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pure reason

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at least to make a Govern- two combined how can you make anything? ment on grounds of pure argument and The antagonism is as perfect as between reason. But at once comes the difficulty plus and minus; you can make up no comthat there is in France a great want of what pound; you can find no intermediate term; Lord Bacon called "dry light." Every you must choose between the two. opinion there is, in the Baconian language, The selection can, we fear, only be made "steeped in the humours of the affections." by force; hitherto at least it has been so. There is no large number and no powerful Paris is France for the purpose of making a order of persons holding opinions on the Government, but it is not France for the purgrounds of reason or argument. Poor pose of keeping a Government. The ParProvost-Paradol used to maintain that the isians put in a Republic by revolution educated bourgeoisie in Paris and in a few resting more or less on socialism and the other towns was such a body, but he ad- artisans. The Republic, as its nature remitted its powerlessness, and he was him- quires, appeals to the people—that is, to self an example of it. When he became a the country. In response to the appeal candidate for Nantes, he could not obtain back comes an assembly full of dislike to votes enough to make a decent minority. the socialistic Republic — above all things Neither the party for the Empire nor the anxious for property- full of the panic of party against it cared for him and his reasons. the proprietary peasantry. And then beBut in default of political reasons there are gins the strife between the conservative in France two intense political passions Chamber and the innovating moba strife the passion of property among the country which is too keen and internecine to be peasants, and the passion for socialism confined to words only - which soon takes among the town ouvriers. And, unhappily, to arms and to the streets, and settles the these passions are entirely opposed. So- victory there. If the Republic asks France cialism" is an obscure term, and the idea not for a Chamber but for a President, the in the minds of those who cleave to it is of result will be the same in essence. The the vaguest and wildest kind; still, on the President will be, as Louis Napoleon was, whole, it means a system wishing to amend the nominee of the country; while the Re property - a system incompatible with public was, like the present Republic, the present property. The passionate part of choice of the towns. the Republicans in 1848, the only part of them who were eager and many, meant more or less distinctly what Louis Blanc said distinctly. He aimed avowedly at a system in which wages received should be proportionate not to work done but to wants felt. He would have given a man with many children much and a man with few children little, and he would have taxed without limit existing property for that object. A still more violent reasoner invented the celebrated phrase “La propriété, c'est le vol," or Property is robbery." And this is only a strict deduction from the elementary wish of socialists that all men are to “start fair." In that case all inherited property is unjust, and all gifts among the living by which the children of the rich become better off than the children of the poor are unjust too. Both violate the equality of the start; both make life an adjusted and 'handicapped" race an existence where accidental advantages impair or outweigh intrinsic qualities. Roughly it may be said that the main desire of the city socialists in France, on grounds more or less honest, is to attack property; and that the sole desire of the country peasants is, on grounds more or less selfish, to maintain property. And between the two how can you mediate? or, out of the

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And the worst is that the most desirable Governments for France, as a philosopher. or at any rate as an Englishman would judge, are very popular nowhere. The political Republic-the Republic without socialism-the Orleanist monarchy-appeal neither to the passions of the country nor to those of the towns. The peasant does not connect them with his terre; the ouvrier does not connect them with his schemes. They rest on pure reason, and are weak accordingly. The Parliamentary system the best form of free Government, as we believe is an exotic in France, and has never yet thriven there. And the defect goes very deep. Frenchmen as yet have never shown themselves able to bear exciting discussion. A French Assembly at a critical moment is not a deliberating Senate, but a yelling mob. Everybody speaks or cries; no one hears; and an ineffectual President rings incessantly the bell which calls members to order, but to which no member attends. Outside it is the same. Each man reads his own newspaper, becomes more and more enamoured of its "logic," but he does not read the journals of his opponents. He does not put his first principles side by side with theirs and see fairly which is best. French parties are more like sects in religion than like our Eng

lish political parties. For the most part they only examine deductions from admitted premises, and as these premises differ, the better the logic the further the deviation. Even if the nation were as much united as most nations, this habit of mind would be a serious hindrance to free Government. Even the common questions of policy and administration incident to a free country cannot properly be discussed in such a manner. But when the active political part of the nation is divided into two hostile camps, when one-half fear above all things what the other half above all things wish, what can anyone expect from a mode of arguing which of its own nature confirms each party in its own opinion, and widens

the breach between them? Steady discussion is hardly possible in a nation which is naturally excitable, which is prone to hope and prone to terror, both to exaggeration, upon questions causing fanatical passion, and by a logic which excites everyone and convinces no one.

We have elsewhere spoken of the contingent possibilities of peace and war, and therefore need say nothing here. That the present crisis is soon certain to elicit the worst effects of these faults is very plain, and if it had not been so we should not now have dwelt on them, for France has come to that pitch of misfortune at which it is painful to say anything but good of her.

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THE leaves drift down in forest ways;
The wind moans with a voice of pain;
But through the dim September days,
Like chords of some sweet haunting tune,
The memories of a happy June

Come back to me again

A June for evermore that lies,
A pearl of purest, rarest bliss,
Shrined in delicious memories:
Sweet words and sweeter silence blest
With dewy twilights, and the scent
Of thick-flowered clematis;

Long cloudless morning hours that pass
Under oak-shadows cool and dark;
The drone of insects in the grass,
Through the hot noon-day hushed and still,
Pierced only by the sudden trill

Of one up-soaring lark;

The plash of oars at eventide :
The low clear rippling of the stream
Against the boat. Faint breezes glide
With lisping rustle in the reeds,
And slowly from the bank recedes
The sunset's violet gleam —

Lingering in many lanes to hear
The nightingale's first liquid notes
Pour rich and full. From meadows near,
Mown newly, fragrant breaths arise;
The moon across the tranquil skies

A globe of silver floats;

And all through the long summer days
My heart thrills to the fervent tones
Of one loved voice; a tender gaze
Follows me ever. Strangely bright
Life lies beneath love's mystic light.—
But now the wild wind moans:

From their dead stalks the flowers are gone, The leaves are swept by autumn rain;

I watch in silence and alone;

And by the wood-fire's reddening blaze,
The memories of the sweet June days

Come back to me again.

Chambers' Journal.

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NUMBERS OF THE LIVING AGE WANTED.

The publishers are in want of Nos. 1179 and 1180 (dated respectively Jan. 5th and Jan. 12th, 1867) of THE LIVING AGE. To cubscribers, or others, who will do us the favor to send us either or both of those numbers, we will return an equivalent, either in our publications or in cash, until our wants are supplied.

PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY

LITTELL & GAY, BOSTON.

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FOR EIGHT DOLLARS. remitted directly to the Publishers, the LIVING AGE will be punctually forwarded for a year, free of postage. But we do not prepay postage on less than a year, nor where we have to pay commission for forwarding the money.

Price of the First Series, in Cloth, 36 volumes, 90 dollars.

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Any Volume Bound, 3 dollars; Unbound, 2 dollars. The sets, or volumes, will be sent at the expense of the publishers.

PREMIUMS FOR CLUBS.

For 5 new subscribers ($40.), a sixth copy; or a set of HORNE'S INTRODUCTION TO THE BIBLE, unabridged. in 4 large volumes, cloth, price $10; or any 5 of the back volumes of the LIVING AGE, in numbers, price $10.

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mar,

How sad, yet O how true, a type ye are
Of man's fast-fading life and hopes below!
To my sad heart to-night ye speak, I know,
Of cherished hopes, that in my youth seemed
bright,

But which, like ye, have faded in my sight,
And drooped, and died, and passed away from
earth

With all the joys that in them had their birth.
And as I gaze upon ye, faded flowers,
My thoughts fly back to happy bygone hours,
Until before me rise, as in a dream,

The forms of those (sweet faded flowers they seem)

Whom in those early days I loved and lost-
Like flow'rets, killed while in the bud by frost!
Alas, that in our lives it should be so!
And yet is it the fate of all below;

Our hopes must fade, and friends must pass away,

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Until we reach "a land of purer day;'
For there, O faded flowers! they all, like ye,
Shall bloom afresh, and still more lovely be;
The hopes we've lost, the loved ones whom we

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His shrill sweet notes ascending, in melody uprise,

Re-echoing till their music is lost amid the skies.

Ah! Whither go the gold motes, and where the lilies white,

Borne on ward by the torrent resistless from our sight?

And whither goes the brooklet, and where the birdie's lay,

Is it unto that Hereafter, whither all must pass away?

All The Year Round.

THE VOICE OF NEMESIS TO THE

REPUBLIC.

THE Empire's dead in open day
France scans with dauntless eye her fate.
But will your nursling freedom stay
The swift avenger at your gate?

Afield, a traitor's hands were light,

For bane at home his bonds were strong. Your ancient heritage of right

Is foul with stains of upstart wrong.

You laugh for joy of new-found light,
For pride of new unfettered force:
'Tis well but first in all men's sight
Come forth and carry out the corse.
Spectator.

WHITHER?

ALL Spangled are the beech trees, with motes of autumn gold,

And 'neath their spreading red leaves is many a love-tale told;

O'erclouds the sky with shadow, the thundershowers fall,

And fade away the sunbeams-away beyond recall.

The babbling brook o'er-ripples the pebbles smooth and white,

The water-lilies quiver, and tremble in the light;

Arise the wind and tempest, from whence we may not know,

The brook becomes a torrent, away the lilies flow!

The prisoned lark is stirring his little throat to raise

The song that once on green turf he sang to Heaven's praise;

PARIS.

BY S. G. BULFINCH.

"And when the angel stretched out his hand him of the evil, and said to the angel that destroyed upon Jerusalem to destroy it, the Lord repented the people, It is enough; stay now thine hand." [2 Samuel, xxiv. 16.]

DESTROYING angel! when beneath thy sword, For David's guilt, his city trembling lay,

Vengeance to Mercy's gentle plea gave way, And thou, majestic servant of the Lord, Didst sheathe thy blade at his restraining word. Again a monarch's crime hith brought dis

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