themselves with the Girondists, until terror compelled them to coalesce with the fierce minority.

The first measure of the Convention was to abolish the monarchy and proclaim a REPUBLIC. This occurred on the 20th of September, 1792; after which the calendar was so changed that the current year became the first year of the French Republic. Their next care was a consideration of the finances. From the report of M. Cambon, the minister of that department, it appeared that the preceding assemblies had authorized the issue of no less than 2,700,000,000 of francs (about five hundred and forty millions of dollars,)—a prodigious sum to have been disbursed in three years of peace. As a trifle only of this amount remained in the treasury, a new issue was ordered on the security of the national domains —which domains were constantly accumulating in the hands of the government, and now, from continual confiscations, embraced more than twothirds of the landed property of France.

The Convention then proceeded to some changes in the constitution adopted by their predecessors. On the motion of the Duke of Orleans, the few remaining requisites to election, whether for voters or candidates, were abolished. Every person, of whatever rank, was declared eligible to any office, so that absolute equality, in its literal sense, was universally established.

Another measure, momentous in its consequences, was soon brought forward: namely, an attempt on the part of the Girondists to impeach Robespierre and Marat. The attempt failed, but its importance consisted in its development of the relative strength of the Girondist and Jacobin parties in the Convention, prior to the undertaking of another measure which was destined to attract the eyes of Europe and of the world. This was the trial of Louis XVI.

To prepare the nation for this event, and to familiarize them with the tragedy in which they were resolved it should terminate, the Jacobins had taken the most vigorous measures throughout all France. In their central club at Paris, the question was repeatedly canvassed, and their discussions were transmitted to all the departments; while, daily, at the bar of the Convention, petitions were presented praying for vengeance on the remainder of the murderers of the 10th of August, and for "death to the last tyrant."

The charges against Louis were very numerous; but of all of them it suffices to remark that, so far as they were true, the acts they recited were perfectly justifiable; and that the greater part were base calumnies, incapable of proof and totally without foundation in fact.

During his imprisonment in the Temple, the unfortunate monarch was, gradually and under various frivolous pretexts, deprived of almost every comfort. At first, the royal family were permitted to spend their time together. They breakfasted at nine in the queen's apartment; at one, if the weather were fine, they walked for an hour in the garden, strictly watched by the officers of the municipality, from whom they often received the most cruel insults. Some hours were devoted to the instruction of the prince, and at intervals the princess-royal played with her brother and softened by every attention the pain of her parents' captivity. Soon, however, the precautions and restrictions of the municipality became more intolerable. The officers refused to let them be out of their sight for an instant, and when they retired to rest, a bed was placed for the guard at

the door of each room. Writing materials were taken from them, and, soon after, the scissors, needles and bodkins of the princesses, with which they had whiled away many a tedious hour; and, such was the rigor of their exclusion from the world without, they were almost wholly ignorant of what was taking place in the city. The municipality next determined to separate the king and the dauphin from the queen and princesses: a most barbarous decree and one that brought tears into the eyes of the officers who enforced it.

The king appeared before the Convention to hear and plead to the charges on the 11th of December, when, after some debate, it was decided that he should have time to prepare his defence and choose his own counsel. He made choice of M. Tronchet and M. Target; the former of whom accepted and faithfully discharged his duty; the latter had the baseness to decline. The venerable Malesherbes afterward volunteered his services to defend the king, and united with Tronchet in applying to Deseze for his coöperation, which that celebrated advocate immediately accorded.

When the eloquent peroration of Deseze was read to the king, the evening before it was to be delivered to the Convention, Louis requested him to strike it out from his argument. "It is enough for me," said he, "to appear before such judges and demonstrate my innocence: I will not condescend to appeal to their feelings." On the same day, he composed his immortal Testament; the most perfect commentary on the principles of Christianity that ever came from the hand of a king. "I recommend to my son," said he in a portion of that touching memorial, "should he ever have the misfortune to become a king, to feel that his whole existence should be devoted to the good of his people; to bury in oblivion all hatred and resentment, especially for my misfortunes; to recollect that he cannot promote the happiness of his subjects but by reigning according to the laws; at the same time, he cannot carry his good intentions into execution without the requisite authority. I pardon all those who have injured me and I pray my son to recollect only their sufferings. I declare before God, and on the eve of appearing at his tribunal, that I am wholly innocent of the crimes laid to my charge."

The trial commenced on the 26th of December and was continued for twenty days. The king's counsel defended their client with consummate ability, but the case, like most cases that came before that bloody tribunal, was prejudged, the royal victim was in effect condemned before he was accused, and eloquence and argument, as well as every appeal to humanity and justice, were equally vain. The final vote was taken on the 15th of January, when Louis was unanimously pronounced guilty; an astounding decision to all parties, but evidently given under the expectation that it would not prove fatal to the king; for, when the remaining question was proposed as to the punishment to be inflicted, it was debated through a protracted and stormy session of no less than forty hours, and finally decided by a majority of only twenty-six out of seven hundred and twenty-one votes. The sentence was DEATH.

But for the defection of the Girondists, the king's life would have been saved. Forty-six of their party, including Vergniaud, voted against him. They were anxious to save the king, but fearful of irritating the Jacobins by voting according to their own wishes. Almost every one of these fortysix afterward perished on the same scaffold, to which they had condemned their sovereign

For

On the 20th of January, Santerre, with a deputation from the municipality, presented himself before the king and formally read the sentence. Louis received it with unshaken firmness and demanded a respite of three days in which to prepare for heaven; he also solicited an interview with his family and a confessor. The last two demands alone were conceded, and the execution was ordered for the following morning at ten o'clock. The king's last interview with his family was a heart-rending scene. At half past eight in the evening, the door of his apartment opened and the queen appeared leading by the hand the princess-royal and the princess Elizabeth, the sister of Louis: they all rushed into his arms. some minutes there ensued a profound silence broken only by the sobs of the afflicted family. The king then sat down, having the queen on his left, the princess-royal on his right, Elizabeth in front and the dauphin between his knees. This terrible scene lasted nearly two hours. Louis at length rose; the royal parents each gave a parting blessing to the dauphin, while the princesses still held the king around the waist. As he approached the door, they uttered the most piercing cries. "I assure you," said Louis, "I will see you again in the morning at eight." "Why not at seven?" they exclaimed. "Well, then, at seven," answered the king. He then pronounced the word "adieu!" but in so mournful an accent that the lamentations redoubled, and the princess-royal fainted at his feet. The king finally tore himself from them and turned for consolation to the Abbé Edgeworth, who spent the remainder of the night with him and heroically discharged the perilous duty of attending his last

moments.

At nine o'clock, on the 21st of January, Santerre reappeared to conduct his sovereign to the scaffold. In passing through the court of the Temple, Louis gave a last look at the tower which contained all that was dear to him in the world; and, immediately summoning his courage, he calmly seated himself in the carriage beside his confessor and opposite two gend'armes. During the passage to the place of execution, which occupied two hours, he continued to repeat the psalms pointed out to him by his confessor. The streets were filled with an immense crowd who beheld the mournful procession in silent dismay: a large body of troops surrounded the carriage, and a double file of soldiers and National Guards with a formidable train of artillery rendered hopeless any attempt at rescue. When the procession arrived at the designated spot, between the garden of the Tuileries and the Champs Elysées, Louis descended from the carriage and disrobed himself without the aid of the executioners; but he manifested a momentary indignation when they began to bind his hands. The Abbé Edgeworth checked him, saying with almost inspired felicity, "submit to this outrage, as the last resemblance to the Saviour, who is about to recompense your sufferings." He mounted the scaffold with a firm step; with a single look he imposed silence on twenty drummers placed there to prevent his being heard, and said with a loud voice "I die innocent of all the crimes laid to my charge; but I pardon the authors of my death and pray God that my wrongs may never be visited upon France. And you, unhappy people-" At these words, Santerre ordered the drums to beat; the executioners seized the king and the axe terminated his existence. One of the attendants grasped the head and waved it in the air, and the blood was sprinkled over the confessor who knelt beside the lifeless corse of his sovereign.

The body of the king, immediately after the execution, was removed to the ancient cemetery of the Madeleine at the end of the Boulevard Italienne and placed in a grave six feet square. Large quantities of quick lime were thrown on the body, so that when, in 1815, the remains were sought after, that they might be conveyed to the Royal Mausoleum in St. Denis, scarcely any part could be discovered.

The king was executed in the centre of the Place Louis XV. on the same spot where afterward, the queen, the princess Elizabeth and many other noble victims of the Revolution perished; where, also, Robespierre and Danton were executed; and where the Emperor Alexander and the allied sovereigns took their station, when their victorious armies entered Paris on the 31st of March, 1814. Thus, the greatest of revolutionary crimes and the greatest of revolutionary punishments took place on the same spot: nor has modern Europe another scene to exhibit fraught with equally interesting recollections. It is now ornamented by the colossal obelisk of blood-red granite which was brought from Thebes, in Upper Egypt, in 1833, by the French government. That monument, which wit nessed the march of Cambyses, and survived the conquests of Cæsar and Alexander, is destined to mark to the latest generation the scene of the martyrdom of Louis and of the final triumph of his immortal avenger.

The character of this monarch cannot be better described than in the words of Mignet, the ablest of the Republican writers of France. "Louis inherited a revolution from his ancestors: his qualities were better fitted than those of any of his predecessors to have prevented or terminated it; for he was capable of effecting reform before it broke out, and of discharging the duties of a constitutional throne under its influence. He was perhaps the only monarch who was subject to no passion, not even that of power, and who united the two qualities essential to a good king, fear of God and love of his people. He perished, the victim of passions which he had no share in exciting; the passions of his supporters with which he was unacquainted, and the passions of the multitude which he had done nothing to awaken. Few kings have left so venerated a memory. History will write for his epitaph that, with a little more force of mind, he would have been unrivalled as a sovereign."

CHAPTER III.

STATE OF EUROPE PRIOR TO THE WAR.

It was not to be expected that so great an event as the French Revolu tion, rousing as it did the passions of one portion and exciting the apprehensions of the other portion of mankind all the world over, could long remain an object of passing observation to the adjoining states. It addressed itself to the hopes and prejudices of the great body of the people in every country; and, by exciting their ill-smothered indignation against their superiors, added to a sense of their real injuries the more powerful stimulus of revolutionary ambition. A ferment accordingly began to spread through the neighboring kingdoms; extravagant hopes were formed, chi

merical anticipations indulged, and the laboring classes, inflated by the rapid elevation of their brethren in France, believed the time was approaching when the distinctions of society were to cease and the iniseries of poverty expire, amid the universal dominion of the people.

Austria, Russia and England were at this time the great powers of Europe, and they therefore bore a principal part in the long and desperate struggle that ensued.

Nine years of peace had enabled Great Britain to recover in a great degree from the exhaustion of the American war. If she had lost an empire in the Western, she had gained one in the Eastern world. Her national debt, amounting to £244,000,000 sterling (ten hundred and sixty millions of dollars,) on which the annual interest was £9,317,000 (forty-four millions of dollars,) was a severe burden on the industry of the people; while the yearly taxes, though light in comparison with what were subsequently imposed, were still felt to be oppressive. The resources of the kingdom were, nevertheless, enormous. Commerce, agriculture and manufactures had rapidly increased, the trade with the independent States of North America was found to exceed in value what it had been when that country was in a state of colonial dependence, and the exertion of individuals to improve their condition had produced a surprising effect on the accumulation of capital and the state of public credit. The three per cents., which were at 57 at the close of the war, had risen to 99, and the overflowing wealth of the cities was already finding its way into the most circuitous foreign trade and hazardous distant investments. The national revenue amounted to £16,000,000 (seventy-six millions of dollars,) and the army included thirty-two thousand soldiers in the British Isles, besides an equal force in the East and West Indies and thirty-six regiments of yeomanry. After the commencement of the war, and previous to 1796, the entire regular army of Great Britain amounted to two hundred and six thousand men, including forty-two thousand militia. More than half of this force, however, was required for the service of the colonies; and experience has proved that Britain can never collect more than forty thousand at any one point on the continent of Europe. The strength of England consisted in her inexhaustible wealth, in the public spirit and energy of her people, in the moral influence of centuries of glory, and in a fleet of a hundred and fifty ships of the line which gave her the undisputed command of the seas.

The opinions of the people on the French Revolution were greatly divided. The young, the ardent, the philosophical, the factious, the restless and the ambitious were sanguine in their expectations of its success, and exulted in its promise of benefit to the human race: while the great majority of the aristocracy, the adherents of the Church, the holders of office under the monarchy, and in general the opulent ranks of society beheld it with disgust and alarm.

At the head of the first party, was Mr. Fox, the eloquent and illustrious champion of universal freedom. Descended from a noble family, he inherited the love of liberty, and by the impetuous torrent of his eloquence long maintained his place as leader of the opposition of the British Empire. Mr. Pitt was the leader of the second party, which, at the commencement of the French Revolution, was in full possession of the government and had a decided majority in both houses of Parliament. Modern history can scarcely furnish another character of such eminence. His early