tered brick-bats, tiles, and branches of trees about us, startled even the oldest warriors. I fell in, at the gap of a hedge, with four soldiers, none of whom seemed willing to pass first. Their sneers at the young Yager' made me take the lead, and I stepped over the corpse of an enemy, whom our shots had just killed. I cast a melancholy look at the pale face of the dead soldier, who was immediately rifled of his watch by the man who followed me.

"We got near a house which was attacked on all sides, and, expelled by fire and smoke, six grenadiers rushed out of it, offering a close front, and presenting their bayonets to us. More than twenty shots were fired, and they sank one after the other to rise no more. I was taking aim, when a fellow-soldier, who was just loading his musket, called my attention to a Frenchman who was quietly kneeling in an open shed strapping his knapsack, as if he was preparing for a parade: "Take off that one!' said the soldier. I will not,' I replied; but at the same moment some shots from another quarter stretched the defenceless man on the ground. *** The battle continued. Without hope of coming out of it alive, I continued firing and sheltering myself behind trees for about three hours, which passed to me like so many minutes, without my being aware that on both sides of me our troops had been twice driven back by the furious onsets and the superior numbers of the enemy. It might be about seven in the evening, when a comrade called out to me, Yager, look to your left!' I quickly turned in that direction, and perceived a party of Frenchmen rushing down towards us; and at the same time I saw our major giving the signal of retreat, which was repeated by the bugle. The narrow bridge over which we had to pass was choked with people, and we stopped for some time exchanging shots with the enemy. At last we were compelled to think of our own safety: one of our officers boldly leaped into the ditch, and was wounded; I followed him, and got safely up the opposite bank, and behind some trees, where I was sheltered. Perhaps I might have got off unhurt; but at this moment a wounded friend called for my assistance, and while I was hastening towards him, three shots were fired at me; the first missed, the second separated both my bandoleers across my chest, and the third hit me under the knee and tore the muscle of the leg."

We cannot follow the writer through the melancholy details of his rescue and ultimate cure, nor enumerate the many instances of humanity, as well as of cruelty, he subsequently met with. The spirit in which the volume is written is excellent; but the work is not worth translating. To those, however, who are fond of light reading in German, we

can recommend it.

royal democracy, had run its course, and passed the fatal gates which open upon the abyss of eternity, and which time itself passes not twice. "On the eastern bank of a muddy and rapid stream, at some distance from the sea, and near to a wealthy and populous city, stood a seigneurial, though modest mansion, of graceful and almost modern architecture, sheltered from the west winds by the luxuriant foliage of thickly studded avenues of ancient elm and poplar trees. Two long iron rods, placed according to the principles of Franklin's marvellous science, rose above the roof, and preserved it from lightning. At the extremity of each rod glittered and creaked at the same time a light weathercock of gilt copper. The pediment of the building was adorned with broad escutcheons filled with initials, instead of armorial bearings designating the family to whom this ancient inheritance belonged.

"It was a dwelling of a smiling, and at the same time stern aspect. Its proximity to the river, of whose animated navigation it commanded an uninterrupted view, the variety of the scenery which surrounded it, the fertility of the soil on which it stood, and the luxuriance of the vegetation around it, rendered it a unique spot. It was a perfect solitude, but neither isolated nor dull in monotonous uniformity.

"Numerous inhabitants occupied this mansion; but none were strangers to each other.

They consisted of the old Count Richard, (he had no other name in the country,) his children, and his children's children.

"The Count had already reached an advanced age; but his simple and mild manners, the habitual calmness of his mind and temper, and the strength of a naturally healthy constitution, upon which excess had never proved its baneful influence, retarded in him that sad and inevitable debility which, in the midst of life, is the commencement of death.

"Each evening, when the last gleam of daylight had disappeared, the whole family assembled round the Count, in the drawing-room of the mansion. This apartment was large, lined with plain gray wainscot, and a bronze lamp was suspended from the ceiling. On one side of a chimney of white marble was an immense arm-chair of green morocco leather; it was old, mutilated, and worm-eaten; but the Count, who always punctually occupied it, held it in great veneration; for it was the chair of his grandfather.

"Opposite to this precious family relic was hung a large picture; the brilliant but incorrect work of a painter who had enjoyed some celebrity. The principal figure was habited in a flowing purple robe with pendant sleeves. Near him, and on a stool of black velvet, was a small chest of chased gold of exquisite workmanship. Nearer still, stood a rich and elegant table, upon which a roll of parchment half unfolded, disclosed the word AMNESTY, coupled with the date of 1825. Below was the sign

"Richard's precocious intellect, cultivated with the most assiduous care, was already developed and matured, when a dreadful reverse of fortune justified the forebodings of the faithful minister, by overturning the frail edifice of his fortune, and throwing him, proscribed and a captive, among the fragments of a soiled and broken throne. Richard had penetrated into Vincennes, the Luxembourg, and Ham. He had seen the sufferings of his grandsire, and felt the profound emotion which they inspired. He had played upon the platform of the donjon, and had sat upon the knees of his captive ancestor. The conversation, exhortations, and animated countenance of the latter, were deeply impressed on his memory; seventy years, which had elapsed since that period, had not effaced the most minute circumstance.

"He spoke little of himself,' would Count Richard say to his assembled children, ‘but a great deal of France. He never ceased exhorting us to resignation; he entreated us not to disgrace our misfortune with unworthy lamentations. All his regrets were centered in his benefactors. When their names issued from his lips, his voice would falter, his eyes fill with tears, and his language become more penetrating and more elevated. It was then alone that his heart was accessible to grief. "Shame! shame, my son! (he would exclaim,) upon those who have forgotten all! Old rights, old titles, and old misfortunes! Deeds of renown, and benefactions of past and present times; all, all have been forgotten! But when Providence gives lessons to man, it always selects virtue to aillict with misfortune!" ***

"Yes certainly,' my grandfather would say, 'the evil was deep, inveterate, perhaps incurable. If ever extreme attempts were legitimate, it was at that period. Only there was still room for delay. Who knows that if the enemy had not been attacked, he would have risked anything, or, risking everything, whether his rashness would not have facilitated his defeat and confusion? But these are now useless mysteries, which the period that could unravel them, is no longer able to disclose.

"Noble race of kings, give not way to despair! Future ages love to recall old things. Let the wind of adversity pass by!'

"It was of the Castle of Ham, that the Count had the most numerous and vivid recollections, because he had seen it at a much later period. He related old stories of this castle, which his young grandchildren often made him repeat.

It

"Sometimes he described the building. was a fortress,' he would say, 'built by the Constable Saint-Pol, during the last half of the fifteenth century, upon the site of the old castle. It formed a parallelogram, flanked at the angles with round towers, connected by very narrow ramparts. A square tower at the north-west, defended the only entrance; another tower of the same form stood on the opposite or southeast side. Two half moons from west to east, were the only external works. Parallel to the south-east rampart, and at its foot, flowed the canal of the Duke of Angoulème. The river Somme, upon whose banks the town is built, was not far off. In the court-yard were two shabby brick buildings, used as barracks. The state prison was at the extremity of one of these buildings. It was there, my dear children, that, in a small and dismal room, I used to see your great-grandfather, calm, patient, asking for nothing, complaining of no one, and forgetting none of the misfortunes of his country, save those which appertained to himself only: he had graven above his mantel-piece, the simple and mysterious device of Philip the Bold-Moult me

tarde!

"Under the old monarchy, this castle was long used as a state prison. Louis XVI., who abolished the state prisons, changed its des

tination; but under the republic it was resumed, and again altered by Louis XVIII. When Charles X. descended from the throne, state prisons came once more into use, and the castle of Ham was applied to its former purpose.

"At the extremity of the court grew, in beautiful luxuriance, an immense lime tree. This was the only tree that could be seen by the prisoners, and that only at a distance.'-' Look at that tree,' said my grandfather to me one day; it was planted by a celebrated man, called Bourdon, one of the founders of the French republic, and whom that same republic rewarded by incarceration in this prison. Captive as he was, he still obstinately adhered to his political creed, and planted on that spot a young tree, which, in conformity with the folly of the times, he consecrated to liberty. Nature in its turn, in cruel derision, chose that the tree of liberty, withered and dead everywhere else, should flourish in a prison. It still flourishes, my son; but when will liberty flourish?'

"You will no doubt ask me, (he continued,) what the tree of liberty was. It was a symbol, my son a powerless and inefficient symbolwhich awoke no recollection, excited no emotion, and had in itself nothing to inspire enthusiasm. But that tree could not kill the tree of the cross, which alone is the true symbol of liberty upon earth.'

"At other times the old Count repeated to his grandchildren some of the maxims and sayings of their ancestors.

"If any one spoke to my grandfather (would the Count say,) of those who had done him so much injury, he would reply-'We must pity and not hate them. When they were masters, you could perceive my danger, and not theirs. Revolutions are ungrateful masters to those who serve them; they often expect more than can be performed. Think ye that it was in hatred of me that these men assigned to me my present lot? No such thing. They were more occupied with their own safety than with my ruin. They

sacrificed me to the errors of others, the effects of which they thought to avert from themselves.

"We must not confound politics with the base passions of ordinary life. He who in the former, thinks he is doing you an injury may do you a service, whilst he who purposes to serve you, may do you an injury. Often when an individual is attacked, he is the last person aimed at. In his person, a number of ideal beings are pursued, themselves comprehending a host of others. In opposing him you contend against a principle, a theory, or a power, of which he is the expression and image. You would love him perhaps, if he was but himself; but in crushing him, you crush that into which he is transformed; his enemies are not his own, but the enemies of those whose friend he is.

"Let your thoughts and feelings soar then above personalities: I have no quarrel of my own; do you have no resentments or regrets. Let all your animosities merge in the love of your country. The future is deep and impenetrable, it will perhaps be as favourable to you as the present is fatal to me; and should you ever obtain power, remember my sufferings, only to avoid making others endure them. To avenge me would be a treachery to myself.'

"Revenge is often an injustice, but oftener still a fault; for one enemy of whom you rid yourself, how many new ones do you raise up against you! If it be true that generosity does not disarm hatred, rigour irritates and revolts, and such irritation is contagious.

"It is only because we are weak that we revenge ourselves; it is only when our heart is arid and our intellect contracted, that we do not pardon. Nations have an admirable instinct in detecting those weaknesses; the voice that first pronounced that dead men tell no tales, propagated a cruel error. The most dangerous

enemies a man can have, are those whom he has deprived of life.' *

One day, a plan of escape was proposed to him: I might accept your offer,' said he, if my sentence were just and legal; but as it is, I am well pleased with it, and would deprive it of none of its effects. Who cares about the iniquity of a sentence, when its execution is eluded? Were I to accede to your wishes, I should destroy its wickedness by my own fault; I should almost efface its injustice by putting an end to its operation. I must remain here, to bear daily testimony of its violence; it is right that my sufferings should be prolonged, that they may imprint upon my existence a deep and lasting memory. It is for them upon whom its responsibility weighs to get rid of me if they can. I shall certainly not save them the trouble.

"Besides, my children, reflect a moment. Plans of this description are not executed without exposing to some risk those who favour them. God forbid that I should ever expose any one to the least danger! The few years I have to live are not worth such a price.

66 6

The greatest philosopher of antiquity refused to escape, even from death. So noble a determination would, at present, perhaps, elicit surprise. True, it is scarcely comprehensible; and who would even imagine that it could be imitated in these days? But, without aspiring to such an act of heroism, which I least of any have the pretension of doing, I may nevertheless take from this example, that which is suited to an humble life and an ordinary courage.'

"Sometimes Count Richard would relate facts connected with the history of the castle, such as his grandfather was wont to entertain him with. **

"Ham,' said he at another time, 'was one of the places on the banks of the Somme, engaged by the treaty of Arras, to Philip the Good, Duke of Burgundy, and which that prince, equitable as he is represented, had no wish to restore, although he was repaid the four hundred thousand crowns of gold which he had advanced. This became a great subject of dissension and ill-will between him and the artful Louis XI. What a king was this Louis XI. What a strange and indescribable compound of contradiction was this monarch! He was lauded, censured, dreaded, and despised, all at the same time.

He threw off, after the manner of the times, the yoke which the nobles tried to fix upon his neck; he made use of the people without subjecting himself to them, and of religion, without its preventing the commission of a single crime. He was a politician, though superstitious; or rather he was superstitious because he was a politician. It was said of him that he wanted courage; but it was forgotten with what bravery he had fought before Liège, and at Montlhéry. He bears the odium of the snares into which he drew Charles the Bold, without placing in the opposite scale the criminal league against him, or the poisoner Hardy sent by his vassal of Burgundy to destroy him. On the suspicious evidence of Brantôme, the death of his brother is rashly imputed to him, although the latter died seven months after the supposed period of his being poisoned; and made a will a few days before his death, appointing Louis XI., then absent, his heir. Louis was parsimonious, cruel, implacable; but he once repented not having pardoned. He was an unnatural son, and a bad father. He took vengeance, by the death of Agnes, of the influence won by her beauty, and punished by an atrocious death the doubtful crime of Nemours. He was a king according to the spirit of his people and of the age in which he lived; displaying still more ability in adverse fortune than in prosperity. If he laid many snares for others, many were also laid for him. He never made a mistake but at Peronne; he put an end to the invasions

of the English, acquired Provence, recovered Burgundy, obtained by inheritance Anjou and Maine, brought under his controul Guienne and Normandy, and prepared the union of Britanny with France, which was effected by his successors. In fine, he was great by the great things he effected-but despicable from the culpable means he employed."

66

To these my grandfather added other details. Vade,' said he,' was born at Ham. He was a free and easy writer of songs, at a period when songs were only gay and pretty. Beranger had not yet made them serious and beautiful."

"But Ham has still a higher claim to cele brity, for it is the birth-place also of General Foy. I knew him well; I have often seen him, and had long conversations with him, far from the tumult of popular assemblies. I know not, if he were now in being, whether he would do me the same justice as he did then; but for my part, I shall ever render him the tribute due to his high character. He was a man of talent and sincerity, who followed only from afar those who influenced his opinions. He was perhaps the only one among the many orators of the same party, who was not below the reputation he had acquired.'

"An Earl of Oxford, a brave and loyal servant of the house of Lancaster, was eleven years a prisoner in the castle of Ham. He escaped at last, accompanied by the governor, Sir Walter Blount, whom he had succeeded in seducing. This was the same Earl of Oxford who fought so valiantly for Henry and Margaret at the terrible battle of Barnet, and who would have won the day, had it not been lost by a fatal mistake of the Earl of Warwick. But the fortress in which he so cruelly expiated his fidelity, was not, as is supposed, the Castle of Ham situated on the banks of the Somme. The historian is wrong; it was another castle of the same name.'

"There exists a tradition in the country, that an unfortunate capuchin friar, whose crime has always remained unknown, lived many years in a narrow dungeon in the tower, and died there with a great reputation for sanctity. The faithful long went to pray by the side of the stone which served for his pillow; and female votaries touched it with their garments. This was a simple and affecting devotion, paid to misfortune: and a marvellous virtue was attributed to it, and not without reason.'

66 6

Another tradition is prevalent, of more recent date and less uncertain in its details. A young man of the name of Lautrec, handsome, ardent, and formed for extremes-qualified for excess of virtue or excess of vice-had met with a young girl graceful and handsome as himself, but chaste, pious, full of candour and modesty. Lautrec loved her with the whole ardour of his soul-with furious and extravagant passion. The young girl was also surprised i love: but her love, though strong, was pure and innocent.

"Her condition was obscure, and she had no fortune to make up for it. He for a time imagined that her love for him would overcome her virtue. He was mistaken. The poor girl, surprised and humiliated at his offers, found an inexhaustible resource in her purity. She would have ceased to love him, had her will alone sufficed.

"Lautrec had no hope of overcoming the pride of his father, and therefore did not attempt it.

The useless passion which consumed him, became a deep-seated and obstinate disease. The hue of health fled from his cheeks, his features became thin and sharp, and his eyes lost their brilliancy. He lived apart, gloomy, morose, and taciturn. He scarcely heard those who addressed him, and replied only with moans.

"Lautrec had an uncle, still young, who had arrived at the highest dignities in the church,

and had always evinced great affection for him. This uncle remarked the change in his person and character, and put many pressing questions to him. The young man eluded and dissembled ; but the uncle, in nowise discouraged, continued his importunities. Lautrec, yielding at length, allowed his secret to escape.

"The morals of this period were not of the purest kind; and it was not usual to treat love so seriously. The uncle undertook to plead for his nephew. He saw the young girl, and exhausted every artifice, every means to shake her resolution. Sometimes he besought her, for Lautrec's sake, to renounce her love for him, in order that the object of her affection might be freed from an engagement which was fast destroying him. At others, he offered, if love were not sufficient, to add immense wealth, as an indemnity for the sacrifice he solicited for his nephew. Another time, seeing that her affection was so deeply rooted, that she had not the courage to sacrifice it, he offered her advice of another kind; giving her to understand, that any hope of a legal union being impossible, she had no remedy but to yield, if she could not conquer her passion.

"But the virtue of the young girl was not less strong than her affection. The inflexible simplicity of her youthful mind defeated every attempt to undermine her principles. The heart of the uncle was shaken in its turn, and a perverse, dreadful, and fatal idea took possession of his mind. He had attempted to seduce, but was himself seduced. So much beauty had overcome him-such extraordinary virtue had excited in him the most uncontrollable passion. The unhappy man felt the power of love, and dared to disclose it. A cry of horror and alarm was the only answer he received from the young girl;-and he fled in confusion.

"At the same instant Lautrec arrived. The object of his love shed abundant tears, and gave marks of the most violent despair. The young man, in affright and trepidation, asked the cause of such agitation. He would know it, and that immediately, without reserve or concealment. At the same time suppliant and imperious, he besought and insisted-wept and commanded. What, under such circumstances, could the poor girl do? Overcome by her own emotion and Lautrec's impetuosity-unable, in her astonishment and indignation, to calculate or foresee the consequences, she suffered some imprudent words to escape her lips, and Lautrec either learned or guessed the treachery of his uncle.

"Thunderstruck, his mind became troubled and his reason fled. He ran and seized his arms, followed his uncle, found him at the altar, covered with the emblems of his priestly dignity, struck him to the earth, and left him wallowing in his blood.

"A dungeon in the Castle of Ham was long the refuge allotted him for his crime and madness. He had been there forty years, when the revolution of 1789 broke out; he was then set at liberty but forgotten, reputed dead, and disowned by his family, he no longer found food or shelter. The town of Ham took pity upon him, and paid a poor woman to take care of him, and procure him food. He survived his freedom but three months. Perhaps he might have lived longer, if liberty, so long a stranger to him, had not too suddenly broken in upon the habits of life acquired in his dungeon.

"But if the revolution deprived the Castle of Ham of some of its inmates, it soon supplied their places with other victims. The time came when the Convention, trying its harsh and monstrous justice upon its own members, got rid in one day of Barrère, Billaud-Varennes, and Collet-d'Herbois, by transportation; and of Bourdon, Hugues, Châles, Faussedoise, Duhem, and Chiodieu, by consigning them to the Castle

of Ham.'

"Soon,' continued Count Richard, this castle received inmates of another character and another rank certain emigrants driven back to the coast of France by a storm-a Vibrage, a Choiseul, and a Montmorency, victims before ourselves of civil discord-and who were about to suffer death for the crime of being shipwrecked, the commutation of which punishment only changed the species of iniquity committed by the government, which had dared to order its infliction.

"Almost at the same period came that other victim, the same Prince Polignac, whom fate has again brought hither; an unhappy prince, whom an inexorable fatality seems to pursue. He was then implicated in the catastrophe of Moreau, Pichegru, and George Cadoudal; he has since been implicated in still greater misfortunes. He began life with a long captivity, and has again become a captive in his declining years.'

out some of the absurdities into which statesmen and politicians of every party have fallen, through ignorance or neglect of the rules that regulate reasoning by example. There is, perhaps, no phrase more common, and more misunderstood, than that which we alternately hear pronounced with reverence and with mockery-" the wisdom of our ancestors." One party imagines that the use of the phrase includes the inference, that our ancestors were wiser than we are ; and the other party, instead of showing that the five words include no such thing, gravely denounces the sentence as a mischievous sophism, and honours it with a logical refutation. The apparent ingenuity of the refutation deserves to be noticed. "The wisdom of our ancestors," saith a grave reviewer, "is a mischievous sophism when "The old Count's memory was inexhaustible. you have said that age confers the wisdom The recollections of Ham pleased him. There of experience you have explained it: we are was one point, however, upon which no one an older generation than those that have presumed to ask him any questions. He had preceded us; and to speak of the wisdom of often begun the recital of the actions of his un- past generations, is to attribute to youth the fortunate grandfather, and each time he had experience of age, and confer the honour of undertaken jt, his emotion had prevented him grey hairs on the cradle." Now, this is from proceeding. An agitation of this kind doubtless very clever reasoning, but, unforwas now considered too dangerous for his ad- tunately, it is completely misapplied: by the vanced age. But one day, the youngest of his wisdom of our ancestors, is not meant, as the grandchildren having innocently exclaimed, 'But reviewer supposes, any attribution of authograndpapa, the history of our great-great-grand-rity to our ancestors, but a sanction to cerfather. Ah! true, I will tell it to you.

what need is there of many words? This history is written, dear child. I composed and wrote it. It is engraved upon the stone which covers the remains of that man so madly cursed and persecuted. You must visit his old and modest tombstone. It is a pious pilgrimage, which children ought to undertake, and which brings them good fortune. Kneel and meditate when you are near it. Do as I have so often done: pull the moss from the stone; and if impious hands have not perpetrated upon it such mutilations as I have seen elsewhere, you will find what you seek-you will read this short epitaph, which contains the whole history of the chief of your family:

"PROSCRIBED

BECAUSE HE WAS FAITHFUL, AND CONDEMNED

AS IF HE HAD NOT BEEN SO."

Pensamenti d'Illustri Autori, &c., esposti da Stefano Egidio Petroni. London: Treuttel & Co.

NOTHING is farther from our intention than the writing a formal review of this excellent little work; when we have said that the selections are made with great taste and judgment, and that the volume is precisely of that kind which we most gladly see placed in the hands of youth, we mean to dismiss it altogether, and turn our attention to a subject which the historical portion of the work has suggested-we mean, the value of history as a guide to conduct.

Treatises on the nature of history we have in abundance; general accounts of its great use and importance are "more plenty than blackberries"; but if we except an introductory chapter in the Encyclopædia Metropolitana,' we can scarcely find any attempt to fix the canons of historical argument, and determine under what limits recorded ex

amples are to be received as valid authorities. We assuredly do not profess to supply, this deficiency, and make this article a new chapter in logic: it will be sufficient for us to note a few prevailing errors, and point

tain institutions derived from them. The

phrase is, indeed, inaccurate, but still perfectly intelligible: wisdom is attributed to those who devised certain institutions, because the experience of all succeeding generations has shown those institutions to be beneficial; and thence an implied sanction is derived for such laws or customs, not because they were originally devised by a past generation, but because they have continued to exist through several generations.

A second objection made to this unfortunate phrase, leads us to the source of all the erroneous applications of historical authority, which we have witnessed in our brief experience, namely, the neglect of the modifying circumstances which limited the utility of an institution to some particular time or place. "Laws against witchcraft, writs de heretico comburendo, &c., formed part of the wisdom of our ancestors," say certain critics. Well, so they were; and so they ought to have been. The opinions prevalent in society are an integral portion of that society's constitution, and must as such meet the attention of the legislator. If the belief in witchcraft were as general now as it was then, those laws ought to be revived, and put into active operation. They were wise laws so long as they remained in accordance with the habits, the feelings, and the belief of the age; but when these changed, the preservation of such laws would have been monstrous folly.

That an institution might be a blessing in one generation, and a curse in the next, is a matter that seems to escape the notice of many readers, and even many writers of history. The papal usurpation of Hildebrand, or Gregory VII. has been almost universally reprobated by historians; and yet it is perfectly demonstrable, that his extravagant assumption of authority was, for a time, productive of very great and important benefits. The sanctity of the gown was then the only protection from the tyranny of the sword. Religion was the only antagonizing force to

feudal despotism; and it was necessary to make the church a substantive independent power, in order that it should compete with the violence and cruelty of conquerors, who estimated victories proportionate to the numbers slain, rather than advantages won; and measured the value of conquests more by the diffusion of misery than the extension of territory. Hildebrand deserves, in some degree, the gratitude of posterity, since he first set the example of organizing resistance to despotism; and though he made no effort to establish liberty, he at least raised a power, under whose protection some free principles could germinate in safety. The changes of realm and the chances of time, led to a period when the power of the church became an engine of oppression: indeed, it was necessarily so, whenever it leagued with the state; but this change of circumstances is forgotten by orators and writers: they look to the evils that arose when ecclesiastical

domination was united with regal despotism, but forget that it must have greatly tended to alleviate civil thraldom when it stood in a contrary position.

Perhaps the most ludicrous exemplification of this tendency to search for abstract principles in history, with a complete disregard of the modifying circumstances, is to be found in the disputes respecting the early constitution of England. As a practical guide to the politician, it is not worth a single

straw to determine whether the Saxon monarchy was as despotic as that of Russia, or as, republican as that of France-whether the Wittenagemot was an annual parliament or a privy council. The explanation of the difficulty would not confer an additional right on prince or people; for constitutions are not to be framed for non-existent customs, departed feelings, forgotten habits, and modes of faith and practice that have long since sunk into oblivion, but must be suited to the circumstances of the period in which they are adopted.

How often have we heard some such con-. versation as the following: "Avoid such a change, it leads to revolution."-"That is the very reason I will support it." But, in fact, the reasons assigned by both amount precisely to-nothing. A word of four syllables sounds very well, and rolls glibly off the tongue; but it must not be mistaken for an argument. A revolution may be a great or a small change-may be a blessing or a curse-may lead to happiness or misery -or may eventually leave matters pretty nearly as it found them. Of every species of these revolutions we have examples in history; and to quote one of them per se as a parallel, without proving that all circumstances are precisely similar, is an act either of folly or knavery. Magna Charta was a revolution-the Bill of Rights a revolution -Christianity itself a great revolution;-and to assert that there should be no more revolutions, is to declare that the only duty of a legislature is to register absurdities and consecrate abuses. Just as absurd is the contrary argument, that benefits must result from every revolution: we have witnessed one where the price paid for the benefit was a disproportionate mass of misery and suffering.

We have met, in speeches and pamphlets published during the last two centuries, such gross perversions of historical autho

rities, that we hold it our duty to call public attention to the subject. History, studied closely and diligently, with a careful examination of all contingent circumstances, is truly a valuable practical guide; but read lightly and carelessly, examined only to furnish matter for turning a sentence or rounding a period, it is worse "than an old almanac," and is more likely to mislead than to instruct. To it the hackneyed quotation of Pope is most perfectly applicable

There, shallow draughts intoxicate the brain,
But drinking largely sobers it again.

Qanoon-e-Islam, or the Customs of the Moosulmans of India; comprising a full and exact account of their various Rites and Ceremonies, from the moment of birth till the hour of death. By Jaffur Shurreef. Translated by G. A. Herklots, M.D. London: Parbury, Allen & Co.

lume, but it seems one of the highest interWE have only had time to dip into this voing. It is a translation by Dr. Herklots, est, though it may not be equally entertainfrom a work written at his request by a Mohummudan native of India, descriptive of the manners and customs of his countrymen. The plan followed by the writer is to trace an individual from the period of his birth, (and even before it,) through all the forms and ceremonies which religion, superstition, and custom, impose upon him-but

the writer's intention will be best collected

from his preface, which is so truly original

and characteristic, that we have determined to extract it entire, although we have not time to offer any opinion on the work itself.

66 THE AUTHOR'S PREFACE.
In the name of Gon,
the Merciful and
Compassionate!

Lord, Prosper {

Work

}

and finish this thy blessing! "Glory be to that God who has, out of a drop of fluid, created such a variety of creatures, rational and irrational! Adored be that Creator, who has established such a variety of forms, statures, and vocal sounds among them, though their origin is the same pure, liquid, and genuine spirit!

"In Praise of the Prophet (i. e. Mohummud).

"A thousand thousand salutations and benedictions are due to his sublime holiness Mo

hummud Moostufa† (the blessing and peace of God be with him!) through whose grace the sacred Qoran descended from the Most High! How inadequate is man justly to praise and eulogize him! Salutation and blessing, also, to his companions and posterity!

""

My object in composing the present work is this: I, Jaffur Shurreef, alias Lala Meean, son of Allee Shurreef (who has received mercy‡), of the Qoreish tribe, born at Nagore (may God illuminate his tomb, pardon his iniquities, and sanctify his soul!) a native of Ooppoo Elloor (Ellore), have for a considerable time been in attendance upon English gentlemen of high rank and noble mind (may their good fortune ever continue!), and under the shadow of their wings have nourished both soul and body; or, in other words, my office has been that of a teacher of language.

Europeans would not only read it with pleasure, but would derive much useful information from its perusal. However, hitherto, owing to want of leisure, this humble individual + has not been able to undertake anything of the kind. But, in the present instance, at the earnest request of (a possessor of favour and kindness, a man humanity, a fountain of generosity, a just apof great learning and magnanimity, a mine of preciator of the worth of both high and low, weil versed in the mysteries of philosophy, a Plato of the age, in medicine a second Galen, nay, the Hippocrates of the day), Dr. Herklots (a man of virtue, an ocean of liberality, may his good fortune ever continue and his age increase!); I have endeavoured, to the extent of my poor abilities, to arrange this work under different

heads and entitled it 'QANOON-E-ISLAM,§ i. e. The Customs of the Moosulmans.

"Although various Hindoostanee authors have occasionally adverted to similar subjects, yet no work extant contains so full an account of them as has been given here.

"I have also included in it, local customs which have been superadded to the laws prescribed by the sacred Qoran and Huddees observed by Moosulmans, in order that the liberal

minded Englishman should not continue igno

ceremony observed by Moosulmans. rant of, or remain in the dark as to any rite or

"Although the author (who deems himself no wiser than a teacher of the ABC) be somewhat acquainted with the science of divinity

(i.e. the knowledge of the interpretation of the

Qoran and the Huddees, precepts of Mohum

mud), as well as with law and medicine, he has

confined himself merely to a narration of the established and indispensable customs commonly

observed by Moosulmans in the Dukhun, and

to an idiom of language calculated to be understood by even the most illiterate.

"Of him who can judge of the state of the pulse of the pen (i.e. estimate the beauty of composition), and is likewise erudite, I have this request to make, that should he observe any errors in it, he would kindly consign them to oblivion, by erasing them with his quill.

"This work was completed Anno Hijræ 1248, corresponding with Anno Domini 1832."

Life and Pontificate of Gregory the Seventh.

By Sir Roger Greisley, Bart. London:
Longman & Co.

THERE lived at Rome, in other days, a race of priests who asserted a right to make or unmake kings-take or give away countries

doom to perdition those they hated, and raise to heaven those they loved;-who gave indulgence for sin, and remission for transgression-placed a bar on the way to heaven, and exacted a heavy toll from all travellers

and who, while they claimed infallibility to themselves, made fallibility the portion of the rest of mankind. Of those audacious men the most remarkable was Hildebrand, who, from the obscure condition of monk, rose gradually to the Papal Throne, and for eleven years and more made himself

"Literally this know-nothing;' one of the many expressions of humility which Oriental writers are ac customed to use in speaking of themselves; such as 'this sinner; this beggar;' this slave.""

"At the very earnest solicitation of the author, the translator has been prevailed upon (very much against his own inclination) to allow the above hyperbolical en logiums to remain, though conscious of his being little entitled to them. He has been induced to accede to the author's wish, more particularly to show the remarkepistolary correspondence, as well as their intercourse able proneness of this class of people to flattery. In their with each other, they are equally lavish of praise. A somewhat similar specimen will likewise be found at the conclusion of the work."

9 More strictly 'rules (canons) of the Mohummudan religion."

the terror of the nations of Europe. To the delineation of his character Sir Roger Greisley has dedicated this volume; from the scattered notices of friends and foes-letters of remonstrance or insult to princes-decrces regarding salvation and obedience-bulls, which settled alike all questions, religious, political, or domestic-excommunications of all natures and ordinances of all hues, the author has extracted a biography which throws some little light upon the darkness of the eleventh century. He has, however, brought more knowledge than moderation to the task: he delights more in showing the deformities than the merits of his subject, and seems much too willing to attribute all the proceedings of his victim to a love of power alone, and a natural desire to domineer. We have no doubt that many of those acts arose from a real belief in the right of the church, and from a wish to do good to the souls of men: be that as it may, our biographer has composed his work in something of a new spirit: he desires to expose rather than honour the character which he draws: he sets up an image, not for us to admire, but to join him in throwing stones at. We scarcely know what the writer can mean in thus making the object of his solicitude

A fixed figure, for the hand of scorn

To point his slow unmoving finger at.

It is true that in former times the head of the Romish Church resembled a wild beast strong and ravenous, with sharp teeth and claws cruel and clutching, and a capacity of swallow vast and portentous: but now, in these our days, he is harmless enough: he is oppressed with age, his claws are cut never to grow again, his teeth are all plucked out, save a stump or two; the merest children may now approach him as they would do the stuffed skin of a tiger-nay, admire his fine colours, stroke his velvet paws, and pat his grisly nose in perfect security. It has been the pleasure of the author to write his book in his own manner, and we must take it as it is. On this point he may as well speak

for himself:

"Let me invite the Catholic and Protestant reader to peruse these pages, and see, in the eleventh century, the establishment of those doctrines of the Roman church by which it has ever since, up to this period, been distinguished; and which, till then, were, for many ages, in a wavering and unsettled state. A simple monk, emerging from his cloister, and assuming the direction of the public affairs of the Roman Catholic church, surmounted every obstacle, and opened a way to his successors by which they might place themselves in the sphere of angels and of gods. It was Gregory who taught the Leos, and Sixtuses, and Piuses how to govern people without the force of arms; a lesson hitherto neither forgotten nor abandoned. A sound but subtle policy, inflexible constancy, unshaken courage, placed the popes upon that throne, from which they have never, but for a feverish moment, been deposed. Since their restoration, the blind and idle credulity of the people, which served them as a footstool, has increased; and had the French nation yielded to that yoke which the Jesuits would have imposed on it, the days of excommunication and dethronements would have been revived."

Hildebrand was born about the year 1020, in Soana: his father was a citizen of good character: his uncle was Abbot in the monastery of St. Mark; there is some foundation for the sounding language of his epitaph,

that he was "nobly educated." He was early distinguished for his learning, his inflexibility of purpose, and tameless intrepidity of spirit: in those fluctuating times, when empires shifted to and fro like shadows on the water, the monk Hildebrand was ever the foremost to support the church against all conquerors, and, like the saint under whose banner he warred, he was as ready with the sword as the tongue. He seems to have been one of the first to perceive that the power of the Pope might be extended over the bodies as well as minds of men by a judicious use of the name of St. Peter, and a liberal interpretation of those mysterious words in Scripture about carrying the key. The first step towards this was the release which Rome gave the monkish institutions from the control of their bishops: the second was the claim set up, and allowed, for the Pope's supremacy over all the princes and priests of Christendom: the third was the substitution of tradition for Scripture; and the fourth was auricular confession. The

high deservings on the part of Hildebrand were at length rewarded by the papal chair.

As soon as he was, in the usual way, acknowledged by the kings of the earth, he began to display his ambition, and put forth his power. He claimed the kingdom of Spain because it was of old "the right of St. Peter," and, though he did not desire to reign there, he demanded his "just tribute": he desired to place himself at the head of the Christian army-march to Constantinople-reduce the Armenian dissenters by the sword-unite the churches of the east and west-and, having fixed the banner of the true religion on the walls of Jerusalem, return and reign in Rome. He spoke kindly and mildly to William the Conqueror of England, because that sagacious king paid all the dues of the church: he reproached, in fierce language, the King of France for adultery, rapine,perjury, and fraud, and more particularly for having robbed some Italian merchants on their way to a French fair he interfered in the affairs of Muscovy disputed the powers of the King of Arragon within his own kingdom-and, finally, he wrote to the King of Denmark to place the church in that country, and all that it contained, under the care of the see of Rome.

The ambition of Gregory alarmed the Emperor, Henry the Fourth-a prince, brave and pusillanimous by turns: he was affronted by the pontiff's interference with the religious affairs of his kingdom: enraged, some say, at the dalliance between his Holiness and Matilda; and having a sharp sword, and not a very clear understanding, he rushed headlong into every scheme which presented itself to his fancy. His wrath boiled over in words at first:

"Henry, not by usurpation, but by Divine dispensation, king, to Hildebrand, not an apostolic, but a false monk. Having, even in spite of my subjects, conducted myself as a most obedient son, whilst I expected to receive from you the treatment becoming a father, I have received only such as might have proceeded from the implacable enemy of my life and kingdom. You have taken from me that hereditary dignity of emperor which was due to me from the apostolic see; by the most villanous acts, you have attempted to alienate from me the kingdom of Italy; you have proudly, and in the face of every law, human and divine, heaped insults and injuries upon the most reverend bishops, who are united to me as members to the body: and although I have borne all these affronts with un

speakable patience, attributing my conduct to tameness and indifference, you have raised yourself up against me, and given me to understand that it is necessary either that you should die, or that I should lose my life and kingdom. Wherefore, thinking it more fitting to reply by deeds rather than words to such an unheard-of act of contumacy, those matters have been published in a general assembly of the great lords of my kingdom, which, out of respect, have hitherto been suppressed; and it is plainly demonstrated that you can no longer maintain yourself by any means in the chair of St. Peter. It being, therefore, my bounden duty to adhere to this decision, I take from you all right to the papacy, and I command you to depart from that city, the patricianship of which has been granted to me both by God and by the Romans."

Gregory far excelled Henry in such fulminations: he replied by the following sentence of excommunication:

"St. Peter, Prince of the Apostles, lend us your ears, and listen to your servant whom you have cherished from his infancy, and delivered out of the hands of those who have a common enmity to him and you. And you, mother of

God! St. Paul, and all the saints, bear witness, how the holy Roman church raised me by force, and against my will, to the government; although I should have preferred rather to pass my days in a continual pilgrimage than to ascend thy pulpit for any human motive. Inasmuch as I think that it will be grateful to you that the Christian people trusted to my care should obey me; supported by these hopes, and for the honour and the defence of the church, in the name of the omnipotent God the Father, Son, and Holy King Henry, son of the Emperor Henry, who, Ghost, by my authority and power, I prohibit with unheard-of pride, has raised himself up against your church, from governing the kingdoms of Germany and Italy. I absolve all

Christians from the oath which they have taken

to him; and I forbid all men to yield him that

service which is due to a king. Finally, since he has not chosen to obey as becomes a Christian; has communicated with persons excluded from the communion of the faithful; has despised the warnings which I had given him for the good of his own soul; and has separated himself from

the church, whilst he endeavoured to extermiwith the bonds of anathema, that all people may nate her authority; I, in thy name, bind him know that thou art Peter, and that upon thee the Son of God hath built his church, against which the gates of hell cannot prevail."

The effect of these words would be laughter in our day it was otherwise then ;-Henry was left without a home or a subject: he humbled himself-came barefoot to Rome when snow was on the ground to make his submission: the pontiff, who was in his palace with Matilda, went to receive him:

"Henry presented himself at the first gate of the fortress, and there, in the most abject submission, awaited to see what would be required of him. He was made to enter alone, having left all his suite outside the first of the three walls which girt the fortress; and at the second barrier he laid aside all the insignia of his dignity, and put on a simple woollen tunic. Here he stood barefooted, in the depth of winter, without food, from morning until night, for three whole days, imploring with loud lamentations the mercy of God and of the pope. On the fourth day, being admitted into the presence of the pontiff, after much controversy, he was absolved from the excommunication on the following terms:—that he should appear, at any given time and place which Gregory should appoint, before a general council of the German princes, to answer to their charges, in presence of the pope himself, if the latter should deem it