banker had been left quiet in his counting-house at Geneva. On Mirabeau's address for the remanding of the troops, when that orator, for the first time, put forth all the powers of his eloquence, the queen and her party could no longer contain their indignation against the want of influence and apparent insignificance of Necker. He received an order from the king to retire secretly, and he honourably obeyed the injunction by setting off at night and reaching the frontier, ere news could be had even of his departure. The news of his dismissal reached Paris July the 13th, and immediately the insurrection burst forth -the green cockade, Necker's livery, was worn, and his bust, with that of Orleans, was carried in processionthe troops in the Place Louis Quinze were insulted, and fired on by the French guards in insurrection-the royalist troops never returned the fire tisdifficult to conceive what brought them there. The next day the Bastille was destroyed, and the triumph of the popular party complete. Louis in person acquainted the assembly of his determination to remand the troops, entreating them at the same time to send a deputation of their members to calm the Parisians.

Our readers need not be alarmedwe do not intend troubling them here with a history of the Revolution, but we could not help recapitulating the leading features of its commencement, concerning the causes and errors of which there has been so much controversy. The controversy is necessarily confined to the period of the Assemblée Constituante; for after the disappearance of both royalist and constitutional party, any friendly sentiments towards one body or another, must be merely comparative. We may pity Condorcet, if we compare him with his Jacobin enemies-we may admire the boldness of Tallien, in the overthrow of Roberspierre; but considered as individual men, or single parties, they excite no feeling but abhorrence and disgust. France has of late, it must be confessed, heard strange doctrines from her tribune, but so violently indecorous as to alienate many of the liberal party from their friends. The very day on which a deputation was appointed by the Chamber to attend the ceremonial of the 21st of January-the anniversary of the death

of Louis the XVI. Mr Manuel pleaded the cause of the Convention:

"Ne cherchons pas," says he, "à faire de cette discussion une arêne pour combattre le gouvernement existant alors, (the Convention), reconaissons que ce qu'il a fait, il a pu, il a du le faire." Happily for France, these sentiments are unechoed, and there is not in that country, perhaps, another man that would utter them—and aptly they seem to fall from the mouth of him who proclaimed Napoleon the II.

That which was considered the great bulwark against revolutions-their novelty and want of precedent, was the very circumstance which, more than all others, facilitated their completion. The sanguine and confident, a character prevalent in France, remained satisfied that the tendency of things was towards rectitude and or der-they considered but as a passing ebullition, what in reality was a rapidly-spreading sentiment, and esteemed it quite unnecessary to put in practice the defensive arms of unity and party discipline, which the promoters of anarchy had recourse to for offensive measures. The Revolution in England was considered as an exception in the natural course of human affairs, instead of being taken into account as an obvious phenomenon. The Constitutionalists and nobles united, could have at first overwhelmed the Republicans, even before such a hydra had arisen as Jacobinism. It was the want of discipline to the rules of party that destroyed the aristocrats, and consequently the moderate revolutionists; for, notwithstanding the declamations of the ignorant against party and party spirit, nothing great or good can be effected, nor anything destructive prevented without obedience to it. But the laws of popular assemblies have developed themselves-the world is aware of their inevitable tendency, and that no society could exist in the vicinity of such a volcano without establishing checks of one kind or another upon its indomitable spirit. England and France have had their revolutions and their contra-revolutions; and each, though at distant intervals, follows the same path of progression, leaving the popular tendency in active force, but assured of its being ever repressed within its legitimate bounds by one great safe-guard, viz. the dread that every wise citizen must entertain

punishment had more than its proposed effect; it did more than send him to a distance from his party,-it alienated their hopes and affections from him altogether. "What political design could be founded on such a fellow," said Mirabeau, " that permitted La Fayette to drive him into England?" Lacretelle assumes the highest degree of culpability in Orleans, more indeed than can be credited of so weak and so insignificant a character. The crowds that were long accustomed to collect at the PalaisRoyal, may be accounted for without supposing that they were bribed to frequent an agreeable place of resort. The Café du Foy was chosen by the haranguers of the day to expatiate in, since, by being within the precincts of a royal palace, it was more secure from the interference of the police, and Orleans may have tolerated what he did not actively excite. Besides, as was observed during the late discussion on the press, there were but two journals published at Paris in the year 1789,-the Gazette de France, and the Journal de Paris, and the difficulty of obtaining these, together with their complete silence as to the debates of the Constituent Assembly, drove all persons to the spot where they were most likely to hear tidings of what was going forwards. Those who came from Versailles, where the Assembly sate, got up of course to tell their news, those who pretended to have tidings, got up and inventedand from such to passing judgment and discussing the several points under debate, was but a little step. It was a fundamental principle among the followers of the house of Orleans, that a certain degree of opposition to the court was necessary to the greatness and influence of this minor branch of the royal family, and how far the then Duke extended this principle, is a question not easy to be answered. Lacretelle and those of the party which that historian seems at present attached to, seek to throw the blame of the Revolution off the French people in general, and to make Orleans a kind of scape-goat to bear the universal load of horror and of crime. The historian gives a very eloquent and spirited description of the scenes of the 5th and 6th of October; but Mirabeau traversing the ranks sword in hand, and Orleans smiling amidst the

groups of his hired assassins, are not borne out by history. Passionate writers are fond of these supererogations of crime-they may do very well in poetry, but the sober prose narration of these dreadful events is horrific enough, Heaven knows, without such strained embellishments.

But we have sufficiently discussed the merits of a history that treats of a period so well known. We have marked the side to which it inclines, and the personages it has pourtrayed with exaggeration ;-a cry has been raised against it, much the same as that which in this country assailed the writer "who first dared to shed the generous tear for the fates of Charles and Strafford." In eloquence and in. sympathy for misfortune, the historian under review may be said to resemble Hume; but the calm, philosophic spirit, equally at home in feeling or irony, in profound research or elegant insouciance, is not to be found in any writer, indeed, on the other side of our Channel. We shall conclude with a sample of the work, in which the author sums up the merits and labours of the Constituent Assembly.

"To avoid continual digressions, I shall describe the political situation of France at the epoch when the Constituent Assembly chose to abdicate its right to conduct that revolution which it had commenced. The constitution which it had created with so much fatigue, and in a manner little worthy of the united talent of the body, met that fate which always attends the testaments of kings absolute during life, but braved with impunity when they are no more. The Assembly became conscious, but too late, of the defects of its handywork. Liberty was by no means established, for authority was no where firm. The throne was stript of all its splendour, all its dignity, of all which awes and captivates the imagination of a people. The monarch, whom it sought to reenthrone, had undergone a humiliating captivity. Public authority was split and divided among innumerable ministers, independent one of the other, and able to break at will the imaginary links of subordination. The Assembly had detached from the executive power I know not what authority of administration, which was scattered through numerous departments, and separated through a thousand dis

tricts and municipalities. It had rivals everywhere, arbiters nowhere. To propriety, that principal bulwark of representative governments, there had been offered but an illusive security. There was no constitutional check imposed to restrain the succeeding Assembly, which might be expected to be more ardent than the foregoing and no rampart against the passions of new men, but the constitution itself, a few insignificant pages, vainly consecrated by the oaths of a frivolous and an impious rabble. It was nothing but an awkward conglomeration of the laws of mixt governments, with the forms of pure democracy ever predominant. All was sovereignty, all was combat. The experience of the dissensions and tumult necessarily attendant on a single Chamber, had not warned them to divide the legislative power. To the monarch they had left, for his portion of authority, but a veto, limited in its institution, unfortunate

in its exercise. Nor had he enough of offices in his gift to rally around his throne men of talent and ambition, he had merely the power to bribe the mercenary with the revenue of the civil list, the only point in which the Constituent Assembly had behaved towards him with liberality. And even this gift was fatal, since the civil list afforded an eternal source of accusations on the score of corruption and interestedness against the honest defenders of the constitutional throne. Royalty elevated itself but to become more odious and more humbled.

"This then was the effect, so long in producing and in being vaunted, which France derived from an Assembly, for ever celebrated by an unrivalled union of talents, and even of virtues. It deeply proves, how vain is genius itself in the path of government and politics,-blind, if it outsteps experience-unfortunate, if it disdains it."

THE most delightful of all seasons is now rapidly approaching; and after a little coy, reluctant delay in the beginning of the month, seems ready to burst upon us in full glory. An English spring partakes of the national characteristics of our country. She is cold, shy, and reserved, but not, on that account, found less deserving of regard, on more intimate acquaintance; and the value of her warmth of character, when developed, is greatly enhanced by the first impression of her chill exterior.

Our late mild winter has indeed seemed but a continual preparation of Spring; unusual phenomena in the vegetable world have gladdened our eyes throughout that long and generally severe season; and earth has beheld with surprise her forward children "glinting forth" at a time when all nature is usually wrapped in deathlike sleep. However grateful we may feel for such a prologue, the appearance of the favourite performer in the full piece is not less rapturously applauded, and Spring's lovely self is hailed by every bosom that has a heart susceptible of pleasurable sensation. When I look around me after a few days of genial weather, I am in perfect astonishment at the change which has everywhere taken place. A fort

night ago, a keen east wind blew bitterly on the birth of the young Spring, and retarded her progress in a manner the most trying to rural pa tience, when we are anxiously on the look-out for that delicious revolution: in the face of Nature which April sometimes brings. This unkind blast threatened ruin to our orchards and gardens; the wall-fruit shrunk and shrivelled beneath its influence; the few adventurous leaves and buds that had left their downy cells, seemed to stand shivering and looking at each other as though they would have gladly retreated again, if possible; reminding one of a knot of shy young ladies hesitating at the door of a drawing-room, and unwilling to encounter the horrors of an entrée. In both instances, after a little previous delay, they suddenly rush in all at once, and I will not venture to say in which case the spectator is most charmed. It is a very delightful circumstance attached to Spring, that however often she visits us, she is perpetually new. I have welcomed her return through very many successive years, but yet, many though they be, my enjoyment of the novelty of Spring rather increases than abates. Indeed, the mind that is once sensible to this wonderful transition from the seeming

death of inanimate nature to universal life and joy throughout her several kingdoms, must continue to feel it as often as it returns. Every Winter will give the same degree of preparation to the mind, and it will be in the same state of readiness to receive the balmy influence which the green-robed Nymph will shed upon it. That this familiarity with her charms should not produce indifference, is one of the numerous boons of Providence which need only to be thought of to be duly appreciated; and which, delightful in itself, is the more valuable from being a blessing of such universal diffusion, without distinction of rank or condition.

It has always been the fashion to quiz an Englishman for his perpetual recurrence to the subject of the weather. For my part, I consider it one of his many respectable nationalities. It arises, I imagine, from that deeply seated rurality which is at the centre of every Englishman's heart; and which, trim, shape, and varnish him as you will, will remain inseparably interwoven with his original texture. The weather, with him, is connected with those vital interests of his country with which every Englishman is more or less directly concerned; his feelings are awakened by a thousand motives of interest, profit or pleasure; he feels deeply for the prosperity of those agricultural prospects on which the welfare of the community depends; and it is the privilege of an Englishman to feel sensitively the visitations of what we, in our limited wisdom, are pleased to call bad; that is, as it appears to us, unseasonable weather. Without per haps an acre of land of his own, he has that intimate connection with the country, that his hopes, fears, and sympathies, are excited without proportion to the stake he himself holds. As a sportsman, too, he feels dependent on the weather for the pleasures of the field; and a good or bad season of partridges is with him almost as momentous an affair as the harvest to the farmer. It is the ruling passion with the English to join agricultural pursuits to the more elegant avocations of learn ing and taste. The highest ranks indulge, without any idea of degradation, this love of rural employments. Our late beloved Monarch, who was himself the purest model of the truly dignified character of an English coun

try gentleman, delighted to forget the ennui of state, in the animating occupation of farming. The interests and pleasures, therefore, of so numerous a class of men, will always render the trite topic of the weather interesting. It is quite another affair with a Frenchman. The Grand Seigneur, who receives from his steward his revenues at his hotel at Paris, cares little whe ther it has rained or shone the whole year round-his gold has not a whit the less lustre. It is true, he likes vastly to walk abroad in fine weather-to call it superbe magnifique même ; because it allows him to figure in the Tuilleries Gardens, without risk of the damp relaxing the fierce curl of his moustaches, and to gallant the ladies in an evening excursion, without spotting his silk stockings. I would not be thought a prejudiced Englishman, who could see no merit in men of other countries. I will allow our lively neighbours to shine in their agreeable me tropolis-to enjoy their brilliant dexterity of conversation-their polished manners-their goût de la société. I envy them not; it is sufficient for me to have been born and bred an Englishman; who, whatever temporary vagaries he may play, will never cease to be at bottom a rural animal.

I do not allow the unfortunate class of beings yclept Cockneys to be an exception to the principle I have just laid down; they cannot be said properly to have any country, as they are to be found in the capitals of every nation under the sun, and form a totally distinct species.

Amongst the many blessings I possess, I reckon a fine family of boys and girls not the least of my English comforts; and who, though none of them can be called bandsome, have that which with me is an equivalent for beauty-the healthy bloom, the free and open countenance, which testify to their having inhaled, from their birth, the pure air of the country. To these children, indeed, the country is a second mother; and I have accustomed them, from their earliest years, to look for their highest gratifications from that source. Nor are they permitted to be fastidious about seasons; they are not fair-weather heroes, but have learned that every aspect of nature has its peculiar charms. I have, however, invariably found them share, in what I should deem, the univer