funeral ceremony performed over the bodies of the victims. The king sprinkled the unconscious corses with holy water, and with actions of mourning for the departed offered up thanksgivings for the mercy vouchsafed to the survivors. This condescension excited a world of admiration, which the wily king was not slow to remark and by which he hoped substantially to profit. As he was entering the Tuileries on his return from the solemn ceremony, he could not help exclaiming in the hearing of Marshal Maison-so elated was his majesty with the idea that out of the calamity his family was to reap pecuniary profit as a consequence-"I think, after all this, that we are tolerably sure of our apanages!" But M. Dumas says of him that he viewed the visitations of sudden death, even in his own family circle, with moral composure after transient sorrow. After the demise of his accomplished daughter, the Princess Mary, he addressed a letter to her mourning husband, the Prince of Wurtemburg. This epistle happens (strangely enough we think) to be in the possession of M. Dumas, who says of it that "it has for its object the consolation of the writer's sonin-law; but its spirit is just contrary to that of Rachel, who, in losing her children, refused to be comforted."

Perhaps, no sentiment professedly entertained by the king had ever been more frequently or more bitterly expressed than his hatred for the name, person, and character of Bonaparte. When he found his own popularity failing, however, he sought to prop it up by shaking the "little grey coat" in the eyes of the people, and by trying to "sweat popularity out of the very carcase of Napoleon." The hint appears, if we may credit the author of this book, to have come from Lord Palmerston; and he spoke, so it is reported, upon a hint given by O'Connell, who, of course, did not impart it for the sake of paying a compliment to the king or enabling him to make political profit from it. What M. Dumas, however, tells us on this point we present in his own words :

"One of the emperor's relatives had obtained from O'Connell, the great Irish agitator, interested in exciting France, a promise to present to the House of Commons a motion for the surrender of the remains of Napoleon...... Accordingly, when O'Connell spoke of his intention to Lord Palmerston, the latter exclaimed: Why, what the devil (?) -take care why, in place of gratifying the French Government, you will exceedingly embarrass it.'-That is not the question (said O'Connell)—the question for me is to do what I am bound to do: now, it is my bounden duty to ask the Commons to consent to my motion for the surrender of the emperor's remains to France: it is the duty of England to adopt my motion. I shall therefore propose it, without troubling myself as to whom it may please or offend.'-Be it so (said

Agreed' (said

Lord Palmerston); but just put it off for a fortnight.' O'Connell). On the same day, as it is alleged, Lord Palmerston wrote to M. Thiers, to inform him that he should be obliged, in reply to O'Connell, to confess that England had never refused to surrender the remains of Napoleon to France, a proceeding he would have adopted long before if France had only laid claim to them."

The King and M. Thiers at once saw the profit to be made out of this communication. The Minister went down to the chambers and assured the deputies that his Majesty, in the greatness of his soul having applied to England for the restoration of the remains of "Napoleon the Great, legitimate Emperor and King," the application had been granted by the magnanimous allies of France. The enthusiasm which was excited was no doubt great; but, amid the flowers of eloquence addressed to the king, the latter did not perceive the thorn which he had himself planted. He had recognised Napoleon as a legitimate emperor, and by so doing he was taking the semblance of illegality from the attempts of that imperial heir who now sits in his uncle's place, and who has put back France, after its revolutionary period of sixty years, just where she was when that period was justifiably commenced-namely, without a constitution, parliament, or liberty-with a despot ruling by decrees, a ministry without responsibility, mistresses fed out of the taxes of the people, and the priests blessing all, because they alone are cared for.

This allusion to Louis Napoleon reminds us of a conversation recorded in these volumes which the author had with the mother of the present President of the French Republic in the year 1833. M. Dumas had been invited by the Duchesse of St. Leu-(who had known a higher greatness as Queen Hortense) to breakfast; and, while the repast was preparing, the ex-queen and the embryo republican walked leisurely in the garden and discussed matters of state. Her son had not yet made any open attempt upon France; but the means were preparing for the consummation, and this gave some anxiety to the maternal mind. After some preliminary colloquy upon things in general, the duchess said :

I

"What if the Duc de Reichstadt had been alive, and had made an attempt against the Government of Louis Philippe ? It would be a failure-that's my opinion.' True: I forgot, with your republican opinions, that you must necessarily look upon Napoleen as a tyrant.' beg pardon. I look upon him in quite another light. In my view, Napoleon was one of those men of whom election is made before all time, and who receive at the hands of God a divine mission. Those men, Madame, are to be judged, not according to the human will by

which they act, but in accordance with the divine wisdom wherewith they are inspired-not according to the work they have done, but the result which it has produced. When their mission is accomplished, God recalls them. They fancy they are dying, but they are only on their way to render an account.' And what, in your opinion, was the emperor's mission?' One of liberty.' Any other but myself might ask you for your proofs.' And I would give them-even to you.' I am interested in hearing them I confess. When Napoleon, or Bonaparte rather, appeared to our fathers, France was issuing less from a republic than from a revolution. In an attack of political fever, she had flung herself so far in advance of all other nations that she had destroyed the balance of the world. There needed an Alexander for such a Bucephalus--an Androcles for the lion. The 13th Vendemaire set them face to face, and the revolution was conquered. The kings who should have recognized a brother in him-who pointed the cannon of that day-saw only an enemy in the dictator of the 18th Brumaire. They mistook for the consul of a republic one who was in effect the head of a monarchy; and, madmen as they were, instead of making him prisoner in the bonds of a general peace, they opened against him a European war. Thereupon, Napoleon summoned around him the youth, the bravery, and the intelligence of France, and scattered them over the world. To us he seemed retrograding-to others progressing. Wherever he passed he sowed the seed of revolution. Italy, Prussia, Spain, Portugal, Poland, Belgium, even Russia, called her sons to the sacred harvest. And he, like a labourer, wearied at the close of the day, crossed his arms, and looked down upon them from the summit of his rock at St. Helena. Then it was that he had revelation that his mission was divine, and that there dropped from his lips the prediction of a European Republic.' And so you believe,' said the (ex) queen, 'that if the Duc de Reichstadt were not dead he would continue the work of his father.' 'Men like Napoleon have neither sires nor sons. They are born like meteors in the morning twilight, shoot athwart the heavens which they illumine from one horizon to the other, and disappear in the shades of the evening.' 'Do you know that such an expression is little encouraging to such of his family as yet entertain hopes?' It is even so, Madame, for we gave him a place in our firmament only on condition that he left no inheritor upon earth.' 'And yet he bequeathed his sword to his son !' The bequest was fatal to his son, Madame, and God annulled the will.' But you terrify me; for his son, in dying, left that same sword to mine.' 'Such a sword could not easily be carried by a simple officer of the Swiss Confederation.' You are right, for that sword is a sceptre.' 'Be on your guard, Madame. I fear that you live in that deceiving and inebriating atmosphere which exiles bear with them. Time, which continues to march with the rest of the world, stands still with the proscribed. These see men and things only as when they left them; and yet men change in feature, and things in aspect. The generation which saw Napoleon return from the island of Elba is daily diminishing; and that return itself belongs less to memory than to history.' You think that there is no longer any hope of the return of the family of Napoleon to

France?' 'If I were king, I would recall it to-morrow.' 'I do not mean such a return as that.' 'Of any other I see no chance.' 'What advice, then, could you give to a member of that family who might be dreaming of the resurrection of the glory and power of Napoleon?" I would advise him to wake up as soon as possible.' 'And if he persisted in spite of such counsel, which appears to me excellent, and asked for other advice?' In that case, Madame, I would tell him to obtain the revocation of the decree which exiled him, purchase an estate in France, become a member of the Legislature, guide the majority in Parliament, and make use thereof to depose Louis Philippe and get himself elected king in his place!' And you think (said the Duchess of St. Leu) with a melancholy smile, that all other means would fail? 'I am sure of it-the duchess sighed. At this moment the breakfast bell was heard, and we walked silent and pensive towards the house. Till we arrived there the duchess did not address to me one single word; but when we had reached the threshhold she paused, and, looking at me with an expression which I cannot describe, she said, 'Would that my son were here, and that he could hear the words which you have uttered.'"

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Subsequent events have given to this conversation both interest and importance. Louis Philippe has passed to his account, and Louis Napoleon has not only seized upon his authority but plundered his heir of his property. In the face of such a triumph, M. Dumas flings out a warning :-"Since the death of Louis XV., who was slain by his debauchery seventy-six years ago, Louis Philippe, on his demise, was the fifth King of France who had descended to the grave. Of these five Kings of France one only died in the TuileriesLouis XVIII. Louis XVI. was guillotined on the Place de la Revolution Napoleon died at St. Helena-Charles X. at Goritz-and Louis Philippe at Claremont. What a terrible monition to those who are still eager to reign!"

ART. IV. Our Iron Roads. By FREDERICK S. WILLIAMS. Illustrated London Library, 227, Strand.

WITHIN the last fifty years more has been done in the progression of the human race towards the stupendous and the vast towards results that contain the highest destinies of man (as connected by individuality with the globe he moves upon) towards ameliorating the most gigantic evils upon a scale equally great-evils by which all classes, nay, whole nations, are impinged upon, who receive from the bountiful hands of science and discovery gifts, which will increase and multiply

fifty-fold, if properly cultivated and rightly applied-than has ever been done in centuries before. For nearly a century our philosophers and scientific men, like the alchemist over his crucible, have hung upon the verge of solving the marvellous problems that the mechanical and other arts, sphinx-like, held out. The time had not then come-the men were not yet born. Now, both have arrived; and in an age of marvels

an age that beggars the sorceries of the past and puts the wonders of oriental enchantments in the shade-for illustration we select one, the most comprehensive and wonderful, the most enormous in its physical grasp, in its opulence of promise for future greater results, than any we could select from the almost countless range.

Nothing can tend more towards civilization, wealth, knowledge, and other necessary conditions of existence, than intercommunion. Commerce brings people into contact, and the strange and the grotesque lose their effect when advantages are mutually interchanged. That which reduces space and lessens expense, which facilitates travel and economises the most valuable possession man may boast of-Time-must be held as a blessing second to none other of the many which the world contains in such infinite variety. It is a human instinct, productive of pleasure, profit, and instruction, which makes civilised men go from place to place; and, whether as merchant or man of the world, the effect is the same. From very early times, and particularly before and during the age of Pericles, when a thirst for learning was equal to the present adventurous rage for gold-seeking, young students travelled from country to country; and hoary sages, stimulated by admiration or an honourable emulation, sought in far lands for those men whose fame had reached their ears. The spirit of commercial enterprise had already covered all known waters with traders, and the sea was already the highway of the world.

A hundred years ago a writer relates that it took him six days to travel from Chester to London. There was then no regular stage-coach from Edinburgh to the metropolis; and the journey, when the first was established, took a fortnight to perform. We count our journeys now by hours, as we do long sea-voyages of thousands of miles by days instead of months. Floating mud, four feet deep, characterised some Lancashire roads in 1770 in a wet summer. "What (is naively asked) must it be after a winter ?" The difficulties, the dangers, and the constant discomforts (besides the great expense), of travelling, less than a hundred years ago, have been so often described as to need no further amplification here; and the