NAPOLEON.

Lyttelton Times, Volume III, Issue 109, 5 February 1853, Page 8

NAPOLEON.

B? G. GII.FII.LAN.

A vret interesting book were a history of the histories of Napoleon—a criticism on the criticisms written about him —a sketch of his sketchers ! He, who at one period of his life had the monarchsand ambassadors of Europe waiting in his antechamber, has enjoyed since a levee, larger still, of the authors, orators, and poets of the world. Who has not tried his hand at painting the marvellous mannikin of Corsica—fortune's favourite and football—nature's pride and shame —France's glory and ruin—who was arrested and flung back when he was just vaulting into the saddle of universal dominion ? What eminent author has not written either on the pros or the cons of this prodigy of modern men ? To name only a few —Horsley has tried on him the broad and heavy edge of his invective— Hall has assailed him with his more refined and polished indignation—Foster has held 'up his stiff and rugged hands in stationary wonder at him—Byron has bent before him his proud knee, and become the laureate of his exile— Hazlitt has fought his cause with as much zeal and courage as if he had belonged to his old guard—Coleridge has woven his metaphysic mazes about and about him—Wordsworth has sung of him, in grave, solemn, and deprecatory verse—Southey has, both in prose aud rhyme, turned against him his dull and dignified resentment—Scott has pictured him in Don Roderick, and written nine volumes on his history— Brougham, Jeffrey, and Lockhart, have met, and embraced each other in fascinated admiration, or fine-spun analysis of his genius—Phillips has set his character in his most brilliant antithesis, and surrounded his picture with his most sounding common-places—Croly has dashed off his life with his usual energy and speed—Wilson has let out his admiration in many a glorious gush of eloquence—Charming, in the name of the freedom of the western world, has impeached him before high Heaven—Emerson has anatomized him, as with the lancet of the gods, and calmly reported the result—Carlyle has proclaimed him the ' Hero of tools'—and, to single out two from a crowd, Thiers and Alison have told his history with minute and careful attention, as well as with glowing ardour of appreciation. Time would fail us, besides, to speak of the memoirs, favourable or libellous—of the dramas, novels, tales, and poems, in which he has figured, in primary or in partial display. Surely the man who has borne such discussion, endured such abuse, sustained such panegyric, and who remains an object of curiosity, wonder, and inquiry still, must have been the most extraordinary production of modern days. He must have united profundity and brilliance, splendour and solidity, qualities creating fear and love, and been such a compound of the demigod and the demon, the wise king and the tyrant, as the earth never saw before, nor is ever likely to behold again.

This, indeed, is the peculiarity of Napoleon. He was profound, as well as brilliantly successful. Unlike most conquerors, his mind was big with a great thought, which was never fully de" veloped. He was not raised, as many have stupidly thought, upon the breath of popular triumph. It was not'chance that made him king,' or that crowned him, or that won his battles. He was a cumulative conqueror. Every victory, every peace, every law, every movement, was the step of a giant stair, winding upward toward universal dominion. All was systematic. All was lull of purpose. All was growingly progressive. No rest was possible. Hemhriit have noonday breathing-times, but there was°no nightly repose. ' Onwards' was the voice ever sounding behind him -. nor was this the voice of his nation, ever insatiate for novelty and conquest ; nor was it the mere ' Give, give,' of his restless ambition ; it was the voice of his ideal the cry of his unquenchable soul. He became' the greatest of warriors and conquerors, or at least one of the greatest, because, like a true painter or poet, he came down upon the practice of his art, from a stem and lofty conception or hypothesis, to which everything required' to yield. As Michael Angelo subjected all things to his pursuit and the ideal he had formed of it painted the crucifixion by the side of a writhiix' slave, and, pious though he was, would have broken up the true cross for pencils, and studied chiaro-scuro at Calvary; so Napoleon pursued Ms ideal through tempests of death-hail and seas of blood, and looked upon poison, and gunpowder, and men's lives, as the box of colours

necessary to his new and terrible art of war and grand scheme of conquest. But were the art and the scheme, thus frightfully followed out, worthy and noble? Viewed in a Christian light, they were not. The relgion of Jesus denounces war, in all save its defensive aspects. It denounces, too, indirectly, the idea of universal dominion, for it exhibits always the earth as Christ's property, and predicts that he shall yet be crowned Lord of all. But when we try Napoleon by human standards, and compare his scheme with that of other conquerors, both seem transcendently supeib. He saw clearly that there was no alternative between the surges of anarchy and the absolute government of one master-mind. He saw that what was called 'balance of power' was a feeble and useless dream, and that all things in Europe were tending either to anarchy or a new absolutism — either to the dominion of millions, or of that one who should be found a match for millions. He felt himself that one. His iron hand could, in the first place, grasp the great sceptre ; and his wise and powerful mind would afterwards consolidate his dominion by just and liberal laws. 'On this hint he spake' in cannon. This purpose he pursued with an undeviating energy, which seemed, for a season, sure and irresistible as one of the laws of nature. The unity of his tactique only reflected the unity of his plan. It was just the giant club in the giant hand. Of his system of strategy, the true praise is simply that it gave a fit and full expression to his idea —it was what heroic rhyme was to Dryden, blank verse to Milton, and the Spenserian stanza to Byron.

To his scheme, and his mode of pursuing it, there occur, however, Certain strong objections; but all, or nearly all, founded upon principles the truth of which he did not recognise. First, it is a scheme impossible. No one human arm or mind can ever govern the world. There is but one person before whom every knee shall bow, and whose lordship every tongue shall confess. Napoleon saw that there is no help for the world, but in the absolute dominance of a single mind ; but he did not see that this mind, ere it can keep as well as gain dominion, and ere it can use that dominion well, must be divine. Who can govern even a child without perpetual mistakes ? And how much less can one ungifted with Divine knowledge and power govern a world ?

But, secondly, Napoleon mistook the means for gaining his object. He thought himself invested with immunities which he did not possess. The being who can repeal the laws of justice and mercy—who can pursue plans of ultimate benevolence through paths of profound ahd blood-sprinkled darkness—who can command the Canaanites-to be extirpated, and permit the people of Rabbah to be put under axes and saws of iron, and raise up base, bad, or dubious characters, to work out his holy purposes, must be a being superior to man—a god. Whereas the man, however endowed, who violates all conventional as well as moral law in seeking his object—who can 'break open letters, tell lies, calumniate private character,' as well as assassinate and poison, must be pronounced a being in many respects inferior to mankind, a human Satan, uniting magnitude of object and of power to detestable meanness and maliciousness of character and of instrumentality. We ought, perhaps, to apologise for bringing thus, even into momentary contrast, the Governor of the universe and his mysterious, but most righteous ways, and the reckless actions of the Emperor of the French.

A greater mistake still was committed by Napoleon when he allied himself with the princes of Europe, when he ceased to be the soldier and the Cassar of democracy, and when, above all, he sought to found a house, and was weak enough to believe that he could ever have a successor from his own loins equal to himself. Cromwells and Napoleons are but thinly sown, and 'not transferable' might be written on their brains. Here we see another proof of the gross miscalculation he made of his own, and, indeed, of human nature. 'My children must be as great as myself,' was his secret thought: otherwise, 'I am God, and gods must spring from me.' But it is not in human nature to continue a hereditary series of able and wise rulers, far less a procession of prodigies. From heaven must come down the one immutable Man, wdio is without beginning of days or end of life, whose kingdom is an everlasting kingdom, and the days of whose years are for ever and ever.

But, thirdly, taking Napoleon on his own

godless ground, in seeking his great object, he neglected some important elements of success. He not only committed grave errors, but he omitted some wise and prudent steps. He reinstated the crosier and re-crowned the Pope, instead of patronising a moderate Protestantism. He was more anxious to attack aristocrats than the spirit of oligarchy. He sought rather to crush than to transfuse the Jacobin element. He contrived elaborately to disguise his real purpose, ' the ' giant's dream' of his imagination, under the trappings and pretension of vulgar ambition, and thus created a torrent of prejudice against himself. He made the contest against Russia assume the aspect of a strife between two butchers for a very fair heifer, rather than that of civilisation bearding, since it could not interpenetrate, barbarism— of the hunter seeking the bear in his den. The enthusiasm he kindled was chiefly that of the love of martial glory, or of attachment to his flag and person, not of the c idea' which possessed his own breast. Hence the ardour of his army, being of the ' earth, earthy,' yielded quickly to the first gush of genuine patriotism which arose to oppose them, and which, though as narrow as intense, was, in comparison,' light, from heaven.' Perhaps, in truth, his inspiring, idea was not easily communicable to such men as those he led, who, shouting ' Vive la France," or ' Vive l'Empereur,' little imagined that he was paving, on their carcasses, Ins path to the title and the throne of an ' omniarch.'

The theory of Napoleon, thus propounded, seems to explain some points in his character which are counted obscure. It accounts for his restless dissatisfaction with the success he did gain. What were Belgium, Holland, and Italy to him, who had formed, not the mere dream, but the hope and design of a fifth monarchy ? It explains his marvellous triumphs. He fought not for a paltry battlefield, nor for the possession of an island, but to gain a planet, to float his standard in the breezes of the whole earth! Hence an enthusiasm, a secret spring of ardour, a determination, and a profundity of resource, which could hardly he resisted. How keen the eye, and sharpened almost to agony the intellect, of a man gambling for a world ! It explains the strange gloom, and stranger gaiety, the oddness of manner, the symptoms which made many think him mad. The man, making a fool of the world, became often himself the fool of a company, who knew not besides that he _ was the fool of an idea. The thought of universal dominion—the feeling that he was made for it, and tending to it—this made him sometimes silent when he should have spoken, and sometimes speak when he should have been silent—this was a weird wine which the hand of his demon poured out to him, and of which he drank without measure and in secret. It explains the occasional carelessness of his conduct—a carelessness like that of the sun, who, warming the earth and glorifying the heavens, yet sometimes scatters abroad strokes which burn men's brains, and anon set corn-fields on fire. It explains the truth and tenderness, the love of justice and the gleams of compassion, which mingled with his public and private conduct. He was too wise to underrate, and too great not to feel, the primary laws of human nature. Aud he intended that, when his power was consolidated, these should be the laws of hit empire. His progress was a voyage through blood, towards mildness, peace, and justice. But in that ocean of blood there lay an island, and in the island did that perilous voyage terminate, and to it was our daring hero chained, till his soul departed. Against one island had this continental genius bent all the fury and the energy of his nature, and in another island was he for a time imprisoned, and in a third island he breathed his last.

Our theory, in fine, accounts for the calm firmness with which he met his reverses. His empire, indeed, had fallen, but his idea remained intact. He might never express it in execution ; but he had thrown it down on the arena of the world, and it lies still in that ' court of the Gentiles.' It has started anew in these degenerate days, an invigorating thought, the thought of a single ruler for this distracted earth ; a thought which, like leaven, is sure to work on till it leaven all the.lump; and is to be fulfilled in a way of which men dream not. Napoleon, though he failed in the attempt, felt, doubtless, the consolation of having made it, and of having thereby established for himself an impersonal and imperishable glory. The reality of empire departed when he resigned ; but the bright prophetic dream of empire only

left him when he died, and has become his legacy to the world. Such, we think, were Napoleon's purpose and its partial fulfilment. His powers, achievements, and private character remain. His powers have been, on the one hand, unduly praised, and, on the other, unduly depreciated. His unexampled success led to the first extreme, and his unexampled downfall to the latter. While some have talked of him as greater than Caesar, others think him a clever impostor, a vulgar conjuror, with one trick, which was at last discovered. Our notion lies between. He must, indeed, stand at some distance from Cfflsar—the all-accomplished, the author, the

orator—whose practical wisdom was equal to his genius—who wore over all his faculties, and * around his very errors and crimes, a mantle of dignity—and whose one immortal bulletin, * Veni, vidi, vici,' stamps an image of the energy of his character, the power of his talents, and the laconic severity of his taste. Nor can he be equalled to Hannibal, in rugged daring of purpose, in fertility of resources, in originality of conception, in personal courage, or in indomitable perseverance—Hannibal, who sprang like a bulldog at the throat of the Roman power, and who held his grasp till it was loosened in death. But neither does he sink to the level of the Tamerlanes or Bajazets. His genius soared above the sphere of such skilful marshals and Martinets as Turenne and Marlborough. They were the slaves of thensystem of strategy ; he was the king of his. They fought a battle as cooly as they played a game of chess; he was full of impulses and sudden thoughts, which became the seeds of victory, and could set his soldiers on fire, even when he remained calm himself. In our age, the name of Wellington alone can balance with his. But admitting the duke's great qualities, his iron firmness, his profound knowledge of his art, and the almost superhuman tide of success which has followed him, he has never displayed such dazzling genius, and, without enthusiasm in himself, has seldom kindled it in others. He is a clear steady star; Napoleon,a blood-red meteor, whose very downfall is more interesting than the other's rising. Passing from comparisons, Napoleon possessed a prodigal assortment of faculties. He had an intellect clear, rapid, and trenchant as a scimitar ; he saw his way, never for a moment felt it; an imagination fertile in resources, if incorrect in taste ; a swift logic ; a decisive will; a prompt and lively eloquence ; and passions, in general, concentred and quiet as a charcoal furnace. Let us not forget his wondrous faculty of silence. He could talk, but he seldom babbled, and seldom used a word too much. His conversation was the reflex of his military tactics. As in the field he concentrated his forces on a certain strong point, which when gained, all was gained; so, in conversation, he sprung into the centre of every subject, and, tearing out its heart, left the minor members to shift for themselves. Profound in no science, save that of war, what he knew,he knew thoroughly,and could im-

mediately turn to account. He called ' England

a nation of shopkeepers ;' but he was as practical as a shopkeeper himself—the emperor of a shopkeeping age. Theorisers he regarded with considerable contempt. Theories he looked at, shook roughly, and asked the inexorable question, ' Will they stand ?' Glimpses of truth came often on him like inspiration. ' Who made all that, gentlemen ?' was his quostion at the atheistic savans, as they sailed beneath the starry, heavens, and denied the Maker. The misty brilliance, too often disguising little, of such a writer as Madame de Stael was naught in his eyes. How, had he been alive, would he have laughed over the elegant sentimentalism of Lamartine, and with a strong contemptuous breath blown away his finest periods ! Yet he had a little corner of literary romance in his heart. He loved Ossian's poems. For this his taste has been questioned ; but to literary taste Napoleon did not pretend. He could only criticise the arrangements of a battle, was the author of a new and elegant art of bloodshed, and liked a terribly terse style of warfare. But, „ in Ossian, he found fire amid fustian ; and partly for the fustian, and partly for the fire, he loved him. In fact, Ossian is just a Frenchified version of Homer; and no wonder that he pleased at once Napoleon's martial spirit and his national taste. The ancient bard himself had been too simple. M'Pherson served him up with flummery, and he went sweetly down,the throat of this*new ' Spirit of Lodi.' Napoleon's real writings were his battles.

Lodi let us call a wild and passionate ode ; Austerlitz an epic ; and Waterloo a tragedy. Yet, amid the bombast and falsetto of his bulletins and speeches, their occur coals of genuine fire, and gleams of lofty genius. Every one remembers the sentence, ' Frenchmen, remember that from the top of these pyramids forty centuries look down upon your actions' ; a sentence enough to make a man immortal, and, to equal which, we may search in vain all the writings of all military commanders since the world began. In keeping with the genius discovered in this sentence, were his allusions to the 'sun of Austerlitz,' which, like another Joshua, seemed to stand still at his bidding—his belief in destiny, and the other sublime superstitions which, like bats in a mid-day market-place, flitted strangely to and fro through the clear and stern atmosphere of his soul, and prophesied in silence of change, ruin, and death. Like all men of his order, Napoleon was subject to moods and fits, and presents thus, in mind, as well as in character, a capricious and inconsistent aspect. Enjoying the keenest and coldest of intellects, and the most iron of wills, he had at times the fretfulness of a child, and, at other times, the fury of a demon. He was strong, but surrounded by contemptible weaknesses. Possessing the French empire, he seemed himself at times ' possessed'—now of a miserable imp, and now of a master-fiend. Now, almost a god, he is anon an idiot. Now organising and executing with equal wisdom and energy complicated and stupendous schemes, he falls frequently into blunders which a child might have avoided. You are reminded of a person of majestic stature and presence, who is suddenly-seized with St. Vitus's Dance. How strange the inconsistencies and follies of genius! But not a Burns, seeing two moons from the top of a whisky-barrel—nor a Coleridge, dogged by an unemployed operative, to keep him out of a druggist's shop—nor a Johnson, standing in the rain to do penance for disobedience to his father—nor a Hall, charging a lady to instruct her children in the belief of ghosts—nor a Byron, shaving his brow to make it seem higher than it was, or contemplating his hands, and saying, ' These hands are white' —is a more striking specimen of the follies of the wise, of the alloys mingled with the 'most fine gold,' than a Napoleon, now playing for a world, and now cheating one of his own officers at whist.

We sometimes envy those who were privileged to be contemporaries of the battles of Napoleon, and the novels of Sir Walter Scott, while each spledid series was yet in progress. The first Italian campaign must have made the blood of Burke (opposed though he was) dance on his very deathbed, for there he was lying at the time. And how grand, for a poetic ear, to have heard the news of Jena, and Austerlitz, and Wagram, and Borodino, succceeding each other like the boom of distant cannon, like the roar of many thunders! Especially when that dark cloud of invasion had gathered around our own shores, and was expected to burst in a tempest of fire, how deep must have been the suspense, how silent the hush of the expectation, and how needless, methinks, sermons, however eloquent, or poems, however spirit-stirring, to concentrate, or increase, or express, the land's one vast emotion!

Looking back, even now, upon the achievments of Napoleon, they seem still calculated to awaken wonder and fear— wonder at their multitude, their variety, their dream-like pomp and speed, the power and terrible beauty which make them shine like a tiger's skin, and that they did not produce a still deeper impression upon the world's mind, and a still stronger reverberation from the world's poetry and eloquence; and fear, at the power sometimes lent to man, at its abuse, and at the possibilities of the future. Another Napoleon may arise, abler, wickeder, wiser, and may throw heavier barricades of cannon across the path of the nations, crush them with a rougher rod, may live to consolidate a thicker crust of despotism over the world, may fight another Austerlitz without a Waterloo, and occupy another St. Cloud without another St. Helena ; for what did all those far-heard cannons proclaim, but' All things are possible to him that dareth enough, that feareth none, that getteth a giant's power, and useth it tyrannously like a giant—that can by individual might, reckless of rights, human or divine, rise and ride on .the,topmost billow of his age ?' In looking more closely and calmly at those battles of Napoleon, we have a little, though not very much, of misty exaggeration and false glory to brush away. Latterly, they lose greatly

that air of romance and miracle which surrounded the first campaigns of Italy. The boy, who had been a prodigy, matures into the fullgrown and thoroughly furnished man. The style, which had been somewhat florid, but very fresh and powerful, becomes calmer and rather less rapid. Napoleon, who had fought at first with an energy that seemed desperation, with a fire that seemed superhuman, against great odds of experience and numbers, fights now with many advantages on his side. He is backed by vast, and trained, and veterau armies. He is surrounded by generals only inferior to himself, and whom he has himself reared. And, above all, he is preceded by the Gorgon-headed Medusa of his fame, carrying dismay into the opposing ranks, nerving his own men into iron, and stiffening his enemies into stone. And, although longer and sterner ever became the resistance, the result of victory was equally sure. And now he has reached a climax; and yet, not satisfied therewith, he resolves on a project, the greatest and most daring ever taken or even entertained by him. It is to disturb the Russian bear in his forests, and kill or maim him in his dark lair. For this purpose, he has collected an army, reminding you of those of Jenghiz Khan or Tamerlane, unparalelled in numbers, magnificent in equipment, unbounded in confidence and attachment to their chief, led by officers of tried valour and skill, and wielded and propelled by the genius of Napoleon, like one body by one living soul. Not only were the eyes of the world fixed upon this prodigious force, but we may conceive the eyes of angels,; too, turned upon its .movements with looks of anxiety and interest. But the ' Lord in the Heavens did laugh;' the Lord held him and his force 'in derision.' For now his time was fully come. And now must the decree of tha watchers and holy ones, long registered against him, begin to obtain fulfilment. And how did God fulfil it? He led him into no ambuscade. He overwhelmed him with no superior force. He raised up against him no superior genius. But he took his punishment into his own hand. Ha sent winter before its time, to destroy him and his ' many men so beautiful.' He loosened snow, like a flood of waters, and frost like a flood of fire, upon his host; and Napoleon like Satan, yielded to God alone, and might have exclaimed, with that lost archangel,

' Into what pit thou seest, From what height fallen, so much the stronger proved He with his thunder, and, till then, who knew

The force of those dire arms ?' Thus had man and his Maker come into collision, and the potsherd was broken in the unequal strife. All that followed resembled only the convulsive struggles of one down, taken, and bound. Even when cast back like a burning ember, from Elba to the French shores, it was evidently too late. His ' star' had first paled before the fires of Moscow, and at last set amid the snows of his flight from it.

Of the private character of Napoleon, there are many contradictory opinions. Indeed, properly speaking, he had no private character at all. For the greater part of his life, he was as public as the sun. He eat and drank, read and wrote, snuffed and slept in a glare of publicity. The wrinkles, darkening into gloom, on that massive forehead, did indeed conceal many a dark and secret thought; but his mere actions and habitudes were all public property. How tell what he was in private, since in private he never was? He was like the man who had ' lost his shadow.' No sweet relief, no dim and tender background in his character. Whatever private virtues he must have possessed, never found an atmosphere to develop them in; nay, they withered and died in the surrounding glare. He had no time to be a good son, or husband, or father, or friend. The idea which devoured him devoured all such ties too. Still, we believe that he never ceased to possess a heart, and that much of his apathy and apparent hardness of nature was the effect of policy or of absence of mind. A thousand different spectators report differently of his manner in private. To some, he appeared all grace and dignity—to others, a cold, absent fiend, lost in schemes of far off villain- —to a third class, au awkward and unmannered blunderer —and to a fourth, the very demon of curiosity, a machine of questions, an embodied inquisition. One acute spectator, the husband of Madame Rahel, reports of a perpetual scowl on his brow, and a perpetual smile on his lips. We care very little for such representations, which rather describe the man's moods than the man himself. W«

heard once, we protest, a more edifying picture of him from the lips of a Scotch innkeeper, who declared that he believed ' Boney, when he was at leisure, aye sat, wi' his airm in a bowl o' water, resting on a cannon ball, an' nae doubt meditating mischief!' It were difficult to catch the features of an undeveloped thought—and what else was Napoleon ?

As concentration was the power of his mind, so it was the peculiarity of his person. His body was a little vial of intense existence. The thrones of Europe seemed falling before a ninepin ! He seemed made of skin, marrow, bone, and fire. Had France been in labour, and brought forth a mouse ? But it was a frame formed for endurance. It took no punishment, it felt no fatigue, it refreshed itself by a wink, its tiny hand shivered kingdoms at a touch, and its voice, small as the * treble of a fay,' was powerful and irresistible as the roar of Mars, the homicidal God. Nature is often strange in her economies of power. She often packs her poisons and her glorious essences alike into small bulk. In Napoleon, as in Alexander the Great and Alexander Pope, a portion of both was strangely and inextricably mingled.

We might deduce many lessons from this rapid sketch of the Emperor of the French. We will not dwell on the commonplaces about ' vaulting ambition,' ' diseased pride,' ' fallen greatness,' ' lesson to be humble and thankful in our own spheres,' &c. Napoleon was a brave, great man; in part mistaken, perhaps also in part insane, and also in a large part guilty. But he did a work—not his full work, but still a work that he only could have accomplished. He continued that shaking of the sediments of the nations, which the French revolution began. He pointed attention with his bristling guns to the danger the civilization of Europe is exposed to from the Russian silent conspiracy of ages—cold, vast, quietly progressive, as a glacier gathering round an alpine valley. He backed and bridled the Bucephalus of the revolution. He shook the throne of the Austrian domination, and left that of his own successors tottering to receive them. He drew out, by long antagonism, the resources of Britain. He cast a ghastly smile of contempt, which lingers sti'.l, around the papal crown. While he proved the disadvantages, as well as advantages, of the domination of a single human mind, he unconsciously shadowed forth the time when one divine haud shall take the kingdom—his empire, during its palmy days, forming a feeble earthly emblem of the reign of the universal king.

In spite of fears and forebodings, a new Napoleon is not likely to arise; nor, though he should, long to continue to reign. But even as the ancient polypharmist and mistaken alchemist was the parent and the prophecy of those modern chemists, who may yet advance the science even to its ideal limits', so, in this age, Napoleon has been the unwitting pioneer and imperfect prophet of a sovereign, the extent and the duration of whose kingdom shall equal and surpass his wildest dreams. Did he, by sheer native genius, nearly snatch from the hands of ail kings their time-honoured sceptres —nearly confirm his sway into a concentred and iron empire—and prove the advantages of centralization, as they were never proved before ? And why should not l another king, one Jesus,' exertiug a mightier might, obtain a more lasting empire, and form the only real government which, save the short theocracy of the Jews, ever existed on earth ? We pause— nay, nature, the world, the church,poorafllicted humanity, distracted governments, falling thrones, earth and heaven together, seem to pause with us, to hear the wherefore to this wbv.