ly that religious principle is the proper and only safeguard of virtue.

"Such is the principle which is alone fit to be deemed a rule of human life, because it comes to us invested with proper authority, and fortified with proper sanctions. It is adequate for time, because it is cominensurate with eternity; and it can support us upon earth, for it comes to us from heaven. The man who has drawn his principles from the motives of worldly honour, may hope by cunning and dupli city, still to retain the good opinion of the world, and to avoid detection; but he who cares more for realities than appearances, cannot be satisfied even with the strongest hopes of such an escape. He looks forward to the period, when that which is secret shall be made manifest, when every thought of his heart shall be brought into judgment; and whilst his faith enables him to support his present trials or losses with patience, it guards him from many of those difficulties and temptations which must always encircle the votary of fa

shion." P. 22.

"But the main distinction, and that on

which we are content to rest the whole argument is this, that whilst honour defeats its own intentions, by allowing and encouraging its votary to rush into every kind of luxury and dissipation, religion at once secures its present duties, and realizes its future prospects, by withdrawing us as much as possible from the temptations of the world, and by proclaiming the necessity of continually mortifying our corrupt affections and desires.

"Supposing, then, for a moment, that honour as a motive was equally grand and powerful with religion, yet it could not prove equally beneficial in its effects upon human life, nor equally success ful in supporting us under the trials and difficulties of adverse fortune. The man of honour has set his heart upon wealth and its enjoyments; he has grown up in habits of sin and self-indulgence. Can he of a sudden overcome his favourite pursuits and desires? But how should he attempt it? Will the love of honour render him content with poverty and privacy? No; it is then temptation seizes hin with all its powers, and it finds him, not like an humble Christian, on his knees, but sur

rounded with every thing to inflame his passions, and to drown his reflections. Can we wonder if he falls on such slippery ground? It would be too much, perhaps, to affirm that even religion could

support us under such difficulties; but with religion we could never have experienced them. "So true is the lan guage of Scripture: let no man say when he is tempted, I am tempted of God, for God cannot be tempted with evil, neither tempteth he any man; but' every man is tempted when he is drawn away by his own lust and enticed. Thus when lust hath increased, it bringeth forth sin, and sin, when it is finished, bringeth forthi death." P. 25.

But while we sincerely approve and admire the high tone of religious feeling which animates this dise course of Mr. Grinfield, and concur in his strictures on the law of honour, when regarded as a substitute for the rule of conscience, there are still some points in which we cannot implicitly agree with him. In the first place, we think he has too hastily ascribed to Paley an introduction of the law of honour among the rules of moral science. Paley does not speak of it as a law by which the work of virtue may, or should be conducted, but only as a law by which it is often attempted to regulate the moral duties. The only way in which he mentions it, is as a rule of life adopted by certain members of society, and he would have moral philosophy applied to its correction

-not to its enforcement.-For our part we should object to Paley's statement on the subject on different accounts. We should say that instead of making too much of the law of honour, he has made too little. Agreeably to the observations with which we introduced the subject, we should say, that the law of honour, instead of being confined to men of fashion, was of universal operation— in the unfashionable as well as the fashionable orders of society-for it appears to us to be nothing more than the rule of worldly approbation, which, while it varies in its objects according to the accidental situation of the individual, yet pervades all men equally so far as they partake of one common nature. And hence would follow, the still greater need of sound moral philosophy' to obvi

ate the widely-spread influence of such a very imperfect principle of

action.

Then again Paley should have distinctly stated in his work, that in terming such a law, a law of honour, he was only conforming with an established usage of speech founded on the corrupt practice of the world. He should have shewn that honour rightly understood is only another name for the highest virtue. For if by honour we represent to ourselves, as by the nearest correspondence in our language, the expressive term of the Greek, nahanayadia, it includes at once that excellence which is approved by God, and that which stands fair with man. Agreeably to such a view of honour is the exhortation of the Apostle, in which he unites whatsoever things are lovely, and of good report, or have any praise in them, with such as are true, and honest, and just, and pure. By omitting thus to discriminate between real honour, and that honour which assumes the name, Paley has no doubt given an undue appearance of reality to principles of conduct which are, in truth, a source of disgrace, rather than of honour, to those who make them the sole rule of their life. But we are not to censure him on that account for having given them a place in a work which professes to teach men their duty and the reasons of it, because they constitute a series of facts which naturally form part of the subject matter of the science.

In the next place we do not agree with Mr. Grinfield in his sweeping condemnation of the law of honour as utterly useless. In every thing which he says to reprobate it as a sole principle substituted for the sterling principle of religion, we may repeat, we go completely along with him; but when he says, as he afterwards does more explicitly in a postscript to his discourse, that there is no one duty inculcated by the law of honour, we must here withhold our assent. For we do not consider

the world, bad as it is, so depraved that it gives its approbation to nothing but that which is evil; and wherever it approves that which is intrinsically good, then we should say that the law of honour was good. We would instance the duty of veracity-what is considered a greater breach of honour than to be guilty of a falsehood? there is no charge which the mere man of honour resents more highly. He knows that the world has the greatest contempt for a man on whose word no reliance can be placed; andhe there. fore guards his reputation for veracity with the most scrupulous tenderness and as the only effectual means of preserving such a reputation feels the duty enforced on him, of really speaking the truth on all occasions. At the same time we do not mean to say, that a mere man of honour will be necessarily a man of veracity, for, as Mr. Grinfield has ably shewn, his principle will not abide him in the day of trial; but this we maintain, that his principle is such by nature as to make him ad here to truth, though it may not be strong enough and pure enough to stand the fiery trial of affliction, or any other severe temptation. This indeed is the really weak part in Paley's statement, as Mr. G., we have already seen, has well pointed out, in which he asserts, that a man of hònour is not the worse to deal with in those concerns which are usually transacted between one gentleman and another. It is merely a theoretic calculation of the force of the law itself, without taking into considertion the resistance which it has to encounter, and which experience abundantly informs us, is more than sufficient to counterpoise the power of the principle. That a man of honour is such as not to do a dishonourable action, is not a truth of equal validity with this-that a man of religious principle is such as not to do an irreligious action— for a man of honour does not avoid dishonourable actions, in that re

spect in which they are really dishonourable, but only according to the worldly acceptation of the term. But these points of difference are inconsiderable when set against our general concurrence with the argument of the pamphlet. It conveys a seasonable admonition to the pub. lic, to beware how they lean on a broken reed, how they trust their all to an unsound vessel, which is not able to weather the storms and waves of the world; and we are therefore anxious to give additional currency to the practical wisdom contained in the substance of Mr. Grinfield's observations. It is important that men should see that the law of worldly honour cannot help them in the time of need; that it fails when its support is most needed; that it will neither strengthen them in temptation, nor comfort them when they are afflicted. In these days of extended civilization

and refiuement, the delusion which prompts us to rest in so imperfect a standard of duty, naturally obtains a a more influential operation than in ruder times. There is a great tendency in such an age to identify manners with morals, to be content with the virtue which renders us at ease in society, instead of that which makes us at peace with God and ourselves. And the caution against the delusion, is therefore more needed. As those qualities of character which are superficial rise in estimation, the greater should be the exertion to recal men from a vain repose in them-to remind them that the fashion of this world passeth away-that it is a tide which has its ebb, and which as it retires will leave those who trust themselves securely to float on it, stranded on its shores, far from that haven of rest and happiness where they would be.

PRACTICAL INFIDELITY DISPLAYED, IN A SKETCH FROM THE FRENCH REVOLUTION.

(Continued from a previous Number*.) CHAP. IV.

THE CRISIS OF MY AGONY.

By the glare of two torches I distinguished the terrible tribunal, which was about to decide on my life or death. The President, in a grey coat, with a sabre by his side, was leaning on a table, on which were some papers, a writing desk, pipes, and bottles. Round this table were ten persons sitting and standing, two of whom were in their waistcoats and aprons; others were sleeping on benches. Two men, whose shirt sleeves were stained with blood, kept guard at the door, with swords in their hands, and an old turnkey stood with his hand on the bolt. Opposite the President three men were holding a prisoner, whose age appeared to be about sixty.

Having placed me in a corner of the dungeon, my guards crossed their swords over my breast, and threatened to stab me

See Christian Remembrancer for October, p. 606.

if I made the least motion to escape. Looking round for my Provençal friend, I observed two National guards present to the President, a petition from the Section de la Croix-Rouge, in behalf of the prisoner. He told them, that such petitions were of no avail in the case of traitors. On which the prisoner cried out, "C'est affreux ; votre jugement est un assassinat." The President answered, "I wash my hands of it-Conduisez M. Maillé t." Hardly were these words uttered, when they pushed the prisoner into the street, where I saw him butchered, through the opening of the door.

I have often been in situations of danger, and have always been able to master my feelings, but in the present, the horrors of all that was passing around me would have quite overcome me, had it not been for the conversation with my Provençal friend, and my dream, which was constantly recurring to my imagination.

The President sat down to write, and after he had, (as appeared) registered the name of the unhappy man they had just butchered, I heard him say-" Another."

I thought the President spoke these words against his inclination: a number of the Tucurs had come into the dungeon, and were creating much disturbance.

Immediately I was dragged before that expeditious and bloody tribunal, with which the best protection was to have none, and where all resources were useless if not founded on truth. Two of my guards held me each by a hand, and the third grasped the collar of my coat. The President. Your name and profession? One of the Judges. The least falsehood will be fatal to you. A. My name is Jourgniac Saint Meard. I have served twenty-five years as an officer in the army. And I ap. pear before your tribunal, with the confidence of a man who has nothing to reproach himself with, and therefore will not utter a falsehood. The President. We shall see. Stay a moment. (He looked over a list of prisoners and accusations, and passed it to the Judges.) Do you know the cause of your arrest? A. Yes, M. le President; and I am persuaded, from the falsehood of the accusation, that the Comité de Surveil lance de la Commune would not have had mne confined, but for the precautions which the safety of the people rendered it necessary to take. They accuse me of being the editor of an anti-feuillant journal, called le Journal de la Cour et de la Ville. It is false. The real Editor is a person of the name of Gauthier, the description of whose person so little resembles mine, that great malice alone could have caused my being apprehended in his place. If I could search in my pockets (Here I made an attempt to take out my pocket book, which one of the Judges observing, ordered my guards to loose me,-I then laid on the table, the attestations de plusieurs commis, facteurs, as well as shopkeepers and masters of houses where I had lodged, proving that M. Gauthier was Editor and sole Proprietor of that journal.) One of the Judges. Still there is no smoke without fire. You must tell us why you are thus accused. A. I was going to do so. You are aware, Gentlemen, that this journal was a sort of box in which were deposited les calembourgs, quolibets, epigrammes, plaisanteries, good, bad, and indifferent, which were produced in Paris, and the 83 departments. I might, indeed, deny that I ever wrote any thing for this journal, as there does not exist a single manuscript in my hand writing, but the natural frankness of my character, which has never deserted me, forces me to confess that my gaiety of heart frequently inspired me with pleasant thoughts, which I sent to the Sieur Gauthier. Such, Gentlemen, is the simple truth of this great accusation, which

M. Saint Meard was still in fear of the executive, and obliged to speak them fair, Translator.

is as absurd, as that of which I am now going to speak is monstrous. They accuse me of having been on the frontiers, and of having raised recruits there, and of having led themover to the Emigrés. (Here a general murmur arose. It did not disconcert me, and I continued in a louder voice.) Stay, Gentlemen; Gentlemen, it is my turn to speak, and I beseech M. le President to support me in my right. Never has it been of more importance to me. The Judges.— (laughing)—Very true; very true; silence, A. My accuser is a monster; I will prove this to you, Gentlemen, whom the people would not have chosen for my Judges, if it had not considered yon able to distinguish the innocent from the guilty. Here, Gentle men, are certificates that I have not quitted Paris for the last year and eleven months. Here are three attestations of masters of houses in which I have lodged during that time. (My judges were employed in examining them, when they were interrupted by the arrival of a prisoner who took my place before the President. Those who held him, said that this was another priest whom they had dislodged from the Chapel. After a very brief examination, he was dispatched a la Force.” He threw his breviary upon the table, and was dragged out of the dungeon and massacred. This business finished, I re-appeared before the tribunal.) One of the Judges. I do not say that these certificates are false, but who will prove that they are true? A. Your observation is just, and to enable you to judge me with a full knowledge of my case, let me be confined in a dungeon till Commissioners, whom I beg M. le President to appoint, shall have ascertained their genuineness. If they are false, I deserve to die. One of the Judges, who had appeared to interest himself for me during the examination, observed in an under voice, A guilty man would not speak with such confidence. Another Judge. To what section do you belong? A. To that of the Halle au Blé. A National Guard. (not one of the judges.) Ah! Ah! I belong to that section. With whom do you lodge? A. With M. Teissier, rue Croix-des-PetitsChamps. The National Guard. I know him-we have had business together, and I can tell whether the certificate is his.Having looked at it, he said, Gentlemen, I bear witness that this is the signature of the Citizen Teissier. With what pleasure could I have thrown my arms round the neck of this my guardian angel*. But I had thing,

*His figure is engraved in my heart, and if I ever have the happiness to meet him, I will embrace him, and testify my gratitude with the greatest pleasure.

of such importance to attend to, that they diverted me from this duty, and hardly had he ceased speaking, when I uttered an ex. clamation which recalled their attention to nie. What, Gentlemen! after the testimony of this honest man to prove the falsehood of an accusation, that might have brought me to my death, what opinion can you entertain of my accuser? The Judge, who appeared to interest himself for me. He is a rascal, and if he were here he should have justice done him. Do you know who he is? A. No, Monsieur; but he must be one of the Comité de Surveillance de la Commune. If I knew him I should think that I did a service to the public by advertising in the papers, that all might beware of him as of a mad dog. One of the Judges. We see that you are not the Editor of a Journal, and that you have not raised recruits. But you do not say any thing about the aristocratical sentiments you have uttered in reading-rooms in the Palais-Royal. A. I do not wish to avoid the subject. I have not feared to acknowledge what I have written, nor will I be afraid to avow what I have said or even thought. I have always recommended obedience to the laws, and have preached by example. Still I confess that I have availed myself of the liberty of speech which the constitution allowed me, and I have said that I did not esteem it perfect. It appeared to me to place us all in false positions. If it was a crime to say this, I was led into it by the constitution itself; and the permission it gave me to point out its faults was a snare. I have also said that

to me, and for which I own I was not prepared, encouraged me, and I was proceeding to give a summary of the thousand reasons which caused me to prefer a republican government to that of the constitu tion, and was going to repeat what I had said every day in the reading-room of Mons. Desemme, when the jailor came, in great consternation, to inform them that a prisoner was effecting his escape through a chimney. The President gave orders to fire at him, and declared that if he escaped, the jailor should answer it with his life. This prisoner was the unfortunate Mausabré. They fired some gunshots at him, and the jailor, seeing that these means would not succeed, lighted some straw, the smoke of which made him fall down half suffocated, and his destruction was completed before the door of the dungeon.

I resumed my defence by saying: No one, Gentlemen, has desired more than myself to have a reform of abuses. Here are some pamphlets which I composed before and during the holding of the Statesgeneral; they prove what I say. I have always thought that they were going too far for a monarchical constitution, perhaps too far for a republican one. I am neither Jacobin nor Feuillant, I love not the prin ciples of the former, although far more reasonable and more honest than those of the latter, which I shall continue to detest until it has been proved that they were not the causes of all the evils which we have undergone. At length we are free from them.

One of the Judges, with an impatient air

sembly, who shewed themselves such zealous patriots, have laboured much more for their own interests and ambition than for their country; and when all Paris appeared infatuated by their patriotism, I said "they deceive you." I appeal to you, Gentlemen, whether the event has not justified the opinion I formed of them. I have often blamed the cowardly and clumsy manœuvres of certain persons who talked of nothing but the constitution. I have long been convinced, that a great catastrophe will be the necessary result of that constitution, revised as it has been by selfish men, who (like those of whom I have already spoken) worked only for their own advantage; and most of all from the cha. racter of its defenders. Dissimulation, cupidité, et poltronerie etaient les attri buts de ces charlatans. Fanatisme, intrepedité, et franchise formaient le caractère de leurs ennemis. There was no need of spectacles to foresee which would win the day. (The attention with which they listened

were not this nor that; what were you then? I was downright Royalist. (There was a general murmur, which was by a sort of miracle appeased by the Judge who had stood my friend, saying, "It is not to judge of opinions that we are here; it is to judge of their effects."

Hardly were these precious words uttered, when I cried out, "Yes, Gentlemen, I have been downright Royalist, but I have never been paid for being so. I was a Royalist, because I thought that a monarchical government was best suited to my country; because I loved the King for his own sake, and openly. I have preserved this sentiment in my heart up to the tenth of Angust.

The murmur which was now raised, had a more encouraging sound than the former one. And in order to keep up the good opinion which they had of me, I

* Could the united genius of Rousseau and Voltaire have pleaded my cause better?