predictions were made which are now repeated as to the efficiency of this force in checking all the excesses consequent on civil dissensions. They even went so far, that when an insurrection was attempted on occasion of the return of the King from Varennes, a large body, under Lafayette, fired on the mob in the Champ de Mars, and brought down 120 of the jacobins on the first discharge. But no sooner did the danger become more urgent, than the inherent weakness of a volunteer force appeared. The tumult of June 20th, 1792, when a lawless rabble invaded the palace of the Tuileries, brought Lafayette from the armies on the frontier back to Paris: he made an energetic speech at the bar of the Assembly, and obtained from that body a decree, ordering the arrest of the authors of these disorders: he reviewed the National Guard, of which he had so long been the adored commander, and appointed a rendezvous at his hotel in the evening of the most trusty battalions, with the design of marching against the Club of the Jacobins, and closing that great focus of sedition. But scarce thirty men obeyed the summons; and Lafayette, seeing the task hopeless, set off in the night for the army, and was shortly after denounced at the Jacobin Club, burnt in effigy in the Palais Royal, and compelled to seek safety by surrendering himself a prisoner to the Austrian forces.

The National Guard have already evinced symptoms of the same vacillating disposition. It is understood, that the corps destined for the protection of the Luxemburg, during the trial of Polignac, have declared that they are willing to go every length in resisting the populace, short of actually firing on them. In other words, when matters come to a crisis they will do nothing.

For these reasons we regard the present juncture as fraught with the utmost peril to France and to Europe. Those who will attentively consider the history of the first Revolution, will not, we are persuaded, form an opposite opinion.

The supposed difference between the two cases vanishes when the real

facts which have occurred, and the chronological order of events, are brought into view.-It is by confounding the beginning with the middle of the Revolution: by supposing that 1789 was 1793, that the general delusion which exists has arisen. We much fear, before many years, perhaps many months are over, the reality of the resemblance between the two convulsions, will be proved in characters of blood.

No truth is so strongly impressed on the mind by the history of the French Revolution, and none is so little attended to by the unthinking part of mankind, as that the ultimate effect of public measures, is neither to be judged of by their first consequences, nor the character of their original promoters. The material thing to look to, in periods of excitement, is not what measures are, but what they will lead to-not their present effects, but the spirit they are likely to produce. Concessions, which would be safe and expedient in moments of tranquillity, become to the last degree dangerous in moments of excitement. When the point of the wedge is once introduced, in such circumstances, popular violence will soon drive it home. It is to no purpose to say, in these moments, the proposed measures are in themselves reasonable: they are brought forward by public men, who have a great stake in the country; reformation can never be dangerous when placed in such hands. The regimen which is salutary in ordinary health, is fatal amidst the flames of a fever. "No revolution in a great state," says Madame de Stael, can arise, unless it is commenced and headed by the higher classes. The lower seize possession of the current when it is set a-going, but they cannot put it in motion."* The French Revolution itself was commenced by the resistance of the nobles, magistrates, and parliament of France. Yet, how soon were its early leaders cast down and forgotten, in the strife; how soon did the wave of popular ambition overwhelm its first supporters; how speedily did virtuous intention fall beneath the vigour of democratic audacity. These lessons are still re

cent; the blood of the victims of insurgent violence is yet reeking; a generation has not passed away since all was accomplished; and yet all is already forgotten; measures are judged of by the men who propose, not those who are about to follow them; the danger of concession to

public excitement is overlooked, and the partisans of the people, like the courtiers of Canute the Dane, flatter their leaders with the vain hope, that they shall be able to say to the waves of popular ambition, "Hitherto shalt thou come, and no farther; and here shall thy proud waves be stilled.”

A SCENE ON THE

I was awakened by the low growling, and short bark of the dog. The night was far spent; the tiny sparks of the fire-flies that were glancing in the door-way, began to grow pale; the chirping of the crickets and lizards, and the snore of the tree-toad waxed fainter, and the wild cry of the tiger-cat was no longer heard. The terral, or land-wind, which is usually strongest towards morning, moaned loudly on the hillside, and came rushing past with a melancholy sough, through the brushwood that surrounded the hut, shaking off the heavy dew from the palm and cocoanut trees, like large drops of rain.

The hollow tap of the wood-pecker; the clear flute note of the Pavo del monte; the discordant shriek of the macaw; the shrill chirr of the wild Guinea fowl; and the chattering of the paroquets began to be heard from the wood. The ill-omened gallinaso was sailing and circling round the hut, and the tall flamingo was stalking on the shallows of the lagoon, the haunt of the disgusting alligator, that lay beneath, divided from the sea by a narrow mud-bank, where a group of pelicans, perched on the wreck of one of our boats, were pluming themselves before taking wing. In the east, the deep blue of the firmament, from which the lesser stars were fast fading, all but the Eye of Morn," was warming into magnificent purple, and the amber rays of the yet unrisen sun were shooting up, streamer-like, with intervals between, through the parting clouds, as they broke away with a passing shower, that fell like a veil of silver gauze between us and the first primrose-coloured streaks of a tropical dawn.

"That's a musket shot," said the Lieutenant. The Indian crept on his

belly to the door, dropped his chin on the ground, and placed his open palms behind his ears. The distant wail of a bugle was heard, then three or four dropping shots again, in rapid succession. Mr Splinter stooped to go forth, but the Indian caught him by the leg, uttering the single word "Espanoles."

On the instant, a young Indian woman, with a shrieking infant in her arms, rushed to the door. There was a blue gunshot wound in her neck, from which two or three large black clotting gouts of blood were trickling. Her long black hair was streaming in coarse braids, and her features were pinched and sharpened, as if in the agony of death. She glanced wildly behind, and gasped out " Escapa, Oreeque, escapa, para mi soi, muerto ya." Another shot, and the miserable creature convulsively clasped her child, whose small shrill cry I often fancy I hear to this hour, blending with its mother's death-shriek, and, falling backwards, rolled over the brow of the hill out of sight. The ball had pierced the heart of the parent through the body of her offspring. By this time a party of Spanish soldiers had surrounded the hut, one of whom kneeling before the low door, pointed his musket into it. The Indian, who had seen his wife and child thus cruelly shot down before his face, now fired his rifle, and the man fell dead. "Siga mi Querida Bondia-maldito." Then springing to his feet, and stretching himself to his full height, with his arms extended towards heaven, while a strong shiver shook him like an ague fit, he yelled forth the last words he ever uttered," Venga la suerte, ya soi listo," and resumed his squatting position on the ground. Half a dozen musket balls were now fired at ran

English oaks were but as dwarfs, rose on one side, and overshadowed the whole level space. The bright beams of the full moon glanced among the topmost leaves, and tipped the higher branches with silver, contrasting strangely with the scene below, where a large watch-fire cast a strong red glare on the surrounding objects, throwing up dense volumes of smoke, which eddied in dun wreaths amongst the foliage, and hung in the still night air like a canopy, leaving the space beneath comparatively clear.

A temporary guard-house, with a rude verandah of bamboos and palm leaves, had been built between two of the immense spurs of the mighty tree, that shot out many yards from the parent stem like wooden buttresses, whilst overhead there was a sort of stage made of planks laid across the lower boughs, supporting a quantity of provisions covered with tarpaulins. The sentries in the back ground with their glancing arms, were seen pacing on their watch; some of the guard were asleep on wooden benches, and on the platform amongst the branches, where a little baboonlooking old man, in the dress of a drummer, had perched himself, and sat playing a Biscayan air on a sort of bagpipe; others were gathered round the fire cooking their food, or cleaning their arms.

It shone brightly on the long line of Spanish transports that were moored below, stem on to the beach, and on the white sails of the armed craft that were still hovering under weigh in the offing, which, as the night wore on, stole in, one after another, like phantoms of the ocean, and letting go their anchors with a splash, and a hollow rattle of the

cable, remained still and silent as the rest.

Farther off, it fell in a crimson stream on the surface of the sheltered bay, struggling with the light of the gentle moon, and tinging with blood the small waves that twinkled in her silver wake, across which a guard boat would now and then glide, like a fairy thing, the arms of the men flashing back the red light.

Beyond the influence of the hot smoky glare, the glorious planet reassumed her sway in the midst of her attendant stars, and the relieved eye wandered forth into the lovely night, where the noiseless sheet lightning was glancing, and ever and anon lighting up for an instant some fantastic shape in the fleecy clouds, like prodigies forerunning the destruc-* tion of the stronghold over which they impended; while beneath, the lofty ridge of the convent-crowned Popa, the citadel of San Felipé bristling with cannon, the white batteries and many towers of the fated city of Carthagena, and the Spanish blockading squadron at anchor before it, slept in the moonlight.

We were civilly received by the captain, who apologized for the discomfort under which we must pass the night. He gave us the best he had, and that was bad enough, both of food and wine, before shewing us into the hut, where we found a rough deal coffin lying on the very bench that was to be our bed. This he ordered away with all the coolness in the world. "It was only one of his people who had died that morning of vomito, or yellow fever." "Comfortable country this," quoth Splinter," and a pleasant morning we have had of it, Tom !"

THESE two publications reached us nearly at the same time. The one is a brief pamphlet, the other a bulky volume; and if merit, or even importance, were to be judged by size, we should certainly be inclined to notice Mr Turnbull's production first. But not being at all of the opinion of that learned Dutchman, who observed,

My broder be de great poet,
Who all de vorld must please;
For he have vrite von book

As big as all dis cheese,"

-We quote from memory-we shall begin with the pamphlet, which is decidedly the most interesting document that has hitherto been published upon those celebrated THREE DAYS, which overturned a throne, and changed a dynasty.

Before proceeding to our task, let us still make one or two observations. First, it may be necessary to state, that we know nothing of either of the authors under our review. We sit down impartially to consider both. We have no predisposition to exalt the Staff-Officer above Mr Turnbull, or to raise Mr Turnbull at the expense of the Staff-Officer; and, in every respect, we are perfectly unprejudiced towards either of them. One feeling we do certainly entertain on the subject of their writing. We have heard, for the last three months, an immense deal of disgusting bombast on the late French Revolution, till our very stomachs turn at the reiteration of the words heroism, enthusiasm, patriotism, from the burlesque absurdities to which those noble names have been applied; and we certainly shall feel and express unqualified disgust wherever we meet with that turgid exaggeration which caricatures great actions by vain hyperbole.

Amongst the multitude of publications to which the late Revolution in France has given rise, there have been two great wants, which every one who wished to form for

himself a sane judgment of that extraordinary event, must have felt and lamented. The first of these wants has been, a statement of the party who succumbed in the struggle. On this point we have hitherto had no light. The motives on which the King and his Ministers acted, have been surmised; but, of the actual current of events-of those movements and actions, which are always so disfigured by party prejudice, and in regard to which no just conclusion can be drawn, without examining and comparing the accounts on both sides-of these, we know nothing but from the faction which has triumphed. The second great want, has been any publication on the subject, giving a calm unexaggerated history of facts, without any touch of that caricatured excitement of feeling which the French so often mistake for enthusiasm, or of that bombast of language which they fancy the sublime. We have seen nothing before the publication of the pamphlet under our notice, but partial statements, exaggerated by all the gasconade of highly stimulated vanity.

"The Account of a Staff-Officer of the Guards," in a great degree remedies both these defects in the history of the Revolution. The style is clear, unaffected, dignified; enough of the Frenchman and of the partisan appears to leave on the mind of the reader the strongest moral conviction of its authenticity; while wounded pride, and national vanity, and some degree of generous indignation, are all tempered by a high tone of gentlemanly feeling. The matter is as valuable as the manner is agreeable and convincing. A clear brief statement is given of all the movements of the royal troops opposed to the Parisian mob. The refutation of innumerable errors is thus obtained, and half the tumid pretensions of the victors are put down by the plain tale of a hundred pages. We must, however, enter