Of the conduct of some of the constitutional party, on the approach of danger, the author speaks with becoming severity. An infatuation appears to have spread amongst them. In this list Soult stands pre-eminent. His conduct was, indeed, absurd and inconsistent beyond all precedent. The erection of a monument to the emigrants who fell in the ill-fated expedition to Quiberon, and the cruel persecution of General Excelmans, affix an indelible stain of inconsistency and cruelty on his character. The author denies that the former of these acts, as the royalists asserted, was done with a view to render the Bourbon government odious. With regard to the latter, founded on the violation of epistolary confidence, and having for its object the destruction of one of the officers in the French service, the most distinguished for bravery, and, for his domestic and social qualities, it would be difficult indeed to find an apology. The truth seems to be, however, that the constitutional party would have adhered firmly to the King, and defended him to the last man, had they been convinced of his sincerity, or been admitted to his confidence. Insulted, humiliated, reviled, by those about the royal person, and finding that, though invested temporarily with office, they had received no portion of the trust which office presupposes,-obnoxious to the violent royalists from revolutionary recollections, and by the rank which they had earned under an usurper, they were necessarily led to look to the party in opposition to the Court, for that support which the Court ought, in common justice, and in good faith, to have afforded them. To this cause may be ascribed much of the mischief and treachery that followed. The last letter of this first part of our author's performance is devoted to prove that, prior to the 20th March, there existed no conspiracy, having for its object the recall and re-enthronement of the Ex-Emperor. In this part of his book we think our author has been most completely successful; and although this article has already extended to an unconscionable length, we will yet trespass, for a mo • When speaking of Marshal Soult, we were surprised to find M. Constant sub-ment, on the patience of our readers, joining the following statement: "Je lui saurai gre toujours de cette memorable bataillé de Toulouse, précieuse sur-tout parce qu'elle a montré QU'IL N'ETAIT PAS IMPOSSIBLE de vaincre un général que la fortune avait pris à tâche de favoriser." Does M. Constant really mean to say, that Marshal Soult beat the Duke of Wellington at Toulouse? Are Frenchmen, indeed, ignorant that, but for the unparalleled humanity of the British hero, who wished to spare the inhabitants of Toulouse the horrors of a bombardment, not a man of Soult's army would have escaped? Is it not known in France that Soult's troops filed off under the very guns of the British army, by whom not a shot was fired? By whom was Soult forced from his lines on the heights which he had been three months in fortifying? Is this "PRECIEUSE BATAILLE" so creditable to Soult, who is known to have fought it, with a perfect knowledge of the events that had taken place at Paris, and of the abdication of Fountainbleau? National vanity is, indeed, a strong passion. We were simple enough to believe the defeat of Toulouse as complete as that at Orthés, where even Frenchmen did not claim the victory. VOL. VIII. with a brief summary of the facts produced in support of this negative. Many fine theatrical stories have, we are well aware, been coined by ingenious travellers, and circulated in this credulous country, about a sort of free-masonry established in France, as the organ of communication with Napoleon in Elba, and as a test or sign, by which the number and devotion of his partizans might previously be ascertained. The shrewd Buonapartist asked the individual whose faith he wished to put to the testdimez-vous la violette? If the answer was, "Oui," the respondent was put down as a cowie, or a royalist. But if, on the other hand, the answer was, "ELLE REPARAÎTRA AVEC fellowship was instantly extended, LE PRINTEMPS," the right hand of and a communion of knowledge, schemes, hopes, fears, and difficulties, immediately commenced. Can any thing be more paltry or absurd, not to say impossible, than this? From such pitiful fictions let us turn to plain and stubborn facts. D 26 of treason. In the next place, the And here it is not to be denied, that a man who had governed France for fourteen years, who had created so many functionaries and offices,-who had expended such treasures,-and to whom so many hopes were attached,— must, in spite of his faults and reverses, have preserved a great and powerful influence. Nor is it to be doubted that he had many correspondents in France, from whom he received regular information of the state of parties in that country. Nay, our author asserts, that he derived the most valuable information from the ministers of the great continental powers, whom he had formerly corrupted, and who had no great disinclination to finger a few more napoleons. But all this did not amount to a regularly-organised conspiracy. In fact, such a thing was morally, if not physically, impossible. Among the millions who must have been in the secret, would there not have been found one traitor? How comes it that the conspiracy was not so much as breathed till long after it had taken effect? How does it happen that no fears had been excited, and no precautions taken to ensure safety? Individuals and small parties of men may conspire, but there is no example in all history of a whole nation conspiring. When we look back into the records of past events, how few conspiracies have succeeded? A man who has once become a traitor, has but little way to go, and scarcely deepens the enormity of his crime by superadding the guilt of an informer. The machinations of Cataline were no secret to Cicero, long before the plot was ripe for execution; and even the gunpowder treason, the darkest, most formidable, and longest concealed conspiracy that ever existed, was nevertheless betrayed. Of all countries Germany, from the peculiar habits of the people, is the country most favourable to secret institutions and conspiracies, and yet the celebrated Tugenbund was well known to the French to have existed in the Prussian dominions, notwithstanding their inability to extirpate it. The small resistance made to the progress of Buonaparte is no proof of anterior conspiracy. Countries have, from different causes, been conquered without the loss of a man, where there never existed the smallest suspicion interest to promote by discountenancing the idea of a conspiracy, but rather the reverse : "That there existed no conspiracy, I have," says M. Constant," the authority of Buonaparte himself, who had no interest to impose on me in this respect. On the contrary, he had a decided interest in confirm ing all suspicions of this sort, as, in compromising the safety of those who served him, he would have bound them more closely to his fate. I came,' said he, without any intelligence, without any preparation, holding in my hand the Pari. sian Journals and the speech of M. Ferrand. When I sare what had been written on the army, and on the national property, and about the straight and the crooked line, I said to myself-FRANCE IS MINE! (La France est à moi.)'" We would recommend the perusal of this small tract to those of our readers who are desirous of information, respecting a most agitated and highly interesting period, of the events of which we have hitherto received no authentic accounts. It is written with the temper and moderation of history. We are very much deceived, indeed, if the author of the littte work before us exaggerates or extenuates the errors and crimes of either Royalists or Buonapartists. His object seems to be to present a fair and dispassionate statement of facts as they presented themselves to his own mind, without becoming the panegyrist or the apologist of either faction. Truth is, fortunately, of no party; and, on the strength of this maxim, we found our recommendation of the little volume which we now close with a mingled feeling of esteem, and gratitude to the author, who, though himself an actor in the stormy scenes which he describes, and alternately calumniated and caressed by both factions, appears to feel no resentments or partialities, to be animated with an ardent and sincere love of his country, and to desire nothing more than the establishment, upon a solid foundation, of a well-regulated system of civil liberty. PRINCIPLES OF THE SCIENCE OF MIND. MR EDITOR, I THINK it is Bishop Butler who somewhere says, that it would be a great advantage in philosophical speculations, if authors would state their premises merely, and allow readers to draw the conclusions themselves. This at least would prevent much tediousness, and it would excite thought in those who are capable of thinking. tle else than produce in the generality The reasonings of philosophers do litof readers a notion of certain truths, without any distinct perception or conviction of them, and such a confused notion is of very little use. I shall satisfy myself, therefore, at present, with stating shortly a few principles of the science of the human mind, as they are elucidated by that leading fact, the proofs of which I am so anxious that inquirers into this science should establish,-the fact, I mean, that there is a constant impression of design and intention conveyed to us in all our perceptions. And I. Mr Hume's doctrine concerning impressions and ideas-would not be so objectionable if this fact were established. All our impressions or more lively perceptions, besides themselves, carry another impression along with them, which is only perceptible to a rational nature,-the impression of order, regularity, design. this is sufficient to inspire rational belief or trust, so that there is no scepticism or doubt in this system. That is at once torn up by the roots. Mr Hume's doctrine again, that every idea must be preceded by an impres sion, is only an instance in the very outset of that harmony and invariableness of sequence, which the mind at once feels to be a sign of plan or arrangement, and here again belief is wrought into our souls in their first opening into existence, from the connection between all that we feel within, and all that we perceive without. II. This principle would go far to explain the doctrine of relations. What makes us attend to relations, chiefly is, that they are signs of design. The most striking thing in resemblance, for instance, is that signification. Whatever thing is like another, is felt to be so intentionally, and it is the intention that is the most important thing in the circumstance of the likeness. The relation of contiguity, either in space or time, conveys the notion of intentional position in that particular distance. The relations of Quantity and Num ber denote a very nice and precise order and disposition in the things so estimated. The relation of degrees in any particular quality, likewise conveys the idea of the degrees being regulated. The relation of what is commonly called cause and effect, or of the sequences of nature, owes, as I have again and again shown, all its force and influence on the mind-to the apprehension of these sequences as being fixed and determined-and it is upon this apprehension, that all belief respecting their continuance depends. III. This principle will perfectly elucidate the whole puzzle of general ideas. There seems to be something more in the operation of the mind, when it gives a general aspect to a particular conception, than merely classing a number of particulars under one common name. It is evident to me, that when we generalize, we are endeavouring to find out the model, as it were, upon which any class of things has been formed. For this purpose, we take off whatever is peculiar to particular things, and leaving only what belongs to the whole class, we get the notion of that model. The model, to be sure, is a particular conception, as much as any thing else but it applies to a great number of particulars. All this operation proceeds on an impression upon the mind, that the resemblances in nature are signs of design-and, therefore, we always try to find out what the plan, or model, may have been, from which any set of resembling objects has originated. This really comes very near Plato's notion, that general ideas are the ideas of the Divine Mind, but it is that notion stripped of all its mysticism, and we may see from what view it was, that he was led into such a notion. IV. The association of ideas rests chiefly, too, on the same principle. The reason that the mind is constantly running upon resemblances, cause and effect, and other relations, is, that these are interesting to it, as being the common signs of design and intelligence with which it is constantly conversant, and an intelligent being, even in its wildest reveries, cannot escape into any other course of thought. Here are all the premises I shall give you at present. Your philosophical readers may chew them at their leisure. Before I conclude, however, I must still say a few words to establish more firmly my original position, which, I must own, has a paradoxical aspect; but this is entirely owing to our inability to state what are the first germs of reason in the mind of a child, and what are the first perceptions which it may possess of truths, which, while they must continue for ever to govern its reason, may yet be utterly perverted as to all moral consequences, or may never, indeed, have ripened into any. It seems, then, to be a persuasion very early impressed upon the human mind, that there is something fixed, something established, something to be depended on, in the constitution of things. It seems to occur, by a kind of rational instinct, if I may so speak, to the mind even of a child, that this immense scene of nature is not without plan, regularity, design. We believe, as soon as we believe any thing at all, that our perceptions of external objects are not passing dreams, not reveries of the mind. A vast house we see is built for our habitation, the different rooms are orderly and wellarranged, and we cannot think that the whole is a fairy palace, and that we shall not find it to-morrow as well fitted for our accommodation as it is to-day. All our business is to discover what are the arrangements of the apartments, what are the conveniences which have been prepared for us, what is the establishment of the household; and, when we have made this discovery, we put our trust at once in the unknown Power which has thus beneficially accommodated us. To say that a child thinks of these things as a man would do, as a philosopher or as a divine would do, would be absurd; but that such impressions are upon its thoughts, in some shape or other, cannot, I think, be reasonably doubted. A young child does not see all the reasons for depending on the word of its early instructors, but it has a confidence in them notwithstanding: what, then, should hinder it from acquiring a similar confidence in Nature? I will venture farther to say, that the foundations on which the thoughts and sentiments of children rest are, in many cases, sounder and more rational than they afterwards become. A child is much more a being of Nature's making than a man is; and if it is the doctrine of Scripture, that, in point of morality, we must become as little children before we can enter into the kingdom of heaven, so perhaps, in point of reason, we must, in many respects, become as little children before we can be sound philosophers. It is the boast of the philosophy of this age, that the study of Nature has been substituted in the room of imaginary theories, and Lord Bacon has acquired a very high reputation from having led philosophers in to this legitimate track. But what it required all the sagacity of Bacon to discover in his maturer years, he, as well as every other child, knew perfectly in his cradle. To make experiments is the great object of a child's first exertions, to discover the laws of the kingdom in which it lives. That there is an order or government, that there are laws, is a matter of instinctive perception. When the discovery what the laws are is made, then that these laws will continue to have force is a matter of confidence or belief. viction of all the great truths of na tural religion, and though the voice of God should never talk with him in the garden, he would know to a certainty that there was a God. No one will contend that this observation is made to this extent by a child, or that the confidence which it acquires in the system of nature is any thing more than the first groundwork of religious belief. According to the age and country into which he may be thrown, that will of course be varied and modified. He may be made to believe that God is in the great and strong wind, which rends the mountains, and breaks in pieces the rocks; that he is in the earthquake, or in the fire; he may worship the imaginary powers supposed to preside over these convulsions of nature, yet however his religion may be corrupted, it is still in the general power of Nature that he reposes his daily confidence; it is still from the whispers of the small voice that he receives intimations how to think and to act. PHILOTHEUS. REMARKS ON THE LIFE OF WILLIAM As confidence in man, the sentiment on which belief in human testimony rests, is a moral sentiment, so confidence in Nature is plainly a religious one; and, in this (Concluded from Vol. VII. p. 349.) early impression, it is beautiful to discover the first seed, the infant germ of religion. While he is yet in his nurse's arms, the child has a perfect confidence concerning the continuance of those established successions of events which his limited experience has discovered. As he doubts not that his nurse will give him suck when he has occasion for it, so has he no doubt, that if he eats an apple he shall find it sweet, and that if he touches the fire he shall feel pain. He receives at once the intimations of Nature, and bows down with submission before her. He hears at once the "still small voice" which was heard by Elijah the prophet. Make the supposition of Adam rising into existence with all his faculties about him, The experience of a day or two would surely be sufficient to show him that there was a plan in nature, that this mighty scene was not wrought in vain, and that it was not intended to pass instantaneously away. In Adam, in a man fully possessed of his faculties, this perception would introduce an immediate con THE remarkable and fatal events which have made the name of Lord William Russell so conspicuous on the page of history, are (or ought to be) familiar to every well-educated person in the country which owes so much to his memory. The circumstances of his early life, less known, are still important, because they prove that no man was more esteemed and beloved. No one had more happiness to risk by exchanging the sweet serenity of private life for the turmoil of politics, and no one had less of ambition to be distinguished in public. It is an instance almost unparalleled of the moderation and tranquillity of his spirit, that he sat for twelve years in Parliament a silent member. This is enough to make it evident that nothing less than what he felt, as the strong pressure of conscientious necessity, would have made him launch out from such a harbour of peace into the turbulent politics of that unsettled period. Of the domestic felicity which he so amply enjoyed, and knew so well to value, the following |