false." Here, no doubt, the statesman spoke from his own experience; and we deem it an anecdote which highly merits the attention of all compilers of history, and of what may be called political biography. Things as they are seldom are permitted to pass to the knowlege of the public. The ingenuity and cunning of politicians are not unfrequently employed to conceal or misrepresent facts; and venal writers are easily found, who, at their nod, are ready to construct a tissue of lies to serve the views and purposes of their employers. It requires, therefore, a mind freed from the influence of party, and possessed of uncommon penetration, to detect the various deceptive attempts of the writers of newspapers, journals, gazettes, and pamphlets of the day; and to do justice to the characters of those who "have strutted and fretted their hour on the stage" of public life,

A good historian must possess and will exert a considerable degree of scepticism. He will weigh probability against evidence, and will always discover extreme reluctance in outraging this probability. We think that Mr. Adolphus has not been sufficiently cautious on this head. His abhorrence of the French Revolution, and his condemnation of those who have acted a conspicuous part in it, not only carry him beyond the temperance of the philosophic historian, but induce him to affix credibility to relations which, hereafter, will probably be found to have arisen from the violence of party.

There can be no reason for palliating the horrible crimes and enormities which have been committed during the periods of the French Revolution: but they should be related faithfully, and not with the admission of improbable fictions and extravagant exaggerations.

These memoirs have been compiled with great diligence, and are written with much spirit. Except the section which contains the history of the unfortunate Louis XVI. and of his Queen and family, Mr. Adolphus has given the biography of men black with crimes. As the work is without index or table of contents, we shall give a list of the dramatis persona, that our readers may form an idea of the subjects introduced.

Vol. I. contains Memoirs of Louis XVI. the Queen, PrinCess Elizabeth, and the Dauphin-of Jean Silvain BaillyBenoit-Pierre-Guillaume Benoit-Etienne-Charles de Lomenie de Brienne-Jaques Pierre Brissot - Chabot - Anacharsis ClootzGeorge Jaques Danton-Camille Desmoulins-Charles François Dumouriez - P. F. N. Fabre, d'Eglantine-Thomas Mahé Marquis de Favras-Gobet- Jaques René Hebert F. Henriot.

Vol. II. contains Memoirs of Michel Lepelletier de Saint Fargeau - Pierre Manuel-Jean Paul Marat - Gabriel-Honore

Rignetti Comte de Mirabeau-Jaques Necker-Louis-PhilippeJoseph Duc d'Orléans-Thomas Paine-Jerome Petion-Maximilien Robespierre.

To write the lives of these men is in fact to write the history of the French Revolution, and to discuss its most affecting, atrocious, and bloody details. How Mr. Adolphus has executed this task may be seen by adducing a few specimens. The following observations are made on the character of Louis XVI.

• The efforts of calumny have been so great and so successful, that the evidence of all his friends, and even the reluctant testimony of his enemies, have been insufficient to rescue his fame from obloquy. The want of firmness and courage is the principal fault, and the one most generally attributed to him; but that seems to result from a judgment formed on subsequent events, and from not duly considering his character in other particulars. The king certainly did not possess that active courage which prompts resistance, and produces magna. nimous efforts; but in all his sufferings he displayed an energetic presence of mind, which demonstrated that no exertion was too great for him, had his personal danger been the only obstacle. Could Louis have foreseen the events of the revolution so far as they personally affected him, it is very much to be doubted whether he would have altered his conduct, whether he would not have sacrificed his crown and his life rather than have resorted to measures which had a tendency to involve his country in a war, either civil or foreign. Averse to force, policy could alone prevent the incroachments of faction, and preserve the existence of royalty. The circumstances in which he was placed were so new, that experience, or any judgment formed on the experience of others, could not avail him. Advisers were so numerous, so spe-` cious, so contradictory, and so unsuccessful, that it is not wonderful that he is censured by so many writers for not adhering implicitly to their plans. His interrogatory, and his last will, remain undeniable testimonials of the quickness and correctness of his judgment, and the sincerity and goodness of his heart. His conduct on the most trying occasions, particularly the various insurrections which disgraced the latter years of his reign, denote his magnanimity; and his conduct, from the time his trial commenced till the moment which terminated his existence, forms a picture of excellence almost surpassing humanity, and demonstrates the transcendent benefits of that religious purity which takes the sense of shame from premeditated ignominy, which deprives cruelty of its venom, and death of its sting.

• Such was the man whom his ill fate doomed to reign over the French in an age when these virtues insured ruin instead of respect! Such was the man whose murder is still annually celebrated by an in human and impious festival.'

It may not be uninteresting to subjoin the writer's character of the Queen :

• Marie Antoinette was sacrificed, to the inhospitable rage of the French nation, in the thirty-eighth year of her age. Of her early charms,

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charms, and their premature decline, I have already spoken. The system of calumny pursued against her was so general and so extensive, that to undertake her total exculpation seems almost Quixotism. The principal charges advanced by her enemies are, dilapidation of the finances by her private expences, and by large remittances to her brother the emperor; and matrimonial infidelity. On the subject of her private expences the reader is referred to the preceding pages of this essay. With respect to the sums transmitted to the emperor, many assertions have been made, without the adduction of a single proof written or oral. Had the fact been so, neither kind of proof could have been wanting; the absence of proof supplies the greatest probability, or rather certainty, that the accusation was unfounded. Her explanation on this subject in the course of her interrogatory, is clear, precise, and satisfactory. It was as follows:

"Observation. Not content with dilapidating, in a shocking manner, the finances of France, the fruits of the sweat of the people, for the sake of her pleasures and intrigues, in concert with infamous ministers, she had sent to the emperor thousands of millions to serve against the nation which fostered her.

"Answer. Never : - I know this mean artifice has often been employed to my prejudice; I loved my husband too much to dilapidate the treasure of his country. My brother did not want money from France, and from the same principle which attached me to France, I would not have given him any."

This unfounded accusation is still further refuted by the contradiction of those from whom it originated, who, while they charged the queen with dilapidations amounting to thousands of millions, im. plicated her in a disgraceful trick, which, if successful, would have produced only one million of livres (43,7501%) to be shared between her and six or seven sharpers.

The other point of accusation, matrimonial infidelity, is supported by assertions so numerous, that individuals are fearful of expressing doubts on a subject which seems so strongly advanced. The nature of the charge resists the demand of evidence from those who detail it; yet it might be supposed from the number of instances adduced, (for there was hardly a courtier of figure or a traveller of consequence that was not ranked among her favourites,) that some proof would in the course of the revolution have come to light. But even on her trial, though the fact was alledged in the most indecent terms, the proof was not attempted. The circumstantial evidence is decidedly on the other side; for if we'lay no stress on the fidelity and courage with which the queen, in the most trying situations, fulfilled the duties of wife and mother, still it appears impossible that she should have been beloved as she was by her husband, had a single fact advanced against her been true, or the suspicion in any wise founded. That she could have conducted her intrigues in private is impossible; because from the moment of her arrival in France to that of her death, she was surrounded with spies and enemies. If the slightest of these accusations had been true, it is not possible that she should have retained to his last hour the warmest affections of a king, who united with the most inflexible virtue, the highest sense of honour, and the greatest hor

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ror of impropriety. Could the queen in such a case have possessed the esteem and affection of the unsullied and uncalumniated princess Elizabeth, so firmly, that on the celebrated twentieth of June, she offered to lose her own life for her protection? The queen's own declaration at the time when she was pleading for her fame, without hope of her life, is remarkable, and convincing from its genuine appearance of candor and virtuous defiance. Speaking of Trianon, the supposed seat of her voluptuous revels, she said: "I wish more than any one, that every thing which took place there may be made public."

The following description of the Conciergerie may be somewhat exaggerated: but that it was a scene of horror during the sanguinary reign of Robespierre, all must agree:

The Conciergerie, during the old government, was a prison for the worst malefactors; with whom it was shared, under the revolutionary government, by those who were arrested as suspected, or had been condemned by the dreadful tribunal, and were awaiting the execution of their sentence. Its cells are subterraneous; over them are shops and walks where the gaiety and profusion of all comers mark in strong colours the contrasted woes and penury of the unfortunate prisoners. Four wickets, at small distances from each other, secured the entrance to this horrible prison, each guarded by wretches taken from the dregs of vulgar brutality; disgusting from vice, filth, and inebriety, and speaking a language peculiar to their occupation, in English called slang. Between the two first doors the prisoner was introduced to the turnkey, who, attended by some myrmidons, exa mined his features, gave orders for his reception, and passed him on through the other wickets. The place in which prisoners were at first lodged, was called the souricière, or mouse-trap, a dungeon impervious to the rays of the sun, and exhaling an infectious odous, from the accumulated filth of persons who had previously occupied it. The straw provided for a bed was rotten with damp and filth, and the rats ate the shoes, the clothes, and even the flesh of the unhappy tenant. In this infernal abode they were sometimes left for thirty-six or forty-eight hours, without relief, without communication, without food. They were afterwards transferred to some other chamber, or to a different prison. The distinction of apartments in the Conciergerie was made by the terms à la pistole, in the straw, or in the duncons. The first set were denominated from the monthly price paid for a wretched bed; the others were only distinguished from each other by this, that those in the straw were turned out of their apartments between eight and nine in the morning, and not permitted to. re-enter them till about an hour before sun-set, while those in the dungeons were contined all day. The accumulation of prisoners was alike in all; the increasing rigor of the revolutionary government caused arrestations so numerous, that many persons could not find room in the cells, and were obliged to take up their abode in the galleries. The whole prison, from crowd, dirt, want of air, and other incommodities, was so unwholesome, that the confined fell ill and died in such quantities as to exceed credibility.'

Of the Duke of Orleans, we may say that "nothing in his life became him like the leaving it." Mr. A.'s remarks on his unexpected fortitude in meeting death, and on his character, must finish our extracts from these memoirs:

• He was drawn to the Place de la Revolution in a cart, with fout, other persons, who displayed the most dreadful apprehensions; but, on this awful occasion, Orleans exhibited an elevation of mind, which, had it been his portion in more prosperous days, would have insured him happiness and reputation. His being intended for execution on that day was so little known in Paris, that very few people were present when first he ascended the cart, but the rumour soon flew and attracted innumerable gazers. They reproached him in the coarsest terms with all the crimes of his past life, his debaucheries, his assassinations, his perfidy, his vote against the king, every thing memory could suggest. When the cart reached the palais royal, with a refinement in cruelty truly Parisian, they made it stop ten minutes, to observe the effect produced by contemplating the scene of his grandeur and debaucheries. On this great day he disappointed the hopes of malevolence; he maintained, during his whole progress, a serenity of countenance and dignity of deportment altogether, princely. He looked at the palais royal, and read the inscription on the front denoting it to be national property, without the least apparent emotion. The populace, disappointed of their expected entertainment, at length permitted him to proceed. At a small distance from the place of execution he entered into conversation with a priest who was allowed to attend the prisoners, and so continued till he came to the foot of the scaffold, where, without losing for a moment the intrepidity so recently acquired, he submitted to the knife of the guillotine, which terminated his existence in the forty-seventh year of his age, in less than ten months after the murder of the king, which he had occa sioned by so much expence, so much intrigue, and so many crimes. His body was thrown without distinction amid the croud of carcases which daily butchery consigned to the burying-ground of St. Mary Magdalen.

• Thus perished this abandoned prince, whom it is now a common mode of speech to call the monster Egalité. He subverted a throne without courage or consistency sufficient to avail himself of the result of his own efforts; and squandered an immense fortune with so little judgment, that at his death he scarcely possessed a single friend. He was tacitly excepted, after the fall of Robespierre, from the vote of censure which the modérés caused to be passed on the murderers of the other deputies, as no one had integrity or courage enough to propose including him in the list. His name will remain to posterity a perpetual warning to individuals of overgrown property, against the folly of entering into popular conspiracies, and becoming the dupes of men of desperate fortune and daring ambition.'

Sana posteritas, will better appreciate the characters of the French Revolutionists than we can at this period; and will develope the sources and springs of that great movement which subverted the French Monarchy, and gave being to republic