be removed, just at the time when the people were prepared to welcome that form of government best suited to their character and condition. A dismembered nation was thus again united, and taught by the severe, but sure lessons of experience, to dread alike the mad violence of the people, and the sterner despotism of an autocrat. Reasoning from principles, we have found, then, what seemed necessary to the well being of France, and referring to history, have seen these very events take place,-the means of their accomplishment, Napoleon Bonaparte. Is not this a strange coincidence?

What would have been the fate of France, if this mighty man, so often stigmatized as the scorpion scourge of his age and country, had never lived, it is hard for us to tell.

There are

some, it is true, whose powers of second sight are so exceeding keen, that they are enabled to discover what would have been the secret counsels of Providence, if other than they were. We are, indeed, soberly told, "that had not the all-grasping ambition of Bonaparte prevented, some Washington would have arisen, and on peaceful tide, with favoring breeze, have guided the ship of state into the still waters of prosperity and national freedom!" Who can know this? Who can prove it? The dragon's teeth had been sown-the crop was full grown and ripe-the stone of contention cast: was the slaughter to be stayed? Such passions may be turned-they cannot be crushed. But, on the other hand, it may be asserted, and surely with as good reason, that some kindred spirits would have summoned back the bloody principles, and more bloody deeds of Robespierre and Danton, then seeking to hide themselves in oblivion, or at best, that years of anarchy, or oligarch oppression, would have rolled in slow and torturing succession over the prostrate people. A year, a month, suffices to make a Robespierre. Ages are required to produce a Bonaparte; and ages more, a Washington. Bad men arise each year; great rulers at great intervals, and on great emergencies. They act their part, then disappear, and history has shown their characters suited to their spheres of action. This is natural. They are raised up by Providence for a particular end, and, of course, have the power and will to accomplish that end. None other will they or can they achieve. Napoleon and Washington could not have changed places. The latter could never have calmed the maddened feelings of the French, or combined in one the opposing parties; the former could not have led this country from the embarrassment and weakness of its early years, to its after prosperity and strength. Granting, then, that a Washington would have appeared, he would have appeared in vain. If then and there he had lived and acted, it had been but greatness and goodness thrown away.

But, no man can prove what would have happened if France had never known a Bonaparte. The whole matter is wrapt in obscurity, and it is not for man to lift the veil that hides it. We are, therefore, to consider the effects, merely, of his career, and decide accordingly. One of the most important has been already touched on, viz. union. This was a positive and absolute good, but it likewise prevented evil.

The French had acquired huge, distorted, and unnatural views of freedom and equality-principles that existed with them in name alone. For they can only flourish where the mind is noble-born and free. These ideas were more than carried out in action; so that the great republic was suffering, in fact, the worst despotism. The career of Napoleon tended directly to counteract these ill tendencies of the former part of the revolution. It gave to the birth and intellect of the nation, that consequence and influence, so long monopolized by the Parisian mob; and taking from the noble the power to oppress, took also from the people the will to resist. Nothing, indeed, seems so well adapted to succeed such a revolution, as such a career-short, brilliant, and iron handed. But we find that at last, the French, wearied by continual war, and conscious that the rightful heir to the throne was deprived of his just possession, began to waver in their allegiance to an emperor whose fortunes appeared to be falling. Just at this time, that unseen hand which had bestowed the scepter and the diadem, wrested both away, leaving his brows encircled by a green, but tattered wreath. The nation having now experienced the evils of either extreme, were prepared to rest content with a proper medium. Accordingly we find Louis XVIII immediately ascending the throne, yet limited in his power by the constraints of a free constitution.

Again, one of the most important causes that led to the revolution, was the oppression of the serf by his feudal lord. The people served hard task masters. If the nobles had recovered their ancient ascendancy by force of arms, as they might have done, had not a general, like Napoleon, been found to meet them, there can be no doubt that it would have fared ill with the people. They would have paid a dear penalty for their audacity. But Bonaparte gave to the free principles of the French revolution just what they needed, stability. The vassal in France has broken his chain forever; but it might have been rivetted anew, had he never served a Bonaparte.

Such are a few of the effects of his career on France; but, as another has remarked, "as yet we see but the beginning of the end." But such a man as Bonaparte, and such a career as was his, could not but exert an influence direct and powerful on the other nations of Europe. He wrote a lesson for despotic princes with a pen of iron. He humbled their pride, and taught them

that they were but men, singly, weak, and only strong as their people were loyal and free. For ages had they rode in pride, like evil planets along a cloudless sky, nor had they dropped the veins or stayed the lash, since the torch of liberty went out in Rome.

"But HE, "deposed the stars,

And called the radiance from their cars,
And filled the earth, from his deep throne
With lonely luster-all his own."

Napoleon exerted, moreover, an untold influence on the people. He showed them the strength of a free people, when they chose to unite under a bold, and favorite leader; but taught them in the end to beware how they broke their loyalty to their rightful prince, and gave to a daring usurper a favorable opportunity for seizing the helm of state, and guiding them whither they would

not.

But from the very fact that Bonaparte's career was great in its influence-breaking up the elements of society-mingling all in wild confusion; then learning them to re-arrange themselves-and also, that it was directed at once against the blind misrule of the people, and the wily and strong tyranny of the despot, we should naturally expect those results which constitute its real influence, to be good. For favoring neither extreme, the whole, single, and mighty tide of its tendency was in favor of that moderation which is right, and profitable in all things. In truth, Bonaparte opened the eyes of Europe, removed the obstacles to political advancement, and pointed out the way. Well did the poet say of him:

“By gazing on thyself grown blind,

Thou taughst the rest to see."

"Thanks for that lesson, it will teach
To after warriors more

Than high philosophy can preach,

And vainly preached before.
That spell upon the minds of men
Breaks, never to unite again,

That led them to adore

Those pagod things of sabre sway,
With fronts of brass and feet of clay."

VOL. IV.

31

-P.—

242

THE ROBIN.

THE birds are sweet musicians-they form a charming band,
Whose merry notes are ringing to gladden all the land:
And yet of all the thousand strains, I love the Robin's best,
Because upon our poplar tree she always builds her nest.

Her voice is gay and cheerful, and all the summer long,
When I awake each morning, is ready with a song;
The overflowing melody of innocence and glee,

Is the music of the Robin who carols on the tree.

While she will sing, I'll never wish pianoforte to play:

The winter months seem far more drear, because she is away;
But every year when spring returns, this friend comes back to me,
To be my little neighbor, upon the poplar tree.

She sometimes gives a concert, upon a pleasant day,
Inviting Mrs. Phebe, the Yellow-bird and Jay;
The Cuckoo and the Katydid, and other company,
To warble o'er together, their various harmony.

When dressing up their plumage, they hasten to the play-
I think it is quite time for me, "to drive dull care away;"
So, sitting in the window, the vocalists to see,

I listen to the serenade upon the poplar tree.

BEAUTY AND HARMONY.

KATE.

AN ALLEGORY.

THERE were many bright spirits that kept their watchful guard around the new-created Eden. To each, the Holy One assigned a separate charge,-to shield the consecrated spot from the intrusion of evil angels,-to breathe forth the cooling wind, along its shady paths and bowers,-to lead forth the happy pair to behold and admire the new world created for them, or to devise all, that in sight or sound, could please or refine their minds, that knew not yet, but of good. Of those, whose mission it was to fulfill the latter service, the chiefest and goodliest were two bright cherubs; the names they bore in heaven, unknown on earth. These, by the will of the Holy One, forsook not their charge, when driven forth from their happy seats, to wander down into the lower world, with the cherubim and flaming sword behind,

forbidding all return. They left their bright companions to return up on high, and they flew forth to fill the world, now darkened and defaced by sin, with the same enchantments that they had once delighted to gather around the lost Eden. To these then, turned the stricken fugitives, for the solace of the woes of exile; and they gave them names, to one, Beauty; to the other, Harmony.

And now went forth in light and gladness, the spirit of Beauty, with her many-voiced companion, the one to adorn the yet untrodden world of man, with all bright hues and shapes of surpassing excellence; the other to wake the concord of sweet sounds from all that God had made. First, Beauty began her task, to console the sorrow of the exiles, whose sins had driven them forth from the forfeited paradise, to wander, and to bear the wrath of heaven. She saw that the world, unlike the guarded Eden, was already beginning to put forth thorns and briars and noxious weeds; she looked around, but could no where find the flowers, whose bright hues and sweet odors had added so much to the charms of paradise; she could no where catch the glitter of the rich plumes of the birds that sung their morning and evening carol there; she could no where rest her weary eye upon the wide and waving ocean of green and delicate tinted foilage, that there overshadowed and beautified all; she looked upon the earth and the sky, but they had no smile to cheer the sad hearts of the fugitives. And she remembered with what joy and rapture the erring pair were accustomed to look upon the perfection of all these in the bright abode, which was theirs till they fell. But the one rash act of transgression was fast spreading the gloom and darkness, congenial to sin, over the fairest works of the CreAnd when the good spirit beheld all this, she was touched with pity for the lot of man, though himself had been the cause of his unhappy condition. She knew her charge from the Holy One, to attend and cheer the stricken exiles, and how could she better accomplish this than by restoring to nature its original brightness. True, she had not been gifted with power to make the world à second Eden, but she could impart many of its charms to the dreary waste, and by mingling her own gorgeous hues and delicate forms with the evil harvest of the curse that was now upspringing with rank and noxious luxuriance, she could make the earth a fit habitation for him who was only not equal with the angels.

ator.

And the fair spirit delayed not to hasten the accomplishment of her benignant purpose. She gave to the thistle a breath of perfume, and crimson coronal. At the touch of her wand, the brambles and thickets were hung with blossoms in gay festoons, and the thorn was crowned with the blushing rose. She lent her smile to the humble flower, that tremblingly put forth its