The Sun.
London, England, 1859-01-24 00:00:00

From trustworthy information which has reached
*,,.we are inclined to believe that Count Cavour is
beginning to ponder seriously over the possible
consequences of his rashness in deserting England's
alliance for, that of two despotic Sovereigns in whose
friendship both nature and sound policy forbid him
to confide. It would appear that the alternative,
long balanced in his mind, was either liberty or
territorial aggrandisement, and that he has finally
preferred the latter.
But, as we all along foretold, even this consum-
mation is not to be attained by sudden resolves and
violent means, so easily as some of the visionary
politicians of Turin seem to fancy. Before Victor
Emmanuel can hope to be crowned King of Italy
he must wade through torrents of human blood.
He mast reconcile the discordant feelings and
passions of rival Princes: He must unite, in one
common league of fellowship and amity, the con-
flicting tendenies and antagonistic interests of
which Italy has been for centuries the battle-field,
and to whose sinister influences his father, and so
many Italian leaders before him, have fallen vic-
tims. Nor is it to be overlooked that Austria is in
possession of the best strategic positions and the
principal fortresses of Italy, . and that to dislodge
her from these strongholds might possibly be the
work of years.
Sardinia, as we have so often warned her, would
have acted more wisely had she been satisfied to
abide her time—had she trusted less to physical
means thin to her moral influence as the only con-
stitutional State in Italy; fOr the irresistible pro.
gress of events would have opened to her, sooner or
later a glorious career, and thus she would not have
been tempted to contract intimate engagements
with despotic Powers. From this unnatural friend-
ship she may, very possibly, never obtain the
golden prize she is contending for ; while to it she
wilt probably ode day ascribe, with bitterness and
anguish, the loss of what now raises her above her
station in the councils of Europe,—her constitu-
tional liberty.
When a State is topographically and politically
situated as the Sardinian kingdom is, it will be
impelled by the instinct of self-preservation to seek
for a protecting alliance. This ally ought to be
neither too contiguous nor too distant ; not too near
lest the connexion give rise to the very danger
through which it is sought to be avoided; nor too
distant, for then the ally's assistance would be of
little or no advantage in time of need ; or else, upon
the special plea of rendering it more attainable, he
would strive to gain a footing,in the smaller State,
and might eventually reduce it to the conditions of
a dependency. Thus Spain and Portugal, thus
Austria and Sardinia, thus Sardinia and France
may exchange international civilities ; they may
enter into a transient intimacy, more or less preju-
dicial to the weaker party, but they can never be
natural allies. Nor can Rusgia, removed far off as
she is, ever become for any lengthened period an
efficient ally to the Sardinian States. For in time of
war her approach might be impeded and altogether
frustrated by the naval superiority of Great Britain
unless she were to establish settlements in the
kingdom, taking possession of the strongest posi-
tions, and to garrison them at once; and in this
case the peril which we have just pointed out would
necessarily arise. Moreover, even on this supposi-
tioa, Sardinia could hope to derive during the course
of a protracted war but little benefit from the pro-
tection of Russia, unless the latter power formed
part of a great coalition. Otherwise the Russian
garrisons and auxiliary stations iu the Sardinian
dominions would be soon completely cut off from
all intercourse with the mother country.
That France cannot be the natural ally of the
kingdom of Sardinia is equally evident, for the
reasons we have already assigned. History indeed
can tell us that under the first Napoleon Piedmont
became a French province, while the Princes of
the House of Savoy, like the Bourbons of Naples,
owed their salvation to British men-of-war. The
Second Empire, we are told, is peace. Consequently,
Napoleon 111. has not as yet annexed Piedmont to
France. His aim, if we rightly understand his
character, is to follow, as closely as circumstances
may allow, in the footsteps- of his great uncle—to
approach as near as possible the same goal—but by
means totally different, and more peaceful. In
union with Russia, he has contracted a very inti-
mate friendship with the little kingdom of Sardinia;
and as friends are bound to be mutually agreeable
to each other, Count Cavour has sacrificed a portion
of his country's liberties to the Emperor, whilst
the generous Emperor, in return, has granted the
hand of his cousin; Prince Napoleon, to the King of
Sardinia's daughter. Now, if so grave a concession
as the law curtailing the liberty of the Press was
conceded to French importunity before this new
intimacy had been strengthened by the endearing
ties of affinity, what may not be expected from it
hereafter ?

Are we therefore to affect surprise if all those
who wish well to Piedmont anticipate, at this mo-
ment, the most unfavourable consequences from the
political engagements which the Government of
that country has recently contracted ?
Great Britain, on the contrary, from the consti-
tutional elements of her power and her felicitous
position, was, of all the countries in Europe, the
first and foremost to offer to the kingdom of Sar-
dinia those conditions upon which an alliance,
highly beneficial to the latter, might be perma-
nently founded ; while, to the most sagacious mind,
this alliance could not present even the remotost
danger. Our ancestors conferred upon the House
of savoy very essential benefits, long before this
Royal race was permitted—through British influ-
ence especially—to extend their sway over the
States of Genoa. This important accession of mari-
time territory—the later ill) ention and general
application of steam—the new road to India, hence-
forth irrevocably adopted—those commanding poets
in the Mediterranean and Adriatic, which British
valour first acquired, and the public law of Europe
formally assigned to us—by bringing both nations
into closer contact, must have greatly enhanced the
value of our alliance in the eyes of the more saga-
cious politicians of Sardinia.

But to a nation just emerging from absolutism,
just awakening to the enjoyment of constitutional
liberty, our friendship, indeed, became invaluable.
Through it the aroused fears and jealousies of sur-
rounding Governments, naturally averse to the new
order of things, were coerced; through it all ex-
ternal dangers whatever were warded off. For we
-..eiterate the opinion which we have so frequently
expressed, had the Piedmontese pursued with con-
stancy the course they had so successfully entered
upon, England, though little disposed to follow
them in aggressive operations, would never have
permitted that they should have been assailed with
impunity. So that the Minister of the day would
have been allowed, freely, to devote all the energies
of his mind to the removal of those internal diffi-
culties and embarrassments which endangered the
birth, and which still retard the progress, of the
Piedmontese Constitution.

How different is the state of things now ! Nor
do we believe that any man in Europe is better
able to appreciate the difference than Count
Cavour himself. He is no longer in that com-
manding position in which he stood twelve months
ago ; backed, as he then was, by the admiration,
sympathy, and power of Great Britain. ,He
has estranged from his country the affections of
the English people, whose enmity, above that of all
others, Austria was anxious to avert, and has thrown
himself into the arms of Russia, and at the feet of
Napoleon ! He already beholds the first effects of
this strange alliance, in the darkening of the politi-
cal horizon ; in the gathering of approaching storms,
big, it may be, with the fate of Italy and of Europe.
Will war really ensue or not ? If not, the con-
dition of Piedmont will be intolerable; she will have
exhausted her resources and wasted her energies in
vain, and will be doomed, on one hand, to endure
most of the disadvantages, without any of the ad-
vantafes of war; and, on the other, to witness in
sad silence, after such lively hopes have been
awakened, and such boasts have been uttered, and
such heavy sacrifices have been borne, the consoli-
dation of her enemy's dominion throughout Italy.
That enemy will continue to encircle her frontier
—in grim aspect, in colossal form—and more threat-
ening than ever. But should war, as is anticipated,
break out in Italy, will Count Cavour's new allies,
or one or other of them, come effectually to his as-
sistance ? If they do not, he will discover, but too
late, that he has been their dupe, and will rue the
fatal hour when he sacrificed England's friendship.
If they do, is there a politician so blind as not at
once to perceive that such an event would form a
new era in the history and destinies of modern Eu-
rope ; that such an event might, possibly, establish
Russian supremacy in the East, and subject Italy
to France, but could not, permanently, serve the
cause of Italian liberty ? We are not, therefore,
surprised, that Count Cavour should be, at this mo-
ment, a prey to misgivings and uncertainty; for,
to us, it appears very problematical whether, through
such a war, no matter how successful the King of
Sardinia would ever be -allowed to extend materi-
ally his dominions.

The constellation of writers who shed a radiance
on the early part of the present century is fast
vanishing away. Not the least remarkable of these,
the historian of the Middle Ages, of the Revival of
Letters and of the English Constitution, Henry
Hallam, died on Saturday last, at the great age of
81. He has left but few of his companions behind
him, and, more than this, it was his bitter fate to
outlive those who should have come after him, to
see two sons of rare promise, who should have pre-
served his name, go before him, the pride of his
life snatched from his eyes, the delight of his old
age laid low in the dust of death. One of these
. was that Arthur Henry Hallam, who died in 1833,
and. to whom Tennpen dedicated the remarkable
series of poems which have been published under
the title of "In Memoriam." The bereaved father
was broken-hearted for his son, and spoke of his
hopes on this side the tomb being struck down for
ever. A year or two afterwards, when he produced
the " Introcluction to the Literature of Europe,"
there appeared a most affecting passage in the pre--
face, which to those who knew him, suggested the
hidden grief that was preying on his mind. He
referred to the imperfection of his work, to the im-
possibility of rendering it complete under any cir-
cumstances, and to the especial impossibility of his
doing so. "I have other warnings," he said, "to
bind up my sheaves while I may—my own advanc-
ing years„ and the gathering in the heavens.".
His hopes, .however,, revived as his younger son
grew up to manhood, and 466.1 - Le promise not -
less than the accomplished yoUth -wlicen his father
had regarded, and not without reason, as an only
one without a fellow. But this son also, Henry
Fitzmaurice Hallam, was taken from him shortly
after he had been called to the bar in 1850, and the
poor bereaved father buried him •in Clevedon
Church, in Somersetshire, by the side of his brother,
and his sister, and his mother. He selected the
place, as he ,says in •his memoir of the eldest son,
" not only from the connection of kindred, but on
account of its still and sequestered situation on a
lone hill that overhangs the Bristol Channel." It
is to this hill, and. to this channel, and to this grave
to which now the remains of the old, heartbroken
father are to be added, that Tennyson refers in the
most' pathetic of his poems,—
"-And the stately ships gO on
To their haven under the hill
But, 0 for the touch of a vanished hand.
And the sound of a voice that is still I
" Break, break, break,
At the foot of thy crags, 0 sea!
But the tender grace of a day that is dead
Will never come back to me."
It -is to the same place of rest that the poet refers
in the following description, in which he collects
together all the images of stillness, 'order, and
solemnity :
" The Danube to the Severn gave
The darkened heart that beat no more;
They laid him by the pleasant shore,
And in the hearing of the wave.
" There twice a-day the Severn fills,
The salt sea water passes ly, ,
And hushes half the babbling Wye,
And makes a silence in the hills."
Among historians we doubt whether theie is to
be found one equal to Mr. Hallam in impartiality.
There have been historians as erudite as he, not
less acute, more inspiring as thinkers, mire elegant
as writers; but for stern justice he is probably
without a rival. His unflinching integrity, his
subjugation of personal prejudice, his determination
to speak the truth under all circumstances is one of
the rarest things in literature. This perfect frank-
ness never takes in him the form, which it assumes
in minds less accurately balanced, of an impatient
desire to speak unpalatable truths in season and
out of season. Perhaps there never was a critic
who was so little of an egotist, and whose judgment
was so little swayed by personal feelings, either of
regard- for himself or of regard for others. Here,
indeed, one might detect a want in_ his character
as a writer—a want which might scarcely have
been observed w hen he began to write, but which
became apparent in his later years, when the
tendencies of the age had introduced a new style
of history and of criticism. He belonged to_ that
school which in -history deals with principleo
rather than with persons, and in criticism deals
with poems rather than with poets, books rathe
k
than with authors. The tendency of our liters
ture of late years has been in a direction entirely
opposite, and would seem to represent principles
as subordinate to the personages by whom they
are illustrated, books as but secondary to the
authors from whose pens they have flowed—a ten-
dency, in fact, which would renter biography the
base of history, the base of criticism, the base even
of philosophy. So strongly has this tendency made
itself manifest in our later literature that the pecu-
liarity of Hallam's manner appears in most start=
ling contrast, and those who have been nuria ed
under the more recent system may not be able to
enjoy the dry details and impersonal reasonings of
the old school. Mr. Hallam, however, in striving
to be a classical historian, has shown but little
ambition to be a popular one. His works are more
for the student than the idle reader. The student
finds in them a mine of wealth—unbounded erudi-
tion, accuracy that has never been impugned, a wise
judgment that almost always leaves one satisfied, a
brevity of statement that prevents exhaustion, and
an elegance of style that draws him along. The
reader for mere pleasure would never go through
one of Mr. Hallam's works ; and yet in all his
writings there are passages instinct with fine feel-
ing which might well fix the attention of the most
desultory reader. Never writing for effect, but
conscientiously and laboriously striving to elicit
the bare truth, this great historian, whose works
are as valuable as any of the same kind that have
ever been written, often attains without seeking it
an effect which the masters of popular applause
might envy.
There are few literary men who have reached an
eminence to be compared with that of Mr. Hal-
lam, of whose personal history so little is known to
the great public. That he was born in or about
1778, that he was educated at Eton, that from
Eton he paszsed to Christ Church, Oxford, and that
at this University he took his degree in 1799, are
almost all the facts of his early life which have been
publishod. After leaving the University he took
up his residence in London, joined himself to the
Whigs, and acquired his first reputation as a con-
tributor to the great Whig Review established in
the northern metropolis. It was on account of his
supposed connection with the Edinburgh Review
that ev.iew
that he incurred the wrath of Byron, who, in that
satire in which he first of all showed his power,
referred in ironical terms to " tke classic Hallam,
much renowned for Greek." Greek, however, was
not the peculiar study of our historian, who set
himself the task of learning all the Europeas. lan-
guages of importance as the steppingstone to an
acquaintance with the state of Europe during the
Middle Ages. He quietly settled down to his work,
marrying in the meantime, and in 1811 rejoicing
in the birth of his little Arthur, who was such a
marvel of a child that at the age of seven he learnt
to read Latin with fluency in a year. It was amid
this domestic happiness and the repose which it
provided that, in 1818, he at length gave to the world
the first, and, perhaps, the greatest of his works, the
" View of the State of Europe during the Middle
Ages"—a work which, although somewhat expen-
sive and by no means adapted to the popular taste,
has gone through a dozen editions. In every page
of this history we are struck with the enormous in-
dustry and the conscientiousness of the writer,
which in union with his sagacity of thought and
pith of composition have rendered every work pro-
duced by him standard of its kind. He waited nine
years and then gave to the world his " Constitu-
tional History of England from the Accession of
Henry VII. to the death of George II." Nothing
can be more masterly than the manner in which he
has here traced the history of the English consti-
tution from its first faint beginnings to its perfect
development. It is a vast treasury of political
thought—an armoury of political facts ;in itself the
Magna Charta of our liberty and our rights, which_
bears the sign-manual, riot of Kings or their Minis-
ters, but of the Muse of History.. After these pub-
lications Mr. Hallam turned from political to lite-
rary history, preparing to write a full account of
the revival Of letters and the various steps by
which
a literature cane to be cultivated in the vernacular
languages of Europe. It was while engaged in
this work, and while his heart was full of joy in the
acquirements of his elder son, who had just left
College, and who, under his father's
Justinian
and the, was now
studying the " Institutes" of
" Commentaries" of Blackstone, now writing short
papers for various works, of Tennyson for a
Burke and Voltaire for
magazine, biographies o
the Portrait Gallery of the Useful Knowledge So-
ciety, that the great affliction came which seemed
for a time to prostrate the historian, and which
certainly gave a mellowness to his habits of thought
as well as a depth of feeling to his whole character
that had the happiest influence on his critical dis-
quisitions.
If it be true of the poets that " they learn in suf-
fering what they teach in song," it is not less true

" Edinburgh, Jan. 19, 185,9.
night," Deaad
rnKosinllocshh,—all beengagedeiv all day witaa
your letter ly
l re
meeting of the Highland Society, and am tc,
south in the evening, I can only give to it a liiir.
reply. I may at once state to you that the rcpor
c
mistook my figures, and wrote down 30,000 insti
80,000 inhabitants. My impression was, and
is, that on this basis of population you clain
second member for Forfarshire in the redistrih
,of seats which_ yoll anticipated under some new
Reform 'Bill -13rightA1/4,...F not I pow
forget. Founding upon this erroneous report, you
proceed to read me a lecture on my speee a at Bre-
chin, and my political conduct in general. It seems
agreeable to you to do so; and I feel not the smallest
resentment at your taking the trouble to re, view my
past conduct with respct to reform. In looking back
upon my political life, I defy you or any o- se to lay
your finger upon any pledge which lever gate on the
subject of reform which I have not redeemed or
endeavoured to redeem. - If you and others formed
extraordinary expectations that I was t 3 becOme
one of that band of extreme politicians who saw no
limit to popular demands, I am not responsible for
your disappointment; and it seems somewhat hard.
o u quote inxyp wordse essd that I should become the object of your censure. I
will not, however,. pursue these generalities, but
expressed thaetn I still
confine myself more immediately to your letter.
Y
Forfar
and the
opinions shall
be much surprised if any government brings in a
bill . giving any very extensive redistribution of
seats; and I shall also be surprised if Forfar or
Perth obtain a second member. Why, your friend,
and I presume your leader in reform, Mr. Bright,
in all his extensive redistribution, does not think
of either county; and lean easily imagine the dis-
appointment with which you read that portion of
his schedules which enfranchised Aberdeen, but
silently passed by the tivo counties of Perth and
Forfar. You next proceed to leCture me for stating
that the repeal of the corn laws was the effect of
the bill of 1832.:I adhere, however, to the opinion.
It .was the bill of 1832 that, placed. Mr. Cobden
and Mr.. Bright in Parliament, and enabled
them to devote their extraordinary energies and
talents, in and out of .the house, to the advocacy
of the total repeal of the corn-laws. They occupied
the ground already laid for them by Chas. Villiers,
who fought many a battle against heavy odds before
these two latter champions entered the field. You
next proceed to accuse the Whigs of not efficiently
working out the Reform Bill, and of becoming as
great jobbers as once the Tories were.' I have
often heard the former expression, but I confess I
do not fully understand its meaning: ' The Whigs
did pass many measures of the greatest benefit to
the nation between 1832 and 1841, which nidy
be directly ascribed to the powerful aid of those
whom the. Reform Bill brought into the House of
Commons. You and others may ignore these if you
choose, but you cannot blot them from the statute-
book, where they remain as proofs of the energy of
those who were their authors, and of the ingratitude
of those who forget them. lam sorry to see you
adopt the cant phrase of Whig jobbers.' Such
phrases are the last resources of those who lack argu-
ments to condemn a political party. You are the
last man who should forget the long struggle for
the liberties of the people maintained bythe Whigs
at the risk of personal liberty, and certain exclu-
sion from the attainment of the highest offices in
the judicial and other professions by those who had
the honesty and courage to belong to the party. His-
tory will do them justice, though it is the fashion to
refuse it now. Whatever may be said against us, I
trust we shall be forward in supporting every just re-
form and fair demand on the part of the nation at
large. But if reforms be proposed which have for
their object the serious disturbance of the balance
of different interests in our constitution which still
happily exists, and to set up one portion of the
nation an dominion over the rest—such reforms 1,
for one, willresist, even at the risk of incurring
your renewed censure.—l am, dear • Kinloch, yours
truly, " PANMURE.”
"To George Kinloch, Esq., of that Ilk." •

FALMOUTH DOCKS AND BARBOU1?.

A numerous and influential meeting was held in
the Town-hall, Truro, on Tuesday last, to support
a proposed plan for the construction of docks at
Falmouth. Viscount Falmouth, who presided,
said that the mails were removed from Falmouth in
consequence of the want of two requirements--
dock accommodation for steam traffic and a railway.
There was now a railway constructed to within 11
miles of the port, and they only wanted dock ac-
commodation to supply the remaining deficiency.
Mr. Tilly, with the aid of a large chart, gave a full
explanation of the details of the plan. He said that
a careful survey of the harbour had been made by
Mr. Abernethy, the engineer recommended by tlie
Admiralty, who hadselected a site for the proposed
docks in a well-sheltered position, in proximity to
deep water, and affording the utmost facility for in-
gress and egress of vessels, the rise of tide being
18 feet 6 inches at springs, and 14 feet at neaps. It
was intended in the first place to construct a
tidal harbour of 12 acres, with 18 feet at low water,
spring tides, and a channel of the same depth lead-
ing out to deep water. These works, with two slips,
a dry dock, and warehouses, would be sufficient for
the immediate wants of the port ; but the under-
taking comprised alsci a half tide basin or dock of 8
acres, connected with the harbour, the latter work
to be executed whenever required. The entrance
into the harbour at Falmouth would be a straight
one. There was a dock at Southampton of 10 acres
within the tidal harbour, but the entrance was only
46 feet wide, and the large royal mail steamers cannot
get in, as they are wider than the entrance across
their paddlewheels. At Falmouth the entrance to
the tidal harbour dock would be 80 fret wide, and
the same to the graving dock, so that, with tho
exception of the Great Eastern, there would be
entrance room for . the largest class of ships now
afloat. Mr. Tilly proceeded to say that in time of
war, especially with France, Falmouth harbour,
from its position, would be of still greater import-
ance than in time of peace. Mr. Baring and Mr.
Gurney, the members for Falmouth, had liberally
assisted in this project, and Falmouth, although a
poor place, had subscribed £37,000 towards it, and,
he believed, would subscribe some thousands more..
The whole capital required, including thelansd inter
and £20,000 for warehouses, was X200,00_0 ,001:hi
the Southamptim Docks' capital was X 8 000.
The standing orders had been complied with, and
rhe
£B,OOO paid into the Court of Exchequer.
meeting was then addressed by several gentlemen,
forw h o
Falmouth urged t h that
harbour, dock
and
a the
beliN.
e, atostufhlinnercaeoetbfsi
thereby be
importance,mail stea ess toth
e Falmouthpospostal
se
rwv
ire d
would
greatly accelerated at reduced risk and expense,
and the dangers of collision in the Channel avoided.
Resolutions were unanimously passed in favour of
the undertaking, and the meeting terminated with
a vote of thanks to Viscount Falmouth.

PERILS OF TIGER-HUNTING.—Our readers will
hear with the deepest regret that Captain Handeock, aide-
:de •cainp to the Right Hnootuutou r a
tigerble
sportsman
sthh,eh)oadtGinnEanfefreeowrly, mwdaoeytunsmadigeth
tsl.(3‘:.tettil pacto;eid. eln'thlevghai whilst
d
a roy=al tiger, and was approaching what he believed to be
the dying animal, when it suddenly sprang upon him. The
captain endeavoured to savehimself by catching the branch
of a tree, but before he could get out of harm's way, the
tiger clawed him down, and wounded him in the sevprest
manner, though we trust not dangerously.- His friends are
anxiously waiting for further information, and we hope may
soon be relieved from their present anxieties concerning so
bold and adventurous a huntsman.—Madras Spectator.
[ADVERTISEMENT).—HoIIoway's Ointment and Pills.—
Sore Throat, Quinsey, Ulcerated Throat, and Diptherite.—
The sere throat, with mote or less hoarseness, prevailing
at this season of the year, has for 20 years been treated
with the above remedies with a degree of success far sur-
hpaasyseinhge thatee so ofreinanayrkoathlrer,
speedy, and
fantdrenaumtmeenrot.us.,
thThaet_isCtmll:ll
small
predicted the new disease, Dipthtrite, consisting f
ine
its first stage,
absyhiecveeriourc often d ulcers
fatal, n;r4tght t
I e interioran.of the thbye
.tthhreesaatin,
same means,
anrstiell haS been the case. The disease,
seemsp th7nenthemseimrepre
foermsnabloef toin filaimmoneaNtocaryssoOrine
ttmhrenoattand