must inevitably perish. Italy, the Austrian argues, is so circumstanced geographically, as compared with the two great states, its neighbours, that it never can be a great power again. It was because Constantine saw that he could not cope with the Franks and Germans, who had already in his time attained a high military organisation, that he removed his seat of empire to Byzantium. It is to deceive Italy, therefore, to make it believe in its regeneration! These errors of the Whig cabinet, M. Ficquelmont avers, have done more to ensure the power of Austria in Italy than have the Austrian forces. There has been neither object nor aim in the excitement kept up in that country. There has been no aim; for an object that never can be attained, is not a target. A united, independent Italy is a dream. A strong, independent Italy, divided into separate states, is another dream. Austria has proceeded upon the principle that the independence of secondary states, and still more so those of a third order, can only be assured by the agreement of the great powers. But to excite such second and third rate states to war against first-rate powers, with nothing but moral support, is a cruel error. The answer to all this is, that it would have behoved the Austrian minister, in making so serious a charge against the English minister-Whig though he beto have more clearly established his premises that England did excite the second and third rate states of Italy against, not a too powerful neighbour, but the actual occupier of her best provinces.

It is almost needless, now that France has become a military dictatorship, to point out the argument of the Austrian against any permanent alliance between France and England, founded on Whig or so-called liberal principles. The following, however, is a summary of these views: France follows at the same time the path of liberty and equality, whilst in England it is a principle that equality renders liberty impossible. The theory of the sovereignty of the people has led France to universal suffrage. That country attaches no political value to the principle of right of inheritance: whilst in England the same theory, which admits of only one limited mode of election, attaches high political importance to the right of inheritance. The majority of the French people are Catholic, whilst England is Protestant. (Ireland must be excepted, but she is not free, since she is subjected to laws against which she never ceases to protest.) In France, the Catholic Church, in its quality of universal Church, labours incessantly at rendering itself independent of the state. In England, the Protestant Church is the national Church, and it constitutes an eminent portion of the political constitution. It is impossible, M. Ficquelmout deduces, that with such differences the principle of liberty can ever be the same in the two countries.

"England," says the Austrian, returning to the original charge, "insists upon propagating its political belief among continental states; how would it like to have the continental creed forced upon itself? Would Englishmen, so proud, so self-willed, and so independent, ever submit their mode of thought to that of any other nation? Would they give up their convictions for those of others? No; and yet they expect all the other people of the continent to do precisely that which they themselves would never accede to!"

This, after a long philosophical episode on the nature of man, viewed

in his moral and political aspects, according to the system of Chateaubriand, is followed by a declaimer against the vaunted freedom of the press. Publicity, with all its admitted advantages, M. Fiequelmont argues, can never be a good principle of government, for publicity is the element of nothing; it is never, in the natural order of things, anything more than the sequence of an act (fait accompli), of a thing done; when it anticipates that event, it delays it, or corrupts it, or renders it impossible. That is to say, that all that is done in nature is done in the most secret manner possible, as a kind of mystery, and only shows itself to the eyes as a result.

All social unity would be impossible, if the thoughts of all could at the same moment be expressed in words. There is not a thought of the future in the mind of man that he does not keep secret, if he expects any results from it. The commander of an army moves whole bodies of men without imparting the secret of his plan to any one; he would fail if it was known. The head of a commercial establishment communicates his speculations to no one; his books are not open to the public, except in case of bankruptcy. The poet and the artist conceive in secret; publicity takes away from the freshness of their ideas. Mount Sinai, the Grotto of Egeria, and the Cave of Muhammad, are proofs that good laws are meditated in solitude. The affections as well as the virtues, love secrecy. Fanaticism runs through the streets sword and torch in its hand; true religion enters humbly and silently into the house of worship. Publicity, in fact," says M. Ficquelmont, in the most poetic chapter of his work, "is opposed to the practice of virtue, to noble sentiments, to the products of intelligence, and is dangerous to all interests." It is impossible to propound a more palpable case of sophistry. Place the flint and the steel apart, and where is then a result? Let every man devote himself to a life of silent selfishness, and woe to the progress of art, science, intelligence, and all that is concerned in begetting civilisation! M. Ficquelmont appeals in support of silence to nature. The seed, he says, to germinate and produce, must first be secreted in the ground. Silence and modesty are the virtues of nature. "I have not succeeded," says the Austrian political economist, "in finding a single force, the element of which was not hidden; nor one single productive operation which did not require mystery to be carried into effect. Even the dew is not sent to refresh the earth, till day has ceased and night commenced! And does man consider himself without creation, that he imagines he can impress by publicity laws of social order that shall be different to those which rule the universe?" Does he really imagine that human society would not go as well if it was just left to go on its own way? The answer from any one, but an Austrian or a Turk, would be, that it would go on-to barbarism. One would really think that the expresident of council at Vienna was soliciting a situation at Paris, under the existing arch-extinguisher of publicity.

M. Ficquelmont having disposed of the "tyranny of the press," proceeds to place religious faith and political faith on a "aralleline, which is enforcing obsequiousness to the powers that be, to a point that almost approximates to idolatry. It is true that England differs from France in possessing the elements of both; but devotion to the country, loyalty to

does not believe this.

the sovereign, obedience to laws, confidence in an old and tried constitution, have never yet in this country assumed the form of religious veneration, nor have they ever been deemed by the English to be at all necessarily connected with that intellectual submission which is essential to true faith-political faith can only be demanded of subjects very differently educated and circumstanced to what the English are. M. Ficquelmont "The English people," he says, "positively worship their constitution, cemented as it was by their blood, and they have ended by submitting their intellect to its law." It was, he adds elsewhere, political faith, acting simultaneously with a new religious faith, which raised England to the highest pinnacle of power and prosperity. Proud of this result, and looking upon their constitution as their work, instead of that of time and of all the circumstances of their history, they have wished to innoculate all Europe with the same principles. France was one of the first to suffer from this innoculation; and how could it be otherwise, when her people have neither religious nor political faith, by which to distinguish liberty from anarchy, or to know where to stop in the progress of reform.

Another thing, M. Ficquelmont argues, which has preserved England amidst all the violence of revolutionary passions, and which does not exist for continental powers, is a state of social order dependant on its insular position. The waves of the ocean at once act as a rampart to insurrectionary violence, and by casting such back on itself, restore that force of cohesion which intestine wars threaten with destruction. Cromwell, according to the same authority, understood well that the greatness of England was based upon a system of repulsion for all that was foreign. In his time, England, which had successively lost all its territorial possessions in France, and was wearied with continental wars and struggles, first established for its power a basis that was exclusively maritime and commercial. If this is the case, the system, with the exception of the principle of propagandism, so much deprecated by the Austrian minister, dates some little time anterior to Lord Palmerston. But M. Ficquelmont tells us that "Old England" has ceased to exist. There is neither deliberation nor morality, neither submission nor independence, neither talent nor generosity. England may be, for some time yet, in a material point of view the richest and, perhaps, the most powerful of states; but it has fallen from the high political and moral position that it once held; it has lost at once the confidence of governments and that of people: that of governments, because it is hostile to them both in principles and in interests; that of people, because the English theories have not conferred upon them the happiness which they were led to expect from their adoption. Her influence acts upon the world in the present day only as a destructive power; she has ceased to be protective and beneficent, because she has ceased to be mistress of herself. She has fallen from that excess of pride, which inevitably tumbles down all who are guilty of such excess."

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No wonder, if the Austrians believe all these evil things of us, that passports are refused to our countrymen travelling in their territories. M. Ficquelmont will have it that, forgetful that our strength lies in repulsion, and anxious to give the guarantee of further duration to our now March-VOL. XCIV., NO. CCCLXXV.

T

worn-out institutions, every Englishman is a fanatical disseminator of political doctrines in other countries. Thus it is that the faults of one are made to recoil upon every individual of a nation. To conceive such a thing, however, argues very little for the intimacy of the Austrian diplomatist either with the English character or institutions. What has been our conduct in India, where we do not interfere, we rule? Why, in no other part of the East is there so much religious and moral liberty. Every form of worship is not only tolerated but respected, except there was sacrifice of life, as in suttees, Juggernaut processsions, and other barbarous practices. The grossest prejudices of castes, sectarianism, and even the practices of-in our eyes-immoral customs, are sanctioned, because national. If our missionaries were asked, there is nothing for which they would so much blame the English government as for not assisting them with all their influence. England, it is well known all over the world, notwithstanding this tremendous onslaught à propos of a presumed mistaken policy of interference among the small Italian states, is the least propagandist of all the nations of Europe. Its success in colonising may be traced to this fact. Has France never been a propagandist of revolutionary doctrines? Why does not the Austrian minister reproach her with her armed missions into Belgium, Hesse Cassel, BadenBaden, and Savoy? No, his work is published in Paris; and England is made to bear the whole brunt of the actual division of Europe into two parties, daily becoming more hostile-the constitutional and the absolutist. If the armies of the French republic or empire could pass the Channel with the same ease as they have the Pyrenees, the Alps, or the Rhine, England, M. Ficquelmont says, would long ago have had to call its old absolutist allies to its aid. The battles of Leipzig and Waterloo would have been fought in its own territories, by Russian and Austrian armies united to the English. Hence, in its insular position lies the peace, the power, and the prosperity of England; hence its political liberty and independence. A country where an O'Connell is hailed in triumph, a Wellington insulted; "an admiral never." Such a state of things is impossible on the continent; and the facility for transporting armies, brought about by steam-navigation and other appliances, may soon render such pride of doctrine and arrogance of propagandism, to the loss of all its old alliances in Europe, not only impossible, but fatal to the country from whence they have so long emanated.

Such are the tenour of the Austrian minister's deductions for the future. Let us hope better things. The diplomatist is angry; there is more of the fire of political controversy in such denunciations than of calm philosophical deduction. But things have changed much, both on the continent and at home, since these pages were written. A strong dictatorial power has sprung up in the former, which is already an object of greater distrust, and is more threatening to the other absolutist powers, than all the constitutional outbursts of all the petty states in Europe. With us a new era has also opened. A Conservative and a truly English Administration has taken the place of the effete and disjointed Whig Cabinet. New men-some of them, it is true, as yet untried-have taken the places of those whose doctrines of political intervention involved us in perpetual troubles and misunderstandings with the continental powers-our old and well-tried—our natural allies.

THE CONCLUDING YEARS IN THE LIFE OF ANNA

LEICESTER.
I.

A YEAR or so rolled away,—a long, weary year for Anna Leicester. The fatigue, the pain, the bitter recompense of a governess's life was hers, yet the object with which she had so zealously undertaken it, the end and aim of all her thoughts, seemed further off than ever. Forty guineas had been the amount of salary earned, and with all her carefulness in her own expenditure, not twenty could she hand over to her parents. The small, dull back-parlour, with its humble bed, still contained her dear father, and fewer comforts than ever attended him; for, as her two brothers grew older, they grew more expensive, though they were still but little fellows, and Dr. Leicester would try to give them an education that should help them to make their way in the world.

It was a pleasing sight to witness the family of an evening, especially when Anna had a few days' visit allowed her, and then everything was made to look as bright as possible. The good doctor propped up in bed - he had the use of his hands more freely now than at first-reading to them by the light of the lamp, which stood on the small table at his side; Mrs. Leicester sewing, Aunt Grape knitting stockings; and the children gathered round the fire, listening to their father; Anna, in her customary thoughtful position, her hand pressed upon her calm, open brow, dwelling, if the truth were known, more upon her own anxious subjects of thought than upon the book. In due time the doctor would close the volume-it was sure to be one of instruction, combined, perhaps, with amusement; and he would address them with his old, earnest, affectionate manner, and tell them how their conduct should be regulated; pointing out how they might best perform their duties in this life to themselves and to their fellow-creatures, yet at the same time be fitting themselves for a better. And again, as on the first night of her arrival from France, would Anna retire to her chamber with an aching heart, to reflect on that good, intellectual man, mistaken though he had once been, confined by a distressing malady to a useless and solitary career; to witness his patience under his affliction; his anxious solitude and exertions, so far as in him lay, for his children's temporal and eternal welfare; and his entire resignation to all his poverty and privations. It seemed to Anna that she would willingly forfeit half the years of her life, to be able efficiently to contribute to the comfort of her father. At rare moments, and those chiefly when Anna was at home, the doctor would close his eyes, and lean back, lost in reverie, his thoughts reverting to how different his life might have been, had not that dangerous curse fallen upon him-the inordinate love of gold. He saw himself in imagination still pursuing his flourishing profession,-in possession of most things that could make life desirable, or that moderate wealth can procure, living in comfort and great respectability,-his young sons trained to be worthy and important members of society,-his daughters making the happiness of his home. That is a bitter sigh, Dr. Leicester, but it will not recal your own work. There are thousands in the world noway, and will be to the end of time-reaping as remorsefully as you are the fruits of lamentable imprudence.