THE

Mr. Jefferson, in his lifetime, underwent the extremes of abuse and of adulation. Daily, semi-weekly, or weekly did Fenno, Porcupine Cobbett, Dennie, Coleman, and the other Federal journalists, not content with proclaiming him an ambitious, cunning, and deceitful demagogue, ridicule his scientific theories, shudder at his irreligion, sneer at his courage, and allude coarsely to his private morals in a manner more discreditable to themselves than to him; crowning all their accusations and innuendoes with a reckless profusion of epithet. While at the same times and places the whole company of the Democratic press, led by Bache, Duane, Cheetham, Freneau, asserted with equal energy that he was the greatest statesman, the profoundest philosopher, the very sun of republicanism, the abstract of all that was glorious in democracy. And if Abraham Bishop, of New Haven, Connecticut, compared him with Christ, a great many New Englanders of more note than Bishop, pronounced him the man of sin, a malignant manifestation of Satan. On one or the other of these two scales he was placed by every man in the United States, according to each citizen's modicum of sense and temper. We say, every man—because in that war of the Democrats against the Federalists, no one sought to escape the service. Every able-tongued man was ready to fight with it, either for Jefferson or against him.

When Jefferson passed away triumphant, toleration set in. His enemies dropped him to turn upon living prey. They came to acquiesce in him, and even to quote him when he served their purpose. But the admiration of his followers did not abate. They canonized him as the apostle of American democracy, and gave his name to the peculiar form of the doctrine they professed. For many years the utterances of the master were conclusive to the common men of the party—better far than the arguments of any living leader. Of late we have heard less of him. The right wing of the democracy begin to doubt the expediency of the States' Rights theory; and with the wrong wing his standing has been injured by the famous passage on slavery in the 'Notes on Virginia.' The wrong wing of the Democratic party are the men who cry out for the 'Constitution as it is, and the Union as it was'—a cry full of sound and often of fury; but what does it signify? The first gun that was fired at Fort Sumter shattered the old Union. If peace men and abolitionists, secessionists and conservatives were to agree together to restore the old Union to the status quo ante bellum, they could not do it. 'When an epoch is finished,' as Armand Carrel once wrote, 'the mould is broken, it cannot be made again.' All that can be done is to gather up the fragments, and to use them wisely in a new construction. An Indian neophyte came one day to the mission, shouting: 'Moses, Isaiah, Abraham, Christ, John the Baptist!' When out of breath, the brethren asked him what he meant. 'I mean a glass of cider.' If the peace party were as frank as the Indian, they would tell us that their cry signifies place, power, self. The prodigal sons of the South are to be lured back by promises of pardon, indemnification, niggers ad libitum, before they have satiated themselves with the husks which seem to have fallen to their portion, and are willing to confess that they have sinned against heaven and against their country. The arms of the peace men are open; the best robe, the ring, the fatted calf are ready. All that is asked in return is a Union (as it was) of votes, influence, and contributions, to place the party in power and to keep it there.

These misguided Democrats owe to Jefferson the war cries they shout and the arms they are using against the Government. His works are an arsenal where these weapons of sedition are arranged ready for use, bright and in good order, and none of them as yet superseded by modern improvements. He first made excellent practice with the word 'unconstitutional,' an engine dangerous and terrible to the Administration against which it is worked; and of easy construction, for it can be prepared out of anything or nothing. Jefferson found it very effective in annoying and embarrassing the Government in his campaigns. But as he foresaw that the time must come when the Supreme Court of the United States would overpower this attack, he adapted, with great ingenuity, to party warfare the theory of States' Rights, which in 1787 had nearly smothered the Constitution in its cradle. This dangerous contrivance he used vigorously against the alien and sedition law, without considering that his blows were shaking the Union itself. Mr. Calhoun looked upon the Kentucky Resolutions (Jefferson's own work) as the bill of rights of nullification, and wrote for a copy of them in 1828 to use in preparing his manifesto of the grievances of South Carolina. It is unnecessary to allude to the triumph of these doctrines at the South under the name of secession.

As Jefferson soon perceived that a well-disciplined band of needy expectants was the only sure resort in elections, he hit upon rotation in office as the cheapest and most stimulating method of paying the regular soldiers of party for their services (if successful) on these critical occasions. But as a wise general not only prepares his attack, but carefully secures a retreat in case his men push too far in the heat of conflict, Jefferson suggested the plan of an elective judiciary, which he foresaw might prove of great advantage to those whose zeal should outrun the law. He even recommended rebellion in popular governments as a political safety valve; and talked about Shay's War and the Whiskey Insurrection in the same vein and almost the same language that was lately used to the rioters of New York by their friends and fellow voters. And he and his followers shouted then, as their descendants shout now, 'Liberty is in danger!' 'The last earthly hope of republican institutions resides in our ranks!' Jefferson is also entitled to the credit of naturalizing in the United States the phrases of the French Revolution: virtue of the people; reason of the people; natural rights of man, etc.—that Babylonish dialect, as John Adams called it, which in France meant something, but in this country was mere cant. Jefferson knew that here all were people, and that no set of men, whether because of riches or of poverty, had the right to arrogate to themselves this distinction. But he also knew that in Europe this distinction did exist, and that the emigrants who were coming in such numbers all belonged to the lower class, there called people. Of course these flattering phrases would win their ears and their votes for the people's ticket, against an imaginary aristocracy. Thus might be secured an army of obedient voters, knowing nothing but their orders, and thinking of nothing but the pleasing idea that they were the rulers.

These useful inventions are enough to immortalize any man. His theory, that the rich only should be taxed, as an indirect form of agrarianism, ought not to be forgotten, for we see it daily carried out; and his darling doctrine, that no generation can bind its successors, will come to light again and life whenever a party may think the repudiation of our war debt likely to be a popular measure. Indeed, there is scarcely a form of disorganization and of disorder which Jefferson does not extract from some elementary principle or natural right. We do not mean to accuse him of doing wrong deliberately. Jefferson was an optimist. All was for the best—at least, all that he did; for he was naturally predisposed to object to any measure which did not originate with himself or had not been submitted to his judgment. His elementary principles were always at his call. They were based upon reason: how could they be wrong? His mind grasped quickly all upon the surface that suited his purpose; deeper he did not care to go. In deciding whether any political doctrine was consistent or inconsistent with natural reason, he generally judged of it by his reason—and this varied with his position, his interest, his feelings. He probably was not aware of the extent of his mutations; his mind was fixed on the results to be obtained—always the same: the gratification of his wishes. His was a Vicar-of-Bray kind of logic. The ultimate results of his dealings, as affecting others and the nation at large, he apparently was unable to consider, or put them aside for the time; taking it for granted, in a careless way, that all must come well.

Thus as times changed, he changed with them. Laws, measures, customs, men, that seemed useful and praiseworthy when he was a private individual, appeared pernicious and wicked to the Secretary of State or to the President. His life and writings are full of self-contradictions, or rather of self-refutations, for he seems to forget that he had ever thought differently. Men of sense modify their opinions as they advance in years and in wisdom, but very few men of sense have held diametrically different opinions on almost every important question that has come before them.

Jefferson satisfied himself early in life that slavery was wrong, morally and economically. On no subject has he expressed himself more decidedly. When a very young member of the Assembly of Virginia, he seconded Colonel Bland's motion to extend the protection of the laws to slaves. Bland was treated roughly, and the matter dropped. From Jefferson's original draft of the Declaration of Independence a long passage on the iniquity of slavery and the slave trade was stricken out by Congress. In 1778 he introduced a bill prohibiting the importation of slaves into Virginia. Two years later he wrote the well-known pages in the 'Notes.' In 1783 it was proposed to adopt a new constitution in Virginia; Jefferson drew one up, and inserted an article granting liberty to all persons born of slave parents after the year 1800. From that time his zeal began to cool. He perceived that his views were unpopular at the South. The 'Notes' had been printed for private circulation only; when Châstellux asked permission to publish them in France, Jefferson consented on the condition that all passages relating to slavery should be stricken out.[A] Although he adopted so heartily the most extravagant doctrines of the French Revolution on the natural rights of mankind, among which liberty, equality, fraternity certainly ranked first, he quietly ignored the claims of the American black to a share in the bright future that was promised to the human race. The act of Congress prohibiting the importation of slaves came into force in 1808. It was well received by slave owners, for it increased the value of the homemade 'article.' Jefferson could safely approve of it. He did so warmly. With that exception his silence on this great question was profound during the period of his power; but he had no language too theatrical for liberty in the abstract, nor too violent for despots who were three thousand miles away, and with whose oppressions the people of the United States had no concern whatever. When the debates on the admission of Missouri brought up this ever-recurring question again to the exclusion of all others, Jefferson spoke to sneer at the friends of freedom. The Federalists had found out that their cherished monarchical 'form' would get them no adherents, and so were trying to throw a new tub to the whale by appealing to the virtuous sentiments of the people. He was in favor of making Missouri a Slave State. To extend the area of slavery would increase the comfort of the slaves without adding one more to their number, and would improve their chances for emancipation. It would also relieve Virginia from the burden that was weighing her down—slaves being rather cheaper there than horses—and would enable her to export her surplus crop of negroes; perhaps eventually to dispose of them all. This last notion, by the way, gives us a pretty good idea of Jefferson's practical knowledge of political economy.

His chief objection to the new constitution, when he first saw it, was the omission in it of a bill of rights providing for the 'eternal and unremitting force of the habeas corpus act'—and for the freedom of the press. When Colonel Burr was arrested, Jefferson, who, by the way, showed a want of dignity and self-respect throughout the affair, was eager to suspend the habeas corpus act, and got a bill to that effect passed by one branch of Congress; it was lost in the other. This was the first instance in the history of the United States. The many fine things he had said on the integrity and independence of judges did not prevent him from finding bitter fault with Chief-Justice Marshall for not convicting Burr. He accused Marshall and the whole tribe of Federalists of complicity in Burr's conspiracy. Poor old Paine, then near his end, who was one of Jefferson's jackals of the press, informed the Chief-Justice, through the Public Advertiser, that he was 'a suspected character.' When Jefferson had felt the pricking of the Federal quills, he began to think differently of the freedom of the press. Once, in the safety of private station, he had got off this antithesis: if he had to choose between a government without newspapers, and newspapers without a government, he should prefer the latter. But when in his turn he felt the stings that previously, under his management, had goaded even Washington out of his self-control, Jefferson could not help saying that 'a suspension of the press would not more completely deprive the nation of its benefits than is done by its abandoned prostitution to falsehood.'

Before September, 1791, Mr. Jefferson thought that our affairs were proceeding in a train of unparalleled prosperity, owing to the real improvements of the Government, and the unbounded confidence reposed in it by the people. Soon a jealousy of Hamilton came upon him, and the displeasure of playing a second part: he began to look for relief in the ranks of the malcontents. He then perceived monarchical longings in the Administration party, and prophesied corruption, despotism, and a loss of liberty forever, if they were to be allowed to interpret the Constitution in their way. Washington was the Atlas whose broad shoulders bore up the Federalists. Bache, of the Aurora, with whom Jefferson's word was law, and Freneau, of the Gazette, who had received from Jefferson a clerkship in the Department of State, accused the General of a desire to subvert the Constitution: the reserve of his manners was said to proceed from an affectation of royalty; they even ventured to charge him with perverting the public money. Jefferson refused to check these base attacks, and wrote in the same vein himself in the famous letter to Mazzei. But after the battle had been fought, he perceived that Washington had a hold stronger than party feelings on the affections of Americans. It would never do to leave his name and fame in the custody of Federalists. And so Mr. Jefferson turned about and denied that he had ever made any charges against General Washington. On the contrary, he felt certain that Washington did not harbor one principle of Federalism. He was neither an Angloman, a monarchist, nor a separatist. Bache he (Jefferson) knew nothing about; over Freneau he had no control; and the Mazzei letter had been misprinted and misinterpreted. In spite of his hatred of England, and his fears lest the English 'form' should be adopted in the United States, Jefferson, in 1788, had recommended the English form to Lafayette for the use of France. And in spite of the admiration for France, which with him and the Democrats was an essential article of the party faith, he took offence with the French Government because they sided with Spain in the dispute on the boundary line between Louisiana and Florida, and proposed to Madison an alliance with England against France and Spain. But Madison kept him steady. Six months later he accused John Randolph, who had abandoned the party, of entertaining the intolerable heresy of a league with England.

Mr. Jefferson once thought it necessary that the United States should possess a naval force. It would be less dangerous to our liberties than an army, and a cheaper and more effective weapon of offence. 'The sea is the field on which we should meet a European enemy.' 'We can always have a navy as strong as the weaker nations.' And he suggested that thirty ships, carrying 1,800 guns, and manned by 14,400 men, would be an adequate force. But the New Englanders, those bitter Federalists, loved the sea, lived by foreign trade, and wanted a fleet to protect their merchantmen. Mr. Jefferson's views became modified. He took a strong dislike to the naval service. He condemned the use of the navy by the late President, and wished to sell all the public armed vessels. Finding, however, that the maritime tastes of the nation were too strong for him, he hit upon the plan of a land navy as the nearest approximation to no navy at all. Gunboats were to be hauled out of the water, and kept in drydocks under sheds, in perfect preservation. A fleet of this kind only needed a corps of horse marines to complete its efficiency. The Federalists laughed at these 'mummy frigates,' and sang in a lullaby for Democratic babes this stanza:

'In a cornfield, high and dry,
Sat gunboat Number One;
Wiggle waggle went her tail,
Pop went her gun.'

The pleasantry is feeble; but the inborn absurdity of this amphibious scheme was too great even for the Democrats. Mr. Jefferson was forced, in the teeth of theory, to send a squadron against the Barbary pirates. He consoled himself by ordering the commodore not to overstep the strict line of defence, and to make no captures. It was to be a display of latent force. Strange as it may seem, he once doubted the expediency of encouraging immigration. Emigrants from absolute monarchies, as they all were, they would either bring with them the principles of government imbibed in early youth, or exchange these for an unbounded licentiousness. 'It would be a miracle were they to stop precisely at the point of temperate liberty.' Would it not be better for the nation to grow more slowly, and have a more 'homogeneous, more peaceable, and more durable' government? But when it was found at a later day that the new comers placed themselves at once in opposition to the better classes and voted the Democratic ticket almost to a man, Jefferson proposed that the period of residence required by the naturalization laws to qualify a voter should be shortened. He had no objection to coercion before 1787. Speaking of the backwardness of some of the colonies in paying their quota of the Confederate expenses, he recommends sending a frigate to make them more punctual. 'The States must see the rod, perhaps some of them must be made to feel it.' His somersets of opinion and conduct are endless. Once he talked of opening a market in the neighboring colonies by force; at another time he advised his countrymen to abandon the sea and let other nations carry for us; in 1785 we find him going abroad to negotiate commercial treaties with all Europe. He objected to internal improvements, and he sanctioned the Cumberland road. He proclaimed all governments naturally hostile to the liberties of the people, until he himself became a government. He made the mission to Russia for Mr. Short, regardless of repeated declarations that the public business abroad could be done better with fewer and cheaper ambassadors. The unlucky sedition law was so unconstitutional in his judgment that he felt it to be his duty, as soon as he mounted the throne, to pardon all who had been convicted under it. But before he left the White House he attempted to put down Federal opposition in the same way. Judges were impeached; United States attorneys brought libel suits against editors, and even prosecuted such men as Judge Reeve and the Rev. Mr. Backus of Connecticut. It was a pet doctrine of Jefferson that one generation had no right to bind a succeeding one; hence every constitution and all laws should become null and every national debt void at the end of nineteen years, or of whatever period should be ascertained to be the average duration of human life after the age of twenty-one. He adhered to this notion through life, although Mr. Madison, when urged by him to expound it, gently pointed out its absurdity. When the news of the massacres of September reached the United States at an unfortunate moment for the Francoman party, Jefferson forgot this elementary principle and his logic. He professed that he deplored the bloody fate of the victims as much as any man, but they had perished for the sake of future generations, and that thought consoled him. Finally, the man who had announced in a public address, that he considered it a moral duty never to subscribe to a lottery, nor to engage in a game of chance, petitioned the Legislature of Virginia for permission to dispose of his house and lands in a raffle, and in his memorial recapitulated his services to the country to strengthen his claim upon their indulgence.

Jefferson professed great faith in human nature; but he meant the human nature of the uneducated and the poor. Kings, rulers, nobles, rich persons, and generally all of the party opposed to him, were hopelessly wrong. The errors of the people, when they committed any, were accidental and momentary; but in the other class, they were proofs of an ineradicable perversity. His faith in human reason as the only power for good government must have been shaken by the students of his university in Virginia. Their lawless conduct seemed to indicate that the time had hardly yet come when the old and vulgar method of authority and force could be dispensed with. The University of Virginia was a favorite project of Jefferson and an honorable memorial of his love of education and of letters. Although it may be considered a failure, it has failed from no fault of his. But we may judge of the real extent of Jefferson's toleration, when we read in a letter written about this university: 'In the selection of our law professor we must be rigorously attentive to his political principles.'

It is easy to know what would be Jefferson's position if by some miracle of nature he were living in these times. If at the South, he would be a man of brave words—showing it to be a natural right of the white man to own and to chastise his negro—and proving, from elementary principles, that slavery is the result of the supremacy of reason and the corner stone of civilized society. Had the advantages of the North led him to desert Monticello for the banks of the Hudson, he would have opposed the Administration, acting and talking much like a certain high official, 'letting I dare not wait upon I would'—for Jefferson was not a bold man, was master of the art of insinuating his opinions instead of stating them manfully, and never advanced so far as to make retreat impossible.

The truth is that there was nothing great nor even imposing in Jefferson's mental nor in his moral qualities. He expressed himself well in conversation and on paper, although a little pedagogical in manner, and too much given to epithet in style. The literary claims of the author of the Declaration of Independence cannot be passed over lightly. His mind was active; catching quickly the outlines of a subject, he jumped at the conclusion which pleased his fancy, without looking beneath the surface.[B] He was curious in all matters of art, literature, and science, but his curiosity was easily appeased. He raves about Ossian, gazes for hours on the Maison Carrée at Nismes, writes letters to Paine on arcs and catenaries, busies himself with vocabularies, natural history, geology, discourses magisterially about Newton and Lavoisier, and studies nothing thoroughly. One can see by the way in which he handles his technical terms that he does not know the use of them. He was a smatterer of that most dangerous kind, who feel certain they have arrived at truth. Like so many other children of the eighteenth century, he rejected the past with disdain, but was blindly credulous of the future; and was ready to embrace an absurdity if it came in a new and scientific shape. The marquises and abbés he met in France had dreamed over elementary principles of society and government, until they had lost themselves in wandering mazes like Milton's speculative and erring angels. He believed that those gay philosophes had discovered the magical stone of social science, and that misery and sin would be transmuted into virtue and happiness. It was only necessary to kill all the kings and to confide in the reason and virtue of the people, and the thing was done. The scenes of 1789 stimulated Jefferson's natural tendency beyond the bounds of common sense. He asserted that Indians without a government were better off than Europeans with one, and that half the world a desert with only an Adam and Eve left in each country to repopulate it would be an improvement in the condition of Europe. He became a bigot of liberalism. Luckily he had his American blood and practical education to restrain him, or he might have been as foolish as Brissot and as rabid as Marat. As it was, he could not help perceiving in his calmer moments that this new path to the glorious future which the philosophes were pointing out to their countrymen, had been for many years in America the well-worn high road of the nation.

On most subjects, Jefferson's opinions were dictated by his feelings. He takes so little pains to conceal this weakness, that we can hardly suppose he was aware of it. Contradiction he could not bear. Opposition of any kind produced a bitter feeling. Vanity, latent perhaps, but acrid, corroded his judgment of his adversaries. In France Governeur Morris remarked that he was too fond of calling fools those who did not agree with him; a sure sign of want of strength. Great minds are essentially tolerant of the opinions of others. They know how easy it is to err. There was a good deal, too, of the Pharisee about Jefferson. 'He was of no party, nor yet a trimmer between parties. If he could not go to heaven but with a party, he would not go there at all.' But he thanked God he was not as the Federalists were: Anglomen, monarchists, workers of corruption! nor even as this Washington! He boasted, too, that he had never written a line for the public press; his method was to suggest his views to others, and employ them to put them into print.

Careful not to speak out too boldly when it was not altogether safe to do so, and wanting rather in moral courage, he was a persevering man, pursuing his plans with the eagerness of women, who always have a thousand excellent reasons, however illogical and inconsistent they may be, for doing as they please—and like women, he was not over scrupulous as to the means he employed to reach his object.

The same envious vanity and inability to resist his feelings which warped his judgment into so many contradictions, led him into actions that have damaged his character as a gentleman. For instance, his behavior to Washington. When a member of Washington's cabinet, protesting the warmest friendship to him, his confidential adviser by virtue of the office he held, he permitted, not to say encouraged, those attacks in Freneau's paper which were outrages on common decency. His intimacy with the President enabled him to judge of the effect of the blows. He noticed, with the cool precision of an experimental observer, the symptoms of pain and annoyance which Washington could not always conceal. Freneau was Jefferson's clerk; a word would have stopped him. 'But I will not do it,' Jefferson says; 'his paper has saved our Constitution, which was galloping forth into monarchy.' Jefferson's underhand attack upon Vice-President Adams, in the note he wrote by way of preface to the American publisher of Paine's 'Rights of Man,' is a domestic treachery of the same kind, though very much less in degree. That note might have been written on the impulse of the moment; but what shall we say of his practice of committing to paper Hamilton's sayings in the freedom of after-dinner conversation—a time when open-hearted men are apt to forget that there may be a Judas at table—and of saving them up to be used against him in the future? Jefferson explains away these and other dubious passages in his life with great ingenuity. He had to make such explanations too often. An apology implies a mistake, wilful or accidental. Too many indicate, to say the least, a lack of discretion. What a difference between these explanations, evasions, excuses, denials, and the majestic manliness of Washington, who never did or wrote or said anything which he hesitated to avow openly and without qualification!

Another dissimilarity between these two worth heeding, is Jefferson's want of that thrift which produces independence, comfort, and self-respect. He lived beyond his means, and died literally a beggar.

Jefferson was deficient in that happy combination of courage, energy, judgment, and probity, which mankind call character, for want of a more distinctive word—but which, in fact, in its highest expression, is genius on the moral side. It commands the respect of mankind more than the most brilliant faculties—and it accomplishes more. We have only to look at Washington's life to see what can be done by it.

When Governor of Virginia during the Revolutionary War, Jefferson showed a want of spirit and of action; the same deficiency was more painfully conspicuous in his dealings with the Barbary pirates and in the affair of the Leopard and Chesapeake. The insults and spoliations of the English and French under the orders in council and the Berlin and Milan decrees were borne with equal meekness. He was for peace at all hazards, and economy at any price. When at last he found he had exhausted his favorite method, and that neither 'time, reason, justice, nor a truer sense of their own interests' produced any effect upon the obstinate aggressors, he could desire no better means of checking their depredations upon our trade than to order our merchants to lay up their ships and shut up their shops. It was a Japanese stroke of policy—to revenge an insult by disembowelling oneself—hari kari applied to a nation.

His was indeed a brilliant theory of government, if we take him at his word. At home, freedom was to be invigorated by occasional rebellions, not to be put down too sharply, for fear of discouraging the people—the tree of liberty was to be watered with blood. Abroad, custom-house regulations would keep the peace of the seas. Embargo and non-intercourse must bring France and England to their good behavior.

Mr. Jefferson had his political panacea: all disorders would infallibly be cured by it. He puffed it in his journals and extolled its virtues in his state papers. He congratulated his countrymen upon his election; he called it the revolution of 1800. Now at length they could try the panacea. What wonders did it work? The Federalists can point to the results of their twelve years of power: credit created out of bankruptcy; prosperity out of union; a great nation made out of thirteen small ones—an achievement far beyond that Themistocles could boast of. Jefferson added the Louisiana Territory to the Union; but this, the only solid result of his Administration, was totally inconsistent with his principles. Did he render any other service to the country? We know of none. His 'Quaker' theories and 'terrapin' policy increased the contempt of our enemies, cost the nation millions of money to no purpose, and made the war of 1812 inevitable.

No one can deny that Jefferson was a monster of party tactics and strategy. He knew well how to get up a cry, to excite the odium vulgare against his antagonists, to play skilfully upon the class feeling of poor against rich, and to turn to profit every popular weakness and meanness. He drilled and organized his followers, and led them well disciplined to victory. But on the grander field of statesmanship he was wanting. He was what Bonaparte called an ideologist. A principle, however true, may fail in its application, because other principles, equally true, may then come into action and vitiate the result. These collateral principles Jefferson never deigned to consider. He had no conception of expediency, of which a wise statesman never loses sight. Results he thought must be advantageous, provided processes were according to his principles. His object appears to have been rather a government after his theories than a good government. And in this respect he is the type of the impracticable and mischief-making class of reformers numerous in this country.

Jefferson seems to have been unable to grasp the real political character of the American people, the path they were destined to tread, the shape their institutions must necessarily take. He was possessed with the idea that liberty was in danger, and that the attempt was made to change the republic into a monarchy, perhaps a despotism. This delirious fancy beset him by day and was a terror by night. He was haunted by the likeness of a kingly crown. Hamilton and Adams were writing and planning to place it upon somebody's head. Federalist senators, congressmen, Revolutionary soldiers, were transformed into monarchists and Anglomen. Grave judges appeared to his distempered vision in the guise of court lawyers and would-be ambassadors. The Cincinnati lowered over the Constitution eternally. The Supreme Court of the United States was the stronghold in which the principle of tyrannical power, elsewhere only militant, was triumphant. Hamilton's funding system was a scheme to corrupt the country. Even the stately form of Washington rose before him in the shape of Samson shorn by the harlot England. Strange as it may seem, Jefferson persisted in his delusion to the end. A man in his position ought to have seen that in spite of the old connection with the British crown, the States were and always had been essentially republican in feelings, manners, and forms. Nowhere in the world had local self-government been carried to such extent and perfection. To build up a monarchy out of the thirteen colonies was impracticable. Washington, more clear sighted, said that any government but a republic was impossible: there were not ten men in the United States whose opinions were worth attention who entertained the thought of a monarchy. In his judgment the danger lay in the other direction. The weakness of the Government, not its strength, might lead to despotism through license and anarchy. He desired to keep the rising tide of democracy within bounds by every legitimate barrier that could be erected, lest it should overflow the country and sweep away all government. Jefferson was for throwing open the floodgates to admit it. He thought himself justified in combating the monarchists of his hallucinations by every means, however illegal and unconstitutional. Washington warned him and his followers that they were 'systematically pursuing measures which must eventually dissolve the Union or produce coercion.' Jefferson, deaf to the admonition, pressed on, and, like Diomede at the siege of Troy, wounded a divinity when he thought he was contending only with fellow men. With his Kentucky Resolutions he gave the first stab to the Union and the Constitution. What were Burr's childish schemes, which would have fallen to the ground from their own weakness, compared with that? From Jefferson through Calhoun to Jefferson Davis the diabolic succession of conspirators is complete.

THE ENGLISH PRESS.

II.

It has become the fashion to sneer at the Long Parliament: but for all this it cannot be denied that that assemblage rendered services of incalculable importance to the state. Extreme old age forms at all times an object of pity, and, with the thoughtless and inconsiderate, it is but too often an object of ridicule and contempt. Many a great man has, ere now, survived to reach this sad stage in his career; but it does not therefore follow that the glorious deeds of his prime are to be ignored or forgotten. As it has been with the distinguished warrior or statesman or author, so it is with the Long Parliament. England owes it a great debt of gratitude on many accounts, but the one with which we have more especially to do on the present occasion is, that with it originated the custom of making public proceedings in Parliament. By this act was the supremacy of the people over the Parliament acknowledged, for the very publication of its transactions was an appeal to the people for approval and support. This printed record of parliamentary affairs came out in 1641, and was entitled The Diurnal Occurrences, or Daily Proceedings of both Houses in this great and happy Parliament, from the 3d of November, 1640, to the 3d of November, 1641. The speeches delivered from the first date down to the following June were also published in two volumes, and in 1642 weekly instalments appeared under various titles, such as The Heads of all the Proceedings of both Houses of Parliament—Account of Proceedings of both Houses of Parliament—A perfect Diurnal of the Passages in Parliament, etc., etc. There was no reporter's gallery in those days, and the Parliament only printed what they pleased; still this was a step in the right direction. After Parliaments occasionally evinced bitter hostility toward the press, but that which boasted Sawyer Lenthal for its speaker was its friend (at all events, at first, though afterward, as we shall notice by and by, it displayed some animosity against its early protegé), and from this meagre beginning took its rise that which is beyond doubt one of the most important domestic functions of the press at the present day.

The abolition of the great bugbear and tyrant of printers—that infamous mockery of a legal tribunal, the Star Chamber—was another gigantic obstacle cleared away from the path of journalism. The Newes Bookes, which, in spite of all difficulties, had already become abundant, now issued forth in swarms. They treated de rebus omnibus et quibusdam aliis. Most of them were political or polemical pamphlets, and boasted extraordinary titles. There is a splendid collection of these in the British Museum, collected by the Rev. W. Thomason, and presented to the nation by King George III. We will mention a few of them. A controversial religious tract rejoices in the title of A fresh bit of Mutton for those fleshy-minded Cannibals that cannot endure Pottage. A political skit upon Prince Rupert is styled An exact Description of Prince Rupert's malignant She-Monkey, a great Delinquent, and has a comical woodcut upon the title page of the animal, in a cap and petticoat and with a sword by its side. This pamphlet is printed partly in ordinary modern type and partly in black letter. Another pamphlet in the form of dialogue is directed against the abuses of the laws, especially at one of the infamous 'comptoirs' of the time. It is called Wonderfull Strange Newes from Wood Street Countor—yet not so Strange as True, being proved by lamentable Experience, the relation of which

'Will make you laugh, 'twill make you cry;
'Twill make you mad, 'twill make you try.'

Another is Newes, true Newes, laudable Newes, Citie Newes, Countrie Newes, the World is Mad or it is a Mad World, my Masters, especially in the Antipodes, these Things are come to passe. This is a satirical description of manners and customs on 'the other side of the world,' the writer asserting that in those regions everything is the exact opposite of what takes place among us, so that there beggars ride in carriages and are highly esteemed, men of title are of no account, lawyers take no fees, and bailiffs decline to arrest debtors, etc., etc. There is also a very quaint woodcut of the world and the heavens, the four winds, etc., with an astrologer and other persons looking at them. Very many of these pamphlets are actual relations of occurrences in different parts of the kingdom and in foreign countries. Thus we find, Victorious Newes from Waterford; The joyfullest Newes from Hull that ever came to London of the Proceedings of the Earl of Warwick's Shipps; The best and happiest Newes from Ireland, from the Army before Kildare; Newes from Blackheath concerning the Meeting of the Kentish Men; Exceedingly joyfull Newes from Holland; The best Newes that ever was Printed, consists of, 1. Prince Rupert's Resolution to bee gone to his Mother, who hath sent for him; 2. His Majestie's royall Intentions declared to joyne with the Parliament in a treaty of Peace; 3. The Particulars of the High Court of Parliament drawn up to be sent to his Majesty for Peace; 4. Directions from the Lords and Commons directed to the Commanders for the ordering of the Army. One quaint title presents a very odd association: Newes from Hell and Rome and the Innes of Court. The contending parties appear to have suited their titles to the substance of the Newes they chronicled accordingly as it affected their interests. Thus, while many pamphlets bore the titles of Glorious, Joyful, Victorious, etc., others were dubbed Horrible Newes, Terrible News, and so forth. By far the greater number of these were issued by the partisans of the Parliament; but the Royalists were by no means idle, and the king carried about a travelling printing press, as is evidenced by several proclamations, manifestoes, etc., issued at Oxford, Worcester, York, and other places, sometimes in ordinary type, sometimes in black letter, by 'Robert Barker, his Majestie's Printer.' All the emanations of the press were not, however, mere isolated pamphlets, but there was a large crop of periodicals, such as The Kingdom's Weekly Intelligencer—The Royal Diurnall, etc. About this time the name Mercurius began to be very freely adopted for these periodicals. It had been already, for a long time, assumed as a nom de plume by writers and printers, but the title was now assigned to the publications themselves. One of the earliest of these was Mercurius Aulicus, a scurrilous print in the interest of the court party—as its name imports—which first appeared in 1642. Others were entitled respectively Mercurius Britannicus—Mercurius Anti-Britannicus—Mercurius Fumigosus, a Smoaking Nocturnal—Mercurius Pragmaticus—Mercurius Anti-Pragmaticus—Mercurius Mercuriorum Stultissimus—Mercurius Insanus Insanissimus—Mercurius Diabolicus—Mercurius Mastix, faithfully lashing all Scouts, Mercuries, Posts, Spyes, and others—Mercurius Radamanthus, the Chief Judge of Hell, his Circuits through all the Courts of Law in England, etc., etc. Other newspapers bore such quaint titles as the following: The Dutch Spye—The Scots Dove—The Parliament Kite—The Secret Owle—The Parliament Screech Owle, and other ornithological monstrosities. Party spirit ran high, and the contending scribes carried on a most foul and savage warfare, and demolished their adversaries, both political and literary, without the slightest compunction or mercy. Some of these brochures were solely directed against the utterances of one particular rival scribe, as is shown by one or two of the titles above quoted. Doctor Johnson says:

'When any title grew popular, it was stolen by the antagonist, who by this stratagem conveyed his notions to those who would not have received him had he not worn the appearance of a friend.'

According to Mr. Nichols' the printer's list, there were no less than three hundred and fifty of these Mercuries and Newes Bookes published between 1642 and 1665, a list that would no doubt be largely swollen could the titles of all that have perished and left no trace behind be ascertained. These Mercuries appeared at different intervals, but none oftener than three times a week, and their price was generally one penny, but sometimes twopence.

Many of the writers were nothing but venal hirelings, and changed sides readily enough when their own private interests seemed to render it desirable. One of the most famous—or infamous, according to Anthony à Wood, who describes him as 'a most seditious, mutable, and railing writer, siding with the rout and scum of the people, making them weekly sport by railing at all that was noble,' etc.—was Marchmont Nedham. In 1643 he brought out the Mercurius Britannicus, one of the ablest periodicals on the Parliamentary side, whatever honest old Anthony may say to the contrary. But, being imprisoned for libel, he thought it best to change his politics, and for two years appeared as an ultra-virulent Royalist partisan in the Mercurius Pragmaticus. After the execution of Charles the First, however, he returned to his old party, and advocated their cause in the Mercurius Politicus, which purported to be published 'in defence of the commonwealth and for information of the people.' After some years he fell into temporary disgrace, but was soon received again into favor by the House of Commons, which passed a vote in August, 1659, 'that Marchmont Nedham, gentleman, be and hereby is restored to be writer of the Publick Intelligence as formerly.' At the Restoration he was discharged from his office, but contrived to make his peace with the party in power, and, true to his instincts, changed his political creed once more for that of the winning side, but without succeeding in being reinstated in his old post. The other most noteworthy writers of Mercuries were John Birkenhead, author of the Mercurius Aulicus, Peter Heylin, Bruno Ryves—all parsons—and John Taylor, the Water Poet, author of the Mercurius Aquaticus.

Nothing was too great or too small for the writers of these Mercuries, nothing too exalted or too mean. Nothing was sacred in their eyes; the most private affairs were dragged into the political arena, and family and domestic matters, that had nothing whatever to do with public life, were paraded before the world. Bitter personalities and invective seem to be inseparable concomitants of the early stage of journalism in all countries. This was the case in France and Germany; it is the case in Russia at the present day. That it was the case in America, let the following extract from Franklin's private correspondence testify:

'The inconsistency that strikes me the most is that between the name of your city, Philadelphia, and the spirit of rancor, malice, and hatred that breathes in the newspapers. For I learn from those papers that State is divided into parties, that each party ascribes all the public operations of the other to vicious motives, that they do not even suspect one another of the smallest degree of honesty, that the anti-Federalists are such merely from the fear of losing power, places, or emoluments, which they have in possession or expectation; that the Federalists are a set of conspirators, who aim at establishing a tyranny over the persons and property of their countrymen and who live in splendor on the plunder of the people. I learn, too, that your justices of the peace, though chosen by their neighbors, make a villanous trade of their offices, and promote discord to augment fees, and fleece their electors; and that this would not be mended were the choice in the Executive Council, who, with interested or party aims, are continually making as improper appointments, witness a 'petty fiddler, sycophant, and scoundrel' appointed judge of the admiralty, an 'old woman and fomentor of sedition' to be another of the judges, and 'a Jeffreys' chief justice, etc., etc., with 'harpies,' the comptroller and naval officers, to prey upon the merchants, and deprive them of their property by force of arms, etc. I am informed, also, by these papers, that your General Assembly, though the annual choice of the people, shows no regard to their rights, but from sinister views or ignorance makes laws in direct violation of the Constitution, to divest the inhabitants of their property, and give it to strangers and intruders, and that the Council, either fearing the resentment of their constituents or plotting to enslave them, had projected to disarm them, and given orders for that purpose; and, finally, that your President, the unanimous joint choice of the Council and Assembly, is 'an old rogue, who gave his assent to the Federal Constitution merely to avoid refunding money he had purloined from the United States.' There is, indeed, a good deal of man's inconsistency in all this, and yet a stranger, seeing it in our own prints, though he does not believe it all, may probably believe enough of it to conclude that Pennsylvania is peopled by a set of the most unprincipled, wicked, rascally, and quarrelsome scoundrels upon the face of the globe. I have sometimes, indeed, suspected that those papers are the manufacture of foreigners among you, who write with the view of disgracing your country, and making you appear contemptible and detestable all the world over; but then I wonder at the indiscretion of your printers in publishing such writings. There is, however, one of your inconsistencies that consoles me a little, which is that though, living, you give one another the character of devils, dead, you are all angels. It is delightful, when any of you die, to read what good husbands, good fathers, good friends, good citizens, and good Christians you were, concluding with a scrap of poetry that places you with certainty in heaven. So that I think Pennsylvania a good country to die in, though a very bad one to live in.'

These remarks, which Franklin makes with such powerful irony, might apply with equal force to a similar period in the newspaper history of any country, and most of all to that of England.

The worst features, perhaps, of these writers of Mercuries, were the readiness with which they apostatized, and the systematic and unblushing manner in which they sold their pens to the highest bidder, and prostituted the press to serve the purposes of their patrons. Mrs. Hutchinson, in the memoirs of her husband, Colonel Hutchinson, gives a curious instance of their venality:

'Sir John Gell, of Derbyshire, kept the diurnall makers in pension, soe that whatever was done in the neighboring counties against the enemy, was attributed to him, and thus he hath indirectly purchased himself a name in story which he never merited. That which made his courage the more questioned was the care he tooke and the expense he was att to get it weekly mentioned in the diurnalls, so that when they had nothing else to renoune him for, they once put it that the troops of that valiant commander Sir John Gell tooke a dragoon with a plush doublet.... Mr. Hutchinson, on the other side, that did well for virtue's sake, and not for the vaine glory of it, never would give aniething to buy the flatteries of those scribblers; and, when one of them once, while he was in towne, made mention of something done at Nottingham, with falsehood, and had given Gell the glory of an action in which he was not concerned, Mr. Hutchinson rebuked him for it; whereupon the man begged his pardon, and told him he would write as much for him the next weeke; but Mr. Hutchinson told him he scorned his mercenary pen, and warned him not to dare to be in any of his concernments; whereupon the fellow was awed, and he had no more abuse of that kind.'

The Mercuries, however, were not allowed to have everything their own way without any interference on the part of the powers that were. In 1647, Sir Thomas Fairfax called the attention of the House of Lords, by letter, to the great number of unlicensed newspapers, with a view to their suppression; but he adds, in mitigation of his attack:

'That the kingdom's expectation may be satisfied in relation to intelligence till a firm peace be settled, considering the mischiefs that will happen by the poisonous writings of evil men sent abroad daily to abuse and deceive the people, that if the House shall see it fit, some two or three sheets may be permitted to come forth weekly, which may be licensed, and have some stamp of authoritie with them, and in respect of the former licenser, Mr. Mabbot, hath approved himself faithful in that service of licensing, and likewise in the service of the House and of this army, I humbly desire that he may be restored and continued in the same place of licenser.'

The result of this letter—which is remarkable, by the way, for its mention of the licenser—was that the House of Lords issued an edict to forbid any such publications except with the license of one or both Houses of Parliament, and with the name of the author, printer, and licenser attached. The penalties for any evasion of this enactment were, for the writer, a fine of forty shillings or imprisonment for forty days; for the printer, half that punishment, and the destruction of his press and plant as well, and for the vendor a sound whipping and the confiscation of his wares. A second instance of parliamentary interference took place in the same year, when a committee was appointed for the purpose of discovering and punishing every one connected with the publication of certain Mercuries. The licensing system continued in force, but was not made much use of, although the scurrilities of the press roused the Parliament every now and then into spasmodic efforts of repression. In addition to measures of this kind, Nedham's paper, from its official character, was doubtless looked upon by the legislature as a sort of antidote to the poison diffused by other journalists. This came out twice a week, on Mondays under the name of The Public Intelligencer, and on Thursdays under that of Mercurius Politicus. When Nedham fell into disgrace at the Restoration, his paper was placed by Parliament in other hands, and the Monday title changed to that of The Parliamentary Intelligencer, though that of the Thursday's issue remained unaltered. The powers of the licenser were now much more strictly exercised, and the Mercuries gave up the ghost in shoals. In 1662 an act was passed 'for preventing the frequent abuses in printing seditious, treasonable, and unlicensed books and pamphlets, and for regulating of printing and printing presses.' It also divided the duties of the licenser, and the supervision of newspapers passed into the hands of the Secretary of State. Ireland was not slow to follow England's example, for, in Lord Mountmorris's 'History of the Irish Parliament,' mention is made in 1662 'of a very extraordinary question' which 'arose about preventing the publication of the debates of the Irish Parliament in an English newspaper called The Intelligencer, and a letter was written from the Speaker to Sir Edward Nicholas, the English Secretary of State, to prevent these publications in those diurnalls, as they call them.' In 1661, The Parliamentary Intelligencer was turned into The Kingdom's Intelligencer, and this last appellation was again changed for that of The Public Intelligencer in 1663. The celebrated Roger L'Estrange, who was then the public licenser, was the editor of this paper, as also of an extra Thursday issue called The News. In the first number of this old friend with a new face, he says, among other pros and cons as to the desirability of a newspaper:

'Supposing the press in order, the people in their right wits, and news or no news to be the question, a public Mercury should never have my vote, because I think it makes the multitude too familiar with the actions and counsels of their superiors, too pragmatical and censorious, and gives them not only an itch, but a kind of colorable right and license.... A gazette is none of the worst ways of address to the genius and humor of the common people, whose affections are much more capable of being turned and wrought upon by convenient hints and touches in the shape and air of a pamphlet than by the strongest reason and best notions imaginable under any other and more sober form whatsoever.... So that upon the main I perceive the thing requisite (for aught I can see yet). Once a week may do the business, for I intend to utter my news by weight, not by measure. Yet if I shall find, when my hand is in, and after the planting and securing of my correspondents, that the matter will fairly furnish more, without either uncertainty, repetition, or impertinence, I shall keep myself free to double at pleasure. One book a week may be expected, however, to be published every Thursday, and finished upon the Tuesday night, leaving Wednesday entire for the printing of it.'

The Newspaper was evidently developing itself—correspondents were a new feature—but still it was very tardy and very far from being free. Fancy a newspaper in the present day with no news more recent than that of the day before yesterday! In 1663 the title of Public Intelligencer was exchanged for that of The Oxford Gazette, so called because the court had gone to Oxford on account of the plague. After the court's return to the metropolis, London was substituted, in 1666, for Oxford, and from that date to the present this, the first official or semi-official organ, has gone by the name of The London Gazette. The king caused an edition of it to be published in French, for the convenience, probably, of his accommodating banker, Louis the Fourteenth, and this edition continued to appear for about twenty years.

Charles the Second was an unsparing and unscrupulous foe to the press, and put in practice every possible form of oppression in order to crush it. One's blood boils at the perusal of the persecutions to which the struggling apostles of freedom of speech were subjected, so that the contempt which this miserable 'king of shreds and patches' inspires in other respects wellnigh changes into positive hatred. But despite of fine and imprisonment, scourge and pillory, the press toiled on steadily toward its glorious goal. The Newspaper began to assume—as far as its contents were concerned—the appearance which it wears at the present day. Straggling advertisements had long ago appeared, the first on record being one offering a reward for the recovery of two horses that had been stolen. This appeared in the first number of the Impartial Intelligencer, in 1648. Booksellers and the proprietors of quack medicines were among the earliest persons to discover the advantages of advertising, and in 1657 came out the Public Advertiser, which consisted almost entirely of advertisements. The following curious notification appeared in the Mercurius Politicus, of September 30, 1658:

'That excellent and by all Physicians approved China Drink, called by the Chineans, Tcha, by other Nations Tay, alias Tee, is sold at the Sultaness' Head Cophee House, in Sweeting's Rents, by the Royal Exchange, London.'

The earliest illustrated paper is Mercurius Civicus, London's Intelligencer, in 1643. The first commercial newspaper was a venture of L'Estrange's in 1675, and was styled The City Mercury, or Advertisements concerning Trade. The first literary paper issued from the press in 1680, under the denomination of Mercurius Librarius, or a Faithful Account of all Books and Pamphlets. The first sporting paper was The Jockey's Intelligencer, or Weekly Advertisements of Horses and Second-hand Coaches to be Bought or Sold, in 1683. The first medical paper, Observations on the Weekly Bill, from July 27 to August 3, with Directions how to avoid the Dis eases now prevalent, came out in 1686; and the first comic newspaper, The Merrie Mercury, in 1700. Notwithstanding these 'first appearances on any stage,' there never was a darker or more dismal period in the history of journalism. A great number of newspapers had sprung up in consequence of the Popish Plot, and the exclusion of the Duke of York—the respectable admiralty clerk of Macaulay—from the throne; and with the intention of sweeping these away, a royal 'proclamation for suppressing the printing and publishing unlicensed news books and pamphlets of news' was put forth in 1680. Vigorous action against recalcitrants followed, and with such pliant tools as those perjured wretches, Scroggs and Jeffreys, for judge and prosecutor, convictions and the 'extremest punishment of the law' became a foregone conclusion. Doubtless there were many vile scribblers who deserved to have the severest penalties inflicted upon them, but no discrimination was used, and good and bad alike experienced the vengeance of 'divine right.' The aim of the abandoned monarch and his advisers was manifestly total extermination, and journalism appeared to be at its last gasp. But though crushed and mutilated in every limb, and bleeding at every pore, faint respirations every now and then showed that the vital spark still lingered. But brighter days were at hand. That festering mass of mental and bodily corruption which had once worn a crown, was buried away out of the sight of indignant humanity, and the vacillating James with feeble steps mounted the tottering throne. The licensing act had expired in 1679, and had not been again renewed, for there were no newspapers to license. Upon the alarm of Monmouth's invasion, James renewed it temporarily for seven years. Journalism reared its head again, and the court party, instead of persecuting, found itself compelled to fawn and flatter and sue for its protection and support. Newspapers, both native and imported from Holland in large numbers, played an important part in the Revolution, and paved the way for the downfall of the Stuarts and the advent of William and the Protestant Succession.

It must not be supposed that the capital had possessed a monopoly of newspapers during all this period. Scotland appeared in the field with a Mercurius Politicus, published at Leith in 1653. This, however, was nothing but a reprint of a London news sheet, and probably owed its existence to the presence of Cromwell's soldiers. In 1654 it removed to Edinburgh, and in 1660 changed its denomination to Mercurius Publicus. On the last day of this year, too, a journal of native growth budded forth, with the title of Mercurius Caledonius. But the canny Scots either could not or would not spare their bawbees for the encouragement of such ephemeral literature, for Chalmers tells us that only ten numbers of this publication appeared, and they were 'very loyal, very illiterate, and very affected.' Dublin appears to have produced a Dublin News Letter in 1685, but little is known about it, and its very existence has been disputed. There were other sheets with Scotch and Irish titles, but they were all printed in London. With 1688 a new era dawned upon the press—the most promising it had yet seen—and newspapers gradually sprang up all over the kingdom.

The first that came out in the interests of the new Government were the Orange Intelligencer and the Orange Gazette. The opponents of the ministry also started organs of their own, and the paper warfare went gayly on, but with more decency and courtesy than heretofore. William did not show himself disposed to hamper the press in any way, but Parliament, in 1694, proved its hostility by an ordinance 'that no news-letter writers do, in their letters or other papers that they disperse, presume to intermeddle with the debates or other proceedings of this House.' This was only a momentary ebullition of spleen. The licensing act, which expired in 1692, had been renewed for one year, but at the end of that period disappeared forever from English legislation. The House of Lords—obstructive as usual to all real progress—endeavored to revive it, but the Commons refused their consent, and a second attempt in 1697 met with a like defeat. This obstacle being happily got rid of, new journals of all kinds arose every day. One was called The Ladies' Mercury; a second, The London Mercury, or Mercure de Londres, and was printed in parallel English and French columns. A third was entitled Mercurios Reformatus, and was, during a portion of its existence, edited by the famous Bishop Burnet. Some were half written and half printed. One of these, the Flying Post, in 1695, says in its prospectus:

'If any gentleman has a mind to oblige his country friend or correspondent with this account of public affairs, he may have it for twopence of J. Salisbury, at the Rising Sun, in Cornhill, on a sheet of fine paper, half of which being blank, he may thereon write his own private business, or the material news of the day.'

In 1696, Dawks's News Letter appeared, printed in a sort of running type, to imitate handwriting, with the following quaint announcement:

'This letter will be done upon good writing paper, and blank space left, that any gentleman may write his own private business. It does, undoubtedly, exceed the best of the written news, contains double the quantity, with abundant more ease and pleasure, and will be useful to improve the younger sort in writing a curious hand.'

Various authors, whose names will always find a lofty place in literature, contributed to the newspapers of this epoch, and among them we find those of South, Wesley, Sir William Temple, and Swift. The advertisements by this time had become as varied as they are nowadays, and were without doubt almost as important a part of the revenue of a newspaper. An amusing proof of this is to be found in the Collection for the Improvement of Husbandry and Trade, in which the editor displays a lively interest in this department of his paper, by employing the first person, thus: 'I want a cook maid for a merchant,' 'I want an apprentice for a tallow chandler,' etc., etc. He also advertises that he knows of several men and women who wish to find spouses, and he undertakes match making in all honor and secrecy. He tells us that he has a house for sale, and wishes to buy a shop, an estate, a complete set of manuscript sermons, and a government situation. Other editors bear witness to the character of their advertisers, and recommend doctors, undertakers, waiting maids, footmen, and various tradesmen. Some of the advertisements are very funny. 'I want a compleat young man that will wear a livery, to wait on a very, valuable gentleman, but he must know how to play on a violin or flute.' Was the 'very valuable gentleman,' we wonder, troubled like Saul with an evil spirit, that could be exorcised by music? Tastes certainly differ, for this advertisement reminds us of a venerable old lady of our acquaintance, who was kept in a chronic state of irritation by a favorite footman, whom she did not choose to discharge, through his learning the flute and persisting in practising 'Away with melancholy'—the only tune he knew—for an hour daily! But to return to the advertisements. A schoolmaster announces that he 'has had such success with boys, as there are almost forty ministers and schoolmasters that were his scholars. His wife also teaches girls lace making, plain work, raising paste, sauces, and cookery to a degree of exactness'—departments of education which are, unfortunately, too much lost sight of in modern 'Establishments for Young Ladies,' 'His price is £10 to £11 the year; with a pair of sheets and one spoon, to be returned if desired.'

During the whole reign of William there was not a single newspaper prosecution, but there were many in that of 'the good Queen Anne.' Still editors were obliged to be very careful in the wording of their items of news, generally prefacing them with 'We hear,' 'It is said,' 'It is reported,' 'They continue to say,' ''Tis believed,' and so on. Of the chief newspapers of this period we get the following account from John Dunton, who was joint proprietor with Samuel Wesley of the Athenian Mercury:

'The Observator is best to towel the Jacks, the Review is best to promote peace, the Flying Post is best for the Scotch news, the Postboy is best for the English and Spanish news, the Daily Courant is the best critic, the English Post is the best collector, the London Gazette has the best authority, and the Postman is the best for everything.'

The Daily Courant, which was the first daily newspaper, first appeared on the 11th of March, 1702. It was but a puny affair of two columns, printed on one side of the sheet only, and consisted, like most of the journals of the time, mainly of foreign intelligence. It lasted until 1735, when it was merged in the Daily Gazetteer. In spite of prosecutions for libel, the press throve, and, perhaps, to a certain extent, on that very account greatly improved in character. Addison, Steele, Bolingbroke, Manwaring, Prior, Swift, Defoe, and other celebrities became editors or contributors, and a battle royal was waged among them in the Examiner, the Whig Examiner, the Observator, the Postboy, the Review, the Medley, and other papers of less note.

Meanwhile newspapers began to appear in the provinces. The earliest was the Stamford Mercury—a title preserved to the present day—which came out in 1695. Norwich started a journal of its own, the Norwich Postman, in 1706, the price of which the proprietors stated to be 'one penny, but a half penny not refused.' The Worcester Postman made its bow in 1708, and Berrow's Worcester Journal—which still exists—in 1709. Newcastle followed suite with its Courant, in 1711, and Liverpool with its Courant in 1712. The other large towns did the same at less or greater intervals, and of the provincial journals which were born in the first half of the eighteenth century about a score still flourish. The Edinburgh Gazette came cut in 1699, as appears from the following quaint document, which has been republished by the Maitland Club at the 'modern Athens':

'Anent the petition given to the Lords of his Majestie's Privy Councill by James Donaldson, merchant in Edinburgh, shewing 'that the petitioner doth humbly conceive the publishing ane gazette in this place, containeing ane abridgement of fforaigne newes together with the occurrences at home, may be both usefull and satisfieing to the leidges, and actually hath published on or two to see how it may be liked, and so farr as he could understand the project was approven of by very many, and, therefore, humbly supplicating the said Lords to the effect after mentioned;' the Lords of his Majestie's Privy Councill, having considered this petition given in to them by the above James Donaldsone, they doe hereby grant full warrant and authority to the petitioner for publishing the above gazette, and discharges any other persones whatsoever to pen or publish the like under the penaltie of forfaulting all the coppies to the petitioner, and farder payment to him of the soume of ane hundred pounds Scots money, by and altour the forsaid confiscatioun and forfaulture; and recommends to the Lord High Chancellor to nominat and appoint a particular persone to be supervisor of the said gazetts before they be exposed to public view, printed, or sold.'

In 1705 a rival started up in the Edinburgh Courant, which was published three times a week. About the same time appeared the Scots Courant, in 1708 the Edinburgh Flying Post, and in the following year the Scots Postman, the two last being tri-weekily. In 1718 there dawned upon the literary horizon the Edinburgh Evening Courant, which still continues. It was published cum privilegio on condition that the proprietor 'should give ane coppie of his print to the magistrates.' With regard to Ireland, it is a curious fact that Dublin took the lead of London in establishing a daily paper, for Pue's Occurrences first issued in 1700, and survived for more than fifty years. But this effort appears to have exhausted the newspaper energies of the sister isle, for we have no record of any other journal during a quarter of a century.

Contemporary with its extension to the provinces, newspaper enterprise was penetrating into the colonies, and America took the lead. Small were the beginnings in the land where the freedom of the press was destined to attain its fullest development. America's first journal—the Boston News Letter—was printed at Boston in 1704, and survived to the limit assigned by the Psalmist to the age of man. In 1719 appeared the Boston Gazette, and in the same year the American Weekly Miscellany, at Philadelphia. In 1721 appeared James Franklin's paper, the New England Courant, and in 1728 the New York Journal. In 1733 John P. Tenzer brought out the New York Weekly Journal, a paper which was so ably conducted in opposition to the Government, that in the following year a prosecution, or rather persecution, was determined upon. Andrew Hamilton was Tenzer's counsel, and the temptation to quote a passage from the peroration of his speech for the defence is irresistible:

'The question which is argued before you this day is not only the cause of a poor printer, nor yet even of the colony of New York alone: it is the best of causes—the cause of liberty. Every man who prefers freedom to a life of slavery will bless and honor in you the men whose verdict will have secured to us upon a firm basis—to us, to our posterity, to our neighbors, that right which both nature and the honor of our country gives us, the liberty of freely speaking and writing the truth.'

What could the jury do, after these burning words, but acquit the prisoner? They did acquit him, and from this famous trial dates, according to Gouverneur Morris, the dawn of the American Revolution, which myriads of Englishmen, whatever may be thought or said to the contrary by persons who wish to raise bad blood between two mighty countries, delight to acknowledge as glorious. But the progress of the press in America was slow under British rule, for in 1775 there were only thirty-six journals in the various States altogether. The West India islands soon began to establish papers of their own, and Barbadoes led the way in 1731 with the Barbadoes Gazette. Yet the development of journalism in other British colonies belongs to a later period of history.

To return to England. A heavy blow was impending over the fourth estate. In 1712 a tax, in the shape of a half-penny stamp, was levied upon each newspaper. The reason alleged for this measure was that political pamphlets had so increased in number and virulence that the queen had called the attention of Parliament to them, and had recommended it to find a remedy equal to the mischief, and, in one of her messages, had complained that 'by seditious papers and factious rumors, designing men have been able to sink credit, and that the innocent have to suffer.' An act was accordingly passed by which every printer was obliged to lodge one copy of each number of his paper, within six days of its publication, with a collector appointed for the purpose, and at the same time to state the number of sheets, etc., under a penalty of £20 for default. Country printers were allowed fourteen days instead of six. This act, as may easily be imagined, spread confusion and dismay in all directions. Half-penny and farthing newspapers fell at once before the fierce onslaught of the red oppressor—a vegetable monstrosity, having the rose, shamrock, and thistle growing on a single stalk, surmounted by the royal crown. All the less important and second-rate journals withered away before the deadly breath of the new edict, and a few only of the best were enabled to continue by raising their price. Addison, in the 445th number of the Spectator, July 31st, 1712, alludes to this new tax as follows:

'This is the day on which many eminent authors will probably publish their last words. I am afraid that few of our weekly historians, who are men that, above all others, delight in war, will be able to subsist under the weight of a stamp and an approaching peace. A sheet of blank paper that must have this new imprimatur clapped upon it before it is qualified to communicate anything to the public, will make its way but very heavily.... A facetious friend, who loves a pun, calls this present mortality among authors 'the fall of the leaf.' I remember upon Mr. Baxter's death there was published a sheet of very good sayings, inscribed: 'The last words of Mr. Baxter.' The title sold so great a number of these papers, that, about a week after these, came out a second sheet, inscribed: 'More last words of Mr. Baxter.' In the same manner I have reason to think that several ingenious writers who have taken their leave of the public in farewell papers, will not give over so, but intend to appear, though perhaps under another form, and with a different title.'

This prediction of Addison's was verified, for, after the first year, the act was allowed to fall into abeyance, and the scribblers raised their heads once more, and endeavored, by extra diligence and industry, to make up for their past discomfiture and enforced silence.

Of the essay papers, as they are called, the Tatler is the only one which properly comes within the scope of this article, as being, to a certain extent, a newspaper. Addison wrote in the Freeholder, and Steele in the Englishman, both being political journals opposed to the Government. For certain articles in this last, which were declared to be libellous, and for a pamphlet, entitled The Crisis, which he published about the same time, poor 'little Dicky, whose trade it was,' according to his quondam friend Addison, 'to write pamphlets,' was expelled the House of Commons, despite the support of several influential members, and the famous declaration of Walpole, who was not then the unscrupulous minister he afterward became, 'The liberty of the press is unrestrained; how then shall a part of the legislature dare to punish that as a crime which is not declared to be so by any law framed by the whole? And why should that House be made the instrument of such a detestable purpose?'

The newspaper writers had now reached a great pitch of power, and had become formidable to the Government. Prosecutions therefore multiplied; but not without reason in many cases. Addison complains over and over again of the misdirection of their influence, and says, among other things:

'Their papers, filled with different party spirit, divide the people into different sentiments, who generally consider rather the principles than the truth of the news writers.'

At no time, probably, in the history of journalism did party feeling run higher than at this period. New organs sprang up every day, but were, for the most part, very short lived. Among the papers of most note were The Weekly Journal, Mist's Weekly Journal, the London Journal, The Free Briton, and the Weekly Gazetteer. Mist was especially a stout opponent of the Government, and was consequently always in trouble. In 1724 there were printed nineteen first-class journals, of which three were daily, ten tri-weekly—three of them 'half-penny Posts'—and six weekly. News was abundant, and the old plan of leaving blank spaces or filling up with passages of Scripture—an editor actually reproduced from week to week the first two books of the Pentateuch—was now abandoned. In 1726 appeared the Public Advertiser, afterward called the London Daily Advertiser, which deserves to be remembered as having been the medium through which the letters of Junius were originally given to the world. In the same year, too, was started The Craftsman, one of the ablest political papers which London had yet seen, and of which Bolingbroke was joint editor. It was immediately successful, and its circulation soon reached ten or twelve thousand. In 1731 a great novelty came out, the Gentleman's Magazine, or Monthly Intelligencer, under the proprietorship of Edward Cave, the printer. The title page contained a woodcut of St. John's Gate, Clerkenwell, which had been in olden times the entrance gateway to the hospital of St. John of Jerusalem, but was then the abiding place of Cave's printing press, and upon either side of the engraving was a list of the titles of metropolitan and provincial newspapers. The contents, as announced on the same title page, were: 1. Essays, controversial, humorous and satirical, religious, moral, and political, collected chiefly from the public papers; 2. Select pieces of poetry; 3. A succinct account of the most remarkable transactions and events, foreign and domestic; 4. Marriages and deaths, promotions and bankruptcies; 5. The prices of goods and stocks, and bills of mortality; 6. A register of barks; 7. Observations on gardening. The prospectus states:

'Our present undertaking, in the first place, is to give monthly a view of all the pieces of wit, humor, or intelligence daily offered to the public in the newspapers, which of late are so multiplied as to render it impossible, unless a man makes it his business, to consult them all; and in the next place, we shall join therewith some other matters of use or amusement that will be communicated to us. Upon calculating the number of newspapers, 'tis found that (besides divers written accounts) no less than two hundred half sheets per mensem are thrown from the press only in London, and about as many printed elsewhere in the three kingdoms, a considerable part of which constantly exhibit essays on various subjects for entertainment, and all the rest occasionally oblige their readers with matter of public concern, communicated to the world by persons of capacity, through their means, so that they are become the chief channels of amusement and intelligence. But then, being only loose papers, uncertainly scattered about, it often happens that many things deserving attention contained in them are only seen by accident, and others not sufficiently published or preserved for universal benefit or information.'

The Magazine sets to work upon its self-imposed task by giving a summary of the most important articles during the preceding month in the principal London journals, of the ability, scope, and spirit of which we thus obtain a very fair notion. The Craftsman has the precedence, and among articles quoted from it are a historical essay upon Queen Bess, and 'her wisdom in maintaining her prerogative;' a violent political article full of personalities, a complaint of the treatment of the Craftsman by rival journals, and an essay upon the liberty of the press. The summary of the London Journal seems to show that it was continually occupied in controverting the views and arguments of the Craftsman. Fog's Journal is employed in making war upon the London Journal and the Free Briton. The following specimen does not say much for Mr. Fog's satirical powers:

'One Caleb D'Anvers' (Nicholas Amherst, of the Craftsman), 'and, if I mistake not, one Fog, are accused of seditiously asserting that a crow is black; but the writers on the other side have, with infinite wit, proved a black crow to be the whitest bird of all the feathered tribe.'

These old newspapers give us curious glimpses of the manners of the time. The Grub-Street Journal has an article upon 'an operation designed to be performed upon one Ray, a condemned malefactor, by Mr. Cheselden, so as to discover whether or no not only the drum but even the whole organ be of any use at all in hearing.' The writer must have been an ardent vivisector, for he concludes by a suggestion that 'all malefactors should be kept for experiments instead of being hanged.' In another number this periodical indulges in a criticism upon the new ode of the poet laureate (Colley Cibber), in the course of which the writer expresses an opinion that 'when a song is good sense, it must be made nonsense before it is made music; so when a song is nonsense, there is no other way but by singing it to make it seem tolerable sense'—a criticism which, whether it were true of that period or no, may be fairly said to apply with great force to the times in which we live. The Weekly Register makes war upon the Grub-Street Journal, and, in a satirical article upon the title of that newspaper, likens the writers to caterpillars and grubs, etc., 'deriving their origin from Egyptian locusts;' and, in another article, accuses them of 'having undertaken the drudgery of invective under pretence of being champions of politeness.' The other papers summarized are the Free Briton, a violent opponent of the Craftsman, the British Journal, and the Universal Spectator, the forte of the last two lying in essays and criticisms.

But the grand feature of the Gentleman's Magazine was, that it was the first to systematize parliamentary reporting. This was originally managed by Cave and two or three others obtaining admission to the strangers' gallery, and taking notes furtively of the speeches. These notes were afterward compared, and from them and memory the speeches were reproduced in print. Cave's reports continued for two years unmolested, when the House of Commons endeavored to put an end to them. A debate took place, in which all the speakers were agreed except Sir William Wyndham, who expressed a timid dissent, as follows: 'I don't know but what the people have a right to know what their representatives are doing.' 'I don't know,' forsooth—the Government and the people must have been a long way off then from a proper appreciation of the duties of the one and the rights of the other! Sir Robert Walpole, the former friend of the press—who, by the way, is said to have spent more than £50,000 in bribes to venal scribblers in the course of ten years—had completely changed his views, and had nothing then to say in its favor. A resolution was passed which declared it breach of privilege to print any of the debates, and announced the intention of the House to punish with the utmost severity any offenders. Cave, however, was not easily daunted, and, instead of publishing the speeches with the first and last letters of the names of the speakers, he adopted this expedient: he anagrammatized the names, and published the debates in what purported to be 'An Appendix to Captain Lemuel Gulliver's Account of the Famous Empire of Lilliput, giving the Debates in the Senate of Great Lilliput.' This system was continued for nine years, but, after an interval, Cave reverted to the old plan. He had always employed some writer or other of known ability to write the speeches from his notes, and generally even without any notes at all, so that the speeches were often purely imaginary. In 1740 Dr. Johnson was employed for this purpose, and he, according to his own confession, had been but once inside the walls of the Parliament. Murphy tells the story and gives the names of the persons who were present when he made the avowal. It occurred thus: A certain speech of Pitt's, which had appeared in the Gentleman's Magazine, was being highly praised by the company, when Johnson startled every one by saying: 'That speech I wrote in a garret in Exeter street.' He then proceeded to give an account of the manner in which the whole affair used to be managed—this happened many years after his connection with the matter had ceased—and the assembly 'lavished encomiums' upon him, especially for his impartiality, inasmuch as he 'dealt out reason and eloquence with an equal hand to both parties.' Johnson replied: 'That is not quite true: I saved appearances tolerably well, but I took care that the Whig dogs should not have the best of it.' These speeches were long received by the world as verbatim reports, and Voltaire is said to have exclaimed, on reading some of them: 'The eloquence of Greece and Rome is revived in the British Senate.' Johnson, finding they were so received, felt some prickings of conscience, and discontinued their manufacture. When upon his deathbed, he said that 'the only part of his writings that gave him any compunction was his account of the debates in the Gentleman's Magazine, but that at the time he wrote them he did not think he was imposing upon the world.' Several attempts had been made to checkmate Cave, and in 1747 he was summoned before the House of Lords, reprimanded, and fined, but finally discharged upon begging pardon of the House, and promising never to offend again. However, in 1752, he resumed the publication of the debates, with this prefatory statement, a statement which must be taken cum grano:

'The following heads of speeches in the H—— of C—— were given me by a gentleman, who is of opinion that members of Parliament are accountable to their constituents for what they say as well as what they do in their legislative capacity; that no honest man, who is entrusted with the liberties and purses of the people, will ever be unwilling to have his whole conduct laid before those who so entrusted him, without disguise; that if every gentleman acted upon this just, this honorable, this constitutional principle, the electors themselves only would be to blame if they reflected a person guilty of a breach of so important a trust.'

Cave continued his reports in a very condensed form until he died, in 1754, and left his system as a legacy to his successors and imitators. He was the father of parliamentary reporting, and it is for this reason more especially that his name deserves to be remembered with gratitude by all well wishers to the freedom of the press, which is the liberty of mankind.

THE TREASURY REPORT AND
MR. SECRETARY CHASE.

The military condition at the present time is highly encouraging; but our armies have not always been successful in the field, and many of our campaigns have ended either in disaster or without decisive results. The navy, though it has achieved much in some quarters, has not altogether answered to the reasonable expectations of the country or to the vast sums which have been expended to make it powerful and efficient. Our foreign relations, during the war, have sometimes assumed a threatening aspect, and, it must be confessed, have not always been managed with the skill and firmness due to our prominent position among the nations of the world. But there is at least one department of the Government whose general operations during all these vicissitudes have been the subject of just pride to the American people. In the midst of great difficulties, sufficient to appal and disconcert any ordinary mind, our stupendous fiscal affairs have been conducted with unrivalled firmness, ability, and success. All our military and naval operations, and indeed our whole national strength at home and abroad, have necessarily been in a large degree contingent upon the public credit, and this has remained solid and unmoved except to gain strength, in spite of all the disasters of the war on the land and on the water. The recent annual report of Mr. Chase, though chiefly confined to a simple statement of facts and figures, is like the account of some great victorious campaign, submitted by the unassuming officer who conducted it. The achievements of the Treasury are in fact the greatest of all our victories; they underlie and sustain the prowess of our armies, while they signalize the confidence and the patriotism of our whole people. Without them the peril of the Union would have been infinitely enhanced, and perhaps it would have been wholly impossible to conquer the rebellion. There was a narrow and difficult path to tread in order to avoid national bankruptcy; it was necessary within three years to raise fifteen hundred millions of dollars, and a single false step might have doubled or trebled the amount even of that enormous demand. How often has intelligent patriotism trembled to think that the failure of our finances would involve the probable futility of our sacred war for the Union, with all its tremendous sacrifices of life and property!

Nobly have the people sustained their Government; with a wise instinct of confidence, they have freely risked their money, as their lives, in support of their own holy cause. This confidence at home has given us unbounded strength abroad. Nor do the facts in the least diminish the credit fairly due to the Secretary, whose great merit is to have organized a system so well calculated to attract the confidence of the people and to inspire them with a sense of perfect security in trusting their fortunes to the keeping of the nation for its help and support in the hour of supreme peril. It is the highest evidence of wise statesmanship to be able thus to arouse a nation to the cheerful performance even of its obvious duty: this has been accomplished by Mr. Chase, under the embarrassment of repeated failures on the part of those who had in special charge to defend and promote our noble cause. The entire merit of this grand success can only be adequately estimated by considering how slight a mistake of judgment or want of faithful courage in conducting these momentous affairs would have thrown our finances into inextricable confusion. Our own experience immediately before the war, when there was no adequate conception of the extent of the trouble about to come upon us, shows how easily the public credit may be shaken or destroyed by incompetent or dishonest agents. In spite of envious detraction and interested opposition, these great and successful labors of the Secretary will remain an imperishable monument of his ability to conduct the most intricate affairs of government, in times of the most appalling danger and difficulty. He has undergone the severest tests to which a statesman was ever subjected; his genius and his great moral firmness have brought him out triumphant.

There are a few prominent points in the lucid report of the Secretary which constitute the great landmarks of his system. Adequate taxation was of necessity its basis; and, from the very beginning, Mr. Chase insisted upon a rigid resort to every available means of raising a revenue sufficient to strengthen the hands of the Government, and sustain its credit through all the vast operations which it was compelled to undertake. And now by reference to the actual figures, and by an analysis of the facts embodied in them, the Secretary shows that since the first year of the war, the taxes collected have paid all the ordinary peace expenditures together with the interest on the whole public debt, and beyond this have yielded a surplus which, had the war ended, might have been applied to the reduction of the debt. This sound and indispensable principle, beset with so many temptations and difficulties in time of civil commotion, is the very soul of the public credit; and the fearlessness with which the Secretary meets the contingency of prolonged war and the necessity of additional taxes, evinces his determination to strengthen and sustain the principle, rather than to abandon it under any possible circumstances. The enormous loans already so advantageously obtained, to say nothing of those additional ones which will probably be indispensable, could not have been negotiated on any reasonable terms without a firm adherence to this policy.

That part of Mr. Chase's financial system which is most questionable, and which affords his assailants a fulcrum for their attacks, is its interference with the State banks and with the currency which they have been supplying to the country. The issuance of Treasury notes in the form of a circulating medium, and with the qualities of a legal tender, has revolutionized the whole currency and exchanges of the country, and has given universal satisfaction to the people. But this popular judgment is by no means an unerring test of the wisdom or safety of such a measure. Its necessity, however, and its eminent success will forever stamp it as an expedient of great usefulness and value, especially as the Secretary has most judiciously arrested the system at that point where its unquestionable advantages still outweigh its acknowledged dangers and inconveniences. He informs us that these issues 'were wanted to fill the vacuum caused by the disappearance of coin, and to supply the additional demands created by the increased number and variety of payments;' and he adds: 'Congress believed that four hundred millions would suffice for these purposes, and therefore limited issues to that sum. The Secretary proposes no change of this limitation and places no reliance therefore on any increase of resources from increase of circulation. Additional loans in this mode would indeed almost certainly prove illusory; for diminished value could hardly fail to neutralize increased amount.'

In consequence of these issues, the average rate of interest on the whole public debt on the 1st of July last, was only 3.77 per centum, and on the 1st of October, 3.95 per centum.

It was to be expected that the banks, which have heretofore had an entire monopoly of the paper circulation, and of the large profits derived from its legitimate use, as well as from its disastrous and sometimes dishonest irregularities, would not very cordially receive the system which is destined to supersede their present organization entirely. The Secretary justly exults in the advantages of the sound and uniform circulation which he has afforded in all parts of the country. And as to the depreciation of the Treasury notes in comparison with gold, he reasons, with great force and truth, that the greater part of it is attributable to 'the large amount of bank notes yet in circulation,' remarking at the same time, that 'were these notes withdrawn from use, that much of the now very considerable difference between coin and United States notes would disappear.' Whether this belief of the Secretary be well founded or not, nothing can be more certain than the superiority of the Treasury notes to those of the mass of suspended banks, as they would have been after three years of the present war. It is frightful to think of the condition to which the currency would have been reduced at this time, if the Government had been guilty of the folly of conducting its immense operations in the suspended paper of irresponsible local banks. No one can doubt that the Treasury notes have been of immense service to the nation in its hour of trial; and if the limitation proposed by the Secretary shall be faithfully maintained, there need not be the slightest fear of any difficulty or discredit in the future. Upon the return of peace the whole issue will be easily absorbed and redeemed, either by the process of funding, or more gradually in the ordinary transactions of the Government.

On a kindred subject, that of the high prices at present prevailing, let Mr. Chase speak for himself. This statement is so direct and pertinent that nothing could well be added. He says:

'It is an error to suppose that the increase of prices is attributable wholly or in very large measure to this circulation. Had it been possible to borrow coin enough, and fast enough, for the disbursements of the war, almost if not altogether the same effects on prices would have been wrought. Such disbursements made in coin would have enriched fortunate contractors, stimulated lavish expenditures, and so inflated prices in the same way and nearly to the same extent as when made in notes. Prices, too, would have risen from other causes. The withdrawal from mechanical and agricultural occupations of hundreds of thousands of our best, strongest, and most active workers, in obedience to their country's summons to the field, would, under any system of currency, have increased the price of labor, and, by consequence, the price of the products of labor,' &c.

It is impossible to deny the force of this statement; and upon the whole we must acknowledge that most of the evils which have been attributed to the financial policy of the Government were inherent in the very nature of the situation, and would have developed themselves, more or less, under any system which could have been adopted. It is very obvious that they might have been greatly aggravated by slight changes; but it is not easy to see how they could have been more skilfully met and parried than by the measures which have actually yielded such brilliant results.

The most signal triumph of Mr. Chase's whole system of finance is to be found in the truly marvellous success of his favorite five-twenty bonds. Even at the present time the public enthusiasm for these securities seems to be unabated, and it is more than probable that the whole amount authorized to be issued will be taken up quite as rapidly as the bonds can be prepared or as the money may be required.

Not without good reason does the Secretary attribute the 'faith' thus shown by the people 'in the securities of the Government,' to his national banking law and the prospective establishment of a currency 'secured by a pledge of national bonds,' and destined at no distant day to 'take the place of the heterogeneous corporate currency which has hitherto filled the channels of circulation.' The idea of thus making tributary to the Government in its present emergency the whole banking capital of the country, or at least so much of it as may be employed in furnishing a paper circulation for commercial transactions, was as bold and magnificent as it has proved successful. Nothing less than the national credit is sufficiently solid and enduring to be the basis of a paper currency throughout the vast extent of our country. It is eminently fit that this perfect solidarity of the central government with those who furnish paper money for the people of every locality, should be required and maintained on a proper basis. But the currency thus provided is not liable to any of the objections properly urged against a paper circulation issued by the Government itself; it is issued by individuals or companies, and secured only by such national stocks as have been created in the necessary operations of the nation itself. The system does not constitute a national bank or banks in the sense of that term as heretofore used in our history. It does nothing more than assume that indispensable control over the long-neglected currency of the country which is at once the privilege and the duty of the National Government. It has authority to pronounce the supreme law among all the States; and if there be any subject of legislation requiring the unity to be derived from the exercise of such authority, it is, above everything else, that common medium of exchange which measures and regulates the countless daily commercial transactions of our immense territory. The system involves no participation by the Government in any banking operations; no partnership in any possible speculations, great or small; no interference, direct or indirect, with the legitimate business of the country: it is only a wise and efficient device, by which the Government assures to the people the soundness of the paper which may be imposed upon them for money.

The greatest merit of the scheme consists in the fact that it is intended to supersede that irregular and unsatisfactory system of banking which is based on a similar pledge of the credit of the several States. It is said to be hostile to the existing banks; but it is only so in so far as it requires a change of the basis of their credit from State to National securities. The measure was not conceived in any unfriendly spirit toward those institutions. It was necessary for the National Government to assert its own superiority, and thus to strengthen itself, at the same time that it sought to protect the people by securing them a uniform currency and equable exchanges.

Some murmurs of opposition have been heard from a quarter well understood; but the good sense of the people, and, we hope, of the holders of State bonds themselves, seems to have quickly suppressed these complaints. A war of the State banks on the Government, at this time and on this ground, might well be deplored; but the issue would not be doubtful. Mr. Chase occupies the vantage ground, and he would be victorious over these, as the country is destined to be over all other enemies.

At no other time could so fundamental a change in our system of currency have been proposed with the slightest chance of success; and, upon the whole, it was a grand and happy conception, in the midst of this tremendous war, to make its gigantic fiscal necessities contribute to the permanent uniformity of the currency and of the domestic exchanges. For this great measure is no temporary expedient. Its success is bound up with the stability of the Government; and if this endures, the good effects of the new system will be felt and appreciated in future years, long after the unhappy convulsion which gave it birth shall have passed away. It will serve to smooth the path from horrid war to peace, and to hasten the return of national prosperity; and when experience shall have fully perfected its organization, it may well be expected, by the generality of its operation and its great momentum, to act as the great natural regulator of enterprise and business in our country.

If these grand achievements in finance have had so important an influence in sustaining the war for the Union, it is not likely they will fail to constitute a large element in controlling the political events of the immediate future. Their author is well known to entertain the soundest views in reference to the thoroughness of the measures necessary to restore harmony in the Union, without being of that extreme and impracticable school whose policy would render union uncertain or impossible; and if a ripe experience in public affairs and the most brilliant success in transactions of great delicacy and difficulty, as well as of the most vital importance to the triumph of our arms, are of any value, they cannot be without their due and proper weight in the crisis which is fast approaching.

The election of next fall will take place under circumstances dangerous to the stability of our institutions, and trying to the virtue and wisdom of the American people. We are compelled to undergo that great trial, either in the midst of a mighty civil war, or in the confusion and uncertainty of its recent close, with the legacy of all its tremendous difficulties to adjust and settle. Even in quiet times, the Presidential election is an event of deep significance in our political history; but at such times, the ordinary stream of affairs will flow on quietly in spite of many obstructions; and even the errors and follies of the people consequent on the intrigues of politicians and the strife of parties, are not then likely to be fatal to the public security. In the midst of the tempest, however, or even in the rough sea, where the subsiding winds have left us crippled and exhausted, and far away from our true course, we have need of all the skill, experience, integrity, and wisdom which it is possible to call into the service of the country. But it is the skill and experience of the statesman, not of the warrior, which the occasion requires. To our great and successful generals, the gratitude of the people will be unbounded; and it will be exhibited in every noble form of expression and action becoming a just and generous nation. But civil station is not the appropriate reward of military services, except in rare cases, when capacity and fitness for its duties have been fully established. To conduct a great campaign and to gain important victories is evidence of great ability in achieving physical results by the organized agency and force of armies; it does not necessarily follow that the great general is an able statesman or a safe counsellor in the cabinet or in the legislative assembly. The functions to be performed in the two cases are wholly dissimilar, if not actually opposite in nature. War is the reign of force, and is essentially arbitrary in its decisions and violent in its mode of enforcing them: civil government, on the other hand, is the embodiment of law, and it ought to be the perfection of reason; its instrumentalities are eminently peaceful and antagonistic to all violence.

In times like the present, there is always a tendency to appropriate the popularity of some great and patriotic soldier, and make it available for the promotion of personal or party ends. Success in that sinister policy will no doubt often prove to be only an aggravation of ordinary party strategy, by which the vital questions of capacity and fitness are made subordinate to that of availability. We have in our history too many instances of such intrigues and their dangerous consequences, to admit of their success at the present time, though they come in the seductive form of military glory. The degenerate system of party strategy culminated seven years ago in the election of James Buchanan. In pursuance of the secret and treacherous preparations for the present infamous rebellion, the people were ignorantly and blindly led by cunning intrigue into that fatal mistake; but it was not less the circumstances of the tunes and the sinister combination of parties, than the weakness and wickedness of the man chosen, which gave him the immense power for mischief which he wielded against his country. The complications of the approaching crisis will not be less controlling in their power to bring about the ruin or the restoration of the republic. In the uncertain contingencies and possible combinations of opinion and interest destined to grow out of the immediate future, no man can foresee what dangers and difficulties will arise. The only path of safety lies in the straight line of consistent action; avoiding sinister expedients and untried men; despising the arts of the demagogue, when they present themselves in the most specious of all forms, that of using military success as the pretext for ambitious designs; and doing justice to the great soldier, as a soldier, according to the value of his achievements, not forgetting that 'peace hath her victories not less renowned than those of war,' and that the faithful and able statesman cannot be overlooked and set aside amid the glare of arms, without danger to the best interests of the republic.

ASPIRO.—A FABLE.

Then my life was like a dream in which we guess at God-thoughts. I was so completely absorbed in my love that I marked the lapse of time only by the delicate varyings of my mistress's beauty, or the deepening spell of her royal rule. I was delirious with the delight of her presence, which comprised to me all types of excellence. Within her eyes the sapphire gates of heaven unclosed to me; in the splendor of lustred hair was life-warmth.

—And had I forgot?—the red lips I crushed like rose-leaves on my own—the tender eyes that plead 'remember me'—the faded rosemary which we culled together—the vows with which I said that love like ours was never false, nor parting fatal. Had I forgot? Could this Aspiro of my worship quite dispel my youth-dream—had her infatuating presence quite eclipsed my memory of Christine?—

Alas! I had not meant to be inconstant, but while I strove sullenly for success in uncongenial occupation, she came to me—Aspiro—came like the truth and light, and taught me to myself.

For a long time I doubted and resisted; though she tempted me, making real the dreams of my shy, worshipful childhood, teaching me the meanings of treasured stories which I had listened to from flower-sprite and river-god, leading and wooing me with lovelier lures than even Nature's; for tropical bird-song and falling water was harsh to her voice, and dew-dripped lilies dim to her brow. But I shut my dazzled eyes at first from these, and strove to see only the face whereon, with tender kisses, I had sealed my future—having narrow aims; till the vision faded despairingly, and even closed lids would not recall it, and my weak resistance seemed but to strengthen the sway that bore me willingly away.

Over and over I told the rosary of Aspiro's charms. Hour by hour I wearied not of her perfections. With burning vows and rapturous words I pledged my life to her.

Once when the wind was sweeping her gay garments, like hope-banners, against my limbs, and tangling her long, loose hair about me—once when I was blind with the jewel-dazzle from her breast, thrilled by the passion-pressure of her hand, she said, in saddest, sweetest tones:

'I am erratic, Paulo, and exacting—will you tire of me!'

O Immortality! Did not that seem sacrilege!

Like curlew's wings flapped the white sails of the ship on the blue waters. Aspiro's eyes absorbed my mind and memory. The past was voiceless—the future clarion-toned. So we loosed our hold of the real past, and drifted toward an ideal future.

We wandered through apocalyptic mazes, startling the hush of mystery with daring footsteps. We brake the bread of the cosmic sacrament in sight of the Inaccessible.

In the metallic mirrors of Arctic lakes we watched the wind-whipped clouds. Mute we knelt in the ice-temples of Silence, and where the glaciers shatter the rainbows we renewed our promises.

Wet sat at the universal banquet, and drank deep of Beauty. Cheek pressed to cheek, arms interlaced, we sighed in the consecrated throes of its reproduction, and in the imagery of Art we lisped Creation's lessons.

From height to height and depth to depth. Lagging in low canoes along the black waters of silent swamps—life-left—seeing the far-off blue of sky and hope between the warning points of cypress spires. Across the stretch of yellow sands, seeking her riddle of the Sphinx, and asking from the Runic records of one dead faith, and the sand-buried temples of another, the aim of the True.

Or clouds or rocks or winds or waves, the mutable or the unchangeable was in turn the theme of our reproductive praise. There were transfigurations on the mountain tops, where the spirit of the universe wore shining garbs and hailed us, their Interpreters. From every wave stretched Undine arms to greet us, and tongues of flame taught us the glories of the element.

Sometimes in giddy pauses shone sad eyes—yet not reproachful on me; but if I sighed in answer to their shining, Aspiro dazzled in betwixt me and my memory, and bade me 'cease not striving,' while her white finger pointed farther onward. For our love-life was a striving, and life's best porcelain was like common clay for fashioning vessels for its use.

I gave up all to her, time, talent, ingenuity. Studying for her caprices and struggling for her pleasure. How fair she seemed, how worthy any effort! If only I might hope that I, at last, should wholly win her approbation and make our union indissoluble. Her radiant smiles, and lofty, loving words, were hard to win, but then, when won—! Who ever looked and spoke and smiled as did Aspiro?

There was neither rest nor dalliance on our way. Unrest lit meteors in the heaven of my mistress's eyes, and I lost, at length, the delusion that I should ever satisfy all her imperious exactions. Then I hoped to make but some one thought or deed quite worthy of her favor, even to the sacrifice of my life.

I strove my utmost in the Art we loved. The strife consumed the dross of daily, petty hopes and fears, which make the happiness of common lives, and left my soul a crucible receptive for refinement only; and Aspiro tempted me to new endeavors by glimpses of the court which Nature holds, wearing Dalmatian mantle and spray-bright crown, in realms forbidden mortals.

'I thought, for my sake,' she would say, sadly,'you had already done something better than you have.'

If my soul sickened then, my courage did not falter, nor did her incentive beauty lose any of its charm.

I said: 'Give me a task, Aspiro, and I will please you yet.'

Then she pointed to me what I might do, and my work began.

In this work I reproduced my mistress's beauty and my love's significance. Having learned the language of nature, I translated from her hieroglyphic pages in characters of flame. With rash hands I stripped false seemings from material beauty, and limned the naked divinity of Idea. Shorn by degrees in my strife of youth and strength and passion, I wound them in my work—toiling like paltry larvæ. And it was done—retouched and lingered over long, apotheosized by mighty effort. So I offered it to my Fate.

Never before, as at that moment, had Aspiro seemed so worthy to be won at any cost. I trembled as I laid my work before her—she so transcended Beauty. But still I hoped. I waited for her dawning smile and outstretched hand, ready to die of attained longing when these should be bestowed.

She, gleaming like ice, transfixed me coldly, and, slighting with her glance my work, asked: 'Can you do no more?'

I answered with weary hopelessness: 'No more.'

How cold her laugh was!

'And have I waited on you all these years for this?'

I echoed drearily: 'For this.'

'Well, blot it out, and try again, if you would please me,' said Aspiro.

With spent strength I cast myself at her feet.

'You see,' I said,'I have mixed these colors with my life-wine.'

'Why, then,' she asked, carelessly, 'with your insufficient strength, were you tempted to woo and follow me?'

So my life with its endeavors was a wreck. I thought of the good I had sacrificed, of the hopes that had failed. The Past and Future alike pierced my hands with crucificial nails, till, faint with the pain and the scorning, I lapsed into a long prostration, from which I came at last to the dawn-light of sad, once-forgotten eyes—to the odor of withered rosemary.

'True heart that I spurned,' I cried, 'can you forgive? I will return Aspiro scorn for scorn, and go humbly back, where it is perhaps not yet too late for happiness.'

With dreary reproaches came memory, disenthralled. I dreamed of my youth, its love, and its aim. I pictured a porch with its breeze-tossed vines, a rocking boat on a limpid lake, a narrow path through twilight-brooded woods, and each scene the shrine of a sweet face with brown, banded hair, and love-lit eyes.

And these pictures were the True. My heart cleaved the eternity of separation, beaconing my sad return to them, and I followed gladly, hope being not yet dead.

The summer porch was shady with fragrant vines—but I missed the face. I buoyed my heart, and said, 'Of course she would not have waited so long.'

I went to the woods, through the narrow paths where of old the birds twittered, and javelins of sunshine pierced—on, where we had gone together long ago, till I reached the dell where we pledged our love. Ah! I should find her here—

The sweet face where I should kindle smiles—the brown hair I could once more stroke—the lithe form that I longed to clasp—the true heart that should beat for me in a quiet home.

No. No waiting eyes—no true heart—no glad smile. But a cross and a grave and a name:

'Christine.'

Aspirants of the Age! Offspring of Aloēus I you have chosen a worship that admits not a divided heart. But your faith, like the Mystic's, shall also make your strength; and though Aspiro stoops not to your stature, yet she reigns, and she rewards. Be true. Be firm. Even if it be upon the wreck of some frail, temporal heart-hopes, you must reach higher, till, in the sheen of the approving smile, you read the world-lesson: Salvation through sacrifice. Through strife and suffering—excellence.

THE RED MAN'S PLEA.

ALMOST LITERALLY THE REPLY OF
'RED IRON' TO GOVERNOR RAMSEY.

The snow is on the ground, and still my people wait;
They ask but their just dues, ere yet it be too late;
For we are poor, our huts are cold, we starve, we die,
While you are rich, your fires are warm, your harvests lie
High heaped above the hunting grounds, our fathers' graves,
We sold you long ago. Alas! our famished braves
Have sold e'en their own graves! When dead, our bones shall stay
To whiten on the ground, that our Great Father may
More surely see where his Dacotah children died—
His dusky children whom ye robbed, and then belied.

BUCKLE, DRAPER, AND A SCIENCE OF HISTORY

THIRD PAPER

In any classification of our intellectual domain which it is possible to make on the basis of Principles now known to the Scientific world at large, the most fundamental characteristic should be, the distinctive separation of those departments of thought in which Certainty is now attainable, from those in which only varying degrees of Probability exist, and the clear exhibition of that which is positive and demonstrable knowledge, in the strict sense of the term, as distinguished from that which is liable to be more or less fallible. Although the precise point at which, in some cases, the proofs of Probable Reasoning cease to be as convincing as those of Demonstration cannot be readily apprehended, yet the essential nature of the two methods of proof is radically and inherently different, and is marked by the most distinctive results. In the latter case, we have always accuracy, precision, and certainty, beyond the possibility of doubt; in the former, always the conviction that, how strong soever the array of evidence may seem to be, in favor of a particular inference, there still remains a possibility that the conclusion may be modified or vitiated by the subsequent advancement of knowledge.

The Generalizations which respectively affirm that all the angles of a triangle are equal to two right angles, or that the square of the hypothenuse of a right-angled triangle is equal to the sum of the squares of the other two sides, rest upon an entirely different basis of proof from those upon which the Generalizations rest which respectively assert that water is composed of certain chemical constituents combined in certain proportions, or that the nerves are the instruments of sensation and of motion. The former are irresistible conclusions of the human mind, because, from the nature of the intellect, they cannot be conceived of as being otherwise. The Laws of Thought are such, that we are unable to think a triangle whose angles will not be equal to two right angles, or a right-angled one, the square of whose hypothenuse will not be equal to the squares of the other two sides. So long, therefore, as man is constituted as he now is—unless the human organization becomes radically changed, these geometrical Laws cannot be conceived as being otherwise than as they are. All men must apprehend them alike if they apprehend them at all. So long as man lives and thinks they remain unalterable verities, about which there can be no shadow of doubt, no possibility of error.

The doctrine that water is composed of certain definite chemical constituents in certain definite proportions, or the theory that the nerves are the instruments of sensation and of motion, rests upon no such foundation. Whenever water has been analyzed, it has yielded the same separate elements in the same proportions; and whenever these elements are put together in the same quantitative ratio they have produced water; so that the conviction is proximately established in the minds of all that water is invariably the product of these elements in certain proportions. But this proof does not establish the generalization as inevitably true, nor show that it is impossible for it to be otherwise. It is possible, in the nature of things, for us to conceive that the fluid which we call water may be produced from other constituents than oxygen or hydrogen, or that such a fluid may even now exist undiscovered, the product of elements altogether unknown.

So in regard to the nerves. Observation and experiment have established to the general satisfaction, that they are the instruments of sensation and motion; but we are not absolutely sure that this is the fact, nor can we know that a human being may not be born in whom no trace of nerves can be detected, and who will nevertheless experience sensation and exhibit motion. We may be as well satisfied, for all practical purposes, of the nature of water and of the office of the nerves as of the nature of a triangle; but the character of the evidence, on which the convincement is based, is essentially different; being, in the one case, incontrovertible and infallible; and, in the other, indecisive and possibly fallacious.

This repetition of that which has been substantially stated before, brings us to the final consideration of the distinctive nature of different departments of Thought, as indicated by the Methods of Proof which respectively prevail in them; and hence as embodying either exact and definite Knowledge, or only varying degrees of Probability. We have already seen that in at least one sphere of intellectual activity we are able to start from the most basic and fundamental conceptions, from axiomatic truths so patent and universal that they cannot even be conceived of as being otherwise than as they are, and to proceed from them, by equally irresistible Inferences, to conclusions which are, from the nature of the human mind, inevitable. It is in the Mathematics, in which the Deductive Method is rightly operative, that this kind of Proof—Demonstration in the strict sense of the term—prevails. The various branches of Mathematics have therefore been appropriately denominated the Exact Sciences, in contradistinction from those domains of Thought whose Laws or Principles are liable to be somewhat indefinite or uncertain; hence, called the Inexact Sciences.

Exact Science—in its largest sense, that which extends to all domains in which the proper Deductive Method has been or may hereafter be rightly employed—is therefore a system or series of truths relating to the whole Universe, or to some department of it, consecutively and necessarily resulting from, and dependent upon, each other, in a definite chain or series; and resting primarily upon some fundamental truth or truths so simple and self-evident, that, when clearly stated, all men must, by the natural constitution of the human mind, perceive them and recognize them as true. Demonstration is the pointing out of the definite links in the chain or series by which we go from fundamental truths, clearly perceived and irresistible, up to the particular truth in question.

Thus far in the history of Science, Mathematics, as a whole, has ranked as the only Exact Science; being the only department of intellectual activity, all of whose Laws or Principles are established on a basis of undeniable certainty. If, however, theories of Cosmogony and considerations of Cosmography be excluded from the field of Astronomy, this Science consists almost wholly of the application of the Laws of Mathematics to the movements of the celestial bodies. Restricting Astronomy proper to this domain, where, as a Science, it strictly belongs, and setting aside its merely descriptive and conjectural features, as hardly an integral part of the Science itself, we have another Exact Science in addition to Mathematics.

Of still another domain, that of Physics, Professor Silliman says, 'all its phenomena are dependent on a limited number of general laws ... which may be represented by numbers and algebraic symbols; and these condensed formulæ enable us to conduct investigations with the certainty and precision of pure Mathematics.'

The various branches of Physics have not hitherto been ranked as Exact Sciences, because, as in Astronomy, unsubstantiated theories and doubtful generalizations, incapable of Mathematical Proof, have mingled with their Demonstrated Laws and Phenomena, as a component part of the Science itself. It has consequently exhibited an ambiguous or problematical aspect, incompatible with the rigorous requirements of Exact Science. Even in Professor Silliman's admirable work, formulæ are given as Laws, which, however correct, have yet no foundation in axiomatic truth; while Inferences are drawn from them which are by no means capable of Demonstration. Strictly speaking, however, only those Laws which do rest upon a Demonstrable basis and the Phenomena derived from them come within the scope of the Science of Physics. So far as these prevail, this department of investigation is entitled to the Mathematical character accorded to it by Professor Silliman, and ranks as an Exact Science.

Astronomy and Physics, viewed in the light in which they are here presented, are rather special branches of Mathematics, than distinct Sciences. But as we often speak of Geometry as a separate Science, although it is in reality only a division of the Mathematical domain, and is so classed by Comte; so there is a sense in which both Astronomy and Physics, as herein defined, may be regarded as individual Sciences, and in that character they will be considered in this paper.

We have, then, three domains in which the true Deductive Method is active; in which we can start from universally recognized Truths and proceed, by irresistible Inferences, to ulterior Principles and Facts. In three Sciences, in Mathematics as commonly defined and understood, in Astronomy and Physics as herein circumscribed, we are able to establish starting points of thought with Mathematical certainty, and to deduce from them all the Phenomena of their respective realms.

Within the scope of these three Sciences, therefore, our information is clearly defined, positive, and indisputable. The conclusions to which we are led by their Principles can no more be gainsayed than human existence can be doubted. While time shall last, while mankind shall endure, while the human Mind is constructed on its present basis; while, in fine, there is a possibility for the exercise of Thought in any way conceivable to the existing Mentality of the universe, the Laws of Mathematics, of Astronomy, and of Physics can be apprehended in no way different from that in which they are now apprehended. There is no conceivable possibility that subsequent investigations will show them to be erroneous or defective. They stand upon a foundation of Proof as unalterable as the fiat of Fate or the decrees of the Almighty, which can neither be shaken nor destroyed.

It is between these three Mathematical Sciences, on the one side, and all other domains of intellectual investigation on the other, that a line of distinct demarcation must be drawn, in any Classification of our so-called Knowledge, in accordance with any method of classification known to the scientific world at large. Not that the Laws or Principles which lie at the base of all other departments of the universe are not as stable, as definite, and as infallible as those which inhere in the Sciences which have been specially indicated. But that, as yet, the endeavor to apprehend fundamental Principles, in other spheres than these, has been attended with only partial success; and hence, the ability to establish a Mathematical or Demonstrable basis for other regions of Thought is yet wanting, so far as is commonly known.

When, therefore, we emerge from the domains of Mathematics, Astronomy, and Physics, we are leaving the field of positive assurance, of undeniable truth, and entering the realms where opinion, conjecture, and variable degrees of certainty prevail. The Facts of Observation may be, indeed, as plain here as elsewhere and as firmly established. But the conclusions drawn from them, the Scientific Principles assumed to be established, may be erroneous or defective, and the power of prevision, the great test of Scientific accuracy, is proportionally wanting. Derived, as we have hitherto seen these conclusions to be, from Phenomena, on the supposition that a given range of Observation will secure all the essential Principles which appertain to the whole of the Phenomena included in the range, we can never be entirely sure that our basis of Facts is sufficient for our purpose, and hence the possibility of error always exists.

It is not to be understood, therefore, that first or observational Facts are not rightly to be known in other departments of investigation than Mathematics, Astronomy, and Physics; but that Laws, Principles, or Generalizations which relate Facts and serve as instruments for penetrating into the deeper arcana of Nature, cannot be precisely, accurately, and certainly known, in their relations and belongings, until we are able to establish their connection with the lowest, most fundamental, and self-evident truths, and in this manner become competent to advance step by step from undeniable first truths to those equally undeniable. In Mathematics, in Astronomy, and in Physics, we are able to do this. We know the Laws or Principles of these Sciences, therefore, so far as we have developed the Sciences themselves. We know the relations of the various Laws within the range of each Science, and the relations of the different Sciences with each other. We can advance, within their boundaries, from the simplest and most positive verities, such as the whole is equal to all its parts—a self-evident truth, which it is impossible to conceive as being otherwise than as here stated—up to the most intricate ulterior Facts of the universe, by Inferences which are as irresistible to the mind as the axioms with which we started. In no other domains of Thought can this be done by any methods now in vogue. In no other realms, therefore, are complete precision and infallibility attainable. It is this which constitutes the peculiar character of these three Sciences, and distinguishes them radically from all others.

The whole body of our authoritative and irrevocably determinate intellectual acquisitions lies, therefore, at the present time, so far as is commonly known, within the range of Mathematics, Astronomy, and Physics. These are in strictness the only Sciences which we possess; and the only domains in which knowledge, in the proper sense of the term, is attainable. In passing their boundaries, we leave the regions of positive certitude, and come into the domain where Conjecture, varying from the strongest presumption to mere plausibility, is the highest proof. Laws or Principles are yet undiscovered there, and in their place we find Generalizations—Suppositive or Proximate Laws—which are in process of proof, or already established by such evidence as the Inductive Method can array, and which carry the conviction of their correctness with varying degrees of force, to larger or smaller classes of investigators.

These three branches of knowledge are unquestionably entitled to the designation of Positive Sciences; and to no others can it with justice be accorded. To apply the name of Science to domains in which real knowledge is not attainable, is, in some sense, an abuse of terms. To denominate Positive Sciences, domains which are not strictly Scientific, and in which positive certainty, in reference to Principles and ulterior Facts, cannot be attained, is still more incongruous. Comte's arrangement of the schedule of the Positive Sciences, in which domains where Demonstrable knowledge prevails are placed upon a common basis with those in which it does not, was probably owing to the want of a clear perception on his part of the essential difference of the nature of proof by the true Deductive Method and of proof by the Inductive Method, of the actual Certainty of the one and the merely proximate Certainty of the other.

If such were the case, his want of discrimination was rather due to an overestimate of Inductive proof than to an undervaluation of Mathematical Demonstration. That Mathematics, Astronomy, and Physics were more perfect Sciences than the others in point of precision, he distinctly affirms, pointing out that 'the relative perfection of the different Sciences consists in the degree of precision of Knowledge,' that this degree of precision is in accordance with the extent to which Mathematical analysis can be applied to the given domain, and that to the above-mentioned Sciences only is its application possible. Notwithstanding this apprehension of the different degrees of precision or exactitude attainable in the various Scientific realms, he does not seem to have sufficiently understood that there was also a vast difference in the nature of the evidence which went to prove the truth of the supposed Principles and ulterior Facts of the various departments of Thought, and hence variable degrees of Certainty in regard to the positive bases of the Principles themselves. He thus falls into the same error which it was one of the main purposes of his Scientific labors to correct—commingling problematical theories with Demonstrable Truths, as equally entitled to belief—and ranks Sociology, including La Morale, afterward called a distinct Science, with Mathematics, Astronomy, and Physics, as domains in which our reasonings, in the present state of Knowledge, can be equally reliable.

It is barely possible that the purpose and design of Comte's Classification had, unconsciously, much to do with its really unscientific and incongruous character. The aim which he had in view was to construct a Sociology or Science of Society which should be a guide in the establishment of a new Government, a new Political Economy, a new Religion, a new Social Life, a new Order of Things, in fine, to take the place of the decrepit institutions, governmental, ecclesiastical, and social, which he thought were fast approaching their period of dissolution. The Generalization which had exhibited to him, that the Laws and Phenomena of the various departments of investigation were dependent on each other in a graduated scale, and had thus enabled him to establish the Hierarchy of the Sciences, showed him that Sociology, including as it does the Principles and Phenomena of the other domains which he regards as Positive Sciences, must be based upon them.

Hence it became necessary to fix the Scientific character of all these branches of intelligence, in order to create a Scientific basis for his Sociology. It was, however, impossible for him to claim that a Demonstrable or Infallible method of Proof was applicable to Chemistry and Biology; while, on the other hand, to exhibit such a method as introducing a certainty into Mathematics, Astronomy, and Physics which did not appertain to the other so-called Positive Sciences, would have indicated too plainly the unspanned gulf which yawned between the indubitable Demonstrations of the Exact Sciences and the merely probable Generalizations of the others, and have exposed the fallible character of his Sociological theories.

A Classification was rendered indispensable, therefore, which should display uniformity in its character, and a sufficiently rigorous mode of Scientific proof. To fulfil this end, the Inexact Sciences were accorded a position of certainty in reference to their Principles which does not in reality belong to them; while the Exact or Infallible Sciences were degraded from their peculiarly high state, and brought to the new level of the former on the middle ground of the Positive Philosophy. A quasi-Scientific basis was thus erected for the Sociological movements of the French Reformer.

Had he been as Metaphysically analytical, profound, and discriminating in his intellectual development, as he was vigorous, expansive, and broadly generalising, he would have discerned the insufficiency of the bases of the structure which he was building. Had he understood the Scientific problem of the age, he would have known that until the task which he believed too great for accomplishment was adequately performed, until all the phenomena of the respective Sciences were brought within the scope of a larger Science and included under a Universal Law, there could be no 'clearness, precision, and consistency' throughout all our domains of Thought, and hence no true Sociology. Had he rightly apprehended the nature of 'The Grand Man,' as he aptly denominates Humanity, he would not have failed to perceive that the attempt to measure the capacities and requirements of Society by the capacities and requirements of any individual or individuals, how catholic soever they may be, is but the repetition of the Procrustean principle on a broader basis, and that a reconstructive movement established on such a foundation could not meet the wants of this individualized epoch. That he should not have perceived that the capital and necessary precursor of any true Science of Society must be a Universal Science, a Science of Universal Laws underlying and unifying Physics and Metaphysics, is not strange, when we consider his peculiar mental characteristics. That he should ever have anticipated any permanent acceptance of his Sociological Theories, or regarded his Social Institutions as anything more than transitional forms, could only have been due to a lack of the highest Scientific powers, and to an earnest impatience at beholding Humanity crawling along the path of Progress by the aid of obsolete instrumentalities.

The work which Auguste Comte accomplished was immense. Its value can hardly be overestimated. Every modern Scientist and Thinker is largely indebted to him for that which is indispensable to high intellectual development and progress in thought. For the immense steps in Scientific advancement which he took; for his love of his Race; for his really religious spirit, exhibited in his utter devotion to that which he deemed the highest right; the love and sympathy of every student of Science and every devotee of truth is, and will be, forever his. That he failed in achieving a permanent Scientific basis of a sufficiently universal and unquestionable character—a real Universology, which should exhibit the essential verity of the religious intuitions of the past, and should establish their inherent and harmonious connection with the unfolding intellectual discoveries of the present—is true. But it should not be forgotten that every attempt, made in the right direction, which comes short of the final result, is but a stepping stone for the next effort, and, viewed as a single round in the great ladder of human ascension, a success—an element without which the final achievement would have been impossible. Without Comte there would have been no Buckle, whose work furnishes another of these steps. Every page of the 'History of Civilization' exhibits the indebtedness of the English Historian to the French Encyclopædist of the Sciences; while the 'Intellectual Development of Europe' bears evidence of a 'Positivist' inspiration to which Professor Draper might have more completely yielded with decided benefit. For the lift which the author of the Positive Philosophy and the founder of the Positive Religion has given the world, let us be deeply grateful; although we must reject, as a finality, a System of Science which cannot Demonstrate the correctness of its Principles and Phenomena, or a System of Religion which emasculates mankind of its diviner and more spiritual aspirations, and dwarfs him to the dimensions of a refined Materialism.

In classifying our existing Knowledge, then, on our present basis of Scientific acquisition, we must draw a distinct line between Mathematics, Astronomy, and Physics, on the one side, and all remaining departments of Thought, on the other, and set these three Sciences apart as the Exact or Infallible ones, occupying a rank superior to the others, by virtue of the Certainty and Exactitude with which we are able, through the operation of the true Deductive Method, to ascertain their Principles and Phenomena. We shall then be enabled—by the aid of Comte's principle that the domains of investigation take rank in proportion to the complexity of their Phenomena—to ascertain, after a very brief examination, the place which History holds in the Scale, and how much claim it can lay to a Scientific character.

Comte closes the Hierarchy of the Positive Sciences by adding to the three which we have denominated Exact Sciences, Chemistry, Biology, Sociology, and La Morale, in the order in which they are named, as indicated by the nature of the Phenomena with which they are concerned. If we adopt this arrangement, and annex to each of these general Sciences, as they are called in the language of Positivism, its derived or dependent branches, we shall have the following order: Chemistry; Geology; Biology, including Botany, Human and Comparative Anatomy, and Physiology; Zoology; Sociology; and La Morale. Although this enlarged scale is defective, many important departments, such as Ethnology, Philology, etc., being left out, it is sufficiently correct to show the complex nature of the Phenomena with which History must concern itself.

History—in its largest aspect, that in which we are now considering it—is the record of the progress of the Race in all its various modes of development. In it is therefore involved the examination and consideration of all the agencies, Material or Spiritual, which have operated on Mankind through past ages. Mathematical questions concerning Number, Form, and Force; Astronomical problems on the relation of our Earth to other Celestial bodies, and the effect thereof on Climate, Soil, and Modes of Life; Physical inquiries into the influence of Heat, Electricity, etc., on individuals and nations; Chemical investigations into the nature of different kinds of Food, and their relations to the animal economy, and hence to the career of Peoples; Geological researches to discover the origin of the human Race, and its position in the Animal Kingdom; questions of Physiology, of Social Life, of Ethnology, of Metaphysics, of Religion; every problem, in fine, which the world has been called to consider, forms a part of the record of its progress and comes within the scope of History. As the Descriptology, or verbal daguerreotyping of the Continuity of Society, and hence of the Dynamical aspect of Concrete Sociology, History stands, then, in a sense, at the head of the scale, omitting Theology, the true apex of the pyramid of Sciences, which pyramid Comte has decapitated of this very apex.

The problems which History is called to solve are therefore exceedingly intricate and perplexing. The Generalizations of Chemistry, conducted, as they must be, on our present basis of Knowledge, by the Inductive Method, are involved in a degree of uncertainty, not only on account of the complexity of their Phenomena, but also by reason of the absence of any method of ascertaining when all the elements of a right Generalization are obtained. In Geology, including Mineralogy, the complexity increases, and the possibility of precision and certainty decreases in the same ratio. This augmentation of complexity in the Phenomena and proportionate diminution of exactitude and certainty in respect to the Generalizations derived from them, continues at every successive degree of the scale; so that when we arrive at History, all hope of even proximate precision, and all expectation of anything like positive Knowledge, except in the broadest outline and generalization, by any application of the Inductive Method, has completely vanished.

The hopelessness of a Science of History prior to the discovery of a Unitary Law and the introduction of the Deductive Method into all domains of investigation, now becomes plainly apparent. Until the occurrence of that event we shall look in vain for a true Science of History. With the advent of such a discovery, it will be possible to carry the precision and infallibility of Mathematical Demonstration into all departments of Thought, and to subject the Phenomena of History to well-defined and indubitable Laws.

We must guard, however, against entertaining the supposition that a Unitary Science will bring all the Phenomena of the universe within the compass of Demonstrable apprehension. The province of Science is not infinite, but circumscribed. We are limited in the application of Mathematical Laws, even within the sphere of Pure Mathematics; general equations of the fifth degree having until recently resisted all attempts to solve them; and fields yet remain into which we cannot advance. The power of the human mind to analyze Phenomena ceases at some point, and there our ability to apply Scientific Principles, however indubitable in themselves, ends. It is the office of Exact Science to furnish us with a knowledge of the inherent Laws which everywhere pervade the Universe and govern continuously and unalterably its activities. To the extent to which it is possible to trace the constituent elements of Thought or Things we can have the guidance of these Laws or Principles. But when we reach that point in any department of investigation where the complexity of the Phenomena renders it impossible for the human intellect to successfully analyze it and discover its separate parts, the sphere of accurate Scientific Knowledge is transcended. The Intuition—the faculty which apprehends what we may call the spirit of Concrete things, which goes to conclusions by a rapid process that overleaps intermediate steps, which is our guide in the numerous decisions that we are called to make in our every-day life, and which perceives, in a somewhat vague and indefinite manner—becomes our only guide in this Realm of the Inexact.

The advent of a Unitary Science and the inauguration of a true Deductive Method in all domains of Thought, will, indeed, completely revolutionize our Scientific bases, and render precision and infallibility possible in domains where now only conjecture and probability exist. It will enable us to establish on a firm and secure foundation the Laws or Principles of every department of the Universe of Matter and of Mind, and to penetrate the Phenomena of all realms to an extent now scarcely imagined. It will furnish us the 'Criterion of Truth' so long sought after—a ground of intellectual agreement in all the concerns of life, so far as this is essential, similar to that which we now have in Mathematics, where difference of opinion is impossible because proof is of a nature to be alike convincing to all.

But, as in Mathematics a limit is reached, beyond which the finite character of our intelligence does not permit us to apply the Laws which we are well assured still prevail, so there is an outlying circle of practical activity which no Science can compass. The various tints of the autumn forest are probably the results of Mathematical arrangements of particles; but to how great an extent we shall be able to discover what precise arrangement produces a given shade of color, is doubtful. Some delicate varieties, at least, will always be beyond our definite apprehension. Whether we shall dine at one hour or another, whether we will wear gray or black, and innumerable other questions of specialty, do not come within the range of Scientific solution, and never can. So that when every domain of human concern is solidly established on a basis of Exact Science, there will still remain a field of indefinite extent, in which the Intuitive application of eternal Principles will furnish an unlimited activity for the Practical, Æsthetic, Imaginative, Idealistic, Artistic, and Religious faculties of Mankind.

The task which Mr. Buckle set himself to accomplish was, in a marked sense, original and peculiar. Although several systematic attempts had been made in Europe, prior to his time, to investigate the history of man according to those exhaustive methods which in other branches of Knowledge have proved successful, and by which alone empirical observations can be raised to scientific truths, the imperfect state of the Physical Sciences necessarily rendered the execution of such an undertaking extremely defective. It was not, indeed, until the vast mass of Facts which make up the body of the various Sciences had been included within appropriate formulæ, and until the elaborate Classification of Auguste Comte had separated that which was properly Knowledge from that which was not, with sufficient exactitude to answer the purposes of broad Generalization, and had established the relations of the different domains of intelligence, that such a work as the 'History of Civilization' was possible.

Previous Historians, with these few exceptions, had contented themselves with the narration of the Facts of national progress, the merely superficial exhibition of the external method of a people's life, and had almost wholly neglected or greatly subordinated the Philosophical or Scientific aspect of the subject, namely, the causes of the given development. Separate domains of History had, indeed, been examined with considerable ability; but hardly any attempt had been made to combine the various parts into a consistent whole, and ascertain in what way they were connected with each other. Still less had there been any notable effort to apply the whole body of our existing knowledge to the elucidation of the problem of human progress. While the necessity of generalization in all the other great realms of investigation had been freely conceded, and strenuous exertions had been made to rise from particular Facts to the discovery of the Laws by which those Facts are governed, Historians continued to pursue the stereotyped course of merely relating events, interspersed with such reflections as seemed interesting or instructive.

Up to the period when Mr. Buckle essayed his 'History of Civilization,' few, if any, of the well-known modern Historians had conceived that an acquaintance with all the departments of human intelligence was a necessary accomplishment in a writer on the past career of the world, and no one of them had undertaken to write history from that basis. 'Hence,' says the author whom we are considering, and who makes, in the first pages of his book, substantially the same statements concerning the condition of Historical literature which are made here—'hence the singular spectacle of one historian being ignorant of political economy; another knowing nothing of law; another, nothing of ecclesiastical affairs, and changes of opinion; another neglecting the philosophy of statistics, and another physical science; although these topics are the most essential of all, inasmuch as they comprise the principal circumstances by which the temper and character of mankind have been affected, and in which they are displayed. These important pursuits being, however, cultivated, some by one man, and some by another, have been isolated rather than united: the aid which might be derived from analogy and from mutual illustration has been lost; and no disposition has been shown to concentrate them upon history, of which they are, properly speaking, the necessary components.'

The work which Mr. Buckle contemplated was designed to supply this desideratum in respect to History. It was an endeavor to discover 'the Principles which govern the character and destiny of nations,' an effort 'to bring up this great department of inquiry to a level with other departments,' 'to accomplish for the history of man something equivalent, or at all events analogous to, what has been effected by other inquirers for the different branches of Natural Science,' and 'to elevate the study of history from its present crude and informal state,' and place 'it in its proper rank, as the head and chief of all the Sciences.'

At the outset of his undertaking, we have ample evidence that the capacious-minded Englishman had fixed upon no less a labor than 'to solve the great problem of affairs; to detect those hidden circumstances which determine the march and destiny of nations; and to find, in the events of the past, a key to the proceedings of the future, which is nothing less than to unite into a single science all the laws of the moral and physical world.' He was thus bent, doubtless with only a vague apprehension of the nature of the problem, on the discovery of that Unitary Law, whose apprehension is so anxiously awaited, which is to cement the various branches of our Knowledge into a Universal Science, and furnish an Exact basis for all our thinking.

The Method which Mr. Buckle employed in the prosecution of his magnificent design was the Inductive. He made 'a collection of historical and scientific facts,' drew from them such conclusions as he thought they suggested and authorized; and then applied the Generalizations thus obtained to the elucidation of the career of various countries. When we consider the nature of the work undertaken and the means by which it was to be achieved, we can hardly deny, that this attempt to create a Science of History was, in a distinguishing sense, the most gigantic intellectual effort which the world has ever been called to witness. The domain of investigation was almost new. The point of Observation entirely so. Vast masses of Facts encumbered it, aggregated in orderless heaps—orderless, at least, so far as his uses were subserved. Comte had, indeed, brought the different departments of inquiry into proximately definite relations in obedience to an abstract and Static Law; but while this labor was, in other respects, an essential preliminary to Mr. Buckle's undertaking, it was of little immediate value in an attempt to secure the direct solution of the most intricate and complex questions of Concrete dynamical Sociology, involving the unstable and shifting contingencies of individual activity. The whole of the intellectual accumulations of the centuries may be said to have been piled about the English Thinker, and he was to discover in and derive from them the unerring Law or Laws which should serve to explain, with at least something approaching precision and clearness, the kaleidoscopic phases of human existence.

Only one generally known effort in the realm of Thought bears any comparison to this, examined in reference to the vigor, breadth, and variety of the mental faculties which it called into requisition. Viewed in connection with the work of the founder of the Positive School, we may say, without any disparagement to the comprehensive abilities of the French Philosopher, that the task undertaken by the English Historian required a tenacity of intellectual grasp, a steadiness of mental vision, a scope of generalizing power, an all-embracing scholarship, a marvellous accumulation of Facts, and a wonderful readiness to handle them, which even the prodigious labors of the Positive Philosophy did not demand. Comte had, indeed, like Buckle, to arrange the Facts of the universe into order. But in his case they were only to be grouped under appropriate headings, and, as it were, quietly labeled.

With the author of 'Civilization in England' it was otherwise. In the actual careers of men and of nations, Facts do not stand related to each other and to human actions in the distinct and distinguishable way in which they appear when correlated, as by Comte, in accordance with general Laws. The domain of the concrete, or of practical life, has always a variable element which does not obtain in the sphere of generalizing Principles, and which immensely complicates the investigation of the problems of real existence. Comte purposely excluded the realm of the concrete from his studies, and therefore simplified, to a great extent, his field of labor. Yet even in his attempt to bring order into this curtailed department of inquiry, he professes, not merely his own inability to accomplish, but his conviction of the inherent impossibility of the accomplishment of that, for the abstract only, which Buckle really undertook for the concrete; namely, the reduction of the Phenomena of the Universe to a single Law; or, what is synonymous, the integration of all the laws of the moral and physical world into a single Science.

The character of his undertaking compelled Mr. Buckle, on the contrary, to stretch his mental antennæ into every department of mundane activity, to hold the Facts there discovered, so far as he might, collectively within his grasp, and to draw them by an irresistible strain into gradually decreasing circles of generalization, until they were brought to a Central Law, which should contain within itself the many-sided explanation of the intricate ramifications of individual and national careers. The difference in the work essayed by the two distinguished Thinkers whose labors we are considering, is somewhat analogous to that which exists between the profession of the apothecary and that of the physician. The former must know the range of Materia Medica, and the contents of the Pharmacopæia, so far as is necessary to arrange the various medicines in order, and deliver them when called for. The latter must hold the different remedies in his knowledge, not as classified upon the pharmaceutist's shelves, but as related to the various forms of constantly changing vital Phenomena, in the midst of which he is to detect their applicability to different forms of disease. Still more analogous is Comte to the student of Natural History, whose business it is, preëminently, to distribute and classify the Animal Kingdom, in accordance with Generalizations which relate mainly to the form or type of organization; while Buckle resembles the student of a higher rank, who endeavors, in the midst of the play of passion and the actual exhibitions of life itself, to read the nature of the mental and moral development which exists beneath them and controls their workings.

It is evident that, up to a period subsequent to the publication of his first volume, the writer of the 'History of Civilization' entertained the fullest confidence in the ability of the Inductive Method to cope with the ultimate problems of the Universe, and had high expectations of being able, through its instrumentality, to reduce the whole body of our Knowledge to a systematic whole, and to establish a Science of Sciences which should be a Criterion of Truth, and the crowning intellectual achievement of the ages. Whether Mr. Buckle fully comprehended the real nature of the Science toward which he was aiming; whether he entirely appreciated the radical and important change which its discovery would necessarily introduce into our Methods of Investigation;—whether he saw that it would be the inauguration of a true Deductive Mode of reasoning, which would enable us to advance with incredible rapidity and certainty into the arcana of those departments which he was then obliged to explore with the most tedious research, the most plodding patience, and the most destructive intellectual tension, in order to accumulate a limited array of Facts, is somewhat doubtful.

The significant sentence which occurs in the second volume of his work, closely following the announcement of his disappointment at being unable to achieve all that he had expected and promised, and which states that 'in a complete scheme of our knowledge, and when all our resources are fully developed and marshalled into order, as they must eventually be, the two methods [the Inductive and the Deductive] will be, not hostile, but supplementary, and will be combined into a single system,' seems to indicate that at some period prior to the publication of the second volume, and subsequent to the issue of the first, the insufficient nature of the Inductive Method as a Scientific guide broke upon him, and some conception of the nature of a Mode of Reasoning which should combine the two Processes in just relations, began to dawn into his mind. That he obtained anything more than a faint glimpse of the true Method, is not likely. Had he done so, he would certainly have made some statement of the great results which would follow its inauguration, even if he could have refrained from bestowing one of his glowing and enraptured paragraphs upon the fairest and most entrancing vision of future achievement which the devotee of intellectual investigation will ever witness.

It is probable, that in carrying on his investigations after the publication of the first volume of his work, finding it impossible to handle the accumulations of Facts necessary to his purpose, and discovering the inexactitude and insufficiency of his Generalizations in the ratio that the bounds of his field of inquiry enlarged, he was led to perceive the essential weakness and inadequacy of the Inductive Method, and the probable certainty that, at some future period, the progress of our Knowledge would lead to the establishment of positive bases for all departments of investigation, and thus furnish an opportunity for the harmonious and reciprocal activity of the two hitherto antagonistic Methods. That he had any definite idea of the precise nature of the bases on which this union would take place, that he perceived the exact character of the Science of Universology which it would create, or contemplated the subordination of the Inductive Process to the Deductive, there is no indication.

But whatever may have been Mr. Buckle's understanding or expectation in reference to the future, it is certain that between the publication of the first and second volumes of his History, the hope which he had formed and announced of being able to create a Science of History had vanished, and his efforts were confined to a less extensive programme. The pages in which this change of purpose is made known display, in touching outlines, tinged with a noble sadness, that the soul of the great Englishman was, in all the attributes of magnanimity, at least, a fitting mate for his intellect.

A storm of obloquy had assailed him at the outset of his labor. Beginning with the time when the first instalment of 'Civilization in England' was given to the public, passion, prejudice, and pride had strained their powers to vilify his character and heap abuse upon his name. The Press, the Pulpit, and the Lyceum, with rare and brave exceptions, met the formidable array of Facts with which the work bristled, by sciolistic criticisms, bigoted denunciations, or timid, faint praise. Conservatives in Politics and Religion exhibited him as a dangerous innovator, a social iconoclast, the would-be destroyer of all that was sacred in Institutions and in Religion. Theologians branded him as immoral and atheistic, and poured upon him a torrent of vituperation and hatred.

The only public reply which the English writer condescended to make, is contained in the closing pages of the fourth chapter of the last volume which he published. Every line of this answer, which is transcribed below, breathes the spirit of Him who, when he was reviled, reviled not again—the spirit of forbearance, of generous forgiveness, of magnanimity, of unruffled dignity. Buckle had learned, indeed, from his own investigations, that he who would elevate mankind must expect, not only its indifference to his labors, but its positive abuse. He knew, that the individual who, like Jesus, attempts to promulgate new truth, either moral or intellectual, must expect to array against himself the greatest portion of the human family, incrusted in their prejudices, their ignorance, their interests, or their feelings, and must be content with the appreciation and sympathy of the few who are wise enough to understand him, truthful enough to accept his doctrine, however unwholesome to their tastes, and brave enough to avow it. Perhaps he had also learned the fact, that, in the present state of humanity's development, few, very few, even of the best of mankind, love truth, chiefly because it is truth, and are hence eager to know their own shortcomings; but that those truths only are, for the most part, capable of being acceptably presented to individuals, which it is more satisfactory to their personal feelings, more comfortable to their own inherent peculiarities of disposition, to conform to than to reject. Be this as it may, the reply which he makes to the outrages showered upon him is evidently the language of a man whose thoughts are far removed from the arena of petty spite or private resentment, the expression of one who knew the grandeur and usefulness of his labors, who expected, in their prosecution, to be misunderstood and calumniated, and who, yet, was incapable of other than the most generous impulses of a noble philanthropy toward his maligners and traducers.

In the announcement of his inability to fulfil the great promises made in the former volume, we find, likewise, the indications of a nature full of lofty grandeur. He who has known the scholar's hopes, the student's struggles, and the author's ambition, may form some faint conception of what must have been the feelings of the great Historian when the conviction came to him, first faintly foreshadowed and then deepening to a reality, that the prize for which he had contended—and such a prize! which had seemed, too, at times, almost within his grasp—was destined forever to elude him. Frankly to acknowledge failure in such a struggle, was in itself great; to acknowledge it when the cries of his assailants were still ringing in his ears, and when it might have been measurably concealed, was still greater; to acknowledge it in words which betray no trace of disappointed personal ambition, but only a regret that the final avenue to truth should not have been opened, was heroic even to sublimity. The pages of Buckle's 'History of Civilization' which record the answer to his traducers and the acknowledgment of his disappointment in relation to what he should be able to achieve, will stand in the annals of literary history as a memorable instance in which is significantly exhibited one factor of that highest religious spirit so much needed in our day—devotion to the intellectual discovery of all truth for truth's sake.

The following is the passage in question:

'In the moral world, as in the physical world, nothing is anomalous; nothing is unnatural; nothing is strange. All is order, symmetry, and law. There are opposites, but there are no contradictions. In the character of a nation, inconsistency is impossible. Such, however, is still the backward condition of the human mind, and with so evil and jaundiced an eye do we approach the greatest problems, that not only common writers, but even men from whom better things might be hoped, are on this point involved in constant confusion. Perplexing themselves and their readers by speaking of inconsistency, as if it were a quality belonging to the subject which they investigate, instead of being, as it really is, a measure of their own ignorance. It is the business of the historian to remove this ignorance by showing that the movements of nations are perfectly regular, and that, like all other movements, they are solely determined by their antecedents. If he cannot do this, he is no historian. He may be an annalist, or a biographer, or a chronicler, but higher than that he cannot rise, unless he is imbued with that spirit of science which teaches, as an article of faith, the doctrine of uniform sequence; in other words, the doctrine that certain events having already happened, certain other events corresponding to them will also happen. To seize this idea with firmness, and to apply it on all occasions, without listening to any exceptions, is extremely difficult, but it must be done by whoever wishes to elevate the study of history from its present crude and informal state, and do what he may toward placing it in its proper rank, as the head and chief of all the sciences. Even then, he cannot perform his task unless his materials are ample, and derived from sources of unquestioned credibility. But if his facts are sufficiently numerous; if they are very diversified; if they have been collected from such various quarters that they can check and confront each other, so as to do away with all suspicion of their testimony being garbled; and if he who uses them possesses that faculty of generalization, without which nothing great can be achieved, he will hardly fail in bringing some part of his labors to a prosperous issue, provided he devotes all his strength to that one enterprise, postponing to it every other object of ambition, and sacrificing to it many interests which men hold dear. Some of the most pleasurable incentives to action, he must disregard. Not for him are those rewards which in other pursuits the same energy would have earned; not for him, the sweets of popular applause; not for him, the luxury of power; not for him, a share in the councils of his country; not for him a conspicuous and honored place before the public eye. Albeit, conscious of what he could do, he may not compete in the great contest; he cannot hope to win the prize; he cannot even enjoy the excitement of the struggle. To him the arena is closed. His recompense lies within himself, and he must learn to care little for the sympathy of his fellow creatures, or for such honors as they are able to bestow. So far from looking for these things, he should rather be prepared for that obloquy which always awaits those, who, by opening up new veins of thought, disturb the prejudices of their contemporaries. While ignorance, and worse than ignorance, is imputed to him, while his motives are misrepresented and his integrity impeached, while he is accused of denying the value of moral principles, and of attacking the foundation of all religion, as if he were some public enemy, who made it his business to corrupt society, and whose delight it was to see what evil he could do; while these charges are brought forward, and repeated from mouth to mouth, he must be capable of pursuing in silence the even tenor of his way, without swerving, without pausing, and without stepping from his path to notice the angry outcries which he cannot but hear, and which he is more than human if he does not long to rebuke. These are the qualities, and these the high resolves, indispensable to him who, on the most important of all subjects, believing that the old road is worn out and useless, seeks to strike out a new one for himself, and, in the effort, not only perhaps exhausts his strength, but is sure to incur the enmity of those who are bent on maintaining the ancient scheme unimpaired. To solve the great problem of affairs; to detect those hidden circumstances which determine the march and destiny of nations; and to find, in the events of the past, a key to the proceedings of the future, is nothing less than to unite into a single science all the laws of the moral and physical world. Whoever does this, will build up afresh the fabric of our knowledge, rearrange its various parts, and harmonize its apparent discrepancies. Perchance, the human mind is hardly ready for so vast an enterprise. At all events, he who undertakes it will meet with little sympathy, and will find few to help him. And let him toil as he may, the sun and noontide of his life shall pass by, the evening of his days shall overtake him, and he himself have to quit the scene, leaving that unfinished which he had vainly hoped to complete. He may lay the foundation; it will be for his successors to raise the edifice. Their hands will give the last touch; they will reap the glory; their names will be remembered when his is forgotten.

'It is, indeed, too true, that such a work requires, not only several minds, but also the successive experience of several generations. Once, I own, I thought otherwise. Once, when I first caught sight of the whole field of knowledge, and seemed, however dimly, to discern its various parts, and the relation they bore to each other, I was so entranced with its surpassing beauty, that the judgment was beguiled, and I deemed myself able, not only to cover the surface, but also to master the details. Little did I know how the horizon enlarges as well as recedes, and how vainly we grasp at the fleeting forms, which melt away and elude us in the distance. Of all that I had hoped to do, I now find but too surely how small a part I shall accomplish. In those early aspirations, there was much that was fanciful; perhaps there was much that was foolish. Perhaps, too, they contained a moral defect, and savored of an arrogance which belongs to a strength that refuses to recognize its own weakness. Still, even now that they are defeated and brought to nought, I cannot repent having indulged in them, but, on the contrary, I would willingly recall them if I could. For, such hopes belong to that joyous and sanguine period of life, when alone we are really happy; when the emotions are more active than the judgment; when experience has not yet hardened our nature; when the affections are not yet blighted and nipped to the core; and when the bitterness of disappointment not having yet been felt, difficulties are unheeded, obstacles are unseen, ambition is a pleasure instead of a pang, and the blood coursing swiftly through the veins, the pulse beats high, while the heart throbs at the prospect of the future. Those are glorious days; but they go from us, and nothing can compensate their absence. To me, they now seem more like the visions of a disordered fancy than the sober realities of things that were, and are not. It is painful to make this confession; but I owe it to the reader, because I would not have him to suppose that either in this or in the future volumes of my History I shall be able to redeem my pledge, and to perform all that I promised. Something I hope to achieve which will interest the thinkers of this age; and, something, perhaps, on which posterity may build. It will, however, only be a fragment of my original design.'

In estimating the extent to which Mr. Buckle succeeded in consummating the labor which he undertook, we are not, therefore, to measure his results by the standard of the first, but by that of the second volume. It is not, then, the Science of History which he is striving to write; but only something 'which will interest the thinkers of this age, and something, perhaps, on which posterity may build.' His task, as thus abridged, was confined to the endeavor to establish the 'four leading propositions, which, according to my [his] view, are to be deemed the basis of the history of civilization;' that is, the basis of a Science of History. These propositions, given in a previous article, may be here repeated:

'1st. That the progress of mankind depends on the success with which the laws of phenomena are investigated, and on the extent to which a knowledge of those laws is diffused. 2d. That before such investigation can begin, a spirit of scepticism must arise, which, at first aiding the investigation, is afterward aided by it. 3d. That the discoveries thus made, increase the influence of intellectual truths, and diminish, relatively, not absolutely, the influence of moral truths; moral truths being more stationary than intellectual truths, and receiving fewer additions. 4th. That the great enemy of this movement, and therefore the great enemy of civilization, is the protective spirit; by which I mean the notion that society cannot prosper unless the affairs of life are watched over and protected at nearly every turn by the state and the church; the state teaching men what to do, and the church teaching them what they are to believe.'

In the first paper of this series, which was devoted to the examination of the third proposition as announced by Mr. Buckle and substantially affirmed by Professor Draper, together with the consideration of the fundamental Law of Human Progress, the error into which both of these distinguished writers had fallen in regard to the relative influence of moral and intellectual truths, was pointed out; as also the misconception under which they rested concerning the Law of Human Development. This misconception, it was then shown, arose from an incorrect understanding of the essential character of the Law itself, and could be traced, basically, to the same source whence sprang their mistake in reference to the comparative power of moral and mental forces. It is to a misapprehension, analogous to that which brought him into error concerning these two important points, that the radical defect of Mr. Buckle's first and fourth propositions is to be traced, as will be hereafter exhibited.

The complete and exhaustive consideration of the second proposition demands a range of Metaphysical examination which cannot be entered upon at this time. For our present purposes it may be dismissed with the following remarks:

That before men begin the investigation of any subject deliberately, reflectively, and with a fixed and intelligent purpose of ascertaining the truth concerning it, there must arise some feeling of doubt in their minds in relation to the given subject or to some details of it, is certainly true, and needed no array of evidence to prove it; but that prior to such conscious and intentional effort at exploration, there exists an unconscious or automatic action in the mind, an instinctual and passive kind of thinking, a vague floating of ideas into the mental faculties, rather than an apprehension of them by an active and deliberate tension of the intellect, and that it is through this kind of intuitive investigation that the 'spirit of scepticism' primarily arises, is equally true; though not, perhaps, at the first blush, so apparent. In this sense, the statement of Mr. Buckle is simply one half of a truism, the other half of which, not enunciated by him, is equally correct.

Whether the spirit of scepticism—which then undoubtedly aids in the investigation—is afterward aided or fostered by it, depends upon the nature of the question investigated. If this be one which has hitherto been considered as established upon a basis that was in every respect right, and if errors are revealed in the process of the examination, then, indeed, the spirit of scepticism is strengthened. But if, on the contrary, the investigation be in reference to a range of thought which rests upon a basis that is, in all ways, sound—concerning Mathematical truths, for instance—then the sceptical spirit is not aided by it, but is, contrariwise, weakened.

In respect to the field of inquiry covered by the author of 'Civilization in England,' it was seen that numerous statements had been accepted as true in early times, which closer scrutiny at a later period showed to be erroneous. Hence there came to be a want of confidence in the general basis upon which knowledge rested; and, as continued research served to confirm the doubts previously existing, investigation did aid, in this great department of thought, covering indeed the entire history of the past, the spirit of scepticism. As a fact, therefore, in relation to this special sphere of inquiry, Mr. Buckle's statement is correct; as a universal Generalization derived from this Fact, it may or may not be true, according to the subject of examination to which it is applied.

This proposition is, therefore, like that in relation to the moral and intellectual elements—as previously shown—and like all Mr. Buckle's Generalizations—as will be hereafter shown—a half-truth, a correct statement of one side of a verity, good so far as it goes, but essentially false when put for the whole, as in the present instance, or when held so as to exclude the opposite half-truth.

It is this fact, that basic truth is everywhere made up of a union of opposites, each of which seems, at first sight, to exclude the other, which the Historian himself so forcibly expresses when he exclaims: 'In the moral world, as in the physical world, nothing is anomalous; nothing is unnatural; nothing is strange. All is order, symmetry, and law. There are opposites, but there are no contradictions.' Had he understood the full meaning of this statement of the inherently paradoxical nature of truth, and been able to give the Principle which it establishes a universal application in unfolding the various domains of human intelligence and activity, he would have grasped the Knowledge for which he vainly strove, would have discovered the veritable Science of the Sciences, the long-sought Criterion of Truth. In the absence of a right understanding of this complex fact, that fundamental truth has always two sides affirming directly opposite half-truths, he fell into the error of mistaking the moiety for the whole, and has left us a world in which, with all the aid that he has afforded us, we still fail to discern the 'order, symmetry, and law' which undoubtedly pervade all its parts—a world in which there is still exhibited, so far at least as governmental, religious, and social affairs are concerned, an 'anomalous, strange, and unnatural' aspect.

Such consideration as it is feasible to give the first of these historical propositions in these columns, was, for the most part, included in that portion of the examination of the positions of our two authors, which was contained in the opening paper of the series; though no special application of Principles there elaborated was made to this formula. It was there pointed out, that intellectual forces constitute only one of the factors in the sum of human progress, and that moral forces are equally as important, being the second—the opposite and complementary factor. In the light of that exposition, and of the brief consideration here given to the second Generalization, it is perceptible that the defect in this proposition consists, not in what it affirms, but in what it does not affirm. 'That the progress of mankind depends on the success with which the laws of phenomena are investigated, and on the extent to which a knowledge of those laws is diffused,' is a statement which is undeniably true. It does not, however, contain the whole truth in relation to the subject of investigation. It is just as correct to say that the progress of mankind depends on the success with which the moral or religious faculties—faculties which instigate devotion to our highest perception of right—are cultivated, and on the extent to which they are practically active. For it is not in the inculcation of intellectual truth alone, or preëminently, nor in the cultivation of moral strength alone, or predominantly, that the progress of mankind is secured; but in the developing vigor of both mental and moral forces, and in their mutual coöperation and assistance.

The proposition, as announced by Mr. Buckle, is, therefore, either a half-truth, which does not sufficiently explain the cause of 'the progress of mankind,' which the Historian avers that it unfolds, or it is actually false, accordingly as it is understood to state a verity which does not exclude the affirmative statement of an opposite and apparently antagonistic truth, or as it is interpreted to be the explanation of the whole or main cause upon which the advancement of society has depended. That the author of 'Civilization in England' regarded it in this latter light, is plainly apparent. His whole work is an elaborate attempt to establish the invalid theory, that human progress is due almost exclusively to the enlightenment of the intellect, and in a very minor degree only to the cultivation of the moral or religious nature. In a certain sense it is indeed true that all social elevation is the result of intellectual growth; but it is only in that absolute sense in which the Intellect is used for the totality of human faculties, and of course includes the moral faculty itself. In this sense, it is just as true to say that all progress is through the Moral Powers, using this term to include the whole of the human Mind, and consequently the intellectual forces. In either case, the question still remains, of the relative effect of the Intellectual and Moral powers upon the career of humanity, when considered as not including each other. It was in this relative point of view that Mr. Buckle entertained it.

With this cursory examination of the first and second propositions, their distinctive consideration will close. Some things, however, that will have to be enunciated in the investigation of the English Historian's Generalizations as a whole, are also necessary to a clear understanding of the merits and defects of each one taken singly. Additional light will also be thrown upon them in the course of our analysis of the fourth proposition, which practically touches more vital and important questions than are involved in the others. Contrary to previous announcement, want of space will prevent the examination of this Generalization and of Dr. Draper's work in the present paper.

After this article was put in type, the writer received a letter from a friend, a distinguished member of the Positive School, in which occurs the following sentence:

'I notice in your ... article on 'Buckle, Draper, and a Science of History,' one inaccuracy. You say: 'History, while it is the source whence the proof of his (Comte's) fundamental positions is drawn, finds no place in his scientific schedule.' In the positive Hierarchy of Science History is included: it constitutes the Dynamic Branch of Sociology. As in the Science of Life, Anatomy constitutes Biological Statics and Physiology Biological Dynamics, in Sociology we have Social Statics—the Theory of Order, Social Dynamics—the Theory of Progress = the Philosophy (Science) of History.'

The kindly criticism of the writer arises from that fruitful source of misunderstanding—a wrong apprehension of terms.

History, as it has been hitherto written, has been—First, a narration of the supposed facts of the past, without any especial attempt to investigate the proximate causes of national characteristics or mundane progression. Secondly, an account of the life and vicissitudes of states and communities, accompanied with an inquiry into the proximate causes of national peculiarities. These two Branches of Investigation have been included under the common appellation of History, when they related to a special portion of the globe; and of General or Universal History when, theoretically at least, the whole earth was under consideration. Thirdly, the examination of the past progress of the Race, with a view to the discovery of the fundamental Cause or Causes which control or direct the Evolutions of Time, or the Principles in accordance with which nations and civilizations have developed. This Department is denominated The Philosophy of History. From it are excluded all those investigations of an individual or national character which comprise History in the ordinary acceptation of the word.

Such a complete and exhaustive consideration of the Facts and Causes of Human Progress as would suffice for the construction of a Science of History, would necessarily include all the Branches of Inquiry above mentioned. While, therefore, History, as it has been used in these papers, and as it is especially exhibited in the present one, has had this comprehensive signification, the term is not applied by Comte to any of the Departments of which he treated; and a very different meaning, and one much more circumscribed, attaches to the qualified expression which he uses in its stead. The Dynamic Branch of Sociology does not appertain, even in his own estimation, to History proper, but to The Philosophy of History, which is the title by which he designates it. Strictly speaking, it does not appertain to that, in any broad sense. It is mainly an inquiry into the Theological, Political, and Social Principles of the Past and Future, and leaves unnoticed many questions of equal importance with those discussed, and which, in the constitution of a comprehensive Philosophy of History, would occupy an equally important place.

But leaving this point aside, it is sufficient to indicate the fact that Comte, in conformity with the plan upon which he proceeded in the investigation of other Departments of the Universe, eliminated from his Historical examination all concrete questions, everything relating primarily to individuals or nations, or to the causes of their peculiar development; on the same ground on which he set aside Botany, Zoology, Mineralogy, etc. In the beginning of his treatise on Social Dynamics, he says:

'We must avoid confounding the abstract research into the laws of social existence with the concrete history of human societies, the explanation of which can result only from a very advanced knowledge of the whole of these laws. Our employment of history in this inquiry, then, must be essentially abstract. It would, in fact, be history without the names of men, or even of nations, if it were not necessary to avoid all such puerile affectation as there would be in depriving ourselves of the use of names which may elucidate our exposition or consolidate our thought.... Geological considerations must enter into such concrete inquiry, and we have but little positive knowledge of geology; and the same is true of questions of climate, race, etc.'

And again he says, the inquiry is to be conducted 'stripped of all circumstances of climate, locality, etc.'

It will be sufficiently evident from this brief statement, that The Philosophy of History (not History, as the letter says) which constitutes the Dynamic Branch of Sociology in the Positive System is, in Comte's own intention and showing, a series of bald abstractions from which the substantial or concrete elements of individual and national activity, the proximate causes of Human Progress, are dropped out; and that History in the ordinary sense of that term, or in the broader sense in which it has been used in these papers, as referring to a possible Science, finds no place in his Scientific Schedule.

The error into which our critic has fallen, in this case, undoubtedly resulted in part from the unfortunate confounding of the words Philosophy and Science, which pervades the Positive System. Philosophy and Science are not, in any proper use of the terms, synonymes. They relate—as it is designed at some future time to show—to equally true and important, though opposite aspects of the Universe, considered either as a whole or in relation to its parts. Comte, as has been heretofore exhibited, degraded Science from its Exact and Certain position, in order to include Domains of Inquiry which did not have and to which he could not furnish a truly scientific basis. In like manner, after discarding a false Philosophy, unable to institute a true, or at least a sufficiently comprehensive one, on the foundation which he had reared, he gave the name of Positive Philosophy to his incongruous coordination of Scientific and Unscientific Departments of Thought. The terms Science and Philosophy, thus wrenched from their legitimate uses, are therefore loosely understood and indiscriminately applied by the students of his System and the followers of his social theories, in ways which are productive of numerous misunderstandings, though not perhaps of unprofitable criticisms.

In a subsequent letter, the same gentleman calls attention to another supposed error—the omission of La Morale from the Positive Hierarchy of Sciences—and adds:

'Although this final Science was in a manner involved in Sociology as treated in the Philosophy, its normal separation was yet a step of Capital Importance; sufficiently so to make the enumeration of Comte's Theoretical Hierarchy without it equivalent to a misrepresentation.'

For the purposes of the article in question—the exhibition of the incongruous, and hence really unscientific character of the Hierarchy—the Positive Scale was given in the paper alluded to, as stated by Comte himself in the 'Positive Philosophy'—a work which is accepted as valid, both by the followers of his theories in regard to Science, and the adopters of his Social Scheme—there being no occasion, at that time, to indicate the subsequent elevation into a separate Science, of what there formed a subdivision of Sociology. The after enumeration of La Morale as a separate Science, in a work which is not regarded as valid by many of the disciples of the Positive Philosophy, is, however, exhibited in the present writing, where a more minute enumeration of the Branches of Inquiry included in the Positive Hierarchy rendered it desirable.

DIARY OF FRANCES KRASINSKA;

OR, LIFE IN POLAND DURING THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY.

Sunday, December 30th, 1760.

I have finally decided upon going to Maleszow; I may perhaps feel more at ease there than here. Barbara would accompany me, but the state of her health will prevent her; her husband says it would be very imprudent for her to travel. I have finally received a letter from the prince royal; he is in despair at my departure. He is exceedingly irritated against the princess, and fears lest Brühl should disclose all he knows to the king.

I must leave here as soon as possible. The happiness surrounding me is a real torment. This sweet and quiet joy of a husband and wife who love each other so tenderly, pierces my heart. This well-arranged household, this family union, and all the delicate attentions of the Starost Swidzinski, who adores my sister—all these blessings, which I must covet, and yet of which I am not jealous, increase the bitterness of my suffering.

My sister is predestined to every possible felicity. Her little girl is the most charming child anywhere to be found; her father fondles and caresses her, and my parents are always writing to my sister, because they feel so much solicitude for her and her little one. Happy Barbara! Life is one long festival for her. Ah! may God take her happiness into his own keeping, and may this reflection console me under my own weight of sorrow!

I shall perhaps feel more tranquil when I have seen my dear parents; their pardon will be as a Christian absolution for me. I will again live and hope when protected by their tenderness. I will begin the new year with them; it may perhaps be the dawn of my happiness! I was formerly so happy at Maleszow....

Castle of Maleszow, January 5th, 1761.

I have been here several days, but I think I will soon return to Sulgostow. I suffer everywhere, and it always seems to me that I will be most happy in whatever place I am not. My lot is brilliant in imagination, but miserable in reality. And yet, my parents have received me well, and have treated me with the greatest kindness. But a matter of comparatively slight importance is one of the causes of my uneasiness here: I have no money; I cannot make the slightest present to my sisters, and can give nothing to the people of the castle.

When I was with the princess, she provided for all my wants, and gave me besides a small sum every month; I could save nothing, nor indeed could I anticipate any cause for doing so. I now find myself in the most complete state of destitution, and would rather die than ask for money from my husband or my parents, who of course think that I am abundantly provided for. When Barbara returned from the school of the Holy Sacrament, she doubtless had much less money than I spent during my sojourn in Warsaw, and yet she made a small gift to every one. She was not, as I, bowed down beneath the weight of melancholy thoughts; her spirit was free and her heart was joyous. She could think of others, and offer the labor of her own hands when more costly presents were wanting.... But I, unquiet, agitated, passing alternately from the most actual and positive grief to fears still more terrible, cannot apply myself a single moment.

Formerly, when I was happy through hope, and when all life seemed to me one brilliant illusion, I fancied that when I should return to Maleszow after my marriage, I would be followed by as long a train as a queen; I forgot no one in my dreams; all had their share in my royal favors.... Ah! what a fearful contrast between my desires and the reality!

I have not passed a single day since I came here without shedding tears. When I first saw my parents I wished to throw myself at their feet; but my father prevented me, and, treating me as if I were a stranger, made me a profound bow. Whenever I enter the saloon, he rises and will not sit near me; the homage he considers due to my dignity as princess royal overpowers his paternal tenderness.

This formal etiquette causes me inconceivable torment! Ah! if honors are to cost me so dear, I would a thousand times prefer to be only a simple noble.

The first dinner I ate with the family was ceremonious and cold. My mother was uneasy and ready to apologize for offering me the ordinary fare of the castle, and my father whispered in my ear:

'I might have offered you a bottle of wine, drawn from the tun of Miss Frances; it would have been very pleasant for me to have drunk it at our first dinner, but custom requires that the father should drink the first glass, and the husband the second; otherwise it would be a bad omen.... Will that day ever come?' he added, sighing.

I could not restrain my tears, and could neither speak nor eat; my mother looked at me with the most tender compassion. Every moment here brings me some new sorrow, and the bonmots of our little Matthias have lost all power to divert me. My father makes signs to him with his eyes that he may invent something witty, but it is all lost upon me. Music to a suffering body is but an importunate noise; and sallies of wit to a despairing soul have lost their savor.

Our little Matthias is inconceivably acute; he divines all. He knows my position, I am quite sure. He took advantage yesterday of a moment when I was quite alone to come into my room, and with an air half sad, half jesting, he knelt down before me and drew from his pocket a little bouquet of dried flowers tied with a white ribbon and fastened by a gold pin.... I could not at first tell what he meant, but soon the bouquet I had worn at Barbara's wedding flashed across my memory. He gave me the flowers, saying: 'I am sometimes a prophet,' and, still on his knees, went toward the door. I ran after him; I remembered all, and with the remembrance came a crowd of feelings, at once sweet and bitter. This bouquet was the same I had given Matthias on Barbara's wedding day....

I took a rich diamond pin from my dress, and fastened it at the buttonhole of Matthias's coat. Neither he nor I spoke a single word, but I am sure that while each wondered inwardly at the strange fulfilment of the prophecy, each was still more surprised that it had realized none of our hopes.

Just as I was writing these lines, my mother entered my room. Her kindness is incomparable; she brought me such a quantity of stuffs, of jewels and blondes, that she could scarcely carry them. She laid them on my bed, and said:

'I give you a portion of the trousseau destined to my daughters; I should have added many other articles, but I was afraid they were not handsome enough, and yet I have given you the best I had. I have spoken to my husband, and he has determined to sell two villages to make a trousseau worthy of so illustrious a union. That will come when the secret is unveiled.'

I burst into tears, and would have thrown myself at her feet, but she prevented me, and asked me a thousand pardons for presenting me with things of so little value.

Oh, yes! I must certainly leave here day after to-morrow. I suffer beyond expression. My younger sisters, madame, the courtiers, and even the old servants exclaim over the change which has come upon me, and ask one another why I am not yet married, and why no one seems to think of having me married.

The three girls whom I was to take into my service came to see me; doubtless, to remind me of my promise. Our old Hyacinth himself brought his daughter to me. Every one I see causes me some new sorrow or vexation. Ah! how astonished they would be if they knew of my marriage! And these poor people who relied upon my protection, I cannot take them into my service, because I have married a prince, the son of a king!

Sulgostow, Wednesday, January 9th.

I am again with my sister. On my arrival, I found no letter from the prince royal. He may be ill! Or, perhaps, the king has been informed of our marriage, and has placed him under strict surveillance. If the prince palatine were in Warsaw, he would surely have written to me; I can rely upon his devotion. As for Prince Martin, I thank him for his light-headedness, and am very glad that he forgets me.

My parents' parting farewell did me much more good than their reception; at that moment, I again found all their former tenderness.

Before I left, I went to Lissow, and visited the curate in his presbytery. When I came, he was planting cypress trees in his garden, and he promised me to plant one in memory of me in the cemetery. I will leave behind me this melancholy remembrancer. His words to me were very kind and consoling. As I left him, I experienced a moment of real calm and resignation.

Tuesday, January 15th.

During the last few days I have been forced to struggle against new persecutions. Just as we were about sitting down to table, the sound of the trumpet announced the arrival of a stranger, and soon after, the double door of the dining hall was thrown open, and M. Borch, the king's minister, was announced.

I at once divined the motive of this visit, and my heart throbbed as if it would burst. M. Borch, like a real diplomatist, tried to give his visit the appearance of a simple courtesy. Remembering the gracious reception offered him at Barbara's wedding, he came, he said, to offer his homage to her ladyship the Starostine Swidzinska, and renew his acquaintance with the starost. During dinner, many compliments were exchanged; but as soon as the dessert was over and the court had retired, he invited me to go with him into the starost's private cabinet, and said to me:

'Brühl and I know your secret, madame, and I can assure you we have been exceedingly diverted; for you may well believe that we regard this marriage as a mere jest, a real child's play: the benediction given by a priest not belonging to the parish, and without the knowledge of the parents, can never be valid. This marriage then will soon be broken, and with very little trouble, I can assure you.'

These words fell upon me like a thunderbolt, and without a superhuman courage and the aid of Heaven, I should have been crushed at once; but I felt that the fate of my whole life might depend upon that moment. Borch's character was well known to me; I knew him to be as cowardly as base, and also that strength of will is all powerful with such men, who are only bold with the weak. I replied:

'Sir, your cunning lacks skill; your diplomacy and that of Minister Brühl, come to nought through the simple good sense of a woman. Your world, which judges me and deems me devoid of courage and reason, only excites my pity; I am ready for a struggle with you and with Brühl. My marriage is valid; it has been blessed by the consent of my parents; I hold my powers from God, and will be able to defend them. The bishop was aware of this marriage on which you are pleased to throw the anathema of your irony; the curate of my own parish gave us the benediction, and two witnesses assisted us during the holy ceremony. I know that divorce is possible, but only through the common consent of both parties, and the prince royal, my husband, and myself, will never consent to it.'

Borch's astonishment may easily be imagined, and even I could not have believed myself capable of so much energy. Borch expected to find a child whom he could dazzle with a few promises; he thought he could easily bring me to a renunciation of my rights, and that I would readily consent to sign the instrument of my own shame and sorrow: he found me most determined. He remained here two days, and again renewed his attempts, but, finding that I persisted in my refusal, he departed, having however previously asked me if I would consent to a divorce in case the prince royal should deem it necessary.

'Yes,' I replied, 'but you must first show me a writing to that effect, signed by the prince himself.'

I feared lest this occurrence should be the cause of a new sorrow: Barbara's situation requires so much care, and she feels my troubles so deeply! I was really alarmed lest her health should suffer, but, thank God! she feels quite well. Dear Barbara is another me; alas! all who love me must accept the chalice of misery! The starost was quite uneasy concerning his wife; they are so happy together, so tenderly united!... And I, what a sad destiny is mine! I have obtained neither repose, nor happiness, nor those objects of ambition which I would have consented to receive from the hand of love.

Here ends the Diary of Frances Krasinska. Her thoughts were too sad, her memories too bitter, to bear being transferred to paper. When sorrow in all its bitterness has seized upon the soul, we can no longer see or hear without a shudder certain words which formerly excited reveries more or less sweet and seductive within our souls. Frances lost all her illusions, one by one; she was strong enough to bear up against injustice, but she was powerless against her husband's indifference.

My readers may perhaps have accused her of ambition; and yet she loved him; but love is not always absolute devotion and self-abnegation; love is not always a virtue; it is often the result of egotism; it is, as Madame de Staël says, one personality in two persons, or a mere double personality. Frances loved the prince royal, but not the less had she been dazzled by his rank.

She remained a long time at Sulgostow after Borch's departure. Barbara Swidzinska, already the mother of one daughter, bore also a son, and another daughter, who was named Frances. The tenderness, care, and attention which Frances experienced in her own family could not console her for the prince royal's desertion. Her sister was the only being in the world to whom she confided her grief; women have a delicate sensibility which enables them to comprehend the minutest details; nothing escapes them, and, with the finest instruments in their possession, they can more readily deal with a crushed heart. If love had left Frances a single hope, she might still have found happiness in friendship.

Nowhere at rest, she sometimes left Sulgostow for the convent of the Holy Sacrament in Warsaw; but solitude could not restore her peace, and her prayers were one cry of despair sent up to God to implore death.

The genius of sorrow is the most prolific of all spirits, it seems as if human nature were infinite in nothing but in the power to suffer. There was still another grief in store for Frances, another wound for her afflicted soul; she lost her parents, lost them before they had bestowed the name of son upon their daughter's husband. At this time she went to the Franciscan convent in Cracow, whither Barbara sent her her young daughter Angelica, to endeavor to bind her to earth through the influence of this innocent and youthful affection.

She lived also at Cznestochowa or at Opole, and everywhere received orders not to disclose her marriage. At long intervals of time, the prince royal came to see her, and thus accomplished an external duty of conscience: total desertion and forgetfulness would perhaps have been preferable.

The prophecy made by the little Matthias was finally verified: the ducal crown and the throne of Poland both slipped from Prince Charles's grasp; Biren was named Duke of Courland, and, when Augustus III. died (at Dresden, October 5th, 1763), he was succeeded by Stanislaus Augustus Poniatowski.

To quiet the uneasiness and the melancholy suspicions of Frances, the prince royal declared to her that through regard for his father's advanced age he must continue to conceal his marriage. But many years passed after the king's death without bringing any amelioration or change in the position of Frances; the prince and the royal family lived in Dresden, while the prince's wife was constrained to hide her real name in obscurity.

The Lubomirski family did all in their power to obtain a recognition of Frances's rights; they even appealed to the Empress Maria Theresa. Prince Charles finally yielded; he wrote a most tender letter to his wife, begging her to come to him in Dresden; this letter found her at Opole, and the Lubomirski advised her to await another advance from the prince before she consented to go to Dresden, which she did.

Prince Charles, like all men who are impassioned through their fancies and cold at heart, was irritated at Frances's hesitation, and wrote her another letter still more pressing and affectionate; she resisted no longer, as one may well believe; but she found neither happiness nor the rank she was entitled to occupy, or rather, the honor due to her rank. Unprovided with a revenue suited to her position, she led a life of privation, almost of want. The Empress Maria Theresa, touched with compassion at her melancholy fate, conferred upon her the county of Lanckorona, near Cracow. This possession, coming from a strange hand, could not satisfy her ambition, and her heart must long before have renounced every hope of happiness.

She maintained a constant correspondence with her sister and the other members of her family in Poland.

We will here give the letter which she wrote to her sister before her departure for Dresden, translating it scrupulously from the Polish, and underlining [italicizing] the portions originally written in French:

I shall not see you again, as I can no longer delay, my husband having fixed the very day for my arrival in Dresden. In his second letter, he impresses on me not to be later than the fifth of January. I must then say farewell, and rest assured that I return with my whole soul the affection you feel for me; always, and in whatever place I may be, you will be the dearest to me, and the tokens of your remembrance, the most satisfactory to my heart.

Write to me often, I beg you, and rely upon my punctuality in replying.

I am going where I hope to find a little repose.... Alas! I no longer expect happiness, for the elector will not concede me my rank as princess royal, nor recognize me as the wife of the prince. He desires, that is to say, he commands me to preserve my incognito, while in his estates. The prince royal is truly grieved, and of all my sorrows the most bitter is that of my husband; his health is visibly failing.

I will write you a faithful account of all that happens to me; you shall know how I am received and the progress of all my affairs. If they will be willing to decree us an augmented allowance, I will beg my husband to permit me to leave Dresden and settle in some foreign country contiguous to Saxony, that I may readily hold communication with him. Do not mention my project to any one, for if it were known in Saxony, my whole enterprise would be ruined. Adieu, most tenderly loved sister. Do not forget me. Farewell, the multiplicity of my occupations will not permit me to write at greater length. Apropos, I beg you to go now and see the princess palatiness; you will find her with the Bishop of Kamieniec, and Kulagowski; she will be very grateful for this attention from you; it must be agreeable to her; you will brighten a little the gravity of this trio. Adieu, I embrace you with all my heart, and am, as ever, your most affectionate and attached sister,

Frances.

A thousand tender and friendly messages to your husband; I conjure him always to retain a place for me in his memory.

In 1776 the Polish diet assigned large pensions to all the heirs of Augustus III.; the half of that bestowed upon Prince Charles was revertible during her lifetime to his wife, the princess royal, Frances Krasinska.

During her sojourn in Dresden, she gave birth to a daughter, the Princess Mary; she educated her with the greatest care, but was soon forced to leave her; her many sorrows developed an insidious malady, which finally proved fatal. She died on the 30th of April, 1796, aged fifty-three.

Madame Moszynska, who had shown herself a friend to Frances in her prosperity, and, what is still more rare, also in adversity, was grievously afflicted by her death. It was she who announced it to Madame Angelica Szymanowska, born Swidzinska, whom Frances had held at the baptismal font with the prince royal in the cathedral church at Warsaw, in 1760.

Dresden, June 8th, 1796.

I comply with your request, madame, but with extreme grief; the loss you have sustained is a most cruel one to me; indeed it is the deepest affliction I have ever known. The princess royal's malady began about two years ago. She then felt pains in her breast; some physicians said her disease was cancer, while others assured her it was tumor.

An incision was then made, and she was better during some time. But the disease soon made the most fearful progress. The inflammation appeared upon the outside, and she felt the most acute pains in her breast and throughout the whole length of her arm. She patiently endured the most excruciating torments. Having tried various modes of treatment without experiencing any relief, she finally consented to make trial of a new cure. During twelve weeks she saw no one except the members of her own household and the physicians, who sometimes said she was better and sometimes that she was worse; finally, however, fever set in, accompanied by all the signs of consumption.

Perfectly aware of her condition, she prepared for death with resignation and devotion; she died during the night of the 30th of April. Her breast had burst open several weeks before. An examination was made after her death, and many causes for her last illness were discovered; but I cannot dwell upon these details.... In my opinion, and I followed the whole course of her malady, her chest was seriously affected in addition to the cancer.

We have experienced an irreparable loss; I can scarcely endure life since our misfortune, and will never be able to think of the princess royal without the most bitter regret. I have not yet seen her husband; some say that he is ill, and cannot long survive his wife, but others speak of him as quite well: I know not whom to believe.

THE

CONTINENTAL MONTHLY:

DEVOTED TO

Literature and National Policy.

VOL. V.

FEBRUARY, 1864—No. II.

CONTENTS

THOMAS JEFFERSON, AS SEEN BY THE LIGHT OF 1863.