which is, always to wear a sword himself, or be associated with some one of eminent military reputation. The first requirement for any French government was an illustre épée. Louis Philippe had Gerard, but he was dead; then Soult, who was superannuated. Lastly, Bugeaud, but Bugeaud quarrelled with Guizot, and would only act with Thiers. So that Guizot, having no general, was dismissed when the menacing moment came, and when Bugeaud was summoned, Thiers came necessarily with him. Bugeaud forthwith set himself to examine the means of defence, and found that there was no ammunition. The supply of so useful a material of war rested with the Duc de Montpensier, a boy, but governor of Vincennes. He had not made the requisite provision. Marshal Bugeaud accordingly refused to defend the King and he château. case, and across the garden of the Tuileries, until they met a fiacre, in which the shipwrecked royalty embarked. The King's abdication and departure were so sudden, that none even of the family were aware of it, except those who were present. The Duc de Nemours, with the Duchess of Orleans and children, went to the chamber, where they and their friends mismanaged and threw away a cause, which the staunchness of one general might have saved. The Ducs d'Aumale and Joinville were in Algiers. The Duc de Montpensier ought to have taken care of their wives. But they were forgotten, and the mob was in the Princess de Joinville's apartments before she fled, leaving her bonnet as a trophy. It would have been fortunate for the family of Orleans had any of these been arrested; but they showed great alacrity of flight. The chief ruffianry In the meantime, the Tuileries presented of the mob was this time kept out of the the same anarchy which was observed after Tuileries. They were allowed to wreak their the revolution of 1830. Every one that pleas- barbarous fury on the Palais Royal and upon ed rushed up its staircase, and into the King's Neuilly. The more respectable tribe of inpresence, to propose terms or offer advice. surgents took possession of the Tuileries, unIt was Emile de Girardin one moment, and der the command of the famous chess playM. Cremieux the next. What was the cab-er, St. Arnaud, who had been caissier of the inet de travail of the King, was encumbered "Temps." with people of all kinds. The King ran from As usual, after a revolution, the Tuileries it into his bedroom, and from his bedroom returned to the keeping of the National back into it, clothed in a kind of dressing Guard. The members of the Provisional govjacket, greatly perturbed, now listening to ernment ensconced themselves in their sevsome alarming reports, then comforting his eral ministries. And when they went to the family, which had crowded to his side; then Council, it was to the Hotel de Ville, not the receiving a deputation, then retiring to ponder Tuileries. The latter palace remained tranupon an answer. The editor of the "Con- quil. But the revolution of 1848 had prestitutionnel," then an opposition paper, had cisely the same want of a high military officome in with the others, and coolly sate him- cer, that Louis Philippe experienced. So self down with pen and ink at a table, to be great is the general respect in France for any one's and every one's secretary. He such a character, that a few days after the wrote out all kinds of proclamations and ad- revolution, Bugeaud could show himself in dresses and decrees, some of which appeared, the streets, and be well received. The great and some did not. The Queen was more ex-perplexity was the want of even a war mincited and indignant than the King; and when persons entered to give friendly counsel, whom she knew to be at times conspiring against the King, she told them to leave the room. She saw too M. Cremieux, but he minded her not. The majesty that did hedge the Queen was lost upon the future members of the republican government. At last, it came to abdication, an act to which neither the King nor his family could have been brought, if the chiefs of the insurrection had not sent several guarantees, that, in that case, the throne should be secured to the little Count de Paris. This done, the old King put on his hat, took the Queen under his arm, and walked down the great stair ister. The Provisional government sent to Algiers for Cavaignac, who came, and we know the consequences. He conquered for the Moderates of the Assembly, he put the people down for them, and they in return asked the people to discard him, and to elect, as President of the Republic, the future Emperor of the French. It was after all an inevitable choice. Still it was for the newly elect a three years' struggle, against the revolutionists on the one hand, and the monarchists on the other. The latter entrenched themselves in the Tuileries, under the command of Changarnier. All remember the long antagonism between the Tuileries and the Elysée. All know the blinding zeal with which Changarnier carried, on the war, as well as the persevering and cool adroitness of him who triumphed, and who wears the crown of his uncle in the old palace of the Tuileries. Napoleon the Third has certainly gained very much in public opinion, and has assumed quite another position before it, since he quitted the Elysée, and has taken up his abode in the Tuileries. Report or calumny used to represent the Elysée as the retreat of dissipation and a place of orgy. Imagination is free to draw what picture it pleases of bachelor's life; but with an Empress at the Tuileries, an Empress well known and admired as a member of the higher circles of the metropolis, scandal has no longer a hold. The palace has been rendered far more hospitable and splendid, than it was even in Na poleon's time, although the taste of that day is restored, as far as is compatible with the ideas of this. Napoleon the Third likes splendor, and show, and expenditure. He has greatly raised the salaries of all functionaries, but he insists on their spending them. He sets his face against the idea of a senator, whose sole equipage is his umbrella. Such measures at least render the imperial palace more like the abode of Kings, than it has been during the time when the Duchess of Angouleme received no one but her almoner, or when Louis Philippe dined his guests at so many francs a head. The French boast of themselves, that they like égalité, and yet we find them not reluctant to admit the claim of those who boldly and proudly assert superiority. From Sharpe's Magazine. THE NOVEL, CONSIDERED AS THE EPOS OF OUR TIME. BY FREDERIKA BREMER. "THE Novel is the Epos of our time," Adam Ohlenshlåger has said, with striking truth. And though learned scholars have proved that the old Epos is not essentially a heroic poem-not the same as the "Epopee" -they admit the Epos to be an account of deeds and events in which a particular person is the chief actor, who, for that reason, becomes the hero or the heroine of the tale. Moreover, a great German scholar says, that the characteristic of the epic poem is, that it contains what concerns all humanity; but so does every narrative that honors man. The old Epos, and its younger brother, the Novel, seem thus to come so near to the heroic poem, that they may lay claim to its name, honor, and dignity. But the hero of the epic poem of later days is not the same as that of the old one; and his life and exploits are measured on a different scale. The hero of the ancient Epos is generally a great champion, winning victories by fraud and carnage, and killing a great number of men; he his beautiful, brave, fortunate, and his great deeds are battles. The hero of the Novel is, above all, man-the feeling, think | ing, moral man, in strife with the world, as he advances towards the aim that his genius points out. The Epos of old acknowledges but few men; they are the favorites of the gods, the great and gifted ones on earth. The rest of mankind is merely the mob, serving, at the utmost, as a footstool for the elevation of the hero. Of the modern Epos, every man may be a hero, every woman a heroine; because man is the chosen favorite, the one by God beloved, and summoned to high destinies, to the possession of an infinite kingdom. The difference arises from the old Epos being a heathen, whereas the Novel is baptized in the life of Christianity. Christianity ascribes to every human soul an infinite value in the eyes of God, and an infinite possibility towards perfection. It places man as the innermost of creation. The Novel took up the doctrine of revelation, and grouped around its hero nature, science, art, society, as his realm. In the Novel, the centre of life is man; and the problem his life has to solve is the redeeming and elevating of earthly existence. He is to be conqueror still, Richardson's Pamela, St. Pierre's Chaumière Indienne, and, in later times, several noble English Novels, are beautiful and true epic poems in a Christian sense, justly beloved by all peoples, and patterns for the Epos of but only to bless; his first and greatest victo- | a clearer understanding of itself and its misries are to be won on an inner battle-field: if sion. conqueror there, he will subdue the world. The Novel, therefore, became essentially biographic. In the history of individual man, all that is human will be represented in every sphere of existence. The hero or the heroine of the Novel is the representative, of the higher spiritual humanity, conquering devils and monsters by the power it gives, and is proclaimed the victor, in life or-in death. To every man the Novel brings this exhortation: "Learn to conquer !" The Novel is a manifold paraphrase of the word "Behold the man!" The Novel further says to man: "Behold thy world in all its beauty, ugliness, greatness, littleness, sweetness, bitterness; in a word, in all its truth!" To a clear-sighted critic, the great value and importance of the Novel, within literature, as means of higher improvement, cannot be questioned. To a discerning critic, the Novel must appear as one of the most influential productions of art that civilization has produced. The great development that the Novel literature has attained in this century proves, in our opinion, the tendency of the age towards human improvement; and if the Novel has become the favorite reading with all classes, it shows, as we think, their good taste and sound eye. We are here ready to say, with Mme. de Sévigné, "Mon ami, le public a bon nez, et ne se méprend guere." The question about the value of the Novel should, consequently, be reduced to the inquiry as to the worth of this or that Novel, with regard to the problem it has to solve, as the epic poem of man. * We do not deny that the Novel has often been mistaken in the solution of this problem; that it has sometimes carried darkness and poison on its leaves, instead of light and healing life. This is its sin. But this ought no more to be imputed to the whole mass of Novels than the abominations of Nero can be ascribed to all mankind. More frequently still, it has borne on its leaves joy, consolation, hope, strength, and healing life to the heart of man. It will do so in a higher degree, when it has come to our time. Uncle Tom-the most read and most beloved book of the present day-is, in certain respects, still superior to these. There, not only nature, domestic life, and the questions of moral life, are grouped round the man who is the centre of the narrative; but the deepest and most important political and social questions crowd for decision round that lonely, loving, bleeding, human heart, and receive from it their light and their doom. And who is the hero here--who makes our hearts beat, our eyes involuntarily fill with tears; who makes the peoples of two great continents, far divided by oceans, join in the same interest, the same grief, the same meditations, and makes them discuss a matter that concerns them all, because it concerns all humanity? It is the poorest, the most destitute, the most despised of beings; a man who can scarcely read, and not at all write-a miscrable negro slave. But he is a man, in the highest sense of the word; then he is a Christian, and humanity rejoices in him of its most exalted life. Thus far the divine hero has advanced in the redemption of humanity. And so far the Novel has followed in the traces of that divine hero in elevating man. The Novel and its brethren, the Tale and the Sketch, have likewise the merit of making us acquainted with distant lands and nations in a more hearty and familiar way than other books. From narrations about travels, we get accounts of outward things and conditions. In scientific books, we learn about the geography and geology of a country; its special plants and animals, &c.; are made acquainted with the features of the people's character and institutions. But the Novel makes us look into the hearts, the inner life of the people; it opens to us the home, and introduces us there to the father and mother, the youth and the girl, the child, the servant; it shows us what is in that part of the world, the aim of their life, their joy and sorrow, labor and pastime; it makes us see the trees * In the English Novels, Mary Barton and Alton Locke, the great social questions of the day are dis In the Novel literature, we can discover two chief directions, like those that in the art of paint-cussed (in England) in their relation to man, who ing are called the Italian and Dutch schools. The thereby stands forth in his most significative imporformer strives to represent the ideal, the latter tance as a member of society. The political or social rather a strong and life-like reality. Novel appears on the stage. that give them shade, the flowers that give them pleasure; in a word, it makes us behold man, in his whole human world, with the features peculiar to that country among that people. And we scarcely know of a greater and more profitable enjoyment than to be, in our quiet homes, removed, as it were by magic, to foreign lands; to get acquainted with new characters and new conditions, and to learn from them at least how vast is the realm of man, how manifold the resources of our earthly life! And though the noble and amiable Swedish poet, Bishop Frangén, characterized the Novel as "An event that never happened;" yet we dare assert, in consequence of our own experience, that the story related in the true Novel really has happened, and happens every day, if not exactly in the same manner as the Novel points out, yet in analogous ways; and that no Novel is so romantic as actual life. We sincerely wish that every young man and every young girl would consider their lives in their truly romantic signification, and early prepare themselves for writing their autobiographies-the Novel of which ought to be something far better than a slight lovestory. But should it turn out a tale of love in a great style-so much the better. The genuine Novel is such a biography! [Our readers will be so good as to remember that Miss Bremer wrote this little article in English: and, as she is in Stockholm, cannot correct her proofs -this will account for some little obscurity in style. -ED.] From Bentley's Miscellany. THE DUEL OF D'ESTERRE AND DANIEL O'CONNELL. In a conversation after dinner about handwriting, as indicating character, the master of the house produced a document penned, as he truly observed, under very peculiar circumstances. It is the fragment of a letter from Daniel O'Connell to his fidus Achates, George Lidwell, written after the duel with D'Esterre, but before the final consummation of the tragedy. Lidwell was to have been O'Connell's second upon the occasion, but, for some pressing reason, was obliged to leave Dublin pending the preliminary defiances, which were of unusual duration. seems to have been the uppermost thought; but that apart, no feeling of a truculent or unbecoming nature displays itself. On the other hand, we cannot discover any latent spark of the almost maudlin sensibility which, in his latter days, imparted so high a coloring to Mr. O'Connell's reminiscences of this unhappy affair. Although his antagonist lay at that moment in a state of imminent danger, with a lovely young wife anxiously watching every flutter of his ebbing life, whilst the cries of her firstborn in the cradle beside her gave poignancy to As D'Esterre only survived the rencontre her sufferings, and heightened the interest of forty-eight hours, this letter may be consid-"the situation," the sentimental victor noered a dispatch from the field of battle, tices none of these matters, but coolly relates whilst as yet the flush of victory had not been how "greatly" under his mark the unhappy dashed with remorse, and a little exultation-man had aimed; and then, in a postscript, all the facts and circumstances of the case considered-might, perhaps, have been excusable. But there is nothing of the kind. It is a dry, hard letter enough, indicating that instinctive attention to "number one which appears to have grown with the writer's growth, and never to have deserted him during the most vehement or the most soul-subduing passages of his life. The effect of the transaction upon his own fortunes (his "good chance," as he calls it) speculates on the Earl of Donoughmore taking charge of the Catholic Petition. All this is extremely characteristic, and the firm, even, round hand in which it is indited, repels the suspicion of an assumed coolness. It is written on a sheet of letter-paper, a part of the leaf from the date nearly to the bottom having been worn off. It is doubtful, therefore, where it was written; but most probably from the three first letters (and part of a fourth) of the name, which sidered a hectoring proceeding when one of its members took up a censure bestowed upon the general body as a personal offence, and resolved to fasten a quarrel upon its author. This was Mr. D'Esterre, a retired marine officer, who had formed a mercantile connection in Dublin and become a member of the common council. His affairs were supposed to be in a tottering state at the time, and therefore, perhaps, he was the more quick to take the reflection to himself. Some were so charitable as to insinuate that he was Here is a faithful copy of it in its present anxious to seize so good an opportunity to fragmentary state: "MY DEAR LIDWELL, Moor 2d y "I write merely to thank and again—and again for you -ness.-Indeed I do not use a pl I say I want words to thank I ought. The papers will give you a details of my affair with D'Este -sequent to your leaving this.-We little fighting.-He fired greatly He is I am happy to tell you this morning but his life is still danger. If he recovers I shall say there never was so fortunate a man I am-and to make my good chance quite perfect -my wife never heard a word of it until I returned from the ground. "Believe me to be "Will Lord D. accept our petition? Have you any influence over him still?—I wish to God he would, for our sake and his, accept it cordially. It would place him on the highest station in Ireland." The reading of this letter recalls in a vivid manner some of the most striking incidents connected with that tragical event in O'Connell's history. It was in January, 1815, that in one of his political diatribes at the agitation-shop of the day, (whether it was called board, or club, or society), O'Connell complimented the municipal body of the city of Dublin with the title of a "beggarly corporation." It is noteworthy, that nearly thirty years after that, having first richly earned. for himself the distinctive appellation of 'King of Beggars," he ruled the same city as its Lord Mayor, representing a corporation composed of as tag-rag materials as ever disgraced any age or country. That, however, is nothing to the matter. The old corporation had no great right to pride itself on its gentility, and it was con recommend himself to the Government by humbling a public enemy. Whatever might be his motive, he called upon Mr. O'Connell to retract the offensive words, and Mr. O'Connell stoutly refused to do so. Thereupon ensued a state of society such as may have been often witnessed in the olden times of Irish misrule, but it is vain to hope, under the present state of police, that we e'er shall "look upon its like again." For two or three days the town was domineered by two factions, who traversed the streets in opposite directions, ostensibly in search of one another, but never once contriving to come face to face. At one time Mr. D'Esterre, armed with a cane, sallied forth from Dawson Street attended by some score of true-blue supporters of our glorious constitution, all similarly equipped. Swaggering along the sunny side of Stephen's Green, they would pass down Grafton Street and cross the river by Carlisle Bridge. Rumor ascribed this demonstration to a deadly intention to horse whip O'Connell wherever he should be found. When this party had comfortably housed itself back again with the Lord Mayor, or was seated at Atwood's Coffee-room in Dame Street, "nursing its wrath to keep it warm," over a competent supply of mock turtle, Daniel O'Connell with a stalwart following would come like tragedy, "sweeping by," every mother's son brandishing a defensive cudgel and casting fierce looks across the street at the gownsmen who crowded about the college gates, eager and impatient to behold the conflict. A strapping fellow was Dan in that day, tall, active, muscular, and full of life. Hand to hand, he would have been an ugly customer to any champion the thick-winded corporation could have turned out against him. But as in the Homeric battles, often two heroes "ranging for revenge" would traverse the field for the length of a day without collision, an envious mist interposing, |