There is one object, above all, that is accepted and recognised as a

symbol of the past--as a symbol, in fact, of terror and violence: it

is the Phrygian cap of liberty. So dear does this symbol appear to the

would-be Roman heart of the violent republican, that he seems not to

be able to perform any act, not only of his political but of his

social existence, without its evidence before his eyes. This graceless

head-dress--graceless, inasmuch as, instead of being allowed to fall

into a natural curve, and rounded knob above, as is even the fashion

to the present day of its offspring the _lazzaroni_ cap of Naples, it

is cut into a stiff, constrained, and badly imitated form of natural

folds--this graceless head-dress seems the idol of his day-dreams, the

bodily presence of the deity he falls down and worships, the

ecstatical and rhapsodical apparition of the visions of his sleep. It

figures in his allegorical pictures, surrounded by the rays of a sun

of glory, like an emblem of the Godhead or the Trinity: it must be

placed upon its sanctuary in his room like the crucifix in the oratory

of the Catholic: it must be stamped upon his coins like the Mother of

God upon the kreutzer pieces of Catholic Austria. When it is placed

upon his head, all his very self seems changed--he dreams but of

violence, he raves but of blood: it seems like a talisman that, once

it touches his skull, disturbs his intellects, heats his brains,

causes his mouth to open to vomit forth destruction and death to all

his fancied enemies: it is the cap of the fairy-tale that renders not

invisible but brings into reality and action all that is reckless,

cruel, arbitrary, hateful in his nature. He may be in private life the

mild and gentle man, full of suavity and affection, the loving

husband, and the kind father; let him don the Phrygian cap of liberty,

and he thinks it necessary to put on the face and wear the heart of a

demon--he is tyrannical, brutal, implacable; all that lends not a hand

to his sweeping designs, in furtherance of his _exalted_ opinions,

must be mown down, or torn up like the tares amidst the wheat, and

flung into the pit of destruction; and, in his mind, the good grain is

rare; but, when the tares are rooted out of the land, the good grain

will flourish and multiply, he thinks: and the raising of this symbol,

of the Phrygian cap of liberty, on high, he fancies, will cause the

dazzled eyes of those he calls reactionary counter-revolutionists to

blink and close, if it cast them not utterly to the earth with the

force of an African _coup de soleil_ by the mere brilliancy of those

rays of glory his imagination has shed around it. No less, on the

contrary, is this symbol of the past history of the old republic a

hateful eyesore to the vast majority, composed of the better-thinking

mass of the citizens of France in their new republic: the attempt at

its second deification fills them with an instinctive disgust: and,

_as yet_--alas! this _as yet_ must be ever repeated with foreboding

emphasis by those who stand looking on as spectators of the dangerous

game which a country is playing,--who see an active and violent

minority engaged in flogging and goading it on in the fatal path,

already traced in blood, and a passive majority looking on and holding

forth its hand, too feeble to stop it in its mad career, much less to

tear, with vigour, the frantic drivers from their seat;--_as yet_,

then, France rejects the Phrygian cap of liberty from among its

republican symbols, as the harbinger of a sentiment that it would

gladly repudiate, as it would throw a veil over the past. Frantic

republicans, then, may worship it: a few of the men of the people,

proud of their violent opinions, prompted by party rulers, and eager

to make an effect, may publicly place it on their heads, and swagger

with it through the streets of Paris or of Lyons: a few loose women,

still more reckless, may stick it jauntily over their brows, and fancy

themselves new goddesses of reason: citizen Louis Blanc, as one of the

members of the ultra-minority of the provisional government, may have

it engraved upon his visiting-cards, flaming with the above-mentioned

rays of glory, amidst banners and joined hands, and other such

allegorical emblems of "Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity;" but the

sentiment of the country at large rejects the evil symbol, and looks

upon it with aversion. A striking instance of this horror was

exhibited in the French colony of Algeria. There also, as in the

greater part of France, the establishment of the republic was received

as a _fait accompli_, against which resistance was useless, and as a

necessity, under the circumstances of the hour. The republic was

accepted unwillingly, and without the enthusiasm of which French

papers have lied to us; but with resignation--by some, perhaps, with

hope: and Algeria saw the prince, who had been sent to rule its

destinies, and his brother, both there honoured and beloved, depart

from its shores with regret and tears, and marks of the deepest

sympathy and honour. The population of Algeria then looked on and

waited. When the liberty-tree-planting mania reached the distant

shores of Africa, it saw a band of men erecting the tree upon a public

square, and still looked on in indifference. But when upon the summit

was placed the Phrygian cap of liberty, popular indignation at once

broke forth; the liberty-tree gardeners were attacked; a riot broke

out, and it was not until the obnoxious symbol was removed, by order

of the authorities, that this effervescence, that had nigh led to

bloodshed, for the maintenance on one hand of a symbol, for its

overthrow on the other, could be appeased. The population of Algeria

felt how deeply the sentiment was connected with this symbol in French

minds; and that, where facts of such vital importance had not produced

resistance, the symbol brought it forth at once, even to death, for

the triumph of the principles of each party. When once the blood-red

cap of liberty shall be lifted aloft in France, "to be seen of the

eyes of men," and call for the bowed head and the bended knee, it will

be time for all honest men to take sword in hand, or quit the country,

as the plague-smitten land that soon will be a desert, blood-stained

waste.

The red colour, the colour of blood, in fact--the colour of that flag

which Lamartine rejected, is in and by itself adopted as the symbol of

the ultra-republican sentiment. Tacitly it is adopted as the banner of

the party of violence and terror; instinctively it is avoided by the

advocates for moderate republican progress. The fellow that flares

along the boulevards with a red cravat may be recognised at once as

one of those who call themselves the only true and pure democrats: his

symbol will not belie him; and see how his brow is knit! see how his

eyes roll! see how furiously he sticks out his black beard! He

considers it necessary, lest his symbol should not sufficiently

declare his character, to look as extravagantly uncompromising as

possible, and tell the world at large, by the wag of the beard, the

roll of the eye, and the knit of the brow, that he is one of those

enemies of tyranny who would grasp it all in their own hands; one of

those friends of liberty who claim it only for themselves, and would

crush it in those whose opinions may be a thought milder; one of those

redressers of the wrongs of the oppressed, who would advocate the

strongest oppression, despotism, dictatorship,--no matter

what,--provided that strong enough it be, against that "foul and

infamous majority of the country," that dares to say "nay" when he

says "ay." This republican Sir Jupiter Tonans wears a red cockade, in

defiance of the government, or rather with the knowledge how he is

supported by its factious minority; and if he smear not his face with

red like the Indian, scarcely less savage than himself, he hopes to

smear his hands of that colour soon, and of the purest and most

natural blood-red tint. Already he follows the cry of his leading

ultra journals, "_aux armes! aux armes!_" He declares that the country

is betrayed, and the republic in danger; because, in the universal

suffrage that has been given it, the nation has proclaimed the triumph

of moderate opinions and the defeat of his party, because the minority

has not worked its evil will, because a faction has been condemned by

the judgment of the nation. He hopes, however, to compensate himself

by shortly imbruing his hands in the blood of his countrymen, to the

greater glory of his favourite colour. He tosses his head proudly as

he walks; his brow, his beard, his eyes, as well as his cravat, all

cry "_aux armes!_" See how he sneers upon the tricolor banner as he

passes. Let him alone, and he will declare the tricolor _suspect_: his

symbol, the red, is alone to be acknowledged: those who recognise it

not shall amply be taxed with their life's blood to supply its dye.

Awful is this symbol; but it is the general symbol of the sentiment of

the _soi-disant_ "pure democratic," ever-revolutionising party of

violence and force: it is the symbol of that party which, were you to

ask them what was meant by a republic, would seriously inform you, a

constant state of convulsive revolution, to lop off, break down, and

destroy; the rebuilding on the ruins is with them but a matter of very

secondary consideration.

When, in the disastrous insurrection of Rouen, the ultra party used

all its instruments, and excited a few misguided artisans to take up

arms for the purpose of annulling the "universal suffrage" elections,

that had turned out in favour of the moderate majority, the "red" was

hoisted as the symbol of the party sentiment. Whatever may have since

been written by the party journals, there was no doubt, at this time,

of the republican opinions of both parties; the violent faction took

upon itself the denomination of the "_red_ republic," and thought to

stigmatise the moderates by the title of the "blue republic." Red and

blue were the rallying symbols,--the red, of anarchy and violence; the

blue, of order and moderation. Throughout the country, during the many

insurrections that burst out on account of the triumph of the moderate

party in the elections, the symbol was ever the same: that of the

party of order varied, but that of the ultra faction was invariably

the same. In the many strange and curious episodes that followed the

revolution in Paris of February,--it is necessary to distinguish by

dates, since, before these lines are printed, none can tell but that

another may have already taken place,--that of those strange gangs,

who constituted themselves the _soi-disant_ guardians of the

Tuileries, or the defenders of the cannon of the Hôtel de Ville, was

one of the most extraordinary, and by these men the same colour was

adopted as their symbol: they bound red cravats about their necks, and

tied red scarfs around their waists. The band of brigands that had

assumed the governorship of the palace of the Tuileries, was with

difficulty ejected from it, after much weak parleying and truckling on

the part of the government, and was at length reduced by a threat of

famine; but that of the Hôtel de Ville maintained its power. It was

thought necessary to come to a compromise with it, by legally

instituting it as the "Republican Guard" of the seat of government;

but nothing could persuade the self-organised troop to remove its

ill-omened, blood-red, ultra-republican symbols from neck or body: the

point was yielded, and the republican guard is still looked upon with

apprehension, as it scours the streets on horseback, or frowns on

quiet citizens on foot, flaunting its red scarfs abroad. Among the

other anomalous circumstances that were born of a state of things

consecutive upon a republican revolution, was also the mysterious

existence of that editor of a violent ultra journal, who instituted,

on his own authority, a _comité de salut public_, and sent a band of

myrmidons into the streets of Paris to arrest, upon the warrant of his

autocratic will, all unfortunate citizens who might be detected in the

groups, upon public places, discoursing moderation, and who were

consequently to be treated as _reactionnaires_ and _contre-

revolutionnaires_--or, in other words, as the _suspects_ of

this new self-appointed _montagnard régime_.

These myrmidons were all decorated with the fatal symbol, in neckcloth

and scarf, around their _blouses_. Who were they? who connived at

their illegal proceedings? how came it that the editor of the _Commune

de Paris_ was permitted to have a body-guard at his service, employed

to arrest the inhabitants of Paris at his will? For a long time all

was mystery: no one could tell, or could do more than hint at the

solution of these questions. With difficulty the truth was learnt. As

connected with the red symbol of violence and terror, and the history

of the parties formed in the new French republic, the story of Citizen

Sobrier, the self-instituted president of a _comité de salut public_,

unrecognised by any authority, edict or decree, the self-appointed

_Prefêt de Police_, No. 2, as he was called by a people that jokes of

things the most serious, is a curious and not uninteresting one. When,

in a moment of insurrection and disorder, an armed and tumultuous

handful of republicans in the Chamber of Deputies changed the

destinies of a country, and hastily consented to the appointment of

those few men, whose names came uppermost, as the Provisional

Government of the country, and then declared them elected by the

general voice of the "sovereign people," a certain Caussidière posted

off to the _Prefêcture de Police_, established himself in its bureau,

and, when questioned what he did there, declared that he was as much

elected _Prefêt de Police_ by the voice of the sovereign people, as

the other good gentlemen members of the government. This argument was

a clinching one; and it prevailed. But, lo and behold! a little later

arrived another _Prefêt de Police_, equally elected upon the same

principles by the voice of the sovereign people: and Citizen Sobrier

declared himself equally authorised to wield the authority of the

Parisian police. The two divine missionaries--divine by that "_voix du

peuple qui est la voix de Dieu_," agreed for a time to share the power

as double delegates; but two wild tiger-cats live seldom amicably in

the same cage according to the laws of nature, even be it that of

republican fraternity.[28] After much snarling and showing of teeth,

Citizen Sobrier was fairly driven out by his brother tiger-cat, and

retreated back to his editorial den, vowing vengeance against the

elected of the voice of the sovereign people. Citizen Sobrier,

however, was the friend of the minister of the interior, the chief of

the ultra violent minority in the government; and by the connivance of

Citizen Ledru-Rollin, a sop was thrown to Cerberus: the money he

demanded was lavished upon him for the support of his ultra journal,

above all for the support of the body-guard, supplied him from the

ranks of the republican guard of the Hotel de Ville, and incorporated

by him under the title of his "_Montagnards_:" and his authority, thus

connived at and protected, was used, as before stated, to harass and

arrest the _suspects_ of modern days among the citizens of Paris,

until they rose to protest by petition and remonstrance against this

monstrous illegal abuse. Since then the lustre of the red banner of

Citizen Sobrier has been dimmed for a season; and Parisians can talk

peace and moderation upon the boulevards without being bodily arrested

by living agents of the hated symbol. Another proof of the abhorrence

in which this fatal symbol, the red colour, is held by the

better-thinking French republicans, may be deduced from circumstances

that attended the dispersion of a Jacobin club in the first days of

the revolution. When the club was declared dissolved, and the would-be

president was turned out of the room by the indignant majority of the

inhabitants of the district of Paris in which it was attempted to

establish it, the cry "_à bas les Jacobins_" was but little heard; the

general indignation was excited by the red symbols worn by the baffled

institutor of the club--the general cry was "Down with the red cravat!

down with the red scarf! down with the blood of the guillotine!" Those

who cried this were workmen, men of the people,--at most small

shopkeepers: but they felt instinctively the force of the symbol; they

dreaded its influence; they feared its propagation of the sentiment

connected with it; they attached themselves to its downfall. The

visible symbol had more importance in their minds than the sentiment

itself; and perhaps no expression of sentiments, however violent,

would have excited an outburst of indignation so general and strong as

did the blood-red symbol.

[28] This paper was written and despatched from Paris by our

correspondent before the affair of the 15th May, when Citizen Sobrier

and Citizen Caussidière seem to have played such parts as might have

been expected of them.

Although they cannot, of course, find their place as "symbols,"

inasmuch as music cannot be said to assume an outward and bodily form,

yet the "patriotic hymns," as they are called, which are to be heard

upon all occasions, by day and by night, screamed discordantly in

chorus by a people that vaunts its musical capabilities, but

invariably sings out of tune,--shouted by groups of workmen, assuming

the nature of a very inharmonious glee in knots,--yelled at the top of

voices in quartets, duos, and trios of wandering _gamins_,--screeched

in ear-rending solos,--whistled by workmen,--bawled by little

children, hummed by women, or played on hand-organs on the boulevards,

and hunting-horns at the street corners,--may be also taken as

expressions of sentiments. The "_Marseillaise_" is accepted as a

traditionary musical accompaniment of all liberal, and especially

republican revolutionary movements in France. As the revolutionary

movement is incontestible, and as the establishment of the republic is

looked upon as a _fait accompli_, nothing can be said upon its being

chorussed incessantly,--much as, internally, many a musical ear may

flinch from the torture committed upon it by the hideous disharmony of

its executors,--much as the words may be repulsive to many feelings,

and appear senseless in the mouths of the citizens of a republic

established upon a basis of peace and order--much as many a heart may

beat painfully, the flesh creep with a shudder upon many a body, and

the hair stand on an end on many a head, on hearing that fearful

melody, however finely it may be composed, which recalls to so many a

mind the horrors of past days--scenes of pikes supporting bleeding

heads, a parent dead upon the scaffold, or a narrow personal escape

from death. But the Marseillaise has in general been accepted as the

symbolical hymn of the republic, and people "make up their minds to

it." The newly-composed hymn of the Girondins, as it is called,

affords little cause for horror and dismay, more especially as it has

been taken from a drama, in which the terrors of the first revolution

have been placed upon the stage with a truth and force of nature

sufficient to cause every soul that witnesses them to shudder with

apprehension, at the barest thought of their possible return. The

eternal recurrence at all times to the ear of the words, "_Mourir pour

la patrie, c'est le sort le plus digne d'envie_," may raise a smile

when heard from such mouths as often chorus it about, or may again

appear an anomaly in the character officially assumed by the present

republic--but the Girondin hymn is connected with no thought of past

evil or of living terror. Both these melodies, then, are accepted

without any repugnance, except the repugnance that the wearied ear

must feel at hearing the same notes dinned into it at all times, in

all places, and with every species of disharmony. But there are other

melodies, from which the better-thinking mass draws back with horror

and disgust--they are looked upon as symbolical of terror, violence,

and bloodshed--they turn the soul "sick with fear." If a body of

workmen--and, for the character of the French republic be it said,

that this is of rare occurrence--or a mob, formed of those fearful

hordes that come rushing down upon the city from the distant

faubourgs, or seem to spring out of the earth one knows not whence, at

all times of tumult or disorderly movement--be heard shouting the

_Carmagnole_ or the "_Ca ira_," of terrific memory, men turn aside;

for such fellows who can sing such songs cannot be otherwise than

ruffians of the lowest description, or, at best, men led astray by the

violence of the party rancour instilled into them by evil-thinking

_exaltés_, or too young and foolish, or too reckless and headstrong,

to know the fearful importance of the words they sing, and the terror

they inspire. Let it be hoped that in truth they know not what words

they use, when they howl, "_Les aristocrates à la lanterne--les

aristocrates on les tuera_," and the inflammatory consequences the

repetition of such words may bring forth. As yet the "_Ca ira_" is

heard but seldom, and but partially. When this symbolical chaunt of

destruction and death shall be chorussed aloud by a populace in

general mass, then most assuredly will the sentiment also have been

spread abroad, and widely--the sentiment of envy, rancour,

intolerance, and bloodshed--the sentiment of 1793; and then may France

be assured that she is lost--that she has fallen into the very slough

and mire of blood and terror. Heaven protect her from the "_Ca ira_!"

One of the first acts of a legally-constituted authority should be to

punish every wretch who dared even to hum it under his breath.

For the same reason a protest should be made against the singing of

the "Marseillaise" by the far-famed actress, Mademoiselle Rachel, at

the first theatre of France, and more especially since this terrific

exhibition is given also upon the occasions when the theatre is

gratuitously opened to the public. The terrible vigour of this actress

in the delineation of the worst and fiercest passions of the human

breast--anger, rage, scorn, malice--is well known to the world. The

singing of the "Marseillaise" has excited a tumult of enthusiasm. At a

time when all the theatres in Paris languished, and pined away to the

bare benches, and even died--some of them from inanition, poor

things!--the Théâtre Français was nightly crammed to its throat in the

very upper galleries, to gaze upon this strange spectacle. Before

witnessing this feat of Mademoiselle Rachel, it was natural to suppose

that she would assume the part of an inspired Joan of Arc, leading on

a people to combat and victory. Bitter was the disappointment of those

who indulged this poetic fancy. Her gestures, while singing the

patriotic hymn, are energetic, if not grand, her attitudes fine, her

_poses plastiques_ picture-like; but what is the whole character of

her delivery--what the expression she bestows? Those of hatred,

malice, revenge, bloodthirstiness. She calls "to arms" as Satan may

have summoned the accursed angels. She is not for a moment the

inspired guardian angel of a suffering country, heaven-sent to avenge

its wrongs: she is the demon of darkness scattering destruction and

death from the sheer love of death and destruction. Her flatterers

have called her "a Muse"--then she must needs be the Muse of

Vengeance! the Muse of Malice! the Muse of Blood! She sinks her voice

to sing the words, "_Amour sacré de la patrie_;" but with what a

spirit of concentrated bitterness does she pronounce them! There is

not a breath of love in the least inflexion of her voice: every tone

breathes "hate--hate--hate," with all the bitterness of hatred. What a

look of fury, malice, scorn, and reckless revenge possesses her face

during her whole delivery! One would suppose that she must have some

private wrongs of her own to avenge upon society, or upon the

denounced aristocracy of society, so spontaneous appears the flood of

blood-mixed bile that flows from her lips. A shudder pervades your

whole frame, your hair stands on end; and willingly would you turn

away your head with horror and disgust, did she not fascinate you by

the power of her energy, and cast an evil spell upon you by the charm

of the sculptured beauty of her forcible attitudes. Ay! would a

sculptor study a true model of a demon of revenge, he could not study

a better one than Mademoiselle Rachel, as she delivers the

Marseillaise. But it is this very fascination that is dangerous.

Hundreds of spectators, who applaud with frenzy, leave the theatre

instinctively connecting in their minds the Marseillaise with all the

most fearful and deadly passions of the human breast. The bitterness

of bitterness pervades their recollection of it--a vision of the

demon-like actress floats before their eyes; they murmur the melody

themselves involuntarily, with the same feelings of hatred, revenge,

and bloodthirstiness. Oh! anathema on the actress who would inspire

the citizens of France with feelings so vile--who knows her power over

the masses, and so fearfully misuses it--who, when she might modify,

exaggerates, and goads on to fury! The evil that this representation

may produce is incalculable. Who can tell how far the leaven of gall

that she infuses into the popular melody, that is in every body's

mouth, and rings in every body's ear, may not leaven the whole

sentiment connected with it? Yes! woe and anathema to the actress! The

more terrible sentiment connected with the symbol had faded from men's

minds, and she would again connect the symbol with sentiments of

terror and revenge.

All tendencies to return upon the bloody track of the past are equally

condemnable: every symbolical reminiscence of that past is equally to

be avoided. It ought to be scouted by the good sense of the

better-thinking citizens of France, and put down by all the moral

force that public remonstrance, reasoning, satire, and ridicule may

command in the public prints. There was a time when a new-born French

republic, in the heyday folly of its early youth, and with all the

silly fancies of silly puerile years--and who of us, as a youngster,

has not had such?--sought for its models, and emblems, and symbols, in

the most ancient republics of Europe; and weened that, if it assumed

the outward forms, and wore the names of those old times, it must

necessarily inherit the supposed virtues of the days of Greece and

Rome: those virtues which, to its fancy, consisted chiefly in

uncompromising sternness, and _soi-disant_ patriotic hard-heartedness.

And, like a silly boy, the first French republic rendered itself

ridiculous by its extravagant absurdities. Like a stage-struck hero of

the same age, it exaggerated and overacted its part: it fancied that

it had but to put on the robe, and take the name, and strut and

swagger; and that it would act the part, if not to the life, at least

with wonderful effect. Unlike the silly boy, however, it went beyond

the contemptible,--it became frantic, furious, bloodyminded--it became

terrible: its hot young brains were turned, and dreamt bad dreams of

cruelty and carnage. Those were the days when men unbaptised

themselves of their old names, and called themselves "Brutus," and

"Aristides," and "Scevola," and "Leonidas," and deemed themselves

great and doughty patriots, with all the virtues of the antique,

because they had so put their names down among the _dramatis personæ_

in the bill of the play. Those were the days when women wore Grecian

tunics, and exposed their naked charms to the inclemencies of a foggy

northern sky; and happy would the results of all this nonsense have

been, had the republic only caught a cold, or a sore throat, or a

toothach: unfortunately, it caught a fever, a sore soul, and a

heartach. Those were the days when fasces were carried abroad in

public fêtes, as emblems of liberty,--fasces! those true emblems of

constraint and tyranny--of constraint by the stick, of tyranny by the

axe,--fasces! such as lictors carried before Nero; and the fasces were

stamped upon the coins of the republic, surmounted by a cap of

liberty! Those were the days when Greece and Rome were _soi-disant_

models, greedily swallowed, ill digested, and producing nausea,

loathing, and sickness. The Grecian and the Roman symbols, therefore,

were symbols to be avoided and repulsed. They remind of the past; they

prepare people's minds for its return; they bring with them visions of

blood. In the very heart's core of the people, with the Grecian

allegories, and the Spartan virtues, and the fasces, are intimately

connected _comités de salut public_, and denunciations unto death, and

the guillotine. Away with them then! refer not to them again! repel

them, second French republic, from your fêtes, and your public

ceremonies, and your coins! They are all so many prickly whips to

drive men's minds back to the bloody past, and urge them again along

the self-same blood-stained road. Surely, too, the day of such

worn-out theatrical humbug is past: the world has grown more civilised

and more sensible: the age of allegorical absurdities is gone by.

True! the world has also lost much of its poetry and romance; and

there may be those who regret it, and would be foolish still; but all

this _Greco-Franco_ republican romance and poetry, borrowed of the

ancients, is now sadly out of place. What do I say?--is to be shunned

as the plague-fraught garment from the East, that, when thrown upon

your shoulders, may extend a fatal disease far and wide among the

land, that may become another robe of Nessus to burn and consume you

to the bones; and when once thrown on, not to be torn away again

without tearing with it the healthful flesh, and the very blood of

life. And yet there are those who would seem determined ever to refer

back to the past days, ever to spur along the old road, and who appear

to dream that they can never produce the effect they want, but by

spreading the poisoned garment over the back of France. There has been

a reckless Minister of the Interior, who, hand-in-hand with a

strong-minded but ill-judging woman, full of strange subversive

fancies, which she proclaims with a masculine voice, and in a nominal

masculine garb, seems to forget the importance of such symbols over

the easily exciteable imaginations of the French, or perhaps even--may

God forgive him, if so it be!--adopts the symbols of the past, in

order to prepare the way for its return, and for the return to his own

hands of the tyranny of democratic despotism. It is he who has

declared it his high will, that the spirit of the country should be

_travaillé_--_i. e._ tortured--to his own furious sense: and, in

truth, the maintenance of such symbols is a pretty and convenient

manner to _travailler_ the public spirit with all the taking gaudiness

of outward show. As Minister of the Interior, he is supreme institutor

and instigator of popular fêtes, and public republican ceremonies:

and, whether of his own fancy, or under the influence of the

promptings of minor masters of ceremonies, or of those who would be

such, he appears determined that modern republican shows, festivities,

and ceremonials, should bring back as many reminiscences of those of a

fatal time as possible. In the funeral ceremony of the interment of

those who fell in the days of February,--which, in its very nature, as

well as from the immense masses it called forth of men of all classes,

all corporations, all bodies of the state, citizen troops, and

military, with music, and banners, and streaming ribands, was

sufficiently imposing,--in this ceremony Paris was again bid to

delight itself with the aspect of modern lictors preceding the members

of the Provisional Government, with antique fasces--those eternal

emblematical fasces,--that had been borrowed from the boards of the

_ci-devant_ Théâtre Francais, where they had been used, poor dirty old

things, to be paraded by knock-kneed bearers before all the bloody

tyrants of the classic drama of France: they were "freshened up," it

is true, and made smart, to meet the time and circumstance, by being

bound with new tri-color ribands: but they were no less foolish

symbols, and worse than foolish, from the effect they might have on

sentiments. But this was but the caviare to the feast. A new

republican fête is prepared by the same minister of the interior, and

that, too, at a time when the public treasury is empty, and a national

bankruptcy stares the country in the face--a fête that has no purpose

as an anniversary, unless it be some anniversary of a time to be

forgotten--an uncalled-for fête, that is to be symbolical of a

republican word called "Fraternity," the sense of which no one in

France seems, by any effort, to be able to understand,--in fact, to be

the vague vain emblem of a vague vain word. What does the programme of

this fête set forth? Antique cars, bearing Grecian allegorical

personifications of the new-old deities of the day, drawn by huge oxen

with gilded horns, borrowed of the Eleusinian mysteries!--and little

Lacedemonian girls in white Grecian tunics, singing French patriotic

hymns on the boulevards under Grecian pavilions,--hear it, shade of

Coleman's Mr Sterling, and rejoice!--and Grecian tripods with burning

flames at street-corners--and painted Grecian statues, allegorical of

all sorts of fancied Grecian virtues, under the trees of the Champs

Elysées--and nonsense only knows how many other Grecian attributes of

canvass and pasteboard, and carpentry-work, and stage decoration in

all manner of high places. Out upon them all! Were we to turn to some

edict of the past, issued for the celebration of the pure and mighty

virtues of the days of the Convention, we should find exactly the same

programme of some fête of fraternity in those fraternal times,

ordained and arranged by the famous artist, Citizen David, the pure

taste of whose classic pictures all amateurs, who have visited Paris,

may have had the happiness of admiring in the galleries of the

_ci-devant_ Louvre.

No less to be condemned, for similar reasons, as uselessly and even

deleteriously calling into life the past, was the edict of the

Provisional Government, enacting that the representatives of the

people in the national assembly should have a uniform costume, similar

to that worn by the heroes of the Convention. This idea emanated,

doubtless, from the same violent and misdirected source as the

Greco-republican programme de fête: but why, it may be asked, did the

more sensible and moderate majority of that government lend its hand

to sign such a decree? The immense, majority, however, of the

representatives of the people, who are unwilling, at the same time, to

be the representatives of the ideas of '93, have, in their good

sense, done justice to this edict, by their disdain of its ordinances,

and their refusal to wear the costume imposed upon them. They felt the

full force of the symbol they were told to adopt; they felt the

dangerous importance of the sentiment that would be attached to it:

they rejected the symbol; and they disavowed the sentiment. And they

did well. The cocked hat with its gold-lace border, such as may be

seen, in pictures, on the head or in the hand of Danton or St Just,

was declared simply absurd, if nothing more: the tri-color scarf, to

be bound round their waists, with its gold fringe, was thought

puerile; but the celebrated white waistcoat, the fatal white

waistcoat, with its broad lappels flung back upon the shoulders--that

waistcoat known only under the popular names of the "_gilet à la

Robespierre_,"--or the "_gilet à la guillotine_"--the new

representatives of the people of a new republic, founded upon other

principles, flung aside with indignation. The "_gilet à la

Robespierre!_"--the very name was sufficient to excite feelings of

abhorrence; and the edict, although it of course withheld the name,

raised a storm of angry remonstrance and refusal. The whole

affair,--the edict as the indignation,--may be considered as puerile,

frivolous, and unworthy of strong feeling. But, again it must be

repeated, the men who were told to don this costume knew what the

sentiment would be that such a display of symbolical attire would

excite; and a great importance was attached to it, which men in other

countries may not understand, but which those who know the French, and

their facility to be led away by the outward symbol, will entirely

appreciate. It may seem ridiculous to say--and yet it may not be far

off the truth--that many a representative of the people, who may now

talk sage and sensible moderation, might have thundered forth the

excess of democratic violence, had his bosom borne across it the

"_gilet à la Robespierre_."

There are other symbols of the great watchwords of the day; those ill

understood and oft misconstrued words,--those words which are so

constantly put forward by the violent to mean the very contrary of

what they are intended to express,--the words "_Liberté! Egalité!

Fraternité!_" and these symbols men think it necessary to exhibit on

all occasions. So be it. They are the rallying cry of the new

republic; let them be symbolised. But let men take care how, and in

what manner, it be done. In the new coins of the republic, upon which

the three mystic words shine, they are strangely enough typified--the

old die of the old coin of the old republic has been used; and perhaps

the allegorical personages that figure on them had then another

signification. As it is, the Hercules in the midst, with the two

ladies by his side, may be interpreted in various ways. Curious

speculators in allegories would in vain endeavour to affix each of

these three personages to each of the abstractions they are supposed

to represent: there are many, at all events, who decline the task.

Which does Hercules typify? Liberty perchance--the liberty, then, of

force. Or, if the ladies alone represent the qualities that are of the

feminine gender in the French language, which of the three is absent?

which of the three is excluded from being symbolised on the coins of

the French republic? This would be, again, a difficult task to

investigate. All the three are so constantly called in question, so

continually menaced, above all, so little comprehended in general in

the first steps of the French republic, that it would be hard to say

which is the least recognised, although many may give their votes in

favour of the first of the three good dames. But it is not alone upon

the coins that the three deities find their emblems. Lithographic

prints, of every species of good or bad drawing, display them in a

bodily form to admiring eyes at every print-shop. Led away by

pictures, as by all other outward and visible emblems, the French are

easily inflamed by such productions. And, again, a protest should be

entered against the character commonly given to the republican

deities--against that of goddess Liberty more especially. She is

almost invariably represented in an attitude of demoniacal vengeance,

worthy of Mademoiselle Rachel. She has the so-called cap of liberty,

of course, upon her head, but her hand always grasps a sabre, or a

pike, or some such deadly weapon; her countenance is furious, angry,

vengeful. Why should Liberty be represented thus, then, as a

bloodthirsty angel of wrath? why should she be an object to be dreaded

and not loved? Rulers of France, ye should have a care how the

divinity ye proclaim is symbolised to the eyes of the people! the

effect produced, in the fostering of the sentiment, may be more

important than ye choose to think or to acknowledge. The same

reprehension should be cast upon the greater part of those models and

pictures which are exhibited in the _Ecole des beaux arts_, for the

prize to be given for the best personification of the French Republic.

The great majority of these models represent, once more, a perfect

fury of wrath, in all the extravagance of frantic theatrical gesture.

But, my good artists, this is a representation of a French Republic

such as it was in the worst moments of its last reign--not of the

French Republic proclaimed as the living exemplification, not only of

liberty, equality, and fraternity, but of peace, and order, and love!

Could you do nothing better than make bad imitations of a detestable

past? It will be for the famous Minister of the Interior, probably, to

decide which of these personifications is to be raised on high as the

symbol of the republic. He who offered the prize will probably award

it: Paris, then, will soon see what sentiment is to be taught, in the

name of all France, to attach to the symbol.

There is another little trait connected with a people's sentiments

that, slight as it is, may be of more influence in the direction which

the violence of popular commotion may take. This little trait,

although born of an evil and violent feeling, may have a tendency that

not only will not be a harmful one, but may protect from harm. At the

commencement of the revolution,--upon every greater or lesser

demonstration of popular feeling,--the first cry, to the rich or the

supposed rich, was to illuminate their houses in honour of the

sovereign people, or rather of those who assumed the rank and title of

sovereignty wholly to themselves. Above the cries, "_à bas les riches!

à bas les aristocrats!_" prevailed the cry "_des lampions! des

lampions!_" So often, and for so long a time, was this cry heard in

the streets of Paris, that it has now taken the distinct form of one

of those popular shouts used upon all occasions. Is the mob angry, or

is it merry, it cries "_des lampions!_" Is it angry only, this cry

often changes its wrath to merriment: is it impatient, it cries "_des

lampions!_" is it witty, "_des lampions!_" By day as well as night, on

all popular occasions, the cry is heard, and now never fails to excite

a laugh. In the theatres, is a piece to be damned?--the pit and the

galleries cry, "_des lampions!_" Does a declaimer in a street crowd

displease the multitude?--it cries again, "_des lampions!_" The words,

then, have become a popular demonstrative cry; and who can tell how

much in the future this habit may efface the hideous cry of "_à la

lanterne_?"--how much the cry for light may cause the people to forget

the cry for the darkness of death upon the lamp-post--how much, in

truth, popular sentiment may be hereafter influenced by a trait of

popular habit so slight, so frivolous, so ridiculous, and yet,

perhaps, so important in its results. Should it have this working,

there are many who have lost their temper at the ear-rending,

monotonous, irritating cry of "_des lampions_," who may bless the day

when the fancy of the mob adopted this popular and almost historical

cry. Who can tell, indeed, upon what a trifle may depend the direction

given to a people's outbreak, to the course of a revolution, to the

destinies of a country?

Since the courageous action of Lamartine gave a first stamp to the

character of the revolution, by putting down a dangerous sentiment in

its bloody symbol, the violent party has in vain again endeavoured,

_as yet_, to assume its lost supremacy. The horizon is dark with its

menace, it is true, and its thunder growls, its lightnings flash, from

time to time: the storm may be dispersed, or it may break forth, and

then pass away. This is for the future. But whatever men may rule the

destinies of France, they should, like Lamartine, be well aware that

if the French people must be amused with constant displays of symbols,

those symbols must be chosen with care, as the direct, and leading,

and active instigators of their sentiments.

AMERICAN FEELING TOWARDS ENGLAND.

We believe it to be impossible to overrate the importance of the

triumph of order on the 10th of April in London, either as to its

effects on Great Britain or on the world. The complete and signal

success, and at the same time the calm working of the machinery by

which the end was accomplished,--the impression of a vast power felt

throughout, though purposely kept in the background, ready to act if

necessary, but only in the case of necessity; the proof which it

afforded of the perfect soundness of the English mind, extending even

to the masses of the capital amidst the revolutionary contagion; and

the contrast which it exhibited between the well-balanced and elastic

strength of the English constitution, and the unsubstantial systems or

crumbling governments of the Continent, formed a spectacle which no

one could witness without pride, or remember without a feeling of

gratitude and of increased security. It has tranquillised for many a

year the fears of those who had begun to doubt whether even the strong

anchor of our constitution could continue to hold fast against the

strain of the revolutionary current. It has proved, if that indeed

were doubtful, how essentially different are the elements of the

British character from those of the fickle populations of Southern

Europe, among whom revolution had found its adherents; and how

deep-seated in that character is the love of order, respect for

property, deference to established authority, calm and practical good

sense, and that solid groundwork of moral and religious feeling, on

which alone any stable form of government can ever be reared. If,

since that memorable 10th of April, the Continent has begun to obtain

a little truce and breathing time; and even in France the possessors

of property and the friends of order are beginning to be alive at once

to their own danger, and their own strength, and to the necessity of

exerting the forces, moral and physical, which are at their disposal

to put down the approach of anarchy in its most undisguised and

hideous form--it is to the peaceful and majestic triumph of order in

England that these results are to be ascribed.

It cannot but be matter of deep interest to us to learn with what

feelings the danger and the escape of Great Britain were contemplated

in America; a country where the experiment of a republic had been

tried, and where--if the same spirit of propagandism existed which

appears to be the curse of France--it might have been supposed that

the chance of a democratic constitution being established in England,

would have been a subject of congratulation and anticipated triumph.

In Paris, upon the morning of the 12th April, nothing, we are told,

but disappointment was experienced, when the peaceful, and, as they

deemed it, ignominous termination of the proceedings at Kennington

Common was made known. How were the news received by our Transatlantic

brethren? A short extract from the letter of a valued friend in New

York, and one or two from the American papers, will be interesting, we

think, to our readers, as illustrating the state of feeling on the

subject in America.

The tone of the American press on this question has on the whole been

most creditable to the periodical literature of that country. It

proves that, though many points of difference may and must exist

between the two countries,--though the elder may not always have borne

her faculties in the meekest way, and the younger may have often

announced her pretensions with more of petulance than discretion,--

nations sprung of the same lineage, speaking the same language,

cherishing the same literature, cannot be so alienated from each other

by difference of political institutions, or opposition of commercial

interests, as not to feel a warm and cordial interest in each other's

welfare; and to lament, not from mere selfish considerations of

interest, but from higher and more generous sympathies, every calamity

which threatens a kindred nation, with which it feels itself united by

the ties of moral and intellectual relationship.

Our correspondent thus writes:--

"_New York, May 1st, 1848._

... "The arrival of the steam-ship America at this port on

Saturday last, bringing the good news of the complete

triumph of law, liberty, and order in our Fatherland, was

hailed with a degree of joy that well became true-born

descendants of British ancestors. That arrival terminated a

week which, to myself as well as to thousands of others, had

been one of intense and painful anxiety; for although I

never dreamed of the probability of a revolution, and never

doubted the power of government to quell the threatened

insurrection of the Chartists, I did greatly fear that a

conflict was inevitable; and I trembled at the possible

results that might follow, were only a single man in the

procession to parliament to fall before the bayonets of the

soldiery. How universal was this fear the newspapers which I

send you clearly tell; and you will smile at hearing that

even bets were made that the revolution was complete, and

England a republic.

"The course pursued by government, in trusting to a

voluntary police rather than to the military, exhibited

their usual wisdom, and has greatly added to the moral

dignity of their triumph. And the result has fully verified

the remark in your letter to me in March, that 'the upper

and middle classes, as also the respectable operatives, are

most determined to maintain order and the law, irrespective

of all political differences;' and proves beyond a doubt the

truth of the proud declaration, in the last number of your

Magazine, that 'the unbought loyalty of men--the cheap

defence of nations--still, thank God, subsists among _you_.'

"Notwithstanding all the extreme excitement aroused

throughout our land by the Revolution in France, and its

astounding progress on the Continent, and the confident

predictions of many that England could not unshaken meet the

shock of Chartist rebellion,--the instant it was known that

she had met it and was unmoved--that it had passed

harmlessly by as a summer cloud, without awakening from its

slumbers the giant strength it had threatened to

overcome,--a sensation of relief, a thrill of gladness, a

feeling of thankfulness, of security, and of admiration,

seemed to be almost universal, and men greeted each other in

the streets as those might who had together feared and

together escaped a great personal calamity.

"That much of this rejoicing arose from selfishness is very

true, for so closely connected are the social and commercial

relations of the two countries, that no blow struck at the

prosperity of England could be long unfelt in these United

States. But the fact is scarcely on that account the less

striking, nor will it, I venture to hope, deprive it of its

intense significance with those who, like yourselves,

exercise so great an influence upon the opinions and the

sympathies of two great nations."

The effect produced upon the _commercial_ affairs of America by the

apprehension of a revolutionary movement in Great Britain, and the

restoration of confidence when the news of the peaceful termination of

the demonstration of the 10th arrived, are thus given in the _Weekly

Herald_ of New York:--

_Sunday, April 30--6 p.m._

"The week just closed has been one of the most intense

excitement. The most gloomy anticipations had been formed

relative to the expected news from England; and we have

never before seen such a panic growing out of a probable

event, as that which had taken possession of the public

mind. The whole thing turned upon the result of the Chartist

movement in London; and such were the hopes and fears of

those connected in any way with Great Britain, that it was

difficult to escape the general depression. Vessels

freighted for ports in England were not permitted to depart

until after the arrival of the steamer. Drawers of exchange

refused to sell any more bills on their agents; prices for

cotton were steadily drooping in anticipation of a complete

overthrow of the British government; and a thorough

derangement existed in every department of industry, and, in

fact, the greatest consternation prevailed. As soon as it

was announced that the steamer America was telegraphed, the

public mind was at once relieved, and stocks advanced, even

before the news became known. The fact that the steamer was

coming, that she had sailed on her regular day, satisfied

all that there had been no change in the government--that

the Chartist movement had not succeeded, and that, so far

as political affairs in Great Britain were concerned, every

thing was quiet. This gave a buoyancy to the market, and the

reaction upon the public mind was tremendous. When the news

was read from an _Extra Herald_ to the crowd in Wall Street,

many men shed tears, and almost a universal shaking of hands

took place. Many, who imagined they were ruined, found their

fears groundless; and the long, anxious faces which met us

at every turn in the business portion of the city during the

past week, were suddenly changed to those of joy. Vessels

which have been under an embargo, will now resume their

voyages; and produce which has been held back, will go

forward more rapidly. Trade will again move on in the usual

channels, and renewed confidence will give an impetus to

commercial transactions generally. The news by the America

is of vast importance, inasmuch as it has removed the

immense weight pressing upon the minds of mercantile men,

and given great relief to all classes; otherwise the news

does not amount to much, in a commercial point of view. The

advance in consols was the result more of the reaction in

the public mind, caused by the manner in which the Chartist

demonstration passed off, than any thing else, as the

position of affairs on the Continent kept the market very

sensitive."

The following article is from the _Morning Express_; and it is

valuable for the justice of its remarks upon the anomalies which

pervade the democratic American constitution, as well as our own, and

which must exist under every form of government which deserves the

name:--

"THE ATTEMPTED INSURRECTION IN ENGLAND.--The public mind was

gratefully relieved on Saturday, by the intelligence, flying

like wild-fire upon the arrival of the America, that the

Chartist demonstration on Kennington Common failed of its

main object--viz., that of creating an insurrection among

the two millions of London, like that which had been created

among the million of Paris. If England had swung from her

moorings, as France has, and Italy and Germany have, no one

could have foreseen the consequences, or ventured to predict

upon the probable results. Certain it is, however, that

almost every British business-doing house in the United

States would have been crushed, and the commerce of the

world would have been annihilated for a season.

"The 'six points' of the Chartists of England are no doubt

known to our readers. The petitioners pray (1) for annual

parliaments, (2) universal suffrage, (3) vote by ballot, (4)

equal electoral districts, (5) no property qualification,

and (6) the payment of members. Now, at the first blush, all

these seem reasonable enough, if the people want

them--although there is no proof that they do, but rather

proof to the contrary,--but when we remember that, in this

country, not one of these points, save the payment of

members of Congress, is universally recognised as the law of

the land, it is not for us to say a word in favour of the

Chartists of England, at least until we make their

theoretical 'points' _our_ 'points' in practice. We have no

_annual Congress_. Members of the House are elected for two

years, and members of the Senate for six years. We have no

universal suffrage. The three millions of slaves do not

vote. The negroes in the Free States do not vote (two or

three States excepted) without a property qualification. In

democratic Virginia, a man must be a freeholder to vote. In

some of the other States there are also rigid restrictions.

The vote by ballot is known nowhere in the Slave States. The

_viva voce_ is the only mode of voting, and it is not

certain that it is not the best way. Equal electoral

districts do not exist in this country. Six hundred white

men in South Carolina or Louisiana elect as many members of

Congress as six thousand in New York. The little State of

Delaware, entitled to but one member of Congress, elects as

many Senators as New York, entitled to her thirty-six

members in the Lower House. Thus, whatever evils the

Chartists groan under, if any, we groan under here in these,

their _beau-ideal_, United States. But, if we are

misgoverned here, or if misgovernment exists in England, it

is vain to deny that it is our own fault. No revolution, no

exertion of physical force, can better our condition. The

cause of order is the cause of liberty; tyrants and thieves

alone thrive by confusion. The progress of popular power is

founded on knowledge, and the best fruit of knowledge is

peace. It is kings and autocrats whose trust is in the

bayonet, and whose only faith is in the rifle and parks of

artillery. Let the people show they are worthy to be free by

practising the virtues of freemen--by a reliance on the

power of reason, on the march of intelligence, on the force

of public opinion, on the justice of their cause, and the

certain triumph of truth and right, naked and unarmed,

except in the panoply of virtue and the majestic spirit of

humanity.

"But the demonstration in London is not to be without its

effect on the map of the world. It is the first check that

the revolutionary ball has met with since it started in

Paris, and ran like a meteoric storm over continental

Europe. The British empire, at all events, is safe. Whatever

is to be achieved for Liberty and Progress there, has got to

be achieved, as such victories have been for two hundred

years past, viz., by changing the law of the land through

the constitutional action of the ballot box. It is very true

that the British government, for the first time for many

years, has manifested symptoms of alarm over a seditious

meeting,--and there was reason for it, so sudden had been

the revolutions in Paris, Berlin, Vienna, Milan, Venice,

Munich, Wirtemberg, and indeed throughout nearly all the

cities in continental Europe,--and it is very true, also,

that London, in the excitement, lost her trade and forgot

business for nearly a week, while the actual cost of the

demonstration in behalf of law and order is estimated to be

full half a million of dollars; but, as the London _Times_

well says:--

"'It is worth at least £1,000,000 in the additional value it

will give to British securities now and for good all over

the world.'

"The British character, British reverence for law and order,

British public opinion, now stand higher than ever. No

spectacle can be more beautiful than that of 200,000 special

constables qualifying from all classes of society, and

taking oath to obey the officers of the law in preserving

property and protecting the city. The Chartist multitude of

some ten, or twenty, or it may be, fifty thousand--for

authorities differ in their estimation of the number on

Kennington Common,--naturally enough quailed before such a

moral demonstration. Their courage all oozed out of their

fingers' ends, and their leaders evaporated on the trial

day, as well enough they might. The whole thing turned out a

farce, or an abortion; and the 'six points' of the Charter,

well enough in the main, now stand about as high, in London,

under such auspices, as the 'five points' in New York.

"Rejoicing, however, as we do in this suppression of a mob

demonstration in our Fatherland, we do not shut our eyes to

the fact that the British ministry must keep up with the

spirit and the intelligence of the age, in all possible or

rational meliorations of the aristocratic features of the

British constitution. There is, however, the greatest pledge

that this will be done in the very form itself of the

constitution,--for there can be scarcely a doubt, we think,

that there is now as near an approximation to universal

suffrage in the House of Commons as in our own House of

Representatives,--remembering, as we must, in the latter

body, the _numbers_ and _colours_ of its differing

constituency. The Senate of the United States is no more

based upon 'equal representation,' as all know, than the

House of Peers."

"WALL STREET ON SATURDAY LAST.--If there are any among us

who doubt the close union, social, intellectual, and

commercial, which binds in sympathy our people with those of

Great Britain,--if there are any who deemed Americans mere

passive, disinterested spectators of the revolutionary

crisis, which, previous accounts would have it, was to

provoke a civil war in England, and to submerge all the then

existing law and order there, beneath the turbulent

whirlpool of mob violence--we wish they had been in Wall

Street, or, indeed, in any of the other business

thoroughfares in the lower part of the city, on Saturday

last, about noon. We are perfectly sure that the result of

the intended-to-be belligerent demonstration in the English

metropolis, on the eventful 10th of April, was not more

anxiously awaited in Liverpool, in Edinburgh, or Glasgow,

than it was here in Transatlantic New York, albeit three

thousand miles and more away from the theatre of action.

Early in the morning, as soon as it was proclaimed on the

newspaper bulletins that the steamer was telegraphed off

Sandy Hook, men began to gather in knots at the corners of

the streets, discussing the probable character of the news

at hand,--and, for the time being, all business of

importance was at a pause. Speculation in Ohio 6's,

Pennsylvania 5's, Reading Bonds and railroad shares, was

laid aside for speculation in an anticipated fresh batch of

revolutions and dynasties overthrown. Cotton, flour, and

grain were all forgotten, and the only article thought of in

the provision line was a _Provisional Government_ in the

realms of Queen Victoria. Hanover Street, at the corner of

Wall,--that well-known rendezvous for street

operations,--was in a state of terrible suspense; and even

the stoic who superintends the dog-market in the

neighbourhood of the Custom House, concluded to suspend all

transactions in his quadrupedal profession, till the

character of the news should be divulged. The excitement on

all hands was intense; but the suspense was of short

duration, for soon the booming of cannon across the bay

announced that the New America had reached her wharf at

Jersey City. An hardly had the echoes died in the distance,

ere a 'Wilmer,' or one of the innumerable 'Extras' that now

deluged the streets, was in the hands of every body who

could read. By this time the various newspaper

establishments were in a state of actual beleaguerment. Into

some, the rush was so unceremonious and indiscriminate,

that, as the speediest means to get rid of the crowd, an

individual was delegated to ascend the desk and read aloud

the details of the intelligence. Englishman, Irishman,

German, and Frenchman, were among the eager listeners; and

according as from the reader's lips would fall some sentence

congenial to the feelings of one or the other, it amused us

to hear the involuntary ejaculations of applause that would

now and then break out. All, indeed, were patient

listeners,--the American hardly less so than the European.

And now that the Chartist bugbear had eventuated in a

contemptible abortion, many were the congratulations

exchanged--though some expressions of disappointed hope here

and there met our ear. The internal peace of England had

been undisturbed--the government had wisely allowed the

'demonstration' to take place,--it had 'all ended in

smoke,'--Parliament hadn't even been menaced with those

awful pikes,--the vast financial and commercial concerns of

the nation were not seriously affected,--in short, because

every thing now gave good assurance that the mighty

conflagration which has irresistibly swept over all

continental Europe, consuming many a regal edifice in its

march, has left unscathed the governmental fabric of

Britain, and therefore preserved all the mighty interests

which, falling with it in the general ruin, would have

immersed half the world in bankruptcy and distress--people

returned to their homes and to their places of business with

better heart. The cloud of gloom that hung over the business

world, the week past, in anticipation of sad tidings from

abroad, at once evaporated, and in the twinkling of an eye,

all was sunshine and hope again. SUCH WAS SATURDAY IN WALL

STREET."

To the sentiments expressed in these passages every British heart must

respond; and we feel the more called upon to lay them before our

readers from having seen some absurd and foolish ravings reprinted in

this country as the verdict of the American Press upon the events

which have been and are passing around us.

We do not much wonder at such passages as we allude to being quoted

here, for, like many of those transatlantic extravagances which have

now attained the distinctive name of "Americanisms," they certainly

form rather amusing reading; but it requires only a very superficial

inspection of these tirades, to see that they no more reflect the real

tone of American opinions or American sympathies, than the harangues

of the United Irishmen or of Conciliation Hall represent the feelings,

judgments, or wishes of the Irish nation. Doubtless, among the less

intelligent classes of the community, and the "Suisses" of the Press,

on both sides of the Atlantic, there is abundance of rancour and bad

feeling, in some cases the offspring of mere ignorance, in others of

bad faith, disguised under the cloak of nationality and patriotism:

but among the educated and the thoughtful portion of the public, and

among the higher organs of periodical literature in both countries, a

very different spirit is evidently gaining ground. A feeling of mutual

respect, a spirit of cordiality is every day becoming more apparent,

as the conviction of the common interest of the two countries becomes

more palpable; and a union is gradually in the course of formation,

which the storms that are agitating the rest of Europe will only tend,

we trust, to cement and confirm. How, indeed, should it be otherwise?

How, at least, should it _long continue_ to be otherwise? For what

country but Great Britain has ever sent forth from its bosom such a

colony as now forms the United States of America? What colony could

ever look back upon a loftier lineage than America, when, comparing

her own wide and thriving domains with many of the sinking empires of

Europe, she remembers her British descent, and feels, in a thousand

traces of blood and thoughts and habits and morals, her connexion with

"the inviolate island of the sage and free."

INDEX TO VOL. LXIII.

Abercrombie, general, 430.

Aberdeen, kidnapping in, 612.

Ackland, colonel, 335, 336,

--his death, 339.

Ackland, lady Harriet, 336, _et seq._

Acre, defence of, by Sir Sidney Smith, 323.

Aids to Reflection, criticism on the, 702.

Agricultural produce, importation of, 11

--classes, present state of, 655.

Alaimo de Sentini, 592

--defence of Messina by, 595

--his death, 602.

Alba, battle of, 450.

Alexander, emperor of Russia, sketch of career of, 133, 135, _et seq._

Alfred, improvement of the English law under, 463.

Allen, Ethan, exploits of, 430.

America, periodical literature of, 106

--copyright in, 127

--feeling in, towards England, 780.

Angler's Companion, Stoddart's, review of, 673.

Armstrong, Johnny, execution of, 305.

Army, &c., Cobden on the, 261.

Arnold, Benedict, exploits of, 332, 336, 430.

Athole, earl of, murder of, 300.

Atterbury, bishop, 471.

Austria, the revolutionary movement in, 639, _et seq._ 650

--its government of Lombardy and Venice, 736, 737

--the war with Sardinia, 746.

Autobiography of a German headsman, the, 148.

Ballantyne's Hudson's Bay, review of, 369.

Bank restriction act, passing of the, and its effects, 1

--Peel's, 720.

Baring, Mr, on the income-tax, 386.

Barrow's life of Sir Sidney Smith, review of, 309.

Beatification, the, 290.

Benevento, battle of, 444.

Blackwood and copyright in America, 127.

Blairs and Drummonds, feud between, 306.

Blanc, Louis, 399.

Bolingbroke, lord, 472.

Brazil, present state of, 236.

Brest, exploit of Sir Sidney Smith at, 319.

Brougham, lord, on the present state of France, 642.

Budget the, 383.

Buffalo-hunting, sketches of, 374.

Buonaparte, Napoleon, at Toulon, 318

--defeat of, at Acre, 323.

Burgoyne, general, 331

--history of his enterprise, 333.

Buxton on the increase of the slave-trade, 7.

Byng, admiral, 482.

Bysset, Sir Walter, 300.

Canada, my route into, part. I., 328

--part II., 425.

Cannibalism, prevalence of, among the American Indians, 375.

Cara Vita, the, a scene at Rome, 287.

Carleton, Sir Guy, 332.

Carlos, Don, son of Philip II., 70.

Catechism in the Minerva, a scene at Rome, 281.

Catherine of Russia, 132, 133, 134.

Caxtons, the, a family picture; chap. I. 513

--chap. II., 514

--chap. III., 516

--chap. IV., 518

--chap. V., 522

--chap. VI., 523

--chap. VII., 525

--chap. VIII., 527

--chap. IX., 531

--chap. X., 537.

--Book II., chap. I., 685

--chap. II., My uncle Roland's discourse upon honour, 687

--chap. III., 688

--chap. IV., 691

--chap. V., 694

--chap. VI., 696

--chap. VII., My Uncle Roland's tale, 697

--chap. VIII., 700.

Cervantes, Miguel, 72.

Champlain, lake, 425.

Charles of Anjou, conquest of Naples by, 436

--revolt of Sicily from him, and his further history, 589

--his death, 603.

Charles Albert, King of Sardinia, 746, _et seq._

Charles Edward, prince, notices of, 475, _et seq._

Chartist movements in Great Britain, the, 650

--feeling in America regarding, 780.

Chartists, how to disarm the, 653.

Clermont assizes, Flechier's chronicle of, 47.

Cobden on the national defences, 261

--movement of, for extended suffrage, 655.

Coercion bill, the, and its necessity in Ireland, 3, 4

--character of Sir George Grey's, 115.

Coleridge, the philosophy of, 702.

Commerce, present condition of, 10.

Conciliation, effect of, toward Ireland 113.

Conquest of Naples, the, 436.

Conradin, sketch of the career of, 446, _et seq._

Constance, Queen of Arragon, 600.

Constantine, the grand-duke, 141.

Constantinople, early attacks of the Russians on, 130.

Corlaer, tradition regarding, 423.

Country house, building, &c., of a, 28.

Cree Indians, the, 376.

Crémieux, M., 401.

Crimes and remarkable trials in Scotland; incidents of the earlier

reigns; an inquiry into the character of Macbeth, 293

--kidnapping, Peter Williamson's case, 607.

Criticism, characteristics requisite for, 107.

Cromwell, advancement of the navy under, 309.

Crown Point, fortress of, 431.

Cuba, cost of producing sugar in, and its increased production, 229,

231, 234.

Currency system, change in the, by the bank restriction act, 1

--effects of Peel's system, 7, 20, 661.

Defences, the national, Cobden on, 261

--a military discussion regarding, 362.

Demerara, depreciation of property in, 231.

Democratic Review, the, 106, 111.

Direct taxation, evils of, 384.

Don John of Austria, 70.

Downie, captain, defeat and death of, 432.

Drummonds and Blairs, feud between the, 306.

Duncan, investigation into the alleged murder of, 294.

Durie, Lord, abduction of, 609.

Edinburgh after Flodden, 165.

Education in Wales, 540.

Edward the Confessor, improvement of the law under, 463.

Elizabeth, progress of the British navy under, 309.

Emancipation, increase of the slave-trade from, 220.

Emigration, proposed government system of, 668

--statistics of, 669.

Employment, present want of, 655.

England, American feeling toward, 780.

Escovedo, secretary to Don John of Austria, 75

--murder of, 77.

Europe, the revolutions in, 638.

Eusebius, letter to, on subjects for pictures, 176.

Evenings at sea. No. III. The Surgeon, 33.

Fall of the throne of the barricades, the, 393.

Finances of Britain, the, 383.

Finances of France, state of, since the Revolution, 404.

Flechier's chronicle of Clermont assizes, 47.

Fletcher of Salton, curious scheme of, 610.

Flodden, Edinburgh after, 165.

Forbes, the master of, conspiracy of, 303.

France, the present revolution in, 395, 638

--its symbols, 767.

Frazer, general, death of, 335.

Frederick the Hohenstauffe, notices of, 438, _et seq._

Frederick III. of Sicily, 605.

Frederick, fort, 431.

Free-trade, results of Peel's system of, 8, 21, 662.

French republic, sentiments and symbols of the, 767.

Fur-trade, sketches of, 374.

Gates, general, 329.

George II., character of, 470, 483.

German ditty, a, 419.

German Headsman, autobiography of a, 148.

Gioberti's work on Italy, influence, &c., of, 741, _et seq._

Glammis, lady, execution of, 303.

Glasgow, unemployed in, 655.

Gordon, George Huntly, two sonnets by, 420.

Green mountains, the, 431.

Greenwich time, 354.

Grey, Sir George, on the state of Ireland, 4

--character of his coercion bill, 115.

Griffiths, Mr, on education in Wales, 548.

Guesses at Truth, review of, 701.

Guiana, decline in produce of, 225.

Gustavus of Sweden, sketch of the career of, 313.

Hardwicke, lord, life and times of, 463.

Harris's life of Lord Hardwicke, review of, 463.

Havre, capture of Sir Sidney Smith at, 321.

Headsman, autobiography of a, 148.

Heigho! 572.

Herqui, exploit of Sir Sidney Smith at, 320.

Herring, archbishop of York, 477.

Hood, lord, at Toulon, 318.

How to disarm the Chartists, 653.

How we got possession of the Tuileries, chap. I. Heads or Tails? 484

--chap. II. The Ides of March, 489

--chap. III. The Barricades, 493

--chap. IV. The Tuileries, 497

--chap. V. Two provisional governments, 502

--chap. VI. A republican wedding, 506

--chap. VII. Adieu, sweet France, 511.

Howe, lord, death of, 430.

Hudson's Bay, sketches of, 369.

Huskisson, introduction of the reciprocity system by, 2.

Inca and his Bride, the, a medley, chap. I. Astley's, 751.

--chap. II. The Rubicon of Peru, 755.

--chap. III. The Children of the Sun, 758.

--chap. IV. The Hall of Fire, 762.

--chap. V. The Cataract of the Rocks, 765.

Income tax, imposition, evils, &c., of the, 384, 385.

Infant schools, remarks on, 284.

Intercepted letters, the, a tale of the bivouac, 340.

Ireland, change in the system of government of, and its effects, 3

--the famine in, and its effects, 19

--and the ministerial measures, 113

--exemption of, from the income tax, 389

--sketch illustrating the results of repeal to it, 627.

Iroquois, contests of, with the French, 426.

Italy, present state and prospects of, 101

--the revolutionary movement in, 638

--the movement and war in, 733.

Ivan, the first Czar of Russia, 131.

Jamaica, decline in the produce of, from the effects of the

emancipation act, 6, 225

--depreciation of property in, 232, 233.

James I. of Scotland, murder of, 303.

Jerusalem, by W. Sinclair, 192.

John of Austria, sketch of the life of, 70.

Johnson, Mr, on education in Wales, 548, 550, 554.

Kenneth III., tradition of the death of, 294.

Kidnapping, sketch of the history of, in Britain, and especially

in Aberdeen, 607.

Koch, Ernest, the Silver Cross, a campaigning sketch by, 564.

La Cara Vita, an Italian sketch, 287.

Lamartine, the works of, 399.

Laprairie, town of, 434.

Last Walk, the, by B. Simmons, 629.

Lauria, Ruggiero de, 598, 599.

Law of England, sketch of the history of, 463.

Lepanto, battle of, 71.

Letter to Eusebius, a, on subjects for pictures, 176.

Liberal Legislation, thirty years of, 1.

Life and Times of Lord Hardwicke, 463.

Life in the Far West, Part I. chap. I. 713

--chap. II. 717.

Longen, Mr, on Education in Wales, 546, 549, 551, 553, 555.

Lombardy and the Italian war, 733.

London, the Chartist movement in, 650.

Louis Philippe, fall of, 395

--his pusillanimity, 405, 406.

Lucera, the town and Saracens of, 439, _et seq._

Lunfanan, the death-scene of Macbeth, 297.

Macbeth, inquiry into the character and crime of, 293.

Macclesfield, the Earl of, trial of, 472.

M'Crea, Miss, murder of, 331, 334.

Macdonough, Commodore, 432.

Magna Charta, promulgation of, 465.

Mainfroy, prince of Tarento, 438, _et seq._

--his death, 445.

Man is a Featherless Biped, a tale, 631.

Manchester, unemployed in, 655.

Mansfield, Lord, character of Hardwicke by, 482.

Manufactures, depressed condition of the, 10.

Messina, city of, 590

--its revolt against the French, 594, 595.

Metternich, Prince, 137.

Military discussion, a, touching our coast defences, 362.

Mont Blanc, a sonnet, 420.

Montgomery, General, death of, 332.

Moscow, city of, 146.

Murillo, account of the battle of Lepanto by, 73.

My English Acquaintance, 194.

My route into Canada,--Part I. 328

--Part II. 425.

Naples, conquest of, by Charles of Anjou, 436.

National defences, Cobden on the, 261.

Navigation laws, threatened repeal of the, 2, 3.

Navy of England, attention paid to, by successive sovereigns, 309.

Nicholas the emperor of Russia, 134, 142, _et seq._

Night's peril, a, 83.

Norman conquest, effect of, on the law of England, 464.

Novgorod, foundation of kingdom of, 130.

Now and Then, review of, 239.

Ossian, supposed burial-place of, 299.

Our West Indian colonies, 219.

Palermo, city of, 590

--its revolt against Charles of Anjou, 594.

Paris, state of, as republican, 402, 573.

Paul, the emperor of Russia, 133.

Pedro of Arragon, conquest of Sicily by, 589.

Peel, Sir Robert, results of his banking act, 7, 20

--his administration toward Ireland, 114

--imposition of the income tax by, 384.

Peel Bog, the, 298.

Perez, Antonio, 73, 77.

Peril of a night, a, 83.

Periodical Literature of America, the, 106.

Peter the Great of Russia, 129, 132.

Philip II. of Spain, notices of, 70, _et seq._

Pictures, subjects for, a letter to Eusebius, 176.

Piedmont, the war of, with Austria, 740, _et seq._

Pius IX., the movement headed by, 101.

Plattsburg, battle of, 432.

Poetry: Edinburgh after Flodden, 165

--Jerusalem, 192

--A German ditty, 419

--Two Sonnets by George Huntly Gordon, 420

--Heigho! 572

--The Last Walk, by B. Simmons, 629.

Poland, the partitions of, 133.

Political Economists, effects of the supremacy of, 663.

Prussia, the revolutionary movement in, 638, _et seq._ 649.

Radetsky, General, 747.

Railways, general stoppage of works on, 9.

Rebellion of 1745, the, 475.

Reciprocity system, introduction of, by Huskisson, 2.

Reform Bill, effects of the passing of, 4, 663.

Reformation, influence of the, on English law, 465.

Reidesel, the Baroness, 337, _et seq._

Repealer's wish granted, the, an Irish tale, 627.

Republican Paris, 573.

Revenue, state of the, 383.

Revolution in Europe, the, 638.

Romanism in Rome: Catechism in the Minerva, 281

--La Cara Vita, 287

--the Beatification, 290.

Ruric, kingdom of, bounded, 130.

Russell, Lord John, financial statements, schemes, &c., of, 383.

Russian empire, sketch of the recent history of the, 129.

St Domingo, effects of slave emancipation on, 6.

St Jean d'Acre, siege of, 323.

St Louis, sketches of, 442.

St Priest's history of the conquest of Naples, Part I., 436

--Part II., 589.

Saratoga, battle of, 330, 335.

Sardinia, revolutionary movements in, 101.

Savings' banks, the French, effects of the revolution on, 408.

Saxon law, characteristics of, 463.

Schools, state of, in Wales, 540.

Schnitzler's secret history of Russia, review of, 129.

Schuyler, General, 329.

Scottish crimes and trials, remarkable: those of the earlier reigns, 293

--Kidnapping, and the case of Williamson, 607.

Shipping, British and Foreign, effect of the reciprocity system on, 2.

Sentiments and symbols of the French republic, 767.

Sicilian Vespers, the, 436, 493.

Sicily, conquest of, by the Spaniards, 589.

Simmons, B., the Last Walk by, 629.

Sir Sidney Smith, 309.

Silver Cross, the, a campaigning sketch, from the German of Ernest

Koch: night-quarters, 564

--In the mountains, 565

--Hidden treasure, 567

--The wine skin, 570

--The hospital, _ib._

Sinclair, William, Jerusalem, a poem by, 192.

Slave-trade, abolition of, and the subsequent emancipation of the

slaves, effects of, 5, 220, 235.

Smith, Adam, on the Navigation Laws, 2.

Smith, Sir Sidney, sketch of the life, &c., of, 309.

Something like a country house, 28.

Soto, Juan, 74.

Spaniard in Sicily, the, 589.

Stoddart and Angling, 673.

Subjects for pictures, a letter to Eusebius, 176.

Suffrage, movement for extending the, 655.

Sugar, comparative cost of free and slave grown, 229.

Sugar Act, the, and its effects, 221.

Surgeon's tale, the, 33.

Sweden, history of, under Gustavus, 313.

Switzerland and Italy, 98.

Symbols of the French republic, 767.

Symons, Mr, on education in Wales, 547, 550.

Tagliacozzo, battle of, 450.

Tenant right in Ireland, question of, 119.

Thirty years of liberal legislation, 1.

Ticonderoga, fort, 428, 429.

Timour, invasion of Russia by, 131.

To ----, a sonnet, 420.

Tocqueville on republicanism in France, 416.

Toulon, services of Sir Sidney Smith at, 317.

Toushi the Tartar, invasion of Russia by, 130.

Travelling in Taffyland, 455.

Tuileries, How we got possession of the, 484.

Tuscany, the grand-duke of, 101.

Two Sonnets, by George Huntly Gordon, 420.

Unemployed, statistics connected with the, 655.

United States, periodical literature of, 106

--copyright in, 127

--feeling in, towards England, 780.

Valery, Erard, de, 450.

Venice, the government of, by Austria, 742.

Vices, the prevalent, in Wales, 556.

Wales, travelling in, 455

--education in, 540.

Walpole, Sir Robert, 473, 475.

Warren's Now and Then, review of, 239.

Wellington, Lacretelle's character of, 144

--on the national defences, 263, 268.

West Indian colonies, the, 219

--the policy toward, 5, 659.

Whitehall, town of, 427.

Williamson, Peter, sketch of the history of, 607.

York factory, life at, 371, _et seq._

_Printed by William Blackwood and Sons, Edinburgh._