riches, have introduced a style of gorgeous luxury which is at once distasteful and impossible to the "old families;"-and these were only too glad to take the opportunity of retiring to the country to retrench, and of ascribing to the dictates of political principle a course which was really due to pecuniary prudence or necessity. From these various sources there is gradually springing up a race of "country gentlemen” in France, somewhat analogous to our own, though at present far less educated and energetic, and from whom much ultimate good, both political and social, is anticipated. They are slowly acquiring the tastes and adopting the habits of their class; they are attending to agriculture, and introducing improvements which their poorer neighbours have neither the knowledge nor the capital to initiate; they are exchanging an exciting for a quiet life, and are acquiring by residence and intercourse that influence over the minds of their neighbourhood which their superiority in manners and education, imperfect as it is, entitles them to exercise. They are consulted, both on public and private matters, by the villagecitizens around them, and are probably thus laying the foundation for much future usefulness. An unusually large number of this class were returned as members to the two last republican assemblies, and constituted that moderate element whose strength so agreeably surprised the world. Upon these gentlemen themselves the monotonous and sober life they lead is exercising a strong and natural though unconscious conservatising influence; and in future movements it is probable that they will at once prevent the metropolis from possessing that overwhelming and arbitrary power which has often proved so mischievous to France, and while restoring to the provinces their fitting share in the councils and decisions of the nation, will impress upon those provinces an unusual temper of aversion to wild and sudden change, and a disposition to hold by the settled and the stable. They will give a hitherto unknown weight to the stationary and restraining element in French society-to the drag, the ballast, and the anchor. Such at least is the hope and faith of many profound and close observers among the French themselves.

The most influential element in the present condition of France is, beyond contradiction, the character of the remarkable man who now governs it,—a character singularly difficult to estimate aright, because no Frenchman can speak of him dispassionately, and no foreigner can speak of him with a complete knowledge of all the facts necessary for arriving at a confident opinion. Nor does it always contribute much to the elucidation of the matter to hear opposing judgments; for though enemies and detractors may be alike in error, it by no means follows that to

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strike an average between their statements is the way to hit the truth. We must speak, therefore, with some misgivings; but having watched his course carefully, and had an opportunity of conversing respecting him with men of all parties in France as well as here, we think we may be able to approximate at least to a correct understanding of his nature and his views. And, in the first place, we put aside as irrelevant all consideration of his moral character. We doubt whether, in our English sense of the word, he has one. He is capable, we believe, of strong, sincere, and tenacious affections-even of warm affections, as far as warmth of any kind can be predicated of a man of his singularly reserved and phlegmatic temperament. He is usually amiable to those about him, by no means devoid of consideration for them, and is liked, if not loved, by those who have lived with him and served him. We do not suspect him of any petty or malignant passions; it would seem as if he were much less subject to these than was his uncle. But of a moral sense, of an idea of duty, of a conscientious preference of right to wrong, of a perception even of the meaning of the words, we apprehend Louis Napoleon to be wholly destitute. This destitution is not rare in France. We could name more than one of their most eminent men in whom it is as marked as in the emperor. Louis Napoleon considers whether an action will further the end he has in view if it will, it is to him right,-if not, it is to him wrong; or rather, in the one case it will be done, and in the other avoided, without the slightest reference to its moral quality. His object has all along been to govern France-probably to govern her well. He never had any doubt that it was well for France that he should govern her, or that he could govern her well. If he had ever doubted, it probably would have made no difference in his conduct; but we do not imagine that the question ever crossed his mind. He was determined to govern her; it was written that he should. Whatever, therefore, would contribute to his elevation was to be done, whatever was its nature. Whether it was culpable or laudable, just or unjust, kind or cruel, right or wrong, no more entered into his contemplation than would have done the colour of the cup out of which he was to drink the elixir of immortality. Like the sage in Rasselas, he shaped his course, not indeed with a view to " concur in the great and unchangeable scheme of universal felicity," but with a sole reference to the "fitness of things." Whether his seizure of the supreme power, and the steps by which he mounted to the throne, were a perfidious and heinous crime, as some aver, or a necessary, patriotic, beneficent, and therefore righteous course, as others hold, probably is a matter of profound indifference to his peculiar or non-existent conscience. They succeeded: voilà tout!

"il marchait droit à son but ;" not "he was RIGHT," but " il avait RAISON." We no more believe that he made or broke one supererogatory oath, or shed one drop of blood which he thought needless, than we believe that he would have hesitated to violate as many oaths or to shed as much blood as was clearly indispensable and conducive to the object to be attained. Cela posé, as our neighbours say, we may henceforth put his morality-the estimate of him as a good man or a bad man, a venial or a mortal offender-out of our consideration. He is a daimonic man; he has a mission; and destiny, not duty, is the guide and measure of his actions.

· The next thing to observe is, that he really does govern. He has a strong fixed notion of doing his work. He is, in the true sense of the word, a ruler, a commander, an imperator. He did not usurp the throne merely to sit upon it. He did not seize the sceptre merely for the pride of possessing or the pleasure of looking at the bauble. He did not aspire to supreme power solely for the luxury or gratification it might yield him, though he is actually ravenous after every sort of pleasure. He sought and he values greatness, scarcely more for what it would enable him to purchase, than for what it would enable him to do. He holds the reins of government himself; he has none around who can control him, and but few who can materially aid him. He has his line of policy, home and foreign, spun in his own brain. He has his own ideas to work out; some profound, some shallow; some sagacious, some unwise; some prudent, some rash; some full of promise, some fraught with risk and mischief;-but all distinct, though by no means always consistent or continuous. He desires to make France great and prosperous-under his reign. He desires to distinguish his reign by embellishing the capital with works that will be for him a monument are perennius. But he also, we believe, honestly, earnestly, fanatically desires to carry out certain measures of administration and certain principles of statesmanship, because, " much meditating on these things," he is convinced that they are desirable, fit, wise, proper—in a sense, right-independently of their possible bearing on his own prospects and position. He has, we have said, no moral conscience; but instead, and to serve him in the place of one, he has a clear intellect, an earnest purpose, a pertinacious will, and a sincere intention to govern effectively and well.

His knowledge is, we think, often imperfect; and his views therefore limited and inconsistent. His policy seems to be a compound of ideas inherited from his uncle, but modified, corrected, and enlarged by long and deep reflection; and still more perhaps by his observation of the working of free institutions in England and America. He appears to value the forms and rudi

ments of representative government, but to have no belief in the present capacity of France to bear more than the forms, and assuredly to have no notion of allowing any forms whatever to take the substantive power out of his own hands. His views of commercial policy are far sounder than those generally prevalent in France, though still imperfect and inconsistent. He has seen too much of the effects of free-trade here not to be anxious to relax the rigid system of protection which has long prevailed in France, as several indications have shown among them the appointment of Michel Chevalier, a known political economist, to the rank of conseiller d'état. But at the same time he is well aware that his steps in this direction must be gradual and cautious; and he makes no scruple to override the clearest principles of free-trade when political expediency, or reasons of temporary necessity, seem to him to dictate a violation of them. His arbitrary and extraordinary interference with the price of bread in Paris last year was an instance in point. Alarmed at the rapid and warranted advance in that first necessary of life, and warned by history of the close connection between dear bread and popular tumult, he compelled the bakers to sell at a lower price than they could afford (the municipality in the meantime indemnifying them therefor), promising at the same time to authorise them to retain the existing prices after the return of plenty would naturally have reduced them to a moderate level. In other words, he has ventured to attempt an artificial uniformity of price — to make the average price of years a constant and unchanging one. It cannot be believed that so unnatural a system can be carried out. Paris is glad enough now to pay a lower price for its bread than the surrounding country; but will never submit to pay a higher price when the existing pressure has given way to abundance. In the meantime, however, the metropolitan poor have been relieved, and the Emperor's aim has been partially attained. His recent interference with the price of butchers' meat- arbitrary and startling enough, no doubt-cannot be condemned on the same grounds, as the existing monopoly possessed by the butchers was a violation of all sound principle, and the Emperor's interference was only in mitigation of the inevitable consequences of such monopoly: it was, in fact, stepping in with one breach of economic laws to correct a previous and a worse one.

The lavish expenditure of public money, especially in Paris, since the Emperor's accession, has been severely blamed; and, viewed purely in an economic light, we cannot question the justice of the condemnation. Not only has he expended vast sums in fêtes, and social luxuries, and splendid shows, but he has borrowed, and compelled the municipal authorities to borrow, many

millions in order to carry out rapidly changes, some of which were not wholly improvements, and which, even where improvements, ought to have been spread over many years. He has been spending the capital of the country in order to create employment: a plan which political necessities may dictate for a brief space, but which is in utter defiance of all sound principle, and cannot be permanently continued without entailing certain reaction and wide-spread suffering and ruin. The following figures, which have been furnished to us from sure sources, will give some idea both of the expenditure and of the debts incurred. We must premise, however, that perfectly accurate authorised official returns of these sums are scarcely to be procured. Those we give are believed to be correct by persons best placed for ascertaining the truth. In the first place, then, when the war broke out, the friends of the government, and indeed nearly every one, agreed and avowed that any attempt to economise out of the current peace expenditure would be too dangerous; and, therefore, that the war must be entirely provided for by loans. We all know how eagerly and instantaneously the sums demanded were furnished by the people, and how skilfully, as an affair of policy, the matter was contrived. The peculiarity of the mode of borrowing was entirely the Emperor's own idea, and affords a very good specimen of the singular sagacity of the man. He offered very liberal terms to the lenders; but he declined to borrow, as usual, through the great lords of the moneymarket. He knew what vast sums were hoarded in small amounts throughout the length and breadth of France; he knew the difficulty the people had always felt in finding safe and profitable investment for their hoardings (a difficulty diminished, but not removed, by the increase of railroads); and he desired at once to secure to the great body of the people the profit on the loans, and to interest as large a number as possible in the security and permanence of his dynasty. He therefore borrowed directly from individuals, and gave a preference to the smallest sums. Subscribers under 500 francs were taken entire; subscribers for larger amounts only in proportion. We all know the complete success of the operation, and the enormous sums which the novel proposal brought forth from their hiding-places. Including the two great loans, the belief is that since the coup-d'état Louis Napoleon has borrowed 1,700,000,000 francs, including the augmentation of the floating debt, which has increased in four years about 200,000,000 francs. The same authorities assure us that the expenses incurred by the municipality of Paris, on account of the arrangement with the bakers as to the price of bread (mentioned above), reach some say fifty, some say 100,000,000 francs. For the embellishing of the city-in pulling down and rebuilding