She drew nearer to him, and laying her hand upon his arm, looked up into his face with a yearning misery which made his heart ache; for what man can look unmoved upon the face of a woman whose unhappiness he has caused? Outwardly it was a very happy party at Belfayre. Norman, for one, was enjoying himself amazingly. Esmeralda had promised to treat him as her “special” friend; she had dispelled, by her gayety, the idea that she was unhappy, and his light heart rose buoyantly. He was a general favorite at Belfayre, and even the duke liked to hear him talk, and forgave him the slang which Norman had always to explain and translate into ordinary English for his grace’s enlightenment. It was very amusing to see them together; the old man the picture of courtly preciseness, the young one full of fin de siècle gayety and careless, easy irresponsibility. He walked slowly through the spinny to the small door in the north of the house. It opened on to a hall from which there was a passage to his own rooms, and he gained them without being seen. “Then why say it?” Even among the revolutionists there was sometimes a strange mixture of good and evil. The Auvergnat deputy Soubrany was proscribed by his friends, and met Fréron in the street, who said— Augustus had formed apparently the deliberate resolve to test his visitor by the most seductive and adroitly-arranged temptations. But, so far as Frederick William was concerned, he utterly failed. Upon one occasion his Prussian majesty, when conducted by Augustus, whirled around and indignantly left the room. That evening, through his minister, Grumkow, he informed the King of Poland that if there were any repetition of such scenes he would immediately leave Dresden. Elsewhere, however, Lord Palmerston abstained from interference, particularly in Germany. The immense phlegmatic mass of the Teutonic population—amounting to 43,000,000, spread over 246,000 square miles, and divided into thirty-five sovereign States—was powerfully moved by the shock of the French Revolution. Those States existed under every form of government, from absolutism to democracy. They were all united into a Bund or Confederation, the object of which was the maintenance of the independence of Germany, and of its several States. The Confederation consisted of a Diet, composed of the plenipotentiaries of all the States. This Diet was no bad emblem of the German mind and character—fruitful in speculation, free in thought, boundless in utterance, but without strength of will or power of action. The freer spirits demanded more liberal forms of government, and on these being refused, the Revolution broke out in Baden, Hesse-Cassel, and Bavaria. In Saxony the monarchy was saved by bending before the storm of revolution: a new Administration was appointed, which at once issued a programme of policy so liberal that the people were satisfied. Even the King of Hanover yielded to the revolutionary pressure, and called to his councils M. Hubé, a Liberal deputy, who had been imprisoned several years for resisting an unconstitutional act of the Crown. On the 20th of March he issued a proclamation, in which he stated that, in compliance with the many representations addressed to him, he had abolished the censorship of the press, granted an amnesty and restoration of rights to all who had been condemned for political offences, and was willing to submit to changes in the Constitution, based upon the responsibility of Ministers to the country. It was not without necessity that such appeals were addressed to the German people. At Frankfort, while the Assembly were occupied in framing a brand-new Constitution, the Republican party in the Chamber appealed out of doors to the passions of the multitude, and excited them to such a pitch that barricades were erected, and the red flag planted in the streets. By midnight the struggle was over, and tranquillity everywhere restored through the exertions of the military. I was weighed yesterday on the flour scales in the general store of course half of us went in ankle deep. We kept losing the trail, over one ear. Waves of laughter followed them the whole length The Greatest Names in France—The Maréchale de Noailles—Strange proceedings—Death of the Dauphin—Of the Dauphine—Of the Queen—The Children of France—Louis XIV. and Louis XV. The shadow was swallowed up in darkness. The candle had been blown out, and Landor came back to the fire. He sat quite still, clinching his teeth and clawing his fingers tensely. In the great crises of life, training and upbringing and education fall away, and a man is governed by two forces, his instincts and his surroundings. And Cairness's instincts were in entire accord with his surroundings; they were of the Stone Age, when men fought with the beasts of the wilderness in their cave homes, and had only the law of sheer strength. He leaned forward, holding his breath, and watched her. Had she seen his horse tied up above, and come here to find him—because he was here? An extraordinary scene of confusion was being enacted in the House of Commons at the moment when the king's reluctance was overcome. Sir R. Vivian took occasion to arraign Ministers violently for their intention of dissolving Parliament. Sir Francis Burdett contended that he was out of order. The Speaker ruled that he was in order. The Reformers differed from the Chair. Loud cries of "Sir Robert Peel! Sir Robert Peel!" were answered by counter-cries of "Sir Francis Burdett! Sir Francis Burdett!" and some wiser cries of "Chair! Chair!" The Speaker rose and stilled this unprecedented storm—rebuked those who had disputed his authority, and again called on Sir Robert Peel, who proceeded thereupon, in undisguised anger, to address the House. But as the noise of the cannon, which announced the king's approach, boomed into the House, the Reform members loudly cheered, each discharge being greeted with overbearing and triumphant shouts. Suddenly Sir Robert's angry speech, and the loud cheers of the Reformers, were stilled by the three admonitory taps of the Usher of the Black Rod, who came to summon the members to attend his Majesty in the House of Peers. The Speaker at once obeyed, the Commons following. A similar scene of confusion in the Upper House was interrupted by the approach of the king. Lord Londonderry said, "I protest my lords, I will not submit to——." Further than this his speech did not proceed, as the Lord Chancellor, who heard the king approaching, clutched the seals, left the woolsack, and darted out of the House. Lord Londonderry, not yet despairing, moved Lord Shaftesbury again to act as Speaker, and Lord Mansfield began a furious harangue in a loud and angry voice. In the meantime the Lord Chancellor met the king entering the House, and proceeding in procession to the robing-room. As the king advanced, the noise in the House became distinctly audible. "What's that, my Lord Chancellor?" said the king. "Only, may it please you, sire, the House of Lords amusing themselves while awaiting your Majesty's coming." The king, knowing what was meant, hastily robed, and as hastily entered the House—cutting short Lord Mansfield's speech, and putting an end to all chance of passing the[333] resolution under debate. The king ascended the throne, and commanded the attendance of the Commons. The bar of the House of Lords was thronged by the mass of members who now entered. The Speaker addressed the king, stating that the House of Commons approached the king with profound respect; and that the Commons had at no time more faithfully responded to the real feelings and interest of his Majesty's affectionate people; "while it has been," he added, "their earnest desire to support the dignity and honour of the Crown, upon which depend the greatness, the happiness, and the prosperity of this country." The Royal Assent being given to the bills that had passed, and, among others, to the Civil List Bill, the Chancellor presented to his Majesty the Speech he was to deliver, and the king, with the high shrill tone he always employed, but with more than wonted energy, read the first, which, indeed, was the really important paragraph of the Speech, and that which alone men cared to listen to or hear. There still remained one form of government to be tried, the despotic rule of a single individual. In the course of his travels Plato came into contact with an able and powerful specimen of the tyrant class, the elder Dionysius. A number of stories relating to their intercourse have been preserved; but the different versions disagree very widely, and none of them can be entirely trusted. It seems certain, however, that Plato gave great offence to the tyrant by his freedom of speech, that he narrowly escaped death, and that he was sold into slavery, from which condition he was redeemed by the generosity of Anniceris, a Cyrenaean philosopher. It is supposed that the scathing description in which Plato has196 held up to everlasting infamy the unworthy possessor of absolute power—a description long afterwards applied by Tacitus to the vilest of the Roman emperors—was suggested by the type which had come under his own observation in Sicily. Let it be remembered that the gods of whom Plato is speaking are the sun, moon, and stars; that the atheists whom he denounces only taught what we have long known to be true, which is that those luminaries are no more divine, no more animated, no more capable of accepting our sacrifices or responding to our cries than is the earth on which we tread; and that he attempts to prove the contrary by arguments which, even if they were not inconsistent with all that we know about mechanics, would still be utterly inadequate to the purpose for which they are employed. On the other hand, a theory of reasoning based on the relations of concepts, instead of on the relations of judgments, necessarily leaves out of account the whole doctrine of hypothetical and disjunctive propositions, together with that of the syllogisms based on them; since the elements of which they are composed are themselves propositions. And this inevitable omission is the more remarkable because alterna381tive and, to a less extent, hypothetical arguments form the staple of Aristotle’s own dialectic; while categorical reasoning never occurs in it at all. His constant method is to enumerate all possible views of a subject, and examine them one after the other, rejecting those which are untenable, and resting content with the remainder. In other words, he reaches his positive conclusions through a series of negative premises representing a process of gradual elimination. The First Analytics is itself an admirable instance of his favourite method. Every possible combination of terms is discussed, and the valid moods are sifted out from a much greater number of illegitimate syllogisms. The dialectic of Socrates and Plato followed the same procedure. It was essentially experimental—a method of trial, elimination, and selection. On going back still further, we find that when there is any reasoning at all in Homer, it is conducted after the same fashion. Hector, in his soliloquy before the Scaean Gate, imagines three alternative courses, together exhausting the possibilities of the situation. He may either retreat within the walls, or offer terms of peace to Achilles, or fight. The first two alternatives being rejected, nothing remains but the third. This is the most elaborate example; but on many other occasions Homer’s actors are represented as hesitating between two courses, and finally deciding on one of them. HoME色色琳琳