'One single Iralian cry to drive the barbarians back beyond the Alps would rob you of all your army It is no use saying you would come to my camp. A king should defend himself and die in his kingdom. An emigre and vagrant king cuts a sorry figure (Un roi émigré et ragabond est un sot personage).' (August 9th, 1806.)

But in the whole Correspondence with Joseph there occurs no passage more strik ing than the following. It throws a curious light on the political system of the Legislator of the Code Civil, and shows that the imperial nobles e was not quite the empty institution that many people have thought

it:

'Let me know the 'titles that you wish to affix to the duchies in your kingdom. These are only the titles, but the chief thing is the income. There should be 200,000 livres per annum attached to each duchy. I have insisted also on the bearers of these titles having a house in Paris, because the centre of the whole system is there. I wish to have a hundred large for tunes in Paris, established at the same time as the throne; these, being entailed, will be preserved, while all the rest will be perpetually scattered by means of the Code Civil. Establish the Code Civil at Naples. In a few years, all that does not hold on to you will go to pieces, and all you wish to preserve will be consolidated. That is the great advantage of the Code Civil.' (June 3rd, 1806)

'Even though it may be true that in former ages the Court of Roine has dethroned sovereigns, preached Crusades, and laid whole kingdoms under interlict, it will be found to be equally true that the popes have always considered their temporal power as depending on the French emperors. The emperor, on ascending the throne, did not claim to succeed merely to the rights of the third dynasty, whose sove. reignty did not extend over one half of the dominions which compose his empire; he claimed to inh rit the rights of the French emperors, and the Court of Rome cannot surely preteud to say that Charlemagne received from

the Pope the investiture of his kingdom. If this continues, I will have Consalvi carried off from Rome and I will hold him responsible, for he is evidently sold to the English. He will see if I have the strength and the courage to defend my imperial crown. Lay a stress on the word imperial- not royal, and insist upon the necessity of the Pope's behaviour to me being the same as that of his predecessors towards the emperors of the West.' *

review to a close, not without a regret that With these extracts we must bring our we have had to leave unnoticed many attractive subjects and withstand many temptations to digress.

The fifteenth and last volume of what may properly be termed the first series of Napoleon's Correspondence end with the return of the triumphant Emperor to Paris after the conclusion of the Peace of Tilsit. The year 1807 was the crownin point of Napoland and Turkey he held all Europe directly leon's reign. With the exception of Engor indirectly in his dependence. The Czar was to be henceforward his friend, and they had agreed at Tilsit to divide the world between them. He had at last found an ally with whose help he might hope to reduce England to the alternative of submitting, or of making war against United Europe. His brother Joseph was the recognised king of Naples, Louis reigned in Holland, and a Jérome. Eugène was his viceroy for Italy. kingdom, Westphalia, had been cut out for He was the protector of the Confederation of the Rhine. He had wrested from vanquished nations spoils with which he might hope that even his insatiate generals would be satisfied. Trade and agriculture languished, but the treasury of his army was overflowing and the sinews of war were his. France was so thoroughly mastered that he had been able to remain absent from his capital without fear during a whole twelve month. Apparently no irremediable fault had as yet been committed, and the Spanish war, that first downward step, was not contemplated. Well might he suppose, in the intoxication of his power, that he had laid

For a complete and accurate account of Napole on's dealings with the Papacy, we can safely refer our realers to M. le Comte d'Haussonville's work, L'Eglise Romaine et le Premier Empire,' 1800-1814. We should scarcely be fulfilling our duty towards the public, if we did not take this opportunity of likewise calling attention to M. Lanfrey's very ro markable work: Histoire de Napoléon Ier.' For the first time. the character of Napoleon has been dealt with, by a French historian, in a liberal and equit able spirit. The first volume only of the Histoire de Napoléon 1er' has been published as yet, but the second is, we believe, now going through the press. The work promises to be most valuable, when completed.

the foundations of the second Empire of the West! But it is impossible to read in the present day the volumes in which his whole system of government is laid bare without coming to the conclusion that his Empire, even at its most glorious period, rested on sand, and that his accumulated conquests were but the heaped-up materials for a gigantic ruin.

As regards the man himself, the dominant impression that will be left on the reader's mind will, we think, be that of meanness - of moral littleness, strangely combined with great strength of will and unrivalled activity of mind. Napoleon was in truth an actor, and in his Correspondence we view him from behind the scenes. The vulgar applause of the multitude can no longer deceive those who know his history as it is there written with his own hand. His duplicity, his bombast and mock heroism, his studied violence, his love of false grandeur, his envy in the midst of unrivalled greatness, his hatred and distrust of all that was really good and great, his vulgar arrogance, his indifference to the sufferings of others, his selfish and insensate ambition, are conspicuous in every page. This great est of modern conquerors was not a hero, for the great soul- the magnanimity which alone makes heroes, he never possessed.

He belonged neither to the nation over which he ruled, nor to the age in which he lived. He was a phenomenon, a scourge of God, as our forefathers would have said, a man of the middle ages rather than of our times. In no respect was he French. He had the subtleness of the Italian and the stubborn will of the Corsican, but he showed neither the good nor the bad qualities which are distinctive of the French character. Had he possessed the national failings, a love of pleasure and of ease, a desire for material enjoyments would have made him seek repose when he had reached the summit. He would have wearied of war as all his French marshals and generals-even the bravest wearied of it, and Europe might have found peace in his sensuality. Had he been a Frenchman, some pity-pity such as even Louis XIV. felt might have touched his heart for the nation which poured out so freely for him her blood and her treasure. Even in their excesses, the Frenchmen of the Revolution had generally shown one redeeming quality, mistaken though they might be - a wish for the general improvement of the world. A feeling. call it as one will, love of progress or love of mankind, but, in short, an ennobling and

generous feeling, had been theirs. In this respect, too, Napoleon was not French, and, to borrow the words of Fichte, no idea of the higher moral destiny of man entered his mind."

ever

It seems almost incredible that the name of Napoleon should ever have been the watchword of a party, which reproached the successive Governments of France with unconstitutional tendencies. Under the Restoration, Bonapartism and liberalism were synonymous; even in our time, we have seen the resurrection of Cæsarism hailed by a large fraction of the democratic party who denounced Louis-Philippe as a tyrant. Strange to say, Literature, which suff red so much at the hands of Bonaparte, has been mainly instrumental in creating this confusion of ideas. Béranger the popular chansonnier, and, at a later day, Thiers- the Béranger of history-have been the chief authors of the Napoleonic legend. This la tter has stated the only good reason for Napoleon's enduring popularity, when, in recording a tardy censure at the end of the twentieth volume of an unwearied apology, he says that Frenchmen should preserve for his memory "those feelings that every army owes to the general who has long led it to victory." But even this implies forgetfulness of the fact, that the long-victorious general brought on his country the humiition and misery of a two-fold invasion. Be that as it may, it is certain that the advent of the Second Empire has alone had the power of thoroughly and finally dissociating the idea of Napoleonism from that of liberty in the popular mind of France.

Even in the present day there are many liberal Frenchmen, who, while they blame the policy of the great Napoleon, profess deep respect for the legislation and administration which he bequeathed to France, and which, to use a French cant phrase, all Europe envies.' Yet it is as a legislator and political administrator that Napoleon has done most mischief to France, as we have already pointed out. He left her, and she has remained to this day, completely organised for despotism, with a central authority armed and equipped at all points with irresistible power. Self-government, a word which has been introduced bodily into the French language, has many partisans in France; but the first tools and implements for the work of self-government are wanting. Even were France suddenly placed in a condition of comple'e political freedom it would require long and patient application of the law of natural selection' to enable her to discard gradually the in

Other giants, of the race of Cormoran, that "dwell in gloomy caverns, and wade over to the mainland to steal cattle," are at this instant beginning to creep from their foul dens, by sewers and stagnant waters, spreading death and dismay along their path. In the autumn their raids are widest and most deadly. Last spring I heard two women telling one another of a giant of the tribe of Cormoran camping down at Dorking in Surrey. A giant with a poisoned breath and hungry jaws, attacking not only cattle, but the harmless country people all about; children, and men, and women, whom he seized with his deadly gripe, and choked and devoured. Giant Blunderbore, it must be confessed, has had many a hard blow dealt him of late from one Jack and another. There is one gallant giant-killer at Fulham hard by, waging war with many monsters, the great blind giant Ignorance among the rest. Some valiant women, too, there are who have armed thenselves, and gone forth with weak hands and tender strong hearts to do their best. I have seen some lately who are living in the very midst of the dreary labyrinth where one of the great Minotaurs of the city is lurking. They stand at the dark mouth of the poisonous caverns, warning and entreating those who, in their blindness and infatuation, are rushing thither, to beware. "I took a house and came," said one of them simply to my friend Mrs. K- when she asked her how it happened that she was established there in the black heart of the city. All round her feet a little ragged tribe was squatting on the floor, and chirping, and spelling, and learning a lesson which, pray heaven, will last them their lives; and across the road, with pretty little crumpled mobcaps all awry on their brown heads, other children were sewing and at work under the quiet rule of their good teachers. The great business of the city was going on outside. The swarming docks were piled with bales and crowded with workmen; the main thoroughfares streaming and teeming with a struggling life; the side streets silent, deserted, and strangely still. A bleak northeast wind was blowing down some of these grey streets. I have a vision before me now of one of them: a black deserted alley or passage, hung with some of those rags that seem to be like the banners of this reign of sorrow and sin. The wind swooped up over the stones, the rags waved and fell, and a colourless figure passing up the middle of the dirty gutter pulled at its grimy shawl and crouched as it slid along.

We may well say, we Londoners, see how

far the east is. from the west. I myself coming home at night to the crowded cheerful station and travelling back to the light of love, of warmth, of comfort, find myself dimly wondering whether those are not indeed our sins out yonder set away from us, in that dreary East of London district; our sins alive and standing along the roadside in rags and crying out to us as we pass.

Here in our country cottage the long summer is coming to an end, in falling leaves and setting suns, and gold and russet, where green shoots were twinkling a little time ago. The banks of the river have shifted their colours, and the water, too, has changed. The song of the birds is over; but there are great flights in the air, rapid, mysterious. For weeks past we have been living in a gracious glamour and dazzle of light and warmth; and now, as we see it go, H. and I make plans, not unwillingly, for a winter to be passed between the comfortable walls of our winter home. The children, hearing our talk, begin to prattle of the treasures they will find in the nursery at London as they call it. Dolly's head, which was unfortunately forgotten when we came away, and the panniers off the wooden donkey's back, and little neighbour Joan, who will come to tea again, in the doll's teathings. Yesterday, when I came home from the railway-station across the bridge, little Anne, who had never in her short life seen the lamps of the distant town alight, came toddling up, chattering about "de pooty tandles," and pulling my dress to make me turn and see them too.

As we

To-night other lights have been blazing. The west has been shining along the hills with a gorgeous autumnal fire. From our terrace we have watched the lights and the mists as they succeed one another, streaming mysteriously before yonder great high altar. It has been blazing as if for a solemn ceremonial and burnt sacrifice. watch it other people look on in the fields, on the hills, and from the windows of the town. Evening incense rises from the valley, and mounts up through the stillness. The waters catch the light, and repeat it; the illumination falls upon us, too, as we look and see how high the heavens are in comparison with the earth; and suddenly, as we are waiting still, and looking and admiring, it is over. the glory has changed into peaceful twilight.

And so we come away, closing shutters and doors and curtains, and settling down to our common occupations and thoughts