The Sun.
London, England, 1834-09-26 00:00:00

LITERATURE.

FRANCE, SOCIAL, ARY, POLITICAL.
By 11. L. BLITERuLIVER, Esq., 111. P.
Two vols. Bvo. Bentley, London, 1834.
This work is highly valuable, not only from the
facts it presents, laboriously collected from a multitude
of sources, but as tending to excite a spirit of enquiry

a\nd reflection. Many of the author's views may, no
doubt, be erroneous ; but even such errors are not with-
out their use, since they awaken the attention to sub-
jects, which, but for these volumes, we are persuaded
would have found little notice amongst the majority of
English readers. When, for instance, he asserts that
knowledge does not prevent crime, basing his po-
sition on tables illustrative of the relative quan-
tity of crime and knowledge in the different French
provinces, he may be right or he may be wrong ; but,
right or wrong, his assumption and his statistics can-
not fail to supply food for thought and to awake re-
flection. Nor is this the least of his merits ;he has
sugared over the bitter apple of knowledge, and many
who would have turned away from the tables of Dupin
or Chabrol as something too dry for their sickly appe-
tites, will sit down to these volumes as to a desert of
sweetmeats. His acutest observations are delivered in
a gay and familiar tone, as if he feared to seem too
profound ; and he is wise in this forbearance, for such
is the spirit of the age, at least as it appears in Eng-
land ; science herself has learnt to tame. down her
wrinkles, and, instead of wearing a crabbed face to re-
pel the light and frivolous, she is now all smiles and
blandishments to invite them, and, sometimes even going
a step too far, paints and patches, and imitates the
mincing gait of that tawdry syren, Romance, thus losing
in character what she gains in admiration.
The subject of this work may be briefly described
as " characteristics" of the French people, founded on
the author's personal observation, and upon the tables
of the most eminent native statists, both excellent
grounds, on which to base a system ; yet, as we shall
hereafter see, both occasionally liable to error. The
introduction to la belle France—how worthy of the
epithet—and the comparison of the entrance by the
Thames into London, form a splendid and fitting pro-
logue to the scenes that are to follow
It is by the Thames that the stranger should enter Lon-
don * * the broad breast of the great river, black with
the huge masses that float upon its crowded waters—the tall
fabrics, gaunt and drear that line its melancholy shores—the
thick gloom through which you dimly catch the shadowy out-
line of these gigantic forms—the marvellous quiet with which
you glide by the dark phantoms of her power into the mart of
nations—the sadness, the silence, the vastness, the obscurity of
all things around—prepare you for a grave and solemn magni-
ficence : full upon your soul is shadowed the sombre character
of " the golden city ;" deep into your thoughts is breathed
the genius of the great and gloomy people, whose gloom and
whose greatness are, perchance, alike owing to the restless
workings of a stern imagination. Behold St. Katherine's
Docks, and Walker's Soap Manufactory 1 and " Hardy's
Shades !" Lo ! there is the strength, the industry, and the
pleasure—the pleasure of the enterprising, the money-making,
the dark-spirited people of England. " Hardy's Shades !"
singular appellation for the spot dedicated to festivity
* * • * Such is the entrance into London by the

Thames.
" Let us change the scene, reader !—you are at Paris !
" To enter Paris with advantage you should enter it by the
Champs Elysees : visiting for the first time the capital of a
military nation, you should pass under the arch, built to com-
memorate its reign of victories. Coming to dwell among the
most gay and light-hearted people in the universe, you ought
at once to rush upon them in the midst of their festivities.
Enter Paris, then, by the Champs Elysees ! Here are the
monuments that speak to you of the great soldiers ; and here
the guinguettes ' that display to you the great dancers of
Europe. You pass by the old gardens of Beaujon ; you find
the caserne ' (and this tells you a good deal of the nation you
are come to visit) intermingled with cafes' and salons lit-
teraires ;' and you see the chairs under the trees, and the open
spaces left for the ball ; and if you stop to read an advertise-
ment, it will talk of the Chevaux mecaniques,' and of the
Bal pare' and of the Concert des Champs Elysees,'—and
the sun shines upon the golden cupola of the stately Invalides,
and on the glittering accoutrements of the sauntering soldier ;
and before you are the Tuileries, with their trees and terraces,
which yonder misplaced monument * cannot quite conceal ;
and to your right are the Seine and the Chamber of Deputies,
and to your left the Corinthian architecture of those tall pa-
laces that form the Rue de Rivoli. The tri-coloured flag
floats from the gates of the Royal Garden ; the military uni-
form, mixed up with the colouring of every passing group, en-
riches it with its deep-blue and its bright scarlet ; the movement
about you is universal ; equigages of all kinds are passing in
all directions ; the movement is universal, but differing from
that you are accustomed to in England,—the movement is the
movement of idleness and of pleasure ; an indescribable mirth
reigns in all you see, and the busy gaiety of Paris bursts upon
you with the same effect as the glad brightness of Italy. The
people, too, have all the habits of a people of the sun ; they
are not the people of one stock ; collected in every crowd are
the features and the feelings of divers races and different re-
gions. In Paris you are not in the climate of Paris—France
is brought into a focus, and concentrated in the capital you
find all the varieties that vivify the many provinces of the king-
dom. It is this which gives a city of, the North the gracious
and agreeable aspect of the South, and transports the manners
that are legitimate to the olives and the myrtles of Provence to
the elms of the Champs Elysees and the Boulevards. London is
the city of the English, as Constantinople is the city of the
Turks.—Paris is the city of Europe ; it unites more than any city
in the world the wants of a variety of classes, the habits of a
variety of people. With the snow you have the sledge of St.
Petersburgh ; with the summer the music, the nightly pro-
menade, the ice, the lemonade, and all—but the sea and the

sky of Naples.
"I am now at the corner of the Rue de la Paix. It is a
beautiful autumnal evening. What a dazzling confusion of
colours and images ! white houses, green trees, and glittering
lights 1 The rattling equipage rushes by me, the whispering
saunterer lounges before me, and the groupe is seated round the
cafe;' and the music is far enough away to lose all harshness
—and in the back-ground—behold ! the piles of buildings, and
the lines of lamps, rising one above the other, and broken at
intervals by some dark mass of verdure It is almost impo's-
Qible to describe this scene, and as impossible to gaze upon it
—without inhaling some portion of the spirit it breathes, with-
out feeling a character more soft and southern—a ray of light
that had not penetrated there before, stealing into the severe
and sombre recesses of one's northern imagination. Here it is
more especially that the Boulevards justify the old French
proverb, which says,—' When le bon Dieu is out of humour,
lie opens one of the window's of heaven and recovers his spirits
by a glimpse of this long line of trees.' There is certainly
nothing that I know of like the Boulevards, in any other city
in the world."

It has been a fashion in this country to consider
France as being infinitely more vicious than under the
old regime, and to attribute this encrease of vice to
the revolution. This idea, however, is by no means

borne out by facts on a comparison of the past with
the present. By a calculation of Mirabeau's, it
appears that before the Revolution there were forty
thousand prostitutes, while now there are six thousand,
and fifteen thousand maisons de jeu, while now there
are only eight ; so that if any inference at all could be
drawn from such data, it would be in favour of the

Such a conclusion

increasing morality of Paris.
would not be unreasonable on other accounts ; corrup-
tion is the result of excessive wealth and of its natura
consequence, the want of occupation ; but the Revo•
lution broke up the large landed estates, and scatterer
the national riches amongst the people ; it augmented
the numbers of the middling class, not only by pulling
down the aristocracy, but by raising up a multitude of
the lower orders, fusing the whole into one mass, not
sufficiently rich to dispense with industry, nor so poor
as to be tempted by necessity into crime. Amongst
many other pregnant proofs to this fact, we may quote
the admirable observation of Mr. Bulwer, that " wealth
has lost its antient and aristocratic splendour ; but, in
becoming more citizen-like in its air, it has become
more complete and finished in its details. The diffu-
sion of knowledge, the division of fortunes, have des-
cended and spread tastes, formerly more exaggerated
and more confined. The few have lost a habit of ex-
travagance, the many have gained a habit of expense."
It must, however, be confessed, that, if there be not more
vice in France than in this country, there is at least mote
legitimatized vice, more of that which we are not
ashamed to practice but are ashamed to own, while in
Paris it has lost the name of immorality. There the
wife entertains her lover without any offence to the
national decorum, and left-handed marriages are not
only tolerated, but the parties lose no caste by the con-
tracting of them. Mr. Bulwer has treated this ticklish

* Egyptian column.

TEE SUN, LONDON, FRIDAY, SEPTENIRYO

--------- _
subject with s nen a happy delicacy of phrase, that we
cannot do better than again refer to his pages for an
account and explanation of it :
" In a country where fortunes are small, marriages, thop-•
far more frequent than with us, have still their limits, sand
only
take take place between persons who can together make up a suffi-
cient income. A vast variety of single ladies, therefore, with-
out fortune, still remain, who are usually guilty of the indis-
cretion of a lover, even though they have no husband to
deceive. Many of these cannot be called s—mp--s in our
sense of things, and are honest women in their own. They
take unto themselves an affection, to which they remain tole..
rably faithful, as long as it is understood that the liaison
continues. The quiet young banker, the quiet young
stockbroker, the quiet young lawyer, live until they are
rich enough to marry in some connexion of this descrip-
tion. Sanctioned by custom, these left-handed marriages
are to be found with a certain respectability appertaining
to them in all walks of life. The working classes have their
somewhat famous 4 mariages de St. Jacques,' which among
themselves are highly respectable. The working man, and
the lady who takes in washing, or who makes linen, find it
cheaper and more comfortable (for the French have their idea
of comfort) to take a room together. They take a room, put
in their joint furniture ; (one bed answers for both;) the lady
cooks ; a common menage and a common purse are esta-
blished, and the couple's affection usually endures at least as
long as their lease. People so living, though the one calls
himself Mr. Thomas, and the other Mademoiselle Clare, are
married d la St. Jacques, and their union is considered in
every way reputable by their friends and neighbours during
the time of its continuance."

Singular as this account must sound to English ears,
it is equalled, if not surpassed, by Parisian morality in
the times before the revolution, but it is not requisite
to rake up the filthy mass for proofs of that which we
suspect is too well-known to everybody.
According to our author, the vanity of the French
both was and is on a par with their licentiousness, for
we can give no other name to the habits just described.
This, we take it, is one of those vulgar errors which
will at times make their way into the acutest minds.
With all his pride, the Englishman is just as vain, and
the German, if that be possible, is ten times more so
than his Gallic neighbour ; not a line of German lite-
rature but breathes the intensest egotism, and in that
country the literature is a reflex of the national feelings
to a degree, that will hardly be comprehended by those
who are not familiar with its workings. As to the
Englishman, if he be not vain, to what other cause
shall we attribute his hospitals, his museums, and his
thousand endowments, which encumber and pauperize

the land ? None but the veriest fool, or the veriest
knave, will set them down to the score of charity.
The poor dotard, who on his death-bed consigns his
natural heirs to beggary, that he may build an hospital
or a museum, is neither just nor generous, nor actu-
ated by good feelings of any kind. The passion which
dictates this last exercise of the human will, is neither
more nor less than the poorest vanity—a sickly appe-

tite for spurious fame—and the lips that drivel out
these death-bed foamings are uttering their own con-
demnation. We should, perhaps, .form a jester esti-
mate of the French, in saying, not that they are
vainer than ourselves or any other people, but that
with them vanity takes a different direction, borrowing
its colour and bias from the habits of the mind, the
climate, and the Government. With us vanity wishes
to seem rich—with the German it would seem learned
—with the Frenchman it would seem gay and gallant ;

but, however disguised, the passion is one and unalte-
rable. • When, too, Mr. Bulwer imagines that the
French, as a natural result of this sentiment, submit
readily to the successful despot, but fall from him in the
decline of his fortunes, he is evidently again labour-

ing under the same mistake in making that particular
to a nation which, in fact, is general. It is an idle
dream to imagine, as he does, that the English have
any peculiar sympathy with " the sinking cause."
Our public annals and the records of our private life,
tell a different tale, and the very presumption of the
thing is only another evidence of our vanity.
" C'est bien, c'est tres bien, et tout ce qu'il faut
maintenant, ce sont les feux d'artifices et un bon mot
pour le peuple." This was a witty saying of the witty
Talleyrand, but we question much if it authorizes the
system to which it serves as a basis and a motto. Our
author thinks that a series of bon mots destroyed the
ancient religion and travailled the destinies of the mo-
narchy. This is carrying the love of a joke far in-
deed,—much, farther, we think, than the truth wili
warrant. It would be wiser to conclude in the present
case as with regard to vanity, that the French differ
little, if at all, from their less mercurial neighbours.
A joke goes as far with an Englishman as with a
Frenchman—with this difference only, that the Eng-
lish, who are beyond doubt less refined, require their
wit to be of a coarser, stronger, and more pungent
quality—the Frenchman, with a fine climate (for fine
it is, notwithstanding any tables to the contrary), with
light taxes and with no cares, is easily provoked to
mirth; but the muscles, that have grown rigid through
the day by anxiety and toil, must be relaxed by
more potent applications. But give to an English
mob a jest that they can feel and comprehend, and
they are as lightly turned by it as the most
sensitive Parisian. Indeed, we should say that,
of all men, the English are the most keenly alive to
the ridiculous.

Bulwer

" There are many places," says Mr. Bulwer,

" where a person can live upon as little, but there is
no place where a man can live so magnificently upon
little, as at Paris." No one, who is at all acquainted
with the capital, will be inclined to dispute this asser-
tion, which, in a few words, explains the whole mys-
tery of French living. A Frenchman will have the
show, and cares marvelously little for the substance,
a natural result of the general feeling of equality. If
he dine for twenty-two sous at " La Place de petites
Peres," instead of paying eight francs at Very's, lie
must still have his soup, his two dishes, his wine, and
his desert—no matter for the quality—so that there be
no diminution of external appearances. The same
feeling makes him prefer enjoying his rent of eighty
Napoleons a-year in idleness, to any chance of fortune
from industry. And again, it shows itself with the
innkeeper, who, if you challenge the correctness of his
bill, is like enough, as it appears from this narrative,
to amend your want of politeness with a pistol.
Where
all men are equal, or fancy themselves so, the poor
man will naturally pay no regard to the wealth which
would seem to confer a distinction. He has it not
himself, and therefore he treats it as a thing of no value.
We now come to a most important chapter, the con-
sideration how far education influences mankind to
good or evil. We have already had occasion to ob-
serve (when speaking in another paper of feLle in-
struction in this country), that it is not writing, and
reading, nor even accomplishments, that will make a
good and virtuous citizen, though they tend to increase
the sphere of our enjoyment, and are the keys to that
moral education front which all substantial benefit is
to be derived. Knowledge, like any other useful me-
dicament, may be abused to the very worst of pur-
poses ; but we are not for that to deny its power of
working good, when properly employed. Mr. Bulwer
declares, on the faith of Monsieur Guerry's statistical
tables, that while " the crimes against persons are
the most frequent in Corsica, the provinces of the
south-east and Alsace, where the people are well in-
structed, there are the fewest of those crimes in Berry, Si-
mousin andßrittany,where the people are most ignorant ;"
and he also affirms that as " for crimes against pro-
, perty, it is almost invariably those departments that
are the best informed, that are the most criminal." We
agree perfectly with him, that this is by no means con-
' elusive of the question, but we are not inclined to con-
' cede to his summing up ; according to this, education
is an advantage, not because it prevents men from com-
mitting crimes, but because it adds to their enjoy-

26, 1834.

ments. This is
poor compromise with the enemy ;
in factl it iP
IN owning to a defeat after having shouted " Io
...ranlf for a victory. That wholesome instruction will

lead to good, where the subject is at all capable of
good, can hardly, indeed, be denied, even by the most
bigotted ; the sole difficulty in the matter is how,
when people are once admitted into the garden of know-
ledge, you shall persuade them to eat only of the
wholesome fruit, and eschew the bad—how, in short,
those who can read Milton and Newton, shall not
leave them untasted for the sake of the vicious and the
rotten parts of literature. It must be observed, too,
we have not questioned, as perhaps we might have
done, Monsieur Guerry's statements, nor availed our-
selves of Mr. Bulwer's remark that " figures are not
facts ;" indeed we consider this to be one of those
smart sayings which sound well and mean nothing ;
no doubt, false statements may be made by figures as
well as by words, but the very essence of figures is
truth, the only truth, of which, with our limited un-
derstandings, we can be assured.
We have thus briefly, perhaps too briefly, noticed
the " characteristics ;" and we now come to what may
be termed the historical portion of the work. With a
masterly hand he traces the secret springs of the great
revolution, as they lurked amidst the pomp and glitter
of the Court, under Louis the Fourteenth, and shows
their rapid windings through fields and flowers till they
swelled into one mighty torrent that carried every thing
before it. But perhaps the whole of this question may
be summed up and explained in very few words ; the
people were not more oppressed, but they had become
more sensible of their oppressions ; increasing com-
merce had raised up a middling class ; and Louis the
Fourteenth, in reducing his nobles from rebellious
feudatories to submissive courtiers, had unwisely de-
molished the chief bulwark between the crown and the
populace. The great fault of Louis the Sixteenth is,
that he did not keep pace with the progress of the age,
a fault that we much fear is again being acted over in
this country. The few are prating of the wisdom of
our ancestors, and making fresh laws to bolster up old
and worn-out institutions, when they should be forming
a new building more in. harmony with the wants
and wishes of the age. While the people are
calling, and loudly calling, for positive rights,
they answer them with " vested rights," and.
" National faith,"—"panem postalabant et lapides eis
condonaverunt"—" they asked for bread and stones
we give to them,"—but there is the lesson before us,—
the cause and the effects,—in plain intelligible cha-
racters; and if the country should fall, she cannot plead
the same excuse of ignorance which might justly have
been pleaded by the French government, when Louis ,
conceded too little, and too much, to hope for victory.
A still more important era opens upon us when we
come to the Restoration. Though the eruption, that
followed close upon it, has to all seeming ceased, yet
the lava is still hot beneath the feet, and it is well worth
while to trace up the history of the past in France, if
we would rightly understand the present, as it exists
with us, and would thus anticipate the future. At the
time of Napoleon's fall, the different factions were too
powerful for any one of them to remain contented with
less than supremacy over its rivals, and nothing but
the bayonets of the allied monarchs, it is well known,
maintained peace within France. The Napoleonists,
the Jacobins, the Constitutionals, the Royalists, were
alike impatient of each other's domination, and Louis
when the allies had retired from Paris, could only hope
to govern by the fear of their return, by decidedly
placing himself at the head of one faction, or by
balancing the parties against each other. The last,
though the most difficult, yet, if skilfully managed, was
perhaps the most certain of success; Napoleon might,
have adopted the first, as most suited to his decisive
genius ; but if Louis wanted energy for the one, he
was not less deficient in dexterity for the other ; no-
thing but an absolute prostration of strength, a sicken-
ing, and weariness of wars, and revolutions, and a
dread of rushing into a fresh contest, while the wounds
of the last were yet unclosed and aching, tamed for a
while the spirit of the factions. But even this salu-

tary feeling lasted no longer than the life of Louis
the Eighteenth ; and amidst all the hollow acclama-
tions that welcomed Charles the Tenth to the throne,

it was easy to hear the muttered thunders of a fresh
convulsion. This is admirably expressed by Mr.

" Strange to say, never was king at the commencement of
his reign more popular than the unpopular heir to the throne.
With the happy levity of their character, the French forgot the
religious prejudices, the constitutional repugnances of the
Comte d'Artois on the accession of Charles X. Change it-
self was no inconsiderable blessing to such a people ; and
wearied with a decrepid monarch, swathed in flannel, they
delighted themselves in the possession of a King who enjoyed
the pre-eminent advantage of bearing himself gallantly on horse-
back. Charles X. courted popularity, and had in his favour all
the external circumstances which procure it. Courteous, dig-
nified, with a peculiarly royal air, and a singular grace of ex-
pression, his manner and his conversation were far superior to
himself, though it is very erroneous, notwithstanding all his
errors, to suppose that he did not possess a certain ability.
" I remember being in Paris about this time. It is impos-
sible to describe the enthusiasm which pervaded it when the
abolition of the censorship wound up to the highest pitch the
popular excitement. But this enthusiasm, wide as it spread,
was neither calculated to last long, nor did it penetrate deep :
it was upon the surface of the nation."
The first false step of the Monarch was when he
interfered with the pleasures of the Parisians, and de-
scended from the throne to cover the bosoms and
lengtheirThe petticoats of the Opera dancers. This
was speedily followed by the attempt to carry measure
after measure, the most offensive to the French na-
tion ; indemnity to emigrants, the law of primogeni-
ture, the law against the press, the disbandment of
the National Guards, the new creation of Peers ;
all, even when not followed by success, were suffi-
cient, by the attempt alone, to give a fresh stimulus to
the discontent that was fermenting below the surface
of things. Without deeming so highly of Monsieur de

Villele, as our author does, we should say that he
failed in his projects, less from want of ability
than from attempting that which, under existing cir-

cumstances, was impossible. The education, and the
natural bias of the Monarch, favoured despotism; from
his earliest youth he was the partizan of arbitrary

power, as Philippei was the ostensible advocate of li-
beral principles ; and it was hardly to be supposed that
the possession of a throne, was likely to diminish this

sentiment, surrounded as he was by emigrant Nobles,
who had learnt nothing, and forgotten nothing, in their
exile. All the energies of Villele's mind were directed
to the upholding of this system, aided only by the
weakest of the factions that then, as now, divided
France. He failed, because success was impossible,
and was followed by' two Administrations that, in the
end, proved not more fortunate than himself. But Mr.
Bulwer is wrong in imagining that the new Revolution
was now commencing • it had begun when Louis the
Eighteenth ascended the throne, and it marched on,
not perhaps with a steady and equal pace, but unin-
terruptedly, towards its final catastrophe. The same
feeling that had engendered the first R evolution, which
had grown up during its progress, and which even the
iron rule of Napoleon had been unable to crush, though
it might bow down its head into inaction, advanced
fearfully from the hour that the restored Bourbons
set their foot in Ranee, till, having attained ma-
turity, it was utterly incompatible with the ex-
istence of a feudal crown. The two famous or-
donnances that precipitated matters to a final crisis,
must yet be fresh in the memory of most of our
readers ; they put down the liberty of the press,
and they completely drew out the liberal sting from

;his is an error.

the electoral system. It was then the press sounded
the tocsin, and the two generations of France, all
minor divisions for the moment forgotten, confronted
each other—the answer to the ordonnances was the
barricades—the cry of " a bas les Bourbons" was
raised—the war was actually begun; in_ the streets of

Paris, and
" The night came : if it be true as was deemed by Tacitus,
that the warrior's mind is overshadowed by the aspect of a
disastrous sky ; that stars, dim and pale, infuse into the soul
their uncertain hue ; and that the midnight enterprise lan-
guishes under the omen of a clouded moon ; the citizen sol-
dier was happy in his auspices ; pure, and bright, and glorious
as his own cause, was the heaven above his head, on the night
which intervened between the 28th and 29th of July. And now
a wide watch is kept throughout the city ; every eye is awake,
every hand is in action. Here the pavement is upturned—
here the torch is planted—here the weapon is prepared—
everywhere you may see the women mingling with the men—
now sharing their labours—now binding up their wounds.
" No distant and unruly noise mars the mystery of the hour;
but there circulates a confused and immense murmur—the can-
non, the tocsin is still ; the busy gun has ceased to be heard,
not a carriage moves ; but the chopping of wood, the rolling of
stones, the hammering at arms, the exchange of signals, the
march of sentinels, the groans of sufferers, mingling together,
form a mass of stifled and solemn sound, more awful, more ter-
rible, perhaps, in this pause of action, than the loud thunder of
artillery, or the crash of careering squadrons.
" By the morning there were six thousand barricades in
Paris. The great force of the Royal troops was at the
Louvre, on the Place du Carrousel, on the Place Louis XV.,
on the Boulevarde de la Madeleine, and on the Place Ven-
dome, while cannon was so placed as to sweep the Rue de
Richelieu, and the Place du Palais Royal. The day com-
menced with a proclamation, which declared that hostilities
would be suspended by the Royal troops: it produced no effect.
The people's courage was animated by the previous day's
struggle—by the last night's labours—by the sight of the na-
tional uniform now mixed up in all their groups, and of the
tricoloured flag now flying from all their houses. The
bands which had hitherto been scattered and spread through-
out the town assembled more regularly, and combined their
plans of resistance and attack. On, iraront of the Parisians,
marched the ardent youths of the Polytechnic School, the stu-
dents of law and of medicine—and on behind them poured the
determined populace--on they poured along one side—down
the Faubourg St. Honore, down the Boulevards--on they
poured along the other—down the Eaubourg St. Germain,
along the bridges--on they poured to the Place Louis XV. ;
where the soldiers, fatigued, famished; disgusted with their
cause, disgusted with the cowardice of those for whom they
fought, still looked with a gallant face on the dark and angry
masses which menaced them in all directions."

In the whole of this momentous transaction, which
ended by placing the Duke d'Orleans on the throne,
there is nothing so surprising as the indifference of
those about the palace.

" In the morning—mass, tho usual ceremonies and recep-
tions ;—in the evening—the rubber at whist : less anxiety was
expressed for the destinies of the nation than for the turn of a
card."

Of a verity these Parisians are a strange people ;
they would eat their dinner on the brink of a volcano
with as much relish as at Very's. No human beings
live so much in the present and for the present, or
trouble their heads so little about the future.

On the policy of the new monarch, Mr. Bulwer
observes with singular felicity,—

" Very few of the French understand their own revolution.
They cry out against the juste milieu'. Their revolution, as
I have said, was the ' juste milieu.' Louis Philippe was the
juste milieu.' If they had expected, through peaceable re-
presentations, the respect, the attention, the confidence of the
despotic Governments of Europe, they should not have taken
Louis Philippe ; if they had expected war with those Govern-
ments, a reign of glory and action, they should not have taken
Louis Philippe. If they had expected from the crown the
continued perpetual concession of popular rights, they should
not have taken Louis Philippe ; for they should not have taken
a man with the passions and the ambition of a man. If they
had expected tranquillity in the South of France—submission
in La Vendee on the one hand, or an abhorrence to hereditary
rights, and a detestation of the royal name of France, on the other
—they should not have taken Louis Philippe. Directly they chose
their sovereign, they ought to have considered that they had
traced, for ten years at least, the direction of their revolution.
They had chosen the Duc d'Orleans to satisfy those who were
against the family of Charles X. They had chosen a Bour-
bon, in order to reconcile the friends of legitimate succession;
they had chosen a monarchy, in order to pacify those who were
afraid of a republic ; they had made that monarchy the com-
mencement of a new era, in order to satisfy the republicans ;
and more than all—they had chosen peace in the selection
they had made, and evinced a dislike, if not a fear, of war ;
and yet there is not one of the parties to whom Louis Phillippe
was a compromise, that has not alternately claimed the
triumph of its own opinions."

It has been usual in this country to consider the
Doctrinaires as synonimous with our utilitarians: But

" During the time of the Restoration' there was a small
party in France, consisting chiefly of young men, affecting to
consider the Duc de Broglie as their head, and conducting a
paper called the Globe. M. Guizot was their historian, M.
Cousin. their philosopher. This party was a party of system,
which, laying down certain ideas as the general basis of all good
government, admitted few exceptions to its peculiar plan, and,
allowing little for time and circumstances, measured by a fixed
rule the goodness or badness of all that was meditated or pro-
posed. It was not a school that answered to that of our utili-
tarians, since it supported the intrinsic merit or demerit of ac-
tions, and defended virtues, altogether independent of utility.
Its metaphysics were German, its politics English. It com-
bated the Government of the time by appeals to the reason—
and never by appeals to the passions—and from the kind of
doctoral tone which it lectured the public, obtained the
name, at that time popular, of ' Doctrinaires.' "

The influence of women is, as it always has been,
more potent in France than in any other country, and
to this may in some measure be ascribed the restless-
ness, the eager appetite for change, which characterize
the nation. In the times of the divine rights of kings,
Montespan, Maintenon, Dubarry, de Pompadour,
more than divided the sceptre with the descendant of

Saint Louis. .Amidst the din of this revolution the
female voice was heard as loud in the cry for blood as
the hoarsest of the male ruffians that shouted round
the guillotine ; under the empire, the same influence.

often contended with, and sometimes defeated, Napo-
leon, and the conqueror of Austerlitz could even
be overmatched by a roguish milliner; at the fall of the
restored Bourbons, it again showed itself in the person
of the Duchess de Berri, who wrapt France in blood
and flames, and who, like any other murderess, should
have paid the forfeit of her crimes upon the scaffold.
All this has been clearly seen and ably told by Mr.
Bulwer ; but we must confess ourselves not a little
startled when he winds it up with something that
sounds marvellously like, " Go thou and do likewise,"

addressed to the English ladies. Heaven forbid that
the best and fairest women of Europe should ever

change their morality or their complexions for the
models of the French salons.

Great as is female influence in France, the influence

of literature is yet more surprising. In this country
the man of letters may be coaxed for awhile and feasted,
like any singer or opera dancer—he may be admitted to
the halls of the rich and noble—but it is only as a sort
of appanage to greatness ; but, even when feared from
his connexion with the periodical press, he holds no
real rank in society. " I left no calling for this idle
trade," said Pope, and up to this present hour litera-
ture is in the eyes of the English an " idle trade." In
France, where the aristocracy of wealth and birth has
passed away, the aristocracy of mind has succeeded ; it
claims and obtains the same observance that the French
formerly paid to birth, and we have ever paid to wealth ;
the man of literary talent—
" Glides into the cabinet and the boudoir, not in a pow-
dered wig and an embroidered waistcoat, but bound in.vellum.
He does not measure his force or his address with your's, but
his intelligence ;—he is the person to admire ; he is the person
to fear ; he is the person, in France, which he is nowhere else.

He is the person in France that he cannot be in America,
for there is no superstition for the arts in America ; the vanity
of wealth, the natural consequence of a nation depending
wholly on its industry and on its commerce, predominates over
the diviner thoughts and more graceful occupation of letters.
He is the person in France that he cannot be in Ger-
many—for in Germany a ' von' before your name is a matter
of social necessity ; for in Germany, to be well born,' or to
be ' nobly born,' or to be right-nobly born,' is a matter sub-
mitted to historical rules, and the superscription of a letter de-
mands the profoundest study, the most accurate knowledge,
the nicest distinctions. He is the person in France that he
cannot be in England—for, in England, politics is the only
passion of the men, fashion the only idol of the women—for,
in England, to be a blockhead is far more pardonable than to
live in a bad street--for, in England, to have voted against
the house and window tax would win you more favour than to
have written the profoundest work on legislation."
One third of the second volume yet remains un-
touched, and every page not less valuable than the pre-
ceding ; but so copious have been our extracts, that we
must pass them over without any further notice. Nor

SPORTING INTELLIGENCE.

TATTERSALL' S.

half. 3 subs.

shall we waste a single line in commendation, however
it may be merited. The quotations from the work are
its best, and at the same time its fairest, eulogy.

Nothing was done yesterday afternoon, and the only offers
on the Grand Duke Michael Stakes were 3 to 1 agst Lord
Orford's Paris, and sto 1 agst Mr. Yates's Bentley. Owing
to the absence of all the principal betting men at Heaton Park
races, the room was very thinly attended.
Newmarket First October Meeting commences on Monday
next.

HEATQN PARK RACES, SEPT. 24.
The Stanley Stakes of 10 sovs. each. A.F. 1 subs.
Sir J. Gerrard's Billinge, 3 yrs, 9st. 71b...Mr. Burton 1
Captain Byng's na. Orthodox, aged, I Ist. 21b
Lord Wilton's br. c. by Camel, 3 yrs, 9st. 71b 3
Lord 11. Grosvenor na. b. f. by Tramp, 3 yrs, 9st. 71b 4
6t04 on Arachne. Won by half a length.

A Gold Cup, value 100 sovs., given by the King, added lo a sub-
scription of 10 sovs. each ; three vrs, 9st. 31b. ; four, lOst. 51b. ;
five. 11st. ; six and aged, Ilst. 71b. Mares and geldings allowed
31b. A winner, of a Cup or King's Plate in 1834, 31b. extra ;if
two, 51b. ; and a previous winner of the Heaton Park weight for
Age Cup, 31b. extra. St. Leger Course. 13 subs.
Lord Wilton's Chancellor, 6 yrs Lord Wilton I
Mr. Barrow's Catherine, 4 yrs 2
Sir J. Gerard's Billinge, 3 yrs 3
6 to 4 agst Chancellor, and 7 to 4 agst Billinge. Won by a neck.
The Heaton Park Stakes of 25 sovs. each, 15 ft., and only five, &c.
Mile and a half. 17 subs.
Mr. Houldsworth's Titus, 4 yrs, lOst Mr. Burton 1
Mr. Towneley's Westport, 5 yrs, list. 91b.
Mr. Osbaldeston's Swing, 5 yrs, list 3
Even on Westport. Won by half a head.
The Grand Junction Stakes of 20 sovs. each, h. ft. 4 subs.
Lord Wilton's Jenny Sutton colt ... walked over
Count Matuszevic was Steward.

OSWESTRY RACES, SEPT. 24.
A Sweepstakes of 20 ors. each, for three yrs. old. One mile and a

Mr. Palin's Zara
A Gold Cup, value 100 sore. in specie, by a subscripton of 10 cove.
each. Two miles and a quarter. 11 subs.
Sir R. Hill na. Mezereon 1
Mr. Cote's na. Traveller
The Gentlemens' Subscription Purse of 50 sovs. Heats, two miles.
Sir T. Stanley's Young Tarragon 1 1
Mr. Moss's Tiara 3 2
Mr. Wadlow's b. g. by Strephon 4 3
Mr. G. Cooke's Red Rover
The Town Subscription Plate of 50/., free for any horse, &c. Heats,
one mile and a half.
Sir T. Stanley's La Grace 1 1
Mr. Giffard's Miss Charlotte
Mr. Moss's Eagle 3 dr
Mr. Allanson's Lady Moore Carew 4 dr

BRECON RACES, SEPT. 24.
The Brecon and Aire Stakes of 20 sovs. each. 6 subs.
Mr. Fuller's Nell Gwynne
The Ladies' Plate of 50 sovs. Heats.
Mr. Fuller's Nell Gwynne
Mr. Gough's Lely
Mr. R. Powell's Termagant
Mr. Tyler's br. 1. by Lusborough 3 dr
Mr. Williams's Dauntless 4 dr
Match, 100 sovs., two miles.—Mr. Peyton's Frolic beat Mr.
Maybery's Spree.
The Usk Stakes of. 10 sovs. each, h. ft., with 20 added, for horses
not thorough bred. 8 subs.
Mr. Gough's Dandina
Mr. Mayberry's Polly Hopkins 1 2 2
Match, 50 sovs., two miles.—Mr. St. George's Fatima beat Mr.
Disnav's The Admiral.
A Stakes of 3 sovs. each, with a Cup added.
Mr. R. Powell's Crazy Jack ..
Mr. Gough's Useful
Mr. Kennedy's The Abbess
Mr. Williams's Brecon Youth

Heats. 4 subs.
1 1
2 8
3 2
4 4

UPTON-UPON-SEVERN, SEPT. 23.
The Ham Stakes of 5 sovs. each, witli, 20 added. Heats, once
round, about a mile and a half. 6 subs.
Col. Gilbert's Kendal 1 1
Mr. White's b. m. by Grimaldi 2 2
Captain Davies's The Miser
Mr. Holland na. Cymbal 3 dr
Mr. Higgins's Brilliant
The Hunters' Stakes of 5 sovs. each, with 20 added, for horses not
thorough bread. Heats, once round and a distance. Gentlemen
riders. 6 subs.
,
Mr. F. W. Price na. Chasseuso 3 1 1
Major Martin na. Witley 1 2 2
Mr. ' Baker's Deceiver 2 3 3
The Yeomanry Stakes was won by Mr. J. Hill's The Colonel,
beating Mr. Cotterell's Lucy and Mr Chesterton's Eliza.

The Stakes of 3 sous. each, with 10 added, heats, one mile and a
quarter, Gentlemen riders, 7 subs., was won by Mr. Hobson's Cy-
clops, beating Captain Abraham's Newland, Mr. Nave's Tipple
Cider, and four others.

The Stewards' Purse of 51., added to a subscription of a crown
each, for ponies, heats, three quarters of a mile, 4 subs., was won
by Mr. Cotterell's pony, beating Mr. Williams's Captain Rock, Mr.
Rees's Jessy, and Mr. Benbow's pony.