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giveness-what cared she for either? Now again the bitter, deriding laugh burst upon my ear: and the deep voice swept through the gloom with soul-appalling sound. I had undone myself, nay, more bitter still, I had undone her who loved me. What had I to do with the secrets of the mighty, and the hidden spells of the powerful? was it for me to unfurl the scroll of potency? I had sinned the sin, and I must pay the forfeit. Bitterly was it paid! we were to meet once more-in that very hour we were to meet and even amid my misery, my heart bounded to the thought! Slowly my tormentor rose, and I followed: we traversed a gloomy gallery, and a faint lamp alone marked our way; a door opened, a figure approached, and I sprung forward. Fool! idiot! madman! did I rush forward to meet misery the sooner? a strong hand held me back, and I could not shake it off: it grasped mine, as though its sinews had been of heated iron, it grasped mine, and the fever of that touch is on it yet! Slowly came the dark figure on, and my eyes dilated as I gazed. It was-it was Īsidora. Her whom I had loved, whom I yet loved with all the passion of a lover, with all the frenzy of a maniac; but the look of tenderness, the joy of recognition, where were they? Replaced by the long robe of serge, the deathly

shroud, and the shorn tresses! Could it be? Did I live, and breathe, and hold my being like my fellow-men? I strove to speak, but my parched tongue refused its office. I struggled to approach my mistress, but I could not move a limb; a cloud passed over my spirit, and I sank senseless to the earth.

When I again awoke to perception, my fond mother was watching over me. My tale may appear wild and improbable; I do not ask any to credit it; it is enough for me to be haunted by its memory. They tell me that I have been mad for years, and that it is the lingering phantom of a diseased mind. They have shown me, too, a grave, which they say is that of Isidora; and they affirm that she died of a broken heart! but this is idle-have I not the fever of that demoniac touch yet on my withering hand? and the pealing of that unnatural laughter still echoing through my brain?

Let those who have never looked on such fearful sights, hearkened to such appalling sounds, and been the victims of such overwhelming miseries, live on in their unbelief. Come ye, who like me have seen, and heard, and felt all these, come, and yield me credit!

S. S.

A FRAGMENT.

There is a passionate spell upon my soul

For which words have no name, and voice no sound;
The spirit-wandering of my solitude.—
My lute can never breathe it, for its chords
Are slacken'd by disuse, or only strung
Responsive to the finger of light mirth
And joyous revelry. Oh! in such hours
A thousand memories float across my heart.
Pale, shadowy forms of long departed things,
Like dreams before the sleeping poet's thought:-
An inward working of the o'erwrought mind,
Toiling to free itself, and idle song

Beseems not such a transport-what were song
Amid this passion-gust? the world looks on,
The surface-scanning world! and coldly smiles;
And I smile too, but 'tis in bitterness.
They tell me I am young, and bid me wreathe
My hair with roses, and my lip with smiles.

'Twere but to blight the blossoms in their bloom;
For there is fire enough in my scathed brain
To shrivel them at once-and for my lip,
How could it play the traitor to my heart,
And, like the sunlight streaming on the grave
Of some poor, withered, broken hearted one,
Mock at the desolation which it made
More utter, by the contrast?-let me pass-
I am not for the world, nor it for me;
Give me the mountain, with its crown of clouds,
The forest, with its voice of mystery;
Give me the night, with its pale, magic light,
Its tears of dew, its shadows lengthen'd out,
Like dark thoughts in the meditative mind;
And, above all, its sweet, sad, silver moon!
How I do love her, with her train of stars;
Empress of midnight! queen of solitude!
How calmly she looks down on all the earth,
The happy sleeping, and the wretch awake.
The sorrowing know not slumber-how she smiles
Upon the silvered waters of the lake

And gems their tranquil surface-and how bright
Her glances make the billows heaving up,
An ocean multitude! in the deep sea--
Be these, and such as these, my heritage.
What has the world to offer worthy thought?
Nothing-and yet, oh yes! some things it has,
Most beautiful: the sweet, mysterious ties
Of child and parent-and the memory
Of something yet more exquisite than these-
Those ties, that memory, are mine-all mine-
Death has come once to my heart's citadel
And swept away its brightest, best beloved;
And memory is all that yet remains.
But wherefore whisper my heart's history?
Enough that I have suffer'd, and have felt;
Who that has lov'd has not? then let me pass
From the world's records like a dreamless night
Of which the sleeper can recall no trace.
I ask not pity, for my grief is proud;
Nor sympathy, for I am full of tears.

S.S.

LIFE OF THE DUKE OF SULLY.
PART III.

SULLY had long seen, with deep anxiety, the danger to which the king, his master, was exposed, not only from the hired assassins whom his enemies could at any time bribe to their service, but from the traitors that sat at his councils, that fed at his tables, and that shared his amusements. He knew that the most seemingly faithful among his servants, were so no longer than it suited

their purposes. He had oftentimes asked himself, was this state of treason and civil war to be perpetuated? and, if not, where and when was it to end? True it was, that Henry was brave, intelligent, resolute, and high-spirited; but no sovereign, be the innate energies of his mind what they may, could combat at once the intrigues of a powerful faction, the artifices of a fanatical priesthood,

and the degeneracy of a divided kingdom. The most sanguine victories brought him no repose. A conquered army was rapidly recruited-when again subdued, they buried their dead, and prepared for a fresh conflict. But ought the life of the king to be consumed amidst this breathless succession of civil wars, and his people exposed incessantly to all the miseries which civil war brings in its train? Sully had long revolved all this in his mind; and at length, after much profound and patient thinking, he resolved on advising the prince to change his religion, and to become at once, in name and profession, a Catholic. He weighed well the consequences of the advice he was about to give. It was not from a feeling of indifference towards religion, that Sully decided thus. As a subject, he himself continued to adhere to the faith in which he had been educated. But the case here was widely different. A sovereign has higher and deeper interests at stake than his own: he ought never, certainly, to make religion an engine of state; but it is his imperative duty to make it, as far as he can, an engine of repose to the government, and of happiness to his people. To do all the good we can, each in his sphere of service, is to render ourselves most acceptable to that Being, who is himself the author and the giver of all good. This, as a rule of action, applies equally to all men, and to all stations, from the highest to the most humble. It is a criterion of right and wrong, to which we may always, and upon every occasion, refer. Examined by this test, the policy of Sully was sound, benevolent, and well-considered. He plainly saw that by no other means could the wounds of the state be closed. Without it there could be no hope of a cordial and lasting tranquillity. It must have been familiar to a mind like his, that it is not given to any earthly tribunal to rectify erroneous opinions; and that, in truth, there is nothing in the religious persuasion, whether of a Catholic or Protestant, which should make either, that acts uprightly, a less valuable subject, or a less amiable man.

Henry was a prince of strong discernment; he had an unbounded confidence as well in the integrity as in the sound

judgment of Sully; and, on his return to Mante, from which he had been a short time absent on an excursion, he, on his very first interview with him, turned the discourse on the distressing situation in which he was placed by the restless conspiracy of rival factions, by the bitter animosity of the clergy, and by the various obstacles which continued to keep him out of possession of the throne to which he was the lawful heir; and he proceeded to consult him as to the course of conduct which, under all circumstances, it would be most advisable to pursue. In this conference it was that Sully suggested to the king, that to ⚫ embrace the Catholic faith was the only step by which the true interests of both religions could be promoted, and a quiet avenue opened to the crown. The king, though he felt the full force of Sully's reasoning, at once saw and stated, the almost insuperable difficulties that offered themselves to such a measure: on the one hand, the sure resistance of the Catholic leaders, who had been long intriguing with Spain to exclude him from the succession, as an enemy of their faith; and on the other, the opposition of the Protestants, who had long flattered themselves with the hope of having a sovereign of the reformed religion on the throne. But Sully undertook to remove these obstacles, formidable as they appeared. He had moved too long in the circle of a court not to know that the mighty of the earth are often the most yenial; that the patriot in council, as well as the priest in the belfry, is open to the simple eloquence of a bribe, and will cease to strike the bell that warns his country of danger, if his silence is well paid for. Sully, who was an adroit negotiator, proceeded to conduct the business in the usual routine. He began with the most influential-offers and promises were scattered with profusion

places and promotions were bestowed in requisite abundance. The turbulent, by degrees, became mild — obduracy softened-independence gave way-heresy and schism seemed, for the time, to disappear. In a word, Sully addressed himself so successfully to both parties, that a public conference immediately took place, and the king shortly afterwards went in due form to the church

* 25th July, 1593.

of St. Denis, attended by the archbishop, the bishops, the crosier, the crucifix, and the holy water; and there, on his knees, abjured all heresies denounced by the holy Catholic church. A formula was forthwith drawn up, which the king subscribed, recognizing all the tenets of the Romish church, the seven sacraments, the sacrifice of the mass, transubstantiation, the invocation of saints, the worship of relics and images, purgatory, indulgences, and the supremacy of the pope. This done, he kissed the archbishop's ring, and received absolution, after which the music within played the Te Deum, and the crowds on the outside, amongst whom a sum of money had been thrown, shouted forth their plaudits and rent the air with the cry of Vive le Roi!

The estates of Paris did not long continue to assemble after the king had thus solemnly entered into the bosom of the church. The Duke of Mayenne prorogued their meeting for an indefinite period, and the deputies returned to their respective provinces. The majority of them being extremely dissatisfied, were, on that account, the more readily disposed to submit themselves to their legitimate sovereign, and within the year the League was in effect dissolved. There was a frank benevolence of manner, and a goodness of heart, about the character of Henry IV. which soon gained him a strong ascendency over the affections of the people, and became the surest guarantee for the security of his government.

The religious dissensions with which France had been so long torn having, in process of time, abated, Henry found it necessary to attend to the pecuniary affairs of his kingdom. He was desirous of making Sully superintendent of the finances; but in order to avoid the jea lousy and dissension that such an appointment would occasion, he created a council of finance, consisting of eight persons; at the head of which, for form's sake only, he placed the Duke of Nevers. The king had conceived not only that the monied concerns of a great kingdom were in their nature so intricate, that no one man was adequate to their management, but that by vesting the superintendence of them in a council of eight,

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he should create the best possible system of check and controul; but he found, after a time, that this was a mistakehe found that all their hands were at once in the public purse, and that each kept secret the peculations of the other. Sully foretold from the first the failure of the king's well-intentioned policy. He reasoned upon it like a man of sterling mind, who had gained his knowledge from experience, and had reflected to some useful purpose. He held no fine theories about the purity of men in power: he had been too much behind the scenes to be tinctured with that sort of romance. There was then no public debt as at present, and he was clearly of opinion that a council thus composed, offered greater temptations, while it afforded less responsibility. "It is not," says he, their being placed under a single individual that makes the finances go wrong; for they must inevitably pass through several hands; but the fewer that are trusted, the less will be embezzled. The abuse is in the choice of the man, and not in the nature of the finances; and in these two respects, to distribute the functions among many is to perpetuate the evil. If it is difficult to find, throughout the whole kingdom, one man fit for such an office, how can we expect to find many? Nor is it a less obvious mistake, that all those persons bringing, each in himself, some characteristic good quality, the result would be the same were they combined in one man, since that is to suppose that this single good quality will not be rendered useless by other bad ones, either in the individual himself, or his associates. In almost every case, the leading object of all men, on their entering on public employments, is to raise and enrich themselves and their relations. If this desire of wealth is not felt so strongly at the commencement, it strengthens as he proceeds, and increases with the magnitude of the funds that pass through his hands. In their dependance upon, and mutual fear of, each other, every one considers integrity not only as useless, but injurious, because the honour of it is shared by his colleagues, and the unprofitableness is all his own."*

These, it must be confessed, are very unpalateable truths; and no statesman,

Memoires, vol. ii. liv. vii. p. 155.

into whose mind they had found admittance, would be coveted as a colleague. It is not, therefore, surprising that the Duke of Nevers, the president, should contrive to keep him out of this council, notwithstanding the inclination of the king to introduce him into it. His majesty, however, did not press his appointment, not wishing to embroil himself with the different members, and bestowed upon Sully, by way of compensation, that which pleased him much better, the post of secretary of state, with a salary of 2000 livres a-year, and a pension of 3,600 more.

A government seidom makes any movement towards financial reform, till forced to bestir itself by the near approach of the danger. France, exposed as it had been for so many years to the ravages of civil war, was reduced to the extreme of distress. The insecurity consequent on such a state of things had destroyed the spirit of industry in the arts, in manufactures, and in husbandry. The members could not behold all this with a stoical indifference; some among them were disposed to set seriously about relieving it; while others, less inclined to make the sacrifices which the crisis required, were busy in finding excuses for delay. They pledged themselves to apply their fullest consideration to the subject-recommended that no step should be taken without great caution-declared their aversion to experiments, and their dread of ill-advised measures; and thus, year after year passed away without the adopting any measure at all. In the meantime, cloud gathered upon cloud, and ruin began to approach fast in every direction. The president of the council was no longer equal to the perplexities of his position, and the king, beset with difficulties, resolved to commit the guardianship of his affairs to other hands; and conceiving no man so well qualified to meet the exigences of the time as Sully, appointed him superintendent of the finances; thus virtually vesting in him

a complete power over all the monied operations of the state.

The system under which the powers of government had been hitherto execised, was such as could not fail to bring it to the deplorable condition at which it had arrived. The king could not have fallen on a minister better fitted to the task of regeneration. Sully had all the accumulated abuses of corruption and misrule to contend with, but he did not despair. Great firmness of purpose, laborious application, a steady, clearsighted intellect-all these he possessed in an eminent degree, and to these he added a sincere determination to discharge faithfully the high trust reposed on him. He was no sooner appointed than he began to rectify the mal-practices which had long drained the public treasure. He had found, on coming into office that out of 150 millions of livres levied on the people, only thirtythree millions found their way to the royal coffers. Instead of seeking to supply the deficiency by fresh exactions, he introduced a system of retrenchment so effective, that with this thirty-three millions of livres he paid off, in the course of ten years, 200 millions of regal debt, keeping at the same time a reserve of thirty millions in ready money in the Bastille,* to supply the urgencies of the state.

Sully has admirably summed up the qualifications essential to a prime minister. As a wholesome and effective check against enriching himself by malversation, he advises, that on entering into office, he should draw up a circumstantial statement of his then amount of property, and of his sources of income, and that upon quitting it, he should give in another, drawn up in the same form, so that the profit he had made by the public service may be known to the world as well as to himself. Abhorrent as such a proposition may be to official rulers, in the present day, and unsuitable as the exhibition of such a balancesheet might be, Sully himself put it in

Subsequently to the year 1602, the king deposited the surplus of each quarter's revenue, which remained after defraying the expenses of the state, in the Bastille, for safe custody, in coffers appropriated to receive it. The turbulent state of the times had rendered this security necessary. Sully, soon after he became superintendent of the finances, was made governor of the Bastille, grand master of the artillery, and surveyorin-chief of the roads and fortifications.

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