^/ / FAMOUS BIOGRAPHY. CONTAINING BRIEF BIOGRAPHIES OF FREDERICK THE GREAT : By T. B. Macaulay. ROBERT BURNS : By Thomas Carlyle. MAH03IET : By GiBBoy. JOAN OF ARC : By Hichelet. HANNIBAL : By Thomas Arnold. JUUUS CiiESAR : By H. G. Llddelx. OLIVER CROMWELL; By Lamartine, WILLIiVJI PITT t By T. B. Macaui-ay. 3IARTIN LUTHER : By Bunsen-. MARY QUEEN OF SCOTTS i By Lamartine. COLUMBUS ; By LA3IARTINE. VITTORIA COLONNA : By T. a. Trollope. NEW YORK : JOHN B. ALDEN, PUBEISHEE. J 885. ocM. FREDERICK THE GREAT. Thh Prussian raonarclir, tlie youngest of the great European StRtes, but in population and in revenue the fifth amongst them, and In art, science, and civilization entitled to the third, if not the second place, sprang from an humble origin. About the beginning of the fifteenth century, the marquisate of Brandenburg Avas bestowed by the Emperor Sigismund on the noble family of Hohenzollern. In the sixteenth century that family embraced the Lutheran doctrines. Early in the seventeenth century it obtained from the King of Poha:i the investiture of the duchy of Prussia. Even after this accession of territory, the chiefs of the house of Hohenzollern hardly ranked with the Electoi-s of Saxony and Bavaria. The soil of Brandenburg was, for the most part, sterile. Even around Berlin, the capital of the province, and around Potsdam, the favorite residence of the Mar- graves, the country was a desert. In some tracts the deep sand could with difficulty be forced by assiduous tillage to yield thin crops of rye and oats. In other places, the anci(?nt forests, from which the conquerors of the Roi-nan empire had descended on the Danube, re- mained untouched by the hand of man. ^\'here the soil was ricli it was generally marshy, and its insalubrity repelled the cultivators whom its fertility attracted. Frederick William, called the Great Elector, was tlie prince to whose policy his successors have agreed to ■scribe their greatness. He acquired by the peace of Westphalia sev- eral valuable possessions, and among them the rich city and district of Magdeburg ; and he loft to his son Frederick a principality as con- siderable as any which was not calh^d a kingdom. Frederick aspired to the style of royalty. Ostentatious and pro- fuse, negligent of his true Interests and of his high duties, insatiably eager for frivolous distinctions, he added nothing to the real weight of the State which he governed ; but he gained the great object of Ills life, the title of king. In the year 1700 he assumed tliis new dig- nity, lie liad on that occasion to undergo all the mortifications which fall to the lot of ambitious ujjstarts. Com])arpd with the other crownetl heads of Europe, he made a figure re.sembliiig that which a Kabob or a Commissary, who liad bought a title, would make in the company of I'etTs wIkjso ancestora had been attainted for treason «gainijt tho Plautaj^tmeta. .g FREDERICK THE GREAT. The envy of the class whirh he quitted, and the civil scorn of the class into whjch he intruded liimnrlf, were marked in very significant >ravs. 'i'lie elector of 8;ixony at first refused to aclcnowlc Igethenew majesty. Lo\iis the Fourteenth looked down on his brother king with an air iiot unlike tluit wltli whicli the count in Moliere's play regards Monsieur Jourdain, just fresh from the mummery of being made a gentleman. Austria exacted large sacrifice in return for her recogni- lion, and at last gave it ungraciously. Frederick was succeeded by his son, Frederick William, a prince ■»vhomust be allowed to have possessed some talents for administration, but whose character was disfigured by the most odious vices, and whose eccentricities were such as had never been seen out of a mad- house. He was exact and diligent in the transaction of business, and he was the first who formed the design of obtaining for Prussia a place among the European powers, altogether out of proportion to her extent and population, by means of a strong military organization. Strict economy enabled him to keep up a peace establishment of sixty thousand troops. These troops were disciplined in such a manner, that, placed beside them, the household regiments of Versailles and St. James would have appeared an awkward squad. The master of >' Buch a force could not but be regarded by all his neighbors as a for- midalde eneniv and a valuable ally. But the mind of Frederick William was so ill-regulated that all Ins inclinations became passions, and all his passions partook of tlie char^ acter of moral and intellectual disease. His parsimony degenerated into sordid avarice. His taste for military pomp and order became a mania, like that of a Dutch burgomaster for tulips. AVhile the en- voys of the court of Berlin wer j in a state of such squalid poverty as moved the laughter of foreign capitals— while the food of tlie royal family was so bad that even hunger loathed it— no price was though* too extravagant for tall recruits. The ambition of the king was to form a brigade of giants, and every country was ransacked by his agents for men above the ordinary stature. These researches were not confined to Europe. No head that towered above the crowd in the bazaars of Aleppo, of Cairo, or of Surat, could escape the crimps of Frederick William. One Irishman more than seven feet high/who was picked up in London hy the Prussian ambassador, received a bounty of nearlv £1,3U0 sterling— very much more than the ambas- sador's salary. ' This extravagance was the more absurd because a stout youth of five feet eight, who might have been procured for a few dollars, would in all probal^ility have been a much more valuable soldier. But to Frederick William this huge Irishman was what^ brass Otho or a Vinegar Bible is to a collector of a different kind.* • Carlyle thus describes the Potsdam Keeriment :— " A Potsdam Giant Regiment, fuch as the world never saw before or sinee. Thr«e Battalions of them— two al- wavB here at Potodam doin'4 formal life-Ruard duty, the third at BrandeDburg on FREDERICK THE ©REAT. 3 kiis remarkable that, thougli the main end of Frederick William's administration was to have a military force, though his reign forms an important epoch in the history of military discipline, and though his dominant passion was the love of military display, he was yet one of the most pacific of princes. We are afraid that his aversion to war •was not the effect of humanity, but was merely one of his thousand whims. His feeling about his troops seems to have resembled a miser's feeling about his money. He loved to collect them, to count them, to see them increase, but he could not find it in his heart to break in upon the precious hoard. He looked forward to some future time when his Patagonian battalions were to drive hostile infantry be- fore them like sheep But this future time was always receding, and it is probable that if his life had been prolonged thirty years his su- perb army would never have seen any harder service than a sham fight in the fields near Berlin. But the great military means wliicli he had collected were destined to be employed by a spirit far mora daring and inventive than his o\\'ti. Frederick, surnamed the Great, son of Frederick William, waa bom in January, 1712. It may safely be pronounced that he had re- ceived from nature a strong and sharp understanding, and a rare firm- nessof temper and intensity of will. As to the other parts of his character, it is difficult to say whether they are to be ascribed to na- ture or to the strange training which he underwent. The history of Lis boyhood is painfully interesting. Oliver Twist in the parish work- liouse," Smike at Dotheboys Hall, were petted children when compared with this wretched heir-apparent of a crown. The nature of Freder- ick \Mlliam was hard aud bad, and the habit of exercising arbitrary power hfid made him frightfullv savage. His rage constantly vented \ ■■ i ftctto the *oyal eye, snch a mass of shining giants, in their iong-drawn regularities and raathefflatical miinoeuvrings, like some streak of Promethean Ughtning, realized here at last in the vul.ar dusk of tilings. "Truly they are men supreme in discipline, in beauty of equipment, and tho shortest roan of them rises, 1 think, toward seven feet ; s ;me are nearly nine feet high. Men from all countries ; a. hundred and odd come annually, as we eaw, from Russia— a very precious windfall ; the rest have been collected, crlmpeti, purchased out of every European country at enormous exrense, not to speak of other trouble to His Majesty. James Kirkman, an Irish recruit of good inclies. cost him £1,200 before he could be got inveigled, shipped, and brought safe to hand. Tlie docu i ments are j-et in existence ; and (he portrait of tiiis Irisli fellow-citizen hiniseif,' who is byiio mearis a beautiful man. Indeed, they are all portrayed— all tliejjri- vates of this distintruislied Regiment are, if anybody carod to look at them. 'Kt- divanollfroin .Moscow' seems of far better boiie than Kirkman, though still moro stolid of aspect. One Ilohinann, a bom Prussian, was so tall you could not, though vou voursclf tall, touch his hare crown with your hand ; August tlie Strong of Poland Irii.donone occajiion and could not. Before Hohmann tumed up, there had been 'Jonas, the Norwei/ian Klacksmith,' also a dreadfully tall monster. Giant ' Mao- doU'—wiio was to be married, no consent asked on (if/ier side, to the tiill younc; Woman, which lattertunu'd out to be a decrepit old woman (all Jest-Books know tho myth)— he also was an Irish giant, his name probably Af'Dow 1. This Hoh r.ann Was now FUir/tetnatin ('fugleman' as we have n imcd it, leader of tlio flic), tha Tallest of the Regiment, a very mountain of pipc-dayed flo«L aud bone." FREDERICK THE GREAT. itself to right nnd left in curses and blows. When his raaje.sty to<* a walk, every luiinan beiiiij tied hefore him as if a tiger had brokt;* loo.se from a menagerie. If he met a lady in the street he gave her t kick and told her to go home and mind her brats. If he saw a clergy- man staring at the soldiers, he admonished the reverend gentleman to betake himself to study and prayer, and enforced this pious advice by a sound caning, administered on the spot. But it was in his own house that he was most unreasonable and ferocious. His palace was hell, and he the most execrable of fiends — a cross between Moloch and Puck. His son Frederick* and his daughter Wilhelniina, afterwards Margravine of Bareuth, were in an especial manner objects of his aversion. His own mind was uncultivated. He despisecl literature. He hated infidels, Papists, and metaphysicians, and did not very well understand in what they differed from each other. The business of life, according to him, was to drill and to be drilled. The recreations suited to a prince were to sit in a cloud of tobacco smoke, to sip Swedish beer between the puffs of the pipe, to play backgamnum for three-halfpence a rubber, to kill wild hogs, and to shoot partridges by the thousand. The Prince-Royal showed little inclination either for the serious employments or for the amusements of his father. Ho shirked the duties of the parade — he detested the fume of tobacco — he had no taste either for backgammon or for field-sports. He had received from nature an exquisite ear, and performed skilfully on the flute. His earliest instructors had been French refugees, and they had awakened in him a strong passion for French litei-ature and French society. Frederick William regarded these tastes as effemi- nate and contemptible, and by abuse and persecution mado them still stronger. Things became worse when the Prince-Royal attained that time of life at which the great revolution in the human mind and body takes place. He was guilty of some youthful indiscretions, which no good and wise parent would regard with severity. At a later period he was accused, truly or falsely, of vices from which His- tory averts her eyes, and which even Satire blushes to name — vices ♦The following is his answer to an humble supplication of Friedrich's for for- giveness : — "Thy [in German the contemptuous third person singular is used] obstinate, per- verse disposition (A'o/;/' head), which does not love thy Father — for when one does every thing, and really loves one's Father, one does \\hat the Father requires, not •Ahile he is there to see it, but when his back is turned too. For the rest, thoii kiiow'st very well that I can endure ro effeminate fellow {efeminirten Kerl). who has no himian inclination in him; who puts himself to shame, cannot ride nor shoot, and withal is dirty in his person; fri.izlos liis hair like a fool, and does not cut it off. And all this 1 have a thousand times reprimanded ; but all in vain, and BO improvement in nothing (kHne Besserunr/ in nichts isf). For the rest, haughty, proud as a cliurl ; speaks to nobody but sonic few, and is not popular and affable ; and cuts grimaces w ith his face, us if he were a fool ; and does uiy will in nothing nniesa held to itby force; nothing out of love; — and has pleasure in nothing but following bis own whixua (own Ko^) — no use to iiiui in jiny thing else. This is the answer. iTUKoaiOH WiLHaui." Carlyle (vcd. li., pp. 47,48.) yflEDERICK THE GREAT. 5 iuch that, to borrow the energetic language of Lord-Keeper Coven- trj-, "the depraved nature of man, which of itself carrieth man to all other sin, abhorreth them." But the offences of his youth were not characterized by any peculiar turpitude. They excited, however, transports of rage in the king, who hated all faults except those to which he was himself inclined, and who conceived that he made am- ple atonement to Heaven for his brutality, by holding the softer pas- sions in detestation. The Prince-Royal, too, was not one of those who are content to take their religion on trust. He asked puzzling questions, and brought forward arguments which seemed to savor of something different from pure Luthei-anism. The king suspected that his son was inclined to bo a heretic of some sort or other, whether Calvinist or Atheist, his majesty did not very well know. The ordi- nary malignity of Frederick William was bad enough. He noAv thouglit malignity a part of his duty as a Christian man, and all the conscience that he had stinmlated his hatred. The flute was broken • — the French books were sent out of the palace — the prince was kicked and cudgelled and pulled by the hair. At dinner the plates were hurled at his head — sometimes he was restricted to bread and water — sometimes he was forced to swallow food so nauseous that ho could not keep it on liLs stomach. Once his father knocked him down, dragged him along the floor to a window, and was with diffi- culty prevented from strangling him vith the cord of the curtain. The queen, for the crime of not wishing to see her son murdered, was subjected to the grossest indignities. The Princess ^Vilhelmina, who took her brother's ])art, was treated almost as ill as Mrs. Brownrigg's apprentices. Driven to despair, the unhappy youth tried to run away ; then the fury of tlie old tyrant rose to madness. The princfa was an ofTiccr in the army ; his flight was therefore desertion, and, in the mora] code of Frederick William, desertion was the highest of all crimes. " Desertion," says this royal theologian in one of his half- crazy letters, " is from liell. It is a work of the children of the devil. No child of God could possibly be guilty of it." An accomplice of the prince, in spite of the rec/)mmendation of a court-martial, was mercilessly put to death. It seemed probable that the prince liim.self would suffer the same fate. It was with difficulty that the interces- sion of the States of Holland, of the Kings of Sweden and Poland, and of the Emperor of (iermany, saved the house of Brandenburgh from the stain of an unnatural murder. After months of cruel sus- {lense, Frederick learned that his life would be si)ared. lie i-emained, lowever, long a i)risnnor ; but ho wa.s not on thataccr)nnt to l)(>]>iti(>d. He foimd in Jiis jailors a tenderness which he had never found in his fatlier ; his table was not suniptuous, but he had wliolesorae food in sufficient quantity to api>ease hunger ; he could read the IIctiriad« without being kicked, and play on his flut/i without having it broken OTer his load. When hi.s confinement terminated, ho was a man. He IltkI nertunity of ac- quiring brilliant distinction, under the comnumd of Prince Eugene, during a campaign marked l)y no extraordinary events. He Avas now permitted to keep a separate establishment, and was therefore able to indulge with caution his own tastes. Partly in order to conciliate tho king, and partly, no doubt, from inclination, he gave up a portion of his time to military and political business, and thus gradually ac- quired such an aptitude for affairs as his niost intimate associates were not aware that ho possessed. His favoi'ite abode was at Rheinsberg, near tho frontier which separates the Prussian dominions from the duchy of Mecklenburg. Rheinsberg is a fertile and smiling spot, in tho midst of the sandy waste of the Marquisate. The mansion, surrounded by woods of oak and beech, looks out upon a spacious lake. There Frederick amused himself by laying out gardens in regular alleys and intricate mazes, by building obelisks, temples, and conservatories, and by collecting rare fruits and flowers. His retirement was enlivened by a few com- panions, among whom he seems to have preferred those -who, by birth or extraction, were French. With these inmates he dined and supped well, drank freely, and amused himself sometimes with concerts, sometimes with holding chapters of a fraternity which he called the Order of Bayard ; but literature was his chief resource. His education had been entirely French. The long ascendency which Louis XIV. had enjoyed, and the eminent merit of tho tragic and comic dramatists, of the satirists, and of the preachers who had flour- ished under that magnificent prince, had made the French languago predominant in Europe. Even in countries which had a national literature, and which could boast of names greater than tho.se of Ra- cine, of Moliere, and of ^lassillon — in the country of Dante, in the country of Cervantes, in the country of Shakspeare and Milton — the intellectual fashions of Paris had been to a great extent adopted. Germany had not yet produced a single masterpiece of poetry or elo- quence. In Germany, therefore, the French taste reigned without rival and without limit. Every youth of rank was taught to spealc and write French. That he should speak and write his own tongue v.dth politeness, or even with accuracy and facility, was regarded aa comparatively an unimportant object. Even Frederick William, with nil his rugged Saxon pnijudices, thought it necessary that his chil- dren should know French, and quite unnecessary that they should bo well versed in German. The Latin was potiitively interdicted. " My FREDERICK THE GREAT, 7 Bon," His Majesty wrote, "shall not learn Latin; .ir.i, more than that, I will not suffer anybody even to mention such a thing to me." One of the preceptors ventured to read the Golden Bull in the original with the Prince- Royal. Frederick William entei-ed the room, and broke out in his usual kingly style, " Rascal, what are you at there ? " " Please Your Majesty," answered the preceptor, " I was explain- ing the Golden Bull to His Royal Highness." " I'll Golden Bull you, you rascal," roared the majesty of Prussia Up went the king's cane, away ran the terridcd instructor, and Fred- erick's classical studies ended forever. He now and then affected tc quote Latin sentences, and produced such exquisite Ciceronian phrasek as these: " Stante pede morire" — " De gustibus non est disputan dus " — " Tot verbas tot spondera." Of Italian, he had not enough to i-ead a page of Metastasio with ease, and of Spanish and English, he did not, as far as we are aware, understand a single word. As the higliest human compositions to which he had access were those of the French writers, it is not strange that his admiration for those writers should have been unbounded. His ambitious and eagei temper early prompted him to imitate what he admired. The wish, perhaps, dearest to his heart was, that he might rank among tu«) ;ma.sters of French rhetoric and poetry. He wrote prose and verse as indefatigably as if he had been a starving hack of Cave or Osborn ; but Nature, which had bestowed on him in a large mejisure the talents of a captain and of au administrator, liad witliheld from him those higher and rarer gifts, Avithout which industry labors in vain to produce immortal eloquence or song. And, indeed, had he been blessed with more iniagination, wit, and fertility of thought than he appears to have had, he would still have been subject to one great disadvantage, which would, in all probability, have forever prevented him from taking a high place among men of letters. He had not the full command of any language. There was no machine of thought which he could employ with perfect ease, confidence, and free- dom. He had German enough to scold his servants or to give the Vword of command to his grenadiers ; but his grammar and pronun- ciation wero extremely bad. He found it difficult to make out the meaning even of the simx^lest German poetry. On one occasion a ver- sion of Racine's Tph.igl'iiie was read to him. He hold the French original in his hand ; Init was forced to own that, even with such lielp, he could not understand thf; translation. Yet though he had neglected his mother tongue in order to bestow all his attention on French, liis French wa.s, after all, the French of a foreigner. It was necessary for liini to have always at his beck some men of letters from Paris to jx^int out the solecisms and false rhymes, of which, to the la.st, he was frecjuently guilty. Even had he ])ossesbed the ]>oetic faculty — of which, as far as we can judge, he wnus utterly de«tituto — the want of a language would have prevented him from 8 FREDERICK THE GREAT. Vin- a Croat poet. No noblo work of imagination, as far as we can r^coVcct^ vval ever composed 1>.v any man, ex<-ept m a dialect wlucl h« W learned without remembering how or when and which he had spierwUhp' t-ectease before he had ever ana yzed its structure Rmiians o ff^at talents wrote Greek verses ; bnt liow many of those verges have ckserved to live ? Many men of eminent genius have, in mXrn t mes wr tten Latin poems; but, as far as we are aware Zfe of those poems, not even Milton's, can be ranked in the hrst 'T ! ^f ort or even verv high in the second. It is not strange, SfoL tlmt nThrF^h v^^^^^ of Frederick, we can find nothing S^;trthe relch of any n.an of good parts -/ ^^^^ ^-f^^^ «hnve the level of Newdigate and Soatonian poetry. His best pieces ma>M.erhaps rank with the worst in Dodsley's collection. In liistory he^ucceXd better. We do not, indeed, find in any part of Is volundnous Memoir.s either deep reflection or vivid painting. Bat IhenaiTalve is distinguished by clearness, conciseness good sense *nd a Jertaht air of truth and simplicity, which is singularly graceful ^ntmanX having done great things, sits down to relate them On tie whole howeN^>r, none of his writings are so agreeable to us as Ss Letted -particularly those which are written with earnestness, and are not embroidered with verses. ,., , i „„ It Is not strange that a young man devoted ^ literature and c- ^uainted only wUh the literature of France, should have looked wi h IZZd veneration on the genius of Voltaire. ^"Vsi^Hxe sun "" denm him for this feeling. •' A man who has ^^^fj^^^^^f'^^^^^ says Calderon in one of his charming comedies "cannot b« b{<^™^^l for thinking that no glorv can exceed that of the moon A man wLh^ssefn neither m^.on nor sun cannot ^^J^larnjl or ,^^ng of the unrivaled brightness of the morning star. Had I lederick been ameto"ead Homer and Milton, or even Virgil and 'fasso, his admira^ t^n of the Jlenrinde would prove that he was utterly destitute oi the wwerc discerning what is excellent in art. Had he been familiar TihSophiclesor^Shakspeare, we should ^^f ^/^If^ f^'CvdiS r^renate Zaire more iustly. Had he been able to study Thucydides rdTaciSsinreorginal Greek and Latin, he woud have knovva U at there were heights in the eloquence of history far beyond the I" h of t^rauth^r^of the Life of SharlestU Tmm a^d ttmot heroic poem, several of the most powerful tragedies and fhe most ril ant and pictures(me historical work that Frederick had ever r^d werrVolWs. Such high and various excellence moved the .-"ung prince almost to adoration. The opinions «f Voltaire onjl. Igious and philsophical questions had not yet been fully e>ch l^'ted to ^,c nublV At a later periml, when an exile from his countrj ani a open war with the ciuirdi, he spoke out. But when Fre<^nck was at Rheinsberg, Voltaire was st.l a courtier ; and though he .ouldnot always curb his petulent wit he Imd, '^ J^^ X^.^^tl uothing that coald exclude him from Versailles, aad btUfe that a FREDERICK THE GREAT. 9 divine of the nrild and generous scliool of Grotius and Tillotson might not read with pleasure. In the Henriade, in Zaire, and in Alzirc, Christian piety is exhibited in the most amiable form ; and, some years after the period of which we are writing, a Pope condescended to accept the dedication of Mahomet. The real sentiments of the poet, however, might be clearly perceived by a keen eye through the decent disguise with which he veiled them, and could not escape the sagacity of Frederick, who held similar opinions, and had been ac- customed to practise similar dissimulations. ; The prince wrote to his idol in the style of a worshipper, and Vol-i taire replied with exquisite grace and address. A correspondence followed, which may be studied with advantage by those who wish i« become proficients in the ignoble art of flattery. No man ever paid compliments better than Voltaire. His sweetened confectionery had always a delicate, yet stimulating flavor, which was delightful to palates wearied by the coarse preparations of inferior artists. It was only from his hand that so much sugar could be swallowed without making the swallower sick. Copies of verses, writing-desks, trinkets of amber, were exchanged between the friends. Frederick confided his writings to Voltaire, and Voltaire applauded as if Frederick had been Racine and Bossuet in one. One of his Royal Highness's per- formances was a refutation of the Principe of Machiavelli. Voltaire undertook to convey it to tlie press. It was entitled the Anti- Mnchiatel. and was an edifying homily against rapacity, perfidy, ar- bitrary government, unjust 'war— in short, against almost every thing for which its author is now remembered among men. Tlie old king uttered now and then a ferocious growl at the diver- sions of Rheinsberg. But his health was broken, his end was ap- proadiing, and his vigor was impaired. lie had only one pleasure left— that of seeing tall soMiers. He could always be propitiated by a pre-sent of a grenadier of six feet eight or six feet nine ; and such presents were from time to time judiciously offered by his son. Early in the year 1740, Frederick William* met death with a firm- * Macanlfiy if a little too harsh with the old king. The followinff extract from Carlvle'H recent Life of FredL-nck the Great, describing the last hours of Friederich Wilhelm, will gliow aometliin;? better in his character : " For the lest, he isstrng- fiiD'i between death ami life, in jrencral perMuiidu. that the end is fatft hastening on. le send.s for ChiefFreaclier Hololf out to Potsdam; has some notable dialogues with Hololl and with two other Fotsdam clerf;ymer., of which there is record still left ns. In thsee, as in all his demeanor at this supreme time, we see the big, rug- ged block of nianhfXKl come out very vividly ; strong in his simplicity, in his veraci- ty. Friedricli Wilnelin's wish is to know from Koloff what the chances are for him in the other world—which is not less certain tluin Potsdam and the giant grenadiers to Fricflnch Willielm : and where, he perceives, never half so clearly before, he Hhall actually jxel off iiis Kinghood and stand before Gixl Almighty no better than a naked beic'ar. Hcjioff's prognostics are not so encouraging as the King had hoiM'd. Surely this King ' never took or coveted what was not his ; kept true to his marriage-vow, in spue of horrible examplej^ eve ywliere ; believed the Bible, hon- ored the Preacher.-!, went dili/i'utly to ( iiurcli, and tried to do what he understood (fod's commanrflucnt.-) were ?' To all which Uolotl, a courajicous, pious man, aiv 10 FREDERICK THE GREAT. ness and dignitv worthy of a better and wiser' nuin ; and Frederick, who liiul j udt completed his twenty-eighth year, became King of Pruu- bia. His character was little understocxl. That he had gotxl abilities, indeed, no person who had talked with him or corresponded! with him could doubt. But the easy, Epicurean lie which he had Uxl, his love of good cookery and good wine, of music, of conversation, of light literature, leil many to regard him as a sensual and intellectual vo- hqituary.' His haliit of canting about mod.Tation, peivce, liberty, and the happiness which a good mind derives from the happiness of oth- ei-s, had imposed on some wlio should have known better. Those who thought be.st of him expected a Telemachus after Fenelon's pat- tern. Otliers predicteil the ai)proach of a Medicean age — an age ])ro- pitious to learning and art, aud not unpropitious to pleasu)-e. Nobody had the least suspicion that a tyrant of extraordinary military and political talents, of industry more extraordinary still, without fear, without faith, and without mercy, had ascended the throne. The disappointment of Falstaft at his old boon companion's corona- tion was not more bitter than that which awaited some of the in- mates of Kheinsberg. They had long looked forward to the accession of their patron, as to the day from which their own prosperity and greatness was to date. They had at last reached the promised land, the land which they had figured to themselves as flowing with milk aud honey, and they found it a desert. " No more of these fooleries," was the short, sharp admonition given by Frederick to one of them. It soon became i)lain that, in the most important points, the new sovereign bore a strong family likeness to his jjredecessor. There was a wide difference between "the father and the son as respected ex- tent and vigor of intellect, speculative opinions, amusements, studies, outward demeanor. But the groundwork of the character was the same in both. To both were common the love of order, the love of business, the military taste, the parsimony, the imperious spirit, the Bwers with discreet worda and shaklnsrs of the head. ' Did I behave ill then, did I ever do injustice ? ' Roloff mentions "Baron Schlubhut, the defalcating Amtmaan, handed at KOniijsbcr^ without even a trial. ' He had no trial ; but was there any douSt he had justif c ? A public thief, confessing he had stolen the taxes he was, set to irather ; insolently offering;, as if that wereall, to repay the money, and sayln?, It was not MiinUr (good muniicrs) to hang a nobleman ! ' Rololl shakes his head, ' Too nolent. Your Majesty, and savoiing of the tyrannous. The poor King must repent.' , ^ , ^ .. , '" Well— is there any thing more ? Out with it, then ; betternow than toolate !' [And certain building operations of an oppressive character come under review] . . . 'And t:ien there is forgiveness of enemies ; Your Majesty is bound t^o for- give all men, or how can you a.=k to be forgiven ?'— ' Well I will ; I do. You Feekin [his wife. Queen Sophie], write to your brother (unforgiveablest of beings), after I am dead, that I forgave him, died in peace with him.'—' Better Her Majesty should wr'te at once,' su-'gesta Holofl.— ' No, after I am dead,' persists the son of naUire— ' that will be safer I ' An unwedgeable and gnarled bi^ binck of manhood and sim- plicity and sincerity ; such as we rarely get sight of among the modern sons of Adam, among the crowneJ soas nearly never. At parting he said to Rololl, 'yon ttr. He) do not spare rae ;. 't in right. You do your duty like au Uoneit Chnstiaa man.' " (vol. M , pp. 881-683). FREDERICK THE GREAT. U temDer irr table even to ferocity, the pleasure in the pain and hu- miliation of others. But these propensities had m Frederick NV il- liam partake:i of the general unsoundness of his mind, and wore a verv different aspect when found in company with the strong and cultivated understanding of his successor. Thus, for example, Freder- ick was as anxious as any prince could be about the efficacy of his armr But this anxietv never degenerated into a monomania, lilce that" which led his father to pay fancy prices ior giants. Frederick was as thriftv alxjut monev as any prince or any private man ought to be. But" he did not conceive, lilvc his father, that it wa3 worth wliile to eat unwholesome cabbages for the sskff of saving four or five rix dollars in the year. Frederick was, we fear, as malevolent as his father ; but Frederick's wit enabled him often to show his malevolence in wavs more decent than those to which his father resorted, and to infl'ict misery and degradation by a taunt instead of a blow Frederick, it is true,"bv no means relinquished his hereditary privilege of kicking and cudgelling. His practice, however, as to ^.hat matter differed in some important respects from his father's. To Frederick William, the mere circumstance that any persons whatever, men women, or children, Prussians or foreigners, were within reach of his toes and of his cane, appeared to be a sufficient reason for pro- ceeding to belabor them. Frederick required provocation as well as vicinity ; nor was he ever known to inflict this paternal species of correction on anv but his born subjects ; though on one occasion _M. Thiebault had "reason during a few seconds to anticipate the high honor of being an exception to this general rule. The character of Frederick was still very imperfectly understood either by his subjects or by his neighbors, when events occurred which exhibited it in a strong light. A few months after his acces- sion died Charles VI. , Emperor of Germany, the last descendant in the male line of the house of Austria. . , , „ Cliarles left no son, and had long before his death relinquished all hopes of male issue. During the latter part of his life his principal object had been to secure to his descendants in the female line the manv crowns of the liouse of Hapsbiirg. With this view, he had promulgated a new law of succession widely celebrated throughout Europe under the name of the " Pragmatic Sanction." By virtue of this decree, his daugliter, the ArclKiuchess Maria Theresa, wife of Francis of Lorraine, succeeded to the dominions of her ancestors. Xo sovereign has ever takf.-n pos-session of a throne by a clearer title All thii po itics of the Austrian cabinet liad during twenty vear's been directed to one singh; end— the settlement of the succes- sion From every person whose rights could be considered as injuri- ously affected, renunciations in the most solemn form had been ob- taiiu'd. Tlie new law had been ratified by the E.states of all tho king- d-^nis nnd principaliti.'S whirh mado u]) the great Austrian monarchy. Encland, Franc<3, Spain, Russia, Pokind, Prussia, Sweden, Denmark, 13 FREDERICK THE GREAT. tlie Qormanic body, had hound themselves by treaty to maintain tho " Pni^niatic Sanction." That instrument was placed under the pro- tection of tlio public faith of the wliole civilized world. Even if no positive sti])ulations on this subject had existed, the arrangement wiis one which no good man would have been willing to disturb. It was a peaceable arrangement. It was an arrangement acceptable to the great population whose happiness was chiefly con- cerned. It was an arrangement which made no change in the distri- bution of power among the states of Christendom. It was an ar- rangement which could be set aside only by means of a general war ; and, if it were set aside, the effect would be that the equilibrium of Europe would be deranged, that the loyal and patriotic feelings of iniliions would be cruelly outraged, and that great provinces which had been united for centuries would be torn from each other by main force. The sovereigns of Europe were therefore bound by every obligation which those who are intrusted with power over their fellow-creatures ought to hold most sacred, to respect and defend the right of the Archducliess. Her situation and her personal qualities were such as might be expected to move the mind of any generous man to pity, admiration, and chivalrous tenderness. She was in her twenty-fourth year. Her form was majestic, her features beautiful, her counte- nance sweet and animated, her voice musical, her deportment gracious and dignified. In all domestic relations she was without reproach. She was married to a husband whom she loved, and was on the point of giving birth to a child when deith deprived her of her father. The loss of a i^arent and the new cares of the empire were too much for her in the delicate state of her health. Her spirits were depressed and her cheek lost its bloom. Yet it seemed that she had little cause for anxiety. It seemed that justice, humanity, and the faith of treaties would have their due weight, and tliat the settlement so solemnly guaranteed would l)e quietly carried into effect. England, Ru.ssia, Poland, and Holland declared in form their intentions to adhere to their engagements. The French ministers made a verbal declaration to the same effect. But from no quarter did the young Queen of Hungary receive strong- er assurances of friendship and support than from the King of Prus- eia. Yet the King of Prus:!ia, the " Anti-Machiavel," had already fully determined to commit the great crime of violating his plighted faith, of roWjing the ally whom he was bound to defend, and of plunging all Europe into a long, bloody, and desolating ^\'ar, and all this for no end whatever ©xcept that he might extend his dominions and see his name in the gazettes. He determined to assemble a great army with spce i and .secrecy to invade Silesia before Maria Theresa should b« apprized of his design, and to add that rich province to his kingdom. \Ve will not condescend to refute at length the pleaa . . . [put FREDERICK THE GREAT. IS forth by] Doctor Preuss. They amount to thia— that the house erf Brandenburg had some ancient pretensions to Silesia, and had in the previous century been compelled by hard usage on the part of the court of Vienna' to waive those pretensions. It is certain that who- ever might originallv have been in the right Prussia had submitted. Prince after prince of the hou-e of Brandenburg had acquiesced in the existing arrangement. Nay, the court of Ber.in had recently been allied with that of Vienna, and had guaranteed the mtegrity of the Austrian States. Is it not perfectly clear that if antiquated claims are to be set up against recent treaties and long possession, the world can never be at peace for a day? The laws of all nations havo wisely established a time of limitation, alter which t.tles, however illeo-itimate in their origin, cannot be questioned. It is felt by every- bod>' that to ejoct a person from his estate on the ground of some in- justice committed in the time of the Tudors, would produce all the evils which rc>sult from arbitrary confiscation, would make all prop- erty insecure. It concerns the commonwealth— so runs the legal maxim— that there be an end of litigation. And surely this maxim is at least equally applicable to the great commonwealth of States, for in that commonwealth litigation means the devascation of prov- inces the suspension of trade and industry, sieges like those of Bada- joz and St. Sebastian, pitched fields like those of Eylau and Boro- dino. We hold that the transfer of Norway from Denmark to Sweden was an unjustifiable proceeding ; but would the King of Den- mark be therefore justified in landing without any new provocation in Norway, and commencing military operations there? The King of Holland'think.s, no doubt, that he Avas unjustly deprived of the Bel- ■ frian provinces. Grant tliat it v/ere so. Would he, therefore, be justified in marching with an army on Brussels? The case against Frederick was still stronger, inasmuch as tiie injustice of which he complained had been committed more than a century before. Nor must it be forgotten that he owed the highest personal obligations to the house of Austria. It may be doubted whether his life had not been preserved by the intercession of the prince whose daughter ho was about to plunder. To do the king justice, he pretended to no more virtue than he had. In manifestoes he might, for form's sake, insert some idle stories about his antiquated claim on Silesia ; but in his conversations and Memoirs he took a very dilTerent tone. To quote his own words— ' Aml)ition, interest, the desire of malting people talk about me, ca-jried the dav, and I decided for war." Having resolved on liis course, ho acted with ability and vigor. It was impossible wholly to conceal his preparations, for throughout the I'russ'an territories regiments, guns, and baggage were in motion The Austrian envov at Berlin apprized his court of thes^i facts, and expressed a suspicion of Frederick's designs ; but tho ministers of Maria Tliercsn refused to give credit to so block an imputation on a U FlUiDERICK THE GREAT. Toung f)rince who Tv'as known cliiefly by liis high professions of in- tegritj find phila^thropy. " We will not," thoy wrote, " we cannot believo it." Ill the meantime tlio Prnssian forces liad been assembled. With- out any declaration of war, witliout any demand for reparation, in the very act of pouring: forth compliments and assurances of good- will, Frederick commenced liostililies. Many thousands of his troops were actually in SilesLa before the Queen of Hungary knew that lie li id set up any claim to any part of her territories. At length he sent her a message which could bo regarded only as an insult. If she would but let him have Silesia, lie would, he said, stand by lier against any power which should try to deprive lier of her other do- minions : as if he was not already bound to stand by lier, or as if hi.s new promise could be of more value than the old one ! It Avas the depth of winter. The cold was severe, and the roads de(^p in mire. But the Prussians passed on. Resistance was impos- sible. The Austrian army was then neither numerous nor efficient. The small portion of that army which lay in Silesia was unprepared for hostilities. Glogau was blockaded ; Breslau opened its gates ; Ohlau was evacuated. A few scattered garrisons still held out ; but the whole open country was subjugated ; no enemy ventured to en- counter the king in the field ; and before the end of January, 1741, he returned to receive the congratulations of his subjects at Ber.in. Had the Silesian question been merely a question between Freder- ick and Maria Theresa, it would be impossible to acquit the Prussian king of gross perfidy. But when we consider the effects which his policy produced, and could not fail to produce, on the whole commu- nity of civilized nations, we are compelled to pronounce a condemna- tion s.ill more severe. Till he began the war it seemed possible, even probable, that the peace of. the world would be preserved. The plunder of the great Austrian heritage was indeed a strong tempta- tion ; and in more tlian one cabinet ambitious schemes were already meditated. But the treaties by which the " Pragmatic Sanction " had been guaranteed were express and recent. To throw all Europe into confusion for a purpose clearly unjust was no light matteri England was true to her engagements. The voice of Fleury had always been for peace. He had a conscience. He was now in extreme old ago, and was unwilling, after a life which, when his situation was con- fcidered, must be pronounced singularly pure, to carry the fresh stain of a great crime before the tribunal of his God. Even the vain and unprincipled Belle-Isle, whose whole life was one wild day-dream of conquest and spoliation, felt that France; bound as she was by solemn stipulations, could not without disgrace make a direct attack on the Austrian dominions. Charles, Elector of Bavaria, pretended that he had a right to a large j)art of the inheritance which tho " Pragmatic Sanction " gave to the Queen of Hungary, but ho was not sufficiently porwerfnl to move without support. It might, therefore, not un- FREDERICK THE .GREAT. 15 reasonably be expected tbat after a short period of restlessness, all the potentates of Christendom would acquiesce in the arrangements made bv the late emperor. But the selfish rapacity of the Kmg of Prussia gave the signal to his neighbors. His example qiurted their sense of shame. His success led them to underrate the difficulty of dismembering the Austrian monarchy. The whole world sprang to arms On the head of Frederick is a I the blood which was shed iii a war which raged during many years and in every quarter of the globe— the blood of the column of Fontenoy, the blood of the brave momitameers who were slaughtered at Culloden. The evils produced by this wickedness were felt in lands where the name of Prussia was unknown ; and, in order that he might rob a neighbor ^%-lioni he bad promised to defend, black men fought on the coast of Coromandel, and red men scalped each other by the great lalces of ^orth America. Silesia had been occupied without a battle ; but the Austrian troops were advancing to the relief of the fortresses which still held out In the spring Frederick rejoined his army. He had seen little of war and had never commanded any great body of men m the field It is not, therefore, strange that his first military operations sliowed little of that skill which, at a later period, was the admira- tion of Europe. What connoisseurs say of some pictures painted by Raphael m his youth, mav be said of this campaign. It was m Frederick's early l-sad manner. Fortunately for him, the generals to whom he was opposed were men of small capacity. The discipline of his own troops, particularly of the infantry, was unequalled in that age ; and some able and experienced officers were at hand to a-ssist him with their advice. Of these, the most distinguished was Field-Marslial Schwerin— a brave adventurer of Pomeranian extrac- tion, who liad served lialf the governments in Europe, had borne the commissions of the States-General of Holland and of the Duke of Mecldenburg, and fought under jNIarlborough at Blenheim, and had been with Charles the^Twelfth at Bender. Frederick's first battle was fought at Moh\icz, and never did the career of a great commander open in a more inauspicious manner. His army was victorious. Not only, however, did he not establish his title to the character of an able general, but he was so unfortu- nate as to make it doubtful whether he possessed the vulgar courage of a soldier. The cavalry which he commanded in person was put to liight. Unaccustomed to the tumult and carnage of a field of bat- tle, he lost his .self-possession, and listened too realily to those who urged him to save himself. His English gray carried him many miles fiom the field, while Schwerin, though wounded in two places, manfullv upheld tlie day. The skill of tiie old Field->Marshal and the steadim S.S of the Prussian battalions prevailed ; and the Austrian anny was driven from the field with the loss of eight thousand men. Tlie news was carried late at night to a mill in which the king had lakea shelter. It gave him a bitter pang. He was wccRftsful : hut U'i FREDERICK THE GREAT. ho owed lii? siiocese to dispositions which others had made, and to tli« valor of men who liad founflit while he was flying. So unpromising was the tirst appearance of the greatest warrior of that age ! The battle of Molwitz was the signal for a general explosion throughout Europe. Bavaria took up arms. France, not yet declar- ing herself a principal in the war, took part in it as an allv of Bava- ria. The two great statesmen to whom mankind had owed many years of tranquillity disappeared aliout this time from the scene ; but not till they had both been guilty of the wealcness of sacrificing their sense of justice and their love of peace in the vain hope of prtv serving their power. Fleury, sinking under age and infirmity, wa» Iwrne down by the impetuosity of Belle- Isle. Walpole retired from the service of his ungrateful country to his woods and paintings at Houghton, and his power devolved on the daring and eccentric Car- teret. As were the ministers, so were the nations. Thirty year.s during which Europe had, with few interruptions, enjoyed repose, had ])reixired the public mind for great military efforts. A new gen- eration had grown up, which could not remember the siege of Turin or tlie slaughter of Malplaquet ; which knew war by nothing but its trophies ; and which, while it looked with pride on the tapestries at Blenheim, or the statue in the " Place of Victories," little thought by what privations, by what waste of private foi-tunes, by how many bitter tears, conquests must l)e purchased. For a time fortune seemed adverse to tlie Queen of Hungary. Frederick invaded Moravia. The French and Bavarians penetrated into Bohemia, and were there joined by the Saxons. Prague was taken. The Elector of Bavaria was raised by the suffrages of his colleagues to the Imperial throne— a throne "which tlie practice of centuries had almost entitled the house of Austria to regard as an hereditary possession. Yet was the spirit of the haughty daughter of the Ca>sars unbroken. Hungary was still hers by an unquestionable title ; and although her ancestors had found Hungary the most mutinous of all their king- doms, she resolved to trust herself to the fidelity of a people, rudo indeed, turbulent, and impatient of oppression, but brave, generous, and simple-hearted. In the midst of distress and peril she had given birth to a son, afterwards the Emperor Joseph the Second. Scarcely had she risen from her couch, when she hastened to Pressburg. There, in the sight of an innumerable multitude, she was crowned -vvith the crown and robed with the robe of St. Stephen. No specta- tor c«uld restrain his tears when the beautiful young mother, still weak from child-bearing, rode, after the fashion of her fathers, up the Mount of Defiance, unsheathed the ancient sword of state, shook it towards north and south, east and west, and, with a glow on her pale face, challenged the four corners of the world to dispute her rights and those of her l)oy. At the first sitting of the Diet she ap- peared clad in deep mourning for her father, and in pathetic and dig- FREDERICK THE GREAT. 11 nified words implored her people to support lier just cause. Mag nates and deputies sprana: up, half drew their sabres, and with eagei voices vowed to stand bvlier with their lives and fortunes. Till then her linnness had never 'once forsalcen her before tlie ])ublic eve, but at that shout she sanlv down upon her throne, and wept aloud. StiU more touching Avas the sight when, a few days later, she came before the Estates of her realm, and held up before them the little Archdulie in her arms. Then it was that the enthusiasm of Hungary broke forth into that war-cry which soon resounded throughout Europe, " Let us die for our King, Maria Theresa ! " . t In the mean time, Frederick was meditating a change of policy. He had no wish to raise France to supreme power on the continent, at the expense of the house of Ilapsburg. His first object was to rob the Queen of Hungary. Hs second was that, if possible, no- body should rob her but himself. He had entered into engagements with the powei-s leagued against Austria; but these engagements were in his estimation of no more force than the guarantee formerly given to the " Pragmatic Sanction." His game was now to secure his share of tlie plunder by betraying his accomplices. Maria Theresa was little inclined to listen to any such compromise ; but the English government represented to her so strongly the necessity of buying off so formidable an enemy as Frederick, that she agreed to negotiate. The negotiation would not, however, have ended in a treaty, had not the arms of Frederick been crowned with a second victory. Prince Cliarles of Lorraine, brother-in-law to Maria Theresa, a bold and active, though unfortunate general, gave battle to the Prussians at Chotusitz, and was defeated. The king was still only a learner of the military art. Ho acknowledged, at a later period, that his suo- cess on this occasion was to be attributed, not at all to his own gen- eralship but solely to the valor and steadiness of his troops. He completely effaced", however, by his courage and energy, the stain which Mo'lwitz had left on his reputation. A j>eace, concluded under the English mediation, was the fruit of this battle. Maria Theresa ceded Silesia ; Frederick abandoned his allies ; Saxony followed his example ; and the queen was left at lib- erty to turn her whole force against France and Bavaria. She was cvcrj'where triumphant. The French were compelled to evacuate I?oh('mia, and with dilhculty effected their escap,-. The whole lino of tlieir retreat might be tracked by the corpses of thousands who di.;d of cold, fatigue, and liunger. Many of those who reached their country carried with tliem seeds of death. Bavaria was overrun by Lands of ferocious warriors from that bloody " debatable land " which lies on the frontier between Christendom and Islam. The terrible names of the Pandoor, the Croat, and the Hussar then first became familiar to western Europe. The unfortunate; Charles of Bavaria, ranciuished by Austria, betrayed by Prussia, driven from his hen^ch- tory states, and neglected by his allies, wvm hurried by shame ami 13 FREDERICK THE GREAT. rpmorsr> to an uiitiinoly end. An English army appoarod in tfio Uoari of Uerniany, and dcffaied the French at Dottingcn. The Austrian ca]itains ahvady began to talk of coniplcting thu work of Marihor- ougli and Engene, and of compelling France to relinquish Alsace and tlie Three Bishoprics. The court of Versailles, in this peril, looked to Frederick for help. He had been guilty of two great treasons, perhaps he might bo in- ihiced to commit a third. The Duchess of Chateauroux then held tho chief influence' over the feeble Louis. She determined to send an mgent to Berlin, and Voltaire was selected for the mission. Ho eagerly undertook the task ; for, while his literary fame filled all Europe, he was troubled with a childish craving for political distinc 'iion. He was vain, and not without reason, of his addre.ss, and of his insinuating eloquence ; and he flattered himself that he pos- sessed boundless influence over the King of Prussia. The truth was that he knew, as yet, only one corner of Frederick's character. Ho was well acquainted with all the petty vanities and affectations of tho jioetaster ; but was not aware that these foibles were united with all the talents and vices which lead to success in active life ; and that the unlucky versifier who bored him with reams of middling Alexan- drians, was tliQ r.iost vigilant, suspicious, and severe of polit;icians. Voltaire was received with every mark of respect and friendship, Vvas lodged in the palace, and had a seat daily at the royai table. The negotiation Avas of an extraordinary description. Nothing can be conceived more whimsical than the conferences which took place between the first literary man and the first practical man of the age, whom a strange weakness had induwid to exchange their parts. The great poet would talk of nothing but treaties and guarantees, and tho great king of nothing but metaphors and rhymes. On one occasion Voltaire put into his Majesty's hand a paper on the state of P^urope, and re<,-eived it back with verses scrawled on the margin. In secret they both laughed at each other. Voltaire did not spare the king's poems ; and the king has left on record his opinion of Voltaire's diplomacy. "He liad no credentials," says Frederick, "and the whole mission was a joke, a mere farce." But what the influence of Voltaire could not effect, tlie rapid pro- gress of the Austrian arms effected. If it should be in the power of Maria Theresa and George the Second to dictate terms of peace to France, what chance wa.s there that Pru.ssia would long retain Sile- sia? Frederick's con.sciencc told him that he had acted perfidiously and inhumanly towards the Queen of Hungary. That her resentment was strong she had given ample proof, and of her respect for treaties lie judg{!d by his own. Guarant(!es, he said, were filigree, pretty to look at, but too brittle to bear the slightest ])ressure. He thought it liis safest course to ally liimsfdf closely to France, and again to attack the Empress Queen. Accordingly, in the autumn of 1744, without notice, without any decent pretext, he recommenced hostilities. FREDERICK THE GREAT. 19 marched through the electorate of Saxonv without troubling himself about the permission of the Elector, invaded Bohemia, took 1 rague. And even menaced Vienna. • , xi :„„„„=;e+ It was now that, for the first time, he experienced the mconsist- encv of fortune. An Austrain army under Charles of Lorraine threatened h-s communications with Silesia. Saxony was all in arms behind him. He fart in it, tho only gainer was b red- 80 FREDERICK THE GREAT. ,nister-he would be his own sole minister. 7.rin 1., f '?r'irr™?™' "°* "'^'■^'•'' ^"^ ^ Richelieu or a Ma- f/l nw 1 \^^'*' '\ L""^^o'«' or a Torcy. A love of labor for lie n .fJ'^'l''- '''''^''' '"i"!^ insatiable longing to dictate, to intermed- lie, to make his power felt, a profound scorn and distrust of his fel- t^rn^TT; ^":^'«P«sf liim to ask counsel, to confide important secrets, to delegate ample powers. The higliest functionariei under us government were mere clerks, and were not so much trusted by hnn as valuable clerks are often trusted by the heads of departments le wa.s his own trea-surer, his own commander-in-chief, his own in- "udant of public works ; his own minister for trade and iustice for home affairs and foreign affairs ; his own master of the horse, stev;ard and cliamberlain Matters of which no chief of an office in any other gv^vernment would ever hear, were, in this singular monarchy, de- cided by the king in person. If a traveller wished for a good placo to see a review, he had to write to Frederick, and rceived next dav from a royal messenger, Frederick's answer signed by Fredericlc'.s own hand. This was an extravagant, a morbid activitV. The pub- lic bu.siness would assuredly have been better done if' each depart- ment li d been put under a man of talents and integrity, and if the king had contented himself with a general control In this manner the advantages which belong to unity of design, and the advantajres ^vl,,ch belong to the division of labor, would have been to a great ex- tent combined But such a system would not have suited the pecu- liar temper ol I- rederick. He could tolerate no will, no reason in tht FREDERICK THE GREAT. 21 state save liis own. He wislied for no abler assistance tlian that of penmen wlio liad just understanding enough to translate, to trans- cril>e to make out his scrawls, and to put his concise les and .Nom.c? an otficial form. Of the higher intellectual faculties, there is as much in a copying machine or a lithographic press as he required from a secretary" of the cabinet. „ , i ^ ^ f His own exertions were such as were hardly to be expected from a human body or a human mind. At Potsdam, his ordinary residence, he rose at three in summer and four in winter. A page soon ap- peared with a large basketful of all the letters which had arrived for thekinffbvthe last courier— dispatches from ambassador reports from officei-s of revenue, plans of buildings, proposals for draining marshes complaints from persons who thought themselves aggrieved, apolications from persons who wanted titles, military commissions, alid civil situations. He examined the seals with a keen eye ; for ho w?^ never for a moment free Irom tha suspicion that some irautl might be practised on him. Then he read the letters divided theia into several packets, and signified his pleasure, generally by a mark, ofton by two or three words, now and and then by some cutting enieram Bv eight lie had generally finished this part ot his task. The adiutant-general was then in attendance, and received mstruc- tions for the day as to all the military arrangements of the kingdom. Then ihe king went io review his guards, not as kings ordinarily re- view their guards, but ^vith the minute attention and severity ot an old drill-sergeant. In the mean time the four cabinet secretaries had i.een employed in answering the letters on which the king had that morning signified his will. These unhappy men were forced to wor.c all tlie year round like negro slaves in the time of the sugar-crop They never had a holiday. They never knew what it was to dme It wa.s necessary that, before they stirred, they, should finish the whole of their work. The king, always on his guard against treacliery, took from the heap a handful at random, and looked into them to see wlietlier his instructions had been exactly followed. This was no bad security against foul play on the part of the secretaries ; for it one of them were detected in a trick, he might think hiiuself lor- tunate if he escaped with five years' imprisonment in a dungeon. Frederick then signed the replies, and all were sent off the same 6 von in '^'' Thetreneral principles upon which this strange government waa conducted deserve attention. The policy of Frederick was es.sentially rthe same a.s his father's ; but Frederick, while he carried that policy 'uy lenirths to which his father never thought of carrying it, cleared it at the same tim-, from the absurdities with which his lather had en- cumbered it. The king's first object wa.s to liavc a great, ethcient and well-trainr^l army. He had a kingdom which in extent and m)nulationwa.shardlv-inthe second rank of European powers ; and yet he aspired to a plico not inferior to that of the sovereigns of ii-ng 22 FREDEKiriv THE (JREAT. laud, Franco, and Austria. For that end it was necessary that Prus- eia should bo all stin.a:. Louis XV., with five times as many subjects as Ir.xleru'k, and more than five limes as largo a revenue, had not a more formidable army. The ])roiior1i(m whidi th(^ soldiers in Prus- sia bore to the peojjle seems hardly credible. Of the males in tlie vigor of life, a seventh part were probably under arms ; and this groat force had, by drilling, by reviewing, and by the unsparino- use of cajie and scourge, been taught to perform all evolutions Avitli a rapidity and ^l precision which would have astonished Villars or Eugene. The elevated feelings which are necessary to the best kind of army were then wanting to the Prussian service. In those ranks were not found the religious and political enthusiasm which inspired the pikemen of Cromwell— the patriotic ardor, the thirst of glorv the devotion to a great leader, which inflamed the Old Guard of Napo- leon. But m all the mechanical parts of the militarv callin/f, the Prussians were as superior to the English and French tJroops of that dav as the English and French troops to a rustic malitia. Tlunigh the pay of the Prussian soldier was small, though every rix dollar of extraordinary charge was scrutinized by Frederick with a vigilance and suspicion such as Mr. Joseph Hume never brought to the examination of an ai my- estimate, the exi)ense of such an estab- lishment was, for the means of the country, enormous. In order that it might not be utterly ruinous, it was necessary that every other ex- pense should be cut down to the lowest possible point. Accordinn-ly, Frederick, though his dominions bordered on the sea, had no navy! He neither had nor wished to have colonies. His judges, his fiscal officers, were meanly paid. His ministers at foreign courts walked on foot, or drove shabby old carriages till the axeltrees gave way. Even to his highest diplomatic agents, who resided at London and Paris, he allowed less than a thousand pounds sterling a year. The roval household was managed with a frugality unusual in the estab- hshinents of opulent subjects— unexampled 'in any other palace. 1 he king loved good eating and drinking, and during great part of his life took pleasure in seeing his tal)]e surrounded by guests ; yet the whole charge of his kitchen Avas brought within the sum of two thousand pounds sterling a year. He examined everv extraordinary Item with a care which might be thought to suit tlie mistress of a boarding-house better thafi a great prince. When more than four nx dollars were asked of him for a hundred oysters, he stormed as if he had heard that one of his generals had sold a fortress to the Em press-Queen. Not a bottle of champagne was uncorked without his express order. The game of the royal parks and forests, a serious' head of expenditure in most kingdoms, Avas to him a source of profit. 1 he whole was farmed out ; and thoutrh the farmers were almost ruined by their contract, tlie king woufd grant them no remission. His wardrobe consisted of one fine gala dress, which lasted him all ilia hfe ; of two or three old coats fit for Monmouth street, of yellow FREDERICK THE GREAT. 23 waistcoats soiled with snuff, and of huge boots embrowned by time. One taste alone sometimes allured him beyond the limits of parsi- mony nav even bevond the limits of prudence— the taste lor -uiJd- iuo- " 'in all other things his economy was such as we might cau by a harsher name, if we did not reflect that his funds were drawn from a heavily taxed people, and that it was impossible for him v.itliout excessive tyranny to keep up at once a formidable army and a splen- d.d coiirt. , , 1 1 1 i m • Con'^idered as an administrator, Frederick had undoubtedly many * titles to praise Order was strictly maintained throughout his do- nunions. Property was secure. A great liberty of speaking and of writing was allowed. Confident in the irresistible strength derived from a great army, the king looked down on malcontents and libellers with a wise disdain, and gave little encouragement to spies^ and in- f'rmers When he was told of the disaffection of one of his sub- jects he merely asked, " How many thousand men can he bring mto the field •'" He once saw a crowd staring at something on a wall. He rode up, and found that the object of curiosity was a scurrilous placard against himself. The placard had been posted up so high thit it was not easy to read it. Frederick ordered his attendams to take it down and put it lower. " My people and I, ' he said, have come to an agreement which satisfies us both. Tney are to say what they please, and I am to do what I please." No person would have dared to publish in London satires on George II. approaching to the atrocity of those satires on Frederick which the booksellers at lierlin sold with impunity. One bookseller sent to the palace .a copy of the most stinging lam'poon that perhaps was ever written m the world the "Memoirs of Voltaire," published by Beaumarchais, and asked for his' Majesty's orders. ' ' Do not advertise it in an offensive manner," said the king'; "but sell it by all means. I hope it will pay you well " Even among statesmen accustomed to the license ot a tree press such stead fa.stness of mind as this is not very common. It is due also to the memory of Frederick to say that he earnest y labored to secure to his people the great blessing of cheap and speedy iiistire He was one of the first rulers who abolished the cruel and absurd practice of torture. No sentence of death pronounced by the ordinary tribunals was executed without his sanction ; and lus sanc- tion, except in cases of murder, was rarely given. lowards Ji;s troops lie acted in a very different manner. IMilitary offences were punished with such barbarous scourging that to be shot w:is consid- ered bv the Prussian soldier as a secondary punishment. Indeed, the 'principle whif!h pervaded Frederick's whole policy was this— that the inore severly the army is governed, the safer it is to treat tho rest ot tlif! community with lenity. Ptcligious perw-cution was unknown und.T his government— unless Bom(! fcxdish and unjust restrictions which lay upon the Jews may bo rt'garded as forming an exception. His policy with respect to th» «4 FREDERICK THE GREAT. Cntliolirs of Silesia presented an honorable contrast to tlio nolicT which, under very similar circumstances, England lonff followed Avith respect to the Catholics of Ireland. Every form of religion and irreliirion found an asylum in his states. The "scoffer whom Parlia- m;'ntsoi l-raiu-i. had sentenced to a cruel death was consoled bv a com- ission m the Prussian service. The Jesuit who could show liis face no- where elst--wlm in Biitain was still subject to penal laws, who was proscribed by France, S]>ain, Portugal, and Naples, who had been given up even by the Vatican— found safety and the means of sub- sistence in the Prussian dominions. Most of the vices of Frederick's administration resolve themselves mto one vice— the spirit of meddling. The indefatigable activity of his intellect, his dictatorial temper, his military habits, all inclined him to this great fault. He drilled his people as he drilled his grena- diers. Capital and industry Mere diverted from their natural direc- tion by a crowd of preposterous regulatirms. There was a monopoly ot coffee, a monopoly of tobacco, a monopoly of refin(;d suo-ar The public money, of wliich the king was generally so sparing was lavishly spent in plowing bogs, in planting mulberry-trees amidst the sand, in bringing sheep from Spain to improvo the Saxon ^vool in bestowing prizes for fine yarn, in building manufactories of porcelain manufactories of carpets, manufactories of hardware, manufactoi'ies ot lace. JSeither the experience of otiier rulers nor his own could ever teach lum tiiat something more than an edict and a grant of pub- lic inoney is required to create; a Lyons, a Brussels, or a Birmingham l()ct or ])hilosopher cuukl be induced to sell hiiu- hiclf into slavery ; and the bondsman might think himself fortunate if what had been so grudgingly given was not, after years of suffer- 1 ing, rudely and arbitrarily withdrawn. I Potsdam was, in truth, what it was called by one of its most illus- trious inmates, the Palace of Alcina. At the first glance it seemed to be a delightful sjwt, where every intellectual and physical enjoyment awaited the happy adventurer. Every new comer Aviis received with eager hospitality, intoxicated with llattery, encouraged to expect pros- perity and greatness. It v.-as in vain that a long succession of favor- ites who had entered that abode with delight and hope, and who, after \ a short term of delusive happiness, had been doomed to expiate their folly by years i f wretchedness and degradation, raise their voices to warn the aspirant who api)roached the charmed threshold. Some had wisdom enough to discover the truth early and spirit enough to fly without looking back ; others lingered on "to a cheerless and^ unlion- ored old age. We have no hesitation in saying that the po rest author of that time in London, sleeping on a bulk, dining in a cellar, with a cravat of paper, and a skewer tor a shirt-pin, was a happier man than ,Tinv of the literary inmates of Frederick's court. / But of all who entered the enchanted garden in the inebriation of (delight, and quitted it in agonies of rage and shame, the most re- markable was Voltaire. Many circumstances had made him desirous tof finding a home at a distance from his country. His fame had h-aised him up enemies. His sensibility gave theina formidable ad- H-antage over him. They were, indeed, contem])tible assailants. Of all that they wrote against him, nothing has survived except what he has himself preserved. But the constitution of his mind resembled the constitution of those bodies in which the slightest scratch of a , bramble or the bite of a gnat never fails to fester. Though his repu- / tation was rather raised than lowered by the abuse of such writers as Freron and Desfontaines — though the vengeance which he took on Freron and Desfontaines was such that scourging, branding, pillory- ing, would have been a trifle to it — there is reason to believe that they gave hun far more pain tlian he ever gave them. Though he enjoyed during his own lifetime the reputation of a classic— though lie was extolled by his contemporaries above all poets, philosophers, and his- torians — though his Avorks were read with much delight and admira- tion at Moscow and Westminster, at Florence and Stockholm, as at Paris itself, he was yet tormented l>y that rastless jealousy which should seem to lielong only to minds burning with the desire of fame, and yet conscious of impotence. To mea of letters who could by no po.ssibility be his rivals, he was, if they behaved well to him, not merely ju.st, not merely courteous, but often a hearty friend and a munificent benefactor. But to every writer who rose to a celebrity approaching his own, he became either a disguised or an avowed ene- FREDERICK THE GREAT. 29 mr. He slylr depreciated Montesquieu and Buffon. He publicly and with violent outrage made war on Jean Jacques. Nor had he the art of hiding his feelings under the semblance of good-humor or of con- tempt. With all his gre-at talents and all his long experience of the world, he had uo more self-command than a petted child or an hys- terical woman. Whenever he was mortified, he exhausted the whole rhetoric of anger and sorrow to express his mortification. His tor- rents of bitter words — his stamping and cursing — his grimaces and his tears of rage — were a rich feast to those abject natures whose de- light is in the agonies of powerful spirits and in the abasement of im- mortal names. These creatures had now found out a way of galling him to the very quick. In one walk, at least, it had been admitted by enw itself that he was without a living competitor. Since Racine had' been laid among the great men whose dust made the holy pre- cinct of Port-Royal holier, no tragic poet had appeared who could con- test the palm with the author of Zaire, of Alsire, and of Merope. At length a rival was announced. Old Crobillion, who many years before had obtained some theatrical success, and who had long been forgotten, came forth from his garret in one of the meanest lanes near the Rue St. Antoino, and was welcomed by the acclamations of envious men of letters and of a capricious populace. A thing called Catiline, whicli he had written in his retirement, was acted with boundless applause. Of this execrable piece it is sufficient to say that the plot turns on a love affair, carried on in all the forms of Scudery, between Catiline, whose confident is the Praetor Lentulus, and Tu'llia, the daughter of Cicero. The theatre resounded Avith ac- clamations. The king pensioned the successful poet ; and the coSee- houses pronounced that Voltaire v/as a clover man, but that the real tragic inspiration, the celestial fire which glowed in Corneille and Ra- cine, was to be found in Crebillion alone. The blow went to Voltaire's heart. Had his wisdom and fortitude been in proportion to the fertility of his intellect, and to the bril- liancy of his v.'it, he would have seen that it was out of the power of all tlie pufTers and detractors in Europe to put (Jat'line above Zaire ; but he had none of the magnanimous patience with which Milton and Bentley left their claims to the unerring judgment of time. Ho eagerly engaged in an undignified competition with Crebillion, and produced a series of plays on t!ie same subjects which liis rival had treated. These ])ieceH were coolly received. Angry with the court, angry with the capital, Voltaire began to find pleasure in the prospect of exile. His attachment for ^Madame dc Chatelet long prevented liim from executing liis purjw.se. Her death set him at liberty ; and ho determined to take refuge at Berlin. To Berlin he wius invited bya .scries of li'tters, couched in terms of th<- most enthusia-stic friendslii]) and admiration. For once the rigid parKirnony of Frederick Sf^emcMl to have relaxed. Oidcrs, lionrjiablo officfjs, a liberal pension, a well-served table, stately apartmeuta under 30 FREDERICK THE GREAT. R royal roof, wore offered in return for tlie pleasure and honor wluch were expected from the society of the first wit of the age. A tliou- sjuid louis were remitted for the charges of tlie journey. No ambass- ador setting out from l^'rlin for a court of the first ranl^ had ever been more amply supplied. But Voltaire was not satisfied. At a later ]>eri()d, wlien he possessed an ample fortune, he was one of the most liberal of men ; but till his means had become equal to his wishes, his greediness for lucre was unrestrained either by justice or by shame. He ha I the effrontery to ask for a thousand louis more, in order to enable him to bring his niece, ISIadame Denis, the ugliest of coquettes, in his company. The indelicate rapacity of the poet ]iroduced its natural eifect on the severe and frugal king. The an- swer was a dry refusal. " I did not," said His Majesty, " solicit the honor of the lady's society." On this Voltaire went off into a parox- ysm of childish rags. "Was there ever such avarice? He has a hundred of tubs full of dollars in his vaults, and haggles with me about a poor thousand louis." It seemed that tlie negotiation would be broken off ; but Frederick, with great dexterity, affected indiffer- ence, and seemed inclined to transfer his idolatry to Baculard d'Ar- naud. His Majesty even wrote some bad verses, of which the sense was, that Voltaire was a setting sun, and that Arnaud was rising. Good-natured friends soon carried the lines to Voltaire. He was in bed. He jumped out in his shirt, danced al)0ut the room with rage, and .sent for his passport and his post-horses. It was not difficult to foresee the end of a connection which had such a beginning. It was in the year IToO that Voltaire left the great capital, which he was not to see again till, after the lapse of nearly thirty years, he returned, bowed down by extreme old age, to die in the midst of a sj)lendid and ghastly triumph. His reception in Prussia was such as might well have elated a less vain and excitable mind. He wrote to his friends at Paris, that the kindness and the attention with which lie had been welcomed surpassed description —that tlie king was the most amiable of men — that Potsdam was the Paradise of philosophers. He was created chamberlain, and received, together with his gold key, the cross of an order and a patent ensuring to him a pension of eight hundred pounds sterling a year for life. A liun- di'ed and sixty pounds a year were promised to liis niece if she sur- vived him. The royal cooks and coachmen were put at his disposal. He was lodged in the same apartments in Avhich Saxe had lived when at the height of power and glory he visited Prussia. Frederick, in- deed, stooped for a time even to use the language of adulation. He pressed to his lips the meagre hand of the little grinning skeleton, whom he regarded as the dispenser of immortal renown. He would add, he said, to the titles which he owed to his ancestors and his sword, another title derived from his last and proudest acquisition. His .style should run thus : Frederick, King of Prussia, Margrave of Bradenburg, Sovereign Duke of Silesia, Possessor of Voltainj. But FREDERICK THE GREAT. 31 even amidst the deliglits of the honeymoon, Voltaire's sensitive vanity began Xo take alarm. A feAv days after his arrival, he could not help tellmg his niece that the amiable king had a trick of giving a sly scratch with one hand while patting and stroking with the other. Soon came hints not the less alarming because mysterious. " The supper parties are delicious. The king is the life of the com- pany. But — I have operas and comedies, reviews and concerts, my studies and books. But — but — BerLn is fine, the princess charming, the maids of honor handsome. But " This eccentric friendship was fast cooling. Never had there met two persons so exquisitely fitted to plague each other. Each of them had exactly the fault of which the other was most impatient ; and they were, in different ways, the most impatient of mankind. Fred- erick was frugal, almost niggardly. When he had secured his play- thing he began to think that he had bought it too dear. Voltaire, on the other hand, was greedy, even to the extent of impudence and knavery ; and conceived that the favorite of a monarch who had bar- rels full of gold and silver laid up in cellars, ought to make a fortune which a receiver-general might envy. They soon discovered each other's feelings. Both were angry, and a war began, in which Fred- erick stooped to the part of Ilarpagon, and Voltaire to that of Scapin. It is humiliating to relate that the great warrior and statesman gave orders that his guest's allowance of sugar and chocolate should be curtailed. It is, if possible, a still more humiliating fact, that Vol- taire inde:nnified hinistilf by pocketing the wax candles in the royal antechamber. Disputes about money, however, were not the most serious disputes of these extraordinary associates. The sarcasm soon galled the sensitive temper of the poet. D'Arnaud and D'Argens, Guichard and La Metric, might, for the sake of a morsel of bread, be willing to bear the insolence of a master ; but Voltaire was of another order. He knew that he was a potentate as well as Fred- erick ; that his European reputation, and his incomparable power of covering whatever he hated with ridicule, :nade him an object of dread even to the leaders of armies and the rulere of nations. In truth, of all the intclli.'Ctual weapons which have ever been wielded by man, the most terrible was the mockery of Voltaire. Bigots and tyrants, who had never been moved by the wailing and cursing of millions, turned j)ale at his name. Principles unassailable by reason — principles whicli had withstood the fiercest attacks of power, the most valualde truths, the most generous sentiments, the noblest and most graceful images, the purest reputations, the most august insti-^ tutious — began to look mean and loathsome as soon iis that witliering. fimilu was turned ui)on tliem. To every opponent, however strong in his cau.se and liis talents, in his station aud his character, who ven- tured to encounter the great KcofffT, jnight be addressed the caution which was given of old to the Archangel : — A.B.-2 8S FREDERICK THE GREAT. " I forewarn thee, ehnn nis deadly arrow ; neither vainly hope To Iwiiivaliierableiii tliose bri,'ht arms, Th )a:;ii temper'd heavenly ; far that fatal dint, Save llim who reigns above, none can resist." We cannot pause to recount how often that rare talent was exer- cised against rivals worthy of esteem — how often it was used to crush and torture enemies worthy only of silent disdain — how often it was perverted to the more noxious purpose of destroying the last solace of earthly misery and the last restraint on earthly power. Neither can we pause to tell how often it was used to vindicate jus- tice, liumanity, and toleration — the principles of sound philosophy, the principles of free government. This is not the place for a full character of Voltaire. Causes of quarrel multiplied fast. Voltaire, who, partly from love of money and partly from love of excitement, was always fond of stockjohhing, became implicated in transactions of at least a dubious character. The king was delighted at having such an opportunity to humble his guest ; and bitter reproaches and complaints were ex- changed. Voltaire, too, was soon at war with the other men of let- ters who surrounded the king ; and this irritated Frederick, who, however, had himself chiefly to blame : for, from that love of tor- menting which was in him a ruling passion, he perpetually lavished extravagant praises on small men and bad books, merely in order that he might enjoy the mortification and rage which on such occasions Voltaire took no pains to conceal. His Majesty, hov/ever, soon had reason to regret the pains which he had taken to kindle jealousy among the members of his household. The whole palace was in a ferment with literary intrigues and cabals. It Avas to no purpose that the imperial voice, which kept a hundred and sixty thousand soldiers in order, was raised to quiet the contention of the exasperated wits. It was far easier to stir uj) such a storm than to lull it. Nor was Frederick, in his capacity of wit, by any means without liis own share of vexations. He had sent a large quantity of verses to Vol- taire, and requested that they might l)e returned with remarks and correction. " See," exclaimed Voltaire, " wliat a quantity of his dirty linen the king has sent me towa.sh!" Talebearers were not wantmg to carry the sarcasm to the royal ear, and Fredericic was as much incensed as a Grub Street writer who had found his name in Ithe "Dunciad." This could not last. A circumstance which, when the mutual re- gard of the friends was in its first glow, would merely have been matter for laughter, produced a violent explosion. Maupertuis en- joyed as much of Frederick's good-will as any man of letters. Il« wa.s President of the Academy of Berlin, and stood second to Voltaire, tliough at an immense distance, in the literary .society which hod been assembled at the Prussian court. Frederick had, by playing foi FREDERICK THE GREAT. 33 his own amusement on tlie feelings of tlie two jealous and Tain^jlori- ous Frenchmen, succeeded in pi-oducing a bitter enmity between thtm. Voltaire resolved to set liis marlc, a mark never to be effaced, on the forehead of Maupertuis ; and wrote t lie exquisitely ludicrous diatribe of Doctor Akakia. He showed this little piece to Frederick, who had too much taste and too much malice not to relish such deli- cious pleasantry. In truth, even at this time of day, it is not easy for any person who has the least perception of the ridiculous to read the jokes on the Latin city, the Patagonians, r.nd the hole to the cen- ter of the earth, without laughing till he cries. But though Freder- ick was diverted by this charming pasquinade, he was unwilling that it should get abroad. His self-love was interested. He had selected Maupertuis to iill the Chair of his Academy. If all Europe were taught to laugh at .Maupertuis, would not the repittation of the Acad- emy, would not even the dignity of its royal patron be in some de- gree compromised? The king, therefore, begged Voltaire to sup- press his performance. Voltaire promised to do so, and broke his word. The diatribe was published, and received with shouts of mer- riment and applause by all who could read the French language. The king stormed, Voltaire, with his usual disregard of truth, pro- tested his innocence, and made up some lie about a printer or an amanuensis. The king was not to be so imposed upon. He ordered the pamphlet to be burned by the common hangman, and insisted upon liaving an apology from Voltaire, couched in the most abject terms. Voltaire sent back to the king his cross, his key, and the patent of his pension. After this burst of rage, the strange pair be- gan to be ashamed of their \iolence, and went through the forms of reconciliation. But the breach was irreparable ; and Voltaire took his leave of Fredericlc forever. They jiarted witli cold civility ; btit their hearts were big with resentment. Voltaire had in his keeping a volume of tlie kind's poetry and forgot to return it. This was, wo believe, merely one of the oversights which men setting out upon a journey often commit. Tliat Voltaire could have meditated plagiar- ism is quite incredible. He would not, we are confident, for the half of Frederick's kingdom, have consented to father Frederick's verses. The king, however, who rated his own writings much above their Value, and wlio was inclined to see all Voltaire's actions in the worst light, was enraged to think tliat his favorite compositions were in tho hands of an enemy, as thievish as a daw and as miscliievous as a monkey. In tho anger excited by thstliought, ho lost sight of reason and decency, and determined on committing an outrage at once odi- ous and ridiculous. Voltaire liad readied Frankfort. His nicco, Madame Denis, camo thitiier to meet liim. He c(jnceivc 1 himself .secure from the power of hi.s lato master, when ho was arrested by order of tho Prussian rosw- dent. Tho i)recious volume was delivered up. But the Prussian agents had no doubt l>eca instructed not to let Voltairo escape without t4 FllEDEUICK THE GREAT. Bomo gross indignity. lie wa.s confined twelve days in a wrctcliod liovel. Switinels with fixed bayonets kept guard over iiini. Ilia niece was dragged tiiroiigli tlio ni.re l)y the soldiers. Sixteen hun- dred doUai-s were extorted from him Ijv his insolent jailers. It is ab- surd to say that this outrage is not to be attributed to the king. Was anybody punished for it ? AVas anybody called in question for it ? U'as it not consistent with Frederick's character ? Was it not of a piece with his co:uluct.on otlier similar occasions? Is it not notorious that he repeatedly gave private directions to his officers to pillage and demolish the liouses of persons against whom he hud a grudge- charging them at the same time to take their measure in such a way that his name might not be comiiromised 'i He acted thus towards Count Buhl in the Seven Yeare' War. Why should we believe ihat lie would have been more scrupulous with regard to Voltaire ? When at length the illustrious prisoner regained his liberty, the prospect 1)pfore liiin was but dreary. He was an exile both from tho country of his birth and from the country of his adoption. The French government had taken offence at his journey to Prussia, and would not permit him to return to Paris ; and in the vicinity of Prussia it wa.s not safe for him to remain. lie took refuge on the beautiful shores of Lake Leraan. There, loosed from every tie which had hitherto restrained him, and having little to hope or to fear from courts and churches, he began liis long war against all that, whether for good or evil, had authority over man ; for what Burke said of the Constituent Assembly was emi- nently true of this its great forerunner. He could not build — ho could only pull down ; he was the very Vitruvius of ruin. He has bequeathed to us not a single doctrine to be called by his name, not a single addition to the stock of our positive knowledge. But no human teacher ever left behind him so vast and terrible a wreck of truths and falsehoods — of things noble and things base — of tilings useful and things pernicious. From the time when his sojourn beneath the Alps commenced, tho dramatist, the wit, the historian, was merged in a more important character. He was now the patriarcli, t!ie founder of a sect, the chief of a conspiracy, the prince of a wide intellectual commonwealth, lie often enjoyed a pleasure dear to the ibetter part of his nature — the pleasure of vindicating innocence 'which liad no other helper, of repairing cruel wrongs, of punishing tyranny in high places. He had also the satisfaction, not less accept- able to his ravenous vanity, of hearing terrified Capuchins call him the Antichrist. But whether employed in works of benevolence or in works of mischief, he never forgot Potsdam and Frankfort ; and he listened anxiously to every murmur which indicated tliat a tempest was gathering in Europe, and that his vengeance was at hand. He soon had his wi.sh. Maria Theresa had never for a moment forgotten the great wrong which she had received at the hand fif Frederick. Youna and delicate, just left an vrjihan, just about to bo FREDERICK THE GREAT. 85 a mother, she had been compelled to fly from the ancient capital of her race ; she had seen her fair inheritance dismemliered hy rolibers, and of those robbers he had been the foremost. Without a pretext, witliout a provocation, in defiance of tlie most sacred engagements, he had attacked the helpless ally whom he was bound to defend. The Empress-Queen had the faults as well as the virtues which are connected with quick sensibility and a high spirit. There was no peril which slie was not ready to brave, no calamity which she was not ready to bring on her subjects, or on the whole human race, if only she "might once taste the sweetness of a complete revenge. Re- venge, too, presented itself to her narrow and superstitious mind in the guise of duty. Silesia had been wrested not only from the house of Austria, but from the Church of Rome. The conqueror had, indeed, permitted his new subjects to worship God after their own fashion ; but this was not enough. To bigotry it seemed an intolerable hardship that the Catholic Church, having long enjoyed ascendancy, should be compelled to content itself with equality. Nor was this the only circumstance which led Slaria Theresa to regard her enemy as the enemy of God. The profaneness of Frederick's writings and conversation, and the frightful rumors which were circulated respecting the immoralities of his private life, naturally shocked a woman who believed Avith the firmest faith all that her" conf es.sor told her, and who, though surrounded by tempta- tions, tliough young and beautiful, though ardent in all her passions, though possessed of absolute power, had preserved her fame unsul- lied even by the breath of slander. To recover Silesia, to hmnble the dynasty of Hohenzollern to the dust, was t'.ie great object of her life. She toiled during many years for this end, with zeal as indefatigable as that whicli the poet a.scribes to the stately goddess who tired out her immortal horses in the work of raising the nations against Troy, and who offered to give up to destruction her darling Sparta and Myceuis, if only she might once see the smoke going up from the palace of Priam. With even such a spirit did the proud Austrian Juno strive to array against hci: foe a coalition such as Europe had never seen. Notliing would con- tent her but that the whole civilized world, frm the White Sea to the Adriatic, fr. m the Bay of Biscay to the pastures of the wild .horses of Tanais, .should bo combined in arms against one petty state. She early succe(Hled by various arts in obtaining the adhesion of Russia. An ample share of sj)oils was promised to the King of Po- land ; and that prince, governed by Ins favorite, Count Buhl, readily ])roniis('d the assistance of the Saxon forces. The great diHiculty was with France. That the houses of Bourbon and of Ilapsburg should ever cordially co-operate in any great scheme of Enrojiean policy had long be«-n thought, to use the strong exj)ression of Frederick, ju.st Jis im- ]K>ssible as that fire and water .should amalgamate. The whole hi.s- tory of the Continent, during two centuries and a half, hud been the ^ FREDERICK THE GREAT. history of tho mntual joalonsios and enmities of Franco and Austria. Since tt>o adininistnitiou of Hichclleu, above all, it had been coiiKid- t>rcd as the plain ]H)li(\v of tii« most Clnistian king to tliwart on all occasions Iho court of Vienna, and to protect every member of tlie Germanic body who stood up against the dictation of tlie Ciesars. Common sentiments of religion had been unable to mitigate this strong antipathy. Tlie ruh-rs of France, even while clotlicd in tlie Roman purple, even while persecuting the heretics of Rochello iim'f Auvergne, had still looked with favor on the Lutheran and Calvin-/ jstic i)rinces who were struggling against the chief of the empire/ If the French ministers paid any respect to the traditional rules handed down to them through many generations, they would have acted towards Frederick as the greatest of their ]>redecessors act(xl towards Gu-,tavus Adol]dius. That there was deadly enmity between Prussia and Austria, was of itself a sufficient reason for close friend- ship Ix'tween Prussia and France. With France, Frederick could never have any serious controversy. His t(;rritories were so situated, that his ambition, greedy and unscrupulous as it was, could never im- pel him to attack her of his own accord. He was more than half a Frenchman. He wrote, spoke, read nothing but French ; he de- lighted in French society. The admiration "of the French he pro- posed to himself as the liest reward of all his exploits. It seemed in- credible that any French government, however notorious for levity or stupidity, could spurn away such an ally. The court of Vienna, however, did not despair. The Austrian dip- lomatists pro])oun(led a new scheme of politics, which, it must bo owned, was not altogether without i)lausibility. The great i)Owers, according to this theory, had long been under a delusion. They had looked on each other as natural enemies, while in truth tliey' were natural allies. A succ ssion of cruel wars had devastated Europe, had thinned the population, had exhausted the public resources, had loaded governments with an inmiense burden of debt ; and when, af- ter two hundred years of murderous luistility or of holloAV truce, the illustrious houses whose enmity had distracted the world sat down to count their gains, to what did the real advantage on. either side amount ? Simply to this, that they kept each other from thriving. It was not the King of France, it was not the Emperor, who had reaped the fruits of the Thirty Years' War, of the War of the Grand Alliance, of the War of the Pragmatic Sanction. Tho.se fruits have been pilfered by States of the second and third rank, which, secured against jealousy by their insignificance, had dexterously aggrandized, tiiemselves while pretending to serve the animosity of the great chiefs',^ of Christendom. While the lion and tiger were tearing cacli other, the mck'A had run off into the jungle with the prey. The real gainer by ine Thirty Years' War had been neither France nor Austria, but Sweden. The real gainer Vjy the War of the Grand Alliance had Ueen neither France nor Austria, but Savoy. The real gainer b/ ths FREDERICK THE GREAT. 37 War of tlie Pragmatic Sanction had been neitlief France nnr Austria, l)ut the upstart of Braiideuburg. Of all these instances, the last was the most striking • France had made great efforts, had added largely to her military glory and largely to her public burdens ; and for what end ? Merely that Frederick might i ule Silesia. For this, and this alone, one French army, wasted by sword and famine, had perished in Bohemia ; and another had purchased, with Hoods of the noblest blood, the barren glory of Fontenoy. And this prince, for whom France had suffered so much, was he a grateful, was he even an hon- est ally t Had lie not been as false to the court of Versailles as to the court of Vienna ? Had he not played on a large scale the same part which, in private life, is played by the vile agent of chicane who sets his neighbors quarrelling, involves them in costly and interminablo litigation, and betrays them to each other all round, certain that, ■whoever may be ruined, he shall be enriched ? Surely the true wis- dom of the great powers was to attack, not each other, but this com- mon barrator, who, by inflaming the passions of both, by pretending to serve both, and by deserting both, had raised himself above the station to which he was born. The great object of Austria was to re- gain Silesia ; the great object of France was to obtain an accession of territory on the side ot Flanders. If they took opposite sides, the re- sult would probably be that, after a war of nuiny years, after the slaughter of many thousands of brave men, after tlie waste of many millions of crowns, they would lay down their arms without having achieved either object ; but if they came to an understanding, there would be no risk and no difficulty. Austria would willingly make in Belgium such cessions as France could not expect to obtain by ten pitched battles. Silesia would ea.sily be annexed to the monarchy of which it had long been a part. The union of two such powerful gov- ernments would at once overawe the King of Prussia. If he resisted, one short cainpaign would settle his fate. France and Austria, long accustomed to rise; from the game of war both losers, would, for the first time, both be gainers. Tlu^ro could be no room for jealousy be- tween them. The power of l)oth would be increased at once ; tha equilibrium between them would l)e preserved ; and the only sufferer would be a mischievous and unprincipled buccaneer, who deserved no tenderness from either. Tiie.se doctrines, attractive for their novelty and ingenuity, soon be- came fa.shionable at the supper- parties and in tlu^ coffee-houses of Paris, and were espoused by every gay marquis and every facetious abbe who was admitted to see Madame de Pompadour's hair curled and ])owdcred. It was not, liowever, to any political theory that the strange '"lalition betv/een France and Austria owed its origin. The real motive which induced tho great continental powers to forget tlieir old animosities and their old state maxims, was persoTuil aver- eion t^> the King of Prussia. Tliis bjeling wa.s strongest in Maria I'horesa ; but it was by no moam» coufiued to her. Frederick, in some 38 FREDERICK THE GREAT. respects a good master, was emi^hatically a bad neighbor. That Ito wius hard in all his dealings and (luick to take all advantages was not liis most odious fault, liis hitter and sculling speech had inflicted keener wounds than his anil)itii)n. In his character of wit lie waa under less restraint than even in his character of ruler. Satirical verses against all the princes aud ministers of Europe were ascribed to his pen. In his letters and conversation ho alluded to the greatest potentates of the age in terms which would have better suited Colle, in a war of repartee with young C'rebillion at Pelletier's table, than a gre^at sovereign speaking of great sovereigns. Aljout women ho Avas in the habit of expressing himself in a manner which it was im- possible for the meekest of women to forgive ; and, unfortunately for him, almost the whole continent was then governed by women who were by no means conspicuous for meekness. Maria Theresa herself had not escaped his scurrulous jests ; the Empress Elizal)eth of Rus- sia knew that her gallantries afforded him a favorite theme for ri- baldry and invective ; Madame de Pompadour, who was really tlio liead of tlie French government, had been even more keenly galled. She I ad attempted, by the most delicate flattery, to propitiate" the King of Prussia, but her messages had drawn from him only dry and sar- castic replies. Tlie Empress- Queen took a very different course. Though the haughtiest of ])rincesses, though the most austere of matrons, she forgot in her thirst for revenge both the dignity of her race and the purity of her character, and condescended to flatter the low-born and low-minded concubine, who, having acquired influence by prostituting iierself, retained it by prostituting others. Maria Theresa actually wrote with her own hand a note full of expressions of esteem and friendship to her dear cousin, the daughter of tho butcher Poisson, the wife of the publican D'Etioles, the kidnapper of young girls for the Parc-aux-cerfs — a strange cousin for the descendant of so many Emperors of the West ! The mistress was completely gained over and easily carried her point with Louis, who had, indeed, wrongs of his own to resent. His feelings were not quick ; but con- tempt, says the eastern proverb, ]jierces even through the shell of the tortoise ; and neither prudence nor decorum had ever restrained Fred- erick from expressing his measureless conteinjit for the sloth, the im- becility, and the I)ascness of Louis. France was thus induced to join the coalition ; and the example of France determined the conduct of Sweden, then completely subject to Frencli influence. The enemies of Frederick were surely strong enough to attack him openly, but they were desirous to add to all their other advantatres the advantage of a surprise. He was not, however, a man to be take.-i off his guard. He had tools in every court; and ]>e now received from Vienna, from Dresden, aud from Paris, accounts so circumstan- tijd and .so consistent, that lie could not douljt of his danger. He lijarnt that lie was to Ixi assailed at once by France, Austria, RiLSsia, Saxony, Sweden, and the Germanic body ; that the greater part of FREDERICK THE GREAT. 39 his dominions was to be portioned out among his enemies : that France, which from her geographical position couhl not directly sharo in his spoils, was to receive an equivalent in the Netherlands ; that Austria was to have Silesia, and the czarina East Prussia ; that Au- gustus of Saxonv expected Madgeburg ; and that Sweden would be rewarded witli part of Pomerania. If these designs succeeded, the house of Bradenburg would at once siuk in the European system to a place lower than that of the Duke of Wurtemburg or the Margrave 'of Baden. And what hope was there that these designs would fail ? No such union of the continental powers had been seen for ages. A less for- midable confederacy had in a Aveek conquered all the provinces of Venice, when Venice was at the height of power, wealth, and glory. A less for^^idable confederacy had compelled Louis the Fourteenth to bow down his haughty head to the very earth. A less formidable confederacy has, witliin our own memory, subjugated a still mightier empire and abased a still prouder name. Such odds had never been heard of in war. The people who Frederick ruled were not five mil- lions. The population of the countries which were leagued against him amounted to a hundred millions. The disproportion in wealth was at least equally great. Small communiti&s, actuated by strong pentiments of patriotism or loyalty, liave sometimes made head against great monarchies weakened by factions and discontents. But small as was Frederick's kingdom, it probably contained a greater number of disaffected subjects" than v\-ere to be found in all the States of his enemies. Silesia formed a fourth part of his dominions ; and from the Silesians, l)orn under the Austrian princes, the utmost that he could expect was apathy. From the Silesian Catholics he could hardly expect anvthing but resistance. Some States have been enabled, by their geographical position, to defend tliemselves with advantage against immense force. The sea ha.s repeatedly protected England against the fury of the whole Con- tinent. 'J"he "Venetian government, driven from its possessions on the land, could still bid defiance to the confederates of Cambray froni the arsenal amidst the lagoons. More than one great aiul well- api)ointed army, wliich r(!garded the shepherds of Switzerland as an ca.sy prey, has" perished in the passes of the Alps. Frederick luid no such advantage. The form of his States, their situation, tlu^ nature of tlift ground, all were against him. His long, scattered, straggling territory seemed to liave been shai)ed with an express view to the r,onveni"ence of invaders, and wivs ])r()tected by no sea, by no chain of liills. Scarcely any corner of it was a week's march from tlie terri- tory of the enemy. The capital itself, in tlu; event of war, would bo constantly exDosed to insult. In truth, tliere was lianlly a politician or a soldier in Europe who doubted that the conflict would bo termi- nixU'i] in a very few days by the prostratiou of the houso of Branden- burg, 40 FREDERICK THE GREAT. Nor was Frwlorick's own opinion very different. Tie anticipated nothing short of Iiis own ruin, and of the ruin of his family, Yet there wa-s still a cUancc. a slender eliance of escape. Iiis States lia4 at least the advantage of a central ])Ositiou ; his enemies were widely separated from each other, and could not conveniently unite their overwhelming forces on one point. They inhabited different climates, and it was probable that the season of the year which would be best suited to the military operations of one portion of the league, would be unfavorable to those of another iiortioii. The Prusssan monarchy, too, was free from some infirmities \vhich were found in empires far more extensive and magnificent. Its effective strength for a desper- ate struggle was not to be measured merely by the number of square miles or the number of people. In that square but well-knit and well-exercised body, there was nothing but sinew and miiscle and bone. No public creditors looked for dividends. No distant colonies required defence. No court, filled with fltitterers and mistresses, de- voured the pay of fifty battalions. The Prussian army, though far inferior in number to the troops which were about to be opposed to it, was yet strong out of all proportion to the extent of the Prussian dominions. It Avas also admirably trained and admirably officered, accustomed to obey and accustomed to conquer. The revenue was not only unencuml)ered by debt, but exceeded the ordinary outlay in time of peace. Alone of all the p]uropean princes, Frederick had a treasure laid up for a day of difficulty. Above all, he was one and his enemies were many. In their camps Avould certainly be found the jealousy, the dissension, the slackness inseparable from coalition ; on his side was the energy, the unity, the secrecy of a strong dictator- Ship. To a certain extent the deficiency of military means might be supplied by the resources of military art. Small fus the king's army was, when compared with the six hundred thousand men whom the confederates could bring into the field, celerity of movement might in some degree compensate for deficiency of bulk. It is thus just possi- ble that genius, judgment, resolution, and good luck united might protract the struggle during a campaign or two ; and to gain even a month was of importance. It could not be long before the vices which are found in all extensive confederacies would begin to show tl)emselves. Every member of the league would think his own sharo of the war too large, and his own share of the spoils too small. Com- plaints and recrimination would abound. The Turk might stir on the Danube ; the statesmen of France might discover the error wliicli they had committed in abandoning the fundamental ])rinciples of their na- tional policy. Above all, death might rid Prussia of its most for- midai)le enemies. The war was the effect of the personal aversion with which three or four sovereigns regarded Frederick ; and the de- cease of any of those sovereigns might produce a complete revoluticxn in the state of Europe. In the midst of au horizon generally dark and stormy, Frederick FREDERICK THE GREAT. 4J tnnU discern one briglit spot. The peace wliicli liadbccn concluded k4ween En-land and France in 1748 liad been m Europe no more than an arnnstice ; and not even been an armistice m tlie other quarters of the elobe In India the sovereignty of tlie Carnatic was disputed between two great Mussulman houses ; Fort Saint George had lakea the one side. Pondicherry the other ; and in a series ot battles and sien -was taken. The object of Frederick was to obtain i^ossession of tlie Saxon State Pai)ers ; for tlioso papers, he well knew, <'oi\lained ample pi'oofs that thongh apparently an aggressor, lio M-as really acting in self-defence. The Queen of Poland, as well acquainted as Fredt'rick with the importance of those documents, liad packed them up, liad concealed them in her bed-chamber, and was a])out to send them off to Warsaw, when a Prussian officer made liis appearance. In the liope that no soldier would venture to outrage a lady, a queen, a daughter of an emperor, the mothi>r-in-]aw of a dauphin,^ she placed herself bef(jre the trunk, and at length sat down on it. But all resistance was vain. The papers were carried to Fred- crick, who found in them, as he expected, abundant evidence of the designs of the coalition. The most important documents were in- stantly published, and the effect of the publication was great. It was clear that, of whatever sins the King of Prussia might; formerly have been guilty, he was now the injured party, and had merely an- ticipated a blovv' intended to destroy him. The Saxon camj) at Pirna was in the mean time closely invested ; but the besieged were not without hopes of succor. A great Austrian anny under Marshal Brown w as about to pour through the passes Avhich separate Bohemia from Saxony. Frederick left at Pirna a force sufficient to d<'al with the Saxons, hastened into Bohemia, encountered Brown at Lowositz, and defeated him. This battle decided the fate of Saxony. Augustus and his favorite, Buhl, iied to Poland. Tho whofe army of tho electorate capitulated. From that time till the • end of the war, Frederick treated Saxony as a part of his dominions, or, rather, lie acted towards the Saxons in a manner which may servo to illustrate the whole meaning of that tremendous sentence — sub- kctos tiinqunm sms, riles tanquam nllenos. Saxony Avas as much in his power as Bradenburg ; and ho had no such interest in the welfare of Saxony as he had in the welfare of Bradenburg. He accordingly levied troops and exacted contributions throughout the enslaved pro- vince, with far more rigor than in any part of his own dominions. Seventeen thousand men who had been in the camp at Pirna were half compelled, half persuaded, to enlist under their conqueror. /Thus, within a few weeks from the commencement of hostilities, one of the confederates had been disarmed, and his weapons pointed against the rest. The winter put a stop to military operations. All had hitherto gone well. But the real tug of war was still to come. It was easy /to foresee that the year 1757 would be a memorable era in the history of Europe. The scheme for the campaign was simple, bold, and judicious. T1»G Duke of CumlK-rland with an I-]nglish and Hanoverian army was in Western Germany, and might be able to prevent the French FREDERICK THE GREAT. 43 troops Irom attacking Prussia. Tlie Russians, confined hy tlieir *nmvs would probably not stir tUl the spring was far advanced. SaxonV was piostrated. Sweden could do nothing very important. During a few months Frederick would have to deal with Austria alone Even thus the odds were against him. But abi ity and cour- a'cre have often triumphed against odds still more formidable. "Early in 1757 the Prussian army in Saxony began to move. Through four defiles in the mountains they came pouring into Bo- hemia'' PraoTie was his first mark ; but the ulterior object was prob- 'ablv Vienna At Prague lay Marshal Brown with one great army. Daun, the most cautious and fortunate of the Austrian captains ws i^ \^incin<^ with another. Frederick determined to overwhelm Brown be oTe D?un sWd arrive. On the sixth of May was fought under those walls which a hundred and thirty years before had witnessed Jhe victory of the Catholic league and the fliglit of the unhappy Pa a- ine abaJle more bloody than any which Europe saw during the onc^ interval between Malplaquet and Eylau. The king and _ Prince Krdinand of Brunswick wire distinguished on that 18th of Jiine-a day which, if the Gre^ek superstit on Btill retained its influence, would be held sacred to Nemesis-a day on which the two greatest princes and soldiers of modern times were taught by terril,le experieAce that neither skill nor valor can fix the i ronstanry of fortune. The battle began before noon ; and part of the Pruss-ia. army maintained the contest till after the midsummer R n had g..ne down. B.,t at length the king found that his troops, fiviU bern rn...al..,dlv clriven bark with frightful carnage could no longer be led to the cllarg.-. He was with diHiculty ,,er.ua ^-''Oiution was hxed never to be FREDERICK THE GREAT. 45 except to die; ^^ ^ll^^fyJ^l^XvSL^^ ^ "^^B^'^e ilwTviTinn-rfect^ describe the state of Frederick's .^•^^ ?!® ^ 1 'ff\l i^f 1 ^1 ■'la^gliable peculiarities whicli con- ^oued forth ndreds upon hundreds of lines, hatefa to gods arid pouicaiorui uu i ^.^ . , Hippocrene— the faint echo of r^^f'S S^ieu ^Itt lmS4 to JLpare ^vhat he did during SpHst months of 1757 with what he wrote during the same time. It m^fb^oubted w^^^^^ any equal portion of the life of Hamuba ofT-^sar or of Napoleon, will bear a comparison ^vlth that short most intricate parts of human nature as the correspondrnc^ o tntse S?am/c beings^after th.-y hairit of free inquiry, and for their liatred of those social abuses of which he was himself the personification. But he, like many of those wlio thought with him, excepted Voltaire from the list of proscribed writers. He frpcpiently sf-nt flattering letters to Ferney. He did tlie patriarch the lionor to borrow money of him, and even carried his condescending friendship so far a.s to forget to pay interest. Voltaire tliought tliat it might be in liis ymwer U) bring the duke and the King of Prussia into communication with each other. He wroto earnestly ^8 FREDERICK TilE GREAT. i^alTcouirnencJ;! '" ^" '"'""'^^"^ "'"* '^ correspondence between them 15.it it was to very difToront means that Frederick was to owe his de- Ineiance. A he beginning of November, the net see.nec7 to nv^ closed coHM^etely round him. The Russians were in the held and were spreading devastation througli his ea.stern l>rovinces Si'l sia was overrun by the Austrians. A great French anny w i advaneing fiom the west under the coTnmand of Marshal HoubiAe, a prince of hi great Armononn house of Rohan. Berlin it.sclf had been Lken and xdundered by the Croatians. Such was the situatior rom wld • of thirl^ d?!"*^ "^ ^"'''''^' ''''^' ^^'^'^^"^' ^^°^-^' '"^ *i^« short sS He marched first against Soubise. On the 5th of November the armies n.et at Rosbach. The French were two to one • but they were in.disc.,hned, and their general was a dunce. The tak So KX ick and the well-regulated valor of the Pru.ssian troops obtained a complete victory. Seven thousand of the invaders wJie m ufepris oners. Their guns, their colors, their baggage, fell into the hands of er'ecrb?ca;°ah:v '^^f "'^" '^'''T'' '"'^'^ confusedly al a iJ.'bsa^ tered by ca^a ry. Victorious m the west, the king turned his arms lau Jiacl tdllen and Charles of Lorraine, with a mighty power held er'tL ttKf^T?- I'^'^i '^^T^ 'V^ "^, J^ecemhev, exactly LI iLnlh af terthe battle of Rosbach, Frederick, with forty thousand men and Pnnce Cliarles, at the head of not less than sixtv thousand me? Lt Leuthen hard by Rreslau. The king, who was, in general pcrhaS resorted o,rtl'"^ *° r?"^? '''' ^^^'^"^«=^ «°'^^'«^ -^ ^--« '^^"^^. resoited, on this great day, to means resembling those which Bona- parte atterwards employed with such signal sSccess for t le purZe of stimulating military enthusiasm. The i.rincipnl officers wire ccm! dl^ri- wT'^'^T'^ ^f'^^'?^ them with gVeat fm-ce and palhos. and directed them to speak to their men as he had spoken to them When «S.T r' ""''" 'f '"^ ^"'^\^'' ""''''y' *^^« ^^-"^^i'-^" troops were in a 8tate of fierce excitement; but their excitement showed itself after r n.ST fi ''' ^'""'l ^'f V'^- '^'^'^ columns advanced to the attack Savon fr.. hi ri'"''"?!^^ t"?'' ^"'^ ^^^«' t^i« ^"*i« 1^>-«^"S «f the old Jen us of b Ir cl •• 7^''^ 1^'-'^ ^"^"' ^""-^1^* '^ ^^'^'" • "O'- ^^^^ the genius of their chief ever been so conspicuous. " That battle " said Fr^i^l H??-'/ """I "" masterpiece. Of itself it is sufficient to^entitie l-redenck to a place in the first rank among generals." Tlie victory w-as complete 1 wenty-seven thousand Austrians were killed, wounded ?el fnTo Vli Y / f.","^V' "" ^'^''^^■"^ ^'^^"«' fo""- tliousand wagons. fell into the hands of the Prussians. Breslau opened its gates Si- ^Z^rrL?''T^ir'''^ \ ^'^^^^'«^of Lorraine retired to hide his shame and sorrow at Bru.s.sels ; and Frederick allowed his troops to take some repose in winter quarters, after a campaign to the v cissitudes ^LtoJ^ '* "'''^^ ^' '^''^'^^' '^ ^"^ "^y Parallel^in anc£t or i^X^ / FREDERICK THE GREAT. 49 The king's fame filled all tlie world. He had, during the last year, nuiintaiiied a contest, ou term.s of advantage, against three powers, ihe weakest of which had more than three times his resources. He had fought four great pitched battles against superior forces. Three of these battle.s he had gtuued ; and the defeat of Koliu, repaired as it had been, rather raised than lowered his military renown. The victory of Leuthen is, to this day, the ])roulest ou the roll of Prus- i^iau fr.me. Leipsic, indeed, and Waterloo, produci'd more important onspquences u^ mankind. But the gh>ry of Leipsic must be shared by the Prussians with the Austriaus aud Russians ; and at Waterloo the British infantry bore the burden and heat of the day. The vic- tory of Rosbach \v\\s, in a military point of view, less honorable tliau that of Leuthen, for it was gained over an incapable general and a disorganized army. But the moral effect which it prcduced was im- mense. All the preceding- triumphs of Frederick had been triumphs over (tennans, and could excite no emotions of natural pride among tlie German people. It was impossible that a Hessian or a Hanoverian could feel any patriotic exrltation at hearing that Pomeranians slaughtered ?»Ioraviaus, or thai Saxon banners had been hung in the chui-ches of Berlin. Indeed, though tlie military character of the Germans justly sto.xl high throughout the world, they could boast of no great day which belonged to them a.s a people ; — of no Agincourt, of no Baniiockljurn. Most of their victories had been gained over each other ; and their most S])lendid exi)loits against foreigners had been achieved under the command of Eugene, who was himself a foreigner. The news of the battle of Rosbach stirred the blood of the whole of the mighty population from the Alps to the Baltic, and from the borders of Courtland to those of Lorraine. \Vestphalia and Lower Saxony had been deluged by a great host of strangers, whose speech was unintelligible, and whose petulant and licentious manners had excited the stmngest feelings of disgust aiul hatred. That great host luid i>een ])Ut to lliglit by a .small band of German warriors, led by a l)rince of (Jennan bl<>;xl on the side of father and mother, and marked in- tlie fair hair and the clear blue eye of Germany. Never since the dissolutiou of the empire of Charlemagne had the Teutonic race won Kuch a Held against the French. The tidings called forth a general bui-sl of deliglit and i)rido from the wliole of the great family which .spoke the various dialects of the ancient language of Arminius. The fame of F"redeiick began to supply, in some degree, the place of a common govcrnnu-nt and of a common cai)ital. It became a rallying j'oint for all true (Jermans — a subject of mutual congratulations to tlie Bavarian and the Wcstphalian, to the'citizen of Frank fort and the titi'/en of Nufemburg. Then fir.st it wa.s manifest that the (termans were truly a nation. Then first was discernible that ])atriotic spirit which, in'lBl.'J, achiev(Hl the great deliverance of central Eiirop(!, ami which still guards, and long will guard ugain.'it foreign ambition, the old frofJom of the Rhiiu;. 60 ^ FREDERICK THE GREAT. Nor were ilio effects produced by that celebrated day merely politi- cal Iho greatest masters of Clcrmaa poetry and eloquence have ad- mitted that, thou-h the great khig neither valued nor understood liig native language, thougli he looked on P^rance as the only seat of taste and philosophy, yet, iu his own despite, ho did much to emancipate he genius of his countrymen from the loreiga yoke ; and that, in the actot vanquiohing Soubise, he was unintentionally rousing the spirit which soon began to question the literary precedence of Boileau nud \ ultaire. So strangely do events confound all the ])lans of man 1 A prince who read only French, who wrote only French, who ranked as '1 /'n'lH'h classic, became, quite unconsciously, the means of liberat- i ■ mg lialf the Continent Irom the dominion of that French criticism dN wliicii he was Inmself to the end of his life a slave. Yet even the on husia.sm of Germany in favor of Frederick hardly equalled the enthusiasm of England. The birthday of our ally was celebrated ^ylth as much enthusiasm as that of our own sovereign, and at night the streets of London were in a ))laze with illuminations. Portraits 01 the liero of Kosbach, with his cocked hat and long pigtail were in every house An attentive observer will, at this day, «nd in the parlors ol old-fashioned inns, and in the portfolios of printsellers twenty portraits of Frederick for one of George II. The sio-n-paint- ers w;ere everywhere employed in touching up Admiral Vemon into the King of I russia. Some young Englishmen of rank proposed to visit Germany as volunteers, for the purpose of learning the art of war under the greatest of commanders. This last proof of British attachment and admiration Frederick politely but firmly declined Ills camp was no place for amateur students of military science. I'he 1 russian disci]j]ine was rigorous even to cruelty. The officers while in the field, were expected to practice an abstemiousness and self-de- nial such as was hardly surpassed by the most rigid monastic orders However noble their birth, however high their rank in the service they were not permitted to eat from anytliing better than pewter It was a high crime even in a count and iield-marshal to have a sin"-]o .silver spoon among his baggage. Gay young Englishmen of twenty tliousand a year, accustomed to liberty and to luxury, would not easi- ly submit to these Spartan restraints. The lung could not venture to keep them in order as he kei)t his own subjecls in order Situ- ated as he was with respect to i'higland, he could not well imprison or shoot refractory Howards and Cavendishes. On the other hand the example of a few fine gentlemen, attended by chariots and livery servants, eating m plate, and drinking champagne and toky was enough t« corrupt his whole army, lie thought it best to I'uake a stand at first, and civilly refused to admit such dangerous comi>anions among his trou])s. The help of England was bestowed in a manner far more useful and more acce])tabl(>. An annual subsidy of neur seven hundred thousand pounds enabled the king to add jTrobably laore than fifty FREDERICK THE GREAT. 51 theusandmentoliis army. Pitt, now at the lieigM of Poyer ^^ popuiaritv. undertook the task of defending Western Germany Sinst France, and asked Frederick only for tlie loan of a geneml The general selected was Prince Ferdinand of Brunswick, who had attained high distinction in the Prussian service. He was put at the head of an armv, partly English, partly Hanoverian, partly composed of mercenaries hired ivom the petty princes of the empire _ He soon vindicated the choice of the two allied courts, and proved himself the second general of the age. , Frederick passed the winter at Breslau, m reading, wnting, and preparing for the next campaign. The havoc winch the war had made among his troops was rapidly repaired, and m the fPr'ng «* 1758 he was again ready for the conflict. Prince Ferdinand kept the French in check. The king, in the mean time, after attempting against the Austrians some operations which led to no very important result/marched to encounter the Russians, who, slaying, burning and wasting whatever they turned, had penetrated into the heart ot his realm He gave them battle at Zorndorf, near Frankfort on the Oder The fight was long and bloody. Quarter was neither given nor taken ; for the Germans and Scythians regarded each other with bitter aversion, and the sight of the ravages committed by the hait- sava'^e invaders had incensed the king and his anny. The Russians wert°ovcrthrown with great slaughter, and for a few months no lur- ther danger was to ho apprehended from the east. A day of thanksgiving was pro laimed by the king, and was cele- brated with pride and delight by his people. The rejoicings m Eng- land were not less enthusiastic or less sincere. This may be selected as the point of time at which the military glory of Frederick reached the zenith. In the short space of three-quarters of a year he had won three great battles over the armies of three mighty and warlike monarchies— France, Austria, and Russia But it was decreed that the temper of that strong mind should be tried bv both extremes of fortune in rapid su,'cession. Close upon this bri"-ht .series of triumphs came a series of disasters, such as would have lilVghted the fame and Voken the heart of almost any other commander. Yet Frederick, in the midst of his calamities, was still an object of adniirati.m to hs sul)jerstood best how to repair defeat, and Daun understood least how to {improve victory. In a few days the Prussian army was as formid- able as before the battle. The prospect was, however, gloomy. -An 'Au.strian army under General Ilarsch had invaded Silesia, and in- vested the fortress of N(?isso. Daun, after his success at Hochkirchen, liad written to Harsch in very confident terms: "Go on with your operations against Neisse. Be quite at ca':e as to the king. I will give you a good account of him." In truth, the position of the Prus- sians was full of difficulties. Between them and Siiesia lay the vic- torious army of Daun. It was not easy for them to reach Silesia at all. If they did reach it, they left Saxony exposed to the Austwans. But the vigor and activity of Frederick sunnoanted every obstacle. He made a circuitous march of extraordinay rapidity, passed Daun, hastened into Silesia, raised the seige of. Neisse, and drove Harsch into Bohemia. Daun availed himself of the king's absence to attack Dresden. The Prussians defended it desperately. The inhabitants of that wealthy and polished capital begged in vain for mercy from the garrison within and from the beseigers without. The beautiful suburbs were Ijurned to the ground. It was clear that the town, if won at all, would bo won street by street by the bayonet. At this con- juncture came news that Frederick, having cleared Silesia of his ene- mies, was returning by forced marches into Saxony. Daun retired from before Dresden and fell back into the Austrian territories. The king, over heaps of ruins, made his trium])liant entry into the un- happy metropolis, which had so cruelly expiated the weak and perfid- ious policy of its sovereign. It Avas now the 20th of November. The cold weather suspended military operations, and the king again lookup his winter-quarters at Breslau. The third of the seven terrible years was over, and Frederick still stood his ground. He had been recentlv tried Ijy domestic as well as by military disasters. On the 14th of 6ctol)er, the day on which ho was defeated at Hochkirchen, the day on the anniversary of wliich, fortT-eight years later, a defeat far more tremendous laid the Prus- s^ian monarchy in the dust, died Wilhelmina, Margravine of Bareuth. • From the portraits which we have of her, by lier own han 1, and by the hands of the most discerning of her contem])oraries, w^e should pronounce her to have been coarse, indelicate, and a good hater, but not destitute of kind and generous feelings. Her mind, naturally «?trong and observant, had been highly cultivated ; and .she was, and d«aorved to be, Frederick's favorite sister He felt the loss as mucii FREDERICK THE GREAT. 53 as it vr^s in Im iron nature to feel tlie loss of anytliing but a provinae ""^ Jt^BrSau durin- the .vinter ho was iiulofatigaWe in his poetical lalfors The nost spirited lines perhaps that he ever wrote are o l>e S-in a bitter ulmpoon on Louis and Madame de Pampadour U'hich ho composed at this tune and sent to Voltaire, ilie \erse3 tere indeed so good, that Voltaire was afraid that he might himself, be su'spS'of iLinV written them, or at least of having corrected, them and partlv from fright-partly, we fear, f rom ove of uiischie^ -sll them^to the Duke of Choisenl, then prime^minister o Fmice , (Mioiseul very wiselv determined to encounter Frederick at Fieler- kl?s own weapons, and applied for assistance to Palissot, who had .ome sHU Ta veTsifier and who, though he had not yet made him- S f'mou?bv S-ki^ing Rousseau and Helvetius on the stage, was knmv^To possess some Tittle talent for satire. Palissot produced some verTTtingL-Tines on the moral and literary character of Frederick, and these Hues the duke sent to Voltaire. This war of couplets, fol- Wii^ clo=e on the carnage of Zorndorf and the contlagration of Dresden Ulus^iates well the strangely compounded character of the "" a! this^'inoSe" t he was assailed by a new enemy, Benedict XIV the best and wisest of the two hundred and fifty successoi^ of fet Peter was no more. During the short interval between his re.gn and Kof lds5?.ciple Ganganelli, tlie chief --^}^:^^^ "^ vas filled by Rezzonico, who took the name of Clement Xlil. im^ a ?urd priest determined to try w.^at the weight of his auhonty couMeCinfavorof the orthodox Maria Theresa against a heretc k nt At the high mass on Christmas-day, a sword with a rich Mt amf^cabbard a hat of crimson velvet lined with ermme, andado^e of pear s the ^vstic svmbol of the Divine Comforter, were solemnly bleSby the sapience pontiif. and were -"t^vith great ce~n, g Mor«1i-.l baun the connueror of Ivolin and Ilochkirchen. imsmariv SSvor la mire th^.' once been bestowed by the Popes on the great chaSoni of the faith. Similar honors had been paid, nmre ban six SSrcarlier by Urban II. to Godfrey of Bouillon. Sum ar hon- ^r^h^^n^een conferred on Alba for destroying the liberties of tlie Low C?u t efa^id on John Sobiesky after the deliverance of \ienna Bu" he presents which were received with profound reverence by tho B- on of^the olv Sepulchre in the eleventh century, and which had nrrwhollv lost their Value even in the seventeenth century, appeared ^ex^lSliLly ridiculous to a generation -hich rc^d l^b^n esquieu and / Voltaire Frederick wrote sarcastic verses on the gitts, the gn ( r, n , the receiver. But tho public wanted no prompter ; and a ""iversa r'mr of laugliter from Petersburg to Lisbon reminded tho Vatican that *' TWourJrcamp^^-n 'T'most disastrous of all the campaigns of this fcariuf ^uTlKow opened. Tho Austrians filled Saxony, and M FREDERICK THE GREAT. in«iaced Berlin Tho Rnf^inns defeated the king's gwicrals on tl« Oder tlireatcned hilosia. effected a junction with Laudohn, and in- trenched tlieni.s(dves stron.irly at Kiinersdorf. Frederick hastened to attack them. A -reat battle was fouglit. Darin^r the earlier part of the_day eyeryth.n^i!: yielded to the impetuosity of the Prussians, and to tlie skill of their chief. The lines were forced. Hal f the Russian guns were taken. The king sent off a courier to Berlin with two lines announcing a complete victory. But, in the mean time, the Btuhborn Russians, defeated yet unbroken, had taken up their stana m an ahnost impregnable position, on an emmence where the Jews of l^rankfoit were^ wont to bury their dead. H«re the battle re-om- menced. The Prussian infantry, exhausted by six liours of hard hghting, under a suu which equalled the trophical heat, were vc brought up repeatedly to the attack, but in vain. The kin"- led tli'ree charges in person Two horses were killed rnder him. The officers ol us staff fell all around him. Ilis coat was pierced by several bulie s. AH was in vain. His infantry wa^ driven back with friffbt- ful slaughter. Terror began to spread fast from man to man. Ai that moment, the ftery cavalry of Laudohn, still fresh, rushed on the wavering ranks. Then followed a universal rout. Frederick him- eelf was on the point of falling into the hands of the conquerors, and was with difficulty saved In- a gallant officer, who, at the head of n liandful of Hussars, made good a diversion of a few minutes, bhattered m body, shattered in min^',, the king reached that ni-^ht a village which the Cossacks had plundered ; and there, in a ruined and deserted farm-house, Hung himself on a heap of straw. He had sent to Eerlm a second dispatch I'erv different from his first • "Let tlie royal family leave Berlin. Send the archives to Potsdam The town may make terms with th<- enemy." The defeat was in truth overwhehning. Of fifty thousand men, wlio had tiiut morning mar-hed under the black eagles, not threo thousand remained together. The king bethought him a^ain of hia corrosive sublimate, and wrote to bid adieu to his friends, and to Hvo directions as to the mcasu-es to be taken in the ev(>nt of Ids death- 1 have no resource h-ft"— such is the language of one of his let- f,~, all IS lost. I w; 11 not survive the ruin of my country. Faro- well, forever." But The mutual jealousies of the confederates prevented them from following up their victory. They lost a few davs in loiterin- and squabbling ; and a few days improved bv Frederick were worth inoro tlian tl^e yearsi of other men. On the morning after the battle ho had got together eighteen thousand of his troops. Very soon'hi.^ force amounted to thirty thousand. Guns were procured from tho neighboring fortresses ; and there was again an army. Berlin was for the present, safe ; but calamities came pouring on the kintr in rn- nterrupted succession. Ono of his generals, with a large body of troops, waa taken at Maxeu ; another was defeated at Meiseo ; and FREDERICK THE GREAT. 55 when at length the campaign of 1759 closed, in the midst of a rig- orous winter, the situation of Prussia appeared desperate. The only consoling circumstance was, that in the West Ferdinand of Bruns wick had been more fortunate than his master ; and bv a series of ex- ploits, of which the battle of Mindeu was the most glorious, had re- mo\-ed all apprehension of danger on the side of France. The fifth vear was now about to commence. It seemed impossible that the Prussian terri ories, repeatedly devasted by hundreds of thou- sands of invaders, could longer support the contest. But the king car ried on war as no European power has ever carried on war, except tha Committee of Public Safety during the great agony of the French Revolution. He governed his kingdom as he would have governed a besieo-ed town, not caring to what extent property was destroyed, or the pursuits of civil life suspended, so that he did but make head against the enemv As long as there was a man left in Prussia, that man might carrv a muslvet— as long as there was a horse left, that horse might draw artillery. The coin was debased, the civil function- aries were left unpaid ; in some provinces civil government altogether ceased to exist. But there were still rye-bread and potatoes ; there were still lead and gunpowder ; and, while the means of sustaining and destroying life remained, Frederick was determined to fight it out to the verv last. The earlier part of the campaign of 1760 was unfavorable to him. Berlin was again occupied by the enemy. Great contributions were levied on the inhabitants, and the royal palace was plundered. But at length, after two vears of calamity, victory came back to his arms. At Lignitz he gained a great Imttle over Laudohn ; at Torgau, after a day of horrible carnage, he triumphed over Daun. The fifth year closed and still the event was in suspense. In the countries where the war had raged, the misery and exhaustion were more appalling than ever ; but still there were left men and beasts, arms and food, and still Frederick fougbt on. In truth he had now been baited into savageness. II Ls heart was ulcerated with hatred. The implacaVile resentment with which his enemies persecuted him, though originally provoked by his own unpi'incipled ambition, excited in him a thir.st for vengeance which he did not even attempt to conceal. "It is hard." he says in one of his letters, " for a man to bear what I bear. I begin to feel that, as the Italians say. revenge is a pleasure for the pods My idiilo.sophv is worn out l)y suffering. I am no saint like those of whom we read in the h g,-nds ; and I will own that I should die content if only I could first infiict a portion of the misery which I endure." Borne up by such feelings, he stnigglad with various success, but constant glorv, through the campaign of 1701. On the whole, tho re.sult of this campaign wa.s disastrous to Prussia. No great battle wa.s gained l>y the enemy ; but, in spite of tlie desperate bounds of the hunted tiger, the circle of pursuers was fast closiuu round him. 158 FREDERICK THE GREAT. Laudohn had surprised the important fortress of Schweidnitz. With thiit fortress, half nf Silesia and tlic command of tlie most important defiles throu^rli the mountains, liad been transferred to the Austrians. The Russians Inid overpowered the king's generals in Pomorania. The country was so completely desolated that lie began, by liis own confession, to look round him witli blank despair, luiuble to imagine where recruits, horses, or provisions were to be found. . Just at this time two great events brought on a complete change in ^Ihe relations of almost all the ]iowers of Europe. One of tliose I vents was the retirement of Mr. Pitt from office ; the other was the aeath of the Emjiress Elizabeth of Russia. The retirement of Pitt seemed to be an omen of utter ruin to the House of Brandenburg. His proud and vehement nature was incaiiable of anything that looked like either fear or treachery. He liad often declared that while he was in power, England should never make a peace of Utrecht— should never, for any selfish object, abandon an ally even in the last extreniity of distress. The continental war was liis own war. He had been bold enough— he who in former times had attacked, with irresistible powers of oratory, the Hanoverian policy of Carteret, and tJie German subsidies of "Newcastle — to de- clare that Hanover ought to be as dear to us as Hami«hirc, and that lie would conquer America in Germany, He had fa.len ; and the power which he had exercised, not always with discretion, but always with vigor and genius, had devolved on a favorite who was the ro])- r?.sentativc of the Tory party — of tlie party which had thwarted Wil- liam, which had ]>er.sccuted Marlborough, and which had given up the Catalans to the vengeance of Philip of Anjou. To make peaco with France — to shake off with all, or more than all, the speed com- patible with decency, every Continental connection, these were among the chief objects of the new minister. The policy then followed in- spired Frederick with an unjust, but deep and bitter aversion to the English name ; and produced effects which are still felt throughout the civilized world. To that policy it v/as owing that, some_years later, England could not find on the whole Continent a single ally to Ktan(l by her in her extreme need against the House of Bourbon. To that i)olicy it was owing that Frederick, alienated from England, was compelled to connect himself closely during \us later years with Russia ; and was induced reluctantly to assist in that great crime, tlie fruitful parent of other great crimes — the first partition of Poland. Scarcely had the retreat of Mr. Pitt deprived Prussia of her only jfriend, wlwn the death of Elizabeth prodnced an entire revolution in' jfhe politics of the North. The Grand Duke Peter, her nephew, wlio ♦now a.scended the Russian throne, was not merely free from tlie prejudi- ces wliich his aunt had entertained against Frederick, but was a wor- Bhipper, a servile imitator, a Boswell, of tha grpat king. The days of the new czar's government Avere few and evil, but sufficient "to produce a change iu the whole state of Christendom. He set '-ho FREDERICK THJi; GRlliiiT.- 6* Prussian prisoners at liberty, fitted them out decently, and sent them back to their mastci ; he withdrew his troops from the provinces which Elizabeth had decided on incorporating with her dominions, and absolved all those Prussian subjects, who had be»n compelled to Bwear fealtv to Russia, from their engagements. Not content with concluding peace on terms favorable t» Prussia, he solicited rank in the Prussian service, dresse-i himself in a Prus- feian uniform, wore the Black Eagle of Prussia on his breas.<, made ipreparations for visiting Prussia, in order to have an inter fiew with khe object of his idolatry, and actually sent fifteen thousand excel- lent troops to reinforce' the shattered army of Frederidck. Thus Btrengthened, the king speedly repaired the losses of the precedinjj year, reconquered Silesia, defeated Dauu at Buckersdorf, invested and retook Schweidnitz, and, at tlie close of the year, preentod to the forces of Maria Theresa a from as formidable as before the great reverses of 1759. Before the end of the -campaign, his friend tho Emperor Peter having, by a series of absurd insults to the in- stitutions, manners, and feelings of his people, united them in hostility to liis person and government, was deposed and murdered. The empress, who under the title of Catherine the Second, now as- sumed the supreme power, was at the commencement of her admin- istration, bv no means partird to Frederick, and refused to permit iicr troops "to remain under his command. But she observed the peace made by her husband ; and Prussia was no longer threatened by danger from the East. England and France at the same time paired ofE to»-ether. They concluded a treaty by which they bound them.?elve3 to observe neu- irality with respect to the Gorman war. Thus the coalitions on both lides were dissolved ; and the original enemies, Austria and Prussia, rsmained alone confronting each other. Austria had undoubtedly by far greater meana than Prussia, find WHS less exhausted by hostilities ; yet it seemed hardly possible tliat Au.stria could effect alone what she had in vain attempted to effect when supixjrted by France on the one side, and by Russia on the other. Danger also begaii to menace the imperial house from another quarter. The Ottoman Porte held threatening language, and a hundred thou- sand Turks were mustered on tlie frontiers of Hungary. The proud and revengeful spirit of the Empress-Queen at length gave way ; and, in Februarv, 17G3, the peace of Hubertsburg put an end to the c/mtiict which had, during seven years, devastated Germany. Tho king C4^;ded nothing. The whole Continent in arms had proved una-., ble to tear Silesia from tliat iron grasp. The war was over. Frederick was safe. His glory was beyond the reach of envy. If he had not made conquests as vast as those of Al- exander, of C«sar, of Napolmn— if he had not, on field of battle, en. joyed the constant success of Marlborough and Wellington— he had yet given an example unrivalled in history of what capacity and res 88 FREDERICK THE GREAT. olution cfln cffoot nc^jiinst thn greatest superiority of power and th» utmost spite of fortune. Ho entered Berlin in triuni])h, after an at). 8;-ncc of more tliaji six years. The .streets were brilliantly li^-hted np, and as he pa-ssed along- in an open carriage, witli Ferdiua'iKl of Brunswick at his side, the multitude saluted him with loud praises and blessings. He was moved by those marks of attachment, and re- peatedly exclaimed, " Long live my dear jX'oplo ! Long lire my chil- dren ! " Yet, even in the midst of that gay spectacle, he could not but perceive evcryvvhere the traces of destruction and decay. Tho ' city had been more than once plundered. Tho population had con- siderably diminislunl. Berlin, however, had suffered little when com- pared with most parts of the kingdom. The ruin of private fortune;?, the distress of all ranks, was such as might appal the firmest mind.' Almost every province had been the seat of war, and of war conducted with merciless ferocity. Clouds of Croatians had descended on Si- lesia. Tens of thousands of Cossacks had been let loose on Ponie- rania and Brandenlnirg. The mere contributions levied Ijy the inva- ders amounted, it was said, to more tlian a hundred millions of dol- lars ; and the value of what they extorted was probably much less than the value of what they destroyed. The fields lay uncultivated. The very seed-corn had been devoured in the madness of lumger. Famine and contagious maladies, the effect of famine, liad swept away the herds and flocks ; and there was a reason to fear that a great pestilence among the human race was likely to follow in the train of that tremendous war. Near fifteen thousand houses had been burned to the ground. The population of the kingdom had in seven years decreased to the frightful extent of ten per cent. A sixth of 'the males capable of bearing arms had actually perished on the field of battle. In some districts no laborers except women were seen in the fields at harvest time. In others, the traveller passed shuddering througli a succession of silent villages, in which not a single inhabitant remained. Tho currency had been debased ; the authority of laws and magistrates had been suspended ; the whole social system was deranged. For, during that convulsive struggle, everything that was not niilitary vio- lence was anarchy. Even the army' was disorganized. Some great generals and a crowd of excellent officers had fallen, and it had been .impossible to supply their places. The difficulty of finding recruits had, towards the close of the war, been so great, that selection and rejection were impossible. Whole battalions were composed of de- Sf^rters or of prisoners. It was hardly to be hoped that thirty years of repose and industry would repair the ruin produced by seven years of havoc. One consolatory circumstance, indeed, there was. No debt had been incurred. The burdens of the war had been terrible, almost insupportable ; but no arrear was left to embarrass the finances in the time of peace.* ' * The reader will not need to be reminded that the narrative of Macaulay ends FREDERICK THE GREAT. 59 It reraainr. for us, in order to become tliorcnglily acquainted with the man, to contemplate Freilerick's character in peace. The lirst and most immediate object of Frederick's attention and anxiety was the re-establishment of his armv, in order that no enemy might hope to reap advantage from a sudden renewal of hostilities. In order to bring the recently levied troops ui^n a par with his vet- eran, well-trained warriors— of whom, however, but a very small ■number still remained— military exercise and drilling were enforced -t\-ith the most rigorous exactness. But the illustrious monarch him- self, v.hen he beheld the whole of Europe adopt his military tactics, was' deceived in the over-estimation of tlieir value. The system of maintaining standing armies was carried to the highest point, and be- came the pnncipal o'bject in the administration of every State ; grave utility degenerated into mere display, until a grand convulsion of the world made its vanity and puerility but too apparent. The care taken by Fredericlc to effect the restoration of his over- whelmed country was a much more beneficent employment of his energies, and was productive of incalculable good. It formed the most imperishable leaf in his wreath of glory. The corn which was already bouglit up for the next campaign he bestowed upon the most destitute of his peoi>le, as seed for sowing, together with all liis su- perfluous horses. Tlie taxes were remitted for six months in Silesia, and for two years in Pomerania and Neumark, which were completely devastated. Nay, the king, in order to encourage agriculture and in- dustrv, appropriated large sums of money for that purpose in pro- portion to the greatness of the exigency, and these various sums amounted altogether during the four-and-twenty years of his reign, after the peace of Hubertsburg, to no less than twenty-four millions of dollars. Such noble generosity redounds still more to the glory of Frederick, inasmuch as it wa.s only practicable through the exercise of great economy, and to promote which he subjected himself to every personal sacrifice. His maxim was tlir.t liis treasure belonged not to himself, but to the people wlio supplied it ; and while many other princes — not l)earing in mind the heavy drops of sweat which ad- hered to each of the numerous gold pieces wrung from their subjects — only tliought of dissipating tlie entire mass in the most unlicensed prodigality and waste, he lived in a style so simple and frugal, that out of the sum appropriated to the maintenance of his court he saved annually nearly a million of dollars. He explained on one occasion to M. de Launay, the assessor of in- direct taxes, the principles by which he was actuated in this respect, in clear and distinct terms : " Louis XV. and I," he said, "are born here. T'.ie descent from th ■ fhiitiv nplands of liis Btvle is sudden and p:iinfnl, Init thnre 5s no help for it. Ikrr Kv>hlrau«(:h fora on honi'-tly ciiotu'li, and wo iiinst let him flni.'h the story or tro without it ulto;,'ethe.r. Patience ; it will soon be over, and an n pucarplum ."or L'ood cliildren, we. promise you uuar tb» close a gorgeous picture pf the great king in hb old age, by Carlyle. 60 FREDERICK THE GREAT. more noody thnn llio poorest of our subjects ; for tliore arc btit few nmong them who do not possess a small inheritance, or who cannot at least earn it by their labor and industry ; while he and 1 jiossess noth- ing, n'ithercan we earn anythinj^ but what must belong to the State. We are merely the stewards appointed for the administration of the general fund ; and if, as sud!k,we were to apply to our own personal expenditure more than is reasonably necessary, we should, by sucli proceeding, not only bring down upon ourselves severe condensnation in the first place for extravagance, but likewise for having fraudu-j lently taken possession of that whicli wtis confided to our charge for^ the public weal." The particular care and interest shown by the king in the cultiva- tion of the soil, produced its speedy improvement. Large tracts of land were rendered arable, fresh supplies of laborers were ])rocured /rom other countries, and where formerly marsh and moor were gen- erally prevalent, fertile, flourishing cornfields were sub.stituted instead. These happy results, which greeted tho eye of Frederick whenever he took his regularly-appointed journeys throughout liis dominions, were highly grateful to his feelings ; while during these tours of survey nothing escaped Ins acutely observing mind ; so much so, that few sovereigns could boast of such athorougli knowledge of their domains — even to the most trifling details — as the King of Prussia acquiretl of bis own estates through continual and indefatigable application to this one object. Silesia, whicli had suffered so much, was especially dear to his feelings, and to that territory ho devoted particular attention ; when, therefore, upon a general census in the year 1777, he found it contained 180,000 more inhabitants than in the year 1756, when the war commenced ; and when he perceived the losses sustained during that war tlius amply repaired, and the glorious results produced by agricultural labor and commercial enterprise, he, in tlie gladness of Lis heart, expressed, in a letter to his friend Jordan, the sensations he felt at beholding the flourishing state of a province, the condi- tion of %\hich was but a short time before so sadly depressed and miserable. Industry is indispensable in a people who depend on their energy and activity for their rank among nations ; but this rank is not tlie only attendant advantage : a benefit far greater is the fresh, healthy vigor it imparts to the people. And in this respect Frederick tlie Great was a .striking example, truly worthy of imitation by all his subjects ; for even during the early period of his life he already wrote to his friend Jordan thus : " You are quite right in believing that l! ■work hard ; I do so to enable me to live, for nothing so nearly ap-' proaches the likeness of death as the hair.slumbering, listless .state of idleness." And, subsequently, wlien he had become old and feeble, this feeling still retained its power, and operated wth all its original influence upon hiij mind, for in another letter to the .same friend ho «ays •. " I still feel aa formerly tlio same anxiety for action ; aa then. FREDERICK THE GREAT. 6t I no* Btill long to work and be busy, and my mind and body are in continaal contention. It is no longer requisite that I should live, un- less I can live and work." _ „._,.. And truly, in making a profitable use of his time, King Frederick displayed a" perseverance which left him without a rival ; and even in his old ao-e he never swerved from the original plan he had laid down and followed from his earliest manhood, for even on the very day before his death he was to be seen occupied Avith the business of his 'rn3vernment. Each hour had its occupation, and the one grand pnu- /ciple which is the soul of all industry— viz., to leave over from to-day nothing fur the TJiorroio— passed with Frederick as the inviolable law of his wliole life. The entire day— commencing at the hour of four in the morning and continuing until midnight, accordingly five- sixths of the dav— was devoted to some occupation of the mind or heart, for in order that even the hour of repast might not be wholly monopoUzed by the mere gratification of the stomach, Frederick assembled around him at midday and in the evening a circle of intel- lectual men, and x\\esQ conversaziones— \nyvh.\(:\\ the king himself took an unportant share— were of such an animated and enlivening nature that they were not inaptly compared to the entertainments of Socrates himself. Unfortunately," however, according to the taste of that, age,__ nothing but witticisms and humorous sallies were made the subject or due appreciation and applause. Vivacity of idea promptly expressed and strikingly apropos allusions were the order of the day, while profunditv of thought and subjects of more grave and serious discus- sion were'banished as ill-timed and uncalled-for— a necessary conse- quence arising from the exclusive adoption of the French language, which formed the medium of communicati')n at these reunions of Frederick the Great. The rest of the day was ])asaed in the perusal of official dispatches, private corresjxjndence, and ministerial docu- ments, to each of which he added liis replies and observations in tlio margin. After having gone tbrougli this all-important business roiitTne of the dav,.he directed his attention to the more recreative occupations of his ])leasure-grounds and literary compositions, of which latter Frederick lias left behind him a rich collection ; and finallv, as a last resource of amuseuK-nt, he occasionally devoted a few stolen moments to his flute, upon which he was an accomplished l)erformer. This, his favorite in.strument, indeed, like an intimate and faithful friend, served often to allay the violent excitements of Ills spirit ; and while he strolled with it through his suite of rooms, •often for iiours together, his thoughts, as lie lu.iiself relates, became more and more collected, and liis mind better prepared for calm and Berious meditation. Nevertheless, he never permitted affairs of state to be neu-lected for the sake of the enjoyments he souglit botii in. music )inverumeut of Frtjderick waa despotic in the utrictoat aeuae ol «2 FREDERICK THE GREAT. Iho •^rord ; ererything emanated from tlie king, and everything ro verted to liim again. lie never accorded any share in tlic administra- tion to an assembly of States, nor even to the State Council, wliich, composed of the most enliglitened men, would have been able to have presented to their sovereign, in a clear and comprehcn:^ive light, the bearings of the intricate questions connected with government. Ho felt in himself the power to govern alone, seconded by the stronge."it desire of making his ])eople happy and great. Thence it apiwared to his mind tliai the i)redominant strengtli of a State was based uy>on the. means which are the readiest and the most efficacious in the handu of one person, viz., in his army and in the treasury. His chief aim, therefore, was to manage that these two powerful implements of government phould be placed in the most favorable condition possible ; and thus we find that Frederick often sought the means to obtain this, his grand ob- ject, without sufficiently taking into consideration the effect they might subsequently produce upon the disposition and morality of the nation. In accordance with this principle, he, in the year 1704, invited a dis« tinguished fermier-general of France, Ilelvetius, to Berlin, in order to consult him upon the means of augmenting the revenues of tlie State ; jmd in consequence of his suggestions, measures were adopted which were extremely obnoxious to the public, and caused many to defraud, instead of co-operating with, the government. At the same time, however, by these and other means resorted to by the king, the reve nues of the kingdom were increased considerably. It must, however, be advanced in Frederick's vindication, firstly, that lie adopted these measures, not for his own individual advantage, but for the benefit of all ; and .secondly — we must again repeat it — that the great errors of the age completely obscured his own view. With wliat eagerness would not his clear mind have caught at the enlightenment produced by reform, had he but lived in a time when freedom of thought was more appreciated — for to him this freedom of thought wa.s so dear that he never attacked the ])ublic expression of opinion. His subject.^ enjoyed under liis reign, among other privileges, that of the liberty of the press ; and he himself gave free scope to the shafts of censure and ridicule aimed against his public and private character, for tha consciousness of his own persevering endeavors in the service of hli country, and of his sincere devotion to liis duties, elevated him beyond all petty susceptibility. The chief object of the king's care was a eearch into truth and enlightenment, as it was then understood. But this enlightenment consisted in a desire to understand everything ; to jinalyze, dissi-ct, and — demolish. Whatever appeared inex])lical)lo was at once rejected ; faith, love, hope, and filial respect — all those feelings which have their seat in the inmost reces.ses of the soul — wer'a if.stroyed in their germinaticjn. But this annihilating agency was not confined to the State : it man. Ifested itself also in .science, in art, and even in religion. Tiie French were the promoters of this phenomenon, and in this tliey wera eveu»- FREDERICK THE GREAT. 63 ually imitated tlirougliout tlie -world, but more especially in Ger- many. Superficial ornament passed for profound -wisdom, and -witty, Barcastic phraseology assumed the place of soundness and sincerity of expression. Nevertheless, even at this time there were a few chosen men who were able to recognize that which was true and just, and raised their voices accorduigly ; and, in the world of intellect, the names of Lessing, Klopstoek, Goethe, etc , need alone be mentioned, being, as they were, the founders of a more sterling age. Tliey were joined by many othere, and, thus united, they constituted an intellec- tual phalanx in opposition to the progress made by the sensual French school. These intellectual refomiers were soon strengthened by such auxiliaries as Kant, Ficht^ Jacobi, etc., who advanced firmly'under the banner of science ; and from such beginnings grew, by degrees, that powerful mental reaction which has already achieved such mighty things, and led the way to greater results still. This awakening of the Gerji'an mind was unnoticed by King Fred- erick ; he lived in the world of French refinement, sejiarate and soli- tary, as on an island. The waves of the new, rushing stream of lif» passed without approaching him, and struck against the barriers by which he was enclosed. His over-appreciation and patronage of for- eigners, however, impelled the higher classes of society to share in his sentiments, equally a.s mucli as his system of administration had served as a model for other rulers to imitate. Several among his contemporaries resolved, like him, to reign independently, but witli- out pos.sessing the same commanding genius, whence, however well- intentioned, they were wrecked in their career — among whom may b«j more especially included Peter HI. of Russia, Gustavus HI. of Swe- den, and Jo.seph II. of Germany. In the year 1765 Jo.seph II. was acknowledged as successor to his father, Francis I., who died in the same year,"but whose acts as em- peror present little or nothing wortliy of record. His son, however, was on this very account the more anxious to effect great changes — to transform ancient into modern institutions, and to devote the great and predominating power with which he was endowed towards re- modelling tlie entire condition of liis States. All his projects, how- ever, were held in abeyance until tlie death of his mother, Maria Tlieresa, in 1780, who, ever wise and active, had, even to the last m(»ment3 of her existence, exercised all her power and influence in tlie administration of affairs ; and accordingly her matornal authority operated effectually upon his feHings as a Hon, and served for a time to suspend tlie acconiplishment fif his desires. Meantime, in the in-, tfpval between the years 17(i.") and 17W, various events took place wliich exercised an important influence upon the last ten years of his n-ign. Among the rest may be more especially mentioned the dis- mrm/jfyivn/'ut of Podind in 177;5, and the war of the BavaHdn guccfu- tiffn in 1778. Augustas III , lijng (if Poland, di«d in tho your 17«5. leaving Iw A.B.-3 U FREDERICK TUB GREAT. hind liini r grandson, only as yet a minor ; consequently the house of yaxDuv, which had held possession of the throne of Poland during a space of Pixtv-R!x years, now lost it. Botli Russia and Pruss:astei)pe(J forward forthwith, and took uiwii themselves the arrangement of the affairs of Poland : an interference which that nation was now unable to resist, for, strona; and redoubtable as it had been formerly, dissen- sion had so much reduced its resources that it was at this moment wholly incapable of maintaining or even acting for itself. Both powers required that Poland should choose for her sovereign a native- born prince, and an army of ten thousand Russians which suddenly advanced upon \"\'arsaw,' and an equal number of Prussian troops as- sembled upon the frontiers, produced the election of Stanislaus Ponia- towski to the throne. Henceforth there was no longer an imperial diet hehl at which foreigners did not endeavor to bring into effect all their influence. Shortly after this event, a war took place between Russia and Tur- key, in which the former took possession of Moldavia and Walla- cliia, which that power was extremely desirous of retaining. This, however, Austria opposed most strenuously, lest Russia should be- come too powerful, and Frederick the Great found himself in a dilemma hov/ to maintain the balance between the two parties. The most expedient means of a ijustment appeared in the end to be the spoliation of a country which w;is the least able to oppose it ; viz., Poland ; and, accordingly, a ])ortion of its territory was seized and shared between the three powers— Russia, Prussia, and Austria. With whom this idea first originated has not been clearly ascertained, but it is easy to see that it was quite in accordance with the character of the times. For as the wisdom of that age only based its calcula- tions upon the standard of the senses, and estimated the power of States merely by their square miles, amount of population, soldiers, and revenue, the grand aim of the then State policy was to devote every effort towards aggrandizement ; nothing was held more desir- able than some fresh conquest, which might advantageously round off a kingdom, while all consideration of eq; ity and justice was forced to yield before this imperious principle. When one of the larger States affected such an acquisition, the others, alarmed, considered the balance of Europe compromised and endangered. In this case, however, the three kingdoms bordering upon Poland,- liaving shared between them the spoil, were each augmented in i)ro- j>ortion, whence all fear of danger was removed. This system had tt)ecome so Buperficiai, so miserable and absurd, that they lost sight altogether of the principle that a just equilibrium and the permanent safety of all can only be secured by the inviolable pn^servation of the rights of nation.s. The partition o'f Poland was the fornuil renuncia- tion itself of that system of (;quiixjise, and served as the precursor of all those great revolutions, dismembennents, and transformations, to- gether with all those ambitious attempts at universal monarchy, FREDERICK THE GREAT. Go »i^itr»i tfuring a space of five-and-twenty years, were the means of ton\-u^.s.ing Europe to her very foundations. The j-JOi)lt of Poland, menaced as thcv were in three quarters, were forced la the ^utumu of 1773 to submit to the dismemberment of their country, of vhich, accordingly, three thousand square miles were forthwiti divided between Russia, Prus 'a, and Austria. Maximilian Jose^jh, elector of Bavaria, having died in 1777 without issue, the inheritance of his estates and electoral dignity came into the hands ol the elector palatine. The emperor Joseph, however, with his usuijl ra.shness, resolved to avail himself of this inheritance in favor of Ai:stria ; he accordingly raked up old claims and marched suddenly with his army into Bavaria, of which he took immediate possession. T^e pacific palatine, Charles Theodore, thus surprised and overawed, signed a treaty by which he ceded two-thirds of Bava- ria to the housj of Austria in order to secure to himsdf po.ssession of at least the otL^r third. The conduct of Austria on this occasion, to- gether Avith thi part she had previously taken in the dismemberment of ill-fated Poland, was the more unexpected inasmuch as she was the only one of all the superior States which had hitherto abstained from similar acts of {.ggression. But the mutability of the age had now destroyed like w lie in Austria the uniform pacific bearing for which she had so long '.)een distinguished. These proceedings gave rise to serious commotions in various parts of the empire, aud Frederick the Great more especially felt he could not and ought nci to remain an inactive observer of what was pass- ing. Accordingly he entered the lists against Austria at once, and commenced opera\ioas as protector of the heir of Charles Theodore, the Duke of Deux Ponts, who protested against the compact signed by the former witL. Austria, and claimed the assistance of the King of Prussia. The joung and hot-headed emperor Joseph accepted the challenge forthwith, and taking up a position in Bohemia, he there awaited the king ; ihe latter, who liad already crossed the mountains, finding liim, liowever, so strongly intrenched, was reluctant to liazard an attack under «ucli difficult circum.stances, and withdrew from Bohemia. After a few unimportant skirmi.shes between tlie light troops of botli sides, peace was signed by the mediation of Franco and Russia, at Teschei, on tlie loth of May, 1779, even before the end of. the first year of the war. The empress Maria Theresa, now advanced' in years, by no nwans sliared in her son's taste for war, but, on tliel contrary, earnestly desired peace ; while Frederick himself, who had nothing to gain ]>:r.sonally by this campaign, was equally anxious for a reconciliation. Moreover,' he was likewise far advanced in yeais, and possessed sji eye sufficiently penetrating to i)erceive tliat tho fonner original i.pirit and energy of the army, which had performed such jirodigies of valor in the war of Seven Years, had now almost disapiKjan.'d, although tlie di.scipline under which it was still placed was equally syvore and tyrannical as iu former times. Under the»« C6 FREDERICK THE GREAT. *!ul other circumsttincos, tlierefore, peace was preferable to war. By /he treaty now ronchided, Austria restored to the pahitine liouse aJl the estates of Bavaria, except the circle of Biirgau, and the succes- eiou was secured lo the Duke of Deux-Ponts. After the death of Maria Theresa, in 1780, Joseph II. strove with *11 the impetuosity of liis tiery and enterprisng nature, to bring into immediate execution the great and ambitious plans he had fornied, and to give to the various nations spread over the boundless surface Qf his vast possessions, one unic^ue and equal form of government, after a model such as he had himself formed within his own mind. Joseph adopted as his model the absolute principles of Frederick in Ills system of government ; but Frederick occupied liiniself more with external arrangements, wdth the administration of the State, the pro- motion of industry, and the increase of the revenue, interfering very little with the progress of intellectual culture, which followed its par- ticular course, often altogether without his knowledge; while in this rs'spect Joseph, by his new measures, often encroached upon the dearest privileges of his subjects. He hisisted certainly upon liberty of conscience and freedom of thought ; ))ut he did not bear in mind, at the same time, that the acknowledgment of this principle depended upon that close conviction which cannot be forced, and can only exist in reality when the light of truth has gradually penetrated to the depth of tlie heart. The greatest obstacles, however, thro%vn in the way of Joseph's in- j'dam region, a hJjjUly iutoreutim;, lea», little old mau, of ai-^xt though Blij;ljtly stooping «8 FREDERICIC TJE GREAT, nis mind, with scarooly any interniption, retained all its pnty-f()ur years, althoiijj:h his body liad lattorfv beconio much rochiccd and cnfccbk-d. Throuii:h the extrava- gant use ho had always made of strong spices and French dishes, ho dr ed up the s]n-ings of life, and after suffering severely f rom drojisy, he departed this life on the 17th of August, 1?8G, and was buried in Potsdam, under the pulpit of the church belonging to the garrison. In his last illness Frederick displayed great mildness and patience, and acknowledged with gratitude the trouble and pain he caused! those around him. During one of his sleepless nights he called toi the page who kept watch in the room, and asked him what o'clock it was. The man replied it had just struck two. " Ah, then it is still too soon !" exclaimed the king, " but I cannot sleep. See whether figure ; whose name amon? stransrers was King Friedrich the Second, or Frederick the Great of Prussia, and at home among the common people, who much loved and esteemed him, was Vaier Fritz-YAt\\QX Fred-a name of familiarity which had not bred contempt in that instance. He is a king every inch of him, tiiough without cut from tiie woods, which serves ;ilso as a riding-stick (with which he hits the horse 'between the ears,' say authors); and for royal robes, a mere soldior a blue coat with red facings, coat likely to be old, and sure to have n good deal of Spanish snuff on the breast of it ; rest of the apparel dim, unobtrusive in color or cut, end- in" in hi»h, over-knee, military boots, which m;iy be brnshe I (and, I hope, kept 80?t witluia underhand suspicion of oil), but are uot permitted to be blackened or varnished • Day and Martin with ttieir soot-pots forbidden to approach. " The man id not of godlike physio.gnomy, any more than of imposing statnre 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 enn^rlative gray eyes in it. Not what Is called a btautifiil man ; nor yet, by all ap- p^rance, what is called a happy. On the contrary, the face bears evidence of many porrows, as they are termed, of much hard labor done in this world ; and seems to anticipate nothing but more still coming. Quiet stoicism, capable enough of what joy there wpre, but not expecting any worth mention ; great unconscious and some conscioug prida^ well tempered with a cheery mockery of humor--are written on that old face ; which carries its chla well forward, in spite <)f the slight .«toop about the neck : snuffy nose rather flung into the air. under its old cocked-hat— like an old snuffy lion on the watch ; and such a pair of eyi;s as no man or ion or lynx of that century bore elsewhere, according to all the testimony we have. 1 hose eves, saysMirabeau 'which, at the bidding of his great soul, fascinated you with se- duction or with tenor { par taimt, an qrideson ame heroiQue, la seduction O'llater- reurt. Most excellent, potent, brilliant eyes, swift-darting 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 tnem vigilance and penetrating sense, riipidity resting on depth. Which is an excellent combimtion ; ; nd gives us the notion of a 'amhent onterradiance springing from some great inner scaof light and firem t»e ^an The^ voice, if bespeak toyo;?. is of similar physiognomy : clear, melodious and sonorouB, all tones are in it, f oni that of theinsemious inquiry, graceful sociality, liKJit-fl'nW ing banter (rather prickly for most part), up to d<.flnito vvord of command, up to de.«olating wordoi' rebuke and reprobation ; a voice ' the clearest and most airree- able in conversation I ever heard,' says witty Dr. Moore ' He speaks =' g^eat deal continues the doctor, 'yet those who hear him regret that he does "Ot «pea^ » great deal more. II fl obsi^rvations are always lively,^ very often just ; and lew men po88«M the taJcut of repartee iu greater parfectigu.' " FREDERICK THE GREAT. 69 any of the other attendants are awake, but do not disturb them if they are sill sleeping, for, poor fellows, they are tired enough. But if you find Neuman (his favorite yilger) stirring, say to him you be- lieve the king wishes soon to rise. But mind, do not awaken any one ! " Although the news of Frederick's death at such an advanced age , excited no very great astonishment, it nevertheless produced aconsid- lerable sensatio'n throughout the whole of Europe. He left to his suc- icessor a well-regulated State, containing a population of six millions of inhabitants ; a powerful, strictly organized army, and a treasury well provided ; the greatest treasure, however, he left, was the recol- lection of his heroic and glorious acts, which ji» subsequent times has continued to operate upon his nation wtli ail its awakening power amd heart-stirring influence. vwi aznsio LIFE OF BURNS. PABT FIRST. Robert Burns, the national bard of Scotland, was bom on the 25tli ef January, 1750, in a clay-built cottage about t\\o miles south of the town of Ayr. He was the eldest son of Williinn Burnes, or Bumess, who, at the period of Robert's birth, was gardener and overseer to a gentleman of small estate ; but resided on a few acres of laud which he had on lease from another person. The father was a man of strict religious principles, and also distinguished for that penetration and knowledge of manlcind which was afterwards so conspicuous in his son. The mother of the poet was likewise a very sagacious woman, and X)OSsessed an inexhaustible store of ballads and legendary tales, with which she nourished the infant imagination of him whose own productions were destined to excel them all. These worthy individuals labored diligently for the support of an increasing family , nor in the midst of harassing struggles did they neglect the mental improvement of their offspring — a characteristic of Scottish parents, even under the most depressing circumstances. In liLs sixth year, Robert was put under the tuition of one Campbell, and subsequently under Mr John Murdoch, a very faithful and pains-taking teacher. With this individual he renuuned for a few years, and was accurately instructed in the first principles of com- position. The poet and his brother Gilbert were the aptest pupils iii the school, and were generally at the head of the clas.s. Mr. Mur doch, in afterwards recording tlie imijressions wliich the two Ijrothei-s made on him, says : '• Gill>ert always appeared to me to possess a more lively imagination, and to be more of the wit, than Robert. I attempted to teach tliem a little churcli music. Here they were left far behind by all the rest of the school. Robert's ear, in particular, was remarkably dull, and his voice untunable It was long before I could get them to distinguish one tune from another. Robert's coun tenance was genernlly grave, and ex])ressive of a serious, conteni'pla I've, and thoughtful rnind. Gilbert's face said. Mirth, iriih tluc I mean, to live ; and certainly, if any i^erson who knew the two boya had been aake^ which of them was the mo.st likely to court the muses, be V')»ilt5 aeve.v jOi/x 'uessed that Robert had a propensity of thai (1) 2 LIFE OF BURNS. Besides the tiiition of Mr. Murdoch, Burns received instructiona from Ills father in writinij; and aritlnnetic. Under their joint care, he made rajiid jirorrrcss, and was remarkable for the ease with wliich he committed devotional poetry to memory. The following extract from his letter to Dr. Moore, in 1787, is interesting, from the light ■which it throws upon his progress as a scholar, and on the formation of his character as a poet : — " At those years," says he, " I was by no means a favorite with anybody. I was a good deal noted for a reten tive memory, a stubborn, sturdy something in my disposition, and an entliusiastic idiot piety. I say idiot piety, because 1 was then but a child. Though it cost the schoolmaster some thrashings, I matle an excellent scholar ; and by the time I was ten or eleven years of age, I was a critic in substantives, verbs, and particles. In my infant and boyish days, too, I owed much to au old woman who resided in the fninily, remarkable for her ignorance, credulity, and superstition, f 'he had, I suppose, the largest collection in the country of tales and Mougs, concerning devils, ghosts, fairies, brownies, witches, warlocks, epunkies, kelpies, elf candles, dead lights, wraiths, apparitions, can- trips, giants, enchanted towers, dragons, and other trumpery. This cultivated the latent seeds of poetry • but had so strong an effect upon my imagination, that to this hour, in my nocturnal rambles, I some limes keep a sharp look-out in suspicious places ; and though nobody can be more skeptical than I am in such matters, yet it often takes an effort of philosophy to shake off these idle terrors. The earliest com- position that I recollect taking pleasure in, was. The Vidon ofMirza, and a hymn of Addison's, beginning, ' How are thy servants blest, Lord! " I particularly remember one half stanza, which was music to my boyish ear ; For thonG;h on dreadful whirls we hung High on the broken wave.' I met -with these pieces in Mason's English Collection, one of my school books. The first two books I ever read in private, and which gave me more pleasure than any two books I ever read since, were, The Life of Hannibal andThe Ilistory of Sir William Walla-ce. Han- nibal gave my young ideas such a turn, that I used to strut in rap- tures up and down after the recruiting drum and bagpipe, and wish my.self tall enough \o be a soldier ; while the story of Wallace poured a tide of Scottish prejudice into my veins, which will boil along there till the fiood gates of life shut in eternal rest." Mr. Murdoch's removal from Mount Oliphant deprived Bums of liis instructions ; but they were still continued by the father of the bard. Alx)Ut the age of fourteen, he was sent to school every alternate week for the improvement of his writing. In the mean while, he was busily employed upon the operations of the farm . and, at the age oi fifteen, was considered as the principal laborer upon it. About a year f.IFE OF BURNS. 3 after this he gained three weeks of respite, which he spent with his old tutor, Murdoch, at Avr, in revising the English grammar, and m Btudvingthe French langiiage, in which he made uncommon progiess. Ere "his' sixteenth vear elapsed, he had considerably extended his readino- The vicinitv of Mount Oliphant to Ayr afEorded him facil- ities for o-ratifving what had now become a passion. Among the books whtch he had perused were some plays of Shakspeare, Pope the works of Allan Ramsay, and a collection of songs, which consti tuted his tade mecum. " t pored over them," says he, "driving inf cart or walkmg to labor, song by song, verse by verse caretuUj^ noticing the true, tender, or sublime, from affectation and fustian. So early did he evince his attachment to the lyric muse, in which he was destined to surpa.ss all who have gone before or succeeded him. At this period the family removed to Lochlea, in the parish of Tar- bolton. Some time before, however, he had made his first attempt in poetry. It was a song addressed to a rural beauty, about his own age, and, though possessing no great merit as a whole, it contains some lines and ideas wliicli would have done honor to him at any age. After the removal to Lochlea, his literary zeal slackened, for he was thus cut off from those acquaintances whose conversation stimulated hLs powers, and whose kindness suiii)lied him with books. For about three years after this period he was busily employed upon the farm, but at intervals he paid his addresses to the poetic muse, and with no common success. The summer of his nineteenth year was spent in the study of mensuration, surveying, etc., at a small sea-port town, a good distance from home. He returned to his father's considerably iniproved. " My reading," says he, "was enlarged with the very im- portant addition of Tliomson's and Shenstone's works. I had seen Imman nature in a new phasis ;. and I engaged several of niy school fellows to keep up a literary correspondence with me. This improved me in composition. I had met with a collection of letters by the wits of Queen Anne's reign, and I pored over them most devoutly ; 1 kept copies of any of my own letters that pleased me, and a comparison between them and the composition of most of my correspondents •Mattered my vanity. I carried this whim so far. that, though 1 had ot three farthings' worth of business in the world, yet almost every pt)St brought me as many letters as if I had been a broad, plodding son of dav-book and ledger." His mind, peculiarly susceptible of tender impressions, was contiii- uallv the slave of sonie rustic charmer. In the " heat and whirlwind of liis love," lie generally found relief in poetry, by which, a.s by a 8afety-yalye, his turbulent pa.ssions were allowed to have vent. He fonned the resolution of entering the matrimonial state ; but his cir- cumscribed mr-ans of sul); istfyice as a farmer preventing his taking that Htep he resolved on becoming a Hnx-dresser, for wiiicli i)urp()se lie re- moved to the town of Irvin<,in ITHl Tl.e sperulation turned out un- aucccssful ; for the shop, catching lire, was burnt, and the imk-I returned 4 LIFE OF BURNS. to liis fathoT without a sixpence. During his stay at Irvine he had mnt witli F("rti:uson's poems. Tliis circumstance ws\s of some importance to Burns, fop it roused his poetic powers from the torpor into which tlu\r had fallen, aiul in a great measure finally determined the Scottiifh character of his poetry. lie here also contracted some friendships, which he himself says did him mischief ; and, by his brother Gilbert's account, from this date there was a serious change in his conduct. |The venerable and excellent parent of the poet died soon after his son's return. The support of the family now devolving upon Burns, in conjunction with his brother he took a sub lease of tlie farm of Mossgiel, in the parish of Mauchline. The four years which he re- sided upon this farm were the most important of his life. It was here he felt that nature had designed him for a poet ; and here, accordingly, his genius began to develop its energies in those strains which will make his luime familiar to all future times, the admiration of every civilized country, and the glory and boast of his own. The vigor of Burns's understanding, and the keenness of his wit, •as displayed more particularly at masonic meetings and debating clubs, of which he formed one at Mauchline, began to spread his fame as a man of uncommon endowments. lie now could number as his acquaintance several clergymen, and also some gentlemen of sub- stance ; amongst whom was Mr. Gavin Hamilton, writer in Mauch- line, one of his earliest patrons. One circumstance more than any other contributed to increase his notoriety. "Polemical divinity," says he to Dr. Moore in 17H7, " about this time was putting the coun- try half mad ; and I, ambitious of shining in conversation-parties on Sundays, at funerals, etc., used to puzzle Calvinism with so much lieat and indiscretion, that I raised a hue-a'nd cry of heresy against Die, which ha.s not ceased to this hour." The fann which lie ]>os sessed belonged to the Earl of Loudon, but the brothers held it in sub-lease from Mr. Hamilton. This gentleman was at open feud with one of the ministers at Mauchline, who was a rigid Calvinist. iilr. Hamilton maintained opposite tenets ; and it is not matter of surprise that the young farmer should have espoused liis cause, and brought all the resources of his genius to bear upon it. The result was The Holy Fair, The Ordination, Holy Willie's Prayer, and other satires, as much distinguished for their coarse severity and bitterness as for their genius. The applause which greeted these pieces emboldened the poet, and encouraged him to proceed. In his life, by his brother Gilbert, a very mtere.sting account is given of the occasions which gave rise to the poems, and the chronological order in which they were produced. The exquisite pathos and humor, the strong manly sense, the mas- terly command of felicitous language, the graphic power of delineat- ing scenery, manners, and incidents, which a])i)ear so conspicuously in his various poems, could not fail to call forth the admiration of thosu who were favored with a perusal of them. But the clouds of LIFE OF BURNS. S misfortune were gatliering darkly above the head of him wh«» was thus giving delight to a large and widening circle of friends. The farm of ^Mossgiel proved a losing concern ; and an amour with Misw Jane Armour, afterwards Mrs. Burns, had assumed so serious an vspect, that he at first resolved to fly from the scene of his disgrac* and misery. One trait of his character, however, must be men. tioned. Before taking any steps for his departure, he met Miss Ar- mour by appointment, and gave into her hands a w^ritten acknowledg. ment of marriage, which, when produced by a person in her situation, is, according to the Scots' law, to be accepted as legal evidence of an irregular marriage having really taken place. This the lady burned, at tiie persuasion of her father, who was adverse to a marriage ; and Bums, thus wounded in the two most powerful feelings of his mind, his love and pride, was driven almost to insanity. Jamaica was hi3 destination ; but, as he did not possess the money necessary to defray the expense of his passage out, he resolved to publish some of his best poems, in order to raise the requisite sum. These views were warmly promoted by some of his more opulent friends ; and a suffi- ciency of subscribers having been procured, one of the finest volumes of poems that ever appeared in the world issued from the provmcial press of Kilmarnock. It is hardly possible to imagine with what eager admiration and delight they were everywhere received. They possessed in an emi- nent degree all those qualities which invariably contribute to render Any literary work quickly and permanently popular. They were wntten in a phraseology of which all the powers were universally felt, and which, being at once antique, familiar, and now rarely writ- ten,' was therefore fitted to serve all the dignified and i)icturesqua use's of poetrv, without maldng it unintelligil)le. The imagery and tlie sentiments were at once natural, impressive, and interesting. Tliose topics of satire and scandal in wliich the rustic deUghts ; that liumorous imitation of character, and that witty association of ideas, familiar and striking, yet not naturally allied to one another, which has force to shake his sides with laughter ; those fancies of supersti- tion at wliich one still wondf-rs and trembles ; those affecting senti- ments and images of true religion which arc; at onw; dear and awful to the heart, were all represented by Burns with the magical power of true poetry. Old and young, high and low, grave and gay, learned and ignorant", all wen; alike surprised and transported. In the mean time a few coi)ies of these fascinating poems found their way to Edinburgh, and having been read to Dr. Blackloclt, ob- tained his wannest approbation ; and he advised the author to repair to Edinburgh. Burns lost no tinu' in complying with this recpiest ; and accordinglv, towards tlie end of tlie year 178G, h(^ set out for X\m capital, \vli(;re"lie w:us received by Dr. Blacklock with the most flat- tering kindness, and introduc-ed to every ])erDon of taate among that excellent man's friends. Multitudtw now viod with each other iu 6 LIFE OF BURNS. pntronizing: the rastic poet. Those who possessed at once tnie taste Rud ardent pliilantlirojiy were soon united in liis praise ; those v.-ho were disiK)sed to favor any g-ood thing belonging to ycotUmd, pnrelv because it \va.s Scottish, ghidly joined the cry ; wliile those who iia'd hearts and understandings to be charmed without knowing why, when they saw their native customs, manners, and Language mado the subjects and the materials of poesy, could not suppress tliat im pulse of feeling whidi struggled to declare itself in favor of Bums. Thus did Burns, ere he had been nuiny weeks in Edinburgh, find himself the oljject of universal curiosity, favor, admiration, and fond ness. He was sought after, courted with attentions the most respect- ful and assiduous, feastea, flattered, caressed, and treated l)y all rank'» as the great boast of his country, whom it was scarcely possible to honor and reward in a degree equal to his merits. A new edition of his poems was called for, and the public mind was directed to the subject by Henry Mackenzie, who dedicated a paper in the LinoKjer to a commendatory notice of the poet. Tliis circumstance will ever be remembered to the honor of tliat polished Avriter, not only for the warmth of the eulogy lie bestowed, but be- cause it was the first printed acknowledgment' which had been madft to the genius of Burns. The copyright was sold to Creech for £100 ; but the friends of the poet advised him to forward a subscription. The patronage of the Caledonian Hunt, a very influential body, wa.s obtained. The list of subscribers rapidly rose to 1,500, many gentle- men paying a great deal more than the price of the volume ; and it was supposed that the poet derived from the subscription and the sale of his copyright a clear profit of at least £700. The conversation of Burns, according to the testimony of all the eminent men who heard him, was even more wonderful than his poetry. He affected no soft air nor graceful motions of politeness, which might have ill accorded with the rustic plainness of his native manners. Conscious superiority of mind taught him to associate with the great, the learned, and the gay, without being overawed into any such bashfulness as might have rendered him confused in thought or hesitating in elocution. He possessed withal an extraor- dinary share of plain common sense, or mother- wit, which prevented him from obtruding upon persons, of whatever rank, with whom he was admitted to converse, any of those effusions of vanity, envy, or self-conceit in which authors who have lived remote from the general practice of life, and whose minds have been almost exclusively con- fined to contemplate their own studies and their own works, are but too prone to indulge. In conversation he displayed a sort of intuitive quickness and rectitude of judgment, upon every subject that arose. The sensibility of his heart and the vivacity of his fancy gave a rich coloring to whatever opinions he was disposed to advance ; and his language wa.s thus not less happy in conversation than in his writings, llenc^ tliose who had met and crtnversed with him once were pleased to meet and to cou verse with liim again and again. LIFE OF 13LK.NS. For soni'- time lie associated onlv with tlie ruidcuj, the learneO, and the wLse, and the purity of his morals remained uucontainmated Bat unfortunatelv he fell, as others have fallen m similar circum- etances He suilered himself to be surrounaed by persons ^'ho^^'e™ proud to tell that they had been in company with Burns and had seen Burns as loose and as foolish as themselves. He now also began to contract something of arrogance in conversation. Accustomed to be among his associates what is vulgarly but expressively called tlie cock of the companr," he. could scarcely ref ram from indulging in a similar freedom and dictatorial decision of talk, even m the presence of persons who could less patiently endure presumption. After remainmo- some months in the Scottish metropolis, basking in the noontide sun of a popularity which, as Dugald Stewart well remarks, would have turned any head but his own he formed a reso lution of returning to the shades whence he had emerged but not before he liad perambulated the southern border. On the 0th otiMay. 1787 he set out on his journey, and, visiting all that appeared inter esting on the north of the Tweed, proceeded to Newcastle and other placd on the English side. He returned in about two months to his family at MauchUne , but in a short pei'iod he again set out on an ex cursion to the north, where he was most flatteringly received by aU the great families. On his return to Mossgiel he completed his mar- riaire with Miss Armour. He then concluded a bargain with JNir. Miller of Dais win ton for a lease of the farm of EUiesland. on adta^- tageous terms. ,t'i -j. j -iryoo Burns entered on possession of this fann at NVhitsuuday, l' Hunt, had occSS meetings in Dumfries after Burns went to reside there • and the noet Tcfept tri^u^r;?'' *V^^r '""-'^ ---iaHty, and hks'ated n. To accept the invitation. In the intervals between his different fits of mtempemnce he suffered the keenest anguish of remorse and horri bly afflictive foresiglit. His Jane behaved with a degree of conS bitterthTevif "' T"'"'-'"^"' 1"^^'^'"^'^ "^"'^'^ made^dm feel inon ^^h.«e,ly the evil o. las misconduct, although they could not reclaim This is a dark picture— perhaps too dark. The Rev Mr Gmv I^id'had fre""^r " ^^" '"'• ''■'' '^^^^^^^^-^y acquainted JhBuS' anddept Sr^ivr"'""''^"'"^' ^I'^^^^^S of 4 general charS ana aeportra^nt, givra a more amiable portrait of the bard Bein^ UvrLIe";vl.ht "^^'"7 1^ t^."«,g-t^eman must be alloJS^o t*ave Bome weight The truth m." mya he. " Burnfl waa seldom ' LIFE OF BURNS. 9 intoxicnted. The drunkard soon becomes besotted, and is shunned even bv the convivial. Had he been so, he could not have long con- tinued' the idol of every party." This is strong reasoning; and \\>i goes on to mention other circumstances which seem to confinn the truth of his position. In balancing these two statements, a juster estimate of the moral deportment of Burns ma.r be formed. In the year 1792 party politics ran to a great height m Scotland, and the liberal and independent spirit of Burns did certainly betray him into some indiscretions. A general opinion prevails, that he so fai* lost the good graces of his superiors by his conduct as to consider all prospects of future promotion as hopeless. But this appears not to have been the case ; and the faes that he acted as supervisor before, his death is a strong proof to the contrary. Of his political verses, few have as vet been publisiied. But in these he warmly espoused the cause of the Whigs, w^hich kept up the spleen of the other party, already sufficiently provoked ; and this may in some measure account for the bitterness with which his own character was attacked. Whatever opinion may be formed of the extent of his dissipation in Dumfries, one fact is unquestionable, that his powers remained unim- paired to the last ; it was there he produced his finest lyrics, and they are the finest, as well as the purest, that ever delighted mankind. Besides Johnson's Mnseuia, in which he took an interest to the last, and to which he contributed most extensively, he formed a connection Avith Mr. George Thomson, of Edinburgh. This gentleman had conceived the laudable design of collecting the national melodies of Scotland, with accompaniments by the most eminent composers, and poetry bV the be.st writers, in addition to those words which were* ori"lnally attached to them. From the multitude of songs which Burns wrote, from the vear 1T92 till the commencement of his illness, it is evident that few davs could have passed without his producing some stanzas for the work. The following passage from his cor- rpspondfn(;e which was also most extensive, proves that his songs Avere not hurriedlv gf.t up, but composed with the utmost care and attention. " Until 1 am complete master of a tune in my own singing, such as it is," savs he, " I can never compose for it. My way is this : I Cfjnsider the poetic sentiment correspondent to my idea of the musical exi)ression— then choose mv theme— compose one stanza. ">Y^^'" is composed, which is generally the most difficult part of the business, I walk out— sit down now ami then— look out for objects m nature round mf that are in unison or harmony with the cogitations of my fancy and workings of mv bosom— humming every now and then tin- air, with tlie verses I have framed. Wlien I feel my muse beginning to jadf , I retire to the solitary fireside of my study, and there commit mv eftasions to jjaper ; swinging at intervals on the hind legs of my eliww-chair, bv wav of calling forth my own <;ritical strictures, as mv pen goes. Seriouslv, this, at homo, is almost iuvarial)ly my wav. This \» not oulj interoetin;,' for the liglit which it throws upon bia 10 LIFE OF BURNS. motliod of composition, but it proves that conviviality had not as yet greater charms for him than the muse. Fi-om his youtli Burns liad oxhihited ominous symptoms of a radical disorder in his constitution. A palpitation of the heart and a derange ment of tlie digestive orjyans were conspicuous. Tliese were, doubt- less, increased by his indulgences, which became more frequent as ho drew tosvaids the close of his career. In the autumn of i7U.5 he lost an only daughter, which was a severe blow to him. Soon afterwards he was seized with a rheumatic fever; and "long the die s])un doubtful," says he, in a letter to his faithful friend Mrs. Dunlap, " until, after many weeks of a sick bed, it seems to have turned u]i hk\ and 1 am beginning to crawl across my room." The cloud beliind which his sun was destined to be eclipsed at noon had begun to darken above him. Before he had completely recovered, he had the im- prudence to join a festive circle ; and. on liis return from it, ho caught a cold, which brought back his trouble upon him with redoul^led severity. Sea-bathing was had recourse to, but with no ultimata success. He lingered until the 21st of July, 179(3, when he expired. The interest which the death of Burns excited was intense. AH differences were forgotten , his genius only was thought of. On the 20tli of the same month he was conveyed to the grave, followed by about ten thousand individuals of all ranks, many of whom had como from distant parts of the country to witness the solemnity. He was interred with military honors by the Dumfries volunteers, to which body he had belonged. Thus, at the age of thirty-seven, an age when the mental powers t)f man have scarcely reached their climax, died Robert Burns, one of the greatest poets whom his country has produced. It is unnecessary to enter into any lengthened analysis of his poetry or character. His works are universally known and admired, and criticism lias been drawn to the dregs upon the subject ; and that, too by the greate.st masters who have appeared since his death— no mean test of the great merits of his writings. He excels equally in touching the heart by the exquisiteness of his pathos, and exciting the risible faculties by the breadth of his humor. His lyre had manv strings, and he had equal command over them all, striking each, and frequently in chords, with the skill and power of a master. That his satire some- times degenerates into coarse invective cannot be denied ; but where personality is not permitted to interfere, his poems of this description may take their place beside anything of the kind which has ever been produced, without being disgraced by the comparison. It is unnecessary to reecho the praises of his best pieces, as there is no epithet of admiration which has not b?en bestowed upon them. Those who had best opportunities of judgiaig are of opinion that his works, stamped as they are with the impress of sovereign genius, fall short of the powei-s he possessed It is therefore to be lamented that he undertook no great work of fictioa or invention Had circum- LIFE OF BURNS. 11 stances permitted, lie would prolxibly have done so ; but his excise duties, and without doubt his own follies, prevented him His passions were strong, and his capacity of enj orient corres^aonded with them. These continually precipitated him into the v.^riety of pleasure, where alone they could be gratified , and tl^e reaction consequent upon such indulgences (for he possessed the j!inest dis- crimination between right and wrong) threw him into .'ow spirits, to which also he was constitutionally liable His mi-Ad, being thus never for anv length of time in an equable tone, couW scarcely pursue with steadv regularity a work of anv length His Jioral aberrations, as detailed by some of his biographers, have >»een exaggerated, as already noticed. This has been proved by the testimony of many witnesses from whose authority there can be ';io appeal ; for they had the best opportunities of judging. In fine It may be doubted whether he has not, by his writings, exercised a greater power over the minds of men and the general'system of 11^3 than has been exercised by any other modern poet. A complete edition of his works, in four volumes, 8vo., with a life, was pul^Aished by Dr. Currie, of Liverpool, for the benefit of his family, f^ Avhom it realized a handsome sum. Editions have been si'^ce mi-ltiplied beyond number ; and several vxcellent bi'^r'\phie.'-' of cKe poet have been published, particularly ihat by Ivi";. Lockuart. LIFE OF BURNS.* PART SECOND. In thft modern arrangements of society, it is no uncommon tLinff that a m.ji of genius must, like Butler, " ask for Inroad and receive a stwne ; ' for, in spite of our grand maxim of supply and demand, it IS by nc means the highest excellence that men are "most forward to recoguuii. The inventor of a spinning-jennv is pretty sure of his reward In his own day ; but the writer of a true poem, like the apostle of a true religion, is nearly as sure of the contrary. We do not kno\r Avhether it is not an aggravation of the injustice,' that there is generally a posthumous retribution. Robert Burns, in' the course of nature, might yet have been living ; but his short life Avas spent \n toil and penury ; and he died, in the prime of his manhood, mis- c-rable and neglected ; and yet already a brave mausoleum shines over his dust, and more than one splendid monument has been reared in other places to his fame : the street where he languished in poverty )s called by his name ; the highest personages in our literature liavo been proud to appear as his commentators and admirers, and here is the dxth narrative of his Life that has Ijeen given to the world ! Mr. Lorkhart thinks it nec'ssary to apologize for this new attempt o" • Buch a subject ; but his rea lers, we believe, will readily acquit him or, at worst, will censure only the performance of his task" not the choice of it. The character of Burns, indeed, is a theme that cannot easily become either trite or exhausted, and will probably gain rather than io.se in its dimensions by the distance to which it is removed by Time. No man, it has been said, is a hero to his valet : and this is probably true ; but the fruit is at least as likely to be the valet's as the hero'.s'i for it is certain that to the vulgar eye few thim^^s are wonderful that are not distant. It is difficult for in en to believe that the man, the mere man whom they see, nay, perhaps, painfully feel, toiling at their side through the poor jostlings of existence, can l)e made of finer clay tlian themselves. Suppose that some dining acquaintance of Sir Thoma.s Luc.v's, and neiglibor of John a Combe's, had snatched an liour or two from the preservation of his game, and written us a Life of Shakesp are ! Wiiat dis;3ertation should we not have had * Carlyle's review of "Lockhart's Life of Robert Bums." LIFE OF BURNS. 13 —not on Hamlc{ and The Tempest, but on the wool-trade and deer- ste iiing, and the Mbel and vagrant laws ! and how the Poacher be- came a Player ! and how Sir" Thomas and Mr. John had Christi;ai bowcLs, and' did not push him to extremities! In IDie manner, wj believe, with rt-spect tj Burns, that till the companions of his p.l- grimage, the honorable Excise Commissioners, and the Gentlemen of the Caledonian Hunt, and the Dumfries Aristocracy, and all the Squires and Eirk, equ-lly with the Ayr Writers, and the New and Old Light Clergv, whom lie had to do with, shall have become invisi- ble in the darkness of the Past, or visible only by light borrowed from his juxtaposition, it will be difficult to measure him by any truj standard, or to estimate what he really was and did, in the eigh- teenth century, for his country and the world. It will be difficult, we say, but st"ill a fair problem for literary historians ; and repeated attempts mil give us repeated approximations. His former biographers have done something, no doubt, but by no means a great deal, to assist us. Dr. Currie and Mr. Walker, the principal of these writers, have both, we think, mistaken one essen- tially importent thing: their own and the Avorld's true relation to their author, and the style in which it bccauie such men to think and to spealv of such a man. Dr. Currie loved the poet tru y ; more, perhaps, tiian he avowed to his readns, or even to himse.f ; yet ho everywhere introduces him with a certain patronizing, apologetiu air, as if the polite public might ihink it strange and half unwarrant- aljle that he, a man of science, a schol r, and gentleman, should do such honor to a rustic. In all this, however, we really admit that his fault was not want of lovo, but we;da\ess of faith ; a d regret that the first and kindest of ah our poet's biographers should not^have seen farther, or believed more boldly what he saw. Mr. Walki-r offends more deeply in the same kind : and both err alike in present- ing us with a detached catalogue of his several supposed attributes, virtu.--s, and vices, instead of a delineation of the resulting character as a living unity. Tlii.s, however, is not painting a portrait ; but gauging the length and breadth of the several features, and jotting down their dimensions in arithmetical ciphers. Nay, it \i not si mucli as this : for »e are yet to learn by w..at arts or instruments tho mind could be so measuied and gauged. Mr. Lockhart, we are liappy to say, has avoided both these error.s. He uniformly treats Burns iis the high and remarkable man the pub- lic voice has now ]>ronou]K-ed him to Ix' : and in delinpating him iio has avoidf.l the method of sc])aratc generalities, and rather sought for charac eristic incidents, haliits, actions, sayings; in a word, for aspects which exhibit tlu- wlioli- man as he looked and lived amonj; his fellows. The book a lias come to rest more and more exclusively on liis own lutnnsic merits and mav now be well nigh shorn of that casual radiance, he appears not only as a true British poet, but as one ot the_ most considerable British m-n of the eighteenth century Let it not be obiected that he did little , he did much, if we consider where and how If the work performed was small, we must remember that he had his very materials to discover ; for the metal ho worked m lay j hid under the desert, wdiere no eye but his had guessed its existence ; and we may almost say, that with his own hand he had to construct the tools for fashioning it. For he found himself in deepest obscii- Titv without help, without instruction, without model, or witii models onlv of the meanest sort. An educated man stands as it were in the midst of a boundless arsenal and magazine, filled with aU the weapons and engines which man's skill has been able to de- vise from the earliest time ; and he worL's, accordingly, with a strength borrowed from all past ages. How different is /m state who stands on the outside of that storehouse, and feels that its gates must be stormed, or remain forever shut against him ? His means are the commonest and rudest ; the mere work done is no measure of his etrenolh A dwarf behind his steam engine may remove mountains ; but no dwarf will hew them down with the pick-axe ; and he must be a Titan that iiurls them abroad with his arms. , , ^ It is in this last shape that Burns presents himself. Born in an acre the most prosaic Britaiu had yet seen, and in a condition tl.o most advantageous, where his mind, if it accomplished aught, must accomplish it under the pressure of continual bodily toil, nay, of pen- urv and desponding apprehension of the worst evils, and with no f uVtheranoe but such knowledge as dwells in a poor man s hut, and the rhATiies of a Ferguson or Ramsay for his standard of beautv, ho sinks not under all these impediments. Through the fogs and dark- ness of that obscure region, his eagle eye discerns the true relations of the world and human life ; he grows into intellectual strength, and trains liimself into intellectual expertness. Impelled by tlu. irrepressible movement of his inward spirit, he struggles lorwanl into the general view, and with liaughty modesty lays down l)cforo us, JUS the fruit of his labor, a gift, which Time has now pronounced im- perishable Aecause a poet was tlier'e. Our IlaUoweer- had passed anvthorn, that I view and hr.ng over with particular delight. I never hear the loud solitary whistle of the curlew in a summer noon, or the wild mixing cadence of a troop of gray plover in an autumnal morning, without feeling an elevation of soul like the enthusiasm of devotion or poetry. Tell me, my dear friend, to what can this be owing ? Are we a piece of machinery, which, like the JEoliau harp, passive, takes the impression of the passing accident, or do these workings argue something within us above the trodden clod ? I own myself partial to such proofs of those awful and important realities:' a God that made all things, man's inmiaterial and inmiortal nature, and a world of weal or woe beyond deatii and tlie grave." Forc<3 and fineness of undeistanding are often spoken of as some- thing different from general force and fineness of nature, as some- thing partly independent of them. The necessities of language probably require this ; but in truth these qualities are not distinct and independent : except in special cases, and from special causes, they ever go together. A man of strong understanding is generally a man of strong cliaracter ; neither is delicacy in the one kind often divided from delicacy in the other. Xo one, at all events,- is ignorant tliat in the poetry o" Burns, keenness of insight keeps pace with keenness of feeling ; that his lijht is not more pervading than his warmth. He is a man of the most impassioned temper ; with passions not strong only, but noble, and of the sort in which great virtues and great potiins take their ri.se. It is reverence, it is Love towards all Nature tliat inspires him, tliat opens his eyes to its beauty, and makes heart and voice eloriucnt in its praise. There is a true old saying that " love furthers knowledge : " but, above all, it is the living (^.senceof tliat knowledge whicli makes poets; the first principle o'f its existence, increa.se, activity. Of Burns's fervid affection, his gen- erous, all embracing J..ove, we liave .spoken already, aa of the grand distinction of liis natunf, seen equally in word and dei.-d. in his 1/ifu and in his Writings. It were; cawy to multiiily exaii.ides. Not man only, bill, all that euviroua man in the material and moral universe A..B.^ 2(i LIFE OF BUK.N3. is lovely in liis siglit ; " tlie lioary havvUiorn," the "troop of gray plover,"' tlie "solitary curlew," are all dear to him — all live in this Earth along- with him, and to all he is knit as in mysterious brother- hood. How touching is it, for instance, that, amidst the gloom of personal misery, brooding over the wintry desolation without him and within hiui, he thinks of the " ourie cattle" and " silly sheep," and their sufferings in the pitiless storm ! " I thought me on the ourie cattle, Or Billy shet'p, wha bide this brattle O' wintry war ; Or thro' the drift, deeplairing, eprattle, Beueath a scaur. Ilk happing hird, wee helpless thing, That ill the merry month o' .spring Delighted me to hear theo fing, Wliat comes o' the* ? Where wilt thou cow'r tliy cluttering wing, And close thy ce V The tenant of the mean hut, with its " ragged roof and clunky wall," has a heart to pitv even these ! This is worth several homilies on Mercy ; for it is the voice of Mercy her.self. Burns, indeed, lives in sympat'hv ; his soul rushes forth into all reahns of bemg ; nothing that has existence can be inditTerent to him. The very devil he can' not hate with right orthodoxy ! " Bat fare you wecl, anld Nickie-ben ; O wad ye tak a thought and men' I Ye aiblius mmlit— i dinna ken — Still hae a stake ; I'm wae to think npo' yon den, Even for your sake I" He did no. know, probably, that Sterne had been beforehand wtli him. " ' He is the father of curses and lies,' said Dr. Slop ; ' and is cursed and damned already.' — 'I am sorry for it,' quoth my uncle Toby I" — " A ]rjeu without Love were a physical and metaphysical impossibility.' " Why sliould we speak of Scots, wJui hae wi' Wallace hied ; since all know it, from the king to the meanest of his subjects ? This dithyram- bic was composetl on hor.-el)ack ; in riding in the middle of tempests, over the wilde.st Galloway moor, in company with a Mr. Syme, who, observing the poet's looks, forebore to speak — judiciously enough — for a man composing Bnice'ti Address might be un.safe to trifle with. Doubtless this stern hjinn was .singing it^self, as he formed it, through the sf)ul of Burns ; but to the external ear, it should 1)0 sung with the throat of the whirlwind. So long as there is warm Idood in the heai-t of a Scotchman or man, it will move in fierce thrills under this war- ode, the best, we believe, that was ever wiitten by any pen. Another wild, stormful song, that dwells in our ear and mind with LIFE OF BURNS. 87 a strange tenacity, is Maep1ier!>on's Fareioell. Perhaps there is some- thing m the tradition itself iliat co-operates. For was not this grim Celt, this shaggy Northland Cacus, that " lived a life of sturt and strife, and died by treacherie," was not he too one of the Nimrods and Napoleons of the earth, in the arena of his own remote, misty glens, for want of a clearer and wider one? Nay, was there not a touch of grace given him ? A fibre of love and softness, of poetry itself, must have lived in his savage heart ; for he composed that air the night before his execution ; on the wings of that poor melody, his better soul would soar away above oblivion, pain, and all the ignominy and despair, which, like an avalanche, was hurling him to the abyss ! Here, also, as at Thebes and the Pelops' line, was material Fate matched against man's Freewill ; matched in bitterest though obscure duel ; and the ethereal sotil sunk not, even in its bliudness, without a cry which has survived it. But who, except Burns, could have given words to such a soul — words that we never listen to without a strange half-barbarous, half-poetic fellow-feeling ? Sae rantinrjbi, ioe wantonly, Sae davriringly gaed he; He plaifd a spring, and aanced it round. Below the gcUlows tree. Under a lighter aud thinner disguise, the same principle of Love, which we have recognized as the great characteristic of Burns, and of all true poets, occasionally manifests itself in the shape of Humor. Everywhere, mdeed, in his sunny moods, a full buoyant flood of mirth rolls through the mind of Burns ; he rises to the high, and stoops to the low, and Is brother and ])laymate to all Nature. We speak not of his bold and often irresistible faculty of caricature ; for this is Drollery rather than Humor : but a much tenderer sportfulness dwells in him ; and comes forth, here and there, in evanescent and beautiful touches , as in his Addrens to the Monne, or the Farmer's Mare, or in his Elegy oa Poor Mailie, Avhich la.st may be reckoned his happ est effort of this kind. In the.se pieces there are traits of a Humor as line as that of Sterne ; yet altogether different, original, peculiar — the Htimor of Burns. Of the tenderness, the ]>la}'ful pathos, and many other kindred qualiti(si of Biirns's poetry, much more might be said ; but now, with tnese ywuir outlines of a sketcli, we must prepare to quit this part of our sultject. To speak of his irHlividual writings adequately and with any detail, would lead us far beyond our limits. As already hinted, we can look on but few rf these pieces as, in strict critical language, driwerving the name of Foeins ; they are rhymed eloquence, rhymed pathos, rhynifd .sense ; yet .seldom essentially melodious, a«TiaI, poetifMil. Tarn O'HIiaater itself, which enjoys so high a favor, do«.« not appear to us, at all decisiveiy, trstand us when we say that he is not the Tieck but the Musiius af this tale. Externally it is all green and living ; yet look closer, it is no firm growth, but only ivy on a rock. Tht* piece does not probably cohere ; the strange chasm which yawns in our incredulous imaginations between the Ayr public-house and the gate of Tophet, is nowhere bridged over, nay, the idea of such a bridge is laughed at ; and thus the Tragedy of the adventure becomes a mere drunken phantasmagoria, painted on ale-vapors, and the farce alone has any reality. We do not say that Burns should have made jnuch more of this tradition ; we rather think that, for strictly poeti- cal purposes, not much was to be made of it. Neither are we blind to the deep, varied, genial power displayed in what he has actually accomplished: but we find far more " Shakspearian " qualities, as these of Tarn O'Shatder have been fondly named, in many of his other pieces ; nay, we incline to believe that this latter might have been written, all'but quite as well, by a man who, in place of genius, had only possessed talent. Perhaps we may venture to say, that the most strictly poetical of all his " poems" is one, which does not appear in Currie's Edition, but has been often printed before and since, under the humble title of The Jolly Beggars. The subject truly is among the lowest in na- ture ; but it only the more shows our poet's gift in raising it into the domain of Art. To our minds, this piece seems thoroughly com- pacted, melted together, refined, and poured forth in one Hood ot true liquid harmony. It is light, airy, and soft of movement ; yet sharp and precise in its details ; every fac is a portrait : that rauch carlin, that wee Apollo, that Son of Mars, are Scottish, yet ideal ; the scene is at once a dream, and the very Rag-castle of ' ' Poosie-Nan- sie." Farther, it seems in a considerable degree complete, a real self- supporting \^^lole, which is the highest merit in a poem. The blanket of the night is drawn asunder for a moment ; ia fill, ruddy, and flaming light, these rough tatterdemalions are seen in their boist- erous revel ; for the strong pulse of Life vindicates its right to glad- ness even here ; and when the curtain closes, we prolong the action without effort ; the next day, as the last, our Caird and our Ballad- monger are singing and .soldiering; their "brats and callets"ar8 hawking, begging, cheating ; and some other night, in new combina- tions, they will ring from Fate another liour of wassail and good cheer. It would be strange, doubtless, to call this the best of Burns'S LIFE OF i3UR>;S. 2S writings ; we mean to say only, that it seems to ns the most perfect of its kind, as a piece of poetical composition, strictly so-ciilled. In tlie Beggar's Opera, in the Beggar's Bush, as other critics have al- ready remarked, there is nothing which, in real poetic vigor, ecjuals this Cantitta ; nothing, as W3 think, which comes within many de- grees of it. But by far the most finished, complete, and truly inspired pieces of Burns are, without dispute, to be found among his Songs. It is here that, although thr9ugli a small aperture, his light shines with the least obstruction, in its highest beauty, and pure sunny clearness. The reason may be, that Song is a brief and simple species of com- position : and requires, nothing so much for its perfection as genuine poetic feeling, genuine music of heart. • The Song has its rules equally with the Tragedy ; rules which in most cases are poorly ful- filled, in many cases are not so much as felt. We miirht write along essay on the Songs of Burns ; which we reckon by far the best that Britain has yet produced ; for, indeed, since the era of Queen Eliza- beth, we know not that, l)y any otlier hand, aught truly worth atten- tion has been accomplished in this department. True, we have songs enough " by persons of quality ;" we have tawdry, hollow, wine-bred, madrigals ; many a rh,nned " speech " in the flowing and watery vein of Ossorius the. Portugal Bishop, rich in sonorous words, and, for moral, dashed perhaps with some tint of a sentimental sensuality ; all wliich many persons cease not from endeavoring to sing : though for most part, we fear, the music is but from the throat outward, or at best from some region far enough short of the Soul ; not in which, but in a certain inane Limbo of the Fancy, or even in some vaporous debatable land on the outside of the Nervous System, most of such madrigals and rhymed speeches seem to have originated. With the Songs of Burns we must not name these things. Independently of the clear, manly, lieartfelt sentiment that ever pervades A *•« poetry, liis songs are honest in another point of view : in form as well as in spirit. They do not ctffcct to be set. to music ; but they actually and in themselves are music ; they have received their life, and fashioned themselves together, in tlie medium of Harmony, as Venus rose from the bo.som of the sea. The story, the feeling, is not detailed, but suggested ; not mid, or spouted, in rhetorical completeness and co- herence ; l>ut mtng, in fitful gu.shes, in glowing hints, in fantastic breaks, in irarhlings not of the voice only, but of the whole mind. We consider this to be the essence of a song : and that no songs since the little careless catches, and, as it were, drops of song, which Shaks|)earc lias here and there s])rinkled over his y>lays, fulfil this condition in nearly the same flegree as most of Burns'?; do. Sucii grace and truth of external movement, too, presu|)))oses in geufM-al a corres])ondinj; force of truth and st-ntinient, and inward nuaning. The Songs of Burns are not more perfect in the former vith England, it was, m the lughe.st dcL-ree the case with Scotland. In fact, our Scottish literature had, at that period a very sintrular aspect; unexampled, so far as we know except perhaps at Geneva, wh^^re the same state of matters ap- LIFE OF BURNS. 8i pears still to continiic. For a long period after Scotland became British, we had no literature -. at the date when Addison and Steele were writing their Spectators, our good Thomas Boston was writing, with the noblest intent, but alilie in defiance of grammar and phil- osophy, his Fourfold State of Man. Then came the schisms in our National Ciiurch, and the fiercer schisms in our Body Politic : Theo- logic ink and Jacobite blood, with gall enough in both cases, seemed to have blotted out the intellect of the country ; however, it was only obscured, not obliterated. Lord Kames made nearly the first attempt^, and a tolerably clumsy one, at writiug English ; and, ere long, Hume, Robertson, Srnith, and p whole host of followers, attracted hither the eves of all Europe. And yet in this brilliant resuscitation of our *'" fervid genius," there was nothing truly Scottish, nothing indige- nous ; except, perhaps, tlie natural impetuosity of intellect, which we sometimes claim, and are sometimes upbraided with, as a character- istic of our nation. It is curious to remark that Scotland; so full of writers, had no Scottish culture, nor indeed any English ; ourcu]turo was almost exclusively i'rench. It was by studying Racine and Vol- taire, Batteux and Boileau, that Kames had trained himself to be a critic and philosopher : it wos the light of Montesquieu and Maljly that guided Robertson in iiis political speculations ; Quesnay's lamp that kindled the lamp of Adam Smith. Hume was too rich a man to borrow ; and perhaps he reacted on the Freucli more than he was acted on by them : but neither had he aught to do ^vith Scotland ; Edinburgh, equally with La Fleche, was Imt the lodging and labora- tory, in which lie not so much mcrally Uccd, as metaphysically iii- vesliffated. Xever, perliaps, was there a class of writers, so clear and well-ordered, yet so totally destitute, to all appearance, of any patri otic affection nay, of any human affection whatever. The French wits of the period were as unpatriotic ; but their general deficiency in moral principle^ not to say their avowed sensuality and unl)elief in all virtue, strictly .so called, render this accountable enough. We hope there is a patriotism founded on something better than prejudice ; that our country may be dear to us, without injury to our philosophy ; that in loving and nistly prizing all other lands, we may prize justly, and yet love before all others, our own stern Motherland, and the venerable structure ol social and moral Life, which Mind has through long ages been building np for us there. Surely there is nourish ment for the better part of man's heart in all this : surely the roots, that have fixed themselves in the very core of man's being, may be so cultivated as to grow up not into briers, but into roses, in f Ik; field of his life ! Our Scottiflh sages have no such propensities : the field of their life sliows neither briers nor roses ; init only a fiat, continuous thra-shing-tioor for Logic, whereon all que.stions, from the " Doetrino of Ueut " to the " Natural History of Religion," are thrashed uiul sifU'd with the same me<;han» al imimrtiality 1 With Sir Walter Scott at the head of ou' iiteratuie, it cannot b* 83 LIFE OF BURNS. «puied that much of this tivil Is past, or rapidly passing away : ova chief literary men, whatever other fr.ults they may have, no longer iive among us like a French Colony, or some knot of Propaganda Mis- pjouaries ; but like natural-born subjects of the soil, partaking one. iivnipathizing in all our attachments, humors, and habits. Our lite'- at are no longer grows iji water, but in mould, and with the true racy virtues of tlie soil and climate. How much of this change may be due to Ikirns, or to any other individual, it might be difficult to esti- mate. Direct literary imitation of Burns was not to be looked for. But his example, in the fearless adoption of domestic subjects, could not but opemte from afar ; and certainly in no heart did the love of country ever burn with a Avamier glow than in that of Burns : " a tide of Scottish prejudice," as he modestly calls this deep and gener- ous feeling, "had been poured along his veins; and he felt that it would boil there till the flood-gates shut in eternal rest." It seemed to him as if he could do so little for his country, and yet would so gladly have done all. One small province stood open for him ; that of Scottish song, and how eagerly he entered on it ; how devotedly he la1)ored there ! In his most toilsome journeyings, this object never quits him ; it is the little happy- valley of his careworn heart. In the gloom of his own affliction, he eagerly searches after some lonely brother of the umse, aud rejoices to snatch one other name from the oblivion that was covering it ! These were early feelings, and tlicy abode with him to the end. -a wish, (I mind its power), A ■wish, tliat to luy latest liour Will strongly hea 'e my breast ; That I, for poor auld Scotland's sake, Some useful plan or book could make, Or 8in» a sang at least. The rough bur Thistle spreading wide Aming the bearded bear, 1 tarn'd my wecding-clips aside. And spared the symbol dear. But to leave the mere literary character of Burns, which has nl- readv detained us too long, we cannot Init think that the Life he willed, and was fated to lead among his ffUow-men, is both more in- t'^resting and instructive than any of his written w^orks. Thea-, Poems are but like little rhymed fragments scattered here and there in the grand unrhymed Komauce of his earthly existence ; and it is only when intercalated in tliis at their proper ])laces, that they attain their full measure of significance. And this too, alas, was l>ut a fragment ! The plan of a mighty edifice had been sketched ; some columns, r>orticoes, firm masses of building, stand completed ; the rsst more or less clearly indicated; with many a far stretching tendency, which only studious and fri(;ndly eyes can now trace towards the purposed termmation. For the work is broken off in tlie middle, almost in tlio l»eginning : and rises among us, beautiful and sad, at once unfinished LIFE OF BURNS. S8 and a niin ! If charitable judgment was necessary in estimating his pix-ms, and justice required that the aim and the manifest power t-o fulfil it must often be accepted for the fuKilment ; much more is this the case in reg-ard to Ms life, the sum and result of all his endeavors, where hLs difficulties came upon him not in detail only, but in mass ; and so much has been left unac "omplished, nay, was mistaken, and. altogether marred. Properly speaking, there is but one era in the life of Burns, and that the earliest. We have not youth and manhood ; but only youth : for, to the end, we discern no decisive change in the complexion of his character ; in his thirty- seventh year, he is still, as it were, in youth. vVith all that resoluteness of judgment, that penetratingin- sight, and singular maturity of intellectual power, exhibited in his %/ritings, he never attains to any clearness regarding himself ; to the 'ast he never ascertains his peculiar aim, even with such distinctness as is common among ordinary men ; and therefore never can pursue it \nili that singleness of will, which insures success ond some con- tentment to such men. To the last, he wavers between two pur- poses : glorying in his talent, like a true poet, he yet cannot consent to make this his chief and sole glory, and to follow it as the one thing needful, through poverty or riches, through good or evil report. Another far meaner ambition .still cleaves to him ; he must dream and struggle about a certain "Rock of Independence;" wliich, natural and even admirable as it might be, was still but a warring with the world, on the comparatively insignificant ground of his being more or less completely supplied with money than others ; of his standing at a higher or at a lower altitude in general estimation, than others For the world still appears to him, as to the young, in borrowed col- ors ; he expects from it wliat it cannot give to any man ; seeks foi* contentment, not within hiuLself, in action and wise effort, but from without, in the kindness of circumstances, in love, friendship, honor, pecuniary ease. He would be ha[)i)y, not actively and in himself, but passively, and from some idi-al coniu.-o])ia of Enjoynients, not earned by his own labor, l)ut showered on him by tlie Ijenoficence of Destiny. Thus, like a young man, he cannot steady hinuself for any fixed or sy.steniatic pursuit, but swerves to and f o, between passionata hope and remorseful disappointment : ru';liing onwards "vvith a deep, tempestuous force, he surmounts or breaks asunder many a barrier ; travels, nay, advances far, but advancing only under uncertain jruidance, is ever and anon turned from his path : and to the last, •aimf)t n-acli tlie only true ha])f)iness of a man, tliat of clear, decided Activity in the splx-n- for whicJi by nature and circumstances ho haa been fitted and a|)t)ointed. We do not say these tilings in dispraise of Burns : nay, perhaps, they l)ut interest us the more in liis favf)r. This blessing is not given Briest to the Iwst ; but ratlnT, it is cjften tlie greatest minds that ara lnt4rt(t iu obtaining it ; for whore most is to bo develojxid, moat tim» 84 LIFE OF BURNy. may l>e Toquirod to develop it. A comjilcx condition had boon as- Bijiiiod him from Avitliout, as complex a condition from within : no " pre-cstablishfd harmony " exi,slt>d hetweeu tlio clay soil of Mossgiel and the em])yrcan soul ot Robert Burns ; it was not wonderful, there-) fore, that the adjustment between them should have been long post- poned, and his arm long cumbered, and his sight confused, in so vast and discordant f.n economy as he had been ai)pomted steward over. Byron was, at his death, but a year younger than Burns ; and through life, as it might have appeared, far more simply situated ; yet in him, too, we can trace no such adjustment, no such moral manhood ; but at best, and only a little before his end, the beginning of what seemed such. By much the most striking incident m Burns's Life is his journey to Edinburgh ; but perhaps a still more important one is his residence at Irvine, so early as in his twenty-third year. Hitherto his life liad been poor and toll worn ; but otherwise not ungeuial, and, with all its distresses, l)y no means nuhappy. In his parentage, d(>ducting out- ward circumstances, he had every reason to reckon himself fortunate : liis father was a man of thoughtful, intense, earnest character, as the best of our peasants are ; valuing knowledge, possessing some, and, what is far better and rarer, open-minded for more ; a man with a keen msight and devout heart ; reverent towards God, friendly there- fore at once, and fearless towards all that God has made ; in one word, though but a hard-handed pea.sant, a complete and fully un- folded Man. Such a father is seldom found in any rank in society ; and was worth descendhig far in society to seek. Unfortunately, he was very poor ; had he been even a little richer, almost ever so little, the whole might have issued far othermse. Mighty events turn on a straw ; the crossing of a brook decides the conquest of the world. Had this William Burns's small seven acres of nursery ground any- wise prospered, the boy Robert had been sent to school ; had strug- gled forward, as so many wealiier men do, to some university ; come forth not as a rustic wonder, bu.!, as a regular well-trained intellectual workman, and changed the whole course of British Literature — for it lav in him to have done this ! But the nursery did not prosper ; pov- erty sank his whole family below the help of even our cheap school- system : Burns remained a hard-worked ploughboy, and British liter- ature tooli its ov/n course. Nevertheless, eveu in this rugged scene, there Ls much to nourish him. If he drudges, it is with his brother, and for his father and mother, whom he loves, and would fain shield from want. \Msdom is not banished from their poor hearth, nor the balm of natural feeling : the solemn words. Let us irurship God, are heard there from a "priest-like father;" if threatenings of unjust men throw mother and children into tears, these are tears not of grief only, but of ludiest affection ; every heart in that hundde group feels itsf'lf the closer knit to every other; in their hard warfare they are there together, "a little band of brethren." Neither are such tears, and LIFE OF BURNS. ' B5 the deop beautv tliat dwells in them, their or,'yy portion. Light Tisits the hearts as it does the eyes of all living ; there is a force, too in this youth that enables hhn to trample on misfortune ; nav, to bma it under his feet to make him sport. For a bold, Avarm, buoyant humor of character has been given him ; and so the thick-commg shapes of eNil are welcomed with a gay. friendly irony, and m their closest pressure he bates no jot of heart or hope. \ ague yearnmgs of ambi- iion fail not, as he grows up ; dreamy fancies hang like cloud-cities around him ; the curtain of Existence is slowly rising m many col- ored splendor and gloom ; and the aurora light of first love is gi dmg his horizon, and the music of song is on his path ; and so he walks in glory and in joj' Behind his plough, upon the mountain side I " We know from the best evidence, that up to this date Burns wa_.i happy : nav, that he was the gayest, brightest, most fantastic, fasci- nating being to be found in the world; more so even than he ever afterwards appeared. But now at this early age he quits the pater- nal roof , goes forth into looser, louder, more exciting society, and he- comes initiated in those dissipations, those vices, which a certain class of philosophers have asserted to be a natural preparative for entering on active life ; a kind of mud-bath, in which the youth is, as it were, necessitated to steep, and, we suppose, cleanse himself, before the real tojra of Manhood can be laid on him. ^\e shall not dispute much with this cla.ss of philosophers; we hope they are mistaken; for Sin and Kemor.se so easily beset us at all stages of lite, andar; always such indifferent company, that it seems hard we should, at any stacre be forced and fated not only to meet, but to yield to them ; and eve°n serve for a term in their leprous armada. \\ e hope it is not 80 Clear we are, at all events, it cannot be the training one receives in' this service, but only our determining to desert from it, tliat tits for true manlv Action. We become men. not after we have been dis- sipated and disappointed in the chase of false pleasure, but after we have ascertained, in any way, what impassable barriers hem us in tlirough this life; liow mad it is to hope for contentment to our inh- nite soul from the r/ifts of this extremely finite world! that a man must be sufficient for himself; and that " for suffenng and enduring tliere is no remedy but striving and doing." Manhood begins when we have in any wav made truce with Nece.ssity— begins, at all events, when wo have surrendered to Necessity, as the most part only do; but begins .joyfully and hopefully only when wo have reconcilerl our- selves to Necessity, and thus, in reality, triumidied over it an>i le t that in Necessity we are free. Surely such lessons as this last which in one shape or other, is the grand lesson for every moitai man, are better learned from the lins of a devout mother, in the oolcs and actions of a devout father, while the heart is yet suit and pliant, 33 LIFE OF BURNS. than in collision with the sharp adamant of Fato, attractin/j; us to sliipwn'ck us, when the lifart is grown liard, and may b« broken bo- fori' it will become oontritc; ! Had Burns contiimcd to learn this, aa he Wius already learning it, in his fatlier's (iottage, he would have learned it fully, which he never did, and b(!en saved many a lasting aberration, many a bitter hour and year of remorseful sorrow. It seems to us another circumstance of fatal import in Ikirns's his- tory, that at this time too he became involved in the religious quar- rels of his district ; tliat he was enlisted and feasted, as the fighting man of the New Light Pri(>stliood, m their highly unprofitable war- fare. At the tables of these free-minded clergy, he learned much more than was needful for him. Such lilieral ridicule of fanaticism awakened in his mind scruples about Religion itself ; and a whole world of Doubts, which it reqmred quite another set of conjurors than those men to exorcise. We do not say that such an intellect as his could have escaped similar doubts, at some period of his history ; or even that he could, at a later period, have come through them al- together victorious and unbanned : but it seems peculiarly unfortu- nate that this time, above all others, should have been fixed for the encounter. For now, with principles assailed by evil example from without, by "passions raging like demons" from within, he had little need of skeptical misgivings to whisper treason in the heat of the battle, or to cut of[ his retreat if he were already defeated. He loses his feeling of innocence ; his mind is at variance with itself ; the old divinity no longer presides there ; but wild Desires and wild Re- pentance alternately oppress him. Ere long, too, he has committed liimself before the world ; his character for sobriety, dear to a Scot- tish peasant, as few corrupted worldlings can even conceive, is de- stroyed in tlie eyes of men ; and his only refuge consists in trying to disbelieve his guiltiness, and is but a refuge of lies. The blackest desperation now gathers over hlra, l)roken only by the red lightnings of remorse. The whole fabric of his life is blasted asunder'/ for now not only his character, but his personal liberty is to be lost ; men and Fortune are leagued for his liurt ; " hungry Ruin has him in the wind." .lie sees no escape but the saddest of all : exile from his loved country, to a country in every sense inhospitable and abhorrent to liim. ^Vhile the "gloomy night is gathering fast, in mental Btonn and solitude, as well as in physical, he sings his wild farewell to Scotland : " Farewell, my friends, farewell, my foc8 t My peace with these, my love with those : The biirstincr tears my heart declare ; Adieu, my native banka of Ayr I '' Light breaks suddenly in on him in fiixjds ; but still a false transi- tory light, and no real sunshine. Ho is invit(Hl to Edinburgh ; has- tens thither with anticipating heart : is welcomed as in triumph, aiid LIFE OF BURNS. 37 with universal blandishment and acclamation ; whatever is wisest, whatever is greatest or loveliest there, gathers round him, to gaze on his face, to show him honor, spnpathy, affection. Burns's appearance among the sages and nobles "of Edinburgh must be regarded as one of the most singular phenomena in modern Literature ; almost ILke the appearance of some Napoleon among the crowned sovereigns of modern Politics. For it is nowise as a "mockery king," set there by favor, transiently, and for a purpose, that he will let himself be treated ; still less is he a mad Rienzi, whose sudden elevation turns Ids too weak head ; but he stands t ere on his own basis ; cool, un- ■ astonished, holding his equal rank from Nature her.^elf ; putting forth no claim wliich there is not strength in him, as well as about him, to vindicate. Mr. Lockhart has some forcible observations on thia point : •' It needs no effort of imagination," says he, "to conceive what the sensations of an isolated set of scholars (almost all either clergymen or professors) must have been, in the presence of this big- boned, black-browed, brawny stranger, with Ids great flashing eyes, who, having forced his wav among tliem from the plough-tail, at a single stride, manifested in "the whole strain of his bearing and conversa- tion, a most tliorough conviction that in the society of the most em- inent men of his nation, he was exactly where he was entitled to be ; hardlv deigned to flatter them by exhibiting even an occasional bvmpton of being flattered by their notice ; by turns calmly meas- ured him.self against the most cultivated understandings of his time in discussion ; overpowered the hoii mots of the most celebrated con- vivialists by broad floods of merriment, impregnated with all the burning life of genius ; astounded bosoms habitually enveloped in the thrice piled folds of social reserve, by compelling them to trem- ble — nay, to tremble visibly — beneath the fearless touch of natural pathos ;" and all this without indicating the smallest willingness to bo ranked among those professional ministers of excitement who are content to be paid in money and smiles for doing what the spectators and auditors would be ashunu'd (jf doing in their own ])ersons, even if they had the power of doing it ; and last, aiul probably worst of all, wiio was known to be in the habit of enlivening societies AvhicV they would have scorned to approach, still more frequently than their own, with elocpience no less magnificent ; with Avit in all like, liliood still more daring ; often enough as the superiors whom li» fronted without alunn might have guessed from the beginning, and had ere long, no occasion to guess, with wit, pointed at themselves." The farther we remove; from this scene, the more singular will it isecm to us ; details of the exterior suspect of it are already full of in- terest. Most read'TH vwAtWtxi Mr. Walker'.s personal interviews with Burns a.s among the best ])asHnge,s of his Narrative ; :i tim • will ronift when this reminiscence of Sir Walter Scott's, slight though it is, will tdso be precious. ^" 88 LIFE OF BURNS. _'* As for Burns," writes Sir Walter, '-'I may truly say Yirgilium rirU tUntum. 1 was a hid of fifteen in 178G-'7, wlion lie first, came to Eilinlmrg-li, Init had senso and fct^iu!,^ < iiouo:h to bo much inlorosteJ m his poetry, and would liave give the world to know him . but 1 had very little acquaintance with any literary people, and still less Avitli the gentry of the west country, the two sets that he most fre- quented. Mr. Thomas Orierson was at that time a clerk of my father's. lie knew Uurns, and promised to ask him to his lodging.1 so dinner, but had no opportunity to keep his word ; otlierwise 1 might have seen more of this distinguislied man. As it was, 1 saAV him o?ie day at tlu; late venerable Professor Ferguson's, where thero were several gentlom(>n of literary reputation, among whom 1 remem- ber the celebrated Mr. Dugald Stewart. Of course, we youngsters sat_ silent, looked and listened. The only thing I remember which was remarkal>lc in Burns's manner, was the effect produced upon him by a print of Bunbury's representing a soldier lying dead on the snow, his dog sitting in misery on one side — on the other, his widow, with a child in her arms. These lines were wriWen beneath : ' Cold on Canadian liills, or Minden's plain, Perhaps tluit mother wept her soldier slain: Bent o'er her babe, her eye dissolved in dew, The bi<^ dro[)g mintjlinar WTth the milk he drew (!ave l.he sad presaLje of his future years, The child of misery baptized in tears.' " Burns seemed much affected by the print, or rather by the ideas which it suggested to his mind. He actually shed team. He asked whose the lines were, and it chanced that nobody but myself remem- bered that they occur in a half -forgotten poem of Laughorne's called by the upromising title of " The Justice of Peace." I whispered my information to a friend present, he mentioned it to Burns, who re- warded me with a look and a word, Avhich, though of mere civility, I then received and still recollect with very great pleasure. " His person was strong and roljust ; his manners rustic, not clown- ish ; a sort of dignified plainness and simplicity, which received part of its effect perhaps from one's knowknlge of his extraordinary tal- ents. His features are represented in Mr. Nasmyth's picture ; but tc me it conveys the idea that they are diminished, as if see«n in per-^ Bpective. I think his countenance was more massive than it looks in any of the portraits. I should have take the poet, liad I not known what he was, for a very sagacious country farmer of the old Scotch Bchool, i. c. none of your modern agriculturists who keep laborers fol their drudgery, but the doure gudemri/i, who held his own plough Tlvere wa-s a strong expression of sense and shrewdness in all his lin(? amenta ; the eye alone, I think, indicated the poetical cliaracter an" temperament. It was large, and of a dark cast, which glowed (I say literally glowed) when he spoke with feeling or interest. I never saw LIFE OF BLllXS. 39 euct another eve in a liuman liead, tliougli I have seen the most dis- tiuffixished men of mv time. His conversation expressed perfect self- conlidpnce, without the slightest presumption. Among the men who were the most learned of their time and country, he expressed him- self Avith perfect firmness, but without the least intrusive forward- ness ; and when he differed in opinion, he did not hesitate to express it firmly, yet at the same time with modesty. I do not remember any part of his conversation distinctly enough to be quoted ; nor did I ever see him again, except in the street, where he did not recognize me as I could not expect he should. He was much caressed in Edin- buro-h ; but (considering what literary emoluments have been since his dav) the efforts made for his relief were extremely trifling. " I remember, on this occasion I mention, I thought Burns's ac- quaintance with English poetry was rather limited ; and also, that liavino- twentv times the abilities of Allan Ramsay and of Ferguson, he talked of them with too much humility as his models ; there was doubtless national predilection in his estimate. " This is all I can tell vou al«out Burns. I have only to add, that his dress corresponded with his manner. He was like a farmer dressed in his best to dine with the laird. I do not speak in ??ia?a?«. partem when I sav I never saw a man in company with Ids superi- ors in station or information more perfectly free from either the re- Ality or the affectation of embarrassment. I was told, but did not observe it that his ad.lress to females was extremely deferential, and alwavs with a turn either to the pathetic or humorous, which en- /ra.rpd their attention particularlv. I have heard the late Duchess of Gol-don remark this. I do not know anythmg I can add to these re- collections of fortv years since." The conduct o"f Burns under this dazzling blaze of favor; the calm unaffected, nianlv manner, in which he not only bore it but estimated its value, h:is justly been regarded as the best proof that could be given of his real vigor and integrity of mmd. A little natural vanitv, some touches of hyi>ocritical modesty, some glimmer- ingsof affectation, at least some fear of being thought affected, we Cfjuld have pardoned in almost any man : but no such indication is to be traced here In his unexampled situation the young peasant is not a moment perplexed ; so many strange lights do not confuse him do not lead l.im astrav. Nevertheless, we cannot but perceive that this winter did liim great and lasting injury. A somewhat fl^'arer knowledge of men's affairs, scarcely of their chanicters, it did afford him • but a sharper feeling of Fortune' .s nnetpial arrangements m their social dastinv it also left with him. He had s.'on the gay and trorrreous arena, iii which tlie powerful are born to play their parts ; nnv had himself stood in the midst of it ; and he felt more bitterly than ever that Iwre he was but a looker-on, and had no ])art or lot m that 8i>len'did game. From this time a j.-alous indignant fear of social dogradutiou takes; poases-siou cl hJm ; and perycrt^J, ao lur aa augUt ^ LIFK OF BURNS. could poryort, liLs private contentment, and his feolin-s towards hig riclu-r lellows It Wiis clear cmu.u-U to Burns tluit he had talent en.mgh to make a fortune, or a luindred fort,uncs, could he but have r.^_ht,y Willed tins ,t wa.s clear also that he willed something far ddTerent and theretorc could not make one. Unhappy it was that he had not the power to choose the one and reject the other , but must bait forever between two opinions, two objects ; making hampered advancement towards either. But so is it with many men ; We '' lon^ for the merchandise, yet would fain keep the price ; " and so stand chaffermg with l^ate m vexatious altercation, till the Nio-ht come and our tair is over ! ° ' The EcUnburgh learned of that period were in general more noted for clearness ot head than for warmth of heart ; with the exception of the good old Blacklock, whose help was too ineffectual, sca?ccly one among tlieni seems to have looked at Burns with anv true ^yra pathy, or indeed much otherwise than as at a highly cm-ious tlLq. By the great also he ,s treated in the customary fashion ; entertained at their tables, and dismissed certain modica of pudding and praise are, from time to time, gladly exchanged for the fascination of his presence; which exchange once effected, the bargain is finished and each party goes his several way. At the end of this strange season Burn.s gloomily sums up his gains and losses, and meditates on the chaotic future. In money he is somewhat richer; in fame and tlio show of happiness, infinitely richer ; but in the substance of it as poor as ev..r. x^ay, poorer, for his heart is now maddened still more with the fever of mere worldly Ambition ; and through long yeara the disease will rack him with unprofitable sufforingsT and wealvcn his strength for all true and nobler aims. What Burns was next to do or avoi.l, how a man so circumstanced was now to guide himself towards his true advantage, might at this point of time have been a question for the wisest ; and it was a ques- tion which he was left altogether to answer for himself of his learned or rich patrons it had not struck any individual to' turn a thought on this so trivial m tter. Without claiming for Burns the praise of periect sagacity, Ave must say that his Excise and Farm scheme does not seem to us a very unreasonable one ; and that we should be at a loss, even now, to suggest one decidedly better. Some of his admirers, indeed, are scandalized at his ever resolving to f.X' ''^^ ^''^"l*^ ^''^^« liad him apparently lie still at the pool till the spirit of Patronage should stir the waters, and then heal .wth one plunge all his worldly sorrows I We fear such counsel Jors knew but little of Burns; and did not consider, that happiness mipht in all cases be cheaply had by waiting for the fulfilment of golden dreams, vyere : ^ not that in the interim the dreamer must tlie ot hungi'i-. It reflects credit on the manliness and sound sen.sa ot iJurns, that he felt so early on what ground he was standing and preferred sell -help on the humblest scale to dependence and iu, LIFE OF BURNS. 41 action, tliougli witliliope of far more splendid possibilities. But even tLese possibilities were not rejected in las sclieme ; he miglit expect, it it chanced that he had any friend, to rise in no long period, into something even like opulence and leisure ; while again, if it chanced that he had uo friend, he could still Jive in security ; and for the rest, he " did not intend to borrow honor from any profession." We think, then, that his plan was honest and well 'calculated ; all turned on the execution of it. Doubtless it failed ; yet not, we be- lieve, from any vice inherent in itself. Nay, after all, it was no faUure of external means, but of internal, that overtook Burns. His was no bankruptcy of the purse, but of the soul : to his last day he owed no man anything. Meanwhile he begins well, with two good and wise actions. Ilis donation to his mother, munificent from a man whose hicome had lately been seven pounds a year, was worthy of him, and n t more than' worthy. Generous also, and worthy of him, was his treatment of the woman whose life's welfare now depended on his pleasure. A friendly observer might have hoped serene days for him : his mind is on the true road to peace with itself : what clearness he still wants wdl 1>g given as he proceeds ; for the best teacher of duties, that still lie dim to us, is the Practice of those we see and have at hand. Had the " patrons of genius," who could give him nothing, but taken nothing from him, at least nothing more ! — the wounds of his heart would have healed, vulgar ambition would have died away. Toil and Frugality would have been welcome, since Virtue dwelt with tliem, and poetry would have shown through them as of eld ; and in her clear ethereal light, which was his own by birth-right, he might have looked down on his earthly destiny, and all its obstruc tions, not with patience only, but with love. But the patrons of genius would not have it so. Picturesque tourists,* all manner of fashionable danglers after literature, and, far worse, all manner of convival Maecenases, hovered round hini in hi.i retreat ; and his good as well as his weak qualities secured them in- fluence over him. He wa.s flattered by t leir notice; and his warm social nature made it impossible for him to shake them off, and liold ♦ There is one little Fketch by certain " Englisli gentlenr.'n " of this class, which, though adopted in Currie's Narrative, and since t en repeated in most others, we liflve all alon-' felt an invincible disposition to regard as ima^nary : " On a rock that projectea into tho stream they saw a man employed in angling, of a singnlar a pcarance. He liad a cap made of fox-nkin on his head, a loose great-coat Hied ronnd him by a belt, from which depended an enormous Highland broadsword. It was iJurnx/' Now, we rather tliink, it was not Burns. ¥i>t, to say notliingof the fox-skin win, loo^u and finite Hibernian wat(;h-co:it with Uic belt, wha: me we to make of thin '■ enormous ILii/hlaiul broadsword " depending from him ? More es- pecially, OH there i.-i no word of parisli constables on the outlook to see whether, aa bennls phrases it, he had un eye to Ills own midrib?, or tliut of tho iniblic I Unrns,