that the choice was between faint hope and no hope. Without hesitation, when his mind was clear, he advocated a revision, and he was himself intrusted in committee with framing a report favorable to that measure. Feeble as the chance was of preserving the Republic, he saw that to make the acts of the President constitutional was the only chance. His description of the Constitution of 1848, in his report, is drawn with so masterly a hand, that we cannot refrain from presenting it to our readers:

"A single Chamber exclusively entitled to make laws, a single man exclusively entitled to preside over the application of all laws, and the direction of all public affairs, each of them elected directly by universal suffrage; the Assembly omnipotent within the limits of the Constitution; the President required, within those limits, to obey the Assembly, but wielding, from the nature of his election, a moral force which makes his submission uneasy, and must suggest to him resistance, and possessed of all the prerogatives which belong to an executive in a country in which the central administration, everywhere active and everywhere powerful, has been created by monarchs and for the purposes of monarchy; these two great powers, equal as to their origin, unequal as to their rights, condemned by law to coerce one another, invited by law to mutual suspicion, mutual jealousy, and mutual contest, yet forced to live in close embrace, in an eternal tête-àtête, without a third power, or even an umpire to mediate and restrain them, these are not conditions under which a government can be regular or strong."

The efforts of the constitutionalists proved of no avail. The inordinate ambition of Napoleon now only sought an opportunity to seize the absolute control over the nation. De Tocqueville, who had before predicted both of the Revolutions, foresaw the impending blow to the Assembly. He was seated among his colleagues in deliberation when the coup d'état took place. On the morning of the 2d of December, the President took possession, by military force, of all the government offices. An armed troop of soldiery came to the Assembly, and De Tocqueville, in company with two hundred of the élite of France, was marched to the Quai d'Orsay, and thence conveyed to Vincennes. Napoleon now rapidly consolidated the Empire. A constrained ballot afforded a pretence for his

measures. The Assembly was abolished, the press fettered, Lamartine and Hugo exiled, a standing army established, and every precaution taken to secure a permanent despotism. When the plans of the Emperor had been reduced to system, the imprisoned legislators were released.

This tyrannical seizure and confinement was the last scene in the political life of M. de Tocqueville. The result to which he had looked forward with dismay had now followed from the Revolution of 1848. The people of France, wearied with the continual turmoil of anarchy, and grown apathetic in the license which had long prevailed, had at last quietly and slavishly submitted their necks to the yoke of the oppressor. The day in which patriots could exert themselves was passed. All that remained for him now was to retire to his countryseat, to banish politics from his thoughts, to devote his time to the quiet walks of literature and agriculture, and to alleviate the condition and augment the happiness of those humble neighbors who had been so long faithful to him. He continued the execution of his work on the Revolution of 1789 as rapidly as his frail health would permit, and published the first part of it in 1856. The rest was never finished. For purposes of research and study he visited St. Cyr in 1854, and Germany in 1855. He also in 1857 visited England for the last time, where he was received with distinguished consideration, and whence a government vessel was specially commissioned to reconvey him to Normandy. He devoted himself with zest to agricultural improvements, for which, in the restlessness of his early days, he had acquired a dislike. Now, after an active and stormy life, his mind had become calm, and his love of nature contributed to give a relish to rural occupations. Although he had retired from public service, he never ceased to practise the maxim which we find in his letters, "There is only one great object in this world which deserves our efforts, and that is the good of mankind." He considered life as of but little worth, except as it is made valuable by being employed in doing one's duty, and serving men, and in “taking one's fit place among them." His charity was free and liberal, his advice never refused, when solicited; his kindness and affability were constant and uni

versal; his interest in the prosperity of others genuine and enthusiastic. Thus usefully and happily were his last years passed; and as he had spent a laborious life in improving public sentiment, exalting religious and educational influences, and striving to secure to his countrymen an equipoise of liberty and stability, the evening of his sojourn upon earth was devoted to the alleviation of individual distress, and the exercise of an active and incessant benevolence.

The delicate body, which had sustained so many inroads upon its strength, now began to yield to disease. In June, 1858, he broke a blood-vessel, an event which, although at the time it was not regarded as fatal, accelerated the final catastrophe. The bleak shores of Normandy were ill suited to an invalid afflicted with pulmonary weakness, and he repaired to Cannes in the South of France, buoyed up with the hope that the softer air and more equable climate of that region. might restore him to vigor. There, although confined most of the time to his villa, he continued those studies which had mainly contributed to his happiness through life, and remained in delightful communion with the eminent persons who resided near him. Lord Brougham and Chevalier Bunsen contributed to while away many weary hours by their considerate attentions to the dying statesman. After weeks of protracted suffering, aggravated by the illness of his wife, but sustained with patience by a meek and cheerful spirit, he passed away, with tranquillity and in the complete exercise of his faculties, surrounded by his best-beloved friends, on the 16th of April, 1859. Although till within a few days of his departure he had never ceased to look forward to a resumption of his labors, the humility with which he acquiesced in the solemn disappointment, and the fervent piety with which he confided in his Saviour, made a lasting impression upon those who witnessed that peaceful death-scene. At his own request, his mortal remains were laid in the rural churchyard, near the ancient manor on which he had dwelt so long, and among the people he loved so well. The burial service was performed in the humble parish church, and the mourning peasantry attended with one accord the last sad tribute to their illustrious VOL. XCV.-No. 196.

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friend. A plain wooden cross marks the place of his interment. He died childless.

We have thus briefly reviewed the life of one whose name, known wherever civilization has given a zest to political philosophy, is held in peculiar respect on this side of the Atlantic. Before his day, little comparatively was known on the Continent with regard to the structure of our government, and its application of republican principles. To him we owe lasting gratitude for having led his age to an intelligent contemplation of our system, and for setting in a just light before the world the benefits and evils of democratic policy. It is not, however, to be inferred, because he devoted so much time and labor to the study of the principles of democracy, that he was an advocate of that form of government. He always regarded the constitutional monarchy of England as the polity which combined in the greatest perfection a just freedom for the subject with due power in the executive. He believed the tendencies of the age in which he lived to be toward the unlimited supremacy of the popular element; but he was persuaded of what events repeatedly verified, that the character of the French was not harmonious with the idea of unrestrained popular power. He aptly perceived that the causes which tended to strengthen republicanism in America could never so operate in his own country. For that reason he concluded that, while democracy in America was freedom, democracy in France was despotism. He wished to see in France a strong central government, not distracted by the independent influence of a landed aristocracy, and not interfering beyond its proper sphere; a just control over municipal matters given to municipal authorities; a generous extension of political rights, and a broad tolerance of individual action. But such an establishment, he readily perceived, must be the work of time; revolution could not effect it; a sudden change of administration or policy could not produce it; it must be ingrafted by gradual and cautious innovations, the more potent because the less perceptible. In the revolutions of which he had been a witness, he saw that all the elements of intelligence, morality, religion, and learning had been conservative; while the depravity of the nation, the wild, atheistic, visionary

fanatics, composed the elements of which the reforming spirit was made up. He knew that the former class of men were indispensable auxiliaries to the gradual change he was desirous of producing, and hence looked with great sorrow upon the violent convulsions which shook France from time to time. From these opinions we are enabled to arrive at the reason why he was never a strong party man. Looking beyond the ephemeral principles which controlled the policy of different factions, he could not bring himself to sympathize heartily with either extreme. Perceiving the salutary influence of a systematic opposition in England, he ranged himself with Barrot and Thiers, rather to maintain an equipoise than because his opinions sympathized with those of the statesmen with whom he acted. With his views, as we now understand them, for a test, his whole political course becomes consistent and highly virtuous.

If we consider his social character, we find that the gravity of the philosopher did not intrude upon his private relations; for in the companionship of those he loved, he both conversed freely and listened with respectful attention to others. He was cheerful and unassuming, readily pleased, and always anxious to please. The dignity of his vocations did not preclude him from the good-will of the humble. His candor rather elicited esteem than provoked irritation, and his piety, always constant and sometimes glowing, was yet not austere, but was indulgent of those pleasures which morality permits. The same substantial vigor and brilliancy which mark his writings shone forth in his conversation, which instructed while it entertained, and engaged both mind and heart by its lofty and yet sympathetic tone. Few men have been so remarkable as he for colloquial power; and, although he did not exhibit the rich fund of thought and fancy in which his mind abounded except to his friends, the renown of his conversational gifts almost equals that of his published works. His complaisance disarmed the surliest rival, yet his pride scorned a slavish submission to any. Possessing faculties of understanding naturally quick, he made them pre-eminent by study, and still more by observation and reflection. His imagination was active and exuberant, while it co-operated with,