There would then be no more buying up public opinion with Government offices. Town and county legislation would no longer be bound up with the State, nor could the State legislation be involved with that of the General Government. Political parties would become flexible, and adapt themselves to the varying interests of every class and every locality, from the mere absence of any common and sufficiently controlling interest to combine them. Officers would then be selected generally more acceptible to their constituency, because their choice, and more fit because selected without any sinister interest operating upon them to deprave their motives. They would underlie no temptation to multiply of fices for the sake of making places, but would feel a steady interest to reduce the number already existing as fast as a more economical provision might be made for a proper discharge of their functions. The dignity and character of our public men would, in a measure, escape that obloquy and abuse which inevitably follow the distribution of the Government patronage, and against which heretofore no reputation for ability or moral purity in political life could get protection. Such an immunity would bring back to the public service many valuable men whose sensibilities and pride would otherwise keep them for ever from political life. It would likewise favor that liberality in the discussion of political subjects, and that toleration of political differences which are essential to the rapid growth and diffusion of a wise political system among the people.

paralleled moderation and humanity which the English people have displayed at this great conjuncture? The answer is plain. This moderation, this humanity, are the fruits of a hundred years of liberty. During many generations we have had legislative assemblies, which, however defective their constitution might be, have always contained many members chosen by the people, and many others eager to obtain the approbation of the people; assemblies in which perfect freedom of debate was allowed; assemblies in which the smallest minority had a fair hearing; assemblies in which abuses, even when they were not redressed, were at least exposed. For many generations we have had the trial by jury, the Habeas Corpus Act, the freedom of the Press, the right of meeting to discuss public affairs, the right of petitioning the legislature. A vast portion of the popula tion has long been accustomed to the exercise of political functions, and has been thoroughly seasoned to political excitement. In most other countries there is no middle course between absolute submission and open rebellion. In England there has always been for centuries a constitutional opposition. Thus our institutions had been so good that they had educated us into a capacity for better institutions. There is not a large town in the kingdom which does not contain better materials for a legislature than all France could furnish in 1789. There is not a spoutingclub at any pot-house in London, in which the rules of debate are not better understood, and more strictly observed, than in the Constitutent Assembly. There is scarcely a Political Union which could not frame in half an hour a superior declaration of rights that that which occupied the collective wisdom of France for several months."*

Nor should we overlook the superior political education which our people would receive from the direct and wholesome interest they would thus be led to take in political affairs. The chief cause of the insane atrocity which distinguished the French revolution of 1789 from the English Revolution of 1688, has been ascribed, and doubtless with propriety, to the greater familiarity of the English people with the political duties of a free citizen. In contrasting these two great crises in the histories of England and France, Macaulay, discoursing of Mirabeau, thus alludes to this educational influence: "To what are we to attribute the un- All these differences arise from the

To the same cause may be ascribed the limited use of trial by jury among the various nations of the earth. The ablest statesmen on the continent of Europe have professed their admiration of the institution, but have found it impossible to introduce it to any considerable extent among any of those nations which have not practically enjoyed for a long period the benefits of a liberal representative system.

Edinburgh Review, 1832.

union.

LA VENDETTA, OR THE FEUD.

BY MRS. F. A. BUTLER.

(From the French of Balzac.)

TOWARDS the end of the month of September, in the year 1800, a stranger, followed by a woman and a little girl, arrived in front of the Palace of the Tuilleries. He paused for some time by the ruins of a house that had been lately pulled down, and remained standing with his arms folded and his head bowed down. If he occasionally raised it, it was to look alternately at the Palace of the First Consul and at his wife, who had seated herself near him on a stone. Although she appeared entirely absorbed in the contemplation of her child, a little girl between nine and ten years old, with whose black hair she played mechanically, not one of the glances cast upon her by her companion escaped her. One sentiment, other than love, doubtless, bound them to each other, and animated with the same anxiety their thoughts and gestures. Misery is perhaps the strongest of all ties they were married, the little girl appeared to be the last pledge of their The stranger had one of those massive beards with a forest of hair, of that large and powerful character which are so often found in the pictures of the Caracci; but the black hair was mingled with many white ones, and his proud and noble features wore at that moment an expression of harshness which disfigured them. He was tall and vigorous, although he appeared to be upwards of sixty years old. His tattered clothes witnessed that he had come from a distance, and was a foreigner. His wife was at least fifty years old; her countenance, once handsome, was worn and faded; her attitude expressed the profoundest melancholy; but whenever her husband looked at her she tried herself to smile, and assumed a serene countenance. The little girl remained standing in spite of the fatigue which her young face, tanned by the sun, exhibited. Her appearance was that of an Italian; her large black eyes shone from beneath brows of the most perfect outline, and

there was about her altogether a native nobility and grace impossible to describe. More than one passenger in the street was struck with the appearance of this group, who made no effort to conceal a despair as profound as its expression was simple. But the ephemeral sympathy which characterises the Parisians was unusually short-lived on this occasion; for as soon as the stranger perceived that he was an object of curiosity or attention, he fixed upon his observer a look of such ferocity that the most intrepid idler hurried on as if he had stepped upon a serpent.

Suddenly the tall stranger drew his hand across his forehead he swept thence, as it were, the thoughts that had been furrowing it with deep lines, and appeared to embrace some desperate determination. He threw a piercing glance upon his wife and daughter, drew from his bosom a long dagger, and giving it to his companion, said to her, in Italian: "I will go and find out whether the Buonapartes remember us." He then walked slowly and steadily towards the entrance of the Palace. The stranger was, of course, stopped by a soldier of Consular guard, with whom he had not a very long discussion, for on perceiving the determined obstinacy of the stranger, the sentinel presented his bayonet towards him as an ultimatum. It happened that at this moment they relieved guard, and the corporal very civilly pointed out to the adventurer the place where his commanding officer could be found.

"Let Buonaparte know that Bartholomeo di Piombo would speak with him," said the stranger to the captain on duty.

It was in vain that the officer represented to Bartholomeo that nobody saw the First Consul without having previously written to demand an audience; the stranger insisted on his being announced to Buonaparte. The officer, stating the regulations of his post, for

mally refused to comply with the demand of this singular individual. Then Bartholomeo, contracting his brows, and casting on him a look of fearful import, appeared mentally to make him responsible for whatever disastrous consequences might ensue. He remained silent, folded his arms on his breast, and placed himself under the portico which forms the communication between the court-yard and the garden of the Tuilleries. People with strong wills are generally well served by fate. At the moment when Bartholomeo seated himself on a bench at the gate of the Tuilleries, a carriage drove up, and Lucian Buonaparte, then Minister for the Home Department, alighted

from it.

"Ah, Lucian! it is lucky for Bartholomeo that he meets you," exclaimed the stranger.

could not help smiling, and gently pushing his faithful officer by the shoulders, Rapp obeyed, and left the room.

66

Well, and what art thou come hither for, my poor Bartholomeo?" said the First Consul to Piombo.

"To demand an asylum and protection from thee, if thou art a true Corsican," replied Bartholomeo abruptly.

"What misfortune has driven thee from home? Not six months since thou wert the richest, the-"

"I have killed all the Portas," replied the Corsican in a deep voice, drawing together his ominous brows.

The First Consul stepped back almost with a start.

"Wilt thou betray me?" exclaimed Bartholomeo, casting a gloomy look upon Buonaparte; "there are yet four Piombos in Corsica."

Lucian seized the arm of his countryman, and shaking it, cried, “Art thou come hither to threaten my brother?"

Buonaparte made a sign to Lucian, who became silent; then fixing his eyes on Piombo, he said, “And why hast thou killed the Portas?"

These words, pronounced in the Corsican dialect, arrested Lucian, who was springing through the gate-way. He looked at Bartholomeo, recognized him, and, upon a word whispered in his ear by the latter, he nodded, and led the Corsican with him into the presence of Buonaparte. They entered The eyes of the Corsican flashed together the apartment of the First fire. "We had," said he, "but lateConsul. Murat, Lannes and Rapp ly become friends-the Barbanti had were there. On the entrance of Lu- brought about a reconciliation between cian, followed by so peculiar a looking us. The day after that on which we personage as Piombo, they all became drank together to drown our animosity, silent. Lucian took Napoleon by the I left home, having business to transact hand, and they went together apart at Bastia. They remained at my house to a window. There, after having exchanged a few words with his brother, the First Consul made a sign, which Murat and Lannes immediately obeyed-they left the room. Rapp pretended to have seen nothing, and remained. Buonaparte addressed him with some sharpness by name, and the aide-de-camp withdrew unwillingly to the adjoining apartment. The First Consul still hearing the sound of Rapp's footsteps, abruptly followed him, and found him pacing up and down by the partition which separated the two rooms.

they set fire to it-they killed my son Gregorio. If my daughter Ginevra and my wife escaped, it is only because they had taken the sacrament that morning, and the Virgin protected them. When I returned, I could not find my house, and sought for it with my feet in its ashes." Bartholomeo paused; he appeared to sink under the horrible recollection. "Suddenly I stumbled over the body of Gregorio," he continued; "and by the moonlight recognized my son. The Portas have done this!' I cried. Instantly I assembled a few men to whom I had once rendered services-do you mark me, Buonaparte?—and we marched upon the dwelling of the Portas. We arrived at nine o'clock in the morning-at ten they were all before God. Giacomo insists that Elisa Vanni saved one of the children-the little Luigi—but I tied him down myself in his bed before I fired the house. In short, I left the

island with my wife and child, without he looked round him with an air of sahaving been able to ascertain whether tisfaction. "You are not badly housed Luigi was still alive.” here," said he smiling, as if he would fain have taken up his quarters with them. This is a palace!"