pular sovereignty by inclining to the other party. By resisting the extension of the franchise, the humble elector is not immediately benefited; whereas his popular coadjutors assure him, that, by joining their ranks, and admitting them to his privileges, the great boon of liberation from taxes and tithes, and all the sweets of popular sovereignty, will be gained to the people. The result of the elections in the two countries clearly demonstrates the truth of these principles.

Now, observe what an overwhelming argument this furnishes against the whole Reform Bill. The evils of universal suffrage are universally admitted; but the reformers assert that this Bill will raise up an effectual barrier against its dangers, because it will cause all the voters, a million strong, to range themselves on the side of order against any farther extension of the suffrage. But how is such a consequence to be reconciled with the present result of the English elections? Why do not the 40s. freeholders resist as sturdily any intrusion of strangers into their ranks as the L.400 Scotch electors? The reason evidently is, that they make common cause with the democracy, throw overboard the influence of their landlords, and propose to recruit their ranks from the unrepresented classes, because by so doing, they will get the whole power of sovereignty into their own hands; and in the abolition of tithes and taxes, and the division of church property, secure the substantial fruits of popular victory.

In a similar crisis,the new voters will do the same. Finding that they have gained nothing by all the changes, till taxes and tithes are abolished, they will all join the L.5 householders, and the universal suffrage men, in order to accomplish their object. Government will then find that the new voters, instead of being true to the cause of order, are a clear addition to the forces of revolution and anarchy.

"The power of dissolving Parliament," says Lord Advocate Jeffrey in his younger days, "is a power

essential to the existence of the constitution and the safety of the crown; but it is one extremely liable to abuse. By threatening a dissolution for the purpose of intimidating the House of Commons, the executive can obtain the votes of many who are placed beyond the sphere of its ordinary influence; and by appealing to the people at the moment of some violent outcry, Ministers can avail themselves of a popular delusion spread by themselves.*"All plans of reform hitherto exhibited, are liable to the insurmountable objection of beginning by pulling down the constitution as it at present stands, and then proposing to build another fabric entirely new, and on a plan wholly different, and of the convenience or beauty of which no man can possibly judge from experience. Why should we not go gradually to work in this as in all other parts of legislation, cautious in proportion to the greatness of the concern, and the danger of committing a mistake."+-"It is not by mere popular clamour, or the shouts or hisses of an ignorant and disorderly mob, but the deep, the slow, and the collected voice of the intelligent and enlightened part of the community, that the councils of a free nation should be ultimately guided."

"No man can deny that it would be highly impolitic to throw open all the boroughs in which the right of voting at present belongs, to certain parts of the population. No man of common sense would wish to see that worst description of boroughs multiplied, in which from two hundred to five hundred inhabitants have votes; boroughs which are too large to be in the quiet possession of a single great family, but not too large to be contested by men of readymoney influence; boroughs which are, for this very reason, the very sinks of every species of corruption. It would be a very violent proceeding to disfranchise places of this sort, where corporations elect and transfer their rights to certain large towns not now represented. We object, as much as any man, to all rash projects, all wholesale reforms, all theoretical system-mongers, who will have every

thing or nothing, and care not how much they put in jeopardy, so as they bring out something rounded and finished at the first heat."*

Recollecting these the early and far-famed opinions of the celebrated men who then conducted that Journal, and contrasting them with the bill which they have since brought forward in their maturer years, we are filled with astonishment at the magnitude of human inconsistency; and with the most melancholy presages of the future, when the same passions and temptations which have seduced men of their character, shall have seized on baser minds, infirm intellects, and equal ambition. But as the melancholy progress is now so far advanced, it should prove a warning to all the supporters of real freedom, of the consequence of placing themselves at the head of popular agitation, and serve as a beacon to all the friends of the constitution, that it is by steady resistance to innovations even in the last stages of its progress, that England can alone be saved from ruin.

To conclude the result of the

English elections furnishes, if there did not exist before, a decisive and unanswerable argument against the concession of any farther power to the people. It demonstrates that the "moral influence of property," as it is called, which alone is to be left to the landed proprietors, is utterly nugatory in periods of excitement. The Duke of Northumberland trusted to the moral influence-and never was a nobleman more worthy, from his character, of exercising it; and the consequence was, that his power was overturned in his own county.

The Reformers urged the ascendency of the borough-holders as a conclusive argument in favour of a change. Of this argument they are now deprived; without any reform, a Parliament has been returned as popular as the warmest friend of freedom could desire. The necessity, the expedience, of an extension of the franchise, cannot now be pleaded; the Reformers themselves have demonstrated its futility. Without Reform, we are on the verge of a republic; with it, where shall we be?

Of the numerous accounts which appeared in Paris in the bloody reign of anarchy in 1792, but few are undeformed by the creative fancy of those authors, whose object was to feed the greedy and excited apprehension of the time with tales of horror; or by the vehemence of party, which sought to give, if possible, a more flagitious hue to the proceedings of the sanguinary terrorists. By far the most authentic picture-for such it is-of that appalling and momentous crisis, is the brief, but forcible and highly graphic narrative of M. Jourgniac St Méard. The unadorned simplicity of his account, which merely embodies in succession the events of twelve days of savage massacre, of secret accusation, of public credulity and popular atrocity, presents us with a true and striking image of the me

thodized barbarity of that extraordinary period. It more adequately developes, than any other summary of facts, the flagitious excitation of the people, the agonizing scenes of suffering, the odious and unprofitable murders, sanctioned by the national insanity; and the desolating rage of merciless destruction, which smote alike the innocent and guilty. Every item of his vivid and minute relation, is a faithful index of a constituent portion of the system, by which the ascendant of murderous authority-indiscriminately levelled at the people was devised to gratify, to awe, and to subject them. His details present, at once, the levity, the crime, the ceremonious form and turbulent disorder of those distempered times; nor do they fail to shew, among a mass of cruelty, abandonment, and gross depravity,

some splendid instances of generous devotion, pious resignation, and exalted friendship, which, despising all the terrors of dominant iniquity, exemplified the duties of humanity and virtue in aid of innocence and unmerited misfortune.

Fourteen Hours in the Committee of Surveillance de la Commune.

I was arrested by order of this committee on the 22d of August, and taken to the Mairie, at nine in the morning, where I remained until eleven at night. Two gentlemen, members no doubt of the committee, desired me to walk into a chamber; where one of them, overwhelmed with fatigue, fell fast asleep. The other asked me if I was M. Jour gniac Saint Méard.

I answered, "Yes."

M. Be seated, sir. We are all equal. Do you know the cause of your arrest?

Ans. I was told, by one of those who brought me here, that I am suspected to be the editor of an anticonstitutional journal.

M. Suspected is not the word; for I know that Gautier, who is given out as the editor of the Journal de la Cour et de la Ville, is a mere nominal being.

Ans. Your credulity, sir, has been imposed on; for his existence is quite as susceptible of proof, as the circumstance of his being the editor of the journal in question.

M. I am to believe

Ans. Nothing but the truth; since justice is the object of a judge; and I can give you my word of honour

M. Ah! sir, we are not now dealing with words of honour

Ans. So much the worse, sir, for mine is unimpeachable.

M. You are accused of having been on the frontiers these last ten or eleven months; and of having there levied recruits, whom you placed at the service of the emigrants; on your return you were arrested, but escaped from prison.

Ans. If I could bring myself to think this accusation serious, I should require but one hour to prove that, for the last twenty-three months, I have not been out of Paris; and if

M. Oh! I am well aware, sir, of your ability; and I also know that you possess the cunning (astuce.)

Ans. Permit me to observe, that that expression is uncalled for; the immediate object of our enquiry is a mere absurdity, since we are only speaking of the denunciations which have been made against me.

M. Do you know M. Durosoi, the editor of the Gazette of Paris?

Ans. By reputation I know him well, but in no other manner; indeed, I never saw him.

M. I am surprised at that, as letters written by you to him have been found among his papers.

Ans. One only could have been found, as I never wrote to him but once; on which occasion I sent him my address to the chasseurs of my company, on the insurrection of the garrison of Nancy. This address he published in the Gazette de Paris. This is the whole and sole of my correspondence with him.

M. You speak truly; and I must also tell you, that you are not compromised by the letter in question.

Ans. No letter, no writings, no actions of mine, can possibly have had the effect or tendency to compromise me.

M. I have seen you at the house of Madame Vaufleury, and also at the house of M. Peltier, the editor of the Acts of the Apostles.

Ans. That may be, as I frequently visit that lady, and am in the habit of walking with M. Peltier.

M. Are you not a Chevalier of St Louis ?

Ans. I am, sir.

M. Why do you not wear the cross of the order?

Ans. There it is; I have worn it for these last six years.

M. That is sufficient for to-day. I shall inform the Committee that you are here.

Ans. You will do me the favour to inform the Committee, that if I find justice at its hands, I shall be dismissed with my freedom; for I am neither an editor, a recruiter, conspirator, or denunciator.

A moment afterwards, three soldiers beckoned me to follow them. When we reached the court-yard, they requested me to enter a fiacre, (hackney coach,) in which I was conducted, by order of the Committee,

to the Hotel du Faubourg Saint-Germain.

Ten Days in the Abbaye.

HAVING reached the hotel, which turned out to be the prison of the Abbaye, I was given, with my commitment, into custody of the keeper, who, after the usual civility of "let us hope that your detention will not last long," ordered me to a large room, which served as a chapel for the prisoners of the ancien regime. I counted nineteen individuals lying on beds of coarse canvass; that which was assigned to me, had been occupied by M. Daugremont, who had been guillotined two days previously.

On the same day, when we were about to seat ourselves at table, M. Chanterami, a colonel in the Maison Constitutionelle of the King, stabbed himself thrice with a knife, saying"We are all destined to be massacred-My God, I go to you!" In ten minutes he was no more!

August 23d.-I drew up a memorandum, in which I exposed the malice of my denunciators; and sent copies of it to the Minister of Justice, to my own section, to the Committee of Surveillance, and to every one who was concerned for the injustice of my case. Towards five o'clock in the afternoon, M. Durosoi, the editor of the Gazette of Paris, became a partner of our misfortunes. He no sooner heard my name, than he said, after the usual forms of salutation; "Ah! sir, happy am I to meet you! You have long possessed my affection, though I have known you merely from the affair at Nanci; permit an unhappy man, whose latest hour is near, to pour out his heart into yours.' I embraced him. He then gave me a letter, which he had just received-it was from a female friend, and to the following effect:

"My friend, prepare for deathyou are condemned; and to-morrow My heart is broken-but you know what I have promised you. Adieu !"

While I was reading this brief letter, the tears flowed down his cheeks. He kissed the letter repeatedly, and I heard him say in a suppressed and almost suffocated voice,

"Alas! SHE will suffer more than I shall."

He lay down on my bed, and when we were wearied with talking of our accusation and arrest, we fell asleep. At daybreak he composed a memorandum in his justification, which, though penned with energy, and replete with circumstantial exculpation, proved of no avail; he was decapitated on the following day!

He

August 25th.-The commissaries of the prison at length permitted us to receive the Evening Journal. A prisoner, newly committed, brought us in several others, in one of which, the Courier Français, I read the following article: "Messieurs Saint Méard and Beaumarchais are arrested; the former was the author of a scandalous journal, called Le Journal de la Cour et de la Ville. was a captain in the King's regiment; and it is to be remarked, that he is the owner of the estate near Bordeaux, which formerly belonged to the celebrated Montaigne. M. St Méard enjoys an income of more than 40,000 livres." The estate alluded to is the property of M. Segur, and as to my fortune, it never exceeded 20,000 livres, prior even to the Revolution.

August 26th.-Midnight. A municipal officer entered the room, to take our names and the dates of our respective commitments. He gave us hopes that the municipality would authorize commissaries, on the following day, to discharge all parties who had been arrested on vague denunciations. This expectation enabled me to enjoy a night of sound repose; however, it was not fulfilled; on the contrary, the number of prisoners evidently increased.

August 27th.-The report of a pistol was heard in the interior of the prison; it was followed by hurry and confusion on the stairs and in the passages. We heard the noise of various locks and bolts. Our room was entered by several persons; among them was the turnkey of our ward; he counted us; and said, "Tranquillize yourselves-the danger is over!" This was the only information, on the subject of the disturbance, afforded us by this brusque and uncommunicative personage.

August 28th and 29th.-We were

August 30th. Eleven at night.—A man of eighty years of age was conducted to his bed, in our room; the next day we learned that he was the Sieur Cazotte, the author of a poem called Olivier, of the Diable Amoureux, &c. The extravagant gaiety and Oriental style of speech of this old man, afforded us a temporary diversion. In the midst of our misery, he endeavoured seriously to persuade us, by the History of Cain and Abel, that we were much happier than those in the enjoyment of liberty, and was sensibly offended at our incredulity. Our discussion was terminated by the arrival of two gendarmes, who conducted him to the criminal tribunal.

I lost not an instant in procuring such attestations as supported the truths advanced in my memorandum. I was assisted by a friend, the like of whom the world does not contain; who, while the companions of my misfortune were utterly abandoned by theirs, laboured night and day incessantly, in my behalf. He forgot that at such a crisis of excite ment and general mistrust, he ran the risk of implications like my own, by evincing such lively interest in the condition of a suspected man. noble spirit was above all these considerations; no danger daunted him; and well did he exemplify the proverb, that "adversity is the touchstone of friendship." To his zealous energy am I, in a great degree, indebted for existence; and I owe it to the public, to myself, and to truth, to declare the name of this generous and incomparable friend, M. Teyssier, Rue Croix des Petits-Champs.

His

The last days of August brought back to my remembrance the affair of Nanci, and I compared the dan

September 1st.-Some of our comrades were released; as were other occupants of the adjacent rooms. Among the latter was M. de Jaucourt, a member of the legislative assembly, who, shortly before his arrest, had vacated his seat as a deputy.

My Thirty-eight Hours' Agony.

September 2d. Sunday.-The turnkey served our dinner earlier than usual. His wild look and haggard eyes seemed to announce some disastrous tidings. He returned to us at two o'clock; we surrounded him, in breathless anxiety and expectation, but he was deaf or dumb to every question; and, with unusual precaution, he collected the knives, which we were accustomed to fold up in our napkins.

At half past two o'clock, the turbulent noise of the mob was dreadfully augmented by the drums beating" the general;" by shots of alarm from the cannon; and by the tocsin, which resounded on all sides. During this terrible tumult we saw three carriages pass, surrounded by a countless crowd of infuriated men and women, crying "A la Force, à la Force!"* The occupants of these coaches were conveyed to the cloister of the Abbaye, which had been set apart as a prison exclusively for the priests. An instant had hardly elapsed, when we heard that a general massacre had taken place of the bishops and other ecclesiastics, who, to use the vulgar expression of the time, had been parqués (penned up) in this receptacle.

Nearly four o'clock. We were attracted to the window by the piercing cries of a man, whom they were hacking to pieces with sabres. We beheld from the tower adjoining our apartment, a mangled body on the pavement; in an instant the slaughter of another wretched being succeeded-It is impossible to describe the horror of the profound