Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Vol. 66, No 409, November 1849

Standing armies, we are told, are of no earthly use in the time of peace, and their expense is obviously undeniable. If peace could be made universal and perpetual, there would be an end of standing armies. The best means for securing perpetual peace is to do away with standing armies, because without standing armies there would be no facilities for war. This is the sort of argument which we are now asked to accept; but, unfortunately, we demur both to the premises and the conclusion. Indeed, in a matter of this kind, we utterly repudiate the aid of logic, even were it a great deal more scientifically employed. That of the free-traders is, if possible, worse than their arithmetic, though, a year or two ago, they were ready to have staked their existence on the infallibility of the latter.

The experience of the last eighteen months has given us all some tangible proof of the advantages of standing armies. Setting aside the Denmark affair, and also the occupation of Rome, there has been one aggressive war waged in Europe by sovereign against sovereign. That war, we need hardly say, was commenced by Charles Albert of Sardinia, who, basely and perfidiously availing himself of the intestine difficulties of Austria, attempted to seize the opportunity of making himself master of Lombardy. We need not recapitulate the history of that campaign, so glorious to the veteran Radetsky, and so shameful to his unprincipled opponent: but it is well worth remarking, that the whole of the sympathies of Mr Cobden and his radical confederates are enlisted on the side of the Italian insurgents; and that, with all their professed horror for war, we never hear them attribute the slightest blame to the Sardinians for having marched in hostile array across the frontier of a friendly power. Nor is this all. In every case where the torch of insurrection has been lighted, we find the advocates of peace clamorous in their approbation of the movement. Without knowledge, without judgment, without anything like due consideration either of the provocation given on the one side, or the license claimed on the other, they have invariably lent their voices to swell the revolutionary cry, and backed the drunken populace in their howl against order and government. Whoever was loyal and true has been branded as a ruffian and a murderer. Assassination, when it proceeded from the mob, was in their eyes no offence at all. Some of them, employing terms which we never thought to have heard an Englishman utter, have rather chuckled over the spectacle of nobles, priests, and statesmen stabbed, shot down, hewn with axes, or torn limb from limb by savages, whose atrocity was not equalled by that of the worst actors in the early French Revolution, – and have not been ashamed to vindicate the authors of such hideous outrage.

Aggressive war we deprecate, to say the least of it, as strongly as any peace orator who ever spouted from a platform; but we by no means think that peace, in the catholic sense of the word, can be at all endangered by the maintenance of standing armies. So far as the military establishment of Great Britain is concerned, we have already had occasion, in a former paper, to show that it is barely sufficient for the occupation of our large and numerous colonies, and greatly inferior in proportion to that of any other country in Europe. We certainly do not intend to resume that discussion, because the sense of the nation has unequivocally condemned the pragmatic fools who provoked it; and even the Whigs, who coquetted with them, have seen the folly of their ways, and are not likely, in a hurry, to attempt any numerical reduction. But we go a great deal farther. We maintain, that without the assistance of the standing armies throughout Europe during the late critical juncture, anarchy would now have been triumphant, and civilisation have received a check so terrible, that ages might have elapsed before we could have recovered from its effects. Revolution is incalculably a greater disaster than war; and the higher the point of civilisation to which a nation has attained before it permits the democratic flame, smothering beneath the surface of all society, to burst out into fury, the more dangerous and difficult to extinguish must be the conflagration. But for the regular army of France, red republicanism would now be triumphant, and a new Reign of Terror have begun. The armies and discipline of Prussia alone preserved the Rhenish provinces and the Palatinate from anarchy, plunder, and devastation; and, failing those of Austria, Vienna would have been a heap of ashes. Ultra-democrats, in all ages, have exclaimed against standing armies as instruments of tyranny for suppressing and overawing the people, and they have argued that such a force is incompatible with free institutions. Such declamation is perfectly natural, both now and heretofore, when we reflect who the individuals are that use it. No class of persons are more bitter against the police than the professional thieves. To them the constable's baton also is an emblem of intolerable tyranny, because it interferes with those liberal ideas regarding the distribution of property which have been philosophically expounded and reduced to ethics by certain sages of the socialist school. The democrat hates the soldier, because he considers him an obstacle in the way of that political regeneration which is merely another word for the institution of a reign of terror.

We do not, however, think it necessary to enter into any elaborate exposition of the idleness of the peace movement. So long as the gentlemen who have gratuitously constituted themselves a congress exhibit so much common sense as to retain the semblance of consistency, we should hardly feel ourselves called upon to interfere in any way with their arrangements. We should be the last people in the world to grudge to Mr Ewart, or any other senator of such limited calibre, the little notoriety which he may chance to pick up by figuring in Paris as a champion of pacific fraternity. The paths towards the Temple of Fame are many and devious; and if a man feels himself utterly wanting in that intellectual strength which is necessary for attaining the summit by the legitimate and beaten road, he is certainly entitled to clamber up to any odd pinnacle from which he can make himself, for a moment, the object of observation. In minor theatres, it is not uncommon to find a broken-down tragedian attempting to achieve some popularity in a humble line, by jumping as Harlequin through a clock, or distorting his ochre-coated visage by grinning magnanimously as the clown. To such feats no fair exception can be taken; and we doubt not that a roar of laughter, proceeding from the throats of the most ignorant assemblage of numskulls, is as grateful to the ears of the performer as would be the applause of the most enlightened and fastidious audience. We believe that, in the case of the Congress, audience and orators were extremely well suited to the capacity of each other. The people of Paris, who drank in the rolling periods of the pacificators, were exceedingly amused with the exhibition; and testified their delight, by greeting the reproduction of the farce, in the shape of a Vaudeville at the Théâtre des Variétés, with unextinguishable shouts of laughter!

Neither shall we make any comment upon the singularity of the time selected for these demonstrations. The members of the Congress expressly set forth, that it was their desire to impress upon the governments of Europe the folly of maintaining large establishments, and we presume that they entertained some reasonable hope that their remonstrances might at least be heard. We need scarcely point out to our readers the eminent fitness of the present juncture for carrying these views into effect. We have great faith in the extent and power of human idiocy, but we hardly supposed that any body of men could have been congregated, possessed of so much collective imbecility as to conceive that this was a proper moment for securing the conviction, or enlisting the sympathies of any government in their scheme. We are, however, forced to conclude, that a good many of them are sincere; and, believing this, our regard for their honesty rises in a corresponding ratio with the decline of our respect for the measure of their intellects. It would probably be unjust and wrong to confound some of these simple souls with men of the stamp of their new ally, who use their association merely as a means for the promulgation of part of their political opinions, but who, in reality, are so far from being the friends of peace, that they seem bent upon using their utmost efforts to involve the whole of Europe in a new and desolating war. While, therefore, we drop for the present any further notice of the proceedings of the Peace Congress, we feel it our imperative duty to trace the steps of Mr Cobden since, arrayed in sheep's clothing, he chose to make his appearance in the midst of that innocent assembly.

Whatever sympathy may have been shown in certain quarters towards the Italian insurgents, that feeling has been materially lessened by the awful spectacles afforded by insurgent rule. We are, in this country, a great deal too apt to be carried into extravagance by our abstract regard for constitutional freedom. We forget that our own system has been the gradual work of ages; that the enlightenment and education of the people has invariably preceded every measure of substantial reform; and that it is quite possible that other nations may not be fitted to receive like institutions, or to work out the social problem, without more than British restraint. Arbitrary government, being quite foreign to our own notions, is invariably regarded by us with dislike; and our decided impulse, on the appearance of each new insurrection, is to attribute the whole of the blame to the inflexibility of the sovereign power. So long as this feeling is merely confined to expression of opinion at home, it is comparatively, though not altogether, harmless. Undue weight is attached abroad to the articles of the press, enunciated with perfect freedom, but certainly not always expressing the sense of the community; and foreign statesmen, unable to appreciate this license, have ere now taken umbrage at diatribes, which, could the matter be investigated, would be found to proceed from exceedingly humble sources. So long, however, as our government professed and acted upon the principles of non-interference, there was little likelihood of our being embroiled in disputes with which we had no concern, simply on account of liberal meetings, tavern speeches, or hebdomadal objurgations of despotism.

The real danger commenced when a government, calling itself liberal, began to interfere, most unjustifiably and most unwisely, with the concerns of its neighbours. Powerless to do good at home, the Whigs have ever shown themselves most ready to do mischief abroad; and probably, in the whole history of British diplomacy, there stands recorded no transaction more deplorable, from first to last, than the part which Lord Palmerston has taken in the late Italian movements. It is the fashion to laud the present Foreign Secretary as a man of consummate ability; nor is it possible to deny that, so far as speech-making is concerned, he certainly surpasses his colleagues. We were almost inclined to go farther, and admit that no one could equal him in dexterity of reading official documents, so as to mystify and distort their meaning; but were we to assign him pre-eminence in this department, we should do signal injustice to Earl Grey, who unquestionably stands unrivalled in the art of coopering a despatch. Ability Lord Palmerston certainly has, but we deny that he has shown it in his late Italian negotiations. Restless activity is not a proof of diplomatic talent, any more than an appetite for intrigue, or a perverse obstinacy of purpose. Men of the above temperament have, in all ages, been held incompetent for the duties of so delicate and difficult a station as that of minister of foreign affairs; and yet who will deny that the whole course of our recent diplomatic relations with the south of Europe, has been marked by an unusual display of restlessness, obstinacy, and intrigue? Public men must submit to have their labours judged of by their fruits; it is the penalty attached to their high office, and most righteously so, since the destinies of nations are committed to their hands. Lord Palmerston may possibly have thought that, by dictating to the governments of Italy the nature of the relations which, in his opinion, ought to subsist between them and their subjects, he was consulting the honour and advantage of England, fulfilling his duty to the utmost, and providing for the maintenance of the public tranquillity of Europe. We say it is possible that such was his thought and intention; but, if so, surely never yet did a man, possessing more than common ability, resort to such extraordinary means, or employ such incapable agents. Of all the men who could have been selected for such a service, Lord Minto was incalculably the worst. We have nothing whatever to say against that nobleman in his private capacity; but, throughout his whole public, we cannot say useful, career, he has never, on one occasion, exhibited a spark even of ordinary talent, and it is more than questioned by many, whether his intelligence rises to the ordinary level. Through accident and connexion he has been thrust into state employment, and has never rendered himself otherwise remarkable than for a most egregious partiality for those of his family, kindred, and name. And yet this was the accredited agent sent out by Lord Palmerston to expound the intentions and views of Great Britain, not only to the sovereigns of Italy, but also to their revolted subjects.

We say nothing of the diplomatic employment of such a representative as Mr Abercromby, at the court of Turin. The correspondence contained in the Blue Books laid before parliament, shows how singularly ignorant that minister was of the real posture of affairs in Italy; how eagerly he caught at every insinuation which was thrown out against the good faith and pacific policy of Austria; and how completely he was made the tool and the dupe of the revolutionary party. It is enough to note the fruits of the Palmerstonian policy, which have been, so far as we are concerned, the utter annihilation of all respect for the British name in Italy, insurrections, wild and wasting civil war, and, finally, the occupation of Rome by the French. Whatever may be thought of the prudence of this latter move, or whatever may be its remote consequences, this at least is certain, that, but for Oudinot and his army, the Eternal City would have been given up as a prey to the vilest congregation of ruffians that ever profaned the name of liberty by inscribing it on their blood-stained banners. To associate the cause of such men with that of legitimate freedom is an utter perversion of terms; and those who have been rash enough to do so must stand convicted, before the world, of complete ignorance of their subject. No pen, we believe, could adequately describe the atrocities which were perpetrated in Rome, from the day when Count Rossi fell by the poniard of the assassin, on the steps of the Quirinal palace, down to that on which the gates were opened for the admittance of the besieging army. Not the least of Popish miracles was the escape of Pius himself, who beheld his secretary slain, and his bodyguard butchered by his side. Of these things modern liberalism takes little note: it hears not the blood of innocent and unoffending priests cry out for vengeance from the pavement; it makes no account of pillage and spoliation, of ransacked convent, or of harried home. It proclaims its sympathy aloud with the robber and the bravo, and is not ashamed to throw the veil of patriotism over the enormities of the brigand Garibaldi!

When, therefore, not only a considerable portion of the press of this country, but the government itself, is found espousing the cause of revolution in the south of Europe, we need not be surprised if other governments, at a period of so much danger and insecurity, regard Great Britain as a renegade to the cause of order. Our position at present is, in reality, one of great difficulty, and such as ought to make us extremely cautious of indulging in unnecessary bravado. The state of our financial affairs is anything but encouraging. We are answerable for a larger debt than any other nation of the world; and our economists are so sensible of the weight of our burdens, that they would fain persuade us to denude ourselves even of the ordinary means of defence. Our foreign exports are stationary; our imports immensely increasing; our home market reduced, for the present, to a state of terrible prostration. Free trade, by destroying the value of agricultural produce, has almost extinguished our last hope of restoring tranquillity to Ireland, and of raising that unhappy country to the level of the sister kingdoms. It is in vain that we have crippled ourselves to stay the recurring famine of years, since our statesmen are leagued with famine, and resolute to persevere in their iniquity. The old hatred of the Celt to the Saxon is still burning in the bosoms of a large proportion of the misguided population of Ireland; and were any opportunity afforded, it would break forth as violently as ever. So that, even within the girdle of the four seas, we are not exactly in that situation which might justify our provoking unnecessary hostility from abroad. So far we are entirely at one with the Peace Congress. When we look to the state of our colonies, the prospect is not more encouraging. Through Whig misrule, our tenure of the Canadas has become exceedingly precarious. The West Indies are writhing in ruin; and even the inhabitants of the Cape are rampant, from the duplicity of the Colonial Office. Our interest is most clearly and obviously identified with the cause of order; for, were Britain once actively engaged in a general war, it is possible that the presence of her forces would be required in more than a single point. Of the final result, in the event of such a calamity, we have no doubt, but not the less, on that account, should we deeply deplore the struggle.

Such being our sentiments, it is with considerable pain that we feel ourselves called upon to notice as strong an instance of charlatanism and presumption as was ever exhibited in this country. Fortunately, on this occasion, the offender has gone so far that no one can be blind to his delinquencies; for, if there be any truth in the abstract principles of the Peace Association, their last disciple has disowned them; if the doctrines of free trade were intended to have universal application, Richard Cobden, in the face of the universe, has entered his protest against them. It signifies very little to us, and less to the powers against whom he has thundered his anathemas, what Mr Cobden thinks proper either to profess or repudiate; still, as he has been pleased to attempt the performance of the part of Guy Fawkes, we judge it necessary to conduct him from the coal-cellar, and to throw the light of the lantern upon his visage, and that of his accomplices. And, first, a word or two as to the occasion of his last appearance.

The recent Hungarian rising is by no means to be classed in the same category with the wretched Italian insurrections. Much as it is to be deplored that any misunderstanding should have arisen between the Austrian cabinet and the Hungarian Diet, so serious as to have occasioned a war; we look upon the latter body as uninfluenced by those wild democratic notions which have been and are still prevalent in the west of Europe. Whatever may have been the case with Kossuth, and some of his more ambitious confederates, the mass of the Hungarian people had no wish whatever to rise in rebellion against their king. Their quarrel was that of a minor state to which certain privileges had been guaranteed; against the presumed infringement of which, by their more powerful neighbour, they first protested, and finally had recourse to arms. Their avowed object, throughout the earlier part of the struggle, was not to overturn, but to maintain, certain existing institutions: and it is remarkable that, from the day on which Kossuth threw off the mask, and renounced allegiance to his sovereign, the Hungarians lost confidence in their leader, and their former energy decayed. We need not now discuss the abstract justice of the Hungarian claims; but whatever may be thought of these, we must, in common fairness to Austria, consider her peculiar position at the time when they were sought to be enforced. Concessions which, during a season of tranquillity, might have been gracefully made, were rendered almost impossible when demanded with threats, in the midst of insurrection and revolt. It was but too obvious that the leaders of the Hungarian movement, forgetful of their fealty to the chief of that great empire of which their country formed a part, were bent upon increasing instead of lessening the difficulties with which Austria was everywhere surrounded, and eager to avail themselves of distractions elsewhere, for the purpose of dictating insolent and exorbitant terms. In short, we believe that the real claims of Hungary, however they may have formed the foundation of the discontent which ripened into war, were used by Kossuth and his colleagues as instruments for their own ambition; and that, by throwing off the mask too precipitately, they opened the eyes of their followers to the true nature of their designs, and forfeited that support which the realm was ready to accord the men who, with a single and patriotic purpose, demanded nothing more than the recognition of the rights of their country.

It was but natural that the intervention of Russia should have been viewed with some uneasiness in the west of Europe. Every movement of that colossal power beyond the boundaries of its own territory excites a feeling of jealousy, singularly disproportionate to the real character of its resources, if Mr Cobden's estimate of these should be adopted as the true one; and we fairly confess that we have no desire to see any considerable augmentation made to the territorial possessions of the Czar. But the assistance which, on this occasion, has been sent to Austria by Russia, however much we may regret the occasion which called the latter into activity, cannot surely be tortured into any aggressive design. Apart from all our jealousies, it was a magnanimous movement on the part of one powerful sovereign in favour of a harassed ally; nor can we see how that assistance could have been refused by Russia, without incurring the reproach of bad faith, and running imminent risk with regard to her own dependencies. Those active revolutionists, the Poles, whose presence behind every barricade has been conspicuously marked and unblushingly avowed, showed themselves foremost in all the disturbances which threatened the dismemberment of Austria. By them the Hungarian army was principally officered; and it now appears, from the intercepted correspondence of their nominal chief, that the Hungarian insurrection was relied upon as the first step for a fresh attempt towards the restoration of a Polish kingdom. Under these circumstances, the Czar felt himself imperatively called upon to act; and his honour has been amply vindicated by the withdrawal of his forces after his mission was accomplished, and the Hungarian insurrection quelled.

It would undoubtedly have been far more satisfactory to every one, if the differences between Austria and Hungary could have been settled without an appeal to arms; but such a settlement was, we apprehend, utterly beyond the powers even of the Peace Congress to effect; and the next best thing is to know that tranquillity has actually been restored. That a great deal of sympathy should be shown for the Hungarians, is, under the circumstances, by no means unnatural. It is no exaggeration to say, that hardly one man out of a thousand, in Britain, comprehends the merits of the dispute, or is able, if called upon, to give an intelligible account of the quarrel. Such amount of knowledge, however, is by no means necessary to qualify a platform orator for holding forth at a moment's notice; and, accordingly, meetings expressive of sympathy with the persecuted Hungarians were called in many of our larger towns, and the usual amount of rhodomontade uttered, by gentlemen who make a point of exhibiting their elocutionary powers upon the slightest colourable pretence. Had these meetings been held earlier, they might have been worth something. We shall not go the length of assuring the very shallow and conceited personages who constitute the oratorical rump, or public debating society of Edinburgh, that their opinions are likely to be esteemed of surpassing importance, even if they were to be heard of so far as St Petersburg or Vienna; for their utter ignorance of the aspect of foreign affairs is such as would excite ridicule in the bosoms of those whom they profess to patronise and applaud. But if they really were impressed with the notion that the claims of Hungary were of such mighty importance, how was it that they tarried until the consideration of all constitutional questions had been swallowed up in war – until those who fully understood the true position of Hungary, and her rights as legally guaranteed and defined, were forced to acknowledge that, through the violence, treachery, and ambition of the insurgent nobles, all hope of a pacific settlement had disappeared; and that the best result which Europe could hope for, was the speedy quenching of an insurrection, now broadly revolutionary and republican, and threatening to spread still wider the devastating flames of anarchy? The explanation we believe to be a very simple one. Most of them knew as much of the affairs of Cappadocia as they did of those of Hungary, and they would have been equally ready to spout in favour of either country.

Late in July, Mr Bernal Osborne, backed by Mr R. M. Milnes, whose knowledge of politics is about equal to his skill in the construction of dactyls, brought forward the Hungarian question in the House of Commons, and thereby gave Lord Palmerston an opportunity of unbosoming himself on that branch of our European relations. His lordship's speech, on that occasion, was very much lauded at the time; but on referring to it now, we are somewhat at a loss to understand how it could have given satisfaction to any one. It was, indeed, as insulting to Austria, whose back was then supposed to be at the wall, as any opponent of constitutional government could have desired. Alliance was sneered at, as a mere empty word of no significance whatever: nor can we much wonder at this ebullition, considering the manner in which his lordship has thought proper to deal with other powers, who attached some value to the term. This topic was, further, a congenial one, inasmuch as it afforded the Foreign Secretary an opportunity of gibing at his predecessor, Lord Aberdeen, whose sense of honour does not permit him to identify the solemn treaties of nations with folios of waste paper; and who, therefore, was held up to ridicule as a pattern of "antiquated imbecility." But, after all this persiflage, which could serve no purpose whatever, save that of giving vent to an unusual secretion of Palmerstonian bile, it appeared that his lordship was actually to do nothing at all. He regretted, just as much as we do, and probably not more than the Austrian cabinet, that no accommodation of differences had taken place. He said, very truly, that whatever the result of the struggle might be, it could not strengthen the stability of the Austrian empire; but at the same time he distinctly repudiated all intention of interfering beyond mere passive advice, and he could not deny the right of Austria, if it thought proper, to call in the aid of the Russian arms. His conclusion, in short, was sound, and we only regret that, while it was so, the tone and temper of his speech were not equally judicious. This debate in the House of Commons was immediately followed up by a public meeting at the London Tavern, presided over by Mr Alderman Salomons.

We had not the good fortune to be present on that occasion; but, from the accounts contained in the morning papers, it must have been an assemblage of a singularly motley kind. There was a considerable muster of Radical members of parliament; the Financial Reform and the Peace Associations were respectively represented; Lord Nugent and Mr Milnes stood forth as delegates from the Bards of Britain; Julian Harney and Mr G. W. M. Reynolds headed a numerous band of Chartists; and Lord Dudley Stuart, as a matter of course, was surrounded by a whiskered phalanx of Poles, Hungarians, Italians, Germans, and Sicilians, each one striving to look more patriotically ferocious than his neighbour. The first sympathetic resolution was moved by a Quaker, and seconded by no less a person than Richard Cobden, who had only been prevented from attending the previous debate in the House of Commons by a swan-hopping expedition on the Thames.

Then it was that Mr Cobden first favoured the world with some economical views, so exceedingly novel and startling, as to excite, even in that audience, unequivocal symptoms of incredulity. He set out by laying it down as a general rule, that every separate state ought to be left to the management of its own affairs, without the interference of any foreign power whatever. "If," said he, "this had been a question simply between Hungary and Austria, I should not have appeared here to-day, nor indeed would it have been necessary for any of us to have appeared here to-day. So long as the Hungarians were left to settle their affairs with the government of Vienna, they were perfectly competent to do it, without the interference of the citizens of London." This is intelligible enough. So long as central governments are merely fighting with their own dependencies, there is no room at all, according to Mr Cobden, for interference. It matters not which side prevails: they must be left wholly to themselves. This doctrine could not, we think, have been very acceptable to the Poles; since it amounts to an entire admission that Russia has a right to deal with them at her pleasure; neither is it altogether consistent with our ideas, or interpretation of the law of nations. But it is Cobden's view, and therefore let it pass, to him, then, it mattered nothing whether Goth or Hun prevailed – it was the intervention of Russia that peremptorily called him to the platform. Now we must own, that we cannot understand this sort of reasoning, though it may possibly be suited to the capacities of a Manchester audience. If, as many people no doubt conscientiously believe, Austria was trampling upon the liberties of a brave and loyal people, not only justice, but humanity demands that our sympathies should be enlisted on their side. We cannot acquiesce in a doctrine which would have left the Greeks (lamentably small sense as they have shown of the benefits of liberty) to toil on for ever under the grievous yoke of the Ottoman: nor are we prepared to carry our apathy to so extreme a length. The intervention of Russia could not, by any possibility, alter the complexion of the quarrel. It might either crush freedom, or maintain constitutional government and the balance of power in Europe; but the principle of the contest, whatever that might be, was declared before Russia appeared, and according as men view it, so should their sympathies be given. The whole question, however, as Mr Cobden put the case, turned upon Russian interference.

If Mr Cobden's next door neighbour happened to have a dispute with his operatives, touching the interpretation of certain points of the Charter, and if the latter, in their zeal for enlightenment, were to set fire to their master's premises, we apprehend that the honourable member for the West Riding, (having neglected his own insurance,) might blamelessly bear a hand to quench the threatening conflagration. Further, if he were assured that the said operatives, assisted by a gang of deserters from his own mills, were trying their hands at an incendiary experiment, preliminary to operating upon his calico warehouses, how could he be blamed, if he sallied to attack the rioters in their first position? Yet, if we are permitted to compare very great things with small, this was precisely the situation of Russia. If she did not assist Austria, the flame would have been kindled in her own provinces; if the Hungarian insurrection had triumphed, Poland would have been up in arms. With the old partition of Poland we have nothing now to do, any more than with the junction of the Slavonic provinces with Austria. Right or wrong, these have long become acknowledged facts in European history, and the boundary divisions have been acquiesced in by a congress of the assembled nations. We cannot go back upon matters of ancient right and occupation; were we to do so, the peace of every nation in Europe must necessarily be disturbed, and no alternative would remain, save the Utopian one of parcelling out territory according to the language of the inhabitants. Boundaries must be settled somehow. They were so settled, by the consent of all the nations, at the treaty of Vienna; and our duty, as well as our interest, is to adhere to that arrangement. Russia, by assisting Austria, has in no way contravened any of the stipulations of that treaty. From the moment when the Hungarian party declared their country independent, and proclaimed a republic, a new cause of discord and misrule was opened in the east of Europe, and the greatest of the eastern potentates was not only entitled but forced to interfere. It by no means follows that we, who uphold this view, have any partiality or liking for Russian institutions. No man who lives in a free country, like ours, can possibly sympathise with despotism, serfism, and that enormous stretch of feudal power which is given to a privileged class – we must regard such things with a feeling nearly akin to abhorrence; nor can we, with our Saxon notions, fancy existence even tolerable in such a state of society. But our likings or disgusts cannot alter matters as they stand. We cannot force other nations to see with our eyes, to think with our thoughts, or to adapt their constitutions according to the measure of our accredited standard of excellence. That amount of irresponsible and uncontrolled action which we term freedom, presupposes the existence of a large and general spread of intelligence throughout the community, fixed laws of property, consolidated social relationship, pure administration of justice, and wisdom and temperance on the part of the governed and the governor. Such things are not the rapid results of months, or years, or centuries. They are of slow growth, but they are the inevitable fruits of order; and very blind and ignorant must that man be who does not see the hand of progress at work even in the institutions of Russia. That country emerged from barbarism later than the rest of Europe, but, since the days of Peter the Czar, its strides towards civilisation have been most rapid. Commerce has been established, manufactures introduced, learning and the arts cultivated, and such a foundation laid as, in no very long time, must perforce secure to all ranks of the people a larger share of freedom than they are now qualified to enjoy. Revolution cannot hasten such a state of matters, but it may materially retard it. Foolish and short-sighted men seem to think that revolt is a synonymous term with freedom, and, accordingly, they hail each fresh outbreak with shouts of indiscriminate approval. They can draw no distinction between the revolt of the barons and that of Jack Cade in England; they are as ready to applaud Spartacus as Brutus; they think a peasant's war as meritorious as the up-raising of the standard of the League. They never stop to consider that freedom is a mere relative term, and that it is worse than useless to pluck down one form of government by violence, unless a better is to be reared in its stead. And who can venture to say that this would have been the case with Hungary? Who would predict it with certainty even of Poland, were that dismembered kingdom to be restored? It is notorious that Poland went to pieces under the weight of its elective monarchy, and the perpetual feuds, turbulence, and tyranny of a lawless and fierce aristocracy. No doubt, men will fight for these things – they will fight for traditions, and bad ones too, as keenly as for the most substantial benefits. A century ago, the Highlanders would have fought to the death for clanship, chieftainship, heritable jurisdictions, and the right of foray and of feud; but will any man now raise up his voice in favour of the old patriarchal constitution? In Ireland, at this moment, we believe that a large body of the Celts is willing to stand up for a restoration of the days of Malachi of the Golden Collar – a form of government which, we presume, even an O'Connell would decline. This is just the case with our sympathisers. They take it for granted that, because there is revolt, there must be a struggle for freedom, and they are perfectly ready to accept, without the slightest examination, any legend that may be coined for the nonce. Gullible as a considerable number of the British public may be, especially that section of the public which delights in platform oratory, we really could not have believed that any assemblage could be so utterly ignorant, as to receive a statement to the effect that the old constitution of Hungary bore a close resemblance to our own!

We are tempted here to insert an extract from the works of a popular writer regarding the constitution of Poland, because it expresses, in excellent language, the opinions which we are attempting to set forth in this article, and denounces the folly of those who confound the term freedom with its just and rational application. Will the reader favour us by perusing the following passage with attention? – when he has done so, we shall state from whose eloquent pen it proceeded.

"Of how trifling consequence it must be to the practical minded and humane people of Great Britain, or to the world at large, whether Poland be governed by a king of this dynasty or of that – whether he be lineally descended from Boleslas the Great, or of the line of the Jagellons – contrasted with the importance of the inquiries as to the social and political condition of its people – whether they be as well or worse governed, clothed, fed, and lodged in the present day as compared with any former period, – whether the mass of the people be elevated in the scale of moral and religious beings, – whether the country enjoys a smaller or a larger amount of the blessings of peace; or whether the laws for the protection of life and property are more or less justly administered. These are the all-important inquiries about which we busy ourselves; and it is to cheat us of our stores of philanthropy, by an appeal to the sympathy with which we regard these vital interests of a whole people, that the declaimers and writers upon the subject invariably appeal to us on behalf of the oppressed and enslaved Polish nation– carefully obscuring, amidst the cloud of epithets about 'ancient freedom,' 'national independence,' 'glorious republic,' and the like, the fact that, previously to the dismemberment, the term nation implied only the nobles; – that, down to the partition of their territory, about nineteen out of every twenty of the inhabitants were slaves, possessing no rights, civil or political; that about one in every twenty was a nobleman – and that that body of nobles formed the very worst aristocracy of ancient or modern times; putting up and pulling down their kings at pleasure; passing selfish laws, which gave them the power of life and death over their serfs, whom they sold and bought like dogs or horses; usurping, to each of themselves, the privileges of a petty sovereign, and denying to all besides the meanest rights of human beings; and, scorning all pursuits as degrading, except that of the sword, they engaged in incessant wars with neighbouring states, or plunged their own country into all the horrors of anarchy, for the purpose of giving employment to themselves and their dependants." And the same writer, after remarking upon the character and conduct of the privileged class in Poland, in language which is just as applicable to those of the Hungarian nobles, thus accounts for the insurrection in 1830. The Italics are his own. "We hesitate not emphatically to assert, that it was wholly, and solely, and exclusively, at the instigation, and for the selfish benefit, of this aristocratic faction of the people, that the Polish nation suffered for twelve months the horrors of civil war, was thrown back in her career of improvement, and has since had to endure the rigours of a conqueror's vengeance. The Russian government was aware of this; and its severity has since been chiefly directed towards the nobility." And in a note appended to the above paragraph he says, "The peasants joined, to a considerable extent, the standard of revolt; but this was to be expected, in consequence of the influence necessarily exercised over them by the superior classes. Besides, patriotism or nationality is an instinctive virtue, that sometimes burns the brightest in the rudest and least reasoning minds; and its manifestation bears no proportion to the value of the possessions defended, or the object to be gained. The Russian serfs at Borodino, the Turkish slaves at Ismail, and the lazzaroni of Naples, fought for their masters and oppressors more obstinately than the free citizens of Paris or Washington did, at a subsequent period, in defence of those capitals."

And who was the author of these very lucid and really excellent remarks? We reply, Richard Cobden, Esq. The curious in such matters will find these, and many similar passages, in a pamphlet entitled Russia, by a Manchester Manufacturer, which was published in 1836, for the purpose of showing that, on the whole, it would be an advantage to British commerce if Russia were to lay violent hands on Turkey, and possess herself of Constantinople!

But it is time we should return to the London Tavern meeting, where we left Mr Cobden, this time denouncing the active interference of Russia. Here the apostle of peace was certainly upon ticklish ground. Large as his estimate undoubtedly is of his own influence and power, he could hardly expect, that, because he and some other gentlemen of inferior endowments were pleased to hold a meeting in the London Tavern, and pass resolutions condemnatory of the conduct of the Czar, the immediate consequence would be a withdrawal of the Russian forces. Under such circumstances, as he must have perfectly well known, the expression of his opinion was not worth the splinter of a rush to the Hungarians, unless, indeed, he were prepared to follow up his words by deeds. On the other hand, he was debarred, by some fifty public declarations, from advocating the propriety of a war: not only upon the general pacific principle – for that might easily have been evaded, – but upon economical considerations connected with his darling scheme of reducing the British navy and army, which would be clearly incompatible with the commencement of a general European conflict. An ordinary man, entertaining such views and sentiments, would probably have considered himself as lodged between the horns of an inextricable dilemma. Not so Cobden, whose genius rose to the difficulty. The experience of a hundred platform fights had taught him this great truth, that no proposition was too monstrous to be crammed down the public throat, provided the operator possessed the requisite share of effrontery; and he straightway proceeded, secundum artem, to exhibit a masterpiece of his skill.

Probably not one man in all that room but had been impressed, from his youth upwards, with a wholesome terror and respect for the magnitude of the Russian power. That, at all events, was the feeling of the Poles, and decidedly of the Polish champions. But in less than an instant they were disabused. Most of our readers must have seen how a small figure, painted on a tiny slip of glass, may, when passed through the aperture of a magic lantern, be made to reflect the attitude and dimensions of a giant: Cobden's trick was exactly the opposite of this; he made the actual giant appear in the dwindled proportions of a dwarf. "I will tell you," said he, "how we can bring moral force to bear on these armed despots. We can stop the supplies. (Loud cheers.) Why, Russia can't carry on two campaigns beyond her own frontiers, without coming to Western Europe for a loan. She never has done so, without being either subsidised by England, or borrowing money from Amsterdam. I tell you I have paid a visit there, and I assert that they cannot carry on two campaigns in Hungary, without either borrowing money in Western Europe or robbing the bank at St Petersburg. (A laugh, and a cry of 'Question.') That must be a Russian agent, a spy, for this is the question. I know," continued our magniloquent Richard, "that the Russian party, here and abroad, would rather that I should send against them a squadron of cavalry and a battery of cannon, than that I should fire off the facts that I am about to tell you. I say, then, that Russia cannot carry on two campaigns without a loan." We believe that the latter part of Mr Cobden's statement is tolerably accurate, so that he need not give himself any further trouble about the production of his indicated horse and artillery. We agree with him that Russia might be puzzled to carry on two vigorous campaigns without a loan; but we should be glad to know what country in Europe is not in the same predicament? War, as everybody knows, is a very costly matter – not much cheaper than revolution, though a good deal more speedy in its results – and every nation which engages in it must, perforce, liquidate the expense. Great Britain could not, any more than Russia, go to war without a loan. In such an event, the only difference would be that the British loan must necessarily be six or seven times greater than that of Russia, for this simple reason, that Russia has a large standing army levied and prepared, whereas we have not. Now what is there to prevent Russia from negotiating a loan? The first question, we apprehend, is the state of her finances – let us see whether there is any symptom of approaching bankruptcy in these. The debt of Russia, according to the most recent authorities, is seventy-six millions, being as near as possible one tenth of our own. Her revenue is about seventeen millions, or one-third of ours. So far, therefore, as the mere elements of credit go, Russia would, in the eyes of the capitalist, be the more eligible debtor of the two. There could, we apprehend, be no possible doubt of her solvency, for, with large resources behind, she has a mere fraction of a debt, and her power of raising revenue by taxes has been little exercised. Our readers will better understand this by keeping in mind, that, while the revenue presently levied is just one-third of ours, the population of Russia is considerably more than double that of Great Britain and Ireland. Mr Cobden, however, accepting, as we presume he must do, the above official facts, draws from them inferences of a very startling character. "Don't let any one talk," said he, "of Russian resources. It is the poorest and most beggarly country in Europe. It has not a farthing. Last year there was an immense deficit in its income as compared with its expenditure, and during the present financial year it will be far worse. Russia a strong political power! Why, there is not so gigantic a political imposture in all Europe." And again, "Russia a strong, a powerful, and a rich country! Don't believe any one who tells you so in future. Refer them to me." We feel deeply obliged to Mr Cobden for the last suggestion, but we would rather, with his permission, refer to facts. If the poorest and most beggarly country in Europe has contrived to rear its magnificent metropolis from the marshes of the gelid Neva, to create and maintain large and well-equipped fleets in the Baltic and the Black seas, and to keep up a standing army of about half a million of men, without increasing its permanent debt beyond the amount already specified, all we shall say is, that the semi-civilised Russian is in possession of an economical secret utterly unknown to the statesmen of more favoured climes, and that the single farthing in his hand, has produced results more wonderful than any achieved by the potency of the lamp of Aladdin. But the climax has yet to come. Waxing bolder and bolder on the strength of each successive assertion of Russian weakness and impotency, the Apostle of Peace assumed the attitude of defiance: "If Russia should take a step that required England, or any other great maritime power, like the United States, to attack that power, why, we should fall like a thunderbolt upon her. You would in six months crumple that empire up, or drive it into its own dreary fastnesses, as I now crumple up that piece of paper in my hand!!!" Here is a pretty fellow for you! This invincible fire-eater is the same man who, for the last couple of years, has been agitating for the reduction of the army and navy, on the ground that the whole world was in a state of the profoundest peace, and likely so to remain! This crumpler-up and defier of empires is the gentleman who held forth this bygone summer, at Paris, on the wickedness of war, and on the spread of fraternity and brotherly love among the nations! Why, if old Admiral Drake had risen from the dead, he could not have spoken in a more warlike strain, only the temper and tone of his remarks would have been different. A hero is bold but temperate: a demagogue blustering and pot-valiant.

It is but right to say, that this impudent and mischievous trash, though of course abundantly cheered by many of the poor creatures who knew no better, did not altogether impose upon the meeting. Mr Bernal Osborne could not find it in his conscience to acquiesce, even tacitly, in this monstrous attempt at imposition, and accordingly, though "he coincided in much that had been said by the member for the West Riding, he must take the liberty to say that, in exposing the weakness of Russia, he had gone rather too far. Forewarned was forearmed, and let them not lay it to their hearts that the great empire was not to be feared, but despised." And therefore, he, Mr Osborne, "would be sorry if any man in the meeting should go away with the impression that the monstrous Pansclavonic empire was to be thoroughly despised." Neither did the chairman exactly approve of the line of discussion which had been introduced by Mr Cobden. He said, with great truth, that they had nothing to do at present with the resources of Russia; their business being simply to consider the wrongs of Hungary, and to give utterance to such an expression of opinion as might act upon the British government. Mr Salomons is a practical man, and understands the use of mob-meetings, which is to coerce and compel Whig administrations to do precisely what the frequenters of the London Tavern desire. Better versed, by a great deal, in monetary matters than Mr Cobden, he knows that financial discussions are utterly out of place in such an assemblage; and, moreover, we have a strong suspicion that the latter part of Mr Cobden's speech, to which we are just about to refer, must have sounded harshly in the ears of a gentleman of the Hebrew persuasion, initiated, after the custom of his tribe, in the mysteries of borrowing and lending. Up to this point we have considered Mr Cobden in the united character of peace-maker and bully: let us now see how he contrives to combine the hitherto antagonistic qualities of free-trader and restrictionist.

Having, satisfactorily to himself, demonstrated the pitiable weakness of Russia, and having got over the notorious fact of her large bullion deposit, and her purchases in the British funds, by explaining that the first is the foundation of her currency, and the second a private operation of the Bank of St Petersburg – an establishment which, according to his showing, is no way connected with the government – Mr Cobden proceeded to unravel his schemes for paring the claws of the northern Bear. It has the merit of pure simplicity. Not one penny is henceforward to be lent to the Russian government. The capitalists of Europe are henceforth to look, not to the security, but to the motives of the borrowing power. If they think that the money required is to be expended in purchasing munitions of war, in fitting out an armament, or in any other way hostile to the continuance of peace, they are grimly to close their coffers, shake their heads, and refuse to advance one single sixpence, whatever be the amount of percentage offered; and this kind of moral force, Mr Cobden thinks, would not only be effectual, but can easily be brought into action. Let us hear him. "Now, will any one in the city of London dare to be a party to a loan to Russia, either directly or openly, or by agency and copartnership with any house in Amsterdam or Paris? Will any one dare, I say, to come before the citizens of this free country, and avow that he has lent his money for the purpose of cutting the throats of the innocent people of Hungary? I have heard such a project talked of. But let it only assume a shape, and I promise you that we, the peace party, will have such a meeting as has not yet been held in London, for the purpose of denouncing the blood-stained project – for the purpose of pointing the finger of scorn at the house, or the individuals, who would employ their money in such a manner – for the purpose of fixing an indelible stigma of infamy upon the men who would lend their money for such a vile, unchristian, and barbarous purpose. That is my moral force. As for Austria, no one, I suppose, would ever think of lending her money." We shall, by-and-by, have occasion to see more of Mr Cobden in connexion with the Austrian loan; in the mean time, let us keep to the general proposition. The meaning of the above unadorned fustian is simply this – that no man shall, in future, presume to lend his money without consulting the views of Mr Cobden and his respectable confederates. This ukase – and a magnificent one it is – was rapturously received by his audience; a fiat of approval which we set no great store on, seeing that, in all probability, not fifty of those excellent philanthropists could command as many pounds for the permanent purpose of investment. But the idea of controlling, by their sweet voices, the monetary operations of the great banking-houses of the world, the Rothschilds, the Barings, and the Hopes, was too delicious a hallucination not to be rewarded with a corresponding cheer. Now, setting aside the absolute impudence of the proposal – for we presume Mr Cobden must have known that he had as much power to stay the flux of the tides, as to regulate the actions of the money-lenders – what are we to think of the new principle enunciated by the veteran free-trader? What becomes of the grand doctrine of buying in the cheapest and selling in the dearest market, without the slightest regard to any other earthly consideration, save that of price? Will Mr Cobden NOW venture to persuade us that he had some mental reservation, when he propounded that ever-memorable axiom; or that dealers in coin were to be regulated by a different code of moral laws from that which was laid down for the use of the more fortunate dealers in calico? We presume, that, without cotton, and blankets, and machinery exported from this country, the slaves of Cuba could hardly be made to work – why, then, should we not clap an embargo on these articles, and point with the finger of scorn, disgust, and execration, to every man who traffics in that unholy trade? And yet, if our memory serves us right, no very long time has elapsed since we beggared our West Indian colonies, solely to drive a larger trade in those articles with the slave plantations, for behoof of Messrs Cobden and Co. Slavery, we presume, is an institution not congenial to the mind of Mr Cobden – at least we hope not, and we are sure he would not be willing to admit it. In point of humanity, it is rather worse than war; why not, then, let us have a strong exercise of moral force to abolish it, by stopping the supplies? The withdrawal of our custom, for three or four years, would effectually knock Cuba on the head. Why not try it? We should like to see Mr Cobden's face, if such a proposition were made in Parliament; and yet is it not as rational, and a great deal more feasible, than the other? But it is a positive waste of time to dwell further upon such a glaring absurdity as this. Baron Rothschild, member-elect though he be for the city of London, will care very little for the extended digit of Mr Cobden, and will doubtless consult his own interest, without troubling himself about Manchester demagogues, when the next Russian loan is proposed.

Having delivered himself of this remarkable oration, Mr Cobden very wisely withdrew; perhaps he had a slight suspicion of the scene which was presently to follow. The majority of the meeting consisted of gentlemen whose notions about moral force were exceedingly vague and general. Their strong British instincts, inflamed by the stimulus of beer, led them to question the use of abstract sympathy, unless it was to be followed up by action; and accordingly Mr Reynolds, a person of some literary as well as political notoriety, thought it his duty to give a more practical turn to the deliberations of the meeting, and thereby cut short several interesting harangues. We quote from the report of the Times of 24th July.

"Mr G. W. M. Reynolds, whose remarks were frequently followed by interruption and cries of 'question,' next addressed the meeting. He avowed his belief, that in so holy, sacred, and solemn a cause, England must even go to war in defence of Hungary, if necessary. (This assertion was received with such hearty cheering as proved that the speaker had expressed the sentiments of the vast body of the meeting.) All the moral effects of that meeting (continued Mr Reynolds) would be perfectly useless, unless they were prepared to go further. If the government would employ some of the ships that were now rotting in our harbours, and some of the troops now marching about London, that would really benefit the Hungarians. (Cheers.) France used to be regarded as a barrier against Russia, but France was no longer so, because that humbug Louis Napoleon (tremendous cheers – and three hearty groans for Louis Napoleon) – that rank impostor (continued cheering) —

"The Chairman here interfered, and much interruption ensued. If anything could disturb and injure the cause which they were met to support, it was such remarks as they had just heard. ("No, no.") If he (the Chairman) were a spy of Russia, he should follow out the course pursued by Mr Reynolds. (Much confusion and disapprobation.)"

We really cannot see wherein the author of the Mysteries of London was to blame. His proposition had, at all events, the merit of being intelligible, which Mr Cobden's was not, and he clearly spoke the sentiments of the large majority of the unwashed. He certainly went a little out of his way, to denounce the President of the French Republic as an impostor: a deviation which we regret the more, as he might have found ample scope for such expositions without going further than the speeches of the gentlemen who immediately preceded him. We need not linger over the ensuing scene. Mr Duncan – "said to be a Chartist poet" – attempted to address the meeting, but seems to have failed. We do not remember to have met with any of Mr Duncan's lyrics, but we have a distinct impression of having seen a gentleman of his name, and imputed principles, at the bar of the High Court of Justiciary in Edinburgh. But if the sacred voice of one poet was not listened to, the same meed of inattention was bestowed upon another. The arms of Mr R. M. Milnes were seen hopelessly gesticulating above the press; and Lord Dudley Stuart, for once, was cut short in his stereotyped harangue. The case was perfectly clear: Reynolds was the only man who had enunciated a practical idea, and accordingly the voice of the meeting was unequivocally declared for war.

We hope that the Peace Congress, and the economists, and the free-traders, are all equally delighted with this notable exhibition of their hero. If they are so, we certainly have no further commentary to offer. To secure peace, Mr Cobden openly defies and challenges Russia; to further economy, he does his best to inflame the passions of the people, and to get up a cry for war; to vindicate free trade, he proposes henceforward to coerce Lombard Street. Is there, in all the history of imposture, an instance comparable to this? Possibly there may be; but, if so, we are certain it was better veiled.

The evil luck of Mr Cobden still clung to him. Within a very short time after this memorable meeting was held, the Hungarian armies surrendered at discretion, and the insurrection was thoroughly quenched. Not two, not even one complete campaign, were necessary to put an end to an ill-advised struggle, in which the hearts of the Hungarian people were never sincerely enlisted; and good men hoped that the sword might now be sheathed in the eastern territories of Europe. That portion of the press which had sympathised with the insurgents, and hailed with frantic delight the suicidal resolution of the Hungarian chiefs to separate themselves for ever from the house of Austria, was terribly mortified at a result so speedy and unexpected; and did its best to keep up the excitement at home, by multiplying special instances of cruelty and barbarity said to have been wrought by the victors on the persons of their vanquished foemen. That many such instances really occurred we do not for a moment doubt. When the passions of men have been inflamed by civil war, and whetted by a desire for vengeance, it is always difficult for the authorities to preserve a proper restraint. This is the case even among civilised nations; and when we reflect that a large portion of the troops on either side engaged in the Hungarian war, cannot with any justice be termed civilised, it is no wonder if deeds of wanton atrocity should occur. Indeed, late events may lead us to question how far civilisation, on such occasions, can ever operate as a check. Who could have believed that last year, in Frankfort, a young and gallant nobleman, whose sole offence was, the free expressions of his opinions in a parliament convened by universal suffrage, should have been put to death at noonday by lingering torments, and his groans of agony echoed back by the laughter of his brutal assassins? The names of Felix Lichnowsky and Von Auerswaldt will surely long be remembered to the infamy of that city which was the birthplace of Goethe, and boasted of itself as the refined capital of the Rhenish provinces. A veil of mystery still hangs over the circumstances connected with the assassination of Count Latour; and though we are unwilling to give currency to a rumour, which would entail infamy on the memory of one who has since passed to his account, the victim of an unbridled ambition, strong suspicions exist that a Hungarian minister was directly privy to that act of dastardly and cruel murder. But there is no manner of doubt at all as to the atrocities which were committed in Vienna when that hapless city was in the hands of the red republicans and the Poles. Pillage, murder, and violation were crimes of every-day occurrence, and it is not wonderful if the memory of these wrongs has in some instances goaded on the victors to a revenge which all must deplore. As to the military executions which have taken place, we have a word to say. The suppression of almost every revolt has been followed by strong measures on the part of the conquerors, against those who excited the insurrection. Our own history is full of them. Succeeding generations, according to their estimate of the justness of the cause which they espoused, have blamed, or pitied, or applauded the conduct of the men who thus perilled and lost their lives; but the necessity of such executions has rarely or never been questioned. We allude, of course, to those who have been the leaders and instigators of the movement, and upon whom the responsibility, and the expiation for the blood which has been shed must fall; not to the subordinates who ought to be, and almost always are, the proper objects of mercy. The most ardent Jacobite, while he deplored the death, and vindicated the principles of Lords Balmerino and Kilmarnock, never thought of blaming the government of the day for having sent those devoted noblemen to the block. But in their case the execution assumed the character of a terrible national solemnity – not hastily enacted, but following after a deliberate trial before unprejudiced judges, upon which the attention and interest of the whole country was concentrated. And, therefore, while posterity has been unanimous in expressing its abhorrence of the bloody butcheries of William, Duke of Cumberland, after the battle of Culloden, no reflection has been thrown upon the ministers of George II. for having allowed the law to take its course against the more prominent leaders of the rebellion, even though the sympathies of many good men have been enlisted on the losing side. Now, we do not hesitate to condemn most strongly the conduct of Austria on the present occasion. No judicial process, so far as we can learn, has been instituted against the captive chiefs, save that which is equivalent to no process at all – the sentence of a court-martial. Except in cases of the most absolute necessity, the functions of the soldier and the judge ought never to be combined and confounded. When the flame of civil war is once trodden out, the civil law ought immediately to resume its wonted supremacy. Treason and rebellion are undoubtedly the highest of all crimes; but, being the highest, it is therefore the more necessary that they should be subjected to the gravest investigation; so that in no way may the punishment inflicted, on account of a heinous breach of the law, be mistaken, even by the most ignorant, for an act of hurried vengeance. We may perhaps have no right to object to the measure of the punishment. We cannot know what charges were brought, or even substantiated against the unfortunate Hungarian leaders of Arad. We are quite unaware what disclosures may have been laid before the Austrian government as to the participation of Count Bathyany in Kossuth's republican schemes. One and all of them may have been guilty in the worst degree; one and all of them may have deserved to die; and it is even possible that circumstances may have rendered such a terrible example necessary, for the future preservation of order; but the manner in which the punishment has been dealt, is, we think, wholly indefensible. It is no answer to say, that the administration of the laws of Austria is different from that of our own, and that we are not entitled to apply the measure of a foreign standard. No point of legal technicality, or even consuetude is involved; there is but one law which, whatever be its extrinsic form, ought to regulate such a proceeding as this – a law which, we trust, is acknowledged in Austria as well as in Britain – the law of justice and humanity. The most suspected criminal, when arraigned before secret and biassed judges, loses, in the estimation of the public, half his imputed criminality. He has not had a fair trial; and, if condemned, it is possible that his execution may be considered rather as a case of martyrdom, than as one of righteous punishment. A court-martial never is a satisfactory tribunal; least of all can it be satisfactory when the object of its inquiry arises from a civil war. The judges have seen too much of the actual misery and ruin which has occurred to be impartial. That propensity to vengeance, from which it can hardly be said that even the noblest nature is altogether exempt, so nearly akin is it to righteous indignation, is at such times unnaturally excited. The fiery zeal, which shows so graceful in the soldier, is utterly unsuited to the ermine; and when the ermine is thrown, as in this instance, above the soldier's uniform, there can be very little doubt that ancient habit and inflamed passion will supersede judicial deliberation. By acting thus, we conscientiously believe that Austria has inflicted a serious injury on herself. She has given to those who are her enemies a heavy cause of argument and reproach against those who are her well-wishers; and the immediate and not unnatural result will be an increased amount of sympathy for the political fugitives, and a great disinclination to canvass their true motives and their characters. Francis Joseph at the outset of his reign will be stigmatised – most unjustly, indeed, for the fault lies not with him – as a relentless tyrant, and all who escape from tyranny are sure of popular though indiscriminate compassion.

We have thought it our duty to make those remarks at the present time, because out of this Hungarian affair a question has arisen in which we are to a certain extent implicated, and which may possibly, though we do not think probably, be productive of most serious results. We allude, of course, to the joint demand of Russia and Austria upon Turkey for the surrender of the political fugitives at Widdin. In common with the whole public press of this country, we consider such a demand, on general grounds, to be unexampled and unjust. The abstract right of every independent nation to afford shelter to political fugitives, has, we believe, never been questioned; but, even had it been doubtful, there are very many reasons, founded upon humanity and honour, why all of us should combine to protest against a claim so imperiously and threateningly advanced. Cases may arise, and have arisen, where the privilege has been scandalously abused. For example, the Baden insurgents have fled for shelter across the frontier of Switzerland, and have there remained hatching treason, collecting adherents, and waiting for an opportunity of renewing their treasonable designs. In such a case, we conceive that the threatened government has a decided right to require the sheltering country to remove or banish those fugitives from its territory, and in the event of a refusal, to declare that a proper casus belli. But this, it will be seen, is widely different from a demand for the surrender of the fugitives; and we presume that, in the case of the Hungarians, no allegation can be made, that they have sought harbour, and remain in Turkey, with a view towards renewing their attempt. Unquestionably it is quite competent for states to enter into treaties in fulfilment of which political fugitives must be surrendered when claimed. Such a treaty is said to exist between Russia and Turkey; but it is clearly not applicable in the case of such of the Hungarian refugees as have claimed the shelter of the latter power. Russia, in this quarrel, appears only as the ally of Austria; and she can have no right to admit the latter to a direct participation in any of the stipulations contained in her peculiar treaty. No Hungarian is a subject of Russia; and, therefore, under that treaty, he cannot possibly be reclaimed. With regard to the Polish refugees, there certainly does seem to be a difference; and we care not to own, that we feel far less interest for them than for the Hungarians. Their own national struggle excited throughout Europe great sympathy and compassion. No matter what were the merits of the kind of government which they sought to restore – no man could be cold-blooded enough to forget that the kingdom of Poland had been violently seized and partitioned; and though sober reason, and, in fact, good faith, compelled us to abstain from espousing the cause of those who, by solemn European treaty, had been confirmed as subjects but who had risen as rebels, we yet gave our hospitality to the fugitive Poles with a heartiness greater and more sincere than was ever accorded on any other occasion. All ranks in this country, and in France, combined to do them honour; and the general wish in both countries was, not to afford them a mere temporary shelter, but to give them a permanent habitation. For this purpose, and to fit them for industrial employment, the British government gave an annual grant of money, and the private subscriptions were munificent. Some of the exiles most creditably availed themselves of the means so placed within their reach, and have become amongst us useful and esteemed citizens. But there were others, and the larger number, who utterly misinterpreted this sympathy, and never would abandon their dreams of Polish restoration. For this we cannot blame them; and we must needs allow that they received much encouragement to persevere in those dreams from men who ought to have been wiser. They took undue advantage of their situation, and preferred living in idleness, though certainly not in affluence, upon eleemosynary aid, to gaining their bread honourably by active industry and exertion. This was certainly not the best way of securing the affection of a practical people like the British to them and to their cause; and the result has been, that the moral prestige of the Poles has greatly declined in this country. We are not arguing from inference, but from facts; for we are perfectly certain that if the Emperor Nicholas had made his visit to London in 1834, instead of nine or ten years later, his reception by the public would have been materially different. Since then, the Poles have altogether forfeited the esteem of the friends of order, by coming forward as the most active agents and instigators of revolution all over the continent of Europe. In France, in Italy, in Germany, and above all, in Hungary, they have thrust themselves forward in quarrels with which they had nothing to do, and even have violated that hospitality which was accorded them on account of their misfortunes. It is time that they should learn that the British public has no sympathy with unprincipled condottieri. No amount of tyranny, inflicted by one nation, will entitle an exile deliberately to arm himself against the constitution of another. Foreign service – manly open service indeed is honourable, but foreign conspiracy is, beyond all doubt, one of the basest and the worst of crimes. Now, we are not versed enough in treaties to know what are the exact terms of the conditions made between Russia and Turkey. We hope, for the sake of Bem, Dembinski, and the others, that they merely apply to the surrender of those who shall take refuge in the neighbouring territory on account of war waged, or revolt raised, against their sovereigns; and though, should such be the nature of the contract, there may still be a doubt whether the Poles are entitled to plead exemption under it, that doubt, we presume, will be given in their favour by the sheltering power; at all events, we think it very unlikely that any distinction will be drawn betwixt the two classes of refugees. Still we are compelled to maintain our honest and sincere conviction that, apart from other and greater considerations, there is nothing in this demand of Russia and Austria, to justify us in active interference. The demand has not been made on us; it does not refer to British subjects; and it in no way concerns our honour. We have nothing more to do with it, in the abstract, than if it was a demand made by the Shah of Persia upon the Emperor of China. We beg especial attention to this point, because we observe that some of our journalists assume that Great Britain and France will act together vigorously in resisting the demand. Now, we hold, that, though both countries may have a clear right to protest against such a demand, on the ground of its being at variance with the law of nations, neither of them has the right to make that a pretext for ulterior measures, or for resorting to the desperate expedient of a war. The representatives of both powers, it is said, have advised the Porte to return a firm refusal to the demand; and, since their advice was asked, we hold that they were clearly right in doing so. They were acting merely as assessors, or rather as expounders of international law. But suppose that Russia should make this declinature a casus belli with Turkey, – what then? We have in that case a most decided interest; because it is part of our policy that Russia shall not, under any pretext whatever, lay her hand upon the Turkish dominions, or force the passage of the Dardanelles. Our policy may be wrong, and Mr Cobden thinks, or thought so: still we are committed to that view; and we can hardly escape from interpreting the conduct of Russia, if she shall persist in enforcing her demand by dint of arms, into an overt attempt to get possession of the Turkish territory. But France has no such interest as we have. Our reason for disputing the possession of Turkey with Russia is a purely selfish one. We wish to prevent the latter power from coming into dangerous proximity with Egypt, and we have a kind of vague idea that some attack is meditated upon our Indian provinces. It is quite possible that these notions may be visionary or greatly exaggerated, and that Russia wants nothing more than an open passage from the Black Sea – a right which, if free-trade doctrines are to be held of universal application, it does seem rather hard to deny to her. Still, such is our idea, and in our present temper we shall probably act accordingly. But France has no real interest at stake. She has nothing to lose, suppose Russia got possession of Turkey to-morrow; and we are very much mistaken if she will go to war from a mere spirit of chivalry, and in behalf of a few refugees with whom she is in no way connected. However disturbed may be the state of France, or however inflammable may be the minds of her population, she has statesmen who will not suffer her to be committed to so egregious an act of folly. If Russia perseveres in her demand to the utmost, on Britain will fall, in the first instance at least, the whole weight of the resistance. We agree with the Times, that "this demand for the surrender of the refugees, is either a wanton outrage for an object too trifling to be insisted on, or else it masks a more serious intention of hostility against the Turkish empire;" but we are not prepared to adopt the conclusion of that able journal, that "the governments and the nations of Western Europe are resolved to oppose that demand, even to the last extremity." On the contrary, we believe that the opposition would be left to Great Britain alone.

We trust no apology is necessary for having wandered from our text on a topic of so much interest; however, we ask Mr Cobden's pardon for having left him uncourteously so long.

We were remarking that ill-luck in the way of prophecy and presentiment still clung to Mr Cobden, even as Care is said to follow the horseman. Hungary speedily succumbed, and Russia did not ask for a loan. Now that the Hungarians were beaten and victory impossible, we presume the next best thing for that unfortunate people would be to bind up their wounds, and let them return as speedily as might be to their usual industrial employments. Austria, at the conclusion of the contest, finds herself largely out of pocket. She has troops whose pay is greatly in arrear, and she has made temporary loans which it is absolutely necessary to discharge. She might, if she were so disposed, liquidate the claims of the first, by letting them loose upon the conquered Hungarians, from whom they probably could still contrive to exact a fair modicum of booty; she might pay off the latter by resorting to wholesale confiscation, and by sweeping into her public treasury whatever the war has left of value. But Austria has no desire to proceed to either extremity. She knows very well that it is not for her interest that Hungary should become a sterile waste; and she is further aware that the best mode of securing tranquillity for the future, is to foster industry, and to abstain from laying any additional burden upon the already impoverished people. Therefore, meditating no further conquest, but, on the contrary, anxious to sit down to the sober work of reparation, Austria proposes to borrow in the public money-markets of Europe a sum of seven millions. The advertisement meets the eye of Mr Cobden, who straightway rose in wrath, indited a letter to a certain Mr Edmund Fry, ordaining him to convene a public meeting in London, for the purpose of considering the said advertisement, and agreeing "to an address to the friends of peace and disarmament throughout the world, on the general question of loans for war purposes," and on the 8th October, the intrepid orator again mounted on the platform. This time, we are sorry to remark, that the meeting was neither so variously nor so interestingly attended as before. The Chartists very properly thought that they had nothing whatever to do with foreign loans; and, besides, that they had already been regaled with an ample allowance of Mr Cobden's eloquence on the subject. The two parliamentary poets were doubtless writing odes, and did not come. Also there was but a poor sprinkling of M.P.'s; but Lord Dudley Stuart was at his post, and Friend Alexander; and beyond these twain there appeared no notable whomsoever. Mr Reynolds must have been sadly missed.

Mr Cobden's first speech at this meeting – for the lack of orators was such, that he was compelled to indulge his audience with two – was a very dull and dreary affair indeed. He began first with loans in general, and went on in his usual style of asseveration. "I say that, as I have gone through the length and breadth of this country with Adam Smith in my hand to advocate the principles of free trade, I can stand here with Adam Smith also in my hand, to denounce, not merely for its inherent waste of national wealth, not only because it anticipates income and consumes capital, but also on the ground of injustice to posterity, in saddling upon our heirs a debt we have no right to call upon them to pay – the loans we have this day met to consider." It is very hard that unfortunate Adam Smith should be made answerable for all the eccentricities of Mr Cobden. Little did the poor man think, whilst hammering his brains at Kirkcaldy, that their product was to be explained at a future time, according to the sweet will of so accomplished a commentator! Adam Smith had a great deal too much sense to expect that wars would cease to arise, and government loans to be contracted. His remark is not directed against loans, but against the funding or accumulation of them, which most of us, in the present generation, are quite ready to admit to be all evil. The remedy to which he pointed, was the establishment of a sinking-fund to prevent debt from accumulating; but so long as Mr Cobden's economical views are acted on, and the currency maintained on its present basis, the idea of a sinking-fund is altogether visionary. The evil which Adam Smith complains of is permanent funding, not loan. There is nothing imprudent in a man borrowing a thousand pounds from his banker, if he regularly sets apart an annual sum out of his income for its repayment: but it is a very different thing when he hands over the debt undiminished for his successor to discharge.

Having preluded with this little piece of hocus, Mr Cobden came to the point, and attempted to show that Austria was in such a state of insolvency that it was not safe for any one to lend money to her. We by no means object to this sort of exposition. If it be true that the finances of the borrowing party are in a dismal state, we are none the worse for the information; if the statement is false, it is sure to be speedily disproved. We have no objection to concede to Mr Cobden the possession of that almost preternatural amount of knowledge, which is his daily and perpetual boast. When he tells us that he knows all about the produce of the mines of Siberia, because "I have been there, and I know what is the value of those mines" – when he speaks positively as to the amount of specie in the vaults of the fortress of St Petersburg, and states that he knows it – "because I have been on the spot, and made it my business to understand these things" – and when, with regard to the general question of Russian finance, he observes that "few men, probably not six men in England, have had my opportunities of investigating and ascertaining upon the best and safest authority on the spot, where alone you can properly understand the matter, what actually is the state of the resources of Russia," – we listen with a kind of awe to the words of this egotistical Exile of Siberia. But though not six men in England are qualified to compete with him in his knowledge of Russian affairs, we suspect that it would be no difficult matter to find six clerks in a single banking establishment a great deal better acquainted with the state of Austrian finance than Mr Cobden. His object, it would appear, is less to warn the great capitalists – who indeed may be supposed to be perfectly capable of taking care of themselves – against the danger of handing over their money to Austria, than to secure the poor labouring man with ten pounds to spare, against defraudment. We were not previously aware that people with ten pounds to spare were in the habit of investing them in the foreign funds. We hope to heaven such is not the case, for we happen to be acquainted with several very estimable porters and Celtic chairmen, who have saved a little money; and, should the mania for foreign investment have reached them, we should tremble to approach any corner of a street where those excellent creatures are wont to linger, lest we should be assailed with the question, "Hoo's the Peroovian four per cents?" or, "Div ye ken if they're gaun to pay the interest on the New Bonos Areas bonds?" We have hitherto been labouring under the delusion that the accumulations of the working classes were safe in the British Savings Banks, or Funds; but we are now sorry to learn from Mr Cobden that such is not the case. "I knew myself," said Mr Cobden, "many years ago, when resident in the city, a man who worked as a porter on weekly wages – his family and himself being reduced to that state that they had no other earthly dependence – and yet that man had Spanish bonds to the nominal amount of £2000 in his pocket. They were not worth more than waste paper, and came into the hands of poor men like this porter, who had no experience and knowledge in such matters; and it is to guard such poor men that I now utter the voice of warning." We have not read anything more affecting since we perused The Dairyman's Daughter. Mr Cobden does not tell us that he immediately organised a subscription for the behoof of the wronged individual; but we think it probable that he did so, and, if it be not too late, we shall be glad to contribute our mite – on one condition. The next time Mr Cobden tells this story, will he be good enough to specify the precise sum which the porter paid for those bonds? Our reason for requiring particular information as to this point, is founded on a fact which lately came to our knowledge, viz. that the name of a promising chimney-sweep stands recorded in the books of a certain railway company, which shall be nameless, as the proprietor of stock in new shares, to an amount of nearly double that possessed by Mr Cobden's acquaintance. The railway has not paid a single farthing of dividend, several calls are still due, and the market price of those shares is considerably below zero. The chimney-sweep is a steady young man, whose only failing is an inveterate attachment to whisky: he never was in possession of five pounds in his life, except on the day when he became the nominal proprietor of that stock. We make Mr Cobden a present of this anecdote, in case he should have occasion, in the course of some future crusade, to warn labouring people against indulging in railway speculation. It is quite as genuine and forcible an illustration as his own; and we suspect that for one person in the position of the porter, there are at this moment some hundreds in possession of transferred certificates, like the chimney-sweep.

In sober sadness, it is pitiable to see a man reduced, for sheer lack of argument, to such wretched clap-trap as this. The wildest kind of rant about freedom and tyranny would have been more to the purpose, and infinitely more grateful to the popular ear. Mr Cobden's estimate of his own position and European importance is delicious. "I have no hesitation in saying that there is not a government in Europe that is not frowning upon this meeting!" What a mercy it is that Nicholas had no suspicion of the tremendous influence of the man who was once rash enough to trust himself in his dominions! We positively tremble at the thought of what might have ensued had Mr Cobden been detected on his visit to the Siberian mines! The governments of Europe frowning on Mr Cobden's meeting – what a subject for the classical painter!

We need hardly trouble our readers with any remarks upon the speech of Lord Dudley Stuart. His monomania on Continental subjects is well known, and he carries it so far as to hazard the most extravagant statements. For example, he set out with insinuating that this Austrian loan was neither more nor less than a deliberate attempt at swindling, seeing that it had not received the sanction of the Diet; "and, consequently," said Lord Dudley, "nothing could be easier than for the Austrian government, whenever they found it inconvenient to pay the interest of the loan, to turn round and call those who had advanced the money very simple people, and tell them that they ought to have made due inquiry before parting with it. It might be said that this would be a most extraordinary and outrageous course for any government to adopt; but they lived in times when monarchs performed acts of the most unusual and the most outrageous description; and it seemed almost as if the dark ages had returned, such scenes of barbarity and cruelty were being enacted throughout Europe, by order, and in the name of established governments." Lord Dudley Stuart is one of those who think that no crowned head can sit down comfortably to supper, unless he has previously immolated a victim. His idea of the dark ages is derived from the popular legend of Raw-head and Bloody-bones. Confiding, and it would appear with justice, in the singular ignorance of his audience, he went on to say: – "Certain writers and speakers were never tired of uttering warnings against the danger of an infuriated mob. But had any of those popular outbreaks, as they were called, ever been attended with an amount of cruelty, rapine, and spoliation, to be named in comparison with the deeds of the despots of Europe? At Paris, Vienna, and Rome, for a time, power was in the hands of the people – the wild democracy, as it was called. Where were their deeds of blood and spoliation?" Lord Dudley Stuart might just as well have asked, where were the victims of the guillotine during the supremacy of Robespierre. We have known metaphysicians who could not be brought to an acknowledgment that the continent of America has an actual existence, or that the battle of Waterloo was ever fought, owing to what they were pleased to style a want of sufficient evidence. Lord Dudley Stuart is precisely in the same situation. He has patronised foreign patriots to such an extent, that he believes every one of them to be a saint; and if he saw with his own eyes a democrat piking a proprietor, he would probably consider it a mere deceptio visus. Not that he is in the slightest degree short-sighted, or incredulous, whenever he can get hold of a story reflecting on the other side. On the contrary, he favoured his audience with a minute description of several floggings and executions, which he had, no doubt, received from his foreign correspondents; and actually threw the blame of the apostacy of some of his Polish protegees from the Christian faith upon the Czar! This is a topic upon which we would rather not touch. Men have been known to deny their Saviour for the sake of escaping from the most hideous personal agony, but we never heard before of apostacy committed for such motives as Lord Dudley has assigned. "Some, but very few men, whose lives had been devoted to fighting against Russia, and whose religion seemed to consist in that alone, lured, no doubt, by the hope of entering the Turkish army, and again waging war against their implacable enemies, Russia and Austria, had been induced to accept the offers of the Porte, and to embrace Islamism." We hope it may be long before we shall be again asked to express our sympathy for those wretched renegades from their faith.

Mr Cobden having gathered wind, again started up; and this time he did not confine himself to mere economical prose. We rather think that he felt slightly jealous of the cheering which Lord Dudley Stuart's more animated speech had elicited; for it is a well-known fact that the majority of people would rather listen to the details of an atrocious murder, than to a dissertation upon Adam Smith. Accordingly he came out hot, furious, pugnacious, and withal remarkably irrelevant. Throwing aside all consideration of the Austrian loan, he fell foul of the Czar, whom he facetiously compared to Nebuchadnezzar. Listen to the Apostle of peace! "The man was incapable of appreciating anything but a physical-force argument, and he (Mr Cobden) did not think he was departing from his peace principles, in resorting to a mode of admonition which the nature of the animal was capable of understanding. He surely might be excused from admonishing, if it were possible, a wild bull, that, if he did not take care, he might run his head against something harder even than his own skull. He therefore said, that if the Emperor of Russia attacked us, we might hermetically seal the ports of Russia, and there would be an end of the matter. There could be no fighting between England and Russia. If the question were put to a jury of twelve competent men, belonging to any maritime power, who were perfectly indifferent to the quarrel, they would at once say that as England and Russia could not come to collision by land, the only question was, what naval force would be required by England to blockade Petersburg, Archangel, Odessa and Riga for six months of the year, and that the frost would keep up the blockade for the other six months." But the best is yet to come. Mr Cobden is perfectly aware that the sentiments of such an eminent European personage as himself must have terrible weight on the Continent. When the Czar reads the report of the speeches delivered at the London Tavern, he will burst into a paroxysm of fury, order some hundred serfs to be instantly knouted to death, and send for the minister of marine. When it is known at Vienna that Cobden has declared against the Austrian loan, Francis Joseph will gnash his teeth, and desire Jellachich, Radetsky, and Haynan to concert measures with his brother emperor for taking vengeance for this unparalleled affront. What, then, are we to do? Is there no danger to Great Britain from such a combination? None – for we have a guarantee. A greater than Nicholas has promised to stand between us and peril. People of Great Britain! read the following paragraph, and then lie down in security under the charge of your protecting angel.

"If he (Mr Cobden) were told that he ran the risk of provoking these brutal tyrants to come here and attack this country, HE WOULD REPLY THAT HE WAS PREPARED TO TAKE THE RISK UPON HIMSELF OF ALL THAT THEY COULD DO!"

After this, we have not another word to say. Yes – one. Before Mr Cobden's meeting broke up, the Austrian loan had been subscribed for to more than the required amount.

THE FRENCH NOVELS OF 1849

During the twelve months that have elapsed since we devoted a sheet of Maga to a flying glance at French novels and novelists, there has been a formidable accumulation upon our shelves of the produce of Paris and Brussels presses. Were their merit as considerable as their number, the regiment of pink, blue, and yellow octavos and duodecimos would need a whole magazine to do them justice. As it is, however, a line a volume would be too much to devote to some of them. The lull in literature which ensued in France, on the shock of the February revolution, has been succeeded by a revival of activity. Most of the old stagers have resumed the quill, and a few "green hands" have come forward. As yet, however, the efforts of the former have in few instances been particularly happy; whilst amongst the latter, there is no appearance worthy of note. Upon the whole, we think that the ladies have been at least as successful as the men. Here is a trio of tales from feminine pens, as good as anything that now lies before us. Hélène, although it may not greatly augment the well-established reputation of that accomplished authoress, Madame Charles Reybaud, is yet a very pleasing novel, approaching in character rather to a graceful English moral tale, than to the commonly received idea of a French romance. It is a story of the first Revolution; the scene is in Provence, and subsequently at Rochefort, on board ship, and in French Guiana. The chief characters are Helen, and her father, the Count do Blanquefort, a steadfast royalist, who traces back his ancestry to the crusades; her lover, a plebeian and Montagnard; her godmother, Madame do Rocabert, and Dom Massiot, a fanatic priest. Lovers of mysterious intrigues, and complicated plots, need not seek them in Madame Reybaud's novels, whose charm resides for the most part in elegance of style, graceful description, and delicate and truthful delineation of character. In one of her recent tales – a very attractive, if not a very probable one —Le Cadet de Colobrières, she admirably sketches the interior of a poor nobleman's dwelling, where all was pride, penury, and privation, for appearance sake. The companion and contrast to that painful picture, is her description of the domestic arrangements of Castle Rocabert, where ease, placidity, and comfort reign; where the ancient furniture is solid and handsome, the apartments commodious, the cheer abundant; where the antiquated waiting women, and venerable serving men, are clad after the most approved fashion of Louis the Fifteenth's day, and disciplined in accordance with the most precious traditions of aristocratic houses. Madame de Rocabert herself is a fine portrait, from the old French régime. Forty years long has she dwelt in her lonely chateau, isolated from the world, on the summit of a cloud-capped rock. Widowed at the age of twenty of an adored husband, she shut herself up to weep, and, as she hoped, to die. Contrary to her expectation, little by little she was comforted; she lived, she grew old. Time and religion had appeased her sorrow, and dried her tears. There is a tenderness and grace in Madame Reybaud's account of the widow's mourning and consolation, which reminds us of the exquisite pathos and natural touches of Madame d'Arbouville. That such a comparison should occur to us, is of itself a high compliment to Madame Reybaud, who, however, is unquestionably a very talented writer, and to the examination of whose collective works it is not impossible we may hereafter devote an article. At present, we pass on to a lady of a different stamp, who does not very often obtain commendation at our hands; and yet, in this instance, we know not why we should withhold approval from George Sand's last novel, La Petite Fadette, one of those seductive trifles which only Madame Dudevant can produce, and is free from the pernicious tendencies that disfigure too many of her works. In this place we can say little about it. A sketch of the plot would be of small interest, for it is as slight and inartificial as well may be; and an attempt to analyse the book's peculiar charm would lead us a length incompatible with the omnium-gatherum design of this article. La Petite Fadette is a story of peasant habits and superstitions, and these are treated with that consummate artistical skill for which George Sand is celebrated – every coarser tint of the picture mellowed and softened, but never wholly suppressed. Fadette, a precocious and clever child, and her brother, a poor deformed cripple, dwelt with their grandmother, a beldame cunning in herbs and simples, and who practises as a sort of quack doctress. The three are of no good repute in the country-side; Fadette, especially, with her large black eyes and Moorish complexion, her elf-like bearing and old-fashioned attire, is alternately feared and persecuted by the village children, who have nicknamed her the Cricket. But although her tongue is sharp, and often malicious, and her humour wilful and strange, the gipsy has both heart and head; and, above all, she has the true woman's skill to make herself beloved by him on whom she has secretly fixed her affections. This is the hero of the story – Landry, the handsome son of a farmer. Love works miracles with the spiteful slovenly Cricket, who hitherto has dressed like her grandmother, and squabbled with all comers. Although the style of George Sand's books is little favourable to extract, and that in this one the difficulty is increased by the introduction of provincialisms and peasant phrases, we will nevertheless translate the account of Fadette's transformation, and of its effect upon Landry, upon whom, as the reader will perceive, the charm has already begun to work.

"Sunday came at last, and Landry was one of the first at mass. He entered the church before the bells began to ring, knowing that la petite Fadette was accustomed to come early, because she always made long prayers, for which many laughed at her. He saw a little girl kneeling in the chapel of the Holy Virgin, but her back was turned to him, and her face was hidden in her hands, that she might pray without disturbance. It was Fadette's attitude, but it was neither her head-dress nor her figure, and Landry went out again to see if he could not meet her in the porch, which, in our country, we call the guenillière, because the ragged beggars stand there during service. But Fadette's rags were the only ones he could not see there. He heard mass without perceiving her, until, chancing to look again at the girl who was praying so devoutly in the chapel, he saw her raise her head, and recognised his Cricket, although her dress and appearance were quite new to him. The clothes were still the same – her petticoat of drugget, her red apron, and her linen coif without lace; but during the week she had washed and re-cut and re-sewn all that. Her gown was longer, and fell decently over her stockings, which were very white, as was also her coif, which had assumed the new shape, and was neatly set upon her well-combed black hair; her neckerchief was new, and of a pretty pale yellow, which set off her brown skin to advantage. Her boddice, too, she had lengthened, and, instead of looking like a piece of wood dressed up, her figure was as slender and supple as the body of a fine honey-bee. Besides all this, I know not with what extract of flowers or herbs she had washed her hands and face during the week, but her pale face and tiny hands looked as clear and as delicate as the white hawthorn in spring.

"Landry, seeing her so changed, let his prayer-book fall, and at the noise little Fadette turned herself about, and her eyes met his. Her cheek turned a little red – not redder than the wild rose of the hedges; but that made her appear quite pretty – the more so that her black eyes, against which none had ever been able to say anything, sparkled so brightly, that, for the moment, she seemed transfigured. And once more Landry thought to himself:

"'She is a witch; she wished to become pretty, from ugly that she was, and behold the miracle has been wrought!'

"A chill of terror came over him, but his fear did not prevent his having so strong a desire to approach and speak to her, that his heart throbbed with impatience till the mass was at an end.

"But she did not look at him again, and instead of going to run and sport with the children after her prayers, she departed so discreetly, that there was hardly time to notice how changed and improved she was. Landry dared not follow her, the less so that Sylvinet would not leave him a moment; but in about an hour he succeeded in escaping; and this time, his heart urging and directing him, he found little Fadette gravely tending her flock in the hollow road which they call the Traine-au-Gendarme, because one of the king's gendarmes was killed there by the people of La Cosse, in the old times, when they wished to force poor people to pay taillage, and to work without wage, contrary to the terms of the law, which already was hard enough, such as they had made it."

But it is not sufficient to win Landry's heart: Fadette has much more to overcome. Public prejudice, the dislike of her lover's family, her own poverty, are stumbling-blocks, seemingly insurmountable, in her path to happiness. She yields not to discouragement; and finally, by her energy and discretion, she conquers antipathies, converts foes into friends, and attains her ends – all of which are legitimate, and some highly praiseworthy. The narrative of her tribulations, constancy, and ultimate triumph, is couched in a style of studied simplicity, but remarkable fascination. Slight as it is, a mere bluette, La Petite Fadette is a graceful and very engaging story; and it would be ungrateful to investigate too closely the amount of varnish applied by Madame Dudevant to her pictures of the manners, language, and morals of French peasantry.

La Famille Récour is the last book, by a lady novelist, to which we shall now refer. It is the best of a series of six, intended as pictures of French society, in successive centuries, closing with the nineteenth. The five previous novels, which were published at pretty long intervals, being of no very striking merit, we were agreeably surprised by the lively and well-sustained interest of this romance, the last, Madame de Bawr informs us, which she intends to offer to the public. Paul Récour, the penniless nephew of a rich capitalist, is defrauded by a forged will of his uncle's inheritance, which goes to a worthless cousin, who also obtains the hand of a girl between whom and Paul an ardent attachment exists. The chief interest of the tale hinges on Paul's struggles, after an interval of deep despondency, against poverty and the world – struggles in which he is warmly encouraged by his friend Alfred, a successful feuilletoniste and dramatic author; and by a warmhearted but improvident physician, M. Duvernoy, whose daughter Paul ultimately marries, out of gratitude, and to save her from the destitution to which her father's extravagance and approaching death are about to consign her. Paul is a charming character – a model of amiability, generosity, and self-devotion, and yet not too perfect to be probable. There is a strong interest in the account of his combat with adversity, and of the tribulations arising from the folly and thoughtlessness of his wife, and the implacable hostility of his treacherous cousin. How the story ends need not here be told. The first four-fifths of the book entitle it to a high place amongst the French light literature of the year 1849; but then it begins to flag, and the termination is lame and tame – a falling off which strikes the more from its contrast with the preceding portion. The authoress appears, in some degree, conscious of this defect, and prepares her readers for it in her preface. "The second volume," she says, "was written amidst the anguish and alarm which revolutions occasion to a poor old woman. Although but ill-satisfied with my work, I have not courage to recommence it. I appeal, then, to the reader's indulgence for my last romance, happy in the consciousness that my pen has never traced a single word which was not dictated by my lively desire to lead men to virtue." So humble and amiable an apology disarms criticism.

Having given precedence to the ladies, we look around for some of their male colleagues who may deserve a word. Amongst the new candidates for the favour of romance-readers is a writer, signing himself Marquis de Foudras, and whose debut, if we err not, was made in conjunction with a M. de Montepin, in a romance entitled Les Chévaliers du Lansquenet– a long-winded imitation of the Sue school, extremely feeble, and in execrable taste, but which, nevertheless, obtained a sort of circulating library success. Encouraged by this, Messrs Foudras and Montepin achieved a second novel, upon the whole a shade better than the first; and then, dissolving their association, set off scribbling, each "on his own hook;" and threaten to become as prolific, although not as popular, as the great Dumas himself. The last production of M. de Foudras bears the not unattractive title of Les Gentilhommes Chasseurs. It is a series of sporting sketches and anecdotes, of various merit, in most of which the author – who would evidently convince us that he is a genuine marquis, and not a plebeian under a pseudonyme – himself has cut a more or less distinguished figure. To the curious in the science of venery, as practised in various parts of France, these two volumes may have some interest; and the closing and longest sketch of the series, a tale of shooting and smuggling adventures in the Alps, is, we suspect, the best thing the author has written. Unless, indeed, we except his account of a stag-hunt in Burgundy in 1785, in which he gives a most animated and graphic account of the mishaps of a dull-dog of an Englishman, who arrives from the further extremity of Italy to join the party of French sportsmen. Of course Lord Henry is formal, peevish, and unpolished; the very model, in short, of an English nobleman. Disdaining to mount French horses, which, he politely informs his entertainer, have no speed, and cannot leap, he has had four hunters brought from England, upon one of which, "a lineal descendant of Arabian Godolphin, and whose dam was a mare unconquered at Newmarket," he follows the first day's hunt, by the side of a beautiful countess, by whose charms he is violently smitten, and who rides a little old Limousin mare, of piteous exterior, but great merit. The pace is severe, the country heavy, the Arabian's grandson receives the go-by from the Limousin cob, and shows signs of distress. The following passage exhibits the author's extraordinary acquaintance with the customs and usages of the English hunting-field, – "We were still a-head, and had leaped I know not how many hedges, ditches, and ravines, when I observed that Lord Henry, who had refused to take either a whip or spurs, struck repeated blows on the flank of his horse, which, still galloping, writhed under the pressure of its master's fist. Looking with more attention, I presently discovered in milord's hand a sharp and glittering object, in which I recognised one of the elegant chased gold toothpicks which men carried in those days. I saw at once that poor Cœur-de-Lion was done up." In spite of the toothpick, Cœur-de-Lion refuses a leap, whereupon his master hurls away the singular spur, leaps from his saddle, draws his hunting-knife, and plunges it to the hilt in the horse's breast! – with which taste of his quality, we bid a long farewell to the Marquis de Foudras.