XVIII. The Common Schools. Colleges. Liberty. M. Michelet. Prisons. nette. A TRITE old adage says: "Where there is a will, there is a way." Like many other intellectual heir-looms, which have come down to us from the flood, it has been much oftener on our tongues than in our practice. But if you ever have the misfortune to be imprisoned in a crowd, I advise you to summon one of these "old saws" to your aid; for you will find, as you shall see I did on a recent occasion, that they are eminently useful instruments to cut a passage through. At such a crisis politeness and perseverance are invaluable pioneers; and, if the patient can have the good fortune to summon to his aid the spirit of wisdom, wrapped up in a classic cuticle, such a Suaviter in modo, fortiter in re, for example, his speedy delivery is certain. The truth of this I had abundant experience of in going to the College of France to hear a Professor deliver one of his usual lectures, of which I will tell you by and by. Much as we boast in America of our facilities for general information, our system is by no means perfect. A common education can be acquired, it is true, at least in the Northern States; and so far it is well. But how long are the Common Schools, the legacy of the Puritans, to last? Apostates have long ago been found to disparage the character of an ancestry, of which they are unworthy; and bigots have now appeared in sheep's clothing to disturb, and finally destroy, some of those invaluable institions, which—and nothing else-have made our country what it is. The seeds of decay and ruin are being planted in the Common School system, and theological sectarists are laying on it the spoiler's hand, and parting its once seamless robe among them. Alas, for the time, when the glory of New England and New York shall be quenched in total eclipse! God shield me from the sight of our School-grounds turned into cabbage plots! O, may I never live to see the day that shall witness the treacherous conversion of these sacred nurseries of sound letters and humane manners into arenas of polemic wrangling, or spots for teaching a man-invented catechism, longer or shorter ! But though the Common School-the palladium of the Republic-is certainly menaced with a fearful trial by those large sections of the community who are accustomed to look upon their party advantages as superior to the common welfare, yet the strong common sense of the people at large, it is hoped, will warn them of the danger, and cause them to rally for the rescue of an institution, peculiarly their own, and eminently democratic. This is more than can be affirmed of the colleges, which are too exclusive in their action, contribute less to the common stock of science, literature and improvement, than is justly expected of their imposing organization and munificent endowments; and wear an air of stately exclusion, which contrasts unfavourably with the American theory of Government, and with similar institutions in this country. In France the portals of the libraries and literary institutions are thrown wide open, and the rich and poor stand on equal ground. Lectures are daily delivered on every subject, with which man is conversant, by professors of the profoundest learning. Of every language that is spoken in Europe, or Asia, there is a public instructor No subject is too abstruse or rare for the public to hear; no experiments too costly for them to see. The people pay, and should they not have an equivalent? Ah! France is, indeed, a glorious country. No wonder the Frenchman feels so keenly the amour de patrie; and, having made a fortune in a foreign land, sighs to return to la belle France, and to spend it there. No ties are generally strong enough to bind him permanently to any other soil, or prevent him from coming home to lay his bones in his native earth. When in my last letter I ventured to assign to France, not only a happy physical position with regard to variety of climate and productions, and an attractive centre for the selectest treasures of other countries, but to designate her capital, as a focus where science, the arts, all sorts of learning, refinement, taste, luxury, and sensuality, if you please, converge, and make her perhaps the most brilliant star in the Universe, I anticipated that the want of freedom might be objected, as casting a deep shade upon an otherwise bright exterior. And what is American liberty?— Does it not consist in the absence of all restraint in speech and action, except what is necessary for the general welfare? And is the Frenchman a bondman ?Certainly not. In many respects, indeed, he is freer than my countrymen. He is not depressed by the surveillance of public opinion, which, though often a salutary check, is sometimes, it must be confessed, the most vexatious of tyrants. Why, what degree of comfortable liberty can a poor fellow enjoy, even under his own vine and fig-tree, if the busy body of a public is taking notes all the while? If every man is a spy, and every old woman an agent of the police, or a bill-sticker to make proclamation of his violation of some of its often arbitrary and foolish rules, his life becomes a perpetual running of the gauntlet.Though this odious despotism of the public, which spares not even one's own castle, does not possess the power of actual imprisonment, it, notwithstanding, imposes heavy bail, and lays a man under bonds for good behaviour, as long as he lives. One may wear a hat in Paris of any form, or a cap of Harvard College notoriety, if he chooses; he may put on a coat of any cut or colour; a Dickens' bear-skin, even, and no mob will follow on his trail, no inquisitive stranger ask him the price of his integuments. I found myself near one of the lecture-rooms of the College of France, fifteen minutes before the usual hour, and resolved to hear and see the "agitator," the Dr. Steiger of France, the inflexible persecutor of Jesuitism -Mons. Michelet. But, though so early, not only was the hall filled, but the steps also leading to it; and numbers were going away in despair of effecting an entrance. On the strength, however, of the maxim with which this letter commences, and with the exercise of a little agility, which it inspired, I soon carried the place by escalade, and was finally most comfortably seated directly in front of the speaker. Before the lecture began, I had ample time to inspect two large pictures, representing passages in the history of the college, and to examine the audience, with a view of ascertaining its character. The two front rows were occupied by ladies, without whose patronising presence few lectures of any sort are ever delivered. My scrutiny, however, resulted in nothing satisfactory. The only peculiarity noticed was two negroes of the most polished ebony, which contrasted agreeably with the less highly-coloured complexions around them. The stillness of the assembly, and my reflections, were suddenly interrupted by a clapping of hands, and other demonstrations of welcome; and I saw entering, at a sidedoor, a gentleman of some five feet six or seven inches in height. His form was slightly bent, but not with age, for he appeared not to have seen more than fifty years at the atmost. His dress, with the exception of a white vest, was entirely black. Seating himself behind a table, and waiting a sufficient time for the greetings to subside, he commenced his lecture. The face of Mons. Michelet has little that is remarkable, as the features are quite regular; but his dark eyes are bright and beautiful. His gray hair, parted nearly in the middle, is suffered to grow long, almost encircling his ears. He wears neither beard nor moustache, and his somewhat sunken cheeks are without any other colour, than the general yellow tint of his whole face, which indicates an infirm condition of health. As a speaker, he is forcible rather than elegant.In the tones and modulations of his voice he has a mannerism, reminding one sometimes of a Methodist preacher at others, of a theatrical performer, especially in his cadences, which are drawn out with a slow tragic intonation. Otherwise, his delivery made no pretension to oratory. Like most of the French professors, he sits while pronouncing his lecture, in consequence of which his gesticulation is much repressed. It is his clear and logical deduction which render his discourses so attrac tive. Add to this an everpleasing power of analysis, a vein of humour and sarcasm, and the excitement which agitates all around, and extends through Europe, I may say, against Jesuitism, and his popularity may be accounted for in some degree. His remarks, which are extemporaneous, with the exception of a few notes before him, were frequently interrupted by applause. Note books and reporters were very numerous; and his distinct, slow utterance made it easy to transfer all he said to paper, word for word. Michelet, and his colleague Quinet, are causing a great commotion throughout the kingdom. A short time ago a petition came from Marseilles, numerously signed, praying the Chamber of Deputies to stop the lectures of the former. His last work, Du Prêtre, des Femmes, de la Famille, has, in the space of a few months, gone through six or seven editions. The priests are doing their utmost to allay an excitement, which, they are very well aware, can be kept up only at their expense. But I have not heard that any of them, as yet, have used any Brownson knock down arguments. I trust, before long, to introduce to you Mons. Quinet. With much difficulty I have succeeded in gaining admittance to the prisons of Paris. Of these there are about a dozen, containing every class and grade of offenders. The government is exceedingly slow in granting permissions to visit them, for various and obvious reasons: and it was only after making great exertions, and explaining that I did not wish to enter them from mere curiosity, but from a desire to study their construction and arrangement, the treatment of the prisoners, their food and accommodations, the character and amount of their labour, and other particulars, for future use, that the privilege was at last granted to me. The first that I visited, was one of the oldest in the city, the Conciergerie. Its rough and gloomy aspect struck me very forcibly, the more, no doubt, because, since my entrance into France, my visits have been principally to see the grand and beautiful, with, now and then, a peep into the fantastical or grotesque. In architecture, noble churches and splendid palaces have been the chief objects of my contemplation. The difference was startling, indeed, between their waxed floors, walls glittering with gold, and glowing with the handiwork of renowned artists, and the grim, cold stone, grated windows, and iron doors of these dark habitations of crime. The contrast is, notwithstanding, not so great as may be imagined; for both are associated with historic, or redolent with romantic lore; both have been the abodes of kings. In both, subtle statesmen have plotted; sweet maidens and innocent princesses sighed. What, then, |