the same monstrous despotism, which is now blasting the best growth of nature and humanity in Europe, depends, as it appears to our understanding, not upon a long chain of doubtful or remote contingencies, but upon one event,-the downfal or humiliation of England.

Unwelcome as may be this opinion to persons of a fastidious or sanguine character, we cannot dissemble how deeply it is radicated in our judgment. None of our countrymen can be better disposed than ourselves, to hope well of the public fortunes; but to think them secure from danger or impregnable to any assault,-under the present circumstances of this country and of Europe, would appear to us a degree of credulity not merely preposterous, but absolutely criminal.We should feel conscious of violating one of the most sacred of the obligations we owe to our fellow citizens, if we did not attempt, as often as possible, to rivet their attention upon that quintessence of political misery,-the exquisite wretchedness-which is every where the immediate result of French dominion, and to which they are now exposed through the progress of French intrigue, aided as it is by the truly mysterious infatuation, and pernicious fears of our cabinet. We, therefore, speak without disguise, and are well assured, that the earnest and judicious friends of the country, will not take serious umbrage at what we may utter-" Reasonable "men and lovers of truth," says Bolingbroke, "to whatever

party they belong, will not be offended at writings, which "claim no regard but on this account, that they are founded "in reason, and truth, and proclaim with boldness, what rea"son and truth conspire to dictate."

It is not in France alone that her military despotism displays that character, and inflicts those ills, which M. Faber has so accurately and forcibly described. Wherever the same power has been extended, it has manifested the same spirit, and has been productive of consequences equally disastrous. In every country over which the conqueror has established his sway, he has blighted all the glowing beneficence of nature, and labours to debase and embrute the minds of men.-All the victims of his power are sunk into a state of the most calamitous and despondent vassalage; all the noblest fabrics of human wisdom and virtue,-all the most estimable of the institutions of civil order, all the generous attachments and the ennobling decorums of life, are struck, as it were, with the damp of death, as soon as they fall under the influence of his new system of regeneration. What M. Faber describes as happening in France, we have seen in

Holland and in Flanders, and it is alike visible in Italy, in Westphalia, and in every other country which he has brought under the yoke. In Flanders, and in the departments of the Rhine annexed to the French empire within the few years past, we have witnessed repeatedly the ghastly procession of refractory conscripts which M. Faber depicts in colors strong indeed, but not sufficiently vivid to convey an adequate idea, of the horrible nature of the spectacle. We have seen in the territories which the French emperor declares, by'a most insolent and profligate abuse of language, that he has made happy in uniting their destinies with those of France, the same misery arising from the weight of the taxes, the same devices of fraud and extortions of rapine, as are mentioned in the pages of our author. The pressure of French support is every where intolerable:-every effusion of French amity operates like a mildew. Wherever the French emperor appears, either in the guise of an ally, of a sovereign, or of an invader, he reminds you of the description which the poet gives of the march of a tyrant of old,

"Amazement in his van, with flight combin'd

"And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind."

There are, we believe, but few among us who have not enough of observation or sagacity to discern, although there may be many who have not the candor to acknowledge, that the foreign policy of Bonaparte has the same character as his domestic; that plunder and power are his invariable ends; fraud and violence his favourite means, in all his external relations. There can be no man of any intelligence, who has attended to the history of the world during the last ten years, so far dazzled by the splendid profligacy of military usurpation, or duped by the pompous hypocrisy of the official assertions of the French government, as not to be fully sensible, that there never has existed a power more contemptuously regardless of the obligations of good faith, more insatiably ambitious, or more savagely cruel. The official papers concerning the fate of Holland, which we publish in the appendix to this number of our work, yield in every line conclusive proofs of the truth of this position, and inculcate a most portentous lesson to the nations, which are yet at a distance from the voracious jaws of French alliance.

The single case of Spain,-not to cite that of every other country of the world with which the military despotism of France has held any intercourse,-is alone sufficient to warrant us in applying to that despotism, every epithet of reprobation which language can furnish,-every image of moral

deformity which the imagination can mould, to stigmatize and to portray the excesses of tyranny and the utmost possible guilt of unprincipled ambition. In the original proceedings of Bonaparte towards Spain, and in the conduct of the war which he now wages upon the unhappy Spaniards, there is a complication of atrocity such as never before stained the an- / nals of our species, or could have fallen within the range of the most misanthropic and inventive fancy. The crimes which mark out and distinguish this particular usurpation from any other on the records of history, appear almost too stupendous for human wickedness to perpetrate, as they are certainly too heinous for human vengeance to punish.-The blood now flowing from the Spaniards must ascend to the tribunal of eternal Justice, and claim retribution for their unparalleled wrongs. In the final proportions of that justice, those wrongs will be duly appreciated, and the cause of the oppressed asserted and avenged. There remains for them, and for all those in whom the moral sense, and our inborn hatred of vice are not utterly extinguished, this consolatory assurance, whatever success may attend the present career of the oppressor, or however slow may be his contemporaries to feel or to acknowledge the whole intensity of his guilt.

When we review the history of the first invasion of South America by the Spaniards, and the horrible war of ambition and avarice which they there prosecuted against an innocent and unoffending race, and then meditate on that of which Spain is now the frightful theatre, we almost think we can trace in the latter, the hand of an avenging Providence to whom ages are but as minutes, visiting the usurpations and the murders of the conquerors of Mexico and Peru upon the heads of their unhappy descendents. An inscrutable wisdom may thus one day retaliate upon France, and turn against her, with an aggravated sting, the same hellish and desolating passions, of which she is now the suitable agent to scourge and lacerate her wretched neighbour.

Should mankind in another age revert to a due sense of right, should the virtues and the charities of the heart ever regain a general influence,-the story of the present war in Spain may be discredited as the fiction of an extravagant romance; the perfidy and the ravages of the usurper will appear to belong, not to a monarch of the nineteenth century, the boasted era of heroic courage, of refined philanthropy and philosophical light, but to some fabled monster formed, as a great orator has expressed it, "in the eclipse of reason and in a season of political dismay and moral abjection."

297

LETTERS ON FRANCE AND ENGLAND.

MY DEAR H—,

LETTER IV.

In my last epistle, I promised to resume the subject of the scientific institutions, and to say something more of the learned men, of Paris, I shall now proceed to perform my engagement. Let me conduct you at once to an establishment for the promotion of knowledge, by far the most beautiful and perfect, of which the French metropolis can boast. I mean the Garden of Plants, now termed the Museum of Natural History, situated at the extremity of one of the suburbs, and comprising a space of many acres. This magnificent institution claims the unqualified admiration of a stranger, and would alone, if all the other public foundations for the advancement of knowledge were abolished, assert the munificence of its patrons, and redeem the scientific character of Paris. The picturesque decorations of the garden do not more delightfully recreate the eye, than the purposes to which it is applied, and the manner of the application, warm the feelings, and gratify the understanding. The oftener I visited this spot, the more I examined it in detail, and became acquainted with the copious fountains of knowledge which are here opened with the most splendid liberality, the more perfect and praiseworthy, did I find the whole organization.

The Garden of Plants dates its origin as far back as 1640, during the reign of Louis XIII. In 1665, it bore the title of Hortus Regius, and exhibited a catalogue of four thousand plants. From that period it made but slow progress, until Louis XV. placed it under the direction of Buffon, the celebrated naturalist, to whose anxious care and indefatigable exertions, it owes its present extent and magnificence. It is now under the immediate patronage of the government, and superintended by twelve professors; each of whom regulates exclusively, whatever appertains to the department of science, which he is selected to teach. This institution comprises, 1st. A botanical garden and numerous hot-houses admirably disposed, and stocked with the most various and abundant collection of plants in the universe. There is scarcely a member of the vegetable tribe belonging to the known parts of the globe, of which it cannot furnish a specimen. 2d. An extensive chemical laboratory. 3d. A cabinet of comparative anatomy, with which nothing of the kind to be found else VOL. I.

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where can sustain a parallel. 4th. A valuable cabinet of preparations in anatomy and natural history. 5th. A large library, consisting principally of works relating to natural history, and possessing some very curious drawings. 6th. A museum of natural history, confessedly unequalled, in point of variety and distribution. 7th. A menagérie, well stocked, which has this peculiarity, that the animals, &c. are distributed in various parts of the garden, in appropriate inclosures and habitations, which, being embellished with great taste and judgment, produce a very striking and fanciful effect. The edifices in which the cabinets are deposited, and the professors lodged, are convenient and spacious. A beautiful little structure, intitled the amphitheatre, is appropriated to the delivery of the lectures.

During the summer season, public and gratuitous courses of lectures are given, in mineralogy, geology, chemistry, botany, ornithology, osteology, iconography, simple and comparative anatomy, &c. Among the professors at the period of my visit, were, Hauy, Jussieu, Fourcroy, Cuvier, Lacepede, and Portal, names of the highest eminence in science. The Museum, Library, &c. are open every day to students, and twice a week to casual visiters. The latter, however, must be supplied with tickets of admission, by the annual director, from whom they are obtained without difficulty. This precaution answers a necessary purpose of discrimination.

The garden itself is open to all persons, without distinction. The remoteness of its situation, aloof from the bustle and throng of the capital, serves to protect it from the incursion of the rabble, and of the world of fashion. Its walks are, therefore, frequented chiefly by those, who are prompted, either by the impulse of curiosity, or the love of knowledge. In good weather, the professors of botany give their peripatetic lessons to a numerous train of disciples, without fear of molestation or interruption from idle loiterers, and oftentimes with no other auditors or spectators, than the former. The most habitual loungers in the Garden of Plants, as well as in that of the Luxembourg, are decayed emigrants, and other persons impoverished by the revolution, who find a cheap lodging in the suburbs, and dedicate most of their time to solitary exercise or meditation, in these retreats.

This institution unites all that the imagination of a pastoral poet, or the curiosity of a naturalist could demand. It combines whatever can solace the sense, or amuse the fancy, or gratify a scientific inquirer. With regard to the animal and vegetable kingdoms, it is a kind of microcosm. The vegetation