habits and expectations may be at last so adapted to its demand for men, and its waste of life, that they become almost insensible to its evils, and may require long discipline to re-inspire them with a relish for the blessings of peace, and a capacity for the virtues of industry. The complaint is least when the evil is greatest. It is as difficult to teach such a people the value of peace, as it would be to reclaim a drunkard, or to subject a robber to patient labour.

A conscription is, under pretence of equality, the most unequal of all laws, -because it assumes that military service is equally easy to all classes and ranks of men. Accordingly, it always produces pecuniary commutation by the sedentary and educated classes. To them in many of the towns of France it was an oppressive and grievous tax. But to the majority of the people, always accustomed to military service, the life of a soldier became perhaps more agreeable than any other. Families even considered it as a means of provision for their children; each parent labouring to persuade himself that his children would be among those who should have the fortune to survive. Long and constant wars created a regular demand for men to which the principle of population adapted itself. An army which had conquered and plundered Europe, and in which a private soldier might reasonably enough hope to be a marshal or a prince, had more allurements, and not more repulsive qualities, than many of those odious, disgusting, unwholesome, or perilous occupations, which in the common course of society are always amply supplied. The habit of war unfortunately perpetuates itself. And this moral effect is far greater evil than the mere destruction of life. Whatever may be the justness of these speculations, certain it is, that the travellers who lately visited France neither found the conscription so unpopular, nor the decay of male population so perceptible, as plausible and confident statements had led them to expect.

It is probable, that among the majority of the French (excluding the army), the restored Bourbons gained less popularity by abolishing the conscription, than they lost by the cession of all the conquests of France. This fact affords a most important warning of the tremendous dangers to which civilised nations expose their characters by long war. To say that liberty cannot survive it, is saying little. Liberty is one of the luxuries which only a few nations seem destined to enjoy, and they only for a short period. It is not only fatal to the refinements and ornaments of civilized life; its long continuance must inevitably destroy even that degree (moderate as it is) of order and security which prevails even in the pure monarchies of Europe, and distinguishes them above all other societies ancient or modern. It is vain to inveigh against the people of France for delighting in war, for exulting in conquest, and for being exasperated and mortified by renouncing those vast acquisitions. These deplorable consequences arise from an excess of the noblest and most necessary principles in the character of a nation, acted upon by habits of arms, and "cursed with every granted prayer,' during years of victory and conquest. No nation could endure such a trial. Doubtless those nations who have the most liberty, the most intelligence, the most virtue,-who possess in the highest degree all the constituents of the most perfect civilisation,-will resist it the longest. But, let us not deceive ourselves :-long war renders all these blessing impossible. It dissolves all the civil and pacific virtues-it leaves no calm for the cultivation of reason and by substituting attachment to leaders instead of reverence for laws, it destroys liberty, the parent of intelligence and of virtue.

The French revolution has strongly confirmed the lesson taught by the history of all ages, that while political divisions excite the activity of genius, and teach honour in enmity, as well as fidelity in attachment, the excess of civil confusion and convulsion produces diametrically opposite effects,subjects society to force, instead of mind,―renders its distinctions the prey of boldness and atrocity, instead of being the prize of talent,-and concentrates the thoughts and feelings of every individual upon himself, his own sufferings and fears. Whatever beginnings of such an unhappy state may be observed in France,-whatever tendency it may have had to dispose the people to a light transfer of allegiance, and an undistinguishing profession of attachment,-it is more useful to consider them as the results of these general causes, than as vices peculiar to that great nation.

To this we must add, before we conclude our cursory survey, that frequent changes of government, however, arising promote a disposition to acquiesce in change. No people can long preserve the enthusiasm which first impels them to take an active part in change. Its frequency at last teaches them patiently to bear it. They become indifferent to governments and sovereigns. They are spectators of revolutions, instead of actors in them. They are a prey to be fought for by the hardy and bold, and are generally disposed of by an army. In this state of things, revolutions become bloodless-not from the humanity, but from the indifference of a people. Perhaps it may be true, though it will appear paradoxical to many, that such revolutions as those of England and America, conducted with such a regard for moderation and humanity, and even with such respect for established authorities and institutions, independent of their necessity for the preservation of liberty, may even have a tendency to strengthen, instead of weakening, the frame of the commonwealth. The example of reverence for justice of caution in touching ancient institutions-of not innovating, beyond the necessities of the case, even in a season of violence and anger— may impress on the minds of men those conservative principles of society more deeply and strongly than the most uninterrupted observation of them in the ordinary course of quiet and regular government.

We have no time to say much at present on the remaining divisions of this great subject. Wise administration, in the situation of Louis XVIII., was so extremely arduous a task that the consideration of his misfortunes is not necessary to repress all propensity to severe censure. The restoration of the French monarchy was impossible. Its elements were destroyed. No proprietary nobility-no opulent church-no judiciary bodies-no army. Twenty-five years had destroyed and produced more than several centuries usually do. The King of France could not be restored. A Bourbon prince was placed at the head of revolutionised France. It was not merely a loose stone in the edifice-it was a case of repulsion between the government and all the elements of society.

It is difficult to determine whether any prudence could have averted the catastrophe. In justice it ought to be allowed that more civil liberty was enjoyed during these ten months than during any period of French history. There were no arbitrary imprisonments-not above one or two feeble attempts to exile obnoxious men to their country houses. Once, or perhaps twice, during the revolution, there had been more political liberty -more freedom of the press-more real debate in the legislative assemblies. But in those tumultuous times there was no tranquillity-no security of person and property.

The king and the court could not indeed love liberty-few courts do; and they had much more excuse than most others for hating it. It was obvious that his policy consisted in connecting himself with the purest part of the revolutionists-in seeing only in the revolutions the abuses which it had destroyed-in keeping out of sight those claims which conveyed too obvious a condemnation of it-in conquering his most natural and justifiable repugnance to individuals, when the display of such a repugnance produced or confirmed the alienation of numerous classes and powerful interests; and, lastly, the hardest but most necessary part of the whole, in the suppression of gratitude, and the delay of justice itself, to those whose sufferings and fidelity deserved his affection, but who inspired the majority of Frenchmen with angry recollections and dangerous fears. It is needless to say that so arduous a scheme of policy, which would have required a considerable time for a fair experiment, and which, in the hands of an unmilitary prince, was likely enough, after all, to fail, was scarcely tried by this respectable and unfortunate monarch. The silly attack made by his ministers on the press rendered the government odious, without preventing the publication, or Jimiting the perusal of one libel. It answered no purpose, but that of giving some undeserved credit for its suppression to Bonaparte, who has other means of controlling the press than those which are supplied by laws and tribunals. Macdonald, who spoke against it with the most rigour and spirit in the House of Peers, was one of the last marshals who quitted the king (if he has quitted him); and Constant, who wrote against it with such extraordinary talent and eloquence, was the last French writer of celebrity who threw himself into the breach, and defied the vengeance of the conqueror. The policy of some of the restored governments in other countries of Europe was extremely injurious to the Bourbon administration. Spain, governed by a Bourbon prince, threw discredit, or rather disgrace, upon all ancient governments. The conduct of Ferdinand at Valençay was notorious in France. It was well known that he had importuned Napoleon for a princess of the Imperial family, and that he wrote constant letters of congratulation to Joseph on his victories over the Spanish armies, whom Ferdinand called the rebel subjects of Joseph. It was known, that, besides all those imbecilities of superstition which disgraced his return,-besides the reestablishment of the Inquisition,-besides the exile, on various grounds or pretexts, of several thousand families, he had thrown into prison more than five thousand persons, for no other crime than that of administering or seconding a government which all Europe had recognised,-which had resisted all the offers of Bonaparte, and under whom the resistance was made to which he owed his crown. Many cases of oppression were familiarly known in France, which are hitherto little spoken of in this country. Among them, that of M. Antillon deserves to be mentioned. That gentleman, a preeminent professor in an university, had distinguished himself both in the Cortes, of which he was a member, and by his writings, especially by several excellent works against the slave trade, of which he was the most determined enemy. The first care of King Ferdinand was to imprison such mischievous men. Early in June, he issued a warrant for the apprehension of M. Antillon, whom the officer appointed to execute the warrant found labouring under a severe and dangerous malady at his house in Arragon. Upon the representation of the physicians, the officer hesitated to remove the prisoner, and applied for farther instructions to the Captain General of Arragon. The Captain General suspended the execution of the order till

his Majesty's pleasure could be ascertained. The ministers immediately intimated to the viceroy the royal dissatisfaction at the delay. They commanded M. Antillon to be instantly conducted to Madrid. The order was executed; and M. Antillon died on the road shortly after he had begun his journey!-Such is the narrative which we have received from persons who appear to us worthy of faith. If it be entirely false, it may easily be confuted. If it be exaggerated, it may with equal ease be reduced within the limits of the exact truth. Until it be confuted, we offer it as a specimen of the administration of the Spanish monarchy.

The Pope and the King of Sardinia seemed to be ambitious of rivalling Ferdinand in puerile superstition, if their limited means forbade them to aspire to rivalship in political oppression. They exerted every effort to give a colour to the opinion, that the restored governments were the enemies of civilisation and of reason, and that the great destroyer was necessary to pave the way for wise institutions, even at the expense of tyranny for a time. Spain was represented at Paris as a mirror, in which all nations might see the destiny prepared for them by restored princes, and the yoke which would be imposed on them if the sovereigns were not restrained by fear of their people. These impressions were not effaced even by the policy which induced Louis XVIII. to suffer the journals of Paris to discuss the administration of his cousin in Spain, as freely as those of London.

THE ARMY!-We have not time to develope all that is suggested by this terrible word. And it is unnecessary. The word conveys more than any commentary could unfold.

Many readers will say, that this word alone might have been substituted for the whole of what we have written. Short and dogmatical explanations of great events are at once agreeable to the pride of intellect, and very suitable to the narrow capacity and indolent minds of ordinary men. To explain a revolution by a maxim, has an imposing appearance of decisive character and practical good sense. But great revolutions are always produced by the action of some causes, and by the absence of others, without the full consideration of which it is impssible to form a true judgment of their origin. In the case before us, we must consider as well what might have prevented, as what actually produced the catastrophe. The spirit of a soldiery inured to victory, and indignant at defeat; the discontent of officers whose victories were gained over the allies of the government whom they now served; the ambition of generals whose companions had obtained principalities and kingdoms; the disrespect of a conquering army for an unwarlike sovereign; the military habits spread over the whole population of France -did certainly constitute a source of danger to the restored monarch, against which no wisdom could devise, or even conceive a perfect security. But to retard is, in such cases, to gain a chance of preventing. Every delay had at least a tendency to unsoldier the army. Time was the ally of tranquillity. Two years of quiet might have given the people of France a superiority over the soldiery, and thus might have insured Europe against military barbarism. It is true, that the frame of society produced by the revolution, which we have attempted to describe, contributed to render perhaps the larger, certainly the more active, part of the civil population not cordially affected to the authority of the Bourbons. Even in this very difficult case much had been accomplished to appease the alarms, and (what was harder) to soothe the wounded pride of that numerous body who de

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rived new wealth or consequence from the revolution. But the wisest policy of this sort required a long time, and an undisturbed operation. The moderate administration of Louis might have accomplished, in a great degree, the work of conciliation. But it was indispensable that it should have been secure against violent interruption for a reasonable period, and that it should not have been brought into a state of continual odium and suspicion by the contemptible folly of some powers in their internal administration, and by the detestable ambition of others in their projects of foreign policy. It was essential that the French people should not be goaded into daily rage at the treaty which confined them within their own ancient limits, by the spectacle of the great military powers bartering republics, confiscating monarchies, adding provinces and kingdoms to their vast dominions. Notwithstanding the natural sources of internal danger, if even some of these unfavourable causes had been absent, the life of Napoleon Bonaparte (supposing him to have been as vigilantly watched as it would have been just and easy to watch him) might have proved a security to the throne of the Bourbons, by preventing any other military chief from offering himself to the army till they had subsided into a part of the people, and imbibed sentiments compatible with the peace and order of civil life.

As things stand at present, the prospects of the world are sufficiently gloomy, and the course of safety and honour by no means very plain before us. Two things, however, seem clear in the midst of the darkness; one, that a crusade in behalf of the Bourbons and the old monarchy is as palpably hopeless as it is manifestly unjust; and the other, that that course of policy is the wisest and most auspicious, which tends most to reclaim the population of France from its military habits, and to withhold it from those scenes of adventure in which its military spirit has been formed.

THE STATE OF PUBLIC FEELING IN FRANCE AFTER THE FIRST AND SECOND RESTORATION OF THE BOURBONS.*

We are almost thankful that we have neither time nor space left even for the enumeration of the many mighty themes that are folded up in the little word France, which we have placed at the top of this page. Undoubtedly, there never was a moment when the reasonable settlement of France was so important to itself, to its neighbours, and to posterity-nor one in which it was so little to be looked for; never a moment in which the temptation to admonish and to predict with regard to it was so strong and at the same time so full of peril. In the whole history of the world, perhaps, there has been no conjuncture in which it was so difficult to determine what was to be wished-so impossible to say what was to be expected. With reference to that unhappy country, all parties are confounded,

*Examen Rapide du Gouvernement des Bourbons en France, depuis le Mois d'Avril 1814, jusqu'au Mois de Mai 1815. Seconde Edition. 8vo,

Des Revolutionnaires et du Ministère Actuel. Par M.---8vo. Vol. xxv. page 501. October, 1815.