New York, 1820, 8vo; The Queen's Case Stated in an Address to the King, Lond., 1820, 8vo; Historical Sketch of Arthur, Duke of Wellington, Brighton, 1852, 8vo; Napoleon the Third, Lond., 1854, 8vo; Thoughts on Capital Punishments, Lond., 1857, 8vo, 4th edit., 1859, 8vo, new edit., 1866, demy 8vo (see Brief Reply to, etc., by Rev. J. W. Watkin, Lond., 1858, 8vo). See Speeches of Phillips, Curran, and Grattan, Phila., 1831, 8vo, 1846, 8vo; Lond. Gent. Mag., 1859, i. 434 (Obituary), and Allibone's Crit. Dictionary of English Lit., ii. 1581 (Phillips's Defence of Courvoisier)."

still to continue (as there is every reason to
suppose) a social being and capable of
friendship, it seems contrary to all proba-
bility that he should cast off or forget his
former friends, who are partakers with him
of the like exaltation. He will, indeed, be
greatly changed from what he was on earth,
and unfitted, perhaps, for friendship with
such a being as one of us is Now; but his
friend will have undergone (by supposition)
a corresponding change. And as we have
seen those who have been loving playfellows
in childhood, grow up, if they grow up with
good, and with like, dispositions, into still
closer friendship in riper years, so also it is
probable that when this our state of child-
hood shall be perfected, in the maturity of a
better world, the like attachment will con-
tinue between those companions who have
trod together the Christian path to glory,
and have "taken sweet counsel together,
and walked in the house of God as friends."
A change to indifference towards those who
have fixed their hearts on the same objects
with ourselves during this earthly pilgrim-bros.,
age, and have given and received mutual aid
during their course, is a change as little, I
trust, to be expected, as it is to be desired.
It certainly is not such a change as the
Scriptures teach us to prepare for.

CHARLES PHILLIPS, born at Sligo, Ireland, 1787, admitted to the University of Dublin, 1802, entered the Middle Temple, 1807, called to the Irish bar, 1811, and to the English bar 1821, Commissioner of Bankruptcy at Liverpool, 1842, and a Commissioner of the Court of Insolvent Debtors, 1846, until his death, 1859. He acquired great reputation at the bar for impassioned, flowery eloquence. The Consolations of Erin, a Poem, 1811, 4to, Lond., 1818, 4to; The Loves of Celestine and St. Aubert, a Romantic Tale, Lond., 1811, 2 vols. 12mo; The Emerald Isle, a Poem, Lond., 1812, 4to, New York, 1813, 12mo, Lond., 1818, 8vo; Historical Character of Napoleon, Lond., 1817, 8vo; The Lament of the Emerald Isle [for the Princess Charlotte], 1817, 8vo, 6th edit., Lond., 1818, 8vo: Speeches Delivered at the Bar and on Several Public Occasions in Ireland and England, Lond., 1817, 8vo, 1822, 8vo, 1839, 8vo, New York, 1817, 8vo, Phila., 1818, 8vo; Recollections of John Philpot Curran and some of his Contemporaries, Lond., 1818, Svo, 5th edit., 1857, post 8vo, New York, 1818, 8vo; Specimens of Irish Eloquence, etc. [with Biographical Notices of Burke, Curran, Plunkett, Flood], Lond., 1819, 8vo,

"O'Garnish's style is pitiful to the last degree. He ought by common consent to be driven from the bar."-SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH TO A. H. EVERETT: N. Amer. Review, Oct. 1832, 448, n.

"Charles Phillips was worth a gross of Sheils. and strains of genuine feeling in his speeches, that There were frequent flashes of fine imagination, showed Nature intended him for an orator. In the midst of his most tedious and tasteless exaggerations, you still feel that Charles Phillips had a heart," etc.-CHRISTOPHER NORTH: Noctes AmDec. 1828: Blackw. Mag., xxiv. 703. See also xii. 58; Moore's Memoirs, etc., vii. 1856, 44.

CHARACTER OF NAPOLEON BONAPARTE.

He is fallen! We may now pause before that splendid prodigy, which towered amongst us like some ancient ruin, whose frown terrified the glance its magnificence attracted.

Grand, gloomy, and peculiar, he sat upon the throne, a sceptred hermit, wrapt in the solitude of his own originality.

A mind bold, independent, and decisive,a will despotic in its dictates,-an energy that distanced expedition, and a conscience pliable to every touch of interest, marked the outline of this extraordinary character,-the most extraordinary, perhaps, that, in the annals of this world, ever rose, or reigned, or fell.

Flung into life in the midst of a Revolution that quickened every energy of a people who acknowledged no superior, he commenced his course, a stranger by birth, and a scholar by charity!

With no friend but his sword, and no fortune but his talents, he rushed into the lists where rank, and wealth, and genius had arrayed themselves, and competition fled from him as from the glance of destiny. He knew no motive but interest,-he acknowledged no criterion but success,-he worshipped no God but ambition, and with an eastern devotion he knelt at the shrine of his idolatry.

Subsidiary to this, there was no creed that he did not profess, there was no opinion that he did not promulgate; in the hope of a dynasty, he upheld the Crescent; for the sake

of a divorce, he bowed before the Cross: the orphan of St. Louis, he became the adopted child of the Republic; and with a parricidal ingratitude, on the ruins both of the throne and the tribune, he reared the fabric of his despotism.

A professed Catholic, he imprisoned the Pope; a pretended patriot, he impoverished the country; and in the name of Brutus, he grasped without remorse, and wore without shame, the diadem of the Cæsars!

Through this pantomime of his policy, Fortune played the crown to his caprices. At his touch, crowns crumbled, beggars reigned, systems vanished, the wildest theories took the colour of his whim, and all that was venerable, and all that was novel, changed places with the rapidity of a drama. Even apparent defeat assumed the appearance of victory,-his flight from Egypt confirmed his destiny--ruin itself only elevated him to empire.

But if his fortune was great, his genius was transcendent; decision flashed upon his councils; and it was the same to decide and perform. To inferior intellects his combinations appeared perfectly impossible, his plans perfectly impracticable; but in his hands, simplicity marked their development, and success vindicated their adoption.

His person partook the character of his mind, if the one never yielded in the inet, the other never bent in the field.

Cradled in the camp, he was to the last hour the darling of the army; and whether in the camp or the cabinet, he never forsook a friend or forgot a favour. Of all his soldiers, not one abandoned him, till affection was useless, and their first stipulation was for the safety of their favourite.

They knew well that if he was lavish of them, he was prodigal of himself; and that if he exposed them to peril, he repaid them with plunder. For the soldier he subsidized every body; to the people he made even pride pay tribute. The victorious veteran glittered with his gains; and the capital, gorgeous with the spoils of art, became the miniature metropolis of the universe. In this wonderful combination, his affectation of literature must not be omitted. goaler of the press, he affected the patronage of letters,—the proscriber of books, he encouraged philosophy, the persecutor of authors, and the murderer of printers, he yet pretended to the protection of learning!

The

the assassin of Palm, the silencer of De Staël, and the denouncer of Kotzebue, he was the friend of David, the benefactor of De Lille, and sent his academic prize to the philosopher of England.

Such a medley of contradictions, and at the same time such an individual consistency, were never united in the same charcab-acter. A Royalist-a Republican-and an Emperor a Mahometan-a Catholic and a patron of the Synagogue-a subaltern and a Sovereign-a Traitor and a Tyrant-a Christian and an Infidel-he was, through all his vicissitudes, the same stern, impatient, inflexible original,-the same mysterious incomprehensible self,-the man without a model, and without a shadow.

His fall, like his life, baffled all speculation. In short, his whole history was like a dream to the world, and no man can tell how or why he was awakened from the reverie.

Nature had no obstacles that he did not surmount, space no opposition that he did not spurn; and whether amid Alpine rocks, Arabian sands, or polar snows, he seemed proof against peril, and empowered with ubiquity! The whole continent of Europe trembled at beholding the audacity of his designs, and the miracle of their execution. Scepticism bowed to the prodigies of his performance; romance assumed the air of history; nor was there aught too incredible for belief, or too fanciful for expectation, when the world saw a subaltern of Corsica Such is a faint and feeble picture of Nawaving his imperial flag over her most an-poleon Bonaparte, the first Emperor of the cient capitals. All the visions of antiquity became common places in his contemplation; kings were his people-nations were his outposts; and he disposed of courts, and crowns, and camps, and churches, and cabinets as if they were the titular dignitaries of the chess-board!

Amidst all these changes he stood immutable as adamant. It mattered little whether in the field or the drawing-room,-with the mob or the levée,-wearing the Jacobin bonnet or the iron crown.-banishing a Braganza or espousing a Hapsburg,—dictating peace on a raft to the Czar of Russia or contemplating defeat at the gallows of Leipsic, he was still the same military despot!

French.

That he has done much evil there is little doubt; that he has been the origin of much good, there is just as little. Through his means, intentional or not, Spain, Portugal, and France have risen to the blessings of a free constitution; Superstition has found her grave in the ruins of the Inquisition, and the feudal system, with its whole train of tyrannic satellites, has fled forever. Kings may learn from him that their safest study, as well as their noblest, is the interest of the people; the people are taught by him that there is no despotism so stupendous against which they have not a resource; and to those who would rise upon the ruins of

activity; of, I will not say, oppression, for they do not understand the feeling, but of compression. We are not without instances of this state of things. There has been a great number of small aristocratic republies in which the people have been thus treated like flocks of sheep, well kept and materially happy, but without moral and intellectual activity. Is this civilization? Is this a people civilizing itself?

state of savage tribes: liberty and equality are there, but assuredly not civilization.

I might multiply these hypotheses, but I think we have before us enough to explain what is the popular and natural meaning of the word civilization.

It is clear that none of the states I have sketched corresponds, according to the natural good sense of mankind, to this term. Why? It appears to me that the first fact Another hypothesis: here is a people comprised in the word civilization (and this whose material existence is less easy, less results from the different examples I have comfortable, but still supportable. On the rapidly placed before you), is the fact of other hand, moral and intellectual wants progress, of development: it presents at have not been neglected, a certain amount once the idea of a people marching onward, of mental pasture has been served out to not to change its place, but to change its them; elevated, pure sentiments are culti- condition; of a people whose culture is convated in them; their religious and moral dition itself, and ameliorating itself. The views have attained a certain degree of de- idea of progress, of development, appears to velopment; but great care is taken to stifle me the fundamental idea contained in the in them the principle of liberty; the intel-word, civilization. What is this progress? lectual and moral wants, as in the former What this development? case the material wants, are satisfied: each greatest difficulty of all. man has meted out to him his portion of truth; no one is permitted to seek it for himself. Immobility is the characteristic of moral life; it is the state into which have fallen most of the populations of Asia; wherever theocratic dominations keep humanity in check; it is the state of the Hindoos, for example. I ask the same question here as before: is this a people civilizing

itself?

I change altogether the nature of the hypothesis: here is a people among whom is a great display of individual liberties, but where disorder and inequality are excessive: it is the empire of force and of chance; every man, if he is not strong, is oppressed, suffers, perishes; violence is the predominant feature of the social state. No one is ignorant that Europe has passed through this state. Is this a civilized state? It may, doubtless, contain principles of civilization which will develop themselves by successive degrees; but the fact which dominates in such a society is, assuredly, not that which the common sense of mankind calls civilization.

I take a fourth and last hypothesis: the liberty of each individual is very great, inequality amongst them is rare, and at all events, very transient. Every man does very nearly just what he pleases, and differs little in power from his neighbour; but there are very few general interests, very few public ideas, very little society, in a word, the faculties and existence of individuals appear and then pass away, wholly apart and without acting upon each other, or leaving any trace behind them; the successive generations leave society at the same point at which they found it: this is the

Herein is the

The etymology of the word would seem to answer in a clear and satisfactory manner: it says that it is the perfecting of civil life, the development of society, properly so called, of the relations of men among themselves.

Such is, in fact, the first idea which presents itself to the understanding when the word civilization is pronounced: we at once figure forth to ourselves the extension, the greatest activity, the best organization of the social relations: on the one hand, an increasing production of the means of giving strength and happiness to society; on the other, a more equitable distribution, amongst individuals, of the strength and happiness produced.

Is this all? Have we then exhausted all the natural, ordinary meaning of the word civilization? Does the fact contain nothing more than this?

It is almost as if we asked: Is the human species after all a mere ant-hill, a society in which all that is required is order and physical happiness, in which the greater the amount of labour, and the more equitable the division of the fruits of labour, the more surely is the object attained, the progress accomplished?

Our instinct at once feels repugnant to so narrow a definition of human destiny. It feels at the first glance, that the word civilization comprehends something more extensive, more complex, something superior to the simple perfection of the social relations, of social power and happiness.

Fact, public opinion, the generally received meaning of the term, are in accord ance with this instinct.

Take Rome in the palmy days of the re