No. XV.

CHARLES I. AND LOUIS XVI.

In spite of the relapses which occasionally occur, the progress of every society is towards equality but it has been nearly always the case that a popular outcry for reform is not provoked by an abstract love of that equality or a desire of establishing a more perfect form of government, but by actual grievances which are frequently of a merely temporal nature : and from having reasonable demands grudgingly granted if not altogether refused, men go on to unreasonable, and then who can tell where they will stop? This is true especially of the French and English revolutions; and it is curious that the immediate cause of each was the state of the finances. The English revolution occurred at a much earlier period in the history of the country than that of France: the assembling of parliament was not yet given up, and royalty in its palmiest days was never perfectly absolute, nor could the king ever say, L'etat, c'est moi: and it was the English constitution itself that prevented the disease taking deeper root: for here there is a balance between and a blending of the two orders of the state together in that class which nominally belongs to the commons, but all whose interests are the same as the nobility's moreover, parliament was there a ready-made engine to oppose the king at once instead of having the delay and excitement of making one and giving mens' minds time to ferment. For the difference between the two outbreaks, it has been said that the French revolution was more social than political, that of England merely political. The state of society which then existed in France was entirely worn out and rotten; and what therefore the French desired was to put an end to it, and begin entirely anew, and as a means to this end the whole institution of the government had to be put on a fresh basis: every thing had to be changed. Whereas in England they merely wished to make the government more free, and give the people a greater voice in it: with their social

state they were quite contented, and had no wish to change it. Again, the English desired liberty, the French equality. In France they looked for a state which should do away with the odious privileges of the noblesse, (stricter there and more oppressive than in any other country of Europe) and, as far as their political life went, place the highest and lowest on the same footing: their aim was what the Greeks called lonyopia, i.e. that state where every free citizen is of equal rank. In England on the other hand they aimed at ioovouía, or that state of freedom where no man is above or beyond the law: they wished that nobody, not even the king, should have indefinite authority, but that every one should be answerable to his But country for his conduct in public affairs. the most important difference I have not yet mentioned: viz. that the English revolution was a struggle between two forms of religion as much as between two forms of government: between Episcopalians and Puritans as much as between royalists and parliamentarians. They were both, however, alike, outbreaks against absolute authority, and both upheld the sacred principle that the people should have some voice regarding the laws they were bound by, and the taxes they had to pay.

Such is a short sketch of the revolutions which Charles I. and Louis XVI. were called upon to meet: both of them owing the difficulties of their position to their predecessors' faults: both of them were most unfitted for those stormy times, placed in a position where their failings told most severely against them, and their virtues were of least avail. Vandyke has enlisted our affections on the side of him of "The majestic mien,

"So sadly calm, so kingly, so serene." But not to be prejudiced by what many will consider foolish and sentimental: although there surely is," in every human countenance," as Coleridge says, "either a prophecy or a history which must sadden every reflecting

* Niebuhr's Rome, vol. ii. page 281-note 640.

observer:" witness Strafford's two portraits in Warwick Castle, which tell a sadder history than could be told by any words: not to be prejudiced, I say, by a portrait, I find it very difficult to believe Charles to have been the mean, paltry creature Macaulay would make him out. Even the most prejudiced royalist would not dare to speak of him as Hume does, were there not some grounds for his assertions. In his private character he seems to have been a good father, and a good husband: and when we speak of his public character we ought to, and must, take into consideration his peculiar positions and difficulties, and the various checks and counter-checks, under the restraint of which he laboured in his intercourse with his fellows, friends or enemies. The chief fault of his life, if we acquit him of falsehood and duplicity, which, it seems to me, we certainly may to a great extent, if not altogether, the chief fault of his life seems to have been an over high opinion of his own station, and of the allegiance due to him from his subjects; "he thought a king a king." From Charles let us turn to Louis: in him we see a character like Charles' in many of its virtues, and in many of its failings, but different in one or two essential points. First, and chiefly, in the abhorrence Louis had to any blood-shedding, which, beginning as it did in a good feeling, yet, when carried to the extent it was in him, becomes a fault : for so far from its being for the good of his people, it was contrary to their truest interest: Louis' private character was as blameless as Charles', and its purity shone forth more conspicuous when placed beside the profligate depravity of the courts of his two immediate predecessors. He was willing, indeed he was desirous to make many alterations in the existing institutions, but he laboured under such enormous difficulties from the fearful state of the finances, and the unwillingness of the noblesse to give up any part of their privileges that he could scarcely do anything at all. The most fatal trait in Louis' character was distrust of himself, and consequent inability to make up his mind quickly to any course of conduct: this led him to depend too much on the advice of others, and even then he never persevered in any one policy for any length of time. He might have escaped over and over again across the frontier,

but he could not determine to do it till it was too late, and so he was taken before he could get more than half way. Most fatal, surely, was this in a man who was to oppose a revolution where every thing more than at any other time must depend on prompt decision and vigorous exertion.

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Each of these monarchs, then, were alike unfitted to meet a revolutionary outbreak, to know when to resist, and harder still when to give way. Charles resisted too long, and Louis gave way too soon. There was a time when perhaps a whiff of grape-shot" might have repressed the embryo revolt, and secured to the French people what Louis was willing to give, and they, at that time, only desirous to get, the English constitution: but "the whiff" never came in time. I think Charles' fault of having recourse to arms a less one than Louis' of yielding too soon. It certainly was better to yield by degrees even too slowly, than Louis' wretched policy of refusing first and granting afterwards: nor can we say that in the long run Charles' policy shed more blood than Louis', for were not the horrors of the reign of terror one of the consequences, in great measure, of Louis' vacillation? The three years during which Louis was imprisoned with the name of freedom in his own palace, we find no period counterpart to in the life of Charles. The time when Louis was forced to sit down in idleness in the Tuilleries, in name, and nothing else, a king, Charles was at the head of his armies. After the battle of Naseby he might have occupied the same position as the French king after the taking of Versailles : and in all probability he would have accepted the terms, harsh as they were, of the parliamentarians, had not his attachment to Episcopalianism stood in the way. His conscience would not allow him to give up what he considered it his first duty to uphold; and the Puritans were equally strong in refusing to hear of its restoration as the established form of worship. He was willing to make many and great concessions but this he could not do. This will serve to illustrate what was said above of the religious character of the struggle.

But it is principally in the history of their last days that we trace a likeness between these two unfortunate monarchs. Now it is that the

brightest side in the character of each shines forth. Louis himself was fond of comparing himself to Charles, and his favourite book during his confinement in the Temple was Hume's history of Charles I., and especially that part which relates to his last days. In each we see the same calm demeanour and dignified resignation. The king who stood at the bar of the French Convention might have been the same melancholy monarch who had stood arraigned as a traitor before his own subjects an hundred and fifty years before. The descriptions of their last interviews with their children are also strikingly similar.

The results of the two revolutions are widely different, but how far this depended upon the different policy pursued by the two princes, it were hard to say. I would ascribe it more to two chief causes: first, what has been alluded to before, the mixture of religion in that of England: secondly, that the very forces in the constitution, which called forth ours at an earlier period of England's history, also contributed to prevent it being such an entire upset of everything as took place in France. What I mean to say is, that our political institutions being much more free than those of France were able to survive the revolution, and be preserved and made use of by the reformers of the constitution: I say "reformers," because there was no manufacture of a new constitution, but a reformation, in its literal sense, of the old; the old elements mixed up in new proportions and relations. "Every where, in the laws," says Guizot, "the creeds, the manners of the people, revolution found its work half accomplished." Whereas if we turn to France we see there the entire subversion and overthrow of every existing institution, social and political; with the king fell the laws, all distinction of orders, the courts of law and justice, and everything else; indeed, to such an extreme, even in the very smallest minutiæ, did the passion for change run, that they changed the very names of the months. It is worthy of note that Charles, on his trial, was addressed by Bradshaw as Charles Stuart King of England, thereby implying that by law. and right he was so; but Louis before the Convention was plain Louis Capet, as if it were denied that he had any right to be king

at all. The afore-mentioned seem to be the principal reasons why the English revolution of 1640, regarded as continuing in that of 1688, ultimately succeeded; whilst "the most impassioned struggle ever made by man for liberty "the French revolution-is to this day as far from having attained its object, as it was when it first broke out.

The

MANY people say, "Stick to one thing, and learn that as thoroughly as you can, but don't try anything else, till you have mastered that:" and I dare say many of us have had that advice given them. But nothing, I am sure could be more repugnant to the whole spirit of this place; and most of us will agree in holding that the mind must not be utterly ignorant of any species of human knowledge or accomplishment, and that the body, being the most visible and prominent part of us, has also a legitimate right to a good education. body indeed must be the servant of the mind, but if trampled on, the slave will rebel, and may become the tyrant. Such too was the notion at Athens. Pericles and Alcibiades, both desired this all-accomplished mind and body. But in truth the task of circling all knowledge was more practicable then, than it is now; books were few, speculations contracted, learning indeed flowed on with a mighty stream, but from one fountain. Then it was the duty of an Athenian as a citizen to have some notions of poetry, sculpture, justice, in short of all that is beautiful. But now division of labour has become necessary to our vast complex civilized system. Is it then utterly useless, while we are here, to indulge this desire of universal knowledge? Is it but vain labour for us now to seek to appreciate, and even to criticise painting, sculpture, poetry, history, music, and philosophy, because such things are not necessary to the clergyman, the lawyer, or the merchant? Scarcely so; for I believe that without aiming now at the acquisition of many things, we should never in manhood thoroughly master any. Insensibly we may now be gathering together a hoard of thoughts, images, illustrations of life, and companions of the multiform aspects of truth, which may be great aids to the single pursuit to which we finally attach ourselves.

Thus we shall be in no danger of becoming mere machines of the closet, gloating feasters upon one idea. Yet this yearning after universal lore, invariably exposes us to the charge of our knowledge being superficial; a charge however, I think and hope, totally unjust. For on the contrary, surely none have more superficial views than those who cultivate one or two branches of learning to the exclusion of all others; for it can be only by continual comparisons of truth with truth, that we can come to any just or deep conclusions, and the wider the range of our comparisons, the better will be our inferences. Again, to take a yet higher view of the subject, to seek to love what is beautiful in all things, and to surround ourselves, as far as our means permit, with all its evidences, not only elevates the thoughts and harmonizes the mind, but is a homage that we owe to the labour of man, and the gifts of our Creator. It is true that this ambition of all-accomplishment would be neither safe nor prudent, unless later in life we cultivated some pursuit above the rest. But surely all of us know that the world, somewhat early, and somewhat roughly, will rouse us from such an ambition, too excursive for human life, and that settled betimes in our career, we shall learn not to chase too far what lures us from our goal. When we have made one thing our main object, everything else that we know or enjoy, will illustrate and enlarge the scope of our chief design. Only let us not be too narrow-minded in the foundation we lay here, or our building will be proportionately contemptible. So vast is man's mind, that though we had lived from the birth of the world till now, we could not have compassed a hundredth part of that, which our capacities if well trained, would enable us to grasp. But though it would require an eternity to develope all the elements of the soul, it is no less a sin not to attempt to develope any, beyond what we are forced to.

THE BLIND POET.

He sat him by the wicket-gate, "Why is my soul so long in fleeing? My heart is weary,—I cannot wait,

Yet cannot burst the bonds of being.

I have no hope in earthly life,

But strive in grief, and grieve in strife, Though all my soul with Heaven is rife,

For all my joys were bound in seeing"

There came a light wind on his ear,

And fell upon his heart of sorrow, And bore the voice of gladness near,

An echo from the walls to borrow;
And whispered low "Thou canst not die;
Sow, sow thy seed in passing by;
Earth is thy home, though Heaven is nigh,
The great Earth waiting for its morrow."
Then gathered he his children round,
And sang of ancient myth and saying,
And in the darkness pleasure found,

And double pleasure in delaying;
And men replied in passing by,
"He sows his seed-he will not die,
Life issues in Eternity!

He blesses after-time in staying."

SONG.

She came a sunbeam on the land, To light up tree and flower; And the darkness fled at her command, And she chased dull care from the hearts of fear, In the sweetness of her power.

Her eyes were soft as the far blue sky,

Yet of fullest, nightless glory;
And the sun of her springtide passing by
Shed a silvery light on the meeting sight,

Like a living faery-story.

Her look was ever cognizant

Of the wily-working spirit,

And her open heart roll'd all she meant, With a nameless grace, o'er her speaking face, Like the ripples the lakes inherit.

There is a weeping willow-tree,

Beside a rippling stream,

And the merry waves come dancing by,

How happy and bright they seem!

"Oh! willow, wherefore weepest thou

Beside our rippling stream?
Why do thy boughs so sadly stretched
Shut out the glad sunbeam?

"Oh! willow, wherefore art thou sad,
When the bright waves come by?
Why dost thou shake that hoary head
Old willow, tell us why?"

"Ye merry waves of the dancing stream,

Happy, and bright, and young,

Long may ye dance in your joyous course,
Innocent, merry, and strong.

"Oh! there was one as fair as ye,

Happy, and bright, and young,
Gaily he played by valley and stream,
Innocent, merry, and strong.

"Gaily he played in the willow shade,
Happy, and bright, and young,
Wistfully gazed in the rippling stream,
As the bright waves passed along.
"And the good God took him away so soon,
Happy, and bright, and young,

And he lies in the shade of the willow tree,
And he lists to the bright waves' song.

"And this is the cause, ye dancing waves,
That 1 bend o'er the streamlet's brim."
With drooping boughs o'er the rippling stream,
The willow weepeth for him.

The dancing waves came merrily on,

Happy and bright were they,

But each one paused at the willow's tale,
And sadly flowed away.

Above and below the bright waves flow,
And dance in the glad sun's eye,

But each little wave, at the dead boy's grave,
Goes sadly and silently by.

PARODY.

The objections, I will not call it prejudice, which many entertain against Parody, are founded in the same feeling which revolts from all deprecations of merit, or mockery at grandeur. It is a melancholy sight to see an

oak that for centuries has withstood the assaults of Time, falling beneath the merciless axe of the modern improver; it is the dismissal of the grand, to give place to the ornamental, and, too often, to the trivial. Should it not excite more indignation to see the dispensers of public amusement murdering (we can call it by no lighter name) the grand monuments of our national feeling, the oaks of our literature, and the more so as they are beautiful bye-words in the mouths of the people. There is one thing which induces the authors of our light literature to misapply their talents to this field, and that is, that it affords such a vast scope for their wit. The endless versions of Wolfe's glorious poem, the burial of Sir John Moore, which have appeared in Punch, show how fond the English people must be of this perversion of feeling, it is food for their risible faculties, and that secret delight in sarcasm which so many Englishmen entertain. But if Parody be necessary for the supply of light literature, why choose the most beautiful specimens of the poetry of our language to deface them? The answer given is that they are best known. fools! Are all our eminent poets to be disfigured because they are eminent? Are all the touching melancholy expressions of our language to be turned into pseudo-pathos merely because they are favourites of the people? And do the people like their favourites to be so handled? Every-one must laugh who reads Bon Gualtier's Parody of the May Queen, particularly when he comes to the last four lines,

"You may lay me in my bed, mother, my head is throb. bing sore,

And, mother, prythee, let the sheets be duly aired before;

And if you'd please, my mother dear, your poor despond. ing child,

You'll draw me a pot of beer, mother, and, mother, draw it mild."

But who does not feel indignant that that which has touched so many hearts with poem, its pleasing melancholy earnestness, should have been made the subject of a Parody so opposite in every feature? But it is this contrast, this caricaturing, that forms the chief merit of Parody. A few weeks ago appeared in Punch a Parody on Excelsior, perverted