huddled together, with nothing but a little carpentry and masonry between them: — crammed-in, like salted fish, in their barrel; or weltering, shall I say, like an Egyptian pitcher of tamed vipers, each struggling to get its head above the others: such work goes on under that smoke-counterpane ! But I sit above it all; I am alone with the Stars!

THE REIGN OF TERROR1

WE are now, therefore, got to that black precipitous abyss, whither all things have long been tending; where, having now arrived on the giddy verge, they hurl down, in confused ruin; headlong, pellmell, down, down; — till Sansculottism have consummated itself; and in this wondrous French Revolution, as in a Doomsday, a World have been rapidly, if not born again, yet destroyed and engulfed. Terror has long been terrible; - but to the actors themselves it has now become manifest that their

appointed course is one of Terror; and they say, "Be it so." So many centuries had been adding together, century transmitting it with increase to century, the sum of Wickedness, of Falsehood, Oppression of man by man. Kings were sinners, and Priests were, and people. Open-Scoundrels rode triumphant, be-diademed, be-coronetted, be-mitered; or the still fataller species of Secret-Scoundrels, in their fair-sounding formulas, speciosities, respectabilities, hollow within: the race of quacks was grown many as the sands of the sea. Till at length such a sum of quackery had accumulated itself as, in brief, the Earth and the Heavens were weary of.

Slow seemed the Day of Settlement; coming on, all imperceptible, across the bluster and fanfaronade of Courtierisms, Conquering-Heroisms, Most Christian Grand Monarqueisms, Well-beloved Pompadourisms: yet, behold, it was always coming : behold, it has come, suddenly, unlooked for by any man! The harvest of long centuries was ripening and whitening so rapidly

1 from the "History of the French Revolution"

of late; and now it is grown white, and is reaped rapidly, as it were, in one day — reaped in this Reign of Terror; and carried home to Hades and the Pit! Unhappy Sons of Adam! it is ever so; and never do they know it, nor will they know it. With cheerfully-smoothed countenances, day after day, and generation after generation, they, calling cheerfully to one another "Wellspeed-ye," are at work sowing the wind. And yet, as God lives, they shall reap the whirlwind; no other thing, we say, is possible, since God is a Truth and His World is a Truth.

A HIGHLY interesting lean, little old man, of alert though slightly stooping figure; no crown but an old military cocked hat; no scepter but a walking-stick cut from the woods; and for royal robes a mere soldier's blue coat with red facings, and sure to have a good deal of Spanish snuff on the breast of it; rest of the apparel dim, unobtrusive in color or cut, ending in high overknee military boots, which may be brushed, but are not permitted to be blackened or varnished.

The man is not of godlike physiognomy, any more than of imposing stature or costume: close-shut mouth with thin lips, prominent jaws and nose, receding brow, by no means of Olympian height; head, however, is of long form, and has superlative gray eyes in it. Not what is called a beautiful man, nor yet, by all appearance, what is called a happy. On the contrary, the face bears evidence of many sorrows, as they are termed, of much hard labor done in this world, and seems to anticipate nothing but more still coming. Most excellent potent brilliant eyes, swiftdarting as the stars, steadfast as the sun; gray, we said, of the azure-gray color; large enough, not of glaring size; the habitual expression of them vigilance and penetrating sense. The voice, if he speak to you, is of similar physiognomy, clear, melodious, and sonorous; all tones are in it, from that of ingenuous inquiry, graceful sociality, light-flowing banter (rather prickly for most part), up to definite word of command, up to desolating word of rebuke and reprobation.

A Picture of the King, from "Frederick the Great."

EMERSON

1803-1882

RALPH WALDO EMERSON was born in Boston in 1803, and died at his home in Concord, April 28th, 1882. He graduated at Harvard College in 1821, and after pursuing a course of theological study, became pastor of the Second Unitarian Church of Boston. His ministry was brief, however; a difference of opinion as to points of doctrine arose between himself and his

RW Emerson

people, and he resigned his charge. Retiring to the town of Concord, he devoted himself to the study of mental and moral philosophy. His first published writings - "Man Thinking," "Literary Ethics," and "Nature, an Essay" attracted the attention of thoughtful readers. In 1847 he published his first volume of poems. He is best known by his "Essays" and his Representative Men." His impress on the thought of his time was great; and though he failed to win a numerous following, he did much towards molding the ethical opinions of New England. His books have been widely read in England and Germany.

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Professor John Nichol thus estimates Emerson: "The concentration of his style resembles that of a classic, but, as with others who have adopted the aphoristic mode of conveying their thoughts, he everywhere sacrifices unity to riches of detail. His essays are bundles of loose ideas tacked together by a common title, handfuls of scraps tossed down before his audience like the contents of a conjuror's hat. He delights in proverbs and apt quotations; he exaggerates, loves a contradiction for itself, and prefers a surprise to an argument. His eye is keen, but its range is narrow, and he is ignorant of the fact. His taste is constantly at fault, and an incessant straining after mots often leads him into caricature. His judgments of those whose lives and writings do not square with his theories are valueless; and in dealing with foreign languages he betrays the weakness of his scholarship. His soundest judgments relate to the men around him, of whom he is at once the panegyrist and the censor. All that is weak and foolish in their mode of life he condemns, all that is noblest and most hopeful he applauds.

"His faults are manifest; a petulant irreverence, frequent superficiality, a rash bravery, an inadequate solution of difficulties deeming itself adequate, are among the chief. But he is original, natural, attractive, and direct; limpid in his phrase, and pure in fancy. His best eloquence flows as easily as a stream. In an era of excessive reticence and cautious hypocrisy he lives within a case of crystal where there are no concealments. We never suspect him of withholding half of what he knows, or of formularizing for our satisfaction a belief which he does not sincerely hold. He is transparently honest and honorable. His courage has no limits. Isolated by force of character, there is no weakness in his solitude. He leads us into a region where we escape at once from deserts and from noisy cities; for he rises above without depreciating ordinary philanthropy, and his philosophy at least endeavors to meet our daily wants. In every social and political controversy he has thrown his weight into the scale of justice, on the side of a rational and progressive liberty."

NAPOLEON BONAPARTE

NAPOLEON understood his business. Here was a man who in each moment and emergency knew what to do next. It is an immense comfort and refreshment to the spirits, not only of kings, but of citizens. Few men have any next; they live from hand to mouth, without plan, and are ever at the end of their line, and, after each action, wait for an impulse from abroad.

Napoleon had been the first man of the world, if his ends had been purely public. As he is, he inspires confidence and vigor by the extraordinary unity of his action.

He is firm, sure, self-denying, self-postponing, sacrificing everything to his aim, money, troops, generals, and his own safety also; not misled, like common adventurers, by the splendor of his own means. "Incidents ought not to govern policy," he said, "but policy incidents." "To be hurried away by every event, is to have no political system at all.". His victories were only so many doors, and he never for a moment lost sight of his way onward in the dazzle and uproar of the present circumstance. He knew what to do, and he flew to his mark.

He would shorten a straight line to come at his object. Horrible anecdotes may, no doubt, be collected from his history, of the price at which he bought his successes; but he must not, therefore, be set down as cruel, but only as one who knew no impediment to his will not bloodthirsty, not cruel; but woe to what thing or person stood in his way! "Sire, General Clarke can not combine with General Junot for the dreadful fire of the Austrian battery." "Let him carry the battery." "Sire, every regiment that approaches the heavy artillery is sacrificed. what orders?" "Forward! forward!"

Sire,

In the plenitude of his resources every obstacle seemed to vanish. "There shall be no Alps," he said; and he built his perfect roads, climbing by graded galleries their steepest precipices, until Italy was as open to Paris as any town in France. Having decided what was to be done, he did that with might and main. He put out all his strength. He risked everything, and spared nothing, neither ammunition, nor money, nor troops, nor generals, nor himself. If fighting be the best mode of adjusting national differences (as large majorities of men seem to agree), certainly Bonaparte was right in making it thorough. "The grand principle of war," he said, "was, that an army

1 had would have; a poetic form

2 A.-S. mægen, strength; the two words of this phrase, might and main, are of common origin. ,,