Very much, indeed every thing, depends upon the prudence of France herself. If she shall stop where she is, remain quiet, united and happy at home, and avoid all interference with other governments, the work is done. If, on the other hand, storms should arise within to drive her from her present anchorage, and set the revolution afloat again on a sea of anarchy, every thing is to be feared for herself and for Europe. Is there any danger of such a relapse? That there are domestic malcontents, and perhaps foreign emissaries enough in the kingdom to make the wicked attempt, is probable enough. Is there any reason to believe that such an attempt will succeed?
The great security of France arises from her past experience, which must make her distrust all counsels tending to disunion and disorganization. There is, moreover, an efficient and watchful government in being, under whose jealous vigilance these incendiaries will have to carry on their machinations. What theme can they find of sufficient power to persuade the people of France to leave the port in which they now find themselves safe and happy, and to commit themselves again to those seas of whose dangers they have heretofore had such dreadful experience.
Will it be sympathy for the fallen house of Bourbon? There is no nerve in France that will respond to such an appeal. That house has no place in the affections of the people. It was forced upon them, at the point of the bayonet, in 1814. It has been tried a second time: found to be incurably despotic, and every indication attests that the revolution which has again ejected them from the throne, is, in this respect, popular throughout France. The influence of that family is extinguished for ever, in the kingdom.
Nor do we learn that there is any other competitor for the crown that has a party of sufficient strength to unfurl
a banner in his cause with any hope of success. It is not a small faction that can disturb the peace of such a kingdom as that of France, instructed as they must necessarily be by their past experience.
It has been suggested that the limited monarchy which has been established is distasteful to the republicans: and that the match of discord may be applied with success to this party. But Gen. Lafayette is at the head of the republicans, and a letter from him which has been recently published is well fitted to quiet our apprehensions on this score. He would have preferred a republic on our model. But the question was not what was best in the abstract, but what was best for France in the situation in which she was placed. What was that situation? The tastes and prejudices of foreign princes were to be consulted to avoid all pretext for interference on their part, and such a government was to be established as the more liberal among them, (England for example,) would promptly recognize. On the other hand, with a view to immediate repose in France, herself, it was indispensably necessary that there should be at once a firm and efficient government, to avoid those factions which are always hatched by protracted revolutions, and fluctuating counsels; witness the afflicting scenes in South America. Hence the necessity of that compromise which he, Gen. Lafayette, says was so promptly made. The wisdom of it, both in its foreign and domestic aspect, is so striking, that the people of France, with the lights of their past experience before them, cannot fail to see it. Nor can those republicans fail to see what Gen. Lafayette has so intelligibly stated in another letter "that although the government be a monarchy, it is a very republican monarchy, susceptible of farther improvement:" and they have a king manifestly prepared to yield to any improvement
they desire; for he is, in spirit, as much a republican as any man among them.
The people of France finding themselves at once in the actual enjoyment of the sweets of peace and freedom, under the protection of a government mild, conciliating and efficient—open, moreover, to such amendments as experience shall suggest, will hardly be persuaded to go again in quest of anarchy and confusion, with the horrors and the catastrophe of the former revolution full in their view. No: they have not forgotten that fearful lesson: and to suppose them ready, without any necessity, to re-enact that tragedy, is to suppose them madmen, without any other claim upon the sympathies of the world than such as are felt for the inmates of a lunatic asylum.
The quiet and orderly manner in which the people restored the pavement of their streets, purified their city, and went back to their respective occupations, after their battle of three days, was, at that time, a pledge for Paris, always the most to be dreaded of any other part of the kingdom. They acted like honest and sensible workmen. They had a public job to do; they finish it, at once, with all possible moderation and humanity; and then peaceably resume their private pursuits.
Whom have they to quarrel with? The guards, it seems, fired upon them reluctantly, until their hearts would permit them to fire upon their fellow citizens no longer—when they throw down their arms and rush into their embrace in a manner so touching as to leave no doubt of the sincerity and permanency of the reconciliation. France, at large, seems tranquil. A few petty disturbances there may have since been; but they are the mere foam which was to have been expected from the fall of such a water-spout. Should more serious disturbances arise, from any public grievance which