While they mould sway the hearts of

known the world over, from the gates of the Vatican to the shores of America. Any hope of France is vain while this host of ecclesiastics, wedded to tyranny, and more powerful than the president, more influential than the National Assembly, more dreadful and irresistible than the army, continues to exist. While these men live in France, she cannot be free. the consciences of the masses, and the rude people who throng the pleasure grounds and crowd the Boulevards, orators may declaim from the tribune, and poets may send out their lays in praise of liberty; but no freedom will be enjoyed. An army of ecclesiastics, with beads and crosses in their hands, is more potent in Paris to-day than the legions of Louis Napoleon; and the idea of a republic is a chimera of the imagination which will never be realized in France until the Protestant religion forms its foundation. You may bring any splendid theory or subtile argument to refute the notion; but I have the history of the world-facts which none can deny to indorse my opinion that, in a democracy, the church must be Congregational, and that Episcopacy and monarchy are inseparable.

3. The character of the French people is a poor guaranty for a permanent government. They are not a law-abiding people, and love change and excitement. They have become familiarized to revolutions, and expect them, and enter into them with the same zest that they pursue their pleasures. They would be satisfied with the best government among men only as long as it was new. King, emperor, president, are all alike received with blessings to-day, and curses to-morrow. Besides, every measure which has been taken to elevate the people has proved abortive. A while ago, when

the restrictions were partially removed from the press, the land was flooded with infamous productions; and obscene, blasphemous sheets fell like snow flakes into almost every family. The eloquent M. Coqueril, a member of the Chamber of Deputies, said, while we were in Paris, that France had no moral literature of her own; and that every book in the language, fit to be put into the hands of children or youth, was a translation. Though this statement should doubtless be taken with some abatement, yet it is very true that the literature of France is of a most debasing and corrupting kind, a reflection of the moral character of the people.

The fact, too, that Paris rules the nation is no ways favorable to the permanence of a republic. All France now obeys the dictation of a mob in the metropolis. The honest laborers of the farming districts know but little and care but little whether Louis Philippe or Louis Napoleon is at the head of government; and if the rabble in Paris prevail, they very readily acquiesce in whatever they do. Before a republic can be established, the moral tone of the people must be changed, and the whole present arrangement of society altered. Chalons, Dijon, and Lyons must have a voice in national affairs, and not only a voice as at present, but an influence which shall be felt and respected.

4. The public buildings, palaces, and monuments are indescribably associated with royalty. They lose their glory in the eyes of the French as soon as the king is removed. This obstacle to a democracy is greater than it at first appears, and has an influence which we should never imagine. There is the palace of the Tuileries, built by Catharine de Medicis, improved by the kings, the place where the massacre of St. Bartholomew's

day was planned, the royal residence of a privileged aristocracy, which is now open to all who choose to visit it. The French wander through the stately pile, from the opera room to the consecrated chapel, but they find no glory in such an edifice while it continues without an occupant. There are the rooms of Louis XVI., and the saloons of Napoleon, and the chambers of Louis Philippe, deserted, cold, and dismal. They go out to Fontainebleau and St. Cloud, those retreats of beauty, wealth, and fashion, which have been associated in their minds with royalty, and return dissatisfied and discontented. They throng the gardens and halls of Versailles, but every thing reminds them of something that has departed. Here are seven miles of pictures in one pile of buildings, and whoever should give two minutes to the examination of each individual work of art, would require eight days to complete his task. These paintings are calculated to foster a warlike, monarchical spirit. They represent scenes of blood and glory. Napoleon figures conspicuously. Here he is at the battle of the Pyramids; distributing the cross of the legion of honor at Boulogne; making a triumphal entry into Paris; receiving the deputies of the government which proclaimed him emperor; haranguing his army previous to battle; receiving the delegates and keys of the city of Vienna; giving orders before the battle of Austerlitz; having an interview with Francis II.; entering triumphantly into Berlin; bidding adieu to Alexander; being married to Maria Louisa; crossing the Alps over the winding Simplon; guiding his army at St. Bernard; storming the bridge of Lodi; at Marengo, at Wagram, and in a hundred scenes and places calculated to fire the beholder with military enthusiasm. Here also are pointed out the scenes in which the kings of

France have figured, and these are all calculated to inspire the people with a love of royalty.

On Sunday, thousands of the people visit Versailles, examine these pictures, walk through the private apartments, behold the furniture used by kings, and the very beds on which they reposed, wander through the gardens and behold the different walks and arbors, all connected with 'monarchy and military glory. These buildings, erected at an immense expense, and filled with relics of the past, and open to the gaze of the most humble citizen, all plead for the restoration of the throne. The French walk through these kingly halls as through the chambers of a tomb, and see no beauty or glory because a royal master does not preside in them. As the proud old castles of Germany and the Rhine have no beauty and glory now, because dissevered from feudal customs and the age of chivalry, so these vast pleasure grounds and familiar resorts of the Parisians are mute and inelegant, because the titled dignity of monarchy does not abide in them. To a people who live mostly in the open air, the influence of this feeling goes farther than we can understand, and doubtless, to the pleasure-loving people, pleads more eloquently for the establishment of monarchy than do the privileges of freedom for a genuine republic.

5. A republic, if established at all, must rise in the midst of long-established prejudices, and against the remonstrance of the whole continent. The power of early teaching is engaged on the side of the throne. The children of Paris have grown up with shouts of royalty upon their lips; and in the establishment of a democratic form of government, they do what nations are seldom known to do- break away from all the prejudices and usages of the past. Riding in a car, one

day, from Versailles to Paris, a young lady of polished manners and educated mind, who was in the car with us, made this remark, which I suppose would be indorsed by a large majority of the people of France: "A republic," she said, "is a good thing for America, but not for France; the people want a royal family to love." And while these preferences and prejudices exist, unchanged by education and uncontrolled by religion, it is impossible to expect a free and enlightened republic. The throne may indeed be broken down, but a military despotism will take its place. I have no faith in a political millennium which is to take effect in Europe, irrespective of the influence of education and religion. The ballot box, in a nation where eight out of ten of the voters cannot read the name of their candidate for office, must be of little benefit. We have in our land a strange monomania for republics, and we would set them up in New Zealand and Botany Bay, if we could; and ere long we shall have some goodnatured philanthropist striving to poetize us into the idea, that a model republic may be made in our state prison, and that warden, chaplain, and sentinels may all be elected from among the criminals.

On one side of the British Channel is a republic; on the other side is a kingdom. The kingdom is peaceful, happy, quiet, and liberal; the republic is agitated, illiberal, and despotic. In the kingdom, the voice of conscience is heard, God reigns, and the press is free; in the republic, there is no public conscience, the army reigns, and the press is fettered. Is it the name of freedom for which men contend? then let them go to republican France. Is it the reality for which they seek? then let them abide in monarchical England. Do not misunderstand me. I do not say that a