelty. Bishop Colenso was long a resident and, so far as his powers of imparting mathematical instruction are concerned, an ornament to the University of Cambridge, yet Bishop Colenso denies the inspiration of writings which the Church of England holds to be canonical. If it be maintained that his heterodoxy was subsequent to his residence, it may be replied, that he has ceased to reside at Cambridge because he has accepted preferment to an office which involves submission to a multiplicity of tests, each more stringent than that which attaches to a fellowship. Professors Baden Powell and Jowitt, two of the ablest writers in the volume which was once popularly called 'The Challenge of the Seven Champions of un-Christendom,' occupied distinguished places in the University of Oxford. Probably if we were to search for the home of the most dangerous kind of skepticism we should find it not far removed from the Combination rooms of Oxford and Cambridge, where 'the dons' discuss high matters at their ease 'across the walnuts and the wine.' This is certainly the case if we may take the evidence of Mr. Paley, who thus writes:—

'In plain words, every one knows that a person may be an avowed member of the Church of England, and yet be a downright rationalist. Thousands are undoubtedly such. To talk therefore of "admitting free-thinking" by removing tests, can only raise a smile in those who know intimately the working of the present system. Indeed, it has been well said, that if the religious nonconformists who are excluded from fellowships could hear the conversation of many who now hold them, they would be as much shocked as surprised at the fruits which the test-system is producing.'

It is easy to conceive of a case in which these arguments for the retention of tests might be urged with great force. It is scarcely possible to imagine a case in which they could be rendered more feeble and futile by the comment of circumstance.

The progress of events and the logic of facts could scarcely render the University tests more absurd, did not these make them day by day more pernicious to the charity and concord of Christians of all denominations, more galling and injurious to the Universities, now striving nobly and efficiently to meet the requirements of the age, and more detrimental to the interests and highest aspirations of the British nation.

In tracing the causes why these University Tests have existed so long, it has been impossible to avoid incidentally producing the reasons why they should endure no longer.

The test imposed at Cambridge, by requiring the graduate when he proceeds to his B.A. degree to declare himself a bon fide member of the Church of England, not only excludes the nonconformist from a voice in the senate, which body is the popular and ultimate regulator of the studies of the university, but it also denies to him a vote for the members representing the university in Parliament. This is the only constituency in which a religious belief is made to curtail the exercise of the franchise.

Headships and fellowships in colleges, as distinguished from the offices of tutor, lecturer, and dean, are sinecures involving no onerous duties, and not necessarily connected with the imparting of instruction of any kind, whether religious or secular. They are posts of honour and not of trust. Their occupants, no doubt, influence and control the course of study at their colleges, but they need not be and are not by their offices personally concerned in education. These posts, therefore, not only involve no clerical duty, they do not demand the exercise of those debateable functions which lie between the lay and clerical offices, such as the education of youth is supposed to imply. To use an illustration now rendered familiar to most by the practical working of the Education Act; the master and fellows of a college occupy the position of a school board, while the tutors and lecturers alone instruct. Lecturers in the several departments of study are, it is true, generally chosen from the body of fellows, but by no means necessarily so. Hence, there is no analogy between the test imposed on the clergy, and that which is taken by the heads and fellows of the colleges. The former is a pledge to perform definite functions for which the functionaries receive a definite stipend, the latter is a test applied to those who require service to be performed. The test as applied to these offices has become an unparalleled anomaly. It is the last remnant of the revengeful policy exercised by the Anglican upon the Puritan party, after these were driven from their short-lived supremacy.

Thus viewed, the tests at the universities are like the Needle rocks, which once were continuous with the neighbouring cliff, but are now become strange and fantastic through the isolation imposed upon them by the waves of the ever advancing ocean. As political change is as rapid and certain as geologic change is slow and sure, their bold position is an evidence not of their immunity from, but of their amenableness to the influence of the forces which play upon their bases.

The offices of tutor, dean, lecturer, &c., inasmuch as they are directly connected with the moral supervision and education of the undergraduates in all branches of study, including theology, stand in a somewhat different position with regard to tests. To those unacquainted with the universities, the distinction between these two classes of office is not obvious. The general impression obtains that these national institutions are training schools for the clergy of the Establishment, in which training all resident officials are concerned; but the members of the governing bodies themselves are quite aware of the difference pointed out. Unless this distinction could be made there would be no locus standi for the select committee of the House of Lords appointed for the purpose of inquiring into the best mode of giving effect to the following resolution of the house—

All the gentlemen who gave evidence before that committee, with the exception of the Rev. E. H. Perowne, who has the reputation of being the most uncompromising and indiscriminating advocate of tests, recognise this distinction; and all suggest that while fellowships, or some of them, be thrown open to all, a modified test be applied to the functional posts.

The pernicious principle that Government has a right to interfere between parents and their children in the regulation of the religious instruction of youth, has, no doubt, been often acted upon. Thus that Act of Uniformity, which is now the main prop of university tests, requires subscription not only from persons in holy orders and university officials, but also from schoolmasters in private as well as in public schools, and even from tutors in private families.

The recent legislation for the primary education of the country has, however, thrown a flood of light on the relations of education to religion, and of the State to both. It is scarcely conceivable that the Parliament which passed the Elementary Education Act of 1870, should retain a sectarian test as a safeguard to offices because they are posts of education. The Education Act was avowedly tentative and incomplete. It was a compromise, in which the representatives of old ideas obtained more recognition than they had anticipated. The bill will certainly be modified before many years are gone, and if so the modification is sure to be in the direction of eliminating the sectarian element from education. Yet there was great unanimity of opinion among the parties to the discussion in certain principles embodied in the Act. These principles were: 1. That the State might neither provide nor require definite religious instruction. 2. That where, owing to existing methods of denominational education, it was necessary for the State to make the various sects its allies to effect the common object of secular education, it should deal to all denominations even-handed justice. 3. That wherever the State interfered or was concerned with education, no child who was the recipient of the benefactions applied to instruction should be placed at any disadvantage on account of the religious belief of the parents of that child.

If the House of Lords should endeavour so to mutilate the University Tests bill as to substitute a test, however modified or limited in its action, in place of that imposed by the Act of Uniformity, it would ask the legislature to violate every one of the aforesaid principles, and thus to stultify itself. Such an attempt is certain to be successfully resisted. We had better not legislate at all than re-endorse a time dis-honoured practice.

The Elementary Education Act, while it thus indicated the nature of the reform required, also furnished the most urgent reason for the immediate adoption of that reform at the universities. If primary education ought to be the care of the State, secondary education is not less its duty. By secondary education we mean a higher education than that rudimentary training which is thought essential to all children; that is, a higher class education, not education for a higher class. That the child of a poor man who has shown himself capable of wider and higher culture by the readiness with which he has responded to the lower, should not be able to proceed to a higher class school, because of the poverty of his parents, would be even more deplorable than that dull ones should lack education altogether. The universities form the natural apex of the pyramid of national education. The nation can never rightly economise and utilise its intellect until every one of its children, capable of such culture, can pass freely up through all the grades of education to the very summit. If this is to be the case the capital must be rendered congruous with the column it should surmount. By reason of tests the national universities are rendered so incongruous with the rest of the structure that is in course of erection, that no cement could make them cohere. If by common consent we must eliminate sectarian religion from elementary education in the interests of the child whose father is so stolidly indifferent to the higher needs of that child that he must be compelled to send him to school; how absurd it is to provide that when he has grown into manhood and shown a capacity for the reception of the highest culture, he should be handed over for instruction to a body rendered exclusively sectarian by the retention of antiquated religious tests. The inauguration of a national scheme of education is an epoch in the history of the nation. It is a crisis in the history of the universities. On the present settlement of this question in some measure depends whether the ancient universities shall stand in the position of the Doric capitals which crown the columns and support the architrave of the classic temple, or lie like those same capitals after the earthquake has dashed them to the ground—the broken and isolated fragments of a former grandeur.

From a review of the past struggle, in which we have endeavoured to show how the march of events, the advance of ideas, and the change of position of parties, rendered the old line of defence formed by these tests, not only indefensible, but deserted by its defenders, we turn to examine the ground of the next battle-field.

The necessity of taking holy orders as a condition for holding or retaining offices and emoluments at the universities and their colleges is a test of the most stringent and pernicious character. Every argument against tests in the abstract, may be urged with double force against this clerical test. Every consideration of the welfare of nonconformists, of the universities, and of the nation, which has determined the abolition of the simple tests, is of greater force when applied to the complex test implied in the taking of holy orders.

Fully one-half of the fellowships of Oxford and Cambridge, and nearly two-thirds of the headships, can be enjoyed only by clergy of the Establishment. This clerical test is therefore a practical bar to Nonconformists of half the preferments of these wealthy national institutions; and the fact that all conscientious laymen are included under this academic ban certainly does not commend this test to exceptional retention. Colleges, where there is a certain minimum of clerical fellowships, are at the present moment compelled to elect inferior men when all their lay fellowships are filled. In colleges like Trinity and St. John's, Cambridge, where all must take orders at a certain date from their degrees, the more able and energetic men usually become absorbed in other pursuits and vacate their fellowships to serve in turn to younger men as means of defying the impecuniosity which notoriously dogs the early stages of a professional career; while the idlers as naturally become sinecure pluralists, because the dignity of the priest need not interfere with the fellow's ease. By this system the colleges are equally dishonoured by those whom they retain and those whom they reject. By this system the nation also suffers, by allowing the large revenues of national institutions to be squandered on cureless priests, which, by some such arrangement as is explained by Mr. Paley, might secure to literature and science the labours of our greatest scholars and ablest investigators. To this catalogue of ill effects may be added the damage done by the clerical test to the Church of England. Many years of university life is admitted to be the very worst preparation for parish work. As a rule, fellows manifest great repugnance to take upon themselves, in middle life, the duties involved in the acceptance of a college living; and the man who allows himself to drift first into holy orders and then into a college benefice, from sheer inanity, is not likely to bring much zeal to his work.

We are quite aware that a very different view of this result of clerical fellowships is taken by their advocates; and this brings us to the examination of those reasons which may be brought forward to show that the clerical test stands on a footing different from that of other tests. The advocates of clerical fellowships would state, first, that the clerical test was not imposed ab extra by the Imperial Legislature, but rested wholly and solely on the wills of the founders and donors of the emoluments and offices it guarded. They would argue, secondly, that by removing the tests from lay fellowships a sufficient number were thrown open to satisfy and reward all the Nonconformist scholars who were likely to seek education at the universities, and that by retaining the clerical fellowships a preponderance would be secured at the seats of learning in favour of Protestant Christianity, which preponderance is a desideratum with nine-tenths of the English people. They would show, thirdly, that these clerical fellowships induced men, having the reputation and acquirements of scholars, to enter, and thereby adorn and strengthen a Church which more than ever needs learned divines to meet scientific sceptics on their own ground.

All this may be true, but it is very little to the purpose. Whether the colleges, or any of them, were originally monastic institutions is a curious antiquarian question, but the requirement of holy orders and celibacy, from every member of the fraternity, in many instances, at least, originated in times when the recognition of a distinction between the regular and secular clergy was a part of the public opinion of the day. A community which accepted the theory that good works could be performed by a sacerdotal order which would benefit men's souls after death, quite irrespective of any effect which could be produced upon them during life, might look with complacency on fraternities freed from social ties, and consecrated to spiritual uses when these uses were not apparent. Nowadays, however, a collegiate priest is of all men least likely to give himself to works of supererogation. The duties of a fellow of a college and a priest without cure can be defined only as Bishop Blomfield once defined the functions of an archdeacon, namely, as archidiaconal. These duties may both once have been burdensome, but now the academic Issachar crouches down between them, and declares rest to be good and the land pleasant. The plain teaching of the clerical test is, not that we ought to follow the letter of the wills of the founders when it contravenes their spirit, but that well-meaning men can do little good, and may do much harm, by endeavouring to impose the ideas of one age on the customs and manners of a remotely future one.

It is a wild expectation that the maintenance of a Christian and Protestant ascendancy at the universities will establish oases in the midst of the barren desert of doubt, or clearings in the forest of Papist superstition, such as the several religious alarmists, according to their bent and temperament, would induce us to believe our country will soon become. Let those who delight in clothing bugbears with imaginary terrors speculate on the possibility of a Mussulman or a Parsee becoming an examiner for the theological degree, or a positivist becoming a professor of exegesis. A reasonable man will consider the conditions upon which such a thing could occur. Our nation must have forsaken a faith which has existed among us for a thousand years. Our legislature and our universities, both equally transcripts of the popular mind, must have forgotten their God. In such a case is it conceivable that a religion alike abandoned by a people which it has raised to power and prosperity, and by the Deity which promulgated it, should be preserved to our colleges by the operation of a test which is even now profaned by men who avow their readiness to swear et ceteras?

The great classical scholar Person, himself a sufferer under, and a protester against the clerical test, used to say that a fellow's life was like the lime-tree avenue at Trinity—a long walk with a church at the end of it. This was said in reference to Coton spire seen in the distance.

The present Bishop of Carlisle said in a sermon addressed to the University of Cambridge, 'We want men to enter the ministry of our Church who, if they went to the bar, would succeed at the bar.' There was a curious admission implied in these words, but to do Dean Goodwin justice, he was then speaking, not in defence of clerical fellowships, but to rouse the voluntary enthusiasm of the students he addressed.

That scholars are induced by the practical working of the system of clerical fellowships to take their places among the clergy of the Establishment cannot be denied, but the argument deducible from this, savours both of bigotry and worldliness. A clerical fellowship is in this view a skilfully-baited trap to catch a Church decoration. We have many instances to show that by placing upon learned men the badge of orthodoxy you do not make them defenders of the faith. Too often the false position of a man, thus entrapped, makes him cynically sceptical. Of such an one it may often be said, 'A little grain of conscience makes him sour,' and causes him—

This endeavour to affix a plume to the helmet of faith worn by the church militant is in strange relation to the thanksgiving which proceeded from the Head of the Church, 'I thank Thee, O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that Thou hast hid these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto babes.' This is evidently solely a Churchman's consideration, and does not deserve our further notice; but it is intimately related to the wider question of the influence of this test on morality and religion.

We cannot better preface our concluding remarks on this important bearing of the subject than by quoting the evidence given by the Rev. D. P. Chase and Professor J.B. Lightfoot before the Committee of the House of Lords:—

Dr. Chase does not endorse this lax morality, for he says as follows:—

Lord E. Fitzmaurice, in the debate on clerical fellowships, is reported to have said:—

Lord Fitzmaurice has so lately left the University of Cambridge that his recollection of it must be very vivid. The sentences quoted have just that quality of candid but rather indiscriminate truth, flavoured with somewhat flippant and irreverent satire; which would have brought down the house at the Union Debating Society. Indeed we can hardly refrain from thinking these words were originally prepared for the benefit of the audience there assembled.

The ingenuity of the great enemy of souls would be taxed in vain to hit upon a device by which the ministry of Christ and the truth of God could be more thoroughly brought into contempt in the judgment of susceptible youth, which is ever keen to detect selfish shams, and ever loyal to self-sacrificing nobility. The system of clerical fellowships is such a scheme—

If this hoar iniquity of clerical tests be for a few years longer maintained by a mistaken section of Churchmen, it will be our duty as Nonconformists, during that time, by making a vigorous protest through every channel by which public opinion is influenced, to show that if these tests be safeguards they are safeguards not of Catholic Christianity, but of sectarian ascendancy; to keep the fair garments of religion unspotted by a worldly and turbid policy; to cause that the contempt which cannot but be felt should light not upon the royal priesthood of Christ, but on the priesthood of the Establishment; and to demonstrate that, if truth be violated, she is violated by no criminal consent of ours.

Art. VII.—The War of 1870-1.

In the last number of this Review we endeavoured to describe what may be called the first act of the tremendous contest which has convulsed Europe during the last eight months. We glanced at the original causes of the war long impending between Germany and France, reviewed the opening passages of the struggle, the gathering of the antagonist hosts, the false strategy of Napoleon III., the great ability of his opponents, the first victories that were the result,—WÖrth, Forbach, and the battles at Metz; and examined the remarkable movements which led to the catastrophe of Sedan, an event unparalleled in military history. Pursuing the narrative, we noticed briefly the consequences of that awful disaster—the advance of the German armies to Paris, and their investment of the famous capital; and said a few words on the grand spectacle afforded by France at this conjuncture, when, after her unprecedented reverses, she unrolled the banner of national resistance, and tried to stem the flood of Teutonic invasion. We felt, however, that it would be premature to dwell at length on the scenes of the latter conflict, because their issue was as yet uncertain, and we postponed to the present number a more elaborate survey of them. We now propose to give a short account of the second and closing act of the drama, comprising the marvellous siege of Paris, the efforts of France to relieve the city, and their defeat by the German hosts, and, finally, the fall of the beleaguered capital after an heroic resistance. This phase of the war is altogether different from that which preceded it, and in many respects is more interesting. It is not a mere succession of dazzling triumphs caused by genius and force on one side and incapacity and weakness on the other; it is a frightful international strife, in which, owing to peculiar circumstances, the result was for a long time doubtful; in which the belligerent which at first seemed prostrate made a rally of an extraordinary kind, and placed its opponent in comparative danger; and in which victory was decided at last through the continued efforts of rare ability wielding perfectly organized military force, and prevailing over patriotic energy, strong in the elements of warlike power, but untrained, undisciplined, and badly directed. This part of the campaign shows us how the defences of Paris caused the invading armies, which had never expected that they would hold out, to be exposed to formidable attacks; how the breathing-time obtained in this way enabled France to rise again, and to put immense masses of men into the field; and how, in consequence of their military situation, the Germans, although at all points victorious, necessarily occupied a precarious position; and it shows not less clearly how superiority of generalship, of skill, and of efficiency in war, turned the scale at last against mere numbers, though possessing some remarkable advantages. As for the lessons to be deduced from the straggle, it lays bare painfully the real causes of the overwhelming calamities of France; it reveals very plainly the true nature of the gigantic Power now dominant in Europe; and it makes thinking persons sadly admit that, notwithstanding civilization and progress, the passions of man remain little changed, that the lust of conquest burns as fiercely at the close as at the beginning of the nineteenth century, that experience seems unable to teach that the triumphs of mere ambition and force are often a curse even to the victor.

After the disaster of Sedan, the German armies proceeded at once to march on Paris. At this moment the last regular army of France in the field was a mass of prisoners; the Army of the Rhine, the hope of the nation, was shut up with Bazaine at Metz, hemmed in by the corps of Prince Frederic Charles; and France seemed so utterly vanquished that even the cautious German leaders could see no possible danger in moving into the heart of the invaded country, though they had not taken one important fortress, or even occupied one line of railway. Besides, it was assumed in the German camp that the advance to Paris would be little more than a military pageant or demonstration; the city had fallen in 1814 and 1815 after a resistance of a mere nominal kind; though it had been since fortified, the fortifications were known to be within the range of modern heavy guns; and, in any case, it was taken for granted that a population like the Parisians would never venture to make a stand, or submit to anything like privations. Accordingly, the magnificent German hosts were directed in two enormous masses from Sedan against the devoted city, the Fourth Army under the Crown Prince of Saxony advancing by Vouziers and Rheims towards the Marne, the Third, under the Crown Prince of Prussia, descending from Rheims upon the Seine, the object of both being to converge and hem in Paris in an investing circle. Eye-witnesses have recorded with admiration how superb was the aspect of these mighty arrays as, flushed with astonishing success, and in the most perfect military discipline, they rolled on through the plains of Champagne in all the pomp and circumstance of war, finding literally nothing to check their progress. By the 15th or 16th of September the two armies had made good their way to the rivers which, in their uniting bends, form the first lines of the defence of Paris; the Crown Prince of Saxony having reached Meaux, and his colleague having pushed forward to MÉlun. Soon after these points had been passed, the first signs of opposition appeared. After the fall of the Imperial rÉgime, General Trochu, who had been President of the Government of National Defence, had been making great preparations to enable Paris to stand a siege; and as it was of vital importance to retard the assailants as long as possible, he had sent one detachment to hold in check the Germans in the valley of the Marne, and another to attack the Crown Prince of Prussia as he crossed the Seine to the south of the city. Their efforts, however, completely failed, the French troops with Vinoy and Ducrot, demoralized by repeated defeats, being wholly unable to withstand the Germans; and on the 19th of September the invading armies had closed on all sides around the beleaguered city, the Crown Prince of Prussia having mastered a range of heights overlooking the defences to the north, and having captured some temporary works erected by Trochu along their position. The army of the Crown Prince of Saxony spread along the northern and eastern parts of Paris, from Charenton to about Argenteuil; that of his brother Prince completed the circle from the Marne across the Seine to St. Germains, the head-quarters being at Versailles.

In this way, within two or three days after their first appearance on the Marne and Seine, the German invaders had encompassed Paris, and by the 22d of September the investment was complete. It is said that the fortifications merely saved the city from the terrors of an assault; but, however this may have been, these works were already in a condition which compelled the Germans to pause, and to make their approaches with circumspection. In fact, the natural strength of Paris as a defensible position is exceedingly great; and the artificial defences, though constructed before the invention of the artillery of this day, had rendered the capital a powerful fortress. Paris is protected along its eastern front by the converging streams of the Marne and Seine, thrown before it like a series of fosses, and by the succession of heights extending from the plain of St. Denis to Vincennes; to the west it is covered by the winding returns of the Seine, from SÈvres to beyond St. Germains; and to the north and south, though at these points weaker, it is not without a barrier marked out by nature. The result is that Paris is, as it were, designed for a vast entrenched camp, very difficult to surround or attack; for its situation on the rivers which wind about it not only compels an enemy to divide his forces if he would invest it, but exposes him to considerable danger, especially if a defending army held the eastern heights before referred to. This naturally strong and vast position had been fortified with great care in 1841, by engineers of the school of the first Napoleon. A ditch had been thrown around the city, and a rampart with regular bastions made; but these were merely the internal lines. The real and external defences were a series of powerful detached forts, so arranged as to support each other, and to constitute a zone on all sides of great dimensions, difficult to approach. For this purpose every advantage had been taken of the character of the place; the forts were so built as to command the obstacles formed by the Marne and Seine, and thus to enable troops to bar the passage of an enemy across these streams. They also crowned the eastern heights, and thence covered St. Denis to the north; and while one fort only—that of ValÉrien—threw a shield over the western front, four or five, along a range of projecting eminences, protected the southern and southwestern. It must be added, however, that those who designed the fortifications of Paris always supposed that an army would be within the zone comprised by the range of the forts, and would thus be able to oppose an enemy; and, owing to the invention of heavy rifled guns, the southern forts, from Charenton to Versailles, were comparatively weak, and liable to attack.

Such was the aspect of the defences of Paris when, at the end of the third week of September, they were surrounded by their Teutonic foes. The forts and ramparts were extremely formidable, but they were, as yet, ill-armed with heavy guns, and, above all, the great element required for a successful defence—a well-regulated and disciplined army, to prevent an enemy from closing round—was, for the present, altogether wanting. General Trochu, in concert with subordinate officers, had for several weeks laboured hard in bringing into the city artillery and munitions of war. Paris had become a vast arsenal for constructing fieldpieces, manufacturing gunpowder, and fabricating all kinds of military appliances; and an immense number of men fit for service, amounting, it is said, to half a million, including 250,000 National Guards, had been congregated within the walls to form the materials of an organized force. But though the efforts of the Governor and his assistants, and the patriotism of the population, had been admirable; though stores of provisions had been laid in; though foundries and workshops had toiled day and night in casting ordnance and preparing cartridges; and though the multitude of recruits had been subjected to continual drill, Paris was not ready when the Germans appeared; and, in consequence, after the feeble resistance of Vinoy and Ducrot on the 17th, the investment was completed without difficulty, and the first great object of the besiegers was attained. Yet, though Trochu was thus driven to a passive defence—what had hardly been seriously contemplated by those who had fortified Paris—he did not despair or lose heart; and we may believe that he had good hopes that France would be saved through the resistance of Paris. He knew that the city possessed resources of food for several months; he was aware that it was possible to create a vast supply of cannon and arms; he thought that he would have time to make out of the crude masses of men in his hands an efficient army inside the walls; and on these data he formed a scheme for the defence of the country, which, though it failed, and though, as we think, it was open to censure, was, nevertheless, not without grandeur. He would render Paris impregnable to attack, and detain the Germans around the ramparts for a time passing their calculations; he would form into soldiers the levies he commanded, while provincial armies would be raised in France. And if these forces could be made to combine, and attack the besiegers from without and within, how critical might their position become, divided, as they would be, around the capital, and distant from the frontier, perhaps in the depths of winter! In that case, it was not impossible that the siege would be raised, perhaps after a great defeat, and that the Germans would be compelled to retire; and the retreat might become one of extraordinary loss and disaster.

To make, therefore, Paris as strong as possible, although defended passively at first; to allow the besiegers to invest it without molestation for some time, inasmuch as this was unhappily necessary; to consider the capital the main pivot and cardinal point of the national war; and to combine operations by means of which an army, to be formed under his own auspices, was to fall on the Germans, while an army outside was to cooperate in the attack—such were the leading features of Trochu's project; and though, as we have said, it invites criticism, and it did not lead to the deliverance of France, it was nearer success than may perhaps be imagined. The Governor of Paris addressed himself energetically and steadily to carrying it out; and during the first few weeks after the investment, his whole care was directed to the increasing and strengthening of the defences, and the fashioning into military shape the enormous levies which had been collected. Heavy guns were turned out in quantities, and mounted upon the forts and ramparts; new works were constructed to add their fire to that of the original fortifications; redoubts were thrown up at several points, and armed with batteries of a formidable kind; the southern forts especially were protected; and at Avron and Villejuif, on the eastern and south-eastern fronts of the city, the investing circle began to be threatened by what, technically, are called counter-approaches, bristling with large and destructive artillery. The result was that although the armed masses within Paris were almost quiescent, and the besiegers were only slightly molested by an occasional and distant cannonade, their lines were gradually removed and forced back, and the obstacles to continuing the siege became more and more evident. At the same time, the organization of the masses inside the city went on regularly, and before long a real army of 150,000 men, supplied with artillery, officers and a staff, and in a fair state of military power, was formed out of the chaotic multitude crowded together when the siege had commenced—an achievement marvellous under the circumstances. Meanwhile, having escaped in a balloon, M. Gambetta had devoted the singular powers of his enthusiastic and passionate nature to raising and equipping provincial armies; and, aided by the patriotism of France, his success had been, on the whole, surprising. Old soldiers were recalled to the standard, recruits joined the ranks in hundreds of thousands, and immense efforts were made to procure field guns and small arms in sufficient quantities. In a few weeks four armies seemed to start, as it were, from the earth, in France—those of the North, the East, the West, and the Loire—all intended either to resist the farther advance of the German foe, or to co-operate in the relief of the capital. The first three armies were, as yet, in a very bad and ill-disciplined state; but the fourth army—that of the Loire—composed largely of veteran troops, and numbering nearly 100,000 men, with from 300 to 350 guns, was by no means to be despised by an enemy.

While France had thus been collecting her strength for a great effort of national resistance, the Germans on their side had not been idle. Though disappointed, as days rolled on, that Paris still held resolutely out, and though conscious that its defences were assuming a very formidable shape, they seem not yet to have supposed that a long siege was already certain. Nevertheless, they proceeded to clear their communications with the frontier, and to collect supplies from all parts of the country within tolerably easy reach of Paris; and for this purpose the sieges of some of the north-eastern fortresses of France were begun, and flying columns were despatched as far as Dreux, Chartres, Beauvais, and Orleans, to sweep the adjoining districts of their crops and cattle. These raiders, however, although they formed a kind of observing force for the investing lines, were not properly a covering army strong enough to defeat a real effort made in strength to relieve the capital; they were little more than petty detachments; and there can be no doubt that the German leaders were not yet sufficiently aware of the power of France to renew the contest. They seem, indeed, to have specially under-rated the real force of the Army of the Loire, which was now collected just north of Orleans, and had between it and the capital only a Bavarian corps about 25,000 strong; the reason being that in the first week of October a part of this army had been defeated easily, and had shown remarkable want of discipline. Yet even at this period—that is about six weeks after the beginning of the siege—the situation of the Germans in France, in consequence of her great exertions, was one of increasing difficulties. Nearly the whole forces of the invaders were spread around the capital and Metz,—that is, were detained by two vast entrenched camps, and were liable to attack from within, and that in the depths of an enemy's country; and while an army far from contemptible was being slowly created in Paris, immense levies were gathering in the provinces, and were being trained into regular armies in a condition of more or less efficiency. The German chiefs, however, elated by success, disregarded all these menacing preparations, and even now reckoned that a few days would see them victorious inside Paris, and would bring the war to a triumphant close. So confident, indeed, were they that no attack from any quarter was probable, that, instead of sending for reinforcements to strengthen the army around Paris, they had detached, after the fall of Strasburg, a force which might have been so employed, to reduce the fortresses of Alsace, and to Dijon, BesanÇon, and Lyons.

Such were the positions of the belligerents in the last days of the month of October. The fall of Metz increased immensely the power and advantages of the Germans, and threw a weight into the scale against France which ultimately it became impossible to counterbalance. It was not only that 200,000 invaders were now let loose to overrun the country and to strengthen the investment of Paris, nor yet that the whole army of the Rhine, with the garrison of a first-rate fortress—170,000 men, four marshals of France, and 6,000 officers—were swept off into captivity in Germany; the surrender of Metz, it is now well known, prevented operations which, at this juncture, were being planned for the relief of Paris, and which, but for that circumstance, would probably have been successful. As we have seen, the Germans had allowed the Army of the Loire to collect near Orleans, with only a small Bavarian corps interposed between it and the French capital; and they still so utterly despised this army that, although after Metz had capitulated, their leaders had ordered one corps of those around the fortress to advance to Paris, the bulk of the troops of Prince Frederic Charles were separated into two great masses, one directed against the North of France, and the other towards Troyes, Nevers, and Bourges,—that is, against the centre of the country, and not immediately on the Loire and Orleans. These dispositions, which showed plainly that the real strength of the Army of the Loire was inadequately understood in the invaders' camp, permitted the commander of that body—a veteran named D'Aurelles de Paladines, who had done much to improve its discipline—to attempt a design he had been meditating, and even to strike a blow at his enemy which possibly might have had extraordinary results. D'Aurelles, aware that the only obstacle to his reaching the lines around Paris was one corps of 25,000 men, resolved to attack and overwhelm that detachment; and there can be little doubt that, in the event of success, he contemplated a march on the besieged city, even though he must have known that Prince Frederic Charles had been set free, and was moving from Lorraine. The plan of D'Aurelles was well designed, though not executed with equal ability. On the 7th of November he crossed the Loire below Orleans with the mass of his army, a single column having crossed higher up, his intention being to surround and destroy the few divisions which stood in his path, and then to advance, if fortune favoured. Von der Tann, the commander of the Bavarians, either unaware of his enemy's strength, or confident in the prestige of success, moved boldly to attack the main French column; but, finding himself opposed by irresistible forces, he fell back rapidly and with great skill on the main roads from Orleans to Paris. Although this retreat was very well executed, and, indeed, was in part effected at night, Von der Tann suffered a good deal in a series of sharp and repeated engagements at Marchenoir, Coulmiers, and Baum; and had the French column which had crossed the Loire above Orleans been sufficiently quick, he could hardly have escaped a serious defeat. As it was, when upon the 11th he stood concentrated at Arthenay and Toury, covering the main route to Paris from D'Aurelles, he had certainly lost more than 3,000 men, and what is more important, the ascendancy of success; he had been, in fact, decidedly overmatched; and a French army, 70,000 strong, which could have been increased to 90,000, stood in his front, eager for battle and revenge.

It is not impossible that at this moment D'Aurelles could have forced his way to Paris had he known how to seize his opportunity. Considerable alarm prevailed at Versailles: it had become evident that a powerful force was only five or six marches from the lines, with nothing between but one reduced corps; there really was no covering army to repel a bold attempt at relief, and it was expected that the army of the Loire would advance obliquely by Chartres and Dreux, and attack the Germans to the west of the city. Such an attack, which would, of course, be combined with an attack from the armed masses within, would be too formidable to be resisted, for it would place the Germans between two fires, spread as they were on an immense circumference; and accordingly the remarkable man who directed the operations of the invaders made preparations to raise the siege, and to incur the consequent moral loss, in case the columns of D'Aurelles' army should be descried on their way from the south. As, however, the French general might pause, a corps of about 20,000 men was sent off to the aid of Von der Tann under the command of the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg; one-half of this corps, however, being ordered to diverge towards Dreux to observe the French Army of the West, supposed to be moving from that quarter. Thus, even as late as the 13th of November, not more than about 30,000 Germans were interposed between D'Aurelles and Paris; and it is difficult to suppose, had he moved on the 11th, that he would not have broken down with ease the only barrier in his way, and not improbably have defeated Von der Tann and the Grand Duke in detail. The French commander, however, hesitated; he had not destroyed Von der Tann; he was evidently not thoroughly confident in himself; and, at this crisis of the affairs of France, he drew back instead of advancing, and finally retired to a camp at Orleans which he had marked out for ulterior operations, his success being thus rendered wholly fruitless. This was a calamitous mistake for the French; yet we can account for it without charging D'Aurelles with entire incapacity. Knowing that Von der Tann was still in his front, he calculated with justice that the Bavarians would be able to obstruct his progress until reinforcements should come up; and the news, which in all probability reached him, that the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg was being detached, caused him perhaps to overrate the Grand Duke's strength, and to halt until he should ascertain it. In addition, and what was, we believe, decisive, D'Aurelles knew that Prince Frederic Charles was moving from Metz towards the south; and though the Prince was still really distant, the French general not unreasonably feared undertaking a march on Paris, which might expose the Army of the Loire to be ultimately assailed in flank and rear. This consideration, though not well-founded, was exactly such as would influence a commander not of the first class, and thus a favourable opportunity was missed, of which the consequences might have been immense.

These operations, when attentively reviewed, show at once what a terrible disaster to the French cause was the capitulation of Metz, at the time when it actually took place. Had the fortress held out till the 9th of November, Prince Frederic Charles must have remained around it; his movement against the centre of France would not have been even commenced; and, in that event, there would have been no force which could have even threatened the Army of the Loire in the rear, had it advanced on Paris. If so, the obstacle which probably prevented D'Aurelles from pushing forward after the actions of the 9th and 10th could have had no existence even in his fancy, and, consequently, it is difficult to believe that D'Aurelles would not have marched, at once, and succeeded in raising the siege of Paris. As it was, he had, we believe, the means of attaining this result, had he been endowed with qualities of the highest order; but, giving him credit for the talents he possesses, had he known that the Prince was at Metz, he would almost certainly have pressed forward. And had the siege of Paris been raised, as was not altogether uncontemplated by Von Moltke, if ever the Army of the Loire came up, the effect in France would have been prodigious; and though we differ from those who insist that it would have led to a great German disaster, we think that it would have prevented a renewal of the investment of Paris. The question, therefore, presents itself—Did Bazaine hold out to the last, and is he responsible for the surrender of Metz at the moment when it occurred? On this subject, as may be supposed, there is a great deal of conflicting evidence, but some conclusions seem tolerably certain. We do not think it possible to deny that Metz really yielded to famine; the army was in a deplorable state, horseflesh had long been the only animal food, the bread rations had been greatly reduced, and fever and typhus had made portentous ravages among the troops, and even the population. But, on the other hand, there is some proof that, at the beginning of the investment, provisions had not been carefully preserved, and that the generals and other officers thought a great deal too much of their own comforts, and did not attend to the wants of the army; and therefore, although we think that Bazaine was incapable of anything like treason, and really made a stout resistance, it is possible that a more self-denying and foresighted commander might have slightly protracted the defence. The luxury and pride of the imperial rÉgime, it is to be feared, infected the head-quarters and staff during the siege of Metz; and it may—though we speak with diffidence—have been the result that the fortress fell exactly at the least fortunate moment, so far as regards the interests of France.

The apparition of the Army of the Loire beyond Orleans, and its unexpected strength, caused a complete change in the plans of the Germans. It had become evident that a powerful force was in the field for the relief of Paris, and no one knew better than the great commander who guided the movements of the invaders, how necessary it was to interpose an effectual barrier against this foe if the siege of the city was to continue. Paris, too, was showing no signs of submission; the winter was coming on apace; and the position of the besiegers might become critical if they were detained around the capital for months, at an immense distance from their base on the frontier, and liable to attacks from without and within. The battles of the 9th and 10th, in a word, had awakened the able German chiefs to the possible dangers of their situation, and with characteristic energy and consummate prudence they applied themselves to avert or remove them. The corps intended to march northward were kept back and brought nearer to Paris, and the army commanded by Prince Frederic Charles was diverted from the centre and east, and ordered to move as quickly as possible to the Lower Loire and the neighbourhood of Orleans, with the view of checking D'Aurelles' force, and attacking it, should it attempt to advance. At the same time, the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg was kept in communication with Von der Tann along the roads leading from Orleans to Paris, while some of his divisions were turned towards the Sarthe to face the French Army of the West; these arrangements, however, being only temporary until the arrival of Prince Frederic Charles should add largely to the strength of the Germans. In this way a whole series of covering armies were in a short time thrown in an extensive circle around the investing lines, so as to baffle and repel the French; and these would soon become formidable, though, as yet, they were not in sufficient force to render an attempt to relieve Paris beyond the reach of a daring commander. Meanwhile the French had done much on their side, though it cannot be said that their efforts were equally important or as well conducted. D'Aurelles retired to his camp near Orleans, entrenching himself with great care, and meditating ulterior movements, and in a few days he made his entrenchments exceedingly difficult to turn or attack, though their proximity to the Loire, just behind, made them dangerous as a defensive position. At this point, which he had made his base, he awaited his reinforcements for some days, apparently thinking that the addition of these would more than counter-balance Prince Frederic Charles, now hastening forward to arrest his progress—a conclusion utterly false, in our judgment. These reinforcements, however, it must be said, were, in mere numbers, exceedingly great, and at the close of November D'Aurelles' army had more than doubled its nominal strength, being now upwards of 200,000 men, with from 400 to 500 guns; but the organization of these new divisions was, for the most part, imperfect and crude; the recruits were partly young raw lads; the staff and other arrangements were bad; and not only was the second portion of the Army of the Loire inferior to the first, but it did not throw into the scale of France a force even nearly as great as that which, under Prince Frederic Charles, was now reaching the theatre of war.

Such, at the close of November, was the situation of the belligerent armies. By this time Trochu had completed his arrangements for carrying out his plan; had made Paris prodigiously strong; had greatly weakened the besiegers' lines; had organized two armies inside the city; and he now prepared for a gigantic sortie, while D'Aurelles should co-operate from without. That general seems to have been in communication with Trochu by means of balloons and pigeons; and, for the second time, he began operations which had for their object the relief of Paris. His army was very well placed in comparison with that of the Germans, for it was concentrated on a much narrower front, from Chateaudun to Montargis, its centre holding the camp at Orleans, and its wings occupying the main roads to Paris; whereas Prince Frederic Charles was only just in line at Pithiviers and Nemours. Von der Tann, at Toury, was extremely weak, and the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg, thrown westward, was hardly united to his Bavarian colleague. There was thus an interval in the German line immediately in front of the French centre, which offered a favourable mark for attack; and had D'Aurelles been a great general, we think he would have advanced on that point, and very probably have been successful, especially if it is borne in mind that he had a great superiority in numbers—200,000 to about 100,000. But D'Aurelles again displayed timidity, indecision, and want of true insight. He commenced his march on the 28th of November, and attacked one corps of Prince Frederic Charles, stationed near the village of Beaune la Rolande, and though the engagement was indecisive, he made no effort with the rest of his army, and fell back on his camp at Orleans, having thus struck at his enemy's line, not where it was weak, but where it was strong, having delivered his stroke with a small part of his forces, and having only made the Germans aware of his position and movements. Prince Frederic Charles, who now commanded the whole German army to the south of Paris, made immediate preparations for a counter-blow which should overwhelm his timid antagonist. He perceived that Von der Tann and the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg were perilously divided, and he gave orders for a general concentration of the whole forces of these commanders, while he advanced his own to co-operate with them. These movements went on during two days, the German columns drawing together within easy reach of the French general, who, however, lingered irresolutely in his camp, unwilling or unable to attack. On the 1st of December Prince Frederic Charles moved against his foe, with his divisions in hand; and as the French were now disseminated, in comparison with the German front, it is not improbable that, at the decisive points, they scarcely had a numerical superiority. The result was, of course, thenceforward certain. D'Aurelles' centre was pierced through and through; his wings were separated and thrown off in broken and widely-divided parts; the camp at Orleans, too near the Loire, proved a disadvantage rather than otherwise; the Army of the Loire was utterly defeated with a loss of nearly 15,000 men, and the attempt to march to the relief of Paris ended in complete and ruinous disaster.

In these engagements we see the difference between vigorous and bad generalship. It is not pretended that the army of the Loire was as well organized as that of the Germans; but numerically it was nearly twice as strong; and had it been commanded by an able chief it might not improbably have been led to victory. But in selecting his point of attack, in advancing with a fragment of his forces, in retreating when it was not necessary, and above all, in allowing his enemy to unite, literally without being molested, D'Aurelles showed want of capacity to command; whereas Prince Frederic Charles gave convincing proof of vigour and skill in these operations. That able commander was seriously alarmed when, on the 28th, he ascertained the strength and positions of the French, and perceived the space in the long line between Von der Tann and the Grand Duke; and had he been in D'Aurelles' place, Europe might have seen the Army of the Loire advancing between the German wings, and forcing its way in triumph to Paris. When, however, the Prince became aware of the real nature of the situation, he displayed talent of a very high order; and the celerity with which he collected his army and bore down on his vacillating foe was quite worthy of the first Napoleon. Meanwhile, a grand but unsuccessful effort had been making by the armies in Paris to break through or turn the lines of the Germans. On the 29th of November two large masses of troops, commanded by Generals Vinoy and Ducrot, covered by a terrible cannonade from the southern and south-eastern forts, attempted to carry the positions of Choisy le Roi and Chevilly, on the road to Orleans, and to storm Ormesson beyond the Marne, these operations being evidently intended to be in concert with those of D'Aurelles' army. On account of the rise in the waters of the Marne, the attack of Ducrot was not pressed that day; but on the 30th it was renewed with imposing forces, and four villages beyond the Marne were seized and occupied by the French, their numbers carrying everything before them. The German lines were now nearly reached, and had the attack been repeated next day, it is not impossible that it might have succeeded, for it is now known that 100,000 men could have been opposed to about 30,000. But Trochu paused at this crisis, resolved not to attempt to do more unless the Army of the Loire was at hand; and, as this force still made no sign, he allowed Ducrot to remain inactive during the 1st and part of the 2nd of December. Meanwhile the Germans had been combining their troops for a decisive effort, and on the morning of the 2nd they assailed their enemy in the positions he had won. Two of the villages were retaken; but, as the assailants advanced further, they were smitten by such a fire from the forts, the guns of which had been unexpectedly strengthened, that they were swept away and destroyed by thousands. The French pushed forward victoriously again. On the night of the 2nd they were once more in overwhelming strength near the investing line; and it may be doubted whether a bold effort would not have forced it at this juncture. But Trochu would not pursue his advantage, and as the army of the Loire did not appear, he soon withdrew Ducrot's army from before the Marne in the wood of Vincennes.

Persons not versed in military science will at once conclude from this brief narrative that Trochu was an incompetent chief. They will say that he ought to have cut his way out at all hazards without a second thought, and that he missed a fine opportunity during any of the first three days of December. They will point also to the means he possessed for concentrating on interior lines, and pouring an overwhelming mass of men on certain selected points; and they will insist that nothing but skill was wanting to France on this occasion. We do not wholly condemn the assertions; but considerations of the gravest kind must be borne in mind on the other side. It is a maxim of the art of war that an invested fortress must be relieved by the efforts of an army without combined with those of the garrison within; for, in the first place, it is extremely difficult for the garrison unaided to break through the entrenchments formed by the besiegers; and, in the second, if the garrison breaks through, it is liable to destruction unless it is received into the arms, as it were, of a friendly force. The case of a great city like Paris is no exception to this principle, or at least only in a slight degree; for it would have been an arduous task for Ducrot to have stormed the German lines in any event; and, if he had, what was he to have done with from 80,000 to 100,000 men, when he had got out in the open country, with scanty supplies, and without a base? There were special reasons also why, in this instance, Trochu should wait for the Army of the Loire, for if it arrived, the Army of Paris would be enabled to make its way out without running any serious risk; and, in that case, combined with the relieving force, it might expect to do the Germans immense injury, as they drew off from the investing circle. In acting, therefore, as he did, Trochu was not the temporizing fool he has been called by certain detractors; and it must be added that he adhered strictly to the recognised rules of military science. Nevertheless, had he been a chief of genius, we think he would have taken the bolder course, and have endeavoured, on the 1st and 2nd of December, to have broken through the German entrenchments. For, in the first place, he could not reckon, with anything even approaching certainty, that the Army of the Loire could reach Paris; and, that being so, he should perhaps have relied upon himself and his army alone. And, in the second place, it so happened that if his army could once sever the lines, it would not be exposed to a want of supplies, even if no assistance came from outside, for had he seized the great German depÔts a few miles off on the Strasburg Railway, it would have found everything which it could have needed. Admitting, therefore, all that can be said, Trochu perhaps showed himself too wedded to mere rules and general notions in not having made a great effort with Ducrot at this critical moment; and had he struck with his whole force, that effort might have been successful.

The failure of Ducrot's great sortie, and the defeats of the Army of the Loire near Orleans, were cruel and lasting disasters to France. In another part of the theatre of operations, the balance of fortune hung more evenly, though the ultimate issue was not very different. The discomfited forces of D'Aurelles, as we have seen, were broken into three parts, the centre and wings divided from each other; and even after the battles of the first days of December, the centre and right, driven across the Loire, retreated hastily to Bourges and Nevers, while the left remained on the north bank of the river, clinging to Marchenoir and the adjoining country. The Grand Duke of Mecklenburg and Von der Tann, with about 35,000 or 40,000 men, were detached to destroy this isolated wing, while Prince Frederic Charles pursued the main body, and a series of operations ensued which throw a ray of lustre on the French arms. The commander of the broken French left was a general who, though before unknown, has since given proof of no common talents, and in fact seems to us to be entitled to no mean rank among able captains. Chanzy, in a series of obstinate encounters, confronted and baffled his victorious foes with a force hardly superior in numbers; and after disputing the difficult country between Beaugency and VendÔme, effected at last his retreat to Le Mans, where he joined the friendly Army of the West, and succeeded in obtaining large reinforcements. This retreat was executed with great skill, and was made exactly on the right points; and that Chanzy was able to gain his goal in the face of the Grand Duke and of Von der Tann, and subsequently of a corps of Prince Frederic Charles, moved up from the Loire to overpower him, does honour to his ability and judgment. A lull now took place in the operations along the zone of country to the south of Paris; but from the North an unsuccessful attempt to relieve the beleaguered capital was made. For some weeks the French Army of the North had been in a state of comparative order, and though it had been defeated in November, it had been entrusted to an experienced commander, who had done much to improve its discipline. In the third week of December, General Faidherbe advanced to attack at Pont Noyelles a part of the German Army of the North, his object being, should he win the battle, to press forward and march to Paris. This engagement, however, proved indecisive, and Faidherbe in a few days retired into the chain of fortresses on the Belgian frontier, his antagonist, Von Goeben, holding him in check along the line of the Somme and its affluents. Meanwhile Trochu, doubtless informed from without of the intentions of Faidherbe, had made another effort on the 21st to attack the German lines to the north; but though he achieved a certain amount of success, he again declined to strike more decisively, when it had become apparent that he was not to expect the assistance of a relieving army. The French captured several outlying positions on the great northern and eastern roads, and held them for two or three days; but there being no sign of Faidherbe's approach, they once more retired, having effected nothing.

While these combats had been taking place, the belligerents had been making great exertions to increase their forces and renew the war. The German commanders had discovered that France had developed resources of which they had no previous conception, and that Paris was stronger and better provisioned than they could possibly have imagined; and though as yet they had been victorious, they felt their position to be insecure, bound as they were to the besieged capital, and, in the depth of a severe winter, exposed to the attacks of all the French armies converging on them from every side. In fact, in a strategic point of view their situation was extremely critical; for if a single one of the covering armies were broken through by a relieving force, which thus could reach the line of investment, they might have been compelled to raise the siege, and might, perhaps, suffer a series of disasters. This danger was, therefore, to be averted; and as the covering armies had lost enormously from cold, hardship, and field-service, and the besiegers' ranks had also been thinned, it was necessary to make very large additions to the strength of the invading forces. Vast reinforcements were accordingly despatched across the Rhine to all points of the war; Prince Frederic Charles, the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg, and Von der Tann received thousands of recruits; the armies of Von Goeben and Werder were replenished to a considerable extent, and the corps selected to protect the different lines of the communications were increased by important reserves. In this way about 200,000 men were joined to the armies already in France; and at the same time no pains were spared to accelerate the arrival of siege trains before Paris, in order to open fire on the defences. This task, however, was extremely difficult, on account of the distance from the frontier, and the state of the roads; and though, during more than two months, heavy guns had been gradually sent up, it was not until near the end of December that batteries, more nearly adequate to the purpose, had been constructed and armed. Meantime, the French had been equally energetic, but the results obtained had been very inferior. Recruits, indeed, had been despatched in masses to increase the bulk of the provincial armies; munitions of war were obtained in quantities, and nothing, it must be said, was left undone which patriotism and devotion could accomplish. But though the divided parts of the Army of the Loire, and though the Armies of the North and the East became very formidable in mere numbers, the accession of raw and unformed levies, without proper military organization, did not much augment their real power; and as many of the best soldiers in the force commanded by D'Aurelles had perished in the recent engagements, it is not improbable that the strength of France was hardly greater towards the end of December than it had been three weeks previously, whereas that of Germany had increased to a degree that made the German generals masters of the situation in all its aspects.

Such, about Christmas, was the relative strength and condition of the belligerent armies. At this moment, Prince Frederic Charles, Von der Tann, and the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg, held a central position between Orleans and Chartres, having Chanzy in advance of Le Mans, and the remainder of the Army of the Loire rallied by Bourbaki at Bourges and Nevers; Faidherbe was held in check by Von Goeben; to the east Werder, who had been told off after the fall of Strasburg to overrun the south, was confronted by the French Army of the East, with an irregular force under Garibaldi; and, as we have seen, the vast circle of the covering armies was more formidable than it had been at any preceding time. In this state of things an extraordinary scheme was formed for the French provincial armies, and ultimately for the relief of Paris, which we can only describe as the extreme of rashness. Werder had for some time invested Belfort, while part of his forces lay in Franche ComtÉ; and as he had not more than 50,000 men, and Bourbaki was at no great distance with perhaps not less than 120,000, an opportunity seemed given to strike a blow, which it was hoped might crush this foe, and even change the aspect of the contest. If Bourbaki were to assail Werder from Bourges and Nevers, he would probably destroy him; and if so, he could relieve Belfort, and furthermore, by a bold advance on Nancy and Luneville, fall upon the great line of German communications from Strasburg to Paris along the main railway. But a stroke of this kind would in all probability compel the siege of Paris to be raised, for the Germans could not so easily subsist if their supplies were cut off or even interrupted; and if they were obliged to retire, the paramount object of French strategy would be attained by this single operation. The movement of Bourbaki, too, was not only promising in itself, for it was difficult to imagine that he would not crush Werder, which, being done, all the rest would follow; but, properly conceived, it need not endanger the French armies in other parts of the theatre. Let it be granted that the withdrawal of Bourbaki would relieve Prince Frederic Charles of an enemy, would the Prince, Von der Tann, and the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg turn round and fall in full force on Chanzy? And, even if they did, would not Chanzy, with his large army in position at Le Mans, be strong enough to baffle their efforts? And even supposing Chanzy defeated, how little was to be thought of a defeat provided Bourbaki relieved Paris by seizing and cutting the German communications? Besides, was it not very conceivable that Prince Frederic Charles would pursue Bourbaki, in which case that commander would escape him, and that he would not think of attacking Chanzy?

Such was their plan, and, we repeat, it was, under the circumstances, simply insensate. No one will deny that to overwhelm Werder, to effect the raising of the siege of Belfort, and to sever the communications of the Germans, were desirable objects for the French; and had Bourbaki reached in force the main railway from Strasburg to Paris, this might have caused the relief of the capital. But, in the actual state of the French armies—raw, ill-provided, and ill-disciplined—a movement like this was extremely difficult, and far from likely to be at all successful, even as regards the mere reaching Belfort; and it was open to the decisive objection that it enabled Prince Frederic Charles to oppose all his forces to Chanzy and overwhelm him, in conjunction with his German colleagues. The scheme, therefore, exposed the French on one side to certain disaster, and, on the other, was really far from hopeful; and it not only made it almost impossible to expect the relief of Paris, but it might lead to terrible results should Bourbaki fail or prove a bad General, In an unfortunate hour for France, however, this reckless project was adopted; and in the first days of January, Bourbaki broke up from Bourges and Nevers to reach Franche ComtÉ, and made his way to his first point, Belfort. The operations that ensued were just such as might have been foreseen. The instant that Prince Frederic Charles had ascertained that Bourbaki's army was on its way to the distant east, he turned rapidly upon Chanzy, and directed his own reinforced corps, with those of Von der Tann and the Grand Duke, to converge without delay on Le Mans and overwhelm his French antagonist. The movement began in the first days of January; and as the united German armies were probably 140,000 strong, whereas Chanzy was hardly superior in mere numbers, and had little but undisciplined levies in his ranks, the issue was not for a moment doubtful. Chanzy, who had made a feint forward, and had threatened the Prince before VendÔme, found himself pressed by an irresistible enemy, and fell back at once on Le Mans, not having been, we believe, informed of the project which had detached Bourbaki. His retreat was conducted with marked ability, his German foes closing in on all sides, and endeavouring to cut him off from his point; and nothing save his judicious foresight enabled him to save even a part of his army. Chanzy had fortified a strong position before Le Mans, on the river Huisne—so strong that it has been compared to Torres Vedras by an eye-witness—and he succeeded in making a stand on this, and even baffling his enemy for a time. The contest, however, was too unequal; his lines were turned on the night of the 11th; Le Mans was captured the next day; and Chanzy's army, beaten and demoralized, lost, it is said, 20,000 prisoners.

While these events had been in progress, Bourbaki had been making his way across the rugged and hilly country which divides Burgundy from Franche ComtÉ. The cold of the winter was intense; and his divisions, composed of young recruits, ill-clothed, ill-fed, and ill-disciplined, suffered cruelly, and were half demoralized before they saw even the face of an enemy. At Dijon he obtained reinforcements drawn from the French Army of the East, and with a force, nominally 140,000 strong, with from 300 to 400 guns, he proceeded through the intricate defiles, between the rivers Ognon and Doubs, which lead to the hills around Belfort. The march of his weak and untrained columns, confined to a single narrow route, was necessarily extremely slow; and it is decisive against Bourbaki's generalship that, at a time when speed was of the greatest importance, he did not advance by four or five roads, and thus make expedition possible. The French army, worn out and harassed, and especially wanting in staff officers, moved at the rate of four or five miles a day only, and the result was that it completely failed to cut off Werder, as had been expected, and that that general was enabled to retreat leisurely and cover Belfort. A rear-guard engagement took place at Villersexel, on the 6th of January, and it was not until the 14th that Bourbaki reached the Lisaine—a tributary of the Doubs in front of the fortress—where he found Werder's army drawn up in entrenched positions, and awaiting its foe. A series of combats ensued, in which the raw and bad French troops, although numerically three to one, were unable to gain any success; and, on the 18th, Bourbaki retreated, having lost from 8,000 to 10,000 men, and having met nothing but heavy disaster. His army, baffled and half starving, began to disband and go to pieces; and, as he retreated by the narrow defiles by which he had before advanced, he did not reach BesanÇon till the 22nd. Meanwhile Von Moltke had been directing a terrible and decisive stroke against him. As soon as the great German commander had become aware of Bourbaki's movements, he massed a force of some 50,000 men between Auxerre and Chatillon-sur-Seine, and launched it across the hills of Burgundy upon the flank and rear of the Frenchman, while Werder, pressing forward from the Lisaine, advanced against him through Franche ComtÉ. By the 24th of January, four German divisions had passed Dijon and reached DÔle on the Doubs, to the south of BesanÇon, while a large part of Werder's forces were threatening Bourbaki from the north; and thus the unfortunate French army was already almost completely hemmed in by its vigorous and indefatigable pursuers. The disgrace of a second Sedan flashed across the mind of the French commander, and in a paroxysm of despair he shot himself, unable to brave the impending peril. His army, a mere dissolving mass, rolled out helplessly from BesanÇon, and endeavoured to make its way southward, but finding all the roads occupied, it turned aside and crossed the Swiss frontier. There the starving mob of disbanding fugitives was obliged helplessly to lay down its arms.

Such was the end of the expedition, ill-planned and still worse executed. The detachment of Bourbaki to the east caused the overthrow of Chanzy at Le Mans, by setting Prince Frederic Charles free; and the bad state of Bourbaki's army, and even more, his deplorable conduct, led to the catastrophe we have described. What, indeed, could have been more unwise than to have moved in a single column only, when celerity was the first consideration; and what could have been more shameful than the management of the retreat to BesanÇon, and the rash act which left an army at that place without a commander? These things are simply without excuse; yet it must be added that the condition of Bourbaki's troops made it very improbable that he could, under any circumstance, have accomplished the task which he undertook, at least that he could ever have reached the great line of the German communications; and accordingly, even when it seemed most promising, the whole enterprise cannot be justified. The result might have been very different if the forces of Bourbaki and Chanzy had been concentrated for a vigorous attack on Prince Frederic Charles and his colleagues on the line between Orleans, Vendome, and Chartres. Had this been done the French would have largely outnumbered their foes, and even had they failed and been defeated, they would have been able to make good their retreat without incurring a terrible disaster. The more we study the operations of the French armies in the month of January, the more we see how ill-devised they were; while, on the other hand, the strategy of the Germans—of Werder, in the stand he made on the Lisaine, and of Von Moltke in surrounding Bourbaki—is deserving of the highest admiration; and, though no one would think of comparing the young French troops with their veteran foes, it is not the less true that the final issue was decided in the main by generalship. Everywhere else in the theatre of war, while these disasters were taking place, the fortunes of France were in calamitous eclipse. The German Army of the North was taking the fortresses on her north-eastern frontier without difficulty by a brief bombardment, the old bastions of Vauban's time being useless against modern heavy guns, and the triple barrier of Louis XIV. was thus broken down from within, and the Northern Departments laid open. Faidherbe had fought two battles in a vain attempt to resist the invaders; but, though he gained some success at Bapaume, over a small part of Von Goeben's army, he had been unable to follow it up, and soon afterwards he was defeated with great and ruinous loss at St. Quentin—an ominous name in French annals. After this disaster the French Army of the North was no longer able to keep the field. Faidherbe took refuge in Lille and Cambrai, and the tide of German invasion flowed irresistibly to the borders of Artois and Hainault.

Meanwhile the progress of the great siege had been tending to its inevitable conclusion. On the 27th of December, the German batteries commenced the reduction of the outwork constructed by Trochu on Mont Avron, and in two days it was silenced and destroyed, the defences being feeble and incomplete. This roused the spirits of the besiegers; and as, by this time, their siege trains had come up in considerable numbers, fire was opened on the southern and eastern forts, and for some weeks was kept up with vigour. The distance, however, of the attacking batteries from the defences of Paris was very great, nor was their artillery powerful; and it cannot be said that they succeeded in making a serious or lasting impression. In fact, the forts, and even the ramparts, were armed with rather stronger ordnance, and they maintained a combat at least equal to that of the heavy guns that were directed against them. The bombardment of the city was next attempted, and shells were poured into its streets and squares; but as the extreme range of the German guns extended only to one bank of the Seine, no great damage, fortunately, was done, and, as often has happened in other cases, the effect on the spirits of the population was rather to stimulate than to alarm. 'You might as well have pelted Paris with bottles,' was the remark of an intelligent eye-witness, and there can be no doubt that the active siege of the capital was a complete failure. Meantime, however, famine was doing the work which fire and sword could not have accomplished. The city had been amply provisioned, but, at the end of four months and a half, it was reduced to the extreme of misery. For many weeks horseflesh had been the only animal food of the population; the bread doled out in scanty rations was a vile compound of bran and rye; the mortality among the old and young was appalling; the supply of fuel had fallen short, and that in the depths of a fearful winter. On the 19th of January, Trochu made a last effort against the besiegers' lines, but, as might have been anticipated, it failed, his troops having lost all courage and worth. By this time all hope of relief from the provincial armies had been frustrated, and at last, on the 130th day of the siege, the proud capital was subdued by famine. The line of the defences was almost uninjured; and, unquestionably, Paris would have held out for months, nay, perhaps might have proved impregnable, had the citizens possessed the means of subsistence.

The fall of Paris brought to a close the internecine strife between France and Germany. The extraordinary disasters of January, indeed (especially the ruin of Bourbaki's army), had made resistance no longer possible; and, in all probability, had the war gone on, the vanquished country would have been overrun. Those who, like ourselves, were of opinion that the expected surrender of the capital need not necessarily terminate the struggle, could not have anticipated the fatal strategy which annihilated the provincial armies of France in futile movements and desperate efforts. We believe the National Assembly was right in accepting the conditions of the Germans, harsh and relentless as these were; and we applaud the patriotism of M. Thiers in bowing before the doom of fate, and offer him our respect and sympathy. Our space has been already outrun, and we cannot make any general remarks on the mighty conflict which has just closed.

As regards its consequences, we can only hazard two or three anticipations of the future. Those who believed in the moderation and civilization of the gigantic power of which Bismark has been the creator must have been disappointed at the German terms; but as we are not among the credulous, we cannot say that we have been surprised. The annexation, however, of Alsace and Lorraine against the will of two millions of the brave inhabitants of those provinces, the dismemberment of France, and her spoliation, and, above all, the evident understanding between the autocrats of Russia and Germany, are simply the triumphs of brute force—perpetual menaces to the peace of Europe. As regards France, her destiny is uncertain; and it remains to be seen whether, as of old, she will rise superior to misfortune, or whether, like Spain, she will henceforth decline and sink into an inferior power. If, as we think, the first alternative is that which history will yet witness, France certainly will renew the combat, and endeavour to regain from her pitiless foe, not only her strategic position, but the conquered territories. To effect this purpose she will avail herself of any alliances, however abnormal—and for this she is not to be condemned. From this point of view, also, the prospect for England is not reassuring. France, however, if she would renew her strength, must first learn self-government, and to combat anarchy and revolution; and, deeply as we sympathise with her, she would, we believe, achieve more if she were to attain these great ends than if she were to avenge Sedan by a second Jena, and march once more in triumph to Berlin.

Art. VIII.—Professor Fraser's Edition of Bishop Berkeley's Works.

(1.) The Works of George Berkeley, D.D., formerly Bishop of Cloyne. Collected and Edited, with Prefaces and Annotations, by Alexander Campbell Fraser, M.A., Professor of Logic and Metaphysics in the University of Edinburgh. 3 vols. Oxford: Clarendon Press. 1871.

(2.) Life and Letters of George Berkeley, D.D., formerly Bishop of Cloyne, and an Account of his Philosophy; with many writings of Bishop Berkeley hitherto unpublished. By Alexander Campbell Fraser, M.A., Professor of Logic and Metaphysics in the University of Edinburgh. Oxford: Clarendon Press. 1871.

The English people have not treated their great philosophers well. They have profited by them, made use of their results, and embodied in political, social, and religious life the principles which men like Bacon, Hobbes, Locke, Berkeley, and Hume have laboriously thought out and sent forth to enrich the common stock of human knowledge; but they have not sufficiently honoured their intellectual guides. They have not striven to obtain a clear and consistent conception of the whole of each great man's life, nor have they cared to estimate the full sweep of his influence upon the thought of his fellows. They have been content to sum up the result of life labours in the meagre formula, Hobbes, who was the father of Locke, who was the father of Berkeley, who was the father of Hume. They have measured the ingathering influence of the lake by the amount of water carried into it by the stream coming from the lake above, its outgoing action by the amount of water which the river bears away to the lake beneath. The thousand rills which trickle down from the hills and neighbouring highlands are forgotten, the constant unseen action of air and heat and light bearing away the myriad waterdrops to store them in the clouds of the firmament, ready to hear when the corn and the vine call to the earth, and the earth calleth to the heavens, and to answer in life-bringing showers, is left unremembered. Until Cambridge gave us Bacon's Works, edited by Messrs. Ellis and Spedding, England had not one good annotated edition of her great philosophers. Oxford has now given us Berkeley. We have only hope to trust to for Locke and Hume, the greatest and most powerful of all. And English philosophy pays the penalty of the neglect in the one-sidedness, superficiality, and inadequateness which have to some extent characterized it. It is with great pleasure, therefore, that we welcome this beautiful, complete, and carefully-edited edition of the works of Bishop Berkeley, and thank the authorities of the Clarendon Press for what we hope is only the first fruits of a series of our great philosophers.

There is wisdom in the selection. Bishop Berkeley, of all English thinkers, is most easily misunderstood when detached portions of his writings are studied by themselves apart from their relation to the whole, and when his philosophy is criticised by those who have no knowledge of his life. How many of those who know and have discussed Berkeley's theory of vision, his nominalism, and his sensationalism, are aware that the theory of vision was only the first step in the exposition of a comprehensive theory of causality,—that his nominalism was only the denial of the conceptualist doctrine of universals, was suppressed in his latest writings, as if he had felt it to have been too sweeping, and was supplanted by a doctrine of realism almost akin to Plato's,—and that his sensationalism, inherited from Locke and bequeathed to Hume, was only one moment in a Platonic idealism, which he had learnt in his youth from More and Norris, in his old age from Plotinus and the Neo-Platonists, and which he left to be developed by Kant. The truth is, that in Berkeley we have the meeting-place of two distinct streams of thought, both of which had already received distinct but inadequate expression in England. He inherits the intellectual wealth of the Cambridge Platonists, as well as the clearer, though less profound results of Hobbes and Locke. He has been misunderstood and misrepresented because his double position, inadequately expressed, and not uniformly maintained, has been unknown to so many of his readers, Berkeley, the disciple of Locke, the Nominalist, the amiable, unconscious sceptic, is familiar to most students of philosophy. Berkeley, the Platonist, the Realist, the idealist combatant of scepticism, who found in Miss Forster the mystic and the disciple of FÉnÉlon and Madame Guyon the lady 'whose humour and turn of mind pleased him beyond anything that he knew in her whole sex,' is not so well known.

The great value which this edition of Berkeley's philosophical writings will have is that it presents us with the whole of his philosophy, and by some pregnant annotations enables us to trace the unity of the principle which binds them into a more or less consistent whole. Professor Fraser, in preparing this edition, has kept the following objects chiefly in view:—

These objects have been so well realized that we are enabled for the first time to survey Berkeley's character and opinions as a whole, to see how his life and philosophy act and react on each other, to view his great principles dimly shaping themselves in his earliest speculation recorded in his student common-place book, and to see how his latest and deepest thoughts are but the more adequate expression of his early musings. Professor Fraser's summary of Berkeley's philosophy, given in the fourth volume, will do much to destroy and render impossible the one-sided criticism to which the opinions of the philosopher have been so long subjected. He has shown that Berkeley's philosophy is not the dried-up intellectual cistern of a solitary thinker of the last century—is not a barren 'subjective idealism' which a breath of 'common sense' can 'for ever render impossible,' but is a living fountain from which our greatest modern English thinkers have not disdained to draw; and he might have shown that it is instinct with the germs of those philosophical principles which under the name of the Ideal-Realismus, are leavening modern German thought. We venture to predict that hereafter every historian and critic of philosophy will have to reconsider the commonplace verdict which, first pronounced by Dr. Thomas Reid in this country, by Kant in Germany, and by Cousin in France, has been repeated wearisomely by their successors. At the same time, we would not homologate every statement which Professor Fraser has made about the philosophy of his author. We are inclined to think that he has not sufficiently recognised the historical position of Bishop Berkeley. He has too much regarded him as occupying a unique place in the history of speculation, and neglected some of those facts of English philosophy which serve to explain Berkeley's position and principles. No thinker, and especially no great thinker, can occupy a position historically inexplicable. He is the exponent of the thoughts and feelings of his time, the interpreter of their present meaning, and the unconscious prophet of their future development. And Berkeley was no exception to this rule. It is just because he lived in an age in which two different streams met, and because he alone of the thinkers then living combined them, that he is to be reckoned among the few great English thinkers; and it is because the two tendencies then at work and conflicting with each other contained the undeveloped germs of the living principles now combining that Berkeley's philosophy is not to be thrown aside as a useless relic of the past, but to be studied as the inadequate expression of much that is deepest and truest in the present English and German philosophy.[219] 'England's Antiphon' against the sensational psychology, sceptical metaphysics, and utilitarian ethics, which form the bulk of her contributions to the general stock of philosophy, has usually found expression in her poetry and religion rather than in her philosophy; but there have always been thinkers who have refused to accept the common creed, and to suffer themselves to glide down the stream of popular opinion. Their protest has seldom been loud-voiced. They have generally lived solitary, unheeded lives; but their presence, like a scent unseen, has had its impalpable, invisible influence. English mysticism is a fact, though unrecorded in the pages of the history of her philosophers; and English mysticism was never stronger than in the generation preceding Berkeley. The Cambridge Platonists had but lately passed away. Four or five translations of Jacob BÖhmen had showed the popular studies, Norris of Bemerton was so well known that his philosophy could be ridiculed in an elaborate parody, and Tom Brown, 'of facetious memory,' could tickle a not too fastidious public with a caricature of his Platonic love. The influence of Malebranche was felt upon English philosophy. FÉnÉlon and Madame Guyon had their English disciples, and the gross immorality of the times of the earlier Georges had its opposite in the refined mysticism which appears in many of the religious and philosophical writers of the period. By education, training, studies and temperament, Berkeley was fitted to combine this mystical philosophy with the ruder and more practical sensationalism of Locke. He did so; and because he did so, he begins the second period of modern philosophy. However we regard Berkeley—whether as a man, as a Christian philanthropist, or as a metaphysician—we find the same unconscious combination of practical sagacity and of refined enthusiasm, a keen eye for fact, and a deep mind for theory, along with a continual incapacity to combine adequately or express fully, either by action or speech, the double tendency which is the secret of his power. We feel as if Berkeley were always struggling with a great thought which he did not wholly see, and could not adequately express. The young student of Trinity College is labouring to record in his commonplace book a principle which will prove to be the universal solvent, and set right everything that is wrong. The young philosopher has elaborated the principles of human knowledge which are to banish scepticism, re-establish theology, philosophy, and the physical sciences on new and lasting foundations. The missionary has a scheme for transplanting the virtues, arts, and sciences to a new continent, since an extravagant nobility and a reckless and dishonest passion for speculation have impoverished and demoralized the chief countries in Europe. The philanthropic bishop finds that a national bank will redeem his country from all her troubles, and that tar-water is a panacea for every ill the flesh is heir to. Everywhere we find the practical man and the idealist. Everywhere we find the same keen eye for facts not quite comprehensive enough; the same wealth of ideas which, nevertheless, wants the intellectual momentum needed to carry out a great philosophical conception; the same prophetic vision of principles and facts which are afterwards to become plain, accompanied by the inability to clear the way for their present manifestation.

Professor Fraser has given us a beautiful picture of young Berkeley and his surroundings in Trinity College, Dublin. Born at Dysart Castle, in the beautiful valley of the Nore, and educated at the famous Kilkenny School, the Eton of Ireland, Berkeley came up to Trinity College in the spring of 1700, and at once found himself near a whirl of intellectual life, into which he threw himself with ardour. The influence of the discoveries of Newton, Boyle, and Hooke, and the speculations of Descartes, Locke, and Malebranche, was beginning to show itself in the University, and was gradually displacing the old scholasticism; and the bright, clever lad looked with eagerness towards all the new lights which were beginning to shine upon him. An amusing story is told of his fondness for experiment, and his dreamy disregard of consequences. He had gone to see an execution, and returned pensive and melancholy, but strangely inquisitive about the sensations experienced by the unfortunate criminal in the crisis of his fate. He took counsel with an intimate college friend, Conterini, the uncle of Oliver Goldsmith, and

We need not wonder that this incident caused Berkeley to be looked upon as an eccentric by his fellow-students, nor that he had to bear the usual annoyances which befall those who get the name. With all his eccentricity, however, he seems to have been the centre of a company of friends, who thought him a prodigy of learning and amiability; and his college career was very successful.

It is his commonplace book, however, and the other records of his college life, now first published, that show us how the young student employed himself, and what were his favourite studies and opinions. In these early days one sees that he learned mostly by negation. Locke is not right in this particular, Malebranche is wrong in that, More is not to be trusted in a third,—are the most usual entries in the young student's journal. It is curious to look at those imperfect jottings and see as through a window into the eager young soul, sharpening and training itself by living contact with the thoughts of the great thinkers who then ruled the intellectual world, and preparing itself to take rank among them at some future day. Mathematics, metaphysics, optics, physics, and natural theology were all studied. Locke was his great teacher, then Malebranche, then the English Platonists; Barrow, Boyle, Newton, and Molyneux taught him physics and mathematics. He is always independent, perhaps too fond of independence, perhaps scarcely aware that as much is learned from what we find ourselves compelled to deny, as from what we are obliged to affirm. There seems to have been a great deal of intellectual life in the University, when Thomas Prior and Samuel Madden—the two founders of the Royal Irish Society—were fellow-students of Berkeley, when King was translated to the see of Dublin, and Bishop Browne was Provost of Trinity. Berkeley and his young friends formed themselves into a society for the purpose of discussing the problems which life and the new philosophy were presenting to them. We are not told who the members of this society were, but we can guess, from jottings in the commonplace book, that the subjects of discussion were mainly suggested by portions of Locke's essays, and we can fancy the young metaphysicians disputing with great eagerness, ardour, and confusion, all manner of soluble and insoluble questions. It is more than probable that out of the chaos of the thoughts and opinions which must have formed the intellectual outcome of such a society, there gradually arose clearly and more clearly before Berkeley the intellectual insight into the wants and difficulties of modern metaphysics, pure and applied, which at last realized itself in the 'Essay towards a New Theory of Vision,' and in the 'Principles of Human Knowledge.' At all events we know that these two works, on which Berkeley's fame as a metaphysician has rested, were written and published not many years after the date of the founding of the College Society; and that many of the questions discussed are to be found among the list of subjects which Professor Fraser thinks were there debated. Both works everywhere show traces of the reading and thinking which the commonplace book reveals, and the results of the two are the expression of the double tendency to the inductive philosophy and to mysticism, which, we have said, is the distinguishing feature in Berkeley's life and philosophy. 'The Theory of Vision' is Malebranche's seeing all things in God, but on a rational and experimental basis. We see God in all things, and we see all things by means of his continual contrivance. The outcome of the 'Principles of Human Knowledge' is, in the main, the attempt to explain clearly, fully, and in accordance with Baconian principles, the mystical thought of Norris, that God is the immediate author of our sensations, and that we therefore participate in Him when we see, feel, or desire, and the doctrine of providence on which Dr. More delighted to expatiate.

In 1713, we find Berkeley at the court of Queen Anne, in company with Swift. He had come over from Dublin chiefly for the purpose of gaining attention for his metaphysical system. He had endeavoured, while in Dublin, to interest English philosophers in his new principle, but the attempt was not very successful. He now tried by personal intercourse and more popular exposition, in his Essays in the 'Guardian' and in his Dialogues, to gain adherents to those opinions from which he expected so much; and in this he was pretty successful. Swift, writing to Lord Carteret from Dublin some years after, says that 'he (Berkeley) was a Fellow of the University here: and going to England very young about thirteen years ago, he became founder of a sect called the Immaterialists, by the force of a very curious book upon that subject. Dr. Smalridge and many other eminent persons were his proselytes.' We have very pleasant glimpses of the young Irish metaphysician among the wits of Queen Anne's court. Then, as afterwards, his amiability and enthusiasm disarmed enmity and gained friends among all factions. He was intimate with Steele and Addison, as well as the companion of Swift and Pope. Swift procured for him the appointment of secretary to Lord Peterborough, and in that capacity, and afterwards as tutor to Mr. St. George Ashe, he spent some years abroad. On his return,

He was shocked at the tone of social morality and his imaginative enthusiasm perhaps helped to make him fancy the plague more wide-spreading and more incurable than it really was. His thoughts found vent in his 'Essay toward Preventing the Ruin of Great Britain,' and he then probably first began to meditate on the romantic scheme of missionary enterprise which filled so much of his life.

His second stay in London brought him the beginning of many of the friendships which lasted through life. He had met in Italy, Benson, afterwards Bishop of Gloucester, and now became intimate with Secker, successively Bishop of Bristol, Bishop of Oxford, and Archbishop of Canterbury, Rundle, Bishop of Derry, Clarke, and Butler,—all of whom helped him in his attempt to realise the great plan now beginning to take shape in his mind. He had returned to Ireland as Chaplain to the Lord Lieutenant, and had been nominated, in rapid succession, Divinity Lecturer, Senior Greek Lecturer in Trinity College, then Dean of Dromore, then Hebrew Lecturer and Senior Proctor in Trinity College, then Rector of Ardtrea and Arboe, and lastly Dean of Derry; but no sooner had he fairly obtained the church preferment which his position and talents had merited, than he was eager to resign it—'his heart is ready to break if his deanery be not taken from him.' He wished to resign present preferment and future prospects, and to dedicate his life, means, and energies to instruct the youth of America, as the President of an ideally perfect University in the Isles of Bermuda. The old world had grown very evil, and Berkeley wished to make a new one. He had mysticism enough to imagine a new Atlantis, and the practical turn for experimenting which made him eager to attempt to realize it. His thoughts were not content with the patient waiting of the mystical mediÆval piety which inspires the beautiful 'Hora Novissima' of Bernard, they must take shape in action. His enthusiasm rises to poetic height, and finds utterance in a few glowing verses prophetic of the dominion which is to come and increase on the other side of the ocean by the diffusion of education, the sciences, and the preaching of the Word:

After much anxious waiting and painful pleading at court and with Parliament, Berkeley at last obtained a charter for his college, and was promised an endowment of £20,000:—

He sailed from Gravesend with his newly-married wife and a little company of retainers and friends, and arrived in the Narragansett waters, on the western side of Rhode Island, at the beautiful harbour of Newport. Berkeley had meant to call at Rhode Island on his way to the Bermudas to get information, procure anything needful for the fulfilment of his great scheme, purchase land as an investment for his college, and perhaps gain the good-will and interest of friendly New Englanders. He was not destined to get nearer the Bermudas. The visit, which was originally meant to be a short one, lengthened out from month to month, until at last Berkeley began to like the place so well that he confidentially says to Prior in one of his letters:—'The truth is, if the king's bounty were paid in, and the charter could be removed hither, I should like it better than Bermuda.' And Newport would have made a very good centre for his scheme of educational and evangelical operations. It was the capital of the State of Rhode Island, and was a rich centre of foreign and domestic trade. The State had been colonized by Roger Williams in 1636, and had a constitution which asserted the right of religious freedom while that was still unknown in every other State in America. Its society was accordingly very unlike that met with almost anywhere else. Quakers, Moravians, Jews, Episcopalians, Congregationalists, Independents, and Baptists of every sect, all lived together, holding their own beliefs, and tolerating those of their neighbours. The town population was chiefly mercantile, while that of the interior of the island, and that along the Narragansett shore, was pastoral. The inhabitants were famed for their hospitality, and the society was intelligent and well-informed. Great care was taken of the education of the children, and the libraries and pictures which still remain testify to the good taste and culture of the gentlemen of the island:—

While in Newport, Berkeley mingled in the society of the town, and frequently preached in the pulpit of Mr. Honeyman, a missionary of the Church of England. He visited the Narragansett country, and is said to have made some distant excursions to see the condition of the native Indian tribes. A few months after his arrival he bought a farm and built a commodious house, which he called Whitehall. The house is still standing, and is known in the neighbourhood as Bishop Berkeley's house. Few situations could be more adapted to the tastes of a student as fond of nature as of books. It was here that 'Alciphron,' the most elaborate, and, in the lifetime of the author, the most popular, of all Berkeley's writings, was written. Tradition points to a natural alcove in the rocks, commanding a view of the beach and the ocean, as the spot where the beautiful dialogues were composed.

While living this retired life at Whitehall and troubled with anxieties at the delays which prevented him from seeing the actual realization of his great scheme, Berkeley found time to mingle in the intellectual society which Newport afforded, and took the lead in forming a philosophical association for the discussion of speculative questions. One of the objects of this association was to collect books, and it originated the Redwood Library, which still exists in Newport, a memento of the short but interesting stay of Bishop Berkeley.

One American friend, however, is more closely related to Berkeley than any other, and must not be passed over without special mention. This was Dr. Samuel Johnson, the Episcopalian minister of Stratford. He had known the 'Principles of Human Knowledge' before Berkeley's arrival in America, and had become a convert to the metaphysical opinions there set forth. He was one of the first to welcome Berkeley when he landed in Rhode Island, and the friendship and correspondence which then began only ceased with the death of the Bishop. His name, too, possesses special interest to all students of Berkeley's philosophy, and he must be held in honour as one of the earliest and one of the greatest metaphysicians which America has produced. Although his works have been forgotten—obscured, perhaps, by the theological and metaphysical fame of his great pupil, Jonathan Edwards—they still deserve attention. We should like to see a new edition of his 'Elementa Philosophica;' and believe that, if re-published and known, it would be a valuable contribution to American philosophy. This work possesses a special interest for the student of Berkeley. It was written by a professed disciple, was the result of the study of Berkeley's writings, of conversations and correspondence with him on the philosophical subjects it discusses. It was dedicated to the Bishop, and may almost be looked upon as a new and more complete edition of the 'Principles of Human Knowledge.' It treats of the pure intellect and its notions, and of the intuitive intellectual light; and so, to some extent, supplies the place of the second part of that work which was never written, and connects the philosophy of Berkeley's earlier days with the Platonic mysticism of his old age. Johnson's 'Elementa Philosophica' can never be separated from Berkeley's 'Principles of Human Knowledge;' and had the two been always studied together, the continual misapprehension of the Bishop's philosophical system, which has characterized most histories of philosophy, could scarcely have arisen. The philosophical letters to Johnson are also full of interest, and show other sides of Berkeley's system than that most prominent in the 'Principles of Human Knowledge;' and Johnson himself seems to have had no small influence in developing what, in some respects, may be called the idealist,[220] and in others the mystical moment in Berkeley's speculation.

While thus employed in philosophical correspondence and composition, and in social and intellectual intercourse with his friends in and near Newport, Berkeley was harassed with doubts and anxieties about the success of his great scheme. He had embarked in the faith that Sir R. Walpole would fulfil his promise, and that the £20,000 endowment which had been voted by Parliament would be soon handed over to him for his college. But the long months spent in waiting lengthened out to years, and the prospect grew duller and duller, until at length even Berkeley began to despair. Dr. Gibson, Bishop of London, who had been appointed by the charter the Visitor of the new University, did all he could to forward the scheme; and when he found that the ministerial delays were only meant to cover the non-fulfilment of their bargain, he at last got a conclusive answer from Walpole: 'If you put this question to me as a minister,' said he, 'I must and can assure you that the money shall most undoubtedly be paid as soon as suits with public convenience; but if you ask me, as a friend, whether Dean Berkeley should continue in America expecting the payment of £20,000, I advise him by all means to return home to Europe, and give up his present expectations.'

The ten best years of Berkeley's life were given to this scheme of missionary enterprise, and now it ended in what seemed to be utter failure. We have only to read his enthusiastic letters to his friend Prior to see how hopefully he had looked forward to the future, and to realize how crushing the blow must have been which now fell upon him. He bore himself bravely enough, however, outwardly, and his own account of the miscarriage given in 'Alciphron' does not reveal very much depression:—

But Berkeley felt that his life-work was done. He felt himself to be a broken man, so far as action was concerned. The practical-working experimental side of his nature falls into the shade; and the calm mystical enthusiasm which spends itself in study and in reverie, and can turn from the vexations and disturbances and wrongs of the real world to find repose and quietude in the contemplation of the world of ideal perfection visioned in the dreams of genius, grows stronger and stronger. He returned to England in the end of 1731, and soon found himself among old acquaintances. Church preferment awaited him. He was nominated to the rich deanery of Down, and when the nomination was from accidental circumstances cancelled, was soon afterwards nominated and consecrated Bishop of Cloyne. But he did not mingle much in society, nor take a very active part in the business of life. He more and more preferred to live in quiet seclusion. A wealthier bishopric was within his reach, but he contented himself with Cloyne. The offer of the Primacy of Ireland failed to draw him from his retirement. A growing feebleness, a love for quietness, and increasing and constant ill-health, all show how heavily the great disappointment of his life pressed upon him. He was not fifty when he was made Bishop of Cloyne, but all that he did afterwards bears the stamp of old age.

The American enterprise, however, was not such a failure as it seemed to Berkeley. His one great practical enterprise bears a curious analogy to his philosophical system. His life-work and his life-thought are strangely parallel. In both there is the combination of shrewd, practical judgment, with almost visionary enthusiasm. Both were thought by his contemporaries to be more suitable for a dream-life than for waking reality. Both fail in completeness of development and adequacy of expression; and yet both contain in them germs of life to be long afterwards developed. Berkeley's American scheme did not entirely break down at his return to England. The farm of Whitehall, which he had bought near Newport, he bequeathed to Yale College for the purpose of encouraging Greek and Latin scholarship, and the list of Berkeleian scholars—a list containing more than two hundred names, among them some of the most eminent in America—shows how far the designs of the founder were thus unexpectedly fulfilled:—

Berkeley's gifts to Yale College did not cease with the bequest of his farm. He so interested some of his Bermuda subscribers in the American College that, with their aid, he was able to send over from England a large donation of books to its library. Harvard College, as well as Yale, received gifts of books, and, to the end of his life, Berkeley's constant references in his letters to Johnson, and his continual kindnesses and recommendations of young American students who from time to time came over to England, showed the deep interest which he took in the cause of religion and education in the Western hemisphere.

The Cloyne life was a very retired one, and Berkeley was almost as much, if not more out of the world there than he had been at Newport. His intercourse with old friends was mostly by letter. Secker, the Bishop of Bristol, and Benson, Bishop of Gloucester, are still the most valued correspondents among the friends of his later life. Gibson, Bishop of London, writes in dignified style about public events, and about the analyst controversy. Prior, his old school and college companion, is still his most useful friend, eager and ready as ever to take up and defend any one of his theories or fancies. Dean Gervais writes and receives beautiful letters about Cloyne and foreign politics. These were stirring times abroad. Frederick the Great was in Silesia, and even a student recluse cannot help thinking that 'We live in an age of revolutions so sudden and surprising in all parts of Europe, that I question whether the like has been ever known before.' Protestant clergymen were very much afraid of France governed by old Cardinal Fleury, but the excitement did not last long, and only reawakened when the next post-bag arrived. The letters from Cloyne give us beautiful glimpses into Berkeley's home-life. There are musical parties, and country visits, village charities, and small attempts at the introduction of manufactures, and his student life in his diocese was not entirely that of a recluse. Even at this period of his life, Berkeley's sympathies were active enough to lead him to undertake a somewhat long and tedious study of the causes of Irish distress and poverty, and more particularly of the famine and epidemic of 1741-2. The results of his investigations were published in the 'Querist' and in 'Siris.'

The 'Querist' was originally published in three parts. It consists of a series of queries concerning the state of Ireland and the remedies suggested. It is a remarkable book, and very little known; still more remarkable when we consider that it was written in 1735 by a bishop of the Irish Church Establishment. The central thought is expressed in the pregnant query, 'Whether a scheme for the welfare of the Irish nation should not take in the whole inhabitants; and whether it be not a vain attempt to project the flourishing of our Protestant gentry, exclusive of the bulk of the natives?'—and the introduction of manufactures, a national bank, the admission of Roman Catholics into Trinity College, Dublin, without compelling them to attend chapel or divinity lectures, and the election of Roman Catholics as justices of the peace, are some of the means of realizing such a scheme. Berkeley's belief in the healing powers of tar-water is better known, and his efforts to get it recognised as a panacea scarcely require mention. They occupied no small part of his last years in Cloyne.

During these last years we hear occasionally of an 'Oxford Scheme,' and there are traces in Berkeley's correspondence of efforts made to give up his bishopric for the sake of some minor preferment not requiring residence. The education of his sons and his own imaginative desire for a 'life academico-philosophical' seem to have been the motives. In August, 1752, he left Cloyne, and was not destined to see it again. The journey was more than his weakened body could bear. 'He was so much reduced by suffering that he had to be carried from his landing on the English shore, in a horse litter to Oxford.' He did not linger long in the beautiful University city in the enjoyment of a life to which he had so often looked forward, and during the months of his residence was almost withdrawn from society by disease and suffering. He was not altogether idle, however.

'In October, 1752, "A Miscellany containing several Tracts on various Subjects, by the Bishop of Cloyne," was published simultaneously in London and Dublin. With one exception, the Miscellany was a reprint of works previously published. But the old ardour was not extinguished. It contains also, "Further Thoughts on Tar-water," written probably during his last months at Cloyne; and prefixed to the Miscellany is a copy of Latin verses addressed to him by an English prelate on that absorbing enthusiasm of his old age.

'A third edition of "Alciphron," of which I have given a minute account elsewhere, was also published at this time. It is chiefly remarkable for its omission of those sections in the Seventh Dialogue which contain a defence of what has been called his Nominalism.'

The end was drawing near, and came almost unexpectedly. Professor Fraser tells us that

And so one of the greatest and of the purest thinkers that England has ever seen passed away to his rest.

The philosophy of Berkeley is not so much a theory of matter as a philosophy of causality; and the great service which Professor Fraser has done to the history of philosophy is that he has so far made it clear that the one important contribution which Berkeley has brought to the stock of knowledge, the one doctrine of his which has been most fruitful, and most pregnant with results to after-philosophy, is his explanation of the word cause, and the place which he assigns to causality. Berkeley's polemic against abstract ideas, his theories of vision, and his discussions about the nature of ideas, are all subsidiary to this one great doctrine of the meaning and place of causality. It does occur to us that Professor Fraser, while keeping this clearly before him in his admirable elucidations, by prefaces and notes, has somewhat obscured it by dwelling at such length on the points of similarity between Berkeley and Reid and Hamilton. These Scottish philosophers struggled after a theory of matter from the beginning to the end; the reality of the external world, as if anybody ever questioned it, was their alpha and omega. They could think and write of scarcely anything else. But Berkeley's philosophy was a great deal deeper and wider. It was free from what we may perhaps call the provincialism of the Scottish school, which clung with tenacity to what was after all a very small strip in the wide dominion of philosophy, and could never free itself from the narrowness which such exclusiveness was sure to beget. His philosophical writings, containing new and striking thoughts, some of them only now bearing fruit, upon the great metaphysical problems of universals, substance, causality, and the organism of the universe, cannot without danger of misconception be compared at length with a system which thinks itself competent to classify all metaphysical systems according as they contain some one or other theory of perception. We repeat, then, Berkeley's philosophy is by no means merely a theory of matter or a doctrine of sense-perception—it is a philosophy of causality—of substance and causality if you will, but of substance as subordinate to causality.

We are quite aware that these views regarding Berkeley's philosophy have not met with general acceptance. The great proportion of Berkeley's critics, roughly speaking, may be set in two classes: those who believe that his theory is utter scepticism, which the first breath of common sense dissipates, and those who believe the Bishop's opinions to be harmless, because quite unimportant. Dr. Johnson kicks a stone, and Berkeley's theory is disproved. Dr. Reid runs his head against a lamp-post, and with the same important philosophical result.

And Hood depicts the terror of the alderman at a system which would

The grave criticisms and arguments of many of Berkeley's opponents rest on the same basis. On the other hand, Hegel looks down loftily upon the whole affair, and pronounces the philosophy and its criticism a mere play upon words. Berkeley says without is within. Be it so. He has done nothing to settle the problem of philosophy, which remains as before. It may help to bring out more clearly what we believe to be a juster estimate of the nature and value of the speculations of Bishop Berkeley, if we shortly summarize these two different modes of criticizing his system as they appear in their latest form.

Thus it is said, on the one hand, when we look at any object we feel compelled to assert that we see it to be of a certain colour; but this assertion, we afterwards find, must be compatible with two facts—that the same object has different colours as seen by the same person from different points of view, and also as seen by different persons at the same time. Yet we stand by our conviction, that we do see the same thing, because it is our conviction that we do see it. If we were not to stand by it under these circumstances, we could never stand by such natural convictions at any time. The whole evidence for the system is that visible objects look of different sizes and colours at different distances, and in different lights; while the arguments against the theory are the primary convictions of men.[221]

On the other hand, a recent German critic says that the reason why Berkeley's theory has been so little approved of, not only by the great public of those who are capable of reflection, but also by those who are philosophers by profession, is that it is not at all in advance of common opinion; for Berkeley was not the first to declare that the apple which is seen and felt, is only seen and felt, or is phenomenal. This assertion is as old as philosophy. Most philosophers, however, in opposition to Berkeley, have thought, and still think, that the fundamental cause of the phenomena which brings it about is not merely phenomenal, but something quite different. This hypothesis is not without its difficulties. We cannot explain how a motion in the nerves becomes a sensation which we are conscious of. But Berkeley's theory does not better the position. He cannot show how it happens that the divine objective 'ideas' become one human subjective perception or intuition; he does not tell us how God enables us to share or represent His thoughts, since He neither speaks to us nor writes to us. Berkeley cannot, from his point of view, show with any certainty where the truth lies in the different opinions of men upon the orderly coherence of the phenomenal world, the relation of phenomenal things to each other, upon the ground and purpose of human existence, &c. In short, he is as little able to found a scientific knowledge and a theory of knowledge upon his hypothesis as the common opinion of man can on its presupposition. His whole system is only a change of position without result. It explains nothing, helps us in nothing—it is no philosophy.[222]

We have chosen these two representations, not because they are the best, but simply because they are the latest.

All such criticisms proceed upon the supposition that the whole of the philosophy of Berkeley is summed up in the 'Principles of Human Knowledge,' and do not even take the trouble to investigate the history of the opinions advanced in that unfinished and imperfect treatise. They do not know the philosophical importance of the Theory of Vision, the correspondence between Johnson and Berkeley, nor the Platonism or Neo-Platonism of 'Siris.' The publication of a complete edition of Berkeley's writings ought itself to render such criticism impossible, and the elucidations supplied by Professor Fraser should make them less excusable. A philosophical critic can scarcely now proceed on the presupposition that the 'Principles of Human Knowledge' and the Dialogues are the full and finished results of Berkeley's speculations, and take it upon him to neglect all else in his critique.[223] He must now recognise that it is not so easy to sum up Berkeley's principles; that we are in the same position for judging him as we would be with regard to Leibnitz if the 'Monadologie' and the 'Nouveaux Essais' had never been written; that we have a series of treatises, each more unfinished than the other, from which the latent developing thoughts have to be gathered as much by reference to history and life as by actual reference to their pages. He must recognise that there is a discernible unity in his life and speculations—a unity which may be traced throughout all Berkeley's writings, and which reconciles the Theory of Vision with 'Siris,' the Preface to the 'Principles,' &c., with the cancelling of the pages on Nominalism in the last edition of the 'Alciphron.'

Berkeley's whole philosophy is a combination of two currents of speculation—that of Locke on the one hand, and that of the English mystics on the other. In his earlier writings the influence of Locke is predominant, but gradually loses power until at last it almost succumbs to the influence of the Platonists; but, from first to last, we have the attempt to combine what is real and deep and true in the old spiritual philosophy with the clearness, consistency, and relation to physical science which Nominalism and the Baconian method can bring.

Berkeley seeks, in metaphysics, direct spiritual intuition; in physics, to abolish what would prevent this intuition. The mystics from whom Berkeley had learned so much had built their system of philosophy upon such an intuition, and made it their one thing needful. But their spiritual intuition was an intuition which was said to be enjoyed in meditations and trances, not in life and work. The world of things seen and handled did not bring them into direct communion with spirit; it was rather a veil to cloud the vision, a clog to hinder the endeavour of the human spirit ever trying to get beyond it. The senses and sense-knowledge were despised, and only behind the veil which it hung athwart the soul was there that universe of things unseen and eternal which More and Norris delighted to expatiate upon; or, if the senses did in any dim and uncertain way reveal the invisible spiritual realities longed for, it was because the soul, rising above them, put a divine meaning into them, and revelled in the 'lusciousness of this inward sense.' Such a hazy, unreal way of conceiving the spirit-life which he believed to be the true reality, was distasteful to Berkeley. He wished to keep to the spiritual intuition, which was the one good thing in these mystical doctrines, but he wished to bring it out of dreamland, and make it serviceable for every-day work and endeavour. Both More and Norris dreamt of an Atlantis, and celebrated its praises in prose and verse; Berkeley set sail for America to create the Utopia he had visioned. More and Norris could only realise the spiritual intuition on which they based their philosophy in an ecstatic contemplation, when the soul is borne on the wings of meditation far beyond this world of sensible things; Berkeley employs his spiritual intuition to account for puzzles in vision, errors in mathematics, and the virtues of tar-water. He wishes to mould and fashion, to give clearness and distinctness of outline to the spiritual beliefs and intuitions of the mystics by applying to them the method of Locke and Bacon. He wishes to conserve and give value to the fundamental truths which lie unshaped in the scholastic Realism, by applying to them the clearness and methods of Nominalism. This is, we believe, the key to Berkeley's life and philosophy.

Let us try to show its application.

The English mystics were the reaction against a phase of the new philosophy which had been so developed by Hobbes as to create a strong counter opinion. This phase was the doctrine of an inert matter which is so prominent in the writings of Descartes and Geulinx—matter, whose distinguishing characteristic was extension, which was entirely void of all power to act or to influence, and which was set up in opposition to spirit, whose distinguishing characteristic or property was consciousness. This theory of matter was so void of all real meaning that the existence and properties of material substance became gradually of less importance in a system of philosophy, and at length, as in Malebranche and Norris, ceased to have any influence on their speculations. It was outside their system, and of little or no account in its explanation. Yet the very semblance of its presence prevented a thorough-going attempt to explain the real meaning of reality, power, and causality, and recourse is had to meditation and ecstasy instead of to philosophical explanation and analysis. Locke's philosophy, on the other hand, with its calm, experimental analysis of the facts of knowledge, and its concentration of effort upon the senses and the knowledge they supplied, had brought the mind of man back to facts, and pointed to another path than that of vision or ecstasy, by which one might ascend to the understanding of what is meant by the world of things known and knowable. But if Locke is always judicious, he is never deep. He solved the theory of substance more by ignoring than by explaining it; and his Atomism, if one may call it so—his assertion that all knowledge is of particulars, and particulars only—not only turned him aside from any complete statement of causality, but forced him into theories of abstract ideas or conceptions that seem inconsistent with his own principles. When Locke had to account for the fact that this, that, and the other, sensation of colour were felt to be the same, he explains away this seeming contradiction to his favourite doctrine that all knowledge is of particulars, by saying that there is an abstract idea of whiteness framed from the particular ideas or sensations. But the necessities of language, thought, and science require that this abstract idea of whiteness must be as often, if not oftener, before the mind than any one of the particular ideas out of which it has been constructed, and thus the abstract idea is much more important than the particular sensation. When Locke is called on to give an account of our knowledge and its origin, his Atomism is always brought forward; when he wishes to speak of truth, certainty, &c., he cannot help paying more attention to abstract ideas. He thus figures two worlds just as the mystics had done, the sensible and intelligible, and while elevating the worth of the former, is inclined to make certainty, demonstration, &c., belong to the latter.

Locke's theory of abstract ideas was an hypothesis to account for and explain a really objective knowledge—that is, a knowledge which is true for others as well as for the individual. Objectivity, in this simple sense of the word, was a great difficulty in Locke's system. He had reduced all our ideas to ideas of sense and of reflection. He had insisted on the purely subjective origin of whatever is known. And at the same time he had insisted that what was known in this way were particular things and particulars only. He seems both in his account of the origin of knowledge, and in his description of the things known, to exclude the possibility of a knowledge common to several individuals at once. Each man seems rather to be shut within the sphere of his own ideas of sense and reflection about certain particular objects. But a subjective theory of knowledge and things known cannot be maintained. It would render all social intercourse impossible. There could be neither language, propositions, nor even common nouns. And the theory of abstract ideas is the way out of the difficulty. Now Berkeley, with his strong spiritual intuition, regarded Locke's system of abstract ideas very much as Aristotle, with his strong faith in progressive motion towards a final end (te???), looked at Plato's ideal theory. It was only reproduction, a shadowy reflection, a cold crystallization of the world of sense ideas, and really did nothing to explain the life, motion, and order of the sense-world, nor furnished us with a basis for our real common or objective knowledge. We do not think that Berkeley altogether appreciated Locke, nor fully recognised the use which he, as well as Hobbes, had made of the doctrine of association of ideas, to explain community of knowledge and objective certainty. For in Hobbes and Locke we see the beginnings of that modern psychological theory which, under the names of association of ideas and relativity of knowledge, explain the existence, permanence, and objectivity of things and classes of things by a manifold flow of phenomena. Ideas or sensations, by rubbing themselves against consciousness, in various ways coalesce into things, and things into those possibilities of reproduction, intercourse, and communion which are represented by common nouns. But Berkeley had been taught by the mystics to associate motion, cause, and sensation with spirit or mind, and he could not see that Locke's doctrine of association, so void of conscious life or personal activity, might at least prove so nearly allied to his own doctrine of causality that it might be called its external wrapping. And even if Berkeley had seen this, we may excuse him from acknowledging what he owed to Locke in this matter, and forcing into prominence, in opposition to Locke's teaching, his intuition of direct spiritual agency, when we find how the association theory has not freed us from the abstractions which Berkeley dreaded, but still gives us such shadowy conceptions as the 'unconditioned' of Hamilton, or the 'unknown cause' of Mill. Berkeley admired Locke, and studied him carefully. His great aim was to keep Locke's results, to retain Locke's philosophy, but to give it new life. His philosophy was to be Lockianism stript of its notionalism, and inspired in all its parts by that direct spiritual intuition which was never absent from his mind. It was to be Locke's philosophy, with these differences: the starting-point of the system was to be the human self—the conscious ego—the type of all subsistence: and an association theory producing a second world of abstract ideas was to be supplanted by the continuous active causality of personal spirits; or, more shortly, it was to be Locke's philosophy, with living personal causality put instead of abstract ideas.[224]

If we take this as the fundamental thought in Berkeley's speculation we find three stages of development in his philosophy. In his 'Common-place Book,' and in the 'Principles,' he fancies, in his youthful fervour, that he has only to strip Locke's philosophy of its notionalism and the true system of metaphysics will appear. Hence his speculation in this first period is mainly negative. It is a war against abstractions, and his positive theories are more hinted at than explained. The second period is revealed in his philosophical letters to Dr. Samuel Johnson. He begins to find that there is more to be done in philosophy than to extirpate abstract ideas, and inquires into the archetypes of things. The third period is given us in 'Siris.' His philosophy has got deeper and perhaps less dogmatic. He was won to the grand thought of an organic universe of things, in which their whole is made for all the parts, and every part for the whole, and for the other parts; so that the virtues of tar-water are intimately connected by a multiform concatenation with the constant presence and continual agency of the God in whom we live and move and have our being. The first period in Berkeley's speculation is, as we have said, mainly negative. It is a polemic against abstract ideas in their various forms. The attack is earnest, eager, but also impatient and inadequate. We have only hints at construction. It seems as if he thought he had only to deny false modes of explanation in order to state the right one, and his discussion throughout bears the stamp of eagerness and impetuosity. It represents the man who could say of those who doubted the success of his American enterprise, 'that small-minded persons had a talent for objections.' This period is represented in the 'New Theory of Vision,' 'The Principles of Human Knowledge,' and 'The Dialogues between Hylas and Philonous.' Its negative character may be due to accident. These three works are confessedly an imperfect sketch of Berkeley's principles. The 'Theory of Vision' is a mere tentative introduction; the 'Principles,' as we have them, are only the first part of a work which, if we are to trust 'The Common-place Book,' was meant to include three parts, and was published as Part I. The 'Dialogues' are only the 'reproduction of the first part of the 'Principles of Human Knowledge.' They are all of them imperfect expositions of Berkeley's speculative opinion. Taking them as they are, however, let us endeavour to discover the fundamental thoughts in each.

It has been for some time acknowledged that the essay towards A New Theory of Vision is not to be summed up in the dictum that distance is invisible. The invisibility of distance is the psychological basis of the theory.[225] The work is rather the first blow in the attack upon Locke's 'Doctrine of Abstract Ideas':—

The question which Berkeley really asks is—How do we universalize our ideas of sight? The proper objects of sight are light and colours. How, then, do we see distance, figure, size, situation, magnitude and solidity? How can the sensation of green colour peculiar to my mind stand for, not the mere sense-blur of vague green colour, but an oval leaf fluttering in the wind some twenty feet above me, attached to the twig of a beech tree! and, moreover, how can this sensation which belongs to me so far belong to others that the same knowledge conveyed to me is also given to them? How can the vague subjective sensation be universalized so that it stands for several things not felt, and more especially for sensations of touch? What is the link between these various qualities? What is the bridge by which the mind passes over from the one to the other? This link is not, says Berkeley, an abstract idea of extension, in which the visible and tangible sensations unite, for there is no such idea. The sensations of sight and of touch are on their side quite heterogeneous:—

Light and colour are the immediate objects of sight, and they constitute a species entirely distinct from the ideas of touch. No one would think of adding a visible foot to a tangible foot; and the experience of persons born blind and recovering their sight points to a certain confusedness in apprehending the connection between the two sets of ideas which would not occur if they belonged to one and the same abstract idea of extension. If we would explain the fact that ideas may so be universalized that they stand for ideas of touch, we must rather bring them under the living power of mind which, grasping the two together, makes the one the sign of the other. When we have the sensation of the colour greenness, we see a green leaf of a small oval shape, not because the colour is necessarily connected with the size and shape, nor because all three inhere as qualities in an abstract idea of extension, but because:—

There is no abstract idea which corresponds now to the sensations of sight, now to the sensations of touch; the connecting link is supplied by the unifying action of the human mind, which seizes upon the one idea and makes it the sign of the others, and this one idea is fitted to be the sign of the others not by any similarity or peculiar fitness on its side, but because of its position in the flow of phenomena given to it and preserved for it by the living spiritual causality which creates and arranges everything. The ideas of sense are universalized, scientific and objective knowledge is possible, we can go from ideas of sight to those of touch, and back again from those of touch to those of sight, because of a double spiritual influence—the active living influence of mind outside, permeating, creating, and associating all things, and the partly passive, partly active ingathering influence of the individual human mind within, interpreting, arranging, according to the associations imposed upon them and lying undeveloped in them, the vague blurs of sensation. Berkeley's thought is almost the same as Schleiermacher's, that all scientific knowledge is the joint product of an internal and an external factor—organic function and the external world,—which factors are universally related to each other; only, according to Berkeley's spiritual intuition, everywhere present; the living centre of organic function is the partly passive, partly active influence of the human self, while the living centre of the external factor is the supreme mind without us continuously creating and arranging.

The Principles of Human Knowledge follow up the attack on abstract ideas made in the New Theory of Vision. The introduction, with its attack on Conceptualism,[226] prepares the way for a more sweeping assault on abstractions. Now Berkeley almost invariably attacks a general question by making an assault on one special form which it takes. His method is borrowed from Locke, who shows that all our ideas may be reduced to ideas of sensation and reflection by selecting one or two most unlikely to conform to such a reduction, and proving by analysis that they do. Berkeley begins to attack the Lockian doctrine of abstract ideas by showing that there is no abstract extension common to sight and touch; he proves the providence of God by explaining the beauty and value of the language of vision; and he exhibits the organism of the universe by tracing the connection between the virtues of tar-water and the hidden mysteries of things. He always seeks a concrete instance of the abstract fact, and assails a particular case of the general principle he wishes to attack. This method is carried out in the 'Principles.' He does not assail the doctrine of abstract ideas in general, nor endeavour to strip Lockianism of all its notionalism. He fastens on one particular abstract idea, which because of its importance and prevailing influence may be considered as the champion of the rest, and puts to flight the armies of the Philistines by slaying their Goliath.

The sum and head of all abstract ideas is the idea of matter, as this was used in the new philosophy of the seventeenth century. For what is an abstract idea? It is a connecting link between sensations—something to which they may be referred, in which they are supposed to inhere, and which is thought to account for their permanence of objective reality. For example, 'white' is a single quality or a single sensation felt by me now and here when I look at a sheet of paper. But 'whiteness' is the abstract idea to which all these single sensations may be referred, and in which they may inhere and so have a permanence and objective reality, so that this sheet of paper, because it has 'whiteness,' is always and by every one seen to be 'white.' The abstract ideas of extension, of situation, and of number, are examples which are supposed to be of more importance, and to include a vastly larger number of individuals. Now the one idea to which every sense-particular, without exception, may be referred is the idea of matter or material substance. It gives them permanence, reality, and objectivity. It is the germ, the centre, the vital spot of the whole system of abstractions. Destroy it, and the system perishes. Show that it is an illusion, a mere word,—that it can give no reality, no permanence,—that it cannot afford a basis for scientific knowledge nor community of belief, and the whole doctrine which seeks to build science and reality on such a foundation disappears, and on the ground thus cleared a more substantial, real, and living structure of belief and opinion may be erected. This seems to be the guiding thought in the 'Principles of Human Knowledge' and in the 'Dialogues.' It is mainly negative,—a denial of matter, and therefore of all abstractions. But amidst the negative or destructive reasonings there are traces, as there must be, of positive construction. The one positive principle which is always present is that spiritual intuition which we have already spoken of,—the all-pervading belief inherited from the mystics, and particularly from Malebranche and Norris, that mind or spirit is the one reality and the one fount of active agency. But this intuition, always present, is never adequately expressed nor applied. Berkeley either meant to reserve its discussion for another 'Part,' or his natural impatience made him overlook the necessity of explaining the steps in his analysis of all reality into personal spirit, and all causality into the conscious activity of such personal spirits. He is always confused, hesitating, and sometimes conflicting in his statements about the way in which 'mind' becomes the only real existence, and the 'activity of mind' the only real agency; and it is in the skill with which he has pierced together the scattered hints into one really complete and so far adequate explanation of the universe of things that Professor Fraser's unwearied patient study and just appreciation of his author is seen to most advantage.

Our experience as given us in the senses is made up 'of sensations, ideas, or phenomena,—facts of which there is a perception or consciousness.' These sensations, and nothing else, make the material of the sensible universe which we see and know and live in,—they are the material out of which the shifting scenes in this wonderful panorama of sense-life are formed,—they are the exciting causes of all the various forms of our mental life, of our joy and sorrow, laughter and tears, hopes and despairings. When we are conscious of the outward world, it is of a world of sensations which is immediately present to our minds and in our minds; for the essence of an idea or sensation is that it is perceived,—its esse is percipi. But this is not the whole of Berkeley's theory of matter, as many critics would have us believe. There is along with this 'immediate perception of extended sensible reality' a 'mediate perception or a presumptive inference of the existence of sensible things and their relations.' The knowledge we have of the external world of the senses cannot be reduced to the sensations of which we are actually conscious for the time being. There are, besides the sensations immediately present, clustering groups of others which we do not immediately perceive. Tangible things are signified by visual sensations, and sounds recall colours and shapes. Every isolated sensation is significant of more than itself, and mere sensation is impossible. And this significance of sensations, the reality of their relations to each other, recognised and insisted upon by Berkeley, makes his scheme different from any system of merely subjective idealism, and supplies a basis for objective or scientific knowledge. 'For,' as Professor Fraser says, 'faith in an established or external association between our sense-phenomena is the basis of the constructive activity of intellect in all inductive interpretation of sensible things.' It is this 'external,' or imposed association, which universalizes and gives objective existence to sensations and the sense-world, and so far Berkeley's explanation does not differ very much from that of Mr. Mill or Professor Bain.

But then, what is Berkeley's 'association'? It is, as Professor Fraser well puts it, 'his religious faith in the constancy of the Divine constitution of the Cosmos.' The associative relations of things which give permanence and objective reality and intelligibility to the world of sense-phenomena are not to be explained by any hap-hazard one-coming-after-another, as modern psychologists do. They are due to the active agency of the Supreme Mind which links sensations together in ways of His own, so that there exists, not a chaos of varying, changing phenomena, but an orderly intelligible system of sense things, co-existing and successive, significant of each other, and all together making the interpretable language of Him whose designs they embody, and by whose constant activity they are all maintained. 'And thus,' as Professor Fraser has beautifully expressed it:—

In Berkeley's earlier philosophy, and even in his later, this grand conception of an orderly universe permeated and ever upheld by mind, is by no means fully or consistently worked out, as Professor Fraser himself acknowledges. The starting-point itself is somewhat confused. Berkeley starts with sensations. But the universe is not a universe of sensations, but of sensible things, and although the formula esse est percipi will at once explain the meaning of a sensation, it will not, without some argument and explanation, account for the meaning of a sensible thing. Berkeley did not sufficiently recognise the difference, and he leaped to a conclusion which, however right, should have been reasoned out. A whole is not the aggregate number of its parts, it is the sum of the parts plus their being placed together. There is a difference between a house and a heap of stones. Now Berkeley did not seem to see this, at least in his earlier philosophy. Tangible distance was to him a series of minima tangibilia, a series of tactual points; visible distance a series of visible points, and that only. Whereas, distance is really the sensible points plus their arrangement. The sensible thing is really the complex of sensations plus their unification. We are not disposed to believe with Professor Ueberweg[227] that this oversight amounted to a begging of the whole question, we hold with Professor Fraser that there is only a little confusion in apprehending the problem aright, and a rashness in leaping to a conclusion which should rather have been elaborated and proved. Berkeley thought, as Professor Fraser says, that 'the consciousness of my own permanence, amid the changes in my senses, is the only archetype, in my experience, of proper substance or permanence; and apart from this experience, permanence or substance is an unintelligible word.' His thought was not substantially distinct from Dr. Ueberweg's own,—who says[228] 'that individual intuitions gradually arise out of the original blur of perception, when man first begins to recognise himself an individual essence in opposition to the external world,' and who elsewhere[229] makes the notion of self the type of the essence of things. That unique thing called 'self' or 'I' is the only real permanent unity known, and is therefore the type of all permanence and unity elsewhere. The esse or the essence which gives shape and endurance to fleeting formless sensations is mind—my mind or the Supreme Mind. It is the percipi, being perceived, or coming under the formative influence of mind, which gives to a series of sensations that unity which we can call 'distance,' that shape and unity to the cluster of sensations which we call 'leaf' that orderly series arrangement and permanence which we call the system of things. The action of mind upon sensations, forming and arranging them, is not discussed by Berkeley. He contents himself with his vague spiritual intuition, and leaves his readers to work out his meaning. It does seem clear to us, however, both from his references to the archetypes of ideas in the 'Principles of Human Knowledge,' and more especially from his interesting discussions on the native archetypes of ideas in his letters to Johnson, that he did not altogether overlook the distinction between mere complexes of sensations and sensible things; but that he was sensible of this distinction, and wished to explain that the complex of sensations was transformed into an orderly stable sensible thing by the unifying formative mind putting as it were its stamp upon it.[230]

It was undoubtedly a hindrance to the completeness of Berkeley's thoughts that he had no clear and distinct scheme of ethical relations before his mind when he was investigating the relations between mind and phenomena. It is true that, as Professor Fraser says, 'the moral presumption of our individual free and proper agency is obscurely involved in Berkeley's philosophy of sense from the first.' But the ethical relations of the individual human spirit were nowhere clearly seen, and were not made its leading and peculiar characteristic. It was reserved for Kant to place the moral relations of these individuals and their significance in the world of things in due prominence, and it has been easier for men such as Schleiermacher and Herman Lotze, who have come after Kant, and who have maintained a doctrine of the spiritual relations which exist in and give order, cohesion, and permanence to the universe, not unlike Berkeley's, to develop the doctrine of these relations so far as the human spirit goes, and give more thoroughness and completeness to the scheme. We may conceive Berkeley carefully working out the double relation of human to divine spirit, and finding in the sensible universe the veil which hangs between, not merely the orderly and pregnant language of the Creator Spirit to be interpreted and made intelligible by the creature spirit, but also the shadowy reflection of the working of the Creator towards the creature, and of the striving of the creature towards the Creator. Each thing, class, order, genus, and race, with all its relations to all the other parts of the vast order of things, filling the place in the organism in which the Creator placed it, acting, influencing, and ruling, according to its function and place in the arrangement of the whole; just as the individual, or class, or nation fulfils, or ought to fulfil, the ethical duties which its hands find to do, so that the universe, in all its spheres of animate and inanimate life, of organic and inorganic bodies, becomes in its mutual action and reaction, as Schleiermacher says, a 'fainter ethic.'

Berkeley approaches this in his greatest metaphysical work, the 'Siris.' It is here that the thought of organism or development in things and in the universe, which comes in occasionally in his earlier writings, is more fully expressed and even elaborated. The very name suggests it, the book is a chain of philosophical reflections and inquiries. Faithful to the method of his younger days, Berkeley takes a concrete instance of the concatenation of nature. He discourses on the virtues of tar-water, and thoughts on these lead up to the highest mysteries of the universe. But when we divest the thoughts of this particular form, we have such a system of the universe as Bacon working with Plotinus might have conceived. The centre source and light of all is the One Supreme Spirit—the personal omnipresent God in whom we and all things live and more and have our being. The universe is his reflection, it represents his thoughts, it is the revelation of his mind and will, it is his language. But the old puzzling word 'arbitrary' has disappeared, and this language of nature is seen to depend upon great laws and to be capable of interpretation because so dependent. The esse of sensation and of the sense-world generally, is still percipi, but the ambiguity lying in the word is carefully distinguished. On the one hand all things are dependent on the creative and upholding influence of the Supreme Spirit. He it is that, making all things after their kinds, sends forth and sustains the archetypes of things. On the other hand, the fleeting sense-world is framed and shaped by the individual mind into the universe of things, in accordance with the divine ideas or archetypes which lie hidden in it. There is a double meaning in the phrase, esse is percipi. It means both that these ideas are dependent for the possibility of existence on the divine thoughts, or archetypes whose sensible shadows they are, and also that all sensible things are dependent for their particular formation and position on the formative powers of the human mind, which works in each man by general laws of human intelligence, in accordance with and for the discovery of the divine ideas lying immanent in things. And thus human knowledge is a reproduction, or discovery and representation of the thoughts which the divine creative thinking has built into things;[231] human science is a presaging or reading of the letters and words of nature which manifest its order and harmony, in the faith and expectancy that this same order and harmony now prevailing, because it depends on the divine ideas of the Creator, is fixed and enduring;[232] and the 'proper name of this world is Spirit—free immortal Spirit—Spirit in communication with Spirit—Spirit in dependence on and in reconciliation, through Christ, with the one absolute Spirit—God.'[233]

Art. IX.—The Future of Europe.

(1) Der Deutschen Volkszahl und Sprachgebiet in den Europaischen staaten eine statistische untersuchung von Richard BÖekh. Berlin: J. Guttenay. 1871.

(2.) France, Alsace and Lorraine. London: TrÜbner & Co. 1870.

(3.) The French Case Truly Stated. By Augustus Granville Stapleton. London: E. Stanford. 1871.

(4.) La France et la Prusse, pendant l'invasion de 1870. Par Erard de Choiseul Gouffier. 2^me Edition. Luxembourg: Pierre Bruck. 1870.

(5.) La France devant l'Europe. By Jules Michelet. 2^me Edition. Ferrier: Hachette and Cie. 1871.

(6.) Elsass und Lothringen nachweise wie diese provenzen dem deutschen Reiche verloren gingen. Von Adolf Schmidt. Dritte auf. Leipzic: Vert and Co. 1870.

(7.) Prussian Aggrandizement and English Policy. London: Ridgway. 1870.

(8.) Krieg und Friede. Von D. F. Strauss. Leipzic: S. Herzel. 1870.

(9.) The Interests of Europe in the Conditions of Peace. London: Stanford. 1870.

(10.) Recueil des Documents sur les Exactions, vols et cruautÉs des armÉes Prussiennes en France. Bordeaux: Feret et fils. 1871.

(11.) La RÉpublique neutre d'Alsace. Par le Comte A. de Gasparin. GenÈve et BÄle. 1871.

(12.) Who is responsible for the War? By Scrutator. London: Rivingtons. 1871.

(13.) Europe of the near Future. By Emeritus Professor Francis W. Newman. TrÜbner and Co. 1871.

(14.) Diary of the French Campaign of 1870; with the Decrees, Telegrams, and Proclamations of his Majesty the King of Prussia. London: TrÜbner and Co. 1871.

There are two antagonistic theories which profess to summarise history. Vico attempted, in the last century, to prove that the course of human events had, like the planets, an orbit of their own, into which they returned after a certain number of years. In fact, according to this philosopher, the tendency of history was to repeat itself, much like a compound circulating decimal. But the rapid development of physical science has, of late years, thrown this theory very much into the shade, by confronting it with the more glittering notion of human perfectibility. Mankind, instead of gyrating in an ellipse, move along a line of infinite progression. Scientific men fondly imagined that the march of intellect was destined to impel society, through stages of uninterrupted progress, to a fanciful millennium. Knowledge was to be the spiritual means of redeeming the nations. When mankind came to understand their relations to the surrounding universe, Astrea would again visit the earth, and the golden age return. There were not wanting many minor postulates which seemed to support this splendid vision. All the wars of Europeans found their root in dynastic interests, and would vanish, when the wishes of the million became the main-spring of politics. The knell of standing armies was rung by a citizen soldiery; and with standing armies vanished all fear of territorial aggrandisement. Economic inventions and the wide ramifications of industrial interests were fast binding mankind in a network of harmony and peace. Under war waged for the spell of these illusions, philosophers and statesmen had looked back upon the past as the wilderness of humanity, and, from the heights of Pisgah, sighted the promised land. Even Gioberti, priest though he was, did not shrink from avowing in his primato, that if the Jews looked forward to the Messiah as yet to come, in the light of the golden age, he was as staunch in that belief as the stoutest Israelite among them. The rationalist divines have vied with the poets of our own age in announcing the approach of the dawn of an era of universal peace and happiness. In the midst of these delightful anticipations a speck appears upon a sunny sky, no bigger than a man's hand. But it suddenly swells to gigantic dimensions and sheds disastrous twilight over the fairest regions of the earth. Without any rational pretext whatever, two of the most enlightened nations of Europe rush with murderous weapons at each other's throats. They close with deadly gripe; inflict upon each other mortal blows, until one sinks through sheer exhaustion. The collapsed state is then let blood. Heavy gyves are placed upon it, from which there is little chance of escape for many years to come, and then only by combination with some other power. Between two races who were, a little time ago, beginning to forget their old animosity in acts of amity and goodwill, the flames of hate are anew enkindled with a vehemence destined to last through all time. Now these phenomena may, doubtless, be explained by the usual philosophic method of assigning very simple causes to very complicated effects.

As to which power is humanly responsible for these multiplied disasters, is discussed at large in the pamphlets before us.[234] The question is not simply historical, but bears directly upon the reasonableness of the terms of peace which have been imposed. If Prussia is as blameless in the transactions which led to the outbreak, as Bismark would make out, it is obvious he had some reason for his recent severity. But this, we think, can in no way be sustained. We do not share the bias of the authors who have written on this subject. It is our opinion, having heard, with the impartiality of a nisi prius judge, all that can be said upon the subject, that both parties have been lamentably in the wrong; that the diplomatic relations between France and Prussia for the last six years have been conducted upon principles more worthy of thieves than honest politicians; that each has been attempting to overreach the other; that Napoleon began these subterranean intrigues with a view to secure all the prizes of war without fighting for them, and that Bismark so manipulated events as to cause the Emperor to fight after all, and left him nothing but defeat for his pains. Each knew that the mining operations in which both were engaged, had gone so far, that they must explode somewhere, and each endeavoured to direct the train from his own territory to that of his neighbour. It is beyond question that Bismark, if he did not plan the Hohenzollern intrigue with his eyes open to all the consequences, knew of its existence when his Government denied all knowledge of it. It is also clear that Baron Von Theile, in a conference with Benedetti, repudiated, on the part of his Government, the very suggestion, after Bismark and the King had expressed their approval of the candidature.[235] From the declarations of the French ambassador on this occasion, Bismark must have known the irritating effect the avowal of the scheme must produce on the French Government. He also refused to advise the King simply to withdraw his consent from Leopold's acceptance of the Spanish crown, when pressed to do so by the British Government,[236] though that step would have probably induced France to give up the quarrel. When the Prince withdrew his claims to the Spanish throne at the instance of his father, Prussia sullenly refused to renounce her sanction to those claims, and thus bore a very conspicuous part in drawing upon Europe the consequences which followed. Then, there is a great deal of mystery about the telegram from Ems conveying the falsehood that the King, in a crowded watering-place, turned upon his heel when accosted by, and refused to speak with, the French ambassador. Now, it is expressly admitted by Bismark, that he sent copies of that telegram to all the German representatives abroad; and either himself or his subordinates must have caused its insertion in the official Berlin gazette, by which the war excitement in both countries was roused to fever height.[237] We all know it was that telegram which impelled the French Government to launch their declaration of war. It is also upon record that France, in the course of February, made, through Lord Clarendon, two overtures to Berlin for mutual disarmament, offering to reduce her various contingents to the extent of 90,000 men, which was, in fact, one-eighth of her army; but that Bismark, having churlishly refused to listen to the first proposal, did so far entertain the second as to forward it to the King, who, under the counsels of his astute chancellor, declined the proposition on the ground that the military organization of Prussia was the vital principle of her constitution, and that she was least of all inclined to modify it, in front of an aggressive Russia, and with the probability of an alliance between Austria and the South German States[238]—two pretexts, the hollowness of which, recent events sufficiently demonstrate. Now, though the conduct of France is utterly indefensible in provoking the conflict after the Hohenzollern grievance had been substantively withdrawn, we cannot acquit Prussia of irritating her adversary, and of provoking, in a great degree, the blow she seemed anxious to repel. In point of fact, both parties had their respective interests in the struggle; both desired to fight; both, like two pugilists, had been in training for the encounter during the last five years, and both were determined that so opportune an occasion should not be lost for bringing it on.

The indulgence of military vanity, and the desire to dominate Europe, are faults which may be ascribed to France in a larger degree than to Prussia. But Germany, after having disarmed her antagonist, has indulged these propensities with a mercenary spirit, and with the manifest intention of wiping France out of the list of the great powers. The frankness with which this is avowed is admirable in its simplicity. France must be hindered from being dangerous in the future. She must, therefore, be reduced to such a position as to render her alike both impotent and defenceless. She must be degraded from her state in the family of nations. She is, therefore, stripped of her armaments: her artillery, her muskets, her swords, her ammunition, her military stores, in fact, nearly all her implements and panoply of war, are carted off to Berlin. That she may not be in an immediate position to supply their place, she is loaded with a pecuniary indemnity which must exhaust the energies of another generation. The frontiers of the country are thrown back to the state in which they were in the middle of the sixteenth century. The strong chain of fortresses which France has erected or fortified during the last three hundred years, with two or three minor exceptions, have been wrenched from her by her enemy. Strasburg, Bitsche, Phalsburg, Thionville, and Metz, protecting that flank of France which is most exposed to attack, are now only so many reservoirs, ready, at a moment's notice, to open the rivers of invasion and deluge the country. Metz, which is only some 160 miles from Paris, is a naked rapier laid across the defenceless throat of France. With her greatest buckler of defence in the hands of Prussia, anything like independent action on the part of France is manifestly impossible. While Metz is in the hands of Prussia, she must remain as politically weak as Piedmont, with Austria in the Quadrilateral. With a bankrupt exchequer, with a pillaged population, with a disorganized government, with a defenceless frontier, with a mutilated territory, with civil feud in her capitals, with all her strongholds in the hands of the enemy, with an imposition of £200,000,000 sterling as a war indemnity, France is not likely to recover her physical strength in our day; and when vigour returns to her shattered frame, it will be only to feel she has lost her place in the councils of Europe.

There are, of course, many excellent reasons assigned for this sort of beneficence, which need only be stated to win common assent. Metz and Alsace belonged to the house of Hapsburg in the fourteenth century. They ought, therefore, to belong to the house of Hohenzollern in the nineteenth,—a convincing argument, which no country so consistently as Prussia could urge with elaborate effect. If every nation which has been disintegrated during the last two hundred years, should get back its own to-morrow, we all know how much Prussia would be a gainer by the transfer. But the inhabitants of Alsace speak a patois of German and French, which contains something of both, and is not either. They are, therefore, clearly entitled to be governed from Berlin. This principle is beautifully illustrated by the Sclave-speaking population of Silesia, the Polish community of Posen, and the Danes of Schleswig. What more in keeping with this piebald collection of people, in the name of nationality, than the French people at Metz? Then, were not Alsace and Lorraine taken by force and guile from Germany? and what more proper to retake them by the same openhanded violence? But it is forgotten that these provinces were first wrenched from France by Germany, so that to restore the original balance, France will have to scramble for them again. By this flux and reflux of empire, at least, one principle is fully assured. Nations are prevented from becoming stagnant. The standing pool of industrial affairs is defecated. War becomes, not an exceptional, but the normal condition of the universe. Civilization has the consolation of knowing that it has no sooner got on its legs, and is about to gather into its granaries an exuberant harvest, than it is knocked over again and its fruits are withered.

It is singular that German ideologists, whose views are so sound upon abstract subjects, should put forth such inconsistent trash, to justify their newly-adopted policy of territorial aggrandizement. There are, however, a large number of sentimentalists in the world, who have a strange hankering for the past, whose sympathies it was necessary to secure. The German archives have, therefore, been ransacked for every tittle of evidence to prove that Metz was a German province in the fourteenth century; and, therefore, if any Frenchmen are found there in the nineteenth, they ought to be under Prussian rule. But to do Bismark justice, he has a great contempt for trashy dialectics of this character. He takes his stand upon the firmer ground of political expediency. France has invaded Germany some twenty-seven times, stimulated entirely by her lust for the Rhine provinces. It is, therefore, necessary to reduce her to such conditions that she is not likely to offend again. In the case of the German ideologists, we grant the premise, but deny the inference. They are doubtless sincere in their unreason. But Bismark's premiss and conclusion are alike vicious, and no one knows that better than himself.

The earlier wars of France against the Empire arose out of the struggle for these border possessions when the posterity of Lothaire II., to whom they belonged, had died out; but in these wars, France, then being parcelled out among numerous vassals, had the worst of it. A series of German irruptions, under Henry the Fowler, and the Othos, united these domains to the Empire. They were, however, held more or less as fiefs of the crown of France. The French element within, and French intrigue without, always gave the German emperors great uneasiness; and this, combined with further schemes of obtaining fresh fiefs in Burgundy and Flanders, exposed France to two German invasions—one under Henry V., and the other under Otho IV., which made Louis the Fat and Philip Augustus tremble for their suzerainty. But the Germans soon found in Italy a richer field for their exploits, and France was left to constitute her unity without much hindrance, until the empire fell into Spanish hands. Afraid, then, of being bodily eaten up, her monarchs became aggressive; but their blows were aimed, not against Germany, but against Spain, unluckily without any great effect; for, the towns of France were some half dozen times invaded by the Emperor and his allies, her king captured, and her fortresses demolished. Our share in these plundering transactions helped us to Tournay and Boulogne. In the next series of wars, which arose out of the religious and political dissensions of the empire, if France intermeddled, she was invited to do so by the Protestant princes of Germany, with whom she was allied, and whose interests were menaced by the house of Austria. As the price of her intervention, she got a portion of the disputed frontier; but we never heard that Germany otherwise than freely conceded the long-coveted prize to her, or regarded this portion of the Treaty of Munster as a menace to her liberties. It was not until Louis Quatorze seized Franche ComtÉ, and sent his legions over the Rhine, that Germany manifested any uneasiness at the ambition of France—an uneasiness which the league of Augsburg immediately dispelled, and an ambition which the armies of Eugene and Marlborough levelled to the ground. Hence, Lorraine soon afterwards fell as quietly into the hands of France, as if its exchange for the reversion of Tuscany had been an arrangement of Providence. We are rather curious, therefore, to know how Count Bismark gets his twenty-seven instances of French aggression against Germany, and whether he includes in the list the troops which France lent to Prussia to enable her to retain her hold upon Silesia, and the counter-support she gave Maria Theresa to enable the empress to defeat Prussia. It is evident no parties are responsible for such interventions except those who invite them; and to ascribe to the ambition of the people of France, wars which arose out of the rapacity of his own countrymen, is a phase given to the quarrel which outrages common sense. Even were all the wars carried on under the Louises, the Richelieus, and the feudal princes of France, as wantonly aggressive as Bismark would make out, the French people are no more responsible for them, than the horses which dragged their artillery to the field. They were waged frequently in their own despite, purely for dynastic interests, and as often undertaken to repel aggression, as to make it. Even when the people woke up to their sovereign rights, in 1789, from whom did the first deliberate act of aggression come? From mild and peace-loving Prussia. Scarcely five years ago, we saw both the Saxon and Bavarian palatinate entirely at the mercy of the first French regiment that might have ventured to cross the border, without a hand being stretched forth to snatch the defenceless prize. It is therefore false, in fact, to assign to the French such an incurable lust after German territory, as to warrant the necessity of her political servitude. The French have no specific hatred to the Germans as a people, any more than they have to the Italians, whose territory they have honoured no less frequently with their presence. The allegation of Bismark is not, therefore, very assuring. He revives the memory of these miserable feuds, as a reason why they should be stopped; and produces a treaty, for that purpose, which only transmits them to posterity, wrapped in a blaze of undying vehemence. It is monstrous for the conquerors of a country to assign, as a pretext for its abasement, the participation of its rulers in those quarrels which originated with themselves. The great shield of Germany against French interference is its unity. Had she further insisted upon the fortresses in Alsace and Lorraine being dismantled, with an adequate pecuniary indemnity, she would then have been doubly secure. But when, in addition, she requires the keys of France to be placed in her hands, and the country, bound hand and foot, to be cast under her feet, it is idle to say that Prussia is aiming at mere immunity from aggression. There is a weightier reason behind for the mutilation of France, which it would be inconvenient to avow, and that is the preservation, if not the increase, of her own military ascendancy.

Prussia in making peace consulted her own interests. Had her troops returned to Berlin after concluding with France a wise and durable treaty, that would have occurred which occurred after the peace of 1815—Germany would have demanded free and liberal institutions. There would have been no necessity for Prussian CÆsarism. Berlin would have had to modify her military constitution. There would have been no necessity for vast armaments. The world would have once more settled down to pacific ways. But in leaving behind her an exasperated France, Prussia has the strongest of all motives for inducing Germany to perpetuate her military dictatorship, and keep the war ferment at high pressure. But it is impossible that the most pacific country can remain long under the influence of such a military organization as Prussia commands, without using it as an instrument for further aggrandizement. Were it indeed otherwise, a marvel would occur, the like of which would be unknown in history. Who ever heard of a power suddenly overtopping Europe, and, amid a handful of weaker states, stopping short in her career of aggression? Those who believe in the pacific virtues of Bismark, and the pious sincerity of William, ask us to indulge in anticipations which have never been realised. Did Rome stop when it overran the Peninsula, Macedon when it fulminated over Greece, the Caliphs when they stormed Constantinople, or the Hapsburgs when they conquered Vienna? There is a momentum in all states, once entered upon a career of conquest, which hurries them along with a speed proportionate to the extent of their acquisitions. The law of rising kingdoms may be formulated almost with the same nicety as that of falling bodies. Nor are there any circumstances in this instance calculated to modify its tendency, except such as give it vastly preponderating force and direction.

It must not be overlooked in this case, that the states under the hegemony of Prussia are amongst the poorest in Europe. Some three hundred thousand annually are driven, by fell necessity, to seek that provision in foreign lands which is denied them at home. The little wealth possessed by the home population is not in the possession of their princes and feudal aristocracy, but in the hands of the mercantile class, to whom war would not be in the least distasteful, if it opened out new avenues for their trade. The poverty of the German Junker, however, has been up to the present only equalled by his pretentiousness. Sheridan advised the last generation of them, to sell their high-sounding titles, to buy worsted to mend their stockings. Yet some of our statesmen would have us believe that these gentlemen, long suffering under a painful sense of impecuniosity, will, on waking up to the reality of their being masters of the world, continue to go about, as heretofore, with empty pockets. Can we suppose that a strong state, steeped up to the ears in poverty, will continue quiescent, surrounded by weak states who oppose no barriers to her possession of superabundant wealth? The inference is against everything we know of human nature, even upon the supposition that Prussia, to whom the people have entrusted their fortunes, is the most pacific state in the world, and that they have been attempted to be worried like bleating lambs, in the recent struggle. The only rational conclusion is that the Junkers of Germany will, like every other impoverished class, make the most of their new position. They will sit down to consider what countries contain the great reservoirs of commerce, and by what accession of territory the stream of wealth may be diverted to their own land. Germany is in the condition of the miller who had large mills but no water. Is it likely, when she has the power, she will refrain from entering her neighbour's territory, to divert the course of the element which sweeps by her with such majestic abundance, without rendering any service to herself? If she did not withhold her hand from a few barren roods in the case of Denmark, is she likely to do so when the prize is more tempting, the power to snatch it a thousand degrees more startling, and the chances of failure so much less? There can be only one reply to these questions. If the bourgeoisie condemned the movement, their opposition would be treated with the same indifference as the opposition of the great commercial class to the war of 1866. But the Minister has only to show the trading class that the movement is a commercial venture, and he will convert them into his staunchest adherents.

The German people have acquired of late years a peace-loving character, which, however, is rather adventitious than real, springing more out of the helplessness into which they were thrown by the dissensions of the Diet, than out of any innate disposition to be less quarrelsome than their neighbours. That they are more phlegmatic, more industrious, and less easily roused than the French may be readily admitted. But we should be strangely oblivious of the thirty years' war, of the Silesian wars, of the Swedish and Italian wars, of the Danish and Austrian wars, if we came to the conclusion that, if left to themselves, and in possession of their united strength, they would be the most benignant people in the world. The Germans have always evinced a conservative disposition to follow their feudal chiefs, and, by espousing their quarrels, have kept Europe embroiled for many centuries. In no other country could a small state like Prussia spring out of a mere society of Knight Templars, and in less than two hundred years, take her place among the first powers of the globe. While the smaller states of the empire followed their indolent habits, and cultivated the dilettante tastes of their rulers, Prussia was perpetually sharpening her sword, carving out of her neighbours fresh slices of territory, and using one acquisition as a stepping-stone to another. The acceptance of the peaceful pursuits to which the inaction of the minor states, and the jealous rivalries and despotic tendencies of the larger, impelled their respective populations, as a pledge of the new era of quiet harmony upon which Europe is about to enter, is only another instance of taking the forced and exceptional state of a people for its normal and natural condition. If the German people could be divorced from their feudal leanings, if they could bind up their unity with free institutions, and sink the interest of each particular state in that of the entire community, we should regard their assumption of military supremacy as a blessing to Europe. But this state of things, so near being accomplished in 1848, is now further off than ever. Prussia, then, by the free voice of Germany, was offered the Imperial crown, upon condition of merging her individual sovereignty in that of the commonwealth. But she refused. Now she has got it upon her own terms—that of merging the commonwealth into herself. All the power and might of Germany, instead of being allied with liberal institutions, is wielded by one despotic hand. Instead of Germany swallowing up Prussia, Prussia has swallowed up Germany. Germany in inaugurating her unity, like the young man coming to his heritage, was surrounded by two candidates for her favours,—free institutions and military despotism—and, succumbing to the tempter, she has flung herself into the embraces of military despotism.

Prussia, who first intoxicated Germany with the idea of unity, has debauched her with the doctrine of nationality. The lure was in the Elbe Duchies, which she first held out to the Fatherland, and then appropriated to herself. The overthrow of Austria induced the Northern states to submit, some out of compulsion, and others out of love, but all out of a hope that under so puissant a leader, an impoverished state of independence might be changed for one of wealthy servility. Hence, the Confederation or Staatenbund of the North, which placed the armaments and international relationships of all the states on the Prussian side of the Main completely under the control of Berlin. The Treaty of Prague guaranteed independent action, as well as a separate confederation to the German states south of the Main. But while the ink wherewith that treaty was signed was scarcely dry, and while Napoleon was congratulating his subjects on having set up two confederations in Germany instead of one, Bismark signed treaties of offensive and defensive alliance with each of the Southern States, which made their confederation an impossibility, by placing all their armaments as completely in the hands of Prussia as if they belonged to the Northern Bund. But, in these days, changes take place so rapidly as to exhaust our breath in recounting them. The goal of Prussian ambition to-day, is its starting-post to-morrow. The North German Confederation, with their treaties of defensive and offensive alliance, which have done their work so effectually in the subjugation of France, has already made room for another edifice of a more momentous character. The Staatenbund, which has disappeared, was, as its name imports, a mere confederacy. The union was effective for federal purposes, but too much individual action was left to the component bodies. The armies of the Confederacy, though under the command of the King of Prussia, as President of the Bund, owed fealty to their respective chiefs. There is something naÏve in the declaration that they should have command of their own troops in time of peace. But now this poor shadow of sovereignty is taken away, and the armies of the Northern States, both in peace and war, are handed over to the King of Prussia, and constitute part and parcel of the Prussian force. The joints have, therefore, been tightened in proportion as the area has been extended. In point of fact, the former mediatized states have been virtually incorporated with Prussia; while the semi-independent sovereignties of the south have been reduced to the position of the former mediatized states. They have only one railway and water communication, one system of post and telegraph, one mercantile marine, one tariff, one code of civil and criminal judicature, one consulate, and one army and navy. The states south of the Main now find themselves bound up in closer ligatures with those of the north than formerly united these with each other. In other words, the Staatenbund has been changed into a Bundesstaat, or a confederacy into one allied State. The whole of Germany, from the Baltic to the Vosges, from the frontiers of Gallicia to the mouth of the Weser, is now united in a single commonwealth, with an hereditary emperor, with a central parliament, and a common capital: we need hardly add that the majority of that parliament are Prussian subjects, that the Emperor is the Prussian monarch, and that the capital is Berlin.

It is curious to notice the careful guarantees by which Prussia has secured the increase of her ascendancy in the new institution, and the growth of centralization in her hands. No change can be effected in the charter which is opposed by fourteen votes of the Federal Council. But as she has seventeen of these, it is clear Germany cannot enter upon a more liberal regime unless Prussia wishes it. Baden and Hesse have, like the Northern States, handed over their armies to Prussia, with whose forces they are henceforth incorporated. The King of Bavaria has the command of his own troops only in times of peace; in war he is liable to be superseded by a Federal commander, appointed by the Emperor. WÜrtemburg has consented to consign her troops to a Federal commander, nominated by Prussia, both in peace and war. For this concession the King has been allowed to appoint his inferior officers, subject to the approval of the Emperor. Throughout the rest of Germany, the appointment of all the officers rests entirely with the Emperor. All the citadels and fortresses of every state, without exception, are surrendered into his hands. He can give the keys of all the strong places to whom he chooses. The Emperor alone can make war or conclude peace; though unless the country be invaded, he has been restricted, at the instance of Bavaria, from making war without the consent of the Federal Council. But, as King of Prussia, he can make war when he pleases, which renders him as practically independent of control as if the restriction did not exist. The armaments of Germany are, therefore, as practically in the hands of Prussia, as the armaments of Russia are in those of the Czar. The concessions in favour of the Kings of WÜrtemburg and Bavaria are so trifling, that to call these princelings kings any longer is trifling with the name. Their sovereignties are virtually absorbed in the crown of Prussia. Let the phantom monarchs, who have signed their own death-warrants at Munich and Stuttgart, presume to interfere with the mandates of Berlin, and they will be dealt with as summarily as any provincial maire who ventured to disobey imperial decrees under the Napoleonic rÉgime.

These results we ventured to predict some five years ago, but they have been brought about with a celerity and completeness which even have surprised ourselves.[239] The fact is, there is a splendour and glitter about military achievements which the soberest cannot withstand, when they appear in the shape of victories over those who have been perpetually disparaging our strength or crowing over our weakness. It would, indeed, have been a great advantage to German liberty, had the different states been allowed to consolidate their unity in peace. Prussia would then have been obliged to make terms with the southern populations, who would have been alive to the necessity of obtaining solid pledges from her, that the resources of the German commonwealth should not be squandered to gratify the ambition of the house of Hohenzollern. But the astonishing exploits of Prussia, the unparalleled series of triumphs which have laid France prostrate at her feet, have carried away the judgments of the populations of the South, and induced them to call for indiscriminate amalgamation with the conqueror, in terms which their princes could not withstand. The sovereigns of Stuttgart and Munich had, therefore, no choice between deposition and obedience to the popular voice. They therefore made a virtue of necessity, and were the first to offer the Imperial Crown to the King of Prussia. In the Salle des Glaces at Versailles, surrounded by the pictures and medallions which perpetuate the triumphs of Louis XIV. in Franche ComtÉ and the Netherlands, and beneath the roof of the edifice dedicated to all the glories of France, King William was solemnly proclaimed Emperor, on the anniversary of the day when, 170 years ago, the Elector Frederick first assumed the crown of Prussia. Before all the representatives of Germany, ranged beneath the banners of their respective states, at the gates of the French capital, already quivering in the throes of capitulation, and girt round with all the panoply and pride of victorious armies, the German cannon thundered out the ominous title in the ears of dying France. In the power which the title created, the lofty pinnacle to which it elevated the sovereign upon whom it was conferred, in the proud circumstances under which the transfer of the Imperial Crown was accomplished, the imagination is carried back to the days of Charlemagne and Frederick Barbarossa in order to find a parallel. For, the pageant represented the assumption of no mere primatial dignity, but the extension of direct sovereign power, absorbing some three kingdoms, with twenty-four principalities, which at once enables it to become supreme in Europe, both in war and peace. The nominal federal ties, by which the princes of the Southern States are allowed to flatter their hereditary vanity, cannot even outlast the present generation; for the new elections to the Federal Parliament have returned a large majority, to strengthen the autocratic interests and centralizing policy of Prussia. The need of simplification in the laws which bind up the different states into one homogeneous body, will powerfully contribute to the same end, so that, in a few years, Prussia will find herself wielding the power of the CÆsars, with a single national authority.

That Prussia will not use the tremendous force she has thus acquired to fight for empty name or mere gloire, or marshal her battalions for deadly conflict, simply because some foreign ambassador has refused to take off his hat to one of her kings' mistresses, may be readily conceded; and, taking the transfer of military ascendancy from Paris to Berlin, so much in the interests of peace has doubtless been gained. But what guarantee have we that Prussia will not use her vast accession of power to augment her material interests and enrich the populations who have confided their fortunes to her management? The military and naval supplies are raised by taxes, over which neither parliament—the Reichstag, nor the Federal Council—the Bundesrath, has the slightest control. The chief corner-stone of English liberty is the dependence of the executive on Parliament. If it cannot get the supplies from the legislature, down it goes. But in the adroit charter lately manipulated at Versailles, there is no executive beyond the Prussian monarch and his chancellor, and the military taxes of the Empire find their way into their exchequer, without any check or hindrance, quite as if the process was a law of nature. The great doctrine of ministerial responsibility, without which not even the shadow of constitutional liberty can be inaugurated, finds no place in the charter of the new federal Empire. It is true that any extraordinary levies or augmentation of the armaments of the Empire would have to receive the sanction of the new German legislature. But when we remember that the military resources of the Empire are already developed to the utmost, that the normal military organization of the Empire enables Bismark to exhaust its last thaler, employ its last musket, and call out its last man, it would appear a mockery to hold out this provision as a guarantee of the influence of the popular element in the new constitution. It does not improve the situation, when we remember, how resolutely the popular element in the Prussian Chambers was set at defiance by the King and his Minister, upon the refusal of the majority to endorse the increased armaments which they demanded, to enable them to appropriate the Duchies, and afterwards to fight Austria. Bismark suspended the Prussian Constitution for four years, to carry out his policy of blood and iron. A despotic charter, in the hands of Liberal ministers, might be modified in favour of progress. But with a despotic charter in the hands of a despotic minister, we see little hope for the future pacification of Europe. France is under the heel of Germany, and Germany under the heel of Prussia. That that power will henceforth champion the liberties she has hitherto done her best to repress; that she will voluntarily renounce the plundering policy which has been the predominant feature of her character for a policy of justice and rectitude; that she will hereafter woo peace with the same ardour with which she has up to the present wooed the sword, is what we most devoutly wish, but which we cannot bring ourselves to believe.

In fact, Prussia has by no means fulfilled the destiny which she avows it is her honest mission to accomplish. She is called by Providence to unite the whole of Fatherland under her sceptre. But the German kingdom still remains divided. The edifice of German nationality still requires the copestone for the completion of the structure. The words which her sovereign addressed to the German people on the day when he accepted the imperial crown at Versailles, are strikingly significant of her pretensions, 'The Empire,' said the king, or rather Bismark, who spoke in his person, 'has been in abeyance some sixty years. We are summoned to undertake its re-establishment.' In 1806, the dissolution of the old Germanic Empire followed as a natural consequence of the Confederation of the Rhine. The Emperor of Austria, at the dictation of Napoleon, then renounced the title and regalia of the empire which had fallen to pieces, but which King William now takes it upon himself to revive. 'Accordingly,' says this monarch, 'we and our successors to the crown of Prussia henceforth shall use the imperial title in all the relations and affairs of the German Empire; and we hope to God that it may be vouchsafed to the German people to lead the Fatherland on to a blessed future under the auspices of its ancient splendour.'[240] As an earnest of this intention, Alsace and German-speaking Lorraine, together with a portion of French-speaking Lorraine, brought under the German flag, is an important revival of the old kingdom on its western frontier. This is a rich slice to commence with. But the resuscitation of the Empire with the western limb of the Austrian monarchy, and nine millions of Germans left out, is like the resuscitation of Greece without either Athens or ThermopylÆ; or the play of Hamlet, with the part of the Prince excluded from the programme. The union of Fatherland would be a mockery, and the revival of the Empire a nullity, without the annexation of those provinces which constitute the birthplace and cradle of its history. Accordingly, when the Germanic Confederation was set up in 1815, as a substitute for the old diet, the German provinces of Austria were deemed of such importance as to confer upon her the leading voice in its councils. It is not, therefore, likely that some forty-two millions of Germans will long remain united, without endeavouring to include, under the same hegemony, the nine additional millions now clamouring for admission outside. Already, within the German provinces of Austria, committees are established, with a view to afford their Northern brethren a fulcrum for realizing the desired event. In Glatz, Salzburg, InnsprÜck, Linz, and Vienna, fÊtes were prepared to celebrate the recent triumphs of their German compatriots, which the Hohenhart ministry was obliged to suppress by force. But even despite of the Government, numerous meetings have been held in which the warmest eagerness for German unity and for federal union with Berlin has been expressed. Indeed, the Austro-Germans who formerly aspired to lead Fatherland, now live in subordination to the Sclaves, whose influence in the Austrian Chambers, by mere force of numbers, is paramount to their own. They, therefore, seek union with their heroic countrymen, with all the more ardour, as it would release them from the ascendency of a race whom they despise. Guided by the aspirations of his countrymen, Bismark will find a much easier passage across the Inn to the Leitha than across the Rhine to the Moselle. The work of German nationality has advanced so far that we must doubt, if Prussia remained indifferent to the prize, that the fusion would not be accomplished by the very momentum which the movement has already acquired. But with Prussia, true to the grasping instincts of her house, clothed with the enormous prestige of her recent victories, and throwing all her energies into the struggle, Austria can no more resist the absorption than a wave of the Eider could resist being swallowed up in a ground swell from the German Ocean.

The limits of the revived Empire on its Southern frontier will, doubtless, be such as to enclose those provinces in which the Germans form the principal element. These comprise Upper and Lower Austria, including Salzburg, Styria, Carinthia, and the Tyrol. Some two millions occupy the north and western frontiers of Bohemia. In the north-east of Moravia, and the eastern part of Austrian-Silesia, there are some seven hundred thousand more. But the proportion of the German to the Sclavonic populations of Bohemia and Moravia is only one-fourth; so that these provinces cannot be annexed to the German Empire without giving the doctrine of nationality its coup de grÂce. But Moravia and Bohemia constituted integral portions of the old German Empire. They were, also, reclaimed as such by Austria, on the construction of the Germanic Confederation in 1815. There are besides strategical reasons. For the Austrian Archducal province, with its three millions of Germans, would be blocked up between the Czechs and Magyars, while Bohemia would extend like a wedge into the bowels of the Empire. We are afraid, that when the question comes to be settled, both Bohemia and Moravia will find themselves eaten up, sandwichlike, by the German populations on the north and south frontiers, and assimilated into the political body which is already dominating Europe.

But the necessity of increased outlets for German industry, and of further materials for the expansion of her commerce, will be as powerful a stimulant for the growth of Prussian CÆsarism as the principle of nationality. Germany having achieved her national unity, will require free access to the seaboard of the German Ocean. She will require ships and colonies. The possession of Holland would place all these requirements at her disposal, and enable her to fructify her home commerce a hundredfold. Professor Newman sees such advantage to both parties in the annexation, that he is anxious the union should be accomplished; he rather naÏvely adds that Prussia will withhold her hand, because she would not wish to be hampered with Java or Surinam, and the other possessions which alone impart to Holland its significancy. Twenty millions of colonial population, however, would be a prize as glittering to the Germans as the Dutch seaboard at home; and, therefore, no one was overwhelmed with surprise when its annexation was mentioned as one of the overtures made by Bismark to the French Emperor in return for Prussian acquiescence in the French seizure of Belgium. Nor can it excite wonder that the French Emperor refused as promptly as his uncle, when the Russian Alexander offered to France both Syria and Egypt in return for allowing him to seize Constantinople. But now there is no France to block the way, and Holland is entirely at the mercy of Berlin. The House of Nassau had its representative in the Germanic Confederation, to answer for the interests of Luxembourg. Why should it not have its representative in the Bundesrath at Berlin, and sacrifice its independence, to bask in the splendour of the new Empire? If the four millions of Dutchmen do not fall in with these suggestions so readily as the five millions of Bavarians, they will be found as incompetent as the Bavarians would have been, to oppose the high behests and the colossal interests of a race of fifty millions, who threaten to rule the world. The Netherlands were an important limb of the old Germanic Empire. The Dutch section of it is identified with Germany by military traditions. Her language and religion are Teutonic. In resuming possession of this territory, the revivers of the old imperial domination would not meet with anything like the difficulties they have to encounter in incorporating the eastern frontiers of France.

The absorption of Holland, by so powerful a country as Germany, would deal a heavy blow at our own naval supremacy. But this danger is the least of those which are ahead. For Prussia does not appear alone upon the scene of action; and there are prizes for her to seize, which require the support of an ally who has herself a direct interest in the spoil, and who is troubled with as few scruples as Prussia herself. There cannot, we think, be a doubt that Prussia entered upon the recent campaign with a secret understanding with Russia, of armed intervention on the part of that power, in case of certain eventualities arising out of the war, unfavourable to Prussia. The two combatants had not measured swords at Spicheren, before this treaty was suddenly announced, and as boldly denied. The cordial greetings of the two courts, moreover, during the progress of the war; the shout of rapture which every French disaster drew from the Emperor Alexander; the indiscreet announcement of the Emperor William, that he would never forget that he owed it to the attitude of his Imperial nephew that the war did not assume larger dimensions, and the conferring on each other, at the conclusion of the campaign, military honours; all these things tend conclusively to prove that, in league with Prussia, there is a power still more formidable to the liberties of mankind. Had it not been for this assurance of support from Russia, it would have been perfect madness for Prussia to leave her eastern frontier exposed to the inroads of Austria, when that power was counting her chances as to throwing in her lot with France. Had Austria moved a musket, Russia would have poured her troops through the defiles of the Carpathians, and given her another enemy to encounter. Bismark was, therefore, enabled to leave Saxony as much unprotected, as were the Rhine Provinces in the war of 1866. When France was prostrate; when she was expiring under the terrible effects of the blow which she had recklessly invited, but which the connivance of Russia enabled Germany with collective force to deal; that power plainly exposed her cards, and showed the interests she had in the struggle. In the month of November, Gortschakoff startled London by announcing the intention of Russia to repudiate the treaty of 1856. Within a little time afterwards, the Prussian Prince of Roumania declared he could no longer support his position as Turkish feudatary; but must convert his government into one of independent sovereignty, or retire from it altogether. About the same period, as if to bring the repudiation of treaties in fashion, Bismark announced the resolution of Prussia to withdraw from the guarantee of 1867 protecting the neutrality of Luxembourg. If two of these difficulties have been transitionally arranged, the compromisers have only deferred the real solution of the question they involve, to a more convenient opportunity. It is very ominous for England, that Europe, at present, is virtually in the hands of two potentates evidently acting in concert with each other, who can place two millions and a half of fighting men in the field; and that both have shown a disposition to complicate affairs in the East, to the spoils of which each possesses peculiar pretensions, as well as peculiar means of realizing those pretensions in the amplest manner.

The interest of Russia in driving the Turks out of Europe is traditional. She believes in it as a mission to which she is called by divine Providence. It is not merely an affair of conquest, but a matter of religion. For this she exists as a nation, bound to execute the task at all hazards, and to intermit no opportunity of bringing it about. With Prussia it is merely a question of arithmetic. But the gain to her, were the struggle only partially decided in her favour, is such as to overpower even an Oriental imagination. The conjoint export and import trade of Turkey may be set down at forty millions annually. Of this trade England has, at present, the lion's share. The rest is mainly divided between Italy, France, Austria, and Russia. Prussia and Northern Germany enjoy little or next to nothing of it. Turkey, to them, might as well not be in existence, except for the wealth it pours into the coffers of their neighbours. Formerly Russia has been prevented from dealing with the 'sick man' by the protectorate of the Western Powers. England and France have been repeatedly offered ascendancy on the banks of the Nile, in return for permitting Russian ascendancy on the shores of the Bosphorus. But, besides the principle of equity, which no English minister dare contravene, it would have been an absurd policy, in exchange for an African or Asiatic province, to place our trade in the Levant in jeopardy, by allowing Russia to instal herself in Constantinople. But Russia has now an accomplice who can help her to the booty, who is troubled with no moral delicacy, and who would gain a large revenue out of the transaction. Prussia, by laying her hand upon the north-western limb of European Turkey, would command the navigation of the Danube, and divert a large stream of Oriental commerce to the capitals of Germany. Provinces which are at present rich, even in their uncultivated state, would, colonized by Prussia, become the granaries of the world. The Italian portions of the Empire are gone from it irretrievably: but Germany can indemnify herself by expansion in an eastern direction. If, therefore, no extraneous force intervenes, we look forward to the establishment of a Prussian sovereignty, extending from the Euxine to the Adriatic, and owning no limit till it tops the crests of the Balkan. The scion of her house, who has already converted the Principalities into a Prussian arsenal, is in an admirable position to direct her energies towards this object. While Russia operates on the Asiatic frontier, the Prussian Hospodar, backed by German battalions, and reinforced with ordnance from Berlin, has only to put out his hand, and Bosnia and Servia are in his grasp. With the iron and steel of the Vosges, with the copper, lead, and silver mines of Carinthia and Carniola, with the silks and carpets of Shumla, and the grain of Servia and Roumania, Germany would possess a trade with which the commerce of Italy in the Middle Ages, or the colossal industries of England in the nineteenth century, would be dwarfed in comparison. Would she resist the prize within her reach, if the tempter at her ear instigated her to take it as her share of the spoil? The Ottoman Empire may be said to derive the very breath of its existence from the jealousy of the great Powers. The States of the West had an instinctive dread of the great Empire of the North, besides a mutual mistrust of each other; and, therefore, the fairest plains of Europe were allowed to remain in possession of those who had no ambitious instincts to gratify, and no foreign predilections to indulge. But now the state of affairs is profoundly changed, and Turkey finds herself at the mercy of two military despots, who are acting in concert, without any protection from their cupidity, but what their own mistrust of each other may happen to oppose.

Up to 1866 five great Powers existed in Europe. But we cannot conceal it from ourselves, that in the interim of a few years, three of these have either been neutralized or practically effaced. Since the battle of Koeniggratz it would be idle to say that Austria is of any account in Europe. The blow she received at Solferino was a prelude to the loss of Venetia, and the loss of her Italian possessions is only a prelude to the stroke which will drive her completely out of Germany. When empires rise, they accomplish the task of expansion with difficulty and labour, but when they sink, everything appears greased to impel the wheels along the declivity of descent. Austria has ceased to be an empire, and will soon find it difficult to maintain an independent sovereignty. When her Germans imitate her quondam Italian subjects in attaching themselves to their own nationality, the Magyar and multifarious Sclavonian tribes will alone remain, whose respective interests are so antagonistic, that anything like union under one sceptre, without being tempered by the influence of less excitable races, will be difficult in the extreme. At present, her possession of nine millions of Germans, is much more a source of weakness than of strength. Prussia, in any scheme of annexation she may contemplate, or in any object she may have in view, has only to show that it is for the interest of Fatherland, and Austrian Germany is at once alive to the necessity of paralysing the action of its own Government, and assisting the Prussian project. During the late war, it was manifestly the interest of Austria to have flung in her lot with France, but had she done so, the first enemy whom she would have had to encounter would have been her German subjects. The mode in which she clung to our garments during the struggle, and like a child with its nurse, interceded with us to interfere between the combatants, when she dared not interfere herself, was a glaring instance of the timidity arising out of her weakness. When we remember the boldness of Metternich before Napoleon I., and how Maria Theresa, yet bleeding from the loss of Silesia, confronted the united hostility of France and Prussia, we are astonished at the pusillanimity which Austria displays, even in her present stage of decrepitude. In 1866, though backed by nearly all the military forces of the Confederation, she suffered herself to be prostrated by Prussia, and her imperial mantle to be stript from her in a few weeks. It is therefore not from such a Power that any help can come, when Prussia in the name of Germany finds her way to the seaboard of the Northern Ocean, or when the Russian Emperor and his ally choose to realize any little plans they may have concerted, with a view of bringing Turkey within the sphere of European civilization.

The position of France is much more desperate than that of Austria, though the compact unity of her race holds out a better prospect of her recovering some portion of her former strength. This, however, if it occurs, will not be, at least, in our generation. We must, therefore, regard the course affairs may take during the next twenty years, as if she was not in existence, at least as a controlling power. It is not the effect of the material, so much as of the moral, ruin of the French nation which has to be feared. Before the German armies passed through the defiles of the Vosges, the corruption of the Second Empire had done its work in effeminating the character of a gallant people. The mode in which the Army of the Rhine left the capital of France for the frontier, animated with the spirit of conquest, and glittering with all the vain conceit of anticipated triumph, and the mode in which that proud host was rolled back, never halting for a moment until fortressed walls afforded them some respite from their pursuers, can be paralleled only by the bluster of those armies of old, who under Mardonius and Hippias came to wreck all the pride of Persia against the gates of Greece. The spirit of a nation must be entirely emasculated, its prowess gone, when the flower of its soldiery can surrender in masses of hundreds of thousands to an enemy in numbers hardly superior; and when the great body of the army can be allowed to be shut up for nearly two months in a fortress, without making any decisive attempt to cut through a line of weaker proportionate strength, and without the country so much as putting up a finger to relieve them. The capitulations of Sedan and Metz, consigning the famous Imperial Guard, which so often restored the fluctuating fortunes of France under Ney and Cambronne, and 300,000 soldiers to the hulks of Germany, there to be employed as beasts of burden and helots, make us almost blush at the name of Frenchmen. Such shameful surrenders are hardly equalled by the masses of barbarous Cossacks under Peter the Great, whom Charles XII. netted like shoals of fish in the Ukraine. If the Republican armies did not conduct themselves so ignominiously, it cannot be forgotten that the strategy of Chanzy and Faidherbe was disconcerted by the Mobiles flinging down their arms at the critical moment, and exhausting in a panic-flight energies which ought to have been employed against the enemy. Even in the Paris sorties, after the tide had spent its strength, more soldiers surrendered themselves than the Germans cared to make prisoners. It also speaks volumes for French military degeneracy, that the German armies were permitted, for four months, to go through the dilatory process of strangling Paris, by famine, without a single attempt being made to interrupt their two lines of communication with Germany, except a bold but abortive one by Ricciotti Garibaldi, when, had the country by foraging parties constantly directed its energies to this end, they might have placed the besieging armies in the same plight as the besieged. If the French justly complain of the physical prostration to which the plundering and huckstering propensities of the Germans have reduced France, this mischief is nothing in comparison with the moral prostration to which their submission to twenty years of a corrupt despotism has brought the country. The injury inflicted by the foreigner, they may in a few years partially retrieve, but the evil they have inflicted on themselves is likely to be of a far more permanent character. The fact is, France can never show her face in the arena of foreign diplomacy, much less appear in the front rank again, until she probes her weaknesses to the bottom, and eliminates the causes which have so powerfully contributed to cast the nation, like a bleeding and mangled carcase, under the heel of Prussia. Perhaps the most destructive of these, is the number of hostile factions into which her population is split, each clamouring against the other, with a hatred ever ready to burst out into civil conflict. In France, Republicanism is arrayed against Monarchy, and each of these parties admits of infinite subdivisions, arrayed against each other. Legitimist, Constitutionalist, and Imperialist, represent the monarchical element. But the Bonapartist entertains not a greater hatred to the Orleanist, than the Socialist entertains to the Conservative Republican. Then, the priest-party in the country has a thorough abhorrence of the free-thinking Democrat of the town. It cannot be denied, that during the late war, these factions did much to paralyze the energies of the country. The Republican party had little sympathy for the armies which were overthrown at Woerth, and sent into captivity at Sedan. The priest-party had as little sympathy for the raw levies which Gambetta sent to be mown down like unresisting grass, under Chanzy and Bourbaki. The energy of the nation was constantly divided against itself. Its heart was never thoroughly enlisted against Germany in any part of the struggle. The country wanted a common hope, a united faith, a solidarity of principle to champion it in the struggle. Until these miserable feuds are terminated, we see little hope for France. For, they reduce the country to the same state of imbecility, which rendered Poland, fifty years previous to her extinction, of no account in Europe. That they will entirely disappear we have little hope. But that they will be very considerably diminished by the galling chastisement which Prussia has inflicted, is what we try to believe, although the events which have transpired in Paris during the last fortnight, in which the bloodthirsty cruelty and aimless recklessness of the Paris mob have been met by the miserable irresolution, divided councils, and practical imbecility of the Versailles government, almost destroy all reasonable hope. It is just in proportion to the degree in which hatred of Prussia, and the desire of being revenged for the punishment she has recently administered, shall diminish the rancour of political factions and amalgamate all the feelings and strength of the country into one flood-tide of patriotism, that we must look for the political regeneration of France. Prussia, by the exorbitant demands she has imposed, has certainly done her utmost to bring about this result. She has purchased the triumphs and security of to-day, at the expense of future ages of misery and retribution. But it is not consolatory to think that, whatever may be her efforts, so low is the present position of France, that she must consent to remain a political cypher during the present century, and that her only means of recovering her position, even as a first-class power, and of directing her united energies and resources to that end, is by renewing the struggle with her relentless enemy.

That France in the school of adversity will unlearn much of the frivolity and self-glorifying spirit which has distinguished her people during the Second Empire, is another advantage which may be hoped rather than expected from her recent disasters—an advantage, indeed, which would confer as many benefits upon herself as upon the world. France, ever since the days of Louis Quatorze, has been too much accustomed to deem herself the arbitress of Europe. She had come to recognise it as her peculiar mission to open or shut the Temple of Janus, and give peace or war to the world. It was her boast that not a gun could be fired off in Europe without her consent. This had been repeated so often, in later times, that not only Frenchmen but mankind generally came to believe it. The consequence was, that when any restlessness was exhibited at the Tuileries, foreign nations began to look at their muskets, increase their armaments, and prepare for eventualities. Nor will anyone, who considers the exploits of the First Napoleon, the marvels he accomplished in the midst of a divided Italy and a dismembered Germany, regard the belief as having no foundation. But France, while trading on the splendid reminiscences of the First Empire, during the Second, completely lost that daring and resolute spirit by which those wonders had been achieved. While pandering to all the foolish vanities, and indulging in the hectoring and blustering swagger, generated by the victories of the First Napoleon, she had sunk in the slough of effeminacy all that martial dash, that burning ardour, and fearless courage which enabled her, against overwhelming odds, to nail victory to her standards at Marengo and Austerlitz. The delusion under which she laboured, was not surpassed by that of Greece, who, when debauched by her Asiatic conquests, imagined, in her struggles with the Roman Empire, that she possessed the prowess of the heroes who made such havoc with the Persian armies at Marathon and ThermopylÆ. The folly, into which this delusion has betrayed her, can only be measured by the colossal nature of the task she undertook—a task before which even the adventurous genius of Napoleon would have quailed, that of defeating upwards of forty millions of Germans armed to the teeth, and united against her as one man. The result must open her own eyes to the hollow nature of her pretensions, quite as much as it has undeceived the world. She must now learn, if she would not be ridiculous, since she cannot bring her deeds up to the level of her words, to reduce her words to the level of her performances. She must for ever renounce all idea of military ascendancy in Europe—an idea, the realization of which has so often covered her with wounds, and now has eclipsed all her glory. The cultivation of a chastened spirit on the part of France, the abandonment of her levity, the manifestation of a proper sense of the humiliation to which she is reduced, will doubtless free the world from some nightmares, and powerfully contribute to the rehabilitation of the country. But the work is a question of time. The change cannot be perceptibly felt during the lifetime of the present generation; and in the interim, before she can exercise any marked influence on the course of events, the keys of Europe may be fought for, and the world's Empire given away.

When we contrast the past glories of France, the height of power she attained, or even the influence she might have exerted under wise rulers over contemporary events, with her present prostration and political eclipse, it is impossible to over-estimate the gravity of the crisis to humanity. A great force has been struck out of the nations. A power upon which during the last half century we leaned for the enforcement of order, and the progress of constitutional ideas in Europe, has been removed. She is, at present, as politically dead as if the Atlantic wave rolled over Limoges, and crested the Jura. Except England, which it is the fashion to decry as selfish and sordid, her Crimean and Abyssinian wars notwithstanding, France was the only nation in Europe that was chivalrous enough to fight for abstract right, especially when it was endangered among the Latin nations. It is owing to her that Italy has become free, united, and independent. The Poles always found in her the resolute champion of their interests. Russian ambition had nowhere a more uncompromising enemy than the great people whose political obsequies are now being celebrated by illuminations in Berlin. It is true, on a few occasions, led away by a false sense of her own interest, her Government refused to sanction the policy we recommended for its adoption; and in the case of the Egyptian suzerainty and the Spanish marriages, moved exactly in a contrary direction. But it may be safely affirmed that for the last half-century, under every government France has possessed, she has co-operated with our own, in resisting aggression, and promoting the triumph of constitutional principles in every part of Europe. Under the united flags of both countries, an independent kingdom was founded in Greece. From 1830 to 1833 she assisted us to establish Belgium, to promote constitutional government in Switzerland and Piedmont, and to guard the infancy of the constitutional monarchy of Spain. In 1839, we united our efforts to extinguish the feud between Mehemet Ali and the Porte. We also joined our protests, when Russia suppressed Warsaw, and Prussia and Austria extinguished Cracow, just as we sent in our united protests when these two powers made their raid on Denmark. Our forces fought together in 1827 to protect Greece from Turkey, as in 1854 to protect Turkey against Russia. The two Western nations were, as regards force, the complements of each other. What the one wanted to be complete, the other had. Singly, they were impotent to withstand any combination of despots; but united, they might have defied the world. Now France is a wreck, and we stand isolated in Europe. The head of the Latin nations lies shattered in the dust; and the people whose independence we assisted her to build up, are unable by themselves to lift an arm, or to afford any effectual barrier against aggression. Their sole resource now is in England, who stands alone, looking with dismay upon the effacement of the two allies, upon whom she mainly relied in her difficulties, and upon the alliance of two military monarchies in Europe who dominate the situation. It depends entirely upon the attitude of Great Britain during the next few years whether she surely shall participate in the fate of her allies, and abandon the world to a retrogressive policy; or whether the foyers of freedom and independence shall be kept alive in Europe; and whether the spirit of justice and rectitude, instead of that of rapacity and conquest, shall sway the intercourse of nations.

For our part, it is not without some misgivings that we look forward to the policy of Great Britain, during the next thirty years. We do not lose our faith in God, nor in the power of right principles, nor do we mistrust the indomitable spirit and resources of the country when once fairly roused, disciplined, and utilized with sagacity and skill. But of late years there has been a growing party in the State, who would confine the energies of the Government to its own internal affairs; who would withdraw it from active intervention in European politics; who would employ every shilling of our expenditure upon developing the commercial resources of the country, and who would not even prepare to resist an enemy until they saw him actually approaching our shores. The disciples of this school, fortified by the principles of political economy, refuse to see any other element in our relations with foreign countries than the mere ledger account of barter and gain; and anything which suspends the traffic, or withdraws the national energies into other paths, is denounced by them as suicidal to the national interests. War shatters the doctrines of political economists. It is, therefore, only natural they should attempt to relieve us of warlike armaments and decry military organization. There can be no doubt that the Reform Bills of 1831 and 1868, by throwing power into the hands of the great trading classes, have augmented the strength of this party, until it weighs with preponderating effect on the main-spring of Government. We gladly admit the beneficial influences of the changes which this party have largely contributed to bring about, in interior retrenchment and municipal reforms, in the equalization of political privileges, in the extension of education, in the partial abolition of University Tests, in the liberation of commerce from protective duties, and of religion from State-Church endowments. We heartily accord, moreover, with its denunciations of the war spirit, as such. But we cannot shut our eyes to the fact that these benefits have not been unalloyed by some admixture of evil. For, to the fact of our applying all our energies in this direction, may be traced the breakdown of our armies before Sebastopol; the acceptance of the declaration of Paris, which strips England of one of its most potent weapons in naval warfare; and the shameful abandonment of Denmark in the affair of the Duchies, which has given rise to three wars and to the present complicated difficulties which we have to face.[241] It even now is a question whether, if Russia were to enter upon a new phase of encroachment in the East, or Prussia were to annex Holland, we could, or dare, interpose with dignity and effect. Any joint scheme of conquest pursued by these two military monarchies, we might certainly as well hope to resist, as a child might venture to arrest an avalanche; and our individual incompetency would, in the eyes of the governing class, be a solid reason for not endeavouring to solicit the aid of a series of disorganized States who are weaker than ourselves. For the last fifty years, our influence abroad has depended very much on the martial spirit and the indomitable pluck we displayed in our struggles with the First Napoleon. But, if we were now to enter upon a Continental war of only one-fifth of the dimensions of that we carried on against Napoleon, we should find ourselves, without allies, as little competent to support our former prestige, as the French have lately found themselves to support the prestige of the First Empire.

But the weakness of England lies not so much in the ascendancy of the non-intervention party, as in the hand-to-mouth policy of the English Executive. Every question of foreign policy is considered exclusively on its own merits, and solely with relation to the circumstances of the hour. It is never considered as evolved out of the events of the past, and linked with the impending events of the future. The Minister, instead of contemplating the question in its philosophic bearings, surrounded with all the lights which his lofty position enables him to command, counts his majorities, feels the pulse of the nation through the organs of the press, and decides upon adopting that course which shall most contribute to strengthen his power. In all these questions, the necessity of preserving a Cabinet is always paramount to that of saving a nation. At this crisis, it is unfortunate we have to do with States which pursue an entirely opposite system. The foreign policy of England fluctuates now in one direction, and then in another, much at the mercy of vulgar opinion, according to whatever whims the Minister may have who happens to be in power. But the foreign policy of Russia and Prussia broadens out like a mighty stream which unceasingly rolls its current in one direction, and never ceases to return with renewed effort upon any point where it may have sustained a temporary defeat. The policy of both Powers is one in act, identical in principle, substance, and complexion. It is the simple abnegation of justice in the comity of nations. Since the days of Peter the Great, and the first Frederic, the policy of these two Powers has been one of continuous annexation and conquest. Prussia has no more intention of arresting her course at the foot of the Carpathians, than Russia at the foot of the Caucasus. It behoves, therefore, the British people to change their course, and adjust their sails to the altered circumstances of affairs. Nor is it less incumbent on Ministers to be alive to the fact, that, though they may receive their home policy from the dictates of the people, it is their high sphere, on all questions of foreign policy, to guide, direct, create, and fashion the opinion of the country. There may be a difference of opinion as to how far the nation is bound to uphold the principles of abstract justice and right in its dealings with other Powers; but there can be no difference of opinion upon the obligation of maintaining these principles with the greatest tenacity, wherever their violation affects our interests. We would claim the support of the most rabid economist for the expediency of maintaining our rank as a first-class Power, if upon no higher principle than with a view to keep open foreign markets for our goods, and to prevent ourselves from being cut off from the sources of our commercial prosperity. A policy, which directed all the energies of the country to its own internal affairs, might be persisted in without radical injury, while the political equilibrium was divided between five States, each bent upon neutralizing its neighbour's power by counter-checks and balances; but the same policy pursued while Europe is in the hands of two military monarchies, apparently having only one game in view, would be simple ruin to the nation.

We therefore regard the present Army Organization Bill as a step in the right direction: our only objection to it is, that it does not go far enough. What the nation wants is increased military efficiency, and diminished expense. The Bill does not secure the one, and only partially realizes the other. We, however, are content to proceed by steps, if we are only secure of going in the right direction. Let us hope this measure is only the prelude to a series of others, which may increase our military efficiency without increasing the military burdens of the country. But union is strength. The liberal States of Europe, like the sticks in the fable, may be weak in themselves, but they can easily become strong by mutual alliance. The time is not inopportune for a League among the smaller States, based upon mutual defence from attack, which, if it could not preserve peace, might afford England, in conjunction with her crippled allies, a fulcrum of support in time of need. At all events, it is our duty, besides attending to our military organizations at home, to enter into closer relationship with the independent States of Europe, that if the autocrats of the North persist in indulging their old freak of enriching themselves at their neighbours' expense, they may not find us unprepared to maintain the power and greatness of this country.

Contemporary Literature.

HISTORY, BIOGRAPHY, AND TRAVELS.

The Lives of the Lord Chancellors and Keepers of the Great Seal of Ireland from the Earliest Times to the Reign of Queen Victoria. By J. Roderick O'Flanagan, M.R.I.A., Barrister-at-Law. Two vols. Longmans.

These two handsome volumes are the result of twenty-five years' almost continuous industry, and they bear abundant testimony to the variety and interest of the author's researches and lucubrations. It was undoubtedly a bold and happy resolution that led him to follow in Lord Campbell's path, and attempt to accomplish for the Lord Chancellors of Ireland, what that successful lawyer and judge had already done with such vigour, clearness, and liberality for the Lord Chancellors of England. Mr. O'Flanagan has certainly produced a work which will command public attention from the specially skilful manner in which he has furnished, in connection with the personal biography of the great lawyers, an almost continuous review of Irish events, together with a thousand traditionary reminiscences and anecdotes, scandalous or praiseworthy, concerning the Irish bar, from the earliest period. The portraits, especially in the first volume, may be rather indistinct; but, after all, the Lord Chancellors of Ireland, for a period of about six hundred years, stand before us with a remarkable distinctness, in all their variety of opinion, accomplishment, and character; the arrogant churchman, the profound politician, the corrupt judge, the staunch patriot, the fierce fanatic, and the eccentric jester, all playing their parts variously, and at times in a manner but little consistent with the character of their sedate and pacific avocations. The first Irish Chancellor of whom there is any record is John de Worchley, who received his appointment in 1219, in the reign of Henry III. Nearly all the early Chancellors were Englishmen, as well as prelates. Their courts were held in Dublin Castle. Their salaries were originally £40 a year, exclusive of fees and perquisites; now the income of the office is £8,000 a year, with a retiring pension of £4,000. The greatest of all the Irish Chancellors were certainly Lord Clare and Lord Plunket, and Mr. O'Flanagan not inappropriately devotes to their biographies nearly two-thirds of the second volume.

It is very evident to the most cursory reader of this work, that the author is a very staunch Roman Catholic, as well as a most patriotic Irishman; but we should not on this ground hold him disqualified for his present task, if he discovered a general candour and impartiality in those instances in which his religious convictions are concerned. Unhappily, however, in such cases, surgit amari aliquid. It would be impossible for us to note all the evidences of religious partizanship observable in the pages of this extensive work; but we prefer to direct public attention to a very bold though unsuccessful attempt to vindicate the character of one of the most detestable and unprincipled judges who ever disgraced the Irish bench. Mr. O'Flanagan has taken extraordinary pains to wipe the stains from the character of Sir Alexander Fitton, the Irish Lord Chancellor of James II., who certainly appears in no enviable light in the pages of Hume and Macaulay. Though compelled to admit that he may not be 'able to remove the stains altogether,' our author is still bold enough to say, 'with patience and perseverance, I have satisfied myself that party prejudice originated or embellished most of the original accusations.' (Vol. i. p. 467.) The case is one of purely historical evidence. Hume's reference to Fitton is in these words:—Tyrconnell was now vested with full authority, and carried over with him as Chancellor, one Fitton, a man who was taken from a jail, and who had been convicted of forgery and other crimes, but who compensated for all his enormities by his headlong zeal for the Catholic religion. He was even heard to say from the bench, that the Protestants were all rogues, and that there was not one among forty thousand that was not a traitor, a rebel, and a villain.' Macaulay's account is substantially the same; but he adds that Fitton 'often, after hearing a cause in which the interests of his church were concerned, postponed his decision, for the purpose, as he avowed, of consulting his spiritual director, a Spanish priest.' Mr. O'Flanagan disposes of these statements by affirming that both these historians drew their representations from the account of Fitton given in his 'State of the Protestants of Ireland during King James's Government,' by Archbishop King, of Dublin, an avowed enemy. Burnet, however, in his 'History of his own Times,' speaks of Tyrconnell and Fitton as 'not only professed but zealous Papists,' and of Fitton he says, he 'knew no other law but the king's pleasure.' It is a very remarkable fact that Plowden, the Roman Catholic historian, in his 'Historical Review,' published long after these works, does not make the slightest allusion to Fitton, though if he had preserved anything like the spirit of Mr. O'Flanagan, he would not have allowed the memory of James's Irish Chancellor to rot under the 'repulsive reproaches of two centuries.' But we are fully prepared to show that Dr. King did not speak without book in charging Fitton with forgery.

It is not a matter of much consequence whether Fitton was only 'one Fitton,' as Hume calls him, or a descendant of one of the most aristocratic families of Cheshire, as Mr. O'Flanagan, on undoubted evidence, assures us. Neither does anyone dispute the fact that he was convicted of the crime of forgery, and lay several years in prison. The question is, was he guilty of the crime? Our author says—'There is some doubt whether he was chargeable with the guilt which has been so unsparingly imputed to him;' but he cannot deny that a jury of twelve men had no hesitation on their oath in attaching forgery to his name. What, then, are the facts of the case? These are recounted at some length by Mr. O'Flanagan, following the admirable and now rare 'County History of Cheshire,' by Ormerod; but he has not fairly followed his authority, as his narrative omits passage after passage that bears most hardly against Fitton. We are also to remember that Ormerod's own authority was a tract written in Fitton's own justification, under the following title:—'A True Account of the Proceedings in the several suits in Law that have been between the Right Honorable Charles Lord Gerard of Brandon and Alexander Fitton, Esq. Published for general satisfaction by a lover of truth. Hague: Printed mdclxiii. Small 4to, 49 pp.' There was also another tract published, which, perhaps, Ormerod never saw, under the title—'A Reply to a Paper intituled, A New Account of the Unreasonableness of Mr. Fitton's pretences against the Earl of Macclesfield.' (British Museum, Parl. Law Cases, vol. v., p. 117.) The facts of the case as narrated in these tracts by Fitton's friends, may be briefly described. Sir Edward Fitton, who was childless, resolved in 1641, after paying his debts and bequeathing legacies to his sisters' children, to restore the ancient entail of the Gawsworth estates, and sealed it by indenture dated 9th Nov., 17 Car., on William Fitton, his next male kinsman, the father of Alexander Fitton, the Irish Lord Chancellor. In this settlement there was a power of revocation. It is said to have been confirmed by deed-poll, dated April 3, 18 Car., by Sir Edward Fitton, who died two years after at Bristol. The allegation is that this deed-poll was forged by Alexander Fitton, or, at his instance, by Alexander Grainger. After Sir Edward's death, his widow, Lady Fitton, retained possession of Gawsworth as her jointure; but on her death, after a series of lawsuits instituted against the sisters of Sir Edward Fitton, who were determined to retain the estate, William Fitton succeeded in getting Gawsworth into his possession, and his son, Alexander, afterwards succeeded upon his marriage in getting hold of all the property by paying off a number of mortgages against it. But nineteen years after Sir Edward Fitton's death, as this tract states, his nephew, Lord Gerard, produced a will bequeathing the estates to himself, as the son of one of Sir Edward's sisters; though it was stated, on the other side, that immediately before his death, Sir Edward said 'he would rather settle his estate on Ned Fitton, the bonny beggar, than on any one of his sisters' children.' The parties then went to law, Alexander Fitton relying on the deed-poll, and Lord Gerard maintaining that it was not genuine. The High Court of Chancery directed a trial at law to be had at Westminster upon this special issue, whether the deed-poll was the act of Sir Edward Fitton or not; for it had been rumoured that Lord Gerard's solicitor had prevailed upon Abraham Grainger to swear that he had forged Sir Edward's hand to the deed. The question came on for trial; the deed was substantiated—to use Ormerod's words—by the evidence of Mr. Richard Davenport, Mr. Edmund Barwick, and Mr. Thomas Smallwoods, whose deposition was taken on his deathbed by Mr. Edge, a clergyman; but the forgery was, on the other hand, fully acknowledged by Grainger himself, corroborated by the evidence of Gifford and Wheeler; and it was also deposed by Colonel R. Ashton,—Webb, Esq., Thomas Adams, Thomas Cotton, Captain Holland, and others, that they had heard Mr. Fitton confess that Grainger had forged a deed for him for £40. Depositions to Mr. Fitton's character were taken, and three witnesses not named are said to have sworn they had seen the deed-poll before the time alleged for the forgery. It was objected to Fitton that he could not prove where he had the deed, or who engrossed it; that it had not been mentioned at the former trials or at Fitton's marriage; and that the witnesses could not remember where it was executed. The jury found that the deed was forged. Now, let it be remembered that this narration comes from the Fitton party; and yet Mr. O'Flanagan holds Fitton guiltless in the teeth of the verdict of an independent jury in London, who heard both sides of the case. But the narrative does not end here. Processes were issued commanding several of Fitton's witnesses to appear before the King's Bench on an information of perjury. Then, says Mr. O'Flanagan, 'Grainger, conscience-stricken, declared his prevarication in a written document, stating that he had not forged the deed; that this document was signed in the presence of twelve or thirteen gentlemen.' Our author's version of Ormerod's history is singularly defective and one-sided. Ormerod says that Grainger—according to the tract—begged earnestly for an opportunity of acknowledging his guilt to Fitton; and, farther, did so before a citizen of London, not named, and a kinsman of Fitton's, not named; and then wrote a narrative which he read before twelve or thirteen gentlemen. But Ormerod says that these 'gentlemen' 'were all most probably in low situations, and are in no way identified.' The narration itself relates the most improbable circumstances, as, for example, that in March, 1661, Grainger, the narrator, was pulled off his horse, taken before Sir Allen Aspley, who committed him to the Gatehouse without examination; that he was in danger of being murdered in his bed by one Rowe; that he was threatened with hanging, and with getting his hands cut off, if he would not forge the will. Was there ever such an improbable story? And yet Mr. O'Flanagan passes over this statement in silence, without referring to Ormerod's honest judgment, that even the inference from Grainger's facts is in favour of Lord Gerard, and that the evidence of a perjured witness was of no value unless corroborated by independent testimony. We have good reason, then, to believe that not only did Fitton secure the forgery of the deed in the first instance, but that he induced Grainger to issue his recantation in the shape of the narration referred to. For the House of Lords, immediately after its publication, ordered two copies of it to be burned, one at Westminster and another at Chester, 'at such time as Lord Gerard should appoint,' and inflicted the following severe punishment on Fitton and three others:—'That Alexander Fitton should be fined to his Majestie in the summe of £500; and should be committed close prisoner to the King's Bench Prison until he should produce Grainger, and should find sureties for his good behaviour during life; and that Edward Floyd, John Cade, and John Wright (three of the witnesses), should be committed to the Fleet during the King's pleasure, and should, before their enlargement, find sureties for their good behaviour during life.' It is evident from this very stringent proceeding of the House of Lords that they connected Fitton very directly with the disappearance of Grainger, and that Grainger was either unable or unwilling to come forward to stand the ordeal of a public examination upon the circumstances of his recantation.

We submit, then, that Archbishop King—'with all his hatred of Catholicity'—was perfectly warranted in saying that Sir Alexander Fitton was 'a person detected of forgery, not only at Westminster and Chester, but likewise fined by the House of Lords in Parliament' (p. 65). Mr. O'Flanagan has no evidence to offer against Dr. King's further statement that he was an inefficient and partial judge, for the mere negative evidence that the Irish bar did not express any dissatisfaction with his decisions is not worth the slightest consideration. He admits that Fitton did consult one Dr. Stafford, a Popish priest, before giving some of his decisions; but then Stafford was made a Master in Chancery by the same power that placed Fitton at the head of Irish law; for, as King remarks, the Chancellor 'was forced to make many needless references to the Masters in causes that had no difficulty in them.' Stafford, 'the learned and loyal,' Mr. O'Flanagan calls him, may have been 'an eminent doctor of the civil law,' but the Reverend Master in Chancery who perished at Aughrim in cheering on the courage of the Irish troops was not exactly the person best fitted to dispense justice in such critical times—side by side, be it remembered, with Felix O'Neal, another Master, son of Turlogh O'Neal, the bloody rebel and murderer of 1641. We do not believe, then, that Mr. O'Flanagan has succeeded in the slightest degree in 'removing the stain' upon the character of Fitton.

Select Charters and other Illustrations of English Constitutional History, from the earliest times to the reign of Edward the First, arranged and edited by William Stubbs, M.A., Regius Professor of Modern History. Oxford, at the Clarendon Press, 1870. Pp. xii. 531.

This volume is intended to be, primarily, a 'treasury of references; an easily handled repertory of the Origines of English Constitutional history; and, secondarily, a manual for teachers and scholars, with a view to the first purpose.' Professor Stubbs has collected 'in it every constitutional document of importance during the period which it covers;' and with a view to the second, he has also 'pointed out the bearings of the several documents on one another, and on the national polity,' in his prefatory remarks to each of them, 'supplying in the introductory sketch, a string of connexion and a continuous theory of the development of the system.'

As 'the first traces of our national history must be sought for, not in Britain, but in Germany—in the reports given by CÆsar and Tacitus of the tribes which they knew;' reports in which we have indeed a 'somewhat indistinct picture,' yet 'one which when interpreted by the clearer history of the later stages of the institutions which are common to the Teutonic race, does give a probable and consistent representation' of them. The Professor's first extracts are taken from the 'Commentarii' of one of these authors, and the 'Germania' of the other. These are followed by others taken from Mr. Thorp's translation of the 'Ancient Laws and Institutes of the Anglo-Saxons.' The remainder of the volume consists of 'Select Charters and Excerpts,' illustrated by carefully selected passages from the chronicles of the several periods, as well as by other historical documents not easily accessible to any who have not the command of a public library, and some of which are to be read only in MS., all bearing upon the 'long struggle of the constitution for existence,' which terminated only with the reign of Edward I. There are only two documents of a later date given—the 'Petition of Eight,' of 1628, and the 'Bill of Rights' of 1689; both of which are printed in an appendix.

Mr. Stubbs thus states his reasons for closing his labours with the reign of the first Edward. It is 'the period of time at which the nation may be regarded as reaching its full stature. It has not yet learned its strength, nor accustomed itself to economise its power. Its first vagaries are those of a people grown up, but not disciplined. To trace the process by which it learned the full strength of its organism,—by which it learned to use its powers and forces with discrimination and effect,—to act easily, effectually, and economically,—or, to use another metaphor, to trace the gradual wear of the various parts of the machinery, until all roughnesses were smoothed, and all that was superfluous, entangling, and confusing was got rid of, and the balance of forces adjusted, and their action made manageable and intelligible, and the power of adaptation to change of circumstances fully realized, is the story of later politics—of a process that is still going on, and must go on as the age advances, and men are educated into, wider views of government, national unity, and political responsibility. We stop, however, with Edward I., because the machinery is now completed, the people are at full growth. The system is raw, and untrained, and awkward, but it is complete. The attaining of this point is to be attributed to the defining genius, the political wisdom, and the honesty of Edward I., building on the immemorial foundation of national custom; fitting together all that Henry I. had planned, Henry II. organized, and the heroes of the thirteenth century had inspired with fresh life and energy'—(pp. 50, 51).

The value of the volume is considerably enhanced by a glossary that might be extended with great advantage, and especially so if made to include the French and Anglo-Saxon words, as well as the Latin ones, which are employed in the body of the work. It would also be well if in some cases the definitions were to be accompanied by references and quotations after the manner of Ducange. The learned Professor would, moreover, render good service to students and teachers alike, if he were to add such explanatory notes to some of his excerpts as he well knows how to compile. The volume ought to be no stranger in any of our colleges, and well deserves a place in the 'curricula' of our public schools. It will not be without its interest and its value also to the general reader.

The War Correspondence of the 'Daily News.' 2 vols., Macmillan and Co.

Diary of the Besieged Resident in Paris. Hurst and Blackett.

Journal of the Siege of Paris. By the Hon. Captain Bingham. Smith, Elder, and Co.

Letters on the War. By T. Mommsen, D.F. Strauss, F. Max MÜller, and T. Carlyle. TrÜbner and Co.

The Great Duel. By W. R. Greg. TrÜbner and Co.

When the history of the war of 1870 comes to be written, it will furnish scope for genius the most various and the most profound. A greater Jomini will be needed to elucidate the tactics that decided greater battles than Borodino or Austerlitz; to unweave for us the intricate web of the great strategist's plans; to solve for us the problem whether he is a superstition and a fetish, reaping the glory sown by the organization and morale of his troops, or the silent centre from which was directed the regulated play of such tremendous forces. But though the time for the military critic or the philosophical historian has not yet come, the events and scenes of the war, as they photographed themselves in the eye of the spectator, are full of immediate interest, and demand for their adequate description the highest order of picturesque power. Probably no accounts of the recent campaign so amply satisfied our modern thirst for the picturesque as the letters written to the Daily News. The moving panorama of the battle-field, the scientific deploying of vast masses, the heroism of attack or repulse, were brought close to our eyes. The description of the battle of Gravelotte reads like a page torn out of Tacitus, and for awful vividness might stand by the side of Thucydides' narrative of the plague. So swiftly have events passed out of chronicle into history, that the accounts of the early battles of the war—Weissenburg, WÖrth, Forbach, will even now bear reperusal, and contain much that in our hungry desire for the salient facts was omitted at the first reading. Till a spectator of the entire course of the war shall fuse his impressions of the moment with his mature reflections, and produce a continuous living narrative of the whole, these letters will probably remain the best compendium of the history of the last eight months. We may add that the republication comprises many of the letters of the veracious 'Besieged Resident.' They are at least amusing, and give the proper seasoning of farce to the tragedy.

The 'Besieged Resident' remained in Paris during the siege 'to enjoy a new sensation.' He had new sensations in abundance; and generously gave the British public, through the medium of the Daily News, the benefit of his experiences. They were sufficiently varied, for he went in search of them—grotesque, for fidelity to fact is not his strong point—and amusing, for he is the liveliest of persifleurs. The personal element in these letters was unquestionably that which gave them their charm; the siege as it affected the 'Besieged Resident,' rather than the 'Besieged Resident' reporting on the siege, seemed to be the subject of them. How his clothes were held together by an infinity of pins, how his boots had burst in half-a-dozen places, and how horse did not assimilate with his inner man, were facts which made the Philistine's breakfast an interesting meal during the siege. Now that the letters have been published in a complete form, these important facts seem less prominent, and we are able to recognize the real value of the narrative as a history of opinion—journalistic, Bellevilleite, and bourgeois, during the four months of the investment. The description is not flattering. The 'Besieged' plays the part of valet to the Parisian heroes, and sees very little of heroism but a great deal of braggadocio. A somewhat cynical temper perhaps lends some exaggeration to mere common-place folly; but it seems certain that the despicable traits and unworthy actions of which the 'Besieged' is the chronicler will have to be taken into account in any truthful narrative of the great siege. On the whole, it does not seem likely that the 'Besieged' will be superseded in his self-assumed function by any subsequent chronicler.

Captain Bingham is a more prosaic narrator than the 'Besieged Resident,' but there was so much to be seen that he has many incidents to relate without touching on ground already occupied. His book is a consecutive narrative of facts, which are all the more trustworthy that they take no colouring from the individuality of the writer.

The 'Letters on the War' are of no evanescent interest, but are a permanent contribution to the literature of the subject. The writers of them are the Titans of the Teutonic race, whose clear duty it is to speak out, as the prophets of old spoke out, in a great crisis of history. Those of Dr. Strauss and Mr. Carlyle are the most important historically, as they are also the most interesting. Mr. Carlyle's historic retrospect reaches back to Louis XI., and is meant to show what a terribly bad neighbour France has been to Germany for the last 400 years. He describes the grand 'plunderings and incendiarisms of Europe' by the French, and he believes that Germany would be a 'foolish nation not to think of raising up a secure boundary fence against such a neighbour.' And why should not Alsace and Lorraine be restored to their original owners? The only titles of France to them are the 'cunning of Richelieu and the grandiose long-sword of Louis XIV.' He has pity for France but no sympathy; acknowledges her services to civilization and the grandeur of her 'Insurrection against shams,' in 1789; but believes that the German race is now to be protagonist in the 'immense world-drama.' Dr. Strauss's argument is, like Mr. Carlyle's, historical, but with diminished perspective, and from a different point of view. He traces the history of the movement towards national unity, travailing towards birth through the obstructions of the reactionary despotisms, planted by the diplomacy of Vienna, the abortive revolution of 1848, and the apathy or despair of all but the enthusiasts. He accepts the creed of Bismark; unity could only be obtained through force, as Hegel saw seventy years ago.

In Mr. Greg's pamphlet and letters we admire the dexterity of the practised swordsman, whose convictions are chiefly a matter of logic.

Her Majesty's Tower. By William Hepworth Dixon. Vols. III. and IV. Hurst and Blackett.

We might as well surrender at discretion to Mr. Dixon. He is as confirmed in his ways as we in our critical canons. What the late lamented George Robins was among auctioneers—what M. Jullien was among musicians—what Dumas pÈre was among novelists—what the 'besieged resident' is among newspaper correspondents—Mr. Dixon is among historians; what it is not easy to say. He alike provokes and interests us. Our taste is offended; our critical conscience protests. Murdered Clio, like Banquo's ghost, sits in Mr. Dixon's place and 'shakes his gory locks.' The meretricious style—the superb magniloquence—the broad statements—the highly coloured pictures—the irrepressible affinities for what is coarse, make us fume with impatience and exclaim with anger: but we must read on; in spite of ourselves we are interested, although with the uneasy pleasure of a sin. We must, however, be just. Whether it be that our taste has adapted itself, or that Mr. Dixon has improved, we are bound to say that in reading these volumes our pleasure has been less alloyed, and has secured a larger measure of our good conscience than in reading any of his previous works. Some of his descriptions are well toned in their brilliancy, there are fewer catapult sentences, good taste is less frequently violated, extravagances of assertion are less daring, and altogether he inspires greater historic confidence, and excites more literary pleasure. Happily, however, we are released from all reasonable obligation to apply historic tests. Mr. Dixon tells us that he has not 'cared to fret the reader by a dozen references in every page to pipe-rolls, doquets, warrant-books, and council registers.' Such things, we admit, are encumbering; they are vulgar, moreover, and altogether unworthy the dignity of history, and are only temptations to irreverent readers. It is pleasant to read a well-printed page, undisfigured by a single reference, to be unable to distinguish too nicely between a 'doquet' and 'the caricatures' which Miss Burdett Coutts has lent him. We read 'Her Majesty's Tower' as we read 'Kenilworth' or 'Richard III.' If it be neither history nor fiction, it is something better than either, and it is well by the absence of all references to be released from the responsibility of determining which. Mr. Dixon certainly does possess considerable narrative and descriptive ability. His literary art is great. He cannot be dull. Whether he also possesses patient power of historical research, and a judicial faculty of exact presentation, we have no means of judging; but it is conceivable that with these, combined with adequate scholarship, he might have trodden not unworthily in the footsteps of Macaulay. We regret that he has chosen to write after the fashion of the Daily Telegraph—to lay himself out for sensations—the result of which is a series of volumes which might have been brilliant history, but which are only sensational articles.

In the range of these volumes Mr. Dixon is essentially a free lance. The first of the two is almost entirely occupied with George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, the infamous favourite of our British Solomon, and with the base intrigues and dirty scandals of his court,—why it is impossible to say, inasmuch as, except that some of his victims were imprisoned in it, Villiers had no more to do with her Majesty's Tower than Macedon had with Monmouth, nor so much, for Villiers does not begin with a T. It is, in fact, a romance of Whitehall, of which Villiers is the hero. And it is by no means a clean one; that under any circumstances it could hardly be, but, as Mr. Dixon tells it, it is like a bad dream. Throughout we feel the evil suggestion. Mr. Dixon seems to delight in keeping us on the verge of nastiness, and to have peculiar unction in reiterating such offensive epithets as the one he applies to Dean Williams. We think that the dirty intrigues and unsavoury stories with which the author of 'Spiritual Wives' has filled this section of his work might, without much detriment to our knowledge of either history or social manners, have been left in the obscure records from which they have been culled. The career of Villiers, the son of a poor knight, who began life as an amateur comedian, and in that character pleased the pedantic voluptuary James, and was rapidly elevated through a succession of offices and dignities until, when he fell beneath Felton's knife, he was Duke of Buckingham and the most potent courtier in England, is an inseparable part of the history of England; and the shameless corruption and profligacy of James's court, of women like the 'parent,' as Mr. Dixon chooses to label the mother of Villiers, and indeed of almost every circle of fashionable life, are as vitally connected with the convulsions that followed, as the Courts of Louis XIV. and XV. are with the French Revolution. But what connection there is between the details of Buckingham's rascality and of his mad escapade into Spain with Prince Charles, and the Tower of London, passes our comprehension. The only pretence of a connection is, that on the safe arrival at home of Buckingham and the Prince certain prisoners in the Tower were liberated. Williams, who was first a Welsh curate, and then, as the reward of being a hateful pander, was exalted to be first Dean of Westminster, and ultimately Archbishop of York, is a despicable character, and history will not qualify Mr. Dixon's portrait of him. 'Little Laud' was made use of by 'the parent' as his successful rival. He was destined to play a part in the tragedy which followed that he little dreamed of.

In Eliot, Mr. Dixon has a genuine hero of the Tower. His account of him is almost unexceptionable, only, one remembers that here he had the advantage of the previous labours of Mr. Forster. Eliot, for his fearless and incorruptible patriotism, endured a long imprisonment in the Tower. He died in it—one of its noble army of martyrs. For seven years after his death, as is well known, no Parliament was called in England. Mr. Dixon in trying to be magniloquent is almost profane when he tells us that of this period 'Wentworth was the State, Laud was the Church, and Charles was God.'

The fourth volume is much more relevant to Mr. Dixon's theme. We could have spared the catalogue of names with which, after the manner of Homer's list of ships, it opens, and which is an amusing instance of the sonorous effects which Mr. Dixon delights to produce; but the volume is, on the whole, satisfactory. The instances are well selected. The dramatic skill with which his heroes are presented is great. The interest is legitimately sustained, and we are really gratified to be able to speak highly of the whole. We cannot follow him in detail. Our sympathies are most interested in the visionary politico-philosopher James Harrington, the author of 'Oceana,' the sorrowful victim of idiotic fears, whose political prevision, Mr. Forster's Ballot Bill, after two centuries, is just about to realize. Mr. Dixon rapidly sketches, as heroes of the Tower, the second Buckingham—the Duke of Richmond, who was guilty of falling in love and eloping with the king's mistress—the Earl of Castlemaine, who connived at the unfaithfulness of his wife, and died a monk—the two Penns—the romantic story of Colonel Blood—the mysterious tragedy of the Earl of Essex—the martyrdom of Lord Russell, and of Algernon Sydney—the execution of the Duke of Monmouth—the lurid tragedy of Judge Jeffreys—the death of Laud—the fate of the Scottish Jacobites—the romantic escape of Lord Nithsdale—the imprisonment of Sir Francis Burdett—and the finis to the prison history of the Tower in the anti-climax of the Cato street conspirators.

We wish Mr. Dixon had treated his really great epical subject with more dignity and with better taste. His powers of picturesque narration and of vivid portraiture are great: is it too late to ask him to employ them upon better themes, and to subdue them to great purposes?

Annals of Oxford. By J. C. Jeafferson. 2 vols. Hurst and Blackett.

There is, perhaps, no subject on which a book of pleasanter and more instructive gossip could be compiled than the English universities. Their origin and early constitution are excessively vague and uncertain, and are therefore a source of perpetual interest to the antiquary. It is known that they came into existence as part of that intellectual revival which is coupled with such names as Anselm and Abelard, and that the first notices of their activity represent them as vigorous institutions. As soon as the colleges, which are special characteristics of English academical history, are founded, information as to the domestic life of these ancient corporations begins, and is continued uninterruptedly to our own time. The materials for the annals of Oxford and Cambridge are copious, and such annals, were the facts carefully selected and well arranged, would be an exceedingly valuable addition to the social history of this country. Few people, for example, are aware of the very important part which Oxford played in the incipient reformation of Wyckliffe in the fourteenth, and in the revival of tithes under Erasmus, More, and Colet at the conclusion of the fifteenth, centuries; or of the refuge which both Universities, but especially Cambridge, afforded to the leaders of Puritanism in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Nor are there many persons who are alive to the fact that the legislation of the Restoration, which tied both these great institutions down to a political system, under which the Established Church was made the slave of the State and the gaoler of the mind, degraded and demoralized both Oxford and Cambridge.

Mr. C. Jeafferson has some pretensions to the reputation of a good gossip. He has compiled certain amusing books about the professions of law, physic, and divinity. In an evil hour he was tempted to risk this reputation, and to write a book about Oxford. He has succeeded in producing one of the worst specimens of book-making which has ever been put before the public. To call these two volumes the 'Annals of Oxford' is a gross abuse of words, for they are not annals in any sense whatever. A few facts are culled from very familiar authors, such as Anthony Wood and Gutch, and are diluted with a prodigality of verbiage to which no experience of ours can find a parallel. The most important parts of academical history are omitted, as for example the contest between the University and the Archbishop of Canterbury, in which Oxford supported Wyckliffe against prelate and pope, and succumbed only when she was threatened with the loss of her franchises. The reader is treated to an account of the origin of the University, for which there is neither authority nor probability, for throughout the two volumes the author is utterly without any information of what the University has been or is, notwithstanding his boast that he 'knows nearly everything about Oxford in the dark ages.'

But the most serious offence which the book commits is not its omission of important facts, or its intolerable dilution of unimportant ones, or its misapprehension of the whole subject, but its incessant vulgarity. There is hardly a page in the two volumes where we do not find examples of that slangy familiarity of expression which passes with some people for wit or humour, and which in pretending to avoid dulness is the dullest of all sins against good taste. Mr. C. Jeafferson's contribution to the history of Oxford is wholly without value, and for the sake of the writer's reputation as a collector of gossip and anecdote, the kindest wish which a reviewer can make him is that the 'Annals of Oxford' may be speedily forgotten.

The Life of Isambard Kingdom Brunel, Civil Engineer. By Isambard Brunel, B.C.L. Longmans. 1870. pp. 568.

Very few men in the history of the world have at the same time said so little and done so much as Isambard Kingdom Brunel. He was eminently the worker as distinguished from the talker. Not that he had, as was the case with the illustrious Hunter, a difficulty as to expressing his thoughts in appropriate language. His mode of expression, on the rare occasions when he did speak, was pointed and happy. His reports and professional correspondence were models of clear perspicuous terseness. But he felt that his works were the true witnesses as to his character; and to their silent and enduring testimony he was content to commit his fame. Though he was made as often as any public man of his day the object of frequent and unsparing attack, he rarely offered any verbal reply, restrained by that proper pride in his own profession which forbade him to appear before the irresponsible and uneducated tribunal of the political press.

What those works were on which rests a reputation that will increase while the fame of many others fades and disappears, his son, in a modest volume, brings briefly to the notice of the public. There is evidence that Mr. Isambard Brunel has been a pupil in his father's school. He has confined his work within limits only too narrow for the actual magnitude of the subject. Very often, by the simple form of abstracted chronicle which he uses, as in describing the launch of the Great Eastern, he does more to silence slander and to terminate controversy, than could have been effected by the most eloquent advocacy. Still, we could wish he had allowed his pen fuller scope. We should like to have heard more of the inner life of so remarkable a man, to have had the taste gratified by illustrations of his refined and graceful fancy, and to have had the magnitude of his works brought into fuller relief by a more minute description of his unsleeping toil, his unflagging and audacious originality, and his conscientious effort to bring all his designs and every detail of their execution to the sternest test.

It is easy for those who have a mere newspaper acquaintance with Mr. Brunel to sneer at the education attained by the engineer at the expense of his shareholders. At the commencement of the railway system in this country something of the kind was inevitable in the case of every leading engineer. The great features on which the success of the railway system mainly hinged were not arrived at by scientific deduction. The speed which George Stephenson estimated at sixteen miles an hour—viz., the velocity attained by some of the most rapid coaches of the period—was raised to from twenty to thirty miles an hour, in the first instance, by Captain Ericsson (the inventor of the Monitor), in conjunction with the late Mr. John Braithwaite. During the experimental trials on the Liverpool and Manchester Railway, the Novelty, the engine built by these engineers, passed by the Rocket, that of the Messrs. Stephenson, like a shot. The ill-constructed four-wheel engines of Mr. Bary, with which the London and Birmingham line was opened, were constructed for a moderate rate of speed. From those which, of his own design, Mr. Brunel put on the Great Western Railway, he obtained a speed equal to that of the flight of the swallow—from sixty to seventy miles an hour. A level portion of line between London and Slough was daily traversed by the express trains at this high speed.

While the forethought of Mr. Brunel—which added fifty per cent. to the accommodation afforded by his lines of railway for the future traffic of the country—doubled the speed of his own trains, it further compelled the narrow-gauge lines, by the use of the long six-wheeled engines, materially to increase theirs. The sagacious genius of the engineer was evinced yet more splendidly in the services he rendered to navigation. Of oceanic steam traffic Mr. Brunel may justly be called the father. In July, 1837, the Great Western steamship was launched at Bristol, and in April of the following year she arrived at New York, after a journey of nine days, with a fourth of her coal unconsumed. The Sirius was built by the St. George's Steam Packet Company expressly to anticipate the Great Western, so that by sea as well as by land Mr. Brunel effected almost as much by the emulation he awoke as by his own energy and toil. The Sirius arrived at New York a few hours only before the Great Western, having consumed every combustible on board, down to a child's doll! The measured tonnage of the Great Western was 1,340 tons; that of the Great Britain, launched at Bristol in July, 1843, was 3,443 tons; that of the Great Eastern, launched in the Thames on 31st January, 1858, was 13,343 tons. It was thus that the cautious shipwright felt his way before developing the full magnitude of his conceptions.

For the account of his further works—his docks and harbours, his bridges and viaducts, his investigation of projectiles and of screw propulsion, his admirable military hospital for the Crimean expedition, his general professional practice—we must refer our readers to the volume now before us. All those who regard the civil engineer as a sort of typical or central workman, and who therefore are prepared to measure our future progress in applied science and industrial art by the scale afforded by the condition of this profession in England, will do well to read with care this very interesting book.

Memoir of George Edward Lynch Cotton, D.D., Bishop of Calcutta; with Selections from his Journals and Correspondence. Edited by Mrs. Cotton. Longmans, Green, and Co. 1871.

In this volume Mrs. Cotton has given to the world a memorial of the late Bishop of Calcutta, which by those who personally knew him, and also knew English life in India, will be read with peculiar interest. The scattered nature of their dioceses, the varieties of claims which they have to meet, the consecration of churches, and the confirmation of candidates, compel the dignitaries of the English Church in India to travel frequently and far; and, as metropolitans over the entire empire, the Bishops of Calcutta journey more frequently and to greater distances than their colleagues. A large portion of this memoir is devoted to the details of such journeys; and the descriptions of places, persons, and incidents, coming fresh from the ripe, scholarly, and cheerful mind of one who saw Indian scenes and manners for the first time, give to it a peculiar charm. The extracts from the Bishop's journals and letters are numerous, perhaps too numerous and extended; and the connecting links, now detailing important facts, and at another time discussing the bearings of some great question, are written with clearness and power.

The vein of humour which ran through Bishop Cotton's mind enabled him to discern the lively and especially the burlesque aspect of the scenes through which he passed, whether in school and college days, or amid the serious labours which closed his life. At Rugby he named the fat denizen of his sty Vitellius; at Cambridge he would class his personal friends in an imaginary tripos, and award them medals and honours which expressed his estimate of their worth; and his letters to his children and old friends are full of the amusing side of native life.

With many things to interest him, the reader cannot but be disappointed at the book. It is almost entirely confined to the few years of Bishop Cotton's episcopate. At page 68 he has already left England for his Eastern diocese at the age of forty-nine; and the story of the next eight years occupies five hundred pages. All we can learn of the mental and moral growth of his English life, of his distinguished career as an educator, and of the remarkable position which he early attained among the foremost clergy of the English Church, is contained in the first three chapters of the memoir by Dean Stanley, with the beautiful notices of his work and influence by Professor Shairp and the late Professor Conington. Yet his early career deserves to be described as fully as that of Dr. Arnold, who loved him so well, whom he so greatly resembled, and to whose position as an educator he practically succeeded. These early years made him what he was—a careful scholar, a man of active, earnest piety, an intense lover of truth, a man of large mind and broad sympathies.

We took occasion, soon after the bishop's death in October, 1866, to express in these pages our high estimate of his worth and usefulness, and his views on the important questions with which in his brief episcopate he had to deal are fully set forth in Mrs. Cotton's narrative. His long but most interesting travels; his concern for the isolated English communities in India; his care for the spiritual interests of the English soldiery; his opening the consecrated Episcopal Churches to the use of the Presbyterian regiments; his charges to the clergy; his deep interest in the Episcopal missions, in the raising up of a native ministry, and in measures for the relief of native converts, such as their Re-marriage Act; his efforts to establish schools for East Indian children, are fully and carefully discussed. But while illustrating in many ways Bishop Cotton's large-hearted sympathies and the broad views which he took of men and things, the memoir fails to show how in religious matters he looked with deep interest on other Christian communities than his own, was prepared to do them full justice, and held the most kindly and unpatronizing intercourse with prominent members among them. A man of deep, sterling piety, an evangelical preacher, a faithful minister and bishop of his Church, a lover of good men, he well deserves the high position now accorded to his name by the members of the Church of England; and long will he be remembered with esteem and regard by men of many communions who outside her own pale are striving to evangelize India.

Some Memorials of Renn Dickson Hampden, Bishop of Hereford. Edited by his daughter, Henrietta Hampden. Longmans, Green, and Co.

Time brings its revenges, but not always repentance or wisdom. The Dissenters are to be admitted to the University, and the intelligence and good sense of the country—the dogmatic intolerance of such men as made Dr. Hampden a martyr alone excepted—heartily approve. He is justified as a man more foresighted and just than many of his contemporaries, and his persecutors are relegated to that limbo of conscientious intolerance into which all claimants of arrogant prerogative and all obstinate conservatives are cast. Dante should have devised a retribution for non-jurors, or Vathek should have represented them as melancholy ghosts with their hands upon their hearts and ceasing not to sigh out their non possumus. Opponents of every liberal advance in Church and State rudely swept into eddies by the stream of time, their characters are most heterogeneous and their labour very great. The forty bullet-headed Protectionists of the Free-trade reform, the Bourbons who 'forgot nothing and learned nothing,' the bereaved patrons of rotten boroughs—to say nothing of Laud and his school of divine right, of the good old times of the Star Chamber, of the Five-mile Act, of the Test and Corporation Acts, of Roman Catholic disabilities, of Church-rates, and the Irish establishment—must surely bemoan themselves very bitterly either because they maintained right in vain, or because they opposed it in vain. And yet inherent Toryism will not learn wisdom. The opponents of the Test Repeal Act are, in the present Parliament, repeating as blindly and as fatuously the follies of their predecessors. Miss Hampden tells the story of her father's noble testimony, for really while his actual life was much more than this, there is little more about it to tell. Learned, pious, candid, orthodox, conservative, reverently, and, as we should now say, almost timidly jealous for revealed truth, anything but a man of advanced opinions generally, Bishop Hampden was the object of a virulent and most unscrupulous persecution, such as must ever be the dark reproach of any Church or party whose polemical passions can make them capable of it. His sin was that he was strongly opposed to the Tractarian movement. He was too honest and honourable to be moved by this hostility from his position, although his scholarly and benevolent and sensitive life was embittered by it. He lived to see himself vindicated, and now the public opinion of England is about to endorse the clear-sightedness, candour, and justice of his advocacy. Of his great theological learning and catholic heartedness, there is no need to speak. The memoir, although not very skilfully put together, is an interesting and touching memoir of a very noble man.

The Life and Times of Lord Brougham. (Written by himself.) Edinburgh: W. Blackwood and Sons.

Though the space of time covered by this first volume of Lord Brougham's Memoirs was one of the most interesting in his own life, and one of the stormiest in European history, the narrative is languid, and contains no facts that are at once new and important. Indeed, his Lordship had been already forestalled by notable contemporaries, who had been seized more or less strongly with the autobiographical passion, and also by the fact that the earlier portion of his life had long passed into the region of history. What novelty the volume possesses it derives chiefly from musty journals of travel and political correspondence of evanescent interest. To be admitted to the spectacle of Opposition wire-pulling three-quarters of a century ago, and to be favoured with the rapid observations on transitory things of a hasty traveller, are benefits that were perhaps overrated by Lord Brougham. Had he been a philosophical observer, or possessed the power of picturesque description, he might have left behind him an enduring record of great and historical events, quorum pars magna fuit, which he had the double advantage of seeing, as it were, in the making, and also after they were reduced to their natural proportions by the perspective of many added years. That, however, we have no right to expect from Lord Brougham. As it is, there are some minute personal touches in the narrative which are at least curious. He attributes his enormous energy and success to the Celtic blood in his veins; very probably it accounts for his instability. He gives a shocking account of his grandfather's funeral, as an instance of the barbarous manners of the time, though, unhappily, it is far from having died out. He redescribes the origin of the Edinburgh Review, declaring that Sydney Smith's account of it is entirely imaginary, although he substantially confirms it; and he gives as his own, a satirical tale, which, it has been pointed out, is translated from the 'Candide' of Voltaire. We shall have more to say about both the autobiography and the man when the publication is complete.

The Life and Travels of George Whitefield, M.A. By James Paterson Gledstone. Longmans and Co.

The character and power of Whitefield must ever be a study of interest to persons who either as religious men or as historical students attach importance to the evangelical revival of the last century; and in proportion as it recedes into the past, as contemporary passions and their inspirations die out, and especially as the arrogant assumptions of a dominant Church are discredited, the study will have increased interest and recognised importance.

Several lives of Whitefield have been attempted, some of which we would rather not characterize. Mr. J. P. Gledstone is generously reticent concerning them. He makes no allusion to the labours of his predecessors, but simply tells his story with all the lights that are available. Nothing in Whitefield's character or history or work turns upon the discoveries of the antiquarian. The broad facts are adequately known, and the work of the biographer is to recite and interpret them. Mr. J. P. Gledstone has produced what, we think, will prove the standard life of Whitefield. His sympathies are catholic, and he does justice to the noble soul of Whitefield, who was the 'brother of all who in every place, and under every denomination, call upon the name of the Lord Jesus Christ. I have striven to put the man rather than his creed upon the pages of this book.' Whitefield was no theologian; he was simply a great preacher. His Calvinism was passionate rather than dogged, and in an inappreciable degree influenced his preaching. His great soul yearned for the salvation of men, and the more arduous the service the more attractive to him it was.

Into the merit of his great preaching power, however, we cannot now enter, and yet both now and at all times it is a study of the most vital moment to the Church. Mr. J. P. Gledstone's book throws upon it all the light that circumstance and fact can furnish, and intelligently suggests most of the deeper psychological and spiritual causes. We very cordially commend this carefully-studied and admirably-written life of the Chrysostom of England.

Twenty-two Year's Missionary Experience in Travancore. By Rev. John Abbs, of the London Missionary Society. John Snow and Co.

The Land of Charity; a Descriptive Account of Travancore and its People, with especial reference to Missionary Labour. By the Rev. Samuel Mateer, F.L.S., of the London Missionary Society. John Snow and Co. 1871.

The Pioneers; a Narrative of Facts connected with early Christian Missions in Bengal. By the Rev. George Gogerly, late Missionary in Calcutta. John Snow and Co. 1871.

Here are three more of the numerous and excellent works which in recent years have sought to illustrate in full detail the course and the fruits of missionary labour in India. They are valuable additions to the missionary library, and each will occupy a position of its own. Instead of dealing with the Indian empire at large, both Mr. Abbs and Mr. Mateer restrict themselves to the single province of Travancore. The work of Mr. Abbs recounts the missionary experience of twenty-two years, and is characterized by sound sense, extreme modesty, and deep religious feeling. Much valuable information is given on the relations between the mission in Travancore and the native government, and some fresh light is thrown on the whole question of caste as encountered by Christian missionaries in Travancore. In the same region Mr. Mateer spent nine years, and endeavours to render his little work a complete handbook of all necessary information respecting that district and its people. This information has been drawn in part from authoritative records, and in part embodies the results of the writer's own observation and inquiry during the period of his daily life within the province. The book is written in a simple unpretending style, and will amply repay perusal.

Travancore, called by the Brahmins the Land of Charity, or Piety, is a secluded province in South-western India, peculiarly devoted to Hinduism. Though occupied to a very large extent by aboriginal tribes, some of which must be of very ancient origin, many centuries ago it was religiously conquered by some prominent members of the Brahminical caste, and they have ever since retained the firmest hold upon its rulers and its people. All the wealth and prosperity of this well-watered and fertile corner of India have been poured into their lap, and the lower castes and aboriginal races have been their devoted serfs. Closely walled in by mountains and by the sea, it has had comparatively little intercourse with its immediate neighbours, and scarcely any with the more distant districts of South India. Its reigning family has long been seated on the throne; and Mr. Mateer describes the religious position occupied by its princes, and the strange ceremonies which both establish their sanctity and secure to the priests and Brahmins abundant rewards. Mr. Mateer also pictures the numerous races and classes which make up its million and a half of inhabitants, and explains the immoral causes and condition of things under which, in one caste especially, all property is made to descend to nephews and not to sons.

While describing fully the physical features and productions of the province, he dwells especially upon its religious aspects, and gives much information concerning the life and customs of the Shanar and Ilavar races, who in religion are devil-worshippers. It is amongst them that Christianity has made special progress during the present century. While the princes and nobles have been growing in knowledge and experience of their English rulers, the lower tribes have in great numbers accepted the Gospel. The story of the mission planted among them is given at length, and illustrations are presented of the fruits which they have produced in individual converts, in strong and liberal churches, and an indigenous native ministry. The Gospel has also leavened the population generally, and introduced many remarkable innovations among the hard and cruel customs of former days. The Brahmins have fought hard for their supremacy, but it is steadily passing away. 'Sir,' said a Sudra one day to a Brahmin, 'have you directed your attention to a wonder of the present age? Listen: the Brahmin has become a dealer in oil and fish, while the Shanar or pariah goes about as a Brahmin or teacher of the country. The Brahmin woman spends her day in cooking, eating, and sleeping; while the Shanar or pariah women are found in the streets with their Scriptures in their hands, pretending to teach their neighbours. Is not this a wonder? Verily the world is turning upside down.'

Mr. Gogerly, the well-known missionary of the London Missionary Society, has given a graphic and most pleasant account of the early leaders of the missionary enterprise in Bengal and of their work. Mr. Grogerly quitted the mission of which he was a member thirty years ago, and might long ere this have presented to the world the striking facts with which he became acquainted in the course of his Indian career. But he has reserved the story till the present day, when some of those facts have been gradually forgotten, and when the younger members of our missionary societies hear only of the modern aspects of Christian work, and of the larger fruit of conquered difficulties and converts gathered into the Church of Christ.

Mr. Gogerly's notices of the pioneers in the Church—Baptist, Free Church, and American Missions in North India—are brief, but some of them convey original information drawn from his own experience. He naturally gives fuller details of the mission to which he himself belonged, and in which many remarkable events occurred worthy of a permanent place in our missionary histories. Later residents in Bengal will read with wonder of a state of things in regard to the manners of the people, their views of idolatry, the honour rendered to devotees, and the satisfaction felt with the ancestral religion, which has long since yielded to the knowledge and light which for forty years have been changing the Bengal race, and making them a new people. The numerous anecdotes given by the writer illustrative of former days, of domestic habits, of village education, of native amusements, and of ancient customs, are extremely interesting. Some institutions referred to, like suttee, have disappeared. In regard to others, such as female education, the position of things has wholly changed.

Mr. Gogerly's book is well illustrated with numerous engravings, and we heartily commend it to our readers.

The Duke of Edinburgh in Ceylon. A Book of Elephant and Elk Sport. By John Capper, Times Correspondent, &c. Provost and Co.

It is Mr. Capper's great merit that as a court chronicler, who of necessity must magnify the most ordinary incidents, and carefully chronicle the smallest event in any way connected with the movements of a Royal Prince, he never violates good taste. He is neither flippant nor flunkeyish, but does his work in a simple, straightforward way. No one, we presume, will read his official record of receptions, addresses, dinners, and balls; but this can be skipped, and bits picked out descriptive of Cingalese hunting experiences sufficiently novel and dangerous to be gently exciting. The Prince seems to have borne himself as a manly, unaffected English gentleman. The volume is a thin imperial octavo, and is adorned with some six or eight very excellent chromo-lithographs.

A Ride through the Disturbed Districts of New Zealand; together with some Account of the South Sea Islands. Being Extracts from the Journals and Letters of Lieut. the Hon. Herbert Meade, R.N. Edited by his Brother. John Murray.

Mr. Meade's untimely death, by a recent explosion at Portsmouth, invests this volume with special interest. It does not, however, need any adventitious attractions. It is fresh with information and bright with genial feeling. It makes light of difficulties and hardships, and is full of the enterprise and optimism of youth. Whether the author had any thought of publishing his journals or not, they have the great charm of simplicity and unaffectedness. The former part of the volume describes a journey through the disaffected districts of New Zealand. He was captured by the Kingites, and narrowly escaped with his life, and gives an exciting account of the Aokatoa or preliminary religious rites, and of the Rungana, or parley-parley to decide upon his fate; the executioner with the tomahawk standing close by him during the debate. He escaped at length only by the wind of his horse. He was the first white man who had fallen into the hands of the enemy. The second, a missionary, they hanged, and ate his eyes and brains.

POLITICS, SCIENCE, AND ART.

The Descent of Man and Selection in Relation to Sex. By Charles Darwin, M.A., F.R.S. John Murray.

The pleasure of reading Mr. Darwin's long-promised volumes, which has been keenly anticipated, is at length gratified. Both the subject and the man exercise a strange fascination upon the public mind. As an experienced naturalist, a speculative philosopher, and a keen logician, Mr. Darwin would command the attention of men of science under any circumstances, but he has the secret of personal power and popularity quite apart from the accomplishments which allow him to be classed with other naturalists and philosophers. It is not the lucid clearness of his style, nor his power of collecting, selecting, and grouping facts, nor the shrewdness and breadth of his generalizations, alone, which give his readers their exquisite sense of delight as they follow him through his descriptions, his arguments, and his speculations. Beyond all this, he has that sensuous delight in the real, the beautiful, and the truthful—that appreciation of the grandeur of universal law, visible in the minutest details, and that union of the receptive and active faculties which constitute the artist and the genius who owes more to Nature than to culture. If an argument may be derived from what man is, and from the mental excellence which he is capable of exhibiting, to rebuff the theory that he is of so humble a parentage as Mr. Darwin represents, the author himself would be a refutation of his own theory. In contemplation of his own powers he might say with Hamlet, 'What a piece of work is man! How noble in reason, how infinite in faculty! In form and moving, how express and admirable! In action, how like an angel! In apprehension, how like a god! The beauty of the world, the paragon of animals! and yet, what to me is this quintessence of dust!' The lineal descendant proximately of 'a hairy quadruped, furnished with a tail and pointed ears, probably arboreal in its habits and an inhabitant of the old world; remotely, of an animal more like the larvÆ of existing ascidians (lining sacks), than any other known form!'

Mr. Darwin's volumes treat of two subjects of profound but not of equal interest. The difference in the interest felt in man's descent and in sexual selection is well shown in the numerous reviews and notices of this work which have already appeared. More than two-thirds of the work is devoted to sexual selection, and this subject is treated, not exhaustively, it is true, for that is quite impossible in the present state of our knowledge, but methodically and comprehensively. A vast number of fresh facts are presented; a great array of old ones are marshalled in due order; the phenomena are traced as they appear throughout the whole animal kingdom, and historians and travellers are adduced in evidence to elucidate problems physical and metaphysical. Yet reviewers have not taken notice of this, which is really the most valuable part of the work; guided by a popular instinct they revert to the subject of man's descent. They do this although there is not nearly so much freshness, either in the facts or arguments presented in this portion of his work. 'The proper study of mankind is man,' is a dictum which men who are no students will readily adopt, because the subject is not far to seek. That man, the orang, and the gorilla, have a common ancestor is so fascinating an idea that none can resist its weird influence. The clergy repeat it from their pulpits in scornful utterance, as though the simple statement carried its own refutation. Transcendental philosophers like Vogt assume it as a demonstrated fact. Wits joke about it. The ears of ladies blush, not at the praise of their own loveliness, but because of the pointed and telltale evidence these bear of their own origin. The fascination of this idea was evident from the first appearance of 'The Origin of Species.' The public insisted on seeing in it nothing but evidence that man had sprung from a lower form. Yet in that work it was evident that Mr. Darwin purposely avoided the discussion of this point. No one will be surprised to learn, from the introduction of the present work, that during many years the author had collected notes on the origin and descent of man without any intention of publishing on the subject—but rather with the determination not to publish—that he might not add to the prejudice against his views. Yet the multitudes who talk about the book they have never read, as if they had done so, have all along supposed and assumed that the one question thus designedly avoided was the subject of the whole treatise. No doubt most of the arguments in favour of the derivation and origin of species, told with equal force as proofs of the like derivation and origin of man, but there was yet room for a supplemental theory, founded on the vast elevation of man's moral and mental capacity, which would make man an exceptional species with an exceptional origin. That such a view was possible, may be inferred from the concluding chapter in Mr. Wallace's book on the same subject, in which a peculiar Providence is made to preside over the evolution of man. There can, however, be no mistake now about Mr. Darwin's view of the question. His assertions about the origin of man from a lower form are not only confident, but he has become dogmatic upon the subject. The attitude of dogmatism is new to him, and we must say does not become him so well as the cautious candour of his earlier work. Mr. Darwin writes:—'The main conclusion arrived at in this work, and now held by many naturalists who are competent to form a sound judgment, is that man is descended from some less highly-organized form. The ground upon which this conclusion rests will never be shaken.... It is incredible that all these facts should speak falsely. He who is not content to look, like a savage, at the phenomena of Nature as disconnected, cannot any longer believe that man is the work of a separate act of creation.'

In his speculations as to the genealogical descent of man and the way in which it emerges from the ancestral tree of the animal creation, Mr. Darwin is almost wholly guided by the rudimentary organs found in man. Mr. Darwin is quite consistent in this method. No doubt rudimentary organs which are functionless in our species and have dwindled almost to nothing, but are developed and have a palpable use in other allied forms, present the greatest difficulties to those who do not believe in a derivative origin of species, and also afford the strongest support to the selection theory. After enumerating the aborted organs, the transient and foetal structures, and the often-recurring abnormalities found in man, which are some seventeen or eighteen in number, the author works out his theory of origin almost strictly in accordance with the plan of associating the ancestors of man proximately with those species which possess the most of these analogous structures, and so on to the larger divisions in which a fewer number of them have a wider distribution. This plan is, no doubt, philosophical, but it leads the author into some strange speculations. By similar reasoning it is demonstrable that our ancestors were hermaphrodite, and thus long after they had ceased to be so both sexes yielded milk to nourish their young, and perhaps carried them in marsupial sacks.

A doctrine thus dogmatically stated, of course involves problems and theories hard to solve and demonstrate, but this arises, in the opinion of the author, from the fact that the solutions and demonstrations are hard to find, and not from the doctrines which involve them being in the least doubtful. The existence of the moral sense in man is one of these problems, and one of the most interesting chapters in this portion of the work is devoted to an explanation of the evolution of human conscience. The moral sense is traced to those social instincts which man has in common with all gregarious animals. The strengthening and growth of the memory and judgment would enable man to compare his past actions, and the mere abiding satisfaction of the process would create that distinction between the higher and lower law or motive which is all that modern moralists require. 'Ultimately a highly complex sentiment having its first origin in the social instincts, largely guided by the approbation of our fellow-men, ruled by reason, self-interest, and in the latter times by deep religious feeling, confirmed by instruction and habit, all combined, constitute our moral sense in conscience.'

The second portion of the work is a valuable contribution to science. It is far more philosophical in its tone. It is a repertory of facts. The theories to which these facts point are indeed discussed, but the method is inductive, while the method of the first portion appears to us to be deductive. Beauty as distinguished from use has always been a stumbling-block to the disciples of the natural selection school. That which, in any species, pleases our minds by immediate agency of the senses, as distinguished from that which is of service to that species in adapting it to external conditions, is quite unaccounted for by the survival of the fittest, at least so far as wild and untamed species are concerned. Some evolutionists would cut the knot by denying the evidence of beauty apart from fitness. Suitability, symmetry, conspicuousness, and an imposing appearance are, no doubt, desiderata which natural selection may seize upon and secure, and these may incidentally and necessarily involve that which is beautiful in our eyes. But after all these have been eliminated or satisfied, there yet remains in a large number of species an element of beauty the contemplation of which brings pleasure to all human beings, whether educated or uneducated, refined or unrefined. This is especially the case throughout those large, numerously represented and dominant classes taken from two separate sub-kingdoms and called insects and birds. These two classes occupy a great deal of the attention of Mr. Darwin. If we assume any evolutionary theory, and abjure the doctrine of final causes, all the varied beauty of butterflies and humming-birds has but one probable explanation, namely, that of sexual selection. To make even this explanation possible, we must assume a keen, discriminating Æsthetic faculty in animals which is like in quality with our own, as that faculty is possessed by the most refined of our species. Moreover, this faculty must be intimately connected with the sexual appetency in each species. Such a connection is, judging from analogy, not improbable. In forming an opinion how far these views are correct, it is important to isolate the operation of sexual selection from that of natural selection. Nature has throughout almost the whole animal kingdom afforded to us the means of isolation. For, as a general rule, the sexes in species are not absolutely alike, and often there is great difference between them. All sexual peculiarities therefore which cannot be explained on the principle of division of labour, throw light upon the Æsthetic faculty of animals as a selective, and therefore by the theory of a creative agency. Mr. Darwin has collected a vast mass of facts about sexual peculiarities, which being in no way connected with the sexual function, he calls secondary sexual characters. Of course, sexual secondary characters so limited point to a difference in the modification of the sexual desire by Æsthetic appetite in the two sexes. Generally speaking, the adorned sex is the male. Have, then, the females a greater appreciation of beauty than their males? Mr. Darwin thinks the ardour of the male destroys his discrimination. Some facts produced, however, seem to run directly counter to this supposition. On all hands the peacock is considered the most splendid of birds, and the difference between the sexes in this species is carried to an extreme point. Yet, one of Mr. Darwin's best authenticated facts is, that the pea-hen differs from most birds in being the ardent wooer.

One of the happiest and most satisfactory episodes in the book is the account of the genesis of the eye-spot in the plumage of birds, and specially of that of the ball and socket ornament in the secondary wing-feathers of the Argus pheasant. The treatment of this subject reminds us, by its clearness and beauty, of the author's treatises on coral islands and the fertilization of orchids. How simple a phenomenon may disclose a world of interest and wonder when in the hands of a man of genius! It seems to us, however, that that wonderfully faithful representation of a round ball lying in a hollow socket, expressed on the flat of the web of a feather, offers a striking example of the inadequacy of either natural or sexual selections to explain such phenomena. 'That these ornaments,' says Mr. Darwin, 'should have been formed through the selection of many successive generations, not one of which was originally intended to produce the ball and socket effect, seems as incredible as that one of Raphael's Madonnas should have been formed by the selection of chance daubs of paint made by a long succession of artists, not one of whom intended to draw the human figure.' Exactly so! We must attribute to the hen Argus pheasant the Æsthetic powers of a Raphael in order to account for the decorations of her mate, or, more properly, we must assign to a succession of multitudes of generations of birds a correctness of appreciation of the draughtsman's art, such as is a rare excellence among men. This may be a fact, but if so, it opens up a new realm to our imagination. It must be admitted that the tendency of modern thought is to obliterate the fast line drawn by old authors between reason and instinct, and to assign the former less exclusively to man, and the latter less exclusively to animals. This tendency and the incidental light thrown by these considerations on these interesting questions are well exemplified in Mr. Darwin's work.

A curious disagreement in opinion between Messrs. Darwin and Wallace is brought out and treated of lengthily in the chapters on birds. Mr. Wallace thinks that in the case of splendid cock-birds who have plain hens, who sit on open nests, the tendency for both sexes to become brilliant has been checked by natural selection. On the other hand, Mr. Darwin thinks that secondary sexual splendour was from the first developed only in the male; and in the converse case, where the female is also gay, natural selection causes her to build a covered nest for protection. We think Mr. Darwin has the best of the argument. The question of whether the standard of beauty among men is uniform in its essentials or not is ably discussed, but no conclusion is arrived at; so contradictory is the evidence of travellers and observers.

We heartily endorse Mr. Darwin's dictum that false facts are highly injurious to the progress of science; but false views, if supported by some evidence, do little harm. We are therefore content to

'Let him, the wiser man, who springs

Hereafter, up from childhood shape

His action like the greater ape.'

'But we are born to other things.'

Thoughts on Health and some of its Conditions. By James Hinton. Smith, Elder, and Co.

This volume contains by no means a dry discussion of the conditions of health. It hardly professes to be methodical or exhaustive in its treatment of the subject. It is rather the production of a man who is full of original ideas such as lie around the subject of health and life, and who has adopted this title in order to give them to the public. The details of the subject have evidently no charms for the author; nevertheless, those which are given or referred to show him to be quite abreast of the foremost file of the army of science. He is quite poetical in his similes, and is fascinated by sublime ideas, yet his chapter on 'Nursing as a Profession' shows him to be a practical reformer. The book will be read with interest by those whose mental bias leads them in that direction, while it gives vivid conceptions of abstruse ideas. The one fault of the book is, that the author allows his imagination to build up speculations upon a basis of known facts, which fresh facts yet unknown may very possibly show to be mere speculations. Thus the speculations about the functions of nitrogen, carbon, and phosphorus, when forming complex compounds in the organism derived and built up upon our knowledge of their properties as elements, are doubtless interesting, but they are not backed by chemical knowledge, and are opposed to the analogies of that science. This fault, however, is so allied to the virtues of freshness and force of thought which are everywhere found in the volume, that it ought not to prejudice the reader against the author, though he certainly ought to be on his guard against the seduction of that author's enthusiasm.

The American Colleges and the American Public. By Noah Porter, D.D., Professor in Yale College. New Haven, Conn. 1870.

This volume would be invaluable to us if we had a system of high-school and university education at all corresponding to that of the United States. No one is more competent than Dr. Noah Porter to describe the operation of the American system, to detect some of its weaknesses, to contrast it with English and German tuition, and to point out where America might learn something from England, and in what respect England might be benefited by following transatlantic customs. Far away from the circumstances and experimental innovations which have excited so much general interest in America, we can hardly enter into any minute criticism of the old customs or the recent changes. Some of the discussions—such, for instance, as that on the relative advantage of college lectures and text-book-recitations, on the system of private tutoring, on the propriety or otherwise of very frequent examinations, on the dormitory system, on the advantage of the resident and non-resident systems, and on the extent to which laws and supervision on the part of the college authorities should extend—will interest the supporters and professors of English colleges for the ministry, though many of the conditions under which we should have to apply them are so profoundly different that not much light would be attained for our guidance. The calm, candid, lucid manner in which our author has investigated the whole subject, and held the balances in all these discussions, is worthy of all respect. In advocating greater freedom from clerical influence, and more breadth in the relations between the authorities and the graduates in the government of the colleges, we presume that he is treading on delicate ground. In our smaller institutions we have long since adopted the principle he recommends. Our national universities will become before long the property of the nation, and not of a sect, and be governed in deference to law, by their own alumni, without any privilege but that which is earned by distinguished ability. This, however, is not the place to discuss a question like this.

The Ancient Geography of India; the Buddhist Period, including the Campaigns of Alexander and the Travels of Hwen-Thsang. By Alexander Cunningham, Major-General, Royal Engineers (Bengal, retired). With thirteen Maps. TrÜbner and Co. 1871.

The author of 'The Bhilsa Topes' has once more brought his great learning, and his rare advantages of travel and of residence to bear on the elucidation of the Buddhist period of Indian history and thought. On this occasion he has, however, shown his antiquarian, topographical, and etymological skill in deciphering and harmonizing the geography of the Greek historians and the Chinese pilgrims. Few things are more important to the comprehension of any history—sacred, classic, modern, or contemporary—than a clear exhibition of the physical features of the country on which the destinies of generations have been determined, and a sound identification of the sites of famous cities, fortresses, temples, and battle-fields. When the history of great nations covers thousands of years, the physical features may be recovered by personal inspection of sites that are distinctly described by early writers; but the confusing resemblance of neglected and buried cities to each other has been the fruitful source of false identifications, and when once on a wrong scent, the geography of large districts of country has often been thrown into hopeless entanglement. The geography of India, with its history, maybe conveniently divided into three periods. The Vedic or Brahmanic period would cover the entire prehistoric section of the history, and trace the extension of the Aryan race from their first occupation of the Punjab to the rise of Buddhism. The Buddhist period would extend from the era of Buddha—whensoever that may be determined, say between the fourth and sixth century b.c.—to Mahmoud of Ghizni; and the Mohammedan period will extend from the rise of the Mohammedan power to the battle of Plassy. Major-General Cunningham has devoted a volume of nearly six hundred pages to the investigation of the geography of India during the Buddhist period, which may be said to cover from fourteen to sixteen hundred years. He has personally travelled over the entire country, and carefully scanned its features with a curious, archÆological eye, and has thus succeeded in fixing the line of Alexander's campaigns, and in bringing into geographical completeness and unity the itineraries and allusions of the Chinese pilgrims, Fah-pian, Chung-yun, and Hwen-Thsang. Though the campaigns of Alexander were confined to the valley of the Indus and its tributaries, yet the information collected by his companions, and the records of subsequent embassies between the SeleucidÆ and the Maurya and other princes, include abundant references to the whole valley of the Ganges. We think we may confidently assert that no student of the works of RÉmusat and Lassen, Stanislas Julien, or Vivien de St. Martin, will now be content without having General Cunningham's maps and expositions at his side. It would be difficult to do justice to such a work in a brief notice; still, some of the identifications are of general interest. The merest tyro in Buddhist lore knows something of the legend of KunÂla, the beautiful-eyed son of Asoka, the great Buddhist king, who was sent in his youth and unsuspecting innocence to quell a revolt in the great city of Taxasila, and who there suffered the loss of his lustrous eyes in consequence of the malicious designs of his stepmother. Everyone has heard that in the neighbourhood of this city, Buddha is fabled in a previous state of existence to have made the sacrifice of his head in alms, and to have offered himself in another existence to a dying tigress, having first fed her with his blood that she might be strong enough to devour him more effectually. The city was admired by Alexander himself; it was described by Pliny and Arrian; it was visited by Apollonius of Tyana, and referred to by his celebrated biographer, Philostratus. It was visited with enthusiasm by Fah-Hian 400 a.d., and by Hwen-Thsang in 630 and 643 a.d.; and a variety of particulars are mentioned which have enabled our author by personal inspection to identify the exact spot, to make out the ruins, the lines of walls and roads, and the site of the stupa placed by the great King Asoka over the scene of the act of self-sacrifice to which we have referred.

Our author identifies the celebrated city SrÂvasti with the ruined city of SÂhet-MÂhet, where he discovered a colossal figure of Buddha, with an inscription having on it the name of this city, immortalized by Buddha's most successful preaching. He has shown that when Hwen-Thsang visited SrÂvasti it must have been in utter decay, and that he mistook the ruins of the city for those of the palace; but Cunningham has brought the divergent statements of the Chinese pilgrims as to the distance of SrÂvasti from other points into sufficient accord to be satisfactory, and he draws by a clever etymological manoeuvre the modern name SÂhet-MÂhet into harmony with the Pali form SÂwatthi and the Chinese name She-wei. We have, moreover, in the volume strong reasons given for fixing the site of Kapilavastu, the birthplace of Buddha, at Nagar, in the northern division of Oude; and the site of Nalanda, the monster Buddhist monastery, at Baragaon near Gaza; and so with hundreds of other places which are interesting from their mention in Buddhist legend or authentic Buddhist biography. We heartily thank General Cunningham for his elaborate work.

Walks in Rome. Two vols. By Augustus J. C. Hare. Strahan and Co.

This is only a guide-book, but it is one of a very superior description. As Rome is to all cities, so is this guide-book to all other guide-books. Fully informed with the spirit of the past, and yet not wanting in the facts of the present, it is at once an historical monitor and a topographical companion. The poetry and sentiment and delicate observation of various writers, bred of cultured gazing upon the ruins which almost make twenty centuries synchronous, have been carefully gathered together; but the requirements of the mere sightseer have not been forgotten. The volumes are full of useful information. We should think that only those to whom Rome is familiar with more than the familiarity of a natal city could afford to dispense with them.

POETRY, FICTION, AND BELLES LETTRES.

The Works of Alexander Pope. New Edition, including several hundred Unpublished Letters and other new Material, collected in part by the late Right Honourable John Wilson Croker. With Introduction and Notes by Rev. Whitwell Elwin. Vols. 1, 2, and 6. Murray. 1871.

Two things are evident on the most cursory inspection of Mr. Elwin's work; first, that he has spared no pains in probing every corner of a most complicated story; secondly, that he finds a pleasure in making the case against Pope look as black as it possibly can be made. In a long and minute investigation of the circumstances attending the publication of the successive volumes of Pope's letters, he exposes the petty trickery and vanity of the poet. We are ashamed of Pope as we read this merciless exposure. But we are somewhat relieved when we recollect that after all these frauds and concealments there was nothing to gain by it. Like the magpie hiding a silver spoon, Pope took nothing by his trickery but the pleasure of deceiving. He could not help doing as he did. Whether from his Catholic education, or from whatever cause, he had contracted a dishonest habit of mind, which came out in all his dealings. But Mr. Elwin gets so heated with the chase after Pope's stratagems, that he discovers them even where they do not exist. When he sets up the theory that the 'Essay on Man' was a treatise of infidelity palmed off on the public under the disguise of a vindication of optimism, he overshoots the mark.

So far three volumes of the edition are before us—two of the poems, and one of the correspondence. We hope in some early number to devote an article to an examination of Mr. Elwin's editorial work.

Napoleon Fallen. A Lyrical Drama. By Robert Buchanan. Strahan and Co.

Mr. Buchanan is a brilliant improvisatore, and could doubtless produce dramas and epics to order on any subject to which the revolutionary mind is akin. We do not doubt the genuineness of his lyrical passion; it is white-hot and screaming, but it seems as if it were easy to kindle, not quite rational in its foundation, and certainly not classical in its expression. As a rhymed pamphlet, special-pleading a cause, and echoing the cries of the hour, 'Napoleon Fallen' is unquestionably powerful; as a dramatic representation of events in the shape in which they will descend to history, it is too violent to be true. It was a happy device to incorporate the Athenian chorus with the modern drama; the expedient provided expression for the eager feelings with which the world witnessed the stupendous struggle. But to import into the statuesque forms of poetry the frantic passion and inarticulate rage of the vanquished, in their naked amorphous violence, removes the poem out of the sphere of art. If the representation of a thing is meant to be permanent, the thing itself must be not only real, but also permanent in its nature. Lessing laid down this canon, and one would have thought that it was now established. But if 'Napoleon Fallen' is not perfect as a poem, there is very much fine poetry in it. The lyrical fire which an age in travail with revolutions produces is perhaps not rare in our days; Mr. Buchanan unquestionably possesses it. He also possesses that belief and faith without which no man has a right to sing at all—belief in the divine end of human life, and faith in the future. With poetic indefiniteness it is rather an aspiration than an articulated creed, but he is at least no emasculated Pagan. His dramatic power is less obvious, and perhaps it is only the dramatism of the lyrist—the mere modulation of passion into a different key.

King Arthur. By Edward Bulwer (Lord Lytton.) Tucker.

Lord Lytton's variety and pertinacity of effort must command the admiration of even those who do not deem him great. Amongst those churlish critics we fear we must be ranked. He is not quite a poet, yet we cannot help sympathizing with his firm resolve to place himself among poets if the thing could be done by endeavour. In that way it cannot be done. Marsyas shall never equal Apollo. Lord Lytton's place among novelists is not at this juncture our affair; his place among versifiers is high, as 'St. Stephen's' shows; but we can give him no place among poets. His 'King Arthur,' which has now been some years before the public, is a complete proof of this. Even Mr. Tennyson himself has not made quite the best of the son of Uther Pendragon. We prefer the old version of 1460—

to the neoteric Sir Bedivere's 'long ripple washing in the reeds.' We strongly object to the misconception of the wondrously beautiful story of Vivian. We cannot comprehend why nobody dare tell us how Launcelot of the Lake killed Agrawayne. If these old myths deserve poetic treatment, treat them fairly; it is absurd to modify them to suit the indelicate delicacy of a modern society whose most refined journals are fond of essays upon questionable topics. This, however, is a slight digression: let us return to Lord Lytton. He has managed to transform the Arthurean romance into melodrama. Gawine and his raven remind one of a burlesque by Burnand or Byron. Indeed, the poem shows poverty of invention, and a complete want of mastery over rhythm and rhyme and style. Here is a hexastichon:—

'Pomp of cloud'—'reflects its lustre'—'worthy centre'—'odorous canopy'; these are just the phrases that nobody would write who took the trouble to think. And why in the world should poor King Arthur be compared to the moon? He has been much misrepresented by many poets; he was a semi-barbarous Welshman, whom our Somersetshire men drove into the sea down by Tintagel: but he has had a sacer vates, and we do not see why he should be subjected to inferior treatment. Is there anything in the contemporary Arthurean verse that approaches Sir Ector's lament over Sir Launcelot of the Lake—Achilles of the Arthurean Iliad?... 'Ah Sir Launcelot, thou wert head of all Christian Knights.... And thou wert the courteousest knight that ever bore shield. And thou wert the truest friend to thy lover of a sinful man that ever loved woman. And thou wert the kindest man that ever struck with sword. And thou wert the goodliest person that ever came among press of knights. And thou wert the meekest man and the greatest that ever ate in hall among ladies. And thou wert the truest knight to thy mortal foe that ever put spear in rest.' So says the old poet. Can Lord Lytton or Mr. Alfred Tennyson approach him? Can Homer beat him? The illustrations of this edition are scarcely worthy of the poem.

The Iliad of Homer. Translated by J. G. Cordery. Rivingtons.

Englishing Homer has of late been a general occupation with men of letters, and we should be the last to object to it. We delight in Homer. We rather dislike the effeminate treatment which some of his myths have met at the hands of one or two eminent modern poets. We hold that there is more in the sonorous swing of those demiurgic dactyls than the contemporary writers of blank verse can quite comprehend. Erratic enough are we to hold that there was one Homer, not many—that no purpurei panni of Peisistratus were interwoven with his cloth of gold—that he was an isolated leader of thought. Certain also are we that his influence is in these days much needed, and that his Greek ideas are of great service to modern Englishmen; his strength and simplicity are things we possess and admire; many an Achilles has led the forlorn hope for England, and many an Odysseus has been a F.R.G.S. There is nothing more remarkable in Homer than what we shall venture to call his Englishness. Hence, from one point of view the late Earl of Derby translated him well; for the Earl was an Englishman every inch, and, as we have heretofore said in these pages, the Hector of the Tory Troy. But as the Earl was not a poet, he could not exactly render as he ought to be rendered the supreme poet of the pagan past. Lord Derby saw in him the part which is visible to the English legislator and landowner. There is a good deal more than this in Homer scarcely comprehensible by the race whose motto is sans changer. There are unfathomable depths of poetic philosophy in those two oceans of thought which we call the 'Iliad' and 'Odyssey.' The key-note is struck in ???? d' ?te?e?et? ???? : throughout Homer we find the will of the supreme Divinity always manifested.

It is, we believe, this coincidence of English with Hellenic ideas which causes so many men of different types to find pleasure in Homer. Think of the chasm between Pope and the "sick vulture," or even between Lord Derby and the poet Worsley. The theme is tempting, but space avails not; we must say a word or two on Mr. Cordery's 'Iliad.' He seems, so far as we have followed him, to know his Greek excellently well; but he assuredly does not know the power and capacity of English blank verse. The rhythmic weapon, the most difficult we know, is not within his power to wield. Thus he commences the 'Iliad'—those lines which, as Lord Macaulay would say, 'every schoolboy knows'—

The first few lines suffice. Here is a writer who cannot wield the metre he has chosen. This being so, we find it undesirable to enter farther into any discussion of the merits of his version, and shall content ourselves with giving conscientious praise to his loving and patient attempt to do a great work which is beyond his height of attainment. This is not contemptuous nor careless criticism. Not yet has Homer been done into English. Will any future translator give us Homer's unutterable music, Homer's unfathomable thought?

Ierne. A Tale. By W. Steuart Trench. 2 vols. Longmans, Green, and Co.

If Mr. Trench's 'Realities of Irish Life' was something more than a history, 'Ierne' is something more than a romance. It is full of vivid pictures of Irish life, and is inlaid with historical information, political disquisitions, and didactic comment. We are not sure which presents the truer portraiture, the history or the romance, probably the latter. It appears, in spite of the extravagance and impossibility of its incidents, to reproduce with the fidelity which long personal familiarity enables, various aspects of Western Irish life, its fine culture, enthusiastic genius, and heroic patriotism in the higher classes; its wild passions, its half-savage instincts, and its no less noble patriotism in the lower. The representation is not a very hopeful one; at least, whatever hope there is in it must be found in the gross inconsistencies of thought, and in the unaccountable impulses of feeling which made Ireland such an enigma to Lord Killarney; the blind, deep-rooted infatuation about the ownership of land, and the notion that all improvements by Saxon possessors are inimical to its reversion, so that the better the landlord, the worse the feeling of antagonism excited, is profoundly perplexing. Mr. Trench has so thorough a knowledge of Irish feeling that we must accept this representation as true. Even the excellencies of a Saxon landlord, and his solicitude for the improvement of his estate and for the comfort of his peasantry, are specific reasons why he should be shot. Mr. Trench writes in full sympathy with the people in their sense of wrong. Few nations have been so oppressed and peeled, and no generous or even just Englishman will deny that, however unreasonable and fanatical Irish treason is now, when for nearly a century everything that could be done to redress the tyranny of the past has been done, it has traditional justification which almost exalts it to patriotism; and Mr. Trench feels the difficulty of so adjusting his sympathy as that while he justifies the national resentment of the past, he may condemn the continued treason of the present. Of course he sees no possibility in the dreams of repealers, and wishes every wise friend of Ireland would denounce repeal as the worst thing that could befall her. He can only, with ourselves, hope that the measures of redress of the last two Parliaments which leave Ireland almost literally without a grievance, will gradually discredit political agitation, and engender loyalty. He does, indeed, half suggest that a royal residence in Ireland, occasional visits from the Queen, or the Prince of Wales, would, as an appeal to Irish sentiment, be more potent than even the disestablishment of the Irish Church, or the enactment of the Land Bill. If so, it is a pity the experiment is not tried. As a romance, Mr. Trench's book is scarcely worthy of criticism. Ierne's personation of the ghost and her marvellous movements and achievements generally are simply preposterous. We tolerate the romance for the sake of the pictures of Irish life interwoven with it. Inveterate novel-readers will get through this, others will skip the tale, but even then the book will, by its information concerning national feelings and prejudices, and its delineation of various scenes of national life, faction fights, midnight drills, meetings of conspirators, and wakes, and especially by its racy delineation of national humour, and its careful description of noble scenery, amply repay persual.

VÉra. By the Author of 'The HÔtel au Petit St. Jean.' Smith, Elder, and Co.

The Charm of 'VÉra' is twofold; first, it introduces us to the interior of Russian life, and excites our interest by the delineation of modes of thought, feeling, and life, very different from our own. Next, it is written with great literary skill; the author's first work, which delineated ProvenÇal life, will have prepared its readers for excellent workmanship in this. It is a story of character rather than of incident. VÉra is a Russian Princess, affianced in marriage to Count Alexis Yotoff, her cousin, but the contemplated marriage is one of convenience rather than of affection, and when Alexis falls at Inkermann, he is wept with tenderness but not with passion. Colonel St. John, the nephew and heir of Lord Kendal, who lies wounded on the field of Inkermann, is assailed by some Russian stragglers, Alexis interposes to save him, and accidentally falls a victim to St. John's pistol, which he is in the act of discharging. He receives from the dying Alexis some souvenirs which he engages to convey to VÉra and his family. His wounds affect his memory, and years elapse without his being able to redeem his pledge, and recall the names of either Alexis or his friends. In the meanwhile he becomes acquainted with VÉra, and, although twenty years her senior, they are mutually in love. Their love, however, is sadly marred by cross purposes. At length St. John discovers, under critical circumstances, that VÉra was the intended recipient of the souvenirs, and that his was the hand that deprived her of her lover. For awhile the discovery is fatal, but a fortunate railway accident affords an opportunity for explanation, and all comes right at last. The artistic excellence of the work is in its delineations, and the undertone of thoughtful sentiment, if not philosophy, that runs through it. Its text is the inevitableness of destiny; and the way in which the story illustrates this is as original as it is clever. It is a very charming novel, one of the very few which we wish longer.

Episodes in an Obscure Life. Three vols. Strahan and Co.

This is one of the few books that leave the critic no alternative but simply to heap together words of eulogy. Its least and lowest merit is its literary workmanship, and yet we scarcely know where we could look for more vivid pictures of accurate observation, of chaste simplicity, and unpretentious power. The large-hearted geniality, manly piety, and unwearied benevolence of the anonymous writer inform his eye and guide his hand, throwing gleams of radiance, aspects of humour, and visions of hope over the sad conditions of squalid misery which he describes, without a particle of Dickens's falsetto. He exhibits the noble kindly-heartedness and heroic self-denial that are often to be found in combination with rough exteriors and chronic misery. 'Little Creases,' 'Mr. Jones,' 'the Matron of the Refuge,' 'Emily, the crossing-sweeper,' 'Bessie,' 'Sam and his wife,' 'Peter and his wife,' 'Blind Stevens and his wife,' and half a score others, are illustrations not only of the kindly and often heroic human nature that there is among the poorest, but of the benevolent patient optimism in the writer that sees and exhibits it. It is long since 'Annals of the Poor' were recorded with so much genial sympathy and unconscious art.

The conditions of life described in these sketches are a humiliation and a sorrow. Never before have the underlying evils and miseries of our gilded civilization been so vividly portrayed. Legislators and philanthropists have a Herculean task before them in the amelioration of the physical and moral evils of such districts as the East of London—the overcrowding, the adulterated food, the festering disease, the moral corruption, the extreme penury, the lawless vice, the wretched ignorance, the impassable gulfs, not one but many, between the rich and poor. East-end ministers of religion know them, ragged-school teachers and City missionaries know them, few else have any conception of them. Little do travellers who arrive at the terminus of the Great Eastern Railway know that within a stone's throw of the platform scenes such as are here described are any day to be witnessed. The good and the evil both—the good in spite of evil that is simply appalling—conditions of poverty, lawlessness, vice, and suffering are nowhere in the wide world to be surpassed. Legislation may do something to remedy this state of things; commercial prosperity may do something; but it is, we fear, chiefly the result of an indolence and vice that neither can touch. In every village there are drunken, idle vagabonds; in great cities this element is fearfully multiplied and intensified, and it brings misery upon hundreds who are not of it.

All honour, then, to brave, patient, Christ-like men like the author of this work, who are content to live their obscure life, if they may but do something to alleviate it. Theirs is the only influence that can regenerate vice, or in any way effectually deal with it. We know something of the district which the writer describes, and happily we can testify to scores of young men and women of the upper classes who visit it, and cheerfully give evenings and Sundays to teach ragged children, instruct their mothers, and, so far as it is wise, afford them substantial help. No one can doubt that a clergyman, gifted as is the author of this work, has chosen his lot, abjured the ease and elegance of refined life which might have been his, that after the example of his Master he may seek and save the lost. How simply, sincerely, and wisely, as well as with what unconscious self-sacrifice, he does it, this noble book will show. With characteristic self-abnegation the author does not give his name. Every reader will heartily say, 'God bless him;' and if our recommendation could avail it should carry his book into every rich man's house and every comfortable home in the land.

Earl's Dene. By R. E. Francillon. In Three vols. Edinburgh: W. Blackwood and Sons.

'Earl's Dene' has too obviously been written for the critics to satisfy a critic. The course of the narrative is interrupted by appeals ad clerum, which disturb the sense of illusion without convincing the judgment. The tone of the book is apologetic and explanatory, as if the author were under terror of the critic's lash, and were conscious that the movement of the story would seem so capricious as to require justification. This is a mistake in art, which seldom carries any compensation with it. The ordinary novel-reader is the most unexacting of human beings, and has unlimited capacity of digesting improbabilities; while the cultivated and analytic reader will be too conscious of the complexity of motives to be scared by superficial inconsistencies in the delineation of character. Thackeray was guilty of frequent 'asides,' but they were only outbreaks of cynicism or of pathos; incessant eruptions of psychology are less pleasing, if not more inartistic. But in all respects, this very defect included, 'Earl's Dene' is far above the level of common-place fiction. Though not strikingly original, it is evidently a transcription of life at first hand, and as seen through the medium of a refined and delicate intellect. The atmosphere of the book, though now and again disturbed by storms, is pure rather than bracing, and is fragrant with the aroma of refined reflection, which must be the outcome of long and intense experience. Decidedly feminine, we should say; overflowing with observations on the sex that look like self-revelations, and with sketches of the male animal which are inexpressibly grotesque when they are not weak. If anyone wants to see how Bohemia and its denizens picture themselves in an alien mind, he should study the portrait of Dick Barton, a cross between Caliban and Porson, an absurd and utterly impossible monster. But the characters are for the most part carefully drawn, by slight repeated touches, however, rather than by bold and luminous strokes. The dialogue sparkles with French esprit. There is obvious shrinking from common-place, as when the author refuses to describe first love; and, lastly, the novel is a novel with a purpose. It shows to men the ways of that great god 'Circumstance,' who seems a very Moloch, and winds up the tragedy by a general holocaust of his victims.

My Little Lady. Hurst and Blackett.

This charming novel, evidently by a female hand, is written with much grace and variety. The idea on which it is based has the advantage of perfect novelty. The 'little lady' is the child of an inveterate aristocratic gambler called Linders, who lives at Spa and Baden and other places of the same class, and who has a marvellous capacity for 'breaking the bank.' Whether he has a 'Martingale' we are not told, and indeed the authoress occasionally shows that she is quite properly unfamiliar with rouge et noir and roulette. But the conception is that this fellow, though on the whole a scoundrel, loves his little daughter Madelon, and that she, following him everywhere, becomes acquainted with the games he plays, and innocently regards gaming as quite a proper mode of making money. The complications herefrom arising are manifold, and are told felicitously: but the writer, who is probably a beginner, is apt to spin out her description and narrative to a rather wearisome length. Rapidity of narration is becoming one of the rarest qualities of modern authorship. That authors are paid for quantity instead of quality sufficiently accounts for this: and the great novel-manufacturers of the day, who turn out a volume a month and find readers for them, must, we suppose, be tolerated: but we cannot help regretting this unsatisfactory prolixity when, as in the present case, there is a pretty and piquant and original story to be told. However, it will be largely read, since it is high above the average of tales of the same order. Of the characters, the best drawn is the great gambler himself; hardly a possible personage, we suspect, but if possible curiously interesting. Madelon in her utter simplicity is very lovely; and she is quite conceivable, since there is no reason why a young girl should see any harm in gambling. Nine people out of ten would be puzzled to say on the instant why gambling is wrong: and the state of society shows that very 'honourable men' (as Mark Antony hath it) can see no harm in the doings at Tattersall's and the Victoria Club. So that a little girl whose father was an astute patrician gambler, should innocently take to rouge et noir, is quite intelligible—and a very pretty story is based upon it, with some strongly dramatic scenes therein. By the way, the names of flowers should be properly spelt, especially by lady writers: Westeria (vol. ii. p. 185) ought to be Wistaria, as it was named after Caspar Wistar, professor of anatomy in the University of Pennsylvania.

Harold Erle. By the Author of "The Story of a Life."

The author of this poem reveals his high and delicate culture, and not unfrequently a true poetic grace. There are lines, passages, and entire scenes, which suggest the blank verse of Wordsworth. We are not reminded of the introspection and subjective might by which Wordsworth brings under the microscope of his 'inward eye' the beauties of nature and the mysteries of life, but of his bald simplicity, of his religious use of common-place, as well as of his partial inability to appreciate the difficulty which the great majority of the human race experience in perceiving a poetic side of 'common things.' 'Harold Erle' is a singularly painful theme, and one which will not readily lend itself to the Muses. The dangers incident to the marriage of blood relations, and the Nemesis which hereditary insanity imposes on some who enter into the lists of love, are not refreshing matters for contemplation. Blighted affections, the madhouse, and the grave, certainly provide material for high imaginative treatment, but when these strong colours are used chiefly with a view of entrapping us into a philosophic generalization of a universal law of marriage, we are disposed to feel that poetry itself has here degenerated into social philosophy. 'Harold Erle' is a powerful story, but the moral and the motive of it seem insufficient, and the dÉnouement is decidedly prosaic. The l'envoie of the poem seems to be: 'Young people, do not marry your first cousins; should your parents have been so foolish as to have done this, then, by all the nine Muses, do not marry at all.'

The career of Harold Erle is well told. Certain scenes are portrayed with pictorial power. There are tender touches of consummate grace, and emotions, events, and sacrifices are narrated which show how fertile this unwelcome theme has become in the hand of an accomplished writer.

Martha. By William Gilbert, Author of 'Lucrezia Borgia,' &c. Hurst and Blackett. 1871.

In the conduct of this story Mr. Gilbert has not stinted his readers in the matter of time. We are furnished with the family history and domestic details of four, if not five, successive generations. Near the commencement of the story we are introduced to a wealthy young spendthrift, who is startled by losses on the turf into propriety, thrift, and marriage. The closing pages of the novel bring us acquainted with the great-grandchildren of this worthy. An extraordinary number of prosy and uninteresting characters—many of them mere dummies—try the patience of the reader. With aggravating minuteness circumstances which have no bearing on the story are laboriously detailed. About a dozen different illnesses or accidents are portrayed at such length as to suggest the notion that a hospital clerk had nefariously introduced into the author's manuscript some pages from his medical note-book. The oracular twaddle of the medical adviser who figures throughout the story is redeemed from common-place only by the presentation of a rather interesting psychological problem which, we presume, may be stated thus: Is it possible on purely physical, or at least subjective, grounds to account for the belief entertained by an otherwise rational person that the phantoms of her departed relatives continually visited her in the great crises of a chequered life? We presume that Mr. Gilbert intends to suggest a strong affirmative. The subject of these hallucinations, called Martha Thornburg, is the only character of the story who possesses the minutest tittle of interest. She is the impersonation of unselfish consecration of life to the good of others, and on two separate occasions in her long life, at considerable intervals from each other, she is represented as enduring the very extremity of human suffering. She becomes a lightning-conductor of all the accumulated misfortune with which the devil of the piece has charged the thunder-cloud that spends its fury on this ill-fated family.

There are two villains, at least, among the dramatis personÆ so utterly unredeemed by a single ray of goodness as to despoil them of all human interest. The one apparently belongs to the genus rattlesnake, the other to the genus hyÆna. Bigamy, fraudulent bankruptcy, forgery, destitution of natural affection, detestable cowardice, attempted fratricide and murder, are a few of the peccadilloes of the more refined devil, who at last dies in his bed; the other, we are thankful to say, hangs himself. The vigorous, prosperous, generous brother of 'Martha,' as well as many other characters, are very faintly sketched, and the principal, if not the sole, interest of the story consists in the misguided goodness of 'Martha,' who covers herself with the suspicion of complicity with the miscreant who had been throughout the curse of her family. However, the mystery is cumbrous in the extreme, and the solution of it by no means artistic. We certainly cannot congratulate Mr. Gilbert on a successful use of his undoubted powers; but we are glad to know that, after all their vicissitudes, Martha Thornbury, her brother, his nephew, and the wife and family of the latter are all doing well. Their furniture is excellent, their wardrobe complete, their bracelets, ornaments, and toys abundant; and we earnestly trust that should any illness or accident befall them, Dr. Wilson will be at hand, not only with skilful treatment, but with ample explanations of all the pathological phenomena.

Dorothy Fox. By Louisa Parr. Strahan and Co.

It is vain to pooh-pooh love stories, so long as the passion itself rules the world so much as it does; the thing that provokes the protest of sensible people is, that love stories are-often so ineffably foolish, as indeed are people who are in love. A thoroughly good love story, high-minded, true-hearted, and sensible, is about as good a service as a novelist can render to her generation. To inculcate noble principles, and inspire noble feelings in the pursuit of the passion upon which the chief social happiness of the world depends, is a work worthy of the highest genius, and demanding the gratitude of all who wish well to mankind. 'Dorothy Fox' is a love story pure and simple. Dorothy is the daughter of a Quaker of the strictest sort, a wealthy hosier, destined to marry Josiah Crewdson, also a well-to-do tradesman; but, as even the primmest and most dutiful Quakeresses will do, she takes it into her pretty head or heart to fall in love with Captain Charles Verschoyle, a poor cadet of a good family, whose mother, Lady Laura, is bent upon both him and his sister making good matches. Charles reciprocates Dorothy's love, and will not marry Miss Bingham's fifty thousand pounds. While Audrey, the sister of Charles, instead of marrying as she ought old Mr. Ford, the millionaire parvenu, perversely falls in love against her own intention with Mr. Dynecourt, a poor barrister of ancient lineage. How Lady Laura schemed, and old Mr. Fox was scandalized; how wise and generous old Mr. Ford was, and how noble Josiah Crewdson—his disagreeable sisters notwithstanding—how charming Patience Fox was, and Grace, and John Hanbury, and how beautiful and refined Quaker-life may be, and often is, the authoress has told very charmingly. The characters of Charles and Audrey, with their glaze of worldly selfishness, which melts away like hoar frost under the heat of pure love, leaving an innate and uncorrupted nobleness, are very cleverly delineated; so is Harry Egerton, the rough old squire, with his kind, manly heart.

The story is a very pleasant and a very wholesome one. We trust that Miss Parr will again present to us pictures of Quaker interiors, with which she is so well acquainted. In them her strength lies.

On the Eve: A Tale by Ivan S. TourguÉneff. Translated from the Russian by C. E. Turner, English Lecturer in the University of St. Petersburg. Hodder and Stoughton.

Rather more than a couple of years ago (British Quarterly, Oct., 1869) we directed the attention of English readers to the novels of TourguÉneff, in an article in which a detailed account of 'On the Eve' was given. We need not, therefore, do more than refer our readers to what we then said about this very charming little story, which paints Russian life from the interior with the hand not only of skill, but of genius. Its social freedom surprises us, and its indications of easy social vices startle us. Ellen, the heroine, is a very beautiful creature. The translation reads smoothly and brightly. Mr. Turner seems to have done his work well. We are glad to possess this work of a great artist in an English dress.

Marquis and Merchant. By Mortimer Collins. Three vols. Hurst and Blackett.

Mr. Collins in this new novel has aimed to portray two of the great social classes that constitute England, and the two that are, perhaps, in more active rivalry, if not antagonism, than any other, and to show that the prejudice is not chiefly with the higher. The Marquis of Wraysbury, whose hereditary seat is at Ashbridge, is a favourable representative of what we are proud to designate our noble aristocracy. Wealthy, generous, liberal, frank, gentlemanly, he is the beau ideal of his class. His son, Lord Waynflete, the hero of the story, is the inheritor of his father's virtues, with a freedom from class conventionalities which is his own, and which permits him, as quite a thing of course, to marry a poor governess.

Mr. Mowbray, who buys an estate at Ashbridge and builds there a splendid mansion overpowering in magnitude, luxury, and appendages of garden, conservatory, &c., and which quite dwarfs the more modest belongings of Ashbridge Manor, is a Manchester millionaire; also a favourable representative of his class—keen, clever, generous, but with some drawbacks of class prejudice and obstinacy, which Mr. Collins paints with an evident gusto. He is the rival of the Marquis in spite of the latter; and the story is made up not unpleasantly of the history of their rivalries, with the issue thereof. Much of the subsidiary delineation is very good. The interiors at Ashbridge Manor, at Mowbray Mansion, at the Orphan Institute, at Mrs. Gutch's, and at delicious Wyvern Grange, are cleverly sketched, in these well-selected contrasts. The subordinate characters; that clever woman, Miss Pinnock, great in Johnsonese; the Bohemian lawyer, Terrell; the learned, gentlemanly recluse, MÉtivier, full of gipsy and all other lore; and a dozen others, are also admirably delineated. The novel is deficient as a work of art, but only a very clever and accomplished man could have written it. It is somewhat Bohemian in itself, and has an unpleasant vinous flavour—allusions, characterizations, or eulogies on wines occurring perpetually, as if the chief good of man were to have a good wine-cellar and to be a connoisseur of good vintages. The book is, moreover, an odd mÉlange of all conceivable things; one chapter is devoted to a criticism on Tennyson, another to a criticism on Dickens; verses apropos of everything and nothing abound. Mr. Collins has a marvellous Ingoldsby facility for running off rhymes, and when prose fails him or wearies him, he takes to verse. A diagram of a game of chess, an algebraic equation, and no end of classical quotations, are kneaded like currants into the dough of Mr. Collins's cookery. Not only has he been at a feast of languages, and stolen the scraps, he has evidently carved the dishes for himself. The story is, as we have said, not so well constructed as it might be. It is not always in good taste; it rumbles and rollicks along; but it is very clever and very amusing. It is less melodramatic than Mr. Collins usually is, and is, we think, the best book he has written.

The Green-Eyed Monster. By Kay Spen. Smith, Elder, and Co.

The title of this little book indicates its character. Hugh Barrington falls in love in a railway carriage with Adela Gwynne, a blue-eyed Welsh girl, and marries her. She is of a preposterously jealous disposition, and perversely interprets countless little incidents as justifying her jealousy. The story details the working out of these feelings and their disastrous issues, and the ability of the writer is shown in her psychological knowledge and skill. It is in this point of view very clever. Of course incidents occur with preternatural consentaneousness, and people act and feel in a very infatuated way, setting common sense at defiance, else how would novels get written? But Kay Spen has managed her materials well, and has written an interesting story with a very wholesome moral.

Jasmine Leigh. By C. C. Fraser-Tytler. Strahan and Co.

This is a very dainty little story. It is written in an autobiographical form, and narrates the history of a young girl blossoming into womanhood and love, who is abducted by a rough and sordid wooer, whom, nevertheless, she learns to pity, if not to love. It is written with a delicate touch, and is full of graceful and refined feeling. If, as we surmise, it is a first work, it is full of promise.

Her Own Fault. By Mrs. J. K. Spender. Hurst and Blackett.

Mrs. Spender writes with great care and with considerable strength. Her story is well constructed, and the characters are marked by strong individuality. The story is a stormy one. Sara, who is a very fine creation, is 'a beautiful embodied storm.' Indeed, the defect of Mrs. Spender is, that her strength is not sufficiently calm. Every character is wrought up to the agony pitch: Sara, when she has accepted Rosswith Maxwell—Bryan on the night when he learns his rejection—Lawrence Routh in his suppressed intensity—Charley in her passionate sisterliness—all are wrought up to powerful and exaggerated passion. Mrs. Spender might say with the American young lady after dinner, 'I guess I've piled it on.' The story, however, is vigorous and original, although it is not a very pleasant one. Everybody is to be pitied. Poor Bryan is left with a sentence of death recorded against him.

JUVENILE LITERATURE.

Among children's books of the past Christmas which reached us too late for notice in our New-Year's Juvenile Section, are two or three, altogether too remarkable to be passed over. 'At the Back of the North Wind' (Strahan), and 'Ronald Bannerman's Boyhood,' both by George Macdonald, are two books almost sufficient by their excellences to mark an epoch in juvenile literature. Excepting 'Alice's Adventures in Wonderland,' no recent work that we can remember is worthy of being compared with the former. In no other of his many books has Mr. Macdonald shown more strikingly the power and delicacy of his imaginative genius. The blending of sober history with the most Puck-like fancies—the underlying thoughtfulness of both—the inlaying of wise reflections, subtly hinted or delicately touched—the blossoming into poetical beauty of almost every position and teaching—the light, graceful hand with which the whole is carried on—the deep, spiritual meanings that transfigure the lightest incidents—altogether constitute a fairy tale the like of which we have rarely seen, and which is as suggestive to the mature as it is amusing to the juvenile. We know youngsters in the nursery who, if they could not literally recite it by heart, would infallibly detect the alteration of a single sentence. Mr. Macdonald has attained to that perfection of excellency which understands the heart of a child. He has made 'Diamond' immortal. 'Ronald Bannerman's Boyhood' (Strahan), is altogether different in conception, feeling, and style. Mr. Macdonald's affluence of fancy is, with perhaps an equal exercise of imagination, subdued to the plain matter-of-fact, no-nonsense-about-it, autobiography of a school-boy. The sympathy with boy-nature is as perfect as in the other volume is the sympathy with child-nature. The narrative is bright, generous, and true—the exact tone of a noble-hearted boy, who has, however, to speak of some of the troubles and sorrows of life. Mr. Macdonald, however, never lacks humour. His description of Mrs. Mitchell, his father's sour housekeeper, and of the Dame School to which Ronald was sent, as well as of Kirsty and the experiences at the farm, is rich and racy in a high degree. Kirsty tells some capital kelpie and other Scotch stories and legends. It is a beautiful picture of childhood, teaching, by its impressions and suggestions, all noble things. 'Chamber Dramas for Children,' by Mrs. George Macdonald (Strahan), are four little plays, good as Hannah More's Sacred Dramas, and amusing as the stories of Cinderella, and Beauty and the Beast, out of which two of them are constructed. They are cleverly done, and will doubtless do duty in many an acted charade. The 'Tetterby's' is founded upon Dickens's Haunted Man. The 'Snowdrop' is new to us. 'The Boy in Grey' (Strahan), by Henry Kingsley, which appeared in Good Words for the Young, together with the above, was thereby subjected to a severe ordeal. It can ill bear the comparison. Instead of the translucent fancies of Mr. Macdonald, it is turgid and confused, and when it would be aËrial, produces the effect that sculptured clouds do. Its allusions are often beyond the range of a boy's knowledge; its nonsense limps, and its wisdom is ponderous. We have found it very difficult to understand Mr. Kingsley's meaning. 'Lilliput Lectures,' by the author of 'Lilliput LevÉe' (Strahan), is again perfect in its way. The lectures are on all sorts of things—social and religious, physical and metaphysical, artistic and commercial. The writer tells us that he writes for no particular age, but aims generally at a childlike way of putting things. Some of the things put are high and mysterious; but then youth has wondrous dreams and speculations, and the happy simplicity of the writer helps youthful thought to climb. Each lecture winds up with some verses such as only the author of 'Lilliput LevÉe' can write. 'Choice Poetry for Children' (Religious Tract Society), is a small selection of religious and moral pieces by modern writers—of course, of unequal merit, but wisely and suitably chosen. 'The Pearl of Story Books' (Nelson) is a collection for children of Bible narratives in Bible words. 'Mrs. Montmorency's Money,' by Emma Jane Worboise (Clarke), belongs to minor fiction rather than to juvenile literature. Its moral is that 'the love of money is the root of all evil.' As is always the case with Miss Worboise, it is carefully written, and there are clever descriptions and scenes of pathos in it; but it is overlaid with moral, and not so successful in its plot as some of her tales. It is, however, a wholesome and readable story, and its moral is as timely as it is unexceptional.

Brevia, Short Essays, and Aphorisms. By the Author of 'Friends in Council.' Bell and Daldy.

Most of the writings of Mr. Helps are Brevia. His books are made like Armstrong guns, of welded pieces; and the process would not be a very violent or destructive one that resolved them into the shape of these fragments. We can well imagine them to be not so much chips as prepared blocks for larger works, which the architecture did not admit of, and which, therefore, the author has wrought into independent art forms. They are brimful of thoughtfulness and practical wisdom; always genial, often humorous, they make up a table book of aphorism and apologue, of colloquia, and short essay, independently conceived and gracefully expressed—which among living writers it would be difficult to parallel. They remind us most of Whately; only Mr. Helps is more terse than he. Sometimes reams of discussion are gathered into half a page; sometimes a single sentence contains seeds for reams of discussion. Mr. Helps has given us a volume of 'Aids for Reflection,' which is worthy the study of the most desultory. Most of these short essays and aphorisms have appeared in Good Words. We quote one sentence—'Some persons, instead of making a religion of their God, are content to make a God of their religion.'

Fors Clavigera: Letters to the Workmen and Labourers of Great Britain. By John Ruskin, LL.D. Sold only by G. Allen, Heathfield Cottage, Keston, Kent.

In these letters Mr. Ruskin seeks to teach the workmen and labourers of Great Britain some political economy which we are commonplace enough to think fallacious, and some history which we are not Vikings enough to think otherwise than mischievous. But we are in full accord with him in his desire to lighten the national distress around us, and to exterminate the yahoos of civilization; and if he can show us, as he seems to think he can, some sure method of doing both or either, we will abandon Mr. Mill, and will take our history from Mr. Carlyle. In the three letters already published we have not been able to discover any proposal leading to action, or, indeed, leading to anything at all, except weariness and vexation of spirit. But we are perhaps even now on the verge of the promised land. Mr. Ruskin has become so practical of late years that we are inclined to think he has made a real discovery. But he seems in no hurry to announce it, and delay is naturally tantalizing.

THEOLOGY AND PHILOLOGY.

Essays, Theological and Literary. By Richard Holt Hutton, M.A. (Lond.) Two vols. Strahan and Co.

These volumes are likely to take a high place in English literature, and to measure and expound the influence which their author has for many years exerted on the higher thought of our generation, through the periodical press. He has submitted a selection of his more elaborate essays to final revision, and has brought them together with much skill and felicity of arrangement. The two volumes are, in fact, two separate works of exceeding interest, the one bearing on the highest forms of modern literature, and the other on the theological and philosophical speculations of the last twenty years. The polish and finish of the revision have excised the genial humour and delicate satire which have characterized some of Mr. Hutton's critical efforts, but they have not altered the substance or modified the tone of these remarkable papers. In almost all of them it is easy to trace the hand of the accomplished publicist, who has acquired the faculty of seizing one main characteristic of the poetry or philosophy, political career, or moral tendency he is wishful to examine, and having made himself master of this, is resolved to establish or illustrate it at his leisure. He decides on a good working hypothesis to account for the composition of a great poet, or the spirit of a remarkable book, and leisurely sits down to transform his hypothesis into a true induction. When Mr. Hutton brings Wordsworth, or George Eliot, or Ernest RÉnan, or Henry Rogers into his field of view, he seems to say to himself, 'some explanation is possible of this congeries of spiritual phenomena,' and he forthwith attacks the problem with the enthusiasm of a naturalist, and often with the penetration of a true philosopher. He exhibits great insight, and his speculation is always worthy of attention, but it too much resembles the bar of sunshine gleaming through an aperture in a shutter, which throws an intense light on some portions of a painted chamber but leaves other portions in hazy and dubious shadow. We heartily thank him for the vivid image he has drawn, and for the key he has often given us to the intellectual treasures of some of our greatest modern thinkers; but we do not feel that he has adequately solved all the problem, or has definitely formulated the mental life or calibre of either the poets or theologians whom he passes in review. Thus almost all that he says of Wordsworth is nobly and truly said. There is consummate ability in his reply to Hazlitt's 'thorny praise,' in his comparison of Wordsworth and Tennyson, and in his method of proving the thesis with which he starts, viz., that the charge against Wordsworth, of 'profundity and transcendentalism,' sprang from the same root as that which declaims against his 'unintelligible fuss about common feelings and common things.' Still, in his anxiety to establish this position, Mr. Hutton appears to us to overstate the frugality of Wordsworth's genius, and to exaggerate the poet's habit of making a very minute modicum of incident furnish all the material he needed for the exercise of his imagination and the development of his vast subjective energies. The entire series of ecclesiastical sonnets, as well as those which were dedicated to national independence, cover a prodigious field, and make no inconsiderable demand upon the reader's knowledge, as well as upon his sympathy. In the description of the retreat from Moscow, Wordsworth surely chose a theme big enough for the historic imagination of Scott, and he dealt with it in an as objective a fashion, with Dryden's fire and Shelley's pomp of style to boot. Again, in Mr. Hutton's profoundly interesting paper on the 'Poetry of the Old Testament,' there is a principle which is full of force, and our author's working hypothesis will and does explain a great deal. He urges with eloquence and beauty of illustration, that 'faith in the glorious destiny of the nation, and the overseeing providence of God as the power which had wrought out that destiny,' are the two roots of the Hebrew traditionary poems, and he sees these roots in all the efflorescence of the glorious tree; but while there is truth in the remark that this double idea underlies and absorbs the significance of all the Hebrew poet's references to the beauty of nature, and much also of the tragic human interest of the life that was being lived by the prophets, there is some niggardliness in failing to acknowledge how the very fringes of the tabernacle that enshrined both the nation's destiny and the Divine presence are glittering with touches of refined gold, and how much nearer an approach the few Hebrews made to the modern conceptions of the transcendent and pathetic beauty of nature, than all the Greeks and Romans put together.

If the Hebrews rose to the stupendous idea of the universe being but the shadow of Jehovah's might, and believed that the light was the skirt of His raiment, that the heavens, the sun, moon, and stars, were the work of His fingers, that the 'seven stars and Orion,' the 'sweet influence of Pleiades,' and 'the morning spread upon the mountains,' were alike declaring His glory, there is sufficient evidence in the abundance of their imagery and the sweetness of their song, that they exulted in as well as beheld the primal beauty. Interesting and demonstrative as Mr. Hutton's essay is, he leaves a range of facts unaccounted for. The gorgeous imagery of Ezekiel, when in parabolic fashion he sees the analogies between nature and national life, the idyllic, perhaps dramatic grace of the Song of Songs, and the genuine lyrical cry of large portions of the minor prophets and Psalms, seem to us to transgress the canon of our author.

One of the volumes before us consists of eighteen theological essays, admirably classified. They start from the moral and religious significance of Atheism; they proceed to show the insufficiency of the scientific and positivistic explanation of our moral relations. The Pantheistic hypothesis is displayed in its strength and its weakness. The question, 'What is revelation?' is then handled, and Mr. Maurice is vindicated and Dean Mansel demolished. In another essay the historic problems of the fourth Gospel are discussed with great candour and success. 'The principles of evidence' are illustrated in their application to the 'Doctrine of Incarnation,' which our author, like Mr. Baring-Gould, would hold, even if the New Testament should pass out of existence. Two papers on M. RÉnan's recent works, and a vehement attack upon the evangelical doctrine, under the irritating title of 'The Hard Church,' are followed by an estimate of the relative position of the 'Romanists, Protestants, and Anglicans.' Several of these papers were published in the National Review, and one of them forms part of a series of essays entitled 'Tracts for Priests and People.' We acknowledge great obligation to Mr. Hutton for many of these dissertations. We sympathise most profoundly in the general estimate he forms of the position of the Atheist, the Positivist, and the Pantheist; and we are confident, after again perusing his examination of 'the historical problems of the fourth Gospel,' that though we differ from him in many details, and regret that he should find it necessary to relinquish the Johannine authorship of the Apocalypse, it is the noblest and most triumphant vindication in the English language of this stronghold of Christianity. In the graceful preface to the first volume, in which Mr. Hutton acknowledges his debt of obligation to Mr. Maurice, he sums up in a sentence the living principle of Mr. Maurice's writings. There, as elsewhere, too much credit is given to a key; too much of a jet of light is thrown upon a portion of Mr. Maurice's theology. We do not believe that this great and suggestive writer can be crushed into a proposition. Still it does cover much of the speculation associated with Mr. Maurice's name. It is as follows:—'All beliefs about God are but inadequate intellectual attempts to justify a belief in Him, which is never a merely intellectual affirmation, but rather a living act of the spirit, by no means confined to those who consciously confess His presence.' The paper entitled 'What is Revelation?' and part of the argument entitled 'The Hard Church,' are expansions of this principle, in vehement opposition to the philosophy of Hamilton, as it was applied by Dean Mansel to theological problems. We think that we may give Mr. Hutton credit for having made the difference between Dean Mansel and Professor Maurice more obvious than those distinguished men ever succeeded in making it appear for themselves; but we imagine that he has forced them into more irreconcilable antagonism than they are themselves conscious of, and has effected this by a slight exaggeration of the position of each disputant. We sympathize with Mr. Hutton far more than with Dean Mansel, in his general philosophical opinions; but this vehement scolding and irate horror caught from Mr. Maurice seems to us perfectly misplaced. Surely, surely the 'living act of the spirit,' by which man knows the only true God, the intuition of God by the eye of the soul, the transcendental conclusion or conviction of the whole intelligence, the bound heavenwards of the sanctified imagination, the 'real assent' to super-sensuous, extra-logical, metaphysical facts, all of which processes are aided by the facts and words of Scripture, by the recorded life of Christ, by the sublime utterances and confessions of the creeds, will not be rejected by Dean Mansel. They are differently described but thankfully acknowledged. What Mansel seems to us to imply is that these processes do not solve the contradictions which are involved in the logical effort to formulate the infinite; the knowledge they supply is approximate rather than exhaustive, regulative rather than absolute; a spiritual apprehension rather than scientific comprehension. The intuitions of Mr. Hutton and Mr. Maurice are far more numerous and intense than Dean Mansel's. Our author has more confidence in his direct experiences of truth than Dean Mansel has. The living God is more visible, more accessible to some minds than others, and these want less help and fewer manifestations to penetrate the mystery; but we do not see why Mr. Hutton should be so wrath with Dean Mansel for the position that 'the faculties in man furnish the conditions of constructing a philosophical theory of the object presented.' 'The object presented' is not the living and infinite God, but the finite manifestation and unveiling of his perfections through a certain series of human experiences. The criticism of Mr. Hutton shows that he is attributing to the words 'philosophical theory' more than it is meant by Mansel to carry. It is just because Dean Mansel cannot form a theory of the underlying 'infinite' and the 'abysmal deep' of human personality, that he is content to theorize about that which is presented in the person and voice and known history and character of a human being. It is because the infinite baffles and confounds us, and refuses to come under the formal laws of thought, that Mansel and Hamilton made a virtue and a science out of the recognition of our nescience, and would confine their theorizing to that which was manageable and apprehensible; but the entire philosophy of the unconditioned turns on the presence in our consciousness of these stupendous factors, unlabelled and untheorized. It appears to us that the conflict narrows itself to the name to be given to our personal relations with the transcendental and eternal realities in which both disputants profoundly believe; and therefore we do not for one moment think that this summation of Dean Mansel's position would be accepted by him. Can Mr. Hutton really mean that Dean Mansel would deny that we can be 'conscious of God's presence with us, conscious of the life we receive from Him, conscious of what He really is, and in the same, indeed, even in far higher sense than that in which we are conscious of what human beings are?' We heartily agree with Mr. Hutton in his denunciation of the idea that the moral nature of man is fundamentally different from the moral nature of God, that the goodness and mercy of God's being must be essentially different from the goodness and mercy in a human will, and that the 'revelation to us of the very character and life of the Eternal God' has been made by the 'purification of human vision,' and is 'the history of the awakening, purifying, and answering of the yearnings of the human spirit for a direct knowledge of Him. It proceeds from God, and not from man.' He details with clearness and force the spread of this 'revelation,' the human condition of it, and the widely diffused material of it, in the instincts and regrets, and secret hopes and fears of universal man. 'The revelation through Christ fulfilled ... the desire of all nations, by revealing the living power in man, by which human nature is wrought into His likeness.' But in his defence of this position he appears to us partially, if not utterly, to ignore the new life given to our humanity in Christ. 'Grace' seems on this theory rather to be a development of dormant powers than the conference of a new tendency, and 'Christ' to become rather the name of a sleeping but universal divineness in all humanity, which is at length realized to the conscience, rather than to be the personal source of all the life. The 'Father,' in the theology of Mr. Hutton, is a living God, as against the Pantheistic tendencies of modern science; but we are not sure—and few things would be farther from our wish than to misrepresent him—that the Christ and the Spirit of God are distinguishable from the voice of universal conscience and the hidden and better nature of the (not fallen but) ever aspiring child of the living God.

Each of Mr. Hutton's papers deserves careful study; we regret that we cannot even refer to more than one other, and this, moreover, one to which we cannot fail to take certain exceptions. It is entitled 'The Hard Church,' a 'degraded phase of the Church of common sense.' It is the Church whose logic has been supplied by Whately, whose metaphysic has been elaborated by Dr. Mansel; one of its most 'merciless and slashing captains' is seen in Professor Henry Rogers, and Mr. Binney caught its exact spirit in his lecture addressed to young persons on the possibility of 'Making the best of both Worlds.' 'Its heroes,' we are told, are 'latitudinarian but not catholic in the tone of their theology.' It has no sympathy, no heart, offers 'no divine reconciliation of contradictory yearnings;' it glories in 'hard sense,' and 'dismisses from view all those fluctuating elements of human life which do not seem deeply imbedded in the average notions of average men.' Its representatives scold away all individuality, denounce the eccentricities of positive faith, and are, in short, 'the most mischievous section of Christendom.' All this is introductory to a tremendous attack on Mr. Rogers for the pitiless severity with which he introduces a thoroughly sceptical mind, seeing no intellectual standing-place in a 'shallow Deism,' and more consistency in thoroughfaced Positivism or Pantheism, and more hope too, because he is sure that at the very bottom of the abyss, the heart will spring upward and the conscience will rise in rebellion. Mr. Hutton should remember that 'the real and deep Theism, holding by prayer, near to Christianity,' was not the intellectual position condemned by the author of 'The Eclipse of Faith;' it was a Theism that is or was in a fluent and changeable condition, a Theism that had, in deference to certain loudly-vaunted principles of reasoning, relinquished Christianity, and spoken of the moral character of Jesus—to put it mildly—with disloyalty if not with disrespect; it was a Theism trembling on the verge of Atheism, yet boasting itself to be a spiritual religion. Methods of thought may surely be harmless in some regions, and deadly in other spheres. It is not hardness but goodness which exposes the worthlessness of the method. This seems to us to have been the work of Mr. Rogers. We are not called upon to defend Mr. Rogers's strong way of putting certain things, but we think that Mr. Hutton has not shown him a more excellent way when he speaks of his 'throttling art,' and would give you to believe that he is a spiritual garotter, rather perhaps of the AntÆus proportions, who has at last found a Hercules. Mr. Hutton appears to us to be too angry to see the genuine humour as well as rather grim pleasantry with which Mr. Rogers has represented the enemies of the Christianity infinitely dear to him as destroying each other. The doctrine that 'Christianity is against the grain of human nature,' is spoken of as demonstrating the truth that 'the Hard Church has a hard Master.' Nothing surely is more true than this language of Mr. Rogers, and we are astonished that Mr. Hutton thinks he replies to this estimate of Christianity by saying that Paul told the Athenians that they were 'seeking the Lord, if haply they might feel after Him and find Him.' Our author is generally quite ready to admit the complexity of human nature, the multiplicity of the forces that are moving it. The same apostle who thus spake to Athenians, said to Galatians, 'Brethren, if I yet preach circumcision, why do I yet suffer persecution? then is the offence of the Cross ceased.' We can conceive of no more satisfactory response to the position here assailed than that so often attributed to Lord Palmerston, 'that all children are born good.' We suppose Mr. Hutton must endorse it. The paper on 'Romanism, Protestantism, and Anglicanism' cannot be discussed by us here for want of space. Its delicate insight into 'root-principles,' and formulated tendencies, is another illustration of the author's disposition to generalise, and to cast pencils of coloured light upon the parts of a theme, or of a system of thought. With the general estimate of Luther we have not much to contend against, except that no reference is made to the objects or reasons of his faith. The unlimited, ecstatic, violent confidence in an unproved, transcendental fact, with nothing but personal intuitions to guide the triumphant trust—itself a Saviour—may be apparently proved from certain table-talk of Luther, but is a very imperfect exhibition of Luther's position. Why, by implication, should all whom Mr. Hutton calls 'pseudo-Protestants' be supposed to deny the indispensable necessity of an entire moral surrender of the whole nature to the will of God? With some of those whom Mr. Hutton thus denounces, as for example, Bishop Bull and all who agree with him, faith is identifiable with moral surrender to the will of God; in the view of others, as proved by almost all the Protestant confessions, it is inseparably associated with saving trust. Where, we ask, is 'the bibliolatry which relegates the Holy Spirit to the province of explaining the Bible,' except in a small section of Scotch divines, whose hard and artificial lines have long since shown a tendency to vanish away? Mr. Hutton seems to try to take from those whose joy and crown it is to speak of trust in a present Christ their most distinctive feature; because here and there a logical theologian may use scholastic or forensic phrases in his theorizing, it is ungenerous to say that 'the passionate faith of Luther is degraded into the acceptance of an artificial contract,' or that 'the orthodox theory of substitution excludes the purifying influence of spiritual union with Christ.' The best reply that we can make to Mr. Hutton's contemptuous allusion to Dr. Candlish is to call his attention to Dr. Candlish's sermon on 'His servants shall serve Him,' and to the greater part of his Commentary on the first Epistle of St. John. Would that our great thinkers succeeded in learning more of each other's mind! There are a hundred other questions raised by Mr. Hutton on which it is tempting but difficult to dilate. We cannot part from him, however, without assuring him that we believe these volumes will gain what they richly deserve—a high place in English literature. Our remarks have been somewhat critical and dissatisfied, but we are anxious to express, notwithstanding, the exceeding admiration which we feel for these eloquent and noble essays. It is often most instructive to see how the position we occupy shapes itself to the intelligence of one who is only in partial sympathy with us.

First Principles of Ecclesiastical Truth. Essays on the Church and Society. By J. Baldwin Brown, B.A. Hodder and Stoughton.

This volume consists of ten essays: the first four are entitled 'The Doctrine of the Infallible,' and contain Mr. Brown's exposition of the inquiry—What is truth? a brave and full exhibition of the answer to that question given by the infallible church; a criticism of the Protestant dictum that an infallible book is adequate to the solution of every great moral and spiritual problem; and in the last place a passionate vindication for the free spirit of the possession of the true infallibility. Two essays then follow, of considerable speculative interest, under the titles of 'The Natural History of Antichrist,' and 'The Christian Commonwealth.' The volume is completed by four lecture essays on the 'Revolution of the last Quarter of a Century,' the intellectual, social, ecclesiastical and theological revolution which has unrolled itself during the twenty-five years of Mr. Brown's fruitful and stimulating ministry. We have said enough to indicate the comprehensiveness and multifariousness of the theme which our author has here investigated. It is as though he had taken his stand on some high promontory which overlooks a boundless sea of thought, and with well practised, almost prophetic eye, taken in the vast expanse, the rolling tides, the brooding storms of the great highway of the nations; here a very maelstrÖm of confusion and wreathing agony, where equatorial and arctic currents blend in driving mist and fierce agitation, and there a dreamy outlook of serene though glittering colour; now, the breaker and the wreck and then the ark of refuge, the busy craft, the haven of rest. Few writers of the present day appear to us to take a larger view of men and things, and though his senses seem painfully acute to the moan of distress and the shriek of the torment, yet few appear to hear more distinctly the sound of the Master's voice, or to see more clearly the triumphant form of Him who holds that ocean in the hollow of His hand.

We think this volume is unquestionably the noblest production of Mr. Baldwin Brown's pen. In refinement and elevation of style, in high sympathy with the good and the noble side of that which he condemns, in readiness to learn from his opponents, and to see himself and his own position with their eyes, amounting to what some may deem almost a dangerous concession to the misconception of the free spirit entertained by both the Romish doctor and the apostle of science, coupled with outspoken and brave utterance of unpopular truth, this volume will hardly find its parallel in modern times.

We cannot attempt more than to touch on a few points. We are inclined to think that the paper on 'The Natural History of Antichrist' is not only the most original and suggestive portion of the volume, but that it is, in fact, the pivot, or the centre of the entire argument. Our author has drawn a comparison between 'Babel,' 'Babylon,' and 'Babylon the Great,' and has shown how the hoary legend of man's first endeavour to establish a worldly and human independence of the Supreme will, found its counterpart in the subsequent efforts to produce the four world-wide monarchies of pre-Christian times, and again, in the towering system of Pontifical rule, the rise, triumph, and fall of which are seen in the visions of Patmos. He has discussed with consummate eloquence and brilliancy of touch, the analogies which link these three manifestations of the spirit of antichrist, and how God's providence has undermined them one after the other by a like energy of the individual conscience and the free spirit. The paper on the 'Christian Commonwealth' provides a delicately-sketched theory of the true relation between the governing and the Christian spirit. Mr. Brown admits, nay, contends, for the fact that the Church and the State in their last significance and highest development are one, and argues with great ingenuity that a supposed alliance between the Church and the State, as between two contracting parties, is essentially unchristian; it is, moreover, 'an exceedingly low and false conception of the true character of the National Establishment, and is quite unsupported by its early history.' He acknowledges the difficulty of realizing the Christian idea in any Christian State, and asserts 'that the Gospel has still a missionary function in every State in Christendom; men have not only to be helped to live by it, they have to be persuaded to believe in it;' but 'that the idea of a National Church whose rulers are clergy, which shall have the whole spiritual interests of the community in charge, having its own ordinances, officers, and laws, of which it is the only lawful custodian and administrator, lending a Christian character to the State by its alliance, and deriving material countenance and support from the State in return, is simply anti-Christian. The only National Church is the whole community which has been redeemed by Christ, and on which, and in which, He is working as the head of the Church in a thousand ways, of which theologians of all parties little dream.'

Mr. Brown differs from many Nonconformists in holding the competency of the public assemblies of a Christian State to deal with spiritual matters, and would prefer to have such regulation as the British Parliament might supply to religious belief and life to that of any 'spiritual synod that he is acquainted with;' but he considers that a body like the British Parliament may and must 'abstain from all attempt at legislation on certain subjects, because they know that they would only mar them if they were to touch them with their legal fingers.' He does not think that domestic sympathies and affections, the higher intellectual life of the community, or the religious life of the people, are palpably beyond the sphere of a government, but that they are beyond 'their power. One shudders to think of the costly, wasteful, pompous, grasping, titled, beneficed, wealthy and bigoted thing which has been presented during three hundred years to the English people, as the visible embodiment of His kingdom, who was the incarnation of tenderness, compassion, purity, patience, gentleness, and love. The Establishment principle, under the most favourable conditions, seems to run directly counter to the fundamental principle of the spiritual government of men as we watch it working through all the ages. It belongs to the age of stagnancy and deadness, is vested in the old and decaying order, is doomed, and must die.' The theoretical admission of competency, coupled with the trenchant disavowal of power to deal with the higher regions of the social and religious life of the people, reminds us of the ground taken for some years by a large section of the free kirk of Scotland. There is no practical difference between the views held by Mr. Brown and by the bulk of Nonconformists; his condemnation of the Establishment principle is at least the result of experience, and appears to be final.

As Christianity and the Church are the form and life of the truth, Mr. Brown has prepared the way for his discussion of both by his discourses on the infallible. The first paper, entitled 'What is Truth?' exhibits with painful intensity the anguish, even the torment that accompanies the search after this hidden treasure. Expressing, as we suppose, the feelings of others rather than his own, the signs of the times rather than his own heart-throbbings, his language almost amounts occasionally to a wail of despair: nor does he, in the discourse which is entitled the 'Intellectual Revolution of the last Quarter of a Century,' exonerate the Christian teachers of the present day from the charge of augmenting that despair. After clearly expounding the theory of the Positivist, and showing how in its isolation it fails to satisfy the need of either the intelligence or the heart of man, he boldly charges theology and the Church with the sin of giving to science such a representation of God as to induce it to do without him. In his extreme anxiety to do justice to the scientific spirit, Mr. Brown appears to us to do some injustice to the age-long yearning after truth which has characterized theological science. Perhaps he does not sufficiently take notice that the mental faculties which are quite adequate to secure the broadest generalizations of science are insufficient to furnish us with some of the chief data of theology. He speaks with perfect confidence of 'common ground in our Christian belief for us and the leaders of the intellectual progress of men.' We believe that this common ground will be found only when the methods of theology and the methods of science are alike seen to be incomplete; but a difference of method in the two regions there must ever be.

In the paper on 'the Infallible Church,' our author frankly admits that there must be infallibility somewhere. With high courage and honesty he traces the confidence with which the Catholic Church has entertained a consciousness of the unerring guidance of the Holy Spirit, and he has done much to show how reasonable is the expectation of such a guidance and the truth that underlies the celebrated dictum of St. Vincent of Lerins; and with distinguished skill he has indicated the way in which vagueness and uncertainty have forced some of the strongest minds in the Romish Church to sigh after and ultimately to secure the definition of a Papal infallibility. Few things are more remarkable than the steady growth of this yearning in face of the proved forgeries and infinite gullibility on which the modern dogma conspicuously rests. Mr. Brown thinks that some deep necessities of human nature must be the explanation of this mystery. We believe he need not go much deeper than the ignorance, credulity, laziness, cowardice, and abjectness of the human mind, and the wide-spread incapacity, independently of the Holy Spirit, for the spiritual apprehension of transcendental truth. In his papers on the infallible book and the doctrine of Christ, Mr. Brown has shown how dependent a man with the Bible in his hand must ever be, on the spiritual presence and indwelling light of the Comforter. He may almost be said to have drawn Bossuet's rapier from its scabbard, and made some vigorous passes at the 'variations of Protestantism;' but it is not that he may turn back to an infallible Pope for guidance or for rest, but that he might fight his way past sects and churches, and dogmas and popes, into the true temple, where all who have received the fulness of the spirit are worshipping their father. As we have already said, Mr. Brown opens up so many controversies, and displays such varied culture and exceeding fairness in his treatment of these high themes, that we will now content ourselves with urging our readers to peruse the whole volume.

The Office and Work of the Christian Ministry. By James M. Hoppin, Professor of Homiletics and Pastoral Theology in Yale College. Second Edition. New York: Sheldon and Co. 1870.

This elaborate course on homiletics and pastoral theology may be said almost to exhaust the subject. The history of preaching, the art of preaching, the analysis of a sermon in all its various parts, from the text to the peroration, constitute the first part of the homiletical manual. The second part contains a series of valuable dissertations on the application of rhetoric to preaching. The pastoral office is then examined in its divine institution, in its ideal, in the call to its high functions, and the ordination to the office. The author further discusses the pastor as a man, the pastor in his relations to society, and the pastor in his relations to the Church. Here Dr. Hoppin investigates the conduct of public worship, and under this heading such details even as church music, marriages, and funerals are included. Finally the whole question of the care and cure of souls is wisely and affectionately urged upon the student. We have never seen a more complete treatise on the question with which the author deals. There is not much room for originality, and the analytical tone of the discussion precludes the presence of much enthusiasm or fire. There is an abundance of wise, godly counsel, and a considerable reference to the literature of the subject.

SERMONS.

Sermons Preached in the Temple Church. By the Rev. Alfred Ainger, M.A., Reader at the Temple Church. (Macmillan and Co.) There is about Mr. Ainger's sermons the great charm of perfect simplicity, unconventionally, intelligence, and fearlessness. Neither in style nor in thought are they like any sermons that we can recall. They are not eloquent; or if so, it is the eloquence of a perfectly transparent medium of thought. Not a fine word or a rhetorical figure occurs in them; but neither is there anything commonplace. It is the fresh, unconventional talk of a clear, independent thinker, addressed to a congregation of thinkers. The uncultured would have no difficulty in understanding; but the colourless thought would fail long to interest such. For popular effect, it wants sensuousness and passion, and, therefore, rhetoric. Mr. Ainger belongs to the liberal-orthodox school; but he does not shape his opinions to any school. He speaks right out what he thinks, and often surprises us with fresh views of familiar texts. He is not great; but he is unconventional and earnest. In doctrine he is broad, not however in any sense that is inconsistent with what are understood by Evangelical views. The moral aspects of the Atonement—forgiveness of sins, regeneration, and the life to come—which he exhibits, are the highest truths of the Gospel; but he exhibits them with such predominance, almost exclusiveness, that he is apt to forget his own principle that the Atonement of Christ has many aspects. Thoughtful men will be greatly charmed by this little volume; they will learn from its perusal how the Gospel of Christ commends itself to all the mind as well as to all the heart of men. The sermons, moreover, are preached in the light of the thought of the present day, and are rich glimpses of great questions now stirring men's hearts.—The City Temple Sermons, Preached in the Poultry Chapel, London, 1869-70. By Joseph Parker, D.D. (Hodder and Stoughton.) Dr. Parker, also, is a City preacher; but, perhaps, the three kingdoms could not furnish a greater pulpit contrast than between him and Mr. Ainger. Dr. Parker's sermons are much stronger, but they are far less thoughtful. They are more rhetorical, but less beautifully clear. They are abrupt, striking, sensational in style, and abound with rhetorical devices for catching the ear of the multitude. Sometimes, for instance, Dr. Parker renounces the idea of a sermon, and tells a story, after the manner of the Parables. His sermons often offend good taste, and are to be excused only on the ground that the end justifies the means. Certainly Mr. Ainger could not do what Dr. Parker is doing at the Poultry.—Christ Satisfying the Instincts of Humanity. Eight Lectures delivered in the Temple Church. By C. J. Vaughan, D.D. (Macmillan.) Half-hours in the Temple Church. By C. J. Vaughan, D.D., Master of the Temple. (Strahan and Co.) Counsels to Young Students. Three Sermons preached before the University of Cambridge at the opening of the academical year 1870-71. By C. J. Vaughan, D.D. (Macmillan and Co.) Concerning three new books by the author of upwards of twenty volumes of published sermons, it is almost enough to say that they are his: only these sermons, while preserving the admirable simplicity and practical spiritual unction of the parochial sermons, have more of intellectual fibre. The conception of the first series addresses itself more to thinking men, and the treatment has a more thoughtful cast. Seven of these letters were delivered on Wednesday evenings in Lent, the eighth on a Sunday just after. The instincts which Christ is represented as satisfying are the instincts of Truth, Reverence, Perfection, Liberty, Courage, Sympathy, Sacrifice, and Unity. The only text of doubtful relevancy is that of the sermon on Courage, taken from the Corinthians, 'Quit you like men.' It is matter for devout thankfulness that a preacher so single-hearted, so practical, so faithful to evangelical truth, and so spiritual, should address so large a number of the learned profession on the great themes of the Gospel, and that these qualities should find such acceptance as they do. The crowds who gather round the Temple pulpit prove that preachers need have recourse neither to strange doctrines nor to oddities of manner to make the Gospel attractive. Dr. Vaughan must preach almost all that he thinks, as he prints almost all that he preaches. His sermons have the natural, simple strength and freshness of an intelligent, scholarly, and devout man. They are not made, they grow; if they may not claim the merit of great originality, they are in every wise and wholesome sense independent. There is no reason why his series of little volumes should not go on for ever, and certainly we have every desire that they should. Dr. Vaughan's devout, spirit-searching fidelity, and evangelical theology, make his books almost everything that we could desire them to be for popular religious reading. There can be no better sign of our times than the favour with which such books are received. Because Dr. Vaughan's sermons are the simple, spontaneous outcome of his mind and heart, they always have an admirable adaptation, whether to the alumni of Cambridge or to the lawyers of the Temple. He speaks with exact pertinence, and therefore with power. We are devoutly thankful that both these classes should hear such faithful, searching, loving words as are addressed to them respectively in these three volumes.—The Lost Found, and the Wanderer Welcomed. By the Rev. W. M. Taylor, M.A., U.P., Liverpool. (Edinburgh: Oliphant and Co.) A lively series of expository and practical homilies on the fifteenth chapter of Luke's Gospel. Almost too lively at times, when the Prodigal Son is represented as departing to the 'El Dorado of his dreams,' and hopes to return a 'nabob;' but there is a dash, and force, and sweetness withal, that render the volume impressive and attractive.—Tender Herbs; or, Lessons for the Lambs. By George W. Conder. (Manchester: Tubbs and Brook; London: Kent and Co.) Few more charming volumes than this have ever been prepared for young Christians. A 'Little Bunch of Herbs for the Lambs,' the author calls them; but they have rare fragrance and beauty. Under such titles as 'The Broken Vase,' 'Thistle Gardens,' 'The Coat and the Dream,' 'The Golden Key,' 'The Shepherd and the Lambs,' Mr. Conder pours forth his affluent treasures of tender fancy and abounding affection. Underneath the almost playful tone of some of his addresses, and the genial kindness of all, there is plenty of strong masculine sense, of vigorous and noble thought, of original and novel argument.—A Practical Commentary on the Gospel of St. John, in Simple and Familiar Language. By G. B. (Nisbet and Co.) Evangelical but feeble.—Life and Truth; or, Bible Thoughts and Themes. The Lesser Epistles. By Horatius Bonar, D.D. (Nisbet and Co.) In our notice of the two previous volumes of this series we have sufficiently characterized the sermons of which it consists. Dr. Bonar seems to have been guided in the selection of passages for texts simply by his sympathetic fancy. In his treatment he is somewhat ultra-orthodox, deeply spiritual, not very critical, and not very original or striking. He is closely textual, and in his frame-work of divisions, resembles some of the old Puritans, rather than divines of the present day. Eighty-five discourses, in a small volume, necessitate brevity; they are, indeed, outlines rather than compositions. Perhaps we may best convey an idea of their character when we say they resemble Chalmers' 'Daily Readings;' only they have more of a sermon-plan in them—sometimes a division or sub-division is dismissed in a sentence. Their most fitting designation would be 'Sermons in Outline.'—Symbols of Christ. By Charles Stanford. (Hodder and Stoughton.) A second edition of a little book that has commended itself to devout readers by its healthy spiritual tone of devout practical religiousness. Mr. Stanford has just that tinge of mysticism which spiritualises events, and uses emblems with unction; but he never becomes mawkish or obscure. His sermons are pure and breezy; emotion is appealed to and excited in an intelligent, manly way. Hence few more wholesome helps to the spiritual life could be named. This is a companion volume to the edition of 'Central Truths,' which we commended on its appearance a few months ago.—Sermons on Historical Subjects. By the Rev. D. Rowlands, B.A. (Hodder & Stoughton.) Mr. Rowlands' sermons are ingenious and effective. In some of them he is remarkably happy in seizing and condensing into a paragraph or two the essence of a great lesson; thus the sermon on Jacob's dream at Bethel treats—1. The 'Duality of Existence;' 2. The 'Unity of Existence.' The treatment is sometimes inadequate, an undue space being given to mere description with which imagination has a good deal to do. On the whole, the sermons may be commended as fresh, sensible, vigorous, and useful.—Sermons. By Henry Melville. Two volumes. (Rivingtons.) Sermon readers will feel a great obligation to the publishers for this cheap reprint of the sermons of one of the most effective preachers of this generation. We are not too old to remember the electrical way in which, for an hour, the preacher at Camden Chapel held spell-bound the multitudes that crowded every available corner: A severe critic might characterise Mr. Melville's preaching as somewhat artificial, and his sermons as fanciful and sometimes wire-drawn; but they are full of unction, and contain precious evangelical truth enforced in a way not to be forgotten. We hope these volumes will be succeeded by others.—Beacons and Patterns; or, Lessons for Young Men. By the Rev. W. Landels, D.D. (Hodder and Stoughton.) These sermons, on some of the historical characters of Scripture, containing lessons specially adapted to young men, are reprinted from 'The Bible Student.' They rise to that level of popular excellence which characterizes all that Dr. Landels does, and are calculated to be useful.—The Prophet's Mantle. Being Scenes from the Life of Elisha, the Son of Shaphat. By the Rev. James Murray, Minister of Old Cumnoch. (Blackwood & Son.) An exceedingly good example of the expository preaching to which, much more than ourselves, our Scottish brethren are given. Mr. Murray, while evidently having a scholarly acquaintance with critical difficulties, knows how to keep them subordinate to popular statement and practical uses. Great good sense characterises all that he says, and regulates every touch. The sermons are Biblical rather than practical, that is, they simply furnish a running practical comment upon the Biblical narrative. Really useful preaching demands somewhat larger and wider uses suited to the practical life of our own day; the historical instance should not have larger prominence than its application.—Sermons. By Charles Wadsworth. San Francisco. (R. D. Dickenson.) We welcome this volume of sermons from the rapidly-growing and vigorous Christian life of San Francisco, where, as everywhere else throughout the States, religious provision fully keeps up with the rapid growth of the community. Mr. Wadsworth's sermons have some of the characteristics of Western life: they are full of vigour, fire, and fearlessness, but with that defective culture of form which in its excess is designated pedantry. The thought is cast in a scholastic form, the scientific illustrations are often in excess, and the style wants ease and simplicity; hard words and harsh compounds occur, and, together with this, the practical applications are too ejaculatory and coercive. Mr. Wadsworth will do better as he mellows, but his volume is able and has much good stuff in it.—Foreign Protestant Pulpit. Sermons by eminent Preachers of France, Germany, Holland, and Switzerland. Second Series. (R. D. Dickinson). We can only adduce as vouchers for the great excellency of this volume the names of the preachers of these six-and-thirty sermons; they are Lange, Grandpierre, CÉsar, Malan, Horace Monod, Tholuck, Bersier, Hocart, Gaussen, Krummacher, Luthardt, Schwartz, Rothe, PressensÉ, and Julius MÜller. In addition to the intrinsic excellence of the sermons, they have the exciting freshness of modes of religious thought and pulpit presentation which are different from our own; they seem to be well translated, their flavour is carefully retained. We cordially commend them to both sermon preachers and sermon readers.—The True Vine; or, the Analogies of our Lord's Allegory. By Rev. Hugh Macmillan. (Macmillan and Co.) Mr. Macmillan combines the eye of a poet and the knowledge of a savant with the heart of a saint; while he analyses the phenomena of nature on purely scientific principles, he interprets them on the principles of a devout Christian theist. He sees in nature the wonderful ways of Him who made it; 'looks through nature up to nature's God,' and often, in virtue of his religious insight, invests familiar things with unobserved and beautiful significance. Beneath the surface of natural symbolism he discerns the religious and loving ways of a divine Creator and father; and thus, in a subtle and beautiful way, he knits together the two great departments of the one kingdom of God. In this volume he is primarily a theologian, investigating the religious meaning of our Lord's great allegory of the vine and its branches—perhaps the greatest of his self-assertions on the one hand, and of his religious assurances on the other. Mr. Macmillan here, therefore, makes science the handmaid of theology, and brings his knowledge of natural phenomena to bear upon the significance of our Lord's similes. He has, we think, a little overdone this; the religious thought is overlaid, the illustration is more than the thing illustrated; but he has thrown beautiful light upon many points of natural symbolism. Readers and preachers who are unscientific will find many of his illustrations as valuable as they are beautiful. His wild luxuriance somewhat reminds us of that of James Hamilton.—Truth and Trust: Lessons of the War. Four Advent Sermons. By Henry Alford, D.D. (Hodder and Stoughton.) These are the last products of Dean Alford's pen, the last utterances from his lips. The proof was but partly corrected when he died. We could not subject them to criticism if we would. They are 'the sound of a voice that is still,' and love for an honoured and noble-hearted servant of God, and for a dear personal friend, seals our lips in reverence. Under any circumstances, we should have only words of eulogy for them. They are, in spiritual intelligence, strength, and cogency, about the best of the many sermons that he published.—The Jewish Temple and the Christian Church; a Series of Discourses on the Epistle to the Hebrews. By R. W. Dale, M.A. Second Edition. Revised, with additional notes. (Hodder and Stoughton). We cannot but regret that Mr. Dale has not made this volume much more than 'discourses, not for scholars, but for ordinary Christian people to whom learned commentaries are inaccessible or useless.' He has in them laid the foundations of an exposition of the Epistle to the Hebrews of great spiritual insight and philosophic breadth, and he might advantageously have wrought out his plan, even in successive editions, until the work had become the worthy magnum opus of his life. It is, however, useless regretting what he has not done; we can simply commend what he has done, as one of the best popular hand-books to this great and suggestive epistle that is extant. Pulpit purposes demand broad treatment and the avoidance of minute exegesis; but the broad treatment here is always the fruit of careful exegesis, good scholarship, and sound, vigorous thought. Some of the sermons are not even wrought out as they were preached; the notes thereof only are given. It is virtually what Robinson's 'Lectures on the Corinthians' are, and will scarcely suffer by comparison with them.—Lights and Shadows in the Life of King David. By Charles Vince. (Elliot Stock.) In ten discourses, Mr. Vince selects certain incidents and points in the history of David. He makes no pretension to biographical completeness, or to relative importance. Spiritual, and not biographical, reasons have guided his selections. Thus one discourse is devoted to the influence of Rizpah's pathetic fidelity in quickening David's conscience; and two to the two things which David had never seen—'the righteous forsaken, and his seed begging their bread.' The volume is a very charming one—full of delicate spiritual discernment and tender religious sensibility; the style is simple and chaste; and the quiet, natural way in which the practical side of everything is presented is very felicitous. Mr. Vince does not 'strive nor cry;' he has recourse to no feverish rhetoric or tumultuous passion; his doctrine 'distils as the dew,' and, in a searching, potent way, finds the soul of every hearer and saturates it.—Misread Passages of Scripture. Second Series. By J. Baldwin Brown, B.A. (Hodder and Stoughton.) Very different is Mr. Brown, who is urgent with intellectual force and moral earnestness. His thought is inquisitive, aggressive, and demonstrative; his spiritual zeal takes cogent forms. He is full of intellectual surprises and unexpected spiritual motives; very independent, very instructive, very forcible, fulfilling the great practical religious ends of the ministry in a masterly, forceful way. His books are full of strong, wise, earnest words, such as place him among the noblest teachers of our day. Nothing could be more characteristic of him than these two series of sermons on 'Misread Passages.' In the second, as distinguished from the first which treats chiefly of textual misinterpretations, Mr. Brown deals with doctrines and conclusions derived from misinterpreted texts; e.g., 'The Principle of Christian Unity,' regarded in the light of the true reading. 'There shall be one flock and one shepherd,' instead of 'one fold and one shepherd;' and the true significance of the simile of the potter and the clay. We commend to special attention the sermon on the 'True Idea of Substitution,' in which, denying the theories of mere martyrdom and commercial substitution, Mr. Brown insists upon the substitution which has its character and power in Christ as the representative of the race—the true theory, as we venture to think. The volume is full of thoughtfulness, light, and power.—The Story of Job, and Meditation on Passages of the Book of Job. By Rev. Alfred Clayton Thistleton. (Nisbet and Co.) There is no distinctive character either of intelligence or strength in Mr. Thistleton's sermons. They are devout and practical, but very commonplace, abounding in unctuous words, and not over careful about exact meanings.—Sermons for the Christian Year. By the Rev. W. H. Lewis, D.D., Rector of the Church of the Holy Trinity, Brooklyn. (R. D. Dickinson.) A reprint of a volume of sermons published twenty years ago. It is a poor criterion of sermons to measure them by the clock—a poor compliment when the first commendation is of shortness; but Mr. Lewis's sermons have this merit. This little volume of 500 pages contains sixty-six. Few of them could have exceeded the orthodox Episcopal fifteen minutes. We differ from many of the tenets of Mr. Lewis. Thus, from the text, 'Cease ye from man,' he teaches that we are from human corruption to expect only ingratitude and wrong, to live among men as among natural enemies. This is a very doleful and, we think, an unwarrantable doctrine. Mr. Lewis is an orthodox evangelical. He discourses in the old mechanical way. He is pious, sincere, and earnest, but he furnishes no great help for men struggling with the real difficulties of human darkness and experience. The volume is typical, and should be very useful to rectors.—The Measure of Faith and other Sermons. By Philip Colborne, Norwich. With Preface by the Rev. John Stoughton, D.D. (Hodder and Stoughton.) Mr. Colborne's sermons are thoroughly individual, as if elaborated in some solitary place, with but little reference either to theologians, critics, or conventional modes of preaching. They somewhat lack fluency, but they are vigorous and discerning. The working out of Mr. Colborne's conceptions is not always so happy as the conceptions themselves; but his little volume contrasts nobly with the vague vapid stuff that often comes before us under the guise of sermons, and is a favourable specimen of that strength of the Nonconformist pulpit which, under God's blessing, has made our churches what they are. We would specially commend the sermon on 'Christian Heroism,' and the two sermons on 'The Origin of Christian Life,' and 'God's Principle of Selection,' preached during the meetings in Norwich of the British Association.—Christ's Healing Touch, and other Sermons, preached at Surbiton. By Alexander Mackennal, B.A. (Elliot Stock.) Mr. Mackennal's sermons combine, in an unusual degree, the freshness of an independent thinker and the power of a robust one, with the spiritual penetration of a devout man, the evangelical fervour of a believing man, and the practical urgency of an earnest man. No one, we think, can read this unpretending volume without being interested—we might say fascinated—by its manifold excellencies, or lay it down without a high estimate of its author's ministerial power. The people who listen to such a preacher are rarely privileged. The volume is one of the few that, without qualification or reserve, we can heartily commend. Mr. Mackennal has a rare faculty for eliciting the latent meanings of things without obtruding the sense of his ingenuity, or failing in broad, practical evangelical applications.—The Wisdom of the King, or Studies in Ecclesiastes. By the Rev. James Bennet, St. John's, New Brunswick. (Edinburgh: William Oliphant.) Mr. Bennet writes with much intelligence and good sense. In a plain, practical way he shapes the lessons to be derived from Ecclesiastes into a series of week-day lectures, and his book may be commended as worthy to take its place in the homiletical literature of Ecclesiastes. Mr. Bennet still adheres to the almost exploded notion that it is the veritable religious autobiography of Solomon.—Things Above. By the late F. W. French, Rector of Newtown, near Kells, County Meath. (James Nisbet and Co.) Mr. French was, as the preface tells us, an aged minister, who had entered upon his eighth decade, and who died before this little book was finished. It is a series of short chapters or lectures concerning things above—their reality, locality, character, &c.—written with devout feeling, and largely illustrated by quotations from a considerable range of writers.—Sermons and Lectures. By the late William M'Combie. (Edinburgh: T. and T. Clark.) Mr. M'Combie was the editor of the Aberdeen Free Press, and a layman. He was accustomed to preach, chiefly in the Baptist Church, of which he was a member; and these discourses were prepared, not for publication, but for preaching. Mr. M'Combie was one of the most able men in the North of Scotland. He had much in common with Hugh Miller. His intellectual independence, vigorous thinking, manifold attainments, and cultured beauty and precision of expression, were not surpassed by any of his compeers. His 'Hours of Thought,' and still more, his 'Moral Agency,' proved, in their revolt from Predestinarianism, as commonly taught by Scotch Calvinism, both his profound metaphysical thinking and his intellectual independence. These sermons have not the finish of his own published works, but they are full of rare thoughtfulness and wisdom, and of rich spiritual feeling and suggestiveness. Their strong, unwavering faith in the sufficiency and power of the religion of Jesus to satisfy every necessity of the individual and social life of men is a fine tonic in these degenerate days. It is something to hear a man who believes as Mr. M'Combie believes speak as he speaks.—Sermons for the Times, preached at the Independent Chapel, Newbury. By E. W. Shalders, B.A. (Blacket and Son, Newbury.) Mr. Shalders has done most excellent service to the cause of spiritual Christianity by the issue of this series of discourses on the questions at issue between the Ritualist and the Free Churchman. The topics chosen by our author have been 'Baptismal Regeneration,' 'Apostolic Succession,' 'The Childishness of Ritualism,' 'Exclusiveness the real Schism.' Scholarship, candour, strength, clearness, and fine manly tone, pervade each of these discussions. We should be glad to see them circulated by tens of thousands.—The Revision of the New Testament, being a Popular Exposition of its Needs and Limits; a Lecture delivered before the Norwich Young Men's Christian Association. By George S. Barrett, B.A. (Hodder and Stoughton.) This lecture is admirably well done. There is a refined tone in the discussion, and a thorough grasp of the whole subject. When he was about it, however, Mr. Barrett might as well have explained a little more fully what is meant by 'The Text of Scripture.' The class addressed by the lecturer are singularly hazy on this point. It is not uncommon to meet with pious folk who, when the rejection, e.g., of 1 John v. 7, is made to depend on its absence from all Greek MSS., are ready to exclaim—'So much the worse for the MSS!' We heartily thank Mr. Barrett for his timely publication.—The Plymouth Pulpit. Sermons by Henry Ward Beecher. Third Series. (Dickenson.) The third series of Mr. Beecher's sermons fully sustains the interest excited by the previous volumes. There are the same high passion and earnest, practical love, the same brilliant touch, the ring of the same musical metal which have charmed and instructed us so often. This volume is characterized by more frequent treatment of great doctrinal themes, when liberal views are guarded by conservative love. There is a most powerful, practical, and useful discourse on the fearful theme of 'The Sin against the Holy Ghost.'

[1] Mr. Peter Walker, of Philadelphia, the late publisher of the Princeton Review, issued last year an index volume, giving brief biographic notices of each contributor to its pages, since 1825. The volume is incomplete. We are indebted to it for much of the information contained in the text.

[2] This Index Expurgatorious puts the ban upon such words as these:—bogus, authoress, poetess, collided, debÚt, donate, donation, loafer, located, ovation, predicate, progressing, pants, rowdies, roughs, secesh, osculate for kiss, endorse for approve, lady for wife, jubilant for rejoicing, bagging for capturing, loaned for lent, posted for informed, and realized for obtained.

[3] Report addressed to the Chancellor of the Exchequer by the Master of the Mint, and Colonel Smith, late Master of the Calcutta Mint, on the mintage necessary to cover the expenses of establishing and maintaining the gold currency.

[4] Mr. Hendriks' Evidence before the Royal Commission.

[5] Report from the Royal Commission on International Coinage.

[6] This is shown by the tariff price of the British sovereign at the Paris Mint, mentioned at p. 21.

[7] Colonel J. T. Smith's Evidence before the Royal Commission.

[8] Mr. Hendriks' Evidence, Royal Commission on International Coinage, p. 19.

[9] Mrs. Crewe's house was subsequently the resort of Charles Fox and his party, who took for their motto—

'Buff and Blue,
And Mrs. Crewe.'

[10] British Quarterly Review. October, 1867, Article 'Recent Researches in Palestine.'

[11] Tel Hum—the mound of 'Hum. Capernaum—the village of na-hum.

[12] B. J., iii. x. 8.

[13] Dean Stanley reminds us that as a rule the hill tribes of a country hold out longest against an invader, but in the case of Canaan the nations of the plain, possessing horses and chariots, which the Israelites were destitute of, had the advantage.—Sin. and Pal.

[14] Jud. Bell. v. iv. i.

[15] 2 Chron. xxxii. 30; I Kings viii. 1.

[16] I Kings ii. 10; xi. 43, &c.

[17] 'Sketch of Jerusalem,' p. 103.

[18] Robinson, Bib. Res. i. 293.

[19] Jos. Ant. xiv. iv. 3.

[20] 'Dictionary of the Bible,' Art. Jerusalem

[21] 'Ancient Jerusalem,' p. 320.

[22] 'Horeb and Jerusalem,' p. 259.

[23] Jud. Bell. vi. iii. 2.

[24] Jud. Bell. vi. iii. 2.

[25] In thus provisionally identifying Zion with a hill north of the temple, it may be well to call attention to Josephus's description of the eastern hill. He says it was ?f????t??, a word which is sometimes translated 'gibbous' sometimes 'sloping on both sides,' and sometimes 'the shape of a moon when horned.' Liddell and Scott say 'curved on each side, like the moon in its third quarter, gibbous;' but as ???t?? by itself, is simply 'curved or arched,' and each side of the moon is carved as much when it is crescent as when gibbous, we have rendered the term 'crescent-shaped,' being influenced by the fact that the Tyropoeon valley and that from Herod's gate would really give a crescent shape to the two eastern hills which in his day were one.

[26] It seems to us overlooked, that before the Akra was cut down it may have been higher than the western hill. If so, it would be the upper city in David's time, and Josephus's statement that David look the lower city and the Akra would have new light thrown upon it. It would then be clear that Akra was co-extensive with the city of David, which is Zion, and the absence of all mention of the upper city at this siege would be explained.

[27] Jud. Bell. v. iv. 1, 2.

[28] Robinson, Bib. Res. iii. 191. Lewin, 'Sketch of Jerusalem,' Appendix.

[29] ?????,a hill from ????? to swell up. With the art. ???????. pr.n. of a hill to the east of Mount Zion. Gesenius Lex. And see Stanley, 'S. and P.,' Appendix.

[30] Jos. Ant. xv. xi. 5; xiv. iv. 2; B. J. i. ii. 5, 2; ii. xvi. 3; vi. vi. 2; vi. vii. i.

[31] Lewin, Sketch of Jer., pp. 19, 96; Jos. Ant., xiv. iv. 2; B. J. i. vii. 2.

[32] Ant. xv. xi. 5.

[33] B.7, v.v. 1; L. xxi. 1. Ant. xv. xi. 5.

[34] Williams and Ferguson both ascribe them to Justinian.

[35] See AthenÆum, June 11th, 1870.

[36] AthenÆum, June 11th, 1870.

[37] The Quarterly Statement of Palestine Exploration Fund, No. V., following M. Ganneau, whose information was at first deficient, represents the stone as rounded at the top and squared at the bottom; and this error is repeated by Professor Rawlinson, in the Contemporary Review, August, 1870.

[38] RÉvue ArchÉologique, June, 1870.

[39] Gesenius, RÖdiger, Bunsen and others maintain this view. Wuttke and FÜrst are against it.

[40] Letter to the Times, March 3rd, 1870.

[41] B. J. iii. x. 8. See a paper on the 'Fishes of the Holy Land,' by Dr. Albert Gunther in the Student and Intellectual Observer, July, 1869. The fish was found in the Round Fountain, not the Spring of Tabigah, identified by Wilson as Capharnaum.

[42] ?? t?? p???? = Stamboul.

[43] We need hardly say that the Archbishopric of Paris dates only from the seventeenth century. Up to that time the Bishop of Paris had been a suffragan of the Metropolitan of Sens.

[44] Eginh. Ann. 768.—'In ips tamen valetudine Turonos delatus, apud Sancti Martini memoriam oravit. Inde cum ad Parisios venisset, viii. Kal. Octobris diem obiit, cujus corpus in basilic beati Dionysii martyris humatum est.' So Vita Karoli, 3, 'Apud Parisius morbo aquae intercutis diem obiit.' Mark the singular use of Parisius as an indeclinable noun.

[45] Eginh. Ann. 753, 708.

[46] Ib. 800. The passage is worth quoting, as a specimen of the constant locomotion of the German kings:—'Redeunte vern temperie, medio fere Martio Rex Aquisgrani digressus, litus Oceani Gallici perlustravit, et in ipso mari, quod tunc piratis Nordmannicis infestum erat, classem instituit, prÆsidia disposuit, pascha in Centulo apud sanctum Richarium celebravit. Inde iterum per litus maris iter agens, Ratumagum civitatem venit ibique Sequan amne transmisso, Turonos ad sanctum Martinum orationis caus profectus est, moratus ibi dies aliquot propter adversam LiutgardÆ conjugis valetudinem, quÆ ibidem et defuncta et humata est; obiit autem diem ii. Non. Jun. Inde per Aurelianos ac Parisios Aquasgrani reversus est, et mense Augusto inchoante Mogontiacum veniens, generalem conventum ibidem habuit, et iter in Italiam condixit, atque inde profectus cum exercitu Ravennam venit, ibique septem nom amplius dies moratus. Pippinum filium suum cum eodem exercitu in terram Beneventanorum ire jussit, movensque de Ravenn simul cum filio, Anconam usque pervenit, quo ibi dimisso Romam proficiscitur.' This same visit to Paris seems to be alluded to by the monk of Saint Gallen, Gesta Karoli, i. 10. (Pertz, ii. 735.) 'Quum vero ingeniosissimus Karolus quodam anno festivitates nativitatis et apparitionis Domini apud Treverense vel Metense oppidum celebrasset sequenti vero anno easdem sollemnitates Parisii vel Turonis ageret.'

[47] Ermoldus Nigellus, ii. 143 (Pertz ii. 481.)

And again, iii. 269—

[48] History of Normandy and England, i. 279-281.

[49] Ibid., i. 282.

[50] The fact that Paris was the gathering-place comes out most strongly in the Annales Bertiniani, 830 (Pertz i. 423.) 'Nam aliqui ex primoribus mumurationem populi cognoscentes, convocaverunt illum, ut eum a fide, quam domno Imperatori promissam habebant, averterent; ideoque omnis populus qui in Britanniam ire debebat ad Parisium se conjunxit, nec non Hlotharium de Itali et Pippinam de Aquitani hostiliter adversum patrem venire, ut illum de regno ejicerent et novercam suam perderent ac Bernardum interficerent, compulerunt.'

[51] Vita Hludowici, 45 (Pertz, ii. 633.) 'Quum autem instaret auctumnalis temperies, ei qui Imperatori contraria sentiebant alicubi in Franci conventum fieri generalem volebant. Imperator autem clanculo obnitebatur, diffidens quidem Francis magisque se credens Germanis.' One cannot help talking here about France and French, though such is not the established use of the words till long after. It should, however, be noticed that the Francia of this writer, while it excludes Germany, equally excludes Burgundy and Aquitaine. (See c. 49.) The assembly was held at Neomaga (Nimwegen) and we read that 'omnis Germania eo confluxit Imperatori auxilio futura.'

[52] Annales Bertiniani, 834. 'Quum hoc Lotharius cognovisset, de Aquis abscessit, et patrem suum usque ad Parisius sub memorat custodi deduxit.' So in the Vita Hludowici. 50, 'Hlotharius patre assumpto per pagum Hasbaniensem iter arripuit, et Parisius urbem petivit, ubi obviam fore cunctos sibi fideles prÆcepit.'

[53] Annales Bertiniani, 834. 'Illo abscedente, venerunt episcopi qui prÆsentes aderant, et in ecclesi sancti Dionysii domnum Imperatorem reconciliaverunt, et regalibus vestibus armisque induerunt. Deinde filii ejus Pippinus et Ludoicus cum ceteris fidelibus ad eum venientes paterno animo gaudenter suscepti sunt, et plurimas illis ac cuncto populo gratias egit, quod jam alacriter illi auxilium prÆbere studuissent.'

[54] See p. 56, ante.

[55] See the Annals of Prudentius of Troyes, 841 (Pertz, i. 437) and the story in Nithard, ii. 6—8. Palgrave, England and Normandy, i. 313, 314. Hildwin, Abbot of St. Denis, and Gerard, Count of Paris—the first we remember bearing that title—had been among the first to break their oaths to Charles.

[56] See the vivid description of Carolingian Paris and its first capture in Palgrave, i. 433-439; but Sir Francis has not wholly withstood the temptation to exaggerate the antiquity of some of the existing buildings.

[57] Ann. Prud. Trec. 841 (Pertz, i. 437). 'Interea piratÆ Danorum ab Oceano Euripo devecti Rotumam irruentes, rapinis, ferro, ignique bacchantes, urbem, monachos, reliquumque vulgum et cÆdibus et captivitate pessumdederunt, et omnia monasteria seu quÆcumque loca flumini SequanÆ adhÆrentia aut depopulati sunt aut multis acceptis pecuniis territa relinquunt.'

[58] Ann. Prud. Trec. 845. 'Nordmannorum naves centum viginti mense Martio per Sequanam hinc et abinde cuncta vastantes, Loticiam Parisiorum nullo penitus obsistente pervadunt. Quibus quum Carolus occurrere moliretur, sed prÆvalere suos nullatenus posse prospiceret, quibusdam pactionibus, et munere septem milium librarum eis exhibito, a progrediendo compescuit, ac redire persuasit.' So in the Annals of Fulda, 845 (Pertz. i. 364): 'Nordmanni regnum Karoli vastantes, per Sequanam usque Parisios navigio venerunt, et tam ab ipso quam incolis terrÆ accept pecuni copiosÂ, cum pace discesserunt.'

[59] Ann. Prud. Trec. 857: 'Dani SequanÆ insistentes cuncta libere vastant, Lutetiamque Parisiorum adgressi, basilicam beati Petri et sanctÆ GenovefÆ incendunt et ceteras omnes, prÆter domum sancti Stephani et ecclesiam sancti Vincentii atque Germani prÆterque ecclesiam sancti Dionysii, pro quibus tantummodo, ne incenderentur, multa solidorum summa soluta est.' Sir Francis Palgrave (i. 439,464) gives a vivid picture of this sack of Paris. Of Saint Denis he adds: 'Saint Denis made a bad bargain. The Northmen did not hold to their contract, or another company of pirates did not consider it as binding: the Monastery was burnt to a shell, and a most heavy ransom paid for the liberation of Abbot Lewis, Charlemagne's grandson, by his daughter Rothaida.' Sir Francis, as usual, gives no reference; but we may be sure that he could, if he had pleased, have given one for the burning of the Monastery as well as for the capture of the Abbot, which the Annals mention under the next year, though not in connection with the sack of Paris.

[60] Sir Francis Palgrave, i. 462, says: 'Amongst the calamities of the times, the destruction of the Parisian monasteries seems to have worked peculiarly on the imagination. Paschasius Radbertus, the biographer of Wala, expatiates upon this misery when writing his Commentary on Jeremiah.' Some extracts are given in Pertz, i. 450: 'Quis umquam crederet, vel quis umquam cogitare potuisset ... ut piratÆ, diversis admodum collecti ex familiis, Parisiorum attingerent fines, ecclesiasque Christi hinc inde cremarent circa litus?... Fateor enim quod nullus ex regibus terrÆ ista cogitaret, neque ullus habitator orbis nostri audire potuisset quod Parisium nostrum hostis intraret.'

[61] It is worth notice, that Charles the Bald, as well as his soldiers, could speak the 'lingua Romana,' or Romance tongue. See the Capitularies put forth by the Kings Lewis, Charles, and Lothar at Coblentz in 860. Lewis speaks 'lingua Theothisca,' and Charles, 'lingua Romana,' (Pertz, Leges, i. 472.) Yet Charles, in his own Capitularies, speaks of 'lingua Theodisca' as the language of the country, exactly as Lewis does, (i, 482, 497.)

[62] Regino 861: 'Carolus Rex placitum habuit in Compendio ibique cum optimatum consilio Roberto Comiti Ducatum inter Ligerim et Sequanam adversum Brittones commendavit, quem cum ingenti industri per aliquod tempus rexit.' Dr. Kalckstein's monograph, Robert der Tapfere, has reached us since this article was written, and we have scarcely had time to glance at it. We can see that he has gone into the matter with hearty thoroughness, but we are not able to avail ourselves at all largely of his researches in detail. We can, however, refer to his clear investigations of Robert's origin, and of the extent of his grant.

[63] Regino 867: 'Ruotbertus qui marcam tenebat.' So Hincmar, Ann. 865. Marchio, in Andegaro.

[64] Richer i. 5: 'Odo patrem habuit ex equestri ordine Rotbertum, avum vero paternum Witichinum, advenam Germanum.' He appears to have been of Saxon origin. See Kalckstein, p. 9, and the first 'Excursus.'

[65] The monk of Saint Gallen (Gesta Karoli, i. 10) gives us a definition of Francia, in the widest sense. 'Franciam vero interdum quum nominavero, omnes Cisalpinas provincias significo ... in illo tempore propter excellentiam gloriosissimi Karoli et Galli, et Aquitani, Ædui et Hispani, Alamanni et Baioarii, non parum se insignitos gloriabantur, si vel nomine Francorum servorum censeri mererentur.'

[66] Richer i. 14, twice speaks of the Duchy of France, as 'Celtica' and 'Gallia Celtica.' 'Rex [Karolus] CelticÆ [Rotbertum] Ducem prÆficit.' These are Charles the Simple, and the second Robert, afterwards King.

[67] 'Ann. Fuld.,' 867 (Pertz i., 380). 'Ruodbertus Karoli Regis Comes apud Ligerim fluvium contra Nordmannos fortiter dimicans occiditur, alter quodammodo nostris temporibus MachabÆus, cujus proelia quÆ cum Brittonibus et Nordmannis gessit, si per omnia scripta fuissent, MachabÆi gestis Æquiparari potuissent.' See the details in Regino, 867. Hincmar, Ann. 866. The battle of Brissarthe is well described in M. Mourin's 'Comtes de Paris,' a book whose name we have placed at the head of this article. The volume forms a careful and spirited history of the rise of the Parisian Kingdom; but it is strongly coloured by Parisian dreams about the frontier of the Rhine.

[68] Odo did not succeed at once. On account of his youth, and, that of his brother Robert, the Duchy was granted to Hugh the Abbot. Ann. Met. 867. (See Kalckstein, p. 109.) Odo did not succeed to the whole Duchy till the death of Hugh in 887 in the middle of the siege, 'Ducatus quem [Hugo] tenuerat et strenue rexerat Odoni filio Rodberti ab Imperatore traditur, qui e tempestate Parisiorum Comes erat.' (Regius, 887.) We are not told what was the exact extent of the county.

[69] See especially the entries in the 'Annales Vedastini' (Pertz, ii. 200), under 874 and several following years. Take, above all, the general picture under 884. 'Nortmanni vero non cessant captivari atque interfici populum Christianum, atque ecclesias subrui, destructis moeniis et villis crematis. Per omnes enim plateas jacebant cadavera clericorum, laicorum, nobilium atque aliorum, mulierum, juvenum, et lactentium: non enim erat via vel locus quo non jacerent mortui; et erat tribulatio omnibus et dolor, videntes populum Christianum usque ad internecionem devastari.'

[70] The Ludwigslied is printed in Max MÜller's German Classics, also in the second volume of Schilter's Thesaurus.

[71] A full account of the battle is given in the Annales Vedastini, 881.

[72] Annales Vedastini, 882. 'Australes Franci (that is, Eastern, Austrasian, not Southern) congregant exercitum contra Nortmannos, sed statim terga vertunt, ibique Walo, Mettensis episcopus, corruit, Dani vero famosissimum Aquisgrani palatium igne cremant et monasteria atque civitates, Treveris nobilissimam et Coloniam Agrippinam, palatia quoque regum et villas, cum habitatoribus terrÆ interfectis, igne cremaverunt.'

[73] Annales Fuldenses (Pertz, i. 390), 876. 'Karolus vero, Hludowici morte compertÂ, regnum illius, cupiditate ductus, invasit, et suÆ ditioni subjugare studuit; existimans se, ut fama vulgabat, non solum partem regni Hlotharii, quam Hludowicus tenuit et filiis suis utendam dereliquit, per tyrannidem posse obtinere, verum etiam cunctas civitates regni Hludowici in occidentali litore Rheni fluminis positas suo regno addere, id est Mogontiam, Wormatiam, et Nemetum, filiosque fratris per potentiam opprimere, ita ut nullus ei resistere vel contradicere auderet.' One is inclined to ask whether there may not be something prophetic under the first entry under the next year; 'Hludowicus rex mense Januario, generali conventa habito apud Franconofurt, quos de regno Karoli tenuit captivos remisit in Galliam.'

[74] Ann. Fuld. 876. The way in which Charles' Imperial dignity is recorded is remarkable. After a satirical description of the Imperial costume, the Annal goes on, 'Omnem enim consuetudinem regum Francorum contemnens, GrÆcas glorias optimas arbitrabatur, et ut majorem suÆ mentis elationem ostenderet, ablato Regis nomine, se Imperatorem et Augustum omnium regum cis mare consistentium appellare prÆcepit.' The phrase 'cis mare' is remarkable, when we think of the English claims to Empire, and of the constant use of the word 'transmarinus' to express England and English things. The common name for diaries in these Annals is 'GalliÆ Tyrannus.'

[75] Abbo, i. 48 (Pertz, ii. 780),—

[76] Regino 887. (Pertz, i. 596). 'Heinricus cum exercitibus utriusque regni Parisius venit.' 'Utrumque regnum' means of course the East and the West Franks. The same Annals, in the next year, speak of Charles as reigning over 'omnia regna Francorum.'

[77] See especially the Annales Vedastini, 885-890; other details come from the Chronicle of Regino, 887-890.

[78] Let us take one out of several passages where he describes his own exploits (ii. 800-302):—

[79] The book is printed in the second volume of Pertz, 776-805. The Third Book has a sort of Interpretatio throughout. We give a few lines (15-18) as a specimen:—

But the narrative portions of the poem, though often obscure enough, are not altogether in this style.

[80] i. 10:—

[81] i-15:—

[82] i. 45:—

[83] i. 66:—

[84] Ann. Ved. 885;—'Nortmanni, patrat victori valde elati, Parisius adeunt turrimque statim aggressi, valide oppugnant; et quia necdum perfecte firmata fuerat, eam se capi sine mor existimant.'

[85] Regino, 887:—'Erant, ut ferunt triginta, et eo amplius adversariorum millia, omnes pene robusti bellatores.'

[86] See Freeman's History of the Norman Conquest, i. 270, ed. ii.

[87] i. 38:—'Solo Rex verbo, sociis tamen imperitabat.'

[88] j.—107:

[89] Ann. Ved. 885:—'Dani, multis suorum amissis, rediere ad naves; indeque sibi castrum statuunt adversus civitatem, eamque obsidione vallant, machinas construunt, ignem supponunt, et omne ingenium suum apponunt ad captionem civitatis; sed Christiani adversus eos fortiter dimicando, in omnibus exstitere superiores.'

[90] Let us take Abbo's description (i. 205) of an engine which may have been only a sow or a tortoise, but which certainly suggests the Trojan horse,

[91] Ann. Ved. 886. 'Octavo Idus Februarii contigit grave discrimen infra civitatem habitantibus; nam ex gravissim inundatione fluminis minor pons disruptus est.' It is called 'pictus pons' by Abbo, i. 250.

[92] Ib. 'Illis vero qui intra turrim erant acriter resistentibus, fit clamor multitudinis usque in coelum; Episcopus desuper muro civitatis cum omnibus qui in civitate erant nimis flentibus, eo quod suis subvenire non possent, et quia nil aliud agere poterat, Christo eos commendabat.'

[93] Ib. 'Nortmanni cum impetu portam ipsius turris adeunt ignemque subponunt. Et hi qui intra erant, fracti vulneribus et incendio capiuntur, atque ad opprobrium Christianorum diversis interficiuntur modis, atque in flumine prÆcipitantur.'

[94] Ann. Ved, 886. 'Herkengerus [the messenger sent by the Bishop, described as Comes] ... Henricum cum exercitu Parisius venire fecit; sed nil ibi profecit ... atque in suam rediit regionem.'

Regino (887) makes the same confession. 'Imperator Heinricum ducem cum exercitu vernali tempore dirigit sed minime prÆvaluit.' The Fulda Annals alone (886) seem to make out something of a case for Henry. His army 'in itinere propter imbrium inundationem et frigus imminens non modicum equorum suorum perpessi sunt damnum.' The Annalist then adds, 'Quum illuc pervenissent, Nordmanni rerum omnium abundantiam in munitionibus suis habentes, manum cum eis conserere nec voluerunt, nec ausi sunt.' He goes on to say that they spent the whole of Lent and up to the Rogation days in vain labours (inani labore consumptis). They then went home, having done nothing except kill some Danes whom they found outside their camp, and carry off a large number of horses and oxen.

[95] Abbo, ii. 3.

After some further description he adds:

[96] Ann. Ved. 886. 'Gauzlinus vero, dum omnibus modis populo Christiano juvare vellet, cum Sigfrido, Rege Danorum, amicitiam fecit, ut per hoc civitas ab obsidione liberaretur. Dum hÆc aguntur, Episcopus gravi corruit in infirmitate, diem clausit extremum, et in loculo positus est in ips civitate. Cujus obitus Nortmannis non latuit; et antequam civibus ejus obitus nuntiaretur, a Nortmannis de foris prÆdicatur Episcopum esse mortuum.'

[97] Ann. Ved. 886. 'Dehinc vulgus pertÆsi una cum morte patris obsidione, irremediabiliter contristantur; quos Odo, illustris Comes, suis adhortationibus roborabat. Nortmanni tamen quotidie non cessant oppugnare civitatem; et ex utrÂque parto multi interficiuntur, pluresque vulneribus debilitantur, escÆ etiam coeperunt minui in civitate.'

[98] Ib. 'Odo videns affligi populum, clam exiit de civitate, a principibus regni requirens auxilium, et ut Imperatori innotesceret velocius perituram civitatem, nisi ei auxilium detur.'

[99] Ib. 'Dehinc regressus, ipsam civitatem de ejus absenti nimis repperit moerentem; non tamen in eam sine admiratione introiit. Nortmanni ejus reditum prÆscientes, accurrerunt ei ante portam turris; sed ille, omisso equo, a dextris et sinistris adversarios cÆdens, civitatem ingressus, tristem populum reddidit lÆtum.'

[100] 'Æstivo tempore, antequam segetes in manipulos redigerentur,' says Regino (887) of the coming of Henry, and adds, 'Post hÆc Imperator ... venit.' This does not practically contradict the Annales Vedastini (886): 'Circa auctumni tempora Imperator Carisiacum veniens cum ingenti exercitu, prÆmisit Heinricum, dictum Ducem Austrasiorum, Parisius.'

[101] Regino 887. 'Idem Heinricus cum exercitibus utriusque regni Parisius venit.'

[102] Ann. Ved. 886: 'Qui quum advenisset illuc cum exercitu prope civitatem, cum paucis inconsulte coepit equitare circa castra Danorum, volens invisere qualiter exercitus castra eorum posset attingere, vel quo ipsi castra figere deberent.' To which Regino (887) adds: 'Situm loci contemplatur aditumque perquirit, quo exercitui cum hostibus minus periculosus pateret congressus.'

[103] This is told most fully by Regino (887): 'Porro Nordmanni audientes appropinquare exercitum, foderant foveas, latitudinis unius pedis et profunditatis trium, in circuitu castrorum, easque quisquiliis et stipul operuerant, semitas tantum discursui necessarias intactas reservantes.'

[104] Ib. 'Aspiciente universo exercitu, absque mor trucidant, arma auferunt, et spolia ex parte diripiunt.'

[105] The exploit of Count Ragnar comes only from the Annales Vedastini: 'Quum nudÂssent illum armis suis, supervenit quidam e Francis, Ragnerus nomine Comes, ejusque corpus non absque vulneribus illis tulit; quod statim Imperatori nuntiatum est.' Regino says only, 'Agminibus impetum facientibus, vix cadaver exanime eruitur.' He adds, 'Exercitus, amisso duce ad propria revertitur.'

[106] Abbo ii. 217:

'En et Ainricus, superis crebro vocitatus,

Obsidione volens illos vallare, necatur.

Inque suos, nitens Sequanam transire, Danorum

Rex Sinric, geminis ratibus spretis, penetravit

Cum sociis ter nam quinquagenis, patiturque

Naufragium medio fluvii, fundum petiturus,

Quo fixit, comitesque simul, tentoria morti.

Hic sua castra prius SequanÆ contingere fundum

Quo surgens oritur, dixit, quam linquere regnum

Francorum, fecit Domino tribuente quod inquit.'

[107] Regino, 887. 'Post hÆc Imperator, Galliarum populos perlustrans, Parisius cum immenso exercitu venit, ibique adversos hostes castra posuit, sed nil dignum Imperatori majestate in eodem loco gessit.' So Ann. Ved. 886: 'Ille vero audito multum doluit; accepto tamen consilio, Parisius venit cum manu validÂ; sed quia Dux periit, ipse nil utile gessit.' So the Annals of Fulda, 886: 'Imperator per Burgundiam obviam Nortmannos in Galliam, qui tunc Parisios erant, usque pervenit. Occiso ibi Heinrico, Marchensi Francorum, qui in id tempus Niustriam tenuit, Rex, parum prospere actis rebus, revertitur in sua.'

[108] Ann. Ved. 886. 'Factum est vere consilium miserum; nam utrumque, et civitatis redemptio illis promissa est, et data est via sine impedimento, ut Burgundiam hieme deprÆdarent. So Ann. Fuld. 886: 'Imperator perterritus, quibusdam per Burgundiam vagandi licentiam dedit, quibusdam plurimam promisit pecuniam, si a regno ejus statute inter eos tempore discederent.'

[109] Regino, 887. 'Ad extremum, concessis terris et regionibus quÆ ultra Sequanam erant Nordmannis ad deprÆdandum, eo quod incolÆ illarum sibi obtemperare nollent, recessit.'

[110] The details follow immediately after in Regino.

[111] See above, p. 59. So Ann. Ved. 886. 'Terr patris sui Rothberti Odoni Comiti concessÂ, Imperator castra movit.'

[112] Ann. Ved. 888.

[113] Ib. 'Odo vero Rex Remis civitatem contra missos Arnulfi perrexit, qui ei coronam, ut fertur, misit, quam in ecclesi Dei genitricis in natali sancti Briccii capiti impositam, ab omni populo Rex adclamatur.' Cf. Ann. Fuld., 888-895. Regino 895. Arnulf was not crowned Emperor till 806.

[114] Regino, 888. 'Nordmanni, qui Parisiorum urbem obsidebant, miram et inauditam rem, non solum nostrÂ, sed etiam superiore Ætate fecerunt.'

[115] Ib. 'Quum civitatem inexpugnabilem esse persensissent, omni virtute omnique ingenio laborare coeperunt, quatenus urbe post tergum relictÂ, classem cum omnibus copiis per Sequanam sursum possent evehere, et sic Hionnam fluvium ingredientes, BurgundiÆ fines absque obstaculo penetrarent.'

[116] Ann. Ved. 886.

[117] Ib.

[118] Ib.

[119] Regino, 889. 'Nordmanni a Senonic urbe recedentes, denuo Parisius cum omnibus copiis devenerunt. Et quum illis descensus fluminis a civibus omnino inhiberetur, rursus castra ponunt, civitatem totis viribus oppugnant, sed, Deo opem ferente, nihil prÆvalent.'

[120] Ann. Ved. 888. 'Circa auctumni vero tempora Odo Rex, adunato exercitu, Parisius venit; ibique castra metatus est prope civitatem, ne iterum ipsa obsideretur.'

[121] Regino, 890. 'Civibus qui continuis operum ac vigiliarum laboribus induruerant, et assiduis bellorum conflictibus exercitati erant, audaciter reluctantibus, Nordmanni, desperatis rebus, naves per terram cum magno sudore trahunt, et sic alveum repetentes, BritanniÆ finibus classem trajiciunt. Quoddam castellum in Constantiensi territorio, quod ad sanctum Loth dicebatur, obsident.' The action of Odo comes from Ann. Ved. 889. 'Contra quos Odo [Danos] Rex venit; et nuntiis intercurrentibus, munerati ab eo regressi a Parisius, relictÂque SequanÂ, per mare navale iter atque per terram pedestre et equestre agentes in territorio ConstantiÆ civitatis circa castrum sancti Laudi sedem sibi faciunt, ipsumque castrum oppugnare non cessant.'

[122] Widukind, iii. 4. 'Exinde, collect ex omni exercitu electorum militum manu, Rothun Danorum urbem adiit, sed difficultate locorum, asperiorique hieme ingruente, plag eos quidem magn percussit; incolumi exercitu, infecto negotio, post tres menses Saxoniam regressus est.'

[123] See Dudo's account in Duchesne, Rer. Norm. Scriptt., 130-134; or Palgrave, ii. 562-578.

[124] Richer, ii. 54. 'Tres itaque Reges, in unum collecti, primi certaminis laborem Lauduno inferendum decernunt. Et sine morÂ, illo exercitum ducunt. Quum ergo ex adverso montis eminentiam viderent, et omni parte urbis situm explorarent, cognito incassum sese ibi certaturos, ab e urbe discedunt et Remos adoriuntur.' He then goes on to describe the taking of Rheims. This is confirmed by Widukind, iii. 3. 'Rex cum exercitu Lugdunum adiit, eamque armis tentavit.' He places the taking of Rheims after the attack on Paris, and afterwards, perhaps inadvertently, speaks of Laon as if it had been taken. Lugdunum is of course a mistake for Laudunum.

[125] Flodoard, 946 (Pertz, iii. 393). 'Sicque trans Sequanam contendentes, loca quÆque prÆter civitates gravibus atterunt deprÆdationibus.'

[126] Widukind (iii. 2) records Otto's answer to a boastful message of Hugh. 'Ad quod Rex famosum satis reddit responsum; sibi vero fore tantam multitudinem pileorum ex culmis contextorum, quos ei prÆsentari oporteret, quantam nec ipse nec pater suus umquam videret. Et revera, quum esset magnus valde exercitus, triginta scilicet duarum legionum, non est inventus, qui hujusmodi non uteretur tegumento, nisi rarissimus quisque.' On these straw hats see Pertz's note.

[127] Widukind (iii. 3.), immediately after the attempt on Rouen, adds, 'Inde Parisius perrexit, Hugonemque ibi obsedit, memoriam quoque Dionysii martyris digne honorans veneratus est.'

[128] Richer, ii. 57. 'Decem numero juvenes quibus constanti mente fixum erat omne periculum subire.' He then describes their pilgrim's garb.

[129] Richer, ii. 57. 'Ille farinarium sese memorat, at illi prosecuti, siquid amplius possit interrogant. Ille etiam piscatorum Ducis magistrum se asserit, et ex navium accommodatione questum aliquem sibi adesse.' This miller of the Seine appears also in a story of Geoffrey Grisegonelle in the Gesta Consulum Andegavensium, vi. (D'Achery, Spicilegium, iii. 247). 'In crastino Consul furtivus viator, egreditur, non longe a Parisiac urbe burgum sancti Germani devitans, a molendinario qui molendinos SecanÆ custodiebat, dato ei suo habitu, navigium sibi parari impetravit.'

[130] All that Richer (ii. 58,) tells us is that Otto's troops, after crossing the river, 'terr recepti incendiis prÆdisque vehementibus totam regionem usque Ligerim depopulati sunt. Post hÆc feruntur in terram piratarum ac solo tenus devastant. Sicque Regis injuriam atrociter ulti; iter ad sua retorquent.' The 'terra piratarum' is of course Normandy.

[131] Lothar was the son of Lewis and Gerberga, the sister of Otto the Great; Lothar and the younger Otto were therefore cousins.

[132] Richer iii. 71. 'Æream aquilam quÆ in vertice palatii a Karolo Magno acsi volans fixa erat, in vulturnum converterunt. Nam Germani eam in favonium converterant, subtiliter signicantes Gallos suo equitatu quandoque posse devinci.' So Thietmar of Merseburg, iii. 6 (Pertz. iii. 761), records the turning of the eagle and adds, 'HÆc stat in orientali parte domÛs, morisque fuit omnium hunc locum possidentium, ad sua eam vertere regna.' The raid on Aachen is also described by Baldric in the Gesta Episcoporum Cameracensium i. 96 (Pertz. vii. 440). He always speaks of Lothar as 'Rex Karlensium,' and of his kingdom as 'partes Karlensium.' In Thietmar he is 'Rex Karolingorum.'

[133] Richer iii. 74, 'Sic etiam vers vice, Lotharium adurgens, eo quod militum copiam non haberet fluvium Sequanam transire compulit, et gemebundum ad Ducem ire coegit.'

[134] Gest. Ep. Cam. i. 97, 'Paternis moribus instructus, ecclesias observavit immo etiam opulentis muneribus ditare potius Æstimavit.'

[135] Richer iii. 74, 'Per fines urbis Remorum transiens sancto Remigio multum honorem exhibuit.'

[136] This story comes from Baldric, Gest. Ep, Cam. i. 97. 'Deinde vero ad pompandam victoriÆ suÆ gloriam Hugoni, qui Parisius residebat, per legationem denuntians, quod in tantam sublimitatem Alleluia faceret ei decantari in quanta non audierit, accitis quam pluribus clericis Alleluia te Martyrum in loco qui dicitur Mons Martyrum, in tantum elatis vocibus decantari prÆcepit, ut attonitis auribus ipse Hugo et omnis Parisiorum plebs miraretur.' The 'Mons Martyrum' is, we need scarcely say, Montmartre.

[137] Gest. Cons. Andeg. vi. 2. Very little can be made of a story in which the invasion of Otto is placed in the reign of Robert, the son of Hugh Capet, who is represented as King, his father being still only Duke. The expedition of Otto is thus described. 'Otto siquidem Rex Alemannorum cum universis copiis suis Saxonum et Danorum Montem Morentiaci obsederat, et urbi Parisius multos assultus ignominiose faciebat.' Geoffrey Grisegonelle comes to the rescue with three thousand men.

[138] Richer iii. 77. The name of the French champion is Ivo.

[139] Ib. iii. 77. 'Otto Gallorum exercitum sensim colligi non ignorans, suum etiam tam longo itinere quam hostium incursu posse minui sciens, redire disponit, et datis signis castra amoverunt.'

[140] Rudolf Glaber i. 3. His way of telling the whole story should be noticed. 'Lotharius ... ut erat agilis corpore, et validus, sensuque integer, tentavit redintegrare regnum, ut olim fuerat.' This is explained in the next sentence. 'Nam partem ipsius regni superiorem, quÆ etiam Lotharii Regnum cognominatur, Otto Rex Saxonum, immo Imperator Romanorum, [this means Otto the Great, "primus ac maximus Otto"] ad suum, id est Saxonum, inclinaverat regnum.' The retreat is thus described. 'Lotharius ex omni Franci atque Burgundi militari manu in unum coactÂ, persecutus est Ottonis exercitum usque in fluvium Mosam, multosque ex ipsis fugientibus in eodem flumine contigit interire.'

[141] Richer iii. 77. 'AxonÆ fluvii vada festinantes alii transmiserant, alii vero ingrediebantur quum exercitus a Rege missus a tergo festinantibus affuit. Qui reperti fuere mox gladiis hostium fusi sunt, plures quidem at nullo nomine clari.'

[142] Ib. iii. 80, 81. 'BelgicÆ pars quÆ in lite fuerat in jus Ottonis transiit.' Rudolf Glaber clearly means the same thing when he says, 'Dehinc vero uterque cessavit, Lothario minus explente quod cupiit.'

[143] Gest. Ep. Cam. i. 98. 'Qui [Otto] quum satis exhaust ultione congruam vicissitudinem se rependisse putarat, ad hiberna oportere se concedere ratus; inde simul revocato equitatu, circa festivitatem sancti AndreÆ, jam hieme subeunte, reditum disposuit; remensoque itinere, bono successu gestarum rerum gaudens super Axonam fluvium castra metari prÆcepit.'

[144] Ib. 'Paucis tamen famulorum remanentibus, qui retrogradientes—nam sarcinas bellicÆ supellectilis convectabant—prÆ fatigatione oneris, tenebris siquidem jam noctis incumbentibus, transitum in crastino differe arbitrati sunt.'

[145] Gest. Ep. Cam. i. 98. 'Ips etenim nocte in tantum excrevit alveolus, ut difficultate importuosi littoris neuter alteri manum conferre potuerit; hoc ita sane, credo, Dei voluntate disposito, ne strages innumerabilis ederetur utrimque.'

[146] Ib. The prize was to be, 'Commiss invicem pugnÂ, cui Deus annueret laureatus regni imperio potiretur.' This challenge again reminds us of Brihtnoth. Compare the references in Freeman, Norman Conquest, i. 271, Note 1.

[147] Ib. i. 98. 'Quid tot ab utrÂque parte cÆdentur? Veniant ambo Reges in unum tantummodo, nobisque procul spectantibus, summi periculi soli subeuntes una conferantur, unoque fuso cÆteri reservati victori subjiciantur.'

[148] Ib. Semper vestrum Regem vobis vilem haberi audivimus non credentes; nunc autem vobismetipsis fatentibus, credere fas est. Numquam nobis quiescentibus noster Imperator pugnabit, numquam nobis sospitibus in proelio periclitabitur.' Compare the proposal of the Argeians for a judicial combat to decide the right to the disputed land of Thyrea; Thuc. v. 41, t??? d? ?a?eda??????? t? ?? p??t?? ?d??e? ???a e??a? ta?ta, much as it seemed to Count Godfrey.

[149] His comment (Gest. Ep. Cam. i. 99) is, 'Hoc igitur modo Regibus inter se discordantibus, jam dictu difficile est quot procellis factionum intonantibus ab ipsis suis vassallis afficitur Tethdo episcopus.'

[150] Richer iii. 78. Lothar debates whether he shall oppose Otto or make friends with him. 'Si staret contra, cogitabat possibile esse Ducem opibus corrumpi, et in amicitiam Ottonis relabi. Si reconciliaretur hosti, id esse accelerandum, ne Dux prÆsentiret, et ne ipse quoque vellet reconciliari. Talibus in dies afficiebatur, et exinde his duobus Ducem suspectum habuit.' See also the story of Hugh's dealings with Otto (82-85).

[151] So Thietmar of Merseburg, iii. 6. 'Reversus inde Imperator triumphali gloriÂ, tantum hostibus incussit terrorem ut numquam post talia incipere auderent; recompensatumque est iis quicquid dedecoris prius intulere nostris.'

[152] That is, simply kinswomen; parentes in the French sense.

[153] Thierry's 'History of the Norman Conquest,' book i.

[154] Quod idem nostram ignaviam et segnitiem simul prodit, quod nec tam gravi necessitate moveri, nec tam commoda lege cogi potuerimus; quin tam dies res tanta (qua majoris esse momenti nihil unquam potuerit) intacta pene remanserit.

[155] Biblius in plurisque apud nos Ecclesiis, aut deficientibus aut tritis; et nemine, quantum ego audire potui, de excudenis novis cogitante; id pro irriti conatus sum in Britannica Bibliorum versione, quod foeliciter factum est in Anglicana.

[156] Nephew of Sir Hugh Middleton, who brought the New River to London.

[157] Vol. iv., pp. 293-4; and Appendix to vol. iv., p. 63.

[158]

[159] 'Llyfryddiaeth y Cymry,' p. 211.

[160] Mr. Gladstone, to his great honour, has had the courage to break through this practice, by his recent appointment of a thorough Welshman to the diocese of St. Asaph.

[161] 'Justice to Wales: Report of the Association of Welsh Clergy in the West Riding of the County of York,' p. 8.

[162] Morgan's 'Life and Times of H. Harris,' p. 41.

[163] 'The Christian Leaders of the Last Century,' by the Rev. J. C. Ryle, p. 192.

[164] 'Johnes,' p. 63.

[165] This calculation does not include Monmouthshire.

[166] The instructions given as to the mode of collecting the returns are these: 'In order to fill this schedule correctly, it will be necessary to appoint persons in whom confidence can be placed, to count every congregation and school in the parish, and that on the same Sunday; not taking one place on one Sunday and another place on another Sunday. Care should be taken not to give account of any place in the schedule that is not within the limits of the parish. On the other side of the schedule let all the persons who have been engaged in counting write their names, as an attestation of the correctness of the returns.'

[167] Of late years, however, the Nonconformists have taken up the question of Day school education very strenuously and successfully, so that there are at this time more than 400 British or neutral schools in Wales.

[168] Minutes of Council, 1854-5, p. 602.

[169] Report of the Committee of Council on Education, 1868-9, p. 179.

[170] 'Considerations on the Revision of the English New Testament.'

[171] British Quarterly Review, April, 1868.

[172] The valuable earlier Auchinleck MS. is written by five or six hands.

[173] 'Old English Homilies and Homiletic Treatises of the 12th and 13th centuries.' Edited by Richard Morris. First series, 2 parts, 8vo. London: 1867-68.

[174] The 'Story of Genesis and Exodus,' an Early English Song, about a.d. 1250; now first edited from an unique MS. by Richard Morris. 8vo. London: 1865.

[175] Father, God of all things, Almighty Lord, highest king, give thou me a propitious season, to show this world's beginning, Thee, Lord God, to honour, whetherso I read or sing.

[176] First.

[177] Unnatural.

[178] Trouble.

[179] 'Seinte Marherete,' the Maiden and Martyr, in Old English. Edited by Oswald Cockayne, M.A. London: 1866.

[180] 'Hali Meidenhad.' An Alliterative Homily of the thirteenth century. Edited by Oswald Cockayne. London: 1866.

[181] The 'Lay of Havelok the Dane;' composed in the reign of Edward I., about a.d. 1280. Formerly edited by Sir F. Madden, and now re-edited by the Rev. Walter W. Skeat. Extra Series. London: 1868.

[182] 'King Horn,' with fragments of 'Floriz and Blauncheflour,' and the 'Assumption of our Lady.' Edited, with Notes and Glossary, by J. Rowson Lumby. London: 1866.

[183] Parallel Extracts from Twenty-nine MSS. of 'Piers Plowman,' with comments, and a proposal for the Society's Three-text edition of this poem, by the Rev. Walter W. Skeat. London. 1866. The 'Vision of William concerning Piers Plowman.' By William Langland (a.d. 1362), edited from the Vernon MS., by the Rev. Walter W. Skeat. London: 1867.

[184] 'Pierce the Ploughman's Crede' (about 1394 a.d.), transcribed and edited from MS. Trin. Coll. Cam. R. 3, 15, collated with MS. Bibl. Reg. 18 B. xvii. in the British Museum, and with the old printed text of 1553, by the Rev. Walter W. Skeat. London: 1867.

[185] Dan Michel's 'Ayenbite of Inwyt; or, Remorse of Conscience,' in the Kentish dialect. 1340 a.d. Edited by Richard Morris. London: 1866.

[186] 'English Gilds.' The original ordinances of more than one hundred Early English Gilds, from original MSS. of the 14th and 15th centuries. Edited, with Notes, by the late Toulmin Smith; with an Introduction and Glossary, &c., by his daughter, Lucy Toulmin Smith, London: 1870.

[187] 'Early English Alliterative Poems,' in the West Midland dialect of the 14th century. Edited by Richard Morris. London: 1864.

[188] 'The Romance of William of Palerne' (otherwise known as the Romance of William and the Werwolf). Edited by Rev. Walter W. Skeat. London: 1867.

[189] 'Sir Gawayne and the Green Knight.' An Alliterative Romance-Poem. About 1320-30 a.d. By the Author of Early English Alliterative Poems. Re-edited by Richard Morris. London: 1864.

[190] 'Lancelot of the Laik.' A Scottish Metrical Romance. About 1490-1500. Re-edited by the Rev. W. W. Skeat. 8vo. London: 1865.

[191] 'Arthur:' a short Sketch of his Life and History, in English Verse, of the first half of the 15th century. Edited by F. J. Furnivall. London: 1864.

[192] 'Morte Arthure.' Edited from Robert Thornton's MS. (about 1440 a.d.), in the Library of Lincoln Cathedral, by George G. Perry. London: 1865.

[193] One of Arthur's grand achievements is the capture, after a severe siege, of the city of Metz. The Duke of Lorraine is sent to Dover, and the government of the country is otherwise provided for by Arthur.

[194] Looks.

[195] Is frightened.

[196] Visor.

[197] Face.

[198] Health.

[199] 'Merlin; or, the Early History of King Arthur.' A prose Romance (about 1450-1460 a.d.) Edited from the unique MS. in the University Library, Cambridge, by Henry B. Wheatley. Parts I.—III. London: 1865-69.

[200] 'The Romance of the Chevalere Assigne.' Re-edited by Henry H. Gibbs. London: 1868.

[201] 'The Book of the Knight of La Tour Landry.' Compiled for the instruction of his daughters. Translated from the original French, in the reign of Henry VI., and edited by Thomas Wright. London: 1868.

[202] 'The Wright's Chaste Wife.' A merry tale. By Adam of Cobsam. About 1462. Edited by F. J. Furnivall. 1865.

[203] 'Political, Religious, and Love Poems.' Edited by F. J. Furnivall. London: 1866.

[204] 'The Babees Book, &c. Manners and Meals in Olden Time.' Edited by F. J. Furnivall. London: 1868.

[205] 'The Book of Quinte Essence, or the Fifth Being; that is to say, Man's Heaven.' Edited by F. J. Furnivall. London: 1866.

[206] 'English Prose Treatises of Richard Rolle de Hampole.' Edited from Robert Thornton's MS., cir. 1440. By George G. Perry. London: 1866.

[207] 'Religious Pieces in Prose and Vers.' Edited from Robert Thornton's MS., cir. 1440. By George G. Perry. London: 1867.

[208] 'Instructions for Parish Priests.' By John Myrc. Edited from Cotton MS., Claudius A II. By Edward Peacock. London: 1868.

[209] 'Hymns to the Virgin and Christ, the Parliament of Devils, and other Religious Poems.' Edited by F. J. Furnivall. London: 1867.

[210] We should be glad to have an exposition of the 'Catholic' view relative to the use of capitals, what special sanctity is supposed to reside in them, and what rule governs their employment. They form a marked feature in 'Catholic' literature, and certainly sometimes puzzle us. Why, for example, should 'Party' have a capital here?

[211] The ex-Emperor's selfishness is proved by his never having tried to introduce anything answering to our Poor Law, with the working of which he must have been thoroughly acquainted. Our system is far from perfect; but it saves us from those terrible food revolutions, one of which has so lately made Paris such a pitiable sight. Louis Napoleon preferred the French voluntary system, because he always hoped to get the ouvriers in hand (as he had got the peasants), and to use them, too, against any rising of the more intelligent classes.

[212] Benjamin Constant is a notable instance of the want of staunchness of too many French writers. At first strongly against the Empire, he was won over by the uncle far more easily than poor PrÉvost-Paradol was by the nephew.

[213] Witness the cruel exactions, at CompiÈgne (Pall Mall Gazette, 11th March) and elsewhere, during the armistice and after the conclusion of peace.

[214] The hatred is reciprocated. Germany does not forget French occupation. An eminent German remarked to us the other day that more than a dozen Prussian towns are still paying the interest of the money borrowed to pay the first Napoleon's exactions. He remarked, too, on the cruelties which the French practised; and said that Germany remembers Davoust at Hamburg, and his turning out 26,000 people on New Year's-day to perish in the cold, because they could not show that they had a sufficient stock of siege provisions.

[215] Yet the clergy, as might be predicted from the fulsomeness of their homage, only flattered Napoleon for their own ends. They soon showed their ingratitude. Pradt, Archbishop of Mechlin, invented the epithet, Jupiter-Scapin. Talleyrand did his best to pull down the falling Empire. The peasantry whom they had taught were less fickle.

[216] A curiosity in the history of Catechisms is that in use in Spain while Napoleon was extolled as God's image on earth in the neighbouring country. Therein young Spaniards were taught as follows: 'Tell me, my child, who are you?'—'A Spaniard, by the grace of God.' 'Who is the enemy of our happiness?'—'The Emperor of the French.' 'How many natures hath he?'—'Two; the human and the diabolical.'—Mignet, vol. ii. 336.

[217] Scrutator has tried to prove that it was really Prussia, and not France, which made war inevitable.

[218] Of the sad civil war in the capital we would only say that it is partly due to the want of a proper Poor Law, partly to the justly bitter feeling caused by the hard terms of peace—terms so different from those of 1815, which secured fifty years' peace, and eventually made France and England friends.

[219] It is needless to enumerate the number of English essays and books upon Berkeley and his philosophy which have recently appeared. It may not be so well known to our readers that Berkeley's doctrines are at present very widely discussed in Germany. A great deal of this discussion is doubtless due to the exertions of that fervid Berkeleian, Dr. T. Collyns Simon, who, according to a German critic, 'reist in Deutschland umher, um mit allen Mitteln des Worts und der Schrift, propaganda fÜr seinen Meister zu machen;' but the interest shown on the subject must rest on a deeper basis. Of German dissertations on Berkeley we have seen the following:—R. Hoppe in Bergman's Zeitschrift, v. Heft. 2. 1870; Freiherr v. Reichlin-Meldegg, in Fichte's Zeitschrift, lvi. Heft. 2, 1870; T. Collyns Simon and H. Ulrici, in Fichte's Zeitschrift, lvii. Heft. 1; and F. Friederich's Ueber Berkeley's Idealismus, 1870. To these must be added, as the most important of all, Prof. F. Ueberweg's translation of Berkeley's 'Principles of Human Knowledge,' with a short preface and some very valuable notes, published in Heimann's cheap series of philosophical works, Berlin, 1869. The growing interest felt in Berkeley is also to be seen in the larger amount of space given to the criticism of his doctrines in the more recent work on the history of philosophy, such as Freiherr v. Reichlin-Meldegg's Einleitung zur Philosophie, Wien, 1870.

[220] We use the word 'Idealist' in the modern German sense. It is the technical term to denote that tendency in human speculation which is embodied in Plato's Dialectic, Schelling's Natur-Philosophie, Hegel's metaphysical logic, or Ferrier's scorn for Psychology, and is opposed to 'Realist,' which is applied to Herbart's Metaphysic, Mill's Ethics, or Buckle's History of Civilization; cf. Dr. F. Ueberweg on 'Idealism, Realism, and Ideal-Realism,' in Fichte's Zeitschrift, vol. 34.

[221] The writer of an article on the Idealism of Berkeley and Collier, in the North British Review, January, 1871, summarizes forcibly the arguments against Berkeley which have been urged by the so-called school of Natural Realists. It is evidently an attempt to show that the theories of Berkeley and Collier are incompatible with the doctrine of the Incarnation, and therefore, the writer thinks, with that of Transubstantiation also.

[222] Professor Hermann Ulrici, of Halle, in Fichte's Zeitschrift, vol. lvii. Pt. 1, 1870, pp. 171-4.

[223] As Freiherr v. Reichlin-Meldegg does, Enleit. fÜr Philosophie, p. 122.

[224] The advance which Berkeley made from the stand-point of Locke may not have been made very clear by this abstract statement; but the difference of conception was just the difference between the Baconian and modern induction. Bacon endeavoured to explain everything by referring it to its form; and this form was a contemporaneous cause, corresponding very much to the abstract ideas of Locke, or rather to those abstract ideas which are supposed to be the more important, viz., the primary qualities (cf. Ellis and Spedding's Ed. of Bacon, I., p. 29). Modern induction explains by referring a consequent to its invariable antecedent. It introduces the idea of motion, succession, or flow, and explains a thing by showing its place in the flow of phenomena. It is interesting to note that while Berkeley was thus substituting a living causality for the abstract ideas of Locke, and explaining the construction and objective knowledge of things by their position in the successive moments of a personal agency, other philosophers were endeavouring to solve the same metaphysical and psychological problem in somewhat the same way. Leibnitz's 'Monadologie' was really an attempt to explain the existence of universals and objective principles of knowledge by the thought of growth or development or flow; but Leibnitz's explanation differs from Berkeley's in this, that he kept chiefly the thought of the development itself before his mind, and conceived a gradual progression through impersonal existences up to the conscious self, while Berkeley, keeping to his direct spiritual intuition, ever looks at this flow as manifesting the presence and action of a free personal spirit. The same general thought is also at the basis of Wolff's hint that the causal-nexus, not abstract ideas, enables us to explain how universal judgments are formed out of individual experiences (logica, § 706). It has developed since then into the conception of organic development, which plays such an important part in Kant's 'Kritik der Urtheilskraft,' is the fundamental thought in such post Kantian metaphysics as the 'Natur-Philosophie' of Schelling, and the 'Mikrokosmos' of Herman Lotze, and may be called the metaphysical foundation for the scientific method which has led to the theories of Darwin in natural history, of Aug. Schleicher in philology, and of the Leyden School in the history of religions.

[225] In proof of this, we need only refer to the admirable preface of Professor Fraser, especially pp. 3, 5, 7, 9.

[226] Berkeley is usually esteemed the foremost of modern Nominalists, but we question if his Nominalism was more than a denial of Conceptualism. It was not a positive doctrine. There are several assertions in his 'Common-place Book' which show that even in his earlier days he was not a Nominalist in the proper sense of the term. He denies once and again Locke's statement that we know particulars only; he believes in the real existence of classes or kinds; and he says that genera and species are not abstractions. In his later writings he probably found that in his eagerness to attack the conceptualist doctrine of abstract conceptions, he had probably been carried too far, for in his third edition of 'Alciphron' he curiously omits those chapters which treat of Nominalism, and in 'Siris' the reality of universals is assumed throughout.

[227]Berkeley's 'Abhandlung Über die Principien der menschlichen Erkenntniss. In's Deutsch Übersetzt,' &c., von Dr. Fr. Ueberweg, pp. 110-112.

[228] Ueberweg's 'Logik,' § 46.

[229] 'Logik,' § 57.

[230] There is undoubtedly one difficulty to this hypothesis, and that difficulty arises from Berkeley's mathematical opinions; for the whole question between Berkeley and Newton in the 'Analyst' may be resolved to this one particular,—in Berkeley's view a line is a series of points, in Newton's the line is not the series of separate points, but these points coalescing and arranging themselves in length. Newton says, 'LineÆ describuntur ac describendo generantur non per appositiones partium sed per motum continuum punctorum.' The difference between them was just the difference between Nominalism and Realism, and Berkeley takes the Nominalist side. This may have been due to his ignorance of mathematics.

[231] Ueberweg, 'Logik,' § 1.

[232] Plotinus Enn. III. iii.; c. 6.

[233] Dr. J. H. Stirling on Sir W. Hamilton, being the 'Philosophy of Perception,' p. 124.

[234] The best of these is decidedly that by 'Scrutator.' If we could unmask the writer, we believe we should find Mr. Otway, for he writes with a full knowledge of the facts, and his views are laid down with geometrical precision.

[235] Despatch of Benedetti to the French Minister of Foreign Affairs, dated March 31, 1869.

[236] Despatch of Earl Granville to Lord Loftus, dated July 15, 1870.

[237] Despatch of Bismark to Count Bernstoff, July 18, 1870.

[238] Letters of Count Daru, dated February 1, and M. de Lavalette, dated February 16.

[239] Vide British Quarterly Review for October, 1866, p. 524-6.

[240] Proclamation of the King of Prussia from Versailles to the German people, dated January 18, 1871.

[241] Sir Alexander Malet shows conclusively that Austria was not a voluntary agent in the dismemberment of Denmark, and that, had we actively interposed, she would have been very glad to back out of the partnership with Prussia.