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nothing of the very extraordinary preliminaries of Utopian marriage, and the absolute communism which is the chief point of their "Commonwealth," what should we think of the man who chose the profession of the law, and submitted to be made High Chancellor after making his ideal people "have no lawyers among them, for they consider them as a sort of people whose profession it is to disguise matters and to wrest the laws ?'

But the capital error of Mr. Green's account is his mention of Christianity. According to that account More cannot have been a Christian at all, but preferred the religion of "nature and reason." Rather an unsatisfactory account of a man who died rather than give up the Pope.

In fact, the supposition that any contrast (any religious contrast, at all events) was intended between Christendom and Utopia simply destroys all the moral which the work was meant to point. The people he undertook to depict was a people in the mere light of reason as opposed to one that possessed revelation. Forget that point, and the sense of the work disappears. But neither in the character of Raphael the traveller nor in his own does More for a moment allow us to think that he ever doubted this reason without revelation to be comparative darkness. He makes Raphael say, "After they had heard from me an account of Christianity it is not to be imagined how inclined they were to I shall not determine whether this proceeded from any secret inspiration of God or whether it was because it seemed so favorable to the community of goods which is an opinion so dear to them.

Many of them were initiated by baptism. But . . . none of us that survived were in priest's orders; we therefore could only baptize them, so that to our great regret they could not partake of the other sacraments

But

that can only be administered by priests. But they are instructed concerning them, and long most vehemently for them." Unmistakable enough this might fairly seem. having thus spoken through the mouth of Raphael, and in the terms already quoted, from his own concluding remarks concerning the absurdity of Utopian views of religion and things divine, More thus in this prefatory letter to Peter Giles, precludes all possible error as to his sentiments. He therein expresses anxiety to know something more about the latitude and longitude of the island. He cannot at present let his readers know in what sea it lies. "There are some among us, he says, "that have a mighty desire to go thither, and in particular, one pious divine is very earnest upon it, not so much out of a vain curiosity

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as that he may advance our religion which is so happily begun to be planted there, and that he may do this regularly he intends to procure a mission from the Pope, and to be sent thither as their bishop. He desires it only as the means of advancing the Christian religion, and not for any honor or advantage that may accrue to himself."

Now, finding as we do that the book thus strangely misunderstood is named at the head of the chapter on the "New Learning" amongst the authorities for the history about to be given, nay, more, as the "typical book of the Revival," have we not a right to plead that even in the hands of a scholar such as Mr. Green, the philosophical system of history is a bad and a dangerous one? We must refrain from seeking further examples to back our plea; but surely what we have given is enough. Not only in the case of deliberate unfairness, but by the very nature of things, and by the weaknesses of our nature, the task which our historian undertakes will never be fulfilled.

We believe, as we said at the outset, that the demand for histories of

the kind we have described is a bad sign for public taste. Such food is the food of children, not of men. That student of history does not profit by his learning who is content to take an author's conclusions without knowing that author's grounds. There should be chapter and verse for every assertion, and full data for

every inference. So long as people flatter themselves that they are studying history when they are not supplied with this, so long as they are content indolently to swallow the dicta of a master with closed eyes, so long will history be a delusion and

a snare.

I.

DISHONORED.

ON the evening of Sunday, the 30th of October, in the year 1792, a hackney coach conveyed a party of four persons, with a small quantity of baggage, from Billingsgate Wharf to a distant part of London. The weather was wet and cold, and, as the coach slowly labored through the foggy, deserted streets, the great city presented an unusually cheerless aspect. But had it been ten times more dismal, the travellers would have uttered no complaint; for they had arrived, at last, in a place of safety, and the sense of security outweighed, for the moment, every other consideration. The perils of a stormy passage from Dunkirk on board a crazy, ill-found smack, had been their latest discomfort; but the sea-risk was nothing in their estimation to the dangers which they had left behind. Nor can this be wondered at, when it is explained that they were refugees from Paris at a moment when, frightful as recent events had been, the prospect of the future was even yet more terrible. Glad enough, then, they were to find themselves in a place which was not only a present asylum, but, to one of their number, the haven towards which his hopes had long been directed.

This person was Monsieur Morin, the head of the party, a gentleman some fifty years of age. His companions were his daughter, Adelaide, a beautiful girl, just turned of nineteen; her old bonne, Marguérite, more housekeeper than nurse, more family friend than either; and a middle-aged, confidential man-servant, whose name was Louis.

Monsieur Morin was no stranger in London, and, what was then a rare accomplishment, could speak a little English, enough to enable the hackney coachman to understand whither he wished to be driven, and to prevent the Jehu from charging very much more than double the proper fare, when, the wearisome journey at an end, the vehicle stopped at the door of a moderately sized house in a respectable portion of the town.

It appeared that Monsieur Morin was expected, servants being in readiness, fires burning, and other preparations made for the reception of himself and family. The trim appearance of the house, the size and disposition of the rooms, rising in five pairs from basement to attic, the scanty hall and narrow staircase, offered a striking contrast to the home which Adelaide had quitted in the Rue de Mirabeau, where every

thing was large, lofty, and en suite. But if her new abode seemed strange to her unaccustomed eyes, it was at least free from painful associations, and, after the scenes she had lately witnessed, any place out of Paris was welcome. The house, in fact, was only small by comparison.

Early on the morning after his arrival, Monsieur Morin went from home. Besides the removal of certain effects from the vessel in which he came from France, he had affairs of importance to transact. The nature of his own occupations in Paris had long connected him with a London firm, the founder of which was a fellow-countryman, named Devaux, and to his place of business in the city Monsieur Morin at once proceeded. A painful surprise awaited him. Greatly to his sorrow, he learned that the head of the house had died only ten days before, after a brief illness.

"Mr. Richard Devaux, the only son, sir," whispered the clerk who gave this information, "is now our principal. Our late Mr. Devaux was buried on Saturday, and to-day is Mr. Richard's first appearance here since his father's death. But he takes to it, sir; he takes to it. O yes, sir, he will see you, no doubt. Who shall I say, sir?"

Richard Devaux was a short, thickset young man, apparently about five-and-twenty, with a colorless cheek, thin lips, and dark, restless eyes. At Monsieur Morin's entrance he rose from a table, on which several folios were lying open, and came to meet him.

"Monsieur Morin, of the Rue de Mirabeau?" he said in a low voice. "The same, sir. The correspondent of your house, and the old friend of your father.”

They shook hands, and there was silence between them for a few moments, each apparently occupied with the past. Monsieur Morin was the first to speak. "I grieve, sir," he said, "to tres

pass on your attention so soon after your sad bereavement; had I known of your recent loss I would have deferred my visit till you were better prepared to receive me.

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"It does not matter," replied Richard Devaux. "A day sooner or later, when the worst is over, is of no consequence. You perceive,' he added, pointing to the books before him, "that I have already begun to distract my thoughts by application to business."

"You are right," returned Monsieur Morin. "I, too, find my only relief in active pursuits. But for them my mind would sink altogether, when I contemplate the position of my unhappy country.'

"Are affairs, then, so much worse in France? Forgive me, sir, for asking the question, but the last few weeks have been for me a perfect blank."

"I can well understand it," said Monsieur Morin, again pressing the young man's hand. "Yes," he resumed, "everything hastens from bad to worse, and this will be the case till the very worst arrives.”

"The worst?" repeated Richard Devaux, with an inquiring look. "Unless our efforts can prevent The horrors of September have reached your ears?"

it.

"All the world shudders at them. Can anything more terrible befall?”

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"Every day the hand of murder strikes down a nobler victim; every day witnesses a bolder and bloodier tyranny. All soon will be anarchy. The King is already accused before the Convention. That was the natural consequence of the infamous decree by which royalty was abolished in France. See, then, what hope we have of the future, unless we find it here!"

"And is that, sir, your only expectation?" "I fear it. Everywhere on the continent the armies of the Revolution triumph. And this brings me to the object of my present visit.

The sums which have been deposited with your house must shortly be made useful to our cause. You are aware of the extent of my transactions in this respect with your late honored father.'

"Not entirely, sir, for my father kept those accounts under his sole supervision. It was only this morning, for the first time, that I have had access to the volume in which they are entered. It is one that has been kept apart for that especial purpose."

"I have some large additions to make," continued Monsieur Morin. "I waited to the last to collect all I could, as well of my own capital as of that which I was empowered to raise." “And have you finally left Paris?" "Alas, yes, till better times, should we ever behold them, arrive.

a peculiar attraction. His father had been one of those men who, beginning their career with nothing, never lose sight of the possibility of being, by some capricious stroke of fortune, again reduced to nothing. Prudence, therefore, guided him from the outset of his life to its close. All his thoughts were directed to the establishment of his house on the surest foundation, and to acquire the reputation of being safe, while he silently increased his wealth, was the great object of his ambition. He labored hard also to impress his son with his own views, and, to carry them into effect, compelled his closest attention to business. Never relaxing from personal toil, not even during the illness which ended fatally, he permitted no relaxation on the part of others, and thus it happened that Richard Devaux knew nothing of the pleasures of society. Home, in its best sense, he had none, his mother having died while he was yet a child without increasing the family, and he was left to the training of his father alone. My father alone. A good training it was for creating a mere money-making machine; but as men, after all, are not machines, but have senses, affections, passions, and as these were for the most part overlooked by the elder Devaux in his desire to make his son a model of commercial respectability, it is not altogether surprising that the experiment should fail. Richard Devaux devoted himself to his father's pursuits, as long as he lived, with all the earnestness the old man could desire, being reconciled to what was in reality a sacrifice by an ardent love of money. There was, however, this difference between father and son: the former would rather have witnessed the utter downfall of his house than have sustained it by any course not strictly honest; the latter was less scrupulous.

"Well, sir," said Richard Devaux, after a short pause, "whatever amounts you are prepared to lodge with us shall be held in trust-or, as we bankers say, at call-till you require them. I am, moreover, quite at your service whenever you wish to go through the accounts. My poor father's principles are mine, political as well as commercial. You may rest assured that what he would have done I shall ever faithfully perform. This is not only a duty I owe to his memory, but a tribute of my own personal respect for yourself."

Monsieur Morin was gratified to hear Richard Devaux speak in this wise, and they parted on the friendliest terms, after the refugee had entered into some further explanation of his present position, which ended by an invitation to the young banker to come and see him. An intimacy consequently arose, and after the first visit paid by Richard Devaux to Monsieur Morin's house, there was no necessity for pressing its repetition.

II.

A NEW kind of existence had now opened before Richard Devaux, which, situated as he was, possessed

Instructed in Monsieur Morin's reasons for leaving France at that particular crisis, Richard Devaux

foresaw many material advantages, and anticipated great personal gratification from being admitted to the counsels, and enjoying the society of his father's friend. He certainly was not disappointed in the last-named expectation. Monsieur Morin was a person of extensive information, who had mixed largely with the world, untainted by its vices, yet familiar with its failings, and master of many of its secrets. His powers of observation were rapid, his instincts true, and his judgments seldom wrong. The defect in his character, if defect it were, was a natural tendency, and which no experience could correct, to put implicit trust in all men's honor. The first article of his creed, both social and political, was truth; if difficulties arose from being too outspoken, they must be conquered in fair fight.

Richard Devaux was, perhaps, no worshipper of abstract virtue; but he was fain to pay respect to the qualities which were conspicuous in Monsieur Morin, and the sentiments he uttered were as much to the purpose as if the sincerest conviction had prompted them.

The atmos

phere, moreover, in which he now lived, allowed but of one mode of thinking, or at all events, but of one form of expression. The friends who gathered round Monsieur Morin immediately on his arrival in London, however opposed in many respects, had one common bond of union. They were banded together for one high purpose. The object of the meetings held at Monsieur Morin's house was to effect a combination of emigrant wealth and energy, for restoring France to her former condition.

No sudden impulse had caused this movement, although it was urged to more immediate action by the present danger of the King. Without belonging to the noble class, Monsieur Morin was thoroughly identified with all its interests, or, as

he viewed the question, with the interests of his country, for he had been brought up in the faith of the ancient régime, not blind to its faults, but believing that with those faults amended, there was no salvation for France beyond the pale of monarchy. Apprehensions for their personal safety, and the security of their property operated with many of the emigrants, who, so early as the year 1790, withdrew from France into Germany and other countries. But all were not influenced by purely selfish reasons, and at the head of the excepted few was the Marquis de Grandmesnil, a nobleman of considerable wealth, who had served with distinction in the last war. Not even amongst his own class had Monsieur de Grandmesnil a more intimate friend than Monsieur Morin, and it was by his advice the Marquis acted when, with his only son Henri, then in his twenty-third year, he at length decided on joining the army of the Prince de Condé. In doing so, he left with Monsieur Morin the requisite authority for disposing of all his available property; and such was the well-known probity of the man whom he thus trusted, such was the opinion entertained of his political capacity, that several other noblemen similarly situated also deposited large sums with Monsieur Morin to be devoted to the object they all had in view. Foreseeing, on his side, that England must eventually become the centre of his party's operations, Monsieur Morin repeatedly crossed over to London to organize his plans for the expected time; and although such journeys were eminently hazardous, his care and skill, coupled with the assistance rendered by some of the men in power who secretly wished well to the royal cause, enabled him to pass to and fro without molestation, and even without suspicion. These visits were paid in the lifetime of the elder Devaux, and it was privately through him, as we have seen, that all Mon

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