of rebellion was established-the latent hostility of the Continent was nurtured into open war. Those were the work of party. Its defence was, that those were necessary for the embarrassment of Lord North. While every face of the honest and honourable was saddened by the clouds which then seemed to darken the horizon of England for ever, party went about the land triumphing. British victory threw them into mourning-British bloodshed only refreshed their countenances; and, in the hour when the sun of England, to the apprehensive spirit of a people inured to disaster, seemed plunging into final night, Party publicly rejoiced at the coming on of a darkness, in which the Minister and the Nation were to be bewildered together. This spirit of selfishness impregnated its whole history, down to the moment when the French Re. volution again summoned the true patriotism of England to a new struggle for national existence. The first sound of foreign ruin struck into the tomb, where Party had been laid to fester during the season of national tranquillity. It instantly started up, bringing with it from that grave all its old grossness, less purged than soured by its dark repository. Every blast of crime and shame from France was a new breath in its nostrils.

Burke charged it as among the errors of the British Government, that it suffered its ears to be filled by the clamours of party; an evil, to which he traced the encouragement of the public enemies, the arrogance of French diplomacy, and the evident depression of the public mind. He then at once indignantly depicts the contemptuous attitude in which the upstart Directory receive our humiliation, and eloquently supplicates the government and the nation to rouse themselves to a sense of the necessity for principled and resolute resistance. "The Regicide Directory, on the day which, in their gipsy jargon, they call the 5th of Pluviose, in return for our advances, charge us with eluding our declarations under 'evasive formalities and frivolous pretexts.' They then proceed to tell us they will offer peace on conditions as moderate,' as what? as reason and equity

require? No! as moderate as are suitable to their national dignity!' National dignity, I do admit, is, in all treaties, an important consideration. They have given us a useful hint on the subject. But dignity, hitherto, has belonged to the mode of proceeding, not to the matter of a treaty. Never before has it been mentioned as the standard for rating the conditions of peace; no, never by the most violent of conquerors. Indemnification is capable of some estimate; dignity has no standard. It is impossible to guess what acquisitions pride and ambition may think requisite for their dignity." He then bursts into a torrent of the most varied and powerful reprobation. The passage has become celebrated among the memorials of national eloquence, but its merit lies deeper in its political wisdom, and natural reason, than even in its mastership of language. It is the famous picture of a revolutionary levee. It begins with a few touches of scorn.

"The Regicides tell us that they will have no peace with their enemies until they have reduced them to a state which will put them under an impossibility of pursuing their wretched projects; that is, in plain French and English, until they have accomplished our utter and irretrievable ruin. This is their pacific language. To this conciliatory and amicable public communication, our sole answer in effect is this- Citizen regicides! whenever you find yourselves in the humour, you may have peace with us. That is a point which you may always command. We are constantly in attendance ; and nothing that you can do shall hinder us from the renewal of our supplications.' "" He then strikes full upon the subject, and gives the whole fierce, vivid grouping with matchless reality. "To those who do not love to contemplate the fall of human greatness, I know not a more mortifying spectacle, than to see the assembled majesty of the crowned heads of Europe waiting, as patient suitors, in the antechamber of Regicide. They wait, it seems, until the sanguinary tyrant Carnot shall have snorted away the undigested fumes of the blood of his sovereign. Then, when, sunk on the down of usurped

pomp, he shall have sufficiently indulged his meditations with what monarch he shall next glut his ravening maw, he may condescend to signify that it is his pleasure to be awake; and that he is at leisure to receive the proposals of his high and mighty clients for the terms on which he may respite the execution of the sentence which he has passed upon them. At the opening of those doors, what a sight it must be to behold the plenipotentiaries of royal impotence, in the precedency which they will intrigue to obtain, and which will be granted to them according to the seniority of their degradation, sneaking into the regicide presence, and, with the relics of the smile which they had dressed up for the levee of their masters, still flickering on their curled lips; presenting the faded remains of their courtly graces, to meet the scornful, ferocious, sardonic grin of a bloody ruffian, who, while he is receiving their homage, is measuring them with his eye, and fitting to their size the slider of his guillotine Those ambassadors may easily return as good courtiers as they went. But can they ever return from that degrading residence loyal and faithful subjects, or with any true affection to their master, or true attachment to the constitution, religion, or laws of their country? There is great danger that they who enter smiling into this Trophonian cave, will come out of it sad and serious conspirators, and such will continue as long as they live. They will become conductors of contagion to every country which has the misfortune to send them forth. At best, they will become totally indifferent to good and evil, to one institution or another."

In his examination of the principles on which the nation must be called to support the war, he touches on the difficulties which should influence the British Minister to have recourse only to the manlier feelings of the empire. "There has not been in this century any foreign peace or -war, in its origin the fruit of popular desire, except the war that was made with Spain in 1739. Sir Robert Walpole was forced into the war by the people, who were inflamed to this measure by the most leading politicians, by the first orators, and

the greatest poets, of the time. For that war Pope sung his dying notes; for that war, Johnson, in more energetic strains, employed the voice of his early genius; for that war Glover distinguished himself in the way in which his genius was the most natural and happy. The crowd readily followed the politicians in the cry for a war which threatened little bloodshed, and which promised victories attended with something more solid than glory. A war with Spain was a war of plunder. In the present conflict with Regicide, Mr Pitt has not had, nor will perhaps have, many prizes to hold out in the lottery of war, to attempt the lower part of our character. He can maintain it only by an appeal to the higher; and to those in whom that higher part is the most predominant, he must look the most for its support. The weaker he is in the fund of motives which apply to our avarice, to our laziness, and to our lassitude, if he means to carry the war to any end at all, the stronger he ought to be in his addresses to our magnanimity and to our reason."

* * *

He then, with a single stroke, gives the whole character of Walpole's policy." In stating that Walpole was driven by popular clamour into a measure not to be justified, I do not mean wholly to excuse his conduct. *** I observed one fault in his general proceeding. He never manfully put forward the entire strength of his cause. He temporized, he managed, and adopting very nearly the sentiments of his adversaries, he opposed their inferences. This, for a political commander, is the choice of a weak post. His adversaries had the better of the argument, as he handled it; not as the reason and justice of his cause enabled him to manage it. *** Some years after, it was my fortune to converse with many of the principal actors against that Minister, and with those who principally excited that clamour. None of them, no, not one, did in the least defend the measure, or attempt to justify their conduct. They condemned it as freely as they would have done in commenting on any proceeding in history in which they were totally unconcern

ed. Thus it will be. They who stir up the people to improper desires, whether of peace or war, will be condemned by themselves. They who weakly yield to them will be condemned by history."

It has been the habit of a certain rank of political writers, to speak contemptuously of the personal services of William III., even while loudest in their praise of the Revolution of 1688. Burke amply vindicates his memory in a vigorous sketch of the war which rescued Europe from the grasp of France at the beginning of the eighteenth century. "At the period of that war, our principal strength was found in the resolution of the people, and that in the resolution of a part only of the whole, which bore no proportion to our existing magnitude. England and Scotland were not united at the beginning of that mighty struggle. When, in the course of the contest, they were united, it was a raw, ill-connected, and unproductive union. Ireland was then the heaviest of burdens. An army of not much less than forty thousand men was drawn from the general effort, to keep that kingdom in a poor, unfruitful, and resourceless subjection. Such was the state of the empire.

"The state of the finances was worse, if possible. Every branch of the revenue became less productive after the Revolution. Silver, as the body of the current coin, was reduced so low, as not to have above three parts in four of the value of the shilling. In the greater part the value hardly amounted to the fourth. It required a dead expense of three millions sterling to renew the coinage. Public credit was cradled in bankruptcy. At this day we have seen parties contending to be admitted, at a moderate premium, to advance eighteen millions to the Exchequer. For infinitely smaller loans, the Chancellor of the Exchequer of that day, Montague, the father of public credit, counter-securing the State by the appearance of the City, with the Lord Mayor of London at his side, was obliged, like a solicitor for an hospital, to go, cap in hand, from shop to shop, to borrow a hundred pounds, and even smaller sums. When made up in

driblets as they could, their best securities were at an interest of twelve per cent. The paper of the Bank was often at a discount of twenty. * * * As to private credit, there were no, as I believe, twelve bankers' shops at that time out of London. In 1697, in that state of things, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, whom we have just seen begging from door to door, came forward to move a resolution full of vigour, in which, far from being discouraged by the generally adverse fortune and the long continuance of the war, the Commons agreed to address the Crown, in the following manly, spirited, and truly animated style:

This is the Eighth year in which your Majesty's most dutiful and loyal subjects, the Commons, in Parliament assembled, have assisted your Majesty with large supplies for carrying on a just and necessary war, in defence of our religion, and the preservation of our laws, and vindication of the rights and liberties of England.' Afterwards, they proceed in this manner-' To shew to your Majesty and all Christendom, that the Commons of England will not be amused, or diverted from their firm resolution of obtaining by war, a safe and honourable peace; We do, in the name of those we represent, renew our assurances to support your Majesty and your Government against all your enemies, both at home and abroad, and that we will effectually assist you in carrying on the war against France.' The amusement and diversion they speak of was the suggestion of a treaty prepared by the enemy, and announced from the throne. No sighing and panting after negotiation; no motions from Opposition to force the Ministry into a peace; no messages from Ministers to palsy and deaden the resolution of Parliament, or the spirit of the nation. They did not so much as advise the King to listen to the propositions of the enemy, nor to seek for peace, but through the mediation of a vigorous war.

This address was moved in a hot, a divided, a factious, and, in a great part, disaffected House of Commons; and it was carried, nemine contradicente."

This strong determination of the country which coerced the House of

Commons into the adoption of the firm councils which afterwards saved Europe, was almost a providential preparation for the crisis which followed.-"When the first war, (which was ill smothered by the treaty of Ryswic,) slept in the thin ashes of a seeming peace, a new conflagration was in its immediate causes. A fresh and a far greater war was in preparation. **** The steps

which were taken at that time, to compose, to reconcile, to unite, and to discipline all Europe against the growth of France, certainly furnish to a statesman the finest and most interesting part in the history of that great period. It formed the masterpiece of King William's policy, dexterity, and perseverance."

He then comes to the direct character of that policy which, under William, had been the preparative for such splendid final triumph, and which he prescribes as essential to the British Government in all instances of French war. "Full of the idea of preserving not only a local civil liberty to our country, but to embody it in the political liberty, the order and independence of nations united under a natural head, the King called on his Parliament to put itself into a posture- to preserve to England the weight and influence it at present had on the councils and affairs abroad. It will be requisite that Europe should see you will not be wanting to yourselves.'

Who can look upon the following passage without regretting that Burke did not feel it among his duties to give the world the history of the Revolution? He would thus have rescued the noblest portion of our annals from the miserable mutilation, the party narrowness, and the heavy timidity, alike of style and thought, which, in the successive attempts, have made it worse than a blank in British record. "Baffled as the King was," says Burke, "and almost heartbroken at the disappointments he met with in the mode which he first proposed for that great end, he held on his

course. He was faithful to his object; and in councils, as in arms, over and over again repulsed, over and over again he returned to the charge. All the mortifications he had suffered from the last Parliament, and the greater he had to apprehend from that newly chosen, were not capable of relaxing the vigour of his mind. He was in Holland when he combined the vast plan of his foreign negotiations. When he came to open his designs to his Ministers in England, even the sober firmness of Somers, the undaunted resolution of Shrewsbury, and the adventurous spirit of Montague and Orford were staggered. They were not yet mounted to the elevation of the King. The Cabinet, then the Regency, met on the subject at Tunbridge Wells, the 28th of August, 1698; and there, Lord Somers holding the pen, after expressing doubts on the state of the Continent, which they ultimately refer to the King, as best informed, they gave him a most discouraging portrait of the spirit of the nation. So far as relates to England,' say the Ministers, 'it would be want of duty not to give your Majesty this clear account, that there is a deadness and want of spirit in the nation universally, so as to be not at all disposed to entering into a new war. This is the truth of the fact, on which your Majesty will determine what resolution is to be taken.' His Majesty did determine, and did take and pursue his resolution. In all the tottering imbecility of a new government, and with Parliament totally unmanageable, he persevered. He persevered, to expel the fears of his people by his fortitude-to steady their fickleness by his constancyto expand their narrow prudence by his enlarged wisdom-to sink their factious temper in his public spirit. In spite of the people, he resolved to make them great and glorious— to make England, however inclined to shrink into her narrow self, the tutelary angel of the human race."

We have already furnished our readers with two articles containing copious extracts from these delightful Memoirs. In the present number we shall present them with some anecdotes and fragments which are too precious to be lost; and in a fourth we hope to again enrich our periodical with further portions, coming in a direct manner from Monsieur de Chateaubriand himself. We do not regret, that on the present occasion we are only able sparingly to inlay our pages with his golden sentences, for we confess we have been burning for some time to give way to the sentiments which the subject-matter of our two former articles inspired, and which the press of our extracts obliged us to refrain from. We seize therefore the present opportunity. Monsieur de Chateaubriand's is a name which inspires enthusiasm. Who can be acquainted with his career, who can have read his works, and above all, who can have perused those passages of his life, of which we have been able to catch some of the echoes, and not feel the want of rendering the homage of a full heart to such genius and such a character? We confess we cannot, and we are glad of the opportunity of disburdening ourselves of some of our enthusiasm, which, we believebeing somewhat alien from our temperament we have caught by infection from our illustrious subject himself. But, in truth, is not his biography himself? his works himself? Never was individual soul impressed so vividly and so variously on every view, on every situation of humanity, as in his pages. But let us speak of the man. What first strikes us as brightly peculiar in him is that he is a reste, a remnant, an old Corinthian column, rearing its decorated head amid ruins, the lingerer behind of a race which has passed suddenly away from the earth, the survivor of the ancient nobility of France, the last of French gentlemen; and surely the setting sun of this calumniated race, tarry

ing awhile above the ocean's brim, has shed its rays with intense brightness upon this their last descendant. When he makes his exit, the final exit of the French noblesse-of chivalry, of honour, of religion from France-will be accomplished. The old French nobility, even in an individual, will never again appear above the horizon; but the bright halo of glory which will settle upon his name, will shed its light upon the shades of the great family to which he belongs. He does belong to that family much more in mind and character than even by birth. It is impossible to identify him with any other order of men; but the moment we behold his traits and stature, we are struck with the idea, that he is left behind to vindicate the character of his injured race, and to claim for them, in his own person, that honour and distinction of which calumny and misfortune had robbed them. But another and still more singular characteristic of Monsieur de Chateaubriand is, that he is the representative as it were of all the great political transformations of the mind and history of his epoch; the Republic, the Empire, the ancient Monarchy, have all seen him an active agent, preserving a unity and simplicity of character, a real, not a mock consistency of views and principles, throughout. There is some thing wonderful in this multiplex existence, when we find in positions so various, in circumstances so differing and opposed, the same individual preserving his original stamp of mind unaltered; trait for trait, opinion for opinion, principle for principle, all retain, at every comparable epoch, their identical sameness of character: we have no time-serving, no expediency, no Protean forms to suit Protean times; but the warmth, energy, sincerity, and boldness of his heart, seem to have fused the outward elements of his destiny-which are generally the controllers, not the controlled into such shapes, as it consisted with