vidual. This organic unity must have always and every, then existed, either virtually or institutionally. In England and wherever, there is no written constitution, it appears in the predominance of one or other of the powers for the time; a predominance which we have just exemplified in the remarks upon the last citation from the author. In our government, and the French, for example, this principle of unity is the constitution, because it is presumed a transcript, more or less imperfect, of the natural laws of the social system. We feel a clinging necessity of justifying over and over our imputations of scientific ignorance against a man of the real ability and reputed eminence of Guizot. The fact, however, has been submitted to the reader in numerous instances, and last of all the monster one of the "balance of power," which he would have his countrymen substitute for the organic unity of their present constitution. But what is perhaps still more decisive of this singular perverseness is, that he now turns round and taunts them with having introduced in another form the very principle of distribution which they repudiate in this. For "they have been careful, says he, to separate the legislative, the judicial and the executive powers. How, he exclaims, do they not see that the necessity mounts much higher, and that the diversity of the general interests of society and of the duties of the sovereign, demands imperatively a diversity of powers at the summit of the State, as a division of powers in the secondary regions of the government?" Here are manifestly confounded the synergic principle of Organization, and the energic principle of Function. It is overlooked that there is a natural and necessary series in the State as in the individual, between the operations of ordaining, of interpreting, and of executing. No two of these actions can be performed by the same agent at the same time, nor in the same import at different times. Here, therefore, the severalty and separation are essential, indispensable. Of the functions, on the contrary, there is no one that does not imply, successively, the concurrence of the entire organic system, whether in an individual or government. Even the misshapen system of the British Constitution requires this co-operation of king, lords and commons, in every act of legislation, and the theory is that they are represented also in the judicial and executive functions. Moral Conditions of social quiet in France. But were his "political organization" of powers, all the author mistakes it for, there would still, he says, be necessary, certain other conditions of a moral nature. These are the family spirit, the political spirit, and the religious spirit. The family is undoubtedly not only the premordial unit, but the perpetual primary school of the State. It is the proper nursery of those sentiments of affection, disinterestedness, self-denial and devotedness, which, shaped by education and solidified by principle, form the virtues that support and adorn the edifice of public life. Where the former is neglected, the latter can scarce exist; at least as the vigorous growth of a lofty morality, and not the sickly exotics of an interested calculation. That there is much to mend in this particular in France, we have no doubt; but we are quite sure there is still more to mend in the same quarter elsewhere. In the beneficial effects of the political spirit, we cannot so freely assent with the author. In the first place this spirit must prevail to some extent at the expense of the family virtues. And if the latter be, as they assuredly are, a preeminent good, the influence that should counteract them could hardly be classed in the same commendable category. Besides it is matter of every-day observation that the habits of political life tend to blunt the moral sensibilities, and even to deprave the character. Look at the more thorough-paced of the class in our own country. Who is there simple enough to expect from what is termed a "trading politician," the observance of a single article of the decalogue, where he was not influenced by the hope of office, or the fear of exposure? We speak not of the drudges only. Turn to many of those who put up for being leaders, and are persons of ordinary integrity in the relations of civil life. Yet look into that parchment, callous, cadaverous face; the indecision alike of attitude, of opinion, and of language; and above all, the vague, winking, wall-eyed expression of the gaze. There is not a man with a soul in his bosom that does not meet that reptile countenance with something of the strange commingling of the curious and the hideous, inspired by the contemplation of a living viper, or a human corpse. The explanation probably is, that the man, or rather the "politician" is in fact a moral corpse. This is not a training therefore, to be greatly coveted in itself. Nor is it possible to combine it, as Guizot imagines, with the cultivation of the family spirit. On the contrary we should think that this cultivation is principally demanded and providentially destined to prepare against the demoralizing effects of the political spirit. zot. And in this assent is included the following pregnant antithesis: "If Communism and Socialism were to prevail, the Christian creed would perish. If the belief in Christianity were more genuine, Communism and Socialism would be soon but obscene follies." (p. 132). The author concludes a respectable, because sincere, however erroneous exhortation to his countrymen to forsake the idol of democracy, and combine all that remains sound of interest and opinion in the state in formation of a government after the fashion he has thus delineated. The political philosophy of his plan, which we have endeavored to present in its true light to the reader, is maintained to the last, and quite qualis ab incepto. "We have," says he, "tried all things, a republic, an empire, a constitutional monarchy. We recommence our experiments. What are we to blame for their failure? In our own days, under our eyes, in three of the greatest nations of the world, these three same governments, constitutional monarchy in England, the empire in Russia, the repub It is only in the region of the understanding that this spirit may possibly be beneficial. Here alone it is, accordingly, that the author, without noting this essential distinction, proceeds to a specification of its civic consequences. "The political spirit rises naturally, through wisdom, if not morality, to that which is its fundamental law and essential merit, namely, to respect for justice, the sole basis of social stability; for beyond justice there is but force, which is essentially variable and precarious. And respect for justice supposes or generates respect for the laws, the ha-lic in North America, endure and prosper. bitual fountain of justice. And respect Aurions-nous le privilège de toutes les imfor the laws strengthens the respect for the possibilitès ?" p. 154. Here is first the authorities, who make or who apply them." social anachronism of counting the present (p. 143.) And this little social writer French constitution a mere repetition of proceeds, in the first concoction, he tells those of '93. But this uniform inadverus, from the "habit of seeing only what is tence to the social progression of civilizaand as it is;" which constitutes his prime tion and its constant correlation to the characteristic of the political spirit. We form of government is still more stolidly will only add that as M. Guizot may be declared in the concluding interrogatory. "guessed" to be his own exemplar of this M. Guizot seems to have no notion why faculty of attending to the actual, in dis- the institutions that suit England, or Amerregard of the future and the past, the doc-ica, or even Russia, should not be adapted trine here propounded would go far of itself to reconcile to his high but perverted intellectual powers the almost peurile tissue of error and inconsistency which we have been unwinding through his book. As to the third and religious spirit, we can do no better, after the eloquent and even unctuous descant of our author, than to say as did his burgess colleague to the hustings speech of Burke: we say ditto to M. Gui to France as well. He does not dream that freemen, or even the philosophers of Paris ought not to be content to be governed like the Cossacks of Siberia. We had intended to close with some practical inferences from the preceding series of discussions. But want of space compels us to leave the moral to the meditation of the studious reader. 0. M'LLE DE LA SEIGLIERE. (Continued from page 609.) CHAPTER X. than himself, he adored his daughter, and he was pained at the prospect that that beautiful creature, after having become accustomed to luxury and ease, must again return to that cold and sombre atmosphere which enveloped her cradle. He hesitated. There is more than one, who, under like circumstances, would have looked twice before deciding, without the excuse of an adored daughter, and the fear of the that his noble friend had given the same advice six months before, as to the very ignoble part which they had both been playing. On the other hand, the new attitude which Bernard had recently assumed, filled the Marquis with fear. Since Helen no longer lent them the charm of her presence, the days had drawn sadly and slowly, and the eveings more sadly still. SINCE his interview with the abominable Des Tournelles, the Marquis could neither eat, drink, nor sleep, though up to this time, thanks to the natural heedlessness of his character and his disposition to look only on the bright side of things, he had cherished some degree of hope and entertained some illusions. For some time, indeed, previous to this interview, there had been a gradual falling off in his usual buoyancy of spirits. Those piquant sal-gout. Yet what was he to do? Whichlies, and crazy projects, which afforded so ever way he turned, M. de La Seigmuch entertainment, were gradually be- liére saw only ruin and disgrace. Madame coming less and less frequent; still he seem- de Vaubert, who now uniformly responded ed occasionally to recover his former vivaci- to all his questions in the same way-We ty, and would now and then return to the must wait and see-was far from affording whimsical petulance of his natural good na-him any assurance, and he secretly wished ture. He was a wounded butterfly, but still fluttering, when, under pretext of helping him out of difficulty, the heartless jurisconsult, delicately seizing him between his fingers, impaled him alive on the brazen rod of reality. Henceforward the martyrdom of the Marquis was altogether new in his experience. What would become of him? What should he do? If pride counselled him to retreat with a high head, selfishness was of a contrary opinion; and if pride backed up its proposition with good reasons, selfishness had an abundance at hand quite as good if not better. The Marquis was getting old; the gout was slowly but surely creeping upon him; five and twenty years of exile and privation had cured him of the heroic escapades and chivalric dreams of his youth. His somewhat familiar acquaintance with poverty had by no means increased its attractions; he felt his blood curdle in his veins at the very thought of that pale and sorrowful countenance which had sat at his table and by his fireside for twenty-five years. Moreover, although there was no one whom he loved better VOL. V. NO. I. NEW SERIES. In the morning, after breakfast, when M'lle de La Seigliére had ceased to appear, Bernard, leaving the Marquis to his reflections, mounted his horse and was not seen again till evening, when he returned more taciturn, cloudy, and forbidding, than he had departed. In the evening, after dinner, Helen almost immediately retired to her chamber, leaving Bernard alone in the salon with her father and Madame de Vaubert, who, having exhausted all the resources of her mind, and utterly discouraged besides, knew not how to abridge the silent course of the hours. Bernard had, from time to time, a way of looking at them, by turns, which made them shudder from head to foot. He who had been so 2 patient while Helen was there to restrain or appease him with a smile, would now, at a word of the Marquis or the baroness, fly into a passion, which they dreaded as peccant children do the uplifted rod. He had substituted action for recital, and gave battles instead of narrating them. When he retired, usually pale and cold with wrath, he no longer, as he had been accustomed to do, shook the hand of the Marquis, but left without even a salutation, while they, remaining alone, regarded each other in silence. "Well! Madame la baronne ?" "Oh! Monsieur le Marquis, we must wait and see," was still her reply; and the Marquis, with feet on the fender and nose over the embers, abandoned himself to mute despair, from which the baroness no longer even attempted to withdraw him. He expected, from day to day, to receive his notice to quit in due form of law. Nor was this all. M. de La Seigliére knew, beyond a reasonable doubt, that he was, for the country round about, as M. Des Tournelles had told him, a subject of derision and mockery, as well as of hatred and execration. Anonymous letters the diversion and pastime of the province-completed the bitterness of his cup of life, already steeped in gall and wormwood. No day passed which did not bring to him some one of those venomous flowers, which grow in the shade, and abound in the departmental soil. Some of them called him an aristocrat, and threatened to "lantern him.”* Others accused him of ingratitude towards his old servant, and of seeking to disinherit the son after having cheated and plundered the father. Most of these letters were enriched with pen and ink illustrations, little sketches full of grace and amenity, which advantageously supplied, or agreeably completed, the text. There was, for instance, a gallows decorated with a poor fellow pendant, doubtless intended to represent the Marquis; or, perhaps, the same personage was sketched in the act of trying the virtues of another well known instrument of death at that time. To add still further to his anguish, the Gazette, which the Marquis had read assiduously since his consultation with the Poitevin * "To lantern," was the republican phrase of the times for hanging to a lamp post.—TR. D'Aguesseau, was crowded with sinsister predictions and ill-omened prophecies Every day the liberal party was spoken of as a bomb which was about to blow up the hardly yet restored monarchy. Thus already begun to be confirmed the threatening words of the counsellor. M. de La Seigliére was in constant terror, and thought only of earthquakes and revolutions. In the night he would start up in his bed to listen to the fancied sound of the Marseillaise, and when, at length, overcome by fatigue, he fell asleep, it was only to see the hideous visage of the old Des Tournelles from behind the half drawn curtains bawling-Marry your daughter to Bernard. Now the Marquis was not the man to remain, if he could avoid it, in a position so frightful and so repugnant to all his feelings. He had neither the patience nor the perseverance which are the cement of energetic and bold spirits. Restless, irritated, humbled, exasperated, tired of waiting and seeing nothing done, lost in a swamp from which he saw no issue, the chances were a hundred to one that the Marquis would suddenly disappear by the aid of a pistol. But no, not even Madame de Vaubert could conjecture what bomb was to burst,- -no one save M. Des Tournelles, who had kindled the match. One evening in April, Madame de Vaubert sat alone with the Marquis, silent, and gazing steadfastly at the flashing embers which were dying in the fire-place. It was easy for the observer to see that deep anxiety brooded over her heart like a stormy atmosphere. Her eye was glassy, her brow heavy with care, her fingers clenched like one in extremity, and her mouth, usually cheerful and smiling, was contracted with a feeling of selfish despair. And she had, indeed, just cause of alarm. Her prospects became day by day more desperate, and she began to ask herself if there was not danger that she would be caught in her own snare? Bernard had the advantage, very decidedly, and looked and acted very much as if he regarded the estate as undoubtedly his own; and although she had not given up all hope, although she had not thrown the handle after the hatchet, yet, foreseeing that the time would perhaps come, when M. de La Seigliére would be obliged to evacuate the premises, the baroness had already begun to prepare the plan of the campaign which she would follow if matters should come to a pass as disastrous as she feared. She would not consent that her son should espouse M❜lle de La Seigliére with no other dowry than her youth, beauty, and loveliness, and was already casting about for some means of disengaging, with respect to Helen and her father, the promise and the hand of Raoul. Such, for some weeks, was the unavowed subject of her secret meditations. While Madame de Vaubert was plunged in these reflections, the Marquis, seated by the other corner of the fire-side, and silent, like the baroness, was anxiously cogitating upon the best manner of commencing the battle which he was about to offer, and how he should contrive to disengage, with respect to Raoul and his mother, the promise and hand of Helen. "The poor Marquis!" said she to herself, casting towards him, from time to time, a furtive look, "If he is obliged to come to this, what a terrible blow it will be for him! I know it; he consoles himself with the thought, that, come what may, his daughter is to be the baroness of Vaubert. Poor man! He loves me; I know it. It is twenty years nearly since our intimacy was, in some sort, consecrated by the betrothal of our children. Dear friend! How shall I find courage to afflict so tender and devoted a heart, and to tear from him his last illusions? I expect nothing but furious strife and bitter recrimination. In his passion he will not fail to charge me with having courted his fortune, and turned my back upon him in his adversity. But I will be resolute; I will bring him to comprehend that it would be madness for two paupers to marry; inhuman to condemn his family and mine to the gnawing cares of eternal mediocrity. He will be appeased; we will sigh together over our common misfortune, and mingle our tears and our regrets. And then will come the grief of Helen, and the protestations of Bernard. Alas! the two dear children adore each other. God made them for one another. But we will make them listen to reason. In the course of six months they will recover from the shock. Raoul will marry the daughter of some wealthy upstart, who will be glad thus to ennoble his blood and furbish up his escutcheon. As to the Marquis, he is too deeply embued with family pride, too securely anchored in old prejudices, ever to consent to enrich himself or his family by an ignoble alliance. Since he clings to his parchment-well, we will try to find some country squire of the neighborhood for Helen, and I hope yet to see the good Marquis finish his days under the roof of a son-in-law." Thus reasoned Madame de Vaubert, taking things in their worst aspect. Still she was far from having let go her prey. She knew Helen perfectly, and had studied Bernard. If she had no suspicion of what was passing in the heart of Helen-Helen had none herself—she had read the heart of the young man; she was much farther advanced in the secret of his trouble than he himself was. She thought that something might be done to forward her purpose by bringing them in contact; she felt that there was yet something, some incident, some chance, some occasion, which might avail her. But what? and how? These were the questions which she knew not how to answer, and she was almost indignant with herself that she could not. "That poor baroness!" said the Marquis, occasionally, in his turn, throwing a stealthy and timid glance towards his silent companion; "she little thinks of the blow which I am going to strike her! She is, on the whole, an amiable and faithful heart, a sincere and loyal soul. I am convinced that in all this affair she has sought only my happiness. I would swear that, for herself, she has no other ambition than to see Raoul united to Helen. Whenever it should take place she would be eager to receive us in her humble manor, and would esteem herself happy in sharing with us her modest competence. That her son should espouse a La Seigliére would be enough for her pride and her felicity. Dear affectionate soul! It would have been much more pleasing to me to have been enabled to realize so charming a dream, and to have spent my remaining days in her society. But when she learns that this hope, which has been so long cherished, must be renounced, she will break out into furious reproaches, alas! and merited, perhaps. Nevertheless, in good conscience, would it be wise or reasonable to expose our children to the rigors of poverty, and to bind ourselves together by an iron bond which, |