Government, we must consider the question from that Government's own point of view. France is passing through an exceptional period of its history. The Emperor aspires to close the gulf of the revolution; and he considers that if he can attain his object, and leave France in a condition of permanently settled order and government, the benefit to future generations of Frenchmen will outweigh the increased burden of debt incurred in the achievement of this great object. To shorten the period of successive convulsions by even twenty years, would repay the present expenditure. This is not an English view of the matter; but it is only fair to take it into account. We so far adopt it as to say that if the result be what the Emperor hopes and expects, the result will justify his perilous course. We shall not, therefore, condemn his course while it is still on its trial. Time tests all things; and we are willing to leave the Imperial Government in this matter accused but not condemned.

Availing ourselves of the Flaneur's book-which is in every respect an admirable one-we have, it will be allowed, reviewed the domestic policy of the Emperor in no ungenerous spirit. Probably we have accorded to it more unqualified praise than the general public will endorse. But we believe that our praise is well-founded. We believe that, as regards his internal policy, the Emperor is entitled to our sympathy-certainly to our admiration. His foreign policy, however, opens out quite a different field for reflection. The best Sovereign for France, in her present transitional condition, may not be the best neighbour for Europe. We might say of necessity he cannot be so. The best way to pacify factions at home is to direct the national feelings abroad. We find this exemplified in the history of our own country. Cromwell did so not much by arms indeed, but by the unexampled vigour with which he

upheld the principles of civil and religious liberty in his foreign diplomacy. William III. did so, by heading the war of liberty on the Continent against the military ambition and aggressions of Louis XIV. Napoleon I. stemmed the cataract of revolution by engaging the strength and sentiments of the country in foreign wars. Napoleon III., in more guarded fashion, as befits the circumstances of the time, does the same. It seems necessary for the hour to suppress political life in France. The Emperor, we doubt not, means to give it back again in full vigour once his "mission" has been crowned with success. But he sternly represses it for the present; and as long as he continues to do so

in other words, as long as France is still restless under the new regime he must give that scope for the national aspirations in his foreign policy which he denies to them at home. Nor does he adopt the disinterested policy of William III. England fought under William, as she has fought since, for the liberties of Europe, at great cost to herself, but with no desire to repay herself by material aggrandisement. Napoleon III. cherishes an opposite view. If he dare not, like his uncle, "make war maintain war," he seeks to make war repay itself. He is no impulsive and disinterested champion of the Right. He must go in the main with the cause of national freedom and independence for he sees that that is the side which will win. But he has "no prejudices." If a despotic Power will help him better than a free one, he will side for the time with Despotism. If a free State will help him better than a despotic one, he will side for the time with Freedom. In general, he balances between the two-availing himself of each in turn. He aspires to "settle" Europe as he aspires to settle France; but just as France must, in his view, be settled in the interests of his dynasty, so Europe must, in the same opinion, be re

modelled in the interests of France. If Piedmont is to be aggrandised by the expulsion of the Austrians from Lombardy, France must be aggrandised by the annexation of Savoy and Nice. If Italy is to be unified, and Rome and Venice to be incorporated with the rest of the peninsula, France must be aggrandised still more, by the island of Sardinia or another slice from Piedmont. Germany also, slowly and as if blindfold, tends towards unification; and Napoleon again is ready to help Prussia, or any other German State, in the work, on condition of being recompensed with the frontier of the Rhine. If, as is probable, Prussia will not conspire with him for such a purpose or on such terms, Napoleon counts upon seizing the Rhenish provinces during the troubles which will necessarily attend the achieve

ment of German unity. In such a case he will pretend to march to the aid of some of the little German States, whose Princes of course will be unwilling to be "mediatised;" and will end by throwing them overboard as soon as he is allowed to retain his hold upon the luckless Germans of the Rhine. He is equally ready to help Russia to eject the Turks from Europe, on the same disinterested conditions! We hold our hand; not because the tale is complete, but because it is beyond our present purpose to go further. And, however frank we have been in our approval of the domestic policy of the Emperor, we think we have said enough to prove that the best Sovereign of France, in her present condition, is necessarily not the best neighbour for either England or Europe.

ALL hail, sweet summer weather -by whose benignant favour we can at length throw open the casement, and admit the balmy breeze, touched but not laden with the scent of the roses that cluster so thick in the verandah! Long have we awaited thy coming, and bitterly did we chide thy delay; for verily it seemed as though the sun had lost his pristine strength, and was powerless to dissipate the clouds which, day after day and week after week, made murky the face of heaven, and deluged the cheerless earth with a superfluity of unwelcome rain. Kindly, no doubt, was the aspect of the early spring, when the trees put forth their light-green foliage without a check-when the sloe-bush by the river's side was white with blossom, the birds busy in the thickets, and the young lambs racing in the joy of new existence over the daisy-spangled mead. But then came the east wind, malignant as the breath of envy, parching the skin, irritating the lungs, and piercing to the very marrow thrice-hated Eurus, who, sweeping along the Firth of Forth, scatters influenza from his wings, and renews in the tortured limbs of

VOL. XCII.-NO. DLXIII.

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mortals the pangs of remorseless rheumatism. That we could have endured patiently as an inevitable yearly disaster; but it was somewhat hard to find that neither Notus nor Zephyrus were disposed to treat us better. The vanes veered in conformity with the fluctuations of the aerial current, and yet there was no relief. The almanac told us that summer had arrived; but then we had the evidence of our senses that it lied like a Yankee bulletin. Ever sicklier gloomed the clouds-down came incessantly the plash of the weary rain. rolled the rivers from bank to brae, baffling the skill and disappointing the expectations of the eager angler. The low meadows were converted into swamps, and there were fearful inundations in the fens. Turnips could not be sown; and the cereals languished for want of invigorating sunshine. Grievous to the soul of the sportsman were the tidings forwarded from the moors; for the young broods of grouse were said to have perished by the score; and there was a sad prospect of empty bags for the coming twelfth of August. Meanwhile there was a general rush to London to behold

the wonders of the Great Exhibition; but what curiosity could remain unslaked under the influence of that melancholy dripping? Marvellous to relate, the demand for cabs enormously exceeded the supply; and Jehu, waxing arrogant with his fortunes, insisted upon double fares. Even the sewers became rebellious, and burst like Icelandic geysers. Never-so said the disconsolate pleasure - seekers, as wet and weary they returned to their temporary homes and sought comfort, albeit the month was June, by the side of the parlour firenever in the memory of man had there been so miserable a season!

During the continuance of such weather who but an absolute maniac would have deliberately sat down to write on the subject of wateringplaces? Not until the scorching summer heat makes it necessary for men to doff their winter garments, do any feel an insatiable longing for purling streams, clear translucent wells, or lakes of silver brightness. Some fanatical anglers, no doubt, affect the rivers even in February and March, and become candidates for early paralysis by plunging into ice-cold streams for the chance of capturing a salmon. But the vast majority of the race of Adam are proof against such vain deceits, eschew chilly potations, and deem it no inconsiderable exercise of fortitude and philosophy to undergo in frosty weather the ordeal of the shower-bath and the tub. Nor do they ever think of quitting their Own comfortable urban homes, wherein, let the weather without be as squally as it may, they are surrounded by all the appliances that can interest and occupy the mind, until the brilliant sunshine, lighting up and enlivening even the dingy town-gardens and smoke-corrupted flower-plots, suggests to them the fragrance of the summer woods, and the freshness of the breezes on the uplands. Then, indeed, do they sally forth, moved by the same impulse that drives the gypsy to the shaw; for

nature with her many voices summons them to her yearly jubilee in the open fields, and cold and insensate must be the heart that does not beat responsive to the call!

We have heard it said that there are denizens of London who would never willingly quit the pavement. That we believe to be an utterly false imputation. Some people, we are aware, contract a cat-like fondness for their houses, are always harping upon the adage that there is no place like home, and feel very much at a loss what to do with themselves if removed from their ordinary occupation; but even as Grimalkin-Tom or Tabby

indulges in a nocturnal sally, so do those excellent souls seek occasional recreation at Hampton Court, or Greenwich, or Richmond-or possibly, with a noble daring, encounter the perils of the deep, and sniff at Gravesend or Margate the briny perfume of the sea. But let no one attempt to persuade us that there ever was a Londoner who absolutely cared nothing for the country. The thing is manifestly impossible. Follow the most inveterate Cockney during the dogdays, and you will find him wending his way to Covent Garden, there to gloat over the baskets of fruit and heaps of vegetables, and to inhale the odour of the flowers. Or, haply, if he be of a frame reasonably athletic, and is duly impressed with the value of wholesome exercise, he wanders through the Armida bowers of St John's Wood, and with a fine poetical inspiration, worthy of the genius of Mr Haynes Bayley, wishes that he could be converted into a butterfly to flit among the trailing blooms of the gorgeous lilac and laburnum. And where is the citizen blessed with a competency who does not aspire to the beatitude of a box? Such abodes of felicity you may count by hundreds-yea, by thousands-on the sides of every highway stretching out from dingy London; and savage must be your

nature if the sight of the pebblepaved paths, stucco images, squirtlike jets d'eau, imitation rockwork, and blowsy peonies, serves only to extort from you a sneer. Be assured that the owner of Eden Lodge or Comely Cottage is as happy as a prince, when upon a Sunday he welcomes two or three City friends to his suburban retreat, and regales them with cold lamb, salad, a delicious cup, and undeniable country fruit just gathered from the bush or the bough. What though the heavy dust clouds sweep by in somewhat stifling vicinity, as the omnibus lumbers past-though cries indigenous to the City are frequently heard from the roadand though the scents which enter through the open windows are not always of the bean-flower or mignionette-still there remains the fact that the box is a country residence; and what more can be said of Belvoir, Alnwick, or Morpeth, of Drumlanrig, Taymouth, or Dunrobin ?

Unquestionably the love of the country is with all of us an instinctive feeling. Some, however, are more easily contented than others. Thus we have known people who could make themselves quite happy at Portobello, Burntisland, or such like suburban places, where they can enjoy a dip in the salubrious waters, and, when the tide is out, pace along the yellow sands, dig for sand-eels, detach limpets from the rock, or poke for miniature crabs among the bunches of the heavy sea-weed. They sigh not for Alpine scenery for the glen, the torrent, and the cataract; they are satisfied if they can but inhale the free open air of heaven, and wander unmolested by the shore of the farresounding sea. Such persons are not to be pitied-they are rather to be envied for the possession of a taste so simple and so easy of gratification. Others again rush into the opposite extreme. These are the fellows who will be content with nothing less than the exploration of Iceland, or the ascent of Alpine

peaks; not from scientific motives, but simply for the brag of the thing; as if it were a meritorious act to hazard the fracture of one's limbs by riding on rough ponies over beds of honeycombed lava, or to brave perdition by crawling along the edges of glaciers, and over fields of treacherous snow, tied all the while by ropes to much-enduring guides, who, for the guerdon of a few gold pieces, which poverty rather than avarice tempts them to accept, jeopardise their lives by tugging the mad Englishman over crevices, into which a single slip of the foot might launch the whole party, never more to emerge from the bowels of the ice until thawed by the final conflagration! It is, we are well aware, useless to reason with a man who is afflicted by this kind of insanity; for, notwithstanding the many fatal accidents which have occurred, we constantly learn from the newspapers that such feats have been again attempted, and long letters appear in the Times' and elsewhere commemorative of the bold exploits of Messieurs Jenkins and Simpkins, who have smoked cigars and drunk champagne on the summit of the Schreckhorn or the Jungfrau, with no more baneful results than blistered faces and the loss of some inches of cuticle occasioned by an unfortunate slide down an ice-slope bedizened with pebbles, which stripped from them every atom of under raiment, and consigned them for few weeks to the charge of a Swiss doctor, who found it no easy task to renovate the damaged hide. Editors, we know full well, are sometimes rather at a loss for materials to fill their columns during the long vacation; but surely they might find something better worth inserting than the experiences of Jenkins and his friend. Folly is contagious; and the chances are that some blockhead, fired with emulation of the feats of the Jenkins, and covetous of his temporary notoriety, may determine in the ensuing season, though he has never yet attained